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smoooothoperator · 11 months

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Beautiful Stranger

01: Way To Fall

Driver! Lando Norris x OC (Lily Barton)

Summer love, strangers to friends to lovers, Greece and Greek mythology references

Words: 3.2k

Warnings: Lando being Lando, crash, injuries

Masterlist

Official playlist

next part

a/n: here you have the fist chapter of my new story! I hope everyone likes it and welcomes my new character Lily

kalimera: good morning

glykiá: sweety

efkharîsto: thank you

🎮

When the summer break arrives, everyone wants to know where the drivers will go. They ask where their vacations will be, if they'll spend time with their families, go to parties or stay at home to do the activities they couldn't do during the first half of the season.

"So? What are you going to do?" Carlos asked me, a glass of God knows what type of drink on his right hand, and his left arm on the back of the long couch. "You'll go with your family somewhere with that big boat?"

"I don't think so, mate" I sighed. "I just don't feel like that. My brother has to take care of two kids, my sister has summer competitions… I'm not in the mood, actually"

"And what are you going to do? Stay in your apartment and play videogames?" he laughed, making me roll my eyes and look away.

"I don't know, maybe I will do that" I groaned.

"Go somewhere alone" he said, placing the glass on the table and grabbing his phone. "Buy tickets to somewhere far enough of the spotlight and rent an apartment. I bet that would be exciting"

"Yeah, right. That only happens in movies" I scoffed while drinking a little of my beer.

"And you don't want it to happen to you? Come on, I know you are tired of the dating rumors, of being always on tabloids asking about your love life in summer. You should go somewhere alone, far from the media" he said, patting my back.

Maybe he's right. Maybe I should go to a place where no one knows who I am. Maybe I should grab a map and find a place where I can be on my own.

That's how I ended days after searching for a place where I should go.

Portofino? No, even if it's a beautiful place there are a lot of tourists and famous people there.

Somewhere in Spain? No… I was there last summer.

France? The Netherlands… no, they would recognize me.

Greece. That country has many islands. Maybe I can go somewhere and stay there all the break.

There are some islands where communication barely arrives, where you live in a mix of the past and the present and ignore the exterior. Right, that’s what I need.

I tried to find a good place, somewhere not too difficult to access. I shouldn’t rent a car, right? I have to look like a normal guy that casually has lots of money. No big luxury brands to be seen, no expensive watches or jewelry. I have to look like another tourist that wants to be in a village for a few weeks.

Now… How should I go there? Which place should I go? Not Mykonos, not Rhodes or Santorini. Somewhere in the middle of nowhere.

“Huh? Where are you going?” Max asked, walking behind me and watching the screen of my laptop. “Greece?”

“I want to go alone” I sighed, rubbing my forehead and looking at the screen, the list of all the islands of Greece were shown in front of me. “But I don’t know where to go”

I saw Max sitting next to me, looking at the screen and reading it. I searched in Wikipedia the list of islands just to know the name of them. But then the population was next to the names.

“Tell me a number between 1 and 144” he said, taking the laptop away from me.

“What?” I frowned looking at him. “Mate, it’s not a game, come on…”

“I’m helping you decide where you’ll go. So tell me a number” he frowned.

“God… Okay…” I sighed, closing my eyes and thinking of a number. “32?”

“Well, now you’ll go to Parga” he said.

I sighed. That was easy. It was too easy, and I didn't like it. I needed a place to get lost, my mind wanted to be in somewhere where neither my best friend knew where I was.

"But…" I sighed while brushing my hair with my hand.

"I won't tell anyone" he sighed. "Lando, mate… you need it. I understand. Now with those rumors about you saying things you never said and the girls they say you are dating, you need to be somewhere away from the problems"

I look at him and nod. He's right, of course he's right. Carlos and him know me, they know how bad the hate affects me and how it makes me feel.

"I'll go to that place" I sighed nodding. "But promise me you won't tell anyone"

🖌️

The started great. Everyone in the village started their routine as always, going to their boats, opening their restaurants and starting to cook. The streets smell of food, the women making their traditional dishes just to serve the tourists that came here, kids running and playing on the streets with their friends and the old people talking on the door of their houses.

"Kalimera, Nora" I smiled at the woman that was preparing some breakfast.

"Oh, Lily" she smiled, kissing my cheek. "Today we have a reservation. Someone will come to one of the apartments"

"Oh, really? At what time?" I asked, serving myself a cup of coffee.

