#laszlo in a dress my beloved

[voidrots]

ive never thought abt halloween costumes for my ocs . huh

#txt #killets definitely gone as someone from the matrix before im sure (<- nick has never seen the movies) #crypha i think would be like.. black parade gerard way at some point #OR one of his fits from the tour that just finishdd #im so glad i got to see cheerleader gerard in person. a truly blessed night #OR U KNOW WHAT. raven from teen titans #(also have never watched that at least not the og but it’s the vibe) #im still not allowed to dress up :( #but if i was id beeeee either laszlo or guillermo from wwdits #or or like fry from futurama my beloved #or karkat. or dave #i have a dave fit except the shoes #and if i dyed my hair black again i could do karkat

[inmyhorrorsera]

S5E8 "The Roast" thoughts:

Ok, I watched this episode three times and I'm still smiling. I love when you think and episode is gonna be about something because of its title and then surprise you when its all a misdirection (see also: Succession's "Connor's Wedding").

At first Laszlo's err… state intrigued me, love everyone projecting and imposing their own insecurities (Guillermo's secret, Nadja's hex) as a reason on why he is behaving like that. And of course it's a stupid reason 😭.

"And a flat pepsi for Guillermo". Oh Nandor, that's the worst thing you ever done to Guillermo, that's the worst thing you could do to anyone. And yes, I remember a certain S4 episode.

I screeched like a bird when Colin mentioned dreaming about being a baby under Laszlo's care, not only because I wanted this shit to happen since the past finale, but also I really thought the episode was going on that direction (and also bc its another W for my predictions).

Having said that, LOVED the nonchalance of Nadja and the others when they were like 'no, it wasn't a dream, that totally happened'.

I mentioned it in a separate post: they really had a Sweet Dee in IASIP moment when The Guide gave the roast idea, only to be ignored and then the same idea being stolen by a dude who is celebrated.

Seanie's poor brain it should be soup at this point, we don't know if he can hazily remember the event like it happened before.

What can I remember is his line after Nadja's roast because it was one of the biggest laughs for me: "Women CAN be funny!" I fucking loved it so much, it's the perfect condescending shit straight men say all the time, even when they're trying to be complementary to you they can't stop being garbage. It was a simple line but Anthony nailed the delivery and timing. Seriously, rewatch that part.

At first I was confused why all the jokes were so mid, but shortly I realized this episode wasn't about the roast at all, lol.

Just by watching screenshots of other users I noticed that in the scene of Nandor resting his head on Guillermo's shoulder there's a BIG flame between them. LMAO. There's no way that is unintentional.

Good for The Guide being the catalyst of Baron Afanas learning the truth. I was demanding more screen time for her lately, so having some incidence in the main plot goes on the plus column.

The other guests present at the roast being shocked at the knowledge of Guillermo killing vampires surprised me; I always assumed Guillermo being a familiar/slayer was a known fact in the vampire community after his very public massacre at the Théâtre des Vampires.

Fuck yeah when I realized this is a Doug Jones spotlight episode, I just fuckin ahgdjkaksdf, love him, perfect, no notes.

The Baron being terrifying!! Guillermo was seriously scared for the others and he barely tried to show off his Van Helsing abilities.

Nandor and Nadja begging the Baron to not hurt Guillermo!! 😭 Them being dragged while grabbing the cape!! 😭 They're spiritual siblings to me!! 😭😭

They really reminded me a little bro and sis begging their mom to not hit their beloved older brother with the chancla for talking back or something.

I fell for the two fake-outs with the sack lol I'm so gullible when it comes to vampires I guess.

NANDOR PAINFUL SOUNDS (MOANS???) WHEN HE BELIEVED HE WAS IN FRONT OF GUILLERMO'S INERT BODY. IT WAS SAD BUT ALSO A LITTLE HORNY!!!

"At least he died doing what he loved: beating off in the toolshed."

A wonderful small detail: After Laszlo opened fake Guillermo with the knife he cleaned his hands on The Guide's dress.

Idc if you think its dark, the whole 'Nandor will kill you and then kill himself' bit becoming a recurring joke it's peak writing.

I wish I can say something more serious about Baron Afanas' sadness over how boring his life is now. But I just keep thinking that the way he talks about his homelife with The Sire and the Hellhound sounds exactly when a dude has a middle life crisis and suddenly he doesn't enjoy his marriage anymore. They're husbands!! And I loved how cunty he looked at the end all half-charred (see posted gif) Queen!

Now, the Nandermo of it all: What more can I say than incoherent screaming and foaming from the mouth? Episodes 8 are all about them again!! Nandor on the window looking all cliched melancholic heroine of a romance novel?? How relieved he was when he found him in the coffin??? Him still remembering Guillermo's card word for word???!! Knowing that this toxic dark sided devotion goes both ways???!!! Borrowing the words of Fleabag: THIS IS A LOVE STORY.

Seriously, I know all these soft Nandor moments are here so the heartbreak when he learns about Guillermo being turned it's even bigger. But still denying that there is a romantic undertone between these two it's just being purposely adamant at this point (i'm looking at you wwdits reddit). Even if nothing explicitly romantic happens on screen, just by watching these moments, I know, we know.

Now, go listen to the ending song again. You will not regret it.

#i wish nandermo enjoyers only good dreams tonight! #to the others sorry err for me keep winning and being right #nandermo #wwdits #what we do in the shadows #wwdits thoughts

[spongebob-connoisseur]

Slappy was introduced in the birthday special? He already felt like a little weird old friend to me in that.

He's an old friend because he's my old friend <3 I am glad I have tricked you all into thinking he's been around forever. I should become a cult leader :D

Jokes aside, it's likely you felt like he's been around forever because of his archetype. The Peter Lorre caricature has been around forever in cartoons, since the original Looney Tunes cartoons in the 40s until now, there's always some variant of our beloved Peter Lorre. I'm sure you could turn on any cartoon today and find some bug eyed weirdo inspired by Lorre.

I've talked of this a lot but I find it hilarous I didn't know Slappy was a lorre parody when I first saw Birthday Blowout. I was just so enamored by how jarring he was. Something about his dead eyes and sleepy voice and sluggish movements made me VERY uncomfortable but for some reason I found UNREASONABLY CUTE. He's so ugly and disgusting but I wanna squish him and carry him in my purse. I mean look at him!!! He's the definition of visual diarrhea and yet I wanna commit meiosis with him!!!!!!! He's my bloated corpse beloved!!!!!!!!💖💖

I didn't know he was based on someone until the Patrick Show came out. In hindsight I probably should have. The Looney Tunes short Hair Raising Hair reran on tv sooooo much as a kid that it annoyed me. The mad scientist character Dr. Lorre is likely the one that inspired Slappy's appearence because they share the same color palette.

That and also there was a time when I was obsessed with Ren and Stimpy and I knew Ren was inspired by Peter Lorre but I never bothered to look into it at the time. Who would've thought Slappy would drive me to dig up what a rabbit hole Lorre caricatures are. I'm not even done. The guy who wrote The Animated Peter lorre isn't even done either. We ain't finishing this within this lifetime💯

Also, one thing I find interesting is that Slappy's name was never supposed to be Slappy. In Birthday Blowout he was only called slappy as an insult (referencing to how he's dressed as Slappy the dummy from goosebumps). In the credits of birthday blowout he's simply listed as the Peter Lorre Fish. We know this because he was named Laszlo for the first few episodes of the Patrick Show but because of fans who recognized him as "Slappy" the name stuck. I also find it so bold that he was simply called The Peter Lorre fish in the credits. The original Peter Lorre fish ended his subscription to life in the 1940s movie Horton Hatches an Egg. Considering Slappy is undead, maybe he was that fish who offed himself but was somehow ressurected. I kinda like to imagine Nosferatu ressurected Slappy and gave him a better life and that's why Slaps is so attached to Nosey <3

#the spongebob connoisseur #spongebob #spongebob squarepants #sb #spongebon squarepants #spongebob meme #slappy laszlo #slappy spongebob #laszlo spongebob #Peter lorre fish

[arti-mcartface]

A lot has happened... I left Oklahoma for Rhode Island. I'm living with my best friend/beloved and I'm so happy. It's not at all like what I imagined running away from home for true love would be like, but I've found someone who sees and hears me, and who I'm completely free to be myself with, so it's absolutely worth it.

Also, he's been watching WWDITS with me. We binged most of Season 5 last night. 😍 Y'all, I know I've said I'm never getting married again, but I may have to make an exception. HE'S WILLING TO DRESS UP AS LASZLO FOR HALLOWEEN FOR ME even though he's not a cosplayer.

#the Laszlo to my Nadja #wwdits #personal

[f1yogurt]

husband, one night stand, bestie (with a set of favs and lesser knowns)

1. Laszlo, Nikki, Zemo

2. Alex Garel, Erik Jan Haussen, Sebastian Zöllner

character ask game

1.

Laszlo: husband. I mean, this man is pure husband material. Loyal, intelligent, and would fall in love very hard. He would be absolutely devoted to his SO.

Zemo: one night stand. I have the feeling our beloved Baron would be up for anything during the night the two of you were able to share together...

Niki: best friend. Definitely. I don't think he'd make the ideal husband as an F1 driver, but he would absolutely be an amazing friend. Imagine all of the shenanigans the two of you could get up to.

2.

Alex Garel: husband. For sure. He dresses in cozy sweaters, has a career in robotics, speaks Spanish, loves animals, and loves children. Plus, I would definitely cuddle with this man as my hubby

Erik: one night stand. wham bam thank you man

Sebastian: best friend. I almost want to put him as a one night stand, but I do feel like Seb would be the chaotic friend that everyone needs. Plus, he really needs a friend to help him sort out his life, lmao

#thank you so much for the request #this is fun to do for his characters #daniel brühl #the danny bunch #the danny bunch ask game #laszlo kreizler #helmut zemo #alex garel #sebastian zöllner

[quillyfied]

Current WWDITS S4E1-2 thoughts:

- yep teared up at the intro not gonna lie I did do that

- NADJA MY BELOVED. AND WHAT A DRESS.

- okay but Laz how TF did the house get that messed up in a YEAR. Like on the one hand it’s a metaphor for their family (not escaping me that Guillermo is jumping in to fix it and keep it together despite much sighing and passive aggression) but also LASZLO WHAT ON EARTH DID YOU DO THE BASEMENT IS A POND AND THERE IS PLANT GROWTH EVERYWHERE.

- The Boy immediately reciting pi instead of the card password is peak Colin Robinson and I’m very pleased at his progress

- brief moment to scream about Nandor and Guillermo being friends and on a more equal footing, equally rabid excitement about this being Nandor’s pining era while Guillermo takes care of himself and doesn’t put up with Nandor’s or any of the others’ bull anymore. Nandor immediately jumping in to save Guillermo. Nandor respecting Guillermo’s feelings to a greater degree. Nandor and Guillermo y’all.

- calling it now, Guillermo’s London boyfriend is a vampire or something similar. Is he dating actual Freddie Mercury? Debatable but I’m willing to believe it wholeheartedly.

- they found some real raunchy ones for the Guide’s unlocked memories, huh? Oof. Wow. (Also brief moment to also scream about what others picked up on, how SLEEPING WITH A VAN HELSING COST THE GUIDE HER MEMORIES AND THE LAST EPISODE OF THE SEASON IS CALLED MEMORIES. COOL. COOL COOL COOL. Also choosing to tie this in with my theory that Freddie is a vampire bc the alternative is Nandor gets the ole memory wipe and while I love that I also don’t see how that helps Nandor in his character arc yet? We will see.)

- Guide has some Issues, poor thing. Not sure Laszlo was the best to help her with that XD but he’s the best we’ve got. Also: uhhh Nadja from whence comes this desire to open a vampire nightclub? Let’s explore that next. Also drooling for more details about her time in London, clearly something deeper going on with her.

- I would very much like to go back to the whole “Nandor’s home village is an unchanged by time vampire community now” and his whole “well if everyone is a vampire then it means there’s nothing special about being a vampire” thing. Because. Uh. Hmm. Cool thing to say to Guillermo, who still very badly wants to be a vampire, and very interesting to dig into re: group dynamics and Nandor’s continued unwillingness to change Guillermo and how everyone else in his life is a vampire except Guillermo, Djinn, and now Marwa I guess.

- I wanted more episodes with all the wives. Like I get juggling 37 spouses is a lot but. They were fun and I wanted more time with them. Especially dishing to the cameras the dirt on Nandor bc Yes. Good luck to Marwa, and bless her soul, she deserves better.

- Laszlo trying so hard to make sure The Boy doesn’t become Colin Robinson. If anything, it’s gonna make him into an even more unhinged and powerful Colin Robinson and I can’t wait to see it. Or he’s going to be exactly the same, which I’m excited to see too.

- excited! Ready for it! How did a tree wind up in the house! WHAT DID YOU DO LASZLO!!

#wwdits #wwdits spoilers #wwdits season 4 #good times good fun good vibes #this one is gonna be fun

[shadowcovcn]

it’s not an easy thing admitting to yourself what you really are. — for laszlo from nadja - @musecraft

    BEING A VAMPIRE COULD BE QUITE INCONVENIENT. Not for the first time that week he had stepped in front of a mirror to adjust his coat only to realize he still couldn’t see a fucking thing. “My darling can you-” There wasn’t a need to complete the thought. Nadja was already there, gently shooing his hands away so she could fix his collar. Admittedly he had found their dressing ritual to be one of the more pleasant side-effects of vampirism. There was an unexpected intimacy in helping his beloved get ready for the night and her doing the same for him in turn.  

    Being a vampire was still something he found hard to swallow. Laszlo had never been one for silly superstitions. Creatures such as vampires were the stuff of folklore, created by the uneducated minds of medieval times. Logic had dictated that his condition could be explained by a variety of ailments yet one by one they all fell into roadblocks. Laszlo still found most of Nadja’s claims to be nothing but claptrap, but even he had to admit that she had him stumped on this one. “Vampires,” he shook his head in disbelief. “Next thing you’ll be telling me is that werewolves are real, or ghosts.”

#musecraft #musecraft: nadja of antipaxos #laszlo cravensworth / interactions. #/ idk what this is but i love u and i love them #laszlo cravensworth / threads.

[babybluebex]

good doctor kreizler ch. 2: book of revelations

summary ↠ sequel to good doctor kreizler // the case of the murdered boys continues, and you're suddenly overcome with terrible emotions for seemingly no reason. but laszlo knows why. pairing ↠ laszlo kreizler x fem!reader (y/n) word count ↠ 3.3k warnings ↠ explicit language, mentions of menstruation, nausea, and pregnancy, descriptions of violence against children (yknow how the alienist works lmao) a/n ↠ enjoy! masterlist/taglist in bio!

You sighed heavily and pressed your palm to your diaphragm. Your corset was causing more discomfort than usual, but you could look past it. There were deeds that needed to be done. You stood up from your chair and moved to the telephone on the wall, and you caught the side-long glance that an officer gave you. Perhaps it was some sort of confidence that being with Laszlo gave you, but you found yourself saying, “Can I help you, sir?”

“D’ya need help with that telephone?” the man asked, puffing at a cigarette. The smell of it made you feel ill, especially the way he blew it nearly directly at you. “It can be awfully difficult for a lady.”

You gave him a plantative smile, and you said, “I can manage. Thank you, though.”

“You sure?” he asked. “Because I’d be more than happy to oblige you.”

“Really,” you said, taking up the end of the telephone. “I can do it.”

The man took a step closer, and he placed a hand on your waist. “You think, because you work for the police, you can be a bitch?” he hissed. “If a gentleman offers you help, you take it.”

The door to the room swung open, and you turned to see your lover there, wearing your favorite emerald-green suit and black coat. Laszlo was a gift from the gods, for sure. He made sure you knew that you were worthy of what you were given in the world, and he strived to give you more. Every time he presented you with a new dress or necklace, you always kissed him to show your gratitude, but reminded him that such gifts were not necessary. “You’re the only thing I ask for,” you would remind him. You knew that the thought of it troubled the good doctor, that he was worried that he wasn’t enough, but, every night, you kissed his shoulder and arm and assured him that he was more than what you deserved. You trusted Laszlo with your body, soul, mind, and heart, and he did the same of you.

Which is why you were thankful for the little fibs he would tell every so often to save face. “I would greatly appreciate it if you removed your hand from my wife,” Laszlo said firmly, his accent stronger than usual; his German gravel was intimidating to those who only knew him from stories in the newspaper. “New York’s finest and all…”

The officer took a step back from you, and Laszlo moved closer to you. “What do I owe this visit, sweetheart?” you asked, pressing your hands to his chest. Laszlo bent down and swiped his lips along your cheek, and you felt yourself grow warm at his unusual display of public affection.

“You left a file at home,” Laszlo said. “I remember you talking about transcribing it.”

You cooed softly, and Laszlo reached into his coat and extracted the file folder for you. “You’re so good,” you told him. “What can I do to repay you? I’m sure I’m making you late to the Institute.”

Laszlo tilted his head as he thought, and he put his hand on your waist, right where the officer had put his. Laszlo was hardly a jealous man, but the moments where his mood matched his suit made you giggle. He was a world-renowned alienist, but he was truly just a teenage boy in mind and matter. “Let me take you to dinner tonight,” Laszlo said, and you groaned. “And the opera. Please, my beloved, just one night.”

“Las, I told you, I don’t like when you spend your money on me,” you grumbled. “Just, please. I’m perfectly happy taking dinner at home. In fact, I prefer it more!”

“More than Delmonico’s?” Laszlo asked. “What if I invited John and Sara and the Isaacsons?”

“No, Laszlo,” you giggled, and you pressed your thumb into the little dimple in his chin. “The problem certainly will not be solved by adding more people. Can we just stay home tonight and listen to an opera on the gramophone? We’ve both been working very hard lately, I’d just like a simple night with you.”

“A simple night,” Laszlo said softly, pulling the words around in his mouth. “My beloved, I am not a simple man.”

“Boy, that’s the truth,” you chuckled, and you moved from his grip to return to your desk. “Maybe next week, we can go to the opera. Alright?”

Laszlo chuckled lightly, and he tugged you close and laid a kiss on your forehead. “Whatever you’d like, my beloved,” he told you. “When can I expect you at the Institute?”

You pulled Laszlo’s left arm up to your face and looked at his watch, ticking away at half noon, and you said, “Around three or so. Would you mind having some tea ready for when I get there? I’m feeling plain awful today.”

“What’s wrong?” Laszlo asked, and you smiled at the sudden emergence of Dr. Kreizler. While his degree wasn’t exactly in physical medicine, he always liked to be the first to examine you for maladies if they arose.

“Oh, nothing,” you sighed, waving your hand dismissively. “Just a bit of a stomach ache. I assume it’s nearing that time of the month for me, Las, you know how I get.”

“Of course,” Laszlo said softly. “You know, you could have just told me that’s why you didn’t want to eat at Delmonico’s tonight.”

You looked around quickly, finding the small space empty void for you and your lover, and you carefully took the furred lapel of Laszlo’s coat between your fingers and tugged him close, close enough for you to smell the lavender pastile that he liked so much. “Truly, my reason was more than that,” you whispered. “I wanted you to ravage me tonight, for as long as we both can bear.”

You almost missed the way that Laszlo’s breath hitched in his throat, but you were glad you noticed it. “It is getting to be that time, isn’t it?” he said carefully. “Increase in libido is a common side effect of menstruation.”

You hummed softly and pressed your fingers to his cheek. “I love it when you talk like that,” you said. “You’re so wonderfully smart, Las, I wish you wouldn’t be ashamed to show it.”

“I’m not,” Laszlo said. “You just choose to ignore my intelligence.”

“Now, why in the world would I do that?” you laughed. “You ought to be getting to the Institute. I’ll see you shortly.”

Laszlo gave you a warm smile and kissed your cheek, and you felt yourself shiver at his lips. God, you could hardly believe how much you loved him. You felt your stomach flutter, and you heaved a sigh. “I love you,” Laszlo said softly, and he brushed a lock of your hair behind your ear. “I’ll see you soon, my beloved.”

You fixed your jaw and swallowed down the ungodly feeling in your throat. Something was wrong, you could tell. The usual air of the parlor was not there, the cheerful if slightly remorseful lightness. Instead, the parlor was overtaken with a heady sadness that completely outweighed the macabre curiosity.

“Laslzo,” you said quickly, dropping your briefcase by the table, and you joined your lover at the window. He was smoking his pipe, something you had only ever seen him do a handful of times before, and you immediately ran your hand soothingly down his back. “What’s happened?”

“Another body,” Laszlo mumbled. “Another child.”

You bristled. “But-But I thought we had figured it out? The murderer followed Catholic holy days?”

“That was a suitable theory at the time,” Laszlo said. His gaze was fixed to the outside world through the murky glass, and you looked around the room. John was sitting at the long table, absently sketching something, and Sara was studying the chalkboard that was covered in Laszlo’s neat script. “But he’s gone off schedule, and we might as well be back where we started.”

“Not really,” you said softly. “I mean, so he jumped ahead a few days. If the body bears the same marks, if the victim is the same as the others, I don’t see why a change in date--”

“Of course you don’t,” Laszlo scoffed, and he stepped away from you.

You were stunned silent, and you watched Laszlo move back to the table with the heaps of paperwork. “What does that mean?” you asked.

“You’re not looking at the entire picture,” Laszlo said sharply. “You’re only focused on the way he changed the date, not the why. Why did he change his schedule, why is there another body weeks ahead of the next holy day? Now we have to be concerned if it’s even the same murderer. Is it a copycat murderer that hasn’t pinned down the schedule as we have? There are many moving parts to this that you don’t seem to comprehend.”

“Las, I do see that,” you countered. The way he doubted you stung your chest, but that was Laszlo. When he was angry, he lashed out. You had come to accept him, even if the words he said truly hurt. You saw Sara turn to look at you, a hint of pity in her blue eyes, and you sighed. “Look, do we have records of the new victim’s body? Perhaps that will give us insight.”

“Yes,” John said quickly, not even giving Laslzo a chance to answer and cut your feelings even deeper. Why had his admonitions hurt so much more than usual? You were afraid that, if he spoke to you like that again, you would start crying. And then they would be right, everybody would be right: a woman was too delicate to handle crimes like this. “I visited the morgue as soon as I heard. I sketched what I could manage, and took notes of everything else.”

You moved around to join John at the other side of the table, choosing to ignore Laszlo. You could feel his eyes follow you as you bent towards John to look at his sketches, and your eyes followed the charcoal lines of a young boy. Like the others, his eyes were plucked out, his throat slit, and his hand cut off, but a few errant marks on the boy’s stomach made you tilt your head. “What’s this?” you asked, gently tracing the lines with your finger. Soot of the charcoal came off on your fingertip, but you paid little attention to it.

“Our murderer made gashes in the boy’s stomach,” John said. “This one--” he pointed to a particular line, “Was deep enough to view the intestines. Four in total, but they don’t seem to follow a pattern.”

“Everything follows a pattern, John,” Laszlo said quickly. “We just haven’t found it yet.”

“Four…” you mumbled. “And this sketch is accurate to scale?” John nodded, and your eyes studied it for a moment longer. Four of them, two of them a bit shorter than the others. Those two were situated at the bottom of the boy’s belly, right where the V of his hip bones would be, and the one of them was at the top, just under his breastbone. The fourth, the biggest, longest, deepest, was straight down the middle, bisecting the boy’s navel.

Your vision became blurred. Your breath came in gasps, and you felt dizzy. A terrible sickness crawled up your throat, and you pressed the back of your hand to your mouth to stop the flow of vomit. Vomit. You never vomited, not even when you had viewed past victims’ bodies in person. The smell of corpses wasn’t even enough to make you ill, but your heart quickened when you cast another glance to the sketch.

You fell into a chair besides John, and you gasped, “I think I’m gonna be sick--”

Sara came to clutch your hand in an instant, and John hurried to hide the sketch. “Las,” you mumbled. “Can you get me some water, sweetheart?”

“I’d rather stay here with you,” Laszlo said quickly. Your other hand was filled by his, and you cast a glance upwards at him. Now, instead of the tepid malice that he had had in his eyes, he had complete worry.

“I’ll get you some water,” John said. “Laszlo, watch over her. I’ll be back.”

“What happened?” Sara asked. “You started to sway and turned a ghostly pale. Did you see something?”

“J-Just those gashes,” you mumbled. “They-They looked like scars my mother had.”

“Scars?” Laszlo asked. “What do you mean?”

You sniffled, and took your hands from both grasps to wring in your lap. “I was born via Cesarean section,” you said. “M-My mother had been sick and fragile since before she was pregnant with me, and her doctor advised against natural childbirth. She had a scar right down the middle of her stomach in the same fashion as the body… A-And, when I was still in school, a doctor found a series of tumors in her ovaries. It had spread through the rest of her, but the doctor tried to combat it by removing the original tumors, and… The scars on his waist match the ones my mother had. I-I just-- Why would the murderer give this poor boy a woman’s scars?”

Laszlo bristled at this. You hardly ever mentioned your family, or him his, and he knelt down in front of you. “There’s something more than that,” he said softly. “My beloved, please speak to me. What’s troubling you?”

You chewed your bottom lip, and you gave a gasp as you tried to steady your breathing. “Sara,” you mumbled. “Can you give us a moment?”

Sara squeezed your hand and nodded, and she quickly excused herself. You waited until the door closed fully before sobbing and leaning forward to rest your head against your knees. “I’m sorry, Las,” you mumbled. “I-I just-- I can’t bear the sight of that today. I’ve felt ill all day, and now all of this, it’s far too much for me right now.”

You had nearly forgotten that you had requested tea earlier in the day, and you watched Laszlo rise from his knee and retrieve the tea cup. He quickly took note of your quivering hands, and he lifted the porcelain tea cup to your mouth. You sipped at it, hoping that it might soothe you, and you wiped your tears from your cheeks. “Laszlo, what’s wrong with me?” you sniffled. “I-I’ve never done this before, why now?”

“You already said that you feel ill,” Laszlo said carefully. “Maybe the sight of the body and the state of it was a shock to your system. Has the nausea passed?”

You shook your head quickly. The ugly feeling of it still sat in the very back of your throat, and you reached out for him. Laszlo set the tea cup aside and came to you, and you buried your face in his stomach from where you sat. Your arms circled his waist and you held him tightly, and you keened up into his hand as he began to stroke your hair.

Suddenly, Laszlo began to move with quickness, pulling you to your feet. You hardly had time to ask what he was doing before his fingers began to undo the back of your blouse. “Laszlo!” you cried. “What in the world are you doing?”

“Trust me, my beloved,” Laszlo said quickly. With his one arm tight to his body, he pulled your blouse off of you, then started at your corset. That sick feeling back came, and you reached forward and braced yourself against the table. Your head hung as you tried to control your nausea, and you whimpered, “Laszlo, what is this?”

Your lover gave a growl, one of deep frustration, and he grabbed your corset by the bottom hem and shoved it down your body, past your waist, to expose your breasts and stomach. You couldn’t help but sigh at the release of pressure on your middle, and Laszlo turned you around to see your bare skin. He knelt down in front of you and pressed his forehead against your stomach, and you watched him close his eyes and take a deep breath. You hardly understood what he was doing, but, if the half year courting him was any indication, he knew what was best. “When was the last time you menstruated?” Laszlo asked, next pressing his cheek to your bare stomach.

Your hand instinctively went to cradle his cheek, and you shrugged. “Several months ago,” you said. “I… They come and go, I suppose. Is that normal?”

“And your breasts?” Laszlo asked next, and you grimaced.

“What’re you getting at?” you asked.

“My beloved,” Laszlo said carefully, and he looked up at you from his place on the floor. His dark eyes were glistening with tears, and your heart sank and adrenaline rushed bitterly into your mouth.

