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meadow-selfship · 8 months

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Hans x Ursula (s/i)

Day 1, 2, 3 for Self-indulgent September (first meeting, museum date (if you squint), Autumn weather/rainy day)

Like many of my 'better' works, this is vaguely inspired by a dream I had that I heavily adapted into this piece.

Pairing: Hans Gruber x Ursula (s/i)

Wordcount: 1660

Setting: a very rainy New Year's Eve.

Dividers by cafekitsune

The pouring rain strained our vision, as we ran over the slippery asphalt. My brother, Abel, followed close behind me. Even though we tried avoiding puddles, our shoes were wet and soggy already.

“In there, the museum looks like it’s still open,” I called over my shoulder. We reached the doors and didn’t hesitate for a single moment, before we barrelled in. The light in the lobby was still on, a clerk sat bored behind the monitors, glancing up from his crossword puzzle. The desk was right by the door, but just past the desk was a little area with seats. It reminded of a doctor’s waiting room with the magazines on the coffee table and the white walls.

Abel sighed and slumped against the door. We dripped all over the door mat, from coat to Abel’s jeans to my wool skirt – everything was soaked through. I wiped at my face, trying to avoid messing up my make-up.

“Good evening,” the clerk greeted and I walked a little closer.

“Hello. Do you mind if we stay here and try to dry up a bit? I know it’s late…” I said.

“Nah, go ahead,” he said with a wave of his hand. “The New Year’s party is going on upstairs so we aren’t closing anytime soon.”

“Thank you,” I said with a nod and squeezed the water from the hem of my wool skirt. Disgusting. Boisterous noises came from upstairs; yelling, laughter, people popping small fireworks. Abel and I exchanged a look.

“Sounds like quite the party,” Abel said.

The clerk shifted. “Sure is.”

“Let’s dry off in the bathroom,” I said to Abel.

“Down the hall to the right,” said the clerk and we went on our way.

“Can’t believe it’s still not stopped raining,” said Abel, nudging my knee with his foot. We sat on the couch in the museum lobby, staring restlessly outside. We worked our way through the art magazines that were strewn about the coffee table, but nothing could quell our unease. At some point, the party upstairs quieted down inexplicably, but no one came down to leave. We’d taken our shoes, gloves and coats off and left them on the radiator, hoping they would dry soon. My hair was still dry, thanks to my thick fake fur hat, that now laid sadly next to the gloves, looking something like a deflated wet rat.

“Can I write on this? It’s yesterday’s paper,” I held the paper up.

“Go right ahead,” the man said, hiding a strange tenseness by pretending not to be interested. Bored out of my mind, I circled the fun words, doing as I often do on the train; to see if there is a hidden poem in the front page article.

I turned to Abel. “It’s already half past eight. You were meeting some friends at ten, right?”

The clerk glanced up, something uncharacteristically calculating in his eyes, for a museum desk clerk. Something felt off. We’d better get going soon.

“Yeah. There’s still time. What are you doing?”

“Black out poem.” I nudged the paper to him. “Your turn. Just circle words or connect them.”

He blinked at me. “Mom and dad should’ve never let you study art.”

I laughed. “I assure you I would’ve been equally pretentious even without the education.”

A static buzz made us look to the desk, where the clerk answered a walkie-talkie.

A walkie-talkie is not something front-office workers usually have in a museum, is it? Something was definitely wrong. I pulled the newspaper towards me and penned a quick ‘er is iets mis’ on it. Abel nodded, mirroring my worried expression. We got up, trying to not let our alarmed expressions show.

"You're leaving?" asked the clerk.

"Yeah, if the rain isn't letting up anyway, we better get home and dry up there," I said, going for my shoes. Ew, still soaked. Cold, too, and I hoped my toes would recover quickly once at home. Not that it mattered now, since it was still coming down in buckets and we'd be soaked through even if our clothes were dry.

"Gross," said Abel, his lip curling with the feeling of it as he pulled the still wet shoe over his socks. Before we could get our coats on, a small group of men came down the stairs. They walked quickly, with purposeful strides, The one who came down first wore an impeccable suit, was he the museum director? Whether he was or wasn't, Abel and me backed away to the door. I grabbed my coat over my arm and held my hat, same as Abel.

"There was only one thing I asked of you, Johan. It was to keep people out," said the one in the suit. With the way he strode towards the clerk, it looked like he wanted to hurt the man. We should've listened to our gut sooner.

I pushed against the door, and instead of it giving way, it made a beeping noise and stayed shut. The eyes of the men from upstairs fell on us. Suddenly it was like I was a kid caught with my hand in the cookie jar, and I stared back at them with unease. The one in the suit, the scariest one, turned around, and our eyes locked. His expression changed.

