#ugh i love him. i love him so much. i love him. je l'aime.

[christiangeistdorfer]

JACK BRABHAM eating chocolate at the 1970 DUTCH GRAND PRIX thank u ever so much to @sunflowersinthesnow for showing me the pictures 🌷😘

[svartalfhild]

The Forgotten Ones Remember

Rating: T Genre: Historical, Friendship Words: 3,326 Summary: Rufus Grunberg makes some unlikely friends during his army service in WWI. Warning(s): war violence, men being trash A/N: This is part of the backstory of @timidkoala’s ghost character from the Monsterhearts game we’re in. - - - Dear Rufus,

I hope that you are doing well and that you are being respected in your new position.  I imagine you have a lot of questions about how you suddenly went from digging latrines to being granted a commission and sent to work at an intelligence outpost.  The truth is that I pulled every string I could to get you away from the trenches.  Thankfully, my efforts seem to have paid off and I hear that you’re tucked away in an office in some little French town.  

Please don’t take this as an opportunity to slack off.  There’s plenty of work to be done on your end as much as there is on mine.  Being a commissioned officer also means that you have a responsibility to the men under your command.  You must ensure that you do not disappoint them and that they do not disappoint you.

Take care and don’t forget to regularly let everyone at home know you’re alive.

Your loving brother,

Hershel

Rufus read the letter over twice before carefully folding it back up and tucking it in the breast-pocket of his uniform.  It figured that his elder brother would admit to doing something very kind and then lecture him in the same breath.  He wondered what Hershel would say if he heard that he was taking the time to collect knickknacks like franc coins and bottle caps to send home to their little sisters.  He’d probably get an earful.

It wasn’t his fault if his superiors gave him down time.  Hershel ought to know that it’s important to a soldier’s health and morale to have time to decompress.  Of course, whether a soldier actually got any was another question.  Rufus imagined that his brother didn’t get much time to relax, being in the trenches in Belgium and all.  From what little the man would say about his own situation, it seemed pretty clear than he was being put through the ringer on the regular, either by enemy fire or by the politics of being a major.

Patting his pocket as if it would somehow convey the comfort to Hershel, wherever he might be, Rufus sighed and got up from his bunk.  He was off duty tonight and he was determined to make the most of it.  For him, “making the most of it” usually entailed having a walk about town before paying a visit to the local public house for a drink and chat (if he was feeling brave).

Rufus liked this little town, even though its streets were muddy and its people were weary with the ravages of war.  It was a new and different place, but something about it still reminded him of home.  Maybe it had to do with growing up in a neighbourhood of European immigrants, his own family being from Germany, though he had not been born in the old country like Hershel.  He saw something of the older generations in the ways of this town and its people.  It was comforting, like Oma Grunberg’s Apfelkuchen on a rainy autumn afternoon when he was small.

Those comforting thoughts were chased away the moment his boots squelched into five inches of cold mud and he soon had it spattered up the wrappings on his shins.  He gave another resigned sigh as he carefully made his way across town and did his best to ignore the chill creeping into his feet.

There were no gas lamps along the roads that led him toward the town square, so there was little to light his way beyond what bled out from the doors and windows of homes and businesses, but he’d walked this path enough times that he didn’t need much to know where he was going.  

As he rounded the corner at the next intersection, however, he was bathed in the soft light of an old lantern with red glass hanging above a door to his right.  There was music coming from inside as well as laughter and voices in conversation.  Rufus paused for a moment to see if he could recognize the song playing, but he didn’t have much of a chance before the door burst open and two American sergeants were pushed out by a woman in roughly her mid-twenties wearing a somewhat revealing dress.

“Aller!  And do not come back!” she spat at them, her cheeks flushed with rage.  “You cannot come ‘ere if you make trouble for ze girls!”

The soldiers, who seemed to be rather drunk, grabbed at her, partially to steady themselves after nearly being pushed off the front stoop and partially to make it clear they weren’t planning to go anywhere.

“We’ll do what we like!  ‘S what we pay you for, ain’t it?” one of them slurred, pulling the woman roughly towards him.  With a disgusted curl of her painted lips, she slapped him across the face.  Angrily, he made to strike her back while his buddy grabbed her arm.  “Why you- !”

