#to be brought back to milan back when everyone thought he was going to die. but he's going to die in rome and he's staying there

[sforzesco]

ascanio and louis xii

so

Milan Undone, Contested Sovereignties in the Italian Wars, John Gagné

extremely bold of louis xii to assume that ascanio, who has a reputation for conspiracy, wouldn't turn around and say 'fuck you,' after all of that™

(Ibid.)

it IS funny how men in power keep thinking they can put him on a leash like, pal. the odds are NOT in your favor

[ayellowcurtain]

a prompt where it's all fun and games for Sander (about Senne) but then at the end of the night he talks to Robbe and he's actually a bit jealous/insecure?

a robbe and senne friendship fic?

Based on some headcanons about the party last weekend

-

The loud music, with what feels like a million people talking over it to see if their friends can hear them better, is starting to annoy Robbe. He’s right at the curve between being happily drunk and getting annoyed at everything and everyone. So he’ll ride his high as best as he can before it ends with a bottle of water next to him on his bed and some headache medication for him to take as soon as he opens his eyes.

It’s been a good night. It feels like everyone decided to be nice all at the same time and Robbe is happy about it. There’s always some drama happening so it feels nice when they’re all being stupid and drunk together. He doesn’t want to think about all of this ending soon. He’s not the type to like the end of a story, no matter if it’s good or bad. Everyone is here too which is a miracle. The group is often separated into parties, romantic dates, or drama that they can’t be in the same room for some stupid reason.

Robbe finishes another beer and gives the empty bottle for Jens to handle while he turns his paper cup all the way, sipping even the last few drops of his beer. Sander is still there, standing close to him but talking to Zoe and Robbe misses him terribly. He doesn’t want to interrupt but he leans against his boyfriend's warm and safe embrace, always ready to welcome him, no matter how sudden. He’s probably staring too much until Sander snorts, and stops talking to Zoe, looking down at him instead.

“I’m tired.” Robbe states, closing his eyes just for one second, smiling when he feels Sander’s hand on his forehead, doing what Robbe wanted to do for so long: pushing his hair out of his eyes.

“You wanna go?” Sande asks with the softest voice and Robbe feels himself getting all giddy and deeper in love, standing up again, holding the end of Sander’s straw before biting it.

“You wanna go? You’re always wanting us to be alone…” Sander smiles quietly, his arm sadly slipping back down to let Robbe stand on his own.

“Is there a problem with that?”

“No.” Robbe pouts, holding the straw again to put it back in between his teeth.

Someone takes a photo of them and the flash makes Robbe see a million white stars all over and around his eyesight, like Sander is floating in a universe, looking so extremely attractive and chill.

“Fuck off…” Sander complains about the flash too, playingfully covering Jens’ phone with his hand. Robbe could talk a lot about how attractive Sander’s hands are but he won’t.

“Let go of each other already then!” Jens replies, finally bringing them the beer Robbe had asked an eternity ago. Sander lifts his grey shirt just a little so he can wrap it around the bottle cap and open it for them.

“Are you sure you don’t need some water, cutie?”

Robbe nods his head, drinking a little bit of the new beer Sander offers him, still able to find the small hint of annoyance in Sander’s mannerism when Jens is around them.

He can’t understand it because they’ve talked about this more times than they needed to. Robbe is sure since the day he met Sander that even if his crush on Jens was anything to be considered, it would die down quickly because nothing ever felt like this.

Like this amount of love and devotion and pride that Robbe has to be in love with Sander. Whatever he felt for Jens wouldn’t compare. But Robbe wonders how it feels to be like his boyfriend. Unapologetic when he doesn’t vibe with someone. He’s more than allowed to like or not like whoever he wants and Robbe hopes he’s that brave some day to respect his own taste and not worry about what others might think. Sander respects himself and his time too much to pretend, ever.

Robbe squeezes Sander’s waist, whining just so his boyfriend can hear. “Kiss me.”

And Sander gives him the kiss Robbe was desperate to have. It’s slower than what he wants, actually and he whines in between the kiss, scratching Sander’s waist, gripping his shirt and Sander knows he doesn’t want an all soft and well behaved kiss. Robbe wants himself pinned against a wall, with his legs opened-

Another bright light as soon as Sander is turning them around, about to make all of Robbe’s drunk dreams come true.

“Aw, you two look so cute!” Luca screams over the music, staring at her phone still and Robbe grunts, pushing Jens away from him.

“Stop it!”

His frustration is growing almost as fast as his pants are getting tight. Sander doesn’t seem as bothered this time, laughing, back to drinking their beer and Robbe sighs, putting himself against the wall if nobody else will do it.

“I hate you.” Robbe says loud enough - but he doesn’t mean it - and Sander looks at him over his shoulder.

“What?” He turns around, finally. “Robbe…”

“Don’t go all Robbe on me now…” Robbe pushes himself away from the wall, determined to give Sander the cold shoulder until they’re leaving so he’ll learn to give Robbe the attention he wants when he wants it.

He manages to avoid Sander’s grip on his arm and goes around the party to find someone else to keep himself busy while Sander worries. He likes the chase and Sander likes it too when he’s not thinking Robbe is upset with him like he’s right now.

When he actually manages to pay attention to his surroundings, Robbe is running into Senne, stumbling back to regain his balance.

“Wow, easy there!” Senne helps him stand on his own, his arms gripping Robbe’s biceps like he’s forcing Robbe’s feet to sink into the ground so he doesn’t fall.

“Shit. Sorry!”

“Where’s Sander?” Zoe asks, looking around them like it’s not acceptable that Robbe and Sander are not constantly together.

“Busy having fun with everyone.”

“And you’re not having fun, at all.” Senne says, looking at Robbe with that look that’s a little proud and teasing. Senne doesn’t get as drunk as he used to, and Robbe is sure he envies Robbe for it. He winks at him and Senne laughs, nodding his head.

“What’s up with you two?” Zoe asks, finally noticing their quiet exchange of looks, gently pushing Senne away from her.

“What? Stop being jealous, Zoe! First Milan, now Senne…” Robbe playfully pushes his boundaries just a little more, hugging Senne, happy that it’s not awkward and Senne hugs him right back, even a little too tight.

“Is this a competition?” She asks and they all laugh. Senne’s is so warm, almost as comfortable as Sander.

“Hi…” He hears the familiar voice behind him, and Senne and Zoe look at him, smiling. Zoe is warmer, more familiar and Senne is still Senne, a little too cool to be that nice.

“Hello, you! Someone was lost, all alone…”

Robbe looks back and he sees his boyfriend standing right next to him, looking at their hug, a little bothered by it.

“Yeah. I was looking for him.”

“Bullshit.” Robbe teases, finally letting go of Senne and Sander instantly comes even closer, their bodies sort of bumping into each other like animals would to welcome their family back.

“He’s out, huh?” Senne asks like Robbe isn’t there, listening to his question. Sander only nods his head, quietly letting his arm rest around Robbe’s waist.

“I brought him some water…” Sander shows the bottle of water and Robbe laughs, shaking his head.

“I can take care of myself you know?” He asks Senne and he’s looking around, smiling and nodding his head like he doesn’t believe a word Robbe tells him. “Your boyfriend is so annoying, huh? How are you able to live with him?”

Zoe sighs, drinking a little bit of her soda. “I ask that to myself every day.”

“Alright, you two can fuck off already.” Senne finally gives in, looking at Zoe with those heart eyes and she smiles at him. They’re not as affectionate as Robbe and Sander are, at least not when they’re in public. It still feels like they’re hiding but Robbe doesn’t care enough to comment on it.

“I guess we could go now…” Robbe decides, starting to feel overwhelmingly tired, going in for another quick Senne hug. He has to step forward to do so, and Sander doesn’t move, so his hand goes to the small of Robbe’s back while he waits for the hug to end.

Senne notices something and laughs, one arm letting go of Robbe to do something else with Sander.

“You guys are so cute.” Zoe says, and Robbe smiles proudly, moving back to stand close to his boyfriend again. “Are you going home?”

Robbe nods his head, finally putting his hand over Sander’s around his waist, intertwining their fingers. They say their goodbyes, and Robbe holds his boyfriend’s hand, walking him to the exit.

Sander is oddly quiet, and Robbe assumes it’s because of how much he drank tonight. Now it’s too late, he can’t go back in time. He holds Sander’s hand tighter and tries to act as normally as possible, looking from the corner of his eyes at Sander every few seconds.

It’s an awkward silence and Robbe is actually starting to worry as his tiredness starts to cover his drunkenness and he’s starting to be able to connect his thoughts again.

“Sander...what’s going on?” He decides to finally ask, walking slower because he can’t seem to do both at the same time.

“Hm, how close are you and Senne?”

Robbe stops walking all together. Sander is making that face that makes it seem like he has a bitter taste in his mouth or something. He looks like a puppy with his big eyes and almost pout and that makes it hard for Robbe to laugh about his question because it seems like he’s genuinely asking.

“W-what kind of question is that?” Sander looks around them, not feeling like putting his thoughts out, so Robbe assumes. “Are you jealous? Of Senne?”

Sander bites the corner of his bottom lip, sighing. “Not jealous. I’m not jealous. But he’s good looking and nice, and older. Everyone knows you like older guys.”

Robbe lets himself exhale the breath he was holding, worried about what he did so wrong tonight. And he’s more relaxed now that Sander is still making his bad timed jokes.

“I like one older guy. Actually, so far, I’ve only liked one human in my life. It happens that he’s also older...But he’s not Senne.”

Sander smiles fondly at him, holding his hand tighter to make them go back to walking. “Are you sure you never had any type of feelings towards him?”

Robbe rolls his eyes, smiling, leaning against Sander’s arm, rubbing his cheek against the soft fabric of his hoodie.

“No. Never had any type of feelings towards Senne. I promise.”

“Okay…” Robbe smiles, lifting their hands so he can kiss the back of Sander’s hand.

“You’re so cute, you know that?”

“That’s a lie. You’re cute.”

Robbe doesn't argue because he’s tired and this, leaning against Sander’s body, letting him lead them home carefully, the comfortable pace of their steps, is so soothing.

[jasxier]

Indulgence

(I haven’t written anything in a while and suddenly this happens; you know how it is. A bit of hurt Jaskier never hurt anyone - except Jaskier. Lots of comfort and softies)

also on AO3 

The ballroom was just like every other ballroom Geralt has been. The chandelliers and golden sparkling glasses the guests were swinging around their fingers, spilling fine wine on the polished marble floor, the overwhelming smells of the roast and other delicacies these nobles cant't get enough of, the music, that bard who apparently if he would stop moving for a moment he would die on spot, the noise.

Oh, sweet Melitele, the noise. His ears were ringing, the voices, laughter, singing, instruments scratching the players' fingers mercilessly were unbearable. Now everyone was cheering as the musicians were performing a merry tune, too merry for Geralt's liking. Now it was the right time to make an unnoticed escape and so he looked around for a door leading as far away from the chaos as possible.

He wasn't one for festivities, never have been. The life of a Witcher would not allow these types of indulgence. Geralt himself knew that he would be happier and more satisfied sitting (alone) on the roots of an oak tree, watching (alone) as the leaves flirt with the light, playing hide and seek in the soft breathes of wind. Just him. Alone. Oh, and Roach, the horse.

His escape was easy and unnoticed, as planned. He didn't want to alert the host, who happened to be to mayor of this town and an old friend. Geralt had saved Miran's town from a Griffin attack and Miran has been so grateful to the Witcher, he has been sending him invitations to every festivity and happening in his town, practically begging for his presence and Geralt would politely refuse the otherwise tempting proposition. This time, however, Geralt couldn't resist as Miran himself invited him while the Witcher was passing by the town and had stopped to meet an old friend.

"My daughter is getting married, Geralt," he had said "come now, old friend, even you can't say no to an old man asking for a favour, it'll be fun."

"It'll be fun, he said," Geralt grunted as the music and the defeaning chatting and laughing noises slowly disappeared behind the closed door. He took a step and a long breath and leaned on the balcony railing overlooking the town, painted with a pink tint as the sun was going down. Geralt smiled to himself. Finally some peace and quiet. That only lasted for a few seconds.

A door got pushed open and slammed against the wall as a man stormed out and was desperately trying to free himself from his sweat soaked doublet. A lute was discarded beside him. Geralt raised an eyebrow at the still fighting-with-his-own-clothes man but curiosity (and a bit of pity) quickly turned into worry and a frown spread across his face. The young man didn't smell of alcohol as Geralt's first thought was but the strong scent of his distress and pain were too strong in the air to ignore him and leave him battle with his misery.

He slowly approached the man who was now free (Ah, finally!) of the damned doublet and sitting on his knees, fighting with the buttons of his shirt, swearing and hissing and wheezing, eyes shut painfully tight, face paler than the dead, lips dry and his fingers were violently shaking. Geralt took pity on the musician. Singing while carrying and playing a heavy ass intrument, such as the lute, having to swing and dance around the guests from one side of the ballroom to the other, keeping everyone entertained must be a hard job. Not that Geralt was paying close attention to the young bard during his performance, no.

"Let me" he said softly and kneeled in front of the man who was frantically working on the stubborn buttons of his now almost translucent shirt. He obeyed like it was the only option he had (it really was). His hands fell to his sides, limp and heavy as he groaned, letting his head fall on Geralt's shoulder, his forehead felt too hot on Geralt's skin. The Witcher - surprised by the blind trust the singer showed to him - stopped unbuttoning the shirt midway - why do these things have so many buttons, what the fuck - and shook the man's cold hands lightly.

"Hey" he placed his palm on the man's thigh and squeezed gently "you alright?"

"No?" came the breathy answer from the cold lips buried in Geralt's shoulder, too close to his exposed collar bone (he may have unbuttoned a few buttons of his own doublet and shirt earlier). Damn these formal clothes, he is starting to miss his armour.

"Right," the Witcher nodded three or five times, giving place and time to his brain to adjust to the unexpected situation. However, time runs faster for mortals, he realized as he felt the man's body going limp and his full weight burdening his shoulder and chest.

'"Right," he repeated and with a long sigh and a swift motion he picked both man and lute up and carried him all the way to his rented room at the town's inn.

The town streets were empty and the Inn looked abandoned as everyone was attending the festivities. "Good," Geralt thought and looked at the man's still form curled in his arms, face ashen, stray beads of sweat were rolling down his temple, damping his hair and brows. He was around his early thirties, a gentle face, long lashes painting shadows on his cheeks, "Good" he repeated out loud and walked up the stairs and in the room.

He gently placed him on the bed and unbuttoned the few remaining buttons of the sweat-soaked shirt and lifted it over the man's shoulders revealing a broad muscled chest covered with a thick layer of dark hair. Geralt used the shirt to dry the man's shoulders, chest and his sides before tossing it on the floor. He threw a few logs in the dying fire and turned to look at his guest with a frown. The bard hasn't stirred an inch. Geralt sat on the side of the bed and placed the flat of his hand on the man's forefead and pulled back a strand of damp hair. The chalk-white of his skin had turned pink and feverish, glowing a wam red under the light of the growing fire.

"Fever," he said to no one in particular "Must've been performing with it, the idiot" he smile at the realization: a professional. Geralt wasn't expecting anything less from Miran, his friend would have invited the best of musicians to perform at his daughter's wedding. However, the bard was not on his duty right now and that could cause a bad reputation around his name. Geralt stood up and with giving a last look at the young man's face he stormed out of the room.

*

Jaskier woke up from a hazy dream, shaking and he fluttered his eyelids, groaning painfully. He stirred and every joint and muscle in his body ached, particularly his feet and fingers. He buried his head against the pillow - wait, pillow? He looked around the unfamiliar room, blinking and shoved a hand in his tangled hair. With his eyes shut, he tried to remember the events of the past hours with little to no luck. A fume of panic begin to rise in his chest and he tried his best to swallowed it down. Again. No luck. He pushed his body up, supporting his weight on one hand but he felt weaker than a newborn baby and so, he collapsed on his side with a grunt.

The door of the room opened and the most stunning man Jaskier has ever seen came in, a worried look painting his handsome face. He closed the short space between him and the bed with long, confident strides. Jaskier was caught staring. He wouldn't admit it but he was staring. The stranger kneeled in front of him on eye level and - oh, sweet Melitele - his eyes were shining brighter than the finest gold, and a scar was resting on his eyebrow and all the way down to his cheekbone.

There comes a time in a poet's life where they find a source of unlimited inspiration. Something or someone to call their muse and it usually comes when least expected. However, there were other matters slightly more important than a poet's muse. 

"Where the fuck am I?" asked Jaskier and he barely recognised his own voice. Every single word came out in sharp gasps. The man looked at him with a frown and placed his hands on Jaskier's temple. Jaskier couldn't help but close his eyes and lean to the touch, mercifully cool against the heat of his own skin. He let a moan escape him and immediately came back to harsh reality, looking with embarrassment at the man who was smiling kindly. The bastard.

"It's alright, you passed out and I had to bring you here," he tilted his head and Jaskier noticed his chiselled jawline "I'm sorry," Geralt continued, "I had to take your shirt off, you see," he looked at his feet "it was soaked", my apologies, i would have asked but you were... unavailable"

"Don't apologize," Jaskier, completely unbothered by his own nudity, waved a hand in front of his face, regretting the action seconds later. He let his head hit hard against the soft pillow and closed his eyes

"I would be a better company if not for the fever dulling my spirits," he laughed and his lungs felt heavy "I'm Jaskier" he tried to immitate a bow as best as he could in this position.

"I know," the man said with a soft smile "Miran told me your name" he added and after seeing the confusion filling the bard's face he shifted and continued "After I brought you here I went back to inform the mayor about your current state," he paused "I knew you would be missed by your audience and I didn't want Milan to doubt your professionalism".

Jaskier, lowered his head and took a deep breath "I ruined everyone's night, didn't I?" he asked silently and look beneath his lashes at the man and for the first time he noticed a silver medalion with a wolf engraved on it, hanging from his chest and let out a soft gasp. The man was a fucking Witcher, he thought. Geralt followed Jaskier's eyes and sensed the young man's restlessness. He stood up and took a step back "this is usually the part where they run" he reminded himself. He turned his back at the man and threw a log in the hungry fire.

"Well," Jaskier took a sharp breath "aren't you gonna share your name with me?" he asked cheerfully ignoring the throbbing headache and the nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach that was plaguing him all evening.

The Witcher turned around and looked at the bard surprised, most people don't pass this point. "Geralt of Rivia," he answered "and I'm a Witcher.. but you probably have noticed that already".

Jaskier moved and tried to sit up, clutching the sheets and squeezed his eyes tight, Geralt was by his side within seconds, helping him up gently. "Where do you think you're going, your fever has not subsided yet" he placed a hand on the small of Jaskier's neck, skin burning hot.

"Wanted to look at you closely," Jaskier breathed hard and swallowed even harder "Come closer then, i promise I won't bite" he frowned at his own silly line and nausea kicked his insides mercilessly. Geralt was there, kneeling by the side of the bed, he took the bard's hand in his and massaged his palm slowly with his thumb. Jaskier's breath hitched and he felt the pounding of his heart reaching his throat "Feels nice" he closed his eyes and for the second time that evening he let his head rest on Geralt's shoulder.

"Did you manage to get a good look at me, then?" Geralt asked quietly without letting go of the bard's hand.

"Oh, yes"

"I hope I didn't disappoint" his voice now barely a whisper.

Jaskier tipped his face up just enough to meet his "By Gods, no,"  he murmured and a faint smile lifted the corners of his lips "Quite the opposite" he added searching in the Witcher's eyes. What for? Anything.

Their gazes met and Jaskier felt the dizzy feeling growing in his belly, his body stiffened and felt cold sweat rolling down his nape. He instictively curled his fingers around Geralt's thumb and let his eyes close slowly.

"Let's get you laid down," he softly held him by the back of his neck and helped him lie down "before you pass out on me again". Jaskier's blush started spreading to his ears and neck and pinned his eyes to the wooden ceiling

"Yeah, sorry about that"  he paused "and thank you"

"Don't thank me, I did what anyone would do"

"No, not anyone," Jaskier protested "anyone would have thought of me as a pathetic bard who simply can't hold his liquor and would walk past me laughing," he turned his head with a pained expression that made Geralt's stomach twist a little "but you didn't, so, thank you, Geralt" the last were wrapped in a silent breath. Geralt felt the corners of his mouth rising and he drew the linen sheets up to Jaskier's chest, brushing the stubborn strands of hair away from his fever-ridden brow

"Now sleep"

"I just realized, I've been occupying your bed all this time" Jaskier muttered, feeling sleep already creeping over himself, slowly paralyzing him. Geralt chuckled and Jaskier could swear it was the best sound he ever heard

"Don't worry about it, sleep"

Jaskier was not one to give up easily "But you're paying for it" his voice was barely a mumble "I'll sleep on the floor"

Geralt could hardly muffle his laughter "That's just your fever talking, sleep" he repeated for the third time. Well, third time's a charm, it could actually work now. It didn't.

