#maybe someone who speaks german can translate this better; this was the only translation i could find & i dont think its exactly right

[mildmayfoxe]

The Dance of Death at Basel; lithograph by Danzer (from Wellcome Collection)

"These lithographs are derived from the dance of death frescos painted on the walls of the churchyard of the Dominican cloister in Basel. Executed between 1437 and 1441, these frescos were often altered and were finally removed in 1805 when damages could not be restored. Some of the wall fragments are preserved in the history museum in Basel."

Text reads "Oh Mensch betracht und nicht veracht, hie die Figur, all Creatur. Die nimmt der Tod früh und spot, gleichwie die Blum im Feld zergoht," which I found translated in Issues of Death: Mortality and Identity in English Renaissance Tragedy by Michael Neill as "Behold, O people, and don't despise, the image of all human creatures whom Death seizes, sooner or later, like flowers in the meadow."

[mo-nee-ta]

Rabbit Nabokov, Ruhenheim’s Konrad and Pushkin’s Eugene Onegin

Disclaimer: I haven’t read 20th Century Boys yet, so I apologize in advance for any inaccuracies (and you’re welcome to correct me!). I only wanted to take a look at the bizarre Rabbit Nabokov game.

I also haven’t read Nabokov’s translation of Pushkin’s Eugene Onegin, but I definitely plan to read it—at least fragments of it. 

Keep in mind that these are only notes on a heavy work in progress. You’ll find the TL;DR version at the end.

Rabbit Nabokov is a fictional high-stakes gambling card game invented by a character named Aleksandr Nabokov. 

The creator is a hybrid of two Russian authors: Aleksandr Pushkin and Vladimir Nabokov.

This isn’t the first time Urasawa used a real-world author’s name to create a fictional character; Monster introduced two characters named after one author: Karel Ranke and Petr Čapek.

So why is the fictional creator of a fictional gambling game named after two Russian authors?

For starters, card games are referenced in both Pushkin (The Queen of Spades) and Nabokov (King, Queen, Knave). 

But there’s something more interesting and of substance, and it’s about Pushkin’s Eugene Onegin, a milestone of Russian literature. Nabokov thought it was impossible to translate it faithfully while keeping the rhymes and he was dissapointed and disgusted with the already existing English translations of it (because he was a massive hater). 

So his partner-in-crime wife, Véra, suggested he should create his own translation of the sacred text.

And these were the beginnings of a work with the following title:

Yes, this should be treated as a full title, because this isn’t just a translation of Eugene Onegin. Most of the text here is not, as one might think, the translation of the poem itself, but Nabokov’s commentary.

The commentary that turned a book of around 350 pages into a beast of around 1850 pages (dare I say, Charles Kinbote style?). 

He also apologized for his own translation (!) in the form of a poem.

Taking all of this into account, one question arises: is this version of Eugene Onegin still only Pushkin’s work? Or did it evolve into its own thing?

Maybe we could say this is the work of Aleksandr Nabokov? 

So why did this Aleksandr Nabokov create a gambling game? One clue can be found in Nabokov’s response to Edmund Wilson (someone Nabokov corresponded with for years), who was critical of Nabokov’s translation:

What does [N.] mean when he speaks of Pushkin’s ‘addiction to stuss’? This is not an English word, and if he means the Hebrew word for nonsense, which has been absorbed into German, it ought to be italicized and capitalized. But even on this assumption it hardly makes sense.”

This is Mr. Wilson’s nonsense, not mine. “Stuss” is the English name of a card game which I discuss at length in my notes on Pushkin’s addiction to gambling. Mr. Wilson should have consulted my notes (and Webster’s dictionary) more carefully.

So here we have it: a card game and a gambling addiction. And it turns out that playing the game can turn into a scene that resembles your average discussion about Nabokov and/or his work.

Just to name one example with an adequate commentary:

The Eugene Onegin shenanigans don’t end with 20th Century Boys. They don’t even start here; they start with Monster.

Remember Konrad? The lingonberry jam-maker from Ruhenheim? Aren’t the lingonberries an oddly specific choice for a character from a far-away background?

Lingonberries are present in Eugene Onegin. 

In his commentary, Nabokov devotes more than one page to explaining why he translated the Russian word Brusnika into lingonberry and why the other translations of brusnichnaya voda were, to say the least, inaccurate. Lingonberries can be deceitful.

TL;DR: Nabokov explains the confusing nature of lingonberries, shows no mercy to his translation predecessors and expects his successors to do better.

Konrad has other traits that make him a suspiciously Nabokovian character. 

His birthday date seems to have some special powers:

Is he telling the truth or is he just making fun of Mrs. Heinich and her superstitions? Was it a mere coincidence that the numbers were a success? I guess we’ll never know!

This combines three things: the gambling, the coincidences and patterns, and the significant number. 

Coincidences and patterns are one of the most important motifs in Nabokov’s work. To quote Lolita: Those dazzling coincidences that logicians loathe and poets love.

While reading Nabokov’s works, it can be useful to pay attention to the numbers; for example, 342 is a recurring number in Lolita.

And the gambling? Deception is an inherent part of gambling; it was also something Nabokov was clearly fascinated with. 

Q: You say that reality is an intensely subjective matter, but in your books it seems to me that you seem to take an almost perverse delight in literary deception.

A: The fake move in a chess problem, the illusion of a solution or the conjuror's magic: I used to be a little conjuror when I was a boy. I loved doing simple tricks—turning water into wine, that kind of thing.

Literature is invention. Fiction is fiction. To call a story a true story is an insult to both art and truth. Every great writer is a great deceiver, but so is that arch-cheat Nature. Nature always deceives. From the simple deception of propagation to the prodigiously sophisticated illusion of protective colors in butterflies or birds, there is in Nature a marvelous system of spells and wiles. The writer of fiction only follows Nature’s lead.

And of course, his stories are full of (lonely, misunderstood, and often very dangerous) deceivers.  

But let’s get back to Konrad, a good friend of Mr. Poppe:

One of the first things you might learn about Nabokov is that he despised Freud. So much that the traces of the Viennese quack can be tracked in his books everywhere; for example, Lolita opens with a fictional foreword written by a fictional Freudian psychologist called John Ray (Jr.). 

Oh, I am not up to discussing again that figure of fun. He is not worthy of more attention than I have granted him  in  my novels  and  in Speak, Memory. Let the credulous and the vulgar continue to believe that all mental woes can be cured by a daily application of old Greek myths to their private parts. I really do not care.

Making the Nabokov-coded character friends with someone who turned into a Freud-lookalike in his old days (and who’s Monster’s greatest deceiver and a very Nabokovian character himself)? Letting them play Nabokov’s beloved chess? 

It’s like using Nabokov’s tricks against him, which is hilarious.

Another fun fact about Nabokov: he loved annagrams and wordplay. For example, he inserted himself into Lolita using an anagram of his name, Vivian Darkbloom (of course the anagram of Nabokov’s name would be a dramatic and fabulous one; come on, it sounds like a draq queen name). 

And while this is only partially an anagram, it’s still interesting that you can take some letters from Vladimir Nabokov to create a Konrad.

His corpse also looks to me like a middle-aged Nabokov, but since I’m biased as hell, I’ll leave it to your interpretation.

All the examples are something I thought about earlier but wasn’t sure enough to post it anywhere; the lingonberry seemed too general, the anagram wasn’t a full one, and the birthdate was the most suspicious thing to me, but still not enough to share it.

But the obscure Aleksandr Nabokov and his gambling card game are a very solid clue that binds it all together.

And since we’re talking about deceivers and translations, let me add a small easter egg: please get back to the The Secret Woods episode, pay close attention to Edmund ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡° ) Fahren, his suicide note, and see if there’s something possibly wrong with the translation of the passage found by Richard Braun.

TL;DR: 

The gambling card game Rabbit Nabokov was created by a fictional man called Aleksandr Nabokov; Aleksandr is Pushkin’s first name. Nabokov is Vladimir’s last name. 

Both Pushkin and Nabokov have referenced gaming cards in their works. 

Nabokov translated Pushkin’s Eugene Onegin into English because he was deeply unsatisfied with the earlier translations. One of Nabokov’s many comments is about Pushkin’s gambling addiction and a card game. 

Nabokov’s translation isn’t just a translation; it’s full of comments that turn it into its own thing, which can explain the hybrid that is Aleksandr Nabokov. 

Ruhenheim’s Konrad is the real monster of Monster (besides Naoki Urasawa and his collaborator and editor Takashi Nagasaki), and I love him dearly. 

[rubixpsyche]

What’re your headcanons for human!Vox?

Like: Name, specific nationalities, any preferences, what’s changed since he died, etc . Just !!! I love your headcanons so much I need to know more .

Asian!Vox hc

It's my lil baby ok it's my most precious hc to me. (Everything here is up to change because I have not had time to research the diaspora experience and era in which he lived in). Thanks so much for asking, I went overboard tbh this could be 3 posts by itself

Name: Without the best grasp and exposure to English names, someone cruelly suggested one as a joke when he arrived in America and he trusted them, only to find out too late to change it that it was bad, either because people could make fun of him for it, or because it was a name of a infamous figure of the time, and everytime someone made the same stupid joke about it for the rest of his career he got more and more frustrated. (I feel mean picking out an english name and saying it's a 'bad' or stupid one, so hey maybe I'll hold a vote or look up some history.) This constant fucking humiliation is what leads to him overdoing it with learning english, and why he named himself Vox in hell.

He had to live his life talked over, given a name he fucking hated. In death he would speak for himself. And for all these Sinners. This time He would be Their Voice. He'd even make them think it was their choice.

(I'll make up his traditional name later, excited to try)

Nationality: Hong Kong 🇭🇰 Hong Kong. Anyone who speaks Cantonese knows where I'm going with this HAHAHAHAAAAA. Oh I just want to make him swear so beautifully. He doesn't do it much at all in Hell, the internalized racism has him trying so hard to make people think he was white in life. Anytime he does speak canto he tries to pass it off as him having learnt the language for business. This works since he actually has learnt several more languages over the years because that fear of being misrepresented haunts him. With how technology has progressed, I think he would have learnt German, Japanese and Korean, so he could better ensnare newly deceased Sinners he knows worked in the big tech companies in life. Those NDAs don't extend here.

Sometimes he just stews because he knows he could insult someone so well, or at least in a way that will truly satisfy him, but he has to keep his trap shut and his language English. This is also why he gets so fucking flustered in Stayed Gone. He knows he could outperform Alastor EASILY if he wasn't slowed down translating himself. Also why he still uses old slang.

I can't control myself so, readmore time

Vark gets special rambling in cantonese priviledges. I think he is so (affectionately) mean to Vark. He can do that run-on insult thing for 15 minutes. Vark is just happy to be here. People think Vark is bad at listening to orders, secretly Vox has trained em to only listen to canto instructions. Anything in english just flies over his head.

Everything else: I keep just projecting people I know onto em. I think he had (and still does) a janky idea of what "Successful" people looked like, fashion-wise, and emulated it both when he was struggling to make it to now with all his success. Velvette is fucking dieing. That watch is tacky, she doesn't care how expensive it is, get rid of it. Oh my god noone wears chains like that anymore.

He pretends to like all that high-end cuisine and wines, but really he still loves proper savoury food and the cheap beers he had at home or at the places he gambled at (big gambler by the way. Not in a self-sabotaging way, but it was his only socialization outside of work, in life, where he could fucking relax and chat with all the other immigrants there) (they were milking him for all he's worth btw. My god). Everytime a proper chef lands in Hell he snaps them up in the hopes he can get really good food in his tower right at home.

Actually he's still a little bit superstitious, although sometimes he questions the point of that when they're in the Afterlife and have seen the 'answers' noone would ever get in life. It brings him some comfort though, and in some way makes him feel like he still remembers his life. He hates remembering his life but some part of it is so afraid of losing it and himself.

Preferences: To me he reads as someone that ENTIRELY misunderstood his attraction to men as just general admiration. He wanted to be those successful guys, he wanted their lives. Which was true but he was also a lil thirsty. I think he would have gotten a wife, because that was a sign of success, as would having successful/smart children. This is mostly dependant on how long he actually lived. If he died young, or if he was that dedicated to his career, he might not have courted anyone long enough to get married. They would not have been happy.

Even in death he still thought his attraction was just admiration, but he wasn't super resistant to the idea of allowing himself to 'start' getting into men when the general position of Hell changed. As in once sinners didn't give a shit and were openly all queer, he thought noone could give him shit for it, and acted as if he always knew, that he has sooo much experience. Faking it till he makes it. He just had really high standards, guys. Falls into Valentino's bed. Alright.

The 'point' of straight relationships, to him in life, was the nuclear family goal. But noone in hell can reproduce, so who cares!

I wanna nonbinary this fucker so bad but that's too much projection, perhaps, and honestly could be its own post since I would absolutely connect that to the Mechanical thing.

Oh I have/will have more next time, for now I wanna reply to this before it's been too long. Thanks again and ask me more anytime!!

[fitzrove]

I noticed your tags on the "bad localisation"-post and now I must know the lore... the Finnish translator of Elisabeth didn't speak German???

Hehe, I'm glad you asked!!

Mind you, this production happened when I was a small child, so all I have is second-hand knowledge from the internet (and an audio recording). Also, I may have exaggerated for comedic effect in my original tags lol, I don't know if he genuinely didn't speak it. However...

The guy who translated the Finnish Elisabeth was a very famous (prolific, if nothing else) theatre director and musical translator, starting his career in the late 60s already with a wildly popular production of Hair. Elisabeth seems to be among the only German-language shows he ever worked on - most of it was translations from English and French. ngl I also sort of hate his musical translations from English LMAO - because of how prolific he was, they still haunt the Finnish musical scene today... One big one he did is Cabaret back in the 90s, and a theatre that put a big fancy production on in 2020 actually redid all of the songs and only kept his dialogue because the translation was so clunky lmao. But I once went to the library to dig up his original lyrics to the title song and omg they suck, I wrote better ones in two minutes because I needed a Finnish version quickly ahshshsh. So already, it's a bit of a bad sign - this man is not a translator by profession or training, he's a director who started out doing it for practical purposes, and has a pretty broad set of languages he works in.

But then again - maybe it wouldn't have been a problem, especially since he had such extensive experience. In fact, Elisabeth was the last translation he ever did before passing away rather shortly after (of old age), so maybe I shouldn't be too harsh on him... However, the fact remains that the translation, just as lyrics, is pretty terrible and nonsensical sjjsjsjd.

My initial comment was actually largely inspired by this blog post by someone who actually saw the prod live (from onenightintheatre on blogspot), quote:

It sounded like the translator hadn't really understood German, because many lines sounded like someone had taken a dictionary, looked up the most important words of the sentence and then written a whole new sentence(-ish) based on those words. An example that remained etched in my mind: ("Eine Kaiserin muss glänzen"; Finnish, the Finnish translation in English, and the original German text) Countess Esterházy: Suunne aukaiskaa! ("Open your mouth!") (Öffnen Sie den Mund!) Sophie: Keltaiset ei olla saa! ("[Teeth] may not be yellow!") (Die sind zu gelb, das darf nicht sein!) Elisabeth: Tammalla saa! ("Mare's [teeth] may!") (Bin ich ein Pferd?) So... Instead of asking why they're treating her like a horse, Elisabeth thinks she is a horse and can therefore have yellow teeth? Oddly, "Bellaria" was significantly better translated than rest of the musical and actually sounded beautiful and made sense. There were also factual errors, like Rudolf complaining to Elisabeth that he must get married, when at that point of the story he had, in fact, been married for several years. The translator passed away half a year after the derniere, though, so maybe he wasn't at his best anymore when he did the translation.