“Hey!” Rufus interjected and suddenly all eyes were on him.  “Show the lady some respect and back off!”

“This ain’t a lady,” the one holding the woman snorted.

“Doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve to be treated like one.  Apologize.”

“Or what, Sir Galahad?” the other mocked, rubbing his slapped cheek.

“Beat it, kid.  Let the big boys have their fun.”

Undeterred, Rufus stepped into the bright light spilling from the doorway so they could all see him properly.

“That’s an order,” he said as firmly as he could muster and the soldiers’ eyes bulged at the sight of the bars on his sleeves that proved that this fresh-faced 18 year old they had been patronizing outranked them both.  They immediately made sloppy attempts to stand up straight and salute before mumbling half-assed apologies to the woman, who looked more bewildered than anything.  “Dismissed,” Rufus added once he realized they were staring at him, waiting for his approval.  In his defense, he’d never had to pull rank on anyone before.

It took them a second, but it eventually registered in the soldiers’ drunken minds that they could leave and they did so with all due haste, practically tripping over each other as they wobbled away, Rufus scowling after them.

When he finally looked back up the front stoop of the brothel, he could now see two other girls who had been standing behind the first, peering out with wide eyes and looking a bit shaken.

“You alright?” he asked.  The first woman raised an eyebrow at him and turned to say something to the others in French, at which they nodded directly at Rufus, smiling.

“We are alright.  You can ‘ave what zose men paid for before zey decided to be pigs.  A little favour for making zem go away, let us say,” she offered.  Rufus blushed and looked down at his feet, all the confidence he’d felt in successfully asserting his authority instantly falling away.

“I-I was just doing my, uh, duty.  I don’t...I wouldn’t want to take advantage.  Thank you, though.”

“You are a very strange American.”

“Je l'aime,” another of the women commented.  Rufus wasn’t sure he knew what it meant, but judging by how she was looking at him the way one might look at an abandoned puppy, it must have been positive.

“What is your name, soldier?”

“Oh!  Uh, Second Lieutenant Rufus Grunberg, ma’am.”  He doffed his Doughboy hat to the women politely.  “What are your names?”  The one who seemed to be speaking on behalf of all of them looked a bit surprised, as if no one had ever cared to ask such a question before.

“I am Colette.  Zis is Odile and Rosalie,” she answered.  

“Nice to meet you.”  Rufus ascended the steps and offered his hand.  Colette’s eyes narrowed, studying him, though he knew not what she was looking for.  After a tense moment, she shook his hand, smiling, and stood aside so that the others could come out and shake his hand too, which they did eagerly.  Colette rolled her eyes and went to sit on the steps, taking a cigarette and a small box of matches from within her cleavage and lighting it.  She made a gesture to suggest that he could sit beside her if he liked and he quietly obliged.  This was more interesting than anything he’d had planned for the evening, so it might as well happen.

“Do you smoke?” Colette asked.

“No, my parents always said I’m too young.”

“Too young? ‘Ow old are you?”  She sounded almost scandalized.

“Eighteen.”

“Ugh, c’est ridicule. ‘Ere.”  She offered her cigarette to him and in the spirit of “this might as well happen”, he accepted it and took a drag on it the way he’d seen his fellow soldiers do it.  Immediately, he was sent into a coughing fit.  Odile and Rosalie, who were now also perched on the steps, giggled, although Odile was kind enough to also rub his back soothingly until his lungs stopped trying to leap out of his chest.  “Ze first time is always rough.”

“So, uh, do you own this place, Colette?” Rufus wheezed.

“Oui, but per’aps not in ze way you are thinking.  I own ze building, but I am no boss.  We all do as we want; I just make sure everyone is safe and ‘ealthy.  Like a big sister, non?” Colette explained, taking another cigarette from her cleavage and lighting it.

“You and my brother would have a lot to talk about, I think.”

“You ‘ave a brozer?”

“Yeah, Hershel.  And two little sisters back home, Margaret and Catherine.  Here, actually.”  Rufus opened one of his breast pockets and pulled out a folded photograph of his family taken just a few weeks before Hershel had shipped out, showing it to the girls.

