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marimayscarlett · 21 days ago

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Richard with Rockland.fm 🎤💬

Shortly after the release of his third Emigrate album "A Milliong Degrees", Richard was interviewed in 2018 by the radio station Rockland.fm and this interview video was released.

The interview is very interesting, but the radio station has published additional parts of the interview that are not included in the video. On this page, you can click through the various topics and questions, and audio clips of Richard will play accordingly. It's a very innovative way to discover an interview, with nice details, because Richard is once again very relaxed and at ease here. Since I adore the interview a lot, I thought I'd translate it into English, as it's only available in German.

Incidentally, I had the opportunity to pay attention to Richard's manner of speaking and expression again - he speaks quite quickly, doesn't use complicated vocabulary, is very direct and sometimes even flippant. Filler words are simply part of his speech, so he uses a lot of "ja" (in the sense of "right" or "you know"), "irgendwie" ("somehow") "im Grunde genommen" ("basically") and "komischerweise" ("strangely enough"). I am not a professional translator, yet I have tried to reproduce his narrative tone in English while smoothing out what he says a little.

It is quite long and maybe not very interesting for most people, but maybe someone will enjoy it 🤍

Was there a moment, where you wanted to abandon music altogether?

I’ve reached a point, around the time I turned 50, when I thought „Man, is this everything in my life? Is doing music, is doing what I do somehow…isn’t there something else, another challenge I feel like doing?“ That’s something where I think: I’m not sure what exactly, but I feel like I’d like to do something completely different with my life. I do believe that music would still be a part of fit, I would still do that, since it’s a form of communication with myself.

Do you have the desire to change something // to quit music?

Well, doing it on your own is a tricky thing. I believe, it doesn’t work well, working on your own, since of course you do have the need to present it [the music] to someone else. It’s like you’d have a kid and wouldn’t let it outside. It really should go somewhere, I think. But [the desire to] change things, this occurred quite frequently. I mean, I wanted to quit Rammstein numerous times, right, because I simply didn't feel like it anymore, but additionally since I wanted to work with new people, I wanted to learn so much more. I’m not that monogamous in this regard.

NO Schlager (german type of cheesy pop songs mostly enjoyed by older people)

There are a few things…I just can’t cope with Schlager, I can’t find my way to it, right. That’s a bit due to the manner they [the Schlager artists] they do music, how they write their lyrics and what they express, this ever-present grinning… it’s completely alien to me. There are people in our band who really like this kind of music. Well, one wouldn’t think that, right, but it’s not form me.

Is your choice of music depending on your mood?

Well, of course. When I have sex I listen to different music that when I go in the gym in the mornings.

How do you start your day?

I basically start my mornings like this: I wake up and basically listen to the radio. Then I go running or to the gym, and that’s where I listen to certain things, yet logically I don’t listen to music like an ordinary person anymore. I analyze what I hear immediately. It starts in my head: How did the artist compose this song, why is it a certain length, what kind of sounds did they use. A complete analysis, somehow pretty scientific how I approach this.

How do you unwind when your mind is full?

Movies. That’s the only thing where I can really unwind. I tried everything else, but with movies I’m completely immersed and „gone“. And sometimes my daughter manages to do that too. Just having fun with her, those are the two things.

Why the arm band?

I can tell you where the arm band comes from: It actually originated from Michael Jackson’s arm band, I copied that from him. He wore it and I thought it was stylish.

Should artist express themselves politically on stage?

There are people who apparently have to do that… There are people like Bono, he just kind of stands there during the show and talks [about political matters] for 45 minutes and you somehow feel more shitty (he uses the word „beschissen“ which is very strong in the German language) than before. That’s not my style. I’m someone who thinks politically, I do have my opinions on things I witness, but as I said, the idea of going on stage and saying, “You have to do it this way,” has never appealed to me.

Your opinion on award shows?

Strangely, it doesn’t interest me much. Sometimes I just attend the party afterwards – I haven’t been to the actual award celebration in a while. And when I’m at the after party, I think „Oh God, what am I doing here. I don't have anything to do here anymore.“ So I always have the feeling of ‚I don’t belong here‘.

How did Lemmy Kilmister's death affect you?

He once played at the Max Schmeling Halle, and I visited him shortly before to concert to thank him. And that’s when I had the feeling that he was no longer ‚here‘. Woah…that was strange. No idea if he really wanted that [I presume Richard talks about Lemmy doing the concert] or if he was pressured by someone else, somehow, I did have the feeling that he was not on this world anymore. I kind of noticed some kind of omen. And strangely enough, as I started my new album in 2015 I asked three artists for an collaboration. And all three people I asked have died – Bowie, Chester [Bennington] and Chris Cornell. That’s when I thought „Eh, I really should stop with these inquiries.“.

Musically open-minded

I can’t cope with German Hiphop. I try it time and time again and it’s just my way to live. Ok, I understand, you’re rebelling right now with this, but are you really believing what you’re singing? Somehow, it's kind of macho language that's being used there. And that’s when I oftentimes get the feeling with German Hiphop, that there isn't really any musicality behind it, right.

Why is rock music dead?

Back in the day, rock music served the purpose of rebellion. Just because of the guitar, just because of the frequency of the sound, your parents said, “Ugh, that's too loud, turn it down.” And now we’re the parents. So I’m the one who doesn’t say „Turn it down“, since I know this sound. Today, rebellion emerges in language, in hip hop. Secondly, no real rock stars exist anymore. No one else is coming up behind them. And thirdly: in terms of streaming, who benefits the most from it? Hip hop, the people who stream the most, who have the most time, kids nowadays, and so on and so forth, and the fact is that at the moment, most of the money goes to hip hop productions, which don't actually need that much, because rock music is the most expensive to produce. They’re the ones who could use the money. And there are several topics where I have the feeling that rock music is somehow dead.