"See, the alarm was on, I swear-"

"Johan," he drawled, "you didn't say we had such a lovely guest."

He made a jovial gesture, and came closer. "How rude of me not to introduce myself."

His sudden pleasantness threw me off. He extended his hand, and the way he did it made me take it, despite the strangeness of the situation. "Hans Gruber. And you? Hiding from the rain?"

"Ursula," I said, trying to apply equal pressure to the handshake. "Yes, we're very sorry for intruding. We just came by here from work, and..."

His touch lingered, warm. His smile was the most charming one I've ever seen. "And this is your..?" He gestured to Abel.

"Abel," he said, reaching out to shake his hand. "We're siblings."

Hans nodded, still smiling, as something calculating crept in his gaze. "Good, good. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Actually, why don't you stay a little while longer? We are just wrapping up here. How about, after that, I'll take you home?"

It didn't feel much like a question. His eyes lingered like his touch did. When Hans turned around, his demeanour changed again. A business man.

"Johan, I'll deal with you later. Karl; get the car. Fritz, Tony; get the bags from upstairs."

They did as he said, dispersing quick and without fuss. One thing is certain; Hans is not the museum director.

Abel and I exchanged a confused glance. I tried the door again, muttering a mild curse when it didn't still didn't open. Before I could ask if this was a good idea, Hans turned back, coming closer now.

"It's really no trouble for us to walk, we wouldn't want to inconvenience you."

"You're not from here, are you?" Hans ignored my statements to weasel our way out the door. His hand rested on my shoulder, as he directed us away from the exit and towards the elevators. "When I first came here, it was those times when strangers showed great kindness that made me feel welcome. Let me extend that same kindness to you, today."

"Sir, it's New Year's Eve, surely you have something better to do."

"Oh, Liebling, just call me Hans." His hand slipped to my back now, pressing on insistently enough to make it awkward to linger. "Isn't that even better? A festive mood during a festive time. How are you celebrating?"

Even though Abel followed by my side, it felt like Hans addressed only me. We reached the elevators and Hans stepped forward, pressed buttons, no matter that we didn't agree to come with at all. Abel glanced back at the door. I shrugged at him.

"Abel is going to see some friends later," I said, shifting the focus to him. "They're going into the city, find a good spot to watch the fireworks."

"How nice," he said. The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Hans went in first. He expected us to follow, but more so than that, it felt like he didn't even consider it a possibility that we wouldn't. We stepped in and the doors closed. "And you, Liebling?"

Me, Liebling... "Hmm, watch fireworks from my window and go to bed on time. I'm not such a fan of the loud and the-" I gestured with my arms, "the boisterous."

Hans looked at me for a long moment, no judgement in his eyes, only curiosity and an unexpected fondness. "Then join me in doing the same. My hotel room has an incredible view." Where someone else saying the same thing, would have been a gaud-ish boast, it wasn't with him. His voice was soft, the quietness in which he said it made my heart stir. Would he not be celebrating with those men from before? Or with friends of his own? Not even a wife? If he’s staying at a hotel room, he could be far from home… Just like me.

I kept silence, not breaking eye contact. The moment lasted like that, us staring at each other, Hans' request hanging in the air between us. If we kept it up like this, I wouldn’t need to say anything at all. He could see it all, written on my face, just for him to read – that’s what it felt like. The elevator dinged. Despite having, once again, heard no ‘yes’, Hans led us to the car.

"Bring Abel home first," I said. "Then we can talk."

Hans’ smile was brighter than even the most colourful fireworks.

#this is so self indulgent it can make me cry or cringe or sob in joy so im just gonna hit post and not think abt it anymore #📔 noli me tangere 🍂#hans gruber x s/i #hans gruber x oc #hans gruber #im already working on a part 2 to this bc i could but idk if its even going anywhere #self ship #selfshipping #self shipper #self ship community #self insert #die hard 1988 #self-indulgent september

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meadow-selfship · 8 months

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Hans Gruber x Minoes (s/i): Temperance

This is a prompt fill for Self-indulgent September, for the prompt 'Magic' :)). I wanted to pair it with the least magical f/o, so here it is for Hans <3. The tarot deck used is the Thoth deck by Aleister Crowley - but not that his version of the card Temperance is named Art. I kept it as Temperance to tie in with the theme of this fic.

Title: Temperance

Summary: Hans searches out the daughter of an old associate of his, and finds her reading tarot cards at a festival. Out of place as he may be at a spiritual festival, he has a good time getting to know her. She reads his cards before he reveals that the game they are playing is all his.

