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forever-rogue · 2 years ago

Note

Hmm. You and Eddie having a running gag where he proposes to you in restaurants for free desert but one day it’s not a joke anymore and he’s really asking 💍 🫢

AN | I adore this concept and hope I did it justice! Enjoy 🥰

Warnings | Language

Pairing | Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.9k

Masterlist | Main, Eddie

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You were about to say something to Eddie, leaning across the table, immediately getting lost in those big brown eyes like you had a million times before. But before any words could make it out of your mouth, a loud burst of cheering and applause interrupted you. Both of you turned to look at the sudden commotion and your heart immediately flipped a few times.

There was a man down on one knee, holding out a box containing a beautiful, ornate ring to a very bored looking woman. Within seconds she switched and was crying, dramatically fanning at her eyes before shouting a loud yes and eagerly grabbing the ring out of the box. You exchanged a look with Eddie, who playfully rolled his eyes as you giggled.

After a few moments, when everything settled down you spied the waiter bringing out what appeared to be a very fancy dessert that was allegedly compliments of the restaurant. You motioned your head in their direction so Eddie would look; you clocked the amused little expression.

“So, I’m like totally certain they’re going to be divorced within a year if they even make it to the wedding,” you whispered so only he could hear, “but that dessert looks fantastic.”

“And free,” he joked, “what’s better than that? I’m curious though, why don’t you think they’ll make it?”

“It’s obvious,” you stated as he shook his head in amusement, “look at the body language, he’s clearly older, and she’s barely said anything, he’s the one doing all the talking. Plus, when he asked the question, she didn’t go to hug him, she just grabbed the ring. Tell me you’re in it for the money without telling me.”

“Ahhh,” he watched with a tender expression on his face that you missed from your little spy session, “very observant of you, my smart girl.”

“Could never be me,” you shook your head before grabbing your wine and finishing the glass.

“Oh?” Eddie teased, his pretty pink lips quirked into a dopey grin, “you aren’t dating me for my money?”

“Sorry rockstar,” you nudged his foot with yours before beaming at him, “I’m only with you because I love and adore you.”

“Damn,” he sighed dramatically, “here I was thinking if I was in a semi-popular local rock band I’d have you all over me for material things.”

“Nah,” you couldn’t help yourself as you leaned over and kissed his cheek, “all I ever need is you. Besides, marriage is a sham. You don’t need to be married to be happy…all you really need is love, ya know?”

“Totally,” he agreed, his mind already reeling with a thousand different thoughts; all of them started and ended, however, with how much he loved you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The first time Eddie Munson asks you to marry him

“Babe,” you hear him before you see him as you stand in front of the full length mirror, looking yourself over. You saw his roguish curls in the mirror behind you as he breathed in sharply, “holy fuck.”

“What?” you turned around and looked down to see if something had happened to your dress, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” he tenderly reached over, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear, "you're just so beautiful - how do you keep getting more beautiful? It's unfair."

"Eddie," your face warmed up as you tried to brush him off. He opened his mouth to say something else but you slapped your hand over it, "I've worn this dress loads! And I look the same as always. So dramatic, honey boy."

The boy in question turned your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, "I said what I said."

"Fine," his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling into his warm frame, "you're getting more and more handsome all the time. Now can we please get going? Otherwise we'll miss our reservation and we've had it for months!"

"Do you trust me?"

“What do you…of course, Eds. More than anyone.”

“Good.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was about halfway through your meal of ridiculously exquisite food and smooth alcohol that you noticed something was off. Eddie’s expression shifted between excitement and nerves and you wondered what he was up to. But you never got the opportunity to ask because your metalhead pushed back his chair and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, black velveteen box.

“Eds…”

“Angel, darling, absolute love of my life,” your eyes widened in surprise as you lightly shook your head in a vain attempt to stop. You should have known better. You should have known that he was still getting down on one knee in front of you, “I love you beyond measure, beyond what I ever thought was possible. You have made me the happiest and luckiest man in the world. There’s no one else I’d rather spend the rest of my life with. Will you do me the honor of letting me be your husband?”

“Eddie,” you hissed under your breath, acutely aware of the fact that seemingly every eye in the house was trained on the two of you, “what’re you doing?!”

“Trust me.”

“Y-Yes,” you nodded, a grimace that could be mistaken for a nervous smile on your face. At least you really were surprised, “of course I’ll…marry you.”

He grabbed the ring out of the box - that alone left you with a load of questions - and delicately placed it on your ring finger. You laughed nervously as he leaned in to kiss you, a large hand gently cradling your face, “just trust me baby.”

To anyone else it probably looked like a sweet exchange between now fiancees; not him trying to calm you and you trying not to glare daggers. After a few more soft pecks placed on his lips, he sat back down as people around you clapped happily.

“Edward Munson,” you digusised your annoyance with a sticky, sweet smile, “what the fuck?”

“I-”

“For the happy couple,” a waitress magically appeared, holding a plate piled with a delicious dessert and set it down between the two of you, “your meal and everything is on the house this evening. Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” he gave her that stupidly dazzling smile as you suddenly put the pieces together. Once she walked away, he cocked his head to the side and looked at you with a triumphant smile, “I love you, baby.”

“You’re an absolute bastard,” there was no malice behind your words as you grabbed one of the forks, “all of this for a free dessert? Ridiculous man.”

“Yout ridiculous man,” his pretty cheeks were tinged with pink and his doe eyes were glittering with joy. Maybe you did just fall in love with him a little more in that moment, “and in case you didn’t hear her, it’s all on the house. So there you go - we finally got to try the restaurant you wanted and it was free! And all it took was getting fake engaged.”

“Never change, Eddie Munson,” you whispered, clinking your fork against his, “I love you endlessly.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The second time Eddie Munson asks you to marry him

“Baby, baby, baby,” Eddie sang happily as he walked through the front door to the little house you’d made a home. He’d just gotten off work at the body shop, giddy to come home and see his best girl. It amused you sometimes; he still kept his day job, despite his band’s increasing popularity and notoriety. You looked from the bowl of brownie batter you were whipping up and beamed at him. He came over and picked you up before spinning around a few times, “I’ve missed you.”

“Eddie!” you were dizzied and breathless from his affection, “you’re filthy - you’re gonna ruin my new dress!”

“I’ll buy you a hundred new ones,” he promised, setting you down and taking you face in hands. His touch was soft and gentle, despite his rough, calloused fingertips, “my beautiful girl.”

“You better kiss me,” your heart was pitter-pattering wildly as butterflies exploded in your tummy, “if you’re going to keep looking at me like that.”

“Yeah?” a small, hopeful little question.

“Yeah,” so he kissed you, and kissed until you were melding into his body and breathless, “I love you, Eds.”

“Let me take you out,” you bounced on your heels and couldn’t but squeal softly. It’d been a bit since you’d last had a proper date night between your busy schedules, “wanna show off my girl.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“You look like you’ve got something to say,” you pointed at him with your fork and Eddie shook his head, the picture of innocence and tranquility. You weren’t buying it for a moment - you knew him better than anyone else, “don’t lie to me. I know you’re up to something, Edward.”

“The full name?” he put his hand on his heart, groaning dramatically, “baby, you wound me.”

“Then tell me.”

“Listen…” he paused, taking a moment to compose himself before nodding, “you’re right - there is something I want to say.”

“Eddie…” the chair legs scraped against the hardwood floor as he stood up and came over to your side of the table. He didn’t have to get all the way down on his knee for you to know what was happening. You couldn’t even be annoyed or made at him, instead you were giggling, hiding your face behind your hand.

He reached up and gently pulled your hand away, holding it in one of his hands, “sweetheart - you are the light of my life…you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I’m so glad I walked into the record store that afternoon and ran into you - literally. The past few years have been like a dream and I can’t wait to spend the rest of them with you. Angel, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

You were more prepared this time and didn’t miss a beat as you nodded softly. He fumbled in his pocket and displayed that same ring to you, and this time you eagerly held out your hand for him to slip it on, “I’d marry you a hundred times over.”

The two of you shared a knowing little kiss before reaching down to pull him up your lips, kissing him with a golden intensity. He nudged his nose against yours before whispering, “nice job, sweetheart. We really sold it.”

He kissed the tip of your nose before jokingly bowing and waved to your curious audience before pointing to you. You felt shy at the attention from the other diners and kept your gaze trained on him. You couldn’t deny that the idea of being his wife was…more intoxicating than you’d ever thought.

“What?” he asked as caught you watching him with heart eyes, “something on my face?”

“No,” you promised, “I just really love you is all.”

“I love you,” a tender, soft spoken statement, dissolved into a wink, “future wife.”

This time around, dessert didn’t soothe your soul nearly as much as the thought of calling Eddie your husband.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The third time Eddie Munson asks you to marry him

“Eddie?” you walked into the small rehearsal space that Corroded Coffin used, eager to see him after a long day. You found him as the last straggler, carefully stowing away his guitar, speaking sweetly to it, which only made you shake your head in adoration. You were head over heels in love with this man, “hello, my love.”

“Hi baby,” he held out his arms and immediately made grabby hands towards you, “cuddles please.”

"Funny," you walked to him and wrapped your arms around his waist, smashing your face into his back, "I was gonna ask you for the same thing."

"Great minds think alike," one of his hands settled on yours, promoting to shy softly, "what's wrong, baby?"

"Nothing at all,” you pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder, “just wanted to see you. Wanna go out to dinner? It’s late and it’s been a long week, I’m starving, and…kinda just wanna show off my man.”

“How could I ever say no to you?”

“You don’t. You’ve learned well for the past years, my love!”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

There really was nothing better than being with Eddie and getting to be in his magical orbit. It was easy to get lost in him, to fall so deeply entranced that you forgot everything else around you. That was, until of course, he shot you a wink accompanied by a cheeky smile. You knew the drill by now and weren’t phased as he went through the motions of a grand proposal.

Eddie spoke sweet words to you and while you knew that everything he was saying was true, you couldn’t stop the pang in your heart knowing the proposal wasn’t real. The ring was a silly little thing, a cheap one from the local department store, but that didn’t even really matter. You would have married him with a paper ring. And that’s when it hit you.

You wanted to marry him. You’d always been convinced that marriage was not for you and something you never wanted and yet…here you were. Eddie Munson had changed everything for you.

In that moment, while he went through the proposal spiel and asked you to marry him, you pretended he meant it when you said yes. Because you did mean it. The free meal and dessert couldn’t hold a candle to your happiness and love for him. But then again, it didn’t hurt either.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

…and the time Eddie Munson asks you to marry him for real

“I have an idea,” Eddie almost jumped on the bed as he came out of the bathroom, pajamas on and hair pulled into a messy bun. You set down your book and turned to him, your own smile matching his enthusiasm. Almost as if he couldn’t stop himself, he kissed you, slow and saccharine, “a brilliant idea.”

“Tell me,” you brushed a few of his unruly curls out of his face before touching his cheek, “if Eddie Munson had an idea, it has to be good.”

“Very funny,” but he was laughing too, “next weekend, let’s take a little trip out of town, just you and I. Whaddya say?”

“What’s the occasion?”

“There is none,” he grinned wolfishly, “just want to spend some quiet time away with my girl.”

“Count me in,” you agreed, your amusement quickly turned into a squeal of surprise as he laid down and pulled you on top of, looking up at you with reverence, “I love you, ya know?”

“That’s good,” he mused softly, “‘cause I’m crazy in love with you.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Have I told you how beautiful you look?” If there was one thing Eddie loved, it was flirting. Flirting with you, in particular and despite how long you’d been together it still made you giggly and shy. You leaned forward on your elbow and looked at him with an eyebrow raised, “because you’re a knockout, baby.”

“Shut up,” a soft, gentle response that made him cheese harder, “besides it’s the dress. The dress you happened to pick out and get for me, dummy.”

“You don’t like it?” his expression turned worried as you shook your head.

“I love it,” you put your hand on his arm, “it’s stunning - thank you for it. This whole weekend…it’s been magical.”

“You deserve it,” he promised and that damned smile made you want to melt into a puddle, “there’s something else you deserve…”

And this time you hadn’t been expecting it. He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a small box. Your surprise was genuine as he hadn’t done this in a while and you weren’t thinking he would do it during an already over the top luxe weekend.

He kneeled down in front of you and reached for your hand as you tried to sus out what was going. He exhaled slowly before catching your head and almost chucking at your deer in headlights expression, “baby. I…I don’t know where to start. This went smoother in my mind!”

“Eddie…”

“Every single word I’ve said to you the times I’ve ‘proposed’ have been true and I’ve meant it,” oh. What was going on? He laughed nervously, “and I still mean it. You’re it for me and I’ve been a goner for you since the day we met. I love you beyond measure.”

“Edward.”

“I know we’ve always kind of made fun of marriage and how outdated the whole institution of it is,” the back of eyes started to prickle as you squeeze his hand, “but I’d really like to call you my wife. It has a nice ring to it.”

With that opened a small box and showed you the ring he’d picked out. It was gorgeous and way more than you could have ever dreamed of or asked for. You looked at him as if to say seriously and he nodded sweetly.

“Will you marry me?” it was barely above a whisper, inaudible to everyone else but you, “for real?”

“Yeah?” a few tears rolled down your cheeks which he gently brushed away.

“Yeah baby,” he promised, “I kinda really want to be your husband.”

“Yes, fuck yes,” you barely had a moment to realize what was going on before he was kissing you, sweetly and softly but with every ounce of love behind it. He pulled his lips away from yours for long enough to slip the ring onto your finger, lacing his fingers through yours, “I love you so much, Eddie.”

“I love you, angel. So much.”

And then he kissed you again and the world all but disappeared, including the clapping restaurant patrons, and all you knew was him.

Your soon-to-be husband.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x reader #st

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cloddot · 2 years ago

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How the choir fit into Ghosts Au -

Every member of the choir died at age 17 after riding the cyclone, however they all died in completely different time periods

.Constance was first to die with her falling victim to the cyclone in the early 60s -

.her family moved to uranium as the mines were starting up in the 50s, setting up shop running the Blackwood cafe in town

.she grew up with the town, being one of the first to ride the cyclone when the fair originally opened, instantly falling in love with the ride

. She went to the fair a lot during her work breaks, with one of these breaks being when she eventually lost her life

.Ocean died next, with her death being in the mid to late 60s -

.Her family moved to the outskirts of Uranium during the hippie boom with them being one of the original settlers at Elysium community farm

.she didnt get to leave the commune much after they moved if at all and she hated almost every second of being stuck there

.After finally biting the bullet and breaking a rule she snuck out of Elysium with her first adventure leading her to the fair, were she eventually rode the cyclone

.Ricky died in the late 80s/ ealry 90s -

.this is my au, I make the rules, I get to give them all the any pronoun trans fem swag I like :)

.with their prognosis looking grim the local church his parents attended took pity on Ricky, offering her a make a wish sort of situation

.Her original idea got shot down almost immediately, with them having no way of being able to send her space, especially not for that. The churches plan B also fell flat due to him being banned from almost every seafood restaurant in Canada due to what can only be described as the SHRIMP HEAVEN NOW!!! incident. This led to the church being kinda lost for what to do with the lad, with them eventually just sending Ricky to the newly reopened fair with a chaperone in hand

.They took full advantage of the trip, using it to ride the Gravitron a total of 28 times back to back, pissing off their chaperone who insisted they go on something else, leading them to take a ride on the cyclone

.Noel died in 2009 -

.EMO NOEL!!! EMO NOEL!!! EMO NOEL!!!!

.This boy is obsessed with Ryan Ross and Pete Wentz and you can not convince me otherwise

.I am so sorry Noel Gruber enjoyers but i currently have no clue how he ended up at the fair, if you have any ideas please send them over

.Mischa died in 2016 -

.After stealing three boxes of communion wine Father Marcus took Mischa under his wing in an attempt to keep him out of trouble

.Somehow He ends up finding out about BadEgg and Mishas passion for music and tries to get him to join the choir, with all his attempts failing miserably up until he manages to coax him into coming with them for the Kiwanis International singing competition

.Mischa skips the actual competition though using the time to talk to Talia

.Trying to make the most out of the trip he also decided to wander around the fair, eventually ending up taking a ride on the cyclone to see what all the fuss is about after hearing the multiple ghost stories that now surround the ride

#rtc ghosts au #rtc #ride the cyclone #constance blackwood #ocean o'connell rosenberg #ricky potts #noel gruber #mischa bachinski #rtc au #ride the cyclone au

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canary3d-obsessed · 4 years ago

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Restless Rewatch: Nirvana in Fire, Episode 04

(Masterpost) (Pinboard)

Warning! Spoilers for all 54 episodes!

Schemes in Progress:

Mu Nihuang’s Marriage//Martial Arts Competition: Mei Changsu has a foolproof plan for defeating the lead contender, Baili Qi, who is the only contender who can actually beat Nihuang to win her hand. His plan appears to involve having small children beat the mighty warrior. In fact his plan is way simpler and more delightful than that, but I’ll discuss the specifics in a later post. It’s politically important to defeat Baili Qi, not just personally, because he represents a potential enemy state.

Mu Nihuang’s Marriage//Sima Lei: The Crown Prince and his mom, Consort Yue, want to force Nihuang to marry their dude Sima Lei. The plan is to use Roofie Wine on her. Consort Jing gets wind of this plan and gets a counter-plan rolling.

Getting Tingsheng Out Of The Palace: Mei Changsu uses the anxiety caused by Baili Qi’s badassery to get the Emperor to agree to his ridiculous kid-training plan, and then makes sure Tingsheng, the secret son of the late Prince Qi, is one of the kids he gets to train.

Put Jingyan on the Throne: This scheme gets rolling, with a general pattern of Mei Changsu & team doing whatever they can to sink the leading contenders for the throne, which gives Jingyan an opportunity to rise up. The leading contenders tend to cooperate in their own sinking because they are ruthlessly ambitious, and Mei Changsu designs his plans to take advantage of that.

Banquet Battle

After thoroughly disarming and whomping Jingrui, Baili Qi finishes by flinging Jingrui’s sword into the floor right in front of him.

Jingrui, who hoped to literally cripple Baili Qi in this fight, has the nerve to be affronted by this.

(More behind the cut!)

Baili Qi shows his impeccable barbarian manners, giving the Emperor a nice gesture of respect that is presumably local to Northern Yan. Meanwhile, Mei Changsu and Nihuang are snarking quietly at their table like a couple of high schoolers.

Mei Changsu pretends to be embarrassed when the Emperor tells them to share their joke with the whole class, but of course it’s always a scheme, with him.

He and Nihuang explain to everyone that they were just chatting about how Baili Qi is great and all, but that Mei Changsu could train some small amateur children to beat his bitch ass, given a couple of days to teach them to run in a circle.

The emperor thinks this is a good plan, and gets right on board with it.

This is not actually because the emperor is an idiot, however, although Prince Yu clearly thinks so.

The emperor IS an idiot, but on this occasion I think he has correctly deduced that Mei Changsu has some kind of shady plan in mind, and he is 100% in favor of shady plans, if they work to his benefit.

Consort Bestie

Jingyan’s mom Consort Jing is hanging out in the palace, and meets up with her girlfriend bestie, Imperial Concubine Hui. Historically, the Emperor’s collection of women was divided into ranks; how many ranks was different for different periods. In NIF, Consort Jing and I.C. Hua belong to the “outer palace” and the Empress and Consort Yue belong to the “inner palace” because they rank higher. The Empress likes to pick on IC Hua, and has sent her to light a bunch of candles in a haunted palace.

Consort Jing goes with her because they are girlfriends besties, and because she is a consistently nice person who deserves all the good things in the world. Spoiler: Both of these women survive, they stay friends, things work out well for both of them and for their sons. Go ahead and root for them!

Because the haunted palace belongs to the late Empress, mother of the Emperor and of Grand Princess Liyang, these BFFs are ideally placed to overhear some important scheming, involving some drugged wine that’s been sitting around in this part of the compound for like 30 years.

They realize that someone is planning to sexually assault a woman by using this drugged wine, and Nihuang is the obvious candidate, since her marriage plans are all anyone’s talking about now. Consort Jing tells Concubine Hua to forget all about this and not get involved in palace drama, but she immediately gets to work intervening in the situation herself.

Training

Over at the Xie guesthouse, Mei Changsu is training the kiddies in a special sword formation designed to beat Baili Qi. They sure do have pretty sword forms for a bunch of kids who have never held a sword. Also, someone’s chalk skills are off the chain.

Mei Changsu tells Fe Liu that they have to be faster, so Fe Liu tells them “go faster” and they do, which is apparently the essence of learning martial arts.

Mu Nihuang shows up and sees right through all of this, making it clear she needs a miracle to get her out of this unwanted marriage. Mei Changsu tells her that he’s got it covered. She says that she believes him, although she’s not sure why.

Then they stand there gazing heatedly at each other, like you do when you are two random people who have never met until recently, and definitely have never gotten each other off even a little bit.

Embroidery Flexing

Meanwhile, Consort Jing sets out to save Nihuang from the wine/marriage plot, through the power of embroidery.

In order to do this she has to make embroidered scent sachets for the Dowager Empress, the Empress, the Grand Princess, and Consort Yue, which she does before going to bed for the night, apparently. Consort Jing kicks ass.

She makes sure that the Dowager Empress, who is a sweetheart, will be pleased enough with her sachet that she will invite Consort Jing into the room, which will give her an opportunity to present the actually important sachet to Grand Princess Liyang.

Communication was complicated, before cell phones.

Once they’re alone, Consort Jing tells Grand Princess Liyang about the plot to force Nihuang to marry Sima Lei. She tells her in the most round-about, triggery way possible, because she needs Liyang to have a flashback, I guess? Otherwise we wouldn’t get to watch her own Mom drugging her to force her to marry Xie Yu.

Thanks, Mom, I’d be happy to drink this cup of obvious poison. Mom is terrible but her crown is awesome.

Anyway, once Liyang knows what’s up, she’s on board with team Save Nihuang From Having To Marry A Creep Like My Own Husband.

Clean-shaven Xie Yu: even creepier than regular Xie Yu and also very shiny. Beautiful costume, though. Why are they dressing the flashback villains so nicely?

Side note: presumably Liyang and her mom didn’t know she was already pregnant when they brought Xie Yu into the mix? Because if they had known, she would probably have been fine with just, like, consenting to marry someone or other, to keep her reputation intact. Anyway it’s worth noting that this whole situation is about appearances, not about whether anyone is actually a literal virgin.

The Laughing Prince

Jingyan comes for a visit to see how the training is going, and he and Mei Changsu have a sitdown. Mei Changsu tells him that he’s come to town to make sure that the two main contenders for the throne don’t get it, and that he’s going to work to make Jingyan the next emperor.

Then they stand there gazing at each other, like strangers who definitely have never gotten each other off even a little bit.

Then Jingyan laughs at him

Jingyan thinks it’s impossible that he would ever be emperor, but he’s happy to go along with Mei Changsu’s plans if it will keep his jerk brothers from winning.

Building Team Jingyan

Late at night, Meng Zhi drops by to look at Tingsheng and say that he resembles Prince Qi, which he totally doesn’t, but Chinese dramas really don’t worry about casting people who resemble each other to play twins or whatever, so we can take Meng Zhi’s word for it.

They talk about the Make-Prince-Jing-The-Emperor plan, with Meng Zhi wanting to help out, and Mei Changsu wanting to make sure that only his own hands get dirty with all the schemey stuff he’s planning.

Hu Ge is really good at talking directly to the camera without looking into the lens. It’s a good technique for intense moments and because he doesn’t look straight into the lens, it doesn’t break the fourth wall.

Building Team Nihuang

Liyang has spent the day trying to warn Nihuang about the roofie wine situation, but can’t reach her due to a lack of cell phones and/or embroidery skills.

So she takes the daring step of going to Mei Changsu’s guest house--on her own dang property--which is such a high risk endeavor she has to wear a fancy cloak and cary a super obvious fancy lantern. God forbid a woman walk around her own house at night. Anyway, she’s able to pass the warning to Mei Changsu, and asks him to pass it to Nihuang.

Of course that’s when her husband comes knocking, presumably looking for some affection--he actually is a nice husband who genuinely loves his wife, within the context of a society in which rape is perfectly fine, anyway.

Her junior servants are freaked out, because visiting a man, even your own houseguest, alone at night is not perfectly fine, so if he catches her, they’re all dead, basically. But the elder servant tells them to chill and just watch how she handles it.

She politely tells Xie Yu that his wife was reminded of their first date, and so maybe he should leave her and her feelings and her sharp hairpins and whatnot alone for a while. (I’m inferring the hairpins.) He looks slightly terrified and immediately withdraws.

#nirvana in fire #langya bang #restless rewatch nirvana in fire #langya bang spoilers #nirvana in fire spoilers #canary3d-original #my gifs #mei changsu

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barzzal · 4 years ago

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when the ball drops

summary: out of all the times you wanted to bail, for once you were certainly glad you didn’t ditch this year’s new year’s eve party.

↳ pairing: mathew barzal x you

↳ warnings: language, parties, drinking, flirty banters + a smitten mat (set in a pandemic free au)

↳ genre: fluff, meeting a total stranger, early 2000’s romantic/comedy typa thing (what i think at least)

↳ length: imagine; 5.9k

↳ masterlist: the barn

note: this is an entry for @hockeynetwork’s winter fic exchange and i was matched as @bqstqnbruin’s secret santa! i genuinely hope you get to enjoy this, boo!! i wanna thank a few mutuals, @tkachukme @calgarycanuck @pizzarandomness (esp @thirteenisles !!) for helping me out so i could get thru with writing this imagine! you guys are so nice i truly appreciate all of you. happy holidays & happy new year, everyone! 💕 (gif used: mine)

Every year you swear to yourself that you would spend the New Year’s at home, eating a peaceful dinner by yourself and maybe enjoy a good bottle of wine whilst you spend the whole night watching The Holiday. But just like all the other years you have spent alone since you’ve moved to New York, you end up breaking that same promise, pretty much with the help of your two best friends Emma and Katie.

