#pausing the Christian chat for this man right here

[thoseboysinblue]

enjoy 😉

This is why we are friends 🤭

[effervescentdragon]

you get a part of redredred, the 2022 season sebchal that runs parallel to niamh's valewis. it follows the 2022 season and has flashbacks. its around 50k or more and dont think i'll ever finish it because it hurts, but who knows. 💜

Bahrain 2022

Seb wakes up on the couch and groans in discomfort. No matter how persistently he’d searched for the most comfortable couch out there, he still woke up hurting. It’s the age, not the couch, he thinks and sighs. Then he remembers yesterday.

A grin overtakes his face. Charles won.

Charles won, and Seb couldn’t help himself. He’d almost screamed when Charles was informed by Xavi that Max had engine problems, and hearing Charles scream and laugh in joy was… wonderful.

I’m not the last Ferrari GP winner, he thinks, and the thought doesn’t even hurt. Charles is, he thinks, and grabs his phone with a smile.

Two (2) new messages.

He’d congratulated only two people on the grid yesterday, because he couldn’t not. He was too tired to even contemplate picking up the call from Lance, or Lawrence, and he wanted to talk to Mick on the phone sometime today, because he knows that he would’ve taken finishing just out of the points very hard. He is still smiling as he opens the first message.

From: Charles

Please don’t hate me. Wish you were here.

His smile falls instantly.

“Fuck.”

Seb stares at the words on the screen. Please don’t hate me. Fuck. As if he would hate Charles, God. As if he could, for fucks’ sake. His head hurts. His fucking heart hurts.

“What have I done to you,” he mutters to himself, getting up to get some coffee. He knows he needs to eat, but he can’t stomach anything at the moment. He does take a glass of water and the coffee, and goes back to the couch.

One (1) new message.

“Fuck it,” he repeats. He needs to talk to someone. “Might as well.”

From: Lewis

Hey man, how are you? And thanks, I rly wasn't expecting it. It was a bouncy ride, a bit too bouncy if I'm being honest

Their chat history is open, the congratulatory message for the podium Seb had sent him the night before the last interaction they've had.

Seb hesitates for just a second, and then starts typing.

To: Lewis

Glad you made it through. I'm alright, feeling a bit better. Still tired though. How was Toto at the party? :)

From: Lewis

Susie was there, so you can imagine :) I think he wants to cut off even more parts from the car. He was pretty happy that ur home team had a bad day tho :)

Seb can't help but chuckle at that. The animosity between Christian and Toto always went deep, but it reached new heights in the last season. Seb gets it, and privately he thinks Toto is right about most things, but there is still a part of him that's probably always going to be uncomfortable about bad-mouthing Christian, even though the man has changed much throughout the years.

The fact that Lewis can tease him about Red Bull is a good sign, though. He still refuses to address them by name, which is a bit petty in Seb's opinion. Then again, Seb himself is far from being immune to pettiness.

To: Lewis

I know you don't mean Ferrari, because they wiped the floor with you :)

He regrets the message as soon as he sends it, especially when the answer comes back instantly.

From: Lewis

Yeah, Carlos was so good, man, easily one of his best drives. Your boy was on fire tho. The way he defended, damn. Did you see it?

Seb hates the way his pulse quickens. He hates the way Lewis' words make him feel. He shouldn't be feeling like this, because. Well. Because nothing and no one in Bahrain is his. Lewis' message is calculated to provoke him, but Seb doesn't mind it that much. He knows what his friend is doing - giving him a push and an out at the same time. It's on Seb to take it or leave it.

To: Lewis

Yeah, I watched the race. Wanted to see what the cars could do, and some of it was surprising. Good for Kevin and Mick :)

He pauses. He could leave it at that, and Lewis would accept it. They don't have to talk about it anymore. He can just leave it all at that.

Seb can't help himself. He never was one for avoidance; at least not with Lewis. Maybe only with Lewis.

To: Lewis

He's not my boy.

The reply is instantaneous.

From: Lewis

Not for lack of trying on his part

From: Lewis

Did you at least congratulate him?

Seb closes his eyes for a moment, covers them with his hand. He wants not to have this conversation. He wants a Jäger shot. He wants -

It doesn't matter what he wants. A lot of things don't matter, even though he wants them to. A lot of things matter, even though he tries to pretend they are as unimportant as possible.

Lewis could always see through him, though. Seb owes him honesty, and cares for him too much to try to mislead him; the only person he lies to regularly is himself, really. He appreciates Lewis too much to lie to him in any way. They’ve been through everything, and they’ve faced it all more or less together, and there was no reason anymore to keep up pretenses, when they knew one another inside and out in both the best and worst ways.

He knows why Lewis texted him, and he can't help but smile. Lewis always saw too much with those eyes of his, and he knew Seb needs the push.

To: Lewis

He asked me not to hate him.

To: Lewis

As if I ever could.

The reply is slow to come, or it just seems that way. Seb stares at his phone the whole time after sending the message, his heart in his throat. All the reasons for his avoidance of the topic come to mind, and he tries to take a deep breath to calm himself. He opens Lewis' message.

All that he manages to do is choke on air and almost cough out his lungs when Lewis' messages come in one after the other.

From: Lewis

I asked him if he wanted to be lifted in the air. He said, and I had to google this to write it right jsyk, "Nicht jetzt, danke". His pronunciation is terrible tho, worse than mine

From: Lewis

I think he missed you on the podium

From: Lewis

I think he misses you a lot

I miss him too, Seb thinks. I miss him so much, but it doesn't matter. It's better this way, Seb thinks. "Il Predestinato," he whispers to himself. He sighs and types.

To: Lewis

It's better like this.

Lewis' reply is angry, and Seb should have maybe expected it, but it still takes him aback.

From: Lewis

For fucking who, Seb?

Sebastian has committed himself to this course of action, or, well, inaction, and he will stick to it. He has to.

To: Lewis

For him. He has the car now, and his whole destiny. He is older, and more experienced, and he isn't impatient any more.

He hesitates, then adds on the phrase he's been repeating to himself for the past two years at least.

To: Lewis

He doesn't need me. Not anymore.

From: Lewis

Is that what you tell yourself so you can sleep easier?

From: Lewis

You were always bad at lying, man, but this is just pathetic

Fuck, Seb thinks. Lewis always sees too much, and this time he's not backing off for some reason. "Fuck you," he says out loud to himself so he doesn't say it to Lewis in a fit of anger that's bubbling under his skin, because Lewis is right. Seb loves him and hates him for it equally.

Lewis is one of Sebastian's best friends on the grid, and the one who understands him the best in some ways. It wasn't always like that, but after 2016, many things have changed. Nico left, and Seb didn't think about that anymore, like he didn't think about many things anymore. In another life, where they weren't racing drivers and each others biggest competition for a whole decade, and where they met at a later point in life, and where there was no Nico and no Mark to shape them into who they were when the time was right, Seb would've been in love with Lewis, and vice versa. Maybe he is a bit in love with him anyways, because honestly, who isn't? Lewis is amazing, and kind, and one of the strongest people Seb knows, and he respects him too much as a person and a competitor, and loves him too much to push for something that just would not work. Not the way they are, and not with their history, and especially not in this world where both Valtteri Bottas and Charles Leclerc exist.

Because no matter how much Seb loves Lewis for pushing him, a part of him is angry, because Lewis is being such a hypocrite right now. He is right about Sebastian, but he is still being a hypocrite, and Seb is too tired and hurting a bit too much to let him get away with it.

To: Lewis

How's Valtteri?

He gets up and refills his coffee as he waits to see what Lewis will say.

From: Lewis

There's the bastard I know

From: Lewis

He's fine. Didn't ask me if i hated him, bcs I'm a normal person who still speaks to his former teammate and friend normally

To: Lewis

So you normally took him up on that normal coffee date?

From: Lewis

Fuck you

To: Lewis

Once wasn't enough for you? :)

Seb couldn't resist reminding Lewis of the one and only time they slept together in 2016 occasionally. It wasn't something either of them dwelled on needlessly, even though it was definitely some of the best sex Seb's ever had. It was fun, and amazing, and heart-breaking, and just an inch shy of too much at the same time, and neither of them ever regretted it. They did both agree the next morning not to repeat it, because the bruises they left on each other were just a bit too painful, and the way they looked at each other as they were fucking was just a bit too raw, and for the whole time their thoughts were just a bit too focused on the men who were their teammates, and they both knew it. Neither of them resented the other for it, and that fundamental understanding that it was just not the right time for them and it never would be may be the reason why they became and stayed such good friends.

From: Lewis

It was at least two times that night, and stop changing the subject :)

To: Lewis

I'm really not. It's the same thing.

From: Lewis

I know

From: Lewis

Man, where did all our bravery go?

To: Lewis

We left it on track sometime in late 2010's :)

From: Lewis

You might be right there

From: Lewis

Fuck we're old

Seb chuckles, because Lewis is both right and wrong. Being on top of the world in your early twenties screwed them both up in some fundamental way, and with both of them being overachievers and determined to win, their perception of the world and their age was impossibly skewered. Seb knows he is going to have to re-evaluate what he wants to do in his life again really soon, but that was a conversation for another time, and to be made in person. Another text from Lewis pulls him out of his thoughts.

From: Lewis

What will you do now?

Seb sighs for god-knows which time and scratches his beard. He should shave soon; he has that video-conference with Aston Martin on Wednesday, and he should look less like a hobo and more like a professional who has his life together. I should look less like a lovesick fool, he thinks and then rolls his eyes at his own propensity for dramatics.

To: Lewis

I have no idea. You?

Lewis' reply makes Seb bark out a laugh.

From: Lewis

Get a bloody muffin. Feelings are exhausting

To: Lewis

Yeah. Maybe we shouldn't talk about them then :)

Lewis doesn't reply, and Seb takes that as a sign that his friend is as tired as he is of the emotional turmoil they've both been going through. It's probably for the best. Seb needs to sleep some more, his body rebelling against even the little exertion he's had today.

He puts his phone on the table and lays on the couch. Maybe the universe will be merciful to him today, and he won't dream of heart-breaking eyes and French-accented voice speaking to him in terrible German.

[the-himawari]

A3! Tsukioka Tsumugi - Translation [SSR] MANKAI Feature (2/3)

*Please read disclaimer on blog

---

Tsumugi: I visit this café a lot with Banri-kun. But you and I have come here before as well, right, Tsuzuru-kun?

Tsuzuru: It’s been a while since I’ve been here… As usual, it’s so trendy, I’m shaking in my boots.

Tsumugi: Ahaha. No need to worry about that.

Tsuzuru: Anyways, about what we were talking about before…

Tsumugi: Right, right. My request.

Tsuzuru: Up until now, I’ve written most of the side characters’ spin-off stories by listening to the actors’ requests. So, do you have any requests? What kind of story you would like me to write for Izumi Ryohei?

Tsumugi: Well… nothing pops into my mind. That’s why I was thinking I would like to read the Izumi Ryohei that’s written by you, his creator… But then you went out of your way to reach out to me. I thought I might be able to come up with some good ideas if we discussed in a comfortable location such as this.

Tsuzuru: I see… that’s what you were thinking, huh? There were troupe members who left their spin-off script to me. But you’ve prepared an opportunity for us to chat. So I’d also like to use your thoughts as reference, Tsukioka-san.

Tsumugi: I appreciate it. Ah, but how about we finish our food first?

Tsuzuru: Sure.

-pause-

Tsuzuru: This bagel sandwich tastes amazing.

Tsumugi: Doesn’t it? I like it too. By the way, Franz was chosen from Hisoka-kun’s side character survey, was that right? So, I thought “Nocturnality” itself must be quite popular… I figured there might be lots of people who want to know and get an in-depth look at what kind of person “Izumi Ryohei” is. He is a man of many mysteries, isn’t he?

Tsuzuru: I see. That’s true. What kind of interpretation did you have when you played Izumi back then?

Tsumugi: Fufu, you’re just like an interviewer. Let me think… Since Izumi is an exorcist, when he watched movies where vampires appear as the enemy—. It increased his hatred of people being deceived… and his desire to defeat them.

Tsuzuru: …! (It kind of felt like he was possessed by Izumi himself for a moment.) You’ve been well prepared for your role ever since back then, Tsukioka-san.

Tsumugi: Oh, no. I still have a long way to go. Also, I recall… ah, I tried reading the bible. At that time, Homare-san taught me the phrase, “the devil is a liar”.

Tsuzuru: A liar?

Tsumugi: In Christianity, the devil is a “liar”. That’s what it says in the bible as well. Those words Homare-san taught me had such an impact, I even wrote them down on a note.

Tsuzuru: “The devil is a liar”… I see. I think I got some super good material through your story on how you prepared for your role! Thanks so much.

Tsumugi: Fufu. I’m glad if you say so.

---

previous | next

[tigerdrop]

so im kiiiinda redoing half of my fic. to account for the, uh. "canonically being able to put gordon into the computer" thing.

on the one hand i think its a way better deal b/c i will look 10% less insane writing about benrey literally putting him into the sims and playing with him like a doll . but on the other hand i have a bunch of words about gordon fingering himself that i cant use anymore

so. here they are, for u. "Enjoy"

———

Gordon blinks at the screen.

Benry Benry wants to have Oraljob sex with Gordon Freeman. Do you wish to proceed?

The laugh that erupts from him is high-pitched and violent, leaving him gasping for air. Benrey cackles in his ear. “I— I— Oh my God,” Gordon wheezes, doubling over. “You want to have what with me?! We can’t— We can’t show that on a Christian channel! We’re going to get so banned—“

“do you want to—“ Benrey can’t finish the sentence, gripped in the most intense laughter Gordon’s ever heard from him. “do you want to have oraljob?”

Gordon clutches his desk, weeping and howling.

When he calms down from his sudden fit of hysterics, he clicks “No”, to a chorus of disappointment from the chat. “I know, I know,” he says, sympathetic, “but seriously, Papa’s gotta pay the bills. Gotta keep it clean. PG-13, that’s my motto.”

“then why’s your dick out,” Benrey wheezes.

“Very funny—“

He stops in his tracks when he sees that his dick is, in fact, out. His Sims dick, that is. Gordon slams his ‘commercial break’ button so hard that he misses a few keys and takes a screenshot.

“Whoa! Put that thing away, man!”

“nice,” Benrey says appreciatively.

“Bear with me, folks,” Gordon begs. “We’re having some, uh, technical difficulties.” Why did his dick pop out? He said no! (In fairness, his Sim is decidedly not having oraljob sex. He’s eating a sandwich. With his penis out.) He hurriedly clicks through menus upon menus, trying to find a way to put his clothes back on, but none of the options do what he wants. “Why can’t I put away my stupid dick?!”

“hey, look. you just went up a level in nudism,” Benrey snorts.

Gordon buries his head in his hands, but can’t stop himself from an anguished laugh. “Okay! Give me fifteen, everybody. Go smoke a cigarette— or, or vape, I know the kids are big on the Juul these days, I don’t care, I’m not your dad.”

With that, he ends the stream.

“What kind of fucking mods did you download on my computer?” he asks, exasperated. “I feel like I need to give it a bath.”

“normal ones.”

“Uh-huh. You know my dick’s not even rendering correctly, right?”

“huh?” Benrey zooms in on it. “huh. it’s, uh. checkered.”

[some sort of connecting thought]

“I don’t even look like that, anyway,” Gordon mutters, brushing him off.

Benrey peers down at him. The webcam light turns on, drawing Gordon’s eye. “huh. i dunno. i can see the, uh… the resemblance.” He enunciates the last word carefully.

“Did you just turn on my webcam? Are we streaming right now?” Gordon sits upright, hastily checking on his streaming software. Still offline. Not that it would have mattered - he’s panned away to look at a stray dog in his yard - but it’s the principle of the thing.

“yeah, uh. no,” mumbles Benrey.

Gordon closes down OBS and Firefox entirely. Just to be safe. “A little fucking warning next time? How did you even do that?”

“administrator privileges.”

There’s a pause. Then Gordon sinks back down into his chair, defeated. “I shouldn’t have given you those. I should have smashed you up into little pieces when I had the chance. After you bought fucking Burnout Paradise on my dime—“

“you should show me what you look like,” blurts out Benrey, voice low and blunt.

“I— What?”

“i can make it look better. more like you.”

Gordon stares at the screen. Benrey avoids his gaze. He boggles a little, so far beyond comprehending this that he’s skipped past ‘denial’ and ‘anger’ all the way into ‘acceptance’. “Are you— Are you hitting on me?”

“for the immersion,” Benrey says stiffly.

———

Gordon throws his head back in frustration. “They’re just not— fucking— they’re not big enough! They’re short and stubby and I can’t— get them— where I want!” His wrist bends, desperately seeking something that he can’t describe. The tendons sing in pain. He hisses, then relaxes it, letting his hand fall limp.

Benrey stares down at him, mouth parted.

“This was stupid,” groans Gordon. “Now my hand’s all sticky and I don’t wanna wipe it on anything—“

“try again,” Benrey interrupts him, blunt and hoarse. “please?”

Gordon peers blearily at him from over the top of his glasses. “Huh?”

“i wanna.” That massive jaw gyres, struggling to work itself around a thought. “i could do it better. make it good.”

Heat rockets through Gordon’s belly, spiraling up his spine and leaving his hairs standing on end. His dick twitches without his conscious effort. Benrey’s eyes immediately dart to it. Emboldened, Gordon draws his fingertips around his hole, threatening to slip back in. “Yeah, bud? You sure? I don’t think you’ve ever done this before.”

“how would you know,” Benrey puffs.

“Uh, well, you’re in my fucking computer, for one thing.” He slips two fingers in with little resistance, just up to the second knuckle. For show. Nobody say he never did anything for Benrey. “But you know what? Maybe this’ll be funny.”

Benrey’s face hardens. “it’s not funny,” he says, pouting in high-definition. “i would never joke about pussy shit.”

“Point one: That is one hundred percent not true,” Gordon points out. “Point two—“ He curls them and groans, a soft noise. “I wanna hear it. Straight from the horse’s mouth.”

“what does this got to do with horses,” says Benrey, bewildered.

Gordon shifts in his seat, stretching a leg high into the air and gripping the back of his thigh to hold it firmly in place. His fingers move in a slow, back-and-forth motion, just enough that they visibly slide in and out, shiny and wet. Benrey makes a strangled noise in his throat.

“You think you could make it good for me? Tell me. Show me what I’m missin’ out on.”

Benrey’s fingers twitch around his avatar, scaled up to giant-like proportions, far too big for the task at hand but itching to put it into practice. “fuckin’,” he starts, low and rumbling and struggling to articulate himself, “stretch you open… mine’re bigger. lookie.” With his other hand, he waggles his fingers in front of Gordon.

“Well, duh,” Gordon says.

Above him, Benrey’s gaze shifts to his own hand, gears churning behind his eyes. “they’re still bigger,” he insists.

To prove his point, he snaps them - in a stomach-churning instant, Gordon’s camera snaps back to an isometric viewpoint, looking in on their dollhouse. On them. On Benrey’s Sim, pale and shirtless, beads of sweat tastefully textured on his skin, leaning over his own on the cheapest double bed Simoleons could buy. There’s a hand pressed against the mattress, and another at his waist. Pawing at him. And, unlike Gordon’s own hands, they’re proportioned well for a guy his size: closer to dinner plates than the slim, short ones he’s furiously trying to bend into the right shape in real life.

He shivers in his seat.

“Point taken,” he says. His voice cracks partway through.

As if on cue, their Sims start moving again, gracelessly sliding and snapping into a new position. Gordon’s stripped naked, letting Benrey between his legs, and one large hand buries itself in that hairy, thorny knot of polygons and glossy pink textures while the other holds him wide open. The fidelity��s good enough that Gordon can see exactly how the fingers curl: two outside, keeping them back, and two inside, making his Sim’s hips gyrate.

“lookatchu,” Benrey rumbles in his ear. “takin’ it like a champ…”

Gordon sucks in a sudden breath. He curls his own fingers in time with the animation, speeding up to match.

“bet you could take more.”

He whines and visibly clenches around his fingers. “Jesus, man!”

“yeah? yeah? c’mon,” taunts Benrey, shy of breath. “show me. put another one in.”

Gordon weakly mumbles some expletives as he leans his head into the crook of his headphones. Presses himself closer to that voice. “Who taught you how to fucking— talk like that,” he groans, pushing in a third finger.

The fans inside his tower spin faster. Louder. “fuuuck, dude,” he hears, a low, pained utterance.

“I’d let you,” Gordon says dizzily, “God, I must have lost my fucking mind, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” his fingers make slick, filthy, squelching noises inside of himself, “let you put your hand in me—“

“i wanna,” Benrey cuts him off, too fast. Eager. “wanna fuckin’— wear you like a puppet—“

Gordon makes a sharp noise that surprises even himself. The he half-laughs, half-pleads, “Don’t say shit like that! That’s not— That’s not hot!”

“you moaned. i heard it, buddy.”

He ignores this. Benrey takes the opportunity to lean in, getting a closer view of Gordon’s webcam. And the slick folds Gordon’s spreading open for him.

[aaluminiumas]

Shall We Dance?

“Need help?”

       The familiar voice, hushed as always, cut through the distant buzz of the fair. It came so unexpectedly that Millie, carrying packages with her knitted goods, gave a start and dropped a box she’d been holding under her arm.

       “Oh! Father, you’ve scared me,” she said with a mild rebuke in her voice. However, when she turned around, her face softened at the sight of the tall figure looming over her. “I doubt precipitating someone’s death is on the list of Christian virtues, and you did just that.” Mildred joked with a smile, lifting one of the boxes and placing it on top of the improvised tower.

       “I’m so sorry,” the priest cackled, “I didn’t mean to scare you, Mrs. Gunning—”

       “Millie, Father. Millie it is.”

       Albeit her intonation bore no animosity or resentment, John Pruitt instantly discerned her attitude to the social title she acquired after the nuptial. She didn’t choose the man she was married to: Mildred had to contrive a ploy to beguile the whole island and save him, but he couldn’t bring himself to get disposed of the forced courtesy. He treated her with the same amount of respect as others, waiting for the right moment to drop the formalities officially. 

       “Okay, Millie,” he acquiesced, savoring the taste of her name on his tongue. “I was just passing by and saw you preparing for the fair,” he gestured towards the boxes, “As I didn’t spot any trace of George around, I thought that you might need a hand.” 

       “Yes, George is…” the woman glanced at the dark window behind and above, “To say the least, he’s always been a little grumpy and never liked social gatherings. The war aggravated the situation, and he doesn’t even mention parties. So, while everyone’s out supposed to have fun, he’s bound to work overtime and replace those who’ve chosen entertainment,” she paused for a moment, “I don’t even ask.” 

Her voice gradually trailed off, and John felt a pang in his heart. How could he do that to her? How could he push her into this life instead of stepping down from the altar and showing her that she could be the happiest woman alive? How lily-livered of him was it to leave her to her own devices and marry someone she never wanted?..

       “Why didn’t you ask me then?”

       Millie looked down and tapped her toe at the porch, pretending not to hear: his voice, never loud to begin with, dropped down another notch, turning into a barely discernible rustle. Obviously, he knew the answer: they had decided to call it quits to protect Sarah, their infant daughter, and to blindfold George, head over heels for his lovely wife. Millie, no matter how much she wanted to contact John and have a chat, couldn’t afford to break the character and behave as she used to. In a town like this, everyone could notice a bright spark backlighting her overall dark eyes.

       “You know why.”

It almost physically hurt him to listen to this stifled whisper, especially after years of separation. Nodding, the man grabbed one of the boxes and stood still, waiting for Millie to lock the door.

       Suddenly, a loud burst of laughter intruded on his mind, and he saw a dark-haired girl of about seven scampering around with jolly shouts.

       “Mom, I did it! I really did it!” the girl darted towards her mother, embracing her legs. “I won!” she exclaimed excitedly, raising her face to look up. “Even Mrs. Keane had to admit it. They told me I could—”

       “Shhh.” Millie smiled, planting a kiss on her daughter’s forehead. “First off, say hello to father John here. It’s impolite to interject into a conversation like this.”

       Sarah blinked and broke into a smile. Waving her hand eagerly, she greeted the man, “Hi, father John! I won! Can you imagine it? Even Mrs. Keane admitted it!”

       Millie chuckled and shook her head. John stood rooted to the spot, completely transfixed. He was unable to process that it was indeed his daughter, chattering happily, explaining her first wins and defeats, eager to share her experiences with a mere stranger. After all, she didn’t have a clue who he really was, and he had to—he barely could!— distance himself from whatever message the girl tried to convey.    The only thing left for him to do was to teach Sarah, and Millie never objected when he modestly offered to spend some time with her—their—daughter, giving lessons to the girl and a thin crowd of other children. George never barged in either: Millie had explained that their miraculous, knowledgeable pastor was willing to prepare the child for school and, in a more long-term perspective, to college. It gave John the opportunity he clung onto desperately, and he compliantly pretended everything went well. He latched onto the scrapes of normalcy, of the life he was never destined to taste, and kept dreaming about the possibility of being with Millie for real. Mildred, grateful as ever, had her own disguise: she invited the man for tea after another lesson with Sarah and chattered about her daughter’s progress. George shrugged and gave way, rarely joining the party; Sarah quietly played around; the TV set was working intermittently in the background, broadcasting maudlin soap operas or endless talk shows…

They were never safe. Even the tiniest of gestures could be misinterpreted.