"Don't worry about it, Dorien will take care of it" she smiled. "He works for me, glykiá. You can go do your work"

I smile and nod, taking a deep breath and looking at her.

Nora Makris, owner of some of the apartments here in Parga. The day I came she adopted me as one of her kids, taking care of me and helping me with everything I needed.

"What are you going to do today?" she asked, putting a plate of fruit in front of me.

"I think I'll work for a while at the cafeteria and then I'll go to the beach" I smiled at her.

Life here is easy: you wake up, get dressed always with a bikini under the clothes, work for a while and then go to the beach. Do you need more money? You can guide the tourists and help them with everything they need and translate things from the local people.

Three years ago I came with the idea of escape from my life, needing a place to disconnect and forget about my past. And thanks to Nora now I have a place to call home. Working in the cafeteria is always fun. The villagers come and teach me some of their traditions, they teach me their language and how to live like them.

After I finished my breakfast I started to help Nora, making coffee or baking things. I know everyone in this place, so I greet them with their name and make their favorite things the way they like.

"Kalimera, Lily" they smile when I arrive at their table, complimenting my coffee or my outfit.

Everybody wants to know about me. Why would a young woman come here alone for a trip and stay longer than expected? They say I'm mysterious, that I'm a gift from the gods. Maybe that's why they treat me like I was born there, not asking about my origins or about my life, only accepting that I'm one of them.

The morning went quick, the same routine as always. The upstairs neighbor wanted a coffee with a plate of mixed fruit, the old lady that lives two doors away wanted her morning tea with one of the pastries of the day, the mother that lives with her two kids wanted her usual morning coffee and a toast with avocado and cream cheese. Everyone has their story here, and that's what I love about this place.

"Lily, you can leave now" Nora said walking towards me. "I'll for a while for the lunch time and them I'll start preparing some dishes for whoever wants to come"

I nodded and smiled, grabbing my bag and taking off my apron, leaving it on the hanger that is next to the backdoor.

I went to my apartment, going upstairs and opening the door. I have to get changed and make something for lunch, something quick and easy so I can go to the beach soon.

Everything was going great. I was listening to music while cooking, singing on top of it and moving around. Cutting tomatoes, making some bread and making chicken to make a gyro.

I heard noises in the apartment next to mine, like someone talking in English and opening and closing doors, even someone talking dirty English. Walls here are thin, but I won't complain. I prefer having thin walls rather than not having anything.

When I finished making my lunch I grabbed my laptop and went to the balcony, eating everything while watching a show.

"That's Peaky Blinders?" I heard a voice from the other balcony.

I stopped the episode and frowned, looking at the tall wall that separated both balconies. I can't see the face of the person that talks to me, I only can hear him.

"Eh… yeah" I nod, blushing. "How do you know?"

"The accent and that they are always saying Thomas Shelby" he chuckled. "It's a great show"

"Yeah it is" I nodded, smiling. "It's the second time I watch it"

"That's nice" he said, and then silence again.

I continued watching the show, but it was awkward. Nora should have told me that the tourist was going to be my neighbor, that we were going to share walls.

The rest of the lunch time was relaxed. After I finished the lunch I laid on the couch to watch a little more of the show while packing my beach bag and getting changed to go there.

The beach here is some streets away, and on the way to it there are many stores to get the attention of the tourists: souvenirs, ice cream shops, things for the beach, even swimwear and sandals shops.

I grabbed my earphones and started playing some soft music after getting out of the apartment, locking the door and putting the keys on the bag.

I started my way to the beach, smiling at some people that recognized me and even stopping to talk with some of them. The old women always have something to talk about, even some of them try to make me date their grandsons.

"They would settle down with someone like you" they use to say. "You are so responsible and down on Earth!"

It always makes me laugh. I'm mysterious to them, no one knows why I came, only Nora.

I kept walking down the street, hearing music that now wasn't as soft as before. It was some type of rock, making me not hear my surroundings.

Making me not hear the scooter that was driving straight towards me.

"Stop!" the guy screamed, but it was too late for him to break and for me to jump back. "Shit!"

I fell to the floor. It was so fast, making me fall hard. I could feel blood in the plan of my hands and my knees, even a sharp pain on my ankle.

"Shit, are you okay?" he gasped, leaving the scooter on the floor and kneeling in front of me.