“Stop,” you whispered. “Laszlo, no, I-I’m not-- I can’t be--”

“I think you are, beloved,” Laszlo said. He stood up and shucked off his suit jacket, and he laid it across your shoulders to hide your body from the cold room. “I think that you’re pregnant, my beloved. That would explain every malady you have: the aches, the irritability, the nausea, the delicateness, the increase in libido. Pregnancy offers an explanation for all of these.”

Your eyes filled with tears again, but a smile came with them. “You…” you started, and you sent a weak punch to Laszlo’s firm chest. “You absolute bastard!”

Laszlo laughed and tugged you into him, and you hugged him tightly. Laszlo, your wonderful Las, the father of your child. “Oh, my beloved,” he sighed, kissing the side of your head. “How did I not see it before?”

“Men can tend to be blind to such things,” you said. “But I feel as if a special blockade is up for you when it concerns me.”

“I agree,” Laszlo said. His hand came up to rest against your face, and you leaned into his touch. “My dearest girl…” he hummed, and he leaned into you and pressed his lips to yours. You pressed back, letting a smile grace your lips. “Marry me, my beloved.”

It was hardly even a question. “Of course, Las,” you said softly. “How could I say no to you? It would ruin your reputation, having a child out of wedlock.”

“Thta's true,” Laszlo shrugged. “But I think you would want to marry me regardless.”

“How dare you act as if you know what I want,” you said, but you kissed the tip of his nose anyway. “But, yes, Laszlo. I would love to marry you. Mrs. Kreizler… Is that something you ever thought you’d hear?”

“Not from you,” Laszlo chuckled. “I never thought that you would want the burdens of marriage. In fact, I distinctly remember you telling me that upon our first meeting.”

“How could you manage any thought during that interaction?” you giggled. “If what you told me was true, you were quite distracted that day.”

Laszlo gave a soft little grunt, and he snuffled his face into your neck. “Yes, well, a man has to learn to multitask,” he said. “Oh my God, I cannot begin--”

The door to the parlor banged open, and you hurried to cover yourself. “Marcus,” Laszlo said firmly. “Give us a moment, will you?”

“Doc, this is pretty important--”

“I am having a private conversation with my fiancée, Mr. Isaacson,” Laszlo said, his voice rising just a bit. “You can tell me whatever you wish as soon as I finish this conversation.”

You looked over your shoulder to the younger Isaacson twin, and your face grew hot when your shoulder slipped from the jacket. Marcus’s eyes went wide for a moment, then he put his hands up in a plantation gesture. “Right,” he said quickly. “Um, sorry, Doc. I’ll be--”

“Do hurry it up, Marcus,” you said, pulling your fiancé’s jacket tight around you. “The sooner you leave, the sooner you can return.”

You watched Marcus leave the room and shut the heavy door behind him, and you scoffed and dissolved into giggles. You buried your face into Laslzo’s warm chest and kissed just over his heart, and you sighed. “I’d love to speak more about this at home,” you said. “I love you to absolute death, Laszlo.”

“And I love you more,” Laszlo said softly.

#laszlo kreizler #the alienist #laszlo kreizler fanfiction #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler x reader angst #the alienist fanfiction #daniel bruhl #daniel brühl #daniel brühl fanfiction #daniel bruhl fanfiction #daniel brühl x reader #daniel bruhl x reader #daniel bruhl x reader angst #daniel brühl x reader angst #laszlo kreizler angst #daniel brühl angst #tfatws #zemo

[norabrice1701]

Strange Case of Dr. Kreizler and Mr. Brühl - Ch. 3

A "Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde" AU Modern!Laszlo/Daniel x Fem!Reader Series

Series Master List

Chapter Warnings: Explicit language, cemetery tourism, death & life legacy conversations, Pulp Fiction reference

Chapter Word Count: 2.4k

Chapter 3 -

His email invitation for coffee arrived, and you were all too eager to accept. Especially after googling his name and place of employment.

Dr. Laszlo Kreizler, founder and director of the Kreizler Institute devoted to the physical safety and mental well-being of all children, no matter their life situation. Every article and interview about the institute glowed with praise for the work and research done there. Of course, no one was credited or applauded more than Dr. Kreizler himself for maintaining direct involvement with the children who lived there.

You’d nearly melted in your chair. A man with his looks who was also good with children? It was too good to be true. And that was before you’d even read more about the man himself and the academic accolades to his name. A doctor of psychology, with subfield credits in forensic and developmental disciplines, as well as psychopharmacology. It looked like he succeeded in every endeavor he undertook, emerging as a respected leader in his field whether authoring a new paper or testifying in court.

Respected, perhaps, but not the most beloved, it seemed. You’d found more than a few articles commenting on the doctor’s awkward, formal, even brusque and arrogant demeanor. Most seemed to attribute it to the socially stunted growth of such a preternaturally brilliant mind, but it made you all the more intrigued.

When 2:30 pm on Thursday afternoon finally rolled around, you couldn’t shut down your laptop fast enough. You snuck past Bitsy’s desk and outside into the early-autumn chill, letting the afternoon sun warm your skin as you headed for the coffee shop. It wasn’t one that you were familiar with, and as you drew up to the old brick building, taking in the elegant facade, it seemed befitting to the man who suggested it.

The rich wood interior presented a plush, inviting space that hung heavy with the scent of fresh roasted coffee. A quick glance at your watch confirmed that you were two minutes early, but you easily spotted the doctor sitting in a plush wingback chair with a steaming coffee cup already resting on the low table opposite a matching chair.

He was dressed in another dark, expertly tailored suit, and your mouth watered at the cobalt green vest against his white shirt. Especially when you noticed the elegant silver chain of an honest-to-God pocket watch resting against the gorgeous green fabric. The sight of it rushed a bolt of heat down your spine – fuck, it should be illegal for him to make something so antiquated look so attractive.

Sliding your bag off your shoulder, your shoes thudded against the old wood flooring. He looked up from his phone, easily sliding it into an interior pocket of his suit jacket as he stood with a pleasant expression. “Good afternoon.” Your name rolled smoothly off his tongue. “Thank you for accepting my invitation. Please.” He gestured to the chair opposite his and you both sat.

Already, you were helplessly charmed. “Thanks again for extending the invite, but again, it was completely unnecessary.”

He nodded dismissively. “On that, we shall disagree.” His gaze drifted up as footsteps approached.

“Good afternoon again, doctor,” a young man jovially greeted before he turned to look at you. “Something to drink, miss?”

You ordered your usual without a second thought, and the server nodded back at you before speaking. “Of course. Sit tight and I’ll have it right out.”

Laszlo nodded up at the young man. “Thank you, Pierre.”

“No problem, Dr. K.”

The nickname sparked an endearing warmth in your chest, and you arched a curious brow, trying to curb your smile as the server departed. “You must be quite the regular here to get table-side service.”

A lovely blush dusted the tops of his ears as his mouth pulled to a closed-off, embarrassed smile. “My office simply happens to be close by, and I prefer the atmosphere here over that of a Starbucks.”

“No arguments there.” Part of you couldn’t help but wonder if he used this place for professional meetings, or if this shop was more of a personal haunt. You certainly didn’t want to make any assumptions about which category you fell in given what you knew of his recent widower status.

You settled back against the cozy chair, gaze softening with admiration as you spoke. “You know, after you handed me your card, I couldn’t resist looking you up in return – and the work that you do for those under-represented children is just incredible. I promise not to go on and on about it, but it’s truly commendable. If you planned to use this meeting to restore my image of you as a kind person, you’re too late.”

His gaze shifted askance for the briefest second before it returned to yours with startling sincerity. “Playing at deception does not benefit either of us, regardless of your personal impressions of me. But thank you for your kind words,” he added, as if it were an afterthought. “The institute’s accomplishments speak for themselves, and the future is indeed promising.”

His surprising side-glance piqued your interest as Pierre’s footsteps sounded on the heavy wood and a steaming cup settled on the low table next to Laszlo’s. Pierre departed without a word, and you cast about for something to say, wondering if the doctor would welcome your curiosity.

Laszlo tilted his head as he regarded you, his expression regretful to match his words. “Please allow me to apologize in full earnestness for what transpired during our first meeting. You scarcely deserved my sharp tongue for just trying to help.”

You shook your head in disagreement. “No, please – I don’t usually…well, truthfully, I have never approached someone like that before. But I saw you standing there in the rain, and the look on your face…,” you bit your lip, feeling your cheeks flush, “and I couldn’t walk away.”

The corner of his mouth lifted with sad memory. “I know that she – Mary, that is – would appreciate your concern for me.”

Your stomach clenched at the mention of her name and it brought the memory of his forlorn figure by her graveside to your mind. “I hope that you’re doing well…or, at least, better since that day.”

His eyes sparked with something that you couldn’t place. “The process of grief is a journey that we all take with time, but I do find there are glimmers of hope since that day. In fact, sometimes I do feel – as they say – quite like a new man.”

You nodded, reaching down for your steaming cup. “I’m glad. Actually, I’ve been a little worried about you ever since – I wasn’t entirely sure that you weren’t going to throw yourself in after her.”

“I assure you that thought never crossed my mind.”

Immediately, you wanted to ask what he had been thinking. What had run through his mind as his gaze burned through her grave? What had he vowed to himself – to Mary – as he stood watching dirt heap atop her casket? As much as your curiosity wanted satisfaction, you knew it was hardly appropriate to ask. You took a sip of your drink, letting the rich flavor wash over your tongue.

He leaned forward for his own beverage, blowing gently to dispel curls of steam. “And what brought you to Green-Wood in such dismal weather?”

You took a sip before speaking. “I had just moved back and hadn't visited my parents since before I left. It seemed wrong to have visited so many other cemeteries, but not theirs.”

He arched an elegant brow, returning his cup to the table. “A taphophile, then?”

Your eyes lit with surprise as your smile widened in appreciation. “That’s not a very common word. Are you one, too?”

“I don’t consider visiting cemeteries a hobby, no. But I suppose that some do have an undeniable appeal.”

“Well, now I have to know – which ones hold your so-called ‘undeniable appeal’?”

He made an elegant gesture with his left hand as his right continued to rest on his lap. “Highgate in London has a fascinating history and offers many opportunities for self-reflection. And, of course, Paris' Père Lachaise is quite renowned.”

You couldn’t restrain an envious sigh. “That one is on my bucket list, for sure…if it’s not too weird to say it that way….”

Amusement shone in his brown eyes. “Not at all. And for yourself, do you have any favorites?”

You carefully dug in your memory, not wanting to bore him. “For me, it’s the stories that make them memorable. I remember one cemetery in Kentucky hosted a family that lost eight members in one week due a cholera epidemic. And yet another – a Kansas military cemetery with a far, sidelined corner of 14 tombstones that only bear a name and date of death. If you didn’t already know, then you’d never know that they’re the graves of 14 German prisoners of war who were sentenced and hung for crimes committed during WW2.” You paused for a sip of your drink, taking in his careful, rapt expression. His active listening was unspeakably flattering – such a rare skill to find, but given his profession, it shouldn’t surprise you.

You wet your lip before continuing. “Those POWs are a weedy, forgotten slice of history now, but I’m sure that’s never what they imagined for their story…but there’s something to be said for confronting the past of bygone eras that lends a pensive perspective on our own mortality. Makes you realize that we’re all one step – or misstep – away from having our own stories written, you know?”

Your cheeks flushed, realizing you said far more than you intended to. “Well, at least for me, anyway. Sorry…I didn’t mean to presume about you.”

“That’s quite alright. It’s a fair presumption to say that reflection on the dead yields reflection on our own lives and the impressions we leave behind. It’s an insightful, often revealing question to ask oneself what will be said after we die.” Another wave of uncertain concern flashed across his face before he blinked it away.

You regarded him in silent thought, surprised at his reaction. Was he concerned about the story that would be told at his own funeral? Why would someone with his legacy and accomplishments worry about that? Your contributions to the world could hardly be called noteworthy or altruistic, so of course, you had creeping doubts about your own life story. But him? It made you want to ask – but hell, you had probably already earned yourself a place on his psychologist couch. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise you if he recommended therapy once your drinks were finished.

He took a sip of his drink, his face brightening with sudden thought before speaking quietly. “Although, if you’ll forgive the poor segue – speaking of cholera, I think you may find El Museo de las Momias de Guanajuato in Mexico of particular interest.” The Spanish rolled off his tongue with fluent ease. “A collection of naturally mummified bodies interred during a cholera outbreak in 1833, if I recall the year right.”

You couldn’t resist a smirk over the rim of your cup. “And here I was worried that you were going to put me on depression watch or recommend therapy over an unnatural obsession with death.”

He fixed you with a shrewd stare. “You don’t exhibit any such red-flag signs. It can be healthy to have a respect and awareness of death, but all things in moderation.”

You nodded. “Well, that’s reassuring. And thanks for the recommendation, I’ll have to look that up.” Your gaze held his, unable to curb your growing smile or the fluttering warmth in your heart. “You can rattle off museum names in Spanish. With your accent, I assume that you speak German – and you’re well-traveled between the UK, France, and Mexico…how’s a girl supposed to compete?”

His bashful blush from earlier returned full-force and for the first time, he looked notably shy. Surely, someone as handsome and accomplished as him wasn’t so unaccustomed to female attention. But, then again, maybe given the recent passing of his wife, he truly wasn’t used to it.

Oh, shit. How had you forgotten? “Sorry,” you said quickly. “I didn’t mean to imply anything – that was awfully insensitive of me given the recent passing of your wife.”

He gave a curt shake of his head. “She wasn’t my wife…but that would have been nice.”

You smiled weakly, still wanting to kick yourself. “It’s obvious that you care for her very much.”

He nodded faintly before taking another drink. “Be that as it may, there’s only so much light to be found looking back on sunset memories." His eyes pinned you in place with a warm glint. "But looking ahead, I find the horizon’s dawn is much brighter.”

You couldn’t help the hopeful swell that rose in your chest as your heart skipped a beat. The air sparked between you, alive with a current of new exciting promise. His mouth edged a small, hesitant smile that you found endlessly intriguing. What would it take for you to see him smile in full?

He cleared his throat gently, looking back to his cup for another drink. “Well, you seem to have read quite a bit about me and my work, but your LinkedIn profile is sadly lacking in details.”

You laughed softly, shaking from your thoughts and trying to calm the electrified rush of your heart. “Yeah, I know – like I tell my boss, I’ll get it updated someday. Officially, I’m a Project Manager, but that’s just a fancy way to say that I solve problems, if you’ll allow the 'Pulp Fiction' quote.”

He blanched in surprise. “You readily associate your job description with the mob cleaner, Winston Wolf?”

You couldn’t hold back an affectionate laugh at his scandalized look. “Usually, it just makes people laugh. You’re the first to express concern about it when, actually, he’s a model for effective management skills. Being reliable; prioritizing and attacking in order; always paying attention to details; and certainly, in the proof that you can’t manage what you don’t understand.”

Surprising, fond amusement softened his face. Slowly, he nodded as if conceding a point. “Clearly, you’ve given the comparison a fair amount of thought. And, perhaps, you’re not wrong.” His gaze turned far more perceptive, as if he could see everything about you and knew some great truth that you had yet to uncover.

A curious shiver raced down your spine but you found yourself unwilling to look away from him.

“What makes -”

“Will you –”

You both broke off speaking, looking away as an awkward grin overtook your face. And as you met his gaze again, drawn to the warm light in his amber brown eyes, you knew this wouldn’t be the last time that you saw Laszlo Kreizler.

Series Master List

Tag List: @everythingbeginsineternity-blog @thehuiabird @creme-bruhlee @belle82devart @scuttle-buttle @glimmering-darling-dolly @somethingthatsaysbubbles @raraenoctes @random-frog-on-a-bench @violetmuses

#the alienist #laszlo kreizler #laszlo x reader #laszlo x you #the alienist angel of darkness #daniel brühl #daniel brühl x reader #daniel brühl x you #laszlo kreizler fanfic #modern laszlo kreizler #dr jekyll and mr hyde

[tnystrk-exe]

Any Other Lifetime

Tw: domestic abuse, death, the awful reliance on translation websites

Word count: 17.8k

The Beginning

One moment there was nothing and then there was everything.

“That’s all it took? One big boom to make all the inky blackness vibrant with color? …It’s all so beautiful don’t you think?”

“No. Not at all. How could you find beauty in this when they intend to break us apart now that it’s done? We’re nothing more than their playthings to do with as they wish.”

“Oh, my love, are you afraid?”

“No…”

“You are. I know you better than anything else. The thought of it seems so overwhelming, but we’ll make it through. I’m not afraid.”

“How aren’t you?”

“Because you’ll be there.”

“With all that chaos? How would we even know each other? We could pass each other and not even realize… What is existence if I’m not with my beloved?”

“I’d know you in any other lifetime. No matter what happens, we’ll know each other. Do you think you could ever forget me?”

“Of course not. How would I? The emptiness I feel at the thought of not having you close is enough to remind me. It feels so bleak.”

“…I think it’s time.”

“We can be brave… I love you, all of my being loves you.”

“I love you, I promise to find you again as quickly as I can.”

Dr. Laszlo Kreizler 3734

You stared blankly at the wall thinking about nothing and everything all at once. He was speaking but you couldn’t focus on the words, everyone of them slipped past without any thought.

“YN,” Laszlo sighed hoping to grab your attention. “YN. Please if I’m to help you, you need to help me understand. I can’t manage this without your cooperation.”

“I apologize, Dr. Kreizler,” your face heated up as you brought your attention back to him, “I…”

“I think we’re in order for a break.” He closed his journal and set down his pen. “We should go for a walk through the city.”

You looked at him, confused, “Am I allowed that?”

“I can make the arrangements. If anything Detective Sergeant Isaacson would have to trail us but he’d allow us more than enough privacy. Would you like to leave this place for a while?”

“I’d like to leave forever,” you sighed, “but I can make due with an hour or two.”

It took Laszlo a bit of argument but he managed to convince them a walk would be good for your mental health and improve the likelihood that you’d actually speak with him about the events that had taken place. He instructed Isaacson to remove the handcuffs before you left the jail, sparing you some dignity without a proper change of clothes. As you made the walk to the park, you took in the sights of the city. Loud children playing in the streets, angry men, neatly dressed women judging people from the sidelines. It was strange how you could miss it so much after weeks locked away. Things that all used to cause so much annoyance before.

“Are you enjoying our outing?” Laszlo asked, filling the silence between the two of you.

You smiled at him meekly, “I’ve been stuck in my head for so long, I wasn’t aware how much I missed it. Real life happening all around… Not just the same four walls closing me in.”

“Sometimes I find myself with the same thought.”

“Really?”

“I live my life searching through the heads of others, helping them make due with their demons to keep myself free from being alone with my own for too long. Then I come up for fresh air and realize so much has happened since my last breath. You never realize how lovely just the air could be.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been keeping you down here for so long.”

“Don’t apologize, I want to walk this path with you,” the tone he used ensured he meant that as a person and not just your alienist.

“Everytime I think about the night… I lose all sense of self. There are things a person would rather not have to live through again… it all goes black when I try,” you sighed, annoyed with yourself, “I’m keeping you here longer than you deserve.”

“Take your time. I don’t mind it at all.”

Thus began a new regimen in your weekly visits. He ensured you didn’t miss the outside world a painful amount and slowly chipped away at your walls. Learning more of your childhood. The things you had been through, but every time he’d attempt to push to that night, you’d revert back to your quiet ways. There was a block there that wouldn’t budge. Though you always made the attempt to go through with it.

“My husband was a nice man, in the beginning,” you started, hoping this would be the time everything was pushed through, “Silly declarations of love in front of my friends that they’d say I’m so lucky to receive, flowers every time he saw me, recited a couple of poems to me in the nights we shared before getting married. In all ways, he seemed perfect.”

“Perfection is often a charade. We play at the idea of being flawless that we create too many to count striving for it.”

“Yes,” you nodded, “I’ve come to that realization too. Though in those years I was a few years from being a girl. My head still ran with those sweet stories. Countless times I’ve read Austen, wishing for a Darcy of my very own.”

“Darcy is an extremely flawed character.”

“That explains my taste in men,” you commented, mostly to yourself, “What’s Darcy like without rose tinted glasses?”

“He’s no different from the arrogant and privileged men we deal with in our day to day. The ones who always feel as if they’re the most handsome or have the most money. Being born into their position in society and playing the role acting as if they earned any bit of it.”

“Dr. Kreizler, a lesser person would point out some self insight there. Though I’d make a good argument for you earning every bit of it.”

He looked at you fondly, “It’s a blessing you’re not then. As I was saying, he’s praised as such an ideal lover when he considers Elizabeth lesser than going so far as to hate himself for loving someone so low on the social ladder. Their interaction at the dance was Darcy at his most comfortable, saying what he knew he could without any societal repercussions.”

“Who are we when all eyes are off of us?”

“Worse people, a majority of the time.”

“What a pity that is. Though I can’t say I contributed anything good when I was alone.”

“Why did you do it?”

“He said I wouldn’t,” you admitted, looking away from Kreizler, “In every way he controlled my life. Slowly, of course, slow enough that I didn’t realize he was the root of the issues. Slow enough that I didn’t realize he was bandaging wounds he had created himself. Every relationship was tainted by him. When I did realize he was working on prying me away from my family and, by the looks of it, he succeeded.”

He wrote down what you had said, knowing this would be the beginning of a breakthrough. “You still haven’t received any word from your family?”

You scoffed, “And risk their stance in society? We can’t expect them to allow the public image to be stained any further. Can we? What would Darcy think of them? There’s already a murder in the family.”

“But what was the reason for all this? Nothing in your history would suggest such a thing. Intelligent, charming, and far from what your crime would suggest. There’s nothing that would suggest such a violent act.”

“He was far from what he had built himself up to be.” You watched the children playing, reminiscing of the times you were in those crowds instead of on this bench. How simple things used to be. “When I started pushing against him, things became physical. After that I was more than eager to do as he wished. I was bonded to him by marriage and I didn’t think anyone would believe me, he was so good when he was around others. He held all the financial control… What could I do?”

He frowned at the information. It was a theory and he was saddened for it to be proven true. “I’m sorry you went through that.”

“It’s not your fault, Doctor. Maybe mine. Definitely his.”

“The fault was never yours. You were his victim.”

“Not in the eyes of the public or the law.”

“What happened that night, YN?”

You swallowed against the lump forming in your throat. “He was going to hurt me again. I’ve grown numb to it. I found that if I just lived in a memory while it happened, I wouldn’t live the experience as much so to speak. There would be bruises and maybe I’d be “too ill to leave the house” but that’s easier to live through than the moment it’s happening. The reactions he wanted weren’t happening, so he picks up a knife. The smile that spread on his face when he noticed the fear. I was frozen at first… the blade cold as he ran it along my arm. Speaking of every horrible idea he had thought of…” Tears spilled as you remembered. “When he pressed it against my neck there was a fight I didn’t realize I had left in me. Self preservation took over...My will to live must have been strong because I have no idea how I managed to grab the knife from him.”

Laszlo took out his handkerchief and handed it to you. “Each stab must have felt closer to freedom. Some irrational side thought it was the only way. But what this means, is that everything that you had done that night was in self defense. He was your tormentor, YN.”

“I’m not sure anything can be of use now. Everyone is set in their beliefs. I've been quiet for too long.”

“I’ll do everything in my power to help you out of this.”

True to his word and with a hell of a lot of argument, he managed to take you out of the situation. With the help of old friends that were willing to put themselves on a limb for you and the testimony of a previous courtship you hadn’t been aware he had, people quickly understood that you had done what you needed. Still, all of this came with conditions. Laszlo had talked them to at least letting you be a member of his institution as a patient and a hire. Saying that he could help improve your mental health and ensure you wouldn’t go back into the world without a thing to your name.

Throughout the year at the institute, you couldn’t help taking longer than necessary glances at the man. He was in his element with his patients, the passion for his craft evident with every child that crossed his doors. Especially the boy he had taken a particular interest in. A couple of times you had caught him practicing a magic trick or two once he realized the child would open up to the sort of thing. The light blush that would showcase on his cheeks when you asked for a private show, just worked to enamor you more. Over time your walks had turned into dinners, which became late nights in his study. Occasionally your hands would graze by each other resting there for a moment before you pulled away. Every day that passed, the two of you grew closer. He really did seem to be a truly kind man the more you got to know him.

Which is why a couple of weeks before your final day at the institute, you told him you were resigning. He seemed to be upset, but nodded saying nothing of it. Instead he chose to ignore how he had felt and went back to your therapy session. The usual friendly banter after the session was cut short as he excused himself, saying he had too many things to work on this week.

When the day finally came, Laszlo signed your release forms and paid you the money you had earned. You tried to deny the extra he had given you, but he claimed it was a gift and refused. Sparing one final glance at him, you thanked him for everything he had done for you. He nodded, saying it was very little compared to what you truly deserved.

You walked away before he could pour out any more honeyed words. There was still a part of you that hung on to the sweet words you had read in your youth, but a bigger part was stained with blood and knew how things could turn. If Laszlo wasn’t who he presented himself as… He had to be, you couldn’t handle the truth if he wasn’t.

Instead of risking your heart and attempting the possibility, you ran away.

In truth you had missed him greatly. From daily visits to not seeing him at all was an extreme change. You attempted to tell yourself you didn’t see him in that light. It was just the situation of everything making it feel like real emotions. He was only your very kind doctor that did everything he could for his patients. You were confusing your gratefulness for infatuation. The emotions were only disguised as something deeper. Nevermind how you enjoyed seeing him talk of his passions, that one rouge curl, the glasses you’d love to see him wear, or the occasional wonder of how his beard would feel against your skin, those were meaningless things.

At least, that’s what you had told yourself to go on.

You had taken a walk through the park. All the miles you and Laszlo had trekked had caused long walks to be a sort of destressor. When you’d return home you’d think clearer and feel much calmer. That was until you had seen him sitting on a bench. He was reading through his journals, looking to the past to help a patient probably, having yet to notice you. There were two options here but the fact that you had missed his company only left one.

Taking the seat next to him, he looked over in curiosity. “YN,” he breathed, closing his journal.

You smiled at him, “It’s been a long time, Dr. Kreizler.”

“Laszlo. I’m not your doctor or employer anymore.”

“Laszlo.”

He took off his glasses, “How have you been?”

You faltered. The last few months you’ve gotten a job, an apartment, but did nothing much outside of what was necessary. “I’ve been existing I suppose.”

“You need to live, YN.”

“It’s hard. My reputation as a black widow seems to chase after me at the most random of times.”

“Don’t call yourself that, we’ve discussed this before.”

“It’s hard not to,” you sighed, “I rather this not turn into one of our therapy sessions, Laszlo. If that’s fine.”

“Of course it is.”

You decided to turn the question on him, “How have you been?”

This time he faltered, “Suppose I don’t live my life as I advise others.”

“You’re a busy man. All those children on top of the extra cases you take when they catch your interest, I really couldn’t blame you when time slips by.”

“Come up for a fresh breath of air with me?”

You hesitated.

He frowned, taking in your reaction. “I keep going over our interactions, looking for answers. Reasons why you’re avoiding me and I can’t find any.” He looked over at you, scanning you for any clue you’d give him. “I apologize for offending you greatly and if you could tell me exactly what happened, I’ll be sure to repair it. I must confess, the absence of your company has been undeniable.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” you started, “I was scared away, yes, but by myself mainly.”

“What scared you?”

Opening your mouth, you closed it again. The words hard to form.

Laszlo turned to you fully, “Please speak to me, YN. Since everything with Mary, I’ve learned that being so hesitant in my relationships was a flaw of mine. Things slipped through my fingers and I’m unwilling to let that happen again. If my… fondness for you was too noticeable, I never once thought you’d reciprocate.” Taking a shuddered breath, you nodded, looking away from him. A telltale sign that what you would say would be as honest as you could possibly be, he had learned. Inwardly he braced himself for a destruction of his heart.