Do you sort your CDs at the record store so they show up first?

Nope, I don’t do that. No, I’m not at this point yet (he means this in a joking way). Well, I believe that there aren’t many record stores anymore where you could do that. My guess is that the physical realm of music has completely changed. Second, is rock music dead? Yes, unfortunately, it is. You just have to accept reality.

Do you check the charts when albums are released?

Well, I naturally come across these information. On the one hand it does interest me in a professional sense and on the other hand I don’t really want to know it. I’m afraid that somehow these information, why certain things work (he means in a musical sense, why they’re liked by the audience), would have the potential to have an influence on other work. A certain kind of vacuum, a kind of naivety, is super important, because then you start to really want to please someone. And that's the danger.

How does it feel when a new album is released?

Well, basically you have to let go at some point. Your work is basically done, yet an album develops a life of its own and then you have to let it go and then it goes in certain kind of directions and you can only observe it from afar.

Leaving the GDR

I thought about it a lot, then went abroad, and first had to figure out how I felt about my country in general. That was an important experience for me. I found the answer to it all only abroad, since you don’t have the nagging feeling of ‚you’re guilty‘. That’s also an important topic, we were brought up with feeling of guilt in the East. I tried to get rid of this, right. And I managed to do just that in the US and returned to Germany with a different set of feelings.

Childhood in the GDR // escape // first time in West-Berlin

I loved growing up in the East up until the age of 11 or 12, since I was brought up with a certain kind of illusion which was spread. Today, I witness how my children grow up, what kind of problems they have to deal with – I didn’t have these kind of problems, right. Certain things just didn’t exist in the East. It did turn challenging when you noticed „Hm, something isn’t right here“. And when you started to ask questions, it did somehow get very strange. And I do not want to experience this time again, right. That’s when the problems began. And if I could make a wish, yes, I would have liked the wall to have been open from around the age of 12 or 13. I had a feeling of ‚there has to be more, I have to get out of here‘. I escaped in 1989 due to a situation I did not actually intend. I stumbled into a demonstration, where I was arrested and interrogated for three days, standing against the wall and so on and so forth. And when I was released, I couldn’t breath anymore, I needed to leave. I remember, my first thoughts when I entered West-Berlin were „Oh, it’s so dark here“. The energy of West-Berlin was extremely gloomy in my opinion. It did scare me a bit. I didn’t feel very comfortable there, right. So I had to adapt there somehow. It really was a lonely time back then.

Touring with Emigrate?

I have to admit, that the balance [between Rammstein and Emigrate] is very important to me, and that I’m a bit worried, that if I commit to Emigrate [as in touring], I’d maybe find more joy in it and that the balance would be off. And I don’t think that’s good for the other project [Rammstein]. As soon as I’d say I’d go on tour [with Emigrate], others would have to wait for me, so that wouldn’t be good either of the projects. Who knows what comes next – currently, there are no plans for something like this.

What is „We are together“ about?

This song was written for the guys (he uses the word „Jungs“ (boys) here), for Rammstein. It’s about Rammstein, the basic principle of it, right. Rammstein exists as long as we stay, we’re together as long as we stay (he said this sentence in English). That’s kind of the feeling I have with Rammstein.

Million Degrees – why the title and the cover?

During that time I was feeling so burned out, the title Million Degrees seemed to be fitting for the album. I did focus, since I wanted to visualize this title on the album cover, mainly on temperature, hot, cold, right. And I tried to visualize it for a whole year and didn’t manage to do it, until I noticed that it’s actually not about hot and cold, but about corners, edges and so on. And then I somehow got the idea of the head made out of mirrors, right.

Million Degrees – ruined on the first round…

Strangely enough, I get relatively calm in situations like this [he means the extensive water damage in his house], since I always have the feeling that if something happens, it does have a good reason to be happening – because in the end you see why things happen the way they do. So I became completely calm and took it as a challenge. Suddenly I notice that the flame [his passion for the album] was reignited. In retrospect I’m very, very (in German he says „ganz doll“, which sounds kind of cute and reinforces his statement) glad about it, because when I now listen to it, I notice how much of my contentment and pride is part of this album, which is a feeling I didn’t have before. In that regard it just got better.

This album has a long story…

This album actually was done and ready beforehand, in 2015. And then I noticed how burned out I was for the first time in my life, and not able to give anymore what I usually give [energywise] in an album. I did finish it in Los Angeles, yet as I returned, I set the project aside. And then the insane water damage happened, which flooded half the studio and the recordings for the album were destroyed (he uses „am Arsch“ which is a very crude way to say it 😅). So I had to rewrite the songs based on memory. A great challenge for me.

How do you listen to music?

It depends, but basically I listen to music by listening to the music together with the lyrics, naturally. If it touches me in any way, I start to listen more intently to the lyrics, which are incidental to me in the beginning.

Which comes first: music or lyrics?

90% of the time, the music exists first, and then I try to match my singing to the music, at some point a text line emerges which stays with me and which makes me think „Oh, it’s about that“. So I’m trying to really work intuitively, I don’t really work in my head, so to speak. I take my iPhone and record it and after a month or so, I check the recordings and sometimes there are pieces which make me think „Pfff, bullshit“. Yet some things stay. But 90% of the time, the music exists in the first place.

Good songs only come from suffering

I believe that the basic concept of many artists seems to be that they always feel their way into a certain dark world in order to extract a certain creativity from it. I always said that if I’m content, I wouldn’t make music anymore. Of course it’s unhealthy that you unconsciously put yourself in situations where you suffer. But that's because when someone doesn't write and then, so to speak, can no longer write, they lose their value, which is a real problem. (He very clearly speaks about his personal mindset here).