"What the hell?" I groaned, but I immediately moaned in pain. "Just pay attention to the road!"

"I did! You were the one that wasn't paying attention!" he exclaimed and it made me gasp, looking at him.

"It's you" I frown, recognizing the voice.

"Me?" he frowned, nervous. "What? You know who I am?"

He looked around, searching for someone or something. I could feel how anxious he was feeling right now.

"Shit, do you know who I am" he groaned.

"Yeah, my neighbor" I said, looking at him.

"What?" he mumbled, frowning. "Oh, you are the one that is watching Peaky Blinders… yeah, sorry"

I frown and look around. Was he searching for someone? No one was around, at this time people are already on the beach or working on their shops.

"Shit, you can walk, right?" he sighed, helping me to get up.

"Yeah… no" I groaned when I stood on my feet. "No, I think I hurt my ankle"

"Ah shit" he sighed. "Is there somewhere I can take you? Like… a medical center?"

"Yeah" I sigh, leaning on him since he was holding me to not stand on my ankle.

"Get on the scooter" he said, holding it and sitting on it, looking at me.

"What? No! You just crashed on me with it! I won't get on it!" I exclaimed, but the pain was worse than my own pride.

"I'll help you, okay? And I'll go slow and pay attention to every corner. Now, please, get on the scooter" he sighed.

I look at him and then at the back of his seat, where I'm supposed to sit. I have to get close to him to fit, wrap my arms on his waist and hold him. God, it will be really awkward.

"Come on" he hurried me.

I sighed, grabbing my bag from the ground and hanging it on my shoulder, standing on my good leg while I watched how he was offering me his hand to hold it. I looked at the palm of my hand, gow scratched and bloody it was, then at my knee. I’m surely going to get his shirt dirty with my blood.

“But the blood…” I sighed looking at his hand.

“I really don’t care, come on” he sighed, moving his hand to hold mine helping me get on the scooter. “It’s just blood, I can wash it away. And if you don’t look that ankle it will get worse”

I sigh and nod, getting on the scooter in a really uncomfortable way. He doesn’t have a spare helmet, so he took his helmet off and put it on my head. He didn’t start the engine, making me believe the vehicle was broken.

“Wrap your arms around me” he said looking back at me.

“What? No!” I exclaimed, raising up my hands, trying to not touch him.

“You’ll fall if you don’t do that!” he sighed, and grabbed both of my hands wrapping my arms around his waist making me blush hard.

This guy has really a strong rizz, he didn’t even flinch when I placed my hands on his abdomen, the dry blood getting on his shirt and my fingers feeling the line of his abs.

I tried to not blush, looking away and making sure he couldn’t see me through the mirrors. He smells good too, I wonder what type of perfume he’s using. And his curls are so good made, just on top of his head and on his sides is kinda shorty.

“It’s on this way, right?” he asked me, pointing to a signal that had a cross on it. “It’s in greek”

“Yeah, it's that way” I said nodding.

He parked the scooter in front of the door of the medical center, getting off of it after holding it with the stand. He took off the helmet from my head and then hung it on the handlebar.

“Do you need help?” he asked, looking at me.

Now I can see his eyes, his face. Well, he's cute.

“I think so, yeah” I sighed after trying to get out of the seat, but it was impossible.

He helped me, holding my arm and then he turned around. He wanted to carry me on his back? Can this be more awkward than it already is and looks? I sighed, sitting with both my legs hanging on the side of the scooter and looking at his back.

I hope no one is around. Because it’ll be the talk of the town.

🎮

I felt bad. Really, really bad. The moment she recognized me I panicked, thinking that she recognized me because of who I was, not because of my voice. She’s the girl next door that when I walked inside the apartment Max rented for me was playing music while cooking. I heard her voice and then I heard the dialogues of the show I watched not long ago.

Her voice was soft, like velvet, and when she talked to me after I crashed into her, her mad voice made me remember Yuki. She was panicking and in pain, andI could feel how nervous she was while we had the ride on the scooter.

When we arrived at the medical center and I carried her inside of it she started talking in greek, making me impressed. She speaks perfect english and a perfect greek, where is she from?

“I have a sprained ankle” she sighed looking at me.

The moment the nurse saw her when we walked inside the local she guided us to a room, so I placed her on the hospital bed and sat next to her on a chair. I’m not an idiot, I know that it’s my fault and I should take care of what happened.