“Oh, ‘ow wonderful.  You must miss zem very much.”

“Yeah.  I write to them when I can.”

“Where are you from, Lieutenant Grunberg?” Rosalie piped up as Rufus stowed the photograph back in his pocket, proving that she did know at least some English and was very skilled at hiding it until it suited her.

“I’m from a little town called Trystenhollow.  It’s near Chicago.  I don’t think you’d like it.  It’s mostly factories.”  Rufus took another puff of his cigarette and coughed a little less this time.  “What about you?  Are you all from here?”

“Oui.  Zis ‘ouse is where ze women of zis town go when ze ‘ave no family or connections and must find work to eat.  We make our way well enough and we are free to live as we like now zat ze man who owned it before is gone.  We ‘ave made a new family,” Rosalie explained and Rufus could see clearly now that all of these women were very spirited individuals and any man who tried to cross them would be making a big mistake.  It reminded him of the suffragettes his mother liked to talk to back home and he felt at ease with them.

He talked with them well into the night.  He even managed to get a few words out of Odile, who was evidently very shy.  They were more fun to chat with than any of the other men at the intelligence office.  They had wild stories aplenty and he was happy to just sit on their front stoop and listen while he tried to smoke a cigarette.  In fact, he enjoyed it so much that he came back the next time he was off duty.  And the next.  And the next.

Pretty soon, he’d gotten to know not just Colette, Odile, and Rosalie, but also Anna and Eidel, who had evidently heard about “The Lieutenant” and were curious enough to come out and meet him.  Eidel didn’t speak a word of English, but that turned out to be just fine, since she knew German and Yiddish and so did Rufus.  They all became his dear friends and he wished he could write home about them and how wonderful they were, but he had a strong feeling his family would not approve of them for their line of work.

His fellow soldiers’ reactions to what appeared to them to be “Grunberg’s rotating door of girlfriends” were quite different.  After seeing him walking around town with these women or taking them out to the little local dance hall, his comrades in arms seemed to be thoroughly under the impression that he was some kind of smooth talker, a ladykiller with a secret to success that must be pried out of him.

For what felt like a solid month, he was prodded by the other translators and cryptographers he worked with to tell them how he managed to have a different girl on his arm every night.  He found their questions rather baffling and his answers always baffled them in return.

“They aren’t girlfriends, just friends, sir.  Maybe you would have more luck if you treated women like people, who are just as complex and interesting as you or I, instead of like playthings,” he told Captain Summers one afternoon.  The captain scoffed at this as he gathered papers on his desk.

“You can’t go treating women like equals, son.  They’ll start getting ideas and the next thing you know, we’d be slaving away in kitchens and they’d be destroying the world trying to figure out how to run it.”

“I’d be willing to bet you ten whole American dollars that if women ran the world, we wouldn’t be fighting this stupid fucking war right now,” was what Rufus wanted to say, but he didn’t dare speak like that to a superior officer, so instead he shrugged and gave a simple “I think we’d be okay, sir,” which Summers took as a joke and laughed heartily.

“Alright but really, how do you do it?”

“Well, I can tell you with certainty that the popular tactic of getting absolutely blotto and making threats doesn’t work.”

It went on like this for some time and though it was tiresome, Rufus had better things to be concerned about between his work at the office and being taught how to roll his own cigarettes by witty French girls.  He just hoped none of this got back to Hershel, who would murder him if he found out how his little brother was spending his free time.  

Rufus did feel a little bad, knowing that he had such a cushy posting while Hershel was out there in the trenches of the Western Front, getting shot at day and night.  But as relatively nice as things seemed to be here, he always knew at the back of his mind that it would never be 100% safe.  There was a war on and it could come knocking directly on his door at any moment, though he never really comprehended the full weight of that possibility until it was too late.

It was a lovely evening in early spring when it happened.  He was on his way to the brothel too see if any of his friends weren’t working and wanted to go out.  He sidled up to their door and gave the knock that let them know it was him.  Rosalie and Anna excitedly answered, the door practically bursting open in their gusto.

“Bonsoir, Lieutenant Grunberg!” Rosalie greeted cheerfully.