       Squelching his feelings and desire to hold Millie’s hands for a little longer, John departed to his lonely, dingy, bleak rectory that never knew a touch of a warm, loving hand. There, repenting, muttering prayers in Latin, or refreshing all the declinations and conjugations to divert his attention, John concluded that he had a job to do and went to bed.

       It started all over again every morning.

       “Sarah, dear,” Millie’s gentle voice suddenly came, “Please, wait for your father and help him when he comes home. Just the usual things, okay?”

       “But I want to go to the fair too!” the girl protested with a pout that resembled Millie’s grimace. Something pulled at John’s heartstrings: not exactly this small detail, completely unnoticeable to a stranger’s eye, but the whole scene. Sarah didn’t inherit her mother’s appearance, but even at that age, she revealed how stubborn she could be. She behaved just like Millie and was ready to stand up for herself. While others might call her capricious, the priest understood where it all came from and why she had to be so defensive.

       “You will,” Mildred promised with a tender smile. “Just wait for him. I can’t do it myself as I have a business to run,” she pointed to the boxes with a subtle nod, “Otherwise I would’ve never asked you. This is simply necessary, you know that. As soon as he’s back, come see me. Deal?”

       “Deal.”

       Sarah agreed, but John nonetheless spotted her displeased funny moue as the girl turned around and climbed the stairs.

       “I’m sorry for the scene,” Millie apologized, locking the door and grabbing a smaller box. “She’s growing. It’s almost impossible to find the right explanation for the things she should or should not do, but I’m doing my best. God knows I do.”

       “He certainly does,” the priest nodded. “And yes, she’s just growing. She’s a bright girl. Just like her mother.”

 Millie turned her head to him but didn’t say anything. Understanding that she simply could not reply, he felt a powerful blow in the stomach: it hurt him almost physically that they had no chance to discuss ordinary things available to others. It could’ve been him raising Sarah; it could’ve been him sitting in this room with his daughter and his wife; it could’ve been him holding Millie close to his heart and whispering sweet nothings into her ear… It could have been him. But he had made his choice, and she never really demanded he should step down from the altar. She never asked for more than they already had. Millie may have been waiting for him, hoping that he would eventually change his mind, but she… grew tired of her own patience. Hence, that gesture several years ago, when she took his white collar and slipped it into his black shirt, placing a gentle kiss onto his cheek. 

           She quietly surrendered, unwilling to compete with his beliefs, knowing he would never break his vow. 

           And she never asked. 

       “What did you,” John cleared his throat, trying to find a suitable topic for them to speak about on the way to the fair, “What did you mean saying ‘just the usual things’? Is George,” he pushed the name out of his mouth, “alright? Has anything happened to him recently?” 

       “No, nothing,” Millie responded, adjusting the box under her arm. “He’s fine. The case is… it’s not very comfortable for him to undo his laces, bend over, take off his boots, and his old wounds tend to ache when the weather gets wet, and it’s wet all the time here… You know, unguents and ointments are always at the ready—” Millie suddenly halted and looked down, “But you’re not exactly interested in all this. You clearly… don’t want to hear it.” 

       “You’re right. I don’t.” 

       They continued in silence, not even attempting to tackle a topic that wouldn’t sting either of them. Both felt the air congealing with tension and convoluting into spirals of viscous substance, sticking to the limbs, plaguing mind and body, painting the world black. What if this was indeed the end? He’d tied himself to the altar and the cross, and she’d found a way to camouflage their affair. Started a family. Gave birth to a wonderful daughter. He was never meant to have one. He had been preparing for his whole life, determined to dedicate himself solely to God, and he finally could have it all to himself. He knew every line in the Scripture, could cite any verse from memory, perform any sacrament without a hitch, listen to vilest confessions and not blink an eye or feel a twinge of aversion or repulsion. Absolved of all sins, he could start anew. 

       But her? What about her? 

Looking askew, John perused the pale face. Tired, with her eyes dark and lifeless, bound to take care of the man she didn’t even love—was it the life she had been dreaming about? He had failed to tame his personal black swan in the past, but what if it proceeded to ruin their relationship, sending it up in flames, bringing it down to ashes, etching every modicum of love they diligently guarded? He was so determined to find the right way, so afraid that this unexpected spark would distort his very concept of faith that he totally neglected everything else. What if sacrificing herself, saving him from the destruction his passions inexorably boded, she spent hours and days obliterating the memories they shared to turn into a devoted, pious wife?..

       “John,” Millie suddenly uttered with the affection he longed for so long, her optics faintly glistening with the coruscation he never hoped to see again. “Will you dance with me at the end of the fair? Like we did last time?”

       His face broke into a smile. He would never forget that moment: Millie Gunning, feeling lonely and clearly ill at ease, was waiting for the other shoe to drop, shuffled about, and shifted her feet, trying to ignore her more successful peers. Everybody seemed to be having a partner: even the widowed Mrs. Keane, who nagged at everyone in and outside school, found a miserable-looking guy with a shabby hat heavily patched at the crown. George could very well be the only dweller refusing to show up, thus compelling his spouse to go through taciturn condemnation of the islanders. What was she purported to do? She couldn’t leave yet if she didn’t want to complicate the relationship with the people of Crockett, nor could she participate. So, standing there, smiling politely and laboriously to Mrs. Keane, who could smell a problem from a mile away, Millie feigned control over the situation and sorted her knitted goods, sometimes plucking out the threads to fix a scarf or a beanie and look occupied.

John Pruitt, the local priest, came to the rescue, offering a hand, a broad, cheeky smile plastered to his agitated face.

       “Shall we dance, Millie Gunning?” he repeated like before, staring directly into her caramel eyes, his voice gaining the velvety notes she thought she would never hear again. “Whole Crocket Island is going to hit the floor tonight.”

           Catching the innuendo, Mildred eagerly nodded. Feeling her heart beating faster, the woman dared give him a smile he remembered from one of the nights they’d spent in his rectory, wallowing in the translucent stream of the moonlight.

[missxfaithc]

Levitating - Head Engineer Mark x Captain Fanfic

“Life itself is the most wonderful fairytale.”

—Hans Christian Andersen

Part Four:

Scene: Invincible II, control room

[The CAPTAIN presses some buttons on the main control panel.  MARK walks in with a mop and bucket.]

MARK: [with surprise] Oh!  Sorry, I thought all the crew was done in here for the night.  I mean, I know you’re the Captain and all, but... [MARK trails off, seeing that the CAPTAIN is busy with something on a control panel.]  Um, well, anyways... I’ll just... come back later, I guess.

[The CAPTAIN whips around and gestures for MARK to clean the room while they’re still working.]

MARK: Oh.  Uh... okay.  I, uh, I’ll try to not get in your way, Captain.

[Mark shoves his mop in the water bucket and then plops it down on the floor.  He avoids eye-contact with the CAPTAIN as he begins cleaning the room.  Meanwhile, the CAPTAIN turns back around and begins typing something on the control panel’s screen.]

MARK: [after a few minutes of silence] Um, Captain... We’re still friends, right?  I mean, I’ve hardly even gotten a chance to see you over these past couple weeks, but... Maybe we could grab a coffee and chat in the cafeteria sometime or something?  Y’know, just to catch up and stuff.

[The CAPTAIN pauses in their work, their hands hovering over the digitalized panel.  Their large, tinted visor obscures whatever expression they might be making.  MARK wishes, not for the first time, that he could see their reaction to his words.]

MARK: [uncertainly, in an uneven tone] Or... not, I guess.  Um, if you’re too busy or whatever, that’s cool, too.  I know being the Captain of this ship isn’t an easy job.

[The CAPTAIN eventually turns back around to face MARK.  With the visor on, all MARK can distinguish of their features is the thin line of their mouth---not smiling.]

MARK: [with a nervous laugh] Did I... did I say something wrong, Captain?

[The CAPTAIN shakes their head slowly, then finally gives the slightest hint of a smile.  They turn back to the control panel and frantically type something out on a blank screen.]

MARK: [edging closer to the screen to get a better look] Um... everything okay, Captain?

[The CAPTAIN finishes typing up their message and moves over slightly for MARK to see.]

MARK: [reading the message aloud]��“Yes, we’re still friends, Mark.  I would like to grab a coffee and catch up with you sometime.  I’m sorry I’ve been so distant lately.”

[The CAPTAIN looks over at MARK, awaiting a response to their message.  MARK smiles and pats them on the shoulder.]

MARK: It’s okay, Captain.  Your job on this ship is way more important than mine, anyway.  Though, I have to ask, [jokingly] you haven’t been ditching me for another crew-member, have you?

[The CAPTAIN gives a surprisingly emphatic head shake in response.  They then quickly type out another message on the control panel screen.]

MARK: [reading the message aloud] “Weird things have been happening to me lately.  I don’t know who to trust.  Something isn’t right.”

[MARK gulps loudly after reading through the CAPTAIN’s message.  He wonders if they’ve also seen the strange man in the robe.]

MARK: [urgently] Have you seen the man in the red robe? [MARK grabs the CAPTAIN’s hands and gives them an intense look.]  He looked just like me---I swear.  I saw him in the men’s bathroom a few nights ago.  Have you seen him?

[The CAPTAIN looks down at MARK’s hold on their hands and frowns.  MARK notices and drops them, mumbling an apology under his breath.  The CAPTAIN then looks back up and slowly nods, just once.]

MARK: You have!  That’s great!  I mean, it’s not great, but--- [cutting himself off before he starts rambling] How many times have you seen him?  Have you seen him recently?

[The CAPTAIN holds up one finger, then frowns and adds two more fingers.  Then they shake their head and hold up all the fingers on their right hand.]

MARK: [confused] You don’t know how many times you’ve seen him?

[The CAPTAIN nods, then shakes their head, also seeming confused.]

MARK: Maybe you could type it out for me, if you don’t mind?

[The CAPTAIN obliges and types out another message, this one slightly longer than the other two.]

MARK: [reading the message aloud] “I’ve seen him more than once---I know that much for sure.  But... it always happens like a dream.  It never makes any sense.  He looks just like you, but I know it’s not you.  I don’t understand why it’s happening---it scares me.”

[The CAPTAIN shifts their weight from foot to foot and looks back over at MARK, seemingly nervous.]

MARK: [contemplating] When was the last time you saw him?

[The CAPTAIN types up another quick message.]

MARK: [reading the message aloud] “A few nights ago.  I think it was just a dream, though---or maybe a nightmare.”

[MARK frowns at the message and glances back over at the CAPTAIN.  They look nervous---on edge.  Their hands grip the edge of the control panel tightly.  MARK wants to give them a comforting hug but thinks better of it---boundaries and all that.]

MARK: Okay.  Um, wow.  This is... a lot of new information to take in.  Does anyone else know about this?

[The CAPTAIN emphatically shakes their head “no”.]

MARK: Okay.  I told a couple of my friends---Burt and Gunther---about my encounter with... Not-Me, but that’s it.  And, honestly, I don’t even think they believed me.  What should we do now?

[The CAPTAIN shrugs and then types up another message.]

MARK: [reading the message aloud] “If he shows up again, don’t tell him about this.  I don’t know who he is or what he wants, but I don’t trust him.  For now, I think it’s best if we carry on like usual---at least until we have more information.”

[The CAPTAIN presses a button on the control panel and deletes the messages.  MARK ponders what to say next as the CAPTAIN finishes up some work and then shifts the panel screen into sleep mode for the rest of the night.]

MARK: [after a few beats of silence] Is that why you’ve been distant with me, Captain?  Because I remind you of him?

[The CAPTAIN gives a hesitant nod before looking decidedly away from MARK.]

MARK: Is that... is that why you demoted me?

[This comment earns a chuckle out of the CAPTAIN.  They pat MARK on the shoulder and then squeeze his arm in what MARK chooses to believe is a display of affection.]

MARK: [chuckling along with them] I’m really that bad?  I know I didn’t finish my degree---but I got pretty close!  I did build this ship and its predecessor, after all.

[The CAPTAIN lets out a real laugh this time---it’s the first time MARK has ever heard them laugh.  It’s a nice sound.]

MARK: [sighing a bit] Look, Captain.  Maybe this isn’t the right time, but---

[MARK’s statement is cut off by the sound of the ship’s automatic alert system.  The lights in the control room begin to rapidly flicker on and off.  MARK and the CAPTAIN look around in confusion and panic.]

MARK: Isn’t that warning for the Warp Core?  What’s happening down there?

[The CAPTAIN gesticulates wildly, as if to say, “how the hell should I know?”]

MARK: Right, sorry.  We should probably check it out and find a way to shut that alarm off, too.

[MARK follows the CAPTAIN out of the control room.  Halfway down the hall, he pauses as he remembers that he’s not Head Engineer anymore.  Still, though, the CAPTAIN continues leading the way and doesn’t order MARK to go back to barracks or deal with the other crew-members.  He takes it as a good sign---maybe he’ll get his job back, after all.]

For previous and future parts of this fanfic, please look at the pinned post on my profile!

[emo-and-confused]

Out of context things my Global Perspectives teacher has said:

Information: This was a 10th grade zoom class for the academy program at my public high school

“I know you’re all fans of K-pop, right?”

“You are not allowed to record. If I find out you are recording, I will find you, and I will destroy you.”

“Please ask a question, I’m so bored of talking.”

“I don't like listening to myself talk. My wife disagrees but-“

“It’s basically a “do you know how to read” quiz. so if you don’t know how to read, I don’t know how you got here.”

“Be prepared for a lot of dead jokes. Cause they’re fun. Cancer jokes are fun too. My dad died of cancer, so I guess I have the right to make them.”

“I have very little sympathy. If your grandma dies.. we’ll talk. If your grandma keeps dying, I’ll have to ask some questions.”

“I don’t text and drive, but I email and drive.”

“Do not copy me, I am not a lawyer.”

“I almost got killed so many times. I should've got killed, like legally. I still have both my hands which is surprising. so, I have so many stories of Saudi Arabia.”

“My most favorite child of mine, my dog.” (he has three human children)

[internet fluctuates] “Play the dinosaur game? What’s the dinosaur game?” (he learns to play the dinosaur game)

“Let me know if anything is going on. If your dad is currently dying of cancer, and you want more cancer jokes, please tell me.”

“I will drive to their house and cough on them and give them coronavirus.” “I will threaten you with biological abuse.”

“Have I told you my suicide Christian joke yet? No? Can I tell you guys my suicide Christian joke?”

“I don’t know my mom’s phone number. I don’t know my dad’s either.. but that’s for different reasons :)”

“Not the dirt on your shoes, the coronavirus in your lungs.”

“Speaking of addiction... nevermind I can’t tell you that yet.”

[to me] “You should not lie to yourself, I’m sorry that you do.”

“This is why you guys are so depressed, you guys don’t sleep.”

“You guys did great, give yourselves a pat on the back.... wow, only a few of us did that. The rest of you guys are losers.”

“I’m so white, I can’t roll my r’s, I’m sorry-“

“I just wanna get off the camera and go cry again.”

“Teah, Canadians, boring! Stop apologizing all the time! We get it, you like hockey!”

“Welch? Nobody cares about the Welch. They’re just smaller english people.”

“Don’t be stupid like me.”

“All of your teachers used to be stupid. Now some of them are less stupid”

“l don’t recommend making out with people with aids.” “Here’s a better suggestion, stop making out with people.” “You know who you should be making out with? Your spouse. Get married and then make out.” “You should not be making out with Jesus. That’s gross.”

“You know what else is dumb? The speed limit. Speed limits are dumb, yeah- you know what else? Tires! You don’t need them! They’re dumb! You don’t need oil changes! Yeah, that’s dumb! You know what else is dumb? Taxes! Screw the man!”

“No, the holy spirit will not get rid of aids” [pause] “Well—-“

“We can talk about pedophilia another day.”

“No wonder you all are addicts.”

“If you’ve been eating the same breakfast for the past 7 years, you might have a mental disorder.”

“If I’m ever on the show Naked and Afraid, please don’t watch, cause I'll be naked and afraid.”

“I know you’re not used to a grown man caring about you, cause you haven’t seen your dad in five years. It's okay. I wish he was around more often.”

“I got hit on at Busch Gardens and it was amazing.” “I haven’t been hit on in ten years.”

“If I ever get killed by the government, man, I want it to be a firing squad. That’s a badass way to go.”

“Do you guys wanna see me, in high school, as a Dr. Pepper can?” 

“We might not learn anything in this class but at least we have fun.”

“It is possible that I might have made some Dr. Pepper commercials. And it is possible that I might have made some Dr. Pepper music videos.” “Who says I'm not a Dr. Pepper shareholder? I have never made that claim.”

“Did I tell you about that time I waterboarded a kid? No? Ah, well that’s a story for later.”

“Yes, I do believe in Santa. I believe he is Satan.”

“I'm just trying to give you legal advice.. I am not a lawyer though, so don’t take my legal advice.”

“You didn’t go to sleep until 3am? I've been up since 3am! We swapped!”

“Murders have experience, I wouldn’t let them near my children.”

“Is anyone here a flat earther? I promise I won't make fun of you. Unless you’re {Con}.”

“I wouldn't let any of you near my children. The only one of you I would let watch my daughter is {Con}.” [Me, in chat: ‘why me??’] “Why? Because I feel like she could put you in your place. She's three and a half and has no filter. She would insult you to your face.”

“Welcome to my bedroom. I tried to say that as creepy as possible, I hope it worked.”

“[Con] have you killed anyone this morning?”

“Guys, I’m gonna announce my bias right now. I’m a round earther/”

(the class he says he’s quitting) [Me, in the chat: ‘who’s gonna call me out in the middle of class for no reason now :/’] “Who’s gonna call you out in the middle of class? uh... Molly! Your new job is to call {Con} out and tell them what a terrible person they are.”

“So yeah, I was almost possessed in Sri Lanka.”

“{Con}, stop. Just because you’re possessed now does not mean you can roll your eyes when I say I was almost possessed.”

“No, Kaine didn’t come into school. Kaine hasn’t left his room, in like, eight months.”

[deepspaceclawstation]

Thoughts about The Storage Papers podcast in no particular order:

While I generally don't like stories with religion in them, I do make exceptions for those which examine religion from an outsider's viewpoint, or even just from an unbiased point of view. Storage papers is not one of those. It took a sharp Christian turn at the end of S1 which definitely caught me by surprise. I'm not talking about demonic possession and exorcism which obviously operate within a religious context but rather about the narrative emphasis on faith and devotion in a decidedly Christian context. I had no issue with the former as I actually like learning about the lore and mythology, but I have to draw a line when a horror podcast starts sounding like a sermon. There's just something deeply uncomfortable about it.

Weird sound effects. The narrator describes an event, then pauses while a sound effect for that particular action/event is played. It's too literal for an auditory medium, it's like auditory charades except they precede it with telling you the answer. I don't know why they made this creative choice but it just sounds very awkward and takes you right out of the scene. I know what footsteps sound like, you don't have to stop the narration to play that sfx for 10 damn seconds. Just play it in the background if you really want to put it in. It's even worse when the effect is supposed to be a disturbing one because there's no moderation in the way they use it.

I don't know whether this is a voice acting issue, direction issue, or simply a creative choice but the narrator sounds so unaffected by the material he's reading. At first I thought this was a conscious decision made to express his disbelief regarding the content of the papers, which is a smart thing to do. But no, even now when he's finally in the thick of it, when he's reading these horrifying incomprehensible accounts seemingly every week, we get no reaction at all. Come on man, give us something!

Episode 16 (Sine Nomine) - there's this line that really took me out of the show. So this mysterious person (who's totally a 'her' btw) is telling our narrator all about all these shady experiments being carried out by a super-secret government agency and they say, "I'm telling you this because people should know about all these black deeds being committed with taxpayer money." Which is such a confounding statement to make in this context! Who cares if they are using taxpayer money, isn't our main concern that people are being hurt? Understand that this line in itself is innocuous and wouldn't have irked me so much if the tone of the narrator (the mystery person in this case, not the show narrator), or at least the surrounding content challenged my interpretation of it. But it really doesn't.

Episode 17 (The Licker). This episode just compounds my problem with the narrator. I don't have a problem with the paranormal content, it's grisly, but that's what I'm here for. However, what I simply cannot tolerate is the blasé way the narrator handles the account. This guy reads an almost voyeuristic account of a teenage girl's descent into soul-crushing desperation and he doesn't express an ounce of sympathy? The only emotion he expresses is his fascination by the journal entries as he can track the girl's mental state through them. Dude, what?

Episode 18 (Projekt Hydra) - where shit really goes off the rails. The Nazis have entered the chat. Ugh I'm not going to talk about this in detail because it's icky and dicey and I'm not Jewish but suffice it to say that I'm very uncomfortable by their handling of the subject matter.

I don't know if I'm going to continue this show. It was never very engaging to begin with but it has really veered off in a direction that's not to my taste. As far as I could gather from the amount I've listened to, the 'emotional core' (if there is any) of the show is going to be the narrator's journey of strengthening or reaffirming his religious beliefs (yep, it's about Christianity). It is as much a compatibility issue as it is an issue with the podcast making some questionable decisions.

[bubblyani]

The Letter

(Melvin Purvis x Reader)

A Melvin Purvis One Shot

Fandom: Public Enemies (2009) Michael Mann

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 6.6k+

Summary: The day when the FBI plans to catch John Dillinger, you finally write a letter full of undisclosed affections to Melvin Purvis, the love of your life. 


Author’s Note: Please note, this is all based on the fictionalized version of the character played by Christian Bale. It was a challenging concept but very happy with the outcome. Maybe I’m just “Bumping Gums*” but, hope y’all enjoy!!

“What are you thinking about?”

That familiar, male voice inquired. Cool yet affectionate; lingering in the darkness long enough for a female voice to hum before responding:

“Me? just things…” she began, her voice comprised of a much greater familiarity above all others, “Things I wanna say to you. I…” a chuckle arose, “It’s silly but…” she inhaled deep, “I just want to, write them down…for you”  

“What?…like in a letter?”

“Uh huh!”

“Why? I’m right here” Her giggles seasoned his genuine curiousity,“It’s not the same. I…” she inevitably paused, “I’m just shy” as softness smeared over her tone. “Oh…” he decided to follow suite, “…somehow I don’t believe that” with his words exiting in the form of purrs, the two pairs of lips finally met. The kiss, it was chaste. Yet the sound remained crisp. And the shared chuckles that soon followed, were crispier. Audibly vivid at its finest.

Sheer pity, for it merely was a memory. Such a pity, for it vanished the very second your eyes dared to open.

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

(1934)

A heavy sigh left your lips in disappointment. Arms folded, your right index finger wandered over your silk robe, in detail. It had no other option, especially when your lips could not indulge his own, when your eyes could not indulge the only loving gaze that truly mattered. Thus, there you were, running your fingers over the silk of harsh reality. Nothing to imagine, nothing to relive.

All the while you stood, staring at the door ahead. The door from where he just left.

It was a lazy afternoon, and anxiousness had found its way deep into your bloodstream. Woken nerves, uneasy stomach, the pounding heart with great speed and clarity. Harsh reality had turned to the worse, grabbing you by the shoulders, only to force you to stare deep at it.

Face the facts, it uttered. But which part of you wanted to do so?

Though being the sole occupant in the room, your pounding heartbeat did not fail to drown your very own hearing. This feeling, you despised it, to the core. If only it would stop.

Until it finally did. But only when you spun back around in a split second. For you decided to take action on it instead.

Planting yourself firm on the wooden desk, hands were occupied in the hurried dance as drawers were pulled, and stashes of paper were grabbed and dropped out before you. But once the hands found their way to a beautiful pen inside, all actions reduced pace. Holding it with care, your eyes grew warm by the mere sight. For the pen, it was a symbol of things a many, and one in particular. The one which cost you a heavy sigh, before opening the cap and let the pen make take its course on the paper. And just like that, you finally wrote down two words. Two out of the many your heart ached to speak into existence:

Dear Mel…

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The sigh that followed soon after, was relieving. It was liberating. In truth, even a smile seemed possible. Hence, your intentions were clear.

“Dear Mel…” leaning forward, you read it out with warmth. For you were prepared to permit the ink to reunite with the paper once again, and linger on a little longer:

Looks like I finally found a reason to sit down and write this letter to you. Honestly, I feel like laughing, cause I never thought I’d end up doing this. 


Chuckling to oneself, you proceeded to write:

But I know if I don’t do this now, I would regret it. Cause now I finally know you deserve to read every last bit of my thoughts and feelings. All that I have hidden for too long. Before it’s too late.

Seeing you walk out that door wasn’t anything new. But when you did it this afternoon, it felt different. My heart, it felt something. It was heavy! That’s the word. Was I worried? afraid? I don’t know. All I know was that, it was too much. Enough for me to remember your effect on me.

Those words may have been generalized, yet you were astounded by the comfort you sensed when writing them. Inhaling deep, you kept on:

You were not a man I expected to ever meet in my life, Melvin Purvis. Never for one second. Out of all the folks here in Chicago, why would we ever meet? Whatever reason it was, I am very thankful. I am very thankful I opened my door to the hallway that night.

And I am thankful for Mr. Lloyd, and for that man in the navy blue coat.

Your words, they brimmed with sincerity. Looking up from the paper, you couldn’t help but stare into the wall. It was simply inevitable. Especially when every bit of detail began to flow into your consciousness, only to unfold the memory of that fateful night in your mind.

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

Chick Webb’s “Blues in my Heart*” playing in the radio, certainly did not fail to mirror your heart to perfection. For the melancholia was mutual. And the dim lights illuminating the apartment in the late evening, seemed to have sealed the emotion shut.

Memorable was your deep sigh, along with warm cup of tea that rested on your hands:

“I figured he, of all people would vouch for me, but instead he just…hung up” You remembered uttering, tone enriched with sadness whilst imitating a telephone being disconnected.