Now, instead of being curled up in your living room, wearing your favourite knitted sweater and away from all the New Year chaos happening all at once in the very best place to celebrate such a festive occasion, here you are, getting your second glass of vodka tonic as you wait for the goddamn ball to drop.

The local bar has always been crowded especially during this time of the year. You and your friends already made it an annual thing which is probably the reason why despite the yearning you have for the idea of spending it all alone, you couldn’t find enough courage to ditch them and disappear even just for one night.

“Where are the girls?” Gavin, the owner of the bar whom you’ve already befriended due to the amount of times you and the girls spent helping him close up was busily wiping the counter when you sat in your usual seat.

You casually motioned your hand to where you left Emma and Katie, dancing with men they’d most certainly end up kissing once the clock strikes twelve.

“Alone again? You’ve got to blow off some steam, y/n.” He greets you with a concerned look exuding from his virile exterior. You idly shake your head, giving him a tight smile to reassure him that you were doing okay.

“It’s not that big a deal.” is the usual thing you say to people when your being ‘alone’ on the holidays becomes in question. “Besides, I’m a big girl, Gavs.” You proudly announce, leaning against the bar with your palm resting underneath your chin.

“I know you’re a ‘big girl’.” He rolls his eyes before his gaze trails off to your friends and then landing onto a couple of young lads from across the room. “I’m just saying, loosen up. Meet people. It feels nice to have someone holding you close at night so don’t be too hard on yourself.”

A snort bursts from you as soon as you hear the words leave Gavin’s mouth. Who would have known a guy as tough-looking as him would be too much of a softy underneath?

“What?” He holds his guard as he continues making your drink. The liquid swirling around a few ice cubes and a shot of liquor.

“Nothing, nothing. I just– I didn’t think you were one of those people.” You say, clearing your voice once you’ve finally gathered yourself. “You know, the sappy romantics.”

Gavin looks at you, giving you an ‘Oh, please.’ look. “No, ‘cause that’s where you’re wrong.” He protests. “I’ve always been this soft, “sappy romantic” kinda guy. You just choose to see me the way you see me; a typical macho man who hands you good drinks.” He pauses, finishing off with the last touches of your drink. “But you know what? That’s fine. ‘Cause that’s how I know you’re just like me.” He then slides the cold drink towards you.

“What do you mean?” You were intrigued to be fair. You already had your head tilted to the side trying to piece something that could justify what he just said.

“That.” He looks at you, index finger circling before your eyes to make his argument even more compelling. “You act like a strong independent woman, which by the way you still are,– but you have to admit that you do want someone who’s gonna want to spend his New Year’s watching that dumb old movie of yours.” He says with a grin before he pours another customer a shot of tequila.

You were sure you wanted to just shrug it off, but somehow, you can’t help but think of how his words hit you in the subtlest way. Each word bearing an insane amount of possibilities of him being right all along.

But what’d he know anyway? It’s not like he knew you better than anyone else. Maybe it’s just his way with words. Or maybe he’s just that good. After all, that’s basically the reason why he’s running a goddamn bar, right?

𖥸

It wasn’t Mat’s first time spending New Year’s away from his family but if he only had a choice, he’d certainly take the next plane with no question. However, given how the team’s fight for the Cup is going stronger than the last season, he couldn’t bring himself to risk going away and missing out on his usual routines. So, for the past couple of weeks he’d let himself be stuck with Beauvillier throughout the holidays.

Now, for the sake of festivities, the two decided it’d be best to come out to the city and have fun welcoming the New Year along with some good friends that were surprisingly available at the last minute. That being said, the local bar was already the third one they’ve gone to having started the drinking binge earlier than intended.

“Happy New Fucking Year, Motherfuckers!” The loudest and perhaps, the drunkest man cheered at the center of the dance floor, holding up his drink carelessly as he danced to the mind numbing EDM coming off from the DJ’s booth.

“Way to get wasted. Am I right?” Dan says as he stands to gather everyone and clink their beer mugs for the nth time.

“Somebody’s definitely gonna miss the ball drop.” Tito snides, referring to the drunken man cheering tirelessly. Mat shakes his head and idly laughs. Their glasses meet halfway, causing some of the beer to spill over the table. The loud music and cheers echoed in Mathew’s ears, finding the whole scene a little too overwhelming despite how he liked to loosen up with bottomless drinks coming his way.

Somehow, he was thankful that he needed a second to breathe which only meant having to take his eyes off of the same guys he hangs with on and off the ice. Because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have been able to see someone so beautiful yet seemingly out of place when his gaze landed onto that one girl sitting by the bar all by herself at what seems to be the loudest pub in the city.

“God, she’s pretty.” The words unknowingly slip off his tongue, making him realize he’s announced his thoughts out for the group just enough to make their brows quirk at the now out-of-reach Mathew.

“What?” Anthony leans closer to him so as to give himself a view of what Mat had his eyes peeled for.

“That girl by the bar, she’s— she’s really pretty.” Mathew says, completely sure that he has never said anything true in his life. Much to his surprise, the boys gathered around and turned their heads towards the girl sitting by the bar.

“So? Go and talk to her, man.” Anthony casually proposes with a nudge, urging him to go after her.

Mathew immediately lets out a foolish scoff and chooses to gulp a large amount of liquor from his mug.

“Yeah, just go for it. What’s the worst thing that could happen?” Tyson chides, looking at the girl who has utterly made their night a little more interesting. That being said, being stuck with the three biggest blokes wasn’t that too interesting to begin with.

“Oh, worst thing? She could hear me!” Mat runs a hand through his hair, incapable of taking his eyes off of her even just for a second.

“You know if you don’t, I will.” Tyson puts his beer down and acts as if to make the move Mathew was too hesitant to do himself in order to boost his mate.

“Fuck off. Fine. Hold my beer.” Mat rolls his eyes and shoves Tyson his mug before gathering himself by straightening creases off his suit along with a few sharp breaths to ease out the nervousness he’d been feeling.

You watch the teeny tiny leaf of mint swirl around the whirl of liquor you’ve successfully made, ignoring all the background noise, still evidently fixated on the words Gavin has left you with earlier. Has it really been that long since you allowed yourself to be fully vulnerable around someone?

A sad smile escapes your lips, one that made the man that was now towering all over you wonder what could have possibly caused such melancholy on the most beautiful girl he has seen all throughout the city. That’s a rather heavy way to put it but that doesn't mean he was lying. He did find you really pretty. Maybe even a little too much and too out of his league.

A tap on your shoulder pulls you from your thoughts.

“Hi.” He says, gray eyes illuminated by the strobe lights hitting your direction. You give him a tight smile, acknowledging his presence and frankly even the boldness he had to strike up a conversation.

“I just wanted to ask if what you’re drinking is any good.” Mat subconsciously reprimands himself for coming up with what is yet to be the lamest thing he’s ever told a girl.

Great. Now, you’re asking her if a vodka tonic is good? As if it could get any better? He thinks to himself. So, to compensate and reduce further damage, he plays it off by laughing quite sheepishly as he absent-mindedly massages his nape.

Noticing what the man was doing, you let out a shy laugh too, biting your lower lip as you find his foolish attempt of hitting on you quite adorable.

“Wow. You’re really good at this.” You tease, now giving away a playful smile, poking at his middle school pick up line.

Mathew chuckles. His doe eyes shy and alienated by the confidence he certainly knew he had not until a few seconds ago when he met yours. “I swear I’m better than this.” He tries again, this time earning himself a soft giggle from you.

Atta boy, Mat.

“I’m Mat by the way. Mathew Barzal.”

He reaches out his hand which you gladly took. It was calloused and rough around the edges whilst Mat found yours completely fitting in his. Your eyes meet halfway as you both shook each other’s hands. Fingers lingering quite longer than it should be.

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.”

“So, you’re telling me you haven’t had a tonic before?” You ask him, hands now all to yourselves. Mat leans against the bar, his elbow resting on the counter, unable to suppress the embarrassment now dawning on him upon remembering his little set back.

“I’m sort of a vodka tonic connoisseur.” He kids in an attempt to redeem himself. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad.”

You look at him, shaking your head at how unbelievably gorgeous this man is. “Fine. It wasn’t. I’ll give you that.”

“So,” He takes a deep breath before taking one of the empty seats beside you. “I– I can’t help but wonder, I mean– if it’s not too forward of me, how come you’re drinking alone on New Year’s?”

You take a sip off of your drink and faintly shake your head, dismissing his query. “Hmm. Actually, no.”

Mathew muttered an “oh.” at the thought of hearing what he thinks you’re about to say next. To his surprise, and frankly feeling as if a weight had been lifted off his chest, you motion towards your best girls, Emma and Katie who were now obviously way too fond of the guys they just met.

“See those girls?”

Mathew nods, the answer to his question now becoming much clearer and put together. An answer that absolutely went along with his cards well.

“Those are two of the most important persons in my life going at it at a New Year’s Eve Party.”

“Would it be wrong to ask why aren’t you ‘going at it’ like how they’re doing it now?”

Is he always this formal? You think, lips curving to a grin.

“What?” He asks when he sees the expression (he can’t quite put a finger on) on your face.

“Nah. I’m all good. I mean, not that I don’t want to. I just–” You pause. Unsure of whether telling him the truth would do your case any better. What’s there to lose anyway? He’s just some guy you’re bound to meet at the bar. It’s not like you didn’t anticipate a scenario like this from happening, right?

“Just take me as someone who isn’t really fond of big parties,” he then cuts you off and finishes your sentence, “But still go anyways.”

“Exactly.”

Gavin pops in for a bit, handing Mathew a bottle of beer he was certain of not ordering. He looks at him puzzled. A silent question that Gavin answered with a wink before getting back to tending to his alcohol induced customers.

Apparently, it’s on the house.

“How come you’re here chatting with me when your friends are all the way there?” You motion towards a curly haired man and the other boys across the room. One was even smiling at you but you just opted on giving him a nod before turning your head back towards Mathew.

“Well, I didn’t like the idea of having you celebrate the New Year’s alone.” He honestly says. But since you were the kind of person who wasn’t the best at taking any type of compliment nor flirty exchanges like a normal person would, you roll your eyes and be the blunt person you were always known for. “Oh. I thought you saw a girl sitting alone at the bar and saw that as an opening.”

To be fair, Mat wasn’t really intimidated by your remark. In fact, he actually liked how straight forward you were with him. You didn’t look at him the way he’s gotten used to whenever he comes up and introduces himself to other girls; something that only made him more interested in you. He can’t help but want to know what exactly is going on in your mind. Not the creepy kind, of course. Just the one where he’d rather spend the New Year’s getting to know a total stranger than getting insanely pissed with the same men he’s spent most of his days with.

“That too.” He admits, taking a sip off his beer without breaking his eyes off you.

There was a sheer silence for a moment. The kind that Mat knew was much deafening than the booming sound of the usual dreadful New Year’s Eve Party. “So tell me,” Mat regains himself, catching your attention once again. “What would you rather be doing tonight? You know, if you hadn’t had to come out here.”

He watches your lips quirk thinking about what it was that you actually wanted to do tonight. Then again, you only had one thing in mind.

“I kinda wanted to spend it alone for the past three years.”

“That long? How come?”

“Well, you know, for some peace and quiet. Maybe watch a movie or two.”

Like what he has been doing since the moment he’d gone to talk to you, he watches you run your fingers around the rim of your cold drink. Evidently immersed in your own thoughts from trying to piece out the real reason behind your grave wanting to spend the occasion alone.

Turning the tables, you ask the same question back, “What about you? I mean, other than getting shit faced, what would you rather be doing?”

Mathew takes a deep breath trying to suppress the longing he’s felt for the past few weeks. He just misses his family so much that he couldn’t help but wonder how they’re doing even if he’s constantly kept in touch with them hours before he’d gone out with the boys.

“I’ll be with my folks. You know, all that usual family stuff.” He answers you shortly.

You didn’t think much of what he’s told you so you just tell him the very thing that crossed your mind. “You know, it’s amazing how two people who didn’t even want to be here find each other just so they could bitch about not wanting to be here a little bit more.”

The two of you share a good laugh, utterly and undeniably enjoying each other’s company. It didn’t feel weird having to talk to a total stranger, let alone let them have bits and pieces of yourself that only enables them to put together an image of you that isn’t even as close to who you really are. Regardless of that notion, there was something about how Mathew connected with you, and how you connected with him.

It was far from being the movie type of thing, but you have to admit, the remainder of the time you two have spent talking over a half empty bottle of beer and a glass of vodka tonic has definitely made the two of you feel this unexplainable wanting of having to learn more about each other. That being said, when all drinks were drunk till its last drop, Mathew couldn’t help himself from wanting to spend a bit more time with you. Maybe, even the whole night if you’d only let him.

“D’you want to get out of here?” He shoots his shot as quickly as he could, afraid that losing even just a second would mean losing a night of spontaneity with you.

You have long waited for a reason to miss the annual party. And if that meant having to wait three years just so you could stumble upon a tall and fairly handsome man that was going to save you from a dreadful evening, nothing would’ve felt as right as this if it weren’t for the push Mat had stored in his piercing eyes and mischievous grin.

You didn’t have to give it much thought. After spending a whole hour exchanging little trivias of yourselves, Mat finally had it easy in making a riveting case. You sigh in defeat as you fish out a few cash from your purse and slide it into your tab.

Excitement now exuding from Mathew, he bobs his brows up and down whilst he watches you roll your eyes once again for the hundredth time tonight. “I’m gonna hate you for this.” You tell him as you get off the bar stool.

Mat hurriedly signals Tito for his coat to which he was able to catch the moment he had tossed it towards his way. He then gets yours that was placed on the back of your seat before finally following you out towards the door.

“I highly doubt that.”

𖥸

Mathew draped your coat over your shoulders, helping you to slip into it. You politely say your thanks and hold your purse close, your gloves gripping onto the leather as the two of you stroll the streets of New York, the winter breeze brushing on your cheeks with every stride you make.

“So,” You begin, putting both of your hands inside your coat pockets. “Where are you taking me, Mat?”

He tries to think for a second. The thought of not having a concrete plan for the night finally dawns on him. He clicks his tongue and breathes in the familiar scent of the city. Mathew looks around the block and spots the good old food truck he and the boys once tried when they were out for an away game with the Rangers.

“How about New York’s finest burrito?” He points to where the truck was parked, clueless to how his sudden movement placed him inches closer to you. You didn’t notice it until you looked at him for his eyes were still pinned to where the truck was at.

Mat’s eyes were pretty. That’s a known fact. But what you didn’t realize was how astonishing they are not until you got this close. You took in the sight sitting before you as fast as you could while he was still preoccupied like a five-year-old kid seeing an ice-cream truck pass by the neighborhood. Your eyes linger from his well structured brows, his unbelievably long lashes, down to the tip of his nose and his rosy cheeks before finally settling down to his cherry plump lips. All of which were more than enough to send butterflies in your stomach.

“O-Okay.” You agree. Mathew takes you by the hand before you can even say a word. Thank the gods for letting you live in a city that seems to never stop the hustle to still have open food trucks good for a quick bite at this time of the night close into New Year’s.

“Hey, bud. Two sixes to go, please.” Mathew says politely once he knocks on the window.

“You’ve got to try this, I swear.” He looks back at you with the same warm smile beaming on his face.

“Unless you want a proper meal? I mean, there’s a diner down the–” You immediately cut him off and take out your purse, offering to pay for it instead. “No! It’s fine, really. I’m a bit hungry myself.”

After spending the whole time waiting for the wrapped snack, arguing on who would be paying, you let Mathew have this one for now even if you didn’t like others paying for what you can pay yourself.

You take a good look at your watch and see that you only have about an hour left till midnight. An idea pops in your head, making you gasp at the thought. Mathew looks at you with a half-eaten burrito in his hand, his brows all furrowed as if to ask a piece of your mind.

“Come on, I know where we should go.”

𖥸

Mathew never thought he’d found himself standing on a rooftop of a random building overlooking the Empire State during one of the coldest times in the city. The things that has only kept him sane was the girl who was still holding his hand, the city lights that have always left him in awe, and of course, the well heated rooftop.

There have been a few exchanges that are quite notable over the time you’ve spent with Mathew. He’s told you about the usual night outs he and the boys have for leisure, the family he had back in Coquitlam, how much he misses his mom and his sister, and how much love he has for hockey that he ended up doing the thing he loved most for a career.

Him, on the one hand, pretty much learned the same stuff about you. Well, almost, for he has yet to ask you the one thing that has been bugging him off all night.

You were telling him how this was your safe haven in the city and how much you loved going here every time you felt like needing to take a deep breath and step back from the world when he asked you a simple question. One that’s absolutely left you surprised (and a little bit impressed) that he still even remembered it at this point.

“What’s the movie about? You know, the one you’ve been wanting to see tonight.” He asks, both of his hands inside his pockets to keep warm.

The two of you sat on the bench facing thousands of lights illuminating the whole city. You look at him for a second, biting your lip as you contest with yourself, the thought of Mat being the kind of douché that would shit around women and their romantic comedy films comes rushing to you like a cold December breeze.

“Alright, why do you want to know?” You pass the ball back to his court. To which Mat shortly answers with a level-headed sigh. “I kinda get the feeling it has something to do with the three-year thing.”

“You’re nosy.” You kiddingly say, earning a chuckle from him.

“You’ve spent the whole night walking with me and I can barely even feel my legs anymore, y/n. Trust me, between you and me, you know you’re the nosy one.” The two of you share a small laugh, your voices are the only sound that can be heard besides the sleepless city acting as a white noise to you and Mathew’s little bubble.

“Fine. And you’re a fucking athlete, so don’t even start.”

You playfully give him a nudge on the shoulder when he starts mimicking what you say. Mat stops immediately and looks at you with the same doe eyes glinting under the security lights that the rooftop had. He then patiently waits for you to gather your thoughts, breathing in all of New York as he lets himself drown in your presence.

You didn’t know how but there was this unspeakable comfort you feel around Mat. Sure, he was just a total stranger you’ve met a few hours ago, but no one, not even the guy who dumped you after your five-date rule, was able to connect with you at the same level as Mathew did.

“It’s not that I want to see it so bad. I’ve watched it for like– a reasonable amount before it became my comfort movie. Plus, it’s literally called The Holiday. Why wouldn’t you want to see it during the holiday?”

You tell him a bit more of how you’ve come into liking it, stalling him from the real reason why you wanted to celebrate the New Year’s alone. But you know, that even after all the circles you’re willing to go through just to keep Mat at bay, you’re bound to lose all your strings and resort to telling him in the end. You just hope you wouldn’t be making the same mistake you’ve made three years ago.

You told Mathew about your on and off childhood sweetheart Claude who has always kept you high and dry throughout the years of being together. (That is if you were in fact together.) He was the constant reminder that you will never be the kind of person someone would want to stick around with.

You and him go a long way. You both ended up going to the same university because he just had to have you around and that he couldn’t afford not being with you even just for a second. He said that he couldn’t take the thought of having to see you only on the holidays so as the dumb kid you once were, your feet followed his everywhere he’d gone.

That cycle went on and on until you finally had the courage to leave everything behind and move to New York. Months as a new kid in the city, you were scared, of course. You spent your days hanging around your apartment, doing all sorts of crap you can even think of just so you wouldn’t have to leave your flat. Although, meeting Emma and Katie was the biggest push you needed to finally let yourself let loose. Long story short, at the first New Year’s Eve Party you’ve ever gone to after moving in the city, the person you least expected to see was the very first one to come out of Gavin's bar. Claude.

Just like what a normal person would do, the two of you sat down and caught up. Pretty much the same thing you’ve gone with Mathew. Although only a lot less chit chat and a lot more kissing.

Claude told you his real intentions. He said that he wanted to start something with you for real. Of course, you had let him but you have made the biggest mistake of telling him about your five-date rule.

Lo and behold, Claude did stick around for the fifth date. That being said, he had stayed only for the fifth date. You saw him sneaking out of your flat so early in the morning, leaving you nothing but a voicemail that said his foolish reasons and insincere apologies. Since then, after a lot of major hook ups here and there, you’ve never let yourself become as vulnerable and stupid as you once were with the biggest douche you’ve ever met.

“It’s crazy, I know. You can laugh about it.” You say when Mat hasn’t spoken for a few seconds.

He takes a glance at you, a tight smile on his face. “I don’t think it’s crazy. That man is crazy. And also, a big prick. Classic dick move.” He tells you before he turns his eyes back to the city.

“Well, yeah. That’s me. That’s the holiday story.”

“A crappy one, of course.” You add.

Mat shakes his head no. He didn’t know why exactly but all he wanted to do at that moment, a few seconds before New Year’s, was to give you something,– even just a memory you could look back on. That that story isn’t going to be the one you’d be remembering for the next holidays. He wanted his to be something that’ll make your three-year-old crappy story long gone and forgotten. That his version would be the one that’s stuck.

“Definitely not this one.”

As the clock strikes twelve, cheers erupted throughout New York along with fireworks shooting into the city’s midnight sky. The first thing you see upon looking back were the same kind eyes of the man whom you have randomly met at the party you dreaded most. Only this time, drowning you little by little as it becomes iridescent under the thousands of lights covering New York City.

You were frozen to your seat as Mat’s face inch closer to yours. You feel his breath against your cold skin as if it was lulling you to sleep. His hands find its way to your face, cupping both of your cheeks rather gently as he finally paints a new memory you’d be carrying for the rest of your holidays.

“Happy New Year.” He greets you, almost like a faint whisper whilst the two of you gasp for breath. You blink a few times just to process what had just happened and digest how unbelievably good that kiss was.

Mathew’s hands were still on your cheeks. You held them close so he’d know you weren’t ready to let go. You take a deep breath, gathering enough courage to ask him an unusual way of greeting someone a Happy New Year.

“Will you walk me to my car?”

𖥸

You have both of your hands tucked inside your coat pockets as you walked the street leading to where you left your car. Mat was just telling you about the game happening next Thursday against the Bruins and how it would mean a lot to him if you’d come and see him play.

“To be fair, the Bruins are good.” You commented, a playful smirk plastered on your face rather teasingly.

Mathew lets out a snort as he rolls his eyes, chuckling at the thought of you dissing on his team the moment you had the chance. “Hey, both teams are good.”

“It’s just the matter of who’s better.” You finish his sentence, yet again working your way with a clever remark. Mat hums, not necessarily agreeing with your sentiment.

“So will you come?” He asks again just so he could hear you say yes. You take a deep breath, not letting yourself think too much of the said invitation. If you’re going, you’re going as a friend. Actually, you weren’t even sure if you could even call yourself such a label.

You nod your head yes to which had become the reason of Mathew’s glee. The two of you walked side by side in peace, basking in the comfort of each other’s presence.

Once the rush of excitement about you coming to one of his games starts to wear down, Mathew begins to feel the weight of walking befall on him as it grows quicker with each step he takes. With his brows meeting halfway, he looks at you, eyes evident with confusion.

“Where did you park your car exactly? I feel like we’re walking straight to Long Island.” He chortles, scratching his temple quite adorably.

You bit your lower lip as you looked up at him. Mathew’s physique towering over yours. “I uh– I took a cab to the party. My car’s actually parked outside my apartment.” You admit with a shy laugh.

Mat’s mouth went agape upon hearing you confess; awkward silence envelops the two of you with every second spent not talking to one another. Not long after, he decides to break the ice, undeniably impressed at how he’d never seen it coming.

Clever. He thinks, incapable of stopping his gut from swirling. His smile widens when he sees you looking at him; unfazed and perhaps, enamoured.

𖥸

Mat did walk you to your car. The two of you exchange your thank you’s; utterly grateful for what has to be the best New Year’s you had in years.

You wanted to ask him for one last cup of coffee because the last thing you wanted him to do was leave. But after all the things you’ve gone through with the man within such a short amount of time (and frankly, even a tedious walk) you still failed to muster enough courage to stop him from doing so.

Once you see him get in the lone cab that miraculously passed by your neighborhood at such an ungodly hour, you close the door behind and head straight to your flat.

You get home to the sight of your weighted blanket spread over your couch along with a couple of pillows that seems to be the best place to bury yourself in after a tiresome night out. Things were just as they were left hours ago; prepped for a much awaited movie night. As planned, you quickly get out of your winter clothes, head for a quick shower, before finally slipping into some comfortable nightwear.

You were just finishing up putting the bowl of popcorn and a bottle of Chardonnay on top of the coffee table when a buzz coming from the intercom catches your attention.

Once your hands were free, you quickly made your way towards the box, a bit irked at the thought of Katie and Emma ruining your long-overdue New Year agenda upon remembering how she’d told you to let her in the building just in case Katie gets a little too overboard.

“Emma, I’m about to watch Jude Fucking Law. Just come up!” You hurriedly say, turning your head back to the screen which already had the movie on pause.

However, instead of Katie’s whiny and drunken voice, what you heard was the same familiar chuckle that had been cruising your mind all night.

“You know, I don’t think I mentioned that I haven’t watched The Holiday. Is Jude Fucking Law any good?” He asks. A mental image of how his eyes crinkle when he laughs comes to mind upon hearing his voice.

Once again, pretty much like how you’ve spent the whole evening with Mathew, a wide smile lets loose as you press the black button. “Come on up.”

#mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal fanfiction #mat barzal fic #letters to barzy #barzzal imagines

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anagentinwriting · 4 years ago

Text

Lifeline - Part 13

Summary: (First Responders!AU) Moving to Los Angeles and living with your brother, Thor, was never part of your plan nor was being a 9-1-1 dispatcher, but plans change when you are faced with your own emergencies. In your case, it was leaving behind a relationship that wasn’t as perfect as it seemed. Will this be the fresh start you were hoping for or will your past find a way to catch up with you?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Odinson!Sister Reader

Word Count: 7700+ (Whoops!)

Warnings: Fire, triggers, angst, fluff, trauma, arson, language

Lifeline Masterlist / Main Masterlist

AN: Flashbacks in italics

“Okay, Team, we have a single-level house fire in a local suburb. A neighbor called it in but isn’t sure if anyone is home. The owners of the house are newly married, Ian Boothby and Darcy Lewis. He suspected the husband to be home since he saw him mowing the lawn earlier this morning. Now, when we get on scene, I want Steve to stay with the truck engine in case the ventilation team needs help on site. On ventilation I want...” Carol continued to give demands to the rest of the team. “As for Thor and Bucky, search the home.” Everyone agreed with Danver’s orders, and Steve nodded, looking out the window of the truck.

“Hey man, you alright?” Sam asked Steve through his headset, taking in his appearance, sitting across from him.

“Yeah, I’m good. Getting my head in the game.”

“Okay.” Sam narrowed his eyes, nodding but not believing him. “Let’s do this, boys and girls.”

At the scene, Bucky and Thor went to the hatch to grab their tanks and masks before running into the burning house in record time.

“I’ll go left, and you go right,” Thor commanded over the walkie.

“Got it,” Bucky added. “First bedroom clear.”

“Living room clear,” Thor voiced.

Steve went to talk with the ventilation team but noticed the house’s skylight on the roof was already broken, so the ladder truck wouldn’t be needed. He rushed back over to Danver’s to figure out the next game plan when Thor’s voice broke through the walkie.

“Found Ian in the kitchen, heading out now. Val, get the gurney ready.”

Steve watched Thor run out with Ian in his arms, coughing. He placed him on the gurney, and Val put an oxygen mask on him, but he immediately pulled it off.

“My wife, Darcy,” he wheezed in a British accent. “She’s still in there. Please...please save her.”

“Barnes, his wife is still in there somewhere,” Carol commanded into her walkie, but there was no reply. “Barnes.”

A second later, Bucky was running out of the burning house with Darcy in his arms. He laid her on the ground and tore off his mask, and shouted, “she’s not breathing.” Sam rushed to their side and started chest compressions.

Ian jumped off the gurney and ran over to them. “Please...please help her. Don’t let her die,” Ian cried, holding onto Darcy’s hand. “I don’t know what I would do without her.”

Steve’s eyes stayed glued to the scene before him. His mouth went dry, and he started to hear his heartbeat in his ears. He tried to concentrate on breathing evenly, but it didn’t help. He turned away from the scene, stumbling to the side of the truck. He squeezed his eyes shut as flashes of Peggy drifted to the front of his mind: her smiling at him as they laid in bed together, her waving goodbye to him when he went off to work, and her lying motionless on the cold ground. He put a hand on the truck to hold himself steady, feeling his chin start to tremble and his chest start to tighten with every breath he took.

Steve heard a cry of relief behind him, forcing his eyes to snap open. He glanced over his shoulder as all the oxygen left his lungs, seeing Darcy sitting up and hugging her husband. He turned back to the truck, closing his eyes, causing a few tears to slide down his cheeks. He shook his head, knowing he should be happy Darcy is alive, and we got to her in time, but his mind continued to drift back to the worst day of his life.

“You okay, pal?” Bucky inquired in a soothing voice.

Steve’s eyes shot open, rubbing his hand on his cheeks before he turned around. “Yeah.” He nodded his head a little too much, waving it off. “It’s nothing. I’ll be fine.”

“You sure, pal, because you don’t look fine to me.”

“I will be--” he licked his lips “--how...how is she?”

“She’s breathing. They’re both on their way to the hospital now.”

“Good,” Steve swallowed, letting out a deep sigh of relief. “That’s good.”

“Hey, I’m here if you need me.” Bucky patted him on the back before stepping away to help calm down the blaze.

“You okay, Rogers?” Carol asked, and Steve snapped his head in her direction.

“Yeah, Carol. I’m fine--” he leaned against the truck “--think I--I think I inhaled a little too much smoke. Heads a little fuzzy.”

“That makes total sense, considering you were nowhere near the smoke,” she recalled, earning a slight smirk from Steve. He shook his head about to say something, but she beat him to it. “Hey, I get it.” He gulped, rubbing his lips together. “It’s always hard when you’re working a call, and something triggers a memory. Good, bad, or whatever, but it pulls you back to that day, making you feel something you wish you didn’t have to feel again.” She paused, shaking her head. “I know what you went through, but it’s one of the reasons I hired you to be a part of my team. I might sound like a terrible person for saying this, but you know what loss is, and sometimes if you experience it, you will do whatever it takes to make sure others don’t feel that way.”

Steve bit his lip, nodding at the ground.

“You’re a great member to our team, Rogers. And I want you to know that there are counselors available to you in case you need to talk, or if you want to talk to the team, we’re all here for you.”

“Thanks, Ace, but I’ve gotten the whole run down before and talked to someone in Brooklyn after everything happened.”

“Take advantage of it here, too. It will help, or you can always talk to someone else,” she suggested with a half shrug.

“Thanks, I’ll consider it.” He nodded as she patted him on the shoulder and returned to the front line.

_________

You sat down on the couch, pulling a blanket over you, and switched on the tv. You browsed through the many streaming services you had, along with a few Loki paid for. The sound of the front gate buzzing forced you to let out a loud annoyed sigh. You crawled out from under your warm blanket and went to the digital screen to see who was at the front gate. Your eyes widened, realizing it was Steve. You haven’t talked to him since you ran out of his house like a crazy person, but what was he doing here? Thor and Steve were on the same shift tonight, and judging by the small screen, he was still wearing his fire station logo shirt.

“Fuck, something happened to Thor,” you mumbled, buzzing Steve in as you started pacing the front doorway. He knocked on the door, and you took in a sharp breath, opening the door. Steve was still a little dirty, but you could tell he tried to clean himself up. His ears and some of his neck still had smoke residue on them, but something in his blue eyes told you something was wrong.

“Is everything okay, Steve? Did something happen to Thor?”

“No, no, he's fine,” He looked down at his appearance. “I’m sorry. I wasn't thinking when I came straight here, but yeah, yes, your brother is fine.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. Everyone’s okay, that’s all that matters,” you replied, furrowing your brows together. “But...but are you okay? Here come in.” You opened the door for him and closed it behind him.

“It’s about the other night when you rushed out of my apartment after breaking the wine glass.”

“Oh, um, yeah. I’m sorry about that, again.” Your voice cracked, crossing your arms across your chest.

“Hey, it wasn’t your fault. No need to apologize for it.” He held up his hands to show he wasn’t going to hurt you. “I hope you know that it was an accident, and accidents happen all the time.” He shrugged, putting his hands in his front pockets.

“I know,” you whispered, rubbing your hands over your upper arms.

“I got to thinking about how it might have triggered something like...like a memory with Billy.” He paused, licking his lips as he watched your eyes flash to his. “I remember you mentioning a wine glass before, but I’m only asking because before I came here, I had a trigger. A memory of something I would rather forget and move on from, but I can’t.”

“What sort of memory?” You questioned, stepping a little closer to him.

He stared at the ground, rubbing his scruff with his hand, and let out a deep breath, and his eyes connected with yours. “It reminded me of my wife and how I didn't get to her in time to save her.”

Your eyes widened, and you didn't know what to say. “I’m so sorry, Steve. I had no idea.”

“Most people don’t,” he shrugged with his hands still in his pockets.

Steve crossed his arms across his chest and leaned against the back of your couch, staring off into the distance. Steve was doing what you always did. Replaying the same scene over and over again, trying to come forth with a different solution, but it would always end the same way.

You stepped closer to Steve to see his eyes drift back up to you. You offer him your hand and lead him to the other side of the couch.

“Thinking about her now feels like it all happened ages ago.” He stared at the coffee table, folding his hands together in front of him.

“Was her name Peggy?” His eyes shot to yours, and he nodded. “How did you two meet?”

Steve smirked to himself before looking over at you. “We met when I was a junior in high school. She was going to this fancy prep school for the elite, and I was in public school. I don’t know how I caught her attention…

Steve was in the public library, researching information for his english final. His cheek throbbed after getting into a fight earlier today that his mom would ground him for later, but right now, he needed to get this done. His family didn’t own a computer, and he always ended up using Bucky’s for projects but knew he could get it done if he spent enough time at the library.

There was some commotion behind him, and from the reflection on the computer screen, it was a group of girls sitting down at a table. They were whispering about something, and Steve couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Libraries are quiet for a reason, so people can focus on what they came to do and leave when it's done.

He sighed, glancing over his shoulders after hearing more loud whispers and a few giggles. They were from an elite school, judging by their uniforms. Three of them were looking at him and smiling, but the one had her head in a book. He couldn’t help but notice her brunette hair and the bright red lipstick on her lips that he couldn't help but feel drawn to. She looked up, and he nodded at them, slipping on his headphones and getting back to work. On the computer screen, he could see Red Lips staring at him every so often, and he couldn’t help but smirk.

He was working on the conclusion when someone patted him on the back, and he looked over to see Bucky, narrowing his eyebrows at him.

“What’s up, man?” He asked, taking off his headphones.

“Whoa, pal, what happened to your face?”

“It will heal.” Steve shrugged, biting his bottom lip. “It was just a little fight. Not a big deal.”

“Why do you always have to pick on the big guy?”

“Usually, he's the jerk.”

“Right,” Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. “Did you see those elite girls behind you? I mean, Wow!” Bucky winked in their direction, and they giggled.

“Yeah, hard to miss with all their giggles. I had to put my headphones on,” Steve added, looking over at them, immediately finding Red Lips. She rolled her eyes, but he didn’t miss the small subtle smirk on her lips that she was trying to hide.

“Pal, I think they were trying to get your attention.”

“Why?”

“You don’t know a damn thing about women, do you?” Bucky grinned, putting his hands in his pockets and leaning against one of the computer chairs next to him.

“Like you do? We’re still in high school, Buck. We don’t really know anything about women.”

“Speak for yourself, champ.”

Steve rolled his eyes after saving everything to a flash drive and stood up. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Then, a week later, I saw her again, but she was alone this time. She sat at the same table, chewing on the tip of her pencil, reading through her textbook, and taking notes. She was still in her school uniform, and her lips were still the same shade of red…

“Not with your friends today?” Steve asked, taking off this backpack.

She looked around her as if he was talking to someone else, but then her eyes connected with his. “I could say the same about your friend.”

His eyes widened at hearing a British accent pass her lips. “I focus better when he’s not here. He can get pretty annoying.”

“I’ll have to agree with you there. All the excessive giggling isn’t a good focus aid either,” She smirked, shaking her head. “It’s nice to see your bruise is healing nicely on your cheek.”

“Oh ah, yeah,” Steve reached up to touch his cheek. “I’m Steve Rogers.”

“Peggy Carter.”

“Every week, like clockwork, I would see her, and we ended up doing homework together. Not like we were learning the same things, but just to be in the same room together. It took me a while to finally get the nerve to ask her out. I still remember her response to this day--” he smiled to himself “--Wow, you really don’t know a bloody thing about women because you should’ve done this months ago,” Steve voiced in a British accent.

“She sounds like she knew how to put you in your place,” you smirked at him, and he nodded.

“She did.”

“What happened after high school?”

“I didn’t end up going to college much to my parent's disapproval, but I didn’t know what I wanted to do. So instead, I went straight into work while Peggy went to college. I worked a variety of different jobs, trying to find my niche. I ended up working in construction for a couple of years, realizing I like building homes and giving back to the community. It was a satisfying feeling, but I knew I wanted to do more, but I didn’t know how. Weird enough, Peggy was the one who mentioned joining the fire department.”

“Steve,” Peggy called, walking into their small studio apartment to find Steve making supper.

“Hey, doll. How was class?”

“Dull, but it’s law school. And, Steven, don’t call me that I'm not made of porcelain.” She walked over, hitting him playfully on the shoulder and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek, making his smile spread wider. “At least you won’t look like a choir boy once this grows in,” she joked, rubbing her thumb over his cheek feeling the scruff starting to grow on his face. “Oh, I saw something today on one of the many bulletin boards on campus.”

“What was that?”

“Joining the fire department.”

“To be a firefighter?”

“Yes, I grabbed the brochure.” She pulled it out of her purse and handed it to him.

“I’ll look at it later,” he nodded, putting it on the counter behind him.

“I bet you’d love it, and seeing you in that uniform. Woooo!” Peggy fanned herself with her hand as she walked into the bathroom. “I would swoon dear, swoon.”

He chuckled to himself and picked up the brochure, reading parts of it out loud. “‘What fuels your fire?’ Interesting way to grab someone's attention, I guess. ‘We teach, we train, we serve together.’” He hummed, flipping open the brochure and reading it to himself. When he got to the last section, something stuck with him. “As a firefighter, you are a role model, and you will make a difference.”

“I think someone is sold on the idea,” Peggy smiled, wrapping her arms around his waist, and he put his arm around her, pulling her in closer to his side. “And, if you don’t like it, you can quit and find something else.”

“It might be worth a shot,” he grinned, leaning down and kissing Peggy. “Thanks for looking out for me, Peg.”

“Swoon, can I say I love her?” you commented, hearing him let out a soft chuckle.

“Everyone did, and after she showed me that brochure, I went to do the 14-week program at the Fire Academy in New Jersey, and she was right, I loved it. Being able to work with a team and build a sense of camaraderie with each other. It was like having an extended family.” He paused, wringing his hands together. “When Peggy graduated law school, she was offered a prestigious position at a law firm in Manhattan, and I got recruited by one of the fire stations in Brooklyn. Then, I finally went out and bought Peggy a ring with the money I saved up working all those odd-end jobs…

“Steve, what about this big one? It says, sorry boys, I’m taken when she’s at the office, and it’s enough to make her friends jealous,” Bucky commented, pointing at the rings in the case.

Steve shook her head, “She’s not like that, Buck. She doesn’t want a big rock; she wants something practical enough to wear to work and put away the bad guys, but pretty enough that she can show it off.”

“Sounds like you are in a real debacle, pal.”

Steve hummed, scanning over the many different styles of ring. He wasn’t an expert, but he knew what Peggy would like and not like.

“Hey, Steve. I am actually in a bit of a debacle myself.” Bucky confided, leaning against one of the ring cases.

“What about?”

“I got offered a position at one of the Los Angeles Fire Department stations.”

“You want to leave Brooklyn?” Steve questioned, narrowing his eyes at him.

"I don’t know, it sounds like a great opportunity. And, I kind of always felt like getting out of here, living somewhere else, and trying something new.”

“I get it, and there isn’t much holding you here besides your friends and family. I mean, who cares about them, am I right?" Steve sighed, shrugging his shoulders in defeat as he continued to search for a ring.

“I've already talked with them about it, and they think I should do it.”

“Wait, really?" Steve's head snapped to Bucky, and he nodded. "To be honest, Buck, I will miss you and Peggy will, too, but if it’s an opportunity you don’t want to pass up, then I think you should do it.”

"Really?"

"Yeah," Steve smiled, and Bucky pulled him in for an abrupt hug. Steve patted Bucky on the back a few times before they separated. "You just have to promise me you won’t do anything stupid out there.”

"How can I? When I’m keeping all the stupid here with you.”

“Are you gentlemen looking for anything in particular?” Steve looked up at the guy behind the counter. This name tag read Broker, and he probably had the best eyebrows in the business.

“Um, yeah, an engagement ring that is stylish but still practical and pretty.”

“You got anything like that,” Bucky asked, crossing his arms.

“I might have a few; excuse me for a second,” Broker nodded, walking into the back room.

“So when you find this ring? How are you going to do it?”

“At the public library.”

“I’m sorry, that old place,” Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. “I thought you would take her out to a romantic dinner and hide it in her dessert or in her wine glass."

“We met there, and it’s kind of symbolic in a way. And hiding the ring in dessert, do you know nothing about woman Bucky? Most women just want to eat their dessert, not make it a scavenger hunt and be a reason to break a tooth."

“Good point,” he agreed, pointing his finger at him. “I’m sure whatever you do, Peggy will love it.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Here we are, gentlemen. I found these three rings that are both elegant and practical.”

Steve stared down at them, and his eyes continued traveling to one. He picked it up with a small smirk on his lips and glanced over at Bucky.

“It’s perfect, pal.” Bucky grinned, patting him on the back.

“Did you end up proposing at the public library?” You couldn’t help the warm smile gracing your lips.

“Yes,” he nodded. “And she loved it. She said it was cheesy, but she loved it.”

“Any girl would.”

“Anyways, we got married at her family's estate. It was a small yet charming wedding. She wore this amazing dress, but my favorite part was the red lipstick she wore.” His face flushed at the memory, letting out a content sigh. “We ended up moving to Brooklyn after her parents helped us put a down payment on a small four-story home, and it was way better than any studio apartment we crammed into.”

“Steve, I don’t think I will ever get tired of this kitchen,” Peggy smiled, cutting some lettuce on one side of the island while Steve formed burgers on the other side. They were having a little housewarming slash Fourth of July Birthday bash for him.

Steve smiled at her comment as his eyes wandered around the kitchen. The cabinets were teal with a stony black countertop. The ceiling had exposed wooden beams, giving it a rustic flair. Three lights hung down over a wooden oak island in the center of the kitchen. It was a kitchen you would see in a home magazine, but instead, it was their kitchen. It even had two sinks, but he didn’t understand the purpose of them both. Although, he did enjoy the huge fridge and the amount of space in the walk-in pantry. It was a professional kitchen for two amateur cooks.

“If it wasn’t the kitchen that sold me on this house, then it was that huge bathtub in the master bathroom. No more all in one shower and bath.” She grinned, starting to cut the vegetables for the veggie plate.

“My favorite is the rooftop deck.”

“Of course it is--” she shook her head “--it’s gonna turn into a man cave up there soon. I mean, I did buy you that new grill for your birthday today, but I wonder what else you and the guys are gonna drag up there.”

“It won’t be anything too crazy.”

“That’s what you say now,” she winked.

“It does sound like a kitchen you’d see in a magazine.”

“Yeah.” His calming smile drifted away, leaving a frown in its place. “Remember when you mentioned the Arson Artist, Aldrich Killian?”

“Yeah, the guy that targeted first responder's families.” You nodded, not missing how Steve's jaw clenched at your statement.

“I wasn’t completely honest when I told you I knew some people that lost someone during his reign--” his eyes drifted to yours as he let out a deep breath “--my...my wife, Peggy, died in his last so-called masterpiece.”

You didn’t know what to say to him. His wife was killed, and a simple sorry wasn't going to bring her back or make him feel any better. Without hesitation, you reached out and grabbed a hold of his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. His eyes traveled down to your conjoined hands, and he interlocked his fingers between yours.

Steve remained silent, staring down at the coffee table. His elbow rested on his knee as his head rested in his other hand. Steve squeezed his eyes shut, lowering his head in his hand, resting it against his forehead. He let out a shaky breath, and you gave his hand another comforting squeeze.

"Steve, you don't have to tell me this if it's going to upset you. I understand better than anyone when it comes to talking about the messy things in life. You don't owe me an explanation," you explained, placing your other hand on his forearm. He turned his head in his hand to you, seeing his tearful eyes looking back at you. He sat up, rubbing his hand down his face and scratching at his jaw. He sniffled, staring back at you.

“I know that…but…um...I want to," He breathed, clearing his throat. “So..um...there’s this one day I kind of have engraved in my head, and as much as I try to forget what happened, I can’t. In my head, that day never changes and always has the same ending. The ending I hate reliving whenever I’m triggered…

Steve sighed, laying in his bed with Peggy asleep next to him. He looked over at her, noticing she was laying on her stomach with her head almost off her pillow, breathing heavily in and out. Her hair was sticking up in all directions and her mouth was slightly open. He loved waking up next to her and seeing this site before him. He smirked, reaching over to grab his phone, knowing he had a 24 hours shift starting in 5 hours. He wouldn’t get to wake up next to her pretty face tomorrow, so he decided to snap a picture to smile at tomorrow or to blackmail her with it later. He snapped the picture.

“You better delete that, or I will kill you, Steve Rogers.”

He chuckled. “Okay, yup, deleted.” He reached over, setting his phone back down on the end table.

“You’re a horrible liar." She looked up at the alarm clock and sighed, putting her head back on the pillow.

“You know what would be fun to do this morning?”

“Making me breakfast.”

“I can do that after,” he scooted closer to Peggy.

“Or you can do it now,” Peggy stated, not moving away from Steve's advances as Steve put his hand around her waist and flipped her over, so he was on top of her.

“I’m not going to see you for a full 24 hours.”

“I’m sure you have pictures.”

“Pictures don’t do you justice, Red Lips.” He leaned down, puckering his lips and waiting for her kiss. She rolled her eyes with a loud sigh, leaning up and giving in to his kiss.

After an energetic morning he made Peggy her favorite breakfast before taking a quick shower and getting dressed in his uniform. He came downstairs to see Peggy waiting for him by the door.

“If you didn’t have to go to work right now, I would take you upstairs for round 3,” she winked, giving him a quick kiss.

“I will definitely take you up on that offer if you’re up for it, Peg.” He wiggled his eyebrows, forcing her to laugh as he wrapped his arms around her. “Love you.” He leaned down and kissed her again.

“Love you, too, Steven.” She hugged him close.

“Stay safe.”

“I will.”

“The day started out like any other day, and there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. A few calls came in about car accidents, heart attacks, and a grease fire at a local restaurant. And things were looking up with the Arson Artist case because the FBI brought in Anvil to help with the investigation. Around six that night, we got dispatched to a house fire in Brooklyn….”

“Alright boys, you know the drill,” Captain Phillips stated over their headphones. “It could be a house fire, but keep your eyes peeled for anything that looks suspicious.”

Steve looked out the window of the engine, and he realized this was the main road he took to work. His heart started to beat rapidly against his chest as he looked out the front window to see what street they were going to turn down. When they turned down his street, all the air left his lungs; his home was on fire.

The truck didn’t even come to a complete stop, and he was out of the truck engine. He sprinted towards his front door, tossing on his jacket and his helmet as he heard his Captain yelling his name, but he ignored it. He skipped up the steps he so casually walked down earlier that morning.

When he kicked the front door in, all he saw was flames. “PEGGY,” he shouted, coughing into his sleeve. “PEGGY.” He hid his face with the sleeve of his jacket, running inside. He squinted his eyes against the smoke, not seeing anything, but something dark in the kitchen caught his eye. He stepped over to the kitchen, coughing as his eyes watered from the excessive amount of smoke in the air. When he reached the kitchen, he saw her tied to a chair with her head hanging down on her chest.

His heart broke, putting her chin in his hands. “Peggy,” he cried, feeling his eyes start to fill with real tears.

Dum Dum came in and grabbed ahold of Steve, pushing him towards the front door, and Gabe cut Peggy free from the restraints, carrying her in his arms. Once Steve was outside, he ran to Peggy seeing her body weak, barely clinging to life. Gabe laid her on the ground, and Jim felt for a heartbeat.

“Starting compressions,” Jim stated.

“Please, please help her,” Steve cried, leaning down next to her. “Come on, Peggy.”

“Checking for a pulse, nothing. Starting compressions again.”

“Come on, Pegs. Please.”

“I got a pulse, but it’s faint. Let’s get her on the gurney and to the hospital, stat.” Jim and Dum Dum lifted her body onto the gurney and slid it into the back of the ambulance.

“Steve, go,” Dum Dum commanded. “We’ll do all we can here.”

He nodded, hopping into the back of the ambulance, grabbing a hold of Peggy’s hand. He brought her hand to his lips, and he cried, staring down at her. “I’m so sorry, Pegs.” Jim put an oxygen mask on her and a heart rate monitor clip on her finger.

“Man, it’s not your fault it was the Arson Artist,” Jim replied, and Steve shot him a quick nod.

He clutched onto her hand, not wanting to let go. He couldn’t lose her. They were just starting their lives together, and he didn’t know what he would do without her. They had so many things they still wanted to do: get weird hobbies, travel the world, start a family. She’ll pull through this; she has to.

“Almost there, Stevie.” Jim squeezed his shoulder, but he couldn’t remove his eyes from Peggy’s form.

He squeezed his eyes shut, realizing Peggy was going to be okay. They were going to get to the hospital, and she was going to make it, and he wouldn’t have to say goodbye.

Peggy’s heart rate monitor flatlined, and Steve’s eyes shot open. Jim went to the side of the gurney, pushing Steve out of the way, and administered CPR again. Steve’s eyes started to fill with tears once he realized his worst fear was becoming a reality.

The back of the ambulance doors flung open, and Jim shook his head. Steve grabbed ahold of Peggy’s hand once more and removed her oxygen mask. He cradled her face with one hand, holding on tight to her hand with the other. He stared at her, thinking it was all a dream and he would wake up to her smacking him with a pillow. He could feel his heartache with every shaky breath he took. He gulped, letting out a sob, running his thumb across her bottom lip. He leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on her cheek. “I’m so sorry, Peg.”

Your heart broke as a stray tear slid down your cheek, and you wiped it away. “Steve, I’m ahh…”

“I know." His tear-filled eyes flashed to yours, and he blinked them away, not giving them a chance to fall.