“Oh…” I frowned, looking at how the nurse was rolling a bandage around her right foot. “I’m sorry, it’s my fault”

She sighed and looked away. I still can feel how uncomfortable she is.

“I’ll pay for the medicines you have to take” I said, and she turned her head quickly at me, surprised.

“No, don’t worry about it! I can pay for them” she frowned, like if she was offended that I was offering to pay for the medicines.

She sighed and looked away again, crossing her arms in front of her chest and looking out through the window. I bet she wanted to be on the beach, she was wearing a bikini under her summer dress, and on her bag there was a towel and a book too.

“It’s the least I can do, I ruined your day” I sighed, shrugging my shoulders.

The nurse looked at us and said something that made her blush. I wonder what she said.

“Okay” the girl sighed. “Yeah, okay”

I smiled weakly and nodded at the nurse, watching how she got up to grab something. I grabbed my phone and sighed, searching the dictionary I downloaded.

“How do you say thank you in greek?” I asked the girl, frowning, then I heard her chuckle.

“Efkharîsto” she said chuckling softly. “You came to Greece with no idea of how to say the basic things to survive here?”

“I survive thanks to a dictionary” I said sighing.

“Well, let me tell you that it’s useless” she laughed. “You should learn the basic words, just to not waste time searching them”

“What’s your name?” I asked her suddenly, looking at her and how her face changed. “I crashed into you, at least let me know the name of my first victim”

“Your first victim? I feel honored” she laughed, making me laugh. Good, the tension is now less present here. “Lily”

“That doesn’t sound Greek at all” I frowned, looking at her surprised.

“That’s because I’m not from here” she said shrugging her shoulders. “And what’s your name? In case I have to demand you, you know”

“Oh…” I laugh, but my mind immediately started to panic. Should I tell her my name? What if she discovers who I am? “Logan” lie.

“Well… nice to meet you in a bad way, Logan” she nodded.

Well done, Lando.

taglist

@lestappenloverr @racinggirl @roni-midnights @livster @kakorrhaphiphobia @starkeyellow @celestialpierre @ophcelia @msliz @lorarri @ironmaiden1313 @imsorare @mycenterfold

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apersonwholikeslotus · 1 year

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@rosethreeart 45 min!! This is not edited at all and the plot is crappy I'm sorry--

Pairing: Netherlands x Fem!America

Warnings: None

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Abigail loved very few things more than rainy days, unfortunately one of the things she did love more than rainy days was Lars. He hated rainy days, spending the whole day mumbling about the mud getting tracked inside. This left Abby at a crossroad, one that met at the window. She wanted to go outside very badly, but also knew that she would, as always, forget to take her shoes off when she came inside; then Lars would be stressed about the mud on his perfectly clean floors.

Lars hated rainy days, no matter how many of them there were he didn't like them. However, he knew his girlfriend adored them, he liked his clean floors though and didn't want to make her feel bad about getting mud inside.

This brought him here, he had gone out for groceries partially as an excuse, and went against his every instinct as he came inside and purposefully did not take his shoes off as he went into the kitchen.

Abigail on cue came sliding into the kitchen, Lars knew she would act as if they hadn't seen each other in twenty years even if he had only been gone thirty-five minutes at most.

"Hey sweetp-" Abigail stopped dead in her tracks noticing the very obvious tracks on the ground, a little too obvious. "You'll have to mop later won't you?"

He pretended to be surprised as he looked down at his shoes, "I suppose I will"

Lars could have sworn her shoes and jacket materialized, as not another word left his mouth before she was dragging him outside. Abigail was much shorter than Lars, which usually left her a step behind, but this time he was the one trying to keep up.

"Abby! I have to get the umbrella"

She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, her face tilted up to the sky. "You don't need the umbrella, just feel the rain!"

"What does that mean?"

"It means exactly what it means" she shook a little, the heavy rain already gathering in her hair. She started down the sidewalk, clearly headed for their normal walk route; "We don't need the umbrella"

Lars ran his hand over his hair trying to push it out of his face as it was already losing its shape, "Everyone else has umbrellas"

"And we don't, cause we're not scared of a little water sweetpea" He blushed at the nickname, slightly out of embarrassment as they passed more people. Abby smiled, "Hey honeycakes?"

Lars blushed harder using the excuse to pull his coat collar higher; "Hm?"

"How come you're allowed to use nicknames for me in public, but when I do it you pout?"