“Well…” a gruff voice began, “…if I were your Old man, I would never pull that nonsense”

You looked up, to set your eyes over at your neighbor Wilmer Lloyd, sitting across from you in his pajamas. A spritely gentleman in his late seventies, Lloyd was the friend, who in time became the father figure you wished you had.

Amused by his temper filled response, You chuckled with disbelief:

“Mr. Lloyd, your daughter had to move to another city, cause you didn’t like the fella she wanted to marry” you replied, “No need for the unnecessary kindness” adding with a smile, you proceeded to take a sip of the hot beverage.

“What kindness? she is no good kid like you. She married a goon*! ” Lloyd responded in defense, leaning forward with conviction, “While your Pops is just mad cause you’re trying to be a Secretary”

“I bet you a Lincoln* that my folks rather have me marry a goon, than have me find my own way of living”  you said, gulping down the rest of the tea.

“Don’t jinx it, kid” the old man grunted, his index finger pointed right at you, “I don’t wanna hate you too”

You laughed out loud. Truthfully, you were relieved to have finally did. The room felt too depressing for too long.

“Alright, kid. I’m beat” the old man sighed, pushing himself up to stand with a grunt. “Goodnight, Mr.Lloyd” You stood alongside him. The two parted ways, with you making your way over to the kitchen, and your neighbor making his way out. As if it was so habitual. For a daily chat with old Wilmer Lloyd, was indeed habitual.

Your first proper encounter with Lloyd was a special one. It was only a few months ago that you moved into Chicago. Stressful work shifts and lack of friends led to an eventual emotional breakdown one fine evening. A seemingly noticeable one, which caused the usually moody Lloyd to peep through his door, only to find you bawling your eyes out in the hallway. The sight of you kneeling before your apartment door in tears, was more than enough for his cold heart to melt, and to voice his concern. All while he helped you gather the groceries that had fallen out of your brown paper bag.

“We all gotta start somewhere, kid”

That phrase of comfort, was the invisible handkerchief that wiped your tears that day. And as you rinsed the tea cup, that phrase managed to return to your consciousness, being an invisible hand to pat you on the shoulder. Closing the tap, you sighed with relief. For you were once again thankful for the good in humanity.

Until the sound of a gunshot attacked your ears.

Clinging on to the sink with a jump, you felt your heart beat out loud, and there was no stopping. Before any was comprehended, a loud groan soon followed, originating from the Hallway. Your eyes widened. Could it be?

“Mr.Lloyd…” you breathed, as your legs finally made you dash towards the door to open. You gasped out loud, the moment you found Wilmer Lloyd sprawled on the floor, shot.

“Oh my god!…” you whispered, kneeling beside him.

But Lloyd lost your attention for a slight second, for you caught the sight of a man disappearing into the right-side stairwell. The sight was quick and blurry, yet it was evident he was armed. And one particular color was prominent as he left.

The groan repeated, forcing you to focus on Lloyd once again. Which was most important.

“A-are you alright?” A meek inquiry was all that you could do.

“WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE, KID?” The old man answered in pain, shifting. Slight relief washed over you, when you noticed he was only shot in the arm. Perhaps it was your heartbeat, or a new set of pounding footsteps nearby. Either way, the sounds grew louder from the left.

“Freeze! Chicago Police-” A voice, a male voice cried out, only to pause, causing you to look over, only to freeze.

Lowering his pistol, a well dressed man stood, surrounded by two others. All in suits and fedoras, and all seemingly alarmed by the sight of you and Lloyd.

“Is he alright, Ma’am?” The first man inquired. “I’m fine. Jesus!” Lloyd responded with annoyance. The man nodded with acknowledgement. Although there was slight embarrassment in the his face, you were simply too distracted by the cool nature of his voice.

“I know this is the wrong time but…” the man uttered, “…but did you see-”

“The shooter? ” you began all the sudden, “…in a navy blue coat? He went that way” pointing towards the right, you added. The muscles of the man’s tensed face relieved.

“Thank you, ma’am…” he breathed, before making a dash, “Boys! Take this man to the hospital” his commanding voice trailed behind him, indicating Lloyd. All before he himself disappeared into the stairwell.

And to your luck, the two able bodied youngsters knelt over the old man to do the needful. “The bullet is still inside. He’s gonna be alright, ma’am”

“Thank god! You heard him, Mr.Lloyd” you said, “Let’s go”

“Eh…” Lloyd muttered, holding the wound whilst being carried, “Not that I’m overjoyed about getting shot, but I gotta say I’m more than happy to know I’m not gonna die tonight” he grunted. To which you finally smiled behind him:

“Not in a million years…”

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

The sound of loud sirens shattered your trail of reminiscence. Sirens, you gasped. For they suddenly brought you worry. Was he in trouble already?

Parting from the pen and paper, your hands pushed you to rise and scurry towards the window. Except you merely saw a youngster getting his ear pulled by an angry policeman, for fiddling with the police car siren.

You clutched your chest, sighing with relief to see. The fact that daylight yet reigned supreme was also sufficient evidence for you to rationalize your new-found relief. He was safe, wherever he was.

Returning to the desk, you picked up the pen. Glancing at it with affection, you proceeded to write once more:

Because of the accident that night, I found myself meeting a man who fascinated me instantly. So , you could understand how frustrated I was when I couldn’t even thank him.

You smirked upon those words. Not soon before you continued writing:

But then again, who knew I would have the actual luck to see him again two days later? At a place where I least expected. All thanks to a Bad Customer.

Akin to a Moving Picture, or a Talkie*, that very moment began to project into your memory. All the while your index finger managed to twirl a piece of your hair with nostalgia.

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

“Apparently it was just some low level goon. Well, at least that’s what the Police told Mr.Lloyd…when they took his statement. But I don’t buy it, no. Why would those Federal Agents be there if it was?…”

You said, tying up the white, cotton waist apron over your baby blue waitress uniform.  

“Goodness! I really wouldn’t know what I would have done if I were you, Sweetpea” Cathy, your best friend replied while she followed suite.

Once the hair was fixed, the two of you headed to the kitchen, “Everyone! Look who’s changed her shift!” Cathy cried out, urging the other employees at the Diner to focus on you. There were cheers, bringing out the brightest smile in you. It was official.

Living with the Great Depression which has affected all, you were grateful even for the employment at a Diner in the city. A temp job, as you called it yourself. Until that very morning, you were assigned to the later shift and spent several weeks parted from Cathy. Fortunately, upon your boss’ satisfaction, you were finally offered the shift you always wished for: The morning shift.

You graciously used the first hour that morning for familiarization, which mainly included the customers. And that was indeed the part that fascinated you. For the customers were diverse with each shift. And the mornings were mostly welcomed by blue collar workers.

“Cathy! They’re waiting for the pancakes” 
“Oh! Shoot! I’m on it”

Listening to Cathy’s response in the background, you shook your head with amusement. You watched your friend waltz over to the eagerly waiting booth. But only before you made your way to the corner of the Diner counter.

“Can I help you, Sir?” A well rehearsed phrase exited your painted lips with politeness. A young man was the current owner to the corner seat. “A refill” the blonde haired drawled, indicating his empty, white mug on the counter. “Right away” “Thanks, Sweetheart” he replied, whilst the sound of the black coffee being poured, filled your ears. A group of eyes watched you from another corner. It was certain. And sure enough, your stealthy eyes caught the sight of some men sat across the diner. All sniggering. “Ya know…” the Blondie continued as he leaned forward, “my boys over there…” he indicated the suspicious group, “…they don’t believe me but, I think you’re one fine girl, sweeter than sugar” he said, flashing a flirtatious smile. “Oh, really?” You inquired with a polite chuckle. “Cross my heart, I hope to die” He was handsome, yes. But he was the handsome you never wanted. The type of handsome that could also break your heart. Besides, his attempt of seduction was misdirected, “So…um…” leaning closer, he began to whisper, “Care to help me prove the boys wrong? Like with a date? Or even a kiss? ” He inquired, his suggestive eyebrows being quite evident.

Oh, that fool, you thought. If you were at liberty to throw your head back in laughter, you would without any hesitation. Yet, it would not be appropriate.

“Ah! I’m sorry Sir, but I’m working” you replied.

“Aww come on!” He groaned, to which you shook your head and took a step back.

“Sorry Sir-Ah!” Except he grabbed you tight by the wrist. And displeasure was the mask he wore.

“Hey now, is that the way you treat your regulars here?” He inquired, increasing volume. Confused and very violated, your heart rate began to speed up. You sensed a threat.

“Let go, Sir!” You muttered in desperate politeness. Yet he did not.

“Why?” He sniggered, amidst your struggle to break free, “Whatcha gonna do, sugar?”

“I believe the lady asked you to let go”

That voice. A voice you could identify. A voice that forced you and Blondie to turn heads. Your eyes widened. Dressed smart and completed with his Fedora, the FBI agent from two nights ago stood before you both. Authoritative yet graceful, he sighed:   “Pardon me for intruding, but I know a Regular won’t harass a waitress this way” he said in a casual tone, to which Blondie stood up: 
“Yeah?” He snarled, offended, “How would YOU know about being Regulars, smart ass?” “Cause I am one” The Agent answered, before missing Blondie’s surprise punch, only to twist his arm within seconds.

Cries of pain erupted from the young man’s lips, until he was pulled close by the agent. You watched him whisper some words to Blondie’s ear, all before he finally released him. Confidence was nowhere nearby when the blonde man stashed some cash onto the counter, and stumbled towards his group of boys with fear.

You suddenly heard Cathy’s sigh of relief nearby: 
“Oh, Thank god you’re here, Mr.Purvis” She said to the Agent, “You just saved my friend” she motioned towards you.

Finally you had the liberty to observe him. Tall and lean with sharp facial features, he possessed the handsome that comforted you. The handsome that formed potential in you. The handsome that attracted you. Sitting on the now empty seat, he flashed you a cool smile: “Melvin Purvis” he said, “I believe we haven’t had the pleasure…” It seemed he did remember you. You smiled back. “No, we haven’t…” you replied with softness, as you held up the pot, “Coffee?”

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

And who knew the man that fascinated me, would be you?

I am not ashamed to say, I was over the moon to see you again, Mel. Seeing you for only a few seconds in the hallway, clearly wasn’t enough for me. I was greedy. So greedy I was afraid to admit. But the moment I realized that corner seat in the counter was your usual spot, I knew my greed was not in vain. I was greedy, to get to know someone so badly. So, when you saved me from Blondie, you also saved yourself a spot in my heart. I just didn’t know it at that moment.

But I do remember when I finally did.

When one serves a regular customer long enough, certain facts become known. Be it their usual breakfast order, their favorite beverage, or the guilty pleasure one indulges once in a while. But apart from that, conversation comes into play as well.

I don’t think you knew how happy you made me every time we talked, even while you had your Eggs and Toast. Whatever it was, I enjoyed them all. All topics, from about the mouthy janitor, to the famous FBI cases, which were solved or ongoing. But I was also happy when you also had the time for me, to know about my crazy stories about customers in the late shift, or even just about myself. Which surprised me the most.

You finally became aware of the smile you wore throughout writing. Though you managed to relax your facial muscles, the smile remained at default. Thus, you kept on with your words:

Mel, you made me look forward to work everyday. And that was one huge favor. Waitressing was never this girl’s dream. Another job was. And you know what.

“I know…” you remember saying, as you wiped the Diner counter, “Secretary, A Nice Office…Even my own folks think it’s a silly dream for a girl like me-”

“That doesn’t mean its your truth” Mel, your calm, unfazed reply, those words shook me. You were right. You made me feel braver. You made me want to work harder. You made me feel like anything was possible. And that was when, I finally saw that special spot you had in my heart. Oh Mel, it felt like an earthquake in here. I was affected. I couldn’t even sleep that night. Cause that spot of yours made me realize, I had fallen for you. Fallen in love with you.

Placing your left palm over your chest, it did not take you long to relive that magical feeling whilst you wrote:

Suddenly, I couldn’t look you in the eye anymore. And I’m sorry for that. I may have looked busy with customers for some days, but that was me struggling. I was at a war with myself. A constant battle with my eyes to not care for you more, a battle with my lips to not tell you, how much I pined for you.

But as you remember, I finally did.

And the morning when you did, felt to be a landmark of your bravery.

Upon serving his breakfast, you retreated to the kitchen with haste. The fact you did not even acknowledge Melvin’s usual “Thank you” proved strangeness. Generally, when employees were seen standing at the back entrance of the Diner, one would expect them to be occupied with a personal matter, or even have a smoke break. Except, you simply longed for a break from him.

Seeing Purvis was torture. And that morning felt more torturous than ever. Your desire for him multiplied with every single visit.

Rubbing your forearms to fight off the spring chill, You took a deep breath. What was that you feared? Confessing your feelings? Or the mere possibility of being refused?

“What are you doing? Out here in the cold?” You gasped, looking up to find Melvin standing before you.

“I-” you paused, as Melvin took off his long coat, and slung it over your shoulder with no hesitation. A warmth protected you all the sudden. Was it the coat? Or was it him?

“Are you unwell?” He inquired. You shook your head, not taking too long to finally settle your eyes on his. And there it was: the speeding pulse, the torture, the multiplication of desire. Eyes growing wider with concern upon your speechless look, Melvin shot glances at both directions with stealth: “Is anyone bothering y-”

Only to be intruded by your lips pressed against his.

Oh, Mel! What did you do to me?

With a deep shudder, you kept writing: Why did your lips taste like the sweetest pie in all the world? I’m sorry if my ink turns messy here. It’s just that thinking about it, I just hope my heart won’t burst and bleed. Tasting that sweetness, I was ready to risk it all. Ready to accept the worst fear to come true.

You had a fair point. Especially when his lips remained unmoved throughout your kiss. Which forced you to move back quick, and blush with embarrassment: “I-I’m sorry…” you blurted, struggling with one’s movements as you handed over his coat back and turned to leave. 
“No! please…” Melvin breathed, stopping you with his hand on your shoulder, “I’m sorry…” he stressed, “I suppose I was just caught by surprise” with a chuckle soon after. “Believe me, it wasn’t planned” you chuckled alongside him, relaxing a little. “Although I was hoping…” he began, “If I could take you to dinner one night…” Your eyes widened, but your heart bloomed.

But life was kind enough to gift me a date instead. A date with the best man I know.

“Yes! You can…” you answered immediately, “And please…no need to call me Ma’am anymore, Mr. Purvis” you smiled. To which he smiled back with a hint of mischief, which seemed surprising for the 30 year old Agent:

“Then, there’s no need to call me Mr. Purvis anymore either”

A date that I had always dreamt about. Not with a boy, but with a real gentleman. It had come true. Were you reading my thoughts this entire time?

Bashful giggles erupted from your lips upon writing. It was a date to remember :The fancy restaurant, the fine dining, the stimulating conversation basked in soft jazz and candlelight. Watching and taking in every fine line that adorned his beautiful, statuesque face brought you pride.

Sitting with you, getting lost in our own world, it was no doubt that I was the luckiest woman in the entire restaurant that night.

“I had a wonderful time, Mel. Thank you” Your words were enveloped with warmth and sincerity.

It was late, and Melvin had brought you back home like the gentleman he was. Opening the car door for you, he surprised you with just a smile, no other reply. Which forced you to raise your eyebrows, evidently confused. Could it be that he did not share the exact sentiments as you? Were you not the woman he hoped for by the end of the night? Insecurity began to bubble up within.

“What?” You inquired with a nervous chuckle, “All night you were yapping away, but now suddenly cat got your tongu-”

He gently pushed you against the car. Just so his gracious hands could cup your face, and just so he could plant his lips on yours.

And I was also the luckiest woman in the neighborhood, when you finally kissed me right back.

Sweetness infused with softness, you needed not permission to be fueled with greed at last. For greed finally permitted you to wrap one’s arms around his neck, only to pull him closer. Those lips of his, they had tempted you from the very first moment. And when they finally voluntarily expressed their affection, you were more than ecstatic.

Mel, your kisses were magic. They made me wish if I had all the power in the world to slow down time.

And I felt the very same, when we finally made love that night.

That night, that mere memory. You would be lying if it did not manage to send chills down your spine.

Invitation for a nightcap was your only shameless excuse. For not a single cell of your being, wanted him to leave your sight. Not when he had lit up a flame of desire in you, a few minutes prior. You silently cursed all the passerby’s who forced you both to pull away from the kisses. The kisses that he started by the car. But what could you do? You were surrendered to the laws of love.

Thus, the mere act of turning on the Crosley* Radio, became an involuntary act of seduction. Rudy Vallee’s “If I had a Girl like You*” filtering out from the speakers, gave life to the entire apartment. And it did ever the same to you, tempting you to sway your body from side to side. But your body felt so much vigor, when Melvin gave up on patience, only to hold you by the waist, spin you around just so his hungry lips could taste yours once again.

Melvin kissed you, and you kissed him. Slow, articulate, these lips were making up for every day they did not touch one another. All those days full of remorse.

Thus, began a dance between the two lovers. Heated, passionate. A dance consisting of choreography that had existed within all of mankind. Did not matter if it was carrying you bridal style to the bed, or placing you on to the bed without a sound much louder than a mattress squeak, either way, Melvin’s presence exuded safety.

Pleasure and excitement were in a fiery alliance when you savored shedding every piece of clothing off his torso. Never once did you think seeing many layers would bring you so much arousal. Especially when his eyes had nowhere else to look but at you during. His eyes, they burned with desire. And you would be unfaithful to your honesty if you denied the loins that burned within you as a result. For it was evident how much you longed for him. How the hunger led you to provide him the attention he truly deserved with your touch and kisses.

Dressed, he was smart, authoritative. Undressed, he was god-like. And to hear his soft moans amidst your attention was a gift. A gift that aroused you further. Yet before your eager hands could fondle his hardened shaft, he flipped you with impatience to focus on you instead. His kisses were other-worldly, making sweet contact on your soft, naked skin, creating waves of untold pleasure whenever he peeled off each piece of lingerie. Naked you may have been finally, yet you were more than ecstatic with the new outfit you wore: him. The infusion of soft music, sounds of lovers moans and kisses while the bedsheets rustled, were indeed sweeter than nectar. Tantalizing enough for him to finally enter you. Arousing enough for you to accept him. Resulting in unity, love making, deeming soft as the moonlight that shone into the bedroom. Soft, yet impactful that every second remained carved in your mind fresh, like it was yesterday.

Oh Mel, how did your touch made me weak, but gave me power at the same time? How did you make every second of it worthwhile?

You wrote with a sigh, blushes occupying your cheeks. Not before you cleaned up your ink stained fingers, caused by your thoughts of pure distraction.

Why did you get me addicted to your loving? But most importantly, why were you the perfection I dreamt of all along?

Breathless, you would be lying if it did not take you a while to regain your senses. Re-reading the previous sentence written, you proceeded to give the letter further life: 


After that night, I wanted shout out loud from the rooftops full of happiness, I wanted to tell the entire city, no! The entire world of my blessing: My blessing to have a wonderful man like you, Mel.

The simple truth: that was all that it was. And not long since you and Melvin had gotten together, life was suddenly drizzled with an extra dose of joy. An extra dose of encouragement and hope. Work went better for the both of you. Even Mr. Lloyd managed to re-meet him, but this time with more familiarity and respect. Given his interaction with the Agent, it was evident the the older man had offered his blessing and approval, which meant more to you than anything.

Since then my life was bliss, Mel. With you by my side, I knew I could take on anything.

Except, you drew in a sharp breath with a heavy heart.

All until J Edgar Hoover declared those fateful words to America: War on Crime. John Dillinger.

The heaviest sigh left your pursed lips. For a surge of concern was powerful enough to consume you.

Believe me, Mel. Seeing you get promoted to Special Agent in Charge of the Chicago Field Office, it brought me nothing but joy. Seeing you in the papers, I was the most proud anywhere I went. But with that pride, and with that joy, I was also afraid. How could I not be, when you were assigned to catch Dillinger, Public Enemy No. 1?

How could I not think of the risk you had on your life? So afraid for you that it didn’t strike with me that we didn’t see each other for so long after. 

Though you were out of sighs, your heart remained heavy with the thought. It was true, soon after his men’s lives were affected by Dillinger and his gang, Melvin did not set foot in your apartment nor in your neighborhood. And surprisingly, you did not feel betrayed. Not one bit.

When you phoned me that one time, I could tell in your voice. I could tell the weight you had on your shoulders. The burden, the responsibility, the guilt.

And to me, it didn’t matter I couldn’t see you everyday anymore. It didn’t matter that I had a hard time missing you or thinking about you. Be it at the diner, the streets, the park, the living room and the bedroom. It didn’t matter to me that I had to pretend my life had nothing to do with yours. All I wanted was for this nightmare to end: to stop the unnecessary deaths of innocent lives. All I wanted was for you to be safe. And I knew you could do it all. Without complicating things.

Thus, when someone knocked on your door a few hours ago today, your fear was justified. You remembered standing by the door, arms folded, only to feel your heart beat out of your chest. And when those loud, rapid knocks attacked the wooden door, you could not help but wonder: Could it possibly be one of Dillinger’s men? Another shooter perhaps? Were they aware of Melvin’s connection with you? Were you about to be leverage?

But to your surprise, you opened the door regardless. Clutching your chest, you could only gasp.

But I never thought you’d suddenly come crashing in this afternoon.

For there stood Melvin Purvis, Fedora at hand, heavy panting accompanied.

Never so soon.

“You were not at the Diner” he said in a hoarse tone, still panting. “I-I took a day off” you answered, with wide eyes,“Mel…” you gulped, taking a step forward “What’s wron-” To which he could only reply with rough kisses, slamming the door shut behind him.

And being in his arms again after possibly endless days and nights, you were certain you did not wish to be anywhere else.

It was as if fate urged me to stay home today, just so I wouldn’t miss your hungry kisses. Just so I wouldn’t miss your love. Something I craved for what felt like forever.

Longing translated into desperate kisses, where tongues wrestled in haste. And passionate lovemaking rushed in soon after. The type of passionate, that demanded every item of clothing make quick stops in different parts of the apartment, only to lead a trail to the bed. The type of passionate, that had his eager hands wander over your naked back, before palming your heaving breasts with impatience. All the while you straddled him, with your hips rolling against his. The type of passionate, that tempted you to gaze into his  shining eyes. For they spoke to you, even in silence. How he treasured you, how he savored you, his eyes said it all. And with your responding kiss brimming with moans and emotion, you acknowledged his silent confession, you satisfied his hunger, and accepted his peak of pleasure. All until a new climax was reached together, before collapsing on to the bed with exhaustion.

“Mel…” you panted, sweat further infusing with his, “You still didn’t tell me what’s going on…”

It was only a few minutes later, did Melvin began to speak. Only then were you able to find out about the mission that would happen tonight. The mission to finally catch Dillinger. And as if the floodgates just opened, he kept talking. And all you could do was nod, as he continued to cradle you in his arms.

Little did I know, you came to me in possibly the most fateful day ever.

“You think it will work? The plan?” You inquired, soft. His responsive hum vibrated in his chest. “The source is solid…” he replied, “So…we’re betting on it”

Lifting your head up, you looked at him. Truthfully you could not help but feel sorry. There was a hint of exhaustion in his tone. How far did this man go to make this mission a reality? How many men were sacrificed in the process? Death of many men including Carter Baum, his own partner. Feeling useless, you knew you could only offer him a reassuring soft smile:

“Then it will…” you murmured, placing a chaste kiss on his forehead. His skin seemed magnetic to your lips, causing you to proceed with more kisses. Over his eyebrows, bridge of his nose, and finally his lips, the best place of all. With another greedy peck, you pulled yourself away and sat up. With the afternoon breeze playfully caressing your exposed frame, you were tempted to reach out and grab your silk robe tossed on the edge of the bed, which you did.

“I hope you know I couldn’t risk seeing you, with Dillinger’s men on the loose”

Melvin began. Looking back, you nodded with nonchalance. “Of course…” Wrapping the robe around, your answer was as casual as taking a diner order, “I understand” you added meek, looking down at the knot.

“But…that doesn’t mean I was never here”

You froze. With wide eyes, you looked up at his sitting frame. “What do you mean?” You blurted. Only to gasp, “You-w-were you-?”

Melvin nodded,  “Every night around bedtime, from the street…looking at THAT window…”  he said, indicating the very window in your bedroom. If only you could just tell him how your heart just began to melt after possibly weeks. If only you were capable of an embrace that told every fiber of his being how moved you were by him. Melvin sighed, running his fingers through his hair:  

“I just had to make sure you were safe…” he said, “But today, I…” he paused, “I couldn’t stay away”

“And neither should you…” you replied in an instant, cupping his face, “….you’re only human”  you continued with a sigh, “It’s been too long, Mel” your voice grew softer, “ And I missed you” uttering weakly, you proceeded to press your forehead against his. And like that, you both stayed, indulging in the silence with the most innocent physical contact possible.

“This mission…” Melvin began, his warm breath falling on your face, “If I make it out alive-” “Mel, you WILL make it out aliv-” you breathed, before he placed his fingers over your lips.

“If I make it…I’m yours”

He whispered, forcing you to freeze once again. Overwhelming emotion seemed to have frozen you with disbelief, when his sharp features unveiled the softest smile, “As a man, I want to do what’s right for the people” he said, holding your chin, “ I want do what’s right for my heart. And I wanna do it all with you, by my side, always”

And in the blink of an eye, you left through that door, hours before our lives could possibly change forever.