Without a second thought, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. He was tense at first but then relaxed, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to him. You heard him let out a sniffle, forcing you to squeeze him a little tighter. You rubbed his back, trying to keep your tears at bay but having little success. “Please tell me you still have that picture of her sleeping.” You could feel Steve let out a soft chuckle as he loosened his grip and pulled away from you.

“I do,” he sniffled, clearing his throat.

You eyed him, noticing the reminisce of tears on his cheeks. You grabbed the box of tissues sitting on the coffee table, taking a few, and handing them to Steve. He sighed, wiping the tears away, leaning back against the couch. He ran his hands down his face and tried to refocus.

“After everything happened, I was a mess. I didn’t want to believe she was gone. I hoped it was all a dream, but it wasn’t, and I blamed myself for not getting to her in time.” He paused, clearing his throat. “I was constantly thinking about the what if’s and the if onlys of what I could’ve done differently. Not like it mattered much because she wasn’t coming back,” he breathed, blinking away tears that started to form in the corner of his eyes.

“But it wasn’t your fault.”

“You’re right to someone else looking in, it wasn’t my fault, it was Killians, but I didn’t want to see it that way. I thought if I stayed mad at myself, it would somehow fix it, but I wasn’t in my right mind. I was hurting and pushing those who cared about me away. I was depressed but was too stubborn to admit it.

When I returned to work after my leave, my captain, Captain Phillips, declared me unstable and took me off active duty. He thought it was safer for me and everyone else if he put me behind a desk. I know he was looking out for me and wanted me to get better, but all I had left was my job, and he took it away from me.” Steve shrugged, running a hand through his hair.

“After about eight months, Phillips gave me an ultimatum. The only way I would be reinstated to active duty is if I talked to one of the department's assigned therapists at Ancient One and Associates.” He let out a deep breath. “It wasn’t so much an option as it was an order. I wasn’t myself, and I haven’t been. He wasn’t the only one who saw it, but my squad did too. Whether it was from seeing the bags under my eyes due to the lack of sleep or from my pants getting looser from skipping meals. I was numb, lonely, and my family and friends didn’t know what to say to me. I shut them out, even the ones who reached out and tried to help me. I didn’t know how to talk about it, I didn’t want to talk about it, and I didn’t want to let her go. I didn’t want this to be my new reality. I knew there was no other way for me to get around this by myself, so I decided to go to therapy.”

You remained silent as he paused, biting his lip, trying to figure out what to say next. He stared at the coffee table, and you couldn’t help but admire him. Steve’s been through so much, and you never would’ve suspected any of this with the way he carries himself. He seems so sure of himself and always has his feelings in check, but deep down, he has been through hell and back.

“When I first went to therapy, I thought it wouldn’t help me. On the first day, the Ancient One called me out on it, saying heroes are the ones who don’t think they need help, but sometimes they need it the most and are simply ashamed to admit it. She was right,” Steve mumbled with a half shrug.

“With everything that happened, I had a hard time accepting the truth and forgiving myself because I didn’t want to forget her. Peggy was so special to me, and I didn’t want to push her aside as if I didn’t love her anymore. I still did, and a part of me still does.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and wringing his hands together in front of him. “The Ancient One helped me see things from a different perspective, and in ways, I never thought possible. There was one point when she reversed our roles, asking how Peggy would have responded if I was the one who died. To be honest, I never thought of it like that because I always wished I died with her, but when I thought about it, I know Peggy would’ve accepted it sooner than I did. Sure, she would’ve been emotional that I was gone, but I know she would’ve been strong for everyone else, and when she’d go home alone, she would grieve. Then, if Peggy ever found someone new, who cared for her like I did or more, I’d want her to get remarried. All I would want is for her to be happy.

After realizing this new perspective, I knew Peggy would’ve wanted the same for me. To be able to move on and be happy. So, I focused on getting better and going to therapy, which then got me reinstated to active duty. Things were looking up for the better, and I knew Peggy would be happy for me.

I even started reaching out to a few friends I shut out, one of them being Bucky. I hadn’t spoken to him since Peggy’s funeral, but I hoped he’d answer and accept my apology. We ended up talking at least once a week, and then he mentioned a job opening at his station in L.A. I saw it as a chance to start over, so I took it.” He let out a deep breath. “Don’t get me wrong, I loved Brooklyn, but it felt off after Peggy died, and then my mom passed away, which was inevitable because she had been sick for a while. But with all that happened, Brooklyn didn’t feel like home, it was just a city filled with traffic, noise, and crowds. I felt alone in a city filled with people,” he sighed, shaking his head, looking over at you.

“You make moving on sound so easy.”

“It’s not. It’s probably one of the hardest things to do; it takes time, and it’s about moving on from the past and living in the now. Before I came out here, I talked about everything and made amends with my coworkers, apologized to my friends for being so selfish, and said goodbye to my parents and Peggy. It took me a while to get to that point, but I’m happy to be where I am today.” Steve nodded, shooting you a closed-mouth smile.

“What do you think she thinks about you moving to LA and leaving Brooklyn?”

“She’d understand, and I know she’d want me to be happy and to try to move on from her. I know she’d be proud to see how far I’ve come, but she knows I’ll never forget her.” You reached out and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He smirked, his eyes drifting to yours. “To be honest, I don’t think I’ve talked about Peggy with anyone I wasn’t paying.”

“Remind me to send you the bill,” you said, removing your hand from his and pointing at him.

He chuckled, “I’ll look for it, but mail does get lost quite a bit.”

“Can I ask what triggered you to tell me all this?” You asked, earning a quick nod from Steve.

“Today, I saw a husband watch his wife get carried out of their burning home. He cried, begging us to bring her back, not wanting to lose the other half of himself. He didn’t, but to me, it brought back the worst day of my life.” He turned towards you, staring into your eyes. “There is always going to be a trigger. It can either be a good memory or a bad one, but whatever happens, it’s nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about.”

Your eyes flashed to his, and you gulped, knowing he was referring to the wine glass incident. You nodded, “It's just every once in a while I see something or feel something that reminds me of him, and it triggers something in me, and I can't be pulled back.”

“I get it. You always hear time heals things, but the truth is ignoring it and not talking about it only compounds the damage and makes it worse. You’re hoping it fades away, but it’s always in the back of your mind, haunting you and reminding you of everything that happened. The Ancient One told me it is better to allow yourself to feel what you went through because pretending you’re not hurt is not the same thing as healing; it just prolongs it. We may have experienced a different kind of loss. I lost my wife, and you lost yourself. It’s a different scenario, but the advice is the same.”

“How are you so full of wise words?”

“Therapy helps and life experiences,” Steve nodded with a soft chuckle. “Is that cliche?”

“A little,” you smiled. “Both our lives have been pretty messed up, huh?”

“Maybe it's fate’s way of giving us a second chance.”

“If you believe in that spiritual mumbo jumbo sort of thing,” you snorted, making him roll his eyes. “Why did you decide to tell me about Peggy?”

“You see, there is this girl I like, and I felt like I owed it to myself and her to be honest about it since she shared her story with me. I wanted her to get to know the side I don’t share with many people,” he smirked with a tint of pink hitting his cheeks. He reached up, rubbing the back of his neck.

A sweet smile graced your lips, feeling a rush of heat to your face. “Well, she appreciates you telling her, and I can inform you that she feels the same way about you.”

“That’s good,” he cracked a smile, looking over at you with his blue eyes sparkling. “At least now I know I didn’t make a complete fool of myself.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” you chuckled, feeling his body vibrate at your side with a silent snicker. “Are you going to be okay with going back to work?”

“Yeah, I have a good support system there, and I know my team has my back. It’s like one big messy extended family,” he smirked, nodding your head in agreement. “Speaking of work, I should probably get back to my shift before another call comes in, and Carol wonders why this detour is taking me so long.” He winked, pushing himself off the couch.

“Yeah, you don’t want to get on her bad side.” You joked, standing up off the couch and following him to the door.

“Are you going to be okay?” Steve asked, opening the door and turning to face you. He furrowed his brows together, forming a small crease between them. “Are we going to be okay?”

“Yeah, we’re okay.” You nodded, your eyes drifting to the ground. “I’m getting a little better every day--” you shrugged, not wanting to talk about it “-- it just takes time, right?”

His hand lifted your chin and your eyes flashed to his. “I know you’ll get there.” He shot you a shy smile, brushing his thumb along your cheek, sending a rush of heat to your face. He dropped his hand, grabbing a hold of yours. “Remember, if you need someone to listen and is full of wisdom, I’m here for you. And don’t be ashamed to give therapy a chance; trust me, it will help more than you think.”

“Okay, hot stuff. I get it, “ you scoffed, shaking your head. “Stay safe out there.”

“I will. Have a good night, YN.” He brought your hand to his lips and kissed it, letting it go. You rolled your eyes at his gesture, but you couldn’t stop the smile inching its way across your face.

You watched him walk down the sidewalk to your front gate, and he turned around one more time, waving goodbye. You waved back before he opened the gate and it clicked shut behind him. You closed your front door and leaned against it, covering your face in your hands, and let out a loud sigh. Steve seemed ready to take the next step, but were you?

You walked back over to the couch, returning to your blanket and switching the tv back on. You picked out a random movie to watch, but soon it became white noise in the background. You haven’t been in a relationship since Billy, and to be frank, you were scared to give the whole relationship thing another shot. You and Steve joked about it, but you never thought it would actually happen. Even though Steve and Billy are two very different people, you couldn’t help but be reminded of all the negatives that could come with it. Were you even ready? Should you have even been hanging out with Steve? Were you leading him on? What if he did the same thing Billy did? With all the negatives that came to your mind, maybe Steve was right, maybe it was time to give therapy a chance.

____________

AN: Thanks for reading Part 13! If you haven't noticed yet, I'm all for angst, I don't like feeling it, but I like writing it!! This is probably one of my favorite chapters in this series because it's both emotional and tragic. I'm really hoping that while reading this part you fell in love with Peggy. Her part wasn't huge huge, but I hope it made you realize what Steve lost and how much she meant to him. Emotions, am I right!! Also, I felt doing the whole flashback thing for Steve would show the different relationship dynamic that Peggy and Steve had versus her and Billy's. Huge difference obviously, and I felt like it would be better to show how they communicated and acted towards each other rather then just talking about it. It's also why I went into a little more detail in the last chapter with Laura and Clint's relationship...again, showing the relationship dynamic. Sorry for that unnecessary ramble! 😂😂 Anyways, do you think she is gonna give therapy a chance? What did you think about Steves backstory? And do you think this slow burn will finally end, and they will finally get together or will it be just a little longer?! 😂 Comments always welcome, and until next week, thanks again!

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tsukishumai · 4 years ago

Note

Hii. Can I please get 21 with akaashi? :)) also L O V E your work

+ Oops forgot to say my pronouns are she/her (for the 21 Akaashi) have a good dayy

Thanks for the request ! And tysm I love you <3

send me a prompt + ur fav character here :)

21. “I haven’t seen her/him/them smile like that in ages.”

Tags: mentions of alcohol/cigarettes, & meeting the parents lol

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: IM SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG I was having the worst case of writers block but anyway I’m kinda back I’m not sure if I like this one but I hope you do! Lmk ur thoughts <3

Akaashi put the finishing touches on the wooden board he laid out on the table, placing star-shaped fruit in empty spaces to make everything look vibrant and colorful.

“Whoa, where’d you learn how to make that?” you asked as you walked into the kitchen, two wine glasses balanced between your fingers in one hand and a large bottle of Cabarnet Sauvignon in the other.

“I saw a few posts online,” Akaashi stood back and admired his charcuterie board, nodding in satisfaction at how the salami river looked traveling between the mountains of brie and cheddar. “Do you think your parents will like it?”

You smile to yourself, wanting to point at that that’s the seventh time in thirty minutes that he’s asked if your parents would like something. But you figure the beads of sweat forming on Akaashi’s forehead indicated just how nervous he felt, so you placated him with, “I think they’re going to love it, Keiji.”

His lips twitched in some semblance of a smile for just one second before he brings a knuckle up to his lip.

“Or maybe I should put out fig jam instead of raspberry jam? Fig jam goes really well with brie, but I like the color of the raspberry jam better…”

Akaashi’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.

“Too late, they’re here,” you practically giggled with excitement, setting down the wine glasses on the dinner table. Akaashi quickly started adjusting his shirt, pulling at the collar and tugging at the hem before you stepped in front of him. You gave a soft kiss on the tip of his nose, and said, “Don’t worry, Keiji. I just know they’re going to love you.”

The two of you opened the front door of your shared apartment in tandem, Akaashi standing back and smiling nervously as you threw your arms around your parents. He knows how much you’ve been missing home lately; Tokyo was nothing like your hometown, and he knows all too well the suffocating air of loneliness.

Akaashi liked to think he did everything he could to keep those demons at bay, but even he understands that he could never truly fill the void the same way family could. So when he mentioned inviting your parents over for dinner, offering to pay for the bullet train tickets himself, the excitement you had shown all over your face made him wonder why he didn’t suggest doing so any sooner.

Now that he was standing here, palms sweating as he stood under the scrutinizing gaze of your father, he thinks he maybe could have waited another couple of weeks to meet your parents.

“This is Keiji,” he heard you introduce, and he automatically bent over into a bow.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Akaashi-kun, none of that, get up and give me a hug,” your mother reached over to set Akaashi straight before wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Akaashi’s eyes widened in surprise, looking over to you in a slight panic as you simply shrugged. “I’ve heard so much about you!”

“I just have to warn you, my mom can be kind of a handful,” you mentioned one evening while you were cooking dinner. Akaashi stood a few feet away from you, diligently chopping the vegetables you had given him.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, she’s really affectionate, for one. That alone is enough to throw some people off,” you mumbled, giving the beef in the pot one last stir before transferring it to a plate, “She likes to tease a lot, and you can never take what she says seriously. She laughs at her own corny jokes, not to mention she’s loud.”

You extended a hand out to Akaashi, and he promptly handed you the cutting board full of vegetables. You added them back in the pot, sautéing them gently.

“That sounds exactly like someone I know…” Akaashi quipped, and you threw your kitchen towel at him.

“Shut up and hand me the curry cubes.”

Before Akaashi could even think to bring his arms up and hug your mother back, she quickly let him go and diverted her attention to the stunning display on your dining room table.

“Oh my, what do we have here,” she exclaimed, moving over to examine the variety of crackers, meats and cheeses that Akaashi so artfully placed on a wooden board he bought at the local grocery store down the street.

“Yes, mom, it’s called a charcuterie board…” you quickly went over to show your mom, and Akaashi was left alone with your father.

Akaashi turned back to the stern-faced man, bowing deeply before uttering out his second, “It’s nice to finally meet you, sir.”

Much to Akaashi’s relief, your father didn’t throw his arms around him, and simply returned Akaashi’s bow. Akaashi discreetly wiped his sweaty palms on the side of his jeans, waving a hand out to motion to the kitchen, “May I get you anything to drink?”

Your father didn’t reply, simply giving Akaashi a soft grunt and walked passed him to where his wife and daughter were laughing. Your mother and you both had a wine glass in hand, sampling different combinations the charcuterie board had to offer. Akaashi observed the way your dad didn’t reach for a wine glass of his own, opting to making himself a bite of salami and gruyere. Akaashi made his way to the refrigerator, grabbing a can from the emergency six pack he bought.

“My dad, on the other hand,” you set down the plate of katsu curry at the head of the dining table for Akaashi, and plate for you in the seat directly to his right, “He doesn’t really say much, but I promise you, he’s a total softy at heart. Don’t let the scowl fool you. He’s like, the total opposite of my mom.”

Akaashi came out of the kitchen carrying to glasses of water, setting one in front of you and one in front of himself before taking his seat at the table. “I guess opposites really do attract, huh?”

You picked up the glass to take a sip, smiling into the rim, “Yeah. I guess that explains me and you.”

Akaashi paused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Akaashi nearly gleamed at the nod of acknowledgement from your father when he handed him a beer, nearly laughing at the discreet thumbs up you had given him from behind your mother.

Dinner went by without a hitch. Your mother made it easy, asking Akaashi about the details pertaining to his life, and offering him stories about your childhood. He chuckled at your frustrated groans whenever she whipped out her phone to show him baby pictures, asking her to forward him the one where you’re missing your two front teeth.

Your dad hadn’t said much the whole evening, but the crinkles formed in the corners of his eye all the same when Akaashi said a joke that made his wife and daughter howl with laughter.

“Akaashi,” your father grunted, standing up with a beer in one hand as Akaashi collected the dishes from the table, “Why don’t you join me on the balcony for a moment.”

Akaashi audibly gulped, and you fought a snicker from your throat as your grabbed the plates from Akaashi’s hands. “Go on, I got this.”

Akaashi nodded, feeling like his shoes were made of lead as he followed your father through the sliding door that lead out to the balcony. Akaashi promptly slid the door shut behind him, your father immediately leaning over to prop his elbows on the railing.

“That’s a good view,” he mumbled, waving his hand and motioning for Akaashi to stand beside him.

“Thank you,” Akaashi answered, taking his place next to your dad, “It’s part of the reason we chose this apartment.”

Your father nodded, taking out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He brought the white stick to his lips, lighting the end before inhaling a deep drag.

“I brought you out here because I wanted to thank you,” your father started, catching Akaashi by complete surprise. “I haven’t seen her smile like that in ages.”

Akaashi was stunned, staring at your father dumbfounded as he continued to let out puffs of smoke. A couple of heartbeats pass between the two of you, Akaashi searching for the words and trying hard not to let the tears further cloud his vision.

“I’ll do anything to make her laugh like that,” Akaashi said a little too quickly, coughing over his last word, “Sir.”

Just then, your father laughed, and Akaashi found himself smiling with him.

“That’s a good man. One last thing,” your father put the cigarette out and tossed it in the empty beer can in his hand, “Don’t tell them about this cigarette, okay? I told them I quit.”

Your father gave Akaashi two pats on the shoulder, leaving Akaashi on the balcony feeling like he could just about rule the world.

#akaashi #akaashi keiji #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi x reader #akaashi fluff #akaashi keiji x you #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! scenarios #hq #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! imagines #haikyuu imagines #hq hc #is the TL alive?#hope ya see this

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fific7 · 4 years ago

Text

Dangerous and Divine - Part 9

Billy Russo x Reader

Summary: Billy Russo is an itch you don’t want to scratch. But he’s all over you like a rash.

A/N: This does not follow canon, it’s mainly fluff & lemon zest 🍋 The GIF is from Exposed, unreleased pilot show in case you’re wondering 😌... Billy vibes.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content including oral and unprotected* sex between consenting adults. Someone loses the plot and makes a bad decision. Some drinking & swearing.

*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.

(My GIF)

You FaceTimed him, but it rang out unanswered. Shrugging, you sent him a text, just asking him to call you as soon as he could. Then you shoved your phone onto the coffee table, turned your attention to the TV and continued sipping your wine.

Billy could hear his phone buzzing, and then the ting of a text arriving. But he wasn’t anywhere near his desk right at that moment.

He was currently pinned up against the glass wall in his office by Dinah Madani, who seemed to have shape-shifted into an octopus, complete with all the tentacles. She’d almost managed to wrap herself around him, pushing her body against his. He was trying to grab her hands but she kept managing to pull them out of his grip. He was starting to get angry, yelling her name and “What the fuck!” in her face, but she was totally ignoring him - it was like she’d gone feral. He was trying his best not to use his full strength against her, but he was about two seconds away from completely losing his temper.

She managed to get her mouth onto his at one point while he was busy trying to grab her hands, but he twisted his head away. His shirt was hanging half-open, mostly untucked from his trousers, tie loose and pulled askew round his neck, then he felt her hand against his stomach, fumbling for his trouser button. A moment later, she’d managed to get it undone and began pulling his zip down, trying to slip her fingers inside the top of his boxer briefs. That was it for Billy, he was seriously not into this. He bared his teeth in a snarl and grabbed her wrist, twisting it up and around quite viciously into an armlock.

Grasping her other hand, which had been inside his shirt stroking his chest, he shoved her away from him and she lost her balance, tumbling onto her ass on the floor. Billy still stood against the window, getting his breath back and his temper in check, then he walked round her and into his en-suite.

He stripped off his wrecked shirt and dumped it on the floor, grabbing an Anvil hoodie from a drawer in the unit next to the sink and pulling it on over his head. He exchanged his trousers and shoes for tracksuit bottoms and trainers, took a deep breath and walked back out into the main office.

Madani was sitting on one of the chairs, head in hands, her fingers carding through her hair. She looked up and glared at him as she heard him walk through, but didn’t say anything. Billy had something to say though.

“I can’t believe what you just did, Dinah!!! What the fuck is wrong with you? If it was the other way round, you’d slap me with a sexual harassment charge so fast I’d get a nosebleed!”

Her eyes teared up, but she blinked them back fiercely. “What is wrong with me? Ask yourself the same question! You lead me on, make me think it was going somewhere, then drop me like a hot potato the minute you meet your little coffee queen? And now you’ve humiliated me. You’re such a bastard, Russo!”

He perched on the edge of his desk, looking over at her, “I humiliated you? How? - cos I wouldn’t fuck you when you just threw yourself at me?” He folded his arms over his chest.

“And I already apologised for maybe sending mixed messages. But you also carry some of the blame, Dinah, you assumed things based on a couple of lunches and a drink one night in a bar.” “And a kiss after that drink!” she bit back at him. He scoffed, “Fuck! Are you in junior high or somethin’?” Putting on a high-pitched voice, “He kissed me, mommy, so now we’re gettin’ married!”

He continued, back to his normal voice, “You’re being ridiculous and you know it. Listen, I’ll forget this whole thing ever happened if you get your damn head back on straight and focus your attention back onto the fucking case, instead of what I got inside my trousers!”

She stood up, “Fuck you, Russo! You know what, yes! Let’s get this case closed, then I won’t have to see your sorry ass ever again!” Looking around for her bag, she grabbed it off the floor and headed to the door. Billy, meanwhile, chuckled, “Now, Dinah... you’ve never seen my ass.”

She flipped him the finger with real feeling, and left.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy was driving over to her place, and he dropped her a text saying he was nearly there. He hadn’t called her back, because he wanted to tell her face-to-face about what happened earlier with Dinah. It wasn’t something you talked about on the phone. He still couldn’t quite get his head round how desperate Madani had been, clawing at his clothes and her hands and mouth all over him. Now he guessed he knew what it felt like to be treated like a piece of meat, and at least had the decency to feel some personal guilt.

It was pretty much how he’d treated women all his life, if he was being honest. He wondered if not having a mother around, someone who would’ve loved and nurtured and cared for him, had contributed to his “fuck ‘em and leave ‘em” attitude to women. Who knew?

He sighed, knowing his girl was going to be really fucked off when he told her about it, and he only hoped that - coming so soon after the lunch date thing - she believed him when he said he’d shut her down as quickly as he could. Should he stop and buy her some flowers or something? Nah. That might just make him look guilty.

As he drove, the thought came unbidden into his mind that the Dinah thing was something that Previous Billy Russo would’ve just sat back and let happen. And enjoyed it. He started quietly laughing at himself, shit... he was screwed.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You’d just poured yourself another glass of wine when your phone chimed.

Picking it up, you saw it was a text from Billy... “Nearly at your place, angel. Any food going? ;) 😘”

You laughed, he really was a cheeky big devil. But, nah, no home cooking tonight Russo, you thought, I’m too frazzled after today. So you grabbed a menu from your local Thai and called them with an order of two portions of green curry, fragrant rice and some sides to be delivered in about twenty minutes.

Opening the door to Billy a few minutes later, you grabbed him into a bear hug and just rested your head on his chest. Not that he wasn’t enjoying it, but Billy knew this wasn’t ‘you’. You’d told him you didn’t ever want to be seen as ‘too clingy’ with your men. He’d told you at the time that you could cling to any part of his body you wanted to, for as long as you wanted to.

Taking hold of your arms, he gently moved you back so he could see you properly, “Hey, hey... you OK, angel?” You gulped a bit and nodded, then headed away to get a wine glass for him. Now he was here, you actually felt quite weepy, but you weren’t about to start blubbering like a big adult baby in front of him.

Billy closed your apartment door behind him, and followed you to the kitchen area. You saw him looking past you at the cooker and you laughed, instantly cheered up. “Sorry, Billy. No food, couldn’t be bothered.” His ‘disappointed puppy’ face was something to see. You poured him some wine, “Don’t worry darling, some Thai is on its way to us, should be here in about 15.” “Thank fuck for that, sweetheart, I’m absolutely starvin’!” he smiled down at you. Handing him the glass, you moved back to the sofa, collapsing onto it with a sigh.

Billy joined you, putting his glass on the coffee table and reaching down to take his trainers and socks off. He swung his legs up and his bare feet landed in your lap. You started tugging at his toes a little, and he picked his wine glass back up and took a sip. “Mmhm, that is a good red wine. And that,” he wiggled his toes against your fingers as you stroked them, “...is heavenly.” “It’s all the nerve endings. There’s so many of them in your feet.” He nodded, smirking, “But not as many as in another part of me.”

You laughed, untangling your fingers from his toes and reaching over to run them through his hair, “Food first, tiger.” He laid his hand over yours as you rested it on the back of his neck, sighing, “Yeah, okayyy... I won’t argue with you about it this time.”