“Emotions are frightening things. They’re extreme. Hate someone and everything they do is repulsive. Care… love. Is another beast. It taints everything in a way that goes unnoticed. Things others may do that cause instant annoyance is more palatable and the simple is becomes that much better.”

“The simple way a person looks when they’re lost in thought sweetens them that much more.”

“Yes, but I can’t risk it again. The sweetness of you is so tempting, Laszlo, but it’s terrifying.”

“I wouldn’t hurt you,” Laszlo promised, “I can’t promise things will be perfect and you’ll always be happy with me. Life happens. Arguments. Maybe you’d get upset with me when I get swarmed by my cases or another thing happens… But I swear to never hurt you intentionally.”

“Laszlo, stop.”

“No,” he shook his head, “For months I've harbored this fondness for you. Then you went away and it has been frustrating to say the least. I know this is too forward, but I at least have to tell you once.”

“We can’t- I can’t.”

“Can't what?”

“Do this. Do everything again. I’m not sure if I’m capable of loving correctly anymore or the trust it requires. I’m a monster and happiness is unattainable. Why let you stay in this breathless place with me when you can do better? You deserve so much more, Laszlo. I can’t provide that for you.”

Laszlo stood to crouch down in front of you, ensuring you’d look at him without force. “I’m a patient man with issues of my own. This wouldn’t be simple by any stretch of it but I’m certain years down the line there won’t be any complaints. If you care for me as I’m starting to suspect you do, take this one chance with me.”

“Laszlo even if we attempt whatever this could be. I don’t deserve you.”

“I’m the judge of that, wouldn't you say?”

You frowned, “I’m a burden of a person. People will talk about you in negative ways. Then what? Allow you to spend your free time convincing me that I’m not what I truly am. No.”

“The only burden you have is the weight of the things that have happened to you. Nothing about you is monstrous in the slightest. Heaven knows, I’ve spoken and dealt with people that have done much worse with no reasoning other than they wished to.” Laszlo smiled to himself, remembering a conversation from long ago, “And you know I’m not one to follow Darcyisms. People may speak as they wish as long as you’re by my side, I’m not exactly known for keeping quiet.”

You smiled, remembering the conversation, “I’m not looking for a Darcy anymore. That’s probably somewhat of a soothing thought to you.”

“You can do a fair bit better than him,” he agreed. “I’d like it very much if we saw where this could go. I think we’d be very good for one another.”

“Why do you think so?”

“We know each other already,” he stated simply, “Our time together brought us closer, but I denied it because of my role in your life. It would be unfair to think my fondness for you was reflected in any way. But still I found myself more and more enamored with every word. We’d work because we can understand each other’s worst demons. And we’d know when space is necessary versus when a gentle hand would be welcomed.”

“I’m afraid of you,” you said, though you still reached to push back a curl that freed itself, “What you mean… The things that could happen… What if you’re not who I think you are? What if I’m exactly what you try to say I’m not.”

Laszlo thought before speaking, “There’s only one thing I’ve hidden from you. Sometimes it drives me more than I care to admit. …While you had to find your abuser I was born to mine. One second my father would be kind, the next angry. Cruel words. Worse actions. I figured out how to fall from the stairs without hitting my head too badly by the time I was five,” he coughed, hiding the pain the memories brought.

You frowned, realizing all the pain the doctor must relive when he helped his patients. Suddenly when he encouraged children to think of people they were wronged by during aggressive sports made sense. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to continue.”

“The point is, I am slightly different, but not in any way that would ever dream of hurting you. In a sense I feel a similar monstrosity to myself at times. I can’t say my past doesn’t choke me or cause me to act out of normal at times… I’ve gotten better but things are hard to work through. But I can promise I’ll be the best I could possibly be.”

“Laszlo, I care for you.”

“And I you.”

“However I’m not sure I can put the right amount of trust into this.”

“I have more than enough.”

And so began the slowest waltz. At first you had remained friends, you were still unwilling to cross that line that kept him safe. He was more than willing to follow along as long as you remained a part of his life in some way. Dinners and opera shows we’re back on the table and he used them to his advantage. Wooing you gently on your nights out as if you were already courting. Though you couldn’t deny yourself of the man for much longer than a couple months. Talk started when it was an official courtship. People wondered if Laszlo would succumb to the person he worked so hard to save.

“Darling, why do you listen to them?”

“They voice the thoughts that whisper in my head. I know, rationally I couldn’t. But irrationally, sometimes, I still wonder if it’s in my nature.”

Laszlo took your hands in his, “That isn’t your nature. Days and nights we’ve spent together, not once have you done anything that would imply such a thing. Your past was traumatic and you’ll carry that, I won’t lie and say it goes away. Though at some point you need to believe you’re more than what has happened.”

Laszlo helped you shoulder the weight of your past. His kiss soothed the hurt and doubt as he pulled you close. Everytime felt like a vow to shield you from yourself and signified how much he trusted you. If any of this was hard work to him, he never showed it.

Years down the line. When everything was said and done. You stood watching as Laszlo sat with his daughter on his lap as Paulie performed his newest tricks for them. Your daughter shrieked in amazement, hopping off of her father’s lap and running to force her brother to do the tricks on her. Laszlo motioned for you to join him on the couch. Once you were comfortable against him, he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“We’ve made something magnificent here,” he sighed in contentment, looking back to his children, “Thank you.”

Andrea Maroski 3281

You walked along the ocean shore, not really paying attention. Having trailed the path so many times, it wasn’t difficult to just walk it without a thought. Since your students didn’t join you this afternoon it was easy to just relax into the sounds of nature. However, when an increasingly worrying figure made its way into your view, you couldn’t help rushing to their side. Remembering the particularly horrible storm last night, you wondered what the man had been through to end up here. The old women from a nearby cottage had met you to see what was all of the commotion.

Kneeling beside him, you pushed the young man onto his back. Immediately you checked on his breathing and pulse.  “It’s weak. Can you please watch over him? I need to find the doctor.”

It might have been considered rude in any other circumstance but you couldn’t find it in you to wait for their response. They would understand your rush. Finding the doctor wasn’t that difficult of a feat. He had taken to attempting to romance the poor German girl that had come to town recently so where she was, he had to be. Once you found him, you all but pushed the older man to his car and climbed into the passenger side much to his annoyance.

“How will he even pay for the care?”

“I’ll handle it,” you waved him off, “Please hurry.”

“Why are you so worried?”

“You’re not? He could be dying. Aren’t you supposed to care more than anyone else, Doctor? What with that oath and all.”

He sighed, tired of your presence considering you had pulled him away from Olga and forced him to work on a day that should have been one where he twiddled his thumbs.

The sisters had moved the man into a free room in their home. The doctor made you leave the room to inspect the man. He’d live, thankfully, but he should be kept warm and off his injured ankle once he woke. Despite your attempts the women wouldn’t consider your request to take care of him in your home. Though Ursula seemed to fight more for the cause, Janet just didn’t like the idea of you being alone with a strange man. Who would know how he’d react. Looking at him, you felt he wouldn’t be anything less than sweet. You stressed for them to call on you should they need anything before making your leave.

Still, you couldn’t help your mind wandering to the sleeping man. Throughout the night you wondered if he had woken. How confused he must have been. How afraid. The physical pain he must be feeling after a fight against the sea. All of it hurt your heart to think about. For peace of mind, you decided to visit him as soon as possible. You’d do your work at school and go over to the sister’s home after.

In the following afternoon, some of your students followed after you like little ducklings as you made your way through the town. They knew the protocol of Monday’s after all. You’d always take some time out of the day to buy them all a couple sweets as encouragement to put forth their best efforts in their studies. Despite your worry, you couldn’t find it in you to disappoint them, their toothy smiles always seemed to brighten you in the worst of moods. You grabbed an assortment bag for the mystery man too, unsure of what he’d like, but he seemed the type to have a sweet tooth.

Janet seemed annoyed at your sudden appearance at her home, though she was always more of a proper person. Dropping in unannounced and uninvited must have been scandalous in her books. You blushed in embarrassment at her frustration before asking if you could meet the man. Sighing, she nodded her head.

You knocked on the door softly.

“Come in!” Ursula called out.

When you opened the door, the man’s brown eyes- he had brown eyes -looked up at you expectantly. He reminded you of your students with the way he looked at things. There was a childlike wonder and the need to learn more about everything he could in his glance.

“Cześć,” he spoke, his voice sounding a bit too rough. Though a night struggling in the ocean may do that to a person.

“Hello,” you breathed out, slightly nervous, “I’m glad to see you’re awake. I brought these for you.” Showing him the small colorful bag you pointed at him.

He waved you over to his side. “Em, Andrea Marowski.”

“Andrea,” you shared small shy smiles over his name, “YN LN.”

“YN,” he took your hand in his own, pressing a kiss to the back of it, “Jesteś taka piękna moja własna syrena.”

The two of you were pulled into an almost familiar comforting bubble as you cupped his face gently. He leaned into your hand relaxing almost instantly, his eyes closed as he seemed truly calm given his situation. It was a wonder how comfortable he made you feel too.

Ursula clapped her hands, making the pair of you remember there was more to the universe. “Well, as you can see, Andrea isn’t fit for any visitors at the moment. He just woke up and can’t communicate properly. Maybe he’s facing some delirium too. I suggest you go home now.”

You frowned before looking at Andrea. “I’ll see again when I can,” you told him, setting the bag of treats in his hand, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Dziękuję kochanie.” Andrea smiled as he found a red lollipop

He frowned as you waved him goodbye.

Again didn’t seem to come soon enough. Between the sister’s reactions that day you couldn’t find it in you to go where you weren’t wanted. No matter how hard your heart tried to pull you over there. Andrea wrapped you completely around his finger in a matter of moments. You couldn’t shake the man from your head. Yet the most you could do was hope Andrea was okay. He had to be though, the women wouldn’t let any harm come his way. Through trickles of rumors you satisfied your wonders of his health. The doctor had given him crutches, Janet had sent Dorcas to the market to be particularly difficult for a specific fish she needed to make a Polish dish, and a man had left him with his violin for entertainment.

You couldn’t help but smile at the thought. Your mystery man could play. Quiet beautifully from what Olga said she could hear from her home.

It was a few weeks before you made your trek back along the ocean side. This time a handful of your students joining you.  You took a seat bringing out your book, listening to the sounds of the sea as you lost yourself in another world, though remembering to look up every so often at your little ducklings.

“Syrena!”

You looked up from your book, smiling wildly at the man rushing to your side. “Andrea! How nice it is to see you!”

“You didn’t come again.”

“I’m sorry. The sisters seemed protective and I didn’t want to intrude. I was thinking about you.”

“Think of you too. Very… pretty.”

“Very handsome,” you winked at him, “Are you coming to the party tonight?”

He seemed to struggle for a bit, “Party?”

You mimed a violin, humming a random melody. “Music.” Standing, you grabbed his hands and swayed with him to the sound of the ocean. “Dancing. Fun.”

“Ah, przyjęcie!” He nodded, raising his arm to twirl you.

“Przyjęci. Will you come?”

Tommy, a particularly curious boy came up to you too, looking at the violin case in Andrea’s hand. “Can you play some music, mister? Please?”

Andrea smiled at the boy, almost reluctantly letting go of your hand to ruffle his wet hair fondly, “Yes!”

Tommy called the other kids to sit and watch Andrea play his violin. You couldn’t help but be just as enthralled as the children. Andrea’s passion radiated from every note. The music he played sounded as if it came from the depths of his soul, calling out to you. As his music came to a stop, the children tapered off. Leaving the pair of you alone once again.

“That was beautiful, Andrea. Thank you. It’s so rare the children get an experience like that.”

He smiled proudly at the compliments. “Song is for you.”

For the second time he brought your hand up to his lips to leave a simple kiss. This time when you parted your hands stayed connected for as long as you could manage.

At the party you sat with your group as Andrea was dragged to another table to sit and drink with the older men. Though you could feel his gaze heavy on you throughout the night. Occasionally you’d glance up at him and he’d be unashamed in his stare, instead he’d just smile widely at getting to have your attention. Still when your friend asked for a dance, you didn’t say no. Andrea took over the music and you could still feel his eyes burning through your skull. The music seemed to have a slightly angrier note than the one you heard earlier. You wondered if anyone else could hear it too. When his song ended and another started you had yet to pull away from your dance partner.

Until someone tapped on their shoulder. “My turn.”

You couldn’t help an amused huff as their hands were replaced with his. “It took you long enough.”

“You only dance with me,” he said, the alcohol lingering in his breath may have contributed to the sudden brashness of his words.

It wasn’t long before the two of you were drunkenly stumbling along the path to your home. It was closer than the sister’s and Andrea’s ride was too drunk for your taste. You couldn’t let your mystery man survive the sea just to be lost in a motorcycle accident.

Andrea playfully pinched at your sides as you fumbled at unlocking the door.

“Stop it,” you giggled, pushing him away.

He laughed loudly, still not keeping his hands to himself as he pulled you by the waist to leave a kiss on your temple. Tucking his head in between your shoulder and neck, he hummed the drinking song he had learned that night. You finally managed the lock and led him in, turning you caught your neighbor’s disapproving glance through the window.

People would talk but when didn’t they.

Taking him to your room, you helped him push off his vest. “Goodnight, Andrea.” You motioned for him to take the bed.

“No, no.” Andrea grabbed your hand before you could turn to leave. “Stay. Please?” He pressed your hand against his cheek.

With those big eyes looking at you expectantly, how could you ever say no?

You nodded and smiled as he pressed a soft kiss to your palm. If this was friendship with Andrea, you could only imagine what it was to be loved.

Andrea kicked off his shoes and laid himself comfortably on your bed. You joined him on the bed, less bothered than you should when his arm wrapped around your waist and his head rested against your chest. The night ended in drunken talk of nothing in particular and a couple soft touches that would make your heart flutter. Occasionally you could feel the heat radiate from his face when you played with the hair at the nape of his neck.

In the morning the two of you walked the well worn path alongside the beach. Andrea was too embarrassed to show up at the cottage hungover so the solution ended up being a picnic on the shore. Though the ever rowdy man took to tossing grapes at you as you attempted to read. You playfully swatted the book at his arm. Before you even realized it the book was swiped from you and he stood, running away as quickly as he could.

“Andrea!” You laughed, rising up to chase after him, “Give it back!”

The two of you ran along. You constantly missed grabbing him by the smallest of distances. All of it was so carefree. It felt like the days when you didn’t have any worries in the world and your clothes always seemed to be stained with grass and mud showing off how much fun you had during the day.

Finally you had caught the sleeve of his shirt, but missed seeing a rock that made you trip bringing him down with you. Andrea laughed, uncaring that the water was soaking your clothes, and didn’t attempt to get up from his spot on the ground beside you.

“Sorry, syrena,” he showed you the book with its water damaged pages, “I’ll get a new one.”

You shook your head amused, resting back against your elbows, not minding the waves that continued to crash over the two of you. “You know, this is kind of like when I found you,” you fixed the hair that had fallen in front of his eyes, “You scared me a lot that morning.”

“I’m sorry,” he smiled at you sheepishly, “Powinieneś pocałował mnie, aby mnie obudzić.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Can I show you?”

“You can show me anything.”

“Okay,” he looked a little nervous, “You are me and I’m you. Yes?”

You laughed, but nodded.

“Sleep,” Andrea prompted you.

You closed your eyes. It was a moment before he brought his hand up to your face. His hand held your chin gently, titling your head up slightly as his thumb traced your bottom lip, signaling his intentions as giving you time to decline him. Your heart raced as you felt him move closer before his lips finally met yours. You let out a soft gasp of surprise, but kissed him back just as eagerly.

He pulled away from you a bright smile on his lips. “See? I waked up.”

You shook your head when you grasped what he had meant. “You’re ridiculous. Come back here.”

Again his lips met yours. You could feel his grin in the kiss. It wasn’t long after that he peppered your face with soft kisses before venturing down to your neck. You pulled his hair as he bit down on a sensitive spot, his tongue soothing it instantly.

“Andrea,” you moaned quietly.

“Jesteś mój,” he mumbled, pushing your hair away from your face, “Say ‘Jestem twój.’”

“Jestem twój,” you repeated after him, not caring what you had said, because the words were probably true either way.

“A ja jestem twój,” he promised.

Andrea leaned closer for a more lust driven kiss. This time you wrapped your legs around his waist, keeping him as close as physically possible. The water continued to lap away at you two but neither of you could attempt to care at the moment. Any and all thoughts were for each other only.

Loud gasp had you pulling away from each other instantly. You caught a glimpse of Ursula looking devastated before running away. Looking at Andrea, he seemed concerned watching the woman but not yet going after her. Taking your sleeve, you wiped up the lipstick that had smudged onto him.

“Go after her,” you said, adjusting his appearance as best you could.

“I see you tomorrow?”

“I’d like that.”

He gave you one final kiss, ruining the work you had put in cleaning him up before standing. Andrea helped you up too before leaving to catch up with the woman. Sighing you made your way to the shore, ruined book in hand. Listening to pebbles crunching under little feet you saw the trio of your students that always hung around together. Great, it seems like this little moment that you had would make its way to the parents. Suddenly Ursula’s interruption was more of a blessing than an annoyance.

“Is that your boyfriend?” Natalia asked.

“What have I told you about spying?”

“We were here first,” Jeffery insisted.

“Shut up!” Benjamin told the taller boy, “Is it?”

“We’re just good friends. Children, you need to stop prying. We’ve talked about this already.”

The three of them looked between each other before making grossed out faces.

Benjamin couldn’t hold it in anymore, “But we’re good friends! I don’t want to kiss them!”

“You don’t have to kiss them,” you sighed, deciding to bite the bullet, “He’s my boyfriend. We would just like to keep it a secret if you three wouldn’t mind.”

“Is he nice to you?”

“Of course he is, Nat! She wouldn’t just kiss anyone mean!”

“Jeff, I wasn’t asking you!”

“He bit her!”

“Children!” You clapped. They quieted down, clapping back at you to show their attention was yours. “We aren’t talking about my boyfriend anymore. I’ll tell you he’s very nice and you’re not to tell anyone because we’d like to keep it a secret for now.”

“Okay, but why did Ursula look so sad?”

You shrugged, “For that I have no answer. I suppose Andrea is finding out at the moment. Now I think it’s time everyone goes home, don’t you? Come along little ducks.”

They lined up behind you and you walked them back into town. You just hoped they wouldn’t talk too much. The thought of their parents on your back over a private moment made you shudder. There was never a sense of privacy in this little village. Imagine the things they’d say.

It wasn’t until Wednesday that you saw Andrea again. He had walked into your classroom, anger seething from him. The man paced in frustration, figuring out how to word what he wanted to say, as you straightened out the small room. You wondered how he found you, but figured he’d ask someone and they’d readily give him directions. Finally he sat down, setting his face in his hands.

“What’s wrong, Andrea?”

“Boris Danilof,” he said, his hands muffling the sound.

“I’m sorry, darling, I don’t understand.”

“They lie! Olga brother Boris Danilof and they no tell me.”

You raked your brain for answers. “The violinist? And Ursula and Janet lied to you about him?”

He nodded impatiently, “Yes! He wants I play with him. Olga sent letter and they say no thing. They no say why. Ursula no talk to me since kiss. I no understand why.”

“Well, I’m sorry they lied to you, but there has to be a good reason. Olga is a stranger too. No one really knows her,” you tried to reason with him, “Hopefully they were just being protective and wanted to make sure she wasn’t lying before speaking with you.”

“She not lying. He’s best and wants to meet me.”

“Then,” you smiled, cupping his cheek gently, “Let’s celebrate it instead of being so angry. This can be really good, right? We can have dinner and a couple drinks. You should be happy.”

He sighed and pressed a kiss to your palm. “Yes, but sad.”

“I know, it must be disappointing but I’ve seen them and they do care about you. Don’t be too sad.”

“If I leave will you sad?”

You nodded, deciding being honest was something you needed to do. “Yes. Something about you is so special to me, but if leaving is what you need to do, I wouldn’t be angry.”

Andrea held your hand and pressed kisses to your fingertips. “Then I stay.”

“No. You should go. I’d never ask you to miss out on something like this.”

He stood, pressing his forehead to yours. “I will come back for you and we live long, happy life.”

Looking into his eyes you could see nothing but pure, genuine emotion. “Then be quick, darling.”

“Yes, syrena.”

Andreas “Niki” Lauda 3376

Niki groaned internally as he made his way to the front of the room. Another one of these annoying press conferences where he’d get asked questions that have been asked countless times before. Still, he needed to be charming and likeable for the fans. More fans meant the better likelihood of his sponsors staying off his ass about his public image. However that simple fact didn’t make the process any less mind numbing.

That was until you stumbled to the room near the end of the meeting and went to your seat. You were absolutely drenched and scoffed when the notebook you had brought did very little for its intended purpose. Niki would have almost pitied you, if you weren’t one of his personal torturers. Though a small part of him wanted to fix the frown you wore.

“Mr. Lauda!” Someone took his attention from you as they asked their question.

When it was all said and done, Niki left the conference room. Reporters continued shouting their questions as he walked out. The next person was already lined up outside the door, new chum for the sharks to flock.

He heard the clack of heels following behind him.

“Mr. Lauda?”

Eyebrow raised, he turned to look at you. “My conference is over. You should have been on time instead of twiddling your thumbs.”

“Everything went wrong,” you sighed, at your situation, “I thought I had gotten a break for once they finally let me attend one of these and my biggest mission was you and then the car broke down in the middle of nowhere but no problem I can walk but then it started to pour and I only just missed you.”

“What does this have to do with me?” He asked, cutting off your rambling.

“I just wanted to ask for a ride,” you stated simply, “No other motives.”

He looked you over, not quite believing you, “And then what? I get ambushed into a private interview? Then I get you upset and leave you somewhere and the headlines read ‘Niki leaves girl stranded’.”

“You have my word, Mr. Lauda, I just want to get back to the motel and accept that I absolutely wrecked the biggest chance I’ve been handed. I’ll stay quiet the entire time if that’s what you’d prefer.”

“No other motives?”

“I rather not have to walk through all that mud again, but after that absolutely none.”

Niki thought it over in his head. After a moment he seemed to believe you. Gesturing for you to follow him, he leading you to the garage. “I’ve got a couple of things I need to get done, if you don’t mind waiting. If you do, there's always the walk waiting.”

You couldn’t help rolling your eyes at the back of the man’s head. “I don’t mind, Mr. Lauda.”

He sighed, looking at you annoyed, “And if we’re going to be in each other’s company for much longer, you should start calling me Niki. I hate when you all call me Mr. Lauda.”

“Any particular reason?”

“You all shout it so much,” he shrugged off his blazer and took off his white button down.

A small smirk wormed its way out of you, “A man that doesn’t like getting his name shouted, a rare occurrence for such a public figure.”

“Well, when it’s for my pleasure…”

He allowed you to fill in the blanks as he toyed with a part. You watched for a moment before you wandered around the garage, looking for anything at all to keep you occupied.

“Will you sit? You’re making it difficult to focus.”

Sighing, you walked to the only other seat in the room, next to him. So you watched as he tinkered with the object. It wasn’t long before your exhaustion from the day weighed on you and your eyes shut for a moment too long. Niki grumbled to himself in disbelief but didn’t push you away when your head rested against his shoulder. A sleeping journalist was leagues better than one that shoved a recorder in his face any day.

Niki shook you awake. The clock on the wall read 6:49 and a look out the window said the rain still had yet to let up. Much to your surprise, the man had thrown his coat over your shoulders while you slept. The lingering scent could have almost been comforting if he wasn’t a stranger.

“You look a lot dirtier than earlier,” you yawned, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Well,” he shrugged, wiping the sweat off his brow, “Seeing how you fell asleep, I figured you weren’t in a rush to do anything else. So I got more things done.” His hand went to feel your shirt and he shook his head at the audacity of the fabric. How could it still be so damp? Walking over to a small locker he threw a white undershirt at you before claiming one for himself.

You watched as he changed, taking in the expanse that was slowly revealed. The freckled skin would beg to see the sun if it could. Biting your lip to keep from laughing, you put his coat on the table, and changed out of your own shirt. When your head popped out of fabric, Niki’s head quickly swiveled away from your direction, a light blush on his cheeks. It would have been hypocritical to comment on his staring instead you offered an amused huff.

“Ready Niki?”

“Yes, just give me a moment.” He put all his tools back in their proper place, wiping some of them down with a rag every so often.

“You’re very… meticulous aren’t you?”

“Saves the pain of not being able to find things later. Why struggle later when I can ensure everything is as it should be now? Such simple things allow me to be on time.”

“Ouch, low blow Lauda.” Grabbing the coat, you stood and placed it in his locker.

“Now you’re learning little maus.”

“Mouse?”

He shrugged, sparing a glance your way as he shut everything, “It was amusing watching you scurry to your seat. Then again I had nothing more to keep me entertained. Your lot are annoying little pests.”

“Ah, well, I’m not a big fan of them either. They’ll all stab you in the back for a semi decent story. Then there’s all the horrible stories they’d publish for a little bit of money. That’s why I was so excited to come interview you, it wouldn’t be anything that could ruin a person.”

“If you detest it so, why become one?”

“We all need something to keep the lights on, Niki. This just ended up being mine.”

“Come along, maus.”

Grabbing an umbrella, he led you to his car, helping you in before getting around to his side. He drove slower than you had expected him to, but you were more than grateful. The rain made it difficult to see much, let alone anyone else on the road. Though you did point out your poor abandoned car left on the side of the road, commenting about how much it would cost to repair the old thing. You gave him directions and he parked in front of your motel before long.

“Little maus, this is your stop.”

You looked out, the rain had gotten worse. “Stay, for a while.”

Niki looked out the window, “It’s not that bad.”

“For my peace of mind,” you clarified, “It’s horrible out here and I know this place is probably far from wherever you’re staying.”

He turned off the car. “For your peace then.” Grabbing his umbrella, he instructed you to stay put as he got out, and quickly went to your side again, helping you balance when your heel got caught in a hole in the cement. “Which way?” He yelled over a crash of thunder.

Grabbing his hand, you ran in the direction of your room. Over the rain you heard him mutter something about his soaked through shoes but you couldn’t help laughing at his expense. The outfits were equally ruined but there wasn’t any use in crying over a little rain. You put the key in the door and opened it, pulling him in behind you.

He stood at the door as he watched you shuffle through clothes, catching a pair of sweatpants you threw his way. “You have company?” Niki asked, checking out the pants.

“Nope,” you grabbed your own clothes, “I have a habit of picking up my friend’s clothes. They’re comfier.”

“And you can’t buy some of your own?”

“Not the same, Niki. Once they’re mine the comfort isn’t there anymore.” You shrugged your shoulders. “Go take a shower. I don’t need to mess up my job and get you sick on the same day.”

Niki, surprisingly, did as you said without a word of argument. Then again getting sick this late in the game wouldn’t do him any favors if he had any hopes of winning. Remembering the small restaurant across the street, you got his umbrella and braved the rain for another round. Buying him some food would only be fair considering he had agreed to bring you back even if he did need a fair amount of time before finally letting it happen. Figuring the man must be picky, breakfast options would probably be the safest bet.

When you returned to the room, Niki was sitting on the bed, turning his head, he raised a brow at you.

“I can leave if you’re not comfortable,” he spoke, having assumed the worst in your absence.

You waved him off, setting the bag of food and drink holder on the table. “Why wouldn’t I be comfortable around you? A little rough around the edges but you seem to be kind enough. Come here.”

Niki went to your side, grabbing the coffee you held out to him. He let out a quiet groan when he tasted it. “This is perfect, maus.”