As for me, I don't know the Finnish translation by heart, but some of my favourite songs (well, mostly Schatten 2) which I do know by heart also had the ball dropped on them... in that song, Rudolf complains that the court is wasting money on parties (woah good job working in the "dancing around the golden calf" metaphor, I'm sure the original author didn't mean it metaphorically to go with the pied piper thing, he meant literal dancing - though I guess this is accidentally accurate to irl rudolf and his ranty pamphlet on the idle nobility xD) and it's just quite clunky and repetitive overall without getting the main point across too well. Which is such a pity! I mean, translations are hard, but Kunze's work has since been translated into Finnish well, with the references and thematic messages intact, it's not impossible. So in a way, I think this one is a case of someone well-established in the industry getting the job because he happened to be there and have an extensive track record, not because he actually had the skills to make the best possible translation...

Ahsdhsfhfs so yeah. There's no proof that he didn't speak German, but it's my personal theory. Also, according to a few sources, Kunze himself hated this translation......

[languagedaemon]

Choose Simple Sentences to Start Conversing

Regarding production at beginner levels, there seem to be at least two types of learners: those who have a hard time speaking, who are silent or hesitate at every word they utter, and those who jump right in from the start as if they were masters of the language, as if they didn’t notice their flaws or didn’t care. One of the main differences is less fear of making “mistakes”, but there may also be another issue, a tendency to want to make long, perfect sentences in the former, and conformity with short, simple sentences in the latter.

My German teacher could tell when I had a long, elegant, ambitious Spanish sentence in my head, and she could see in my face the efforts I was making to translate it into German. It is not recommended to translate while speaking (production should be something more spontaneous) for various reasons that we will see in another article, but in this case it should be emphasized that it is a very difficult task, very improbable, to render a sentence from a native level Spanish to a B1 German. My teacher, seeing me suffer, suggested that I make a simpler sentence, with what I could, in German. What I wanted to say, the core of that message, I could say sufficiently with my knowledge, with my rudimentary level, if I just focused on how to express the essential: an economy of meaning.

I must apologize, but here is another sports metaphor. It is common in Mexico to hear coaches or one’s own teammates shout “Make it easy!” after someone attempted a risky pass, which was going to have many consequences but only ended in a turnover, in a failure of the offense. Make it easy means make the easy pass, not the tricky one. Sometimes it is necessary to first connect short, quick, simple passes (phrases) that build a volume of play (a conversation), instead of trying very daring ones (long and complex phrases) that will only end up in the hands of the opponent (in a confused and stumbling communication).

What my teacher was asking me to do was just that: make it easy. I had a better phrase in my head, in Spanish, but I could say something similar, something that worked, with my knowledge in German in simpler sentences. Maybe my language would be less impressive, but the conversation would be more fluid, I would receive faster and more responses from my interlocutor, that is, I would have more input, more learning. Over time my sentences would improve, would grow, but from German, without going through Spanish structures, without translating, and by that point I would already have a long history of successful (simple) conversations. A natural and patient evolution.

The most important thing in a conversation, as well as in a language class, is that communication is established. “Mistakes” are only really important when they are affecting meaning, when messages are lost or distorted. The other type of errors, those of refinement, are secondary and can be worked out over time. As long as there is a conversation, an exchange, a back and forth of messages, everything is going well, there is volume of play, there is enjoyment, there is mastery.

[justice-is-a-weapon]

In vino veritas [Dazai x gn reader]

·•━━━━━━━⋆⋅☆⋅⋆━━━━━━━•·

Chapter 10 / ?

previous | next

TW: The reader mentions using alcohol to cope and A LOT of swearing

!There’s a lot of German being spoken in this one. Don’t worry I put the translation in brackets behind the actual words being said!

e.g.: “Guten Tag!” [Good day!]

During my time spent alone I resorted to coming to bars. Maybe in hope to stumble upon him but he was nowhere to be seen. I had tried to contact him by texting him if he wanted to meet up but I was left on read. Dazai, this fucker, had successfully ghosted me. I was increasingly becoming more annoyed and yet still clung to this idea that “maybe he was just busy”. As I said, I frequently visited different bars in Yokohama, and no I totally didn’t try to drink away the pain of being left without a warning. I was telling myself I just had to “have fun again” and what better way doing that than with several vodka shots or a cuba libre.

So that’s why I was sitting here, four weeks after not having heard from this dunce, in another bar I had already forgotten the name of. It was already late but I was determined to wait just a little longer. I knew he worked mostly at dusk. Sometimes at night. So I had hoped he may go for an after work drink. Gosh I was so stupid. I was waiting like a foolish little dog for his owner after it had been abandoned at the side of the street. Maybe that’s what I was. A silly little stray dog.

I then heard the door open.

A guy with a fancy hat entered the bar. He was about 5 feet tall. Okay, maybe 5’3. He had ginger hair and quite a strong build for such a short dude. His clothes looked expensive and his gloves seemed to be made of the finest leather. So it was even funnier to see a guy like this, stumbling around in a bar at 2 am, barely being able to stand up straight. He swung himself from one chair to the next in order to not fall. I tried not to laugh, sensing I might get in trouble for it later on.

A thing you should know about me is that I seem to magically attract drunk people. Somehow one will always take a seat right next to me at some point and then starts rambling to me about their day, their wife, their financial problems or whatever. I don’t even think I look that approachable but as someone who sits alone most of the time I get unwanted company every so often.

And that seemed to be the case once again because the guy I’ve now settled on looking like a human puss in boots took a seat right next to me. And just like expected he started to ramble, his speech quite slurred and in a loud tone. Even the bartender looked a bit frightened.

“My ex-partner is such a fucking arsehole!”

I’m not religious in the slightest but right then I was praying to God to please spare me this time.

“Like- You see this dude- That man has the audacity to just show up, at my work that is, and act like nothing ever happened!”

Fucking hell, this dude is completely nuts.

I got an idea to maybe get myself out of this situation. I looked at him in a confused manner and then spoke in the most German accent I could muster, in a mix of English and German: “Oh sorry I not speak any Japanese. Ich kann nur Deutsch. Ich hab keine Ahnung was Sie von mir wollen” [I can only speak German. I have no idea what you want from me.]

I am a fucking genius.

Mentally I gave myself a high five. This was the most genius idea I’ve ever had for sure and I could enjoy my drink in peace, then go home and watch another one of those reality tv shows that escalate way too quickly while falling asleep on the couch. This was the good life for sure. At least I thought so when I heard his agitating, grating voice again.

"Oh, warum hast du das nicht gleich gesagt? Also wo war ich… Ach ja! Mein Kollege, okay Ex-Kollege-“ [Oh why didn’t you tell me from the beginning? So where was I… Oh yeah! My colleague, okay ex colleague-]

You have to be fucking kidding me. If there was a God out there this must’ve been his punishment for me never really going to church. I just wanted to disappear into the bar before me and never return again. I would have expected anything from this night really but an angry ginger ranting to me about his ex partner was not on my list of probable events. His usage of the informal “you” also made my blood boil ever so slightly. Like dude, you do not know me and I’m of age at least be more formal. We’re not friends alright?

Yet I still tried to listen and nod along. I didn’t want any more trouble in my life and I doubted I could win a lawsuit against this guy.

“Und dann denkt dieser… Dieser ARSCHLOCH, er könnte einfach so bei uns einbrechen, weil ‘er braucht was’, und er reduziert mich dann immer auf meine Größe! Ich hab… Wie heißt das? Durchschnitt! Durschnitt-Größe!” [And then this… this asshole, thinks he could just break into our place because ‘he needs something’ and he always reduces me to my height! I have… what is it called? Average! Average height!]

I excused him his few grammatical errors. To be quite fair I was pretty impressed. He clearly had a lot to drink and let me tell you: I can’t speak German that well if I had as much as this guy had. Maybe this could be an interesting conversation after all.

“Okay ich check’s aber immer noch nich’ ganz: Dein Ex-Kollege? Ex-Partner? Der kommt trotzdem noch?” [Okay, but I still don't quite get it: Your ex-colleague? Ex partner? Is he still coming?]

“Ja!” [Yes!]

“Und warum stört er dich jetzt so sehr?” [And why does he bother you that much?]

“Weil er mich einfach verlassen hat, verdammt! This.. this son of a bitch… Er hat mich einfach so im Stich gelassen! Ich habe ihm vertraut! Und dann geht er!” [Because he just left me, dammit! This.. this son of a bitch… he just let me down like that! I trusted him! And then he leaves!]

He takes a deep breath then hits the bar counter, making me jump. He then looks at me.

“Ich bin mir sicher, für solche Leute gibt es einen ganz bestimmten Platz in der Hölle. Ich weiß, ich werde da auch landen, aber er hat ein VIP-Ticket.”[I'm sure there's a special place in hell for people like that. I know I'll end up there too, but he has a VIP ticket.]

Oh shit that got real deep real fast.

“Das hört sich persönlich an… Ganz sicher, dass ihr nur Kollegen wart? Nich’ mehr? Oder interpretier ich da was falsch?” [That sounds personal... Are you sure you were just colleagues? Nothing more? Or am I interpreting something wrong?]

I can’t tell if the red on his cheeks is from the alcohol in his system or if he feels called out.

“Weißt du was? Lass uns Wein trinken!” [You know what? Let’s drink wine!]

My eyes widened. I may be able to pay for cheap liquor but I’m definitely not going to order myself expensive wine just for fun. Maybe I should make that clear. He already seemed to order the most expensive bottle of the house.

“Oh sorry aber dafür hab ich kein-“ [Oh sorry but I don’t have any-]

“Ich zahle, du hörst zu. Deal?” [I pay, you listen. Deal?]

I just nodded.

“Warte… Wie heißt du nochmal?” [Wait… What’s your name again?]

I stopped and stared for a second. Shit. I need a name. That’s when I spotted a bottle of Jack Daniel’s behind the barkeeper. Maybe I could use that.

"Daniel. Ich heiß’ Daniel” [Daniel. My name is Daniel.]

He nodded then telling me his and giving me a handshake.

“Chuuya. Chuuya Nakahara. Schön Sie kennenzulernen.” [Chuuya. Chuuya Nakahara. Nice to meet you (formal)]

Oh wow so he was capable of using the formal form the whole time. But I had another problem: I was slowly realizing what kind of guy I must be dealing with here. I had heard of him before. The amount of money this dude had, the coat, the gloves and the fact that the bartender was scared shitless and yet didn’t kick him out. This man right before me was a mafioso. I began to sweat. How have I not noticed before? This was bad. So very bad.

The glass of wine was placed right in front of me just a minute later. Chuuya had already started talking my ear off. Somehow I felt sorry for him. He seemed so hurt, desperate even, in the way he talked. I felt the urge to maybe stroke his back and tell him to “let it all out” but ultimately decided against it, unsure if he even liked touch as a form of comfort. What was striking however was the similarities in our situations.

“Und dann geht er immer. Einfach so. Ohne etwas zu sagen.” [And then he leaves. Just like that. Without saying anything.]

He took a deep breath.

“Und dann bin ich allein.” [And then I’m alone.]

He had calmed down now. The anger had turned into sadness. Not exactly a better feeling but one I could deal with more easily.

“Ich versteh dich, um ehrlich zu sein. Ich wurde auch letztens erst geghostet. Ich weiß immer noch nicht, ob ich weiter warten soll. Gott , ich weiß nicht mal, ob ich ihn überhaupt als Arschloch abstempeln kann, obwohl ich ganz genau weiß dass ich ihn nicht verlassen hab, sondern er mich.” [I get you to be honest. I was recently ghosted too. I still don't know if I should wait any longer. God, I don't even know if I can even label him an asshole, although I know for a fact that I didn't leave him, he left me.]

He looked at me with a sense of pity, then looked at his glass, then furrowed his eyebrows. After that he clinked our wine glasses together and announced proudly:

“SCHEISS AUF MÄNNER! DIE KÖNNEN MICH ALLE MAL! DIE HABEN UNS NICHT VERDIENT!” [FUCK MEN! THEY CAN ALL GO FUCK THEMSELVES! THEY DON’T DESERVE US!]

I laughed loudly at that and he did too. I was beginning to kind of like this dude. I raised an eyebrow while smiling at him.

“Aber bist du nicht selbst einer?” [But aren’t you one yourself?]

His confident smile dropped for a split second.

“Hahaha! Wir ignorieren das mal.” [Hahaha! We’re going to ignore that.]

I had a lot of fun (and wine for that matter) with Chuuya that night. It felt good to have laughed again after being constantly worried for so long, not knowing what was going to happen next. He had taken my mind off of Dazai. Even if it was only for a night.

It all ended with him getting increasingly more quiet. He was beginning to nod off. He had definitely had too much to drink. How would he get home? He just meant he’d call someone to pick him up. I demanded he do it now but he seemed to struggle with his phone. He finally had enough after trying to press the buttons for about five minutes without achieving anything. I eventually took his phone.

“Wen soll ich anrufen?” [Who should I call?]

I managed to say as softly as possible, trying to show him I genuinely wanted to help.

He managed to croak a “Kouyou… Ozaki” before he finally passed out with his wine glass still in hand. I ended up asking the bartender to fish out her contact and watch Chuuya while I was outside making the phone call. The phone rung three times before someone picked up.

“Please don’t tell me you’re drunk again.”

Straight to the point. I see.

“Uhm… hi?” I ended up stuttering “Well, yes, he kind of is. Blacked out to be quite frank.”

“Who are you and where should I go to pick him up? I’m sorry if he was of any nuisance to you.”

The woman that picked up sounded rather formal and collected in contrast to Chuuya. Her voice was rather nice to listen to.

“Oh no no! He wasn’t a nuisance. Bar Mimi? It’s right next to Miyuki-dori Street, First floor. I don’t know how to describe it any better. We met here because he just started talking to me but no he wasn’t a nuisance. You can tell him I actually have enjoyed his company.”

“I’m sure I will find it.”

With that the call ended. I returned his phone to him, wrote a little note telling him I hoped he got home safely (in German of course), paid and then took my leave.

Thank you Chuuya for this completely absurd but very enlightening night.

·•━━━━━━━⋆⋅☆⋅⋆━━━━━━━•·

[So Ophelia is spending their time alone for now. However this will take a turn in the next few chapters as we will slowly figure out what even happened in the first place. Anyway I hope you enjoyed this (less Dazai-centric) chapter! As to what is going on in my life; I am through with most of my exams for now. The big ones are in April already tho and I’m lowkey freaking out about it. (I’ll just tell myself “in vino veritas” is my preparation for the English exam haha)]

[milfhandholder]

Random Grell thingz I've accumulated in my head bcs I'm delusional but without context bcs I am going to write a legit novel abt this woman one day

Idc what anyone says, I am an avid believer of the fact that Grell has always been considered beautiful by her peers even in her human life

LIKE SHE'S THE MOST SOUGHT AFTER SUITOR OF HER SEASON, SHE WAS AN IT GIRL BEFORE THEY KNEW WHAT AN IT GIRL IS

She's so beautiful that the Victorians could've started kpop PC first bcs of her and trade them like actual kpoppers

Grell always knew about her being queer (minus actual label bcs Victorian era duh) but not about her gender

"Wait so you people don't fantasize about having boobs? Not at all? No?"

It was maybe 6 years into her reaper life when she finally got the memo that "hey girlie, you're actually a girl"

Her crisis went a bit like this: straight man -> gay man?? -> 'oh no I like girls too' bi man -> died LMAO -> 'I hate everyone and I hate my gender' questioning -> 'maybe I have no gender at all. I like girls though' (she was exclusive to girls only so I guess??lesbian?? Who cheered) -> transwoman questioning -> !! transwoman bi !!