Your buzzer sounded just then, and you collected the food from the delivery guy, then took it all over to the coffee table. Picking up cutlery and napkins from the kitchen, you and Billy proceeded to demolish the delicious Thai meal and then both collapsed back against the sofa. “That was...” Billy groaned and stretched, “...wonderful.” He reached for you, pulling you against him, kissing you lazily, softly. “Mmm. You know you didn’t kiss me when I got here? But I’ll let you off,” he smiled at you, but the smile faded almost immediately . He suddenly sat up, as if he was going to make a break for the door.

You felt a bit spooked by this - you’d just decided that second you were going to tell him about your ‘stalker’ - and it was almost as if he’d guessed you had something uncomfortable to say.

Looking across at him, you cleared your throat, feeling nervous for some reason. You noticed Billy had the same nervous look on his face you were sure you had on yours.

“Billy...” he was staring at you, “Madani came to the café today. Twice in fact.” His mouth dropped. You carried on quickly, “The first time she just had a coffee and left. In fact I wasn’t even 100% sure it was her. It was though, she came back later under the pretence of interviewing me to find out how us knowing each other would ‘impact’ her case.” You reached over and took his hand, he was still staring at you, amazed look on his face. “Then she just couldn’t help herself, she told me you two were seeing each other - dating, she said!”

He was shaking his head, “Nuh-uh, no! We were never....” You interrupted him, “I know. Look, Billy, I set her straight. Told her that was before you met me, and... and all that stuff with her was in the past.” A small grin appeared on his face, and you continued, “I hope I wasn’t out of line saying that.” He stroked your hand, “You definitely weren’t.” “But I didn’t tell her why you’d been... so friendly... with her. She wasn’t happy, Billy, like really not happy. Stormed off without saying another word.”

Billy was nodding to himself, “All makes sense now.” He looked over at you, eyes wide, “Got a visit from her too, must’ve been after she’d been to see you.” He took a deep breath, “Look, you’re not gonna like this, but please just hear me out.”

Your stomach dropped, you really didn’t like where this was heading. What had that crazy woman got up to with Billy?

“She came to Anvil, and... and, well she basically jumped me. Just walked in, didn’t say a word, tryin’ to get my clothes off, hands everywhere. I tried to grab her hands but didn’t wanna go over the top.” You were still holding hands, and he intertwined his fingers with yours, gazing deep into your eyes. “She went for my zip and that was it, got her in an armlock and threw her off me. She fell over on her ass.”

He was surprised when you burst out laughing. That was a much better reaction than he’d been expecting. “Oh I’d’ve paid good money to see that,” you said, trying to catch your breath, “Billy, I think she’s lost it. Gone a bit nuts with jealousy over you. Your male ego must be totally preening right now.” He smirked, but then got serious again. “No, actually it’s not... it’s just made me feel guilty. About how I had a “one and done” approach with women up till now. Got a dose of my own medicine, angel.”

“Treating people like sex objects, you mean? I’m sure most of us have done that at some point. Maybe you more than most,” you shrugged. “But have you turned over a new leaf, Billy Russo?” you asked, hand going to his bristly cheek. He nodded slowly, “ Yes I have, ma’am. Ever since I met you,” leaning in and kissing you. Your arms went round his neck, and you kissed him back hard. He whispered, “I was really afraid to tell you about it. Thought you wouldn’t believe me.”

You whispered back, “I don’t really know why, but I trust you, Billy. Don’t make me regret it.” “I promise you I won’t.”

You slid your hands under the hem of his hoodie, “Moving right along, Russo... I hope you don’t mind if I treat you like a sex object for the rest of the night.” His eyes twinkled at you as he said, “Oh, well, gee I might need to get my union rep involved.”

You slid your hands further up his chest, and reached up to kiss that sensual mouth of his. Then you sat up and took your bra off from under your t-shirt, dropping it on the floor before climbing onto him. You shimmied your leggings down your thighs slightly, and rubbed your body along his. Bill’s eyes were as wide as the moon, watching to see what you were going to do to him.

One of your hands went to the waistband of his tracksuit but then you paused, “D’you want me to stop, Billy?” Despite your earlier joke, you were aware that Madani had just invaded his personal space and not in a good way. His dark chocolate eyes were gazing into yours, and shaking his head he stuttered, “N-no.”

So your hand continued its journey southward underneath his boxer briefs, and soon it was happily wrapped around his velvety length. He gave a deep groan, one hand going to your hip, the other to your clit. You really weren’t in the mood for foreplay. After the events of the day you just wanted to feel Billy inside you, making you feel good and driving away any remaining thoughts or insecurities you might have about Madani.

The fact that you both still had your clothes on was exciting you as it made it seem like you two were having an illicit encounter. You pushed Billy’s tracksuit and briefs down to mid-thigh, revealing him in all his glory. Knowing you were more than ready for him, you gave him a couple of firm strokes and then guided his cock between your legs and put his tip straight inside you.

Billy gave a surprised gasp, but then thrust up into you as you rode him. “Uhh...” he groaned, then managed to say, “...no condom.” “Fuck it,” you whispered back, “...it’s fine, don’t worry.” You loved the view you had of him, hair in disarray where you’d been running one hand through it and those dark eyes of his on you, always on you. You felt him deep inside you and clenched around him, making his eyes close in pleasure and a long low groan escape his lips. His hand gripped your hip, his other hand massaging your breast and palming your nipple, making you gasp.

You stepped up your pace, riding him like you were about to ride off into the sunset. He was making a lot of noise you noticed, crying out and groaning, almost whimpering, so you leant over and whispered “Puppy” into his ear. As expected he laughed but then smacked your behind, quite hard, making you yell “Ow!!!” You gripped him extra firmly in retaliation and he howled, “Okay, okay, I surrender! I can’t last much longer anyhow....” and he did come shortly after that, huffing out a big breath, fingers digging into your hips and his own thrusting up to meet yours. He then made sure you climaxed, staying inside you, stroking your pussy before moving his thumb to your clit and pleasuring you until you came.

You lay in each other’s arms, in that post-sex blissful state. Billy’s nose was buried in your hair as it lay against your shoulder, and you could feel him rubbing it back and forward, tangling up in your hair and gliding across your skin too.

You heard a massive sigh, his chest rising and falling. “Billy?” you murmured, “You OK?” He sat up a bit and propped his head up on his elbow, gazing at you. He gave a quiet laugh, “No, I’m not. In fact, I’m really fucked.” You sat up too. “Well, yes so am I, if you recall!” you laughed. Reaching out, you stroked the hair on his chest, between his pecs.

“But, seriously, what d’you mean, Billy?”

His eyes looked huge as he gazed at you, “I, uh... think I’ve fallen in love with you.” He stroked your cheek, “And it scares the shit out of me.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Additional A/N: In case you hadn’t guessed, this my imaginary ‘Real Love for Russo’ AU ☺️

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

@blackbirddaredevil23 @galaxyjane

#ben barnes #billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo fanfiction #billy russo imagine

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renegadewangs · 4 years ago

Text

Van Zieks - the Examination, part 5

Warnings: SPOILERS for The Great Ace Attorney: Chronicles. Additional warning for racist sentiments uttered by fictional characters (and screencaps to show these sentiments).

Disclaimer: (see Part 1 for the more detailed disclaimer.) - These posts are not meant to be taken as fact. Everything I’m outlining stems from my own views and experiences. If you believe that I’ve missed or misinterpreted something, please let me know so I can edit the post accordingly. -The purpose of these posts is an analysis, nothing more. Please do not come into these posts expecting me to either defend Barok van Zieks from haters, nor expecting me to encourage the hatred. - I’m using the Western release of The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles for these posts, but may refer to the original Japanese dialogue of Dai Gyakuten Saiban if needed to compare what’s said. This also means I’m using the localized names and localized romanization of the names to stay consistent. -It doesn’t matter one bit to me whether you like Barok van Zieks or dislike him. However, I will ask that everyone who comments refrains from attacking real, actual people.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

It’s time to return to the first game for case 5, The Unspeakable Story!

Episode 5: The Unspeakable Story – Part 1

Prepare yourselves, this is a big one! So big, even, that I'm going to have to split it into two parts. Fortunately, we can skip over the entire Investigation segment, because virtually none of it is relevant to Van Zieks. In fact, we don't even learn Van Zieks is the prosecutor until we enter the courtroom and see him standing there. Somehow, no one thought to ask who Ryu would be facing. What we do learn during the Investigation is confirmation that McGilded was indeed a lying scumbag who murdered Thrice-fired Mason. He asked Gina to lie for him in a court of law, too. So indeed, Ryu backed the wrong horse in The Runaway Room and Van Zieks was right to suspect the defense of deceit. He was wrong in how he worded half his arguments, though.

An extra thing worth noting is that after the conversation in which the blood is found on Gina's coat and the truth of McGilded comes out, it's revealed that Gregson was hiding nearby in the shadows. He insists he didn't eavesdrop and only just walked in, but it's implied much later in the trial that he knew about the blood on the coat. This means that Gregson is, from this point on, holding the full knowledge that McGilded was McGuilty in the omnibus murder.

So into the courtroom we go, where it is shown we're facing Van Zieks. (And nobody is surprised, because who else would it have been? Auchi?) It is now two months after the Runaway Room and the two Clouded Kokoro cases, so immediately upon starting the trial, the judge basically asks Van Zieks whether he's gone insane- in his own words, that is. First he asks how many years it's been since Van Zieks retired, to which Van Zieks replies that it's been five. The judge notes that Van Zieks resurfaced rather suddenly two months ago, (then basically handled three cases in a single week,) and showed up again today.

HAH. I love how on the nose this judge is when it comes to dissing the prosecution. He goes on to state that Van Zieks used to deal exclusively in matters concerned with 'the highest echelons of society and government', yet today he's trying 'a simple case of burglary and murder'. We already learned this from Gregson in case 1-4, but it's nice to have it repeated again.

Van Zieks replies that there's two things he cannot abide: “Wealthy scoundrels who hide behind a mask of philanthropy-” (hi McGilded!) and... “Secondly- even more loathsome... Those wily scoundrels who masquerade as allies only to effect total betrayal in the final hour.”

So that settles it then. He's specifically taken on his three most recent cases because there were Japanese people involved. He's also outright admitting that which Ryu had already guessed: Van Zieks hates Japanese people and going by his wording (“betrayal”, etc.) he has some bad experiences. Ryu wonders whether that 'torrid look of hatred' in Van Zieks's eyes is directed at him or at all Japanese people. Frankly, I think that in a subconscious sense, it's neither. The way I see it, that torrid look of hatred is directed at a man who died ten years ago. But I'll get back to this when it's time to address the backstory. The judge finds that an “alarmingly scathing explanation”, but welcomes the Reaper of the Bailey back to court all the same.

I love the implication that Van Zieks can apparently just come and go as he pleases in terms of prosecuting. Retirement can just be upturned on a whim and he's allowed to choose any case he wants. Who even is keeping him informed on which cases are happening and who the defense is? Is there a Chief Prosecutor in play we don't know about or is Stronghart slipping notes into his letterbox? Or has Van Zieks been entering the prosecutor's office every day for the past two months, demanding to hear news of 'that Nipponese attorney'?

So anyway, Van Zieks lays out the opening statement, pours himself a glass of wine, accuses Ryu of jumping to conclusions and reveals that he has witnesses. Remember when he threw aside his cloak halfway into 1-3 and it was seen as a big deal? … Yeah. It's not much anymore, now. He gets rid of it before the first witnesses have even taken the stand. The guys called forth are literal criminals who happened to break into the scene of the crime and, according to Van Zieks, “will face trial in the very near future” for their “various trespasses”. Alright, so he's acknowledging he's called forth some sketchy witnesses, but considers the murder itself far more sinister than their burglary.

Ryu manages to prove the taller Skulkin brother fired a gun at the crime scene and in doing so, struck poor innocent (S)Holmes. (Ryu presents a picture of a blood-stained calendar with a bullet in it to prove this, yet ten minutes later, he'll present the exact same picture and the entire court will act as if they'd never seen it before. Awkwaaard.) Van Zieks pours himself another glass of wine, toasts to Ryu's incompetence and later has another micro-aggression:

Scumbag points! And also possibly hilarious foreshadowing if he's referring to either Asogi Sr. or Mikotoba here. Though it's hard to say how well acquainted Van Zieks was with (S)Holmes and his partner roughly 16 to 10 years ago. Anyway, Van Zieks flings another chalice and basically admits that he already knew these two criminals gunned down (S)Holmes, but made a deal with them not to get into that. Though technically, Ryu was the one who got into it by proving it in court, so Van Zieks didn't break any unscrupulous deals. And maybe he was even expecting Ryu to do so? Maybe that's why he was pushing Ryu to present evidence? Either way, Van Zieks now owes 'his Nipponese friend' a word of gratitude, since he helpfully confirmed the two brothers couldn't possibly have shot the victim. Only one bullet was fired from their pistol, after all, and if it hit (S)Holmes it couldn't possibly have killed Windibank.

Van Zieks proceeds to “take a moment to consider the aforementioned Great Detective, Mr. Sholmes” (KEEP THIS LINE IN MIND), and brings up the security cameras (S)Holmes planted at the pawnshop so that he can present a picture of the defendant waving a pistol at the victim. Why didn't he present this evidence immediately instead of asking two shady burglars to testify? Who even knows, man. He's being erratic, just as the judge said. The jurors have seen enough and vote guilty, so it's time for a Summation Examination! Van Zieks poured himself another glass of wine before Ryu even asserted his right to that, because he knew it was coming. He has to stand in silence and so he will drink.

(Juror No 1, aka Mr. Garrideb, proceeds to piss me off by oggling the maid juror. I thought the whole point of this character was that his wife misunderstood and jumped to conclusions; that she's been punishing him wrongfully since he does indeed love her and will stand by her side no matter what, but apparently not.) Some tomfoolery later, we require the prosecution's help to prove stereoscopes are just as cool as wireless telegraphy.

I honestly think it's hilarious that he's meant to stay silent but has broken that rule several times, so now we're taunting him by asking him a direct question during the Examination. So after it's been proven the two criminals moved some stuff around inside the pawnshop, four jurors vote not-guilty and the trial continues. The two witnesses get called back to the stand and---

… Okay. So he definitely is against perjury. He seems to hate it, even. He apparently keeps giving them the evil eye as they testify, intimidating Ringo into telling the truth. But I just can't shake the memory of him feeding a lie to Shamspeare in Memoirs of the Clouded Kokoro. Also, the game very much caught me off guard during this testimony when I presented a piece of evidence which wasn't correct, but instead of leading to a penalty led me to a unique set of dialogue not found when presenting other wrong evidence. That is to say, I presented a picture of Gina holding the sole gun to disprove the testimony that both she and Windibank were wielding guns, which led to:

Isn't that what we often do in these games? Van Zieks clearly hasn't been paying attention. Anyway, the judge points out that so long as I couldn't prove that Gina was still holding the only gun some time later, when Windibank was shot, the evidence wasn't relevant. So I had to present the picture of Windibank's body (not holding a gun) instead. Ryu manages to point out through that picture that the Skulkin brothers were lying and-

OKAY OKAY. I GET IT. Van Zieks hates perjury with a burning passion and Memoirs of the Clouded Kokoro messed up. The trial continues on to the point where Ryu manages to suggest that the Skulkin brothers shot Windibank and Gina then locked the door to save herself. At first Van Zieks is shocked at the notion, but after Ryu details his logic, he just puts his hands down on the desk and chuckles.

This is the first time we see something close to laughter from him, and it's not even really laughter. It's just a malicious, bitter little noise. In fact, we've never seen him smile. He's not even smiling now, as he cackles. That's a stark contrast from other prosecutors, who all smile/smirk as they gloat. Barok's facial expression barely changes at all. Are they building up to something? Anyway, the judge wonders why Van Zieks finds this amusing, as he found the argument quite persuasive himself. Van Zieks pours himself another glass of wine and says:

“But such blatantly malicious conjuring tricks amount to nothing more than inexcusable pettifoggery here. Because you see, it contains a fatal flaw!”

Scumbag points! He then proceeds to imply all the members of the jury are too dimwitted to count (as he flings his chalice). Bullets, that is. There were two bullets found at the crime scene and there were two guns recovered, each having fired one bullet. So if the Skulkin brothers had shot (S)Holmes, they couldn't possibly have shot Windibank as well.

Bye wine bottle, rip person sitting behind him. Van Zieks proceeds to slander Gina for being “far from a law-abiding citizen” and having “a past riddled with criminal misconduct”. To further illustrate his point, he presents a piece of evidence that the defendant attempted to steal the day beforehand, not with the subtlety of a pickpocket but by brute force and brazen impudence. Gregson loses it at this point, shouting out a loud “Hold it!” before losing his nerve and stammering his way through his protest. He mentions that there was a meeting with the prosecution service where it was agreed that piece of evidence wouldn't be used. Ryu is baffled and thinks this:

And now I'm baffled as well, because thinking back on it... Yes, Gregson has talked about Van Zieks before in Investigation segments and has been called in to testify, but as far as I can recall, he hasn't ever addressed Van Zieks directly. Fascinating stuff. Van Zieks says he's unaware of this meeting- probably because he found out Ryu's defending later on and snatched this case up at the last second. Perhaps even took it from the originally-assigned prosecutor with brute force and brazen impudence. Gregson insists that 'the government bigwigs' were very insistent about not using the disc as evidence, to which Van Zieks says:

Good gracious, Van Zieks is a loose cannon! … Or wait, maybe he's a reckless renegade? Or is he perhaps a prosecutor on the edge with nothing to lose? (Alright, put on a pot of coffee- we're gonna get to the bottom of this!) ...Either way, the prosecution thinks it's sufficiently made its case by establishing motive, opportunity and baseness of character.

OY! I thought you don't read third-rate detective stories! But Iris specifically wrote that line into existence, so he must have. Me thinks we've got a closet Adventures of (S)Herlock (S)Holmes fan on our hands, here. The jury buys into his slander, votes guilty, Iris accuses him of being mean and Ryu enters Summation Examination mode a second time.

Oh he knows what he's in for. He knows. Several minutes of talking about bullets later, the topic of (S)Holmes's waist pouch is brought up and Iris wonders whether perhaps the bullet hit one of the glass vials with flammable content. Van Zieks suddenly speaks up with an “If I may...”, catching the startled attention of Ryu in particular.

“I should inform the defence that I have the pouch in question in the antechamber outside the courtroom. As I understand it, when the police arrived on the scene and found Mr Sholmes injured, they removed the pouch in order to assess the wound. Since then, it has been in my safekeeping along with all other evidence relating to the case. I can personally vouch for the fact that it has not been touched since the incident occurred.”

This whole plotline cracks me up with how little sense it makes, considering the position of this pouch on (S)Holmes's outfit. But I'm not here to criticize plot-convenience of evidence, so let's move on and look at what's actually happening here. The defense is discussing possibilities with the jurors in hopes of changing their minds towards a not-guilty and instead of keeping silent, as he's supposed to during this moment, Van Zieks actively speaks up to admit he has a piece of evidence which may be of assistance. It's entirely possible that the pouch would have all three vials intact and thereby dismiss the theory that the bullet hit one of them, but... Regardless of whether he remembers seeing a broken vial with his own eyes, he's taking a risk by showing the pouch. He could've played by the Summation Examination rules, kept his mouth shut and then later when it comes out he had the pouch all along, just remind everyone he wasn't allowed to speak. That's what most prosecutors would've done. Naturally, it's revealed there was indeed a broken vial and some scorched leather, and even closer examination reveals a third bullet we can present to the jurors.

Scumbag point! So with all the confusion on the third bullet and the implication of there being a third gun, the judge does something pretty extraordinary. He doesn't wait for the jurors to change their leaning and instead actually suspends the Summation Examination until the matter is cleared up. This implies any judge has the power to overrule juror leanings, at the very least during Summation Examination, when they feel the case presented by the counsels is lacking important details. Anyway, closing argument on hold for now and the Skulkins return to the stand. Barok looks them straight in the eyes with his usual evil eye and asks them whether the third gun is one of theirs. When that's denied, he asks whether they had an accomplice, which is also denied. And it's kind of funny, because only a few minutes later when Ryu implies they had an accomplice, we get this line:

“Yet in all that time, there has been not a murmur of a third man. If this apparently wraithlike being exists...” pause for chalice crush... “The court must be shown hard evidence!”

But Van Zieks was the one who questioned the Skulkins about an accomplice earlier, so... Indeed, we don't have evidence, but the murmur was definitely already there. So now the prosecution wants two things: evidence there was a third person on the scene and their identity. The game prompts two options: Either present an answer to the prosecution's demands or, y'know, don't. Naturally I chose the latter option to see what happens and it goes about as well as you'd expect. Ryu stutters and trails off, Van Zieks notes the defense is unable to complete a sentence, let alone provide credible answers... Iris takes the place of Susato in telling Ryu off for faltering, so Ryu desperately tries to catch himself and push his argument. Van Zieks says: “So, my Nipponese friend, despite the swimming eyes you seem to think you have something to say...”

PENALTY FROM THE PROSECUTION, oh how I've missed you. Loading up the savegame and choosing the first option actually also leads to the exact same line of “so, my Nipponese friend, despite the swimming eyes you seem to think you have something to say...”, just with a slightly different posture and followed up with the words “this promises to be interesting.” Ryu presents the blood sample on the calendar once more and as I said before, the court acts as if they've never seen this picture before. Hilarious. Van Zieks asks why the blood is depicted as green and Ryu explains it's because of a new chemical (S)Holmes invented. The green blood is then linked to Eggert Benedict through the music disc. The court gets very excited, but much like the skin prints in case 2-2, this isn't admissible evidence. Van Zieks says “this has gone on long enough now. This flagrant ignorance of the mechanics of law.”

“The protagonist in a series of short stories for the vulgar classes. A god of detection or some such. And now you employ chemical substances devised by this fantastical persona in the highest court in the land? Do you expect us to take you seriously? The samples made by this plaything are not fit to be called evidence.”

These lines! I had a quick look at both Scarlet Study's and Taisa's scripts, and there Van Zieks outright accuses (S)Holmes of being a fictional character. He doesn't actually diss the stories themselves though, nor is there anything similar to that plaything line. He only says the chemical itself is 'rubbish'. What ultimately kills me is the “Yes, I’ve heard the name” as if this is the first time it’s being uttered in the courtroom. Let's be merciful here and take case 2-2 out of the equation. Yes, (S)Holmes is mentioned several times there, they establish the two have some sort of history and he even enters the courtroom at one point to address Van Zieks directly, but that case was developed after this one so accidental retcon is bound to happen. No, let's look solely at the cases in the first game. (S)Holmes has been mentioned several times throughout the course of this trial, even by Van Zieks himself. Even better, Van Zieks was the one to present photographs taken by one of (S)Holmes's playthings earlier on. OOPS.

Ryu enters despair mode because there really is no way to prove that the color green is unique to Eggert Benedict, nor would it be accepted as evidence to begin with. But that's okay, because much like the skin prints in 2-2, it was never about having it filed as official evidence. It was about influencing the jury and as Iris so smartly points out, the Summation Examination was suspended earlier. This means that technically, it's still going on. It doesn't matter what the prosecution or the judge thinks of (S)Holmes's invention, it only matters what the jurors think, as they now have the power to force the trial to continue. Naturally, the majority votes not-guilty. Van Zieks objects rather ferociously. “My lord, with all due respect, this is an outrage! The prosecution refuses to accept this decision!” (heehee, I really enjoy these lines. With all due respect, indeed.) The judge asks on what grounds the prosecution is objecting, and Van Zieks says:

“Then they are too ignorant to be trusted with the judgement of anyone's guilt!”

Gosh, he really doesn't enjoy how 'gullible' the jurors are, does he? Or rather, he gets frustrated when the jurors begin to think for themselves instead of taking the prosecution's word for it. The judge sets Van Zieks straight by basically reminding him that this is how the court works.

It is so satisfying to watch him squirm. Van Zieks wants us to play by the court's rules, so we're playing by the court's rules and now he's got no more comebacks. This is it folks, we're subpoena-ing Egg Benedict! He does indeed show up to court after a brief intermission and reveals his true name to be Ashley Graydon. Graydon expresses haughty dismay that the highest court of the land was swayed by some self-professed detective's homemade tincture. Van Zieks tells him it was the will of the jury, and their great British justice system demands that the jury's will is upheld. Graydon calls the jury members inept, as Van Zieks has done many times before, but agrees to testify. Ryu attempts to needle this guy several times by asserting he was definitely at the crime scene, but indeed, the blood sample doesn't count as evidence and Ryu doesn't really have anything else to back him up. Van Zieks oh-so-kindly reminds him that the obligation to prove the defense's assertion lies with, well, the defense. Eventually we do get there and Graydon starts making up some bullshit story about how he met McGilded in a gentlemen's club and bonded with him over unique music box music, so that's what that disc was. Van Zieks points out that Yard have indeed been gathering items believed to have been McGilded's property, presumably to aid their investigations. Gregson once again loses his composure here and tries to shut the conversation down.

Gregson and Van Zieks continue to banter back and forth about how Gregson is definitely not allowed to talk about these things and Van Zieks should also know better than to pry. Even Ryu thinks it's strange the two of them are bickering like that. Anyway, we're not allowed to discuss the McGilded stuff, so back to Graydon and his breaking and entering! Van Zieks asserts that if the police confiscated the disc beforehand and Graydon saw this happen, there was no reason for him to break into the pawnshop anymore.

Oooh, that's some tasty triumph over Van Zieks's ignorance! Ryu brings up the second item pawned by McGilded, a 'small box'. Van Zieks insists that no such thing was stolen from the pawnshop and he can prove it, since he has a picture of the shelves from before the break-in and one from after the break-in. You know, the pictures taken by that idiot detective's silly little plaything! Through the magic of stereoscopes (or the 3D Slider in the 3DS version), Ryu can see that a small box was moved.