How do you write songs? How does that work in the studio?

Strangely enough, my attitude towards this is very pragmatic. I copied a working method of a New York painter, who entered his studio in the morning and had 10 paintings laying around. He started working on one and as soon as he noticed that he longer received any association, he moved on to the next. That’s the way I do it, too. I enter my studio around 12pm, that’s when I start. I can’t work earlier than that, only listen to music. And then I start opening songs for which I have ideas in mind and am rather quickly aware if there’s a connection to the song today. And if this connection exists, then I write, and when it ceases, I move on to the next song. I do that repeatedly, until I pick up my daughter at half past five (she most likely visits a full-time day school by the sound of it). And I do this almost everyday when I’m at the studio.

Distance between artists and fans

There are some things I don't do on principle. I love a certain distance. I think that a certain kind of myth is important for both parties involved, for the artists and the fans as well somehow, since it offers the possibility to inspire the imagination. And that's often the case, the closer you get, the more disappointed you are in the end. In this regard I find a certain distance very important. Nowadays it happens a lot that people are getting way closer. I then contemplated, where is this leading? So will it eventually be the case that your fans determine what you write? And that’s a certain point, that would cross a line for me, right.

Everything moves very quickly these days

Due to streaming, Spotify and whatever, nowadays everything moves very quickly. We sadly live in a very ‚quantity‘ times. I as a person prefer quality over quantity. But I noticed, especially with releases, that it’s the people’s attention what’s important. They want more and more content. And it's not really about quality anymore. It's simply about more is more.

About ‚Let’s go‘ – with Till Lindemann

This song is incredibly old. I actually wrote it for the first Emigrate album. And I thought back then that it wouldn’t be the appropriate place, if I’d put it on the first album – I didn’t like the name-dropping, that would’ve been too quick for me. So I disregarded the song, forgot about it and later dug it up again. I rewrote it completely. It’s actually about our friendship, even before the whole Rammstein thing. How you change over the years, so it was like a journey into the past with us, in a way. It’s a friendship-song.

How do you find duet partners?

So basically I write the songs and sometimes consider which artist could improve the song. Most of the time I have specific artists in mind, and I ask them. With the song 1234, it was the first time that my management asked „Well, could you see yourself collaborating with Billy Talent?“ When I heard Billy Talent, I always thought about the guitarist, who has a super unique sound I think. But the singer wasn't really a household name for me at the time. So I said, ok, we could try it. And the song came back and I must admit, Ben somehow added so much fire and cheekiness to the song. He brought the song even more to life. I thought this was great.

Is it strange to use your voice for Emigrate and not just play the guitar?

Back in the day when we started Rammstein, I actually intended to sing. I didn’t to it, thank God I didn’t. Otherwise we wouldn’t have this wonderful Till and his poetic outpourings in our lives. But I think if you write and evolve as a song writer, you automatically use your own voice as a tool to write stuff. First you do it as a demo, a sketch, and you think in the end someone comes along who will sing it properly. As I started, which is quite a long time ago, back then my musical patron and friend from France Arnaud Giroux told me „Forget it. The way you do it is unique.“ And of course, with singing you have some problems to listen to yourself in the beginning. It’s a totally different deal than playing an instrument. And then it's just a matter of habit, that people get used to it, or I myself get used to my own voice. In that regard there certainly was a development in my own voice.

Emigrate as a balance to Rammstein?

It’s kind of an opponent. It’s somehow like these two topics form a balance for me, so that I can act out the things here which I can’t act out in Rammstein, so to speak. And it works quite well by now. It’s a good balance for me. It goes both ways.

Several different genres on the new album

Maybe I somehow personally, especially when it comes to music, don’t like to settle. And really use every possible genre of music to run wild. I like that there’s no censorship. In my mind, it [Emigrate] is thought to be a place where I can act out what I can’t act out otherwise. In that regard it’s very important to me to do it that way.

What’s so special about this project?

The whole Emigrate project is an opportunity for me to be open to everything. Not everybody likest hat. Lots of people say „You’re doing too much, that’s too much for me.“ But that’s exactly the idea to basically escape the very controlled cosmos of the Rammstein-republic, so to speak, and to open myself up musically. And not to get dictated where I should go musically.

#oh boy. oh boy this got long #no idea why i did that. but it was fun to analyze him for a bit #“rock ist tot” ja is gut opa #geh bisschen filme gucken #SPASS. lieb den kerl #richard kruspe #rammstein #interviews & quotes #rockland.fm #no idea if my english is good enough whelp

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ahotmesswithprivilege · 9 months ago

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Never Alone

paring: Bradley Bradshaw x female!IC!reader (callsign Nike )

wordcount: ca. 6,7k

synopsis: When you wake up on Saturday morning you feel surprisingly well-rested and calm considering what happened at the restaurant last night. That is until you realise that you are in a stranger's bed wearing clothes that are not your own and you are pulled into someone's chest. What the fuck actually happened last night?

note: Here we go. Part two is finally here and it's longer than the first one. I hope people are still enjoying my Rooster debut. It's self-indulgent AF and I had a great time writing it. So far I've planned the outline for part three to finish off their story nicely. But until then, much fun with Part 2.

And you know that navy inaccuracies are a given with my stuff, but this time I went a bit more ham than usual. The role of IC (Incident Commander) is existing in crisis and natural disaster management but fuck if I know if some work for the Navy. I made all of that up for the sake of the plot. Don't like that, please skip this one. And last but not least, yes this is yet again very self-indulgent stuff and it will get only worse with the next part, so if you don't like it, click off 😘

A huge thanks again to @mynameismckenziemae for the nudge into Rooster's direction for this plot and thank you to @vermillionwinter for listening to my rambling and giving me feedback. Without her, this would still be rotting away in my drafts.