Was in a 'lavender marriage' with a closeted lesbian for maybe 2 - 3 years before her suicide. Grell sort of fell in love with her but understandably never confessed. Fast forward to present time AND GRELL IS HITTING THE FLOOR, SCREAMING, CRYING

She had a lot of rage as a young reaper because she never really got over 'my parents suck' mindset that stood by her as she died

HATED WILLIAM. As much as I love the OVA, I will stand by my words that it would’ve been so much more interesting if Grell buried / was embarassed about her crush and acted like a dick towards him BECAUSE WHY, OF ALL THE MEN IN DISPATCH, DID IT HAVE TO BE WILLIAM T SPEARS

Mellowed out eventually and cool character development happened

Has more experience with and confidence in dating girls, she's very anxious (and perhaps frightful) about men reciprocating her advances

Being made "an experience" does that to you

Fun fact: she's the first and only woman William ever had a crush on. Good taste dude

She was projecting her ex wife A LOT onto Madam but it's ok bcs it was vice versa you see, Madam projected too BUT THEN THESE BITCHES TALKED IT OUT and everything is all ok and cool and OH GOD GRELL NOOOOOOOOO 😭😭😭😭

Speaks German and French, is the go to translator for German Dispatch businesses until Ludger (and eventually Sascha joined in as a bonus and a translator) was forced to sharpen his English

Now for the E discourse.... someone made a typo one day and she went with it

Grell: You see, when you go to France, they make you get a name in French. That's why I can go by Grell Sutcliff or Grelle Sutcliffe

Ron, an idiot who has never been anywhere except his hometown: oh shit fr??

Eric's her first ACTUAL reaper friend which is sad ngl LMAOOO

Firm believer that the reapers have mentorships for gifted students that started in Ron's year and that Grell was her mentor READ MY RON FIC, IM OBSESSED WITH THEM

Mentoring Ron (aka a few years before Jack the Ripper) was the moment where she was the healthiest, mentally

Then she divorced Madam, had a falling out with William and oops she regressed el em ao. Don't tell any of her friends though, they'd start annoying her to get better

People older and the same age as her are wildly terrified of her. This is in contrast to (most) juniors who are so in love with the idea of her

Harbors a lot of guilt, grief, rage, anger, jealousy, insecurity, narcissism, etc. She's just a good actress

Her butler persona was her mocking three people at once: her father's (brunette) appearance, her mother's wish for Grell to be more obedient, and Grell's old self that let people walk all over her for the sake of maintaining her family name

Her family is rich rich though she can't remember for what. She doesn't really care eitherway so

Can be very insensitive!! It doesn't help that she's friends with people who'd give the same energy back (Eric and Othello) or people who just don't care enough (William)

She learned how to hold her tongue when she realized Ron was genuinely upset with her rude comments. Ironically, Ron learned how to have thicker skin because of said comments

Likes dogs, sorry Sebastian

Good at fencing! Not much else in other sports!!

She hates sports sm, they make her sweat and they are tedious and they're exhausting and THEY'RE BORING

The only ranged weapon she'd try out is a gun.

She's no wuss

Yeah that's all that I can think of lmao

[knickynoo]

20 Questions for Fic Writers!

(Thanks to @mythical-bookworm for tagging me!)

How many works do you have on AO3? 11

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 184,491

3. What fandoms do you write for? Back to the Future and Family Ties

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Harborage

Despite the Distance

In Case of Emergency

Reflections of a (Not So Mad) Scientist

Under the Mat

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do my best to respond to every comment I get because it really means a lot to me to get them! Sometimes, I do genuinely forget, though.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably "Because of the Barriers". I mean, the ending isn't particularly angsty, but the whole point of that fic is angst, haha. That's my "troubled version of Marty who grew up in a timeline without Doc" fic, and it leads into the events of "Despite the Distance."

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I think that award would go to the final chapter, "Sunset," I did for Doctober. I really wanted to end that project on a happy note.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No, I never have, though I have gotten one or two comments from people telling me things like, "This would have been better if ______" and "Good fic, but the ending felt like it was missing something," which aren't hate comments, of course, but they are kind of weird ones for someone to leave. Just seems unnecessary, lol.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

BIG NO

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I did a Family Ties and BTTF crossover chapter for Doctober!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I hope not!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I did have someone contact me once because they wanted to translate one of my fics into German, but I don't know if they ever did it.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Maybe?? My friend and I like to toss around fic ideas and write snippets of scenes on Discord, and a good deal of those ideas have made it into recently posted fics, so... I guess that counts?

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

I'm not a big ship person and usually don't focus too much on them, but I guess Marty and Jennifer? Alex and Ellen, too.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Hmmm...a while back I wrote a chapter or two of a post-trilogy BTTF fic where something goes wrong in the continuum since Doc is vacationing and running all through time. Since he's "spent too long" away from the year he's supposed to be living in, the continuum kind of starts to "erase" him from people's memories? Except for Marty's, since he's protected by the time bubble and all that. Anyway! Marty starts mentioning Doc, and everyone thinks he's losing his mind. Consequently, he starts to think he's losing his mind because nobody around him can remember a Doc Brown.

Also, Marty starts to legitimately hallucinate Doc (he pops up and talks to Marty and gives him advice), not because there's anything actually wrong with Marty's mental state, but because the timeline is going haywire trying to reconcile a guy who existed, but who's being erased, but who is still remembered by Marty.

It's an odd one. Not sure what was going on there, but I had fun writing it!

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I do well with dialogue. When the characters are really engaged in a conversation, it flows easily for me.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Setting the scene. I have a very hard time describing surroundings and making it feel "alive." Also! When I just have one character alone and have to focus entirely on their own thoughts, that leads to a lot of writer's block.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

That'd be fun, but I only speak English, and I don't trust Google Translate to translate things accurately.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Ok, um... Big Time Rush, lol. I never posted any of it, but that was the first fandom I was in when I was younger that made me truly aware of fanfiction. I remember sitting there and realizing, "Hey, I could do this, too! I could put these guys in situations!" I wrote stuff based off of the show just for fun, but I credit it for starting my love of writing and helping me to develop a lot of my skills.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Oh, this is so hard. I think I'm gonna have to go with "Despite the Distance". That one was challenging, emotional, and fun to work on. But I also have a very special place in my heart for "So, Your Brother's Befriended a Mad Scientist." I love writing about Dave McFly being a wonderful big brother and also looking at those early weeks of Marty and Doc's friendship.

Tagging @fourth-dimensional-thinker, @rose-of-pollux, @daryfromthefuture and anyone else who wants to do this!

[piracytheorist]

Episode 8 German dub!

In the spoken dialogue, the Handler speaks to Twilight with informal "you". Twilight hasn't yet used any "you"s in his dialogue with her, so I'm curious to see which one he uses because, as we have formal and informal "you" in Greek as well, those can say a lot about the relationship between the two speakers. Since in Japanese they don't use honorifics for each other's code names (and yes some characters do use honorifics for Tasogare), it's interesting to see how they translate their relationship in other languages.

The blond lieutenant guy said "Still waters run deep" when describing Yuri.

I'd argue it doesn't take long to realize just how deep that water runs XD

Right before Yuri comes to the Forger house, Twilight thinks to himself "Now that the family situation is going so well, I shall not allow myself any mistakes." The English subtitles of the original only say "I cannot lose this family that I worked so hard to create" (and I wonder if the original actually offers the subtle double meaning that this phrase does in English; to Twilight it's for the mission, but there will be a point that he won't want to lose the family, not for the mission, but for himself). Anyway, the German dub just added a little more to his perfectionism, as he's like yo can't afford any mistakes better look out.

"Who would eat your food?!" (derogatory)

As I mentioned in the notes for the third dubbed episode, here the word used is Fraß, which literally means animal food, and can be used metaphorically to insult a human person's food. Funny that Yuri grew up eating and praising the worst possible cooking known to mankind yet he thinks he's one to judge someone's cooking XD

When Yuri believed Yor's hilariously flimsy excuse, Loid's reaction was savage af.

He literally thought "Is he stupid?!" about Yuri.

I love how it went straight to the point with it, though. Loid is so used to using logic in dealing and interacting with other people for his missions, and now he has to deal with a five-year-old girl who unbeknownst to him can read everyone's minds, a woman with a 20 wisdom stat and a 7 intelligence stat, and that woman's brother who loses all sense of logic when it comes to her. Must be fun.

When Yuri started interrogating Loid and Yor about what nicknames they use for each other, Loid said he calls her "Schatz". This one is a very common term of endearment in German, and it literally means "treasure". Knowing how common it is I shouldn't find it that cute but knowing what it means it's super cute. Too bad it's fake. Oh well. Maybe in some 84 years when twiyor will become canon.

I was wrong to have so many reservations starting this dub. It's actually pretty fun to go down the episodes and notice as much as I can and train my German at the same time XD

[ourlordapollo]

Stumbled across this Fanfic Tag Game and nobody tagged me in it but I thought it looked fun, so here we are

As such, I will also not be tagging anyone. Be free! You can do whatever you want forever!

1: How many fics do you have on AO3?

31

2: What’s your total AO3 word count?

347,001 :0

3: What fandoms do you write for?

Pokémon (games), Ace Attorney, Sanders Sides, Black Butler, Welcome to Hell

4: What are your top five fics by kudos?

I Love You (Just in Case You Didn't Know) (Pkmn)

Seek, and Ye Shall Find (W2H)

Soft-Shoe Shuffle (TSS)

Intertwined (TSS)

A Place Where I Can Breathe (TSS)

5: Do you respond to comments?

I try to! If someone leaves a whole bunch on a multichap then I usually just reply to the last one.

The only comments I absolutely don't respond to are ones speculating on what will happen next. No hate, and I'm truly flattered people are invested enough to guess, but they make me uncomfortable because them I start to wonder "does my version not make sense? Will they be disappointed if the story doesn't go that way?? Am I gonna get a bad grade in fanfic??????"

I am very normal :)

6: What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably Down Comes the Night. It's a W2H fic that ends with a break up so bad one of the parties literally invents Hell. (Yes it's Proveles lmao)

7: What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

ILY(JICYDK). I write a LOT of happy endings, but there's this concept in music theory where something loud sounds loud, but something equally loud preceeded by something quiet sounds REALLY LOUD. By that metric, many of my endings are roughly the same, but this one is preceded by something tragic.

8: Do you get hate on fics?

No lmao. I don't really write anything controversial.

9: Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Nah. Maybe in the future, but it's not really the kind of thing I'm interested in on its own? I can see p0rn having a place in some future stories, but it's not something I'd prioritize.

10: Do you write crossovers?

Nah. Apparently what I write are called "fusions."

11: Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge

12: Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but I have toyed with the idea of translating my own fics into German

13: Have you ever co-written a fic?

Good LORD, no. I'm too much of a control freak to ever consider that

14: What’s your all time favorite ship?

Apparently it's SnazzyShipping. Don't ask.

15: What’s a fic you’d like to finish but don’t think you ever will?

You never know with me. I could finish anything at any time.

16: What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue, weird displays of love and intimacy that ride the line between platonic and romantic, dialogue, pastiche, and dialogue

17: What are your writing weaknesses?

Sometimes I get a little caught up in adjectives so I'll use two (or more) redundant ones in a way that really doesn't serve the story, but frees me of having to choose lmao. Occasionally you'll get a sentence like "her voice was soft, gentle, crawling along his skin like a drop of water" or some bullshit. It purples up my prose needlessly.

18: Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

BUCKLE UP

I think it works best as little interjections; I think it can really humanize characters who learned English as a second language. For example, in all my years studying German, no one in my class EVER answered a question with "ja." It was ALWAYS "yeah" or "yes," even when we were doing total immersion. There are just always things that are gonna come out of your mouth in your native tongue unless you're being REALLY careful. So I think interjections, expressions of pain, yes and no answers, and swears/oaths do REALLY well when written out in the target language.

That being said, I don't think it works for most other scenarios. Maybe in a story with an omniscient narrator. Because in deep POV, if your character doesn't speak the target language, "he mumbled something in German" works better than "'küssen verboten,' he said, whatever that meant" because there's no reason the POV character would be able to identify those words without also understanding them.

There is one niche usage of the above that I've found works, and it's used in The Secret History, the OG dark academia novel by Donna Tartt. A character speaks Latin at the POV character. He understands enough Latin to pick out and identify the words that are being said to him, but he doesn't know what they mean.

*deep inhale*

HOWEVER you do have the problem of the POV character speaking the target language with someone else, and they both understand each other. There's no elegant solution to this. "'Kissing forbidden," he said in German. / "Strongly forbidden," I agreed in kind' can only do so much, especially if it's a long conversation. It's not strictly grammatically correct, but back in my Hetalia days, people used to use «guillemets» to indicate sentences spoken in the target language and I have borrowed that from time to time because I find it the most elegant solution, even if it necessitates explanation in the author's note

19: First fandom you wrote for?

Pokémon! But the anime; I used to almost exclusively read and write RocketShipping fanfic

20: Favorite fic you’ve written?

When I weed my garden, I don't pick out a favorite weed as I'm throwing them all in the compost lmao. For me, writing is like weeding my brain. I think my fics are good, and I re-read them, but I wouldn't use the words "like," "dislike," favorite," "least favorite," etc to describe my relationship with them

Wait no just kidding it's Hitsuzen.

Hitsuzen is my favorite work.

[wosofanstuff]

Okay okay so I don’t know if you need background but I’m going to give it to you anyways. Reader and Sydney have been dating for a while but neither is willing to take the bigger step and really make it official even though the teammates know. Reader is hesitant because she isn’t overly confident in her ability to actually hold longer conversations with Syd and feels bad for making Syd switch mid conversation for the sake of reader. Syd on the other hand is thinking reader has found someone else. Okay i think I got you sort of on the same brain wavelength. I’ll put the English version and then my terrible translation🥲.

Reader: I know that I came late and that it said had seen the text message but i am being honest when I say i didnt read it at that time. i knew today you and your team would be celebrating so i wanted to give to that time with them and figured i would entertain myself with a book and while i was reading i hooked the phone up to the charger in the bedroom. i only remembered it was in the bedroom an hour after the text was sent. Had i not been so stupid i would have asked if you wanted me to be with you during the celebration or just with friends and then told you what i would probably do for the evening so you would worry less.

Ich weiß, dass ich zu spät kam und es hieß, ich hätte die Text gesehen, aber ich bin ehrlich, wenn ich sage, dass ich sie damals nicht gelesen habe. Ich wusste, dass Sie und Ihr Team heute feiern würden, also wollte ich die Zeit mit ihnen nutzen und dachte mir, ich würde mich mit einem Buch unterhalten, und während ich las, schloss ich das Handy an das Ladegerät im Schlafzimmer an. Mir fiel erst eine Stunde nach dem Absenden der Text ein, dass es im Schlafzimmer war. Wäre ich nicht so dumm gewesen, hätte ich dich gefragt, ob du möchtest, dass ich während der Feier bei dir bin oder nur mit Freunden, und dir dann gesagt, was ich am Abend wahrscheinlich tun würde, damit du dir weniger Sorgen machen würdest.

Syd: No, I should have told you i wanted you to come with us before i left. i, i am worried that maybe you had started to like someone else, someone who was less busy and better than me. i got scared when you didn't show up at first because i thought maybe you were with that someone else and that i was late with telling you how i really feel about you. i love you, i don't care if i have to switch to english mid conversation or while we are in public. i don't care about who see's us together in public i want you and i need you. You don't have to tell me you feel the same way and we can probably forget all about this conversation.