"Get on the bed," Jaskier patted blindly the free space beside him "there's plenty of room up here" he talked as if he was already on his fifth glass of wine, Geralt noticed and cursed the man's stubbornness, which he found endearing, if you ask him. He found endearing the way his guest's eyes were slowly  but steadily closing, like the sun sliding down behind the sea.

"You still there? Get .. on  ..bed" the bard's head lolled to one side and he was finally asleep. Geralt sighed (for the hundredth time that evening) and made himself comfortable on the floor next to the bed.

"We'll figure this out tomorrow"  he whispered and let sleep carry him over to the next morning.

[guigz1-coldwar]

'Hurt' : New chapter for "Redemption in a Spirit in a Cold War" is out !

"Hurt"

Chapter Summary : Nine days after the first operation within Park's team, Yirina had an memory that could help them.....

To read it on AO3, click here !

Words : +3300

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

May 5th. It's been nine days that followed after I got teamed up with Park and her friends and the first mission we all did together and to be frankly, these nine days were more better than my days back in that old CIA safehouse from 3 years ago and this year too. I was feeling welcomed by Garrett & Greta and they officially greeted me as an official member of their group after the first mission we had. I can say that it was making me so good inside of me to not be seen just as an tool or something but as an real human being.

During these nines days, we have been tracking the three Stone contacts who became our targets after we discover their names in the West-Berlin warehouse. The first one was located in West Germany in Stuttgart and we got him two days after our first operation, the second one was living in Paris and like the other one, it took two days to have him brought down by us and for the third one, he was located in Milan but for him, we had to spent 3 days to neutralize him because he was so paranoid & too suspicious and even with that, we got him too. We didn't spent too much time in West-Berlin, travelling between temporary safehouses around the continent and it was sometimes better.

All this time, I didn't think too much of calling Freya again as I was more focused on our mission to neutralize Stone's contacts around Western Europe. I talked more about this to Park and I decided that the next time I'm doing it, she should be next to me as an moral support and for her to know about me. About my memories, it was rather small ones : having just talk with Zasha, Dedov or Portnova but nothing too big....nothing that could help me to know if I helped Zasha escape.

The eighth day, we came back to West-Berlin all exhausted to have nearly work non-stop during these longs days against the guy in Milan and the first thing I did when we arrived at the safehouse was to go to our bedroom jump straight right into the bed with Park, making us sleep in no-time, in each other's arms, just wanting to have some peace.

Tapping the wheel with my fingers of the car I was did only add some stress in me as I was looking outside, raining like hell in the streets of West-Berlin during the night. It was just me in that car, parked near an apartment into the center of the city, with my bag on the front passenger seat and a paper that gave me indications and the name of the place I needed to go called 'Die Höhle'.

I took a look at the piece of paper in my hands, removing my hand from the steering wheel to grab my bag, still looking nervous before I put the piece of paper in my jacket, put my hood on and then get out of the car under the heavy rain to walk inside the place I needed to be. It was very modest for an place like this. I got up the stairs as the apartment I needed to go was at the first floor.

When I arrived at the front door of the apartment, I was nearly hesitant to knock but I couldn't back down now : I need to save Zasha from that prison....from Perseus himself. So, I knocked two times, making a sort of signal code until I heard someone coming next to the door.

"Who is this ?" It was the voice of a man, sounding tought and young at the same time.

"It's Grigoriev." I replied, sniffing and looking at the door optical peephole, knowing that the guy was watching me through it.

"Ah...the Winter Soldier." He was sounding relieved to see me.....and me almost angry with that nickname before he open the door. "Come in." He added, removing himself from the way, allowing me to enter the apartment that was more looking as an military outpost than a simple apartment : there were guns on the wall, on some tables.....a big armory, I can say.

"Grigoriev herself !" I was greeted by another man sit on the couch of the living room of the place, looking at me as he had his eyes put on a sort of dashboard on the wall. "Never thought that Perseus will send you here." He then offered his hand but I literally refused to shook hands with him. "Well, it's looks like you're not very amical.....I'm Dietrich by the way."

"Good for you !" I scoffed, putting my bag on a free table before I looked at the 'dashboard' discovering Zed's picture on it, along with pictures of the Spandau Prison too. "So, what's the plan ?" I directly asked.

"Hans, tell her !" Dietrich ordered to the other guy who started to walk near the 'dashboard'.

"Krypto is actually detained in the....."

"Their name is Zasha !" I exclaimed sounding angry, cutting Hans straight, putting my hands on my waist before I could see both sniffing at me.

"Continue, Hans." Dietrich spoke up, looking at him.

"As I said, they are actually awaiting to be interrogated in the Spandau Prison and our mission is to get them out of here." Hans went on, explaining to me the mission....not the plan.

"And about the plan ?" I asked again.

"Me & you...." Dietrich pointed at me & him. "We're going to pose as MI6 agents that will transfer them somewhere else, one of the guards will help us in the mission."

"This month, it's British guards keeping the prison so it's better to pose as MI6." Hans continued the statement as I know that each month, the Four Powers is each one, keeping the prisoners in the place each month.

"And once we got Zasha back ?" I questioned them, sounding worried

"Why you're asking, Grigoriev ?" Dietrich called me out, surprised of me. "We got them somewhere discreet in the city and then....Bang !" He mimicked an gunshot with his fingers....In me, hell was going to be unleashed on these guys, they never wanted Zasha alive out of the city but out of the picture. "That bastard, as I heard, want to talk to the MI6." He added as I looked away for just an second, angered inside.

"I will stay here during the entirety of the operation." Hans explained. "Once you're finished, you came back to me."

"Guess it will be for tomorrow ?" I told them and they both nodded.

"You can install yourself here in one of the free bedroom...tomorrow, we're going for an hunt to get this rat killed !" He said, almost laughing as I walked to get to a bedroom that Hans showed to me, following him until he left me alone inside that bedroom.

"Fuckers...." I whispered alone to myself in the bedroom before I got myself into bed, looking at the ceilling of the room, angered...in rage....ready to explode....

"I'm going to save you, Zed....and kill those fucking monsters !"

When I woke up the next morning in the bed, I could feel a big pain inside my chest, thinking about that memory I just had back : Perseus never wanted to have Zasha back, he wanted that we helped them escape before killing them in a safe place and I'm sure as hell that I didn't do it, I saved them and it was the only thing I had to do this day. I killed those fuckers and I saved Zasha, it's the only thing I could think right now. But also, I was thinking that I just exactly remember the exact location of a Perseus safehouse in the city.

I quickly dressed up after taking a quick shower before I decided to go downstairs to join the others in the living room. During my way down, I took some deep breaths to calm myself down, still shocked of that memory and once it was good, I finally stepped out from the stairs to get into the living room.

"Yes, thanks you for the intel, Song !" It was Garrett's voice as he was speaking with a satellite phone to Song, standing up behind an couch, he was alone in the living room for the moment....Song was a South Korean woman who was working with Woods's team and as I heard, we maybe have something good. It was the first time in days their team called us to give us something.

"Happy hunting, Donnie." It was the voice of Song before she hanged up the phone with him....blushing from that.

"Love you, Song." He added before their line went shut and as I stepped inside the living room.

"Donnie ?" I exclaimed, surprised to hear that for the first time before they looked back at me, also surprised to see me there. "Must be someone very close to you." I added before I sit on the couch with him still blushing.

"Yeah, very close." He said, almost embarrased as he scratched the back of his head. "Let's just that me & her....well....she's my fiance." He revealed to me and I was happy for him as he showed a ring he had on his left finger that I never saw.

"Wait, what did I hear ?" It was Park who came out from the kitchen, shocked about hearing this from Garrett himself, holding two cups of coffee, she wasn't aware of it.

"Uhm...yes, Park. I have an fiance." He affirmed to her, still looking surprised as she stepped in the living room. "It's been 4 months from now on."

"And you never told me ?" She told him, fainting an incomprehension. "I thought we were friends !" She snorted.

"I was going to tell you by the way." He sit on the couch before Park smile at him, happy for him.

"It's good news, I'm happy for you." She admitted before she walked next to me with her cups of coffee, handing one to me. "By the way, hi Yiri." I smiled as I took my cup in hands and she sit next to me.

"Where's Greta ?" I asked, looking around before taking a sip.

"Greta is in town to meet with her superiors and help some agents as her side project, should be coming back in the afternoon." He responded to me, taking his own cup in hands too. I know that Greta need sometimes to meet with her bosses as I was explained too....Her seduction towards me stopped the first day we arrived in Milan after Park make some heavy signs that me & her were an thing without explaining it clearly. "Everyone got an good sleep ?" He questioned us.

"Yeah.." I breathed in a low voice, my cup near to my mouth as I looked to Park. "Got an memory back..."

"Really ? What did you see ?" She wanted to know more like everytime and apparently, Garrett wasn't so troubled by that as he surely know about who I am and what I suffered.

"I...I had to go to West-Berlin to help my friend Zasha escape the Spandau Prison." I answered, still in a low voice, thinking about what that Dietrich said. "Perseus wanted to have them killed."

"Shit." Park whispered, putting her free hand behind my back. "Do you know what happened next ?" I shook my head.

"Wait, you said the Spandau Prison, right ?" Garrett spoke up, sounding confused at hearing me talk about that prison so I nodded to him. "Damnit, Park, you don't remember ? Our superior at that time tasked us to go interrogate a cryptographer in that prison."

"Yeah, I remember." She exclaimed, looking at him with wide eyes as if she had an realization in her head. "I remember that when we got in the prison, we wanted to talk to them until the guards told us that there were already MI6 agents that talked to them."

"It was me." I looked down for an second, breathing about talking about it.....Park was there with Garrett the day I helped Zasha escape. "I was there that day....we were at the same place."

"Listen, I can ask for the MI6 report of the event that day." She said to me with an grin, her hand on my back. "To say that....we could have met before all of this."

"I don't know." I  told her, half grinning wondering of what would have happened if I crossed path with Park that same day. "Anyway, there's something else."

"Something else ?" Park repeated.

"I know exactly a location of a Perseus safehouse in the city, they called it...."

"Die Höhle" Garrett was the one to cut me straight, apparently knowing it in advance....did I speak too loud in my memory or he can see through my head ?....I looked at him with wide eyes after that. "That's why Song called us, they found that intel in their previous mission in Kazaksthan." He explained as we, with Park, looked at him curiously. "Center of the city, I presume ?" I nodded.

"Well, something that could help after we got nothing from the last guy." Park admitted, referring to the fact that the guy in Milan didn't speak or had something big against Stone. "We can pay that place a visit today."

"Yeah, good idea." I expressed, looking at her with an big smile before I looked at Garrett. "You're really a genius...Donnie." I laughed about it, Park doing the same as he was blushing from it.

"Whatever." He said, rolling his eyes as he got up from his couch. "Enjoy the free time before this afternoon." He scoffed before he left the room, leaving me & Park, having breakfast with a new mission in line.

After that revelation and finishing our breakfast, we spend the end of the morning to search some informations about the place in the archive room to see if this place was already suspected to hide Perseus agent and as I can see, a BND file told us that this place was on their watchlist for some years until they removed it from that list one year ago but even with that, we needed to know if the place was still used and if we will have something against Stone in it.

We ate at noon, looking at the dashboard full of all the intels we got during those nine days before we decided at the beginning of the afternoon to plan our moves to the place : we are just going to make an little raid on that place, using only our pistols as the apartment was in the center of the city and look for intels before leaving the place, taking everything we need to take.

We wanted to wait for Greta to come back from the operation but it was better for us to go directly to the apartment instead of staying at the safehouse as she didn't told to Garrett at the exact time she could come back here. During the way at this Perseus hideout, I was quite nervous to return back to this place, hoping that I will not going to make a crisis in it if there are something bad for me.

I took a deep breath as Garrett parked the car behind the apartment complex in an alley in case we got an problem to get away from here. We got out of the car and enter the same hallway I remember from the back.

"Ok, let's do it." Garrett started, getting his pistol in hand as he took the lead, getting up the stairs, following him.

"Hope that Perseus didn't abandon this place." I breathed as I arrived with Park behind me in the first floor, walking to the door I remember to have knock. "Wait, let me do something."  I suggested to Garrett, wanting me to try to use the knock signal I have used to get in in my memory. I knocked like I did but there were no responses or people moving inside.

"So, we force open the door..." Park whispered as I moved away to let Garrett get in front of it.

"Well, be prepared !" He took a breath and then with his right feet, he force open the locked door of the apartment, quickly aiming inside for any surprise but no bullet coming towards. "Nobody in here." He exclaimed as he enter the apartment with us....this place wasn't even abandoned but no one was here.

"This place is like an fucking armory." Park affirmed, discovering the guns on a table in the living room. I entered the living room...still hearing myself talking with Hans & that Dietrich on that couch as I aimed towards it. "So, Perseus is still using the place." She added, looking in the direction of the entrance, checking if no one was coming.

"Let's see if there's something in those files." I exclaimed, looking at 2 files disposed on a small table near the couch of the room. I took a first file discovering the records of a man called 'Sebastian Vargas'. "Someone know a Sebastian Vargas ?" I asked to both of them

"Shit, big name." Garrett was the one to reply as he was looking at a window, overlooking the alley where our car was. "Fucker from the M-19, working with Perseus since a long time, I can tell you more once we got back."

"Well, that's maybe a lead to....." I put his file to the side before I froze myself in place, discovering the last files that was under Vargas's records....a name that I never thought to have seen again...."Greenlight." I whispered loudly. "Park !"

"Yes ?" She looked at me, curious and worried by my voice.

"Greenlight....is here...deactivated but...Stone....has stolen two warheads from its arsenal." I responded, looking at the file about it, my blood almost getting frozen as I thought that it was done about Greenlight.

"You got to be shitting me." She said to her as she walked next to me, to take a look at the file I was holding, trembling. "Hudson told me that it was done, finished after Solovetsky !" She was sounding in rage against him. "Son of a bitch !" She cursed loudly, almost throwing the file away.

"I'm taking the files and we're out of here !" I affirmed as I took the files under my jacket before getting up after I had to sit to take a look to those.

"I'm going to check....." Park started to said before she was cut by someone hidden in the kitchen, assaulting her directly....we stayed focused on the living room but not everywhere in the apartment. "Aaaahhh..." I could hear scream painly as the man who attacked threw to her very hot water from an pan on her left arm before she fall on the ground, holding her arm in pain, almost crying as Garrett moved quickly to get this guy out.

"Take that, you sucker !" Garrett yelled as he striked the man with the back of his gun, knocking him instantly and getting the hot pan out of his hands as for me, I moved quickly to get to Park.

"Park !" I redressed her as she was almost crying in pain from her arm. "Don't worry, I'm here."

"My....arm....burning." She breathed, looking at the part of her arm all red from the burning before looking at me with tears in her eyes. "Please."

"Don't worry, we're out of here !" I told her as I moved to get her right arm behind my neck, holding her to get her up. "Garrett, you're okay ?"

"Yeah." He started to reply. "Gonna take this guy with us too." He then moved to get the unconscious guy on his shoulders. "We're going to know more with him in case, let's get out of here before the cops showed up." He added as he was the first one to leave the apartment, with the guy on his shoulders, armed as I slowly followed with Park in pain, having troubles to walk normally.

"It's okay, Park. I got you !" I affirmed to her as we walked out of the apartment, still holding her and making her sure that she was okay, not wanting anyone to hurt her too much....

"Stay strong, Park....I need you and you know that !"

[the-great-imagines-of-1812]

Through The Years pt. 6 (Bucky Barnes x Stark! fem! reader)

tags: @a-girl-who-loves-disney @the-romanian-is-bae

A/N: feedback is appreciated! And OH MAN- is it sad. It’s a long chapter. And guys, we’re nearly done with the first avenger, moving on to The Avengers after this! Also, I’ve decided to update this every weekend. no specific date, but if i can, it will be updated from Friday-Sunday. :)

Summary: After rescuing Bucky, Y/N and the 107th from the Hydra facility in Austria; Steve Rogers begins work to assemble to Howling Commandos; an elite task force of top-ranking soldiers that are able to do what regular soldiers never could. 

~~~~~~

 DECEMBER 12, 1944

LONDON, ENGLAND

You walked into the cozy, crowded London pub with your hair done up nice, and that sky blue dress you loved. Why Steve called you here to meet, you’ll never know. 

Eyes scanning the area, you spotted Steve and a couple of other men sitting around a table with drinks. Steve looked up and saw you, ushering you over to the table. Everyone else went silent.

“Gentlemen, this is Y/N Stark. She’ll be joining us this evening.”

You sat done as of the men, with a darker complexion said “The Lieutenant General? What are you doing? Assembling an elite task force?”

Giving a curt nod, “That’s exactly what I’m doing, Gabe. Now please settle down.”

Steve passed you a beer and started explaining. “An elite task force, of sorts. To be able to do what regular soldiers never could.” 

After almost an hour of explaining, you put a hand up. “Steve, this is an excellent idea. If we didn’t almost die last time! You really want us to go back?”

Agreements were heard around the table. “What the Stark over here said!” exclaimed Dum Dum Dougan as he clinked his glass with yours. 

“Well- it sounds fun actually. I’m in.” Falsworth said. 

Two of the other men agreed, and Steve looks at you. “Y/N, you in?”

Sighing, you said “I’m in. This better work, Captain.”

“You have my word, Lieutenant General. What about you, Dougan?”

“Well- I’m in. But as long as you open a tab, Captain.” Said Dougan, chugging the last of his beer. 

“Of course. Y/N, help me out?” Steve asked.

“Let’s go.”

You both gathered all the mugs on the table and walked into the bar in the next room. “Buck! What’re ya doin’ here?” you said, walking over to sit next to him in surprise. He finished the last of what looked like scotch. You grabbed both of his hands in your own “I thought you had sniper training for another week!”

He scratched the back of his head nervously, but then intertwined his hand with your own. “They let me off early, doll. Christmas is up soon, after all. I wanted to see my best girl.”

“You make me blush too much.” you settled into your seat and waved the bar tender for a drink. 

“So- are you two ready to follow Captain America to the jaws of death?” Steve said, sitting on your other side. 

“Hell no. That little guy from Brooklyn who was never afraid to back down from a fight. I’m following him.” Bucky said, throwing an arm around your waist.

“As for myself, I’m following that boy I met in the lab one day who wasn’t afraid. The little guy who was willing to trust me and brother with his life even though he had only heard about us through a radio. That’s a hero. I’m following him.” you said. 

The bar went completely silent, and the three of you turned your head to see the source. 

“Peggy! My goodness you look radiant!” you said, grabbing her hands. 

“That’s all you, Y/N. She said, pecking both your cheeks and turning to Steve. 

“Captain.”

“Agent Carter.” Steve said, obviously nervous at the sight of her. 

“Ma’am.” Bucky said in greeting. 

Peggy glances at you and then at Steve again. “The Starks have new equipment for you to try, tomorrow morning. 0800 hours. Don’t be late.”

She then turned around and walked out. “It’s like I’m invisible, Steve.”

“Relax, Buck. Maybe she has a friend.”

“Rogers! I am the friend!” you said, feigning offense. 

“And for that-” Bucky said, wrapping both his arms around you from behind. “I am the luckiest man in the world. Fancy a dance?”

“You know I do.”

~~~~~~

THE NEXT DAY. 

“Me, Rogers, I concentrate on work, not fondue-ing. You’ll never know what goes on inside a woman’s head as long as you say that. But right now work consists of making sure my sister’s soldiers don’t get killed.” Howard said, leading Steve to a table. 

“Good morning Steve!” you said, slapping him straight across the face.

“What was that for?” Steve said, nursing his cheek with his hands. “That’s for hurting Peggy. I know what you did.”

“She doesn’t even-”

“Not another word from you. I keep you around because my brother likes a soldier like you.”

“Like I said, Rogers, you never know what goes on inside a woman’s head. Especially my sisters.” Howard said.