It's absolutely hilarious that most of the court has to go cross-eyed to do the stereoscope thing and then there's Van Zieks, with a fancy stereoscope device that he just happened to have with him in a trial he couldn't possibly predict would require a stereoscope. He's so extra! Ryu asserts that if the box was moved, they have to raise the question of what was inside it and send the Yard to retrieve that thing at once. Van Zieks objects, saying that “some little box belonging to a man who died two months ago can't possibly be relevant to this trial.” The judge doesn't see it his way, though, and overrules his objection. Nice! So officers are dispatched to Baker Street to fetch the box and Van Zieks grumbles to himself about being hoodwinked by a farce.

The judge once again doesn't take kindly to Van Zieks's attitude problems and I love this. I can't wait for the prosecution to be penalized, because it feels like it's right around the corner here. Van Zieks elaborates that this whole thing is nothing but a smoke screen; a Nipponese specialty. Scumbag points for this one! I can't entirely connect this to Professor foreshadowing, I think it's just him being petty. Either way, he's going to jump through hoops now. Mere minutes ago he established that the Yard is still investigating McGilded's stuff and the 'aftermath' of his activities, but he's flipping it all over now. He begins to talk about how McGilded died two months ago, immediately after the trial in which he was found not-guilty.

“So I propose a toast. To my learned friend, and his most... insightful defense.”

So the logic being used here now is that McGilded was a fine, upstanding citizen and anything he pawned was truly innocent/ordinary, so why would someone want to steal it? The only way to prove that there's more to these items than might be apparent would be for Ryu to reveal that the acquittal was a mistake and the defense's argument was based on false information. They all suspected this two months ago, though. It was made abundantly clear that the only reason McGilded walked free was because nobody could say for certain whether the evidence was tampered with. Either way, Ryu's cornered now and wondering to himself whether Van Zieks knows the items in question are related to the omnibus murder. He probably does. He has access to the evidence, which means he has access to to the pawn tickets which hold some very specific dates on them.

The game gives Ryu an option whether or not to have Gina testify about what happened two months ago, but this option isn't real. If you choose 'leave it', Ryu still decides within two lines of dialogue that they have to uncover the truth. There's no penalty for stalling. So Ryu calls for Gina to testify and Van Zieks definitely knows what's up.

“In particular, the impact it will have on the accused's standing... And indeed your own.”

So this is a warning, clear and simple. Van Zieks knows shit will hit the fan. Or, as he later phrases it, it will bring the court down around Ryu's ears. But Ryu insists upon the testimony, the prosecution agrees and Gina is put on the stand. The judge tells Graydon he can step down, Graydon promptly sees this as an excuse to leave and bids them all a good day, but Van Zieks tells him to wait.

Oh, this... I like this. By now, Van Zieks has caught on to Ryu's little trick of watching the reactions from other witnesses during testimonies. He's purposely making Graydon stand there and listen to Gina's testimony just in case he reacts in such an overdramatic way, Ryu can pursue it. Iiinteresting! Now it seems as if he's on our side, but we're not quite there yet. Before Gina can begin her testimony, Van Zieks reminds her that if it turns out she willfully withheld information two months ago, she'll be prosecuted for perjury. That's just an intimidation technique to get her not to reveal what she withheld. … Which is weird, because you'd think Van Zieks would want her to spill those beans. Either way, with some encouragement from Ryu and Iris, Gina begins to talk about the lies she told. Aaand we're ending the essay here for now, because we're only about halfway into this disaster of a trial and the plot will only thicken from here on out. Stay tuned for part 2 of The Unspeakable Story!

#dgs #dgs spoilers #tgaa #tgaa spoilers #barok van zieks #thank goodness #the consistency is back #BLESS

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tastesoftamriel · 5 years ago

Note

how does table etiquette differ between races/provinces? would it apply to all the population or only in formal company?

There are many rituals and customs surrounding both cooking and eating in Tamriel, and each race is different regarding what's considered appropriate behaviour where food is concerned. Keep this list in mind if you're traveling across Tamriel, especially if you're staying with local hosts! These rules apply mostly to eating with new friends or out in public, in both formal and semi-formal settings such as homes, taverns, and restaurants. While most Tamrielic peoples are pretty forgiving of poor table manners in informal company and settings, remembering these tips will show your hosts that you're both cultured and polite! ~Talviel

Dunmer

The Dunmer are all about rank, and regardless of whether one hails from the Great Houses or the Ashlands, communal dining is a proving ground for outlanders who aren't familiar with Dunmeri customs. Traditionally, the head of the house or clan gets served (or serves themselves) first, and the serving order depends on one's political ranking, age, and social status. For example, a younger Dark Elf who's a general would be permitted to eat before an elder who is lower in social standing. However, traditional hospitality also dictates that the head of the table can give up their first serving to others as an act of honour. This is common when hosting guests, and if you are given the first serving it means you are a true guest of honour. Don't mess it up by displaying poor table etiquette!

Altmer

For the Altmer, table etiquette is everything. One wrong move at the dinner table, no matter how small, will have you disgraced throughout the Summerset Isles and will ensure you'll probably never be invited to dine at any high society soirées ever again. Even young Altmer aren't excused from the strict rules, and table etiquette is generally studied for years before any Altmer are allowed their debut in high society. It would take years to go through the intricacies of High Elf dining faux pas, but in my experience the biggest atrocity one can commit at the dining table is speaking with your mouth full and chewing with your mouth open. In fact, most meals in Altmer households and taverns alike are usually silent (this is why bards are usually employed to stop things from being too awkward). So if you're ever dining with a High Elf, don't be offended if they don't gush over the food right away- it's a case of eat first, talk later!

Orc

You're probably wondering why I even included the Orsimer at all, because most races are under the (wrongful!) impression that they have no table etiquette. However, being allowed to eat with a stronghold is a huge honour, and they have a couple of rules. Firstly, no fighting until after mealtime! Yes, every now and then someone gets mad at the dining table, but fights are reserved for after meals and they have to be taken outside. Brawling in the dining room is considered to be in extremely poor taste even for Orcs, so don't even think about it. The second rule is showing the chef appreciation at the end of the meal...by letting out a loud, healthy burp. I'm not joking! If an Orcish chef comes up to you, you should express your gratitude for your meal by belching. The louder the belch, the better the meal!

Breton

Of all the races of men, the Bretons are the fussiest when it comes to table manners. When dining in High Rock, be sure to brush up on identifying the right cutlery and glasses. Knowing the difference between a snail and a dessert fork, or which knife to use for fish or bantam guar, is sure to impress your Breton hosts and show that you care enough about their food and culture to appreciate using the correct tableware. And for the love of the Divines, please don't drink anything but wine out of a wine glass.

Khajiit

The Khajiit are fairly laid back about dining etiquette, with a few exceptions. Eating with your hands is common, but only after washing them very thoroughly beforehand! Not washing your hands before a meal is a sign of poor upbringing, bad hygiene, and being greedy. On that note, ALWAYS use a serving spoon when sprinkling moon sugar on your food! Not only is the stuff awfully sticky, but nobody wants to eat from a communal moon sugar dish that's had somebody else's fingers in it!

Imperial

The golden rule when dining in Cyrodiil is to know your wine, which is always present at every meal (yes, even at breakfast for some)! You don't have to be a sommelier, but being able to differentiate between a pinot noir and a merlot is something fairly basic that any fan of Imperial cuisine should master. Not only that, but knowing which wine to pair with your food is crucial- asking for a glass of moscato with your main, for example, is bound to cause quite a scandal. If you're ever in doubt, ask your server or the chef what they recommend to prevent the worst faux pas in the Province!

Argonian

Argonians are actually my favourite people to dine with in Tamriel, because they're extremely hospitable folk who love sharing their food! A common custom with Argonians is to have food brought out in large serving bowls which you can help yourself to, with everyone sitting in a circle on the floor around the serving dishes. Like the Khajiit, eating with your hands is common, and washing them well is a prerequisite (not only for politeness, but also because you really don't want to get swamp sickness). While you don't need to worry about how much you eat, be mindful of the elders and hatchlings at the meal, who usually get a bit more out of respect and care.

Redguard

There aren't many hard rules for eating with Redguards, but it's important to be courteous to your hosts and always offer them the first and last bites. This causes a lot of confusion for foreigners, as Redguards are known for being very pushy with their hospitality, especially when it comes to food. Don't fall for the trick though- it is customary to decline what you are offered no less than three times before you can polish off whatever's left! Accepting immediately is seen as greedy, and flat-out refusing is viewed as extremely rude and ungrateful.

Bosmer

The Bosmer, regardless of whether or not they're Green Pact compliant, are sticklers about food wastage, and for good reason! Wood Elf cuisine is usually difficult and slow to cook, and the best way to express your appreciation during mealtimes is to finish every last drop and crumb in front of you. Trust me, I know it can be difficult especially if you're not used to Bosmeri food, but please do your best to finish whatever you're given or have ordered, because your chef will be very sad rather than offended if you don't (and that's almost worse).

Nord

Finally, we return to my people. Like the Orcs, most people wouldn't think that Nords have much in the way of table manners, but there are a couple of things you should bear in mind when eating in Skyrim. Like the Bosmer, food wastage is viewed with disdain. While you're allowed to eat as much as you like (which is actually encouraged!), be sure to take only as much as you can eat. Leaving leftovers on a plate is quite the affront, but asking for a takeaway box is even worse. Not only is Nord food meant to be eaten fresh on the spot, it doesn't exactly keep well and bringing home your partially-eaten steak and potatoes is seen as stingy and cheap. If you're really struggling, it's totally acceptable to ask your Nord friends to help you out if you're close. If you don't know anyone around you, it's also acceptable to feed your leftovers and scraps to the dogs and pigs. Also, unless you're at a tavern or are told otherwise, wash your plate and put it away or your host may very well smash it over your head for presuming that they'll do it for you!

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hanbintms · 4 years ago

Photo

it is eye , kofi , back on your dash with my newest child ! as a reminder : i’m twenty4 , prefer she / her or they / them pronouns , and i reside in the est timezone ! the muse that i have flowing for hanbin is truly unmatched even though i literally came up with him within like . . . three hours , no kidding . that being said , he’s a brand new muse and i can’t wait to plot with everyone once again ( or for the first time ! ) i won’t talk your ears off as i know this intro might get a little long , but aside from that , can’t wait to write hanbin with ya’ll !

( SONG KANG , THIRTY , CIS MAN , HE / HIM ) * hey , i’m looking for the office of HANBIN KOO . they’re the EMPLOYEE / IN - HOUSE CHEF who’s known around the office as THE EPICURE , if that helps ? not to be a gossip , but i’ve heard that they’re AFFABLE but UNCOUTH , is that true ? i also heard that they’re the one who THREW ICED TEA AT HIS EX IN THE LOBBY . anyways , here’s the coffee they ordered .

statistics.

name : koo hanbin . nicknames : han , hannie , hanbinie , + binnie . age + date of birth : thirty + january 9th, 1991 . zodiac : capricorn . moral alignment : true neutral . gender + pronouns : cis man + he / him / his . place of birth : busan , south korea . place of residence : west village , new york city , new york . orientation : bisexual biromantic . occupation : in house chef and internet personality . nationality : korean ( holds american citizenship ) . ethnicity : korean . language(s) spoken : korean , english , conversational italian , and conversational japanese .

background.

koo hanbin’s life was relatively normal when he was born . his mom , koo seonghwa , worked as a nurse in the pediatric department of a local hospital in busan while his father , koo kyuchul , was an office worker . they weren’t the richest family , nowhere near it , but the koo family made it work . hanbin has more memories of being with his grandparents more often than his parents simply because of their demanding careers , but that’s not to say that they weren’t loving and attentive parents when they had time to be with their only son .

however , life began to change for him when was six years old . suddenly , the money began to dwindle as quickly as it was brought in . the refrigerator wasn’t full unless seonghwa’s mother would make some things for them , and kyuchul was coming home later and later . seonghwa began to work harder in an attempt to break even , but she never seemed to get her head above water . she’d confront her husband about the large sums of money that would disappear from their account , but he always blamed it on higher bills , raised rent , or sudden payments that he had to make . it never made any sense , but seonghwa started a separate account to ensure their son could at least have food on the table and clothes for school .

the next couple of years go by and the money situation worsens , with seonghwa getting to her wits end . she spends more time with hanbin at her parents’ place , sleeping with her son in her old bedroom and hoping he doesn’t hear her cry at night . she struggles to understand why her husband is keeping secrets from her , especially as they’ve been married happily for the last eleven years , but it takes some tough love from her mother to get seonghwa to pick herself up . so , she decides to confront her husband one night when she finds out his location from one of his co - workers , and she’s devastated . seonghwa finds kyuchul with a younger woman , gambling away her hard earned money . like a scene out of a drama , seonghwa kicks her husband where the sun doesn’t shine and promptly dragged the other woman outside to wack her upside the head with her purse . seonghwa was hurt , but she had finally gotten answers , and she wasn’t going to be embarrassed like this ever again .

so , seonghwa and hanbin permanently move in with her parents , and it takes some time for seonghwa to get over kyuchul . she focuses on her child and her job . from the age of ten , hanbin began spending more time with his grandparents in their small , but popular barbecue meat restaurant . when he finishes his homework , he helps his grandparents take orders , and he slowly begins to work the kitchen as he gets older . his grandparents soon leave the kitchen work to him as they get up in age , and hanbin runs the kitchen as if he’d been doing it for over twenty years . however , when he graduates from high school , hanbin decides to spread his wings . over the last twelve years or so , hanbin honed his cooking skills from his grandfather and spent most of his childhood in the kitchen , so his grandparents passed their restaurant down to seonghwa’s brother , and hanbin left for new york .

eighteen years old and with only enough money to get a small sublet , he knew he needed to find a job pronto . without formal kitchen training , hanbin would often get turned away from jobs ( because he was better than a busboy ! ) and eventually , the fates was on his side . he forced his way into the kitchen of a popular italian restaurant , immediately snagging the title of junior chef . hanbin , a fast learner with even faster knife skills , easily works his way up the ranks within the restaurant . within six years , hanbin becomes head chef and is a force to be reckoned with in the kitchen . although his income changes significantly , hanbin starts a youtube channel in hopes of sharing his love for food and cooking . within a year , his following grows substantially , and he’s approached to broaden his efforts by working at masters international .

at masters.

hanbin has been at masters for five years . he started working here after his youtube channel expanded , and he was approached to create his own cooking content for masters’ youtube channel .

basically , he has his own version of test kitchen , but it’s not really the same thing . he makes recipes for holidays , celebrations , and is constantly showing how to make traditional korean dishes ( would not be surprised if he has a ‘ cooking with my mom ! ’ type series ) .

gives food tips too like which wines pair best with certain foods or how to make the most out of your first hosting gig . probably has a video where he shares his cooking playlist because he wants you to get in the mood 😌 .

probably came up with the special lunch for Daddy Masters™ but gets ticked when he’s asked to cook it because does that man know a schedule ? probably not . [ ‘ we were on a break ! ’ specifically , hanbin2 was on his lunch break . ]

is it true that he threw an iced tea in his ex’s face ? absolutely , and he has no problem admitting it lmao . who was said ex ? i guess we’ll never know [ this a number one champion sound ] .

probably well received around the office but i wouldn’t be surprised if people disliked him . it could be his off putting persona or honestly the simple fact that he’s got a lot of sass and no ass .

headcanons.

you can read a full list of headcanons HERE ; below is an abridged version .

has a gyeongsang dialect from living in busan , and honestly . . . that’s hot . so , when he speaks in korean it’s rather strong and aggressive / pitch is vastly different from other parts of korea .

i literally have no idea how to explain his personality other than by using his moral alignment : true neutral . he’s kinda that guy who knows everything but won’t tell you that he does ? did he eavesdrop ? maybe , but he won’t tell you that . he’s largely indifferent to a lot of what happens around masters and maybe it’s because he’s been here for half a decade ; he’ll just make sure you drink water if you’re drunk and crying .

a Dog Father™ to a little re: big goldendoodle named duri . he is most definitely judging you and can often be found sunbathing in that solarium .

a very simple man when it comes to his coffee : caffè americano or an espresso macchiato please . and don’t forget the butter croissant !

mostly expressionless . . . like i really have no idea how to explain how he looks at people because i feel that stoic is too harsh of a word . if you wanna know how he feels though , he has extremely expressive eyes .

he won’t admit it but he loves hosting . office potluck ? he’s your guy . having a conference ? he’ll make your snacks . if you’re coming over he’ll make a charcuterie board and will lie saying he made it with some stuff he had on hand ( but that’s a lie , he went to the grocery store and obsessed over it for a solid three hours ) .

finds joy in the mundane . some people might think he’s weird because he loves grocery shopping , and heavily judges people’s carts because processed food ? yuck ! he won’t say that to your face though he’ll just be like ‘ are you sure you wanna buy that ? ’ and will sneakily replace your frozen pizza with pizza ingredients hehe .

that being said don’t take him grocery shopping with you NFUDNSFDS . he gets ticked about food waste , and those who don’t use reusable bags . probably has a lil garden at his place and composts ! is angry about people calling a chunk of cauliflower a steak ( in other words , don’t to it ) !

wanted connections.

DISCLAIMER : i will not be plotting anything romantic with characters under the age of twenty - five due to his age !

ONE TRUE LOVE : this is open to literally anyone , preferably like , 28 to 30 but we can talk details . truly , they’re his one true love as the title states , and i like to believe that they were a really happy couple who had a meet - cute . they moved in together and things were great , but they broke up when they felt a mutual dissolve in their relationship . that being said , they’re good friends now !

BEST FRIEND : who wouldn’t love a best friend . basically , they get along well , and they are used to sung’s non - verbal communication NVJCNXJV . it’d be really fun if they had totally different personalities but somehow they managed to click . TAKEN BY GRIFFIN OLSON .

TASTE TESTER : someone who he calls on to often try his food at the office . they possibly will appear in his videos on masters’ youtube channel , so i think a relationship based around food would be really fun ! TAKEN BY KENNEDY CRAWFORD / SORAYA HATHAWAY .

HORN DOGS ( DEROGATORY ) : i have no other name for this plot but i’m thinking two people who cannot keep their hands off of one another . i’m talking sneaky touches in the elevator , secret hook ups in the seventh floor bathroom , quick makeouts and nearly getting caught . bonus points if people around the office don’t believe they’re Banging™ because their personalities are so different .

CRUSH : also known as , someone having a crush on him , but he sees them as a friend ( or even worse , like a younger sibling ) . TAKEN BY AYLIN SAHIN .

PLATONIC SOULMATE : best friends , but make it sentimental . they are thicker than thieves , get on each other’s nerves , but they don’t know what they’d do without the other . finish each other’s sentences ( and sandwiches . sung will finish it ) and are borderline like an old married couple with the way they act .

that’s all i got now but i’ve reblogged some posts that can be found HERE and i’m down to fill any wcs that you may have as well !

#masters.intro #this is really long MVJCNXVC sorry ya'll

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ubernoxa · 4 years ago

Text

The Token: A Guns N’ Roses Fanfiction

Chapter 14: Royaly Screwed

Story Summary: Story inspired by the movie She’s the Man. A female Duff is tired of dealing with the bullshit of trying to make it on the strip as a female bassist. Did Michelle think it through as she chopped her hair? Nope. All she knew was that she wanted to make it on the strip. If she had to mascarade as a guy, so it shall be.

Chapter Summary: Michelle’s (Duff’s) dinner with her roommates and Walter’s dad doesn’t go as smoothly as she hopes when she find out why Walter’s father is back in town

(Masterlist)

Taglist: @littlemisscare-all @smokeandmirrorz @aratbaby @slashscowboyboots @queen-crue @achiweyow @bitter-13-suite @white-lightning-625

AN: Sorry for the delay with all of my fics, this is defiantly a couple months overdue ❤️

I took a couple minutes to calm my breathing as I stared into the bathroom mirror. I barely recognized the figure before me. It was Michelle’s reflection that stared back at me. The brown haired wig concealed Duff’s blonde hair, and the dress was more pop than hard rock. Duff was hidden away behind the mask of Michelle, it was no longer the other way around.

Betsy’s threat of exposing me as Duff still felt heavy on my head. Everything, she could destroy everything. All it took was a couple words and I would be done, finished. No band would ever want me as their bassist, just due to my reputation.

I got this.

Everything is going to be okay.

Betsy is all bark and no bite.

You will be okay.

I continued mumbling these phrases over and over again until I calmed my breath down. I still had one card I had yet to show, Henry. Henry who worked with Walter’s father. Henry who worked in the music industry.

I glanced at myself one last time in the mirror before heading back to the table with my new plan in place.

Halion were the Kings of the strip, but Walter’s father worked for the record company that ran it. He was my greatest weapon and I needed him on my side.

I felt Nyx’s eyes on me when I returned to my table. I simply ignored him, and took another sip of the wine Walter’s father had ordered. Let him and whoever was watching watch. As any good performer would, I was going to give them a show. As if Betsy’s threat had turned on some switch, I began to play her wicked game.

“So tell me Michelle, how is the coffee shop these days?” I almost choked on my wine at Walter’s father’s question.

“My cousin came back, and my uncle gave her my job. She was going to school for business, and she recently graduated which means she gets my position,” the lie rolled off my tongue.

I offered Henry a smile as he placed his arm around me to comfort me.

Walter simply sent me a glare as I took another sip of my wine. I wasn’t sure if it was because I was actually fired because I got into a bloody fight at work or that I was leaning into Henry’s touch. I felt a little guilt for playing with his friend’s emotions, but that quickly evaporated. I was doing this for Guns N’ Roses, and if I broke some hearts on the way, let it be. Mine had already been ripped to shreds.

“That’s a shame, have you thought about suing?” I couldn’t hide the shock that crossed my face at Walter’s father’s words. Of course he would think of suing! He probably dealt with lawyers every day.

“Well I should add that I was the worst baker. I burned half of the cherry danishes I cooked. My uncle had moved me to coffee and customer only duty a few months back, so I figured it was only a matter of time...before I was let go,” I shrugged again, indulging in my half lie.

“Those cherry danishes, even the ones you overcooked were still pretty good. I remember visiting you one time at work, but you couldn’t talk because you were too busy dealing with an almost riot!” Macy added causing the table to erupt in giggles. I sent her a thankful glance for taking the attention off of me, even if it was only for a couple of seconds.

“Oh a riot of 70 year old retirees and rich middle aged entitled soccer moms? Now that’s a sight I would love to see,” Henry leaned in closer as he spoke and I couldn’t help in indulging with everyone else’s laughter that erupted at our table.

“Hey you laugh, but those old ladies have canes and they hurt!” I joked back.

“Do you need anything? Any refills?” I looked up at the waiter who was eyeing my wineglass and turned towards Walter’s father.

“You don’t need to ask Michelle,” Walter’s father sent me a warm smile as I asked.

“Yes please then,” I sounded like a giggly school girl only earning a small chuckle from Henry.

“Just don’t start dancing on tables,” I blushed at Henry’s whispered words as the memory of me dancing on the dining room table drunk on vodka flashed through my head. That was what? Two years ago?

“Come on, from what I recall you enjoyed the show,” I teased back.

“I did, but if I remember you had your eyes on someone else at the time,” my heart sunk as he hinted at my ex-boyfriend, Nyx. The same Nyx that was currently staring me down from another table.

“Well, tell me, who do I have my eyes on now?”

He sent a cocky smirk my way before taking off his suit coat. “Here, you seemed a bit cold.”

I sent him a confused glance before taking another sip of my wine. I was not cold at all? Had my completion given me away.

“Nyx had been undressing you despite having some whore on his lap, please put the coat on.” His words were more of a command this time.

I wanted to splash my wine in Henry’s face for what he was saying. Duff would have done that for calling Betsy a whore even though she threatened to expose me. Betsy and I were children of sunset strip and he had no right to insult her. Even if she was acting like a whore.

Actually, no, Duff would have done worse. Duff would have punched him in the face. But I wasn’t Duff right now, I was Michelle. Michelle wasn’t aggressive...anymore.

“Are you two okay?” I looked over at Macy as she spoke, without a doubt she recognized my uncomfortableness.

“Yes, Shelly is just being stubborn. She is cold and doesn’t want to take my jacket I'm offering her because she doesn’t want me to get cold,” he replied to Macy who clearly didn’t buy his story at all. It was rather unsettling how easy the lie rolled off of his tongue.

“Fine,” I let out a fake giggle before taking his jacket and putting it on. I didn’t miss the look Henry gave Macy when he looked over towards Nyx earning an understanding nod from Betsy.

“Ok, that smells amazing! Please tell me that that’s our food!” I asked as the air filled with the smell of roasted vegetables.

“Well I did order you fajitas for us to share, so that might be it,” Henry smiled back earning a soft smile from me. This smile was actually genuine, fajitas were always my favorite.

To my relief, Henry was right. The waiters began to place our dishes in front of us and I quickly thanked him before digging in. I couldn’t remember the last time I ate this good.

I remained focused on my dinner, only offering small talk every couple of minutes before our conversation was interrupted by a small squeal.

My face went hot when I looked over to see Nyx had ‘accidently’ ripped some of Besty’s blouse, momentarily exposing one of her breasts. I felt a tug on my heart as I watched her playfully slap Nyx. Was this my fault? Was Betsy acting like this because Nyx promised Pyxie a slot to perform on their up and coming tour?

I remained focused on my dinner as Walter’s father mumbled some choice words under his breath. Guilt flooded my bones before I could stop it. She was acting like a whore because I left her no other options. She was doing what she had to do to make it on Sunset Strip.