Nein, ich hätte dir sagen sollen, dass ich wollte, dass du mit uns kommst, bevor ich ging. Ich mache mir Sorgen, dass du vielleicht angefangen hast, jemand anderen zu mögen, jemanden, der weniger beschäftigt und besser ist als ich. Ich hatte zunächst Angst, als du nicht aufgetaucht bist, weil ich dachte, du wärst vielleicht mit jemand anderem zusammen und ich hätte dir zu spät gesagt, was ich wirklich für dich empfinde. Ich liebe dich, es ist mir egal, ob ich mitten im Gespräch oder während wir in der Öffentlichkeit sind auf Englisch umschalten muss. Es ist mir egal, wer uns in der Öffentlichkeit zusammen sieht. Ich will dich und ich brauche dich. Du müsst mir nicht sagen, dass es dir genauso geht, dann können wir dieses überhaltung wahrscheinlich ganz vergessen.

I will say i can speak German (not fluently) and sort of read and write it but I’m still learning and I really only got a chance to learn the very basics. So anything and everything helps me. And thank you in advance and sorry if it sounds stupid.

Okay first your German is amazing overall I would change just a little bit to make it more realistic (like more like you would actually say it and not to what you would probs learn) but yeah I only saw little mistakes so great job 👏🏼

Reader:

Ich weiß, dass ich zu spät gekommen bin und dass die Nachricht als gelesen wurde. Aber ich bin ehrlich, wenn ich dir sage, dass ich sie nicht gelesen hatte. Ich wusste, dass du und dein Team heute feiern würde. Also wollte ich dir die Zeit mit ihnen geben und dachte mir, ich würde mich mit einem Buch unterhalten. Während ich las, schloss ich mein Handy an das Ladegerät im Schlafzimmer. Mir fiel erst eine Stunde nach dem Absenden des Textes ein, dass es im Schlafzimmer war. Wäre ich nicht so dumm gewesen, hätte ich dich gefragt, ob du möchtest, dass ich während der Feier bei dir bin oder nur mit deinen Freunden und dir dann gesagt, was ich am Abend machen würde, damit du dir weniger Sorgen machst.

Syd:

Nein, ich hätte dir sagen sollen, dass ich wollte, dass du mitkommst, bevor ich gegangen bin. Ich hab mir Sorgen gemacht, dass du vielleicht angefangen hast, jemand anderen zu mögen, jemanden, der weniger beschäftigt und besser ist als ich. Ich hatte Angst, als du nicht aufgetaucht bist, weil ich dachte, du wärst vielleicht mit jemand anderem zusammen und ich hätte dir zu spät gesagt, was ich wirklich für dich empfinde. Ich liebe dich, es ist mir egal, ob ich mitten im Gespräch oder während wir in der Öffentlichkeit sind auf Englisch umschalten muss. Es ist mir egal, wer uns in der Öffentlichkeit zusammen sieht. Ich will dich und ich brauche dich. Du musst mir nicht sagen, dass es dir genauso geht und wir können diese ganze Unterhaltung einfach vergessen

Okay so I changed a few things but tried to be as close to what you wrote as possible, it’s not perfect as to what you would say but pretty much how you wound write it (hopefully I didn’t miss anything or did typos 🙈) But yeah I think it sounds good. Also I did mostly work with the German bits and improved that and only if something wasn’t clear took the English bits to help me, so the translation might not be 100%, if you want me to make sure of it just let me know and I cross check it 😊🫶🏼

[marvel-trash-bin]

Taking Risks.

(Not my Gif.)

Summary: Zemo gives you what he thinks you deserve. *Some TFATWS Ep. 3 Spoilers.*

Pairing: Zemo x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Smut for days baby. Dirty Talking, Possession, marking, Soft!Dom Zemo. 18+ Only.

Word Count: 4.2K

Tags: @greeneyedblondie44

A/N: Look we all know we're walking dangerous territory, simping for a war criminal. But Sugar Daddy Zemo got me feeling some type of way and also, Daniel Brüle is hot asf. Also, I don't actually know german so pls if it's off just blame google translate, I just have an insatiable language kink and I needed the pet names more than air itself. I thought about making this a chaptered fic, but I barely had the time to write this, never mind chapters of it before he likely fucks over Sam and Bucky next episode. Anyways, enjoy!

Here’s the thing.

You knew he was dangerous. You knew his past, the EKO Scorpion kill squad and everything with the Avengers, manipulating them and breaking them up from the inside. He was smart, unpredictable. You knew there was a very real potential that you could be hurt - or worse - if you went down the road.

And maybe, in a past life that would’ve been enough to stop you. But you weren’t who you used to be. You liked playing with fire now, inviting danger and chaos rather than straying from it. You had lived in - hid in, was more accurate - Madripoor for a handful of years now. You laid low, kept yourself under the radar of the Power Broker and those who worked for him. This way, no one bothered you and you could live fragments of a normal life, Trading and bartering to make a living. But living this way, like forgotten trash on a sidewalk, got old.

Maybe that’s why when you caught his attention, you didn’t shy away from it.

It had happened so fast. You were dancing, just intoxicated enough that the rubbing of strangers' bodies against yours was not just welcomed, but encouraged. So encouraged that when a new body, tall and firm behind you, took the place of another, you didn’t hesitate to back up into the warmth. His hands gripped your hips tightly, not stopping or guiding you, just resting. Turning your head slightly to see what your new dance partner looked like, you startled a little seeing the Baron.

Helmut chuckled, a low sound you felt rather than heard, and ducked his head down to speak into your ear, “You know who I am.”

You let your body relax back into his, feeling reckless enough to bless the menacing man with your flirtations, your head falling back onto his, “I’ve heard a thing or two.”

“And yet you trust me to hold you like this,” his hands flex on your hips, just hard enough to show the strength they hold, “Like a lover.”

You grab one of his hands, leading it down to your upper thigh where your knife holster sits, never once letting his hand leave your body.

“If I didn’t want you touching me, you’d know it, Baron.”

The gust of breath you felt against the side of your neck and the large hand gripping your thigh had shivers rolling pleasantly down your spine.

“You are far too beautiful to reside in these undergrounds,” he spun you around in his grasp, allowing you to get a good look at his face, “A woman like yourself should be treated with the most expensive riches, the finest wines. She should drain a man of his earnings.”

You laughed, not expecting the words that came from his mouth nor how handsome he was, even this close, “Point me to the man who’s willing.”

He smirked at you, but there was a smugness to it. A glimmer in his eye that suggested he had the riches and the desire to give you anything you wanted. You felt like you were drowning in his gaze, lost as you were under the heat of it. He looked somewhere behind you, pulling his eyes from you to nod once at whatever, or whoever, had stolen his attention from you. When they returned to you, the heat and desire were replaced with determination.

“It is with great regret that I must leave you, for now,” He captured your hand, bringing it up to his lips, the softness of them brushing lightly against your knuckles, “I can get you out of Madripoor, give you a life you deserve. If you meet me tomorrow morning, the airstrip.”

The world felt like it froze around you. The rational part of your brain was screaming at you. You couldn’t trust him. You Shouldn’t trust him. But as you stared into his eyes you saw nothing but honesty.

“And if I don’t?” You ask, just to buy yourself some time.

His hand travels up your arm, taking your chin between his thumb and pointer finger securely, “I will not pressure you. I’d leave you be, but the ghost of you would haunt me, schatzi.”

And with that, he was gone. Leaving you with nothing more than your thoughts, mentally preparing how quickly you could pack your things and leaving Madripoor behind. After all, you’ve always loved taking risks.

~

The next few weeks were a blur. Zemo was laying low, but his form of laying low was still luxury to you. It was private jets and upscale accommodations, not to mention that he was a man of his word. He spoiled you. Within three days of being in his presence, you had acquired a whole new wardrobe. Your suitcases - also new - were filled to the brim with the fanciest and latest fashion. You had rare jewels on nearly every piece of jewelry you owned. Maybe spoiled was an understatement. You’ve only dreamed of owning riches like these.

He had picked something particular for you to wear tonight, both of you making an appearance at some sort of party with some higher-ups. It was all laid out on the king-sized bed, a little black dress of sorts. It was short and sheer in its long sleeves, the sparkles in the fabric ensured that you would shimmer under any lighting. With a simple clutch, matching jewelry and a cropped, white fur jacket to keep you warm until you got to your destination. You looked good. You felt good.

He looked just as good. Sporting an outfit similar to the one you had met him in, instead choosing a dark red turtleneck to create a stunning relation between both your outfits. Nothing had happened between the two of you yet. Aside from lingering glances and innocent touches, he had been a gentleman. The chemistry was there, for sure. You were able to joke and talk with the man, matching his wit and charm every step of the way. And he loved it.

“Best behaviour tonight, schatzi.” He had said, low in your ear as you walked towards the venue.

You had smiled back at him, the perfect picture of innocence, “Always, Baron.”

And at the time, you had fully meant it. But you found yourself craving him. He looked too good, it honestly wasn’t fair. The way that ridiculous fur jacket draped over his shoulders, fostering a powerful ambience. And you knew he was faring no better himself if by the way his eyes were glued to your curves was anything to go by.

So, you decided, maybe you shouldn’t be on your best behaviour tonight. It’s not like you were making a scene or anything that would call too much attention. You were simply letting the alcohol take over your body. Whether that meant a hand on his thigh as you listened to the conversations around you, your fingers playing with the short hairs at the back of his neck or dancing a little too scandalously when you knew he was watching. You felt confident. And when you felt confident, you felt dangerous.

By the end of the night, you were teasing yourself just as much as you were him. You were pushing your luck, hands trailing a little too close to the bulge in his slacks, enjoying the way his facial features changed briefly in shock before settling back into that infuriating unmovable stoic impression. The last straw was you bending in front of him, having ‘dropped’ something from your purse. You only had to bend so much before the dress, as short as it was, had ridden up just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your panties.

In an instant, he had you standing upright, thanking whoever he had been talking to for a wonderful night, tugging your dress back down to a respectable length and steering you towards the door by the back of your neck.

“That was not best behaviour,” he growled into your ear.

You giggled, despite the tight grip on your neck, “I was just having fun.”

He had done nothing but stare at you, eyes hard with a warning that had you rethinking your actions. You had forgotten, for a moment, that this man was not just someone to give you all the pretty trinkets you wore. He was a mastermind, a criminal mastermind at that. A man most deemed dangerous enough to be locked away.

“You have been bad tonight, kleine Schlampe.” He said once he had gotten you back to his car, away from the prying eyes and ears of the party guests, “You will spend the trip back thinking of ways to make it up to me.”

The words sent heat through your core, and you did exactly as he said.

~

By the time he had gotten you up to your accommodations, you had thought of thousands of different scenarios that could earn you forgiveness for your recklessness. You were uncertain if his words earlier had implied sexual favours, or if a simple, genuine apology was all he was looking for. However, once he had turned to you, the room door closing behind him and his eyebrows raised expectantly, you fell to your knees in front of him like it was second nature.

He chuckles darkly at you as he peels his gloves off, tossing them gently onto a side table nearby before letting one hand brush away the hair that had fallen in your face.

“Seems you are meine kleine schlampe indeed,” You had no idea what it meant, but fuck it sounded good coming from him. His eyes were hard and dark as he stared down at you, “If this is the path you’ve chosen to apologize, so be it. But not here, you are meine schlampe not a common whore. Get up. Go to the bedroom.”

You did as he said, quickly pulling yourself up to a standing position and walking to the designated room. The bed, so far, had only been used by you. He hadn’t wanted to push or pressure you into sharing a space with him. He understood that just because you decided to join him, didn’t mean you wanted to be with him. But tonight, you had decided, you wanted to give him your everything. You wanted to show him how grateful you were for all the gifts he’d given you so far. And if you couldn’t give him luxuries, you would give him your desire.

“So,” he began, nodding in approval at the way you resume your position on the floor in front of him, “Let’s begin with the basics.” As he talked, he rolled up his sleeves, doing so with precision, “Tell me, what exactly are you apologizing for?”

He commands every drop of your attention. There’s an aura to him that you had only previously caught a glimpse of. His eyes dark and locked onto yours, never once wavering. Waiting. Calculating.

“For teasing you.”

“And?”

You take a breath, shame flooding your core at the answer that sits on your tongue.

“For embarrassing you.”

There’s a pause. He cocks his head, gaze softening just a tad. He's quiet for several moments, analyzing your words. Your heart starts to beat a little faster at the extended silence, thinking you’ve done something wrong and you can’t keep up the eye contact. You duck your head, averting your gaze to his feet.

“Look at me, schatzi.” His voice is soft, but still with enough edge to make you listen.

Only once your eyes meet his again does he continue.

“That’s very sweet of you, to be concerned about my image. But make no mistake,” He steps closer to you, letting one hand cup your jaw, tilting it upwards. His thumb brushes against your bottom lip, “You could never embarrass me,”

You dip your head, nipping softly at his thumb. He smiles softly at you, something glimmering in his eye, “I simply just don’t like to share what’s mine.”

Your breath leaves your body at his words and suddenly the need for him to claim you had you nearly vibrating in your skin. You watch, every muscle in your body clenched tightly, as he walks slowly over to the armchair in the corner, never once taking his eyes off you. He sits, legs parted, one arm draped off the side, the other rested so he could prop his head up.

“Proceed.”

Instantly, you make your way over to him. Once in front of him, you stand up on your knees, placing your hands on his knees and slowly sliding them up his thighs. They continue its upward motion, skimming lighting over the hardness in his pants and reaching to start on his belt. You make quick work of his belt and buttons, eagerly working his pants and briefs down. He chuckles above you.

“Mein Schatz, so eager to apologize.” He purrs, almost mockingly, hand coming down to brush the fallen hair away from your face.

Once you had him free, you took a second to admire him. Your legs clenched at the size of him. Not terribly big, but big enough to anticipate the stretch, the fullness. Your eyes flicked back up, looking up at his through your lashes, leaning in but stopping just before you could actually get your mouth on him. The hand that was previously fixing your hair was now clenched in it, messing it up again and forcing your head back suddenly to look at him properly.

“It would not be wise to tease me more than you have,” he warned.

A smirk spread across your features and you quickly realized how much you liked him like this.

Powerful.

Strict.

However, you knew you were on thin ice already. With that in mind, as soon as his grip loosened you licked a wide stripe up his length, swirling your tongue around the tip before taking him fully into your mouth. The tension his body held melted the second your tongue touched him. His mouth dropping on a soft groan. His hand stroked your hair as you sucked, encouraging the bobs of your head, not forcing but guiding. You keep your eyes trained on his face, not wanting to miss a second of experiencing him like this.

He glows in the low lamplight of the room, the shadows playing across his features delicately. You like him like this too. Reduced to a heap of gasps and moans beneath the heat of your mouth. As you suck, your hands wander, up under the fabric of his shirt, nails dragging down his sides. He hisses at the pain, but doesn’t tell you to stop.

After a few minutes of your slow torture, he decides he’s had enough. His hand tightens in your hair, his movements becoming less gentle and more demanding.

“That’s a good girl, take it all for me.”

You do as he asks, taking a breath before taking him as deep as you can. He groans at the feeling, hips shifting a few times to test you before beginning to thrust in and out of your mouth. Your jaw aches, but his eyes are on you and his thumb is tracing your bottom lip that’s stretched wide around his cock and you think for a second that you could spend eternity like this.

It’s not much longer before he pulls you off his cock, hand wrapping around his base tightly, “Apologies, schatzi. I am out of practice, and I fear I'm not quite finished with you yet.”

You laugh softly, voice rough due to your previous activity, “That’s okay, I don’t mind.” You insist, more than happy to let him finish like this. Whatever he wants.

He stops you before you can dip down again, standing up and taking you with him. For the first time, his lips are on yours. He overwhelms all your senses. His breath loud in your ears, his hands on your waist, his scent. His tongue slides against yours as he walks you forward, shedding his lower clothing as he goes. He only parts to give you an order.

“Turn around.”

As you do, he finishes undressing and it kills you that can’t see him. Just as quickly as the thought crosses your mind, it’s gone as you feel his hands at the top of your dress. He slides the zipper down, letting the fabric fall off your shoulders. You take the liberty of helping the sleeves the rest of the way down, the fabric falling down around your heels once you’ve done so. He hums behind you.