“That’s enough, you. Anyway, Steve, this is carbon polymer. It should withstand your average German Bayonet-”

“Because HYDRA’s not going to attack you with a pocket knife.” Howard said, guiding Steve around the table. You followed close behind.

“Anyway- Steve. I saw you’re quite fond of  that play shield of yours. The prop right?” you said. 

“These, Rogers are prototypes. We’ve made each and every one, in any way deemed possible from Stark technology. 

Steve looks over all the shields, then points at one on the bottom. “What about this one?” 

“A failed one.” Howard said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Made of the same stuff my sister’s armor is.”

“Starks, are you almost done?” said Peggy, strutting in. 

Steve then proceeds to smile at her, as if to ask if she approves of the shield. She then proceeds to pick up a gun and shoot three times at it. It startles the entire lab. 

“I like it.”

You put a hand on Steve’s shoulder as she walks out. “She really is pissed, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“I had some ideas about the uniform?” he hands you both a piece of paper. 

“Whatever you want.”

~~~~~~

JANUARY 30TH, 1944

BELGRADE, SERBIA

You used your powers to crack open the doors, and the Howling Commandos shot up the place, shooting HYDRA officials left and right. Dougan put a bomb on the power plant, set the timer, and you all ran out. 

As you boarded the truck and left, the base exploded, and the rest of the Howlies cheered. “That’s another one down, boys! Where are we off to next?” you said, slinging your gun back on your shoulder and putting your swords back in their holders. 

“Kharkiv, in Ukraine.” 

“Let’s go!”

~~~~~~

APRIL 24, 1944

MANHATTAN, NEW YORK CITY

“Welcome back to Channel 2, your news on the radio. Captain America and his team of - er- Howling Commandos? Captain America and his elite soldier task force, The Howling Commandos have invaded the Russian HYDRA base. It’s the 14th base they’ve taken down this year, and at this speed, they’ll secure a victory for the allies.”

“This team consists of a rag-tag gang of hopeful soldiers, including Stark Industries co-founder, Y/N Stark, making her the first woman to serve in the Army of this great nation!”

~~~~~~

THE ENGLISH CHANNEL.

JULY 16, 1944. 3:00 AM. 

It was a quiet and cold night as the boat creaked and made it’s way up the channel. After taking down another HYDRA base in Milan, The Howling Commandos crossed France, and made their departure from Brussels, Belgium and where now headed for another HYDRA base in Oslo, Norway, before returning to London for a rest. 

Sitting in your bed, in the bunk you shared with Pinky, who was snoring away, while you couldn’t catch a wink of sleep. Turning on the tiny oil lamp, you pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. You were long overdue to write a letter to Howard.

Howard,

Hello Brother! Today is the 16th of July, 1944. It’s currently 3 am and we’re on the English Channel. We haven’t been able to catch a break. The Milan base was something else. But we got to rest up for a few days in Czechoslovakia, although we couldn’t stay long; Nazi territory. But me and Bucky where able to take a few pictures together, with Jim’s camera. They’re enclosed. I can’t detail much about where we’re headed next; but I can tell you this is not how I imagined traveling the world, with me being on the Axis Powers’ wanted list. Guess we’ll have to do it all again when it’s over. Have you received any letters from Maria? I can’t believe you haven’t introduced her to me yet. I can’t wait to meet her. 

The Better Stark, Y/N.

Carefully putting the letter inside the envelope, you would give it to the captain in the morning to mail it. Wrapping a silk robe around your nightgown, you made your way to the main deck. It was nights like these that made you hopeful of a world without war. Taking a deep breath and staring out at the water, you heard a creak behind you, slowly turning around-

“Hiya there, darlin’ ” Bucky said, wringing his hands together. He looked nervous. 

Giving him a smile, you wrapped your arms around him and brought your lips to his, giving him a peck. “What’re you doin’ awake, Buck?” 

“s’ couldn’t sleep. Heard you got up. Thought I’d keep you company.” he said, bringing you to rest on his chest.

“The stars look beautiful tonight.”

“You know who else looks beautiful tonight, doll? you.”

“Buck, I-” 

“I want to watch the stars with you forever.” he clenched is jaw. He was practically shaking. 

There was a silence, with the exception of the waves crashing against the boat. 

“Marry me.”

“Bucky, what?”

“You heard me correctly. Marry me, won’t you?”

“I- but my brother. And there’s a war- elopement?”

“No buts. I asked permission via a letter. Should’ve seen him. And I checked with that Captain of yours Tommy Andrews, was it? He has a license. We could get married the second we get back to London.”

“Let’s - Let’s do it. I love you so much, Buck.”

“Yeah? Ready to become Mrs. Stark-Barnes?”

“Born Ready.”

He kisses you deeply, wrapping his arms around you and stroking your hair when you separated. He was the luckiest man on earth. 

~~~~~~

CHRISTMAS EVE 1944.

LONDON, ENGLAND. 

It felt to so good to be back in London. It was truly a second home at this point. It had been a few months since getting engaged, and a few weeks since your last HYDRA base explosion in Hungary.

Bucky had given you his mother’s ring, a plain gold band. But you loved it nonetheless. It symbolized the relationship you had built over the past year, and the love you would share as husband and wife. 

Howard hadn’t been thrilled, but didn’t let it show for your sake. Which brings you to where you are now, At Peggy’s townhouse in London, celebrating Christmas Eve with the fellow Howlies, Howard, General Philips, and Tommy Andrews, all sitting around the dining table. 

“So- you two got engaged. Kept it a secret for months- and pretended it would be okay to tell us a week ago?” Dum Dum Dugan said, wiping his mouth after chugging his beer. 

“I know right- they are really the most rude.” Howard said, sitting back with a smirk, sipping his wine. 

“Howard, leave the kids alone. When’s the wedding?” General Phillips asked. 

“Well we were- we really have no idea. There’s not very many venues open.” 

Tommy interrupted “I could do it.” 

There was silence around the table. “I’m licensed. In 40 states, actually.”

Peggy smiled at this. “A Christmas wedding!” 

“We’re all here! It could happen.” 

“Hear, Hear!” 

Before you knew it, Tommy had grabbed a bible and everyone had been sitting around you and Bucky, watching you.

“Repeat after me. I take you, James Buchanan Barnes as my loving husband, in sickness and in health, as long as we both shall live.”

“I take you, James Buchanan Barnes, as my loving husband, in sickness and in health, as long as we both shall live.”

“I now pronounce you- husband and wife. You may kiss the bri- or you could do that too.”

Bucky was kissing you deeply, with hand at the back of your head and one around your waist, spinning you around.

“Alright, Alright. Break it up. Welcome to the family, Barnes.” Howard said, shaking his hand.

Yeah. A Christmas to remember. 

~~~~~~ 

FEBRUARY 1ST, 1945.

THE SWISS ALPS. 

It had been almost two months since you had married Bucky on that warm Christmas Eve in London. Ever since then, the smell of hope in the air had followed you into the new year. 

The Allies were closing in. It would only be a few more months before the war was over, or so Winston Churchill had said over the radio. Now, you were on one of the last missions with the Howlies. It really wasn’t the last mission, but you could feel it in the air. All the war and destruction was finally going to come to an end. 

“This won’t be like Coney Island, right? Where you made me ride the cyclone and I got sick?” Bucky asked, gripping our hand.

“You did that, Steve?”

“I did, Y/N. And why would I do that now?”

“We were right, Steve. Zola’s on the train.” Gabe said, leaning closer to the radio to hear the transmission. “We’re in the right place. HYDRA’s given him permission to open the throttle. Wherever he’s going, they must need him badly.” 

“We must get going. They’re moving like the devil.”

“Well. We’ve only got a ten second window! You miss that window, we’re bugs on a windshield.” Steve said, putting his hook on the zip-line. 

First was Steve, the, Bucky, then you, followed by Gabe. 

Quickly, the four of you had moved across the top of the train and gotten inside. You were shooting up the HYDRA soldiers, but they just always did seem to be one step ahead of you. 

You had successfully dodged several bullets, until a hole was blown into the middle of the train. It had pulled you and Bucky out, hanging by a single metal bar. 

“Bucky! Y/N! Hang on! I’m coming to get you!” Steve yelled. 

You tried to use your powers to move the bar up, but it didn’t seem to work, and it hurt your head immensely, causing you to scream. 

“Stevie! Stevie. Take her first. Please. If anyone makes it out of here, its gonna be her.”

“Bucky, no! Hang on, please!” you said, through sobs. 

“We’re going to be okay! Steve, grab her arm.”

Steve was able to pull you to the train safely. Now the situation was getting Bucky in.

“Bucky, grab my hand!”

Bucky reached out to Steve, but what he didn’t realize was that this was putting to much weight on the bar. 

You’ll never forget his screams as he fell down. It would haunt you as long as you lived. 

“NO! BUCKY! COME BACK!” 

You could hear Steve crying before eventually helping him on the train. He collapsed into your arms, both crying. 

James Buchanan Barnes; soldier, friend and husband was gone.

~~~~~~

A/N: I nearly burst into tears. feedback is appreicated!

- Talya

[flowesona]

Miasma

Setting: Renaissance Venice (1630-31)

Pairing: Namjoon x reader

TW: Graphic Descriptions, obsessive/ yandere behaviour

A/N: I’m so happy to have had to opportunity to work with the wonderful @jooniescupcakes​ on this fic in anticipation of our amazing leader Namjoon’s birthday! Please check out the version of this fic posted on her blog which has an exciting alternate ending!

The humid air of the mid-evening provided a somewhat pleasant stroll. It would have been serene, if not for the desperate cries of people fighting against soldiers. Their screams of mercy at Namjoon were ill-received, as he instead chose to avert his gaze, to see how the Venetian water rippled. He couldn’t bear to face these people, to answer as to why they weren’t going to survive. Prayers, smoking, even infecting oneself with Syphilis. Every cure people had dreamt up were based on fallacious dreams. And Namjoon hated to associate himself with such disparity, hated to see those at the lowest in society doomed to a horrific fate.

No one had thought so many would be lost once again when the plague that had last reared its ugly head centuries returned once again to Italy, causing mass panic in Milan the previous year before reaching Venice and letting Namjoon bear witness to the curse.

Yet instead of facing the hopeless souls, Namjoon tried to distract himself with the more optimistic side of things. The patients that he was about to visit had reportedly not experienced any major symptoms of the plague. Yet as he reached the entrance of the quaint ‘house’ crammed into the rest of the neighbourhood and simply reeking of poverty, there was still a feeling of dread in his stomach, that he wouldn’t be able to cure them.

Brushing all pessimistic thoughts aside he reached out and rapped on the door twice, his greeting being met with a cough and the scurrying of feet.

“Oh! Dottore! Please, come in.” A worn-out voice accompanied the face of a woman that was anything but.

“Buona sera. What seems to be the problem?” Namjoon ducked under the entrance of the shabby accommodation as he spoke, surveying the surroundings with an ever-keen eye.

“It’s… papa was spitting blood today. I was worried something was wrong.” The woman explained, leading the doctor through the cramped room into an adjacent room, occupied by a middle-aged woman dabbing at the forehead of a bed-ridden man with a filthy towel. A sight of great pity, an illustration of suffering.

“Has he experienced any other symptoms?” Namjoon went to place his surgical bag on the floor but had second thoughts upon seeing the blood and spit dotted around, instead cautiously placing it on the stained sheets with a grimace. There was no doubt this family’s living conditions were integral to the patriarch’s illness, but alas Namjoon was a doctor, not a charity.

“He’s got an awful fever, dottore.” The woman sat by the bed replied, still stroking her husband’s face to no avail.

“I see. May you two please leave the room, I need to examine him.” Both women observing the scene left the room, not before glancing back at their sick patriarch and the masked stranger ready to decide their fate.

“Can you stand up? I need to examine for any other symptoms.” The wheezes and grunts of the pauper sitting up in his bed were not a good sign. But what was far worse was the sight of a buboe on his neck, previously hidden by the tattered blanket but now in plain sight for Namjoon to see. And it was not a pretty sight.

Even as Namjoon approached and used his gloved hands to tilt the chin up so he had a better view, the truth was clear. He’d caught the plague, and he was going to die in a matter of days.

“For now, rest and some herbal incense is the best road to recovery.” was all advice the doctor could give. He’d never seen such things curing the victims, but it was the most relief he could give. A placebo, blaming the bad air for the disease when there was most definitely something more to it.

He left the room with a horrible feeling in his stomach, the truth a heavyweight on his tongue.

As soon as he stepped into the kitchen, the older woman instantly standing up and letting her chair fall onto the floor as she rushed to attend to her husband.

Namjoon took the opportunity to seat himself at the table.

“I have some bad news about your father, Signorina...?” He trailed off, realising that in his drowsy arrival he’d never learnt his patient’s name.

“Y/N. What’s a wrong doctor? Please tell me it’s just the flu or-”

“I’m afraid it’s a lot worse.” Namjoon pulled the rubber mask away from his face, letting himself breathe for a second without such construction on his face. He hated the sick feeling in his stomach from having to break the news, of already knowing this young woman’s fate.

“Your father has… there’s no easy way to say this, but he has the plague, blue sickness, whatever you wish to call it.” The doctor couldn’t even look at her face in shame. “The best you can do is pray that God has a place for you in heaven.”

“Wait, What?” All at once, the barriers broke and tears started falling from (Y/N)’s eyes.

“I’m very sorry. I must be on my way.” Scraping back the chair, Namjoon stood up to take his leave, to report the case and to find some devil’s drink to cure his mind of guilt but was held back as Y/N desperately took ahold of one of his hands.

“I’ve heard the screams of the people, dottore. Being trapped like rats or burnt alive isn’t fair. Please, you can’t do this to us!” The young woman searched for sympathy in any inch of his exposed face, finding his deep expresso-coloured eyes and giving him a pleading stare.

Namjoon felt like at that moment, refusing to do something would kill him. With how Y/N hung onto him like a lifeline, as she begged for him to save her from death, he found himself opening his mouth once again.

“It would… I don’t know if I can do that. If I don’t report it, you could spread the plague through your entire neighbourhood. We have to quarantine, it’s only what’s right for the people.”

“Since when did you rich people ever give a damn about ‘the people’?” There was a strange sense of familiarity in seeing Y/N sniffing as she spoke and the emotion behind her words, something that the doctor couldn’t quite place his finger on. Regardless of his strange nostalgia, he felt some strong feeling stir in his chest for change. He truly felt that he couldn’t just sit back and let this poor girl die.

“I… I know this is unorthodox but I could get you out of here. I’ll pay for a carriage and you can go to a better place in the country.” There was still some gnawing part of his conscience begging him to do more, but he pushed it down.

“And my family? Will there be help for papa in another city?” It was as if a light had been lit inside Y/N’s eyes and the strange feeling of nostalgia crept up on Namjoon, almost like deja vu.

But her hope was not long-lasting.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. He’d die on the journey, and there’s a high chance he’d die on the journey. The only way for you to guarantee your survival is leaving, and letting fate take its course.”

“But there must be something you can do! Some cure, some treatment you must have heard of, we’ll do anything. If you’re worried about the money...I’ll find a way to get it. Please, please help him.” Namjoon quietly watched the female plead, wondering how to appease her.

“I’ll see what I can do. There’s no guarantee for his life, I won’t promise you anything.” With a short and tense farewell, he slips on his mask and leaves the shaky house.

Namjoon looked up at the dark night sky, the twinkling stars laughing down at him at them, at all the people of Venice. Who else was looking at the same sky? How many were crying under the black blanket, which provided no warmth or comfort, as yet another loved one fell? The world saw this sight, but only Venice suffered so much under it.

If he kept staring at the warm glow of the full moon, maybe the cries would stop echoing. How long were they to suffer?

Then, his mind wandered to other things. The young woman, whose father he had just visited. It was understandable as to why she wanted him to keep quiet, but was it foolish of him to have surrendered? He had been hit with a wave of something, depressing but familiar, as he watched her pretty eyes. He struggled, even with all his knowledge, to put a name for it, and diagnose it.

He could, no, he should tell the authorities about her father, as it would prevent the spread of the plague. But this secret arrangement could also benefit him, it could be a way for him to experiment and possibly find some cure for this devastating problem.

He noticed his mansion on the horizon and picked up his pace, secretly eager to get home. The tiring job of trying to help people, only to watch them die, exhausted him and upset him. What was the point of being a doctor that could only give empty promises and bring news of death?

Unlike the streets he had just left, he lived in a cleaner and more quiet part of the city. Everyone here was swimming in money, but that didn’t make them any less of a target to the fatal and consuming plague. Many of the children stare from their windows, his large and strange mask attracting curious gazes and hushed whispers.

He had watched many people die, captured by the officials and burnt alive or, if they were too slow, the plague finished them off first. Namjoon had gotten used to the feeling of sadness, anger and disappointment, at this point, after all the deaths he had supervised, it was numb, part of a mundane routine. The thought of the young girl, looking at him like he owned the world like he could change fate, brought back these long-buried feelings in an unprecedented crashing wave, along with something else, unidentified.

———————————————————————

It was another messy evening, the blank sky ignorant to the screams and cries below. All the days blended together with the same sight, the same words, the same end. Namjoon was walking down the familiar path he took just a day ago, equipped with a new idea and a stronger determination. However, there was no certainty for success.

He walked up to the run-down house, glancing over the cracks he had missed in his rush during his last visit. He eyes the cracking paint and dirty windows, the tattered curtains not doing much to shield the inside. He slowly stepped up to the old, wooden door, sharply rapping at it thrice. He waited for a second, and the door swings open, the delicate female mumbling a small welcome with worry evident in her face.

“I...thought of something...to help with the buboes,” he glanced over to see her perked up, watching him intently, “it might not work, and it will surely hurt like hell, but its the best I have"

He curiously observed her changing emotions, happiness at first, hope glimmering in those twinkling eyes, mouth trembling, then disappointment, gravity tugging at the corners of her lush lips, eyes downcast. Finally, the last shine of determination, stronger than the soldiers lining up on the streets, brighter than the shine of the glaring sun.

It was that burning determination that made him remember.

Remember when he first fell in love with the sweet, pretty girl from his childhood.

The sharp jab of the nostalgia, the sudden waves of memories crashing against his confused mind, it was all confirmed when he caught sight of a small toy. It was old, blue and green patches on it, once bright, vibrant coats of fresh paint. It was a small dollhouse, although not in good condition, he noticed the shiny symbol, a logo of the best carpenter in the country. The door to the expensive creation was slightly open allowing little light and peeping eyes through, though it was not furnished. Maybe the fragile pieces had gotten lost over time, but the overall image was still obvious.

He bought that dollhouse, he gifted it to someone, his first love. It was a one-of-its-kind house, unique as every individual star. And it was expensive. Far too expensive for a family like this to even dream about. When he looked back at the female, lost in her own thoughts, he found himself observing her features; the familiar curve of her nose, the shape of her eyes, the plush lips.

Everything came back to him.

Those memories from years ago, when they were both ignorant, young and in bliss. Nothing mattered except themselves. He never knew how much her family struggled to put food on the table, and he never understood why she kept trying to return the gift. When he offered to get her a different house, she refused frustratedly, breaking into tears.

His parents had to explain to him what she was too embarrassed to say; that she wasn't as rich as them. She was poor, living at the bottom of the city's trash, and that was why she always wore the same dresses, and why she never had any toys.

Her family couldn't afford any luxuries. In short; they were completely and extremely different to everyone but themselves. He was born into a prestigious family, money raining down on him, and she had to crawl past scraps to survive.

Namjoon was appalled at the truth. He was angry that he couldn't figure it out by the subtle words and the obvious visuals. He didn't realize how much money, or the lack of it, affected them and their relationship. No matter what, society, with its cruel and cold hands, ripped them apart and forced them to stay away, each succumbing to their fate, only having the memories to hold on to.

"Y/N?" Namjoon forces out.

The female looks confused. Why did he suddenly call her name? And why did he look so shocked?

Inside, a cry of pain shatters the moment, and once again, Namjoon is forced to remember what he is here for. The patient, her father.

“I- maybe you should see my papa first,” she mumbles, gesturing towards the door, “thank you for coming again, dottore.”

Namjoon is once again escorted into the bleak, cramped room, a pungent odour drifting in the room. The closed window indicated that it came from within the room itself, though the doctor didn’t want to find its origin. The condition in which the patient, whose health was as fragile as a thin piece of thread, was terrible. He carefully navigated through the cluttered room, placing his bag with care onto the sheets, stained with yet another unknown symptom.