Trigger Warning(If I forgot something or you want me to add to the list, my inbox is wide open. You are responsible for your media consumption, so proceed with caution, you know the drill): plus-size!reader, military/navy inaccuracies, non-canon (not even sure if this is canon compliant so, take that as you will), self-deprecation, cursing, verbal abuse (not from Rooster); mental health talk ( trauma; dissociative episode; suicidal ideation), written by a non-native speaker

|| Masterlist ||

Part 1 || Part 3

divider by @sweetmelodygraphics banner by @firefly-graphics gif by @theartofimagining13

!!!Minors do not interact! I block blank blogs/without age/Minors!!!

When you wake up the next morning you feel... well-rested and oddly comfortable. You haven't slept this well in forever, a warmth filling your body and a comforting weight that pressed you into the mattress. Closing your eyes once more you try to drift back to sleep. Waking up meant that he would surely knock on your door again and you just didn't have it in you to deal with him. After last night you are not even sure if you could deal with him ever again. His booming voice is still ringing in your ear. One would think there is a day when you get used to it, but sadly for you, that day never came. "Lay still, beautiful. It's too early to wake up", you hear a raspy voice whisper in your ear before a face presses into your neck and you feel something scratching over your skin and a leg being thrown over yours.

What the fuck happened last night? You remembered getting up and storming out of the restaurant. You still hear his voice echoing in your head but after that, it was blank, no matter how hard you tried to remember. You had assumed you went home, got into bed and... Your breath quickened as you looked down your body. You wore a jersey you had never seen before and had your fingers entangled with a large, strong hand that rested on your stomach. Brother in Christ what had you done?

Breathing through your nose you try to make each breath a little longer in the hopes to calm your hammering heart that threatened to break free from your ribcage. You feel the way his hand is squeezing yours as his lips press a kiss to your shoulder. "I hear you thinking, Nike", he whispered and now that the person behind you seemed a little more awake, voice less husky and more normal, you finally realised who was lying behind you. Bradley fucking Rooster Bradshaw. You were in bed with one of the Lieutenants that you worked with on the regular. Wonderful. Congratulations for fucking up even more spectacularly than you ever did before. This warrants a fucking award.

Even with the man practically wrapped around you, you turn around, his hand still holding yours when you are searching his face for any indicator of what happened last night. His eyes are closed, his hair messy and his skin shimmering golden in the morning sun. You had never quite realised what a beautiful man Lieutenant Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw is. Closing your eyes to clear your head you take another deep breath before you finally find the bravery to talk. "How did I end up in your bed, Bradshaw?"

His eyes are suddenly open wide when he hears your question. You didn't remember? He was pretty sure that you weren't drunk, so whatever you experienced had to be bad enough for your brain to shut down. "I found you in front of the Hard Deck. You were in really bad shape and asked me for a place to stay", his soft brown eyes are searching yours, lifting the hand you are still holding up to his chest. You are nodding slowly. In your state, your brain had apparently classified the Hard Deck as a safer space than your own home. Considering that he had keys to your place, probably not the worst idea you ever had. "You were terrified to be alone...", if someone would ask him, he'd mark up the fact that he presses a soft kiss to your palm to still being caught in a sleepy haze. "Makes sense", you murmur, brain wrecking to fill in the blanks that you had, but there was just an endless void.

He wants to ask you what happened but he worries the question would open the Pandora's box anew and pull you back into the abyss. So he decided to wait, knowing that if you deemed him trustworthy enough, you would tell him. Pulling your hand from him you sit up in the bed, your eyes are taking in the room for the first time and you cannot help the chuckle falling from your lips when your eyes land on the boxer-clad bedside lamp.

For Rooster losing that close contact with you felt wrong, almost painful. Your warmth in his arms had been so good, feeling the way you pressed your back against his chest was so right and the way your head tilted a little to the side to make room for his face in the crook of your neck so he could indulge in the sweet kisses he pressed to your skin made his heart soar. Fuck even the fact that the arm that you had rested on was still numb was perfect. When he hears you chuckle his heart skips a beat, eyes following your gaze, a pink hue spreading over his cheek and neck when he saw what he had used to dim down the light last night. "Oh fuck" And then he hears your laughter, making him turn back to you with a smile on his lips as bright as the sun. Seeing you last night had left him feeling powerless and defeated, unable to really help you or make you feel better. To know that at least for now you were doing better meant the world to him. "The bathroom is..." "Right through that door. Your dress is in there too, but I'm sure I'll find some shorts around for you to wear" There is a short flicker in your eyes before you look down at your hands. "Don't sweat it, Rooster", you get up from the bed and walk straight through the door without looking back at him.

The moment you got out of his bed he had to force himself not to stare at your ass that was barely covered by his jersey. It had to be some primal part of his brain but to see you wear his clothing turned the warmth in his chest into a fucking wildfire. Shaking his head he searched for a pair of sweatpants he placed on the dresser for you before he left for the kitchen. He had to do something, anything really to distract his mind from the images that it was conjuring up. You in his jersey, getting under the shower. Fuck he had to get his mind out of the gutter and fast. And if there was one thing he was good at to compensate for these carnal kinds of cravings, it was cooking.

Rooster made good on his promise and actually found a pair of sweatpants that were probably more than oversized on him but clung to your thighs and ass like a second skin. You had stared at your body in his bathroom mirror for a solid 5 minutes trying to decide whether the jersey was sufficiently covering the mess or if you had to ditch the comfy stuff for your dress. The mere idea to get back into the corset made your stomach churn so you just hoped he wouldn't mind your less-than-flattering outfit. At least he didn't say anything when you entered the kitchen, the table already filled with all kinds of delicious things. Pancakes, biscuits, scrambled eggs and toast.