“Such beauty,” he whispers against your shoulder. His hands begin to wander, around your waist, up underneath the fabric of your bra, down to your thighs and ass. He chuckles, dragging your panties down enough that they too fall, forgotten at your feet, “I can hardly stay mad at you, liebling.”

Your head falls back onto his shoulders as he works your bra off next. You shiver, feeling bare and exposed before him. You want him more than you can express and you let your whole body fall back into his embrace, whimpering at the feeling of him, hard against the swell of your ass.

“Helmut,” you moan, one of your hands finding purchase in his hair as the other rests on one of his forearms.

“Tell me you’re mine, Schatzi. And I’ll give you anything you want.”

“I’m yours,” you say without hesitation, breathless as his hand dips between your legs, finding your clit. He hums, pleased at the arousal he finds there, “I’m yours. Only yours.”

He growls pulling his hand away from, “Lay back on the bed. I’ll be right back.”

You do as he says, positioning yourself in the middle of the bed. While you wait, you let your mind wander, listening to his rummaging somewhere in another room while your mind runs through everything you want him to do to you. At some point, your eyes must close because when you feel the bed dip, they open to see him crawling between your legs.

He’s done messing around, wasting no time before his face is buried between your thighs, hands maneuvering your legs so that they’re thrown over his shoulders, your heels crossing sweetly behind his head, no doubt scratching at his shoulders. Your breath leaves your body at the feeling of his tongue, warm and wet and fan-fucking-tastic. He alternates between dipping it in and out of your heat and flicking it against your clit. Your hand finds his hair, gripping it between your fingers and guiding his movements ever so slightly. His eyes don’t leave yours, spare for the few times he closes them to moan against you.

One of his hands move, leaving its place at your hip to sink two fingers into you. Your head falls back on a moan, back arching up when he crooks his fingers and finds your g-spot.

“Fuck,” you gasp, one hand gripping the pillow behind your head as you feel your orgasm rush towards you, “Fuck- Wait, I-”

You can’t even feel embarrassed about how easily your body has reacted to him. Before you can warn him much more, you're falling over the edge. Your thighs tensing around his head, back arching in pleasure as you ride out your high. In this moment you belong completely to him, unable to think of anything else.

“So sweet for me, liebling.” He comments, hands rubbing up and down your calves as you come down, taking a moment to unfasten your heels, letting the shoes drop to the floor before leaning back in. His lips brush against your inner thigh.

Then a bite.

“Such pretty sounds you make for me.”

And then he’s sucking harshly at the skin there, watching the shudder that rips through your sensitive body at the sensation. He doesn’t pull away until the mark is dark and flush against your skin. He continues this on the other thigh, on your ribs, your breasts and finally your neck, marking you thoroughly.

“Mine.” He growls, hot against your ear, “Mein schatz, will you let me have you?” he asks, and it’s literally all you can think about so you don’t even bother hiding the truth, the confession tumbling from your lips breathlessly.

“I’d let you do anything to me.”

He groans, capturing your lips in a deep kiss as he does so. He pulls away to grab the condom that he had put next to him on the bed and leaning back on his haunches to roll it on. You’re so impatient, nails digging into his thighs and arms, whining as you watch his hands work.

“So needy,” He comments, swallowing your moan as he finally, finally, sinks into you.

The stretch as he enters you has your head rolling back on a moan, your legs wrapping around his waist the bring him the rest of the way in. He buries his head in the crook of your neck, growling against the skin there.

“Fuck,” he groans through gritted teeth, his resolve quickly slipping at the feeling of you around his cock. And to his credit, he really tries to wait, to be good. But not seconds later he’s adjusting his grip on your hips and he’s thrusting into you with a force that makes the whole bed shake.

It’s barely been 30 seconds, but the build-up that had occurred throughout the entirety of the night had you right back on the edge, your nails clawing at his shoulders, his back, his thighs. Any purchase you could get on him, you were begging for more. You’d take anything he gave you without so much as batting an eyelash. His grip on your hips is tight and bruising, but the pain twists into a delicious pleasure that only spurs you on.

You must be speaking, babbling something back to him about how good it feels, how much you love being fucked by him because he’s laughing through a moan against your neck. He pauses for just a second, straightening up and throwing one of your legs over his shoulder before continuing to fuck you.

“That’s it Kätzchen.” He purrs, eyes moving down your body to where he enters your body, “Taking my cock so well.”

You mewl at the praise, your body arching in response to his words. Your second orgasm takes you both by surprise, having hit you like a fucking freight train when he thrusts particularly deep, hitting one of your sweet spots. You scramble for purchase on him, mouth dropped open in a near-pornographic moan that you’ll surely be embarrassed about later. But for now, all you know is pleasure.

His hips falter, stuttering as your walls tighten around him. His head falls back on a low moan, fucking you hard and slow through your release.

“Such a sweet cunt,” he gasps, “Mein Gott..”

And then he’s tangling your hands together, holding it high above your head as he pushes your thighs back, flush against your chest. He’s the one babbling now, words from God only knows what language, whispered against your skin as he chases his own release. He gives one last hard thrust and he’s done, his teeth dragging against the skin on your shoulder, moaning against you as he rides out his orgasm.

As you both come down, you stroke the back of his neck, playing with the hairs there, trying to catch your breath. After a few moments, he pulls away just enough to kiss you. There’s a lingering heat and it’s a little messy due to your shared exhaustion but it’s good.

Once you’ve both caught your breath, he removes himself from your body, taking the necessary time to deal with the condom. You watch him lazily, unable to do much other than that. You’re so tired. But there’s that ache between your legs that you love so much and you think briefly that you could go another round, if he wanted to.

He must see something in your eyes when he returns because he laughs softly, “I feel I may have my hands full with you, schatzi.” he says as he crawls back into the bed with you, covering the both of you with a blanket, the cold now biting at your skin. You know you have to get up soon enough to sort yourself out before bed, but for a moment you stay with him.

His fingers brush over your face softly, following the slope of your nose and the angle of your cheeks. There’s no real purpose to his movements, just... touching. As if convincing himself that you’re real.

“You are special, schatzi.” he says softly, “I don’t know what your plans are, but I can only hope that you choose to continue to bless me with your presence.”

This man is such an enigma to you. He carries such confidence in every aspect of his life and yet he still doubts your loyalties. There’s anxiety and pain hidden within him, you can see it in his eyes as he continues to look at you. You wonder, how much of his past weighs on his shoulders. How long before he deems himself worthy of your affection? You lean in to kiss him softly, your lips dragging slowly against him. When you pull away you keep him close, brushing your noses together.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

[babybluebex]

next week [baron zemo x reader]

summary ↠ you're hired to give a message to a german prisoner, but you never expected to actually take a liking to him. pairing ↠ baron helmut zemo x fem!reader (y/n) word count ↠ 2.9k warnings ↠ explicit language, a bit of nonsexual choking, zemo calls you a bitch a/n ↠ after a week, here she is!! also, if there's demand for it... part 2? until then, enjoy! masterlist/taglist in bio!

The prison felt cold and unforgiving, and you instinctively wrapped your arms around yourself. You followed the guard down the halls, twists and turns with no hope of remembering the correct way out.You figured that they had designed it that way on purpose; nobody could leave and escape if the way out was a labyrinth. Finally, you were led to a man sitting at a desk. His eyes followed you as you approached, and it was only once you were fully in front of him did he speak. “Name?” he asked in German, and you cleared your throat. Your German was shaky, but would have to do.

“Zemo,” you replied. “I’m here for visitation with my husband.”

The man laughed a bit. “Pretty girl visiting her man in prison,” he mumbled. “Such a waste. Take off your jacket, Frau Zemo.”

You had no reason to be nervous, but you still shook a bit when you slid your jacket off and held your arms out for the necessary pat-down. But, as you pondered it, you actually had quite a lot to be scared of. The past three days had been hell, for sure. It started with a firm knock on your apartment door in your home of New York City, and you had opened it to see a man with a metal arm and surprisingly kind eyes. He had introduced himself as simply James, and he had told you that he needed you to do something for him.

“I know you’re Sokovian,” James had explained. “I found your name on a registry of citizens that were moved to the US following the Sokovia incident a few years back. If you do this for me, I’ll help you get access to the city ruins. You were young when you lost your parents, yeah? I know the feeling. Not having closure is… Awful. Wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But, in order to do that, I need you to do something for me?”

You had looked James up and down. “What is the something?” you asked.

“I have a friend,” he began and gave a little wince. “Acquaintance. Umm, I know someone who’s in a German prison right now, and he’s going to be a big help to me and my business partner. All you need to do is go in and give him a message.”

“What sort of message?”

“‘Winter’s coming soon. Next week, I imagine.’ Has to be that, verbatim; don’t say anything about who sent you or why. I’ve already got the meeting and everything set up, you just need to go visit him and give him that message.”

“What does that mean?” you asked.

James had hesitated for a moment, tapping his metal fingers against the arm of his chair. “It’s better if you didn’t know,” he said. “I need as little people involved here as possible. I would go in and give him the message myself, but I’m kind-of a wanted man myself. Will you help us?”

James had been thorough in setting up the meeting, even going as far as purchasing a gently-used set of rings for you to wear. He told you that this man, Helmut Zemo, had been in prison for seven years for a variety of things, the heftiest being murder. “He was justified, though,” James said, and you pretended not to notice his small “I guess.”

The guard said something into his radio unit, and you caught enough of it to know that he was approving you to enter. You knew nothing about this Helmut Zemo other than what James had told you, only the bare basics. Sokovian, had a family that was killed at the same time as yours. According to James, Zemo wasn’t dangerous. He would be more confused than anything, he told you. But, no matter what Zemo did, if he denied he had in you no right, you had to keep with it and deliver the message in a natural way. You were his wife, and you were happy to see him.

The light flicked on over the bed, and Zemo gave a quiet grunt of disdain. It was four in the afternoon, and he always asked for the light to be off. Four was when other prisoners were granted visitation, but he had nobody. Stupid light must have accidentally been triggered.

“Zemo!” he heard a guard call from down the hall, and he pulled himself from bed and approached the plexiglass divider that separated him from freedom. “I thought you said you don’t have a wife!”

“I don’t!” Zemo called back, an irritated edge in his voice.

He finally saw the guard turn the corner and approach, and his eyes instantly fixed on the girl that was trailing behind him. She was young, much, much younger than him, and strikingly beautiful. Maybe it was the seven years in jail, but he could have sworn that he was looking at an angel. She seemed nervous, and Helmut focused his gaze on the rings on her left hand. Before he could speak up and correct the guard that this woman wasn’t his wife, she spoke up. “My God,” she whispered in a soft English, her voice heavy with a familiar Sokovian accent. “Helmut, you look… Tired, my love.”

Zemo tried to gauge the woman. She seemed too green to be an assassin, so at least that was something. And she knew his name. How did she know his name? “I am tired, mein lieber,” he sighed, and he pressed his palms up against the glass. She stepped closer and did the same, laying her hands just opposite his, and he examined her rings. Small, simple, unassuming. Props. “You’re so beautiful.”

You gave a small laugh, one that you hoped sounded like a woman whose husband had complimented her. Did he really mean it? Or had he caught onto the act as well? He seemed smart, you had to admit. And he was handsome too. Though his eyes were dull and dark with exhaustion, they were still a lovely brown. His hair was messy but showed hints of ginger in the dark locks, and his scruffy facial hair accented his soft jaw. However exhausted he was, he was still quite the looker. And he was the first full-blooded Sokovian that you had willingly met since the incident. “Can I hold him?” you asked the guard, lowering your voice and tightening your throat to try to feign emotion. “Please?”

The guard blinked slowly, and he nodded. He translated the request through his radio, and, just a moment later, there was the loud buzz as the cell door was unlocked, and it slowly creaked open. You wasted no time in meeting Zemo at the door and throwing your arms around him, and he held you with the strength of a thousand men as you dug your face into his neck. He shushed you gently, stroking your back, and he pressed his mouth to your temple in a fake kiss. “Why’re you here?” he mumbled through gritted teeth, praying the guard hadn’t noticed it. “Who are you?”

“I missed you,” you whimpered into his neck. “I’m sorry, Helmut, but I moved to the States, and I couldn’t exactly tell people who I was or who you were or why I was living in New York alone but married--”

Zemo moved his lips from your temple to your mouth, and he captured you in a slow and deliberate kiss. Whatever game you were playing, he would join. What’s a bit of fun? Anyway, seven years was a long time to not even touch a woman. If he wanted to kiss you, you would let him. According to the stories James had told you about his family, you figured that he deserved it.

You finally pulled out of the kiss and embraced the man once more, and you mumbled, “It’s so cold in here, Helmut. How do you manage?”

“I make do, mein lieber,” Zemo said. “At least you’re here to keep me warm now.”

“Not for very long,” you said softly. Then, you looked over your shoulder at the guard, and you asked, “Ten minutes, yes?”

The guard nodded silently, and you turned back to Zemo. “Well,” you started, breaking away from him and passing your hand over your cheek to wipe up (nonexistent) tears. “Show me your room.”

Zemo gave a small smile and took your hand, the one with the rings, and you pulled you into the cell. You weren’t lying; it was awfully cold. The room was devoid of much of anything, just the bed and a small sink and toilet in the corner. Books were stacked up beside the bed, all dog-eared and torn at the corners, and a small woven mat was in front of the bed.

“You’ve taken good care of them,” Zemo said suddenly, and you looked away from the stack of books to see him holding your hand up to see the rings. “I figured you wouldn’t even wear them after…”

“What makes you think that?” you asked gently. “I married you, I’d never pretend I didn’t.”

“I love you,” Zemo said quickly, nearly interrupting your sentence. “I missed you.”

You nodded silently, and Zemo tugged you into him once more. His arms were tight around your waist, his hand stroking up and down your back, and he laid a small kiss on your neck. Zemo kept his mouth at your pulse point for long enough to gauge just how fast your heart was beating, and he nodded to himself. A spy of some sort. But what did you want?

You looked at the glass wall of the cell, and you saw that the guard had stepped away, and suddenly every piece of James’ plan fell into place in your mind. Like James said, he couldn’t give Zemo the message himself, and it would be weird for someone like James’ partner to come visit Zemo in prison, especially after seven years of absolutely nobody, so someone else would have to do. You, a young Sokovian girl, Zemo’s wife, made sense. But after seven years, what wouldn’t make sense was if the married couple’s first meeting was just a conversation through a wall. No, the only way it made sense was if it was a conjugal visit.

Fuck.

Apparently, Zemo had caught onto this quicker than you had. His mouth on your neck pulled away in exchange for your lips, his hands captured your waist, and he tugged you fully into him so that your bodies were flushed together. Your anxiety made a quick squeak fall from your mouth, and you covered it with a giggle; you were sure that, even though the guard was gone, you were still being watched. “Seven years hasn’t dulled your charms, so it seems,” you said, and Zemo laughed.

“Of course not,” he chuckled. His hands slid up your body, carefully delving under your shirt, and he added, “I haven’t seen you in so long, it’s almost like I’m starting from the beginning.” He pulled out of the kiss, and you saw his eyes canvasing you, and he said, “My name’s Helmut. And yours, beautiful lady?”

“Goodness,” you huffed. “You’ve already married me, silly.”

“Indulge me, mein lieber,” Zemo said. Even though it was an act for the security cameras, he truly wanted to know your name. Maybe, with that, he could piece together why you were there. “Won’t you play my little game?”

You rolled your eyes, but played along. You told him your name, and he gave you a tight smile. “Beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” he said gently, and you could see that he really meant it. Married or not, you could tell that Zemo-- Helmut-- was grateful for your presence. “Can I offer you a dance, mein lieber?”