“I have come with a possible solution,” he spoke slowly, watching the way the older man coughed, scrambling to sit up, “but it will hurt, and it will not be a pleasant sight. If you wish to be cured, then sit quietly and bear the pain.”

“Y/N,” the man calls, waiting for the young woman to come running, “hold his legs tight, and do not let him go. I fear that in his painful struggle, he might strike me.”

She nods, holding onto her father’s scrawny limbs tightly. They watched silently as the doctor reached into his bag to pull out a needle, and a matchstick. He lit the small stick with a swift tug of his large hand. He carefully held the needle’s sharp point, letting the hot flames lick it hungrily. After a few moments had passed, he brought it towards the sick man, carefully aiming towards one of the large, nasty buboes, and shooting towards it with impeccable speed. His patient let out a silent cry in pain, tensing his arms more as hs daughter winced at the disgusting splatter of discoloured pus. This action was repeated again a few more times at all the bulging, taunting buboes on his thighs before moving on to the ones on his neck and groin.

The tiring and painful process took a couple of hours, and when it was done, Namjoon felt a sense of rushing relief. He left the room, reminding the patient to have a good rest. Back in the living room, he met Y/N, who was still curious about the earlier incident.

“You...don’t remember?” he asked.

The girl shook her head before offering him a drink in a cup, chipped away at the edges, “what am I supposed to remember?”

“I gave this to you...many years ago,” he carefully picked up the old toy, feeling the layer of dust that had settled on it.

“Namjoon?” Her eyes were wide open, gaping at him as he calmly smiled back, dimples showing.

“I admit, I didn’t think our reunion would be in such an uncanny situation, much less one so drastic. Have you been well?” He wonders what she was thinking about.

“I-things haven’t really changed much,” she says, eyes focused on stirring her drink, “but I see you’ve reached the stars.” her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

Reached the stars. He knows what she was trying to imply by the line, but he also knew what he wanted to tell her. I reached the stars for you. The words are left unsaid, but the thought of it lingers. After finding out her distraught financial situation, Namjoon had pledged to earn a lot of money and save her from the horrible life she had grown up in, he worked hard to be able to provide for her, and spoil her. However, cruel circumstances had them torn apart.

“I suppose that’s one way to put it. Look, tesoro, I missed you, really, I didn’t think I would ever see you again after what my parents did.” He reached forward to grab her cold hands in his, enveloping the smaller fingers in warmth.

“But you understand why they did it,” she whispers, tugging her hands out of his grasp, “there’s no wa-”

“Who cares what everyone else thinks? There’s always a way. I haven’t forgiven them for what they did, but they certainly paid for it.” A gleam of something flashes in his eyes. Insanity, the female recalls. She remembered Namjoon’s streaks during their childhood. The same look would be in his eyes, and after, a moment of unfiltered feelings, terrifying, maddening actions. Although she couldn’t remember all of it, she did remember a time where he found sickening, sadistic satisfaction in dissecting a live animal. A small, pure creature, he had ripped apart.

“Can we just talk about something else? How long have you been a doctor?” She quickly changes the subject and they go on chatting for hours.

As night falls, the full moon peeks out playfully at the sombre city. Namjoon is walking down the streets, a giddy smile playing on his lips. He’s ecstatic after reconciling with his love. He’s even happier to know she hasn’t changed much, and still possess the same little quirks. The way her eyes light up when talking about something she enjoys, or her nose scrunching in disgust, her animated chatter had sent him to Cloud 9. He knew, that she was still so perfect, just for him. All that was left was to cure his father-in-law and impress him, winning his daughter’s hand in law.

Another joyous chuckle escaped his lips, slowly turning into maddening laughter. 

On the streets of Venice, there was not a more terrifying sound.

Namjoon worked tediously all night to make a cure for his newest patient. Although he had nothing to rely on, he had a theory that cleansing the buboes with a salve would help stop the plague spreading at the least. His salve was made of fresh honey and garlic, pounded and mixed well until it made a smooth paste. The smell was strong and sharp, but it was worth a try.

After packing the salve and putting it in his bag, he once again set off on the familiar path towards the house he had been visiting for the past few days. Seeing the girl greet him at the door made him more inspired to cure the man. He once again warned the man that the paste might sting or burn, before getting Y/N to hold him down again. Slowly, with steady hands, he applied the salve to where the buboes previously used to be.

It was a tiring process, the only sound coming from the whimpers escaping the older man’s mouth. A thin layer of sweat had formed on Namjoon’s forehead, as well as the two other occupants of the room, but with no proper ventilation, it was expected. At the end, he was more than happy to leave the congested room and into the less cluttered living room, where once again, a hot drink was waiting for him.

“Dottore, will he be alright?” the voice came from Y/N’s mother, anxious for his reply, “I can’t promise you anything. The results may take a day to fully show. I will see you then. Buona Sera,” he nodded to both ladies, his gaze lingering on the younger female.

———————————————————————

“Ciao, Namjoon.” The greeting from Y/N’s mother was a heartwarming one. She looked positively uplifted by his presence, hope shining in those starlit eyes that he loved in her daughter.

“Ciao, how are things?” The small abode had started to feel like home once again, as it had in those precious childhood years. Most would call the temperature stifling, made worse by derelict wooden walls, yet there was something comforting and cosy about the house. Maybe it was just knowing that Y/N was in the other room that made him feel so content even in such a bleak setting. Yet simply being there was not enough.

“My husband is well on the road to recovery thanks to you! I don’t know how we could possibly repay you, but rest assured we will find a way.” Namjoon hummed in response as he removed the protective rubber mask, the essential part of his uniform that he hated greatly, from the sickening scent of the herbs hidden in the ‘beak’ to the way it stifled him with heat.

“That’s what I actually came here to discuss. Is he awake?”

“Oh! Yes, yes, he should be.” The matriarch stuttered, feeling some intensity to his words that subconsciously brought shivers down her spine.

The doctor simply turned on his heel and entered the smaller room, immediately catching sight of Y/N by her father’s side. A smile worked itself onto his face seeing how everything was laid out perfectly for his plan to work.

“Signore L/N, I’ve been told you’re making a speedy recovery.” The two occupants of the room finally noticed their visitor, and with the way Y/N looked at him with a smile of joy plastered across her angelic features he was hook, line and sinker.

“Yes, yes.” The patriarch nodded to the best of his ability, giving Namjoon ample view of his neck to see the neatly dressed wounds were still in perfect condition.

“So, would it be possible for us to discuss the payment?” Seeing the discussion unfold, Y/N excused herself to assist her mother with the cooking of a hearty celebratory meal for the family.

Namjoon seated himself on the derelict stool previously occupied by Y/N, clasping his hands together nervously yet also in an intimidating move.

“I am in love with your daughter, signore. She is my everything, my anima gemella. I have loved her for the many years that we were apart, and I will love her for many more.”

“Well? Spit it out cucciollo, what is it you want?” His patient asked some gruffness to his voice.

“I want your daughter’s hand in marriage.” There was silence in the small room. “Living in this part of town is not right for her. If she’s my wife then I will be able to provide anything that she needs to live in luxury. Naturally, I can make sure you as her parents are-”

“No.”

Namjoon’s fist curled in anger as he persisted.

“I can give this family everything. I already have. Marriage is such a little thing to ask for when I’ve saved your life and asked for nothing else in return!”

“But I’m not going to sell my daughter off to be some noble’s plaything.” (Y/N)’s father snarled, using one weak arm to push his back straighter so he could be a more intimidating force against the doctor. “We have more pride than letting you run our lives like a puppet show, cucciollo.”

“You’ll regret this.” Namjoon left these last words hanging in the air as he stormed out, signing a death warrant for the family in his head.

As he snatched his mask up from the table, the two women in the kitchen exchanged nervous glances. The aura their doctor was exerting was simply deadly.

“Did you agree on the-”

“We’ll talk about this soon.” Namjoon’s deep voice almost sounded raspy, worn with emotion. “He isn’t able to cough up right now, but you’ll all pay soon enough.”

The slam of the door behind him was a signal of his rage. The doctor would certainly keep to his words, perhaps in a more literal sense that one would think.

———————————————————————

The loud banging on the door was a terrifying sound for the (L/N) family to hear, and soon the entrance to their fragile abode was burst open with a swarm of officers were in the home in a matter of seconds. The family of three sat up, confused and disoriented by the sudden intrusion, but this quickly morphed into horror as the patriarch was snatched up from his bed by two of the officers.

“What is happening? Unhand me, I haven’t done anything wrong!” He cried out, only to be interrupted by a deep chuckle.

“Yes you have.” The voice was familiar, and it didn’t take long for Kim Namjoon to emerge from the shadows. “You stole something from me.”

“If this is about-” The patriarch seethed, only to be stopped as the doctor held up his hand to signify silence.

“Right there officers. That dollhouse.” It was as if someone had set Y/N’s veins of fire. She couldn’t help but protest against the injustice.

“That was a present from him, from a long time ago! It isn’t stolen!” Namjoon cast his eyes on the young woman, and she once again felt the malicious power that this noble had as he smirked, shaking his head.

“You think I would gift a peasant family something so valuable? There’s no need to lie to protect your father, tesoro.”

As he spoke, his fingers traced over the faded design of the ornament, following every crack of paint until he withdrew his hand, instead beckoning another officer to take it away for him. And with that, Y/N’s father was dragged away simultaneously, his loud protests of innocence and begging of mercy becoming quieter yet still haunting the small Venetian streets.

“And what are you going to do now, tesoro?” With the emptiness of the house being quickly abandoned by the authorities, Namjoon’s voice cutting through the silence was an unwelcome shock.

“With your father in prison, there’s no way for you to earn any money to keep a roof over your head. Lest one of you get sick and you should need medicine.”

The women exchanged a look of fear. There was no doubt to the truth in his words, and knowing this only made the disparity of their situation worse. And seeing the revelation fall upon only made Namjoon prouder.

“It’s lucky I have a solution then.”

———————————————————————

Grime coated the walls of the jail cell, and rats scurried about the place as if they were the sole occupants. Yet their home was shared by a defeated older man leaning against the wall, eyes closed as if he could block out all other stimuli and just pray to god.

“See, this is no place for you tesoro.” Hearing a voice in the distance, the patriarch of the L/N family let out a moan of agony.

“Papa!” He opened his eyes to see his daughter clutching the bars of his cell, eyes wide with horror.

“Don’t touch those.” The presence of Y/N was marred by seeing the man who had put him in the awful cell in the first place. The man who, by the glimmering band on the young woman’s finger, was going to be his son-in-law.

“Papa, I’m so sorry that this happened to you. W-We’re going to see if we can get you in better living conditions, or maybe they’ll set you free. I swear, everything will be alright.” Y/N said, releasing her grip on the bars but not stepping away from the cage for a second.

“I can issue a pardon.” The L/N’s attention was diverted to the smug doctor standing behind Y/N. “But I’m not sure I’m quite ready to forgive you.”

Namjoon pulled Y/N away from her father, into his arms that trapped her in a paradoxically romantic gesture, as he pressed a kiss onto her pristine neck.

“Maybe your daughter will change my mind. But for now, we must be going.”

It was a bitter feeling to see his daughter be resigned as a mere object of the monstrous Doctor’s obsession, but the older man became distracted as his chest was captured in a wheezing fit, as when he drew his hand away from his mouth, he found spots of blood decorating it.

———————————————————————

Translations to Italian phrases used:

Buona Sera - Good evening

Ciao - Hi/Bye (a causal greeting)

Tesoro - Treasure 

Cucciollo  - Puppy (used usually by parents or to denote a rookie)

Signorina - Miss

Signore - Mister, Sir

dottore - Doctor

anima gemella - twin soul

[hari-writes]

Little Louis Dupain-Cheng - Chapter 7

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug Pairings: Adrien/Marinette Summary: In the seven years since Hawk Moth’s defeat, much has changed. Adrien Agreste PhD returns to Paris and is reunited with his friends. Marinette has a degree in Fashion Design, a thriving boutique and a son, six-year-old Louis. Louis is like his mother in many ways, except for green eyes and a familiar smile… Will Adrien do the maths?

Read on A03 ★★★ Buy me a coffee?

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Mon coeur aime Adrien

Adrien was just getting his head around the fact that Alya had been a miraculous holder when he arrived at her and Nino’s place, only to find Chloe waiting at the door. At least that explained why she knew about his and Marinette’s identities.

“Trixx.” A glass was held aloft.

“Pollen.” Another joined it.

“Wayzz.” A third glass.

“Tikki.” Marinette added hers.

“Erm, uh, Plagg?” Adrien added, lifting his glass to the others.

Alya, Chloe, Nino, Marinette and Adrien clinked their glasses together and drank deeply.

Marinette had arrived last. She was reading Louis a bedtime story before she left her house and, apparently, he’d chosen a particularly long one. Adrien chuckled at that, he used to do the same thing with his mother. She was perched on the arm of the sofa next to him and, now, she squeezed his hand. Her look was pure concern.

“Is this ok?” She asked.

“I guess so?” He replied. “To be honest, there’s so much to take in that I’m not sure how I feel yet. “

“You know we always included Plagg in our toasts? Even when you weren’t here.” Marinette said.

“She’s not kidding, dude. We had to have a plate with some Camembert on it at the table every time we met. It stunk the place out, but Mari claims it was a perfect tribute.” Nino shook his head.

Adrien grinned at the memory. “He would have loved it.”

In the weeks following Hawk Moth’s defeat, Marinette had noticed her friends showing signs of stress. The same sort of stress she was feeling. She recognised her emotional turmoil reflected in Alya, Nino and Chloe. She already knew who wore the fox miraculous, and now that she knew Chat Noir’s identity, it wasn’t difficult to figure out who he’d trust enough to wear the turtle bracelet. A visit to Master Fu revealed Queen Bee.

Marinette asked Fu if it was safe for her to know the citizens behind the superheroes. She explained that she strongly suspected that her friends were suffering from the same post-traumatic stress that she was and wanted to support them through it. She started the OT5 (-1) gatherings as a form of talking therapy.

“It worked,” Chloe admitted. “Knowing we weren’t alone through it all.”

“And it gave us an outlet. We could shout and cry, or bitch and laugh and it was okay. It brought us through the hardest times.” Alya explained.

“And now?” Adrien asked.

“Mostly, we toast our kwamis, then eat Alya’s world-famous Jambalaya while watching reruns of Le Bachelor,” Nino admitted.

“Hey, don’t judge us!” Marinette laughed, seeing Adrien’s amused expression. “It’s still a sort of therapy.”

»»★««

“Thank you.” Adrien squeezed Marinette’s hand as they left Nino and Alya’s apartment building.

“What for?” Marinette looked at him, her blue eyes searching his face.

“For keeping everyone together when it all ended, for arranging group therapy sessions for the others.” He said, waving his hand in the general direction of the apartment. “You kept on being Ladybug, even after you gave your miraculous back.”

She smiled sadly. He knew the aching gap in his life left when he said goodbye to Plagg and knew the feeling of constantly missing his kwami. He had weekly visits to an expensive psychiatrist to help him deal with the loss. Now, he wanted to take away the grief she felt, help her the way she helped the others.

“The nightmares are back?” He asked, already knowing the answer. “Louis told me.”

Marinette snorted through her nose, “What else did he tell you?”

“Don’t be upset with him, he was only interested in the man whose name you shout in your sleep.” He said.

Marinette’ head dropped, “Oh, God. Can I die now, please?” She groaned.

He laughed and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “No, My Lady! Don’t do that, I’ve just got you back in my life.”

“The nightmares started back after I saw you at your welcome home party,” Marinette said from behind her hands. “I don’t know why, but I’m reliving the fight again. The fear comes back to me and you… your reaction when we took the butterfly miraculous from Hawk Moth. I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to hear this.” She shook her head.

“I spent four years in therapy to get over that moment and many others. I can talk about it.” Adrien reassured her, “I’m worried that you spent the past seven years making sure everyone else was coping and nobody was looking after you.”

“I’m okay, Adrien, I promise.” Marinette rested her head against him. “Thank you for caring, though.”

They walked on in silence, unasked questions swirling around Adrien’s head. He wanted to help her, but she was so used to looking after that others that he wasn’t sure she could ever accept his assistance. He saw it all too often as Chat Noir; Ladybug had the weight of Paris on her shoulders. She felt personally responsible for every last citizen and cared deeply about each of them.

“This is me.” They had reached the hotel. “Are you sure I can’t see you home?”

“Ever the gentleman,” She giggled, “Honestly, I’m fine, it’s not far.”

He didn’t want her to go, was already missing her touch even though she was less than a metre from him.

“Why don’t you come up to my room and have a drink with me, then I’ll call a taxi for you. Deal?” He tried to be casual, grateful that Chloe had somewhere else to be after they left Nino and Alya’s.

“That’s fair.” She smiled, “Lead the way, kitty.”

»»★««

Once they reached his room, a knock at the door distracted Adrien so Marinette took in her surroundings.

Chloe had done a great job on the rooms, she thought. The furnishings were luxurious without being ostentatious (she talked Chloe out of garish gold and black Brocade curtains and convinced her that a mocha Damask would match the mink satin wallpaper far better). The room came with an espresso machine, phone speaker dock, bureau and two plush tub chairs and a low coffee table. It was cosy and she could see how Adrien was able to live here long term.

“Monsieur, Miss Chloe instructed me to bring this to you,” A male voice spoke, but Marinette couldn’t see who it belonged to.

“Oh, wow. Tell Chloe, thank you.” Adrien sounded pleased.

“And, ahem, Miss Chloe also said if you ever brought the dark-haired girl to your room, to give you this.” The other voice sounded uncomfortable.

“I… Tell Chloe, I hate her,” Adrien said seriously.

“I apologise, monsieur, I am just doing what I’m told.” The door closed.

Adrien returned, cheeks pink, carrying a tray containing a bottle of whisky and two crystal glasses. Marinette raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“A gift from Chloe.” He explained.

He set the tray on the coffee table before palming something small into the drawer of his bedside table. Marinette didn’t ask.

“I got into whisky while I was in Cambridge. One of the guys in my halls of residence, his father owned a distillery and he educated us on it. This,” He gestured to the bottle on the table, “Is Chloe’s way of showing off. It’s a fifteen-year-old Islay single malt that must cost at least €150.”

“She’s incredibly generous, isn’t she? Has she always been that way?” She asked, wondering if Chloe’s generosity was a newfound trait.

“She’s always bought gifts, but it used to be more proprietorial, I guess. It was like she was marking her territory if she gave you a present, telling you that you belonged to her. So, I don’t know, I suppose the selfless gift-giving is a new thing.” Adrien said.

He poured two generous measures of whisky into the glasses and added a splash of bottled water into each. He passed one to Marinette and put his nose in his, inhaling deeply. She did the same, unsure what she was smelling for. Adrien looked at her expectantly so she closed her eyes, blocking out one sense to focus on another.

“It smells like a bonfire on the beach.” She said.

He smiled in encouragement. “You have a good nose.”

He took a sip so she followed. She winced at how strong it was and the way it burned her throat when she swallowed. It wasn’t unpleasant, though, so she took another drink.

“It’s smooth,” She noted, “Sweet, a little spicy and… woody?”

He clinked his glass against hers, eyes twinkling. “You’re practically a connoisseur already.”

She liked it when he was animated like this. Since his return from Milan, she noticed that he was more restrained than usual. Never aloof, but he was definitely more guarded. Talking about whisky, in this moment, she saw a twinkle in his eye that she recognised from all the times she saw it behind a black mask. This was his freedom, pursuing simple pleasures, finding joy in the little things.

Her phone trilled and she flexed her fingers in response.

“Do you need to check that?” He asked.

“Sorry, I texted maman to let her know I’d be later than I thought. Do you mind?” She reached for her mobile.

He settled on his bed, curling his legs under him. Marinette checked her messages.

Maman: Of course, dear. Louis is fast asleep and your papa and I are off to bed too. Stay out as late as you like, just don’t be too noisy when you come home! Have fun x

She grinned and switched her phone to silent, slipping it into her bag. She perched on the bed, next to Adrien. He might not be a model any more, but he retained the effortlessly perfect posture from those days. There was a cat-like grace about him that was relaxed and accessible. These days, he was the perfect mixture of Adrien and Chat Noir; charismatic and flirtatious, but thoughtful, reserved. His fun side showed when he was with friends and it made his face glow. If possible, she loved him more now than she did in her teens.