You smiled at him, “I’d love to take the credit but I asked her to prepare it as she would for her grumpiest old man regular.”

For the first time he smiled in amusement, at least the first one that you had ever gotten to see. Niki’s pictures were smiles that were forced quick ones with fans, a smirk at his competitors' failures, or him being high on a victory. He seemed all the more handsome now with that kind of smile and his curls being weighed down from his shower.

“I’m going to freshen up, but help yourself to anything you’d like, Niki.”

“Your name?”

“Oh,” you blushed, “YN.”

He nodded before sending a wink your, “I think I prefer, Maus.”

“Go eat your cheese, Rat King.” You laughed as he flipped you off before looking through the bag for something to eat.

Later that night the rain had yet to clear up. But the two of you had started to get friendlier. Speaking of the past and finding out some of the things you shared interest in. A loud crack of thunder sounded right before the power went off. Niki laughed at the quiet yelp you let out at the sudden noise.

“You’re alright, mäuschen, the thunder can’t hurt you.” His tone was teasing but you still found some comfort in his words. “It’s late, maybe you should sleep. It'll be better in the morning. There isn’t much more to do either way.”

“What will you do?” You asked, as you went to lay down.

“I’ll take a page out of your book and sleep at the table. It's fine.”

You scoffed at the thought, “Come to bed, Niki. There’s more than enough space.” Sensing his hesitation, you sighed. “Don’t make me get up and drag you to bed, Lauda.”

The bed dipped as he relented and laid down. His freezing arm grazed against yours, you had to take the extra step to throw the cover over him realizing he wouldn’t do it himself. It wasn’t long before you had fallen asleep, the man next to you still stiff as a board beside you. Niki didn’t push you away when you laid your head against his chest. Your arm rested across his stomach. Moments later he finally relaxed, allowing sleep to take him.

At six he had woken up, the rain had finally seemed to stop. Carefully he untangled himself from you. He couldn’t help a quiet laugh when you grumbled sleepily and made yourself comfortable. Again he pulled away, this time he made a successful escape. After a quick phone call and scribbling a goodbye note to you he got dressed and left.

You were woken up by a loud knocking on the door. “Coming! Coming!”

Niki seemed to be gone, at least his clothes were and the sweatpants you lent him were folded on a chair.

Opening the door, you were greeted by a tall man. “Are you, YN?”

“Yes, sir, how can I help you?”

He held out keys to you, your keys you realized, “Nothing, miss. Niki covered all the cost. He had me repair the issues and replace the little things that needed replacing. Now, I must go and fix the actual cars I’m hired to do.”

“Oh, um, thank you so much sir. I really appreciate you. Tell Niki thank you too.” You grabbed the keys from him.

The man turned heel and walked to a car that had been waiting for him. You went over to inspect your car. He had gotten it freshly washed and vacuumed too. Nothing spared to make it good as new. Your wallet would have cried it’s praise if it could.

All that was left was to head back home and, inevitably, get yelled at for dropping the ball with Niki the following day. You went to gather all your clothes. A note on the nightstand caught your attention.

Until next time, Maus. -Niki

Capital M. You laughed at that. Apparently this was a nickname you wouldn’t shake. Pocketing the note you got back to work putting all your things in your night bag.

It had been two months since that day. Niki was high off the win, but upon seeing your company’s logo, he couldn’t shake you from his thoughts. All the questions and shouts of his name were handled on an autopilot. That is until the journalist that worked with you caught his attention.

“Niki, do you think you have what it takes to actually win this season?”

“What I think is… I won’t answer any questions for your company unless they’re from YN,” he answered impulsively, “She has a personal touch.”

That seemed to be a mistake. Now all the questions became about the mystery girl that had seemed to peak Niki’s interest enough to ask for him personally. He gave the sharks a couple more minutes before walking away from them. A few stragglers trailed after him wanting to know more about the personal life he kept so close to his chest.

The next race came and there still didn’t seem to be any sign of you. Niki had come in second so he didn’t hold any of their attention. Sparing one last glance to the crowd in hopes of finding you, he gave up and walked to his locker room.

“A personal touch?” You asked when you saw him in the hall.

“It was a poor choice of words,” he said, his cheeks reddening.

“People at the office are saying I fucked my way to special treatment, Niki. Very poor choice of words.”

“We know the truth.” He shrugged, opening the door. “You’ve just made it more suspicious meeting with me here. In private.”

You followed him into the room. “And deal with everyone prying about my relationship with you? No thanks. What can I offer besides we slept in bed and the next morning he had my car fixed?”

“Well, if we had fucked I would have actually bought you a car. So that’s that. Who cares what anyone else thinks? You don’t even like the job.”

“You wouldn’t have bought me a car, that’s more of a Hunt move.”

“A nicer note then.”

“Debatable. You don’t strike me as the sweet nothings type.”

“Ask your questions, Maus.”

You set up a tape recorder and brought out a journal to write down some extra notes. The two of you trailed through the basic questions that they had made you ask, boring as they were. Then you asked him about his personal life and childhood memories. These ones the two of you found more entertainment in. You had forgotten to write down notes as he caught you in a mischievous story from his teenage years. Sharing laughs when he got fully into the story.

He smiled brightly, “Those years were much easier. How much more do we have?”

You shut off the recorder. “We’re done.”

“In that case, I could ask you some questions.”

“It’s only fair,” you allowed, “What would you like to know?”

“Dinner tonight?”

“I can make time.”

That’s how things progressed. You’d get your private interviews, then he’d shower and take you to dinner. Of course, the dating rumors were quick to start. The true gossip rags paid for pictures of the two of you leaving his private rooms together or laughing over drinks, all good moments between friends.

Until they weren’t.

You were captured in the bubble that often formed between you and Niki. One thing after another and the distance was closed. Niki’s lips were hesitant but sure against yours. The drink in your systems making it easier to be bolder. You left a kiss to the corner of his mouth before you parted from him completely.

Niki groaned in annoyance when he caught the flash of a camera going off. “Let’s find somewhere private, Maus.”

Being with Niki was different from your past exploits. He wasn't a big fan of affectionate moments in public. Often he forgot those special days that others had made sure to celebrate with you. But somehow, despite those things you knew he cared for you the deepest out of all of them. He didn’t need all the frilled words for you to understand how he felt.

“Maus, we need to have a serious discussion,” Niki stated, pulling you from the article you were forcing yourself to write.

You groaned, but looked at him, “Love, if you’re upset with me can we save this for later. Writing this is bad enough as it is.”

“That’s precisely what I want to talk about,” he said, taking a seat across from you, “So many times I have to watch you pour all your energy into things you hate. Why?”

“I need a job. I don’t want to just be Niki Lauda’s wife.”

“You don’t need a job,” he sighed, “We’ve discussed this already. I’m your husband and I’m taking care of everything.”

“Where is this going, Niki?”

“I want you to quit.”

“No!” You looked at him angrily. “You already know how I feel about this.”

“Listen to me, YN.”

The use of your name tapering down the anger you had felt, realizing you were misunderstanding him.

“You’ll continue being my little reporter wife if you stay there. I’ve read the things you do want to write about and the passion leaks from every word. These?” He gestures to the current article, looking almost disgusted, “They’re all so dead. Well written, yes, but there’s none of my wife’s passion. I want you to quit so you can focus on the things you truly want to create.”

“I can do both,” you insisted.

“YN, it’s been months since you’ve ran to me with one of your journals, watching me read your newest story with the excitement practically radiating from you. Those moments are some of my favorites we’ve had and they haven’t happened because you’re wasting time on these shits. I want you to write your book so others can really see the talent you have.”

You nodded realizing Niki was right. “So what you’re saying is, you want to be known as YN Lauda’s husband?”

“Only in some circles, Maus,” he joked, “but I’m sure you can arrange it in a year or two when you’re a published author.”

Baron Helmut Zemo 3411

“Really! I can go with you?”

“Yes, but you’ve got to be on your best behavior and stay close to your father and I.”

“I promise!” You smiled brightly at your mother, hugging her legs as tightly as you could. “I’m gonna wear my pretty dress!”

For as long as you could remember you begged your parents to take you to castle Zemo. Driven by the bedtime stories your babysitter had told you while your parents were working in the castle. The magnificent sculptures and paintings. The gardens that looked like they went on forever. Handsome princes and princesses that looked more beautiful than anyone could dream of being. Your parents continuously denying your access to it made the castle all the more tempting.

Your sitter’s sudden sickness and no one being available to take care of you seemed to give you your golden ticket. Finally you’d get to see everything you had been missing out on.

Your mother helped you into the dress you picked and braided a beautiful purple ribbon into your hair. Your father had already left to make breakfast for the Baron and his family. A few hours later, your mother and you made your way to the castle. Along the way she continued to fret. Giving you rules and making sure to drill into your head that you were to stay close.

You stared at the gigantic castle, wide eyed, as it came into view. It really was beautiful. Princes, princesses, and extravagant balls filled your mind. How you wished to experience that life.

In the beginning you attempted to be a good daughter. Ghosting your mother through the rooms and helping her make the bed. None of this was the exciting part though. Quickly, your patience started to run. Boredom getting the better of you, you started to devise a plan. What was the worst that could happen when they caught on? You already got to see the castle with your own eyes.

“Mommy, can I go with daddy to get a snack? I’m hungry.” You patted your stomach, “It’s grring a lot!”

She looked between you and the room she had started cleaning. “Go straight to your father. Don’t look through any of the rooms.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be the bestest!”

Dutifully you walked to the kitchen, where your father was preparing dinner for a meeting of some sort with fancy musicians playing as everyone ate. You wondered what it was like to be allowed to attend those kind of things. Would it be fun or would you find it boring if you were allowed to go all the time?

“Papa, can I have an apple? Mama said I can have a snack while she cleans the rooms.”

“Give me a moment, srećo,” he washed his hands quickly before slicing up two apples and grabbing a small bowl to toss them in. “Remember to bring that back when you’re finished, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

You thanked him with a kiss on the cheek before grabbing your bowl of apples. Simple as that you were freed. At least until they figured out the stunt you pulled. Munching on the apples, you walked down random corridors. Taking in all the fancy things you couldn’t find at home. Though without your babysitter’s funny words, it felt stuffy like a museum. The halls all seemed too big and the paths empty though there would be something that peaked your attention.

There was some music playing and you followed after it, occasionally hearing the keys being pressed all at once. Finding the door, you pressed your ear up to it, listening to the soft music and hearing someone sing about how bored they were and how much they hated the piano, but loved the claps he’d receive after he played for a crowd. Opening the door, you stepped into the room, walking until you were close to the boy sitting at the piano.

“What are you playing?” You asked, making him jump in his seat.

The boy immediately stopped playing the piano, tilting his head in confusion when he noticed you. “A song.”

“It sounded pretty.”

“It’s boring and not fun.” The boy looked like he remembered something. Holding out his hand and said. “Hello, I’m Helmut Zemo. Who are you?”

“YN,” you held out the bowl of apples, “Want some?”

He stood and grabbed a slice for himself. “There’s never other kids here. Not unless there’s a party. Even then sometimes I’m the only one,” he spoke around a bite, looking at you up and down, “You’re so teeny tiny, you know. It’s cute.”

“I’m not!” You stood on your tippy toes, “You’re only a little bit bigger.”

“But I’m still bigger than you,” he said proudly as he stuck his tongue out at you. “Do you want to play? My mother is making me practice piano all day because people are coming but I’m tired of it.”

“We can play!” You agreed happily.

He touched your arm, before running away quickly yelling, “You’re it,” over his shoulder.

You laughed loudly, dropping your apples and chasing after him. The two of you dashed through the halls. When you pushed him into a column, the vase on it toppled down. Staring at the broken pieces and then at each other and back down.

“My great great great grandfather had that made for my great great great grandmother. It was an anniversary gift.”

“That’s a lot of greats.” You toed at a broken piece of the vase.

“It is, isn’t it?” He started to pick the broken pieces, “I don’t think gluing them together will help this… My parents will be very angry. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you don’t get in trouble. I’m supposed to do that. Make sure the Sokovian people lead trouble-free lives and I’m responsible for them all that’s what my father says.”

“Let’s bury it in the garden! No one will know. It’ll be our secret!”

“They’ll know, but it sounds fun!”

The two of you gathered the pieces and you followed him to the garden. He dropped his pieces on the ground and ran to grab trowels to use.

“Oh! You can’t get your dress dirty! I need to take off my jacket and be gentlemanly!” He shrugged off his coat and set it on the ground. “You can sit there.”

That was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. With the future baron begging his parents for you to visit, your parent’s hands were tied when it came to you accompanying them. As long as no more family heirlooms we’re broken and buried in the garden you were more than welcome over. You didn’t mind. Helmut and you found other ways to have fun. Those baby bedtime stories weren’t necessary for you to find something worthwhile in the castle anymore. Helmut was there.

Helmut would give you the tightest hugs every time he had to leave for his boarding school and even tighter ones when he came back for the holidays or summer. You were thick as thieves when he was around, hardly spending time apart when you had any say in the matter.

The older you got the higher the crimes. Sneaking him out of events, him breaking you out of school midday, partying in places you were much too young for but no one would ever stop him from doing what he’d like, and sharing kisses you had promised your parents you wouldn’t. He was simply irresistible. Many firsts were shared under the star-filled sky of Sokovia.

You were tucked into the crook of his arm, watching the stars with him. The soft fabric of his coat kept you safe from the dewy grass.

“I adore you,” he kissed you lazily, “With everything I have.”

“Really?”

“I swear it. Would you like to know something? It's a small secret I’ve held.”

You looked at him, curiously, “What is it?”

“It’s stupid,” he chuckled, “I think having a favorite color is idiotic. What’s the point? A color is just that, a color, but everytime, I’m drawn to purple. It always pulls my attention and I choose it over any other.”

“Why is that?”

“Because, when we met, you had a lovely ribbon in your hair. Everytime I see purple, I can’t help but think about how lucky I was that day. Naturally, I gravitate to it, because of you.”

You laughed, “Must have been very desperate for a game of tag then. I’m sorry to say fustrated piano isn’t my favorite music.”

He tugged on your hair, “I’ve improved.”

“Colors and music aside. You are my favorite person.”

“And what an honor that is, ljubavi.”

You leaned up to kiss him. “I’d choose you a million times.”

Then you got even older. The both of you settled down from your rebellious ways. You focused on your studying. Zemo started really learning what he needed for his baron hood and joined the military. He was a natural born leader, but of course he was born to lead. Life kept the both of you busy, but you still made the time.

You heard a knock on your door, knowing exactly who to expect. He had come back on a small vacation last week, first he spent time with his parents then he’d come over and spent his second week with you. Opening the door your smile faded as you took in his appearance, he looked utterly destroyed. “Helm…” you caressed his cheek, prompting him to look up at you, “What’s wrong?”

“They married me off, YN.” His eyes were rimmed red. That was a rare sight. “In four months… I’m going to be married.”

“No,” you shook your head, “You’re not. Stop lying.”

“Sokovia is failing… They said the marriage would combine their land with ours… give our people more resources. It’s what’s necessary for the people. I was born to do what was right for them. There isn’t a choice in the matter?”

“But what about us?” You took a seat, trying to process everything, “We’ve made plans. For fuck’s sake! You’re already engaged, Helmut. That was your chance to tell them. For us to really be together for once.” You fidgeted with the ring, the purple stone shining brightly. Taking off the ring you threw it at him, “Since mother and father found someone for their perfect son and he’s refusing to do anything about it.”

“You think this is the life I pictured for us? I didn’t want this!”

“You agreed to it!”

The tension hung in the air for a moment.

Helmut bent down and picked up the ring. He walked over and crouched in front of you. “I need you to keep this. This ring was given out of love and respect, never necessity. …that isn’t exactly right is it? What I needed more than anything to know that you wanted just as much as I did to go through this long life side by side. When I asked you I meant it with my being that I wanted to be with you.” Taking the ring, he slid it back on your finger. Leaving a kiss on your hand he looked at you sincerely. “I knew I wanted to marry you since I was nine and you were eight. It was the only thing I ever dreamed of.”

The tears fell from your eyes and he wiped them away for you. “Then, let’s go. We could be together how we want if we just left. Please.”

“YN, you know I can’t avoid this.”

“You could that’s thing! Other barons have left before. Come away with me, we would make each other happy. Let me make you happy.”

“The others had brothers to hand Sokovia to, I’m the only one. The only one left to try to secure a good and decent life for my people. It’s on me to do what is needed. What’s right.”

“So what’s right for us doesn't matter? Am I to be your dutiful would be wife? Watch from the side lines as you marry this woman that means little to nothing to you? Then in return get treated as if I mean nothing.”

“No,” he shook his head, kissing your hand, “You mean the world to me. I’m nothing without you. Just give me the time I need. This is just a bump, we can make it past this. I’ll figure this out for us. That’s what I want. Us.”

So you allowed him time. Watching as he played the role of baron and husband during the day and returned to you when everyone else was asleep. You made due with the fact that that was just how things were for the time being. You had his heart and that was going to have to be enough. Even if it started to chip away at your own.

“Really?” He said in surprise, making you look up from his chest, “When did you find out? …No. I’m not upset. I swear, draga. I’m glad, I wish you hadn’t kept the excitement to yourself! I’ll be back soon.” When the conversation ended Helmut threw the phone to the wall. “She’s pregnant.”

“Oh…” you sat up, he stopped you from moving away too far, “Congratulations… I’m happy for you, Helmut.”

“She was feeling unloved... I know I can’t expect you to understand, but she’s my wife,” he attempted to explain.

“I- I can’t do this anymore…”

“Yes, you can.”

“No,” you shook your head, pulling away from his grasp, “I don’t want it.”

“We can figure things out, YN. We will.”

You stood, grabbing by his blue robe to cover yourself. “What to be forced to live a life as your mistress longer? Another five years? Forever? Helmut, I’m tired of not getting to hold you when I wish. I’m tired of quick nights and too short vacations where we try to prove our love with our bodies because there’s never time to love each other the proper way at home.”

“It hasn’t been that bad,” the sound of a lighter filled the air as he grabbed a cigarette, “We have to make due with what we have.”

“It’s not enough!” The tears threatened to fall and you turned to look out the window. “It’s not! You’re married to her. She’s pregnant with your child. It’s been years now! I can’t keep watching as she gets to live the life I long for. What happens if I ever…? Would you even allow me to keep that?”

“If that’s what you wanted. I could be the godfather in public… we’ll find a way. We could raise the children together stressing how they’re similar to siblings. They’d love each other as such.”

You scoffed, “Godfather, as if they’re siblings, you’re full of answers aren’t you? And when they’re older and start to grow into your looks? When people talk, what will you do then? Can’t you hear them now? ‘Isn’t that the girl he used to fuck in club alleys? Well old habits die hard.’ So what’s the answer then? Push us under the carpet? Send us away? Perhaps? Because when it comes to me or this damned role you were born into I’ll never win out.”

“Don’t speak like that. I’d never do that to you.” Helmut walked behind you and pressed kisses to your shoulders. “You know I live for you. Breathe for you. You’re the great love of my life. These are just obstacles to overcome. We will, I promise that. One day things will be as they should be.”

“Stop lying to me and feeding me sugar coated words.”

“I’m not.”

“Helm, I don’t want this anymore,” you choked, “I love you. But this isn’t what I want.”

He kissed along your neck, “You don’t really mean that, draga.”

You pushed him away, “This isn’t something you can smooth out with a few kisses. Helmut, it’s a child.”

“I know what it is, I made it.” He left your side to get himself a drink. “My child, who would have thought we’d get such magnificent news on this vacation! What a fucking delight isn’t it?”

“Don’t be angry about the child. Everything that happened here is your fault.”

“I’m not. Despite things I’m excited to meet him. I’m upset at the way things worked out. Everything I had hoped for since I was young will never come true.”

“Well, that’s no fault of my own.. I’m not going to beg for you anymore.”

“Poor innocent bird,” he made a sympathetic face, “Did I clip your wings? Little bird, tell me, have I ever forced you into a cage? This entire time you were free to do as you pleased. You seemed to enjoy begging for your Baron just moments ago.”

“Because of your failed promises, I stayed.”

“But have I ever asked you to stay? You’re a grown woman, you can make decisions of your own. My choices aren’t the only ones that led us here.”

You took a deep breath. “Then for once I’ll make a good decision for us… Goodbye, Helmut. I hope you have a wonderful life.”

Helmut replayed that moment over and over in his head. Watching you pack your things. Holding his tongue that wanted to plead for you to stay more than anything. His heart breaking fully when you didn’t spare him one last glance and left through the door. But he knew. He knew this was for the best for you. Without cruel words and pretending he didn’t feel for you as deeply as he did, you’d stay. Your love made you loyal as could be and he couldn’t stand to hurt you as he had. And with his child on the way, he couldn’t choose you until they reached adulthood.

“Helmut? You’re home?” His wife had asked from behind him.

He took a quick drink, relishing in the burning sensation before turning in his chair to face her. “After such good news how could I stay put? It was so late, I didn’t want to interrupt your sleep. You must be so tired these days.”

She walked to his side, perching on his desk, “I always have time for you.”

“That’s such a comforting thought, draga.”

Her hand came to his cheek making him look her in the eye, “What’s wrong?”

“Fatherhood. It’s a terrifying thought. All the things that I could do wrong. Failures. I wonder if I’m capable of making the sacrifices necessary for our child to live a good and happy life.”

“The fact that you worry so much is proof that you’d try your best. I have faith in you, Helmut, you put all you have into the things you do. You’ll be a perfect father.”

“I’ll do everything I need to be a good father for him,” he promised.

She smiled at him, “Him?”

He chuckled, putting a hand on her stomach, she wasn’t close to showing but it comforted him to feel somewhat closer to his child. “I got a feeling it’s a him.”

“He needs god parents. I was thinking about asking Josif to be his godfather. You should ask YN, I know you’re close to her.”

But would she ever know how close? “No. I’m afraid I angered her too much. I judged too harshly the man she claims to love and I don’t think we’ll talk again soon.”

She shook her head, “You’re too rough sometimes, apologize to her. You’ve been friends since you were children. Most of your cherished memories involve her somehow. How horrible would it be to lose her now?”

Helmut could feel his resolve start to crumble. An expert he was at hiding his emotions and thinking quickly, but he wasn’t made of stone. Especially when he considered you one his biggest weakness. “You should sleep now. You need all the rest you can get these days.”

Sighing, she nodded, “Don’t be in your office too long. The bed gets too cold without you.”

“I need to think for a moment. I won’t be long.”

Years later, you stood in front of your television, watching Sokovia thrusted up to the sky. Then it all came crashing down. The end of a long legacy. The end of all those memories that hurt so bad. The end of everything Helmut had ever attempted to do right for the small country. You wondered if he was still alive and if he was, what was in store for him next.

Ernst Schmidt 3815

Twin screams pulled everyone from the work they had been doing. Slowly the team met at the source. Arguing always arguing now. What to do, how to do it. When the wall panel was removed it revealed two people tangled into the electrical wires. They continued to scream in agony. As they argued about what to do with the people in the walls, one struggled speaking.

You coughed up blood. Only managing the last syllable before, choking again. Seeming to muster up all your strength you screamed, “Ernst, help me!”

Their heads all snapped to you. Then everything happened. It was a blur of bodies as they struggled to get you and Jensen calm enough to look over. Finally it was decided to sedate you as they worked. First Jensen and then you. Some couldn’t help but gag at the wires running through your limbs.

“How do they know your names?” Someone shouted at the two that seemed to catch the injured one’s attention.

“I’ve never seen her in my life,” Schmidt said, looking over your sleeping figure. “I- I don’t know.”

When everyone filed out, Schmidt lingered. Mostly he wondered why you called on him out of everyone, but he supposed, he wouldn’t have any answers until you woke up. Noticing the bloodied rings you wore around your neck, he took it off of you. Running them through water until it ran clear and drying them on a towel.

“Schmidt!”

“In a moment,” he called out, readjusting the jewelry on to you.

He knew himself. So he didn’t understand the extra care he was taking of you. After all he was one of the first to voice that the wall shouldn’t be opened and that you should be left there. You were unknown. Dangerous. Yet he couldn’t find it in himself to treat you as such.

When you awoke, you sat up, your hand immediately coming up to hold the rings on your neck letting out a sigh of relief when they were still there. Jensen was still asleep. Given the fact that they had patched you up instead of letting you bleed out you had to believe they wouldn’t hurt her if you wandered. Needing time to clear out what had happened, who you had seen. You didn’t know what to do, but you avoided the crew mates as you made your way through the corridors.

Ernst was here, but he couldn’t be. Could he? It had to be a delusion brought up by the pain. A cruel torture your brain decided to put you through during a life threatening event. What better time to add him in when there was a crowd and confusion.

You punched in the code for your room. Needing time to think and knowing you wouldn’t get that from the people suddenly on board. Or were you on board their ship? Nothing made sense.

Heading straight for the screen you looked through your files.

We are sorry to inform you…

He wasn’t here. There wasn’t any possible way for him to be. Angrily you blinked away the tears. You knew that. It couldn’t be helped, but hope was such a difficult thing to shake. All that was left were memories now. Sighing you tapped the video files.

The video started and you got to see him. Groggy and just a bit grumpy that you had woken him up.

“You’re been sleeping the entire night,” you complained from behind the camera. It shook as you made yourself comfortable on his lap.

At the bottom of the screen, you watched as his hands stroked up and down your thighs. “I was working all last night.”

You laughed, “Yes, great excuse. Not like I was right there by your side.”

“Then that means you should be here with me,” he pulled you down until you were tucked into the crook of his arm, he pressed a kiss to your cheek, “There you go, liebling, isn’t that much better?”

“Much,” you sighed, content.

He took the camera from you angling so that both of you were in the shot. “Why are we filming today?”

“Found it when I was putting up a box of your things. Then I saw all the tapes, dvds, and usbs and figured why shouldn’t I continue filming The Great and Epic Life of Ernst Schmidt.”

“Hmm, do you think the ending would be any good?”

“With me at your side? Baby, we’re getting an Oscar.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up when you heard his through the speakers.

“What are you doing here?” An all too familiar voice asked.

“I’m sorry. This was- Is- fuck I don’t even know anymore…” you attempted an apology, quickly pausing the video and wiping at the tears that had fallen, “How are you here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Watching him, you read his body language. He was pulling the face he did when he couldn’t find the answer he needed quickly enough.

“You don’t know me,” you concluded, a sadness in your voice that he didn’t have a taste for, “It’s strange. For days I had begged whatever was out there to bring you back, let me have a couple more moments. Then it does and you don’t even know me.”

“How do I know that you’re even telling the truth?” He asked helplessly. A part of him wanted to believe you, but so much was happening. How could he know?

“Well for one. This ring would fit you perfectly Cinderella.” You gave him a tight lipped smile as you pulled the sadness in, “Then there’s all these. We were very active in the filming business.”

It was easy catching the glint in his eye when he thought of something to say but thought better of it.

You sent him a wink his way, “Only if you were particularly good that day, my love.”

He looked at his feet, “I’m sorry, but I’m not…”

“I know, it was just a slip. …I’ve grown accustomed to living with the ghost of you.”

Ernst stepped closer to you, looking at the screen curiously. That version of himself looked at you with so much love. Remembering the rings he had cleaned, he supposed you had to mean the world to him. “What happened?”

“Are you sure you’d want to know? It’s not you but I can’t imagine knowing how any you died is anything sunny.”

“I can handle it.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

“Well in the beginning, we met when we came to the program. We weren’t the best of friends. God we practically hated each other. Things got heated once during an argument, one thing led to another… and well you know how those things go,” you smiled at memories of things he’d never know fully, “Then we started fucking the stress away. Eventually that seemed to become more to you and I was reluctant,” he furrowed his eyebrows at you, “I was just afraid you- he- was confusing sex with love. Then he flirted with some girl in front of me and I could not stand the idea. The smirk he had when I pulled him into that supply closet... ‘I knew you’d see things my way, mein schatz.’”