You pressed your arms around his neck and laid your head on his chest, and he squeezed you in a tight hug. Softly, he began to hum something in your ear, only for the two of you to hear, and he sighed as the two of you began to sway to his humming.

“Who are you?” he whispered, planting a kiss on the side of your face. “Who sent you?”

You swallowed thickly. You remembered that James had instructed you not to speak of him, and you mumbled, “I can’t imagine how it must feel to be here.”

“What are you talking about?” Zemo snarled, and he pushed his leg in-between yours as an “explanation” for the sudden change in temper. “I asked who you are.”

“Helmut, you have to trust me,” you whispered quickly.

“Trust?” he huffed. “You come in here, lying about yourself, and ask me to trust you? You, the bitch who claims to be my wife? That’s a big ask, sweetheart.”

“I--” you began. You really didn’t want to anger James by breaking from the meticulous plan he had made up, but you were more afraid of the man between your legs at the moment. He was a more urgent threat. You took fistfuls of Zemo’s off-ginger hair and pulled him closer, pressing your forehead against his, and you whispered, “A man came to my apartment two days ago. He said he needed my help, and he told me to come here and deliver a message.”

To the outside onlooker, when Zemo put his hand on your throat, it might have looked innocent. Not truly innocent, but certainly harmless. But it scared you shitless. His fingers were strong, and his thumb dug straight into your windpipe. It hurt, and your throat immediately began to burn with the urge for breath. “I’ll ask again,” he said easily. His eyes were a new sort of dark, not by exhaustion or confusion or arousal, but by rage. “Who sent you here?”

“I don’t know who he is,” you said quickly. “I only know his first name.”

“Which is?”

“James,” you choked out. “Light eyes, dark hair, prosthetic arm.”

Zemo’s grip loosened for only a moment, but then his thumb went back to its place. “He sent you to give me a message, didn’t he?” he asked. “About the winter. What did he say?”

You felt lightheaded, but you tried to stand your ground. “It comes in a week,” you said quickly. “Please let go of me.”

“Why you?” Zemo asked. “Of everyone in the world, why you?”

“My mother was killed in Sokovia,” you said, and fought back the urge to gag. “I only found out because I heard her name on the radio. Her apartment is still there, and James promised me that he could bypass the military blockade and get me there to say goodbye.”

Zemo’s hand fell slack around your throat, then off altogether. He took a small step back, and his eyes fell to the floor as his brain whirred to life. “He lied to you,” Zemo said carefully. “There’s nothing left. Not when I last went, and certainly not now.”

Your heart sank, and you pressed your hand to your neck, right where he had been. “You’re lying,” you said. “Th-There has to be something there.”

“That military blockade is there to keep people from settling on the land,” Zemo said. “Most of it was taken by surrounding countries, but the worst of it was… Is, just barren land. There’s nothing left for you to mourn.”

“How do you know?” you sniffled. “You’ve been in prison for nearly a decade.”

“Because I was there,” Zemo said. “My wife, son, and father were killed there. You wasted your time coming here; James can’t do anything for you.”

You hesitated for a second, then said, “But you can, right?”

Zemo froze. It was momentary, and you wouldn’t have noticed it if you yourself hadn’t said the words that triggered it, but he let out a heavy breath and resumed with the close-quarters dancing, his grip suddenly gentle again. “What makes you think that, mein lieber?”

“I’m not stupid,” you chuckled lightly. “I was young when I lived in Sokovia, but I recognized you when I saw you. Baron Helmut Zemo, locked up in a German prison; how aristocratic is that?”

“I have no power anymore,” Zemo mumbled. Sometimes, he nearly forgot his lineage, especially since the country he served didn’t exist anymore past his memories. “I cannot do anything.”

“Right,” you whispered slowly. “I figured as much... Who is James?”

“A man that I used to know,” Zemo said. “A man that I’ve never been friendly with, which is why I’m surprised that he would seek me out. He didn’t say why he was coming, did he?”

You shook your head, and Zemo laughed humourlessly. “Of course he didn’t,” he mused. “Shouldn’t have expected that… Next week? Guess I have to keep you here, make sure I stay plenty warm, huh?”

“I wish,” you chuckled. “You are rather cute, Helmut.”

Helmut Zemo laughed, the tops of his cheeks going pink. “And you tease me about my charms,” he said, his voice finally above a whisper; suddenly, the act of estranged husband and wife was back. You could easily pass off the bought of anger and crying as Helmut being too passionate, as Sokovians tended to be. “If you don’t watch yourself, Y/N, I might have to marry you all over again.”

[natromanxoff]

Mercury Roadrunner's Interview about Freddie Mercury with Peter Freestone – Part II

Thanks very much to Mercury Roadrunner (Pavel Strashnyy) for letting me share his amazing interviews! Originally shared here.

Check the tag "MR interview with Phoebe" to see the other parts. Here are the 3 main topics of this interview, beginning of each topic is written in bold:

1. Language skills

2. Music videos, Garden Lodge

3. Celebrity friends, leg damage story, Joe Fanelli, relationship between band members, Freddie's last days

PS: So here is our second part and the first topic is about Freddie’s language skills:

Did he actually know only the English language or did he also know the Gujarati language or any other languages?

PF: When his parents were in Garden Lodge or if he called his mother on the telephone, he only spoke English. I suppose, he must have understood Gujarati, because, okay, in the school he was taught English, but before the school, when he was in Zanzibar and he would have been with is parents, so I would have thought they would have been speaking in Gujarati.

He had about twenty words of German after living in Munich for so many years. He couldn’t speak German, but I think he understood the language, if he was paying attention, because most of the people around him were talking English, so he never really had the need to learn German. Although, saying that, one of his partners, Winnie, was German and did not speak a lot of English, but then he had Barbara to do the translating.

PS: The second topic is about a very special song “Mad The Swine”, which was recorded in 1972, but was released only in 1991 as a B side of “Headlong” single. Why, after so many years, Freddie decided to come back to it and release it?

PF: Freddie knew that “Innuendo” was going to be his last complete album and I think that this song had a special place in his heart, there were something about it, and as far as he was concerned, it never got an airing he felt it deserved and the rest of the band was happy to put it on.

PS: I mentioned the “Headlong” song and you can be seen in some archival footage of making of the “Headlong” video, you help to lay the Queen members on the shelves. What are your memories about that day?

PF: I was just there to help them. When they are making a video, they don’t need someone to take care of costumes, because there is a costume person, there is a makeup person, everybody is there to do something. And so I was there for Freddie, looking after him, and it just seemed natural to help out. And the band would feel more comfortable if that was someone that they know who would help to put them on the shelves rather than some technician turning up and trying to do it. And this moment with selves wasn’t’ planned. That wasn’t in the storyboard, it’s just that they saw it, there were four shelves so they just thought “Well, why not? Let’s do something crazy”. And the idea must have come from the band member, because Rudi would have seen all the possibilities when he was checking out where they were going to be doing the filming, and if he had thought of using the shelves, that would be one of the ideas put in the beginning.

PS: There are also some parts where we can see you in “The Great Pretender Extended Version” video - can you remember anything about it?

PF: It was just a big long laugh. There is not one part of the making of the actual scenes that they are not laughing and smiling. Roger, Peter and Freddie – they just clicked, it all worked. Nobody had to be bigger than the next one, nobody had to take the spotlight, and they just were there, having a good time.

PS: What is your personal favourite memory from that day?

PF: Personally, for me it is watching the recording of the six girls –you know, both of the backing group were girls, they were wearing two different outfits – and watching the recordings, when they were recording the one group of three and then the other group of three, the costumes they got in to and what they did – you couldn’t help but feel really-really happy. They were actually standing on the same platform when they were recorded. And then, of course, they used computer graphics to put two different groups on the screen at the same time. Just watching three of them there on the platform, waving their hands goodbye, it brings back the memories of those groups of backing singers in the sixties.

PS: What are your memories of making of the “Breakthru” video?

PF: I remember that it was probably the hottest night of the year, no sleep, because it was just so hot and humid. They had a huge problem with the opening scene, and they shot that last in fact. But they had a huge problem because when the engine went into the tunnel it caused air pressure so that that polystyrene wall burst out a long time before the engine arrived. So they tried it earlier on and that’s when they found that that’s what happened, and then they had to do playing around with it during the day, there was people doing that while the rest of the filming was going on, and then they had to sort of re-do it and it was the last shot. And the engine was actually already in the tunnel before it started getting up a bit of speed. And it wasn’t going as fast as people think it does, so that it looked right. It was a fun day. Only the band and the actual film crew were allowed on the flatbed, where the band were performing, because of the way it was being filmed, you could easily be in shot, so the less people that were there – the better. John was having a ball, I remember him laughing a lot, he was enjoying himself. And there was a normal carriage, like a dining car, but old, 1930-1940s, and that was where we would have food and drink. And it was wonderful. It’s a working old train line, it’s a tourist thing, but it’s great, it’s really-really nice and it’s not that far away from London. And Freddie was enjoying the shooting. I was surprised when I saw what he was doing on that flatbed, he was leaning over the edge as the train was going along, but again, it looks faster than it was. It really was only going at about 25-30 kilometers an hour. But it’s made to look as though they are speeding along.

PS: And what was the very first Queen video you were presented on?

PF: The very first video that I was involved with was “Save Me”, because it was shot during two shows of the “Crazy Tour”, I think it was at “The Rainbow” and it was shot at “Alexandra Palace”. Because it was the mix of the live action, the cartoon girl, the bird – and that was the hardest thing – to get Freddie to almost catch the bird, the pigeon. They had to re-film it for about 15 times. And it was where David Mallet, the director, fell of the stage into the orchestra pit. Everybody panicked for a few minutes, but then he stuck his head up “Oh, I’m alright”. It was about 2-3 meters he felled. And then followed all the post-production with the girl, with the cartoon, and how they blended the live pigeon to become the cartoon one and all that sort of work – all of it was done afterwards and it was done before Christmas 1979.

PS: And what was the very last Queen video you were presented on?

PF: “I’m Going Slightly Mad” video. I remember the penguin on the couch moment. Actually most of all I remember the way Diana was with Freddie, because she just took such a good care of him, she had special thermal underwear made for Freddie, because right from my meeting with Freddie in 1979 I remember the easiest thing for Freddie was to feel cold. And it only got worse the more sick he got. And she had special thermal underwear made for him that went underneath the shirt and the suit. She just was there for him all the time and it was just wonderful to see.

PS: And did Freddie usually have cold hands or he had normal temperature of hands?

PF: He could have normal warm hands, but often they would be cold. So maybe he could have a blood circulation problem.

PS: Can you remember something about the shooting of “I Want It All” video?

PF: I don’t think I was at that one, because that would have been Joe, Joe Fanelli would have been there, because we sort of took in turns – he would go to one, I would not, I’ll do all the stuff at home, then I would go to one and he would stay at home.

PS: And it was also the same for you take the turns in concerts?

PF: No, I was on tours with Freddie from 1979 till 1985 and then Joe took over from the last part of 1985 and 1986.

PS: And why you stopped going on tours and Joe took that part?

PF: Because Garden Lodge had been completed and to keep the insurance cover someone had to be living there, so I got to live there. I moved in six months before Freddie did. And Freddie moved in in the middle-end 1985. Because what we did was – Freddie was at Mary’s home and Terry and I took Oscar and Tiffany away from Stafford Terrace. Because Freddie was supposed to move in and he kept putting it off again and again, he said “I’ll do it tomorrow”, “I’ll do it at the weekend”, there was always a reason, an excuse, so what Terry and I did – we went and kidnapped Oscar and Tiffany and took them to Garden Lodge. And then, when Freddie went home and he was looking for the cats, Terry said: “No, they are not here, they are at your other home” – and Freddie moved within two days.

PS: And what was it like living with Freddie in Garden Lodge? What are your first memories of start of living there?

PF: At that point I was living above the kitchen. Joe and I had rooms that were above the kitchen, just up those stairs. And it just felt strange just to be living in that house. The thing is, I’ve been living with Freddie for years, because whenever we were in hotels it was always a two bedroom suit, so I knew how he was, what he would do, what he needed in the morning, how the moods could change, that was all standard, that was all normal. The difference was being in the luxury of Garden Lodge, knowing that it was a house, not the hotel, and the fact that he had made us promise, both Joe and myself, that we would treat this place as our home. It wasn’t just work and somewhere to stay because of work – it was our home.

Some houses have energy, they have a feeling, and while Freddie was in Garden Lodge it was a really warm, friendly house.

PS: And the atmosphere in the house changed almost at the moment Freddie passed away, right?

PF: Literally. For me, while he was still alive, even in those last minutes, it was still the same house, but literally within minutes, while we were waiting for the doctor, it just became bricks and mortar, it just became somewhere to sleep, somewhere to live.

PS: You mentioned living together with Freddie in hotels, but do you remember living with Freddie in some flats or houses before Garden Lodge?

PF: We were living in his apartment in New York. The way it was set up there were two bedrooms, sitting room, dining room, kitchen, a maid’s room and a sort of TV room.

And later we lived together for six months in Los Angeles. Recording “The Works”. They rented the big house for Freddie. A nice house, big-big house. It belonged to a doctor, who just constantly rented it out to stars, who needed somewhere to stay while they were filming. Elizabeth Taylor apparently stayed there, George Hamilton was there, lots of different film stars used it. It was a big house in nice big gardens, it had a swimming pool, had a tennis court, you know, it all the things you need.

PS: And it was actually two of you living there together?

PF: Yeah, Freddie and me. And Terry was there too, to drive.

PS: And speaking of Freddie’s New York Times, can you actually remember what was his the most favourite part of the city?

PF: Most evenings he would end up down on Christopher street, which is down near Greenwich Village. Because there were bars around there, clubs around there, restaurants around there, everything was there in that area, in the West Village.

PS: Our next topic is about Freddie Mercury and George Michael; we can see them together at “Barcelona” album launch party and Queen 20th anniversary party – do you remember the interaction between them?

PF: They actually met up at Live Aid, after it finished. We had to stay in the bar, because there were absolutely no way any cars were going to get out of the stadium area, because of the traffic and everything. And that was the very first time that they actually met. Freddie admired him, he thought George had a great talent both in writing and in singing, but there was no special friendship, because Freddie didn’t create big friendships with other musicians. He preferred, so to say, normal people. And also he enjoyed actors and actresses, their company, more than other musicians, because the way he felt, most musicians just wanted to talk about music and he had many more interests. So, yes, if Freddie and George were in the same place, then yes, they would meet up and they would chat about what was going on in their lives, but most of it was always about work. Their conversations would always be like “what was the tour like” and they would laugh, because they would make jokes about what they had been doing. Freddie could make a joke out of any situation. He didn’t tell anecdotes as such, but he could see something and he could make a joke out of it.

PS: As you mentioned Freddie having friends among actors and actresses, could you remember some of them?

PF: Anita Dobson, Debby Bishop, Carol Wood, Pam Ferris, Susannah York. One he would like to have met and she lived literally just across the road, but it never came, was Diana Rigg. And he was incredibly happy when I gave him an autograph from Honor Blackman. I met her and I said “Could I have an autograph, please”, she says “yes, of course, who’s it for?” and I said “it’s just for my friend, Freddie”. And he was overjoyed with it and he kept it in his bedside drawer.

PS: And who was his favourite actors?

PF: Franco Nero, James Mason, Laurence Olivier. And he got to meet him, so that was another of Freddie’s absolute joys. Dave Clark took Freddie to dinner at Laurence Olivier’s house. It was when they were working on “The Time” musical.

PS: And it was actually very last Freddie’s live performance, can you remember something special about it?