His hair was lighter now, with flecks of grey just beginning to show and the cool tones in his hair made his eyes seem even more piercing than before. His green eyes searched her face and she felt him look into her soul. It was disconcerting.

“They’re not all nightmares.” She heard herself say. Where did that come from?!

“They’re not?” Adrien looked surprised at this outburst of honesty.

“No,” She cringed internally, why was she telling him this? His eyes were acting like truth serum on her as the effects of the alcohol hit and she couldn’t help herself. “I have… other… dreams that feature you.”

“Other… dreams?” His jaw dropped a little at this.

She chewed her bottom lip nervously, then swallowed more whisky for courage. She looked straight into his eyes.

“Other memories. More… pleasurable memories. Some… fantasies.” She prompted him.

“That leave you shouting my name? ...Oh!” He got it. He took a large gulp of whisky, too, and Marinette figured he was buying time to consider his response.

Wordlessly, he took her glass from her and set both on the dressing table. He sat closer to her now and cupped her cheek in his hand, stroking her face with his thumb. His gaze had become so intense, Marinette was worried she might melt into a puddle under it. Like the sun, it wasn’t wise to look directly at it.

��I have those dreams, too.” He was close enough that his breath warmed her face, it smelled sweet and smoky, like the whisky. “And… fantasies... about you.”

“You do?” She whispered.

Marinette tilted her face towards his, lips slightly parted as she felt him draw closer. Their mouths met hungrily and her eyes closed, once more blocking out one sense to focus on another. Their tongues clashed insistently. His hands raked through her hair, tugging slightly, pulling her into him. Urgency grew within her and she climbed into his lap, trailing kisses along his jaw until she reached his ear. She nibbled his earlobe and heard him sigh breathily.

“Wait,” He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled back.

“What’s wrong?” She bit her lip, worried that she had done something to upset him. Had she gone too far?

“Nothing,” He moved his hands to her face, “I want this. It’s just that, I need you to know how I feel. I still love you Marinette. This isn’t a fling. I want to have a relationship with you, if you’ll have me.”

“I love you too, Adrien,” She smiled at his earnest expression, “I want you in my life.”

Adrien grinned at that, his face looked younger and brighter when he did and she felt another swell of affection for him.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, would you like to be my girlfriend?” He asked, cheeks flushing a little as he did. It was adorable.

“More than you know, yes.” She couldn’t stop a happy giggle from slipping out.

He leaned back on to his elbows and she followed, resuming their kiss. It was less urgent than before and, somehow, more intense. In saying the things they’d been wanting to since Adrien returned to Paris, they were able to relax and enjoy each other.

One of his hands moved to her waist and the other cradled the back of her head. His kisses paused for just a beat as he flipped her so she was laying on the bed and he was on top of her. His tongue traced her collarbone, hands unfastened the buttons of her blouse, hips ground into her. She sighed and the sound came out as a moan. She pulled his shirt from his waistband and pushed her hands underneath, running her nails down his back.

They broke apart momentarily to remove their shirts and Adrien unclasped her bra, slipping it reverently from her arms.

“Adrien, wait. I don’t have any protection.” She said, putting her hand on his chest. The realisation arrived with a healthy dose of disappointment. Adrien, however, looked sheepish.

He reached over to the drawer of his bedside cabinet and yanked it open. A small blue square box sat in the otherwise empty drawer, the words ‘Extra-Safe’ emblazoned in bold. Condoms.

“Another gift from Chloe.” He grimaced.

[octranslations]

Haiiro no Ginka Volume 2

Haiiro no Ginka Volume 2

Translation Credits: 1999.1.20 DEBUT SINGLE IN STORE - Risu “Akuro no Oka” “Yurameki” in Italy - Risu Shinya Nemunemu hakushi no daigyakusu - Mbear Ganso Kaoruya - Nao Meisho de Meishuu Mr. Drums’ House Edition - Risu Aibiki no Mori Toshiya - Risu Kyo's Corner (Announcement) - Risu SEXUAL Inoue LA Diary - Risu NEWS L.A. Edition - Risu

1999.1.20 DEBUT SINGLE IN STORE

"Zan" "Akuro no Oka" "Yurameki"

Debuted at 5th, 6th, 7th

Music Shop Kunihara?Goryokaku Store

Sapporo?GURUGURU   Mr. Habaguchi

Shibuya 109 also has Dir en grey!

January 20, the major debut singles are finally on sale. The CD stores were also filled with Dir en grey, and you can see different stores nationwide decorated by Dir en grey. They made a large appearance even at Shibuya 109, and I think there were people who took pictures of it. Also in the Oricon Chart they debuted 5th, 6th and 7th. The members and staff both are grateful to all the fans who wouldn't have made this possible without their unwavering crazy and warm following/support?

“Akuro no Oka” “Yurameki” in Italy

When we are welcoming the end of 1998, the 5 members went to Italy for the PV shooting of “Akuro no Oka” and “Yurameki”. On the way they waited 4 hours to get on the next plane, Shinya read a book that he brought with him from Japan, Kyo and Kaoru ate pizza. (By the way it seems that Die was pretty ripped off by this store without him realizing it…) From here Kyo got addicted to pizza and ate it the whole time in Italy.

Then were forced to ride on the bus for 2 to 3 hours, at the end of a long travel without being able to get off in the destined airport due to strong winds and having the time to arrive and sleep in the hotel they started with make-up. The shooting for that day were the individual scenes and performance scenes of “Akuro no Oka” at a western style house that is also used in movies.

On the second day, the scheduled departure time was 6:30am. Having a breakfast buffet at the hotel with their complete make-up and wearing their costumes was a pretty conspicuous bizarre sight. A shrine that looked like the acropolis was today’s shooting location. Here was the image scene and individual scenes carrying instruments. These was the first costumes for the day. Because of it being quite cold, coat and mufflers were vital while the camera was not running.

Third day, the final day. After shooting the image scene at the back alley streets in town was the shooting of “Yurameki” at a church. While waiting there were pigeons that gathered near the bus because of the bread that was scattered. When Shinya was about to give bread, because of the noisy Italians who passed by, the pigeons went somewhere…

“The stupid foreigners?” Shinya was angry.

Take Note of This Italy Important News

They waited for 4 hours in Milan

Breakfast in full make-up and full costume

Shinya seems cold in his costume

Temples are cold…

Kyo, is addicted to pizza!

Loo~ng travel and waiting time

Die was ripped off

Toshiya caused a disturbance! (Details are in the news page!)

Shinya Nemunemu hakushi no daigyakusu

Hello everyone.  This corner has begun again.  Last time there wasn't much so now there probably won't be much either, right?  Well then, so let's introduce the first postcard.

"Please tell me about Shinya-kun's beloved dog, Papii-chan."

This is Papii-chan, who lives at my parent's home.  The name is Papii because the breed is called papillon.  It's quite a fashionable way of naming a dog.  Of course I named him.  We got him in December of my third year of elementary school.  At that time he was already two months old.  At that time he was quite tough and the small me was often chased and bitten.  Now, because he's grown old he doesn't really bite, but his quick anger hasn't changed at all.  He really gets angry quickly.   He definitely gets angry five times a day.  For example, he is cuddling with someone and if another person calls "Papii" he will go to snap at that person with great strength.  Also, Papii loves Pedigree Champion dog food and he won't eat any dog food other than that at all.  The Pedigree Champion dog food seems so delicious, so even if you stare at it from the side, he'll get angry.  He also likes meat and if I'm eating meat he comes and says, "Give me meat" .  And so if I pretend to give him the meat and don't he gets really angry.  He's a troublesome dog.   He always thinks of himself as the best.  On the stairs as well, he alone... it alone cannot go up by itself. In the past he went up but, he planned on going up the stairs of the new place we moved to the way he did in our old house so his feet became tangled, and he got hurt.  Since that time when Papii wants to use the stairs he'll call "someone come here".  And then someone will come and carry him up the stairs.?Papii also gets quite cold.  In the past whenever it would get cold I would take out the kotatsu. Then, I would set up the kotatsu and leave the room for a little and return, and already Papii would be sleeping in the kotatsu. To think he's a dog, why does he get cold so easily??Ah, no matter what I said, he's a very cute dog.

Last time I wrote about Nakata Daimaru Racket as Shinya's little corner, a considerable amount postcards came concerning that.  I've picked a few from among those postcards.

It's popularity before is like Downtown's [popularity] now.

He was definitely on TV every New Years.

When I asked my mother, she said "You don't know him?  Your father and your grandfather and your grandmother know him.  You don't know anything huh."#When I asked my family they said, "What...? You don't know? Ah~, it's the end of Japan. There's nothing that can be done."

Like what Shinya-kun said, I think a lot of people know him. ?So, well, just take a look at this and maybe you'd know, it is said that in Japan if you don't know Nakata Daimaru Racket then you are not Japanese.

So, that being said I will explain Nakata Daimaru Racket to you.

Nakata Daimaru Racket It was said that it is a Manzai that would make you laugh in three seconds, he was a big star until the end of the war, it's the popularity was twice more than "Kashimashi Musume". As for the beginning, Nakata Daimaru debuted but his partner at that time died.  After that, he rejoined with his brother racket and debuted.

With the first second of flawless speech, the continuous gags, the viewers will be sent into a vortex of laughter. The younger brother racket accidentally laughs a lot at Daimaru's adlibs and that would again invite laughter from the audience.   After Daimaru's death, Racket managed variously alone, but recently it so happens that he is retired.

And that's it.  And so there were many postcards that came asking, "Why does Shinya-san know something that way back?" that's because I have lived 10 times longer than everyone. Fufufufufu(Hehehehe)......

See you again.

Extra: About Nakata Daimaru Racket Toshiya: When I asked my friends, they knew. Why did that many postcards come? Die: If you write it at the very end then they'd read it! Didn't it seem like it was saying, "send me [postcards]" right? So they'll send it over!

Translator's Notes: 1. Manzai (??) is a style of stand-up comedy in Japan, which usually involves two performers—a straight man (tsukkomi) and a funny man (boke)—trading jokes at great speed. Most of the jokes revolve around mutual misunderstandings, double-talk, puns and other verbal gags. In recent times, manzai has often been associated with the Osaka region, and manzai comedians often speak in the Kansai dialect during their acts.

2. A kotatsu (??) is a low, wooden table frame covered by a futon, or heavy blanket, upon which a table top sits. Underneath is a heat source, often built into the table itself. Kotatsu are used almost exclusively in Japan, although a similar product called a korsi is also used in Iran.

3. For the curious here is a clip of Daimaru Racket (Kansai-ben only):{youtube}LjNdbLZd-9c{/youtube}

Ganso Kaoruya

Welcome. Thank you for coming to Ganso Kaoruya . This time there are only a few things but please take a look.

It can’t be seen clearly but it’s a pretty excellent work.

Again, it’s my stuff. Devilman & Amon Black Version

Great job!! You were even able to create the detailed parts.

Next challenge is in Kitty-chan!!

Again, my stuff.

I never give-up~

…Hello.

Recently, I have been rummaging for and buying CDs, LDs, Videos(VHS). Even in LA I was brainwashed by MTV and bought a lot like Shawn Mullins and the like but mostly I didn’t listen to it and went home. All of a sudden I would go into a record shop but before I just bought CDs but I wanted to watch movies so I ended up buying the movie and it’S soundtrack that I thought, “I would never watch!!” which was Titanic. Well, it is a good thing! However!! There were tons of lives that I wanted to see during the end of the year and beginning of the year. I wanted to watch D=SIRE’s Liquid(room)! (I was really supposed to go~) I wasn’t able to watch Bauhaus in October! Marilyn Manson and Gastunk also made me want to cry…therefore, I am looking for more creations. (Totally unrelated though.)  Send me things that will clear up my anger!! And so, Ah! Thank you for the Christmas Presents and New Year’s Card!  

This month’s Heavy rotation (currently, January 20)

Fear Factory

Obsolete

The Goo Goo Dolls

Dizzy Up the Girl

Garbage  

Version 2.0

Shiina Ringo  

Koko de kisu shite

Motion Picture  

Psycho

Shawn Mullins

Soul’s Core

Rammstein  

Sehnsucht

Devin Townsend

Infinity

AKIRA Ootomo Katsuhiro

Meisho de Meishuu Mr. Drums’ House Edition

So, is everyone in “a knot” doing well? This is a bit or rather pretty late but thank you to all the fans who sent me presents, messages, letters etc. for my birthday last year. Also thank you always for sending me fan letters. I properly read all of it so there is no need to worry.

So, Meisho de Meishuu Vol. 2 is, what do we have here!! Once again we have a guest.

Let me introdu~ce, Mr. Drums who does Tanaka in Dir en grey (refer to the picture)

This time let’s go a bit back to Christmas. The location is Mr. Drums’ house where he has prepared 5 bottles of champagne. By the way, on this day, Mr. Drums’ mother and younger brother Kazuma were in the house, this mother was very annoying and kept on harassing us, she smoked things like echo or wakaba, Kazuma is a delinquent and picked a fight with me so it was awful. But the most awful one was Mr. Drums. Apparently he is weak with alcohol, even though he said that he has work after this interview, his face was completely red, even his ears were red, and in the end he couldn’t speak. But since it’s my corner, even if it were forced he drank and evaluated [the alcohol]. Then Mr. Drums suddenly tried to run on top of the TV, when I chased him and tried to make him drink, finally he went down. That’s unfortunate. But he was able to properly drink 5 kinds [of alcohol] so please read the table of comments after.

“Itadakima~su?”

“How are you feeling recently?”

“…….silence”

“Mr. Drums please drink some more!”

“What are you doing?”

“That’s it”

Well, this time I will end [this column] with this. Well as for the season, it will soon be spring, for those of you who want to try drinking it why not also drink it together with your beloved boyfriend or girlfriend on Christmas this year (this is way in the future…) (For those who say that they don’t have a girlfriend or boyfriend, please try finding one until then.)

So next time I will send it from LA! I am planning again on calling a guest so please look forward to it.

Well, until we meet again (mata aimashou). Espresso!!

Today’s Wine

Wine Name

Comment

Score

1

CASTELL BLANCH ROSAD CAVA

It seems to have a pretty bitter smell…Ah! Yes it’s a red win chic that’s easy to drink. It feels like you’re drinking in Artist Room A

It feels like swimming in the Aegean sea ? Mr. Drums

6.79

2

SUNTORY SPARKLING WINE SILVER

It’s pretty sweet. Well it’s for you guys, middle and high school students. It’s ant hell…what’s ant hell? “to get worms (in your stomach)” (Mr. Drums) It is on the edge whether you fall into ant hell or not.

Too sweet. It feels like being assimilated to it while being buried in sugar and the surrounding sugar is burnt by a lighter ? Mr. Drums

5.55555??

3

CROISIE LIGHT

I think this is for elementary school kids….because it’s sweet, I think elementary school students would really like this.

Being hit by a rain of iron mold, that moment made me feel better, I feel nauseous I think I’m drunk (nods) ? Mr. Drums

3.1415926

4

SUNTORY SPARKLING WINE GOLD

It completely doesn’t feel like drinking in a high end club in Ginza.

It feels like I can see 5 cm inside ? Mr. Drums

6.81

5

VARICHONET CLERC MERLOT GAMAY

This is for 17 year olds…feels like a 17 year old loose socks

This is the most delicious. It has sweetness and bitterness, in memories (drunk) a 41 year old…(definitely drunk) his wife left him, on the side of a too sweet park, I become Shinya ? Mr. Drums

5.59

Aibiki no Mori Toshiya

Happy New Year! This year together with "aknot" please support Dir en grey!

This is Toshiya's corner which will begin again, thanks to everyone who thought and sent titles! But somehow there wasn't one that fit so I tried thinking with my insufficient/lacking head! And I thought to go with "Aibiki no Mori" (rendezvous forest) as Toshiya's corner title!! The origin of the corner title is, actually I copied the name (laughs) Since I really love Sakamoto Ryuichi-san and among Nakatani Miki's album called, "Shokumotsu Rensa (Food Chain)", there was a song called "Aibiki no Mori de" and for me, I personally liked that song...so yes, I copied it (laughs) But, so far in my own way I tried the title while completely ignoring things like the meaning of "Aibiki no Mori" is a journal of memories where "I wanted to make it like a forest of secrets that I have with the fans and everyone". It's a bit fishy? (laughs) But, in this corner I don't want to write lies and I want to tell the truth to everybody

??? What in the world are those numbers above???Ah well. Yesyes, I want it to be a corner that everyone reads so I decided with "Aibiki no Mori". Thank you very much to the people who thought of and sent titles!! And I'm sorry!! Also next I am asking for costume designs. I am asking for designs that you would like me to wear. Well even though all of it won't be OK, I may use parts of it. I am waiting for everybody's sense and avant-garde ideas. Also the people who were chosen will have their names and member id posted in this corner and after that I will send them a present.

I am looking forward to everyone's design pictures!!

Well then please get lost in "Aibiki no Mori (rendezvous forest)"  (laughs)

?/× (TUE)

Well the indies tour has finally begun. In the morning I went to Tokyo station using a taxi and went to Nagoya on the shinkansen (bullet train). I was sort of happy when I was finally in the shinkansen. The live at Bottomline was to put it bluntly, unsatisfactory. Even among the lives that I've done up until now, honestly it was the worst. I was very annoyed, embarrassed, and regretful. Due to the lack of physical strength and extreme oxygen deprivation, I collapsed after the main set. After the encore, there was a heavy air backstage and everyone was looking down. Budoukan is 100 years too early and I looked down on myself. Even if I wrote more about it I would end up writing negative things. Nagoya...I am really sorry to the fans, maybe if you would come to a live just one more time, the next one I would definitely show a good live.

I promise, the next time...

?/×?WED)

In the morning, we checked out of the hotel and went to Kanezawa. I remembered the previous night's live and had an internal argument, "today for sure..." I personally wasn't satisfied with the Kanezawa live on the previous tour so this time I thought that I must make a good live. It was good that Az hall was pretty nice. But as expected I felt that my performance was a bit not enough but I thought of thinking positively. Everyone signed on Azhall's backstage hallway wall. Also I kicked the micstand and it's a bit unfortunatey that I wasn't able to directly apologize to the Azhall manager. I am really sorry! The oden that I had at the party was delicious. Good night...

?/×?FRI)

Today is at Kumagaya Vogue! This was the first time I was here since the disband live of band before Dir en grey was formed so I was really happy! If my memory is correct, the other band at that time was the band that 4 of them were in so it was a place with a lot of memories so I thought to do my best. The live was really good. Finally it felt like the engine started and my body was light. Also what shocked me also was I stage dived which I haven't done since the Cowboy World [live] in Osaka (laughs) To the people who were under and whose body I stepped on, I am really sorry!!

At any rate, those gibberish numbers on top! Enough already and disappear!

Well, after the live, without taking a break we got on the shinkansen and appeared live on nippon broadcast's radio, "Ultracountdown". Cool K-san was an interesting person.

?/×?MON)

Sendai Makana's stage was a bit small, so it was pretty difficult to play. But the live was okay but everyone's fervor was great, and it felt good. SuperRecord's Jimmy-san seems to be doing okay and thank you for coming to the live! After the live speaking of Sendai, it's "Gyu tan" (beef tongue) so we went out and ate it, as expected it was delicious! As a souvenir I bought cheese and fresh dorayaki. We will come to Sendai again (laughs)

?/×?TUE)

Today is my first time in Sapporo! This is the first live [in Sapporo] so I was really looking forward to the reaction of fans who've been waiting for us until then but the live was awful. "M-GAZET" also mentioned the reason. It would be better if I believed more in everyone...I am sorry! To the people who were looking forward to it. I am sorry, really. Sapporo, next time we will come at full blast so please look forward to it!!!

?/×?THU)

Niigata JUNKBOX...it was hot/exciting! Everybody went wild (for us). I was able to do a live without thinking of anything. Everybody's rhythm/flow was great and more importantly you made me forget about what happened in Sapporo. Thank you Niigata!! My friends from middle school and "D+L"'s AKIRA came to watch us. I was happy. After the party everybody went bowling. Everyone was excited and it was really fun. Thank you very much for today everyone!!

?/×?SAT)

Today is Osaka! Everybody was in high spirits. As expected everyone seems hyped since its their hometown. Speaking of hometowns, I also wanted to have lives in Nagano (tears) Well, anyway the live was okay but for me the performance was shabby. So I am sorry to everyone. But anyway I want to optimistically do my best...since if I get caught up in negative thoughts it would be difficult to get out of it. During the part Punch UFO came and it was interesting. Also, I was able to go drink out with my friends from high school after a long time and it was fun. Thank you Osaka!