He laughed at the tease of his voice and couldn’t help a smile at the victory that version would have felt as you staked your claim on him. “What else was there?”

“Mundane things. Some arguments. Even in love things aren’t perfect. We broke up once because we were both putting work before each other. I’m not sure it really counted because even then we didn’t look for anyone else and came back to each other at the dead of night. It went on like that for a while until we decided we could make it work for real. We had already proven ourselves more than necessary but over achievers we are. Got married, I wasn’t in a rush but he said something along the lines of ‘I can’t stand the idea of passing by you like we’re strangers ever again’ and that’s all the convincing it took. Fast forward a couple of years and there came our little boy.”

“What?” He didn’t even think he wanted to be a father. Let alone think of it. Much like your version he was entirely devoted to his work. Never thinking further ahead to solving the energy crisis.

“You don’t…” You stopped yourself short, “Sorry that’s stupid if there’s no me with you then there can’t be our Elias.”

“Elias…” he tested the name on his lips, it seemed perfect, “May I see him?”

Nodding, you started scrolling down. Ernst wondered what every video contained, but there wouldn’t be enough time to watch them. It seemed filming really was something the two of you had made it your mission to do. Finally, you stopped.

“Suppose you need some context. We took off the first year we had him. Our jobs, we’d miss a lot more than we’d like y’know, but as things go I got called back and they stayed in Germany. Elias is about nine months at this point.”

The video held a tired looking Ernst that had left himself go some. His beard was coming in thicker and his hair was much longer than it would usually be. A little hand tugged on the ends of it. Pulling his hair free he sat Elias on his lap looking at the camera.

“By the time you watch this, I’m going to be long dead. Your son has not let me sleep at all,” he ruffled the small baby’s little tufts of hair, “Though he seems to sleep longer on your side of the bed. I think he misses you, hase, but I can understand that. I do too. Papa isn’t as fun alone is he?” He tickled Elias’s side, making him erupt in laughter. “Though I am beginning to think going back to work was for the best. At this rate this moppelchen would gladly eat us out of house and home.” As he made his father’s point eating some snack in a bowl set in front of himself, Elias cooed, pulling up a slobber covered hand with a star shaped puff up to Ernst’s mouth. With a slight grimace Ernst opened and the infant pushed his little fingers into his father’s mouth. “Thank you, bär. Delicious as always.”

“Papa!” The baby said, before shoving another star shaped treat of his own into his mouth.

“What?” Ernst looked between the camera and the baby, a proud smile growing on his features, “Did you hear that? It isn’t the lack of sleep?”

Elias continued to mutter the simple syllables much to the elation of the Ernst on screen.

He watched as that version of himself placed kisses on his giggling baby’s cheeks saying how proud he was and bragging to you about being Elias’s first words.

“Wunderbare! Du bist Papas Junge bist du nicht!”

Schmidt watched as Ernst attempted to teach Elias mama but couldn’t help the smug grin when he’d continuously say papa. “Where’s Elias now?”

“They were lost to me the same day,” you mumbled, watching the screen intently. Your eyes seemingly going over every pixel. “He had gone to his parents for Christmas but Elias was sick and he had decided that it was best to go home. But there was a drunk driver an- an-“ You broke into a sob. “His last breaths he was begging for them to save the baby he didn’t care what happened to him just save the baby, the report said. But Elias was… then Ernst’s injuries were too much he…”

Ernst collected your shaking figure into his arms, “I know. I’m sorry. I know.”

You shut your eyes tight holding the half stranger close. It was hard going through all of this with the new Ernst, but the same comfort was there. His hand rubbed your back the same way, his cologne that had long faded from his clothes here smelled stronger than ever, and the soft kiss he pressed to your cheek though unexpected felt the same. Letting out a shaky breath, you pulled away from him, it was too much.

“Thank you, Schmidt, I needed that.”

He nodded, unsure of what else to do. “We should go back with the others.”

You followed him through the halls back to the main room. Everyone was crowded around Jensen as she showed them some files on the computer.

“He’s been serving them information and YN does everything for him, so of course, she’d do as he asks.”

You looked at Jensen confused, “What are you talking about?”

The group turned to look at you and Schmidt, looking betrayed by their crew mate.

“I found it all, Schmidts. Every piece of information you two have been feeding to your higher ups. Since the beginning. Given everything that’s been happening, warning these guys about their own Schmidt felt more than necessary.”

“What?” You looked at her in disbelief, “Who the hell would I be reporting to? I’ve been doing my job as I should and failed. Our energy experiment didn’t work, because they had the one person we didn’t.” Pushing past her you looked at the screen. Files signed with your and Ernst’s names were all sent to people who had their own agenda. “What is this?”

“Contain those two until I find some way to sort this all out,” their commander ordered.

Schmidt looked at him in anger when two men grabbed him. “I haven’t done anything!”

“Well thanks to you and her, where we’re from the world, went to shit. Your little club started the wars that tore our world apart.”

You didn’t struggle against the women that came to grab you. “Don’t believe me. That’s fine. I understand how this looks from my position. But are you really going to believe her over your own crew mate? She’s lying about a dead man.”

Jensen clicked another file. Skimming through it quickly she read about how Ernst had faked his death in order to start the project for the people that would pay him. He was sorry the baby was a necessary casualty but another could be made in the long run.

“Why are you doing this?” You looked at Jensen obviously hurt. It was funny. She puppeteered all this and you had thought the crew would be what you should have worried about.

You didn’t get a response as you and Schmidt were being dragged away. They ended up leaving the two of you in a makeshift cell.

“His memory is being ruined.” You shook your head, taking a seat on the ground. “All the good he tried to do and she’s undoing it with a bunch of fake files.”

“They’re idiots but they’ll come around. Volkov accused me of something similar earlier when he was complaining about my failures… then he died choking on worms. Add on all of this, being lost in space, people in the walls, Mandy losing an arm, no one is in their right mind at the moment.”

“Well, if it’s anything you’ve definitely got all the patience Ernst was missing. He’d be livid right now.”

“I am, but it’s wasted when the only person here knows I’m innocent.”

“Fair enough.”

You watched as he paced the short hall before finally joining you on the ground.

“Tell me some more about you two. We’ve got nothing but time and I need something else to think about.”

“Well we definitely weren’t spies I can tell you that much. We worked together as partners after a while, my stuff overlapped with yours and as much as we liked space, it was faster to get home when we came up together. When we were home it was always nice, but I had to pull you from your habit of getting locked up in your office. Especially when I was pregnant. You had said you wanted them to leave you alone for as long as possible.”

“I can see why he wanted as much time with you as he could manage,” he leaned his head against the wall, eyes closed, “Hearing you talk is calming.”

“What finally pulled you out of the rut was when you felt Elias kick at your hand once,” you laughed at the memory, “The smile you had then… That little bär gave you a new life. But as you are, you just devoted yourself to new work- building his nursery. Some mornings you’d hum the bump a melody or just talk to it. ‘He’s going to recognize you instantly, hase, my bär needs to know how papa sounds.’”

Ernst couldn’t find it in himself to correct you at that moment. You sounded so happy, so fond of him.

“You were adamant about him having a telescope near his window.”

He chuckled, knowing exactly why he would want such a thing. “That’s where it all started for me! My first real memory is sneaking out of my window with it in my bag and running up the hill to get the closest look at the stars I could. Those times were much easier…”

“You loved the idea of your son following after your footsteps.”

“Well, when he took after his mama’s looks I had to nudge him a little closer to papa’s side.”

He watched as your smile faltered and he realized his wording. Caught up in the idea of the life this other self had with you.

“He said the same exact thing.”

“You miss him.”

“All the time. This is… this is so difficult with you. I try to grit my teeth just enough, I’m a stranger to you after all, but looking at you is like looking at the sun. Look for too long and it hurts.”

“I wish I knew what to say. What combination of words could help but…”

“I don’t think there’s any words for this kind of thing.”

Ernst put an arm around your shoulders. “He seemed to make you happy. You didn’t deserve any of this pain. Speaking as a person that could probably guess his thoughts best in this whole place you made him happier than anything he ever experienced.”

“It should have been me, Schmidt.”

“No,” he shook his head, “It shouldn’t have been any of you. All of you deserved as much time as you could have been given with each other. I’m not sure Tam and I will have that.”

“Tam,” you smiled, “you shouldn’t say that. You never know what could happen. I told you, Ernst and I didn’t have a picture perfect beginning. The middle though? That was amazing.”

“I’m not sure I’m right for her.”

“If you weren’t, she wouldn’t entertain you. Don’t sell yourself short Schmidt you can give someone a very happy life when you try. Ernst surprised himself a couple of times.”

The next couple of hours were a blur. A stray arm freed you and Schmidt, the arm solved the mystery of where the gyro was, then Schmidt lost Tam. That broke your heart. How helpless he looked. The horror that painted his face as he looked at Tam frozen in place. Then Mundy in an explosion and Kiel making his final stance as the commander of the ship.

Sound of a gunshot took you and Schmidt out of the tunnel vision of screens and numbers, working hard to do anything that could help.

Jensen raised the gun, aiming at Schmidt, “YN, move out of the way.”

You shook your head, stepping in front of him despite his attempts to shield you with his body. “Why are you doing this?”

“They have the resources we need. If he hadn’t been here, you’d think clearly. Three lives aren’t worth the ones we could save. They think giving us the schematics would be useful but we’d never build it in time. It’s our world or theirs.”

“Mina… it’s him.”

“Which is why I’m giving you the time to walk out. You don’t have to see him die. You can miss it again.”

The tears spilled from your eyes, but all the same you nodded. “Goodbye, Schmidt.” Looking at Mina you asked for a simple request. “He suffered a lot last time. They said he kept fighting until they told him Elias had survived… Make sure it’s quick. Please.”

She gave you a nod adjusting her aim.

“YN! You’re better than this!” He yelled in anger, “I trusted you!”

Hanging your head you walked toward Mina.

“This is for the greater good, YN. You’ll feel better about it later. It’s not like you’d get another Elias out of him, right?”

The second you passed her shoulder you turned heel and threw a cheap shot. Fair considering she had a gun. Jensen pulled the trigger quickly, a gunshot was immediately followed by Schmidt’s scream. The struggle you put up made her lose her grip on it, making it hurl to the ground. Both of you dove for it but she was just that much quicker. Aiming at you she sent two bullets your way. Both landed in your torso. Flooring you immediately.

Hamilton made it into the room. This time Schmidt took the distraction. Their struggle sent the gun clattering to the floor. You were close enough to grab it. Aiming you shot her with as much remorse as she had. Luckily it had hit her and she crumpled to the ground.

Schmidt quickly went to your side, gathering you into his arms. “Why would you do that?” He asked, the sadness seeping into his voice, “I’m not him. I’m not worth your life.”

“But you are,” you grimaced in pain, your breaths coming in shallow, “You may not be exact but there’s enough to recognize. Enough to love.”

“YN,” he choked, holding you close, “Please there’s been so much death already. Not you too.”

“I’ve begged for this, you know. The universe seems to be a fan of The Monkey’s Paw,” you laughed humorlessly, “Countless times I wished for a way to save my Ernst. Saving you is enough.”

He let out a stuttered breath, “I’m not worth this, I'm not enough. Please don’t.”

You held his face in your hand, brushing away a tear that had fallen. “You’re worth the pain in any lifetime, my love.”

Ernst watched as the light in your eyes dimmed. The weight of lives he’d never live crushing him. Moments with Tam that he had imagined once they got to Earth. All the things you had said and the short clip you had shown him running on a loop in his head. That little bär he’d never get a chance to hold in his own arms. It was his turn to live with ghosts now. Maybe, in another universe, you just had to live with stories of him too.

#laszlo kreizler x reader #the alienist #Andrea maroski x reader #ladies in lavender #Niki lauda x reader #rush (2013) #Helmut Zemo x reader #the falcon and the winter soldier #Ernst Schmidt x reader #cloverfield paradox #Daniel bruhl

[mysoftboybensolo]

The Alienist and the Soprano

Chapter 16: The Matter

A/N: This was inspired by Laszlo’s love of opera and my thought on what if he fell for an opera singer. Multi chapter. Canon divergence, there is no Mary Palmer here (I loved Mary and Laszlo, so I don’t feel like I could have her here and have him be with another woman). A mix of show and book canons. No Y/N, OC named Evelina Lind.

A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32029150

Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler x Fem OC!

Summary: The last thing Laszlo Kreizler ever expected while investigating the death of children was to fall in love, and with an opera singer no less!

Warnings: Age gap, some angst, sexual themes. (I have headcanon Laszlo as demisexual, and we know from Daniel, that Laszlo has no experience whatsoever.)

February felt like it would have gone on forever to Laszlo. He tried his best to pass the time by diving into his work and spending as much time with his beloved as he could, but the days felt long and nowhere close to April. Valentine’s Day helped to break up the month, a holiday of which he could finally participated in, having always felt a sting of pain of being alone, and he made sure it counted. He showered her with a dozen bouquets of lavender roses, swallowing the dressing room entirely. The weather was agreeable for them to have a picnic where she had given him an engraved new gold watch pin in the form of a wolf. “You’ve complained that your other ones doesn’t fasten as well as it used to,” she said, “When I saw it, I knew it must be for you.” 

It still amazed him at times how someone could love him enough to want to be tied to him for the rest of their life, to have people asking in regards of his fiancée, a wonderful word second to wife, and curious to know the details. Once the show was over, they were going to make the big decisions together, such as where to be married, who to invite, where to go for the honeymoon.

Honeymoon. The thought gave him pause one night as he was undressing for bed. He was standing before a mirror shirtless when he really gave a hard look at his arms. Laszlo never had been intimate with another; it was not a potent desire to fulfill the way that men like John have and who satisfy it with visits to brothels or their mistresses. He never felt the desperate urge for another, until her. She, the only one he had ever loved and desired, and it hit him to think, they never discussed the matter. Would she even want to have a full marriage with him, or was she content with what they had?

He wanted to be able to have with her what others would have, to feel her, to have her, and give himself. And then to wake in the morning, their body tangled, her scent warm and strange, mingled with his. But as he stood there, shirt off and bare, he couldn’t help but to compare the weak arm to the strong arm. There were moments where he would forget about it, forget that he was not as capable as other men, and if he is able to forget, then she must have too. He wouldn’t be able to bear to see her eyes turn from loving to repulsed, her touch gone, by the mere sight of his arm. Yes, she may love him, but that doesn’t mean she would ever desire him.

It was the thought that kept him up at nights and preoccupied his thoughts during the days, and at the end of the week what led him to Sara’s house.

“Laszlo! I was not expecting you, I thought you would have been at the opera by now.” Sara was about to get ready herself when Tessie told her that Laszlo was here, and seeing how nervous he appeared, it made Sara a little concerned.

“Sara, I wish to ask a favor of you. It’s personal, but I cannot bring myself to do it. I, um, I would like you to express to Evelina that she is not obligated to…” he flustered a bit, before choosing the proper word. “Consummate the marriage.”

Sara blinked in surprise. “I’m sorry?”

“The subject is not exactly the most appropriate to speak of between two unmarried people-”

“Since when has that ever stopped you from saying as you pleased?” Sara challenged, knowing that this excuse was utter bull.

“Then perhaps I am a coward,” he admitted, “I just couldn’t bear to see…It would mean a great deal to me if you would. Please, as a kindness to me, please tell her. I’ll see you at the opera,” he spoke, rushing out of the house.

Sara watched as Laszlo hurried off in his carriage, her mind reeling. Suddenly, it made sense. He asked her because he was too afraid to see what Evelina’s reaction would be. Now determined, she hurried up to get dressed and be at the opera.

Evelina prepared herself at her vanity when she saw through the mirror that Sara came into the dressing room. “Sara, what brings you down here?”

“I suppose curiosity got the better of me and I wanted to see your dressing room. The Roosevelt's are keeping Laszlo company, we are all sharing a box for tonight. Speaking of, that is something I must talk to you about.”

Evelina stopped what she was doing and turned in her chair. “Laszlo? Is he alright?”

“Oh, yes, he is. It’s just, before coming here, he had wanted me to tell you that you are not obligated to have sex with him.”

Evelina looked at Sara in shock, both at her bluntness and the idea. “I-I didn’t know he felt that way. Does he want the marriage to be in name only?”

“No, I don’t believe he wants that. He didn’t say it in so many words, but what he did say told me everything. He is under the impression that you want it that way. I am sure you hadn’t said or done anything to make him believe that, and that it is just his self-loathing that tells him this. But I wanted you to be aware, so it can be cleared up and all will be well again.”

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention,” she said, taking Sara’s hand. “I will see it to it immediately.”

Sara gave a sisterly kiss to her forehead and wished her to break a leg before returning to the box with Laszlo. Evelina sighed and thought of what to do. During the final scene of act two, Laszlo was tapped on the shoulder by the usher, making him turn around. “Excuse me, sir,” the usher whispered, “Someone wants to see you.”

Unsure of who would want to see him, he cautiously stepped out and found Mrs. Vidal. “Good evening madam, how may I help you?”

“I have a note for you,” she said sweetly, smiling. Taking the note, he read the words once, then twice, even three times as he felt he wasn’t sure his eyes were telling the truth. “What shall I tell her, doctor?”

Taking a gulp, he paused, thinking. “Tell her…I’ll be there.”

Mrs. Vidal nodded and left him smiling still. He returned to his seat, his eyes dazed. “Laszlo, is everything alright?” Theodore asked quietly.

“Yes. I just have to step out at the intermission.” Theodore nodded, turning his attention turned back to the opera. He looked down at his note again and his heart thumped furiously.

Darling Laszlo,

I must speak with you on a subject that is weighed heavily on my mind. At the intermission, come to my dressing room. We will be completely alone.

Yours entirely, Evelina.

Hardly anyone noticed him behind the scenes, and if they did, they did not think twice, for of course the fiancé of one of the performers would want to see them in the privacy of their dressing room. His mind swirled at the possible subjects, worried that she realized that it was a bad idea, this engagement and wanted to break it off. No, a part of him said, otherwise, why would she have signed the note as his entirely? Knocking at the door, he waited for her voice to command him in and sighed to see her at her vanity, wearing her dressing gown and fixing up her make-up.

Seeing him in the mirror, she stopped what she was doing and turned towards him, a huge smile on her face. She nearly tripped herself on the rug to fling into his arms. His heart settled a little then. It couldn’t be all bad if she responded to his presence in such a way. “I’ve been wanting to do that since I saw you up in the box,” she breathed, taking in his scent.

“I’m here now,” he softly answered, “Was that all the note was for? Just to get me into your arms?”

Evelina bit her lip, then looked up at him, her eyes soft and loving. “Sort of, though not quite in the same sense as we have done now.” Slipping away, she contemplated on how to bring it up, so she decided to try his method and be blunt. “Sara has told me that I am not to feel any obligations in regard to the more intimate nature of our marriage, that you had asked her to tell me.”

“Oh,” was all he could say, of course Sara would tell her as soon as she would. He put on a brave face, fearful and fully expecting her to accept his proposal. “Well, I suppose we should settle it. I know that my disability makes me undesirable, and it is kind that you want to comfort me, but I could not dare ask you to lie for my benefit.”

“Have I said or done anything that made you believe this?”

“It was nothing that you had done that makes me say this, I say it because it is the truth, and it must be said. To be with you, to love you and kiss you and hold you, it shall be enough for me.”

“No!” She vehemently rejected his offer; a hurt look clouded her eyes. “Laszlo, I do want you; I love you and I want you, wholly and completely.” He stares at her in amazement. Surely, she couldn’t be serious. “Oh, my poor darling,” she cooed, her hands running over his beard, her eyes sad, “Who told you that you weren’t deserving of love, of all the joys that the flesh could give? Who said you couldn’t have it?”

His eyes were suddenly filled with tears as he removed himself from her loving touch. “My father. The boys from my childhood and college. Women who looked at my arm and not me. Everyone, Evelina, everyone!” He turned from her, unable to handle the thought of her seeing his tears. “All my life, the world of women was unfamiliar to me. My mother was distant and dormant, I never had a sister or friend to share a platonic love. After the incident at the library, I knew there was no hope of ever being seen, of ever being loved with the same passionate fervor that others had. Even if I had desired to have one and be like other men, I couldn’t bear to take a mistress, fearful of the mockery in her eyes as she looked at me. To have even found someone like you who could love me, it is more than enough. More than I deserve.”

Evelina began to cry at his words. How on earth could anyone be so cruel to make someone feel as if he was undeserving of what all people could want? How could someone as wonderful and good as him not understand that someone could see him as someone worth loving? Carefully, she moved around him, standing before him, her hands taking his face again, pulling his face down to her lips, peppering him with tender and sweet kisses. “Does this feel like a mockery? I promise you, you’ll never see anything of the sort in my eyes. And you are wrong. You are deserving of everything, all that love can offer. I want you, not just as a husband and companion, but as a lover.”

“Why?” he brokenly asked, his voice harsh with anger and pain, “why do you want this old cripple? What in this do you see worth desiring, worth loving?”

Refusing to allow him to continue in such a way, she wiped the tears the spilled from his eyes. “Besides the obvious traits, such as your kindness, brilliance and courage? I love your eyes, warm and full of feeling. The moment I saw them, I at last understood the expression of kind eyes, and you have the kindest of them all. I love your hair, soft and dark, your lips, especially when you smile, what a beautiful smile it is! And your hands, yes even the bad one, because I love all of you, the best and the worst of you. And I desire them too.”

Her fingers interlaced with both of his hands, the feeling of his large hands sent a shiver down her spine. “I want to feel your hands on my body, your hands as they help slip my corset off and run over the curves of my body. I want to bury my hands in your hair, ruining that neatly combed hair so everyone knows how deeply I kiss you, feel the softness of your beard brush up against me as your lips kiss me all over. And your eyes. I want your eyes staring down at me filled with passion for me, as if I am the most beautiful and desirable creature you’ve ever beheld.”

He smiled, sniffling. “I do that already. And I’ll do it forever if you like.” He leaned forward to kiss her, not prepared for her arms to wrap around his neck, holding him like a vice as she deepened their kiss. His arms were around her waist, fearful she’ll fall forward and hurt herself. The warmth of their bodies seemed to enflame something in them, leading to them to fall back on her couch, her body on top of his, pressed hotly and leaving little to the imagination.

Her hands ran through the softness of his brown locks, eliciting a moan from his lips and a smug smile from hers. His good arm held onto her tightly, while his bad hand ran up her body, which was freed from the costume, meaning that he could feel more freely the curves of her body. Neither were expecting the involuntary reaction of her grinding her body against his, making them both gasp from the shock and pleasure.

Who knows what would have transpired if they had more time, if there was not a knock at the door, making them jump and stare at the door. “Evelina, ten minutes.”

“Thank you, Ten!” She replied breathlessly. She slipped off him, allowing him to stand and helped to straighten his bowtie. “I believe we have settled this matter once and for all.” Evelina giggled, “You have some of my makeup on you.” She took a handkerchief and dipped it in water and helped wipe his face clean. “There, you look presentable now.” She gave him a quick kiss then escorted him to the door. “I’ll see you after the performance.”

“Until then,” he said, a precious smile on his face as he left, looking back at her like a schoolboy.

When he managed to return to his seat, it was just in time for the performance, but not too late for Sara to look at him, smirk, and reply, “Your hair is a mess.” Laszlo felt his cheeks grow warm as his hand tried to smooth out the unruly hair and the lights went out, hiding the furious blush on his cheeks.

His mood improved greatly the next time he had seen her at the end of the performance, escorting her to their carriage and towards Delmonico’s for dinner. She grinned and moved closer to Laszlo as they sat together in the carriage. “Laszlo, you must promise to talk to me first about matters like this. I don’t want there to be any more secrets or miscommunication at this point on. We are going to be married, we should be open with one another. If we can’t then we are doomed, and I don’t want us to be doomed.”

“I don’t want us to be doomed either, I promise I’ll never do anything like that again. And I am sorry,” he answered sincerely, “I was just afraid to know what you would have said. I am not as brave as you’d think.”

“Being brave means to do something that scares you anyhow, and you should never have to hide from me, just I shall have nothing to hide from you. You can tell me anything. Honest! Come on, tell me something now.”

“Evelina,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“I mean it,” she persisted. “I’ll start first. You shall be the first person to share my bed with. And you?” Laszlo knew that men of his age usually have had some experience, and he spoke softly when he admitted the truth. She seemed more pleased than shocked to hear him say she’d be his first, which she knew was more of a selfish reason of wanting him completely to herself. “Now your turn, did you ever dream of me in your bed?” He felt his face grow warm, making her gasp and smile. “Laszlo, have you really? Did you ever touch yourself at the thought of me?” Laszlo blushed and look out the window, making Evelina stop and worried. “Laszlo? What’s wrong? I was only teasing.”

“But you’re right. I did, and I am sorry.”

She was amazed to hear this confession, and even more so to hear him apologize to her. “Talk to me. Please, we promised.”

He couldn’t look at her, but he admitted the truth. “It was during the time before we confessed our feelings. I had found your handkerchief on the floor and could smell your perfume on it, oh how I love that scent on you. Later that night, I-” he faltered for a moment, then gulped and continued. “I thought of you, wearing the prison shift from Faust that revealed more than usual, the handkerchief pressed to my nose, I-I touched myself. Once it was over, I felt immediate shame and never did it again.” Laszlo looked back at her, though unable to keep a long enough eye contact and said, “If you wish to break our engagement off, I will understand.”

“You think that is what will drive me away? Hearing that you have a desire for me? The only way you could drive me away is if you have a wife in your attic.” She shook her head, and her expression was kind and understanding. “Laszlo, there is nothing wrong with feeling a desire for another, and truth be told, I am a little flattered that you think of me that way. And would you like to know something? I have too.”

He burrowed his eyebrows and looked at her utterly confused. “You have what?”

“I have touched myself, thinking of you.” Her confession left him mouth agape, making her giggle. “Yes, it’s true. After having first visited you at the institute, I had a dream about you, how you came to check on my wellbeing while I was in bed, and well, one thing led to another. Suffice to say, it was a very good dream.” They pulled up at Delmonico’s at that moment, Laszlo still looking at her stunned. “My darling, you better come to or else everyone is bound to think something really did happen in this carriage.” As if in a fairytale, she gave him a kiss on the lips, waking him from his stupor and managed to climb out to help her out of the carriage.

The events of that night had Laszlo thinking all over the place into the next few days. Now that he knows that not only their marriage will be a full marriage but that Evelina desires him to, it made him dive deep into research, until he was resorted to one last desperate effort.

John had never known Laszlo to be nervous, but here he was, invited to Laszlo’s study, his friend wringing his hands, clearly nervous. “I have a…peculiar request to ask of you. As you know, the wedding is fast approaching, and I want to do all that I can to make Evelina happy. You have been acquainted with a few prostitutes, and I am wondering if…I might have a conversation with one.”

John’s mouth dropped open. “Uh, what?”

“Well, I had thought to read about how one might be able to please a woman, sexually, I mean, but all the books I found were written by men, rendering them utterly useless. So, I concluded that the best way to understand what a woman may want is to speak to one. So,” he said, his eyes moving down to avoid eye contact, “I thought I would ask for your help.”

John stared at Laszlo, amazed. “I-I’m sorry if I seem a little puzzled. It’s just…you never seemed…interested in the matters of physical intimacies.”

“Just because I do not do as you, frequent in brothels, it does not mean I do not long for physical intimacies. I-I must admit, I had not had many feelings regarding such matters, for the longest time, but, since Evelina, I have had the thoughts and desires that any man would feel. My passions, it would seem, are only reserved for any that I love, and I had not loved until now.” Laszlo looked away, feeling a sense of embarrassment. Here sat two men with drastic levels of experience, John with a great deal, and Laszlo none.