PF: Yes, April 1988. I just thought how amazing it sounded. We all heard “In my defence” before, but when he did “it’s in every one of us” as a duet with Cliff that was absolutely amazing. We had goose bumps. And then after the performance we went to Cliff Richard’s dressing room, sitting and talking there.

PS: And you said that Freddie didn’t have many friends amongst musicians, but could you remember something special about Freddie and Elton John’s friendship?

PF: They first met back in 74/75, when Queen were managed by John Reid and in those days both of them were constantly touring so they could rarely meet up. But every now and then Queen would have just done the show and Elton would be performing the next day, so he was already in the hotel and we would meet up and go round, sitting in Elton’s room talking. And then for about a couple of years after Freddie’s diagnosis they didn’t see each other, but then Freddie told Elton about his status and for the last year and a half Elton would regularly come to Garden Lodge. And in Freddie’s last two weeks Elton would ring us, say what time he would arrive, so that he wouldn’t be seen arriving, he wouldn’t come through the front door, and we would let him in through the Mews in his mini, so nobody knew he was there. He had to go to Paris to record, so he gave me all of the numbers: hotel number, the studio number, his mobile number, his assistance’s mobile number, all the numbers, just to let him know when it happen, because he knew it was going to happen. And at the very last time he came to Garden Lodge, he drove in one of his Bentleys and parked it right outside the front door and the press were running over to him asking “why are you here?” and Elton just turned around and said “I’ve come to see my friend”. And that was it, he just came in and they sat and talked. And when Elton came, it was really just Freddie and him in the room, just talking.

PS: And what was the story about Freddie getting his leg damaged in Munich?

PF: Freddie, when he had a few drinks, he would pick people up, just lift them off the floor, to show how strong he was. So Freddie had picked someone up and then someone next to him bumped into his knee and the ligaments tore, because instead of the way it was supposed to bend the knee bend the other way. Freddie then dropped the person he was carrying, he was screaming in pain and we had to go and get it set. When Queen filmed “It’s A Hard Life” in the end of the video, you can see him favouring the leg.

PS: And as you mention “It’s A Hard Life” video, Freddie’s friend Barbara Valentin stars in this video and she was a star in films of Rainer Werner Fassbinder – did Freddie ever discuss his films with her?

PF: Yeah, because she had videos of them. Freddie did meet Fassbinder once. They were in the “Deutsche Eiche”, which was Fassbinder’s favourite restaurant, he was always in it in Munich. And Barbara would take Freddie there every now and then. So Barbara introduced them to each other, they talked a bit, but they were there for lunch, it wasn’t a planned meeting or anything like this.

PS: And what film directors Freddie admired?

PF: Vincente Minnelli, George Cukor, the directors of the 40’s-50’s.

PS: What are your memories of Joe Fanelli?

PF: He was American. The first time I met him his relationship with Freddie was just finishing, this was in 1979. But he stayed in London and worked a lot in London. He was working in different restaurants. He was an amazing chef. And they kept in touch over the years and that’s why when Garden Lodge was finished and someone had to be there, that’s when Freddie thought to bring Joe back. And it worked, because Joe used to go to the gym all the time and he was taking care of himself, which he didn’t do so much when he was with Freddie. He was great. He was amazing on the computer. Computers were just starting, but Joe could write programs and things. Freddie’s favourite programme on television was “Countdown”, which is where they pick out seven letters and you have to make the longest word you possibly can out of those seven letters and then there’s also the numbers thing as well – and Joe created that on the computer for Freddie so that he didn’t wait for it just on the TV. He was fun, and he was good; it was good working with him and most of the time we just got on so well. Garden Lodge would not have been the same without him.

PS: And you mentioned Joe programming “Countdown” for Freddie so Freddie could actually play this game on computer?

PF: Well, no, he couldn’t, but he could sit there and Joe would do the computer. The computer was bought by Freddie for Garden Lodge and it was set upstairs on the musician’s gallery in the big sitting room.

PS: How would you describe the relationship between Freddie and other Queen members?

PF: They were all close to each other, but in a different ways.

Freddie was close with John. John was the new boy, he was the last one to join, he was the youngest, and Freddie just felt protective. He wanted to protect him a little bit for the dangers of rock’n’roll. But then John got married, had Veronica, so he had the security of home, and John was not around Freddie as much, but it didn’t stop the friendship because of what happened at the end. John just decided to finish because Freddie wasn’t there anymore.

With Roger it was a different friendship. And a very good friendship, because both of them had similar personality trait, they both enjoyed a good drink; they both enjoyed a good party.

And with Brian, of course, they were friends, but Brian was much more serious and Freddie was much more of a laughing person than Brian. Brian thought about things so much. But Freddie knew that he would never find anyone better than Brian to help him with the music.

PS: We know that Brian and Roger visited Freddie in his last days, but we never heard of John visiting Freddie.

PF: I don’t think John was prepared to see Freddie looking like he did in the last days, but John came and visited Freddie before those last two weeks. I know that he did come to the house, but I don’t think he could accept seeing Freddie the way he was in those last weeks.

PS: Freddie started to get a lot worse in those last two weeks?

PF: For the last two weeks Freddie hardly ate, he hardly drank. He was taking no drugs that were keeping him alive anymore, he was taking painkillers, and that was it.

PS: What was the reason of Freddie’s last visit to Montreux?

PF: He just wanted to get away from London. He wanted to have a little bit of peace and quiet away from all the press. He had that apartment in Montreux, so he went there.

For the last two-three years of his life he would be there every other month for a couple of weeks. There was no feeling of “this is the last time I’m going to Montreux”, that wasn’t part of his mentality, he only decided that this was the last visit when I called him, because I wasn’t with him, Jim, Joe and Terry were with him at that time, I was in Garden Lodge and I rang him and I said: “Look, just so that you are aware when you come home, that there are press outside the house 24 hours a day. In the nighttime it’s down to about four or five and in the daytime it’s up to about twenty”.

And that’s when he decided that when he went into Garden Lodge, coming back from Switzerland, it would be the last time, because he knew that he would never be able to get out again.

PS: And how long was he there for the last time?

PF: For about two weeks.

PS: And how do you remember him when he came back?

PF: He was sort of happy, but he was a bit withdrawn, because he had made the decision that when he came into Garden Lodge, it would be the last time, that he would never leave it again. He already had decided that, so, of course, he was a little bit more thoughtful, more inward thinking rather than being laughing and all that. But still, even in those two last two weeks there were still times when he would laugh, because he never wanted sad people around him.

PS: What are your last memories of Freddie?

PF: Since he got back from Switzerland on the 10th, he basically stopped eating and drinking. He would have a little bit, but that’s it. So, of course, he was tired, he had no energy. Most of the time he had short sleeps, short sleep –wake up, short sleep – wake up.

In those last two weeks, except for his needs, the only other time Freddie left his room, was when Terry carried him downstairs, on the Wednesday, 20th of November, because he just wanted to look around the main room, he just wanted to have a last look at paintings, at the crystal. He just wanted to spend some more time in that huge room where he felt most comfortable.

The last week of Freddie’s life he was actually never alone, because between Joe, Jim and myself, we would spend twelve hours with him and there was always one of us with him. We did the shifts from eight in the evening till eight in the morning. The last time that I was with him was on the Friday night. And on that Friday night I got there just before eight o’clock. And, you have to remember, that at eight o’clock the statement was released to the world that Freddie had AIDS. The thing is, those hours I was with him, he was the most relaxed I had seen him in years, because there was no secret anymore, the whole world knew. And he would just talk about anything, he would be in bed, I would be sitting on the bed next to him and I would be just holding his hand. The television was on, just for some noise, he would talk and he would go to sleep and talk and go to sleep. And we talked about silly little things, nothing really serious, and nothing like “we knew everything was coming to an end”, there was none of that. He could still talk fine, his mind was together, he just was very-very tired.

But, I think, because the statement had been done, I think Freddie felt that it was time for him to go. Because it was coming up for eight o’clock and I think it was Joe coming in at that point, Joe was coming at eight, and I said to Freddie something like “Look, okay, I’m going now, Joe is going to be here, but, of course, I’ll see you, I’ll see you soon”, he said something like “uhum, yeah, yeah”.

And then he just took my hand, looked me straight in the eye and just said “Thank you”.

And I will never know, whether he already decided that we would never meet again and was thanking me for the last twelve years, or if he was just thanking me for the last twelve hours.

But I have a feeling that he already knew that we would not see each other again.

PS: Do you remember when you for the very first time understood that you are not just working with Freddie, but you are becoming friends?

PF: That really started from the very-very beginning, because we didn’t have to always talk to each other to know what he wanted. I understood him. Because of our similar upbringing in boarding school in India I knew why he reacted in some ways, why he did things, I knew it, it was just instinctive and it made everything very-very easy for him and for me. Maybe it became more intense when Freddie started the time out of Britain, because we were going to be together 24 hours a day, so you have to be friends. And for me, it was the easiest thing on earth to be friends with Freddie. I never thought about Freddie, The Superstar. I was thinking about Freddie, my friend.

SPECIAL THANKS TO VALUREX FOR CONTRIBUTION AND ASSISTENCE

[helpinghanikan]

Hot Date

Pietro Maximoff x Reader

Sum:  It shouldn't have to be said that SHIELD researchers aren't allowed to date their wards. But that doesn't stop the romantic tension from forming between you. The real question is, whose feelings will be most affected when the tension finally boils over?

Anomalous weapons supervisor was typed out on your paychecks, but babysitter would be a better description. Diplomas, experience and more resulted in your butt on bleachers. Watching the important people play around with powers few in this world understood.

Whoever designed this area probably didn’t know who exactly would be using it. It had the basics; a track for running, mats for sparring and weights for lifting. With more off the wall items thrown in that might be useful to the superpowered individuals using it. Like the massive metal balls being lifted and lowered by the red magic of your charge. Or one of your charges at least.

‘Wanda seems to have complete control of her powers. Whether these powers are coming from her mind or some sort of muscle in her hands has yet to be known.’ You type out just intime to get a guest sitting to your right.

“Can I get an autograph when your book is finished?” Pietro has been working on his accent, so had Wanda. As much pride as the two had they were still looking to adapt. But there were still hints of it on certain words. Especially when he’s this close not really trying.

“Only if I get to sign those tits.” Obviously, a joke, but you still had to take a quick glance to the camera. Just in case you get dragged into a meeting and this comes back up about your unprofessional comments. Not that it would stop your work.

“I can live without the signature,” Wanda’s voice, although distant, echoed in the wide space. “You’ve spelt many things wrong anyhow.”

Few people could say they were as close to the Maximoff twins as yourself. Even after the discovery of an alien/god, of the defrosting of a super-solider and the destruction from a billionaire people were wary of the twins.

It was through simple respect that Wanda had warmed up to you. You hadn’t talked to her with artificial kindness, didn’t look to the guards when her voiced raised even the slightest. No, you had asked how she was (the room was too hot for her), if she needed anything (just wanted to know how much longer she was going to be questioned), if she liked coffee or tea (tea is preferred), and how she was doing, really doing (she was tired, you all were).

It was another story for Pietro. Only trusting you after Wanda obviously saw you as a friend. Taking his own time to warm up after getting the same genuine experience you offered rather the blunt questions and stupid statements. It was the dinner you invited them to that sealed the deal. Nothing brings people together more than a lot of meat, the warm feeling of alcohol and a quiet afternoon with a food coma.

“What have you written?” Pietro asks, your laptop now in his hands.

There’s no point in trying to stop him when he snatches things. A child who had to move fast for food and safety makes petty theft a hard habit to beat. Not to mention Wanda already knew everything that went into your daily reports with a blink of her eye, it was seemingly only fair that Pietro got to know to.

“Same stuff I was doing yesterday, and the day before and the day before that and the-.”

“Yes, yes, thank you!” Pietro says, used to the child like taunts and knowing to stop you early.

With nothing of interest on said laptop he turned it back over to you. Taking his place leaning against your shoulder as you begin to work once more. Only speaking up to ensure you add in the correct description of his improvement.

These reports were supposed to be done without the twins knowledge. You were supposed to be a spy on the side of the government. Although it was blamed on Wanda’s mindreading in reality you had never tried to hide them. These friendships were genuine, resulting with the man practically putting himself in your lap to try and keep your attention.

"How much longer do we have to do this ‘training’?” Although a grown man Pietro could act like a little boy sometimes. When he’s done, he’s done. Taking whatever actions needed to get through his current situation and move on.

“For as long as the door is closed, Pietro.” Wanda has set the metal down. Taking slow steps to reach her brother and friend. “She would likely go faster without you hanging on her.”

There is no smooth way to say this; Pietro is a big spoon. Any chance he gets a hug or to hold someone results in being overwhelmed in lean muscle. Pietro was the only warmth during those impossible cold nights as newly orphaned children. His legs and arms creating a shelter that protected his chosen from any harm from ever happening. You were one of chosen now, which explained the face made at having to get up.

“Alright kids, let’s head home.” You say, slapping the laptop closed for effect.

You were one of several who kept an eye on the twins throughout the day. Wanda and Pietro pretended not to notice how certain employees just happened to always be in the hallway when walking through. Or the little cameras that were hidden in plain sight among the decorations in their quarters. And that’s not including all the mom aged agents “just checking in” at random times, complete with the sing song voice and overuse of the word “sweetie”.

On any other day you would have followed them into their quarters. Give them a recommendation for the TV and even stay awhile to watch it with them. A chime from your phone changing the day’s proceedings. It’s only a second-long hesitation that announces this change to the twins.

Pietro says your name in a tone different than the one earlier. It’s a tone of concern that snaps your head up at him. Wanda hanging around the quarter’s entryway, staying close enough to be apart of the conversation.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, now with your attention.

“What? Yeah, yes, I just got a…you know, a hot date.” You turn your phone to face him. Not long enough for him to read the entire message but enough to know that you weren’t completely hiding anything “I’ll see you guys later. Brush your teeth before going to bed, I’ll know if you don’t.”

Before Pietro or Wanda could give a retort the door slid shut.

“Who were they talking to?” Pietro asked the only other person in the room.

Wanda didn’t answer. Rather tilting her head towards her brother. Rolling her eyes when he asked “what? Wanda, what?”

-

Although officially a desk agent there were times the field required someone of your talents. When this happened, all other duties had to be dropped in exchange for an outfit change and a fancy car shared with your accompanying field agent. Natasha has been your designated agent since the first field mission and could now be considered a friend.

It would seem the babysitter had become the baby. Including having your clothes laid and being helped into them before reaching the car.  

“You’re an heiress looking for some expensive decorations and I am your lovely assistant and translator for the evening.” Natasha says, holding the under-suit’s legs open for you to slip into. “We’ll show up fashionably late. You are incredibly rich and important and better than all of them. So, don’t make eye contact with anyone, and try not to say anything, they’re below you.”

Unlike fulltime field agents you weren’t trained enough to go without serious protection. Not just in the form of an accompanying agent but also in a (jokingly called) bullet proof onesie. So, fitting it was essentially a bullet-proof wetsuit that stopped at the knees and elbows. Making the clothes to wear over it something with long sleeves, past the ankles and covers the neck. Sunday school appropriate for this event.

“Can I fake an accent? Like, German?” It was a dumb question for you to ask, but the ride to the gallery was already taking longer than it should.

“Hmm, Let’s hear it.” Natasha doesn’t look up from her phone but still sounded interested.

“Vell-,”

“Stop.”

Very special pieces were being auctioned off tonight. Invite only without any advertisements to say what’s up for grabs to outsiders. Although the windows were blacked out and authorities were paid off (but obviously not enough) supposedly nothing for sale was illegal. But if that were true you wouldn’t have found a seat in the front row.

The language of the night was deeply European. One or two words you could maybe guess what they meant but there was no way you could name it. Nat knew it though; it kept her ears perked to the room and her mouth right next to your ear for most of the night.