?/×?MON)

The live at Hiroshima Namiki Junction was okay. Did everyone enjoy it? I would be happy if you enjoyed it. Also the Hiroshima yaki was very delicious. The promoter was also a very nice person. 2 more lives left I must do my best!!

?/×?TUE)

Hakata Be-1 was hot/exciting! The backstage was small but the live was pretty exciting. The atmosphere was also good. I didn't dive but it was live where I wanted to dive! After the live we did a quick party, and everyone went bowling (laughs) it was really fun. After that me and a couple of people went out and ate rate. We will come again to Hakata.

?/×?TUE)

Finally, we came to Matsuyama.

When I remember it was early. Before I realized it [we were there]. When I think of going home to Tokyo, I felt lonely. As for the live due to a miss with the song order we weren't able to get into high spirits but at the very very last it was nice that the fans who stayed during the encore were able to sing "GARDEN" with us. Well, the last live is Budokan!

Thank you Matsuyama!

?/×?MON)

Well, finally today is Budokan! In this place everything up until now will...I will not forget a day like today, I will never forget the fun on this day...and the regret (this is again getting old (laughs)) I can't say this well into words but since I think that there is nothing that doesn't change, at the very least I don't want my feelings and memories to not change. Forever. And more importantly to every who's been supporting us until now, thank you very much!! From now on let's fly higher and higher together.

?/×??)

From today we will go to LA because of recording. We will train under Yoshiki-san's guidance. Please look forward to and wait for the next song!! In addition, please read Mr. Inoue's page for the LA journal!

Toshiya first nude!!!

I also had this period (laughs)

So embarrassing~ (laughs)

Congratulations on your marraige Chara-san!

I hope you two will be happy (laughs)

Drop in sometimes! (The person on the right was the engineer of "I'll")

This time it ends here. Did you enjoy it? On January 20 the singles were finally released at the same time. To the who haven't listened to it, please listen to it! If possible please seriously listen to it with the volume on loud! Well, let's rendezvous again at the "Aibiki no Mori"!!!

Translator's Notes:

1. Gy?tan (???) is a Japanese food that is made from grilled beef tongue. The word gy?tan is a combination of the Japanese word for cow (?, gy??) and the English word tongue. Since gy?tan literally means "cow tongue," the word is also used to refer to cow tongues in Japan. The custom of cooking gy?tan originated in Sendai in 1948, and is usually served with barley rice, tail soup, and pickles in the Sendai area.

2. Dorayaki (????, ????, ????, ????) is a type of Japanese confection which consists of two small pancake-like patties made from castella wrapped around a filling of sweet red bean paste.

3. The numbers that Toshiya was referring to in the column was this line of random numbers that divided the column into the top and bottom sections. Please refer to the original.

Kyo's Corner (Announcement)

Among the postcards sent to Kyo’s Akuma ka Warumono ka, there was one that seemed to have lies written on it, as long as that kind of fan is there, this corner is spoiled/ruined and I am enraged.

I was so angry and shock that I opened a hole in the wall, and after that I never spoke anything about the fanclub

Because of that this corner is on a break.

What a nuisance

SEXUAL Inoue LA Diary

"a knot" told me that anything is fine so write anything about the LA recording so I am seated in front of a typewriter, well, I don't have a typewriter! Typewriters are old! So hello. This is the manager, Atsushi Inoue.

After Budokan finished and after the storm of <interviews, photoshoots>, before coming to LA, in order to concretize the sound as much as possible, everyone was confined to the studio. Then to LA ---- then again at Narita (international airport) there were a couple of fans...(mid-November was written on the flyer that was distributed at Budokan. Fail.Fail) but since everyone sent us off without causing any inconvenience we were relieved as we got on the plane...ah~(roughly 10 hours)~later we arrived in LA.

Then we had a meal together with the local coordinator and co. -- we had Lunch Time at a pretty clean looking pizza and pasta restaurant. As expected of America, the volume was incredible. The food and also the lady next to us...sorry...but the Beer was delicious.

Then we checked-in in the hotel, and was surprised when we got to our rooms. It was big big. It also had a kitchen. Yey (but at this time I didn't think that in the end I would sleep in the room and go home since I couldn't cook...sigh)

We placed our things, and everyone gathered together! We went to the studio ---and was surprised, it was big big. The studio and also the meeting room. After waiting for awhile, we had a pretty brief meeting with  Mr. YOSHIKI and the engineers, foreign staff etc. (about the equipment and flow etc), It seems that there will be a break once per week. Lucky (But...at this time I didn't think that the first week was a photoshoot, the second week was a break but from the third week there was no break...sigh) (Recording flow is everyone plays the music together, then Drums?Bass?Guitar?Guitar?Vocal - this seems to be the basic flow but there are times when the Guitar follows after Drums, and times when Vocals are added soon after just the rhythm is recorded. There are also times when they are working on the next song while the Vocalist is recording. So it seemed like it wasn't definite that it would follow this order. )

After the meeting finished the busy Mr. YOSHIKI wasn't able to come eat with us after but the members and me and the office people, recording company people and the coordinator went to get food -- Even in LA there are quite a lot of sushi restaurants where we had Dinner Time but as expected it lacked something/wasn't the greatest...but the beer was delicious. Thus the first day ended with this.

From now was the real part, the second day in LA, for the meantime all of the members worked on "Akuro no Oka". They took a recording of it playing together while choosing instruments and equipments. This took one whole day. LA third day based on what was recorded the previous day, recording started from drums. This took one whole day.

Fourth day bass recording while playing along with the drums of the previous day. This took one whole day. Fifth day guitar (Die) recording while playing along with the sounds recorded until the previous day. This took one whole day.

*By the way the members were at the studio and saying things like this and that and did individual practice while somebody else was recording.

The next day was a day off from the studio, and was a photoshoot day for Dir en grey. From early morning we were at cameraman Mr. William Hames' studio for make-up. Then downtown and on rooftops, under the bridge, railway tracks etc...there were also pretty dangerous areas, foreigners were looking at us oddly, and it was pretty unbelievable/awesome. The photoshoot finished at dusk. "My legs hurt." ???Shinya

Then we went to get food --- it was a pretty famous steak restaurant where he had DinnerTime. It was a restaurant with only courses, even if I was full before the meat came when it appeared it was big big!. I wasn't able to finish it but the Vocalist not only ate meat but also a big lobster. After finishing desert we went to the hotel -- "I ate everything that was in front of my eyes. The lobster was delicious." ???Kyo

Then recording day again, Kaoru the Guitarist's recording. The next day too.

One day during the first week, coming home from the studio at midnight everyone went shopping at a big supermarket (there was a big refrigerator, stove, oven, dishwasher etc. in the hotel) everyone bought a lot of different things. One person got large ice cream, then another person got large meat, then another person got large potato chips etc???"Ice cream is the best"???Shinya

The first week, it was Mr. Yoshiki's birthday so the members, staff and studio people all celebrated with champagne. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY"???Dir en grey

This is the second week. All of the members began with pre-production for "Yurameki" a song that they haven't finished yet at the same time with the vocal recording of "Akuro no Oka"!?

Two people were down during the "Yurameki" pre-production First it was Kaoru who didn't speak much when we arrived in LA, when I placed a hand on his forehead, it was pretty hot. When I thought about it he was fast asleep and slept in the room on the 2nd day. By the way at this time, he didn't seem to have an appetite so the coordinator and I went to a Japanese store and bought medicine, rice, instant curry, instant congee, miso soup etc.., I brought it to his room and Kaoru-kun in his room seemed pretty lonely. "Kukure Curry was the best"???Kaoru

Then the next day after he got better and went back to work, Toshiya was down. He also slept in his room for two days. This time too I went to the Japanese store.

Getting harmony was this difficult! There is a considerable amount of vocal harmony (voice singing in chorus) included in "Akuro no Oka" "Yurameki" but the equipment that we used at that time was awesome because there was only two in the world, it was too great! It was that kind of equipment but it was troublesome because when the Vo would sing a little bit it would stop and then everything would become confusing, and caused the Vo to get in a bad mood. "I the Hakaider will hakai you (I the destroyer will destroy you)"???Kyo

Design check on the internet is di?ffi?cult There are various different design related things such as the jacket design, card, poster etc, the members would think about it together, and faxing the rough draft design was difficult, so in order to properly see the color and form it has to be through the internet. This was also troublesome since this was three singles the size was too big and it easily won't come. Printouts also took time and we had to redo it several times so it pretty much took a lot of time. "It's finally here~it finally came~"???Toshiya The sole holiday In LA there was only one day break, and it was the most important holiday in America, "Thanksgiving". The studio was on a break. And believe it or not Universal Studios where we wanted to go was also on a break???it seems that on this day the whole of America is on holiday and everyone is at home???boohoohoo???then again since Yoshiki invited us to eat turkey at his house on the previous day, everyone was treated to good food. It was really delicious. "Only 15 more minutes???only one more???Let's finish it with this"???Die

Shopping GO!GO!GO! The members didn't really have much of a chance to go out so when they found some time they would go out to shop. (Not all 5 members???) I think they shopped a lot at Tower Records? On the day of mastering (the day before they go back to Japan) even for a short time went and shopped at the stores in front of the Universal Studios entrance and a big department store, Melrose Avenue but everyone bought only CDs. (Well there was a person who bought clothes and accessories) "I bought a ring but it was also sold in Marui"???Kaoru

The local staff and engineer and studio staff were as expected all foreigners so I thought that I should work harder on English but the recording engineer Mr. STAN KATAYAMA was Japanese and was pretty laid back but he was fan and the members seemed to have had an easy time recording. But the instrument technician and other staff everyone were foreigners. We sort of had a hard time with the finer details. "I will study English."???Die

Local coordinator? Mr. GEORGE The whole time during the LA recording Mr. GEORGE (ex. LADIES ROOM) was in the studio and taught us different things. (English, music, billiards, muscle, games, grit/determination, that thing, this thing, and until that thing???) he really helped us. He brought us along shopping and even called us because he bought a Xmas tree in his room (together with Guitar, Guitar, Bass) At that time he showed us the last scene of Armaggedon, at any rate thank you very much. "Aah, how are you president?"???Toshiya

Best Producer There was a lot of surprising and interesting things about Yoshiki. I think that we are still indebted to him, we will be counting on him even from now on.

"Thank you very much. We will be counting on you." (in harmony)???Dir en grey

Translator's Notes:Kyo was referring to "Hakaider" who was a character featured in the movie

Mechanical Violator Hakaider (????????? Jinz? Ningen Hakaid?)

NEWS L.A. Edition

Kyo…having a hard time!!! We have new information about Kyo. A tragedy has occurred. After spilling oil and making his kitchen sticky, he recklessly threw his garbage and the oil further spilled all over his kitchen. We still don’t know whatever happened to him.

Birthday Guessing 12 Choice Game Big Break

It seems that a birthday guessing game seems to be popular around the members.

Example

1 March 2 September 3 June

.

.

.

12 *…

A deer appeared in the hotel!

Shinya walking alone angry!?

?/?, Shinya who was annoyed at Manager Sexual Inoue over a trivial matter went home alone until the hotel. Because of that the manager further got mad at him. As if to add insult to injury…

Exclusive Scoop Toshiya! Incident in Italy

An incident happened to Toshiya who went to an Italian church for a certain PV shooting in 1998 (or caused an incident). That church does not allow people to bare their legs, (because it is against God), and Toshiya who was completely unaware of that appeared in the church with his bare legs with abandon. There area was in uproar. In the end Toshiya spent his waiting time with his legs wrapped in a cloth.

Kaoru, W face to face meeting!

Sources say that Kaoru was thrilled by the W face to face meeting. The first one was a face to face meeting with Asuka from “Evangelion”. It seems that Bay FM planned it in secret and called her to appear in the show. Regarding this incident, Kaoru commented “Oh my~, I was surprised”. The other one was a face-to-face meeting with Shiina Ringo at Music Station (a music show). If you even look at Kaoru’s corner you’d know that he is pretty into her and expressed his joy on their first meeting.

Die, mysterious behavior!?

An uncanny incident occurred since “aknot” started. Die drank alcohol and was drunk, mistaking it for his shoes, he tried wearing a bag on one foot and a magazine on the other foot. After getting some more information, he was grunting and thought that those were shoes and struggled with it to a considerable degree.

[ephemera]

[pt.2] cicadasong

I always took pride in having my heart solely belong to me. I’d lent it out a few times to a couple of men here and there and they managed to mangle it and mutilate it with their hands before I got it back but it was wholly mine and no one else’s. You give your heart away and you’re dead, you might as well start planning your funeral and picking out plots, I think. Love, honest to goodness love, the kind that leaves your head under your heels and your head soaring is the kind that kills.

It killed my aunty, it killed my nana and I watched it nearly destroy my mama. By the time my poppa left she was a dried up husk and lifeless, the only things she could manage was to finish raising me best she could by slapping a backpack on me and sending me off the school. At a certain point, love, that love that makes you think you can leap to the moon and back, once it’s gone you slowly start rotting away. With my own eyes, I’ve seen it, by the time I was seventeen I was cleaning and caring for my momma and praying that someday she found her way back to us from where ever she was.

When I was old enough to work I took up a job, first as a receptionist, then as a nursing assistant. I wanted to go to college, I wanted to travel, but the real world kicked in, it told me I had a responsibility to my momma. It told me that going to college and making friends and meeting boys took a back seat, that seeing Paris and Prague like I’d always wanted was just a distant dream.

Drinking wine in vineyards and seeing art.

Most of us settle for the life we’re given, and I don’t know if that’s what we’re supposed to do or not but I wasn’t gifted with the grand optimism that some of my peers had back in those days. At the same time, I didn’t go without, I drank wine and I saw art and the most beautiful thing of all were the people I’d met. Like I’d said, I’d handed my heart out a couple of times, but it was always mine, but there was this boy who clutched on tight and dug his nails in even when I took it back and I feel like, maybe, he still holds a large piece of what was inside of me at one time.

I used to read poems and sonnets and lyrics of my favorite poems to his father while at work as a nurse in this small little nursing home on the far side of town. His father was one of my favorites while doing rounds because I could just sit on the windowsill and read and he would never bother me. He liked the smell of the outside air and the presence of someone else, and eventually, he would croak a word or two and ask me what I was reading and if I would read it to him. If not, he would write me messages on napkins left from lunch with this big, fancy fountain pen that he kept in the breast pocket of his pinstripe pajamas.

The only interruptions would be his coughing, it seemed like there was something buried deep inside of his throat trying to escape. I would take pause, pinch my book of poems shut and clean his lips of spittle and feed him some water. I remember he told me that his son was a lot like me, always reading, always with a cigarette in his teeth, always thinking and looking at things that aren’t all that extravagant and seeing something bigger and deeper.

“I just like poetry and painting. I’m not too good at either, but they’re both reasons to live, I think.” I told him.

It wasn’t but two weeks later that I came into my favorite patient’s room when I found him surrounded by a noisy crowd of people, arguing and loud and boisterous. It seemed I wouldn’t be able to smoke my cigarette on the windowsill and recite poetry to the old man today, so I just checked on him and went about my way, not really noticing the young man seated next to my window with a paperback clutched in his meaty fist staring at me. I’d noticed him, but I didn’t look too hard, he wasn’t anything to look at. Maybe it’s strange that people who are important to the story of your life start out as footnotes, things to be read over and never thought about again, but they gain significance and eventually he came around more and more and he spoke to me. Asked me how long I’d been working here, asked me how long I’d been subjecting his father to smoke.

“Don’t you dare tell. I could lose my job.” I’d begged him one day.

“Go on a date with me.”

“You’re blackmailing me into a date? I’d rather die.”

“Completely unrelated. I just want to take you out.” He said as he followed me from one room to the next. He never entered the room, so our conversation became disjointed as we both ruminated on what we wanted to say next during our time apart while I changed sheets and fluffed pillows and poured glasses of water. Once I set foot outside the room he was at it again, or rather, we both were.

“So if I say no?”

“If you say no that’s completely fine.”

“No,” I said. It wasn’t that he wasn’t good-looking, he was tall and had broad shoulders and there was definitely something alluring about him. He looked like a greaser with his black jacket and slicked back hair and the stubble that lined his jaw.

“No?” He repeated, stopping in front of me.

“No.”

“Okay.”

He didn’t bother me about it again, he never asked me out on a formal date, but he did come see his father almost every day. In passing, he would invite me to get a cup of coffee and add in that there was no pressure, but I found that it was the three of us more and more. He brought me some of his books, none of it was poetry but he said the prose was definitely lyrical. The way he spoke, the way he strung words together, even when he stuttered or got snagged on a word, it was poetic in and of itself. I spent a couple of weeks reading his books before I agreed to see him for lunch.

There’s something special about secondhand books, they tell stories about whoever held it before them, especially Raymond. He liked to underline his favorite bits of narration and write small notes in the spaces outside of the paragraphs. The back of the covers were filled with quotations and remarks and notations about where he wanted to read again, as were the extra pages in the back. Accompanying the notes were small doodles, but I could tell by his handwriting that he loved writing almost as much as he loved reading.

Before I’d even had coffee with him, I had already fallen for him and that goofy smile of his and those gentle eyes that I knew would only look at me.

I remember asking him, one day, while we laid together in his apartment why he had never considered becoming a writer. He told me he had, that there was nothing more than he wanted to do than to become a writer, but with something of a sadness—or maybe a hopeful look, he told me he didn’t have anything to write about. Not yet, at least. Then he looked to me and told me that maybe I was it, that I was the thing that he was meant to write about.

Leaving him was the worst thing I’d ever done, and he didn’t let go of me even when he said he would. The night I came to see him with a box of things that had belonged to him he begged me not to go. With tears in my eyes I told him I couldn’t stay with him, and in my heart of hearts, I knew that I could. In this rundown apartment that was coming apart, on that mattress of his, with his stack of books that lined the walls and his garments hanging from the ceiling like ornaments around his bedroom. I could have stayed there with him, in that space for what seemed forever, clinging to his warmth.

So, why hadn’t I?

I was young, and I felt that my life was a vehicle and if it wasn’t moving it wasn’t worth anything. I couldn’t settle down, not then, not with someone with—truthfully—no real prospect. Of course, I saw something in him, but he hadn’t seen it in himself, and I wanted more out of life. I suppose that I wanted too much, but after Raymond I met James, the man I would marry three years later.

James was the son of a son of a son of a slave that gained his freedom and became a businessman selling watermelons and other fruit. He was black royalty, as rich as a black man could be in those days, I suppose. With James, I saw Paris and Prague and Milan and ate in small cafes and bistros and drank wine in Vineyards. I love James very much, as much as a woman could love a man, I’d imagined. He’s a man that anyone would be lucky to have, a bit coarse in his demeanor and overly expressive of his disappointments but everyone had their things about them. James took care of me, so I managed with the worst, I took it because I thought maybe it was the toll I had to pay.

I started a life with James, ones with years upon years of memories.

A life with a lot of movement.

So much time had passed, I always thought when I was sitting alone.

Since when? I would wonder and Raymond would come to mind.

Time was making me sick, it was making me ill in a way that the rain on your head or the cold can make you sick if you don’t bundle up. It made my nose runny and my eyes wet and my stomach hurt. No, time did not heal all wounds, not as they said, it merely dulled a pain that sometimes floated to the surface as if buried in a grave so shallow that it is unearthed by any number of tears. The ground became wet and there it was, and it made me feel terrible, it made me feel as if I were unfaithful—or worse—lying to myself.

Anytime I got into it with James I would think “Ray would have never said that ugly thing about me” or “Ray would have never been so inconsiderate.” When I felt neglected and alone I always retreated to the books that Ray gave to me, reading them from cover to cover while nursing my first child. Sometimes when I closed my eyes I could hear him talking in that slow, sluggish and deliberate way he spoke.

Feelings like what I felt for him were supposed to go away with time, I thought. They were supposed to disappear, they were supposed to vanish followed by the sound of his voice and his name. Yet, with Ray, they were stuck in some part of me, and sometimes I dreamed that he was standing in the mist, older looking, with a cap on, just waiting for me.

It wasn’t until I was thirty that I had realized that I was unhappy with James. I’d cared for him, I’d loved him, and I still do, but there was an uneasiness that cut me deep and anytime I thought about what was wrong with me I would see him, standing there, in that mist, waiting.