“Are you okay?” I looked up to see Walter’s father staring me down as he spoke.

“Yeah, just uhh…”

“Do you know her?” I nodded at Walter’s father’s words.

“I used to be in a band with her, Pyxie,” I added hoping he would look too much into my saddened tone.

“Used to be?”

“I left. The rock scene wasn’t my thing. The music was good, but the people weren’t tolerable,” I paused talking before I looked over at Beth and Nyx, “Exhibit A.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

As Walter’s father continued to talk, I became lost in my thoughts. Was I ever that wild? No, I reassured myself. Despite the rumors, I always had some

minor control over my situation when I was drunk. I guess that is part of the reason Nyx and I broke up.

“Yeah and I could show Shelly around!” My head snapped back into the conversation at the sound of my name. The nickname only Izzy was supposed to use.

“Show me around?” I asked, intrigued to see what they were talking about.

“Yeah, the music studio! Sadly I won’t be able to show you around first thing tomorrow morning because the three of us will be talking to the local bars to see about any rising stars to replace Halion. Would the afternoon work? Say 4ish?” I nodded feeling a pit grow in my stomach.

Turns out I had similar plans as Walter, Henry, and Walter’s father. Axl and I were also going to talk to local bars to get gigs. Maybe I could reschedule? I immediately shot down that idea. Axl wasn’t one to be tolerable when it came to changing plans on him, and he would most likely accuse me of not being devoted to the band. Slash and Izzy would understand, but Axl didn’t know.

Unless I told Axl that I was secretly Duff who is a girl and not a guy. Yeah, Axl totally wouldn’t overreact to that. I almost laughed at the idea of telling Axl that I was masquerading as Duff. Saying he would freak out was an understatement.

“What were those three bands you mentioned earlier?” Henry asked, his attention focused on Walter’s father,

“Truer Blindness, Falcon and Guns N’ Roses,” I almost choked on a pepper when he mentioned Guns N’ Roses.

I locked eyes with Macy, and I did my best to hide my panic.

“All those are rock bands, I thought you would be getting away from the rock scene after the mini hell Halion caused,” Walter asked. I tried to follow the bitterness in his tone. I hid the shock once I realized he was jealous that Henry knew about the bands his own father was looking into before his own son knew.

“I want to get out of the scene, but the payoff is always too good. A new band would have enough motivation to get an album done while costing the company minimal money. Once they get too big, then we would dump them. Usually rockstars start getting big heads after their first album. Which means I dump them after the second album,” Walter’s father clarified.

“Are there any standouts?” I shot Macy a glance as she spoke.

“True Blindness has been on the strip for a while, so they would have the potential to bring in a steady income. I am a bit concerned that no other label had picked them up. Falcon is a newer band that we have heard murmurs about. One of our competitor record companies is interested in them, so naturally I am as well. The big one I’m interested in seeing is Guns N’Roses. Apparently they are a bit wild, but they are new and draw in a big crowd whenever they perform. Guns N’ Roses is a definitely a wild card.” I remained frozen at Walter’s father’s words.

“Guns N’ Roses? That’s Duff’s band, right?” I nodded at Henry’s words.

“You know them?” Walter’ father’s words sent electricity through my veins.

“Yeah, I have made coffee for them,” I replied before returning back to my food.

I wasn’t just fucked, I was full on screwed.

#gnr fanfiction #guns n’ roses fanfic #gnr fanfic #gnr imagine #guns n’ roses fanfiction #guns n’ roses imagine #duff mckagan fanfiction #duff mckagan / oc #duff mckagan imagine #duff mckagan fanfic

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years ago

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#27 for the winter prompts strikes me as distinctly Sternclay NSFW

Here you go!

27 i run a hot chocolate/cider booth at the local ice rink and you always flirt with me but i didn’t think it meant anything because you seem to flirt with everyone

Barclay’s family has lots of traditions come winter, the same as most people he knows. But his personal one is manning the “Sip n Slip” at the Kepler skating rink. He started volunteering there when he was 16 and stuck driving Jake to and from hockey practice. It was something to do, and he liked cooking and making drinks, even if it was just powdered cocoa and simple cookies.

Then he was coming back every winter when the stand opened to help out, and when he opted to stay in Kepler to work as a chef, he still made time to volunteer. He’s thirty now, the stand a little cramped for both him and the other volunteers, but the smell of warm sugar cookies and too-sweet cider takes him right back to his teens.

The same can be said of the man currently at the front of the line; he looks like a rom-com hero, with his black hair slicked back and his stylish coat and scarf, and Barclay has not been this close to popping a no-reason boner in months.

“How can help you?” he leans on the counter, smiling.

The man gives him a stealthy once-over before replying, “I’ll have a coffee, please. And a kid’s hot cocoa” he smiles at the young girl holding his hand, “anything else, Ellie?”

“No.”

“I guess that’s all.”

“That’ll be two bucks.”

The man hands him a five, letting their fingers touch. He does the same thing when Barclay gives him his change. When Barclay sets the to paper cups in front of him he adds, “cream and sugar is over at that little table.”

“I’d say there’s plenty of sugar here.” It’s so smooth that Barclay is still blushing as the man and the little girl disappear into the rink.

Maybe he should start making people give him their names with their orders.

And their phone numbers.

-------------------------------------------

“Hello again”

Barclay bounds to the counter (as much as six foot three man can bound anywhere), “Hey! Coffee and cocoa again?”

“Just coffee, my niece isn’t with me.”

He does a mental fist pump; the kid isn’t his, so maybe that’s a sign he’s single. As he’s trying to work out a non-creepy way to get his name, someone calls from across the room.

“Joseph! There you are man” a stockier guy in a ranger jacket waves.

“First day of rec hockey” Joseph smiles, “wish me luck.”

“Good luck.”

Joe winks, and then he’s gone. Barclay starts a new batch of cookies, looks at the door to the rink every two minutes for the next hour and a half until the other man emerges, sweaty and laughing. He’s twice as handsome as before. When he spots Barclay staring at him, he waves.

The cocoa packet in his hands turns two separate pieces, spilling powdered milk and sugar on the floor.

---------------------------------------------------------

“Back again?” He forces himself not to sound too excited at the fact Joseph is once again ordering coffee from him.

Blue eyes take on a glint, “With you here, how could I stay away?”

He’s this close to asking Joseph if he wants to get coffee somewhere nicer when the man waves another friend over, bumping shoulders and hands with him as they talk.

Okay. Maybe he’s just demonstrative with everyone. That’s cool.

Totally cool.

---------------------------------------------------------

He officially cannot tell if Joseph is flirting. Yes, he stops by the stand every time he’s at the rink (usually twice, once when he gets there and once before he leaves), and when it’s slow he sits in a plastic white chair and chats with him, tossing in winks and smiles whenever he says something complimentary. He’s animated, charming, and Barclay is now the living, breathing definition of “hopelessly crushing” on him.

But Barclay’s seen him talk the same way with his friends and teammates, and even with the other adults waiting to pick their kids up from the same class his niece attends. Barclay’s caught no fewer than four hockey moms and two hockey dads giving Joseph the eye.

He doesn’t blame them; he spends the slow part of his shifts imagining what Joseph looks like under his nice coat. Or his work out clothes. Or the Bigfoot-themed holiday sweater he started wearing in mid-December.

However, for the sake of his own sanity and not making a burgeoning friendship weird, he decides to treat all of their interactions as platonic unless Joseph explicitly says otherwise. So when Joseph asks if he’d like to go skating on Saturday, Barclay agrees immediately and then focuses on not getting his hopes up.

Confusingly, Joseph tells him to be at Tenney Park at three in the afternoon, rather than at the rink. He arrives at five til one and discovers that the fully frozen pond is now a skating hot spot, complete with skate rentals. Barclay brought his own skates; his feet are large enough that getting a rental pair that fit is a crap-shoot.

Joseph is waiting for him on a bench, reading on his phone. He’s in his black coat, the one that makes him look like a secret agent on a ski vacation. The late December sun peeks through the clouds, and Barclay’s pretty sure a beam illuminates Joseph perfectly while a heavenly choir sings.

No, wait, there are some carolers down the street.

“I’m so glad you made it.” Joseph moves the pair of skates from the spot beside him and pats the cold stone. Barclay sits down, and they chat about the mystery series that Joseph got him hooked on. It takes twice as long as normal for him to lace up his skates, because whenever he glances to his right, Joseph is watching him with a smile and his fingers forget how to work.

They wobble over to the ice and step on. The first few strides are fine, but then he hits a groove followed by a small dip and almost falls on his ass. On a normal rink, it’d be a fluke. But there are no Zambonies in the wild.

“This is, whoahfuck, harder on lake ice.” He flails a second time, sticks a hand out for balance only for it to be caught by Joseph’s own.

“I like the challenge. But don’t worry big guy, I’ve got you.”

“Thanks, blue eyes.”

The nickname is a complete accident, brought on by the fact that Barclay is staring into his eyes to avoid reading too much into the held hand. The hand that Joseph doesn’t let go off, even as they move onto a smoother patch of ice.

All that rec hockey is paying off, because Joseph practically waltzes them around in circles, never bumping into anyone or losing his footing as they talk. They compare notes on holiday gifts and new years plans, and Joseph laughs when Barclay regales him with the story of the great babka debacle of 2014.

Barclay’s so caught up in their conversation that he misses an odd bump in the ice and goes sideways into the snow-covered grass to his left, taking Joseph with him accidentally. Joseph ends up on top of him, both cackling like kids at the chaos of the moment. Barclay shivers, snow sneaking under his coat.

“Wanna, uh, get some coffee to warm up?”

“Sure” Joseph smiles.

“Bet that stand uses the same mix mine does.”

“Oh, um, I was thinking we could go back to my place for it. I’m only a few blocks that way.”

There’s no way he’s missing a chance to see Joseph’s house (he has a bet going with Dani that it’s immaculate, while Dani insists Joseph could be a stealth slob), and so ten minutes later he’s pulling off his boots in the entryway of a one bedroom, first floor apartment. The walls sport several elegantly done cryptozoology posters, he spies a pile of cookbooks he recommended on the kitchen counter, and the whole place looks like it’s been tidied within the last day. He texts Dani a stealthy photo, then settles on the couch while Joseph moves about the kitchen.

God, he wants to go in there and wrap his arms around him, kiss him against the counter until they both see stars.

Easy, Barclay, easy. He cannot ruin a good day with a friend.

“I also have some wine, if you’d like that instead of, or with, coffee.”

He glances at the Kraken clock on the wall, “Sure, it’s late enough.”

Joseph walks in, now in just his sweater and pants, stopping to a light a candle before setting two wine glasses on the coffee table. He’s pouring as the sun sets, the change in light helping the room feeling warm and cozy.

“Careful, you keep up those romantic touches and I might think this is a date.” He teases.

Joseph looks up, wine perilously close to the edge of the glass, “wait, this isn’t a date?”

“Uh, I, uh, I, I didn’t want to assume, I mean, do you want it to be a date?”

“Barclay” Joseph sets the bottle down, “I asked you out to something outside of the normal way of spending time together, without anyone else present, and kept holding your hand. And I kept flirting with you.”

“I know, but you kinda flirt with everyone.”

A self-deprecating laugh as Joseph joins him on the couch “Some work habits are hard to turn off; I have to be good at getting people at ease with me, to like me, because then they share information more readily. I guess that could make it hard for someone else to tell the difference.”

“So, uh” Barclay’s fingers cling to the knees of his jeans, “does that mean I could maybe, uh, kiss you?”

Joseph cups his cheek, guiding him in for a gentle kiss on his still chilly lips. Barclay whimpers, spends a moment embarrassed by the noise before Joseph lets out a little growl and shoves him backwards, climbing on top of him and kissing him demandingly.

“‘Grrr’ to you too, babeAHhhhfuck” He rolls his hips as Joseph grinds down and sucks teasingly on his lower lip.

“Is, is that okay?” His black hair is coming loose from it’s gelled swoop, he’s blushing, and his eyes are wider than Barclay’s ever seen.

“Oh my god it’s so much more than okay.” Barclay groans, bringing his hands up to squeeze his ass and press them closer, “fuck, babe, do you have any idea how many times I wanted to drag you into the stand and, fuck, and cover your mouth so no one would know how hard I was making you cum.”

“Lordalmighty” Joseph jerks his hips, “why didn’t you?’

“Because I OH, oh yeah, bite there again, I wasn’t sure you liked me that way, and I really like you, and I didn’t wanna fuck things up.”

Joseph kisses his cheek, murmurs in his ear “Well, now that you know the truth, I want you to fuck me up, big guy. Think you can do that?”

Barclay growls for real this time, flipping them so they’re on their sides and Joseph’s back is pressed to the cushions of the couch. He grabs the dark haired man’s leg, hooking it over his own.

“Yeah, blue eyes, I think I can.”

With that he slams their lips together, grinding his hips hard as the couch springs wobble under them and Joseph tangles his hands into his hair. His hands make up for lost time, slipping under Josephs shirt, dipping below his pants, mapping as much as him as they can find.

“Barclay I AHlord, I have a bed you know?”

“We can use that next time, burned through all my patience not jumping you at the rink.”

He feels Joseph smile, “Fine by me.”

“Fuck” he drags his mouth down, Joseph laughing when his beard scratches his neck, “fuck there’s so much I wanna do to you. Bet it’s so fucking fun to fuck you after practice, bet you’re all worn out and wanna be taken care of.”

“Holy shit.” Joseph matches his pace, working his hips as best he can in time with Barclay’s increasingly erratic thrusts.

“Gonna keep you in bed all day, babe, suck you off so good you’ll beg me to come back tomorrow, gonna show you just how good I can treat you with this” he gives a sharper thrust for emphasis, “gonna, fuck, ohfuck, Joseph, fuckfuck” he cums hard, lifts his hand up to hold onto the top of the couch as the rides it out, Joseph moaning into his mouth and functionally pinned between him and the cushions.

“Fuck I, I didn’t mean to cum in my pants like it’s my first fucking time.”

“Don’t apologize, that’s the best thing anyone’s done with me in months. Now” he nips Barclay’s ear, “show me how creative you are, big guy, and get me off.”

“Hell fucking yeah.” Between the two of them they contort enough to get Joseph's pants open and down, Barclay shifting back slightly to slide his hands into his boxer briefs, the front of which is completely soaked.

“That’s so fucking hot, can’t believe you want me that bad”

“Nnnnnhuh” Is what Joseph manages in reply, his face pressed into the crook of Barclay’s neck, breath coming in short, warm bursts as he jacks him off. Barclay pays attention to which motions make him louder, which make him wiggle his hips with more force, and peppers the side of his face with kisses, wondering how the fuck he got so lucky.

Joseph gets less eloquent the longer Barclay works him over, sinks his teeth into the neck of his shirt as he cums, whole body taut and picture perfect as he does. Barclay pulls his hand away, flopping it over Joseph's hip as they lay panting, the dark haired man nudging them so he can rest against Barclay’s chest while the larger man thanks the lucky stars floating somewhere just above the ceiling for all this.

“Do you, um, want to stay for dinner? I have to do laundry anyway, so I can toss your clothes in so you don’t have to drive home like that” He ghosts a hand over the damp spot by Barclay’s fly.

“That an excuse to have me wandering around your place naked?”

“Not entirely. Your shirt is fine, and I think I have some underwear that will fit you.”

“Fine, half-naked.” He kisses the top of his head.

“When you put it like that, yes. This is both an excuse to have you half-naked in my house and to spend more time with you. Which might be my favorite thing in the world; seeing you at the rink was always the best part of my day.”

Barclay cuddles him closer, wrapping him in his arms to keep away any lingering ice in the air. “Mine too.”

#agent stern/barclay #sternclay #taz amnesty #winter fills

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boreothegoldfinch · 4 years ago

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chapter 12 paragraph v

But instead, when I threw open the door—I could scarcely believe it— there stood Boris. Rumpled, red-eyed, battered-looking. Snow in his hair, snow on the shoulders of his coat. I was too startled to be relieved. “What,” I said, as he embraced me, and then to the determined-looking clerk in the hallway, striding rapidly toward us: “No, it’s okay.” “You see? Why should I wait? Why should I wait?” he said angrily, flinging out an arm at the clerk, who had stopped dead to stare. “Didn’t I say? I told you I knew where his room was! How would I know, if not my friend?” Then, to me: “I don’t know why this big production. Ridiculous! I was standing there forever and no one at desk. No one! Sahara Desert!” (glaring at clerk). “Waiting, waiting. Rang the bell! Then, the second I start up—‘wait wait sir—’ ” whiny baby voice—“ ‘come back’—here he comes chasing me —” “Thank you,” I said to the clerk, or his back rather, since after several moments of looking between us in surprise and annoyance he had quietly turned to walk away. “Thanks a lot. I mean it,” I called down the hall after him; it was good to know they stopped people charging upstairs on their own. “Of course sir.” Not bothering to look around. “Merry Christmas.” “Are you going to let me in?” said Boris, when finally the elevator doors closed and we were alone. “Or shall we stand here tenderly and gaze?” He smelled rank, as if he hadn’t showered in days, and he looked both faintly contemptuous and very pleased with himself. “I—” my heart was pounding, I felt sick again—“for a minute, sure.” “A minute?” Disdainful look up and down. “You have some place to go?” “As a matter of fact, yes.” “Potter—” half-humorously, putting down his bag, feeling my forehead with his knuckles—“you look bad. You are fevered. You look like you just dug the Panama Canal.” “I feel great,” I said curtly. “You don’t look great. You are white as a fish. Why are you all dressed up? Why did you not answer my calls? What’s this?” he said—looking past me, espying the room service table. “Go ahead. Help yourself.” “Well if you don’t mind, I will. What a week. Been driving all fucking night. Shitty way to spend Christmas Eve—” shouldering his coat off, letting it fall on the floor—“well, truth told, I’ve spent many worse. At least no traffic on the motorway. We stopped at some awful place on the road, only place open, petrol station, frankfurters with mustard, usually I like them, but oh my God, my stomach—” He’d gotten a glass from the bar, was pouring himself some champagne. “And you, here.” Flicking a hand. “Living it up, I see. Lap of luxury.” He’d kicked off his shoes, wiggling wet sock feet. “Christ, my toes are frozen. Very slushy on the streets—snow is all turning to water.” Pulling up a chair. “Sit with me. Eat something. Very good timing.” He’d lifted the cover of the chafing dish, was sniffing the plate of truffled eggs. “Delicious! Still hot! What, what is this?” he said, as I reached in my coat pocket and handed him Gyuri’s watch and ring. “Oh, yes! I forgot. Never mind about that. You can give them back yourself.” “No, you can do it for me.” “Well, we should phone him. This is feast enough for five people. Why don’t we call down—” he lifted up the champagne, looked at the level as if studying a table of troubling financials—“why don’t we call for another of these, full bottle, or maybe two, and send down for more coffee or some tea maybe? I—” pushing his chair in closer—“I am starving! I’ll ask him—” lifting up a piece of smoked salmon, dangling it to his mouth to gobble it before reaching in his pocket for his cell phone—“ask him to dump the car somewhere and walk over, shall I?” “Fine.” Something in me had gone dead at the sight of him, almost like with my dad when I was a kid, long hours alone at home, the involuntary wave of relief at his key in the lock and then the immediate heart-sink at the actual sight of him.

“What?” Licking his fingers noisily. “You don’t want Gyuri to come? Who’s been driving me all night? Who went without sleep? Give him some breakfast at least.” He’d already started in on the eggs. “A lot has happened.” “A lot has happened to me too.” “Where are you going?” “Order what you want.” Fishing the key card out of my pocket, handing it to him. “I’ll leave the total open. Charge it to the room.” “Potter—” throwing down the napkin, starting after me then stopping mid-step and—much to my surprise—laughing. “Go then. To your new friend or activity so important!” “A lot has happened to me.” “Well—” smugly—“I don’t know what happened to you, but I can say that what happened to me is at least five thousand times more. This has been some week. This has been one for the books. While you have been luxuriating in hotel, I—” stepping forward, hand on my sleeve—“hang on.” The phone had rung; he turned half away, spoke rapidly in Ukrainian before breaking off and hanging up very suddenly at the sight of me heading out the door. “Potter.” Grabbing me by the shoulders, looking hard into my pupils, then turning me and steering me around, kicking the door shut behind him with one foot. “What the fuck? You are like Night of the Zombie. What was that movie we liked? The black and white? Not Living Dead, but the poetry one —?” “I Walked with a Zombie. Val Lewton.” “That’s right. That’s the one. Sit down. Weed is very very strong here, even if you are used to it, I should have warned you—” “I haven’t smoked any weed.” “—because I tell you, when I came here first, age twenty maybe, at the time smoking trees every day, I thought I could handle anything and—oh my God. My own fault—I was an ass with the guy at the coffeeshop. ‘Give me strongest you have.’ Well he did! Three hits and I couldn’t walk! I couldn’t stand! It was like I forgot to move my feet! Tunnel vision, no control of muscles. Total disconnection from reality!” He had steered me to the bed; he was sitting beside me with his arm around my shoulders. “And, I mean, you know me but—never! Fast pounding heart, like running and running and whole time sitting still—no comprehension of my locale—terrible darkness! All alone and crying a little, you know, speaking to God in my mind, ‘what did I do,’ ‘why do I deserve this.’ Don’t remember leaving the place! Like a horrible dream. And this is weed, mind you! Weed! Came to on the street, all jelly legs, clutching onto a bike rack near Dam Square. I thought traffic was driving up on the sidewalk and going to wreck into me. Finally found my way to my girl’s flat in the Jordaan and layed around for a long time in a bath with no water in it. So—” He was looking suspiciously at my coffee-splattered shirt front. “I didn’t smoke any weed.” “I know, you said! Was just telling you a story. Thought it was a little interesting to you maybe. Well—no shame,” he said. “Whatever.” The ensuing silence was endless. “I forgot to say—I forgot to say”—he was pouring me a glass of mineral water—“after this time I told you? Wandering on the Dam? I felt wrong for three days after. My girl said, ‘Let’s go out, Boris, you can’t lie here any more and waste the whole weekend.” Vomited in the van Gogh museum. Nice and classy.” The cold water, hitting my sore throat, threw me into goosebumps and into a visceral bodily memory from boyhood: painful desert sunlight, painful afternoon hangover, teeth chattering in the air-conditioned chill. Boris and I so sick we kept retching, and laughing about retching, which made us retch even harder. Gagging on stale crackers from a box in my room. “Well—” Boris stealing a glance at me sideways—“something going around maybe. If was not Christmas Day, I would run down and get something to help your stomach. Here here—” dumping some food on a plate, shoving it at me. He picked up the champagne bottle from the ice bucket, looked at the level again, then poured the remainder of the split into my half-empty orange juice glass (half empty, because he had drunk it himself). “Here,” he said, raising his champagne glass to me.

“Merry Christmas to you! Long life to us both! Christ is born, let us glorify Him! Now—” gulping it down—he’d turned the rolls on the tablecloth, was heaping out food to himself in the ceramic bread dish—“I am sorry, I know you want to hear about everything, but I am hungry and must eat first.” Pâté. Caviar. Christmas bread. Despite everything, I was hungry too, and I decided to be grateful for the moment and for the food in front of me and began to eat and for a while neither of us said anything. “Better?” he said presently, throwing me a glance. “You are exhausted.” Helping himself to more salmon. “There is a bad flu going round. Shirley has it too.” I said nothing. I had only just begun to adjust myself to the fact that he was in the room with me. “I thought you were out with some girl. Well—here is where Gyuri and I have been,” he said, when I didn’t answer. “We have been in Frankfurt. Well —this you know. Some crazy time it’s been! But—” downing his champagne, walking to the minibar and squatting down to look inside— “Do you have my passport?” “Yes I have your passport. Wow, there is some nice wine in here! And all these nice baby Absoluts.” “Where is it?” “Ah—” Loping back to the table with a bottle of red wine under his arm, and three minibar bottles of vodka which he stuck in the ice bucket. “Here you go.” Fishing it from his pocket, tossing it carelessly onto the table. “Now”—sitting down—“shall we drink a toast together?” I sat on the edge of the bed without moving, my half-eaten plate of food still in my lap. My passport.