“Sank God you are ‘ere!  I ‘ave finished ze book and ‘ave much to say!” Anna cried, heels bouncing as she waved the battered French translation of Pride & Prejudice he found some months ago, which brought a grin to his face.  Finally he had someone to talk to about the story (who wouldn’t judge him for having read his little sister’s copy when he was fifteen while no one was looking).

“Tell me what you-” Rufus began but he was cut off but the sound of a huge explosion followed by a peppering of gunfire.  Within seconds, the whole town erupted into chaos.  Civilians ran in all directions, screaming and yelling and crying while several American soldiers ran down the street towards the commotion, rifles in hand.

After the initial shock, Rufus’s training kicked in and he drew his pistol, holding it at the ready.  He’d never had to actually use it before, but they had taught him well enough that it all came back to him pretty quickly.  If an enemy soldier popped out at him, he was...reasonably confident he could handle it.

“Get Colette!  Tell her to get everyone out!  Now!” he instructed Rosalie and Anna urgently as he realized that the explosions were getting closer.  They hurried back into the house and emerge again a moment later with Colette, who ushered all of the girls out the door.  “Is there somewhere you all can hide?  A cellar or-”

“Zere is a wine cellar by ze church.”

“Alright, let’s go!”  Rufus had to shout over the din of artillery fire and Colette didn’t waste another second in pushing the others to get moving.  As they rounded the corner, a blast blew away half the house, showering them in rubble.  The world turned hazy and Rufus would later remember very little of what happened next, only snippets.

He remembered yelling for everyone to get down.  He remembered seeing a soldier vanish, a crater where he once stood.  He remembered running with Odile over his shoulder, her leg bleeding everywhere.  He remembered feeling something hit his shoulder with great force and the ground suddenly rising to meet him.  He remembered Colette picking up his gun and firing it at something he couldn’t see.  He remembered asking Eidel if everyone was safe.  He remembered her kissing his forehead and tearfully telling him everything would be alright.

He woke up in a field hospital three days later with a bandaged shoulder and a throbbing head.  He was told that he’d suffered a concussion and a bullet wound, but all he cared about was what had happened to his friends and no one at the hospital seemed to know or was able to find out.  

It wasn’t until he received a note from Colette that he was able to rest.  She informed him that all of the girls had survived and that she had told his superiors to give him a medal, but evidently they didn’t think saving a few prostitutes was noteworthy.  That was fine, he wrote back, because he didn’t want recognition; he only cared that everyone was alright.  Besides, from what little he could remember, they had saved him as much as he had saved them.

Though Rufus was transferred to a new intelligence office following his recovery, he and the girls continued to correspond.  Even after the war had ended and he and his brother were sent home, he didn’t stop writing, though he had to wait much longer for replies and had to keep the accumulating letters out of the hands of his curious siblings.  He told his friends about getting a job at a meatpacking plant and about the union strikes and about all the gossip he knew they’d love to hear and in turn they would tell him about their successes and failures in trying to rebuild their lives after the war.

And then in 1922, Rufus was killed in a workplace accident.  It took a full year for the news of his death to reach his friends across the pond, but they had never forgotten him or what he had done.  His family eventually received a package containing two bottles of expensive French wine with an elegantly scrawled note that read “1 for family, 1 to pour out for Rufus”.

The Grunbergs were never able to fully heal from their loss and they eventually all moved away from Trystenhollow, leaving Rufus and his grave to be forgotten in the roll of years, but somewhere in France, there is a well-tended stone beside a wine cellar door and his name is scratched into it with the words “Il se souciait. - He cared.”

[hikikomori-kuma]

[USUK] Personal Secretary

"You can leave you now, Miss Arlovskaya. ", Alfred coldly said to her secretary.

Her secretary, Natalia Arlovskaya, did not answer but instead she nodded, picked up the signed documents and firmly walked away.

Alfred watched Natalia as she push the door and leave his spacious office.  He sighed.

Alfred lay his back to his executive chair and look at the ceiling. It's tiring. He thought.

Suddenly, a sharp pain strike his head. "U-ugh!", he groan in protest.

He put his hand on his temple, its throbbing im the inside. he massage his temple to relieve from the pain.

Brriing. He put his hand down and straighten his sit.