I had come to the conclusion that that man waiting in that mist was nothing more than a wishful thought. There was no way that he waited for me, it had been over ten years, why would he wait for me? A woman who had so abruptly left him out of her own unhappiness? What was the difference between the unhappiness here at this point and time and that one in the past? Raymond wasn’t the source of my unhappiness, the contrary, he taught me a great deal about loving, about finding happiness and urged me to be happy even when he wasn’t around. I had been, I found myself smiling and tittering at something he said or at the thought of how happy he had made me.

There were seeds that he’d left inside of me that made me smile each day, and without his attention they began to wilt. Was my happiness truly dependent on a man? Could I not be happy by myself?

James made me happy, as well. It was a different happy. From the outside looking in people have always said that our relationship—our marriage was materialistic, and they were wrong. They saw how much businesses James bought and sold and how much money he made and the rings and the cars and the lifestyle we had and they couldn’t fathom anyone loving him for the person he was beyond his money because that’s all they knew and that’s all they cared about.

I loved that man, the way he smiled and the way he laughed and when he woke up how he had to lay still for exactly ten seconds before springing to life. The way his beard felt between my fingers and the way his eyes lit up underneath the Tuscan sun. The way he told me he loved me that first time in the back of his Cadillac.

What was wrong with me? How could I love someone like this and still harbor something for someone else?

And it all came to a head when I was at a bookstore, the medium was struggling and I remember the Borders in our neighborhood had closed down. Print itself was dying, but there was something about holding a physical copy that made me happy. Small bookstores were dying too, so I set foot in one of the larger chain stores and found myself perusing the aisles for old favorites. Picking out titles that I thought Raymond would like. I sometimes imagined what he looked like, smoking a cigarette with a book in his lap, riding the bus home after a long shift at the garage. Had he lost the little looks that he had or had he become even more handsome in his thirties?

I hadn’t found anything I wanted to buy. I had enough to remind me of a man that I’d left almost ten years ago. I’d gone through long spells of thinking about him, the way he occupied my mind sometimes made me feel like it was connected to the weather, like how older people could feel the rain coming in their hip. As I was leaving the clerk asked me if I needed help with anything or if I was looking for something specific.

“I just want a good book.” I chuckled and the youthful man with the headphones around his neck and a graphic novel cracked open on the counter told me he could help me if I wanted.

“You see, most people go straight for that section—“ He thumbed to the best sellers which were placed on the shelves in the front as ranked by the New York Times in sections. Some books appeared on the shelf twice in different places, the young clerk called it a hotchpotch. “See, it’s hard to find books in bookstores, I think. How the hell are you supposed to find anything? Then the prices…fucking twenty dollars or more for a book that can be donkey shit? Excuse my language, my manager doesn’t like it when I cuss but it’s how I talk…”

“No, I understand,” I told him, his colorful commentary as he led me toward the back of the store was most welcome. There was something about him that made me want to hear him speak. His polo shirt was half tucked in and his name badge was tilted, he was unkempt and didn’t seem like the type to be working at a bookstore.

“Books are a personal experience. Interpersonal. Between people. Shit like that. You crack open a book and there’s someone telling you what to see and what to hear and what to smell and fuck—you’re having a conversation.”

“You’re passionate about this stuff.”

“You have to be. Not just this stuff, but, yeah, I love books.” He came to a complete stop by a shelf not too far in the back but it was hidden. It was the staff suggestions. He explained that the best sellers were best sellers not because they were good, but because they were good enough and if you couldn’t find what you were looking there that you had to look at this. Literature worked from word of mouth, he said. I thought about how true that was, about how I started reading the poems of Pablo Neruda when Jose Gutierrez tried to serenade me with one, how I still held onto some of the books that Raymond had given me.

I eyeballed the shelf and I saw his name. At first, I thought it was because I’d been going through one of my spells because it was going to rain soon, but after a double take, Raymond’s name was still on that softback novel sitting toward the bottom of the suggestion shelf.

“That was my pick.” The clerk said, he then said he had to get back to the front of the store. He swore the book was the best he’d ever read, the cover was of a hard, polished wooden counter of a bar. A tumbler with ice with corners that had melted smooth in the shallow pool of scotch. Next to that cup of scotch was a pistol. The title read Songs for Vivian. My name and his name on this cover, like a dog howling at the moon, letters sent with no postmark to no address.

With no ego, I knew. I knew he wrote this book to me and the first thing I did was flip to the copyright pages and read when it was published. It was four years old. On the front cover, just below the title was a sticker that said 50% off. Apparently, it had fallen into the clearance section of the store. Before going to the counter I searched for anything else by him and found another book, Mornings with Paola, and bought them both. On the way home I searched his name on my phone but didn’t find much, no website or contact information.

Within the week I finished Songs for Vivian and two days after finishing that I read through Mornings with Paola, a short story collection. Songs for Vivian was set up to be an action/thriller novel about a contract killer but it was really a romance novel. There was an intricate dance that Raymond had done with his writing, all of the decision makings revolved around a woman that the main character was in love with whom you never see the entire novel. He talks about her, me as if she were the moon and the stars and the space between, never aloud, always in narration to himself as he’s doing horrible deeds.

The book ends abruptly with him dying in a hail of bullets, his last word is my name, spoken with bloodied tongue. That’s how he wrote it.

James took notice of the book and told me I was vapid for buying such a bargain bin book while sitting at the dinner table while thumbing through the book. He questioned whether I had bought it simply because it had my name on the cover. I stood at the stove, making him dinner, angered that he was touching it, that he had it in his hands, the longest love letter anyone’s ever written to me. Why did he insist on giving me such backhanded insults?

“I did buy it because it had my name on it,” I said simply as I started serving him his plate, spooning some macaroni onto the white porcelain, then placing a pork chop next to it and next to that a baked potato with a mound of butter melting into the slit it was placed upon. “I bought it because I was mad at you…I was thinking that some man could maybe be out there singing songs about me.”

“Is that so?” He scrutinized it while flipping through it.

“It’s really a great book.” I placed the plate down in front of him. Something deep down inside of me came to loathe the man I married, I realized. I saw how he eyeballed the cover and looked at the 50% off sticker that was placed on it. He laughed and dropped it and I wanted to scream at him for all he’d done to me, for all the condescending remarks and all the times he had left me alone and all the times he treated me as if I were some trophy. All the women he stepped out on me with and told me that it didn’t mean anything, all the misery that I’d hidden and buried along with feelings long past.

“If you want to take up reading again I’ll buy you something nice.”

“That’s how you try and solve everything…by buying me something…” I sat next to him and it all fell into place in my head. I placed a hand on his wrist and looked my husband in the eyes and grinned. I knew how to get him to do what I wanted on issues that hadn’t really mattered. I knew exactly how I would exact my revenge on him for all the sorrow he instilled in me and all the trees he wilted in the deepest parts of me. All the things that I thought I deserved because he gave me some semblance of stability and security. “I don’t want you to buy me anything.”

“But you want something.” He said while cutting into his pork chop, he placed a piece of it on his tongue and chewed hungrily, looking at me from the corner of his eye. I reached over and picked up the book he discarded and smiled, suggesting that we read it together whenever we had time, just a page or two before going to sleep. He reluctantly agreed with a grunt, and that night I started reading to him the poetic love letter that Raymond wrote to me over four years ago. Every bloody, violent word of it.

By the second night he had told me he was wrong about the book, that it was good and by the third, when I finished reading the fifth chapter and told him that was enough for tonight he asked me to continue for a little bit longer. Songs for Vivian became a part of our daily routine, it stopped just being when we were about to go to bed, I read it to him while we were having lunch together or driving in the car. I fed him Raymond’s words, his feelings, the ones he harbored for me years after I left him, and I didn’t feel the least bit guilty about it.

A tear fell from my eye one evening when we were out on the balcony of our home, my son sleeping in my arms, the book opened to one of the last pages. The way the tear had soaked into the pages and caused it to wrinkle and ripple was something I watched and James looked over at me, unaware that I was on the verge of breaking down, more worried about why I had stopped reading mid-sentence.

“What? What’s wrong?” He asked from across the table.

“Do you think it’s possible, Jimmy?” I asked. “For a man to be this faithful? This long after a woman has left?”

“It’s fantasy.” He replied dryly. “It’s all fantasy. The way he kills a bunch of gangsters, the way he gets shot, the way he always survives…all fantastical.”

“Even the way he’s still in love with this woman and can’t bring himself to look at anyone else?”

“Especially that.” James poured himself a glass of bourbon while chuckling. I chuckled with him and looked to the sun on the horizon, the hard pastels that seeped overhead. There was something peaceful about that moment, watching him cut into another cigar and light it, the way his eyes looked as night came. It came for us.

“James,” I called out to him. “I want a divorce.”

My momma told me there’s no such thing as happy endings when I was a little girl, that there are endings and they were never happy. She sat me down one day and said, Viv, life ain’t nothing but endings on endings on endings. So, I ask her, doesn’t that mean that life is beginnings on beginnings on beginnings? She says, no, because you get so stuck in endings you don’t know where life started up again and before you know it there’s another ending. If you can’t ever tell where something starts then there’s no real start, is there?

Life and books were opposite that way, you could always see where a chapter in a book started but weren’t sure how long it’d go or where it’d end. With life, you could see the ending coming up, like a stop sign in the distance.

The divorce was messy, I didn’t want anything, just alimony and child support. He could keep all the money, I just wanted to get my things in order. The last thing James said to me—he looked me in the eye on the courthouse steps and told me he would gladly pay the small fee of alimony and child support to wash his hands of me. I thought of the first time he told me he loved me, in the back of his Cadillac, tangled in one another.

I spend so much time alone, with my son, making sure he grows up right. After a year and a half I have friends who push me to date again which I’m not against, but men weren’t at the top of my list of things I wanted. I had become wound tight without regular sex, but it was a hurdle and the hardest bit is always in the beginning. The withdrawal, some call it, but after that abstaining is pretty simple. Your fingers become the best thing in the world, and anytime I touched myself I thought of reading Songs for Vivian to James and it got the job done.

After having moved back to my old town I thought maybe I should look up Ray again, but as many times as I thought it I could never bring myself to go anywhere with that thought. It was serendipitous that I found him in a supermarket one day, he’d shaved his head closely and his beard had become thick and I stared at him from the end of the aisle with my son tugging at my arm. He was studying boxes of cake mix, looking like he couldn’t decide between angel food and the one with the sprinkles. Then he looked to me with those eyes, those sharp, mysterious eyes that hid absolutely nothing. What was more peculiar than this chance encounter in a supermarket was his reaction, it was as if he were expecting me, as if he were waiting.

He told me it was about time I showed up with the way he sauntered over to me with a slight limp in his step.

“Hi.” He said.

“Hi.” I said.

“Long time.” He said.

“Yes. Yeah.” I said. He looked from me to the boy who was hiding behind my leg, grasping at my skirt. He took a squat before me and the sight of the top of his head made my heart jump into the roof of my mouth, harshly crashing before plummeting back into the pit of my stomach.

“Hey there. I’m Ray. What’s your name?” He said to my son.

“I’m not a’pose to talk to strangers.” My little man told him.

“That’s right. Never talk to strangers.” Ray said with his scratchy, deep voice. My curiosity of he had become more attractive in his older days were answered. He no longer looked like a greaser, his facial hair was neatly groomed and his hair was cropped close and he was wearing a band t-shirt. The Cure, to be exact. His slacks were fitted and he hardly looked his age or what anyone would imagine a published author to look like.

“He’s Jimmy. Little Jimmy. Jimmy Jr. He goes by a lot.” I said, and the way he looked up at me made my tongue want to jump down my throat after my heart.

“Moms, right?” Ray rolled his eyes and scoffed at Jimmy who snickered. We spoke very briefly, I asked what he had been up to and he said he hadn’t been up to much and without telling me about the books he wrote for me he asked me what I’d been up to. I told him I got married, and that was where I left it. I didn’t mention my divorce or how often I thought about him when I was alone or how any guy I met was always compared to him.

That wasn’t the conversation that was meant to be had, I told myself in the car. I sighed and I felt something that wasn’t quite myself occupy me and tremble. A ghost, and I was wholly possessed, and the sound of my son in the back of the car going on about a school field trip became muted, as did the sounds beyond the windshield and the entire world went deaf. Seeing him there, pondering over something as menial as cake mix, completely alive while I felt a portion of myself perishing…it took a toll on me.

“Mommy?”

“Yeah, Jimbo?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sweetie.”

“Can I sit in the front this time? I’m big enough.”

“No, baby. You’re not big enough yet. You’re not ready.”

[lordendsavior]

It’s been 68 days since my death and it’s as good time as any to bring back all the memories of 7 April, 2017, when our gryles dreams came true. These are all my favourite bits of the best 2 hours of my life (spoiler alert, there's A LOT of them):

We heard Sign Of The Times, Harry’s first born baby that he brought to Nick so he could introduce it to the world, one of the best songs of 2017, a masterpiece, a song that brought me to tears from the very first listen and has yet to lose its power over me.

Harry “I like to smack in the face” Styles

Harry loooves it when Nick sings the high bits, and of course when he played Nick SOTT for the first time Nick was whining “Yeah, but I can’t sing it that high. Can you change the single?”

The entire story of the day when Harry played Nick the song. The nerves, the dancing around each other, it all just screams: WE CARE ABOUT EACH OTHER SO MUCH!!!

Nick telling how he was over at Harry’s at Christmas (of course they still spend Christmas together!!! of course they do!!!!), and they were all watching a film, and when Harry commented on someone’s acting, Robin was like “All right, Al Pacino! Been in one film”

N: “When do you listen to Touch by Little Mix?” H: “When I listen to BBCR1”

Nick’s uncontrollable vocal attempts and Harry’s uncontrollable cackle. And all the sounds, noises, and weird voices they do at each other

H: “I just don’t like saying something for the sake of it.” N: “Oh I DO. I make a career out of it.” – this exchange simplifies things, of course, but it shows perfectly how different they are, and yet they complement each other so well 😭

N: “How much thought has gone into the hairdo?” H: “Not so much into the hairdo.” N: “I can see that.”

All of the Harry’s “Heeeeeyyyyyyyys” and “Aaaaaaawwwws” when Nick teases him

Very important font discussion (the red comic sans meme was born)

N: “Have you got a cough, love?”

N: “So people shouldn’t ask you about your crush. But we all know: Everyone!”

Nick complimenting Harry how he managed to remain normal, but since he can’t stand to be nice and earnest for too long he just HAD to follow it with: “Apart from those trouser, I’d say you’re exactly the same” (giving us another adorable “Aaaaaawwww” from Harold). And since Nick can’t be mean to Harry for too long as well, he quickly jumps to complimenting him again “He’s wearing checked trousers. I expect nothing less.”

Harry being in London most of the time (yes, it is important)

The story of Nick trying to make a roast dinner for Harry in his house in LA (not a big deal).

Chris Martin (in the words of Harry Styles, he is a pretty wonderful man) + Harry and Nick gushing over him for half an hour

Harry reminiscing how Nick once tried to put Rita’s stage outfit, chaps or something. Nick: “Weirdly, it didn’t fit. Baggy on me”

“Catwoman, I see you as. Look good in black” Thank you for this image, Nick

N: “Did you really think we’d do something weird, like gunge or We brought all of your exes, they’re in the Live Lounge!” H: “I’d take the gunge”

Anne’s posh accent and “AAARRRYY TEAS ON THE TABLE!!!”

Nick and Anne text on the regular and Harry thinks it’s the WORST (he loooooooves it)

The cabbie-Ronnie Wood-Nick joke chain (what is his life?). By the way, no one believed you, Harry, that you didn’t love the joke.

It is weird for Nick to call Harry his full name (cause they’re best friends!!!)

Harry was one of only four people Nick told about getting the Breakfast Show, and Nick was one of few people who heard SOTT before the release, also known as: This is called Trust.

After 84 years, they address the most iconic moment in the history of gryles – the infamous 2013 post-Brits show, so I could finally die in peace.

Confirmation of Hobama (“It was his helicopter”)

Brussels sprout is gonna be new kale

The candle discussion (“I LEFT ME CANDLE ON!!!” and the tragic story of Harry’s candle invoice)

Nick reckons he’s taken around 200 pictures of Harry with fans (the fact we haven’t seen every single one of them with a comment Harry was with Nick is unacceptable)

H: “I think I have nana vibes”

“Can we talk about the dog collar?” Yes Nick. Yes, we can. I still find it hard to believe this actually happened

“It’s called fashion, look it up! He travels to Paris, Milan, and New York City, OK?”

The story Robin asking Harry if he was gonna waive off the soldiers in the Nolan movie

We found the alternative name of Nick’s nighttime show, according to Harry it was Grimshaw After Hours

“I do worry about you dating. Why would anyone want to go out with you? He’s down to his last 50 million, rock hard abs, eyes you could drown in.” (This is how it usually goes. Nick tells Harry how beautiful he is, coating it with layers and layers of sarcasm. It’s safer this way)

“I feel very lucky to be playing my first song with one of my best friends”, or the moment when I totally lose it

Harry promising to come back when the album’s out AND HE DID!!! 😭😭😭

[siodymph]

Science Bros Request 2

Ok this is my last request for now! From justtopostmyfic (on AO3) “My favorite scenes are like this, where Bruce and Tony are alone, together, and happy. Would you consider taking a request of hungover!Tony/comforting Bruce?”.

Absolutely! This one was a lot of fun because it gave me a good excuse to go rewatch the first two iron man films for all the wasted Tony scenes, which was a lot of fun to do directly after seeing the new spider-man movie. Tony sure has come a long way lol. Thank you again for your request!

And I think that’s it for this Science bros fan-week! Thank you everyone so much for reading and supporting my stuff. And hope you guys keep an eye out for some of the stuff I’ll be writing in the near-future!

You can read the story under the cut or over on my AO3!

word count: 1338

Bruce went back to Tony’s room to check on him again around 11 am. The room was nearly pitch black, except for the faintest sliver of sunlight that Friday let leak into the room. As he stepped into the room his eyes quickly adjusted. Last night Bruce had carefully put Tony to bed, making sure his head was tilted to the side and neatly tucking him in. Now the sheets were pulled out, pillows and blankets were scattered all over the place. And somehow during the night he managed to wrap himself up into a giant cocoon.

Setting down the water and pills he brought with him, Bruce got closer to the cocoon. He reached for Tony’s shoulder. Or at least the part of the mound of blankets that looked the most shoulder-like.

“Heyyyy champ, how are you holding up?” Bruce said, shaking him a little.

He didn’t get any real answer. Just a muffled groan and the cocoon squirmed around.

“Come on Tony.” Bruce sighed as he pealed back some of the layers blankets. “Where’s your face?”

He heard Tony groan again before finally uncovering his head. His hair was ruffled up in every direction. When he looked up at Bruce he barely even opened his eyes.

“Hmmmm?”

Bruce fiddled around with the sheet still in his hands. “How are you feeling Tones?”

“Alive? I think.” Tony replied before burrowing back into his covers. “God it’s been a while since I drank that much.”

“Can you even remember last night?” Bruce asked, nudging at Tony’s cocoon to get him to come back up.

He begrudgingly popped back up and Bruce gestured to the water on the night stand. As Tony spoke he grabbed the glass and took tiny sips of water. “Bits and pieces. Mostly the beginning. I paced myself in the beginning… It gets spotty after I joined you, and Thor, and his little warrior squad.”

“Yeah… Things got a little out of hand after that.”

That immediately made Tony nervous and he sat a little straighter. “Hey I didn’t do anything stupid last night, right? Cause Peter and his Aunt were there.”

“No, you were alright. After you switched to Asgardian mead you stayed on that side of the party.” Bruce explained gently. The two had stuck together pretty much the entire night and the worst thing Tony did was let his personal censor slip. And that had never been that strong to begin with. “And if it makes you feel any better. Peter left the party early on so he never saw anything. And when you did get shit-faced, you were around Thor’s team and they couldn’t have cared less.”

Their whole side of the party had been pretty inebriated towards then end of the party, but at least they had all kept to themselves for the most part. That and only one table had been broken so Bruce considered that some sort of success. There was only so much he could do being one human-sized person watching out for a whole group of drunk Norse warrior gods and one drunk billionaire.

“Good.” Tony said, relieved and relaxing back into his cocoon again.

“It was kind of funny actually. Someone brought up the Bifrost and you started ranting about teleportation and the laws of physics. They all looked at you like you had a third eye, you were completely wasted but everything you were saying was correct. And they all just sat there listening to you. It was probably the quietest our end of the party got all night.” That was still one of Bruce’s favorite moments at their party.