"It's different" he finished adjusting his collar grabbing her hand again.

"How is it different?" she swung their arms a little, as they continued on. He shrugged, half nodding at a stranger as they passed them.

"Is it because you're embarrassed?"

"I am not embarrassed"

Abigail hummed, "I think you are," she was just teasing him for the fun of it by this point. "I think you're embarrassed for the average bypasser to know that you have a girlfriend"

"What about this?" He held their hands up a little, trying to show her he was not embarrassed. "That means nothin' plenty of friends hold hands, especially in such slippery conditions" she poked her tongue out, just to annoy him as another person looked at them.

"Then what about this" he checked to make sure no one would run into them before picking her up and kissing her, Abigail laughing into the kiss as she wrapped her arms around him. Lars set her down only when realizing someone needed to get by them. He blushed hard as they walked for another moment, mostly just to get away from the people giving them odd looks.

"Can we go home now?"

"Mhm!"

"Good, i'm soaked, and the groceries got left on the counter"

Abigail shrugged, "We've only been gone twenty minutes, they'll live" she smirked as they rounded the block corner, "I still think you're embarrassed that I call you sweetpea"

"Stop"

#aph netherlands #hws netherlands #aph america #hws america #nedame #hetalia #apersonwhowrites

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notanotherinfjblog · 3 years

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The types as strangers I wish I had known (version 4)

Previous versions: One, two, three

INTJ: She was the first person to show me kindness in a new place. Moving across the country all alone in the middle of a pandemic is not exactly the ideal start of your first real job. So she took it all on herself to take me by the hand, to organise all the things that I had no clue about. She gave me a little tour around the workplace, recommended me places to eat once the pandemic is over, asked me about how I was settling in, remembered little things I mentioned. She was the only person not working from home when I first arrived and so it was just the two of us. She was quiet and reserved as most people here seem to be, and she was awkward in every way when interacting with me. But she tried so hard and maybe it’s just me projecting, but she said her son was in the very same situation as me right now, and it felt like she tried to help me in the way she couldn’t help her son, like she wanted to take me under her wing, but not make it awkward, and then actually making it slightly awkward in doing so. Her heart just felt warm and so did mine when I said thank you.

ENTJ: Everyone knows the classic character of a self-righteous doctor in a hospital show. You know that one. The one that everyone thinks may be hard-working and clever, but heartless and uncaring and egocentric, but a few episodes down the line you start to see that there is more going on underneath the rude attitude. I’ve always believed this to be a stereotypical depiction that is more of a caricature until I met her. She was a doctor at a hospital I stayed in, and damn, she was just like that. She stormed into the rooms, rolled her eyes at a patient whose German was bad, even though she had a thick accent herself, couldn’t be bothered to commit to polite standards of communication like saying hello or thanks, and she didn’t care to wait for just a second when a nurse was in her way and pushed her aside instead. Especially two young nurses were exasperated with her and complained about her as soon as she stormed out of the room. They really made me feel like I had gotten myself into a hospital show as a patient, it was fantastic. And I have to say, even though this young doctor had all of these flaws, she was the only one that actually talked to the patients and explained what was going on, hell she even talked to that woman’s daughter on the phone for a few minutes because the woman didn’t understand the language. Just like on tv, she may have been rude, but at least she seemed like a good doctor.

INTP: My university department held a conference and I was responsible for making sure that all these professors and PhD students didn’t die from their coffee cravings, so I spent most of my time running around with giant coffee cans. And I have to admit, among all the scientists that were roaming the halls, I couldn’t help but stare at him. He was a PhD student from the Netherlands and there was just something about him that did not fit in. You know how professors are often a bit eccentric or strange by normal standards (which explains why we had to explain to an unspeakable amount of them how a coffee can works), so you’d imagine he’d fit right in. But he didn’t. He was his own universe. While everyone was networking, he was studying the research posters in silence. Not because he was too shy, he seemed very comfortable in his own skin. He just didn’t seem to care all that much about other people. I got to listen to a few talks and as he sat in front of me, I saw him play a video game. At an international conference. With professors and colleagues sitting behind him. And he still managed to ask intelligent questions about the talk afterwards. No idea how. Part of me wished I could have talked to him, not because he was cute though he was, but rather because I really could not tell you what kind of person he was. Was he a good person? A bad one? Probably something in-between. But I don’t think my opinion would have fazed him all that much, since to me, he seemed like the kind of person that valued his own opinion on himself the most, and I think that’s a good thing that he’s got there.