No wonder you made love to me, as if it was your last.

Sniffing, you placed a loving kiss on the pen. For it was the pen Melvin once gifted you with. The pen he hoped you would use when you finally become a secretary. And it did not take long for you to wipe the tears that streamed down your cheeks in silence. What will happen tonight, at the Biograph Theater will end in either two ways. And all you could do was to pray for one in particular. Pray for the one you desperately needed. With another final sniff, you continued to write, until you found yourself finally finishing off the letter you never imagined yourself writing. You wrote your heart out, which left you no regrets:

Before I end this letter, I want to ask you a question.

Do you remember when I was helping you put your tie back on, minutes before you left?  

When I did, I felt something. Something warm, something nice. And I won’t lie, I enjoyed it. Cause in the end, it gave me the feeling you always gave me from the moment I met you: Hope. But today, that hope was also protected by a layer of love. A strong layer. To be able to put your tie on possibly every day, would be an honor I’d wear like a badge for life.

Mel, you WILL make it out alive. You and your men, you WILL get it done. Because this letter will be waiting for you. Because I will be waiting for you.

Ready to have more hope, ready to do more good, ready to live our truth, by your side, always.

With love,

Yours forever…

——————————————————

Glossary of 1930′s Terms/Slang Bumping Gums* - 1930’s Slang for “Talk about nothing useful” Blues in my Heart* - Jazz song by Chick Webb and his Orchestra recorded in 1931 Goon*- 1930’s Slang for thug or bodyguard Lincoln*- 1930’s Slang for $5 bill Talkies*- 1930’s Slang for Movies Crosley*- A Radio Brand famous in the 1930’s If I had a girl like you*- Jazz song by Rudy Vallee, recorded in 1930

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EXT. The Roof (Winter) - Sunset

Not Just Attracted to Women!Peter Maximoff x Fem and Not Just Attracted to Men!Reader

Based off of a dream I recently had: Peter and Y/N have a conversation on the roof of Xavier's in mid-December. Peter accidentally lets it slip that he might not be straight, and he is afraid that Y/N will think less of him because of it because this is the 80s. Y/N reveals that she is also not straight, and is saddened by the fact that Peter could think that she could ever hate him- especially for that. She calls him wonderful. Feelings ensue. Also, a touch of Cherik at the end because I give the people what they want.

Warnings: Swearing, Peter cries, internalized homophobia (this is the 80s-ish and Peter uses the word 'queer' in a kind of incorrect and kind of offensive manner, but it was internalized homophobia and not actually intended to be mean to anyone but himself so I forgive him), a touch of angst but mostly fluff, Charles called you two "children" even though you are obviously not, Erik is happy that his son has someone that cares about him the way you do, Peter is insecure but not super blunt about it, Peter has been deprived of being adored his entire life, bad writing, I mention a serial killer twice, historical inaccuracy because the word queer was still a slur so yeah.

A/N: This is literally the first thing I have ever written so please be nice to me, I wrote this instead of an essay. I would love a comment of any kind, even if it's just a heart emoji or something, and constructive criticism would be highly appreciated. Also 'N/N' stands for nick-name.

(Ok, so, full discloser: the format is odd. The bullet points represent dialogue, and the only dialogue is between you two love birds. The first bullet point is Peter, the second is Y/N, the third is Peter, and so on.)

“I dunno, the whole ‘liking people’ thing has always been weird for me.”

“How do you mean?"

“Pppffftt- 'how do you mean,' what are you, Shakespeare or somethin’?”

“Yeah, because that’s the era when ‘how do you mean' would have been a popular term. Ok, what do you mean?”

“Just- when other people were liking people I never really was?”

He was gesturing wildly and avoiding eye contact, as always. He wasn't uncomfortable with eye contact, he just got bored easily in conversations, he needed to keep himself occupied. In this situation that meant staring at the red and green lights covering the rest of the roof, the snowy trees all over the yard, and a holly garland around the gate. Peter wasn't Christian, but man, did he love their Christmas decorations.

“Like… now? In school?”

“Well- yeah… but also when I was younger. And I never liked the right people? Or... liked them in the right way?”

“So you’ve never liked anyone.”

“No, no… I definitely have. It was just… weird! I don't-”

His hands dropped to his side in defeat.

“I don’t think it’s that out of the ordinary. I would tell you if it was. Also, if it was... 'weird', like you said, that wouldn’t mean it was necessarily bad.”

He hadn’t really heard what she said, he was too busy pondering what his next sentence would be. When she wasn't speaking, he was rambling.

"I had some of the normal crap… like in movies when they talk about the fluttery stomach junk. I've had that around a few girls I've been friends with, also that phase with the boy stuff, a-"

“Wait, what phase with the boy stuff?”

“Like- when you’re in middle school or whatever and you're gay for a second.”

His phrasing was a joke, but the statement as a whole was not.

“…‘Gay for a second’?”

“…Yeah?”

“Hmmm..."

"Is that- not-"

"I don't think that is... 'normal'... per-say..."

“Oh… Really?”

His heart sunk.

“…Yeah.”

“Huh.”

“…Mhm.”

“…Shit.”

He suddenly looked almost embarrassed. He shifted his posture, seemingly trying to shrink into himself.

“Do you... wanna chat about it?”

Panic started to slowly rise in him.

“Um- forget I said anything.”

“Why?”

Something in him said to go on the "defense". He did not appear as calm as he was intending to.

“I’m not- gay! or anything. I like girls! I do!”

She put her hand on his arm.

“Hey- look at me for a second. We are not in court, and I never 'accused' you of being gay. That would be a very funny reality TV show, but not what is happening right now. Listen, theoretically if you were gay that wouldn’t be bad! And I wouldn’t be… whatever you.. think that I would be? I mean- however you are afraid I would act in a negative reaction to it? I would try to be here for you, and be as supportive as possible.”

He didn’t believe her.

“Ok, sure.”

“Peter.”

“What? You’re going to tell me that you would honestly be friends with a queer person- be friends with me if I was... not... normal?”

She was taken aback by his tone, the word he had used, and the way he said it, felt like a weight dropping on her shoulders.

“Oh. would you… not?”

It was her turn to seem nervous.

“What?”

“Would you- stop being friends with someone for liking someone that they… I don’t know… shouldn’t... would be the word I guess?”

Why, in this situation, was she nervous? Oh. His fear was replaced with guilt.

“No.”

“Ok.”

“So… are you… do you… why were you scared?”

“... Why were you?”

She expected a joke from him, something along the lines of “touché".

“Are you… gay?”

“No.”

Yeah, he didn’t believe her.

“Uh-huh”

“Really, I’m not. I’ve liked boys, but also... I've had feelings for girls. I’m not… straight. So I just want to let you know that it’s okay if you aren’t too.”

“I never s-“

She smiled at him with a bit of pity, she had been there. The self-loathing, the feeling of walking on minefields with so many people in your life.

“You are…”

She paused.

“I am… what?”

“Give me a second I’m trying to find the perfect word.”

“… Okay?”

“Wonderful.”

That was not exactly the word he was expecting. Like, at all.

“Huh?”

“That’s the word. Wait- let me start over. You gotta look me in my eyes as I say it, because it’s gonna be really poetic.”

“Uh… should I be scared?”

“No. Maybe a little. No.”

“… Okay.”

He looked at her.

“You are… wonderful.”

“Oh... Thanks?“

He looked away again, to be honest, he was a bit uncomfortable. He rarely received compliments, especially ones that seem so... genuine.

“I’m not finished, look back at me, just for a second. You are so wonderful- and I will support you as whatever you are! I want you to know that I can- I can barely even think of something you could do that would make me genuinely hate you- like… maybe if you Dahmer-ed people or like chopped up a-“

He found this was amusing, yet disturbing.

“Y/N?”

“Sorry- I just- the fact that you thought, even for a second, that I could hate you… is just-“

“I’m sorry”

“No! Stop it. Don’t be sorry.”

She stared at him expectantly.

“What do you want me to-“

“Take it back! The sorry!”

“How?”

“Say you aren’t sorry”

“N/N-“

“Peter.”

“Ok. I’m, ya know, not sorry.”

“Good. You shouldn’t be”

“You’re weird.”

“Yuh-huh. Says the most likely, from the little information I've gathered, bisexual in denial who also happens to be the fastest boy on earth who had to slow down exponentially to interact with other people who also, also, happens sitting on a roof in the dead of winter with me.”

“What’s by smexual?”

Something about the way he attempted to repeat her words must have been hilarious, he thought, because here she was, sitting in front of him, in a fit of childish giggles. He would smile if he weren't so confused.

“No- that’s not- what I said- it’s… wait!”

“What?”

“You’re tryna get me off topic!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Am not!”

“Am not!”

“Are t- shit.”

“HAHA! Victory is a sweet dessert... wait is that even the saying? Still, I win you lose, nerd.”

“Ok, okay! go on.”

She was attempting to gather herself to give off a less jokey aura. It was half working, the "am not! are too!" argument a few moments ago made it hard for him to take her seriously, but he could tell it was important to her that he did, so he tried his best.

“You have to look at me again. just for a second.”

“I sw-”

“Just do it? Please?”

His attempt to put up a fight was thwarted by her small "please". He was pathetic.

“Okay.”

He looked at her.

“You…”

“Me… or- wait- I…”

“Are w-“

“Wonderful, yeah yeah. just get to the n-”

“No.”

“… No?”

“When you say it it doesn’t encapsulate it. It sounds silly.”

“Ok little miss ‘you art thou wonderful’, how would you have me say it?”

“I am you wonderful?”

“What?”

“You called me ‘little miss you are you wonderful’ what does that-“

“Ok! Would you just- shut up and call me wonderful one more time, please?”

She looked at him and blinked. That sentence surely came off as less ironic than intended.

“You are wonderful.”

She grabbed his face, in a half-joking manner. Her grab smushed his cheeks and she couldn't help but laugh a bit when she did it. Even though it was clearly a bit, he was still flustered.

“W-“

She shook him a bit.

"Shut up 'cause I'm about to say some beautiful and true shit. You are wonderful. You are wonderful. You are wonderful. You are absolutely, unchangingly, and irrevocably wonderful and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it, Maximoff.”

After saying what she would (in 40 years or so) recall as a painfully John Green-ish statement in her blunt and matter-of-fact manner, she let go of her semi-ironic hold on his pink cheeks. Were his cheeks pink because it was absolutely freezing, or because his heart was beating faster than he had ever (and would ever, mind you) run, you ask? No comment.

“Wow.”

“Wow what.”

“You do say it better than I do.”

“Did you like how I stressed different parts of the sentence each time? I thought that was a nice detail.”

“Wow.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Wow.”

Did his voice just... break a little?

“Peter?”

“Uh- yeah?”

Was he a little... sniffle-y? She was now very concerned.

“Are you okay?!”

“Oh- um... yeah!”

No! No he was clearly not! He was sniffling!

“Really? 'Cause, you don't seem it.”

“It’s just- I just- wow.”

“Wow, what!?”

“That was just- uh-"

“Just what? It really wasn't that fancy, you seem much too impressed with me. Oh my God, was it terrible?”

“I mean it was really corny but w-“

“I swear to God if you say 'wow' one more time I may have to add ‘use of the word wow too much’ to the list of things that could make me hate you. Right next to the Dahmer stuff. That was a joke. Your use of the word wow is only mildly perturbing. Sorry."

She was panicking "just a bit".

“I’m sorry, I mean I’m not sorry. Sorry. Shit! sorry! I mean I’m not!”

And he was absolutely... full-on crying at this point.

“Peter.”

“Yeah?”

He was looking down at his mittens. Not that this is important, but they were very pretty mittens.

“Look at me, you klepto.”

He didn’t.

“You know- I’ve been hearing a lot of that 'look at me' stuff from you today. I mean- the klepto part is new-“

“Peter.”

“What?!”

He peaked up at her.

“Talk to me. Please, you're kinda scaring me, let me help.”

“I’m not sad!”

“You’re crying!”

“Yeah but not from the sads!”

“… The ‘sads’?”

“You know- when you get sad! It just means being sad! I don't- that’s what Wanda calls it, not me!"

He wiped his nose, tears still running down from his puffy eyes to his reddened cheeks.

“What are you crying from?”

“No one’s ever called me wonderful before.”

“I'm sorry! I did a few minutes ago and you didn’t cry!”

“No! You can't 'sorry' me if I can't 'sorry' you! And- yeah but that doesn’t count!”

“Why?”

“Because it only felt big when you said it the certain way!”

“What way!?”

“You look at me, you grab my cheeks-“

“I'm sorry about that by the way I was j-“

“No! It’s really ok! Do it whenever! I mean don’t do it whene- shut up!”

“I’m not even talking! You're the one talking!”

“You look at me, you grab my cheeks, and you go: you are wonderful.”

“Yeah???”

“No one ever called me that before!”

"Peter, I- well- they- they should! They should! More often! Then the amount that it happens now! I think. In my opinion."

"Or really looked at me like that!”

“Looked at you like what, Peter?”

“Like I was somethin’!”

“Well, you are… ‘somethin'! Whatever that means! And- I think you deserve to be looked at as such!”

“See?”

“What!?”

“You just-“

A strangled sob escaped from his throat. He didn't know how to explain.

“Pete.”

“Ew. I hate that nickname.”

He crossed his arms over his chest like a toddler, trying to completely ignore the fact that he was an emotional wreck.

“Peter.”

“Yeah?”

She opened her arms and gestured for him to come closer. He was hesitant at first- but gave up all the reasons he shouldn't move to be closer to her in exchange for the promise of comfort she was offering him. He crawled over to her and curled up in her arms. The way she held him made him want to cry more. Who does she think she is- holding him like he was worth holding? With her chin sitting on top of his hair? Letting him do that gross cry sob with the spit and the snot into her only winter coat? Rocking him, and shushing him, and petting his stupid, silver hair? She was warm, too! The audacity of this woman.

When Erik brought Charles into his office to grab a chess set, they saw the two in the window. For a moment Charles considered telling Peter and Y/N to get off of the high platform, seeing as the two were the reasons the "no sitting on the roof" rule was enacted in the first place (neither of them were coordinated whatsoever). Charles quickly dropped this notion when he saw the look on Erik's face, Charles could tell it made him so happy to see Peter be held like that, cared for like that. Erik's expression made Charles want to both tell Erik that he is the most precious thing in the world, and make fun of him (look at Mr. Metal, gone completely soft). Possibly he could do both at the same time. But for now, he is just going to pretend he didn't see the two outside of the window, and have Erik grab them their game, go to the living room, and pretend not to have read Erik's mind when he inevitably asks him how he always manages to pick the white chess piece at "random".

[sparkedupsilver]

Fixing Vikings 6B (or atleast trying to)

Okay so me and @dottiechan have watched the Vikings season finale and were - like many people - less than overjoyed at how it went. I'm not going to delve into everything that didn't sit right, because I'm sure plenty of people have made some very valid posts already explaining that. Here, however, I am going to reveal my take on what might have been a better (??) ending for the show, drawing on conversations me and the wonderful @dottiechan have been having. A lot. Obviously, spoilers for all of s6 I think. Just a warning, it's a long one.

Not sure how much I'd change for the early episodes beyond some obvious character building stuff. More on Ingrid. More on her and Gunnhild bonding. That storyline changes so that there is no rift - Erik is not strong enough to tear them apart, not when Ingrid knows who he is and tells Gunnhild. He is either killed for his crimes or banished. Harald re emerges, stakes his claim to Kattegat. The wedding scene happens, but it's turned into him being sacrificed/killed instead. The women present as a united front, and the rest of their arc in the series is them falling the rest of the way in love, dealing with issues in Kattegat, and the birth of the child. (It looks, thankfully, nothing like Harald. If it's a son, they call him Bjorn.)

Hvitserk and Ivar actually talk more in Russia. Hvitserk about what happened during 6a with his addiction and fears, and about Thora. Ivar expresses regret, explains the power trip and madness he had spiralled into during his time as king. It's not quite forgiveness, but it's a start. His final conversation with Katya ends with him finally being able to see her for who she is - that is, not Freydis. The camera cuts away to show that Katya is played by a different actress who looks similar (her "true self", not as Ivar has idealised her). His relationship with Igor is the same. They decide to go back to Kattegat in hopes of finding where Ubbe went, and to make some kind of peace with the dead Bjorn. Gunnhild and Ingrid regard them with suspicion and distaste, but agree that they can stay for a short time to honour their status as sons of Ragnar. Hvitserk has his chat with Bjorn's burial mound (which we've never seen inside of since episode one and never will again! That bitch is properly laid to rest all comfortable this time!), and has an encounter with a god that doesn't end in sex but does reaffirm his faith and direction. Ivar has a simultaneous conversation with Bjorn on the beach of Kattegat, mirroring the one from the end of 6a. They put forward their plan to raid England to Gunnhild, who sees it both as an important piece of the Lothbrok legacy and a way of getting Hvitserk and Ivar off her back. She has control of Harald's men, after all, and sends them off with the agreement that they never come back.

Meanwhile, Ubbe makes it to Greenland. Asa does not die, but does start to get sick when they are there, shaking everyone's faith in the endeavour. Kjettil still loses it and the others flee, only this time they pause to take essentials for the boat. They still forget to take the sunstone/it gets lost early on. They have a similar experience of being lost, of losing people despite lasting longer due to having some food and water. We have lots of little scenes of Ubbe cuddling an ill Asa, with an arm around Torvi and baby Ragnar. They find land, at very long last, but it's impossible to tell where it is. It looks almost familiar though, and it isn't Othere's golden land. It's actually Ireland, and they get chased out by the Irish who are already sick to death of Northmen invasions. They decide to go back East to England for safety. That's right, we're getting an Alfred and Ubbe reunion.

It's a surprisingly happy affair - Alfred is glad to see them alive still, and Ubbe is weirdly proud of how his kingdom thrives. The East Anglia settlement still stands, and Alfred agrees to let them stay until they have all recovered and can make their way back to Kattegat, where Ubbe has decided to pay his respects to Bjorn. We also get proper introductions, with Alfred showing Ubbe his son Edward (who has... strangely bright blue eyes...), and Ubbe showing him baby Ragnar, and a slowly recovering Asa, who Alfred remembers from last time. Things get a little stilted after a while, though - Ubbe and Torvi are no longer Christian, and Alfred is more devout than ever, after having to harden against ceaseless Dane and Northman attacks. The Greenland refugees move out to East Anglia to avoid any building tension.

Unfortunately, it's right where Ivar, Hvitserk, and the army land, hoping to drum up more viking warriors. There is a very tense reunion between all three of them, with Ivar and Hvitserk trying to coax Ubbe to join them. Ubbe tries to convince them that England is not worth it, that they have something close to peace already and that they should attack the Irish instead. Either way, lots of grievances get aired.

Sigurd's death is finally brought into the light by all three brothers. Ubbe gets a chance to go off about the fact that he feels like he had to raise them all, about how everything revolved around Ivar when they were younger and they couldn't properly grieve Sigurd because of Ivar's feelings. Ivar gets to voice his own pains around growing up without the use of his legs, how he hated being pitied, how Aslaug smothered and babied him or left him alone entirely. Hvitserk talks about how torn he has always been, about how he's always followed someone around and how without one of them to guide him he doesn't feel whole. He talks about going under the ice, and Frankia, and how he has spent his whole life afraid of the next thing, so he pours it all into being a fearless warrior and relying on his brothers. It's both exhausting and bonding.

Here's a possible ending:

Ubbe caves and joins them. He's viking, it's in his blood. It would be both honouring Ragnar and surpassing him to finally take England, so they try it. The battle at Eddington happens almost the same way, with Ivar's tricks working at first. However, Alfred has the numbers and knowledge of the terrain, and eventually overwhelms them. Alfred and Ubbe meet on the battlefield. There are references and maybe even flashbacks to their time together. Ubbe hesitates. Alfred doesn't. His death does, however, fuel Hvitserk into fighting harder, despite how obvious it now is that they're losing. Ivar rushes to Hvitserk's defense, finally coming face to face with Alfred as he tries to save his brother. Alfred is injured and fended off for now, but Hvitserk is close to death, and begs Ivar to run. The last son of Ragnar retreats, regroups, and heads to Ireland, vowing revenge but knowing he'll never take it. He will, however, make a damn fine king of the Irish (if I remember correctly).

Not everyone escapes with him. Torvi, injured and desperate, tells Othere to take her children and go with Ivar, because the East Anglia settlement will no longer be safe. We don't see if he succeeds.

Flash forward so many years. Wessex, the villa. Edward is a young man now, Alfred an older, distinguished king known for his great deeds. There is another boy, about the same age. Piercing blue eyes, blond hair. Undeniably Ragnar's descendant. He wears a cross over his fine Saxon clothes, and when Alfred calls him to take a look at the old Roman papers, he calls him Athelstan.

Across the sea, we see an equally aged Ivar the Boneless, staring out from a cliffside. He has lived a surprisingly long life, and looks well for it. Beside him sits a young woman. Bright blue eyes. White blonde hair. She knows her family's name, her history. She is Asa Bjornsdottir, and she has been raised by her uncle. Now, she's getting ready to take revenge. The show ends with them sat together, overseeing her new fleet, Ivar spinning one last story.

Obviously this has it's own plot holes, and there are things that would have to still be addressed, like Othere and how Floki would make his reappearance (let's be honest, it can't end without him). It could end with another Brother's War, with Ubbe siding with Alfred, or any number of variations, but there's my attempt in broad strokes to maybe fix some of the bigger problems I had with the ending.

[gainingfiction]

Lifeguard Off Duty: Chapter 9

(Read Chapter 8 by gainerstories here)

Rather than risk ending up like a sitcom character with two dates to the dance, Bradley decided to roll a few of plans together into the ultimate evening of celebration. Jeremy and the boys from Muffin Tops would stop by his work happy hour at Michaela’s on Friday night. Peter would join him there, and they’d move onto their romantic dinner date afterwards: it had taken a little rearranging, but he’d managed to line everything up into a perfect stretch of hedonism.

After finishing up with the gym’s seated press on Thursday evening, Bradley decided to see if his workouts had done anything for his weight. He stepped off the scales, after clocking in at an eye-popping 324 pounds: a full 11 pounds heavier than he had been just a couple of weeks before. Had he been doing that much celebrating? 

“Hey, man. Can’t wait for tomorrow,” came Jeremy’s voice from behind him.

“Hey, me neither,” Bradley said, turning to greet his gym buddy. He joked, “You trying to see the number?”

“Don’t need to. I can tell by your outfit that it’s still going up,” Jeremy laughed as he gave Bradley’s belly a gentle pat right around his exposed navel. It was Jeremy’s favourite running joke—not that Bradley ever ran anymore.

“Very funny,” Bradley grinned, as he turned to head out for the evening. After half an hour at 24 Hour Fitness, he couldn’t wait to eat whatever lavish spread Peter had come up with that day.

The next morning, Bradley had a spring in his very heavy step. He whistled as he soaped up the rolls and bulges of his colossal body in the shower, and hummed as he ran his towel along the sloping curves of his huge rear. He inhaled sharply to get his work shirt closed, and then inhaled the massive breakfast feast that Peter had cooked up for him: bacon, sausages, hash browns, syrupy pancakes, and buttery toast. Shirt buttons spreading apart as they fought to restrain his gut, Bradley heaved himself into his car and made his way to Muffin Tops.

After loading up on pastries for the day, Bradley headed to work. He greeted his friends in the recreation department before making his way to his own corner of city hall. As usual, Malcolm appeared with a huge plate of home cooking, followed shortly by Diane and Eric who wanted confirmation that Bradley wasn’t going to bail on drinks. By the time he left the office, he had eaten every crumb that had been put in front of him, but his mind was already wandering to the nachos and fries at Michaela’s.

The place was just starting to get lively when Bradley arrived. He plodded over to Eric and Wanda, who were standing by the bar. As soon as he arrived, Wanda placed a frothy mug of beer in his hand. She added, “Even if you work in another department now, I’m still the boss.”

“Of course,” Bradley said, feeling sincere. Wanda had done so much for him. He chatted with her for a while, digging in when a large platter of nachos appeared beside him. And when Diane appeared with an overloaded plate of fries, he allowed himself to be stolen away. He let his co-worker grab a few pats of his monster gut as he polished off the snacks, before turning to Eric and his boyfriend.

The one-time twinks looked completely overstuffed as they stood side-by-side, splitting well over 300 pounds of excess relationship weight between them. They were still fairly fashionable, but Bradley could see that they shared his struggles with fitting into clothes: buttons strained and cotton rode up to expose their mutual overindulgence. Ordering another beer, he chatted with both of them, realizing that they were as charming and fun as Eric’s social media profiles made them seem.

While Bradley was talking to them, he watched Peter arrive and slip effortlessly into a conversation with Malcolm and Wanda. Bradley realized that they had probably been going to Peter’s coffee cart for longer than he had. He admired the way Peter’s athletic-fit blazer flattered his lithe build, contrasting it to the massive men in front of him and the equally massive man he had become. As he chatted with Peter and Blake, he felt a distinct appreciation for the tattooed hunk in his life.

Bradley was pleased to see that Jeremy had met Hayden and Diego. Excusing himself, he made his way over to the two mountains of lard and the muscle-bound jock. “How are three of my favourite people?” he asked, when he arrived. He stifled a belch, before taking a swig of beer.

“Ah, I love fat Bradley,” Diego said to Jeremy and Hayden, as he clapped his loyal customer on the back. He turned to Bradley. “You were never this relaxed when we worked at the beach! But that’s all water under the bridge.”