“Huh, that sounds cute. You take a picture or anything? I’m sure Thor would love that.” Tony asked.

“I should have.” Bruce said sighing. While it had happened he got so caught up in Tony’s argument, but by the time he thought of collecting some blackmail they had already moved on.

Tony seemed a little disappointed but quickly brushed it off. “That’s too bad. Couldn’t you just see it? We get together all the worst photos of everyone we can find. Put’em in a scrap book... Not right now though.”

Bruce hummed in response and for a little while the conversation died off. Tony kept drinking his water in the tiniest sips possible, Bruce wondered if he was even drinking any water at this point. But Tony seemed alright, so Bruce let him be. He didn’t even realize he’d zoned out until Tony nudged at his arm from under his blanket.

“Hey Bruce? I gotta ask, you ever miss drinking?”

Bruce shrugged. “Not really. I didn’t drink much, even before the accident.”

Tony gave him a look. “Really?”

“Yeah, I never liked losing my inhibitions. Plus it always tasted awful.” Bruce said. He never had been the biggest on parties either.

“I could see that. Still, don’t you get sick of always being designated driver? For like, everything?” Tony said as he finished off his water.

“Hey, I get to remember all the dumb shit you do.” Bruce replied back.

That made Tony laugh. But it quickly ended with him wincing and rubbing at his head. “At least someone does…”

“You want me to get you anything?” Bruce asked carefully. He’d heard his fair share of half-assed hangover cures, and from everything he saw in college and beyond none of them truly worked. “Painkillers?”

“Could you? Cause I think I’m gonna die.” Tony said, falling back onto the bed.

Bruce brought a hand up to Tony’s forehead and brushing through his hair. “Can do. Anything else?”

Tony closed his eyes and struggled to think of anything else he might want. “Uhh, I don’t remember eating anything last night so I should probably have something.”

“Probably.” Bruce agreed. As he pulled his hand away he saw how Tony grumbled and sank back into his blankets. “I’ll be right back.”

Bruce padded out of the room to go find everything Tony wanted, along with another glass of water. Most hangover-cures Bruce had heard of were bullshit but staring hydrated was important. And when he got to the kitchen he tried to find something plain Tony’s stomach could manage. When he came back to the room with water, painkillers, some toast and a banana Tony had fully reverted to his cocoon state. And after a little bit of pressing from Bruce, he managed to get Tony to crawl back out take the pills and eat a little bit of the banana.

“Feeling any better now?”

“A little bit. My head finally stopped hurting.” Tony said. “You wanna go out?”

“Seriously? You said you were going to die five minutes ago.” Bruce gave him an incredulous look.

“Hey I’m a dramatic guy! I like my extremes.” Tony said raising his hands in defense. “Besides, this is nothing compared to when I was younger. When I first took over Stark Industries I’d be at parties in Milan, hop on a plane and make it to San Francisco for nine ‘o’clock board meetings. All I had to do was slap myself a few times and I was good to go.”

“Nice. I hate to break it to you but you aren’t in your twenties anymore.” Bruce said dryly though he was smiling.

“Oh god don’t I know it...” Tony grumbled.

Bruce tried to get him to eat the toast but Tony refused. Instead he broke free from his cocoon and kicked his legs off the edge of the bed. “Come on, let’s go do something! You wanna get brunch? I have no idea what time it is but we can go find a place still serving breakfast.”

“You’re eyes are going to be so sensitive.”

“Then I’ll wear sunglasses. Come on, Bruce!”

Bruce thought it over before sighing. “Fine. But don’t start whining when you step outside and everything’s too bright.”

Tony dragged himself out of bed, still in his button-up shirt and dress pants from last night, and pulled Bruce into a hug.

“Don’t worry, I think I’ll survive.”

[writingismyhappytime]

A Strange and Lonely Tale

Warnings: woe and despair, maybe some language, lots of sadness

(Maybe a slight twist on some fairy tales, all renamed. I’ve been watching too much Once Upon a Time)

I have a tale to tell you, but it’s not going to be a happy one. No, this tale is going to be full of loneliness and grief, of woe and despair --- why, one could even say it holds misery.

Now, I’m no storyteller, at least not a good one. I cannot begin to describe the unhappiness of Princes Yasmin, daughter of the Sultan Arkana of Agrabael. She was the only child, destined for a loveless marriage to some man for riches or friendship. 

However, a marriage she had, and loveless it was. She married a prince, which normally is always what any woman should desire. He held many riches, lived in a grand palace in his lush kingdom with many to wait upon his every desire. He was handsome, and he held the world in his grasp.

Unfortunately, he was not a kindly man. He had been spoiled, thought he should have whatever he wanted, and for it to be only the best. Gastonry was his name, the would be king of Franley. He ruled his kingdom with an iron fist, delivering merciless justice, vain and uncaring of others he was. He was never satisfied with his lot, not even with such a beautiful wife. He wanted sons out of her, seven to be exact, and he felt cursed that she would only bare him daughters.

(Coincidentally, he was cursed. He wasn’t a very liked prince, and because of his arrogance, and his scornful attitude toward his people, a malevolent fairy cursed him. He would never have what he truly wanted, she made sure of that.)

Lovely daughters, of course. Four, if you must know. The eldest would be Ariela, and she would merely go on to fulfill the same destiny as her mother Yasmin. Her story will end in mishap,for she would board a ship at her fathers command, to sail off to meet her future husband, only to never return. The ship would go down, and she and the other members of the crew would never be heard from again.

Tragic, no doubt. She would never have her happy ending, lost at the bottom of the sea. Her mother would be devastated, crushed at the lost of her first born child. A child she had treasured so, for Ariela had been meant to bring so much happiness for her and her husband --- if only she had been a boy.

The second daughter would have the bad luck to be undesirable, for her skin would be white as snow, a rarity in her land. Her father named her Blanca, with the hope to shove her off on the highest bidding kingdom he could. Pale skin such as hers brought about thoughts of sickness, that she was unwell, and therefore she would be unwanted. She would merely grow to be a spinster in the tower of their winter castle, locked away from sight. Her mother would never see her again.

The third daughter, well she fared much better. Adventurous, full of curiosity about the world, she didn’t like being trapped in the palace. She was her fathers favorite, she went on the long hunts with him, and she would be his heir for the throne. Her only crime, in her fathers eyes, was that she married an ogre of a man, hideous in appearance but kind inside.Fiona would go on to rule the kingdom much better then her parents.

The fourth daughter, not many know of her existence. Gastonry was so frustrated at the fourth daughters birth, they said he didn’t look at her for the first eight years of her life. Glenda would grow up unhappy, and maybe a little vengeful. She would leave the kingdom, in search of a better life --- unfortunately, in a freak accident, she was caught in a tornado and crushed by a house.

What bad luck, hmm?

Yet, this tale I’m telling is not about any of the ill-fated princesses,(excluding Fiona, of course), but about their brother.

Yes, Gastrony finally had a son!

When Yasmin was unable to give him what he wanted, he cast her away, back to the kingdom of her birth, where she would live the rest of her life quite peacefully. She even found happiness with a common thief, although their affair was kept quiet for many years.

But back to the son.

Gastrony, seething over not having a boy to carry on his legacy, struck out into the kingdoms, searching for someone to give him what he wanted. He ran upon a certain warlock, of whom he would soon regret meeting.

Rumplestilt spun a web of wonder in Gastronry’s head, tricking the foolish king into agreeing to a deal. Rumplestilt would guarantee Gastronry a son with a woman of his choice, and in return, he would owe the warlock something in the future.

Of course Gastonry agreed, and found himself a mistress by the name of Ursulie. She was just as vile and vain as he, silver haired and true witch material. He kept her in a palace by the sea, where he would visit her any time he so desired. Eventually, she did become with child, and bore him a handsome young boy.

Rejoice, Gastonry did! Finally, a son to carry on his legacy! A handsome, healthy young baby boy!

What wonders!

However, poor Gastonry, he was still cursed! He may have sired a son, but the son would never be what he wanted! The poor boy would grow hair all over his body, from his hands to his feet until he looked nothing more then a beast.

Sickened by his appearance, Gastrony cast him out, and in vengeance he tossed his mistress into the sea! 

The poor boy, that is who this tale is about. He suffered for the sins of his forefather, as all of us do. The amounts of hair on his skin would make it impossible for him to find happiness, to find a home.

He would wander through forests, scrounging for any food he could find. He would be called a monster, a beast, and many villages would chase him from their outskirts with pitch forks and torches, trying to skin him as a trophy.

He suffered greatly, and never did find solace.

He would get to a point where he was starving, unable to fend for himself at such a young age. His fathers cruelty ensured the child would not live long, he didn’t know how to survive on his own.

No, poor young Phillip would die, although not by starvation. To his mishap, he would stagger into the cave, where an exiled evil queen would live. Banished from her land by her step-daughter, the old wicked woman thought of nothing but revenge. She would take Phillip in, nurse the hairy child back to health, and let him be her servant.

As long as she served him, gathering her herbs and whatever else she needed from the forest floor, she would make sure he was fed and cared for. He slept on a cave floor for years, huddled in his rags, shivering through the coldest of nights. 

The evil queen, a haggard woman in her older years, waited decades for a chance to smite her step daughter. She waited until she became queen, had a family of her own, before attacking. She beckoned Phillip to her side, presenting him with a golden apple. She bid him travel to her old land, to give the apple as a wedding present to her step-daughters own daughter.

Phillip did not question his task, he merely took the apple. He left the safety of her cave, and traveled to the kingdom of beautiful sunrises and dragons. He would wrap the golden apple in a gorgeous fashion, and leave it among the wedding gifts.

The young princess, Milan, would open the present, she would be delighted at the anonymous gift. She would leave the apple on a mantle, and from there, a deadly poison would weep out in the latest hours of the night, bringing everyone in the castle to a death in their sleep.

The evil queen, with Phillips help, managed to kill an entire family in one cold night, and all those who served him. She would cackle when she heard the news of their demise, and she would return to her former kingdom, retaking the throne and destroying all those who opposed her.

Yet for poor Philip, he would not go with her. No, even to her eyes, he was too hideous, she did not want him at her side. He had served his purpose, and so, while he slept in his corner, she tore his heart right from his chest. She put it in a box, as a memento of her time away, and left him behind.

You see, that child never stood a chance. He had no future, he could barely speak a word, barely see past the thick hair on his face. Because of the sins of his father, he was cursed to nothing but misery.

It is said we pay for the sins of our fathers, and in this case, it was of no exception. Gastonry was cruel to his family and his subjects, he treated none of them kindly. He would die of old age, in his bed with his only caring daughter at his side.

Because of his awful life, only one of his five children found happiness --- he was a cancer upon the world, bringing nothing but woe to those around him. His first daughter disappeared into the sea, forced from her home by Gastronry, sent away to a husband she had never met. His second daughter would die alone, locked away within a tower and to never know any love --- and, well, his fourth child had a house fall on her.

The fairy was very serious about her curse.

Queen Yasmin only found happiness once she was from her husband, back in the land she once cherished. Upon his death, she would marry her common thief, as she had been much younger then her husband. She would marry Allad, and they would rule Agrabael with their hearts, causing the kingdom to thrive.

So, although her tale started off in misery, and she suffered for many, many years, she did eventually find happiness. She survived an abusive marriage, persevered through the worst years of her life --- and was rewarded. She did not give up, she did not throw herself from the highest tower as she thought many times.

She survived.

She lived.

Her children, she could not help their fates. She loved them from afar, which was all within her power. Poor Phillip, she never knew of his existence, not a person did. He would die unbeknownst to the world.

However, there’s still the question of the deal Gastonry made with Rumplestilt, who he sent men upon men to hunt down and kill for his trickery. He never found the mischevious warlock, however, although he knew he was still out there.

Gastonry died before he could ever complete his deal, unknowingly leaving it to his daughter to fulfill. Rumplestilt would go to Queen Fiona after many years, informing her of the mysterious deal her father made. He would tell her of her fathers cruelty, of the fate of her half-brother and his dim-witted mother. He would inform her that, due to the fact her father was dead, it was her duty to hold up his end up of the bargain.

All she would have to do, was give up her first born child, then at least eight years of age. And though she would barter, beg, and plead, try to come up with some other solution then to lose her daughter Elle, she would realize she had no choice.

She would give up her first born to the warlock, have to listen to the confused cries of her child as she was dragged away. Fiona would have many more children, but they would never fill the hole in her heart, her guilt. She would die in a stupor, too much alcohol overtaking her system at a rather young age.

No one knows the fate of Elle.

Again, the sins of the father.

This tale, it tells the lives of one family, where most of them suffer. Despite appearances, none find true happy endings, as they don’t exist. Bad things will always happen to someone because of the decisions of others, and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it. However, they can continue to go on.

Woe may befall you, but that does not mean you must give in to it. No, this sad and lonely tale is not just for storytelling, there is a lesson in it. Queen Yasmin lived, after losing three of her four children to her husbands vile ways. She found contentment later in life.

She didn’t give up.

So though, some like Phillip may never have a chance at any sort of life, they survive. They keep going, and like him, make the best of their situation. Sometimes, that’s all we, as people, can do.

Now, you may say this dark tale was pointless, that it had no rhyme or reason to it, and you would be correct. To some, it’s just an errant document of words, displayed on a white background through a screen for curious eyes. To others, perhaps, they’ll gain something from it.

Not despair, I hope.

But hope.

Not many in this tale found happiness, and perhaps not all of us are meant too. Not by our own doings, of course, but as you have read, by the actions of others.

It is unfortunate, but it is life.

We just must keep going.

I will conclude this tale, leave it here for what it is. A collection of words,a sad, pathetic attempt at writing --- to each their own opinion.

Just remember, your actions will always affect others, whether good or bad. Your decisions, whether selfish or kind, will have an impact.

Sometimes, on your children.

It is unfortunate, but it is the truth.

[destinhotyoga-blog1]

Journey into the heat

By  Melodee Milan ,Destin Hot Yoga Student.

These are my personal experiences.  I can only write for myself and be honest.  When I first considered hot yoga, I was terrified.  The thought of jumping into hot yoga was too much for me to consider.  Not knowing anything about yoga and what that would even be like, the thought of doing it in a heated room was simply too much.  I had so many questions that the FAQ just could not answer.  Ok, so maybe it can say it is infrared heating panels that provide the heat, but what does that actually mean?  How does that compare to anything I’ve ever actually experienced before?  I’ve been in a sauna, I’ve been in a bathtub and a hot tub, and I’ve lain on the blistering hot beach. Are any of these a good point of reference or is it completely different?  This is just one thread of many that my thoughts journeyed on.  Another thread was the sweat and hydration situation.  So I understand we are going to sweat but how much are we talking about here?  What is the best method of hydrating?  As I wrote previously, my entry into hot yoga happened by way of signing up for the beginner’s series.  Through this course I had a proper introduction to yoga before becoming friends with the heat.  I learned most of the basic asanas I would need to go into any class.  I was able to experience something called internal heat, which is heat that is created within your body through movement through the asanas.  The beginner’s course was unheated and I was amazed at how hot we all got in the room just from our own internal heat.  So after graduation I was ready to take on my first hot class.  My first class was at 6 am. For me, this proved to be a mistake because my body was used to practicing in the evenings.  Even though I got up extra early, there wasn’t enough time for me to hydrate properly and I’m certain I made a rookie mistake in that department by not being properly hydrated.  I remember setting up my mat and just being in the heated room before class.  By the time we started the opening breathing exercises, I was already lightly sweating.  After the first few flows, the sweat really started kicking up.  I remember settling back into Downward Facing Dog and the sweat was just drip, drip, dripping onto my mat.  My heart was beating so loudly and I almost wanted to run out of the room in a panic.  Thankfully my wonderful teacher picked that moment to cue everyone to breathe and my focus left the sweat and came back to the breath.  A few deep breaths brought me back from the edge of panic and I was able to settle down and continue the class.  For me, as a beginner, there is a lot going on in my first classes.  I am working so hard to do these challenging poses, some of which are things I’ve never seen or heard of before, while being extremely hot and trying to remember to not only keep breathing but to correctly connect breath to movement.  Afterwards I felt a little sick but still on top of the world.  It was HARD!  I’m not sure if it’s all beginners or just certain types, but I try SO hard.  Even in the breathing exercises I have to remind myself to just relax, that I’m only breathing, it’s not that serious.  

So my next class wakes me early again for a 6 am class.  This time I made sure to hydrate extremely well the day before and have loaded up on my electrolytes and have a plan for electrolyte replacement for after class.  Now that I have a better idea of what to expect, I go into class feeling much more prepared.  It’s a good thing too because this teacher really put it to me!  This time when the sweat started dripping I did not panic.  I was also more prepared by wearing a head band.  Now if they only made a nose band or something because it’s the absolute worst when you’re in Downward Facing Dog and the teacher says “inhale” and you inhale a nice drop of sweat.  Since I was so well hydrated this time around, I could definitely notice even more sweat this second class.  The combination of heat and hard work took some determination but I managed to make it through another class.  I made sure to have electrolyte replacements afterwards and made treating my body right a priority by eating as healthy as possible as well as rehydrating.  I can honestly say that even after only this second class, the focus has already shifted away from the heat and more onto the yoga.  One of the things I love about DHY is the variety of classes available.  I can build my schedule so that one day is a hot vinyasa class and the next day is either unheated, warm, or a hot stretch class.  By varying my schedule, I’m able to create my own yoga program that serves me personally.  

Now I am beyond class #10 and for me, it has proven true what the FAQ says, “It takes about 3 classes to acclimate to the heat and about 10 classes to LOVE IT HOT!”  Now that I have spent some time in many different hot classes, I think for me the closest thing to compare my experience to:  hot tub, sauna, beach, would be the beach.  I personally love the feeling of the sun blazing on my skin and as I lay in savasana breathing my heart back into control, I sometimes do imagine those heat panels are the sun gently warming my skin.  Now don’t get me wrong, there are still times during class when the heat makes its presence known, but now I just look at it as an opportunity to examine a couple things by asking myself if I’ve found my edge and need to back off or if I just need to refocus on breathing and quit worrying about how hot it is.  Sometimes I even need to remind myself that it’s only a little heat, I’m not actually going to die.  Sometimes I remind myself of the many workers who do hard labor outside in the sun all day.  I look back on it after class and can only laugh at how dramatic I am, I didn’t actually think I was going to die and it wasn’t even that bad.  It was work and is sometimes a struggle but it wasn’t like I was making it in my head at the time.  Sure, it’s likely a shock to the system at first, but it really does change and evolve.  Most days I look forward to getting into that hot room and doing yoga.  As soon as I step into the room, my once cold, tight, and often sore muscles start to loosen, lengthen, and relax.  It’s like a heating pad and Epsom salt bath on steroids.  It is better than any pain pill too because it benefits the mind.    

I’m finding this to not only be a journey of the body but also a journey of the mind.  Hot yoga forces you to join forces with your body, because if you do not, your body will not be shy to let you know about it.  I am learning so much about awareness.  I have learned how to tune in to my body and my mind and I am picking up on the subtle signals sent by the two.  Maybe everyone else already knows this, but I am just learning how to decipher the difference between my body saying no, it can’t do something and my mind saying my body can’t do something.  I am learning how to pick up on the early signals of getting dehydrated or overtired.  Outside of class I am more aware of being hungry, being full, being tired, becoming stressed, and anxiety rising.  This practice has helped me to recognize the early signals and given me tools to deal with it.  I have also found hot yoga to be a renewal for me.  I die and I am reborn every practice.  The heat and the work leave me breathless and reset.  Whoever I was before class is not the same person that walks out.  Whatever burdens I carried, whatever stresses and resentments I was holding onto stick with me no longer.  I am once again free.        

As a sidenote, I found it interesting that my male friend also began his hot yoga journey around the same time I did but his experience was completely opposite from mine.  Instead of easing into it gently, he jumped right on in.  He had a small headache after his first class but otherwise he has taken to hot yoga like a fish to water.  

Here are my tips for hot yoga introduction success:

Hydrate and replenish!  

If you have anxiety or fears about the heat, introduce yourself gradually to the heat.  Maybe consider trying an unheated or warm class to get acclimated first.

Don’t give up!  Acclimating to the heat is a process.

Let go of your expectations.  Open your mind to the experience and realize that this yoga thing is about the journey.

Follow all these tips.  

http://destinhotyoga.com/faq.html

Namaste,

Melodee Milan.