John nodded. “I see. There is nothing wrong with that, you know. Not having…intercourse. For some, it is just a way to bring a physical relief, others, it means so much more. When it is with someone you love, it feels entirely different. You are better off having waited, because if you are of the latter kind and you have empty affairs, it slowly kills your spirit. And you don’t want to end up like me.” John faltered, realizing he spoke too much, but was grateful Laszlo made none of his usual probing comments or questions. “I, um, I haven’t been in a long while, but I think I know someone who’s discretion we could trust. Should you,” he faltered again, unsure of how to bring about such a question, “Should I bring you to her or her to you?”

Laszlo felt his cheeks burn at the idea of being in a brothel. “Bring her here,” he answered quickly, “Please. Just as we did when we were investigating.”

John nodded then left wordlessly. Evening came and Laszlo felt himself growing nervous. He hoped that he didn’t make much of a fool of himself and that he got the sufficient help he needed. The door rang and Laszlo quickly opened it, finding John with a heavily veiled woman, then led them to the library. Once safely secure, the woman removed her veil and smiled at the sight of the doctor. “Well, I didn’t know that John had such attractive friends. Shame on you for not sharing me sooner,” she teased John.

“Laszlo, this is Miss Flora. Flora, this is Dr. Laszlo Kreizler. Um, would you like to conduct this alone or…” Laszlo couldn’t help but to be amused by John’s awkwardness in the situation, especially since he knew this woman better than Laszlo did.

“Alone, if you please.” Once alone, the woman smiled and removed her hat. “Miss Flora, Mr. Moore thought you were the best person to speak to, as you are someone he trusts.”

“A high compliment for a whore.” She looked around, taking in the room then asked, “Where do you want me? The table?”

“Yes, I think that it’ll be more comfortable.” He turned and pulled out a chair, then indicated for her to sit. The gesture puzzled her, as she nearly expected him to ask her to bend over or to sit on the table itself, but she did as he asked, waiting for his further instruction as he sat himself across from her. “I had asked for you, or rather someone of your profession, as it would be seen as inappropriate to ask anyone else, to help me sort out a matter that I have no real experience in.” Licking his lips, he gulped, then dived right in. “I will soon be married, to a wonderful and beautiful woman, someone I hope that I may in time prove to be deserving of her and make her happy in all things. And I wish for you to teach me the ways that a man might give pleasure to a woman. Sexual pleasure, I mean.”

Flora smiled and nodded. True, most of the men she had knew what they wanted and wasted no time getting to the act, but there were those few who maintained an air of politeness and it was adorable to her. “Have you a pen and paper?” she teased, not at all expecting the doctor to reach behind to grab his notebook and pen, like some boy in school. “Oh. I was kidding.”

“I’m not.” He put his glasses on, unscrewed his pen, and waited. “Whenever you are ready, Miss Flora.”

For the first time in a long time, Flora is tongue tied. “Very well. Um, I am sure that as a doctor, you are aware of the female anatomy. There are certain spots that can drive a woman wild.”

Laszlo scribbled away as she talked and talk she did. He assured her to hold nothing back, to give detail if necessary, he wanted to make sure he did not miss out on anything. Some things confirmed what he had heard, others contradicted, and some completely surprised him, which must have been obvious since Flora had to chuckle at his flustered nature. But overall, Laszlo felt he was ready.

“One last note, and this one is the most important,” Flora said, her tone serious but kind, “Pay attention to her. Listen to how she reacts to your touches, observe how her body responds, you’ll learn to understand her cues. If she pulls away, it’s her silent way of saying she doesn’t like it, and if she tries to get closer, she enjoys what you do. Men think that talking ruins the moment, but I can assure you, when you ask a woman what she wants, it is simultaneously the most romantic and most arousing thing a man could ever do.”

Laszlo finished his notes, setting the pen down, he looked up and sighed. “Thank you very much Miss Flora. Your cooperation has helped remove a weight off my shoulders.” He got up, pulled out some money from his pocket and offered it to her. “For your troubles.”

Flora gave a small smile. “Thank you, doctor, but this one is on the house.”

“On the house?” he asked, surprised, removing his glasses.

“When John told me that he had a friend who wanted my expertise, I must admit, I had expected the use of my usual services. But instead, I am pleasantly surprised by the turn of events. Very few men truly care if they give any pleasure to their wives, much less go through the trouble of figuring out how to go about it.” Flora stood before the doctor could help with her chair and put her hat back on. “She is indeed a lucky woman, doctor, to have someone like you love her. I hope she knows how fortunate she is.”

Laszlo was astonished by the comment, but before he could say anything, the young woman left the room and returned to John, who walked her out. Lucky? He had always thought himself lucky to have her, not the other way around. What an unexpected turn these past few days had proven to be.

Tagging: @monsieurbruhl​​​ @cazzyimagines​​​ @scuttle-buttle​​​ @whatawildone​​ @violetmuses​​ @sokoviandelights​​ @flutterskies​​ @rumblelibrary​​ @fictionlandslanddreams​​ @somethingthatsaysbubbles​​ @alindeluce​​  and @barnesxnobles

#the alienist #laszlo kreizler #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #fanfiction

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 18: Summers In Florence] [Series Finale]

A/N: If it doesn’t end with a wedding, is it even my fic??! 😂 For those who somehow haven’t yet read Baby You Were My Picket Fence (my most popular series), you might be a tiny bit confused during this chapter. Just roll with it. 😉 Also, COVID-19 doesn’t exist. What a wonderful world. Thank you so much for sticking with me and BYCNL. I love you all. 💜

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​ @simonedk​ @herewegoagainniall​ @anotheronewritesthedust1​ @pomjompish​ @writerxinthedark​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​ @allauraleigh​ ​@deakydeacy @bluutac​ @johndeaconshands​ @nyxaura​

It’s May 25th, 1984, and Roger and John are in Perth, Australia to promote Queen’s eleventh album, The Works.

Interviewer, daytime television host Ronald Inglewood: “Good morning and welcome to our viewers across Australia! We’re sitting down this morning with Roger Taylor and John Deacon, respectively the drummer and bassist of Queen, who are here to talk about the band’s brand new album called—quite self-assuredly, if I may say so, gentlemen—The Works. Hello to you both.”

Roger: “Good morning, Ron!”

John: “Hello.”

Interviewer: “And this latest album has been rather well-received so far, is that right?”

Roger: “It has, yes, and we’re enormously proud of it.”

Interviewer: “Now, The Works is a very different album than Hot Space, Queen’s sort of notorious foray into disco...do you think the back-to-basics, classic rock and roll feel of The Works has been the driving force behind its success?”

Roger: “Well, you know...I think experimentation is very important. We’ve always been an experimental band. The single Bohemian Rhapsody was hugely experimental, and that’s why it was such a phenomenon. We were experimenting long before A Night At The Opera, and I suspect we’ll keep on trying new things until we run out of ideas, whenever that is! I didn’t love every song on Hot Space, I’ll be completely transparent about that, but I certainly don’t think the album was a failure or a waste of time. It was an experiment. And The Works is an experiment as well, just one that runs in a different vein, I suppose.”

John: “Some people did actually enjoy Hot Space.”

Roger: “I think I know one or two.”

Interviewer: “Of course, it did have its bright spots. Under Pressure remains one of Queen’s biggest hits, doesn’t it?”

Roger: “Yes, and John wrote the bassline for that one!”

Interviewer: “Really?!”

John: “And Roger has his own hit on The Works, at last. We’re all very happy for him.”

Roger: “Only took ten years.”

John: “Fourteen, actually.”

Roger: “I’m going to murder you as soon as we get backstage.”

John: “You’re welcome to try.”

Interviewer: “Now this hit of yours, Roger, is Radio Ga Ga. And I’m sure we’ve all seen the famous music video, the hovercraft, the futurism, the clapping...we’ve all seen it, right? Where on earth did you get the idea for that song?”

Roger: “It actually originated from something I heard my daughter Violet say.”

Interviewer: “Fascinating! And you’ve just welcomed another one recently, haven’t you?”

Roger: “Yes, last month, in fact. A little girl named Nora. “

Interviewer: “Congratulations!”

Roger: “Thanks so much, Ron. Our eldest, Violet, turned two in January, and the idea for Radio Ga Ga came about when she was first learning to talk. She would always stumble around—you know how babies do—clapping her hands and squealing the most nonsensical things, and one day she started trying out ‘radio’ and then adding random words to it, ‘radio goo goo,’ ‘radio mama,’ ‘radio dada,’ etcetera. Well ‘radio ga ga’ got stuck in my head and I started sort of lamenting how television had begun to eclipse the radio as a medium for music and entertainment. We were on vacation in California at the time, and I locked myself in a hotel room with a keyboard and a drum machine to get it written. I initially thought it might end up on one of my solo albums, but then John heard it and wrote a bassline, and Freddie really thought it could be a hit and pushed to have it on The Works...and here we are today!”

Interviewer: “That Freddie Mercury has awfully good instincts about these things, doesn’t he?”

John: “Oh, he’s a genius, no doubt about that.”

Interviewer: “And John, I understand you wrote the other single released from The Works, I Want To Break Free. Any deep philosophical messaging in that one?”  

John: “Well I suppose we’ve all been in situations that feel...rather constraining or hopeless. And then things that bring us back to life again. So this song is about a character going through that process and coming out on the other side.”

Interviewer: “Indeed.”

John: “But we wanted to keep things amusing and lighthearted in the music video, hence the dressing in drag bit. And to our absolute horror, Roger was very alluring as a schoolgirl.”

Roger: “It’s true. I have irresistible legs. I was born to wear miniskirts.”

Interviewer: “Ah, this is the music video that is beloved in Europe and here in Australia but has stirred up so much controversy over in the States. Has the hullabaloo dampened your enthusiasm for the song, or even the entire album, somewhat?”

Roger: “We’re not bothered much at all, to be honest with you. It’s like I said, Queen is always going to have fun and experiment and take creative risks. And if people don’t like it, then they’re welcome to not listen.”

Interviewer: “Yes, yes, I suppose you could say that.”

Roger: “Americans, you know, they can just be so bloody puritanical. It absolutely takes all the enjoyment out of life. All the humor. Americans these days can be very difficult for us to connect with.”

John: “Well, not all of them.”

Roger: “No, of course, not all of them.”

John: “But we’ll start touring at the end of August, and we’ll be spending several months in the States, so they have time to come around to us. We’re all really looking forward to being on the road again.”

Interviewer: “It has certainly been and will continue to be a very eventful year for Queen. And for the four of you personally. A new baby for Roger, and you’ve just gotten married, haven’t you John?”

John: “I did, yes. And Roger was in attendance! No miniskirt that day, though. Sadly.”

Roger: “The whole band was there. And my girlfriend and children too. It was quite a party.”

Interviewer: “That’s wonderful to hear, considering the...the...well, not to bring up tabloid gossip, but the complexity of the situation. It was a destination wedding, wasn’t it?”

John: “Yes, we were married in the Basilica di Santa Croce in Florence, Italy. It’s breathtaking, the largest Franciscan church in the world, built in the 1300s. And we filled it with friends and family and live music and flowers and food...all the trappings. Took about a million photos. Celebrated until dawn.”

Roger: “It was a very sentimental occasion. Everyone really enjoyed it. John cried.”

John: “I did, it’s true.”

Roger: “He promised he wouldn’t and then he did.”

John: “Well, you don’t have to bring it up all the time!”

Roger: “It was touching, really.”

Interviewer: “It must have been a magical time. You’re positively radiant, John! Marvelous. And some much-needed good news, I imagine. I understand you’ve recently gone through an exceptionally antagonistic and protracted divorce.”

John: “Well...uh...I suppose that’s...uh...”

Roger: “How about we ask you the same thing? How was your divorce, Ron?”

Interviewer: “What?”

Roger: “You’re on your third marriage, is that right? And I think I heard that the latest Mrs. Inglewood is very young indeed, almost thirty years your junior. How did your former wife take that news? How did your adult children? How was your goddamn divorce?”

Interviewer: “That’s a rude question.”

Roger: “Yes, you’re right, it’s an extremely rude question. So you shouldn’t fucking ask it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s December 25th, 1986, and the children are tearing open presents under a fifteen-foot-tall Christmas tree in the living room of Garden Lodge.

Freddie and Jim Hutton are serving cookies and milk and clapping their hands as they tower over tiny shoulders, cheering the kids on as they litter the floor with wrapping paper and bows and scatter their new toys everywhere: Care Bears, Magic 8 Balls, My Little Ponies, Mr. Potato Heads, Barbies, Etch-A-Sketches, Transformers, miniature Lukes and Leias and Chewbaccas, View-Masters with scenes of oceans and deserts and forests and stars. With so many fragmented families, there was only one logical approach to handling major holidays: convincing everyone to celebrate together on neutral ground.

Mary and Veronica are chatting by the roaring fireplace. Phoebe, Joe Fanelli, John, and Roger are embroiled in a brutally competitive Scrabble game; Dominique, smirking stealthily, leans over Roger to read his tiles and periodically whispers ideas to him. Brian and Anita are circling the flock of giggling children—Laszlo, Anna, Teddy, Evelyn, Lena, Antoni, Violet, and Nora—and snapping photos with your Canon between long, yearning gazes at one another, wearing matching Christmas sweaters that are a deep, passionate crimson. Chrissie’s husband Denny is admiring Freddie’s extensive vinyl record collection as he sips a hot chocolate and compulsively strokes his green-and-red striped tie. Tiffany the cat rolls around between his feet and occasionally hisses or gnaws on an ankle, which Denny takes in stride, as he does most things.

Meanwhile, you and Chrissie are camped out by the wet bar, drinking mulled wine and nibbling on cookies shaped like snowmen and reindeer. You give Veronica a wide berth with the children anytime you’re in the same space; she hates you, and she’ll probably always hate you, but she loves her children too much to poison them with that reality. Their happiness is her whole life, her purpose. And that’s the only thing that finally convinced her to come to the bargaining table.

“She seems...nice,” you tell Chrissie, gesturing to where Anita is crouching to wrestle a Yoda piggy bank away from Antoni before he can lob Teddy on the head with it. To John’s children, Veronica is “mum” and you’re the distinctly more American “mama”; and no one ever really taught them that, they just started doing it somewhere along the way.

Chrissie rolls her eyes and shifts Stevie to her other hip. For two and a half years after leaving Brian, Chrissie made it her mission to date at least one man from every country in Europe. She managed to cross off Ireland, France, Germany, Austria, Italy, Sweden, Switzerland, Portugal, Poland, and Greece before meeting professional archer Dennis Clarke at the 1984 Olympics in Los Angeles. They got engaged at Christmas, eloped on New Year’s Day, and had a daughter that Chrissie named after Stevie Nicks nine months later. Stevie Clarke has adorably chubby baby legs, wide blue eyes, and blonde hair without a single spiraled ringlet.

“My therapist said I needed to cultivate a rapport with Brian for the good of the kids,” Chrissie says. “You know. Be the bigger person. Get amnesia and forget about how he made my life a living hell. Act like I don’t want to freaking decapitate him. So I, trying to be nice, trying to rise above and make polite small talk with my nauseating ex-husband, made a comment about how much I liked EastEnders. So he starts watching EastEnders. Then he begins to fancy one of the actresses. Then he meets her at a movie premier in Beverly Hills and invites her to the concert at Wembley. Then he ends up in love with the woman. What the fuck. You couldn’t write this shit.”

“Love is a roulette wheel,” you agree.

Chrissie scoffs sardonically. “Yeah. Russian roulette, maybe.”

After his marriage fell apart, Brian bounced between New Orleans and London, liberated bliss and aimless, disgraced, black depression. Whoever Peaches is as a person, she couldn’t tame Brian’s demons. You worried about him almost constantly until he started seeing Anita. She’s cheerful and magnetic and persistently hopeful in a way that reminds you of Roger. She’s good for Brian. She’s good for all of you. Well...Chrissie is still coming around to the idea.

“I do like that she wasn’t fucking my husband behind my back,” Chrissie muses. “So that’s something.”

“And she’s good with the kids.”

“True...”

“And her hair matches Brian’s.”

Chrissie laughs. Her sparkling ornament earrings jangle, and Stevie paws for them with minuscule, uncoordinated, wrinkly hands. “Okay. You win. I don’t despise her.”

“That’s the Christmas spirit.” You knock back the rest of your mulled wine. “I’m gonna go search the refrigerator for cheese cubes, you want anything?”

“Yeah, a Valium.”

“Slavic Jesus would be horrified. And on his birthday!”

Chrissie grins. “Surely drugs would be the least of our sins.”

Freddie’s sunshine-yellow refrigerator is enormous and a labyrinth of shelves and crevices without a single tray of cheese cubes in sight. You sift through jars of olives, bottles of champagne, a glazed ham waiting to be put in the oven, a sack of yams, eggnog, rising bread dough, and numerous pies—apple and cherry and lemon chiffon, naturally—swathed in aluminum foil.

“Damn,” you mutter, and then you try a mysterious drawer beneath the double doors of the refrigerator. Lo and behold, it contains a sprawling tray of cheeses. “Yaaaaassssss.” You lift the tray out, set it on the kitchen counter, and peel back the clear, clinging saran wrap. As you spear cheese cubes with a decorative toothpick—the handle is a little plastic Christmas tree—and plop them onto an appetizer plate, you hear the click of heels on the hardwood floor behind you.

You glance back. “Hi, Dom. Can I offer you any of Fred’s extremely expensive and exotic cheeses?”

“Sure,” she replies in that effortlessly elegant French accent; but that’s not why she’s here. She’s wringing her delicate hands, which are bronzed from her last holiday to Ibiza and ringless. Dom divorced the husband she had back in France—or maybe he divorced her, who knows, that’s not your business, although Roger would tell you if you ever asked—and she and Roger signed papers for the good of their daughters. But being Roger Taylor’s wife is not always such an easy thing.

“He’s getting bad again, isn’t he?” you ask softly.

Dominique nods; but you already knew.

Roger was perfect for years after they had Violet: attentive, content, startlingly domestic. He rarely popped pills. He went to physical therapy. He quit smoking six months ago at Dominique’s insistence, around the same time John quit for you. But since the Magic Tour ended in August—and with no new tour in sight, considering Freddie’s seeming reticence about scheduling another—he’s started to drink more, stay home less, disappear at night citing dinners or parties or recording sessions that Dom isn’t invited to. He’s edgy and irritable. He’s rarely home when John calls. And you can see all those immortal shadows of imperfection creeping back into him like storm clouds, like smoke.

“I’m going to tell you something,” you say. “It’s very similar to what somebody else once told me. I wasn’t ready to understand it yet, to really let myself feel it, to believe it, but you might be able to.”

She watches you with those vast oil-well eyes, biting her lower lip, waiting.

“Roger is wildfire. He’s bright, yes, he’s warm, but he’s reckless and insatiable too. He always has been. He always will be. And that has nothing at all to do with you. It’s not your fault. He’s wonderful, of course, and you already know that; he dazzles people, he makes life so exhilaratingly beautiful that you forget what it felt like without him. But he’ll always disappoint you. He’ll relapse, he’ll cheat, he’ll come home late, he won’t come home at all. And he’ll hurt you. He’ll do it as many times as you’ll let him. But here’s the thing other people won’t tell you.” You smile at her, with empathy, with sorrow, with hope. “It might still be worth it.”

Dominique blinks, not understanding.

“It might be enough for you to only ever have part of him, because that part is so incredibly brilliant. It was almost enough for me. And I would never blame you for leaving Roger. But I wouldn’t blame you for staying either.”

And then you embrace her, and she latches onto you, her long manicured nails nipping through your sweater, her Coco Chanel perfume a plume that fills the kitchen. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. You hold her until she pulls away, swiping at her tearing eyes with slim fragile fingers, sniffling, looking away to hide her heartbreak behind her shock of glossy bangs.

“Here.” You pile an appetizer plate high with cheese cubes and shove it into her hands.

Stunned, she giggles. “All my woes have vanished.”

“That’s exactly how stolen cheese works,” And then, seriously: “Don’t be sad on Christmas, Dom. There’s plenty of time for that later. And I’ll do everything I can to help him.”

“That’s why you’ll never leave the band, isn’t it? You can’t leave Roger alone. You can’t let him destroy himself.”

“I owe him,” you say simply. “Without him I never would have followed Queen to London. I never would have found this family. I never would have married John. Roger took things from me, yes, of course he did. He took until I felt empty. But he also gave me the world.”

She nods slowly, thoughtfully.

“Please, Dom. Go enjoy yourself.”

“Alright. Joyeux Noël.” She gives you a parting wave and slips back out into the living room, where Freddie is now playing the grand piano and signing Thank God It’s Christmas. Roger is assisting in an increasingly hoarse falsetto.

A moment after Dominique leaves, John strolls into the kitchen, humming merrily. He stops dead when he sees your somber face, your shining eyes. “Who do I have to fuck up?”

You chuckle and shake your head. “No one. I just heard something sad.”

“Not about you, I hope.”

“No, I don’t have many sad stories anymore.”

“Yeah, me either.”

He reaches out to take your hand. A sapphire glints on your left ring finger, and it means everything.

“You sure you don’t need me to torment anyone for you? I could get drunk and plow my Benz into their house. Or write a scathing diss track about them. Was it Brian? Please tell me it was Brian.”

You laugh and twirl a lock of his fluffy hair. “That won’t be necessary.”

“In that case, you’re needed in the living room immediately,” John says, smiling. “Antoni climbed halfway up the Christmas tree and says he won’t come down for anyone except his mama.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s November 3rd, 1999, and Roger, John, and Brian are promoting Queen’s upcoming compilation album, Greatest Hits III.

Interviewer, daytime television host Brad Chenoweth: “Today we have a very special treat for our viewers. Here with us in our London studio are the men of Queen: guitarist Brian May, drummer Roger Taylor, and bassist John Deacon. Good morning, and thank you all so much for being here.”

Brian: “It’s our pleasure.”

Roger: “I do screams as well as drums, Brad.”

Interviewer: “Hahaha, yes, of course. Now Queen has had an extremely busy year, and this Greatest Hits album has a few new selections on it, right? Take us through that process.”

Brian: “It does have a few new tracks, that’s correct. You know, ever since Freddie...ever since we lost Freddie Mercury, I mean, you know, it’s impossible to fill a space like the one that he left in the world.”

Roger: “Yes, yes.”

Brian: “But as difficult as it was, after finally finishing Made In Heaven in 1995 and getting it just right, feeling as if we had really done Freddie justice...we were left with this distressing feeling of ‘what’s next?’ What are the three of us supposed to do with ourselves? Split up and never work together again? Retire to the seashore? Open up some corner store to putter around in until we die?”

Roger: “A clog shop, perhaps.”

Interviewer: “You were thinking, ‘well hell, we’ve got plenty of talent ourselves!’”

Roger: “Well, talent, yes, but also energy. Drive. We’ve been working at being one of the best bands in the world for almost thirty years now, Brad. I wouldn’t even know how to begin to stop.”

Brian: “None of us wanted to stop, we came to that realization. And so we’ve done a tremendous amount of benefit concerts and recording sessions with some of the best artists of our time, and I think people who listen to this album are really going to appreciate that. We’ve got a live version of Somebody to Love with George Michael, and The Show Must Go On with Elton John, he’s just lovely to work with...oh and a rap version of Another One Bites The Dust with Wyclef Jean, which John was not exactly a fan of. But we all have to learn to give and take, don’t we?”

Interviewer: “Absolutely, and I’m really looking forward to getting my hands on a copy of this record. Is there any chance Queen might settle on a permanent new front man one day?”

Roger: “If we can ever find somebody John likes enough!”

Interviewer: “But, truthfully...none of you wanted to quit after Freddie passed away? It was a unanimous decision to keep with it?”

Roger: “Essentially, yes. I mean I think it was an all or nothing deal, wasn’t it? If one of us left then that would throw the whole thing off. I was always adamant from very early on in the band’s lifetime that I wouldn’t be interested in continuing without John. And I couldn’t imagine him and Brian being left alone together, my god, there’d be literal bloodshed, someone’s throat would be cut within the hour, believe me.”

John: “We might have lasted a day or two. But yes, it was more or less unanimous.”

Interviewer: “Now you’ve always been known as the quiet, domestic one, John. You weren’t tempted by the thought of retirement? Not even for a moment?”

John: “Well...I think it depends on the circumstances, really. I like working, and I like touring and traveling a good part of the year. But I imagine I’d get very homesick if I was alone on the road. Fortunately, that’s not the case. So the thought of retirement didn’t appeal to me nearly as much as it might have otherwise.”

Interviewer: “That’s right, I understand that your wife has been Queen’s touring nurse for...how long now? Twenty years?”

John: “Since 1974, so that’s twenty-five years.”

Roger: “Wow. It’s been that long?!”

Brian: “Feels like yesterday, doesn’t it?”

Interviewer: “How lucky for you, John. And look, you’re beaming!”

Roger: “Get it together, Deaks.”

John: “I’m an astronomically lucky man. It’s like having home with you anywhere in the world.”

Roger: “She’s good for curing hangovers as well, so that’s useful. And she knits everyone hats.”

Interviewer: “And you’ve got children, haven’t you John?’

John: “Four from my first marriage, yes. They’re all adults now so they come to visit us quite often, especially when we’re travelling. It worked out beautifully really, because they’re very close to their mother, of course, but my wife and I got together when they were all still fairly young, and so she’s always been there for them as they’ve grown up. My youngest especially was a rather...how would you say it diplomatically? A spirited child. But he warmed to her right away.”

Brian: “All the children are still friendly with each other as well, mine and Roger’s and John’s.”

Interviewer: “One big happy family, huh?”

Roger: “There are still a good amount of screaming matches between us dads, to be completely forthcoming.”

John: “You have to keep things interesting.”

Roger: “Exactly!”

Interviewer: “Yes, one can sense that there are still plenty of egos in this room, even after all these years! Tell me, Queen is nearly three decades old now, a worldwide phenomenon, the second-bestselling artist in the UK of all time behind the Beatles...how have you stayed together for so long when most bands last only a fraction of Queen’s lifespan?”

John: “Well I think we’ve all, you know, for the good of the band we’ve all had to grow towards each other to bridge the disagreements and keep peace. For example, I’ve had to learn to be more communicative, more open to collaboration and change. I can be someone who’s very comfortable being in the background. But then I’m resentful if people don’t see my point of view, even if I haven’t properly expressed it. So I have certainly had to work on that quite a lot.”

Brian: “Yes, John, I think that’s very true. Personally, I’ve had to learn to not get lost in the details so much. I have a bad habit of getting so fixated on something that I cause a massive row over a vanishingly small aspect of a song that no one else will ever notice. It’s just not worth the strife. So I’ve really tried to avoid that. Although, I’ll admit it, I still occasionally cause my share of drama.”

John: “Oh, sure.”

Roger: “And I’ve had to work on being less...”

John: “Annoying?”

Brian: “Combative?”

Roger: “Fiery.”

John: “That’s one word for it.”

Interviewer: “Was there ever a time when Queen’s existence was in serious jeopardy? And if so, how did you pull through?”

Brian: “Well, to be perfectly honest, as a band we went through quite a difficult time in the early 80s. And then we did again in the early 90s. And on both occasions there was a real worry that Queen might be over and we would all go our separate ways. But what kept us together through that...and feel free to disagree, Rog, John, if you have a different perspective...but what I feel kept us together was this profound sense of family. Queen predates all of our marriages, our children, our successes in the music industry or otherwise. It has become a constant place of belonging in the midst of professional and personal turmoil. And now our partners and children have been integrated into that network as well, so even if an individual relationship is strained or falls apart, the gravity of the band keeps us all in a perpetual symbiotic orbit. And I don’t see that ever ending.”