Warnings: gun. deception. kidnapping. sfw.

Wordcount: 2882

Divider by saradika

Incense smoke hung heavy in the air. Hans looked around at the many small booths at the festival grounds, observant as a predator on the hunt. Who would be his mouse? Soft flute music mixed with the chatter. He stuck out like a sore thumb between the colourful hippies and the casually dressed, but there were some other men like him around. Rich men with heavy golden watches around their wrists. Most of them accompanied younger women with crystal necklaces and a tattoo of their zodiac sign on their bicep. It was an interesting change of pace from the urban locations he usually scoped out.

The booths with jewellery alternated ones with posters of wolves and foxes, or essential oils, or hand sewn velvet drawstring bags for crystals; then a woman who gave belly dancing workshops; a man who advertised his mediumship and promised to get you in touch with your ancestors; another who did reiki massage and crystal healing. So on and so forth. Hans didn't care, but he did care about the exact paths of entry into the grounds, where he parked his car, what he will say once he’s found his prey.

He cringed as he felt a headache form from the conflicting incense smells, but reminded himself of his purpose here. His lip quirked up as he imagined the fruits of his schemes, all coming together. There, he saw the booth, just up ahead. It was a tent of sorts, not that it looked very sturdy, with draping fabrics in deep jewel tones like the wings of beetles. A sign outside read 'tarot readings', and a list of prices underneath. Two people stood outside it, talking softly but animatedly, holding hands tightly. Maybe they just came out, and now had a lot to process. It was too dark to see inside, past the beaded curtain that shimmered like rain droplets on a window.

He entered, the beaded curtain tinkling behind him. Letting his eyes adjust to the dark, first there were only more fabrics, more gleaming beads, crystals, fringed tablecloths... He almost scoffed at the garish decorations. Then he saw her. His mouse. A smile appeared on his face, and he stepped closer with an air of ease. The air of a panther.

She sat at a small table, with several different velvets draped over it. Sitting on a comfortable arm chair, she had her legs crossed in a relaxed posture. He has entered her space, her bubble. In contrast to all of the overly maximalist fabrics, patterns, beads, decorations, mirrors, crystals and colours - she dressed only in black. A waterfall of black wavy hair fell down over her shoulders, half of it pinned up behind her head, long enough that he couldn't tell where it ended, hidden by the table cloth. He didn't recognise much of her father in her, but then again; her father didn't wear kajal nor lipstick.

"Hello, miss..."

"Welcome," she said, and he got the sense that she waited for him to take it all in, waited until he noticed her, to greet him. That she sat there, observing him as he looked around. Despite his less than kind purpose in coming here, it unsettled him for a second. He had to remind himself that he likely wasn't the first sceptic she met.

"It's Minoes, or miss Van der Linden, as the sign says. Come, sit," she said, softly, gesturing to the chair opposite of her. He loved this part of the hunt; seeing her in her element, unsuspecting, so at ease with a man like him.

He sat down on the chair. It wobbled a little on the uneven grass, even though the ground was covered by a Persian tapestry. She smelled of patchouli, and it was refreshing to smell something else than incense. He took her in more closely. The details that her passport photo didn't reveal; soft hairs by her temples, the playful glisten in her eyes, how she was older than in the pictures he saw of her, yet she felt livelier, the roundness of her cheeks, that her double chin showed when she looked down at her deck of cards. The rings she wore, silver with garnet stones (cheap, but the colour suited her), and how they pulled his attention to her hands and the long nails that tapped against the cards’ surface.

"I like your suit," she said, checking him out unashamedly.

"Thank you," he said, trying another smile. She reached for her cards with an ease of someone having done this so many times before. Perhaps it was the atmosphere, or the copious amounts of smoke, that got to his head, but the way she moved was magnetic. He was sucked in, just watching her move, her fingers dancing to straighten out the layers of tablecloth, then pick up the cards again.

"What brings you here?" she asked. Professional. To the point. She observed him closely as she shuffled the cards slowly, letting them fall from palm to palm.

"I'd like a reading," he said. "That is what you do, yes?"

She clacked her tongue at him, shaking her head softly, the sounds of cards being shuffled coming to a stop. "I doubt you actually want a reading. But that's alright, I can do one anyway, if you're curious, or want to pass the time. It makes no difference to me."

He stiffened. Did she know something? "A reading will be fine."

Minoes extended her hand over the table, palm up, then when he didn't respond, she raised her eyebrows at him, making a 'come here' motion. He gave her his hand, which she then planted, palm open, on the velvet cloth. In it, she put the tarot deck. "Try shuffling it."