Bradley flushed. “I guess I needed to walk a mile in your shoes.”

“Or waddle,” Hayden said. “And maybe not a full mile.”

The guys all laughed in response. Bradley noticed that Peter had joined the group. Patting the lower part of Bradley’s back, he joked, “This guy doesn’t even walk to the fridge anymore, he gets me to grab his beers for him.”

“That sounds like the life,” Hayden said, as the group laughed. “Diego, we need someone to bring us beers.”

“That could be a job for Jeremy,” Bradley said, giving his gym buddy a wink. Jeremy had been throwing himself at the blubber-bound bakery owners practically since he arrived.

The group chatted, and the beer flowed. After a while, Diego and Bradley got to reminiscing about their time at Thick Sands beach. Diego pulled out his phone, showing off an old picture of the two complete with sunglasses, smiles, and perfect abs. Bradley could barely remember what it felt like to be that small, and yet he’d been the beach babe-in-residence for years. If he tried to climb the lifeguard tower at his current size, he’d probably wreck the wooden ladder.

The time at Michaela’s flew by, with Bradley helping himself to the beer and bar food as his friends from work and beyond dropped by to congratulate him and talk. After what felt like no time, but what had really been hours, Peter arrived to remind Bradley of their dinner reservation. Draining his fourth beer, Bradley settled his tab and said goodbye.

“I was just chatting with Christian, the head lifeguard that replaced you. Looks like Wanda offered him your old job. He really is following in your footsteps,” Peter said, as they made their way out of the bar.

Bradley turned and looked at Christian, who was chatting with Wanda and Eric. He reminded Bradley of himself. With a smile, Bradley said, “If Wanda gives him the desk next to Eric, that might be in more ways than one.”

Outside, the air was cool and fresh. Side by side, Peter and Bradley walked to the end of the next block, to the small bistro that had come highly recommended. It was simply decorated, with sleek wooden furniture and a few rustic touches. The couple followed the hostess to their seat, and had a chance to look over the menu.

After a few moments, their waiter arrived with water. He was tall and thin, with a forgettable face. “My name is Justin, I’ll be taking care of you guys this evening,” he said. Justin was obviously gay, and he shot judgemental looks in Bradley’s direction as he spoke. Then, he turned to Peter with a smile. “Can I interest you in any drinks?”

“Yes, we’ll share a bottle of the house red,” Peter said. His face was blank. When the waiter took the drink menu and retreated, Peter rolled his eyes and Bradley chuckled. Apparently some guys still tried to deny the allure of the dad bod.

The pair chatted as they continued to weigh menu options. After a little while, the waiter reappeared to pour the wine and take their orders. After Peter ordered the white fish for his main course, it was Bradley’s turn to order.

“I’ll start with the fettucine alfredo, and then—”

“The fettucine alfredo is a main course,” Justin interrupted.

“I know. I’m gonna have it as an appetizer. And then for my main I’ll have the surf and turf, with an extra baked potato on the side,” Bradley said. He closed his menu. “Medium for the steak.”

With a glare in Bradley’s direction, the server clicked his pen and disappeared as the guys attempted to say thanks.

The two relaxed, drinking freely and swapping opinions about happy hour and whether Diego and Hayden would take Jeremy home. Peter painted quite a picture of the thick throuple that they were destined to become, and Bradley complimented his insight. Conversation was easy, moving from Peter’s family in Korea to Bradley’s high school diving career. Bradley slurped back the pasta, before tearing into his steak and lobster with gusto. Buttery potato and fried veggies disappeared into his vast gut. He felt increasingly stuffed, but he plowed forward. As they talked and ate, they (especially Bradley) finished the wine.

When the time came for dessert, Bradley couldn’t pass up the chocolate cheesecake. Peter tasted a spoonful, leaving Bradley to stuff himself with the rest. When the dessert plate was empty, Bradley excused himself to go to the washroom.

After relieving himself at the urinal, he paused in front of the mirror. No wonder Justin’s eyes had boggled as Bradley walked to the washroom: there were gaping spaces between the buttons of his shirt, revealing swathes of fat. And his gut looked massively round after a full day of stuffing himself stupid. Stifling a belch, Bradley plodded back across the restaurant.

Bradley pulled back his chair and slumped into it, ready to call for the cheque and take his boyfriend home. Except, as his giant rump made contact with the seat, he could feel something shifting. And as his bulging ass settled into place, Bradley heard a whining creak. A moment later, after a violent snap, Bradley’s big butt was on the floor, and he was surrounded by pieces of broken chair. Looking down, he realized that the two buttons straining over the fattest part of his gut had chosen that moment to give up, flying off under the pressure of Bradley’s behemoth belly.

“Holy shit, babe, are you okay?” Peter was at Bradley’s side in a flash.

“Fine,” Bradley said, feeling dazed. He felt embarrassed that part of his massive, hairy gut had been exposed to the cool air of the restaurant, made all the more embarrassing by every set of eyes bearing down on him. Peter’s shredded muscles bulging from the exertion, he helped Bradley to his feet.

By the time Bradley was standing, the manager had appeared. He was a middle-aged man, no more than 5’5” and skinny as a rail. Bradley’s gigantic frame absolutely dwarfed him. “Oh, my God. Are you alright? We are so sorry, sir, truly. Your meal is on us, of course. And let me write a note, your next meal will be on us, too.”

With nothing injured but his pride, Bradley certainly wasn’t going to turn down that offer.

By the time they got home, the couple was already laughing it off. “I really never thought I’d do something like that,” Bradley said, as he undid his remaining shirt buttons.

Planting his hands on Bradley’s sides, Peter traced the expanse of his lover’s thick gut. “You were just too much man for those shitty chairs.”

“Well it’s a good thing you’re man enough to handle me,” Bradley said, clapping the underside of his belly and making it shake, despite the overwhelming fullness.

The two made their way to the bedroom, Peter caressing Bradley’s bulging love handles as they walked. “You know, the first time I went to the beach here, I fantasized about getting rescued by the hunky lifeguard?” Peter said. “If you still have your old uniform around, I could go for some role-play.”

“Sounds great,” Bradley said. He ran a hand along Peter’s hip. “You know what? I have a feeling we’ll be rescuing each other for a long time to come.”

[katemarley]

fanfiction: fugue in a minor

Fandom: Hetalia Pairing: SpAus (Austria/Spain) Characters: Austria, Spain, Belgium, Augsburg, Swabia, Bavaria, Holy Roman Empire, Saxony Rating: E

Summary: 23 October 1520. Spain and Austria get married. The Imperial Estates and their guests while away the evening with music and courtly dances, celebrating both the union and Charles V’s crowning as “elected Roman emperor” in Aachen Cathedral. But what is expected of the newlyweds? And what is in for them on their wedding night?

This story has been written for Hetabang 2020. It’s a collaboration project with @aph--lietuva who was my Beta and who created wonderful art for this story that you can find on her tumblr. With her permission, I also inserted her art into this tumblr post. It’s been a pleasure working with you! ❤︎

Also available on AO3 (see the link in my profile).

---

This story also is the sequel to “Prelude in A Minor” that you can also find on AO3 and that I have been talking about, but not written, for almost four years, oops... xD Both stories can be read independently from each other.

Preliminary notes: Augusta – Augsburg: brown hair, green eyes, elegant low bun Hilde/Hildegard – Swabia (Reichskreis/Imperial Circle, Reichsritterschaft/Imperial Knighthood): blond locks, green eyes, some resemblance to Switzerland and Liechtenstein Léa – Burgundy: our canon Belgium before she came to be called Belgium

---

“Roderich!”

Austria turned slowly. He was wearing a cumbersome ceremonial robe that was far heavier than his usual formal attire. It had been made especially for today in order to dress him in the latest fashion and he didn’t want to rip any fabric by accident—and definitely not before the wedding.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” said Burgundy, not sounding sorry at all as she pried him from the clutches of a dozen courtiers. He didn’t mind—courtly talk was stressful because it contained a dozen pitfalls, and Léa was a straightforward woman. Also, in a moment like this, he’d much rather be with someone comforting and familiar rather than navigate the sea of faces and names of humans he had probably only met once but was to remember regardless. Usually, he had no problem with that; he was actually very skilled at the diplomatic game. But right now, his head was too full of other thoughts.

“I need some moments alone with my consort, my partner.” Burgundy gave off an air of sovereignty as she spoke to her court who all accepted without question that this was business for the immortals to tend to. Roderich sighed in relief and let her steal him away into their bedroom.

She was fussing at his outfit, straightening it and picking imaginary lint off the velvet before making him sit down on a chair in front of the dresser. She took a brush and took off his black beret to run it softly through his hair, obviously just to have something to do while they talked.

“Liefsteling, I think we should have a little chat before you and Antonio exchange rings.”

“Didn’t we talk about all I need to know already?” Austria frowned. He was unable to keep in all his pent-up frustration and around her, he wasn’t too scrupulous to show it. “You and Charles want to strengthen the unity of the empire, so I am to marry Spain. I understand that. I don’t like it and you know I don’t like Charles, but I can see your point that marriage is a useful device to strengthen the empire.” He huffed indignantly. Sometimes, it was annoying to be “a sensible lad”, as Charles had once dubbed him, but he knew too well how these things worked to waste his time on rebelling. She let him pour it all out with a patient smile.

Finally, he quieted down and added more demurely: “I just wish it wasn’t me, and I wish I didn’t have to marry another male personification. It seems … indecent.”

“I know, dear. It’s a bit … unorthodox.” Burgundy touched his arm and squeezed it in an attempt to comfort him. A smile played on her lips that already showed her intent to lighten Roderich’s mood. “Well, listen to you complaining! You get to marry Europe’s newcomer, a surprise uncovered from Al Andalus. A shiny, new, mysterious knight, a devout catholic, and dare I say … a fair countenance. I’m sure many of the ladies here envy you. But it seemed more important to strengthen relations between two important parts of the empire that are further away from each other, rather than between him and me.” She sighed wistfully, but a bit theatrically.

“Burgundy, if you talk like that I’d swear you want to wed him!” He feigned indignance. “I wish you were the one to marry him,” he added glumly. “And the ladies can have him, for all I care.”

“Now! To think you’d give me away that easily. I’d want my husband to be jealous and fight for me!” She then stopped the theatrics and, with a soft smile, put her arm around him, just like an older sister would do. “I am a little jealous to give you away … I’m going to miss our library talks.” Roderich’s smile softened and he touched her hand.

“There is another thing I must discuss…” She seemed to hesitate. “Remember our wedding night and what we left unfulfilled?” 

“Ah.” Austria tensed. “So this is what we’re talking about.”

“It is indeed.” Burgundy paused. “We didn’t complete our union that night and while we did later, it did affect us. Charles and I believe it is vital to strengthen the union of Spain and Austria as much as possible, and for that…” Her arm around Austria tensed. He could feel the topic was uncomfortable for her.

“And for that, the marriage needs to be consummated,” Austria said flatly. “That doesn’t exactly come as a surprise, Léa.”

“Yes, but it’s not the only thing we discussed…”

Roderich now felt his cheeks redden “What? The insolence!” He sighed. “That imprudent man was actually discussing the technicalities of a coupling between two men with you? ”

“He only wants to ensure that the strength of the union…”

“Don’t defend him!” Austria snapped. Léa flinched.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a quieter tone. “It’s just that he has no idea how things actually work at my place. I don’t like how little interest he takes, and now he focuses on the anatomy of the personification rather than on the resources of the land…” He sighed. The duality of beings like them further complicated everything.

Spain and him were “mere manifestations of the political body shaping them”, Charles had told him not long ago. Manifestations of the body politic—not men. That meant the laws of the Church regarding marriages between humans didn’t apply to them. Archbishop Hermann of Cologne had agreed and had added that the biblical example for a country was to be the heavenly Jerusalem, which further expands itself to gain as much territory as possible and to help the spread of Christianity all over the world. To strengthen their holy empire like this was to behave exactly as the Bible dedicated. 

“The fact that we’re human personifications really is convenient to the likes of him: Whether they consider us human or not ultimately depends on what’s more convenient to them. Two men couldn’t marry, but the human-shaped, but not human, personifications of Spain and Austria can. It doesn’t matter to him that our anatomy is exactly the same as that of two male human beings.”

“I know. I agree with you, I’ve seen kings and bishops use scripture as a justification rather than as a guide many times. As a woman, I have often felt what it was like to be an exception to the rule”, said Burgundy firmly, reminding him of her own position. “However, there’s another message those cowards have made me the messenger of” She stopped brushing his hair, seemingly looking for the right words.

“Yes?” Austria waited. He had no intention to help her with this.

“The king and bishop believe that because this is already infringing on normal matrimony, everything else should mimic a normal marriage as closely as possible.” She interrupted herself, She looked at Austria as if she was hoping that he would understand it. He did but he was going to have her say it. 

“Well, you know. Have the position of the wife be taken by the—by the—more gallant one of the two.” Even her silver tongue couldn’t phrase this more delicately.

Austria was speechless. Charles—this morally rigid, exceedingly religious person—not only insisted two men marry for political reasons, as an unpleasant but ultimately bearable formality. No, he had also insisted these two men actually consummate their marriage and had elaborate thoughts on the mechanics of it. Austria was seriously tempted to rush off, grab Charles by the ruff and give him a piece of his mind. Including the rhetorical question what he thought their private parts looked like.

Burgundy saw the face he was making and spat out the rest. “And only the accepted position, all else is fornication. So you’re to lay on your back.” She let out a small whimper and looked faint. Austria realized that he shouldn’t direct his anger at her. She had always been his friend.

“Cowards, the both of them. In treating you as a country, they are indeed forgetting you’re a lady. Your nature is far too delicate for such crass messages.” He stood up and took her hands gently. He didn’t want to fight with her.

She embraced him, held him for a moment and then stepped back.

“I have something for you.” She opened a chest with a key from her belt and produced a box. “Open it, I’d like for you to wear it today.” Roderich did so and found an ornate golden chain with the Golden Fleece in it.

“Your order…” Roderich smiled at her. 

“When you united with me, you obtained the right to be a part of the Order of the Golden Fleece. When you’re out there, I’m with you.” Roderich felt a tightness around his chest as he recognised the curls on top of the ram shaping the letter B for Burgundy. 

He wasn’t in this alone.

She placed the chain around his neck with an air of ceremony and made sure it lay evenly over his shoulders. She smiled at him and kissed his forehead, after which she traced the sign of the cross on it with her finger. After the tender gesture, she rather forcefully put the beret back on his head and chuckled. “There, you’re ready!”   

Oh, he wasn’t ready. Far from it, but it was happening now.

---

The procession departed from the house he shared with Burgundy in Aachen. Usually, the bride was led to the house of her new husband, but Spain did not have a house there. Out of convenience, they were using the cathedral, which had already been prepared for the coronation of Charles V, and the city hall for the festivities after that. In the procession, all the nuptial gifts Austria had received were carried along and displayed. Some of them were made of strange, exotic-looking gold brought from the new world that gleamed ostentatiously in the afternoon sun. Roderich could feel the presence of Spain through everything surrounding him. Even the new coat had been paid for by him.

The marriage itself was overwhelming in terms of pompously clad courtiers and country personifications, but rather underwhelming in terms of anything else. Roderich’s feelings were a mixture of nervousness because so many people watched him and carefully veiled anger at being one of the two pawns in Charles’s and Burgundy’s political plans.

The truly annoying thing was that he saw the logic behind their actions. He just didn’t like how they affected him.

They were met by the second procession coming from the opposite direction with Spain at its centre. Roderich sought out his eyes, but he was still mostly obscured by the crowd. Both processions reached the cathedral and filled the front part of the space. The nave and choir were reserved for mass, after all, and weddings were worldly affairs. So, leaving the late Gothic choir unoccupied, everyone gathered in the octagonal Palatine Chapel at the very front of the church, leaving the centre open for the couple and the priest.

Roderich’s eyes had to adjust to the relative darkness of the church in contrast with the bright afternoon outside. Two young boys were made to hold long torches over Spain’s and his head and above them, a plethora of little candles were lit in the giant octagonal candelabra. For a moment, he was captivated by the little lights and a realisation dawned upon him: The small structures on the chandelier represented gates. It was a direct depiction of Heavenly Jerusalem. The architecture mimicked the octagonal shape of the chandelier and thus that of Jerusalem as well. The words of the archbishop about the biblical duties of a country echoed through his head. He realized that his duty was literally hanging over his head.

As his gaze war already turned upwards, he saw that the upper gallery was filling with people as well, all of them waiting while a small shadow was passing in front of them. The figure walking around the upper gallery barely reached over the coiled cast-iron balustrades when he finally halted and stepped into the light. The Holy Roman Empire wore the Imperial Regalia and made a gesture of blessing. He was their witness, as it was his empire they were fortifying. The ancient child climbed onto the bare marble throne that had once belonged to their forefather in order to oversee the wedding. Roderich would have laughed at the image of Karl der Kleine playing at being Karl der Große, had he not felt a chill run down his spine at the image of Karl on his throne. Among everyone here, he was the one that belonged there. His spirit had been there when these walls had been built and through his presence, through his breath, the spirit of history slowly filled the space.

When the priest asked them to say their vows, Austria obliged, speaking flatly and without emotion. Spain’s intonation was much livelier, but from what little he had learned about the other country in the past months, that was the way they were: One who usually remained calm unless you crossed him one too many times; and another who seemed to be ever vigorous.

The priest produced a small dish on which Spain put a piece of gold, a piece of silver and a ring. 

Roderich extended his hand meekly for Antonio to put on the ring, but then noticed something. The ring was of a German type. He wondered if this was Spain being thoughtful or him purchasing one at the last minute. Spain held up the ring and clicked it open to be two separate rings. To Roderich’s surprise, they were gimmel rings …

Spain explained in a hushed voice: “Because we are both men, I felt I couldn’t just put a ring on you. We should both wear one. I liked these because of what they say.” He was referring to the words around the band, which he read out in horribly accented German: was Gott zusammen fueget soll der Mensch nicht schneiden. They were a purplish ruby and an emerald. Antonio carefully put the half with the emerald on Roderich’s left ring finger and then handed him the ruby to do the same. This was thoughtful of Antonio—had he come up with this himself or was this the council of Karl advising him? Austria was very aware of the new weight around his finger and his resolve to remain cold started to waver.

When the priest asked them to kiss, Austria’s first impulse was to do it as unemotionally as he had made his vows. Then his eyes caught the pleading look in Spain’s, and his resolve faltered.

Spain was a pawn as well. He didn’t deserve Austria’s coldness. If anyone, it was Charles who deserved coldness.

They settled for a chaste but tender kiss. There was relief in Spain’s eyes when they separated, and Austria was glad his softer side had got the best of him.

They didn’t deserve to be pawns.

They were in this together.

They were then taken to the altar to kneel and be blessed. Austria stole a glance to Spain halfway who had his eyes shut tightly and was fervently praying. Thoughts were drowning out Roderich’s own prayers as well as the words of the priest. Worries about everything—about whether God could really approve of their union, about how his life was going to change after this, even about the impending consummation. They all seemed to lump together in an all-encompassing buzzing noise in his head.

He barely registered the “Amen”.

Then they were hoisted back on their feet and, with much loud music and cheering, led out of the church for another procession to the city hall that had been readied for further festivities. For a moment, Roderich stood there like a deer facing a hunter. Then, almost as if it was the most natural thing ever, Spain took his hand and pulled him into the cacophony of the crowd, but the act did make Austria’s thoughts quieten down.

Remember, Austria thought to himself.

They were in this together.

---

“Austria.”

Austria turned to the speaker. He had recognised her voice instantly.

Augsburg bowed, albeit not very low. She was an imperial city, much smaller than him in terms of her land and yet so much wealthier.

“Augsburg.” Austria bowed on his part, anxious not to incline his head lower than she had. He could at least keep up appearances, if nothing else.

It was her who took his hand for the basse danse—almost imperceptible, but the transgression was there. She swept her eyes over the people that had gathered inside Aachen’s town hall: Most of them were members of the high nobility and imperial estates who wouldn’t have missed the opportunity to show themselves for Charles’s crowning and the establishment of the Austro-Spanish union alike. There were guests from other kingdoms, too, moving in the slow and elegant sequence of steps so characteristic for this dance. Not all of those people had come to Austria and Spain’s wedding ceremony itself.

It makes them uncomfortable, Austria thought. But who was he to complain? It made him uncomfortable, too.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Augsburg said with the attitude of a self-satisfied host. “Don’t you think the banquet was quite decent, too?”

Hand movements, steps, hand movements—they all came naturally to Austria. He didn’t need to think with his brain when he danced. His feet had memorised the steps, going through the motions without his conscious thought.

“One could almost think it was your marriage,” Austria replied in the politest tone he could muster.

Stop it, Aunt Augusta, this isn’t your marriage.

Augsburg understood him very well. She pulled them aside before they were to change partners, giving him her piece of mind. Someone like Augusta didn’t even need to raise her eyebrow. One look was enough.

“Oh, I much prefer to be the merchant who pays for all of this,” she said bluntly. “I pay; you do my bidding. That’s how things work these days, dearie. It’s the same for your Charles and my Jakob Fugger.”

He’s not my Charles. Austria bit down on his lips. It would have been unwise to wear his heart on his sleeve in front of her. You never knew what she might do with a delicate piece of information such as this. How she might profit from it. For this seemed to be what the world of merchants was all about: Profit; personal gain.

“You’ve become cold,” he said eventually. The irony wasn’t lost on him: Augsburg seemed cold because she focused on monetary gain; Charles seemed cold because he focused on political gain; and Austria acted cold because he did what needed to be done.

Still, marrying someone he barely knew felt daunting. So did the uncertainty of  how other people thought about his marriage: Did they perceive it the way Charles had presented it to everyone—as a political union only? Were they secretly disgusted because both personifications who had exchanged vows inhabited male human bodies? Did they expect them to consummate their marriage?

“I’m not cold, dearie,” Augsburg interrupted his train of thoughts. Her voice was warmer and darker now; a tone he remembered from his childhood. “I’m only trying to achieve the best for my people, as we all do—or should be doing, at the very least.”

That was undoubtedly true. It was the truth at the very core of all country personifications: You are the land—or, in Augsburg’s case, the city. Do what is best for the land and those who call it their home.

You could go against that, but not for very long. It drove you insane. There had been examples of that, too…

Swabia had told him to be the land, time and time again. When she had vanished, everybody had thought her dead. Then she had returned, telling everyone she would always be there as long as there was one soul who remembered her name and called themselves Swabian. Histrionics, they had thought, and yet…

Perhaps there was some grain of truth in it. Perhaps the key was to believe in it yourself.

“You look far too serious, darling,” Augsburg said into his thoughts. “Cheer up, it’s your wedding day!” She patted his cheek in an almost motherly gesture. “It’s all new to you now, but you’ll get used to being his husband.”

“Will I?” he said flatly. His anger was still there, bubbling under the surface. “Will I ever?”

She ignored his despondent answer and studied Spain from across the room before leaning in with a conspiratory grin. “So, what do you think: Is he or isn’t he?”

Austria was confused. “Is he what?”

She answered as if she was discussing the latest court scandal. “Moorish, of course! He spent so much time under Muslim occupation. Perhaps he obtained some Moorish blood or strange habits! Hmm, his skin is pale, but his curls are dark! If he’d grow a beard, he’d look the part.”

She had achieved her aim. Roderich had been fighting the Ottoman Turks at his eastern border for a while now, and he was thoroughly scandalized.

“I sure hope you’re joking!”

“Oh, well, it doesn’t matter, as long as he has no more Muslim tendencies. Take a piece of advice from someone who’s been around for one and a half millennia,” she told him, glancing meaningfully at Spain’s back once she had spotted him among the dancers. “You could have had it worse. At least he’s handsome.”

“He plays the vihuela.” Austria hadn’t even intended to give her this piece of information; it had simply slipped out.

“Does he?” Now Augsburg did raise an eyebrow. “That’s even better. I may know less than you about arranged marriages between rulers unless we’re only talking about ceremonies, but I believe it’s always useful to have some common ground.” She glanced at Spain again. “And like I said, he’s nicely shaped.” Her hands made curving motions, forming two semicircles.

“What?” Austria looked at her in puzzlement.

It took a few seconds until the penny dropped.

“Augusta!” Austria hissed, blushing furiously. “How very indecent!”

“You’re the one who’s going to see it without all those layers of clothing,” Augsburg deadpanned. “Most likely, in any case.” She shrugged. “Unless Charles told you not to make inquiries in that direction. But if I were you, I’d still try to squeeze it, no matter what Charles says. I feel tempted to do it even now.”

“Please don’t!” Austria felt very hot all of a sudden. Until now, he had pushed thoughts about the technical side of consummating a marriage out of his mind. Trust Augusta not to let me get away with it. Augsburg’s words planted mental images in his head that he really didn’t want to think about just now.

“Hmm...” Augsburg threw a calculating glance in Spain’s general direction. “No, I won’t squeeze it. But tempted I am.”

They joined the basse danse again. At some point, Spain gave a little yelp, looking around himself in puzzlement. Austria was entirely unsurprised to spot Augusta quite close to him, looking just as surprised about the sound as anyone else.

Austria sighed.

She was a good actor, he had to give her that.

---

“Roderich!”

Third time’s the charm, Roderich thought, turning toward the person who had uttered his name in a mixture between a hiss and a rough whisper.

Swabia took him by the arm—not a very comfortable experience from an old warrior with an iron grip. Austria winced.

“Sorry,” Swabia said casually, not sounding sorry at all. Austria inwardly rolled his eyes. Why was half his family like this?