First items up were the typical rich people arty stuff; vases and paintings that probably represented something to someone if you squinted. Those went for a year’s paycheck in minutes. It was after the third portrait of some lady now long dead that Nat placed a hand on your back, just below the neck.

“Next up is ours,” she whispered. “you’re doing good and you’re doing great.”

The entire night was spent with better manners than an office setting could ever be. Back straight, eyes forward, and no one is allowed to make eye-contact. It’s only when the target was wheeled in that your mask was starting to slide.

Genuine HYDRA blueprints for a titanium prosthetic. White ink on blue paper with decades old coffee stains and tiny tears, spread up and out under protective glass like a butterfly. Although Mr. Barnes had a serious upgrade with the Vibranium he now used. But these blueprints showed just how advance the original was for the time.

Sitting forward as it’s wheeled by wasn’t enough to authenticate the prints. Something you easily communicated to Agent Romanoff with just a look.

It was a bad idea, it called why too much attention, but Agent Romanoff whipped her head towards one of the several employees of the auction. Curling her finger at them to get them over and in her speaking line.

She speaks quickly, and with an edge to her voice, to the employee. With only a few words back that same employee returned to his post and spoke to the next man in charge.

“They going to invite a few of us up to inspect the piece,” Agent Romanoff whispers, “You’re going to have to be fast, we’re going on stage.”

Others in the audience made their way onto the stage when invited. Agent Romanoff ensures that you are somewhere in the middle of it. Heels and heavy shoes making creating white noise for your work to be done.

In all HYDRA’s documents, blue-prints and almost everything else their symbol was hidden throughout it. A little game of where’s the octopus in two places. A large, but translucent, icon covering the center. And a smaller one in the bottom right-hand corner, hidden behind the creator’s signature. Reproductions never had the smaller symbol, but the stains and fingerprints ensured you were right.

Later, during the debrief, you would be lectured about the importance of subtlety and espionage. But how was the look you gave Agent Romanoff any different than how others were looking at their people?

After that (completely natural and not at all suspicious) nod Natasha’s arm was around your back. This was part you were suddenly feeling ill. This was the part your assistant/translator/arm-candy would escort you out with just enough urgency and demands for the bathroom that you’d be gone before everyone was in their seats. Apparently this was also the part a sudden security guard fires twice into your chest.

“Watch your head.” Although not yelling Agent Romanoff’s voice was firm.

It's hard to say which was scarier; the bullets aiming firing for your death or how calm and professional Agent Romanoff was about it all. Although, few rounds were actually fired inside the auction hall.

Agent Romanoff shot an arm out to the first security. Pushing his gun up and inward quick enough to catch his jaw and take him out of the game. Agent Romanoff keeping the downed man’s sidearm for herself.

That was really the only bit of action you clearly saw that night. When things go wrong in the field it’s the agents job to remove their ward from the situation with minimal injuries. As the researcher your job was much simpler; don’t die. “Keep your head down, use your arms to protect yourself and trust your agent.” Was hammered in during field training. With this mantra running over and over you weren’t in the position to watch the mess happening all around.

“Someone, call the police!” It takes a second to realize it’s Agent Romanoff yelling this. In a panicked, almost shrill, voice that practically screamed ‘we’re being victimized!’

With all the guests now properly riled up it was easier to exit the building. Allowing the oncoming mod to carry the two of you out of the building without much more fuss from security. Trying to kill an agent was one thing but killing a rich connected person (or worse their spouses) would be on an entirely new issue.

Someone stepped on your foot. Another put an elbow in your rib harder than the bullets. And a third open hand pushed you, and your agent, right out the door and onto the street. It was only through the strength of Agent Romanoff, and your handling of flats, that this mission could be considered successful.

The blueprints were already being tracked and followed by the time you’re stripped down to underwear. The pretty clothes had to be taken removed, the makeup wiped off, hair undone, and the bullet proof onesie had to be taken away. Simple tank-tops, shorts and a coat were worn on the journey home. By the time it’s all off, and you’re finally walking into the apartment, it shouldn’t be surprising how you looked to others.

“Have a good time?” It takes a second to realize it’s just the roommate asking the question.  

It’s expected that any roommate a SHIELD employee takes on would also be with SHIELD. The two of you weren’t in the same division or even security level part of why living together worked out so well. She was in the know enough to hear you complain but enough in the dark to keep any secrets from getting out.

“Yep, had a real banger of a night.” Although a friend and technical coworker you couldn’t disclose too much about the missions. At least not until the green light is given by the higher ups. Instead, you can only give the people something to speculate about. “Can’t wait to see what the bruises are going to look like tomorrow.”

-

Spoiler alert: the bruises looked like hickeys. Something noticed by Roommate but keeping quiet about it in exchange to heading out early. Ready with the latest thing to share with the office mates.

Just like any working environment gossip is always somewhere underfoot. After being dragged in by someone who couldn’t leave it at home it’s then latching onto everyone who came close enough to hear it. Most ignore it, others listen then forget and others drag carry it further into the workplace. Until researchers leaning against the wall talk too loudly and Pietro catches a few too many words.

“Who were they talking to?” Pietro asks once the housing area’s door shut. Quickly clearing things up with the use of your name.

“I’ve haven’t seen them yet.” Wanda doesn’t care enough to close her book but does enough to look up.

“No, yesterday. Before they left, someone messaged them. Who was it?”

Wanda shrugs and returns to her book, but there’s a smile there.

“You know who it is,” He says, now on beside her. “Tell me.”

“I can’t say for sure,” She’s smiling again. Only a slight glance at Pietro. “but I think he may be very handsome.”

The siblings argued as siblings do. With Wanda teasing as sisters do. All of this could be heard before you even made it to the door. Standing at its threshold to listen as the two go at it.

“Natasha will tell you the same, Pietro.” Wanda says, probably aware that you were in hearing distance. “And she says he can do more than simply be handsome.”

Although you say nothing Wanda grins at you.

The gossip overheard is just words without evidence. Just enough to get Pietro thinking but not enough to create any serious emotions. But the “evidence” to create those emotions was now standing in the room. Small marks darker than your natural skin was peaking out from the lower neckline.

To you, they were simple bruises, nothing worth trying to hide, even something to brag about to the other desk workers. To Pietro it was marks of another person, something that pursed his lips and marched away from. Doing so slowly, to be sure that both you and Wanda were aware of how upset he was.

“I missed something.” You say, setting everything down on the counter.

Wanda has a habit of sneaking into other people’s minds. The mission, the shots and the everything was slowly being filed through in the back of your head. A pressure at the base of your neck screaming that there was an intruder.

“Stop it.” You snapped, but Wanda only smiles back.

 “How was your ‘hot date’?” She finally asks.

“Is that what he’s…sonofabitch. Pietro!” There are only three rooms in this section of the compound. One being Wanda’s, another Vision’s and the third Pietro. Making it easy enough to find the pouting grown man.

“What?” He asks upon your entering.

There isn’t a response on your part for moment or two. Spending that time going to the room’s corner. Standing on tiptoes to find that switch that definitely doesn’t exist on the camera. Shutting it down for the time being before turning to start your explanation.

“You can turn that back on.” He says from his place on the bed. “There’s nothing bad we need to talk about.”

“So, you don’t wanna hear about how I was shot in the tit?”

Manners were out the window at this point. Pietro openly looking towards your chest. Back up to your face, and back down to your chest. “You were shot? They look more like…”

“They’re not hickeys, I was shot a few time through a suit.” Frustration was starting to build up. It was overflowing when you finished with “You really should know about being shot.”

The hurt on his face screamed. He didn’t look away but stayed staring forward right at you. “Pietro, I’m so…I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“It hurts,” He says. “Being shot, it really hurts.”

“I’m sorry.” Even as you walk around to sit beside him Pietro stares at where you were. Listening to your apology but not saying much else. Until he dares to lean against you. Something more than cuddling with a friend this time around. “I get it, I get you’re scared and all that. And I really like you, Pietro, I like you more than I am allowed to.”

It’s hard to say who started the kiss, but it doesn’t really matter. It was happening, and it was so much more than a something between friends.

“When that camera comes back on this didn’t happen.” You say in a moment of separation for air.

“What happens when the camera goes off again?” He asks, thumb rubbing over the bruise.

[spotofimagines]

Rivals Last ~ Jadon Sancho

A/N: So I had this in my drafts before he signed with man united but that's fine, we move, we adapt. A third piece for the @footballffbarbiex summer challenge. Hope you enjoy it :)

Warnings: none - reader is female

Summary: You love both your brothers dearly, but being in the football world with them can make some things a little complicated.

gif by @archivesbvb - gif by @ermuellert - gif by @italynt

Being a footballer meant living in a special world. Being in a footballing family meant living in a special world too. Being the younger sister of Lucas and Theo Hernandez meant living in a really special world. But nobody told you just how crazy it would be for all three of those things to apply to you.

You truly love watching your older brothers play football. They teach you something new during every match you see; even though you play as a striker, their movements and handling of the ball always inspire you to play better. After all, it was their defensive skills that helped you become a good goal scorer growing up since they never let a tackle go unchallenged in the park and you had to find out how to manoeuvre around them. A lot easier said than done.

Currently Lucas is signed with Bayern Munich. In his time there so far, he has learnt the heritage, history, and importance of wearing the badge and defending its honour in every match they play, especially derbies. Having supported Lucas, it quickly became easy for you to support Bayern Munich too and celebrate their victories like it was your own team. You'd always managed to do it with the clubs both your brothers played for, letting the atmosphere of the fanbase carry you away.

You have just finished your second season in England with Manchester City women's team. You'd settled in nicely now, having learnt a lot of the English language and culture already. The experience was made so much easier because of the help given by your welcoming teammates and the staff that translated things into French and Spanish during your first months there.

Fans were a little disappointed during the 2019 summer transfer window when it was confirmed all three Hernandez siblings would be leaving Spain to play separately in England, Germany and Italy, joking that no one could know what might happen with you all so far away. However, to you, it made things easier, as Lucas and Theo would stop making so many awful jokes about each other's clubs, only to join forces to diss your club even more afterward. Now the only connection you have to the clubs you all play for is the want for your sibling to win with them. And it is a great feeling. A welcome change of pace.

But no new change to your life felt as good as your blossoming "relationship", situationship, whatevership, you have with Jadon Sancho.

It all started with you flirting back and forth on social media, which turned itself into countless hours of DMs no one else could see. You congratulated his goals and he congratulated your wins. All the light-hearted teasing and the warm-hearted compliments stayed in your own little bubble. The only thing peeking out was your silly inside rule that if you were going to comment on a post, it had to be emojis only, stretching to a few words if you really couldn't help yourself - but it would earn you taunts from the other for the rest of the night.

Some eagle-eyed fans noticed how you'd been liking each other's posts every time they appeared for a while now, but it just added to the fun and thrill you got from flirting with him so much.

You weren't meant to be forming a bond with Jadon. He played for your brother’s rival. He was supposed to be the enemy. Someone you should dislike with a snap of your fingers. Certainly not a boy to fall for like you have.

You couldn't help yourself. Lucas and Theo had helped you since you moved to England by being the steady rocks they always were, cheering you on from afar. Your new teammates had helped you since you moved to England by introducing fun things for you all to do together and taking you under their wings. But Jadon had helped you in a different kind of way. He gave you a new kind of comfort and reassurance when you talked. He became someone to turn to with all your interesting news and your curious problems. He told you the good places to visit around the city that he remembered from his time there and taught you English slang to make your teammates laugh. You spoke three languages to varying degrees now, and you'd managed to pick up more German vicariously through Lucas in two years faster than Jadon had done living in Germany in four years, so you'd clue him into rude German phrases you had asked Lucas about, alongside the French and Spanish swear words he used more often than English ones now when you text. 

Even though a language barrier comes up once in a while, you have both learnt behaviours from each other and crave the contact you share. Jadon was starting to drop everything to send replies to you, a change his teammates have noticed and jokingly mock him for. Little did they know the unknown girl they joke he is smitten over is the sister of their rival.

Theo is the one in your family you usually tell about the boys you go out with; boyfriends and dates have been shared with him since you were 13 and doting on your first crush. He does the same with his girlfriends; asking advice and telling you more than you need to know at times. So, when you all went home for a bit of family time around Christmas, nothing could stop him from noticing the tell-tale signs that you had something going on. He already figured out through persistence that it was another player you were getting involved with, and his insistent questioning hasn't stopped in his search for who the player is.

But you keep it hidden from Lucas, and you don't know when you'll tell him. He has been your protector since you were kids, comforting you on sad nights when no one else was there, teaching you little secrets about how to navigate through the world, he even punched a boy who teased you once at school. The idea of telling him you were chatting romantically to another player would be trouble enough, but telling him it was a Dortmund player might just end up in another schoolground incident. You hadn't wanted Theo to know for fear he'd go dishing your dirt to Lucas, but he discovered it on his own and there was nothing you could do.

Who knows what might become of this thing you have with Jadon, and lord knows your eldest brother owns a hard as nails death stare that just might do Jadon in, but for now you actually quite like having the secret. A little mystery tucked away up your sleeve.

The rush you always get when Lucas calls your phone as you're typing a text to the Englishman,  feeling as though the first words from the other end will be shouts of how he knows everything and he'll never speak to you again for keeping it a secret, fills you with dread at times. But it never is the reason he calls, and it turns out he is just making plans or has something funny to tell you. But the way your heart thumps as you go back to texting Jadon, that is part of the chase you have to admit you enjoy.

Hardcore fans online have noticed the past few months that when you do interviews in English, the odd slang term comes up during jokes - terms you hadn't used before and stem more from London boroughs than northen towns - so speculation of how you'd learnt these things easily coincided with dating rumors.

Lucas had seen the speculation online; seen fans trying to put your interactions with the Dortmund player together through both your instagram stories and comments and the tweets you both had liked about the other. Lucas had even grown suspicious of the little questions you asked him about Germany, German phrases and his lifestyle there, not knowing why you would need nor want to know those things. But Lucas doesn't believe it. He knows that you know better to mix with a Dortmund boy.

Sometimes an older brother just doesn't get it quite right…

Soon, the chance will come to really see if your connection is something you can build on. Jadon's new signing with Manchester United has been confirmed and he will be moving back to England. It is a great opportunity to get to see him more often, rather than the odd rendezvous point or clandestine trip during small breaks in the season. You'll spend more time face to face instead of over the phone. You'll get to wake up in his bed and him in yours, without needing to sneak away from hotel rooms afterwards. You'll maybe even get to go on a proper date, just the two of you, where you can flirt across the table your joined hands rest upon. Hanging out with Jadon won't be the first time you've spent time together in person. However, getting a full day with only the two of you where you won't have to pretend you hardly know who he is, and you won't have to pretend your eyes aren't meeting across the group of people you're in - it fills your stomach with knots and butterflies.

A certain pressure has fallen off you now Jadon has no growing rivalry with Lucas, but not completely. You won't be able to take back the way their teams made the other feel in the past, but the fact there won't be more of it next season comforts you a little. The biggest thing that will hold you back from going public before the new season starts will be the media, but that is an issue you can't even begin to worry about yet. You are too caught up in the excitement of being in the same town as Jadon to care. Rumours are spinning crazier than ever about you two as some of your liked tweets about his move got reposted by sports pages and fan blogs - now joking about him being your rival instead of your brother's - and yet it didn't stop you, no longer all that bothered about keeping a low profile now you both will be living away from Lucas. If he gets mad, all he will be able to do is shout down the phone, and whilst you never want that to happen, you know the time to flourish with Jadon and capitalise on the foundation you have already built is better than ever, brothers be damned.

There are big changes coming for the both of you, yet one thing will remain the same no matter the outcome of your relationship. You can't quite stop being football rivals.