They laid heavy and warm in his hand, awkwardly sharp at the corners. He frowned at her. "I thought that was your job."

"We know each other, don't we?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him, leaning her chin on her hand. "You feel familiar."

Hans chuckled, letting himself laugh to distract from his unease. "I feel familiar?"

She smiled back and shrugged. "Like one of my dad's old friends. Same accent too."

He quieted, debating on how far to carry his ruse. Was she truly this perceptive? Or did anyone with a German accent remind her of his old crew?

She waved him to give her the deck back and he did. "Men like you often give me less trouble when I've compared them to my father." And she grinned, eyes twinkling.

Was that it? A mere tactic? For a second he was stunned. Perhaps there was more to here than he thought; a far more calculating personality underneath the velvet and the fringe. Truly Thomas’ daughter.

Yet, Hans couldn't resist. Lowly, he asked: "What kind of men did your father have as friends?"

She shrugged and shuffled the cards some more, dividing the deck into stacks, then shuffling again. "Business men, mostly. I'm sure you're a lot nicer than you appear, when you keep an open mind."

He almost laughed at the absurd irony of the situation, but held himself back from showing teeth just yet. The gun in his waistband pressed hard against his stomach. Patience, there was time, he bade himself. He'd enjoy it more if he practiced temperance. Done shuffling, she laid out three cards, facing down, on the tablecloth.

"No, that's not right," she mumbled to herself, and placed another two down, underneath the first three. He wondered if she believed in the cards, in their magic, or if it was just a job to her. A means to an end. "Are you a sceptic?"

The question was rather disarming, especially in the tone she used. So honest.

"I can't say I've ever had a reading before," he said. She nodded, and took another moment too long to look at him. Even outside thrill of the hunt, he was starting to enjoy himself.

"You're very diplomatic, I like that," she mused, and turned over the first card. A man sitting atop a throne, clad in red , holding a sceptre, all in red and yellows, an array of symbols and animals around him. "This represents you."

He frowned at her words. It looked nothing like him. Then she turned over the second one: a fountain with two fishes, streams of water flowing from a flower at the top of it, into two large cups. "That's your near future. A positive card, the Two of Cups. A card of infatuation. Now the question remains: who is the lucky one?"

The third of the first row: a figure on a surface of water, so still it perfectly mirrored the image above, yet her face was shrouded in ripples of mist. Lotus flowers floated on the water in perfect symmetry. It read: Queen of Cups.

"Ah, that's good. Fitting."

Hans leaned forward, trying to see what she saw. He wondered if she saw the delight of his sweet revenge. Or his deception. She looked up from the cards, long nail tapping at the first card. "The first one represents you. The second one is a situation that is taking shape in your near future. Let's start with there. It's possibly a new meeting, or a new connection that is growing between you and someone else. It could also depict a skill you're picking up that is bringing you a lot of joy. Something on the emotional plane, something you feel strongly about."

Hans didn't hide his grin. Something bringing him a lot of joy? He couldn't wait to see Thomas' face after he knew Hans had his precious daughter in his grasp.

"Continuing on to the Queen here, she represents the energy of the person you'll meet. An emotional, dreamy energy. If it represents a person, it's someone who fascinates you, who seems to bewitch you against all rationality. She touches parts of you deep within. Rest assured, as a partner, she's deeply loving. If it's a skill, it's something that lets you clear your mind and daydream during it, something that makes you wiser in the long run."

Minoes noticed him quirking an eyebrow at her words and held back a sigh. "It'll make sense later. In a month you'll remember this reading and think 'huh, perhaps Minoes was right after all'. When things are unfolding, it’s hard to find clarity, and if you’re not used to the cards and their way of speaking, that clarity will come later."

Unexpectedly touched by her conviction in her skills, Hans let out a soft laugh. Her annoyance withered away quick.

"Moving back to you; the Emperor. A strong card. A man of order, a man who strives for domination of the mind over nature, who wants clarity, who wants his structure to rule over all. Does that sounds like you?"

"What if it doesn't?" he asked, amused.

She raised her eyebrows at him. "If I take just one look at you; the suit and that Swiss watch on your wrist, I know enough."

He chuckled. "Fair enough. What else?"

Minoes reached over to turn over the remaining two cards. The first one depicted a strange double figure pouring different elements - fire and water - into a cup. The second one showed many swords on a blue background. It didn't look like a happy card at all.