From the speaker, his secretary spoke, "Mr. Jones, Mr. Bonnefoy is here to meet y—". Natalia was unable to finish her sentence when the open creak.

"Thank you Natalia!~", a playful voice, much of a French accent guy slid his head backdoor and thank Alfred's secretary.

Then, after that, Mr. Bonnefoy ar Franci when they were alone walked towards his desk laughing. 

"What's the matter? We don't have scheduled appointment, do we?", he form the back of his and and put his chin above it.

The French guy sit carefree on the couch and grab a small bar of Snickers. "Nothing, I just want to visit my friend. Tu ne l'aime pas bien?", he cross his legs.

"Je ne l'aime pas bien.", Alfred replied coldly.

Francis just laughed. "It's been a while since we last hit the bar. Let's drink together, tonight?", Francis frowned.

Francis is a good friend of him and his brother. They are from a wealthy family, college colleagues and now partners in their family businesses.

"How cold.", Francis laughed again. He gabbed another bite-size chocolate.

"You know, Natalia, your secretary?", Francis is starting a conversation.

"Even thought I know, I don't have business to do with their personal lives.", he lean back to his chair.

Still, Francis continued, "She look more beautiful now, don't you notice it?". Seriously, Alfred don't care about it but he don't want to waste his time so he'll listen to the rest.

"You know that I tried dating her before right?", Alfred just nod. "She said she's in love with her brother, Ivan Braginsky. What do you call that?", Francis shut his eyes, cross his arms and think.

"Brother's complex, I think.", Alfred saved it.

"Yeah, that one, but recently I saw a guy standing and waiting for Natalia from the coffee shop, just across the street", he said, happily.

"and his name is Emil, Emil Steilsson.", he end his narration with his hand rising up.

"What are you implimenting?", Alfred asked.

"It means, she might be in a relationship and forget his brother, Ivan". He frowned because of Alfred's lack of sense in this kind of things.

"It's the first time you are concerned with a girl you flirt with before.", Alfred formed a wry grin.

Soft laugh was heard from Francis. "Because, she was very serious to her brother and it's kinda creepy for her. She's beautiful, you know."

"Beautiful or not, they're just the same, all I want it that they are productive when it comes to their jobs.", he stands.

"That's why still don't have a girlfriend", he undo his crossed legs.

"I'm too busy to have one.", Alfred fix his clothing.

"You're keeping yourself busy, that's it.", Francis stand up too.

It was silent since then when Alfred start talking.

"Francis, I have a favor.", Francis hummed as an approval.

"I have something to tell you.", he told Francis his thoughts. Francis was quiet the whole time and that what makes him a good friend. He's a good listener.

When he finished his story, Francis concluded. "If you are worried about that, I have an idea."

"What?", Alfred frowned.

"Have a secretary.", Francis said almost carelessly.

"I already have one. Natalia, remember?", Alfred crossed his arms.

"It's not like that, outside of  work I mean.", Francis lean back to the couch.

Alfred frowned again. "I know someone who you can trust. We might not get along but he'e good when it comes to things like this.", Francis is now holding his phone.

"I guess you're right.", he scratched the back of his head.

Francis dial some numbers and put his phone on the top of his ear. Alfred remain silent. "Bonjour!~ Arthur, are you there?"

Alfred heard a shout from the phone and Francis hold back his phone. He wondered what is happening on the other line.

Francis laughed at him. "Come on, I have something to offer for you. I know you're jobless right now."

The way they speak to each other, they are carefree.

"I don't work on clubs, you git!", Alfred heard from the other line.

Francis laughed. "No. No. It's not like that but iF you're willing I can find you a club.", Francis laughed again.

"Bloody hell!", its a shout again from the other line.

"Okay. I'm serious now, I have a job for you.", Francis' face become serious and start talking to the person from the other line.

It lasted at least seven minutes. That long? Alfred thought.

Francis clicked the end button and turned to face Alfred. "We're all set. I'll send you his contact number. I'll leave the rest to you, okay.", now Francis is acting like a big brother.

"Okay, thank you.", Alfred nodded.

Francis looked to his wrist watch and said, "I have to go now." stand up and waved at him.