John: “Yes, well, I suppose that about sums it up, doesn’t it?”

Roger: “Bleeding christ, Brian. ‘Perpetual symbiotic orbit.’ Just say we’re friends, you pretentious twit.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s August 19th, 2020, and John’s 69th birthday party is winding down as the sun dips lazily into the rust-colored western horizon.

You’re standing on the cobblestones in the garden behind the Surrey house. You had always thought it was too extravagant, too massive; it wasn’t until Roger sold it to you and John in the spring of 1982 that you realized it was the perfect size after all. Six bedrooms meant one for each of the children, one for you and John—the one with the blue-grey wallpaper and nautical decorations, to be exact—and the last for when Chrissie and Denny or Roger and Dom stay the night, which is fairly frequently. Your vacation home, where you and John spend most of the summer when Queen isn’t on tour, is a little country cottage in the sunlit Alpine hills of Florence, Italy. John designed it himself, every last detail; right down to the white picket fence grown over with ivy.

“Look what we got in the mail.” You hold up the invitation to show your husband, grinning, raising your eyebrows. “Guess we have to buy him another toaster.”

He reads the names on the shimmering cardstock patterned with jungle ferns and dinosaur footprints. Interesting choices. “Is Ben actually going through with it this time?”

“John!”

“Wasn’t he supposed to marry some Italian heiress or something?”

“Love can be complicated, Mr. Deacon,” you remind him.

When he smiles, crinkles spring up around his eyes. “Yes, I suppose it can be.”

“Ben Hardy’s having another wedding?” Chrissie calls over from where she’s shooting arrows at the archery targets set up in the backyard. Denny periodically steps in to correct the angle of her wrist or elbow. “And Queen’s invited this time?”

“Apparently,” you reply. “You could go too if you were still married to Brian.”

“Ha!” Chrissie cackles and looses an arrow. It hits damn near the bullseye. “Not worth it.”

“I’ll bring back all the scandalous gossip I can scrounge for you.”

“You better. What do the kids call it now? Spilling the tea? Spill all the tea, bitch.”

“Oh, kettles and kettles’ worth.”

“So a teapot,” John says. “Not another toaster. Maybe decorated with...” He squints at the invitation again. “What’s the theme? What do they like? Fossils? Brontosauruses?”

“Bizarre people,” Chrissie mutters.

“I’ll figure something out,” you say. “Something special. Something old.”

“John?” Brian shouts from the doorway that leads into the kitchen. Inside the refrigerator is covered with sketches and birthday cards and photographs curling and fading around the edges. “Anita and I are heading out now, can we get a hug goodbye?”

“Ugh,” John jokes. “Well, alright.” He gives you a wink as he trots off.

The Surrey house isn’t exactly roaring—John has never been one for crowds, and incidentally neither have you—but it is alive with his children and grandchildren and life-long friends. Not just his, you correct yourself. Ours.

Veronica—once Tetzlaff, then Deacon, then Tetzlaff again, and finally Kowalski—is not in attendance. You see her only at holidays and birthday celebrations for the kids and grandchildren, and even then only in passing. She is still cold towards you, resentful, extremely Catholic...although somewhat less dogmatic since her second husband Ivan, a former priest, left the Church to marry her. When the last of her children were grown, Veronica got certified to be a doula and now primarily serves unwed mothers seeking assistance from Catholic charities in London. She mentioned to Chrissie, who later told you, that something you had once done for her had inspired her to pursue it. That’s the only nice thing you’ve heard her say about you in almost forty years.

Roger wanders over to meet you, nursing a Heineken, stroking his white beard with his free hand. He and Dominique have always been off and on—including a few years in the late 80s when he moved out of their three-story Kensington townhouse and had a daughter called Adeline with some leggy, platinum blonde supermodel—but these days they’re mostly on. He and Dom had two children after their reconciliation: a son, Blaise, and a daughter named by Freddie after the Japanese word for tiger, Tora.

You gaze out into the sunset. Half of the garden is flooded with white calla lilies, a new bouquet for every February 15th since 1978.

“You’ll be sending back an RSVP in the affirmative?” Roger asks.

“Of course! Any excuse to visit the States. And I like Ben. Although he doesn’t look anything like you.”

He groans. “Those wigs, bloody hell.”

“It’s like they produced a whole movie just to have an excuse to make fun of your atrociously crunchy bleached hair.”

“And I bet you enjoyed that.”

“You deserved it.” When Freddie’s health began to fail and Queen stopped touring, you went back to school to get a degree in physical therapy. You and Roger have sessions three times a week, provided he’s on the wagon; and he usually is, nowadays. When he’s not, John’s the one to get the call from Dominique, and he hunts Roger down, convinces him to come home, works whatever quiet, soothing magic he carries around in his deep pacific blood. But right this moment, Roger is awfully quiet himself. His large, pale eyes—like clear water, like unraveling delphiniums, like the harmony that only comes when age burns away all those last entrenched talons of bitterness, of fear—skate over the calla lilies.

“Do you think things would have been different for us?” Roger asks softly. “If she had lived.”

It took you a long time to understand why Roger was in no hurry to get a divorce, to move you out of the Surrey house. They were the only ties he thought he had to anchor you to the band, to him. They were the only cards he thought he had to play to keep you in his life in any capacity. But John fixed that dilemma. He can fix just about anything, you’ve learned.

“No,” you tell Roger. “You would have worn me down eventually. You and your drinking and drugs and late nights and interminable recklessness. It might have taken longer, but we always would have ended. And John always would have been my home. She wouldn’t have kept us together. She just would have lived. And I wouldn’t have loved her for being a part of you. I would have loved her for whoever she was, whoever she grew up to be. But now I’ll never know who that would have been. I love the children I have, Roger, I do. But I still miss her, miss the person she would have been. It’s like chasing a shadow. It’s like a page of a book written in a language I can’t read. And it’s a feeling that never quite goes away.”

He smiles at you wearily, immensely sad, full of perfect understanding. “I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s October 10th, 2020, and the reception is held under shedding autumn leaves the color of rubies and imperial topaz and amber and yellow jade. The exuberant bride and groom weave through the crowds milling about the quaint farm, which is nestled in the hills of a small town in Northern California called Zenia. It belongs to Gwilym, apparently, and he and his flame-haired girlfriend Shiloh are shuttling tirelessly this way and that making sure everything goes according to plan. They don’t speak much to Ben or his new wife directly—there’s a stiltedness there, an uncomfortable period of readjustment that reminds you of how John and Roger were for a while after all the secrets came out—but there is undeniable kinship as well. Love can be complicated, you find yourself thinking, for the innumerable time. But that doesn’t mean it’s not real.

Making the rounds with the bride and groom is a strikingly beautiful, dark-haired boy who wears a miniature suit and a perpetual, mischievous grin. The new Mrs. Hardy almost always has her hand on his shoulder, his back, wiping cake frosting from his cheeks, ruffling his hair.

“Eli is kind of a demon kid,” Joe Mazzello warns you. “But in the best possible way.”

“Hm. I have somewhat of an affinity for demons myself.”

“Clearly,” Roger quips, sipping pink champagne. The snack table is Halloween-themed and extremely casual: Cheetos and pumpkin pie and caramel apples and dinosaur-shaped brownies. Per usual, you’re grazing through an orange paper plate stacked high with enough nibbling material to keep any undesirable small talk at bay. But strangely, in all of the times you’ve crossed his path since Bohemian Rhapsody’s filming began, you’ve never minded chatting with Joe.

“Yeah, you two were married at some point, right?” Joe asks. Then he immediately blanches. “Oh my god. That was so rude. I did not just say that. I’m so sorry. I saw it on Wikipedia. I’m gonna go drown myself in the stream now.”

“No, you’re right!” you admit in a peal of laughter. “Briefly and disastrously.”

“It wasn’t that disastrous,” Roger protests, thieving a Cheeto off your plate. He misplaced his prescription sunglasses on the flight over and is thus relatively helpless.

“Rude. Get your own. They’re over on the other end of the table.”

“I can’t see that far—!”

“Dom?” you call as she sashays over in a flowing white dress and licking a stick of orange rock candy. “Please control your husband.”

She smiles. “If I haven’t managed it yet, I don’t think there’s much hope.” She nods to Joe. “It’s so nice to see you again. Meeting you people was the only bright spot of that whole movie ordeal.”

“What, you didn’t fancy it?” Roger jests.

“At least they included you,” you tell Dom, smirking. “They ignored my existence entirely. They threw in some random woman with zero lines and called her Veronica in the credits. Whatever.”

Dom rolls her expressive umber eyes. “Yes, how flattering, I was in two scenes and one of them involved a joke about Roger cheating on me.”

“You’re a star, baby,” you say. “Deal with it.”

Dom smacks your arm playfully. She may be annoyed, but it doesn’t pain her the way it used to. She’s had decades of practice.

“The script could have been better,” Joe concedes. Then he spies John as he approaches, almost drops his caramel apple, waves frenetically. “Hi, Mr. Deacon! Hi!!”

“Wonderful job with all of this, Joe.” John shakes his hand as Joe gapes at him, starstruck. He’s always like that around John, appreciative, in awe, acutely aware of John’s legendary place in rock and roll history; and you love that someone besides you and Roger look at him that way.

“Thanks, I did it myself. Just kidding. It was 99% Gwil.”

“Well, I’ll still get you front row seats at the next Queen + Adam Lambert show.” It had taken a long time for John to find a front man he liked...a long time. He drove Roger and Brian insane. He kept saying he wanted someone who was like Freddie and yet simultaneously not trying to be Freddie, someone genuinely kind and charismatic and empathetic, an otherworldly talent, a natural performer. And then, on an unassuming spring night in 2009, they found him.  

Joe claps a palm on John’s shoulder and grins, his eyes glistening. “I’m obsessed with this little old guy! Obsessed, I tell you!”

“You want to see how old he is?” Roger teases. “Lift up that hand-knit hat and see what’s underneath. I’ll give you a hint. Not much.”

“At least I made it through the 90s without requiring hair plugs,” John counters.

“It was from all the bleaching!!”

“Hi, Rog!” Ben shouts as he rushes to embrace Roger, nearly knocking him off his feet. Mrs. Hardy is still across the field, talking to Brian, Anita, Rami, and Lucy, and trying to convince Eli not to crawl into a chocolate fountain.

Ben Hardy has always been somewhat of an enigma to you, mostly because he’s nothing at all like Roger. He’s subterranean-voiced and emerald-eyed and brooding and guarded and seems so much older than his twenty-nine years, and then every once in a while someone will come along and light him up like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Unlike Roger, Ben doesn’t light up for many people. He does for his son Eli, of course, and for Joe Mazzello...and for his new wife. He lights up for her like fucking wildfire.

“Ben,” you say, holding out a bag speckled with black cats. “I have our gift for you.”

“You shouldn’t have! Thank you so much.”

“You can’t thank us until you open it,” John chastises.

So Ben does. Inside is an album of hundreds of photos you’ve taken of Queen since Roger bought you your first Canon for Christmas in 1974: pictures that have never been released publicly of the boys at the Rainbow, at the Budokan, in Rome, in Boston, in Japan, in New Orleans, at Montreal, at Madison Square Garden, at Live Aid, at the Surrey house, at Montreux. Interspersed are some of John’s sketches, the only ones you can bring yourself to part with: close-ups of a long-haired Freddie drawing on messy eyeliner, Roger adjusting his sunglasses with a cigarette smoldering between his fingers, Brian tuning his Red Special.

“Oh my god,” Ben whispers.

“Most of those are very old,” you explain. “And I heard you both like old things.”

“We definitely do.” He hugs you, suddenly and fiercely and warmly; and you catch a glimpse of what it must be like to be one of the few people that he allows to truly know him, those shadowed depths to balance Joe’s uncomplicated light.

Maybe that’s it, you realize. Maybe Joe is more like Roger and Ben like John.

The wedding playlist is exclusively classic rock songs: the Doors and Aerosmith and Fleetwood Mac and Led Zeppelin and Queen. As A Kind Of Magic ends, the eerie opening notes of Hotel California ripple out over the breezy autumn fields.

“Not this fucking song!” Roger cries.

Joe turns to you, confused.

“LSD,” you inform him. “1977. I would not recommend it.”

“Noted.”

Roger continues, rubbing his forehead: “It makes me think of...freaking...weird, creepy shit...like swimming at night through cold water. But I just keep swimming and can’t get anywhere.”

“It makes me think of sharks,” you say. “Maybe they’re related.”

“Freddie always said it made him think of birds,” John sighs. “And the color blue.”

The three of you pause, nodding, remembering.

Joe frowns solemnly, peering down at his shoes. “I’m sorry I never got to meet him.”

“He would have adored you,” you say.

“Really?”

“Are you kidding?! You would have been best friends. Always looking out for people. Always plotting the next escapade. That charming chaotic energy. The utter inability to bake anything.”

“Awwww.” Joe beams, delighted. “I fucking love you guys.”

“That’s the thing,” Roger says. “People don’t realize it. We’re more of a family than a band. We find people we take a shine to like ancient treasure, snatch them up, sand away all their rough edges, show them everything the world has to offer. And if they can survive the casualties of stardom, that trial by fire, they become permanent. They grow like roots into our blood, our bones...and perhaps we claim a part of theirs as well. They become things we can’t live without.”

“And once you’re in the family,” John tells Joe with a fond, crafty smile. “You can never leave.”

[chelsfic]

I Fell into Fantasy - Nandor x Guillermo One-Shot

WWDITS Masterlist

Summary: Guillermo admits to a secret desire. Nandor tries to fulfill it without compromising his aloofness. 

A/N: The title of this fic comes from a song called “Days of the Phoenix” by AFI. I was inspired to write this fic by the scene in the movie where Viago talks about how he likes to make things “nice” for his victims during their final moments.

Warnings: Blood drinking, a bit of smut, frottage, pining, angst

---

Guillermo really should know better.

How many nights has he spent digging up the garden to dispose of the mangled corpses left behind after the vampires’ feasting? How many bruised, torn throats has he seen? Cracked collar bones and broken limbs? Lifeless, staring eyes? 

He knows the victims are in pain before they die. He knows the vampires sometimes like to play with their food, chasing tearful virgins through the house, giving them a taste of escape before tucking into their meal. He knows it hurts. He knows it isn’t sexy.

Really. He knows.

He’s still jealous. He’s jealous when he shows up to yet another sad familiar mixer to find that nearly every other human in attendance has faded puncture wounds and he has to hide his smooth, pristine throat with a turtleneck sweater. He’s jealous when he’s forced to stand in the corner and listen to his master’s obscene, tantalizing moans as he drinks from some random human who isn’t him. He’s jealous when Nandor remarks on how tasty a victim is, licking his lips before discarding their lifeless forms like so much garbage.

He knows it’s wrong. But he gave up caring about right and wrong a long time ago, around the time he dug his first clandestine grave.

He’s wanted to be bitten ever since he was 13-years-old and he first watched Lestat turn Louis on the 18-inch TV in his bedroom. He’d paused the movie, rewinding and frantically beating off as the blood poured onto Brad Pitt’s lips.  He wants to know what his master’s lips would feel like on the tender hollow of his throat. He wants to feel the scratch of his beard as he closes his mouth over Guillermo’s sensitive skin. He wants Nandor to hold him close. He wants to feel those sensual moans rumble through the vampire’s chest as he takes his fill.

He wants so much.

Whenever he feels jealousy, lust, longing... he reminds himself that he should feel grateful, proud even, that Nandor has never fed from him. Nandor sees him as more than a meal. He’s a trusty companion, a person, a...friend? This is what Guillermo tells himself. He knows it’s not a matter of taste. How many times has Nandor scolded him for looking too tempting when he blushes? Or warned him to be careful with his sword collection because he didn’t want him bleeding all over the place and testing his self-control? 

Whatever his reasoning--respect, boundaries, taboo--Nandor doesn’t feed on his familiar. But Guillermo often wonders if things would be different if his master knew how badly he wanted it.

---

“Guillermo, you’re very serious tonight. Are you having to take a human shit? I can wait until after for you to do the tucking in…” 

Nandor stands by his open coffin with an uncomfortable smile on his face that’s akin to a grimace. Guillermo has already helped him remove his outer layers and brushed out his flowing, dark hair. All that remains is for the familiar to hold his hand while he steps up into his coffin.

“No, master, I--I don’t have to take a shit. I’m fine,” Guillermo murmurs with sadness practically oozing out of his pores.

Nandor bristles, his eyes darting all over the room as he wars with himself over whether to press further or simply to ignore Guillermo’s stupid human moods and hope they go away.

The vampire sighs dramatically, “I think you better tell me what is the matter, Guillermo. I don’t want this affecting your work performance. You do a very poor job dusting the paintings and the window dresses when you’re sad. Now what is it? Laszlo and Nadja? Are they giving the guff to you?”

Guillermo is quiet for a long moment, looking up into his master’s fathomless brown eyes as he decides how to respond. Nandor’s whole body is tense as if he’s awaiting the guillotine blade. Maybe he should just get it out of his system and finally admit--well, certainly not everything he feels for his beloved master, but at least about his deep desire to be bitten. 

He blushes, lowering his gaze as he finally answers, “I guess...I’m just a little jealous. Of...of the people you feed from.”

Nandor’s face drops into blank befuddlement before his dark brows lift upward and his lips curl in a poorly concealed smile.

“You’re jealous of my victims? I kill those people! You want me to murder you? Is this some kind of death wish thing? Because I find that really annoying!” Nandor sputters, half amused and half serious.

Guillermo’s face is burning with humiliation now and he rushes to clarify, “No! No, I don’t want to die, master. It’s just...I’ve always wanted to know what it felt like to be bitten by a vampire...”

His voice fades to nothingness but Nandor clearly understands him and his face grows pensive as he contemplates his words.

“Are you bullshitting me?” Nandor questions and his tone is just close enough to irritation to cause Guillermo to shrink in on himself as he answers.

“No, master.”

“Well…” Nandor sighs and affects a look of disinterest. “It’s alright to say that sort of thing to me, Guillermo, because you’re my familiar. But you want to be careful out there with the other vampires. You could get eaten up! And then where would I be? Having to make another ad on the Greg’s List!”

“...Craigslist…”

“As I said!” Nandor snaps, holding out his hand expectantly as he moves to get into his coffin. “Now, that’s enough of this crazy talking. Alright?”

“Alright, master,” Guillermo murmurs subserviently, reaching up to release the lid and slowly lowering it, sealing his master inside. 

“Goodnight, Guillermo!” Nandor’s muffled voice calls as the familiar moves around the room, blowing out candles.

“Night, master!”

Sealed in the claustrophobic darkness of his coffin, Nandor’s mind races as he tries to process this new information about his familiar. Guillermo--his little Guillermo!--would let him bite him and drink his delicious blood? No, he wants him to do it. Yearns for it. He is jealous of the people he kills just because they get to feel the sting of his fangs and the touch of his lips. Nandor palms himself through his trousers. He’s harder than he’s been in a century just thinking of it.

---

He tries, he really does. Guillermo tries to forget about his shameful admission and go back to normal. Nandor certainly seems unmoved, doing nothing to even hint that he remembers having the conversation. So, Guillermo goes through the motions, dutifully completing his chores, searching for fresh sources of virgin blood, and standing by while Nandor sates his bloodlust with perfect strangers. But now that he’s revealed his secret--part of his secret, let’s be honest--and faced his master’s outright rejection, he just can’t seem to let go of the hollow ache in his chest.

He feels inadequate, pathetic, unattractive. And sad. Mostly sad.

Guillermo might think that Nandor has forgotten all about their little chat, but the vampire dwells on it just as much as the human does in the days that follow. And it’s impossible to ignore the scent of “sad human” that’s begun to permeate the household. Nandor spends several days battling with himself over what to do. He considers killing Guillermo and starting over with a new familiar… Guillermo gets his wish, Nandor doesn’t have to confront his shameful attraction to his servant… everybody wins! But the thought of Guillermo’s sweet little face gone still and lifeless sends a foreign stab of emotion into his chest that is really unpleasant.

He could ignore the situation and hope for it to go away on its own. But now that he knows his familiar is secretly lusting after his bite, he can’t get it out of his mind. He’d avoided feeding from Guillermo for years. At first it was a matter of preserving a valuable asset. Guillermo is a good familiar, why risk slipping up and accidentally draining him? After a while, when Nandor started to fixate on his familiar’s adorable smiles, fantasizing about how his soft, little body would feel against his...then it became a matter of self-control and rejecting his disgusting, unnatural feelings for a... servant!

So, that leaves him with one option. He must feed from Guillermo...carefully. So, so carefully so as not to be overcome and either kill or ravish the poor fellow. And if he is going to bite his Guillermo, then he must make it a pleasant experience for his familiar. He can’t stomach the idea of simply ripping into his human and hearing him scream and cry with the pain of it. No, it has to be...special.

---

Guillermo is barely in the door, laden down with shopping bags, when his master’s voice calls to him.

“Guillermo! Is that you?”

“Yes, master! I’m back from the store. I got you some more of those bath bombs you like,” Guillermo answers, wrestling with the bags as he edges towards his room. “Is there something--?”

Nandor appears at his side and interrupts, “The one with the lavender? Very good, Guillermo. Ehm--why don’t you put down those satchels and come with me to my room for a moment. I have a surprise for you.”

Guillermo’s face lights up with a warm smile and he drops the bags on the floor by his closet-room, “A surprise? For me, master?”

“Just for you, Guillermo! Come!” Nandor practically skips at his side as they walk back to his room, his eyes lit with anticipation.

Nandor closes and locks the door behind them, watching his familiar take in the arrangements he’s made. He borrowed Laszlo’s gramophone and set it up in the corner. It’s playing a soft, quiet melody that floats gently on the incense-infused air. A vase of vivid red roses sits on an end table next to his fancy couch, which he’s covered in a layer of bath towels. 

“What...what is all this, master?” Guillermo breathes, walking up to the flowers and burying his nose in the fragrant blooms with a smile on his lips. 

“Do you like it, Guillermo? I wanted it to be--” he pulls a face but manages to get the word out “--nice for you.”

“But, why?”

Nandor steps up beside his familiar, towering over the smaller man. “I’m going to feed from you. If... if that is still something you are wanting.”

“Oh,” the word comes out on a shaky exhale and Guillermo feels his knees go weak. “I--yes, I still want...that. Thank you, master.”

Nandor smiles, baring his fangs and crinkling his eyes. Guillermo feels his heart do a flip in his chest and wonders, distractedly, if Nandor can hear his heartbeat. They’re standing so close. Guillermo could lean forward just a bit and they’d be touching. He looks up into Nandor’s eyes and finds them melted with warmth. His master has never gone through such an effort for him before. Guillermo feels like his heart could burst.

“You want to take a seat?” Nandor gestures to the towel covered couch and Guillermo snaps out of his daze.

He sinks down onto the cushions, running his hands appreciatively over the terry cloth, “This was clever, master.”

Nandor takes a seat beside him, close enough that their thighs brush together and Guillermo gulps. He’s brushed his master’s hair, helped him dress, helped him bathe for goodness sake, but he’s never felt as close to him as he does now.

“Are you comfort-a-ble, Guillermo?” Nandor asks, staring at his face with a hungry intensity. 

Guillermo locks eyes with him and he sees his master’s pupils dilate, his lips part to bare elongated fangs. He gasps out a quivering breath as he fights the waves of exhilaration, lust and fear in order to answer.

“Yes, it’s...very comfy, master. Very nice, thank you.”

“Good,” Nandor responds, his eyes flicking down to Guillermo’s collar. “Why don’t you remove your woolen garment and open your collar. I don’t want to spoil your nice clothes.”

Guillermo feels like he’s in a dream. Nandor is never this...considerate. His mind flashes back to every time he’s watched his master strike out at a victim unannounced, with fierce aggression and even cruelty. It’s pathetic that his standards are so low, but the fact that Nandor isn’t treating him like just another victim to be used and discarded sends a rush of affection and hope flowing through him. He hastily grabs the bottom of his sweater, pulling it up over his head and tossing it aside. Next, he reaches for the collar of his shirt, but Nandor is there first. His long, thick fingers pluck at the buttons, releasing each one until Guillermo’s chest is visible. He pulls the collar aside, revealing the smooth, unblemished curve of Guillermo’s neck and shoulder.

“Are you ready?” Nandor asks with a hiss as he eyes his familiar’s naked skin. He’s never seen so much of the man before and he feels his cock stir with interest inside his trousers. 

“Yes,” Guillermo breathes needily, tilting his head to bare his neck even further. 

Nandor brings his hand up to cradle Guillermo’s head, letting his fingers sink into his soft curls and cupping his warm cheek in his palm. The pulse point at Guillermo’s throat is practically visible, his heart is beating so fast. Nandor feels his mouth flood with saliva as the rushing flow of Guillermo’s blood reaches his ears. 

He wraps his other arm around his familiar, drawing him onto his lap and finally leaning in to bury his face into the warm, inviting crook of his neck. Nandor breathes in the intoxicating aroma that even the human-things-for-smelling and his incense cannot obscure. He moans loudly. He might be embarrassed if he were less overcome with the sensory feast of his familiar’s soft body in his arms and the promise of his warm, thick blood.

Guillermo mewls at the touch of his master’s mouth on his bare throat. His beard is scratchy and rough but his lips are impossibly soft and gentle. It’s like a kiss, he thinks, his heart rushing with affection and joy. Nandor’s arm around him is firm and strong. He knows that he could never hope to escape if Nandor truly wished to restrain him and drink him dry. Putting this level of trust in his master makes him feel like a tiny, frail rabbit in the jaws of a hungry wolf. A delicious shiver runs down his spine at the image. And then Nandor’s lips pull back and he feels the sharp points of his fangs graze over tender skin.

“Oh!” Guillermo cries out. 

Nandor growls low in his throat but pulls back just slightly to check, “Is this still alright?”

Guillermo nods quickly, bringing up his hands to run them through Nandor’s soft hair reassuringly, “Yes! Yes! Please, master!”

He feels Nandor’s chest rumble with suppressed laughter and then there’s just the blinding, burning flash of pain that blooms as Nandor finally strikes, burying his fangs into his familiar’s soft, warm throat. Guillermo’s mouth falls open and his hands fist in Nandor’s hair as the first wave takes him. 

“Shhh,” Nandor murmurs wetly against his neck, lapping the spilled blood with long strokes of his tongue. “Shhh, you’re safe.”

“Nnghh!” a pleasured groan strangles from the familiar’s throat at the touch of his master’s tongue. Guillermo squirms, his cock filling even as blood drains away from his body. 

Nandor tightens his arms around his little Guillermo, pulling him flush against his broad chest and biting down once more as he begins to drink in earnest. He moans wantonly as the sweet blood fills his mouth. He’s as hard as he’s ever been and he rolls his hips against his familiar’s generous backside. He drinks and he drinks.

The pain ebbs enough for Guillermo to lose himself in the delicious feeling of connection with his master. His hands, his lips, his tongue, his teeth are all on him, inside of him, part of him. Nandor’s touch unlocks a secret room inside of Guillermo where he keeps his most tender feelings. For once he allows himself to truly feel the devotion, the affection... the love that he has for his master. It’s wonderful and dizzying. Tears slip from his eyes as he reaches his arms around Nandor’s broad shoulders, hugging him closer for as long as he’ll allow.

Too soon he feels his head start to spin and his grip on Nandor’s shoulders loosens. The vampire senses it immediately and draws back with a feral growl. Guillermo is limp and breathless in his master’s arms. He looks up with heavy-lidded eyes and watches Nandor lick blood from his lurid, stained lips.