She dragged him in a corner suitably far away from spying eyes and ears. Only then she released her grip. Austria rubbed his protesting upper arm.

“Listen to me, boy,” she said urgently. Her voice was dark, almost masculine. When Austria had been little, he had thought she was a man, and she had done nothing to discourage that notion. Then the Duchy of Swabia had been no more, and for all people knew, she had vanished from the face of the Earth. It was only when she had reappeared a few decades ago, from Heaven knew where, that she had been open about being a woman.

“What is it, Hilde?” He couldn’t help it; he sounded unnerved.

“I do realise that everyone wants you to do or be something for them today,” Swabia said gruffly, “but that is precisely the reason why we need to talk. What do you know about bedding ceremonies?”

“Oh no,” Austria groaned. “They wouldn’t, would they.” His tone was too flat to count as a question. They would, he knew that. Or at least certain people would.

“I discouraged them from actually witnessing the consummation,” Swabia said in the tone of the long-suffering. “But Burgundy will guide Spain and I will guide you to your chamber.”

Austria smacked his head against the nearest wall. He did it with caution, so as not to accidentally hurt himself, but the message was clear. As soon as he leaned back, Swabia patted his back not very gently. He suspected it would take several minutes until it recovered from this onslaught.

“We’re going to leave as soon as we’ve finished escorting you,” she reassured him. “I, for my part, have no intention whatsoever to watch the actual consummation, whether it actually takes place or not.” Her voice sounded affronted at the mere suggestion, one clear indication, Austria thought, that someone had indeed suggested she stay and watch.

“But others might have fewer qualms,” Austria said. Swabia had always appreciated straightforwardness, a no-bullshit attitude and, last but not least, people who thought for themselves. That was one thing that hadn’t changed between before and after.

“Precisely,” she said darkly. “Don’t look at him, but you know who I mean.”

Bavaria, thought Austria. Out loud, he said: “He has always been a bully.”

“He has been a bully towards you from the very moment Redbeard and I decided to make you a duchy independent from him,” Swabia specified. “Which, even though it is all water under the bridge now, it is a major reason why I feel responsible to protect you from him in a moment when you will be vulnerable.”

Austria’s heart softened. Thinking back, she had always had an impressive ability to put herself in other people’s shoes—oh well, nothing special there; think like the enemy was one of the first things Bavaria himself had taught him. But Swabia had always had a motherly streak towards him, Austria—and that made all the difference, even though he hadn’t realised it when he was little.

“In any case,” Swabia swiftly returned to the matters at hand, “Bavaria will probably try to sneak up on you. If you don’t want that—and I’m sure you don’t—I urgently advise you not to start anything until he has made the attempt. I don’t know, sing some merry songs instead. Play a nice board game with your husband, for all I care. But see to it that there will be nothing for Bavaria to see. Alright?”

“Alright,” said Austria, “but how can I be sure that he won’t come back for another attempt?”

“I will see to that,” Swabia said gloomily. Austria had to pull himself together so as not to take an involuntary step back. She could be menacing when she set her mind to it.

An old warrior, they said. Better with the sword than with the head. But that wasn’t true; Austria knew it wasn’t. In order to be as good with the sword as her, you had to be a quick thinker, too. The difference was that she was no schemer at all—nothing like Augusta. But she was no schemer because she had an aversion to scheming, not because she was fundamentally unable to think in such a way.

“Thank you.” He gave her a genuine smile. She smiled back, in her own firm and earnest way, insofar as you could smile earnestly. 

“You will remain in the corridor?” he asked.

“Don’t worry, I will keep my distance.”

“I did not worry. In fact, I’m glad it will be you who stays there.”

---

As the festivities progressed, Swabia came over once again—this time for everyone to be seen—took Austria gently by the hand—the hand, not the arm—and guided him away. He did not see Burgundy approach Spain, but they arrived in front of Spain and his chamber at the same time.

“Have fun, boys!” Burgundy said with a cat-like smile before she left them alone.

Swabia exchanged a meaningful glance with Austria. Then she nodded at them both and went away. Her footsteps echoed in the corridor—still a soldier’s steps despite the elegant dress she was wearing.

“Who is she?” whispered Spain in Italian as soon as the footsteps had died away.

“Swabia.” My guardian angel, he thought. And she is still here.

“The one who—” Spain craned his neck as if he could catch another glimpse of her that way.

“Who what?” Austria pretended not to know what Spain was asking about.

“Who spent her time in that mountain—you know, the same that Emperor Frederick II went to?”

“The Kyffhäuser, you mean,” Austria said.

 “And said she had returned because it was a time of need for her children?” Spain continued, still craning his neck to see what was not to be seen anymore.

Oh dear, my husband is naïve. Roderich sighed.

“For all I know, Frederick II died in Castel Fiorentino in 1250,” he said drily. “For all I know, she has never been gone. Probably kept her head down because her children wanted so many different things. But as soon as aforesaid children think it best to unite, she’s there again, as head of their league. Head of the Swabian Circle now, too.”

“I hear grudging respect,” said Spain.

“At some point when I was little, I used to look up to her,” Austria explained. “She was the leading power of the empire back then. I wanted to be like her. Wanted to earn the empire’s crown.”

“So you did.”

“So I did,” Austria repeated sourly. “And look what good it is doing me. I’m nothing but a pawn in a game too big for me to play. She has never been a pawn.”

“Oh no,” Spain said earnestly. “She has always been a knight.” He paused. “So are you. And so am I.”

There was a small silence before Spain opened the door.

“Shall we go in?”

The room was pleasant and warm. Roderich noticed he’d been gifted a marriage chest. He had no time to look at it, though. Instead, he was looking for the right words to say.   

For the first time after their wedding ceremony, Austria looked directly into his husband’s eyes. Play a nice board game with your husband, for all I care.

Then, to his dismay, Spain stepped closer to him and leaned in, inclining his head for a kiss.

“No! Wait.” Roderich’s voice came out more shrill than he had intended. He stepped back and tried to compose himself.

“May I challenge you to a game of chess?”

Shock and hurt manifested in Spain’s eyes. Austria could read him like an open book.

Oh. So this is important to you, Austria thought. Who would have thought.

“But…” Spain whimpered.

“I do not intend to eschew my marital duties,” Austria reassured him in his most formal tone. “I do, however, intend to postpone them for some more minutes or, as it may be, hours.”

Spain looked at him in confusion.

“You will see why.”

Spain thought about that.

“Chess it is, then,” he decided in the end.

They had barely lit all the candles in the room, taken off their shoes and laid out the chessboard in the middle of their four-poster when a long-haired blonde barged into their chamber.

“Austria!” he barked.

“You know, Saxony, there is such a thing as a door,” Austria said gently, placing his first pawn to e4 on the board. “The concept might seem novel to you, but it is for knocking.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit!” The blond man’s blue eyes bored into Austria’s purple ones. “I’m here to warn you! Your brother wants to be an asshole once again and spy on you…”

“Spy on me playing chess with my husband?” Austria asked sweetly.

Saxony visibly deflated.

“I should have expected you to know.”

“No harm done. But, Saxony—” Austria paused.

“Yes?”

“Next time you intend to warn someone of potential bedding ceremonies, do knock before you barge in. You might, you know … cause the exact thing you aim to prevent.”

“Sorry, Austria.” Saxony hung his head.

“Chin up,” Austria said jovially. “Like I said, no harm done.”

There was silence after Saxony had trudged out of the room.

“So this is why you suggested a game of chess,” Spain said eventually, moving one of his own pawns to e5.

“Exactly.” In a split-second decision, Austria moved a second pawn to f4. Spain whistled.

“Classic! Did you read Francesch Vicent’s book on chess?”

Austria gave him his best enigmatic smile.

---

They hadn’t played for long when the door clicked open one more time, and Augsburg put her head inside.

“Chess?” she asked in disapproval. “How boring!”

“It is a very interesting game!” insisted Spain.

Augsburg pouted.

“Your butt is far more interesting to me, young man. One should have thought seeing it was included in the price I paid for this wedding, but this seems not to be so. Good evening, gentlemen.”

With that, her head vanished, and the door clicked shut. Spain stared after her, open-mouthed.

“What was that?”

“The question is: Who was that, dear Antonio,” said Austria patiently. “The answer is: Meet Aunt Augusta, the moneybag who pays for everything you have seen so far, except for the fixed interior of this building. Then again, you have already met her or, rather, met her thumb and forefinger when she pinched your behind earlier this evening.”

“That was her?” Spain stared at the door.

“I’m afraid so.”

With that, Austria returned his focus to the game.

---

“Do you really think this is appropriate—”

Everyone was surprised when they first heard the child’s voice that sounded so very old. Austria’s first thought now was bafflement.

“Let me down!” the voice clamoured. “Let me down this instant! I don’t want—”

Then their camber door was kicked open with a bang, revealing Bavaria with a struggling Holy Roman Empire in one of his arms.

Something within Austria’s mind clicked. He stalked towards Bavaria in his stockings, putting his hands on his hips.

“What do you even think you’re doing?” he hissed. White-hot anger coursed through his veins.

“Roderich!” Bavaria said in what he had clearly attempted to be a jovial tone. It slipped. “We just…”

“We?” hissed Austria. “We?” His voice rose. “You dragged little Karl here against his will and you have the nerve to suggest he was in any way involved in the idea of seeing his guardian in a compromising situation?” Austria was still growing and only wore socks, but somehow, he managed to tower over Bavaria regardless.

“Erm…” Bavaria did one sensible thing and put Holy Rome to the ground. Austria grabbed him by the collar, still seething with anger.

“Roderich?” the young, old voice said calmly. “Theodor?”

Both countries looked at him.

“I think we should all calm down now, and then Theodor and I will return to the festivities. Is that not a good idea, Theodor?”

“Yes,” Bavaria said glumly. Then Holy Rome took his hand and guided him away.  Austria closed the door after them—with deliberate care. Antagonising Karl was never a good idea. It made you seem childish.

“Alright.” Austria let out a long sigh. “After this, I think they will leave us alone at last.”

Then he saw the look in Spain’s eyes. There was a flicker of reverence in them as well as a distinct spark of—interest? Austria’s stomach did a tiny flip.

“So…” Spain was brushing his hand alongside the nape of his neck; a clear, if somewhat clumsy, sign of nervousness.

“So.” Austria was nervous, too. He tried not to show it; tied to muster the stoic bravery he always associated with Swabia.

“I rather think there will be no more disturbances now, and … I think we both know what is expected of us.” Damn. He was sure Swabia’s voice would not have been quavering.

“Have you ever done this before? I mean, with…” He didn’t know how to continue the sentence. With another man? But were they men? They weren’t human beings; that he was sure of. But their bodies were built like those of two male human beings, and the fact that the church itself had made it official today that human law did not apply to them… To him, it seemed like cheating. It appeared that kings and popes would always decide what they were on the basis of what was most convenient to them.

He looked on the chessboard. Were they pawns in this game of kings?

Spain followed his gaze. He picked up the chessboard from the bed and placed it carefully on the floor.

“You’re thinking too much.” Even Spain’s voice was gentle.

“I always do.” Austria looked away, on the cushions of the large four-poster. So, he thought once more. This was when…

“Will you let me guide you?” Spain said in the same quiet voice he had used before. “Because I actually have done this before.”

“You?” Austria’s head whipped up. He stared at Spain incredulously. “I thought…” He didn’t know how to continue. “Religion…”

For a split second, Spain appeared to be flustered but then answered with an aloofness that seemed almost like he was overcompensating:

“I know what the authorities say on the matter, and in the beginning, I was confused, too. But … it’s not really all that different, you know.” He shrugged. “I’m not a theologian, so I might miss a few points, but if the bishop approves of it, I can’t find fault with it either. Especially when it’s about our kind, who don’t have children the human way anyway.”

“Hm.” Austria thought. “That seems to be the main point, doesn’t it?”

Spain didn’t reply. Austria didn’t know if Spain really thought what he suspected—what he would have thought in Spain’s stead, in any case: Think like that if it makes you feel better about it.

He would try to, anyway.

“What do I need to do?”

“Stop looking like you’re going to face down an enemy, for starters.” Spain smiled as he was inching closer to him.

“I’m trying to.” Austria relaxed his features. Perhaps thinking How would Swabia handle this? wasn’t a good approach in every situation.

“First of all, I’m going to kiss you,” Spain declared. There was an edge to his voice Austria couldn’t quite place. “Then … just follow my lead. And push me away if you want me to stop, okay?”

Austria nodded.

Then a gentle, calloused hand cupped his chin and warm, slightly chapped lips captured his lower lip.

This really was no different to being with a woman, Austria thought involuntarily. At least so far.

He opened his mouth to let Spain in when his tongue demanded it. Spain was a good kisser, at the least; Austria had to give him that. He made an involuntary, small sound at the back of his throat and could feel Spain smile against his lips before he started to kiss Austria’s cheek.

“That is a fine coat you’re wearing but it’s in my way.” Spain deftly pushed the fur-lined  coat down Austria’s shoulders and let it fall to the floor with a heavy thud. He kissed down Austria’s neck where the wide necked undershirt left him ample room for kisses. While kissing he got at the laces and points that held Austria’s doublet closed down his side and carefully started undoing them. 

Austria’s hands were much more clumsy as he tried to open Spain’s belt that held his sayo gathered at the waist. It was an action dangerously close to the codpiece that peeked from between Spain’s skirts. The kissing had made him light-headed; he refused to accept thinking of himself as aroused yet.

Spain was progressing rapidly and now moved to the laces that tied his doublet to his hoses, it wouldn’t be long or he’d be in his shirt. Austria believed it his duty to do the same, but it was hard to think with Spain’s lips and hair touching his skin, and he had to get Spain to remove his coat and say first before he could get at any laces himself…

Spain sat back and laughed.

“We should have changed into our nightshirts before we started this, shouldn’t we?”

“Probably,” Austria said breathlessly. His mouth twitched upwards, too. “I always underestimate the time it takes to change out of ceremonial clothing.”

Spain flashed back a grin.

“Especially when you’re dead tired after some tedious reception, isn’t it?” He chucked off his own heavy coat and then pulled off the sayo over his head, leaving him in just his jubón and very short breeches and stockings, a state of undress that was already quite scandalous. Austria watched him before he realised that now would be a good time to start unfastening what Spain hadn’t unfastened yet. He took off his doublet and was left in just his undershirt and his breeches.

There was just one problem: The moment he untied the codpiece that was closing his breeches, Spain would see that… Well, that the kissing hadn’t quite left Austria unaffected. And wasn’t that too early…

Meanwhile, Spain had loosened his jubón from the shorts and undid just as many laces as needed to hastily pull it off. He accidentally pulled his linen undershirt along and got a bit stuck. With a little determination he had freed himself and stretched, his upper body was now completely bare. Austria stared. Where he was soft and a little skinny, Spain’s body was covered in hard planes of muscle. He suddenly felt self-conscious about his own body.

Then, Spain pulled loose his garter bands and loosened his codpiece and pushed down everything he wore on the lower half of his body. It was tight so he had to work it down a bit before being able to pull it off. The man was stark naked now. Without conscious thought, Austria’s eyes were drawn to his half-hard cock.

“But you didn’t even…” Austria had no idea how he wanted to finish this sentence.

“It’s basically been like this since we entered the bedroom,” Spain admitted frankly. “But it got a little harder when you put your brother in his place.”

“But … why?” That probably ranked pretty high on a list of most stupid questions ever uttered, Austria realised, so he clarified: “I mean … it’s not as if we had much of a choice…”

“Simple,” Spain said. “You look good. You’re graceful when you dance, among other things. I knew kissing you would feel good, too, and it does.”

“You’re the one who looks good.” Austria knew he was simply stating a fact. “I, on the other hand…” He pulled his wide linen shirt, over his head, leaving himself shirtless. He was trying not to think too much about how he looked.

Then he caught Spain’s stare.

He blinked.

“You know the saying,” murmured Spain, walking over to Austria’s side of the bed. “Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder.” He raked his eyes over Austria’s, as Austria thought himself, rather scrawny chest. Spain’s broad, warm hands followed, and that did feel good…

Then Spain had managed to untie Austria’s knee breeches. He pulled them down.

“Oh.” Spain stared at Austria’s cock—a rather unbecoming thing, Austria thought; pale with some angry red at the tip.

“And here I was actually worried your body might not react, no matter what I do.”

Was that before or after you kissed me breathless? Austria wanted to quip, but then Spain was on his knees and—alright, that was something he had experienced before too, but Spain had swallowed him whole, and…

He cried out and swore in German, in words he would otherwise have denied he even knew. So much for keeping this to ‘the approved position’ Burgundy had demanded of him this was definitely fornication. He liked that idea, yes there were so many things he had to comply with about this marriage. But there were parts of it that no one could control except for the two of them, no matter how much others might want to.

Spain pushed him on the bed, getting rid of Austria’s breeches and socks while he was at it, never stopping with his mouth…

Rational thought escaped Austria, and that was probably just as fine because he wasn’t keen on evaluating the sounds he made anyway.

Then one of Spain’s hands held down his hips. Cold air hit his cock as Spain sat on his knees, raking his eyes over Austria while he was stroking himself.

Austria stared. He hadn’t felt so aroused in a long time.

“Want to touch me?” Spain asked. Austria nodded. He ran his hands over the muscles on Spain’s chest before he let one hand dip down into Spain’s soft flank. His other hand wrapped around Spain’s cock.

It was a new sensation to hold a cock that wasn’t his own, but Austria knew how he liked to be touched … if he twisted his hand just like this … Spain’s hips bucked under his hands.

“Okay, okay, you’re making me come!” Spain pushed his hand off. “Not yet.”

Oh yes… So far, it had been easy. But that had just been Spain’s way of making the whole thing more bearable, hadn’t it?

Austria rolled on his stomach. Better get it over with…

Broad hands started to knead his … backside, for want of a more becoming term. He felt a puff of air between his cheeks, and then…

He didn’t know if he had bucked or flinched. In any case, he hadn’t been prepared for Spain’s tongue … there.

At first, the sensations were just confusing. Then Spain’s tongue started to work him for real, darting in and out and caressing his inner walls. He started to pant again.

“Hmm…” Spain hummed against his arse. Austria’s hips bucked out of their own volition. “And I didn’t even need to tell you to relax.” The puffs of air against his hole made him buck his hips again. 

“That’s good,” Spain continued. “I’m going to work you open now,” he explained. “That might get a bit uncomfortable. You need to tell me if it gets too much, alright?”

“Yes,” said Austria. It was hard to think through his arousal, but he had understood. On the other hand, he had no intention whatsoever to tell Spain that anything was too much. Grit your teeth…

Spain leaned away from him, taking something from his clothes. Austria looked after him.

“Olive oil,” Spain explained as he opened the jar. “The very best.”

Then Spain started, using his tongue and an oil-coated finger to stretch Austria from the inside… It didn’t feel good, but it was also not the horrible feeling Austria had expected: A mixture of pleasure—yes, it was still there—and the uncomfortable sensation of being stretched in a place that hadn’t been made for stretching all that much. Austria’s hips still bucked when Spain inserted two oily fingers and his tongue, moving them in and out, but his moans were now half pain, half pleasure.

“I think you’re ready,” Spain said eventually.

Am I? thought Austria. He wasn’t ready at all; not mentally, at the least.

Something warm and spongy that had also been coated in oil nudged his arse, and then he had to bite his lips hard not to cry out in pain because that was definitely bigger than…

“Oh, shit,” Spain swore. A number of Spanish expletives followed as he rolled them both to the side, arms flailing. At least it distracted Austria from the unpleasant feeling.

“What…?” he started to ask.

“Damn. Sorry. I almost lost control… Did I hurt you?”

“Not much,” Austria said, more or less truthfully. “Is there something I can do to help?”

“I’d better … hold my legs still. Can you, uh, move against me?”

Austria understood immediately. He tugged one of Spain’s arms across his chest.

“Alright. Hold me.”

Spain did, muscles quivering from the effort not to move while Austria pushed his ass against him again and again, panting in the effort of moving.

“This doesn’t work,” he concluded. “On your back.”

Spain did as he was told. Austria took the jar from Spain’s hand, rubbing more oil on his dick and between his ass cheeks. Then he sat on him, face to his legs because Spain really didn’t need to see the grimace he pulled. He gave himself no time to think about the fact that suddenly it seemed to be him, not Spain, who controlled the situation. Instead, he used his weight to push Spain’s dick inside of him in slow thrusts that strained his leg muscles

When he was almost inside, Spain’s hips jerked upward, knocking the wind out of Austria’s lungs.

“You can turn me around now,” Austria panted as soon as he was sure his voice wouldn’t come out an octave too high. Spain did so, trying to hold his dick inside of Austria as it was. It wasn’t really possible because Austria could feel every little movement, and it wasn’t a pleasant sensation at all.

In the end, they were on their sides again, Spain’s arm once again slung across Austria’s chest.

“You’re so tight,” Spain panted. “Too tight. Can you try to relax?”

Austria did his best. He thought about Spain’s hands on him; the moment he had touched Spain; Spain’s lips around him… That had felt good.

“Better,” Spain grunted. He rocked his hips, keeping Austria in place with his arm.

It actually was better. The stretch was still unpleasant, but the oil did its job quite nicely now, and the pace Spain set suited Austria well: Not too fast, but not too slow either; not too hard and not too soft. He felt his cock that had become softer in the past minutes harden once again.

Then Spain’s hand brushed down Austria’s chest, gripped his cock, and—oh, that was more like it.

Spain’s mouth started to pepper kisses on his neck. Austria understood what he wanted, turning his head until Spain could kiss him. The kiss was open-mouthed and clumsy. Spain moaned into it as his hips moved harder and faster. At last, Austria’s hips started to jerk out of their own volition, torn between the thrusts from behind, the hand around his cock and the tongue in his mouth.

Suddenly, Spain brushed something inside of him that sent a shock of arousal through him. He cried out. Spain’s hand that had only held his cock before twisted up and down. Before Austria had registered what was happening, sticky wetness hit his stomach. Then Spain brushed the same spot as before, and another spurt of come followed the first.

Spain pumped Austria’s cock in a frenzy while his hips jerked up fast and erratically. Spots started to dance before Austria’s eyes. Then Spain’s hips stilled, and Austria felt hot fluid inside of him.

So this was penetrative sex between men, Austria thought with the part of his brain that never seemed to shut off. He pumped air between his lungs in long gasps until the spots in front of his eyes vanished.

The next things he registered were how sensitive the skin on his thighs felt—again, something that was not entirely new—and that he felt unable to move his legs even an inch.

“Austria?” Spain asked in a small voice.

“Hmm?” He couldn’t bring himself to say more.

“Are you … I mean, did I hurt you?” Spain sounded worried.

You mean, when didn’t you hurt me, a malicious part of Austria wanted to quip. He reined it in and settled for the truth.

“It stung when you spread me and it did hurt in the beginning,” he admitted. “But I don’t mind that you were chasing your own release at the end, which is what I think you are referring to.”

“I’m sorry.” Spain sounded sincere. “It gets easier if you do it more often.” There was an unspoken question in that statement, but Austria chose to ignore it for the time being. He had done his duty—the marriage had been consummated—but he didn’t know yet what he wanted for the future.

“Still,” Spain said. Austria felt the bed dip as he stood. He heard him move, but couldn’t bring himself to lift his head. “It was your first time. I should have been gentler.” Spain’s upper body entered Austria’s field of vision, holding a wet piece of cloth. “Allow me to clean you up, too?”

“Please.” Austria realised his own switch back to a formal tone. It seemed to have an effect on Spain: The way he cleaned him up was meticulous and efficient. Austria noted he had warmed the piece of cloth with his body—an act of care he appreciated.

“Tell me,” Austria asked, “if we hadn’t been ordered to consummate our marriage properly, would you have done all you did tonight?”

“No,” Spain answered at once. “I wanted you to enjoy it. I’d probably have stroked us off together, and that’s it. And you can keep caressing each other while you do that…” His voice trailed off. “Look, I think you’re clever and brave and beautiful, and I want to touch you. I’d want it if we weren’t married. But I’m worried I thwarted my own chances before I had any because we were doing what others expected of us.”

“Don’t be cross with me, but I believe I’m unable to think about that just now.” Austria only realised how true this was as he said it: He was exhausted; his legs felt like jelly; and he needed a good night’s sleep anyway after the dances, the chess match and Swabia’s and his own valiant efforts to thwart all spectators.

“Don’t misunderstand me,” he hurried to say as he saw the disappointment on Spain’s face. “If I say I need to think about it, I don’t mean no. I mean that I need to think about it, but I’m about to fall asleep. So … come to bed with me?”

Spain nodded. Then he doused the candles and went to bed, putting the blankets over them both as well as he could. Austria made a point of taking Spain’s hand.

It had been a long day, and he really needed to think. He also needed his legs to work again, but he assumed that problem would have solved itself by tomorrow.

[chilling-seavey]

Heartbreak Hotel (d.s.) - Chapter Seven

A/N Daniel really can’t catch a break, huh?

Daniel didn’t want to leave his house for the rest of his life after the embarrassment in the diner. He went right home after finishing the declined plate of fries on his own and locked himself in his room to bask in his humiliated shame, face down on his bed. Maybe it was just all one big coincidence that he kept tasting strawberry milkshakes and this one girl happened to like them. Even by Monday, Daniel was still feeling the lingering embarrassment but he convinced himself to get to work. At least there he wouldn’t have to face her again.