"Thank you again.", Alfred stand up too.

Francis walked on the aisle but before he open the door, he looked back again. "Don't ruin your health, it'll be a big problem if you did." and closed the door.

His phone ring. He got a a message. From Francis, he tapped it and it appeared to be a e-business card.

He read the name on it. "Arthur Kirkland.", surprised.

I thought it's going to be a female. He thought and saved the number to his contacts.

He glimpsed at it again and put it on his pocket.

"I'll call him later I still have tons of work to do.", then he went back to his chair.

[unpopular-yoi-ships-blog]

Day 1, Birthday. Je l’aime a mourir

Entry one for PliroyWeek2k17! I can’t even believe I actually managed to write something! I will be translating it into spanish, of course. Used “Je l’aime a mourir” by Francis Cabrel. It is so short, sorry!

I was nothing, but here I am now, watching over the sleep of his nights, I love him to death.

~~~~~

"Ugh... What are you doing?" Yuri asked. He would roll his eyes if he could. He could feel the soft movement in his stomach, which indicated that they were in an elevator.

"You will see, my chaton. Ha, get it? You will see, because right now you can't!" Was the answer he got from JJ, which earned the canadian a jab to the stomach. "Ow, ow! Okay,sorry, it was lame, I know."

"Yes, it was. Like you." Yuri answered.

 Sadly, at the moment he depended on JJ to walk, as a piece of black fabric was covering his eyes. He couldn't just kick his ass lest he wanted to fall.

 "Are we there yet?" He asked when the man guided outside.

"Are you always this impatient, Plisetsky?"

"Are you always this annoying? Oh, wait. Yeah, you are."

JJ chuckled again, and damn, damn his laughter for being so attractive. Like all of him. Thankfully the fabric covered that part on the top of Yuri's cheeks that used to get a slight pink.

 Suddenly, they both came to a halt. Yuri felt JJ's steady hands leave one of his arms and the middle of his back. He wanted to ask if he could take the blind off, but decided to wait when he heard music started to play.

 It was a soft guitar, but what startled him was JJ's voice, singing. In French.

That was what it took for Yuri to take the fabric off his eyes. He was there. With that smile that could overdo the sun's brightness. With that soft voice that, before, had lulled him to sleep. With a big bouquet of red roses next to a cute lion plushie. On the roof of a building, he didn't knew which one, but it didn't matter quite as much as the beautiful sunset that was behind him.

 Moi je n'étais rien

Et voilà qu'aujourd'hui

Je suis le gardien

Du sommeil de ses nuits

Je l'aime à mourir

 Vous pouvez détruire

Tout ce qu'il vous plaira

Il n'a qu'à ouvrir

L'espace de ses bras

Pour tout reconstruire

Pour tout reconstruire

 Yuri couldn't quite understand. But it didn't matter. Not when the brightness of JJ's eyes showed him everything. Every once of sheer love that was spilled from his voice.

Yuri felt breathless. Standing there in what seemed to be the middle of the Universe. As if he was, indeed, the very center of JJ’s universe.

 Il a bâti des ponts

Entre nous et le ciel

Et nous les traversons

À chaque fois qu'il

Ne veut pas dormir

Ne veut pas dormir

Je l'aime à mourir

 Oh, how he wanted to hug him right now. But he couldn't even move. It was so unfair, the way he could put a spell on him with his voice. Yuri could be a raging ball of energy and scowls and bitter words. But that voice had the power to calm him, to make him smile, and to feel a whole world of loving words getting stuck in his throat.

 Il a dû faire toutes les guerres

Pour être si forte aujourd'hui

Il a dû faire toutes les guerres

De la vie, et l'amour aussi

 By the time the words started fading from JJ's voice, Yuri wasn't aware of the tears that were running down his cheeks. JJ stood from the little stool he had been sitting on, and walked over to him.

"Oh... don't cry, my darling..." He sighed, kissing away those tears that were quickly replaced by new ones.

"I-it's your fault..." Idiot, he would have said any other time. But not today. "My love..." he finished, finally hugging the other skater, burying his face in his chest.

"Happy Birthday, mon chaton. My Yuri... I love you to death." JJ said, before sealing their lips with a soft kiss.