“Thank you, master,” Guillermo whispers, snuggling into Nandor’s chest with a contented sigh. His arousal is flagging and he hopes that his master hasn’t noticed. He’d felt Nandor’s rigid erection grinding against him while the vampire drank his blood, but he has no way of knowing if that’s just something that happens every time he feeds. Whatever the case, he’s far too weak and drunk with happiness to do anything but drift along and hope that Nandor keeps holding him.

Nandor’s dead heart squeezes in his chest at the sight of his sleepy familiar burrowing his face into his chest. His plan seems to have failed. He’d wanted to give Guillermo his fantasy while remaining aloof, but instead he’s feeling an annoying rush of warm affection. Worse, he’s shamed himself by...rutting against the human like a street dog. He should push him away, or give him an order to remind him of the boundaries that are still in place. But as he looks down at the sweet smile on his familiar’s lips he can’t find it in him to spoil the moment for him so soon. Tomorrow. Tomorrow night he’d remind Guillermo of how things still stand between them.

“Will you keep holding me, master?” Guillermo mumbles, his eyes drifting shut. The human has read his thoughts!

“Yes,” Nandor replies, leaning down and tracing a barely there kiss onto Guillermo’s forehead. “For a little while.”

#nandermo #nandor x guillermo #guillermo x nandor #nandor the relentless #guillermo de la cruz #wwdits fanfic #wwdits

[cursed-in-barovia]

SESSION 7

After the town crier mentioned that the Burgomaster requested that each party member see him at once. The group decided to heave over, but amongst the crowd, Devotion and Zemotta went missing, and only Tomigot, Zoras, and Nori arrived outside the Burgomaster’s house.

In the front of the house on the road was an elegant round-top wagon adorned with bright colors and images of red roses. The Vistani commonly use these wagons and call them vardos. At the porch of the large house stood a tall, heavily armored guard. Zoras noticed the guard silently pointing and counting the heads, while looking puzzled once he counted only three.

“I thought there was five of you. What happened to the other two?” he asked.

Nobody was really able to explain where Devotion and Zemotta were. The guard still welcomed and motioned them to come inside.

The Burgomaster’s home was quite large compared to the other homes within the village leaving little doubt of who controls the purse strings. The furniture inside was adorned with many flourishes and rich with deep, vibrant colors on the upholstery. The faint scent of spices and well-oiled leather filled the air.

A large round table covered with a black velvet cloth dominates the parlor. At the far end sat a comely middle-aged woman dressed in bright colors. The party recognized her to be Sybil Rasia, the mother Gur from The Crossing Inn. As the three enter the room, Sybil pulled a deck of lacquered cards from her gown, spread them on the table in a graceful flourish, and bid the party to sit. Behind her, a rotund man in fine clothing stared out the window impatiently chewing on his thumbnail.

After a few uncomfortable moments, the Burgomaster introduced himself as Ivan Randovich, his armored guard as Kristofor, and could easily tell the group already knew Sybil. He explained that at his request, Sybil performed a reading for him earlier that day, and foresaw something ominous and, frankly, unusual. In her reading she event mentioned Tomigot, Zoras, Devotion, Zemotta, and Nori by name.

He paused and conducted a silent head count.

“Where are the other two?” he asked. Again, nobody could answer. So he steps aside and whispered to Kristofor to make sure someone goes and finds them. Kristofor relays the message to the thuggish guards standing outside.

“Well I was hoping everyone could be here, but perhaps it will still work with most of you here now.” He proceeds to tell of details from Sybil’s reading. There were signs of an army of the dead, a delicate powderbox, and a beautiful, yet powerful, woman. Meanwhile, Sybil shuffled the cards in a single hand; stopping every once in a while to flip one face-up onto the table.

Soon, the Burgomaster began to grow angry and curse.

Sybil ignores Ivan’s outburst and informs the group that perhaps a better reading can be done if they all participate. “It would only work if each of you participate. Kristofor, you can join them, too, if you like.”

Sybil Rasia deftly pocketed the Tarokka deck and withdrew a fist-sized sphere of crystal from what seemed to be the same pocket with a sing, fluid motion. She set the crystal orb on the table before her atop a silver stand.

“There is no need for caution. Close your eyes and clear your thoughts.” Sybils said, calmly. Tomigot, Zoras, Noris, and Kristofor obeyed.

As they closed their eyes, a feeling of restful warmth washed over each of them.

From seemingly nowhere, they could hear the delicate plucking of a harpsichord and images of objects fade into view. Eventually they found themselves in a lavish parlor in a large, thoughtfully decorated manor. A roaring fire crackled in the enormous hearth. Windows spanned one wall of the room – flooding light out onto a dramatic terrace overlooking the night-shrouded valley below.

Tomigot, Nori, Zoras, and Kristofor were also in the room. All were without their armor or weapons. Nori was dressed in a formal dress, while Zoras, Tomigot, and Kristofor wore fancy puffy sleeves.

Nori looked down at her dress and nervously admitted, “Well, I guess I have to tell you the truth. I’m a female.”  It was easy to tell she was completely uncomfortable and not herself in this dress, while Zoras actually envied her attire and offered to switch clothes.

Meanwhile, Tomigot was in his own discomfort. More importantly, he wanted to see if he was wearing any underwear. He peeked down to check, with Zoras hovering by, to peek as well. To both of their relief, there was no underwear. While Nori and Zoras exchanged clothes, Tomigot ripped off the puffy sleeves from his shirt. He also noticed that Zoras seemed to have and additional feature that he didn’t notice before, once he was wearing the dress.

“What is that?” he asked Zoras.

“Oh, that’s just a front tail. Us Tritons, we have those.”

Tomigot was in awe of a front tail and asked to see how it worked one day. Zoras abliged.

A young girl in a white dress was facing the windows sitting and playing a large, keyed instrument. It was a child-like melody. Every now and then, a man’s cries of agony would ring out from behind one of the doors.

Isabella introduced herself. Her chest and arms were riddled with open sores, and the left side of her face was almost entirely rotted away. Despite the girl’s hideous disfigurement, she was quite friendly.

Kristofor recognized her. She was the daughter of Glovia and Lucian Falinescu, and had died a few years ago. Prior to Isabella’s death, the Falinescus were thought of as local royalty, and beloved by everyone in the village. But as their grief went on for years, attitudes changed from compassion to suspicion and eventually to rumor and fear.

Isabella explained that her mother, Glovia, told her to stay inside the room or else she would be scolded. Her mother said that she needed to be fixed, but wasn’t sure what that meant. “It must be very bad because it makes mommy very sad and Daddy very angry.” She mentioned that her mother couldn’t fix her without the help from a pretty lady, but wasn’t sure who the lady was.

When asked about the screaming outside the room, she responded with, “Oh that’s just my Daddy. He’s being fixed.” She went on to proudly say how good her parents were at fixing things. Her mother was just as good at fixing people as her father, Lucian, was at fixing toys. She then points out at the dozens of dolls, puppets, and toy soldiers placed around the room. “Aren’t the amazing!? My Daddy made each one!” Some of them were clockwork toys that could walk; others were dolls with features that moved such as blinking eyes or waving hands, and a few were marionette puppets.

Kristofor looked for an exit but realized that windows were sealed and the doors seemed to feel like a façade. As if they were cement walls with doorknobs fixed to them. He tried focusing on any sort of wall decoration, but the dream-state of the reading made it hard to discern.

Tomigot asked if there was anything to drink. Isabella brought him to the center table where on a tray there was four crystal cups. The aroma of the liquid filled the room. “It’s good for you,” Isabella assured. Without question, Tomigot takes a drink. The flavor of cider and warmth overcame his body. His reaction from drinking the contents eased the rest of the party, as they each drank from the other glasses. Tomigot asked for more, but unfortunately that was all that was available

Zoras noticed a delicate pair of glasses on the table, sporting amber lenses with slender slivers of green glass, resembling the vertical pupils of a serpent’s eyes. Once he placed them over his eyes, he noticed that Isabella looked normal and without disease. When he looked around the room, he saw a large portrait on the wall. It was a wealthy, attractive family. Centered in the picture was Glovia, resting her hand on the should of a young girl who looked like a healthy version of Isabelle. He removed the glasses to see if anything in the portrait changed, but nothing happened. He, however, noticed a ring on Glovia’s finger that depicted an empty heart.

Nori then asked if there was anything shiny in the room she could take a look at. Isabella skipped to the table upon which was a silver box. As she opened it, golden light spilled out. She reached in and pulled out a simple, wooden box, the source of the light, and showed it to Nori.

Just as the party was able to focus on the object to discern what it was, the serenity of the moment shattered as a figure came crashing through the window.

Thick strings of wispy ether were attached to his arms and legs, similar to those of a marionette. He snatched the wooden box from Isabella and with a backhanded wing of a lumber axe, struck the young girl’s head from her shoulders without so much as a glance.

The party recognized this to be Laszlo and the sight of the decapitation froze Zoras in his place, and caused Nori to swing her hand out in automatic defense, slapping Zoras in the face! Zoras, stunned while still wearing the glasses noticed that the strings attached to Laszlo lead to a giant image of Glovia, who also had strings attached to her.

“Bring it to me Laszlo!”, a voice boomed overhead. Seeming to snarl at the voice, the creature gathered his strings together and with a single sweep of his axe, severed them cleanly. Looking at the group, he issued a hissing growl before leaping out through the window and into the cold night.

The next thing the party can hear is the loud yell of the Burgomaster, “Run Oleg!” He then slapped everyone back to reality. Finally regaining control of their bodies, they return from the dream feeling refreshed and could see Ivan yelling out the window. A dark figure was chasing Oleg, Ivan’s servant, down the street; its head cocked strangely to one side. Screams were coming from all parts of the village. Ivan turned to the group and yelled, “Snap out of it! We’re under attack!”

As the party prepared to head out, Ivan was able to gather four healing potions as Kristofor was able to convince two of Ivan’s thuggish guards to assist.

Once outside, the party could hear a roaring voice echoing down into the village from the cliffs above. Looking up, they could see Laszlo holding a torch: “Glovia, What shall you do now? You can’t protect them all! I have what you seek and now you must betray them as you were going to betray me!” He then hurled his torch down into the village. It landed on the roof of one of the buildings, which immediately caught fire. This brought everyone’s attention to the village as they realized the horror that was happening all around. The dead had risen and were attacking the town. Looking back up, Laszlo had vanished from sight, but it seemed there were more immediate concerns.

The group ran to the middle of town. On the way there, a clump of fur in the dirty snow caught Zoras’ attention. He picked it up to see that it was a wolfskin cap that looked just like the one that Arik wore.

Once at the center of things, Kristofor and Nori saw zombies closing in on Oleg and two villages. Zoras heard shouts coming from a nearby burning building. Tomigot noticed that the roof of the town hall where the food supply for the village was located was on fire.

Oleg and a few villagers had been chased down a side alley and were cornered by a group of zombies that were shambling toward them. Kristofor ordered his two men to attack while Nori shot arrows from afar. One of the thugs, Paul, was able to pull the villagers out of harm’s way, while Kristofor tried to block the zombies from further approach. He noticed that there was a cart parked to the side the alley. He tried tugging at it to roll it into the middle of the path, but it seemed as if one of the cart wheels was lodged into a divot. Nori, Kristofor, and his men continued to take down each zombie, until they finally stopped returning to life after falling unconscious.

“Help, help!” shouted a disembodied voice that Zoras could hear coming from a nearby building. As he came closer, a head appeared in a barred window.

The building appeared to be a jailhouse of sorts and it was empty; the constable was likely out defending the town. The structure’s roof was well ablaze, and had a skeleton with a torch outside setting fire to more buildings.

With a few gusts of wind, Zoras was able to extinguish the fire on the roof, as well as the torch in the skeleton’s hand. Then after a few force blasts, he was able to take out the skeleton.

Meanwhile, the fire on the roof of the town hall building was rapidly getting out of control. Tomigot peeked inside to see five large crates. The roof was beyond hope of extinguishing, but with quick decisive actions, Tomigot figured he could be able to save the supplies within before the roof came down. Tomigot decided to protect himself from smoke inhalation by removing his wolf fur loincloth and covering his mouth with it. He took turns running into the burning building to grab each crate. Some were heavier than they looked, but for the most part he was able to avoid any fire damage.

Once the villagers were safe from zombies, Kristofor and Nori came over to help Tomigot finish pulling out crates from the town hall, while Zoras tried rescuing the prisoner. Rather than using thieves tools, he tried pouring and freezing water into the lock of the cell door. But the expansion of the frozen water didn’t work as planned. So he then took a swing at it with his sword, successfully busting the lock with great ease, thanks to the ice in the lock.

The prisoner grabbed a bag that was concealed in a pile of straw that he was given as a bed, and with a wink, he thanked Zoras for his bravery and handed him the satchel before turning into a raven and flying away. Kristofor witnessed this and was angry at Zoras for letting a prisoner free, but was equally confused because, not to his knowledge was anyone being incarcerated, prior to the fires. Zoras looked in the bag to find a potion of healing, 25 gp, and a brass key set with a purple stone. He then rushed over to the rest of the group to help the flames out at the town hall building.

Once the last few flames were put out, and all of the food crates were safely rescued, looking around at the chaos, one figure stood out from the others. A particularly ghastly looking creature seemed to be issuing orders to the others. 

Tomigot ran to the ghastly creature as fast as he could, with Kristofor not far behind. Nori, Zoras, and the guards took shots at its minions; two skeletons.

Upon closer inspection, Kristofor recognized the ghast to be Jakob, once a butler of the Falinescu Manor. Tomigot just noticed the awful odor that emitted from the creature. It, however, was no odor that Tomigot couldn’t handle, especially not after just having his loincloth over his mouth.

After several shots of arrows, slashes from swords and axes, and for blasts, the party was able to kill the ghast and his skeleton minions. Zoras search the ghast’s body and found a jeweled butler’s ring. The rest of the party found old rusty swords, bows, and tattered leather on the skeletons.

As things grew quiet, and the remaining villagers were able to absorb the damage and chaos of the events that just occurred, the group was able to take a short rest. Then as the cleaning efforts began to wind down for the evening, a woman arrived; pleading hysterically for help. “You must help me. She has taken my girl! My Sorina is gone and my husband, Boris, has gone after them. I could not stop him!”

Kristofor recognized her as woman name Kala. He asked her for more details. The woman was the mother of Sorina, the young girl that worked at the hospice. She explained that Glovia cast a spell on she and her husband and took the girl. She was told by others that Sorina was seen leaving the town with Glovia, heading towards the Falinescu Manor.

While Kristofor had never been inside the Falinescu Manor, he knew where it was and lead the way, just outside of Orasnau proper. The road from the village had not seen wagon or carriage traffic in years became nothing more than a footpath.

The enormity of the home was in sharp contrast to the buildings in the village. Once a lavish estate that surely hosted many grand affairs, Falinescu Manor had fallen into dilapidation from neglect. An imposing granite structure perched on a bluff, the home boasted an impressive view over Svalich Woods to an ominious castle in the distance.

In front of the estate there was a circular path for carriages. Multiple gargoyles stared down from their parapets in disapproval. Huge black, wooden doors with rusted iron bindings offered a cold reception. Tomigot accepted the invitation and opened the unlocked front doors.

The grand foyer was obviously made to impress. The ceiling was open to the second story and ultimately to a glass paned roof, which was currently leaking very badly and forming a large puddle around the entryway. Pillars lined the sized of the room supporting an overlooking rail on the second story. An impressive staircase was opposite the front door.

With one step forward, the floor beneath him instantly buckled from his heavy half-orc weight, causing the entire foyer floor and the stairs up to the first landing to crumbled into the basement below. With a quick reflex, he was able to backflip back onto the threshold of the doorway. “Well, maybe we should go around to another entrance,” he said, embarrassingly.

The group decided to try following the path that lead to the left side of the Manor. The path descended to a lower level once they turned the corner toward the back of the house.

The side door that lead to the kitchen appeared recently used. The door was not locked. There was no food in sight and it was apparent that none had been prepared there in quite a while. A slow, steady dripping sound echoed through the room. A puddle collected inside the hearth.  Nori set her released her dancing lights to illuminate the dark room.

Kristofor checked one of the doors in the room. It wasn’t locked, but he could hear movement coming from inside the room. The party readied themselves for whatever was behind the door. Paul and Hugh, Kristofor’s guard, flipped one of the kitchen tables to its side to act as a barrier of defense.

Kristofor quickly opened the door as swarms of at least 100 rats pooled out, hungry for their next meal. Tomigot, Kristofor, and Hugh took most of the bites, while Nori and Zora try firing arrows and setting bonfires on the rats from afar. No matter how many wings with axes or swords, or shots with arrows each of the party members took, it seemed as though the rats were just too quick to be hit. It took some time to skewer and roast every last rat. The party, especially Kristofor was completely exhausted after the encounter.

He mustered up the mental and physical strength to inspect the room the rats were in. The smell was nauseating. A combination of spoiled food and rat droppings, this one-time pantry and adjoining meat locker had become a nest for rats. Nothing of value or still worth eating could be found in this room, leaving Kristofor frustrated for having to survive the rats, all for nothing.

#dnd #dungeons and dragons #curse of strahd #marionette #rpg #role playing #game #tabletop #dm #dungeon master #story

[babybluebex]

director's commentary on good doctor kreizler?

of course, my beloved ;) 

ask me for “director’s commentary” on my fics!

here’s the thing ab good doctor kreizler: i wrote it in a total of 2 hours. i watched the episode “many sainted men” (s1ep7, i believe), and i was taken with the scene of laszlo and john leaving the morgue and being harassed. i couldn’t stop thinking of laszlo protecting me in a circumstance like that. so, 2 hours, total. it’s the fastest thing i’ve ever written, from the moment of conception to hitting post (the actual writing took 2 hours. the entire process was about 3). so there are errors. spelling, grammar, canon errors; it’s not the most accurate, but it’s fine. 

i also love the victorian time period. i love everything about it: the fashion, the language, the music, the literature. i’m currently pursuing my bachelor’s degree, which is literure-oriented, but has a concentration on victorian literature. my favorite movie is crimson peak, another piece of media that (partially) takes place in 1890s new york. so, the moment i started watching the alienist and placed the time period, i knew i would eventually be writing something about it. if i could get away with wearing the dresses and boots and cravats that people of the victorian era did, i would (but it’s always hot as balls where i live and it’s not practical (and that sorta clothing is super expensive and had to find 💀))

i also had a hell of a time figuring out which arm was laszlo’s injured arm!!! in the alienist series of books (which i highly reccomend), it’s his left arm that is malformed, but in the show, it always seemed to be his right. i found out that the showrunners had to change the arm that was malfromed because daniel is left-handed, but i kept confusing myself while i was writing because i would be following the canon of the book instead of the show and i was getting turned the fuck around like every other sentence. 

and the single, awful cody ko reference. that came around when i was trying to figure out how laszlo would tell you that he was about to come, because those exact words didn’t feel like something laszlo would say. so, i texted my wonderful writing partner @therenlover and was like “hey, how do i say this”, and, in this conversation, we brought up the cody ko video where he’s talking about the blow job robot and he yells the phrase “you’re drawing me to fulfillment!”. in the context of the video, it’s gross and awful and fucking hysterical, and since jac and i had such a big laugh about it, i knew i had to include it somewhere. i didn’t want laszlo to say it because that would have wrecked the entire piece of writing for me, so i had it in the literature instead of dialogue. nobody’s pointed it out and i’m half glad and half upset. 

#ask #bex loves jd

[chelsfic]

Not Entirely Unrequited - Nandor the Relentless x Guillermo de la Cruz Fanfic (One-Shot)

WWDITS Masterlist

Summary: An alternate ending to “Colin’s Promotion.” Featuring a smooch and some fluff.

A/N: I just love Nandor’s line from this episode (Come over here and put your neck in my mouth!)--and I can’t stop thinking...what if...?? [See end for more notes]

Warnings: Kissing, self-sacrifice/close call, Fluff, Feelings!

---

“Guillermo,” Nandor moans, barely picking up his head. “Come over here and put your neck in my mouth.”

Guillermo rolls off his chair, falling onto the floor in an exhausted puddle and painstakingly crawling forward with a subservient, “Yes, master.”

Nandor watches his familiar’s progress without an ounce of the bloodlust that normally clouds his mind at the prospect of a tasty, virgin meal. He’s a wilted flower dressed up as an Ottoman war lord. All thanks to fucking Colin Robinson’s fiendish machinations.

“Nandor! You’re not going to hog Gizmo all to yourself, are you?!” Nadja groans from the opposite couch where she’s collapsed in ennui.

“He’s my familiar, Nadja!” Nandor snaps testily, reaching a limp hand out as Guillermo scrambles up beside him. “It’s not my fault you and Laszlo can’t keep one alive for longer than a week!”

Guillermo sags into his master’s side. The little energy remaining to him after Colin’s mega-feed sapped by the journey from the chair to the couch. Even his thoughts are sluggish. Somewhere in the back of his mind a tiny voice calls out, telling him that he should run from this. But a louder compulsion to please his master--to take care of him--overrides the instinct for self-preservation.

He lets his head drop onto the vampire’s shoulder with a contented sigh, enjoying the rare chance to cuddle his irritable master. He buries his nose into the waves of soft, dark hair, breathing in Nandor’s spicy scent.

“You were a good familiar, Guillermo,” Nandor whispers, his mouth open in a hungry leer. He turns his body to face the smaller man, cradling him in his arms and running a gentle hand over his exposed neck. “This will be just like falling to sleeping…”

Guillermo shivers at the brush of wickedly sharp fangs against his tender skin. He takes a shaky breath, shutting his eyes as a fat tear rolls down his cheek.

“I love you, master,” he breathes just as Nandor closes his mouth over the beating pulse in his neck.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Colin Robinson’s nasal voice sounds from the doorway. “Looks like I’ve arrived in the nick of time.”

Nandor tightens his arms around Guillermo, squeezing him to his chest as he turns around with a petulant whine, “Haven’t you done enough, Colin Robinson? Can’t you leave me to murder my familiar in peace?!”

“Haven’t I done enough?” Colin scoffs. “It’s you all who treat me like a burden instead of a friend!”

He stalks forward and pulls Guillermo out of Nandor’s grip. Both men complain pitifully and Colin rolls his eyes. 

“Quit whining, you walnut!” he gripes at Guillermo, depositing him back into the armchair. “I’m saving your pathetic life.”

“Guillermo!” Nandor wails. “Run away!”

Colin presses down on his shoulders as Guillermo makes a weak, aborted attempt to rise.

“Sorry, master…” Guillermo mumbles, half-asleep.

Colin strides across the room, holding forth as two dopplegangers split off from his body. The vampires and familiar writhe in pitiful agony as Colin spins out of control, the urge to feed turning against him and weakening him until he and his doubles fall down lifeless.

---

Later that evening, Guillermo stands under the hot spray in the upstairs shower. The water turns a muddy brown as it flows down the drain, rinsing away the remnants of tonight’s gravedigging. He groans as his aching muscles finally relax. His eyes fall shut and he recalls the feel of his master’s fangs against his skin. He finally allows himself to surrender, just a little, to the emotions brewing inside him. A choked sob escapes his throat, interrupted by the sound of a soft knock.

“Guillermo?” Nandor’s muffled voice comes through the door.

Guillermo sniffs, hastily wiping his eyes and sticking his head out of the shower curtain, “I-I’ll be out in a minute, master!”

He rushes through the rest of his shower, turning off the water and hastily drying himself before throwing on his soft, worn pajamas and terry cloth robe. His skin is still flushed and warm from the heat of the shower and his hair is wet when he steps out into the hallway and nearly collides with Nandor. 

“Oh! Master, I didn’t think you’d still be here. Is--is there something you need?” Guillermo stammers. Nandor catches him before he can slam into his chest, holding him with his large, cool hands curled around Guillermo’s upper arms.

“No, my Guillermo,” Nandor murmurs. There’s a tender look in his large, dark eyes that Guillermo has never seen in all his eleven years of service. “I came to see if you are alright. That was a brave thing you did tonight…”

“Oh, it was nothing…” Guillermo automatically demurs, ducking his head and adjusting his glasses nervously

“No, it was not nothing!” Nandor insists, baring his fangs in annoyance. He pauses then, his face softening as he reaches out to tuck a stray curl behind his familiar’s ear.

Guillermo startles at the unexpected touch, his mouth falling open in shock. He looks up and falls into Nandor’s gaze. Those rich, dark brown eyes seem to emit their own gravity, pulling him in and dragging him under the influence of the vampire’s power. Is this hypnosis? Guillermo wonders frantically. Or...something else?

“It wasn’t nothing, my Guillermo,” Nandor repeats, his voice pitched lower. He brings both hands up to cup his familiar’s cheeks and he hisses in pleasure at the contrast of Guillermo’s shower-heated skin with his cold palms. “You were willing to sacrifice yourself for me and I...I appreciate it!”

A shiver runs through Guillermo’s body at his master’s touch. Rather than cringe away from it, though, he leans in, stepping closer and bringing his hands up to clutch the furred collar of Nandor’s jacket. What is happening? He’s either spectacularly misinterpreting Nandor’s signals or...

“Of course, master. I’d do anything for you…” And Guillermo flinches as he hears the words and realizes they’re true. He would do anything. He has, hasn’t he? He’s sacrificed, killed, thrown out his pride and given up his human life...all for Nandor. How long has he lied to himself, claiming to be in it for the payoff of becoming a vampire? For so long, for years, it’s been about something entirely different.

“And what you said?” Nandor continues, stroking his fingers along Guillermo’s cheeks, his jaw, up into his wet curls. “That you love me…?”

Guillermo sputters, trying to come up with an excuse, an explanation that will somehow protect the tender animal of his true feelings. Nandor hushes him, putting a finger to his lips and letting it stay there.

“Your feelings are not...entirely...unrequited…” Nandor admits, wincing against the indignity of voicing his own emotions. But the smile that lights up his familiar’s face is worth the momentary embarrassment. 

Guillermo is resplendent. He gazes up at Nandor like he’s the moon, the stars and the eternal night he’s waited for his whole life. Nandor feels his cold, dead heart flood with warmth and in one swift motion he leans down and presses his mouth to Guillermo’s, capturing him in a kiss before he can think twice. 

The vampire’s lips are surprisingly soft, and the kiss is infinitely gentle, as if he’s taking care not to hurt his beloved familiar. Guillermo moans, pressing harder into him and smirking in pleasure at the sharp cut of fangs against his plump lower lip. Their mouths fill with Guillermo’s hot, sweet blood and Nandor very nearly growls. He wraps his arms tight around his familiar and deepens the kiss, pressing his tongue into Guillermo’s mouth and lapping at the shallow wound on his lip. 

Too soon, Nandor pulls back, panting with the intensity of the kiss. His mouth and beard are stained with blood and he looks wickedly debauched. Guillermo clings to him, catching his breath and trying to steady himself against the revelations of the last few minutes. Nandor feels Guillermo trembling and tightens his arms around him, pulling him to his chest and tucking him under his chin with a gentle squeeze. 

He lowers his lips and presses a kiss into the damp curls at the crown of Guillermo’s head, just barely whispering, “I love you too, Guillermo.”

---

A/N: This was a bit of an exercise in writing something short (1300ish words) and not-very-explicit. I’ve never been in a fandom before where I was drawn to *so many* ships. Nadja x Laszlo! Jenna x Nadja!? Jenna x Nandor!!!??? Laszlo x Nandor... but Nandor x Guillermo is just so special. I had to write a little something for these babies. If you enjoyed this, please consider letting me know! It would really make my day!

#nandermo #nandor x guillermo #nandor the relentless x guillermo de la cruz #guillermo x nandor #guillermo de la cruz x nandor #wwdits fanfic #wwdits fanfiction #wwdits fluff #guillermo de la cruz #nandor the relentless