"I love how this card, Temperance, marries the colours of the Emperor and the Two of Cups, do you see that?" she tapped the card with her long nail, pointing to the red bird that resembled the red in the Emperor card. "There is balance here, visually, which is very fitting to you."

She could be reading from a dictionary and he'd still listen to her, he thought. No longer with his hunt on his mind, he enjoyed this – she was charismatic in a disarming way, practiced and graceful, and he easily imagined anyone less sceptical than him hanging on to her every word. Even he felt himself drawn in by her, by the sparkle in her eyes, the slightest of smiles pulling at the corner of her mouth as she looked at the cards, explaining it all with such ease, the way she seemed to look right through him.

God, that a man as idiotic as Thomas could have a daughter this darling...

"In the dynamic that is presented here, a fault of yours would be to exert too tight a grip on what or who you love, which ends up lessening the joy you feel in the connection or skill you’re building. And you judge harshly. Not of others, necessarily - of yourself. A perfectionist. If you can’t go along with the flow of water that is in both the two of cups and the queen of cups, that feeling of adoration will wither quick."

"Noted."

She moved on to the blue card, the last one. "The other one... Well, this is not such a joyful card. It represents bad compromises, or someone close to you being dishonest. Innocence is used against one's self and taken advantage of. The colour scheme aligns all too well with the Queen, so unfortunately, it doesn't look as pleasant for that side of the equation. If this applies to the Queen as a person, she has lost her usual calm and no longer sees clearly."

Oh, she saw his deception after all. He delighted in having exercised patience and let her do her thing.

"To tie this together, your side of this reading is very balanced, exactly as you’d prefer." As she was still bent over the cards, Hans unbuttoned his suit jacket and reached inside. "The cards are in your favour, sir." Minoes smiled at him, glad to give him good news, whether he believed her or not.

The moment the gun landed on the table, pointing away from her still, her smile faltered – and his grew. Calmness washed over him. This was his game now.

"Liebling, let's do it the easy way. You're coming with me."

"So I was right," she said, face blank, eyeing the gun, her posture stiff. She sat up straight to face him, holding herself steady with her hands gripping her thighs. "Which one of them are you? Tony? He was always a bit out of control. Or Fritz, or Heinrich?"

"Hans."

She nodded once. "Hans."

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance." He couldn't hold back his giddiness. Revenge, sweeter than honey, kissed his lips, and he was famished for it. He extended his free hand. "Come, up. Let us keep it civil."

"So this is all because of my dad? The whole ruse? Why even let me finish the reading, then?"

"We have time to chat later, Mausi, now get up."

Minoes flinched at his menacing tone, but still didn't budge. "Where to?"

He gave her an annoyed look, one that made her heart tighten with fear. There was a gun on the table and he didn't look angry, but annoyed. Her lack of cooperation was only a minor nuisance to him. She knew what these men were capable of, that's why her dad got out in the only way he thought possible; one that now bit her in the ass. The unfairness of it was bitter in her mouth.

Hans... He used to be reasonable. A strategist. Not that he didn't get his hands dirty when he had to, but this is better than if it were Tony. Yes, she decided, and briskly stood up. He followed her, gun in hand, but before he could grab her arm, she tidied up her cards and grabbed the pouch from the side and tucked them inside.

He gave an exasperated look. "You're bringing those?"

His hand was tight on her upper arm, guiding her towards the beaded curtain. Even to outsiders this wouldn't look civil, he'd have to keep her in check, once outside the tent.

"Being kidnapped seems like a rather dull affair," she bit. "Now will you put the gun away, you’ve made your point – there’s no need for it."

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards; a bit of her father's feistiness in her after all. "Are you sure you can behave?" And tucked it back in his waistband. The moment he did, was the moment she tried it: elbowing him in the ribs and going for his gun. Instead, she found herself slammed, face first, down on the small table, an arm twisted painfully behind her back.

He clacked his tongue. "I hoped your father raised you better than that." The displeased curl of his voice was too hot by her ear, and it tingled in all the wrong ways.

She bit her tongue not to let out any immature curses, and he let her up. He pulled her to him by her hair, angling her face up to his. "Going to be good now?"

Swallowing thickly, she nodded. He enjoyed the thoughts flashing across her face, the fear, the uncertainty, finally; how she gave in. Allowing himself to let the moment linger for a little longer, savouring it, before letting go.

He directed her out of the venue with a tightly guiding hand and a pleased smile. Had he ever had a revenge sweeter than this?

#hans gruber #hans gruber x oc #hans gruber x s/i #📔 noli me tangere 🍂#self ship community #self ship #selfshipping #die hard (1988)#self shipping #fictional other #f/o x s/i #meadow's writing

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