"Wow", is all you can say and when he turns back at you with a smile on his face and pan in hand, the bacon still sizzling in the cast iron he makes you stop in his tracks. Wow indeed. Rooster looked drop-dead gorgeous with that muscle shirt and the grey sweatpants sitting low on his hips. How the fucking hell could you have missed that in the almost 7 years you worked with the man? "Perfect timing. Bacon is ready" He walks around the counter and puts the pan in the middle of the table next to the eggs before he pulls out the chair for you. "Thanks, Rooster" "My pleasure, Nike"

Sitting around the kitchen table with Rooster felt weirdly domestic and you couldn't even really remember when it had been the last time you did something as mundane as this. Just sit there and eat with someone and talk. No critisising, no yelling. Just an enjoyable conversation with the occasional laughter or a chuckle here and there but as pleasant as it was, last night was not really letting you go and as much as Bradley wanted to distract you and give you a chance to focus on something lighter and more enjoyable, he knew that your brain worked 24/7 and it wouldn't let something as big as an incident that caused a dissociative episode slide.

"You want me to tell you what happened last night?", he hates to disturb the comfortable silence between you but he can see in your eyes that even though you act relaxed, there is a part of you that cannot let go and maybe getting more puzzle pieces could help you with that. You didn't ask because you feared you'd destroy the magic of the moment, but with Bradshaw offering, you realised how occupied your brain was with that question so you just nodded. "I was about to leave the Hard Deck with someone when I heard you cry" "What happened to your date?" "Wasn't a date. Just a tag chaser." "What happened to her?" "Probably got herself another set of tags when I decided to get you home" You instantly feel bad. Hook up or not, Rooster had ditched someone else to get you to safety, staying the entire fucking night by your side and doing whatever you asked of him. "I'm sorry about that" "Don't, be Nike. It was for the better. She had a pretty weird idea about consent", he's shaking his head and you tilt yours a little to the side and arch your brow in confusion. "She took your distress for a fucking couple. I don't want someone like that in my bed", the scowl on his pretty features hits you to the core. You had always taken Rooster for one of the truly good guys and there was a part of you that couldn't help but feel glad that you had been right about him. "Once she was back inside I picked you up and carried you to the Bronco", the moment the words were out of his mouth your skin heated up. It was a shame fucking shame you couldn't remember... and then you realised what he just actually said. "You picked me up? God Rooster, you could have hurt yourself", you start chastising him and he looks up from the bacon and eggs on his plate with a raised brow. Did you really just question his strength and capability while he was sitting in front of you in a muscle shirt showing off his biceps and shoulders? "Nike I get my paycheck for being in top shape. I handled weights that are more than you... ", he starts and when his eyes find yours, it hits him. This is not about you not trusting him. It was about you thinking you were...

"You get your paycheck for flying a multimillion-dollar navy asset, Bradshaw", you correct him and his mind struggles to catch up to the conversation for a moment. "Semantics. If I fly that jet I have to be in perfect shape, so no. Carrying you to my car is no big deal and neither was carrying you from my car to the bedroom... ", he adds seeing your eyes widen in shock before you avert your gaze and bite down on your lower lip as if that could stop the wobbling before you let out a heavy sigh and whispered. "I'm so sorry you had to" There is so much shame on your face and that made the fury he had felt last night come back. Apparently, he had to add the person who made you believe that you weren't absolutely fucking perfect to his shit list, right after the person who sent you straight into an anxiety attack.

"Listen Nike. I don't know who made you believe otherwise, but let me tell you one thing. You are a goddess", he sees how you are shaking your head while blinking away the tears that are shimmering in your eyes. "You don't have to be nice, Rooster", you whisper and the pain he hears makes him wanna snap. Not at you, oh no, but those little dipshits who gave you as much as an impression that something was wrong with you. He's usually not one for a bar brawl but for you, he'd be fine with breaking a nose or two. Right now though all he can do is make you see how perfect you are. So he's leaning over the kitchen table and places his hand gently over yours. "So you think we named you after a Greek goddess for shits and giggles?", you see him in the corner of your eye and feel the warmth that is radiating from the hand that is holding yours. God you wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe him so bad but decades of mocking and harassment had left scars that weren't so easy to ignore. But there was a sincerity to the way he spoke. It wasn't like he was getting anything out of lying to you. Rooster had opened his home for you, gave you a place to stay when you needed it most and he had been nothing but supportive and kind the entire time.

You turn a little to the side and you see the way the corner of his mouth is raising and his chocolate-coloured eyes twinkle with mirth. You cannot help but smile back at him and the moment he sees it, he feels like he just won one of his greatest victories. "There she is", you kick him playfully under the table for his teasing, making both of you laugh.

"I can drop you off at your place, whenever you want" The words hit you out of the blue while you were standing right next to Rooster as you finished drying the dishes he had washed. Of course, he wanted you out of his place. It had been very generous that he offered you breakfast after he shared his bed with you, but now his hospitality was running out. "Yeah right. I am pretty sure that you have better things to do with your Saturday", there is a somberness to your words that makes him feel like he got punched in the gut. He never wanted to give you the feeling that you were unwelcome or that he had other stuff to do or places to be. All he wanted was for you to know that he was there for you, that he wouldn't just call you an Uber and call it a day. "That's not what I meant...", he starts, reaching out to take one of your hands into his. Yours were so tiny and wrapping his fingers around yours felt so right. "I just wanted you to know that I'll come with you to your apartment" "You really don't have to, Rooster. I'm a big girl, tying my own boots and all. I'll manage" "A very wise woman once told me that you never ride into Mordor alone. You can take a companion or a whole army, but under no circumstance do you go on your own" Your eyes were shooting up wide in shock as your gaze met his. "Did she now?", you asked, taking a step closer, head tilted to the side as your eyes focused on his as if you were trying to solve one of your strategic puzzles. "Yep. And you know what's the annoying part about that lady?”, now it's Rooster taking a step towards you, his finger slowly interlacing with yours and a smitten smile spreading on his lips. All he wants to do is lean down and kiss you and he had no fucking clue when it happened or why but Bradley Bradshaw cannot help but feel the pull towards you. "She has a tendency to be right about that kind of shit" Rooster wants to protect you. He wants to protect your heart if only you'd let him.