In the long silence that followed, Boris reached across the table and flicked the edge of my champagne glass with middle finger, sharp crystalline ting like a spoon on an after dinner goblet. “May I have your attention, please?” he inquired ironically. “What?” “Toast?” Tipping his glass to me. I rubbed my hand over my forehead. “And you are what, here?” “Eh?” “Toasting what, exactly?” “Christmas Day? Graciousness of God? Will that do?” The silence between us, while not exactly hostile, took on as it grew a distinctly glaring and unmanageable tone. Finally Boris fell back in his chair and nodded at my glass and said: “Hate to keep asking, but when you are through with staring at me, do you think we can—?” “I’m going to have to figure all this out at some point.” “What?” “I guess I’ll have to sort this all out in my mind some time. It’s going to be a job. Like, this thing over there… that over here. Two different piles. Three different piles maybe.” “Potter, Potter, Potter—” affectionate, half-scornful, leaning forward —“you are a blockhead. You have no sense of gratitude or beauty.” “ ‘No sense of gratitude.’ I’ll drink to that, I guess.” “What? Don’t you remember our happy Christmas that one time? Happy days gone by? Never to return? Your dad—” grand flinging gesture—“at the restaurant table? Our feast and joy? Our happy celebration? Don’t you honor that memory in your heart?” “For God’s sake.” “Potter—” arrested breath—“you are something. You are worse than a woman. ‘Hurry, hurry.’ ‘Get up, go.’ Didn’t you read my texts?” “What?” Boris—reaching for his glass—stopped cold. Quickly he glanced at the floor and I was, suddenly, very aware of the bag by his chair. In amusement, Boris stuck his thumbnail between his front teeth. “Go ahead.” The words hovered over the wrecked breakfast. Distorted reflections in the domed cover of the silver dish. I picked up the bag and stood; and his smile faded when I started to the door. “Wait!” he said. “Wait what?” “You’re not going to open it?” “Look—” I knew myself too well, didn’t trust myself to wait; I wasn’t letting the same thing happen twice— “What are you doing? Where are you going?” “I’m taking this downstairs. So they can lock it in the safe.” I didn’t even know if there was a safe, only that I didn’t want the painting near me—it was safer with strangers, in a cloakroom, anywhere. I was also going to phone the police the moment Boris left, but not until; there was no reason dragging Boris into it. “You didn’t even open it! You don’t even know what it is!” “Duly noted.” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” “Maybe I don’t need to know what it is.” “Oh no? Maybe you do. It’s not what you think,” he added, a bit smugly. “No?” “No.” “How do you know what I think?” “Of course I know what you think it is! And—you are wrong. Sorry. But —” raising his hands—“is something much, much better than.” “Better than?” “Yes.” “How can it be better than?” “It just is. Lots lots better. You will just have to believe me on this. Open and see,” he said, with a curt nod. “What is this?” I said after about thirty stunned seconds. Lifting out one brick of hundreds—dollars—then another. “That is not all of it.” Rubbing the back of his head with the flat of his hand. “Fraction of.” I looked at it, then at him. “Fraction of what?” “Well—” smirking—“thought more dramatic if in cash, no?” Muffled comedy voices floating from next door, articulated cadences of a television laugh track. “Nicer surprise for you! That is not all of it, mind you. U.S. currency, I thought, more convenient for you to return with. What you came over with— a bit more. In fact they have not paid yet—no money has yet come through. But—soon, I hope.” “They? Who hasn’t paid? Paid what?” “This money is mine. Own personal. From the house safe. Stopped in Antwerp to get it. Nicer this way—nicer for you to open, no? Christmas morning? Ho Ho Ho? But you have a lot more coming.” I turned the stack of money over and looked at it: forward and back. Banded, straight from Citibank.

“ ‘Thank you Boris.’ ‘Oh, no problem,’ ” he answered, ironically, in his own voice. “Glad to do it.’ ” Money in stacks. Outside the event. Crisp in the hand. There was some kind of obvious content or emotion to the whole thing I wasn’t getting. “As I say—fraction of. Two million euro. In dollars much much more. So —merry Christmas! My gift to you! I can open you an account in Switzerland for the rest of it and give you a bank book and that way—what?” he said, recoiling almost, when I put the stack of bills in the bag, snapped it shut, and shoved it back at him. “No! It’s yours!” “I don’t want it.” “I don’t think you understand! Let me explain, please.” “I said I don’t want it.” “Potter—” folding his arms and looking at me coldly, the same look he’d given me in the Polack bar—“a different man would walk out laughing now and never come back.” “Then why don’t you?” “I—” looking around the room, as if at a loss for a reason why—“I will tell you why not! For old times’sake. Even though you treat me like a criminal. And because I want to make things up to you—” “Make what up?” “Sorry?” “What, exactly? Will you explain it to me? Where the hell did this money come from? How does this fix a fucking thing?” “Well, actually, you should not be so quick to jump to—” “I don’t care about the money!” I was half-screaming. “I care about the painting! Where’s the painting?” “If you would just wait a second and not fly off the—” “What’s this money for? Where’s it from? From what source, exactly? Bill Gates? Santa Claus? The Tooth Fairy?” “Please. You are like your dad with the drama.” “Where is it? What’d you do with it? It’s gone, isn’t it? Traded? Sold?” “No, of course I—hey—” scraping his chair back hastily—“Jesus, Potter, calm down. Of course I didn’t sell it. Why would I do any such?” “I don’t know! How should I know? What was all this for? What was the point of any of this? Why did I even come here with you? Why’d you have to drag me into it? You thought you’d bring me over here to help you kill people? Is that it?” “I’ve never killed anybody in my life,” said Boris haughtily. “Oh, God. Did you just say that? Am I supposed to laugh? Did I really just hear you say you never—” “That was self defense. You know it. I do not go around hurting people for the fun of it but I will protect myself if I have to. And you,” he said, talking imperiously over me, “with Martin, apart from the fact I would not be here now and most likely you neither—” “Will you do me a favor? If you won’t shut up? Will you maybe go over there and stand for a minute? Because I really don’t want to see you or look at you now.” “—with Martin the police, if they knew, they would give you a medal and so would many others, innocent, not now living, thanks to him. Martin was —” “Or, actually, you could leave. That’s probably better.” “Martin was a devil. Not all human. Not all his fault. He was born that way. No feelings, you know? I have known Martin to do much worse things to people than shooting them. Not to us,” he said, hastily, waving his hand, as if this were the point of all misunderstanding. “Us, he would have shot out of courtesy, and none of his other badness and evil. But—was Martin a good man? A proper human being? No. He was not. Frits was no flower, either. So —this remorse and pain of yours—you must view it in a different light. You must view it as heroism in service of higher good. You cannot always take such a dark perspective of life all the time, you know, it is very bad for you.”

“Can I ask you just one thing?” “Anything.” “Where’s the painting?” “Look—” Boris sighed, and looked away. “This was the best I could do. I know how much you wanted it. I did not think you would be quite so upset not to have it.” “Can you just tell me where it is?” “Potter—” hand on heart—“I’m sorry you are so angry. I was not expecting this. But you said you weren’t going to keep it anyway. You were going to give it back. Isn’t that what you said?” he added when I kept on staring at him. “How the hell is this the right thing?” “Well, I’ll tell you! If you would shut up and let me talk! Instead of ranting back and forth and frothing at mouth and spoiling our Christmas!” “What are you talking about?” “Idiot.” Rapping his temple with his knuckles. “Where do you think this money came from?” “How the fuck should I know?” “This is the reward money!” “Reward?” “Yes! For safe return of!” It took a moment. I was standing. I had to sit down. “Are you angry?” said Boris carefully. Voices in the hallway. Dull winter light glinting off the brass lampshade. “I thought you would be pleased. No?” But I had not recovered sufficiently to speak. All I could do was stare, in dumbfoundment.

At my expression, Boris shook the hair out of his face and laughed. “You gave me the idea yourself. I don’t think you knew how great it was! Genius! I wish had thought of it myself. ‘Call the art cops, call the art cops.’ Well— crazy! So I thought at the time. You’re a bit nuts on this subject to be perfectly honest. Only then—” he shrugged—“unfortunate events took course, as you only too well know, and after we parted on the bridge I spoke to Cherry, what to do, what to do, wringing our hands a bit, and we did a little nosing around, and—” lifting his glass to me—“well in fact, a genius idea! Why should I doubt you? Ever? You are the brains of all this from the start! While I am in Alaska—walking five miles to petrol station to steal a Nestlé bar—well, look at you. Mastermind! Why should I ever doubt you? Because —I look into it, and—” throwing up his arms—“you were right. Who would have thought? Over million dollars for your picture out there in reward money! Not even picture! Information leading to recovery of picture! No questions asked! Cash, free and clear—!” Outside, snow was flying against the window. Next door, someone was coughing hard, or laughing hard, I couldn’t tell which. “Back and forth, back and forth, all these years. A game for suckers. Inconvenient, dangerous. And—question I am asking myself now—why did I even bother? with all this legal money straight-up for the claiming? Because —you were right—straight business thing for them. No questions asked whatever. All they cared about was getting the picture back.” Boris lit a cigarette and dropped the match with a hiss in his water glass. “I did not see it myself, I wish I had—did not think a good idea to stick around if you get me. German SWAT team! Vests, guns. Drop everything! Lie down! Great commotion and crowd in the street! Ah, I would have loved to see the look on Sascha’s face!” “You phoned the cops?”

“Well not me personally! My boy Dima—Dima is furious at the Germans because of the shooting in his garage. Completely unnecessary, and a big headache for him. See—” restlessly, he crossed his legs, blew out a big cloud of smoke—“I had an idea where they had the picture. There’s an apartment in Frankfurt. Used to belong to an old girlfriend of Sascha’s. People keep stuff there. But no way in hell could I get in, even with half a dozen guys. Keys, alarms, cameras, passcode. Only problem—” yawning, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand—“well, two problems. First one is that police need probable cause to search the apartment. You can not just call with name of thief, anonymous citizen being helpful if you know what I mean. And second problem—I could not remember the exact address of the place. Very very secretive—I have only been there once—late at night, and not in best of condition. Knew roughly the neighborhood… used to be squats, now is very nice… had Gyuri drive me up the streets and down, up the streets and down. Took for fucking ever. Finally—? I had it pinned to a row of houses but was not one hundred percent sure which. So I got out and walked it. Scared as I was, to be on that street—afraid to be seen—I got out of the car and walked it. With my own two feet. Eyes closed halfway. Hypnotized myself a bit, you know, trying to remember number of steps? Trying to feel it in my body? Anyway—I am getting ahead of myself. Dima—?” he was picking assiduously through the breads on the tablecloth—“Dima’s cousin’s sister in law, ex-sister in law actually, married a Dutchman, and they have a son named Anton—twenty-one maybe, twenty-two, squeaky clean, surname van den Brink—Anton is Dutch citizen and has grown up speaking Dutch so this is helpful for us too if you get me. Anton—” nibbling on a roll: making a face, spitting a rye seed between his teeth—“Anton works in a bar where many rich people go, off P. C. Hooftstraat, fancy Amsterdam—Gucci Street, Cartier street. Good kid. Speaks English, Dutch, only two words maybe of Russian. Anyway Dima had Anton phone the police and report that he had seen two Germans, one of which answers to precise description of Sascha—granny glasses, ‘Little House on the Prairie’shirt, tribal tattoo on his hand which Anton is able to draw exactly, from photograph we supplied—anyway, Anton telephoned the art police and told them he had seen these Germans drunk as gods in his bar, arguing, and they are so angry and upset they had left behind —what? A folder! Well of course it is a doctored folder. We were going to do a phone, a doctored phone, but none of us were nerd enough to be sure we did it totally untraceable. So—I printed out some photos… photo I showed you, plus some others that I happened to have on my phone… finch along with relatively recent issue of newspaper to date it, you know. Two years old newspaper but—no matter. Anton just happened to find this folder, see, under a chair, with some other documents from the Miami thing, you know, to connect to prior sighting. Frankfurt address conveniently inserted, as well as Sascha’s name. All this is Myriam’s idea, she deserves the credit, you should buy Myriam big drink when you get back home. FedExed some things from America—very very convincing. It has Sascha’s name, it has—” “Sascha’s in jail?” “Indeed he is.” Boris cackled. “We get the ransom, museum gets the painting, cops get to close the case, insurance company gets its money back, public is edified, everyone wins.” “Ransom?” “Well, reward, ransom, whatever you want to call it.” “Who paid this money out?” “I don’t know.” Boris made an irritated gesture. “Museum, government, private citizen. Does it matter?” “It matters to me.” “Well it shouldn’t. You should shut up and be grateful. Because,” he said, lifting his chin, speaking over me, “you know what, Theo? Know what? Guess! Guess how lucky we were! Not only do they have your bird in there, but—who would have guessed it? Many other stolen pictures!”

“What?” “Two dozens, or more! Missing for many years, some of them! And—not all of them are as lovely or beautiful as yours, in fact most of them are not. This is my own personal opinion. But there are big rewards out on four or five of them all the same—bigger than for yours. And even some of the not-sofamous ones—dead duck, boring picture of fat-faced man you don’t know— even these have smaller rewards—fifty thousand, hundred thousand here and there. Who would think? ‘Information leading to recovery of.’ It adds up. And I hope,” he said, with some austerity, “that maybe you can forgive me for that?” “What?” “Because—they are saying, ‘one of great art recoveries of history.’ And this is the part I hoped would please you—maybe not, who knows, but I hoped. Museum masterworks, returned to public ownership! Stewardship of cultural treasure! Great joy! All the angels are singing! But it would never have happened, if not for you.” I sat in silent amazement. “Of course,” Boris added, nodding at the bag open on the bed, “this is not all of it. Nice Christmas present in it for Myriam and Cherry and Gyuri. And I gave Anton and Dima a thirty per cent cut right off the top. Fifteen per cent each. Anton did all the work really, so in my opinion he should have got twenty and Dima ten. But this is a lot of money for Anton so he is happy.” “Other paintings they recovered. Not just mine.” “Yes, did you not just hear me say—?” “What other paintings?” “Oh, some very celebrated and famous ones! Missing for years!” “Such as—?” Boris made an irritated sound. “Oh, I do not know the names, you know not to ask me that. Few modern things—very important and expensive, everyone very excited although I will be frank, I do not understand why the big deal on some of them. Why does it cost so much, a thing like from kindergarten class? ‘Ugly Blob.’ ‘Black Stick with Tangles.’ But then too— multiple works of historic greatness. One was a Rembrandt.” “Not a seascape?” “No—people in a dark room. Little bit boring. Nice van Gogh, though, of a sea shore. And then… oh, I don’t know… usual thing, Mary, Jesus, many angels. Some sculptures even. And Asian artworks too. They looked to me worth nothing but I guess they were a lot.” Boris stabbed out his cigarette vigorously. “Which reminds me. He got away.” “Who?” “Sascha’s China boy.” He had gone to the minibar, returned with corkscrew and two glasses. “He was not at apartment when the cops came, lucky for him. And—if he is smart, which he is—he will not be coming back.” Holding up crossed fingers. “He will find some other rich man to live off of. That is what he does. Good work if you can get it. Anyway—” biting his lip as he pulled out the cork, pop!—“I wish I had thought of it myself, years ago! One big easy check! Legal Tender! Instead of this Follow the Bouncing Ball, so many years. Back and forth—” wagging the corkscrew, tick, tock—“back and forth. Nervewracking! All this time, all this headache, and all this easy, government money right under my nose! I will tell you—” crossing over, pouring me out a noisy glug of red—“in some ways, Horst is probably just as glad it fell out like this as you. He likes to make a dollar same as anyone but he also has guilt, same ideas of public good, cultural patrimony, blah blah blah.”

“I don’t understand how Horst fits into this.” “No, nor do I, and we will never know,” said Boris firmly. “It’s all very careful and polite. And, yes yes—” impatiently, taking a quick sneaky gulp of his wine—“and yes, I am angry at Horst, a bit, maybe I don’t trust him so much as formerly, maybe in fact I don’t trust him so much at all. But—Horst is saying he wouldn’t have sent Martin if he knew it was us. And maybe he’s telling the truth. ‘Never, Boris—I would never.’ Who can know? To be quite honest—just between us—I think he may be saying it only to save face. Because once it fell to pieces with Martin and Frits, what else could he do? Except gracefully back away? Claim no knowledge? I do not know this for a fact, mind you,” he said. “This is just my theory. Horst has his own story.” “Which is—?” “Horst is saying—” Boris sighed—“Horst says he didn’t know that Sascha took the picture, not until we snatched it ourselves and Sascha phoned from clear blue sky asking Horst’s help to get it back. Pure coincidence that Martin was in town—here from LA for the holidays. For druggies, Amsterdam is fairly popular Christmas spot. And yes, that part—” he rubbed his eye —“well, I am pretty sure Horst is telling the truth. That call from Sascha was a surprise. Throwing himself on Horst’s mercy. No time to talk. Had to act quick. How was Horst to know it was us? Sascha wasn’t even in Amsterdam —he was hearing it all at second hand, from Chinky, whose German is not that great—Horst was hearing it at third. It all lines up if you look at it the right way. That said—” he shrugged. “What?” “Well—Horst definitely didn’t know the painting was in Amsterdam, nor that Sascha was trying to get a loan on it, not until Sascha panicked and called him when we took it. Of that? I am confident. But: did Horst and Sascha collude to make painting vanish in the first place, to Frankfurt, with bad Miami deal? Possibly. Horst liked that picture very very much. Very much. Did I tell you—he knew what it was, first time he saw it? Like, off the top of his head? Name of painter and everything?” “It’s one of the most famous paintings in the world.” “Well—” Boris shrugged—“like I said, he is educated. He grew up around beauty. That said, Horst does not know that it was me cooked up the folder. He might not be so happy. And yet—” he laughed aloud—“would it ever occur to Horst? I wonder. All the time, all this reward sitting there? Free and legal! Shining in plain sight, like the sun! I know I never thought of it—not until now. Worldwide happiness and joy! Lost masterworks recovered! Anton the big hero—posing for photos, talking on Sky News! Standing ovation at the press conference last night! Everyone loves him—like that man who landed the plane in the river a few years back and saved everyone, remember him? But, in my mind, is not Anton the people are clapping for—really is you.” There were so many things to say to Boris, I could say none of them. And yet I could only feel the most abstract gratitude. Maybe, I thought—reaching in the bag, taking out a stack of money and looking it over—maybe good luck was like bad luck in that it took a while to sink in. You didn’t feel anything at first. The feeling came later on. “Pretty nice, no?” said Boris, clearly relieved I’d come round. “You are happy?” “Boris, you need to take half this.” “Believe me, I took care of myself. I have enough now that I can not do anything I don’t feel like for a while. Who knows—maybe go into bar business even, in Stockholm. Or—maybe not. Little bit boring. But you— that’s all yours! And more to come. Remember that time your dad gave us the five hundred each? Flying like feathers! Very noble and grand! Well—to me then? Hungry half the time? Sad and lonely? Nothing to my name? That was a fortune! More money than I had ever seen! And you—” his nose had grown pink; I thought he was about to sneeze—“always decent and good, shared with me everything you had, and—what did I do?”

“Oh, Boris, come on,” I said uneasily. “I stole from you—that’s what I did.” Alcoholic glitter in his eyes. “Took your dearest possession. And how could I treat you so badly, when I wished you only well?” “Stop it. No—really, stop,” I said, when I saw he was crying. “What can I say? You asked me why I took it? and what can I reply? Only that—it’s never the way it seems—all good, all bad. So much easier if it was. Even your dad… feeding me, talking with me, spending time, sheltering me in his roof, giving me clothes off his back… you hated your dad so much but in some ways he was good man.” “I wouldn’t say good.” “Well, I would.” “Well, you would be the only one. You would be wrong.”

“Look. I am more tolerance than you,” said Boris, invigorated by the prospect of a disagreement and sniffing up his tears in a gulp. “Xandra—your dad—always you wanted to make them so evil and bad. And yes… your dad was destructive… irresponsible… a child. His spirit was huge. It pained him terribly! But he hurt himself worse than he ever hurt anyone else. And yes—” he said theatrically, over my objection—“yes, he stole from you, or tried to, I know it, but do you know what? I stole from you too and got away with it. Which is worse? Because I’m telling you—” prodding the bag with his toe —“the world is much stranger than we know or can say. And I know how you think, or how you like to think, but maybe this is one instance where you can’t boil down to pure ‘good’ or pure ‘bad’ like you always want to do—? Like, your two different piles? Bad over here, good over here? Maybe not quite so simple. Because—all the way driving here, driving all night, Christmas lights on the motorway and I’m not ashamed to tell you, I got choked up—because I was thinking, couldn’t help it, about the Bible story—? you know, where the steward steals the widow’s mite, but then the steward flees to far country and invests the mite wisely and brings back thousandfold cash to widow he stole from? And with joy she forgave him, and they killed the fatted calf, and made merry?” “I think that’s maybe not all the same story.” “Well—Bible school, Poland, it was a long time ago. Still. Because, what I am trying to say—what I was thinking in the car from Antwerp last night— good doesn’t always follow from good deeds, nor bad deeds result from bad, does it? Even the wise and good cannot see the end of all actions. Scary idea! Remember Prince Myshkin in The Idiot?” “I’m not really up for an intellectual talk right now.” “I know, I know, but hear me out. You read The Idiot, right? Right. Well, ‘Idiot’ was very disturbing book to me. In fact it was so disturbing I have never really read very many fictions after, apart from Dragon Tattoo kind of thing. Because”—I was trying to interject—“well, maybe you can tell me about that later, what you thought, but let me tell you why I found it disturbing. Because all Myshkin ever did was good… unselfish… he treated all persons with understanding and compassion and what resulted from this goodness? Murder! Disaster! I used to worry about this a lot. Lie awake at night and worry! Because—why? How could this be? I read that book like three times, thinking I wasn’t understanding right. Myshkin was kind, loved everyone, he was tender, always forgave, he never did a wrong thing—but he trusted all the wrong people, made all bad decisions, hurt everyone around him. Very dark message to this book. ‘Why be good.’ But—this is what took hold on me last night, riding here in the car. What if—is more complicated than that? What if maybe opposite is true as well? Because, if bad can sometimes come from good actions—? where does it ever say, anywhere, that only bad can come from bad actions? Maybe sometimes—the wrong way is the right way? You can take the wrong path and it still comes out where you want to be? Or, spin it another way, sometimes you can do everything wrong and it still turns out to be right?” “I’m not sure I see your point.” “Well—I have to say I personally have never drawn such a sharp line between ‘good’ and ‘bad’ as you. For me: that line is often false. The two are never disconnected. One can’t exist without the other. As long as I am acting out of love, I feel I am doing best I know how. But you—wrapped up in judgment, always regretting the past, cursing yourself, blaming yourself, asking ‘what if,’ ‘what if.’ ‘Life is cruel.’ ‘I wish I had died instead of.’ Well —think about this. What if all your actions and choices, good or bad, make no difference to God? What if the pattern is pre-set? No, no—hang on—this is a question worth struggling with. What if our badness and mistakes are the very thing that set our fate and bring us round to good? What if, for some of us, we can’t get there any other way?”

“Get where?” “Understand, by saying ‘God,’ I am merely using ‘God’ as reference to long-term pattern we can’t decipher. Huge, slow-moving weather system rolling in on us from afar, blowing us randomly like—” eloquently, he batted at the air as if at a blown leaf. “But—maybe not so random and impersonal as all that, if you get me.” “Sorry but I’m not really appreciating your point here.” “You don’t need a point. The point is maybe that the point is too big to see or work round to on our own. Because—” up went the batwing eyebrow —“well, if you didn’t take picture from museum, and Sascha didn’t steal it back, and I didn’t think of claiming reward—well, wouldn’t all those dozens of other paintings remain missing too? Forever maybe? Wrapped in brown paper? Still shut in that apartment? No one to look at them? Lonely and lost to the world? Maybe the one had to be lost for the others to be found?” “I think this goes more to the idea of ‘relentless irony’ than ‘divine providence.’ ” “Yes—but why give it a name? Can’t they both be the same thing?” We looked at each other. And it occurred to me that despite his faults, which were numerous and spectacular, the reason I’d liked Boris and felt happy around him from almost the moment I’d met him was that he was never afraid. You didn’t meet many people who moved freely through the world with such a vigorous contempt for it and at the same time such oddball and unthwartable faith in what, in childhood, he had liked to call “the Planet of Earth.” “So—” Boris downed the rest of his wine, and poured himself some more —“what are your so-big plans?” “As regards what?” “A moment ago, you were tearing off. Why not stay here a while?” “Here?” “No—I didn’t mean here here—not in Amsterdam—I will agree with you that it is a very good idea for us probably to get out of town, and as for myself I will not care to be coming back for a while. What I meant was, why not relax a bit and hang out before flying back? Come to Antwerp with me. See my place! Meet my friends! Get away from your girl problems for a bit.” “No, I’m going home.” “When?” “Today, if I can.” “So soon? No! Come to Antwerp! There is this fantastic service—not like red light—two girls, two thousand euro and you have to call two days in advance. Everything is two. Gyuri can drive us—I’ll sit up front, you can stretch out and sleep in the back. What do you say?”

“Actually, I think maybe you should drop me at the airport.” “Actually—I think I should better not. If I was selling the tickets? I would not even let you on a plane. You look like you have bird flu or SARS.” He was unlacing his waterlogged shoes, trying to jam his feet into them. “Ugh! Will you answer me this question? Why—” holding up the ruined shoe—“tell me why do I buy these so-fancy Italian leathers when I wreck them in one week? When—my old desert boots—you remember? Good for running away fast! Jumping out of windows! Lasted me years! I don’t care if they look crap with my suits. I will find me some more boots like that, and then I will wear them for rest of my life. Where,” he said, frowning at his watch, “where did Gyuri get to? He should not be having so much problems parking on Christmas Day?” “Did you call him?” Boris slapped his head. “No, I forgot. Shit! He probably ate breakfast already. Or else he is in the car, freezing to death.” Draining the rest of his wine, pocketing the mini-bottles of vodka. “Are you packed? Yes? Fantastic. We can go then.” He was, I noticed, wrapping up leftover bread and cheese in a cloth napkin. “Go down and pay up. Although—” he looked disapprovingly at the stained coat thrown over the bed—“you really need to get rid of that thing.” “How?” He nodded at the murky canal outside the window. “Really—?” “Why not? No law against throwing a coat in the canal, is there?” “I would have thought so, yes.” “Well—who knows. Not very widely enforced law, if you ask me. You should see some of the shit I saw floating in that thing during the garbage strike. Drunk Americans puking in, you name it. Although—” glancing out the window—“I am with you, rather not do it in broad daylight. We can take it back to Antwerp in the trunk of the car and throw it down the incinerator. You’ll like my flat a lot.” Fishing for his phone; dialing the number. “Artist’s loft, without the art! And we’ll walk out and buy you a new overcoat when the shops are open.”

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