Christian got to the auto shop first – he had insisted on driving alone again – and Daniel pulled into the parking spot beside him. His brother didn’t even look at him as he got out of the car and sauntered inside the garage. Daniel frowned, turning off the ignition and followed after him.

A car was waiting for him when he started his shift, caked in dirt to the point that Daniel wondered where the hell the owner lived to get it that filthy in the city. Regardless, he filled up the bucket of soapy water and got to work scrubbing.

Christian and Corbyn and Jonah had greeted each other with handshakes and pats on the arm before starting their jobs for the day and Daniel watched silently as they chatted. It was a steady routine on the days they worked; Daniel left alone in his corner of the shop and the three older guys working together like he didn’t even exist. Not that Daniel minded; he knew their type well from high school and the ‘greasers’ weren’t his usual crowd.

By afternoon, after a quiet lunch where Daniel ate his sandwich at the opposite end of the table, the shop had a guest. One look at the girl from the diner walking through the open garage door and Daniel was throwing himself onto the cement floor behind the car he was washing, eyes wide and nearly full of fear. He swore softly under his breath before peeking up through the car windows to watch her walk across the shop in a blue dress and a matching ribbon in her dark hair, her white kitten heels clicking gracefully against the floor, and that silver ring still tucked on the chain around her neck.

Daniel felt his cheeks flush pink at only the sight of her and as she glanced around the shop he ducked down and out of sight from her gaze. He listened intently to any sound he could pick up.

“Hey, Loretta.”

“Hey, Jonah. Is my man around?”

“Just talking to the big guy. He’ll be back in a jiffy.”

“Swell.”

Daniel peeked around the hood of the car to see her sit down on one of the stools by the tool shelves and, only moments later, Corbyn returned from talking with the boss.

“Hey, doll. What are ya doing here?” he asked coolly, greeting her with a kiss to her cheek.

“Just came by to visit you.” she shrugged sweetly, setting her hand on his arm.

“Not really the place for you though, is it?” Corbyn said as he lifted up the hood of the car he was working on.

“I can just watch.” Loretta assured him quickly, “Mum is just picking up some groceries down the street.”

“Did she like your new necklace?” Corbyn smirked, reaching over to scoop up the ring around her neck on his pinky.

“She was very thrilled when I showed her, yes.” Loretta bit back a smile to her boyfriend. “You know she’s very fond of you.”

“I know.” Corbyn winked, nudging her cheek with his finger.

“Daniel.”

Daniel nearly jumped five feet in the air from his spot on the ground, hitting his head off the side mirror of the car he was supposed to be cleaning and he looked up to his older brother, a hand on the now forming bump on the top of his head.

“What, Christian?” Daniel mumbled.

“Are you staying focussed? This car isn’t going to wash itself.”

“Yeah. Just…” Daniel couldn’t even think of an excuse, fading out with a sigh.

“Get up. My job’s on the line if you slack off too, you know.”

“Yeah. Sorry.” Daniel got to his feet, keeping his head down as he felt everyone look over at them, Loretta included, and he couldn’t help but flush pink under her stare. He watched his brother walk back off and then turned to the hose in his hand, the water spilling into his shoe from how he held it for the prior few minutes.

It was just his luck that the next week or two, Loretta visited Corbyn at the shop a lot. Daniel hadn’t even set foot in the diner in hopes of avoiding her at all costs but then she would turn up at the shop instead anyway. Jack and Zach thought it was hilarious every time he told them she showed up again, but Daniel only wanted it to all be over.

It was a sunny and hot morning in mid July when Loretta Jean Howard walked into the car shop in brand new white high waisted short shorts, earning the attention of all the men in the garage. Her brown hair was flipped out at the ends over her shoulders, her red hairband matching her tight red shirt to show off her curves and was vastly different from her usual modest dresses.

Daniel did a double take when she walked in, not usually one to stare at a girl’s body since he prided himself on his chivalry and manners but there was something about Loretta that captivated him in every way - and he had barely even spoken to her. The sponge in his hand was dripping soapy water down his arm as he was distracted by her as she stopped just inside and took off her sunglasses, setting them on top of her head before scanning the place. Corbyn was on the phone with a client by his usual station, leaving Jonah elbows deep in a mustang on his own and Christian was working underneath another car farther down the row.

Which left Daniel as the only visibly not-busy person in the general area.

He was so busy staring at her that he didn’t notice her sauntering over to him at first until she was right beside him, smiling lightly at the water that dripped down his arm and into his sleeve.

“You got a light?” she asked.

Daniel snapped back to reality, clearing his throat and taking a step back, “Wh-What?”

“Do you have a light?” she held an unlit cigarette between them, the end stained in red lipstick from where she once had it resting between her lips.

“No. I don’t. I-” Daniel stammered, desperately trying to steady his words. “I don’t. I…I think there’s one over here, one sec-”

He barely even turned around before he was tripping over his soap bucket and spilled the dirty water all over the cement floor and Loretta gasped as she lifted up one of her pristine white heels out of the splash.

“Dammit. I’m so sorry.” Daniel rushed, scrambling to grab the spare lighter that someone had left on the shelf by the water faucets. He stepped through the puddled soapy water and tossed the lighter at her, trying to be cool about it but it hit her in the chest and fell into the water. “Shit, oh gosh, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay.” Loretta chuckled, bending down to pick up the lighter.

He watched her set the cigarette between her red painted lips and she flicked the lighter, setting the small flame against the end before taking it right back out between two fingers.

She held the lighter out to him again, “Thanks.”

Daniel only nodded, reaching out to take the lighter from her and their hands brushed. He felt a weird warmth spreading up his arm and right down his spine, making him stay frozen in place as he watched her walk back of to her usual stool. She held out the lit cigarette to Corbyn who was still on the phone and he bent down slightly to let her set it between his lips and he sent her a wink as he took a puff.

Daniel closed his eyes as he sighed, letting his head fall back in disbelief of the absolute idiot he made of himself and he shoved the unclaimed lighter into his pocket.

~~

Daniel knocked lightly on his brother’s door after dinner.

“Come in.”

He shuffled inside and closed it behind him, glancing over at Christian who was sprawled out on his bed with a magazine in only his pyjama pants and reading glasses.

“What’s shaking, little brother?” he asked, sitting up a little at his brother’s obvious hesitation and he pushed his glasses to the top of his head.

“Do you…can I…” Daniel took a few hesitant steps farther into the room, his hands wringing tightly behind his back. “Can I have some cigarettes?”

“You want a smoke? Why? You always hated them.” Christian crossed his arms over his bare chest in skepticism.

“Just…I want to try them.” Daniel shrugged.

Christian paused for a moment in thought but then nodded. He swung his legs off the side of the bed and got up to reach into the pocket of his leather jacket that was hung in his closet. He pulled out the small box of Camel cigarettes and pulled two out, tossing the rest of the package onto his bed. Daniel watched his older brother intently, unmoving, nervous, but still determined to see what all the fuss and the hype was about.

“Come here.” Christian waved him over to his window and he sat up on the desk that was in front of it.

Daniel rushed over and joined him on the desk, crossing his legs as he faced him and Christian passed him a cigarette. As Daniel set it between his lips, Christian unlocked his window and shoved it open so the fresh summer nighttime air leaked in through the screen.

“If you wanna smoke inside, do it at your open window otherwise Mum will smell it and flip her lid.” Christian instructed through his own cigarette balanced between his lips and he flicked on the lighter.

Daniel watched his brother light up and then a small puff of smoke fell from his mouth. Christian waved him closer and Daniel shuffled towards him some more, almost going cross eyed as he watched Christian light the end of his cigarette too. Daniel furrowed his eyebrows a moment as he carefully inhaled, copying the action of his older brother, and sputtered through a cough, a messy cloud of smoke tumbling from his lips.

Christian cracked a small smile, watching his younger brother suffer through another drag, his face going red as he coughed hard and exchanged the cigarette for his opposite hand over his mouth.

“What you wanted?” Christian teased.

Daniel shook his head, passing back the cigarette to him, sticking his tongue out to try and rid the sharp unpleasant taste from his mouth.

“Didn’t think you would.”

“It tastes like Grandpa’s armchair.” Daniel grimaced.

Christian laughed loudly, “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

“I should go to bed.” Daniel climbed off the desk.

“Why’d you want to try these? You wanting to impress a girl or something?” Christian smirked.

“I dunno.” Daniel mumbled.

Christian only took another drag of his cigarette through his teasing smile and blew the smoke out the window.

“Chris, can I…can I have a few just because?” Daniel asked.

“I guess. What do I get in return?” Christian retorted, reaching behind him to grab the box again and he pulled out three fresh smokes and held them out to him.

Daniel thanked him softly and took them, hiding them in the pocket of his pyjama pants, “I’ll bring you something from the diner next time I’m there.”

“Deal. Good night, little brother.”

“Night, Christian.” Daniel whispered before slinking back down the hallway to his own room. He set the cigarettes in his night table drawer and stared at them a moment before closing the drawer; the only way to get on Loretta’s good side was to cater to what she seemed to like, he was sure of it.

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter thirteen: the dog days of summer

“Thank you again, Joey,” Sam said to him once he bounded into that rear parking lot like a race car driver. Another hour had passed and he had gotten her there in the nick of time, right when she was supposed to be there to help out with set up and for another night of oversight. The sun begun to hang low in the sky, such that those lush trees made her think of the sky high trees from her dream. She slid out of the front seat with still wet hair and yet the feeling was never more euphoric for her. She hoisted her purse over her shoulder once again, and she turned her attention back to him.

“Do you wanna come in and join us?” she offered him, to which he shrugged at her. “I mean, you did say you were going to be here.”

“I just might show up at another gig again,” he vowed to her, once more with a wink. “Last thing I wanna do is have a drink before I gotta drive back home. I will wait for you down by the water again, though. I did say I was gonna be here for you.” Without another word, he nudged the sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose and showed her a thoughtful little smile. Sam patted the roof of the car and then she doubled back to the door of the bar.

The place reminded her of L'Amour in how it was so cozy and warm lit with its heavy golden floor boards but the small, ramshackle stage had been crammed into the far corner of the room. The other difference was that not a lot of people could go in there. Sam ran her fingers through her wet hair, which squeaked down at the roots. Nice and clean.

She glanced across the floor and she recognized that head of dark curls at the far end of the bar. She also recognized that guy with the smooth black hair.

“Chuck!” she called out as she hurried over to the other side of the bar. He turned his head and he peered over his shoulder, and Eric pointed towards her.

“Chuck!” Sam called out and he nodded his head at her.

Given he was out in better lighting, the blackness of his hair gave way to a soft dark brown. Eric nodded at her and raised his glass to her.

“The art student on tour!” he proclaimed with his arm extended out for her, and she leaned in closer to him. He looked up at her and gave his black hair a flick back of his head. “You smell good.”

“Joey took me over to his parents' house for a shower,” she replied. “I just couldn't take it anymore.”

“That happened to me when I was in my first band,” said Chuck as he held onto the base of his glass with two hands. “We just went all over California and by the penultimate date, I was like 'Jesus Christ, this is horrible! My hair feels like it just dunked itself into mud!'”

“What're you guys doing here?” she asked the two of them as she stood in between them.

“Just hanging out,” Eric replied, “Louie got a job—guess he got tired of Zelda paying his rent all the time and he was getting bored—Alex is still in school so he's back home in the Bay Area, and—no idea what Greg is doing.”

“Yeah, nobody knows what Greg is doing,” Chuck added as he brought the glass to his dark lips. Like a lighter version of Joey.

“It's like someone does something like 'Greg behind the scenes' or something,” Sam suggested in a single breath, and that brought a laugh out of Eric.

“Greg Christian behind the scenes,” he declared with his fingers pinched together and a chuckle.

“And Alex is the baby out of all five of you,” Sam recalled.

“Yeah, he's the little man,” said Eric with a nod of his head. “I've only known him for a few months but it's amazing how hard he works, though. He's a young boy who just happens to be a little work horse. Just puts his horns down and—goes.” He stuck out his hand when he said that.

“That's what I've heard, too,” Chuck added as he brought his glass back down to the bar's surface. “I only met him just the other day and he was going home so I couldn't sit and chat with him to get to know him better.”

“I hope we can record something soon,” Eric pointed out.

“It's the whole waiting game and everything,” Sam recalled what Cliff had said to her.

“Exactly! As Louie will tell you.” Eric looked across the room and Zelda strode into the room with her black hair pushed back from her face.

“Louie's gettin' bored, isn't he?” he followed up to her.

“Yeah, pretty much,” she replied; once she came in closer to them, Sam made sight of the sheen on the crown of her head.

“D'you put grease in your hair?” Sam asked her.

“Nah, just stuck my head under a faucet,” Zelda replied as she tucked a stray lock of hair over her forehead atop her head. “Just like you, I—I couldn't take it anymore. It's better than doing that than going over to the lake and doing that.”

“Yeah, you don't wanna do that,” Chuck told her. “I haven't really been here before but even I can tell you that.”

“Zelda the little punk chick even has her limits,” Eric declared.

“Of course,” she insisted with her hands pressed to her hips. “Capricorn is all about limits, you know. At least that's what I'm told.”

“Fellow Cap,” said Sam.

“Ooh, when's your birthday?” Zelda raised her eyebrows at her.

“January twenty first.”

“That's Aquarius,” she replied. “Like, right at the very start of it. I was born the day before New Year's, December thirtieth.”

“Scott's birthday is New Year's Eve,” Eric pointed out.

“Look at all the goats!” said Zelda with a grin on her face.

“I'm a couple days after the summer solstice,” Chuck chimed in.

“And I'm right smack in the middle of May,” Eric added.

“Just all over the zodiac,” Sam laughed.

“Forget when Alex's birthday is, though,” he confessed. “It's—some time in September, that's all I know.”

“And there's Marla,” Zelda declared, and the three of them turned around and Marla ambled over to them with a glass of dark beer in either hand and a piece of her violet hair pushed back over the crown of her head.

“Where's Scott at?” she asked them.

“He's outside with Billy and Charlie,” Zelda replied. “You look like a burlesque waitress.”

“Yeah, you need like one of those tied crop tops and your hair dolled up on top of your head,” Chuck added with a gesture up to his head.

“And some heels, too, I presume?” Marla teased him.

“A pair of some big ol' red stilettos, yes!” And the five of them laughed at that. Marla pressed on to the other side of the room and the front door.

“I gotta put something else into my hair,” Zelda spoke out of the blue. “Something else sleek and smells good.”

“Why?” Eric laughed at that.

“You know.”

“I don't.”

“I put my hair under a fauct. It just makes sense.” “Well, why.”

“Because.”

“Why,” he repeated, “why, why, why, why, why.”

“Because I can?”

“Why.” He stretched out the word a bit.

“'Cause she wants to smell good,” Sam joined in.

“But I think ol' Eric here wants to see more of li'l Zelda,” Chuck pointed out with a wink, and Sam wondered if he was a little bit tipsy right then, even after one glass of stout.

Indeed, Zelda made her way over to the ladies' room in search of something to make her wet hair smell good. Sam let Chuck and Eric finish their drinks as she assisted Scott and Charlie in setting up the drum kit and the two small amps, both of which stood on either side of the stage.

Once again, she and Zelda stood off to the side, and Zelda had found a vase of flowers and rubbed a little bit of the water into her hair, but that time, they funneled into the tiny nook between the edge of the stage and the wall. A single pair of ear plugs proved to be just enough to block out the abrasive distortion from Scott's guitar and the thunder from Dan's bass, but not enough to block out Charlie's power. The two girls stood right next to each other in silence. No sound was to break through that barrier.

That sound barrier brought on by the Stormtroopers of Death.

Speak Spanish or get the hell out! In fact, Sam saw Dan mouth that at one point and she laughed as loud as she could, even though he couldn't hear her.

Motorhead followed suit and they were even louder. Sam had no idea if pieces of the ceiling was about to fall down from the thumping power of Lemmy's bass. Wendy joined him again for the “Stand By Your Man” cover, and Cliff burst into Sam's mind right then. He was into country music, but she had yet to watch him perform it for her, Marla, Aurora, and Zelda. But even against the wall of noise, she pictured him right next to her and Zelda, complete with that big black cowboy hat and those pointed two boots under those bell bottoms. She made a mental reminder to call him once she got home from the tour.

Once Motorhead left the stage, Sam was quick to head back out to the night. Even though the town had fallen quiet in the wake of the show, she peered in either direction and she darted across the pavement, back to the trees. Her hair still felt wet down at the roots even though night had fallen and the full moon rose up over the horizon.

A soft breeze made its way through the trees before her and she knew he was there.

She skidded down the grass and, through the soft moonlight, she made out the sight of his slender silhouette down by the water. She slowed a bit, but she had no idea if he could see her. She paused for a second: the only sound came from the lake waters as they lapped against the shore's edge.

“Hey, Joey,” she greeted him.

“Hi,” he said, and in the soft moonlight, she could see the beaming smile on his face: indeed, the darkness of the night made him appear as dark as the night itself. Her eyes adjusted and the light of the moon washed a soft glow over the crown of black curls atop his head.

“You got a light or sump'n?” he asked her.

“I don't, no. Just the light of the moon and the light from the bar back there.”

“Damn. Well, I got something for you, though.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Cellophane crinkled and dirt shuffled underneath his feet. In the soft light of the moon, she could see him walking towards her.

“Where's your hand?” he asked her.

“Here.” She stuck out her hand for him. “Where here?”

“Here here.”

His hand fondled over her own: the callused fingers caressed over her palm and then she felt him put something there.

“What is it?” she asked him.

“Candy. It was all I could think of when I came back into town. And—I don't really know what you like so I got ya a jaw breaker. I think one of the Pennsylvania dates is in Hershey.”

“Oh, boy!” she said, and she brought the jaw breaker close to her chest. It was about the size of a bocci ball and as firm as hard candy should feel. “But thank you, though. I'll cherish every part of this and relish it.”

“It's blueberry flavored, too,” he added, “it was either that or plain. So, I picked that for ya.”

“I kinda want to get you something now,” she admitted.

“Like what?”

“Not sure yet. I'll surprise you.”

“Also, Sam?”

“Yes?”

Silence, and then he stepped forward. She could feel his arms around her. He held her close to his slender little body, slender in spite of the toned muscles on his chest and his stomach. Even in the darkness, she could see the size of his heart right in front of her. She rested the side of her head against his chest. So warm and welcoming, even in the warm summer night around them.

She rested her hands upon his back, including the hand that held the jaw breaker, and he swayed a little bit even though there was no music playing right then.

Joey bowed his head and some of his thick black curls dangled down onto her own, as if he protected her from the darkness around them.

“Are you going to be in Syracuse?” she asked him in a muffled voice, and he lifted his head from her own.

“I'm afraid not,” he confessed, and he fetched up a sigh. “It's kinda out of my way, if I'm honest, but I'll try to catch you before you go back home and start school again.”

“Okay.” She caressed the middle of his back a bit with her free hand and she relished it a little longer.

“Sam?” Marla's voice sailed over to them from across the street.

“She's over here, Marla!” Joey shouted. He lowered his voice for Sam herself. “That's your cue, now.”

“Okay.” She gazed up at his face, shrouded in dark shadow for another few seconds longer, and then a pair of car headlights shone over his face. He snapped his eyes shut from the sudden change.

“I'll catch you on the other side,” he vowed to her, and he gave her another quick hug before he ducked away from there and back towards his own car. Sam turned towards the car and she used the bright lights as her guide back to her bed for the night.

* * * * *

It was a good thing that Sam had taken a shower at Joey's parents' house because Marla, Scott, Billy, Charlie, and Dan all began to smell like a locker room themselves by the time they had cleared the rest of the New York dates. At that point, the humidity and sharp heat from the late dog days of summer had sunk over them all.

Every so often before she finally left for Rhode Island, Zelda put her head under more faucets to keep her hair clean.

“I gotta get back home,” she confessed to Sam at one point during their last stop before they drove into Pennsylvania. “I gotta pay my rent and meet up with the girls, and I think Louie needs me, too. I called him before we left Buffalo and he told me he wanted me there. So, he's gonna come and get me here.”

“I think you did what you gotta do for us, anyways,” she assured her. “Some free money for you as an assistant's assistant and a means of seeing the guys for a bit. Go home and take a long bath.”

“I'll take two baths,” Zelda promised, and Sam burst out laughing at that.

They had made their way into Pennsylvania when the reality settled over her: Labor Day weekend had already past by. One more weekend including that Friday night off so they could drive across the state line, and it would be the first day of school for her. She wondered if they would return home to New York City in time. The time had gone by so quickly and yet it all felt like such a big adventure to her.

It was also at that point the reality of not wearing underwear underneath her jeans began to sink over her. She couldn't hardly take off her jeans or her shorts without the feeling that one of them in the camp would realize it for themselves, that she was out of clean ones, and thus she could hardly change her clothes aside from her tops. The only time she did was when she made her way into the ladies' room with a pair of shorts. It was a bit liberating to be without it for a while, but she knew the time of the month was about to roll around, and the whole thing made her wish she could return to his parents' house for it in the wicker basket.

“So Hershey and then the last show in Philadelphia is gonna have Overkill to fill in the rest of the time after Motorhead,” Marla explained at one point during the drive through Harrisburg.

“Our friends from Overkill,” Charlie added as he cleared his throat. “The band Danny—Danny Spitz—was in before he joined Anthrax.”

Just two more dates. Sam kept telling herself that with each passing mile. Just two more dates.

Given it was so hot for those final two dates, she could hardly pick away at the jaw breaker Joey had given her lest it feel sticky against her fingers. She did everything she could to keep herself as clean as possible for the remainder of that tour, even by the time they showed up in Hershey and she couldn't resist a walk about the little factory town.

Billy offered to buy her some chocolate as a souvenir of the tour: a little bag full of dark chocolate wrapped in bright red tin foil. Lucky for her, fall was starting to come to the sweetest town in the country, and thus she could hold the chocolate long enough in her fingers.

“This is probably my favorite part of the tour,” she told him as she held it close to her chest.

“This and hanging out with Joey a little tiny bit, too, I'd think,” he joked.

“Oh, yeah! Like—I'm not gonna lie to you, Billy, but I think it's just the stacking effect but I can see this getting monotonous.”

“It can be,” he replied with a shrug of his shoulders; he held the door for her and she stepped back out to the hazy sunshine. “And there definitely is a bit of stacking effect, too. It's only a couple of more dates, though. And I dunno 'bout you, but the first thing I'll do when I get home is take a shower.”

“Me, too—well, and I'm gonna have to, too.” She had gotten that free pass with the shower at Joey's parents' house, but then she remembered that she would at least have clean underwear by the time she returned home.

“Don't sweat it in Philly tomorrow, either,” Billy said to her as he put his sunglasses back on his face. “Scott, Danny, and I'll do the set up so Charlie can get you girls home in time 'cause I didn't realize it'd really get down to the wire like this.”

“Aw, that's so sweet of you, Billy!”

“Hey, you're the students and you've been with us all the way through. We've got our records and they're slated for later dates but you and Marla are the most important ones at the moment.”

Indeed, that night during the show, Marla glanced up at Sam with a look of concern on her face, especially Scott's amp started cutting out every so often. He would strum his guitar and on every fourth strum, he would be met with a little bite of silence. At one point, during the Milano Mosh, he stuck his pick in between his teeth and he furrowed his brow and let Dan go forth as a lead bassist for a few minutes with it. That was the first time Sam saw those thick dark eyebrows knitted together in frustration.

He bowed his head and took a couple of steps forward in his big Doc Marten boots.

And then she realized he was stomping on the amp. A bit of feedback surged out from it, a whisper of a drone against Dan's muddy bass and Charlie's powerful, tight drumming. It made Sam think of the dreams she had had before, just given how it was an odd juxtaposition. Tight as a machine under the mud of the earth and a light shriek. This malfunction made her dream of the earth even right there on the side of the stage.

Marla turned her attention to her.

“Kind of an interesting thing here,” she said over the waning barrier sound. “Reminds me of Jimi Hendrix in a way.”

“Except I dunno if his guitar amp was malfunctioning, though,” Sam pointed out; she wondered about that bag of chocolate back in the car and if she could sneak a couple of pieces to Marla at one point. No underwear underneath her shorts and she was thinking these things.

“Nah, it was all on purpose when Hendrix did it. There's a weird little texture to this, like Scott's accidentally making psychedelic shoegaze.”

“Psychedelic shoegaze hardcore,” Sam followed along.

“Psychedelic shoegaze hardcore that doesn't give a shit about anything,” Marla added and the two girls laughed.

After Motorhead and Overkill's sets, the latter of whom were as ferocious as Anthrax themselves, they turned into the seats of the car for the night. The last night before the trip home and Sam was eager to take off those shorts and change into something fresh. It was another one of those situations where every minute felt like an hour upon her falling asleep in the front seat in front of Charlie and Marla.

But she managed to fall into a dreamless sleep, and by the morning light, they left the outskirts of Hershey for Philadelphia.

“I do like Hershey,” Sam remarked as the signs on the freeway pointed them to the last stop before home.

“Yeah, I do, too,” Marla said. “Some time—like whenever after school starts—you, me, and Zelda should come over here again for like a girls' night or something.”

“Like when we go on tour again and you ladies don't feel like toughing it out again,” Charlie suggested.

“Yeah!”

It would another hour and a half before they arrived in Philadelphia for the last tour date and it hit Sam like a ton of bricks. Tomorrow was the first day of school. She and Marla were only a few hours from starting their new classes.