The closer he gets to your apartment complex the more fidgety you are. It gets so bad that he just takes your hand to give you something to hold onto but your eyes are darting around, searching for something or rather someone. He didn't want to push you to tell him things you didn't want to share, but he couldn't help but let his eyes roam too, wondering if he'd know who it was once he'd seen them. Pulling up right in front of the house he puts the Bronco in park, watching you as your eyes are darting around. "Hey, Nike", he tries to pull you back, gently squeezing your hand.

"Thank you for bringing me. I'll take it from here", you didn't want him to leave, the way you were still holding his hand said as much, but you were worried. You didn't see his car, but you were pretty sure he'd show his face sooner rather than later and you wanted Rooster as far away as humanly possible from that disaster zone... "I will not leave you alone while you are about to spiral into another anxiety attack", he's sliding a bit closer to you on the seats, hoping that his presence could bring you comfort the way it did last night. "I don't want you to get dragged into this Rooster. It's enough of a shit show as is..." "You do realise I am a naval aviator, right? I get paid to do risky as fuck shit at Mach 1.6 while a beautiful woman yells into my ears to stick to her plan", he's smiling at you, hoping to pull you back closer to him with the joke. "I doubt that there is anything that could happen I've never seen a worse version of" "You never met my father" "Who?" "My father...", you repeat, closing your eyes as you bite down on your lower lip to stave off the tears.

You knew it was stupid and childish. You worked in disaster management for a living and still, nothing ever terrified you as much as the thought of being in the same room as him. "When I moved here he got me my flat and whenever he's in the city he insists on having dinner..." "Your father?", Rooster repeated surprised, shocked even. He had fully expected that it was something like a psychotic ex but your dad? "Yeah, he... he's got an anger management problem and..." "Did he hurt you?" "No... I mean he's not the kind of guy to hit you, but he always yelled a lot, still does to this very day...", you heave a sigh, unsure how to put this into words without sounding like a pathetic, whiny brat while piling even more bullshit on Rooster than you already had. "He snaps his finger and it doesn't matter how you feel, you have to function. Whatever he demands, you have to do it that very second or he starts yelling at you. Privacy is a concept he does not know, at least when it comes to others. There is no good or ok in his vocabulary. It's either perfect or wrong and god forbid that you have a different opinion from him on any topic, no matter how big or small because he will remind you of his superiority, even if it means that he ignores every argument you have, no matter how valid and yells until you yield, if out of fear or exhaustion doesn't matter", you are turning to the side and staring out of the window of the Bronco in a weak attempt to hide your tears. "And because he knows everything better he revels in watching you fail. It doesn't matter if it's something tiny or monumental. He remembers every mistake you ever made, every character flaw, every weakness or what he perceives as such. One of his personal favourites is my time at university. Before I went into disaster management I had a different major and I changed after I handed in my bachelor's thesis and with only two semesters left to finish. He's always having a fucking field day telling me what a waste of time, money and energy I am..." You press your hand to your stomach, using the resistance to have something to focus on while you breathe to calm down your heart that threatens to break free from your ribcage. "For him, all it would have taken is to stop being such a pussy and man up. What he loves to ignore is when every time you stand on a balcony or you look out of a window or you walk over a bridge and you cannot help but look down and estimate if it's high enough... it's long past the time when you should have called it quits", your voice is quiet and you close your eyes once more attempting to hold your tears back.

"With all due disrespect. Your father is an asshole who knows jack shit about you or life for that matter" His eyes are glued to your reflection in the window and seeing the tears that stream down your face makes his heartache and the fury return to his veins. No one deserved such a treatment, least of all you. "Nike look at me", he leans forward and turns your face with his hands, using his thumbs to wipe away your tears. "You are one of the strongest people I know. Your entire career is rooted in your wish to fix things. You bring people home safe and sound and I doubt it gets much more hardcore than being with the US Navy" "I don't serve", your voice is small and choked up from the tears and it makes him livid. A part of him hopes your father will show his sorry ass because heaven knows he'd love to drill some things into that thick skull of his. "You have your own office, you got a callsign. Fuck if the Admiral knew you'd use it you'd have your own parking lot" "I am a contractor", he sees how the tears he just wiped away are replaced by new ones and there is a desperation bubbling up in his chest. He needed you to see that you were more than what your father made you believe you are and it feels like he's failing you right now.

"Nike. You are the woman who 6 years 8 months and 14 days ago on her first fucking day on base marched into a briefing and told Cyclone to his face in front of the entire base leadership that his idea was bullshit", your eyes widen in shock and your gaze finally meets his. You had been told whatever was spoken in that room would never leave it. "How do you know?" "Are you kidding me? You became a legend that day. I have that day marked on my calendar. Fuck everyone on base marked that on their calendar. It was your first day on the job and you grilled him in front of everyone and lived to tell the tale", your eyes are wandering over his face, not sure what he was aiming at. You had done your job, nothing more and nothing less and he acted like you had brokered world peace or something. "That's what he hired me for. To make sure that the missions are successful while minimising the risks for all personnel involved" "I doubt that he expected you to do it that blunt in front of everyone", there is a chuckle falling from his lips and mischief twinkles in his eyes.

You had worked for years on base by this point and never once did you think you overstepped. Simpson sure as hell never told you so but now that you heard Roosters perspective it dawned on you. You weren't military so the chain of command wasn't drilled into you from day one. You had always viewed the Admiral as an equal, someone you work with on eye level to fulfil the mission and keep the people safe. It had never once occurred to you that the difference in position was so stark... "Don't worry about it. If he wouldn't respect you for that move he would have stopped working with you that day. I mean if any of us were scared of driving he would tell us to fucking walk home and for you, he's taking a detour to play shuttle" "He does what?" He should have kept his mouth shut. Considering your reaction Simpson didn't want you to know that, but now that it was out there, he couldn't take it back. "He promised my apartment was on the way..." "More like a 50-minute detour" "Fuck... and all I do is bring him muffins..." "I'd drive cross country for those muffins, no questions asked. They are worth their weight in gold" "How would you know that?" "He called me into his office for a meeting and they were on a plate on the desk" "You didn't..." "Yep. I totally did. Also for the record. Totally worth the 300 push-ups" "300?!?!" "I ate two"

When you finally manage to unlock the door to your apartment Rooster is startled at how clinical and empty it looks. There are no pictures on the wall. It’s all stark white contrasting with the darker floors. Your kitchen looks pretty unused and if he were a betting man he'd say that all he'll find in that fridge are some frozen meals at best. There was a tiny bookshelf in a corner that held only specialized literature about crisis and disaster management and the small couch and TV combo was barely enough for one person let alone to welcome friends over. Then his eyes fall over to the stacked moving boxes in the bay and that’s when it hits him. This is not a home, it’s a place to sleep. A place where you do not feel safe. You are ready to run at any given time. You’ve lived here for almost 7 years and you still expected the other shoe to drop.

“Sorry about this. I just never saw the necessity to…”, you begin and when your eyes meet his the pain you see knocks the air from your lungs. “Nike...”, he begins, making his way over to you to put his hands on your cheeks, wanting to pull you flush against his chest and kiss you. To show you that you didn’t need to live in a state that was more vegetative than anything else. But then he sees the shift in your body, eyes wide with panic and shortly thereafter the door flies open. No knocking, nothing. And in the doorway stands a man, about 5ft8, early to mid-sixties, with grey hair and beard.

“You finally done with hiding like a bratty child?”, he yells, stopping in his tracks when his eyes land on a man he'd never seen before standing right next to you in the living room. “And who would you be?” Your father knew you. You didn’t have friends let alone a boyfriend and no protective hand on your waist or furious glare would convince him otherwise. In three decades you hadn't managed to get a grip on your life and he had long given up hope that you'd finally get your shit together. It's not like your university escapades had been embarrassing enough or the fact you wasted 6 months in a clinic because you lost control. Even now when you have a job, he's still the one who has to tell his co-workers that his daughter hasn't managed to convince a man to stay, let alone start a family. No, you were still single and lived in a flat your father had been forced to help you find because you couldn’t manage on your own. Again.

From the moment he lays eyes on him Rooster hates this man with everything that he is. In about a minute he had shown him more than enough and the mere thought you had lived your entire life like this. Always waiting for him to barge in and yell at you, never feeling safe anywhere, never really being home. How were you supposed to have a normal childhood if all you've ever known was fear? Fear of failing his expectations and fear of his anger. He couldn't even begin to imagine how fucking exhausting that had to be. “Lieutenant Bradshaw. United States Navy”, he moves his body in between you and your father, a movement of instinct more than anything else.

Your father is taken by surprise. He knows you work in crisis management and that you’ve been hired by the Navy but he expected you to do paperwork, write base evacuation plans or coordinate shipments. A glorified secretary with a master's degree.

The silence in the place grew and the weight on you was unbearable. You knew you had to manage this, to keep the fallout minimal but with Rooster here, you couldn’t fall back into the default protocol. He was a variable you never had to calculate with in a situation like this and that made the unease even worse.

“And who are you to just barge into someone’s place without even the most basic courtesy of knocking on the door?” Rooster knew who he was and your father knew that he knew. “I am the father of the woman who’s hiding behind you like she's fucking five”, the disapproval and almost disdain for you in his voice is cutting. Of course, he would use this as yet another chance to tell you how weak and pathetic you were. It would have been a day to mark in the calendar if it weren’t so.

“And that justifies just slamming the door open and marching in like a fucking SWAT team?” The fury burned hotter in his veins with every second spent in your father's presence, every word, every breath pulling up the memories from last night. The way he found you in front of the Hard Deck, how terrified you were. You cried so bad your make-up was a mess and your mind had shut off to a degree you couldn't remember what happened the next morning. And still, that bastard stands there like it's the most normal thing in the world. Like he has every right on planet earth to make you feel like that, to force you to relive your trauma again and again and again. Your hand grabbed Rooster’s wrist in an attempt to pull him back and out of the confrontation. This would end badly if he kept going and you didn’t want that for him. He had done so much for you already, he didn’t need to get roped into that bullshit too, but Rooster did not budge. Quite contrary he even made another step closer to your father.

“This is my place. I co-signed the lease. It's the only reason why she's even having a roof over her head” “How generous of you to hold what every halfway decent father would do for his child over her head as if she fucking owes you for that” Rooster never had a chance to spend much time with his dad and growing up he envied whoever got that privilege but right now he realised for some people growing up without your father was a kinder fate. Your father raised his brow. Almost like he didn’t understand how someone could have the audacity to talk to him like that. “My relationship with my daughter is none of your business” “It became my business the second you treated one of my friends like a piece of trash” “Friend?”, the laughter was harsh, “She doesn't have friends” “Maybe it should give you a fucking pause if your own daughter decides to keep things like that a secret”, he barks back, his patience running very thin right now.