Such a big adventure only to be met with an even bigger one for herself. And she had hardly any time to meet the guys from Overkill or even stop to give them a drink the way Marla did in Ithaca. At least this time around, Stormtroopers were able to play in an actual theater as opposed to a bar or a night club. Overkill themselves had taken to the stage when Charlie beckoned her and Marla back out to the car, which he had parked at the curb, right behind the theater.

“That's enough of that for a while,” Sam breathed out as she pressed her thighs together. It was going to start soon. She could feel it. Even though the moon had faded out to a soft little white sliver against the inky black sky, she stood right on the threshold.

“What time is it?” Marla asked, and Charlie buckled into his seat and started up the car.

“A quarter to nine,” he replied, and then he let out a long low whistle. “Well, let's see. It's a hundred miles across New Jersey, plus another hour up to Sam's building in the Bronx, that is if we don't run into traffic, but I doubt it given how late it is. I will say that it'll be around midnight by the time we get her home. Probably almost one in the morning by the time you and I get back to our place, Marla.”

“Can you do it?” she asked him with a worried tone to her voice.

“Sam, you got any of that chocolate Billy bought for you?”

“Got lots of it,” she confessed as the very aroma of the chocolate from the inside of the bag was enough to send her reeling. “It's nice dark chocolate so it'll keep you awake.”

“That's good! I wasn't able to have a cup of coffee before we left Hershey. And it was another night of Scott's amp going haywire, too, so it was hard to concentrate. At least the tour's done now and the four of us can relax for a bit. The four of us, anyways.”

Sam handed him a piece of chocolate, and no sooner had he unwrapped the foil and stuck it into his mouth, Charlie pulled forward, away from the curb. He was quick to get them to the freeway.

“Hang on, girls!” he shouted over the roar of the freeway; they turned a tight corner in the onramp and they merged on. He came within a few inches of driving into a big truck but he saved it before something could happen to them.

Every so often, he reached back for a piece of chocolate and Sam gave it to him so he could stay awake. Given she knew they were almost home, she sat there in the back seat of his car with the window rolled down, wide awake. The drive wasn't putting her to sleep and the stacking effect waned away. She could feel the comfort of her apartment as the signs of New York City emerged from the harsh, pale New Jersey landscape, pale even in the darkness.

She recognized the Twin Towers as they towered strong and high over the cityscape, a mighty pair of bright monoliths against the black sky. Another hour and she would be home.

“One more, Sam,” Charlie called back to her, and she placed another piece right into the palm of his hand. She almost dropped it but he caught it.

“Charlie!” Marla yelped, and he caught the car before they speared right into a light on the side of the freeway. She unwrapped the piece of chocolate for him and she slipped it into his lips so he could focus on the road ahead of him.

Another few miles. Another few minutes. Within time, Sam recognized the outside of the Bronx. Charlie took the next exit and he wound through those dim lit streets. She didn't recognize it at first, but then her neighborhood entered her view.

He rounded the corner and there stood her building, like a long lost friend, on the side of the road. Charlie pulled up to the curb, right beneath the stairwell, and yanked on the parking lever.

“Hoooooly shit,” he breathed out.

“Just before midnight,” Marla declared. “You were right, babe.”

“Thank you so much, Charlie,” Sam told him. “And you, too, Marla.”

“And thank you, Sam,” she added with a peer into the side view mirror, even though she couldn't see her in the back seat.

“Oh, yes,” Charlie added. “Just—thank you for everything. For helping us and being a good assistant when Aurora's not around.”

“I was a producer after all,” Sam pointed out as she unbuckled her seat belt.

“Now, are you sure you don't need any help getting upstairs?” he offered her.

“Positive. Like I said before we left, it's only the two suitcases. But now I have the chocolate and Joey's jaw breaker. But it's alright, though—I promise I got it.” She slipped the jaw breaker in with the chocolate right then.

“Okay, good.”

“I'll see you tomorrow, Marla—” Sam hoisted her purse over her shoulder and then she climbed out when Marla stopped her again.

“What's your first class?” She craned her neck back so she could see her outside of the car.

“Art history. I think? Bill told me they were mailing them out last week and—you know. We've been on tour.”

“Oh, fun! I think I'm taking that, too? I'll have to check my schedule once I see mine.”

Sam rounded the back of the car towards the trunk and she took out her suitcases: it was a bit of a struggle given the bag of chocolate in her left hand but she managed to lug it all up the steps to the front door. She made her way up the stairs and, once she reached her floor, she spotted him seated before her front door.

“Hey, Cliff!” she greeted him.

“Hey, my lady,” he returned the favor. He took off his hat and he cradled it in the palm of his hand.

“How long have you been sitting there?”

“About ten minutes,” he said. “I knew it was the last date but—I wanted to see you one last time before I go back home and before school starts. Cliff stood to his feet so she could unlock the door and set her things down. How refreshing it felt to be back at her place! It felt like a whole decade since she had left.

“Could you be a dear and check my mail for me?” she asked as she handed him the keys. “They're down by Emile's apartment and the number's the same as here.”

“I'll be right back,” he vowed and he doubled back out to the corridor.

She ducked into the bathroom with some underwear and she was eager to take off those shorts.

Just in time, such that she breathed a sigh of relief.

By the time she came back out of there, Cliff had returned with a stack of mail and a chuckle at the sight of her wearing nothing but her shirt and her panties.

“That's quite the look,” he remarked.

“Let's just say it's good to be home,” she told him.

“Looks like you got a little greeting card from the boys in Legacy,” he announced; he set down the stack on the coffee table so he could show her the small bright red envelope with a makeshift Legacy logo scribbled on one corner of it in pearly white ink.

“Already? I mean, I saw Eric and Chuck up in Ithaca but I didn't think things would move so quickly for them just yet.”

“They're kicking ass right now, Sam, babe. Lars says they're coming up strong right behind us. I could be wrong but this looks like a fan club thing. Like the very beginnings of it.”

Right underneath that was the envelope she had been wanting: her school schedule. Her hands shook as she picked it out and unfurled it.

“So when do you start school?” he asked her.

“Tomorrow,” she replied. “Wow, my first class starts at nine o'clock sharp. Which means I gotta get up early and shower, 'cause I wanna look glamorous.”

“I'll walk you there, too,” he offered. “I mean, I'll take the subway with you there and then I'll walk you to your first class. What is it?”

“Intro to art history. After that is a three hour drawing class, and then a writing class. It's an all day affair, though.”

“I'll do it first thing in the morning, though,” he insisted. “You know, just—so you're not lonely.”

She showed him a smile. Even though it wasn't very long, the Stormtroopers tour felt so long and yet here was Cliff, who stood before her as a momentary breath of fresh air before she embarked once again.

“Sounds like a plan,” she concluded.

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

The Guardian’s Oath, Part Four

Here’s the next instalment of the series, which features some exposition on the Reverend Feargal Devitt. 

In order to get caught up, you’ll want to read Part One, Part Two and Part Three

Pairing: Feargal Devitt/ Finn Balor x OFC

Word Count: 4,494

Content advisory: Some discussion of death (which I would think is kind of expected in a horror story)

In the wake of that night, I found myself unable to teach with the same energy I had. It was just as well for William, who was sick for days, but I felt sorry for Sophia. She tended to her brother and I did what I could but I knew that she was frustrated by the slow pace. Sometimes, when I had her read a text and copy out some of the words as an exercise, I would drift off to sleep in one of the drawing room chairs. She would wake me gently in those moments, however, it was during such a spell that the Reverend returned from his weekly rounds. 

I shook myself awake, humiliated as I saw his annoyed expression, but before I could explain, Kate swept in and immediately told Sophia to go and set the table. She grabbed Reverend Devitt by the elbow and pulled him into the hall without a word to me. I understood that she meant to have a private conversation, however, I found that I could make out what they were saying if I listened carefully. 

She was telling him the story of William running away in the night and of how I’d rescued him. Although I couldn’t hear every word, I heard enough that I knew she was flattering me immensely, presenting me as some kind of heroine. The Reverend didn’t speak and I feared that he would somehow blame me for his son’s recklessness, or for the fact that he was still a little under the weather. 

“She’s no business at all being up and teaching in her condition,” Kate spat. “She should be in bed resting and if she continues like this, she’s going to make herself seriously ill.”

I heard the Reverend mumble something but there was no further conversation between them. 

I joined Sophia and her father for dinner, William still being weak enough that he took his meals in his room, and did the best I could to look alert. It was difficult because, unlike our usual dinners, there was almost no conversation. I desperately wanted to be able to speak as we always did, but every time I tried to raise a subject, I got almost no response. 

After we had finished our dessert, Reverend Devitt ordered his daughter to tell Kate to bring us coffee and then be off to bed. His tone was firmer than it usually was, and I saw a faint look of apprehension pass over her beautiful features as she rose from the table. 

Kate brought us our coffee and placed a bottle of whiskey on the table with a glance in his direction. He gave her a nod and a little smile, but waited until she left to add some whiskey to his cup. 

“Hand me yours,” he said, pointing at the cup of coffee in front of me. 

“I’m sorry sir, but I don’t.. I’ve never had alcohol, I don’t know what I’m-”

He waved his hand and took hold of my cup, adding a small amount of the caramel-coloured liquid and placing it back in front of me. 

I took a sip and winced at the burn of it. After a moment, though, the flavor seemed to emerge from the fire and I gave him a little smile to let him know that the pleasure wasn’t lost on me. When I met his gaze, however, I realized that he had started to cry. 

“I’m so sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to-”

“Stop it,” he rasped. “Kate’s told me what happened while I was away. She told me what you did, that you saved my son’s life and how you risked your own to do so.”

“I did only what was required of me,” I mumbled. 

“You saved a child’s life. That is more than most people ever do.”

He rose from his seat and made his way over to me, taking a knee before me and grasping my hand in his. When he pressed his lips to my knuckles I marveled at how very soft they were. I knew already that I adored him, that all the happiest moments of my life occurred when he was at home, and that much of the zeal I had for my work came from the knowledge that I could please him; however, in that instant, seeing him bow to me as if I were a fine lady and not his servant, my love grew into something new and all-encompassing. 

“I know that this is a difficult position,” he murmured. “I know that you must be terribly lonely, and that the children can be unruly. I hope you know that I never imagined they could do anything like this.”

“I never attributed the young master’s behavior to any failing on your part,” I soothed him. 

“You have probably heard that keeping a governess has been difficult.”

“Only a little.”

“Please promise me that you’ll stay with us. Please promise that, whatever happens, you'll speak to me before it becomes unbearable.”

“Of course, sir, I would never-”

He clasped my hand in both of his and planted kisses on my palm before rising. There were still tears shining in his eyes but they were no longer falling. I gazed up at him, feeling the little rush that he always stirred in my heart accompanied by a new thrill at the realization that he needed me. I had never in my life been needed. I had barely been wanted. 

“Papa?” Sophia’s calm voice startled both of us. 

“What are you doing up, love? Are you feeling unwell?”

“William’s crying. He says he had a nightmare.”

He gathered his daughter into his arms with a tender smile. “Well then, let’s go and see what can be done to cheer him.”

The girl shook her head. “He says he’ll only talk to Miss Miles about it. And he wants to see her alone.”

My cheeks colored a little. Despite the Reverend’s kind words, I was worried he might resent the implication that his children felt closer to me than to him. 

“Goodness. Then I suppose we should let her go and speak to him while we chat here.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing, sir,” I told him, rising hesitantly to my feet. 

I hurried up the stairs to the children’s room to find William sitting bolt upright, his face swollen from crying. As soon as he saw me, he held his arms out. Although I had always had a good relationship with the children, we had never been affectionate, and I found his gesture a little intimidating. Nevertheless, I sat on the bed and wrapped my arms around him. His little body closed around me like a snake and he began to cry again. 

“Please don’t hate me,” he bawled into my shoulder. 

“Hate you? Of course I don’t hate you. Whatever made you think such a thing? You frightened me and you were reckless but I could never hate you.”

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I did it.”

“Just promise me you won’t put yourself in danger like that ever again.” I leaned back enough that he could see the earnestness in my face. 

“I promise,” he said, nodding his little head. “I’ll be good for you.”

“Well you shouldn’t be good just for me. Be good because it’s the right thing to do. And be good so that your father doesn’t have to worry.”

Once again, he flung himself against me. “I love you mama,” he whispered, kissing my cheek. 

The proper thing to do would have been to remind him right away that I was not his mother, but with him in such an emotional state, I told myself that letting it slide this one time couldn’t hurt. 

“I love you too, William.” I nuzzled my face against his cheek and felt him smile at the contact. 

“I dreamt that you left.”

“I’m not going anywhere, dear boy.”

“I never cared for the others but if you left, I should be unhappy forever.”

“Not forever,” I told him. “Forever is a long time. But it doesn’t matter because I’m staying here for as long as I’m needed.”

“Forever,” he insisted. 

I laid him back down on the bed, basking in the smile he gave me and in the adoring look in his eyes. I tucked him into the bed and was about to go back downstairs when he called to me again. 

“You won’t let him hurt us, will you?”

I paused, immediately recalling the dark limerick he and his sister had recited to me months earlier. Although he was never named, I somehow knew that William meant the dark figure of Finn Balor. Once again, I knew that I should scold him for believing in such things but did not. 

“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” I promised him. 

When I returned to the dining room, I found the Reverend with Sophia asleep in his lap. He gave me a smile that was warmer even than the fire flickering before him. 

“She didn’t last long,” he whispered. 

“Well I believe I’ve dispatched the monsters from William’s nightmares for the time being.”

“I can’t tell you how remarkable this is. Neither of them ever seemed to take much notice of their previous governesses.”

“I guess he and I have a special bond after what we’ve been through.” Seeing his inquisitive look, I continued, “He was worried that I hated him for what he did. He just needed to know that he was forgiven.”

“You are as true a Christian woman as I’ve ever met, Helen. I’m not sure if I’d forgive him in your position.”

In one smooth moment, he rose to his feet, still cradling Sophia. I was impressed, for it would have taken a great deal of strength to do so, far beyond what I would expect of a country minister. 

“Good night, Helen,” he said as he passed me. 

“Good night, Rev-” I caught his sharp look and corrected myself. “Good night, Feargal.”

Once he was gone, I cleared away the remaining dishes and scraped the ashes in the fireplace to put the fire out. I retreated to the garret feeling unsettled by the waves of emotion the evening had brought me. I desperately wanted to think that Reverend Devitt felt the same for me as I did for him, but I knew that he was also a kind and caring man and that it would be an insult to his goodness to imagine that it might be in any way selfish. I had told his son that I loved him and I wondered now if I even understood what that meant. I knew that I would do anything in my power to protect them, but I was unsure if that was the same as love. 

As I tried to relax enough to fall asleep, I also thought of what William had said about protecting them from “him”. Had my instinct that he meant the demonic figure Finn Balor been correct? Was there someone else who was a real threat? And, of course, all this took me back to the night I had saved William from the ocean caves, of the monster who had appeared to me, whose touch I still felt on my skin. 

*

Reverend Devitt chose to stay at home a few days in order to tend to the welfare of his son. William was in good enough health but still looked pale and a bit thin. Although he never said anything, I noticed that the Reverend made an effort to take on some of the work that I had been doing, particularly when it came to taking the children outdoors. He encouraged me to rest and recover my strength and even though I felt strong enough, I was touched by his gesture. I tried to help Kate and Susan a little more than usual. The latter appreciated the effort but the former tutted me about doing too much and not resting. 

I did insist on continuing with teaching the children and found them more attentive than ever. William in particular stayed close to me and Sophia was more eager than ever to show that she had absorbed everything that I told her. Sometimes, I would sit outside on the grass so that I could make sure that they got some of the summer air. The Reverend was strict about keeping them as close to home as possible and I could tell that, while they wanted to please him, they were chafing under the new restrictions. 

It was on one of those afternoons that a group of men came to the gate from the direction of the beach. I recognized some of them from church and from the shops in town, but I couldn’t imagine while they were together. There was one man who stood out by his unusual height and formal dress, quite inappropriate to the warm weather. He loomed at the gate and called out to Mr. Jones, who was at work pruning the bushes by the house. 

Their exchange was short and not particularly friendly and I moved to get up to see if I could help. Sophia laid a firm hand on my arm and shook her head. 

“It’s Doctor Kennedy,” she whispered harshly. “He hasn’t been here since our mother…”

I saw Mr. Jones open the door and call out something I couldn’t quite understand. In response, both Kate and the Reverend arrive. The Reverend advanced to the gate while Kate waited in the doorway. I managed to catch her eye and she shook her head, her face clouded with worry. Sophia leaned as far forward as she could without leaving the shelter of the tree.

“Can you hear them?” I asked. 

“A little.”

The proper thing to do would have been to admonish her for eavesdropping on their conversation but I was so curious myself that I said nothing of the sort. I let her strain forward and listen, unable to make out much myself. Although he was turned mostly away from us, I could see the tension in the Reverend’s body. After a couple of minutes, he raised a hand to his face. He began to back away and as he did, the man Sophia had identified as Doctor Kennedy called to him again. 

“We shall be back to discuss it with you, Mr. Devitt,” this time speaking in a voice loud enough for me to hear. 

I puzzled over the fact that he referred to him as “mister” rather than by his proper title until it occurred to me that the Doctor was a Catholic, and that this was his way of reminding Revered Devitt that he did not consider him to be a proper agent of the church. However, I couldn’t fathom what would bring him to our house. 

“They’ve found something,” Sophia informed us, “in the water.”

She and William passed a meaningful look. 

“Did they say what it was?” I queried. 

“I couldn’t hear, but whatever it is, Papa was upset.”

“Perhaps we should go inside.”

I stood and they followed me back into the house. The Reverend was speaking to Kate, his face flushed and his voice shaky. When he saw me he paused, his eyes moving from me to each of his children and back.

“I’ll go prepare tea,” Kate rasped, looking a little frightened herself. 

“What did he want?” Sophia asked sourly. 

“The men went to install grates in the caves. They were worried about children exploring them and getting caught up in the tide.”

William looked a little ashamed, although I really didn’t see how this reflected badly on him. If anything, he was inadvertently contributing to making others safe. 

“The doctor says they found… there was something in the cave where you were hiding the night you ran off, William.” He paused as if it was hurting him to speak. “Children, come here.”

They obeyed and I wondered if I should leave, feeling a little left out. I could not do so, however, without pushing past them, which I felt would seem rude. Instead, I backed up a little and hung closer to the door, turning my face away as if I were trying not to hear what was said. 

“What they found… they think it might be your mother,” he said quietly. 

“How do they know?” William whimpered. 

“Well, they don’t know for sure, but what they found… they never did find her body and we always assumed she’d been swept out to sea. Now they think she might have gone into one of the caves and become trapped.”

“But what did they find?” William persevered. 

“Bones,” his sister snapped. “They found bones.” She tilted her chin up and pointed her unwavering stare at her father. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

He nodded. Sophia glanced back at me and he looked up again, surprised. 

“I’m sorry Reverend,” I stammered, “I wasn’t trying to impose myself, I just…”

“No, it’s fine.” He patted both children on the shoulder. “Why don’t you go upstairs for a few minutes while I talk to Miss Miles?”

Once again, they followed his directions, although I noticed both of them looked back at me with strange expressions as they mounted the stairs. 

“Perhaps we could sit in the salon for a few moments,” he suggested quietly.

I nodded and took a seat, frightened that I had angered him. However, when he sat down, I saw nothing but sorrow and worry in his face. 

“I’m terribly sorry you have to find out about this in such a way. I know I’ve never shared the story of what happened to my late wife and you’ve been polite enough not to ask.”

“It’s not my business, sir.”

I had always assumed that Mrs. Devitt had died of a disease. Truthfully, all I knew of her was what Kate had told me when I first arrived: that she was a bit wild. A few of the townspeople had emphasized that the children were lucky to have me, particularly after I rescued William from the cave, and perhaps they had implied some kind of comparison, but I could never be sure. 

“Nevertheless, you deserve to know and now that we’ve received this news, you have to.” 

He gave a heavy sigh before embarking on his story. 

“My wife was a very charming woman and from the moment I met her, I was quite captivated. She was from France but from the northwest, a Breton, and she spoke English very well. So we could communicate and as we spoke, I found her even more fascinating.”

I swallowed, for although what he spoke of was in the past, I could not help but feel jealous.

“I married her, perhaps a little rashly. From the beginning, I could tell that she was unusually sensitive and that she had a temper. I suppose I thought that taking her to a quiet place like this would calm her nerves and that she would change with time. 

“The truth is that she did not get on well with the people here. She could be sharp with people and, although she converted to Protestantism for me, she had been raised a Catholic, which seemed to put her in poor standing with both groups. She traveled with me early on but going from place to place seemed to upset her. However, she hated being at home without me just as much. 

“She became unruly and would take her anger out on the servants. I am indebted to Kate for staying because the others all moved on. She would strike them and accuse them of all manner of things. Once the children arrived, she became convinced that there was some plot to take them away. Her delusions persisted and became violent. I was afraid that she might hurt the children in the name of protecting them from some worse fate that she felt was imminent.

“Later on, she began disappearing, sometimes for days, wandering off and then returning, claiming to have no memory of what had happened to her. I was contemplating committing her to an institution when she disappeared for the final time. 

“Some workers on their way back to the Village saw her headed for the beach that night and tried to stop her but she became agitated and scratched one of them in the face. She told them that it ‘was over’ and that she would not be held back for any reason. That was the last time anyone ever saw her.

“A week later, some of her clothing washed up on the rocks and it seemed clear enough that she had drowned. It pained me greatly that we never found a body but I came to accept that she was gone. 

“You must understand that, as difficult as she was, I did love her very much. I blame myself for not getting her help when her mental state started to decline but I hoped that it was a phase. I hoped that settling here would solve it. I hoped that having children would solve it. In truth, she was a very sick woman and I refused to admit it. If I had, perhaps she would still be alive.”

“You cannot blame yourself,” I told him in a gentle voice. “The seeds of her undoing were in her and you did what you believed was best.”

He looked unconvinced. 

“And now,” he continued, his voice dropping, “I understand that the men found human bones in the cave, the very cave where William hid and from which you saved him. The bones on their own prove nothing, but apparently this was caught up in them.”

He pulled a locket from his waistcoat and handed it to me. It was made of silver and engraved with the letters “F” and “S”. 

“Sarah,” he said, anticipating my question. “I gave it to her as a present on the anniversary of our wedding. 

I opened the locket and found the remains of what appeared to be a cherry blossom. 

“She adored the tree in the front,” he explained. “It’s a miracle that the locket survived all this time, let alone that flower.”

“Perhaps God wanted to make sure you had your peace of mind. As painful as the discovery is to hear, it must give you at least some sense of closure?”

He nodded but then shook his head. He looked up at me, his eyes more piercing than ever. “Helen, I want to tell you something but I hate to burden you.”

“Nothing you say will be a burden to me.”

“This will,” he sighed. “I need to ask for your word that you will never tell this to the children.”

“I shall never tell a soul without your specific instruction.”

“The truth is that the Catholic people here have always been somewhat suspicious of me, more so since Sarah’s disappearance. Aside from the usual conflict about religion, they disliked the fact that I had changed her from Catholic to Protestant. When she disappeared, I know that some of them whispered that I had… dispatched of her… because of her illness.

“Apparently, there is something on the skull that they found- a contusion of some sort. The Doctor believes that she may have hit her head while still alive and that it either killed her or rendered her unconscious, leaving her to drown. 

“As a result, their suspicions have been aroused again and I worry that they will try to make things difficult for me.”

“I don’t profess to know much about the subject, but surely after such a long time, there is no way of knowing for certain what happened beyond the fact that she sustained some sort of blow?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know much about the subject either. But the Doctor tells me that they may have an inquest, in which case, I would be required to testify. They will ask me about our relationship and about her behavior. They will ask me why I didn’t take steps to have her confined. I doubt that it will be enough to see me sent to prison but it will cast a shadow over me for the rest of my life. The church may want to move me to another town or they may dismiss me entirely. I don’t know what’s to become of me or my family and for the first time since Sarah was taken from me, I feel lost.”

All I wanted in that moment was to be of some comfort to him but there was nothing I could think of to say or do. Of course, part of me wanted to throw my arms around him and press my lips to his as a way of assuring him that I would do anything at all to help.

"Would you pray with me?" he asked meekly.

"Of course." 

We sat together with folded hands and bowed heads as he asked God for strength and guidance. After a few minutes, we were both startled by a loud banging on the window behind us. Although we both spun in our seats to see what the matter was, whoever had made the noise was nowhere to be seen. 

We frowned at each other in confusion and quickly went into the yard to see what was happening. We could find no evidence that anyone had been there. The Reverend went to the gate to see if he could spy anyone on the road and I went to look at the window. 

There were a few signs of disturbance in the soil. Normally, I would have attributed this to Mr. Jones, but now it seemed likely that someone had been spying on us. The prints were strange, not like any boots or shoes and more like an animal, although not one I could recognize. 

I stepped a little closer to see if I could make sense of them and it was then that I noticed something on the window frame: three vertical lines scratched roughly into the wood.

Immediately, I recalled the ominous stranger I had seen at the gate. I remembered him as I would a familiar friend, despite having seen him just the once. I pictured his nearly white eyes and the dark sheen of his skin.

"Did you find anything?"

The Reverend's voice made me jump as it pulled me from my ruminating.

"There are some prints and scratches around the window but I believe they're from some kind of animal."

"I suppose it's possible that it was an animal that made the noise."

I nodded. I felt a little guilty for my slight dishonesty but I couldn't think of a way to explain without making myself sound slightly deranged. He had enough to deal with, I told myself, without having to worry that he'd entrusted his children to another madwoman.