Rooster's fists are itching. He wants the beat that sarcastic smirk off your father’s face right here right now, but your hand is still wrapped around his wrist and he knows you didn’t want that, no matter how satisfying it might feel in the moment. You were too fucking kind for your own good. “Here I thought you were a soldier, but you sound like a shrink" “You don’t need to have a degree in psychology to get that your idea of family is fucked up. Why else would you push your suicidal daughter to keep on doing the thing that made her suicidal in the first place?" “Bradley”, you can see it in your father’s eyes. So far, he's been civil for his standards, but he was close to snapping and you feared what he’d do if Rooster kept on provoking him. Your father had never been physically violent towards you but you always backed down. “You have no fucking idea what you are talking about” “I know more than fucking enough”

You hear a knocking and when your eyes wander from your father to the open door you cannot believe who you see. Your father turns around too, eyes wandering over the group of people standing there. “Sorry for being late to the party. We miss somethin'?”, Hangman asks, his usual cocky features darkened and brows furrowed. Right next to him was Phoenix and then on either side of them Javy and Bob "And who do you think you are?" "For you, we'll be the four horsemen of the apocalypse", the threat in Phoenix's voice is obvious if her face wasn't enough of a tell already.

You stared up at Rooster who had a smug smirk on his face and when he looked down at you his features softened. “I thought just in case a companion is not enough and we do need the army”, he winks at you and it makes you choke up. It’s not just him who came through for you. It’s all of them, the entire squad even though you never talked much outside of mission briefings and when you yelled at them to stick to the plan. Even if you’d been brave enough to ask for help you would have never expected them to show. Especially so early on a Saturday morning.

Your father is perplexed too. This is a first for him. People who stand up to him and don't just back down and relent the second he gets loud and nasty. It means he’s shoved on unknown terrain and like a lot of people with anger issues, he’s getting the most vile when he’s insecure. "So that's how far you've fallen. You don't even bother with trying these days. No, instead of fighting your own wars you are hiding like a coward behind the people you send in to fix the fuckups of your own creation." The words hit you, bringing back the images from the restaurant. Everybody had been staring at you, no wonder considering the noise he made.

'A coward is what you are. Always looking for the easy way out. Always running away instead of manning up and fighting head-on'

"She'd be stupid to ride into Mordor alone", your eyes shoot over to Phoenix, eyes wide and surprise written all over your features. You had no idea she heard you back then when she tried to catch up with Rooster. "You take a companion. You bring an army, but you never go alone", Bob adds and gives you a gentle smile that makes a fresh set of tears run down your cheeks. "And who says shit like that?" "Nike", Javy deadpans. "Nike?" "Yeah, Nike. Your daughter's callsign", Javy cannot hide the irritation in his voice. This was absurd. That man was supposed to be your father and he didn't even know that much about you? "Like the fucking shoe brand?!?!" "More like the greek goddess of victory", Bob chimed in, turning to you with a small smile while you were digging your finger into Rooster's arm to have something to hold on to. "Goddess of victory? Her? As fucking if" You see the way your father looks between them, unable to hide his confusion before he follows their eyes to you, standing right next to Rooster who wrapped an arm around you to pull you even closer into his side.

"She's the best IC North Island ever had", Hangman gave you that signature smirk and a wink. To hear those words from him of all people made your heart swell. "You might not be aware of it, but you have a treasure for a daughter and considering that you treat her like the dirt under your heel I would suggest you reevaluate your coping strategy, Sir", even while he is angry, Bob stays as perfectly polite as ever, pushing his glasses a little up his nose. "But you don't have to take the word of the people whose lives she's responsible for", Phoenix makes a theatrical gesture out of checking her watch before she looks back to your father, "He might get a bit grumpy if we annoy him on a Saturday morning, but I am sure that nevertheless, Admiral Simpson would have no qualms about confirming Nike's spotless mission record"

Rooster feels how you are holding on tighter to him and he can see the confusion shimmering in your eyes as you watch the scene in front of you unfold. He knows that you have no idea what you meant to the people on base, the people you worked with. What you meant to him, even before he found you last night and it's beautiful to witness how the realisation slowly settles in that you are cherished, that there are people who respect you, your achievements and your hard work. People who care.

"I'm gonna make this very simple for you now", Rooster's voice is low and has an animalistic ring to it as he stares down your father, knowing that at a moment's notice, the rest of the dagger squad would be right there by his side. "You will turn around and carry your sorry ass out of this apartment. If I or any of my friends see you near Nike again, you will regret it. If you contact her in any shape or form, you will wish you'd never been born", his voice was cutting and calm, a storm raging right beneath his skin, almost hoping for him to talk back so he could finally give him the beating he deserved. "Are you threatening..." "No, we are not. We never would...", Phoenix has a sardonic smile playing on her lips as she walks around your father and positions herself to Rooster's left. "We are making a promise. Not that a man like you would know the difference", she's cocking her head a little and for the first time in your entire life, you see something like fear flittering over your father's features.

Coyote and Hangman step to the side to clear the way for him and you can see that he's livid, biting down on his lower lip so hard you wonder if he'd draw blood, but he stays quiet as he turns around and walks towards the door only to be stopped by Hangman's hand on his shoulder. "And remember. Even if we should be deployed there are thousands more where we came from who will step up gladly to put you in your place", he gives your father one of those blinding smiles that makes the women swoon but something is hiding in his eyes. A promise that if your father would do as much as breathe funny, he would gladly show him what skills you acquired in the Navy. And with that, your father leaves, not even muttering an insult under his breath the way he usually does as he steps out of the apartment.

The moment he rounds the corner you feel Rooster's arms wrap around you, pulling you into his chest and pressing his lips to the crown of your head. "We are all here for you. I am here for you. You are safe, beautiful"

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