ENTP: I had just moved to a different city in a completely different part of the country, and I had just gotten back from my first walk around town. Sounds exciting, but I got back to this unfamiliar flat that I was supposed to call home now and I was panicking. So I stepped out on the balcony hoping the cold air and the stars above could calm my nerves. But it wasn‘t them that did. I stood there in the dark and saw an elderly couple in the parking lot. The woman was in a very similar mental state as me. She was running around their car and was talking about all the things they still had to take care of and things they‘d need, but had forgotten, and her voice got higher and shakier with every word. And then her husband just went and hugged her. She kissed him goodbye three times and every time she did, he let out a little laugh, calm and gentle. He pat her on the back and said that everything was going to be okay, that they would see each other again tomorrow. She kissed him goodbye one last time before she drove away, and I stood there alone in the dark and thanked the universe that I was there at the right time to hear this old man‘s words. For some reason he always seems to appear every time I‘m feeling low and strikes up a little chat with me. And every time he leaves, I have already forgotten what I was sad about.

INFJ: I think everyone pursuing an academic career has this one hero, this one scientist that lit the spark in their heart to dedicate their life to science just like them. I know I have one. So when I started an internship at his lab with one of his colleagues, I didn‘t really expect to meet him. I had seen him around once in a while, yes, but who was I to approach a stranger to tell him what his work meant to me? But then came the plenary meeting that was meant to get more people of the lab to get to know one another - and he approached me. He sat down next to me, asked me about my academic past and future, asked about my current project with his colleague. And I still can‘t believe it. Only a little girl singing in the church choir who is suddenly approached by Beyoncé can hope to imagine what it felt like. He was an internationally renowned scientist, he would have had every reason to look down on the rest of us. Many of them certainly do. But here he was, talking to a little intern from abroad. He was such a genuinely nice person, was sweet and slightly awkward, he even mirrored my weird head nodding that I always do when all the words have left me. He felt like a kindred spirit. I didn‘t tell him what these few minutes talking to him meant to me though part of me wishes that I did, yet still he invited me to the meetings of his research team even though I was not a part of it. And when I came and sat down, he turned around, smiled at me and turned away again, and I can‘t tell you how insane it feels that all of this actually happened.

ENFJ: I’ve written about him before and I will write about him forever. I remember the day our eyes first met in that crowded school corridor almost half of my life ago. I don’t know why neither of us could look away that day, why neither of us could ever look away again from this day on. Somehow our eyes always found each other. I remember the snowy day at the train station so many years later, how he stood there alone in the cold and how he slowly walked towards me, his eyes glued to his feet that abruptly stopped right next to mine. And yet he stayed silent. As did I. So we stood there for an hour waiting for our train, quickly averting our eyes every time they came close to meeting. I remember him looking back at me over his shoulder once we got off the train. He seemed quite flustered that I was about to find out that he had parked his car right next to mine and so he fled. Both of us kept parking our cars next to each other, even when we didn’t see each other for months. But I could never follow him out. He was my own personal mystery. I spent countless nights staring at the ceiling wondering what it was, this strange thing that was going on between us, this little secret that we shared, and I wondered who he really was inside, not who he pretended to be in front of his friends. He was like an island in their midst, always a bit detached, always tucked away behind a smile. Soon twelve years will have passed and still we’ve never spoken a word, but somehow these dark brown eyes still feel more familiar than my own, these eyes that always seemed to look right into my soul. I could have stared at them my whole life. I honestly have no idea what it is that is tying me to him, what it is that I felt back then and what I’m feeling right now. Maybe I’ll never know. I haven’t seen him in three years, but I know our paths will cross again some day. I can feel it in my bones. This story is not over yet. Maybe then we’ll finally be ready to meet properly. Maybe then we’ll finally be able to speak.

INFP: I happened to stand at the window when I saw the new postman approach our letterbox, and so I watched him throw letters and magazines inside - and stop. He moved his head closer to the box and a frown appeared on his face. He backed off, wanted to leave, came back again and didn’t seem to know what he was supposed to do. So he rang the doorbell. As I opened the door, there he was, shy and with slight panic in his eyes. “I’m so sorry”, he said. “There is a sign on your letterbox that you don’t want advertisements, but I saw that too late and I had already thrown it in. I’m terribly sorry. I can’t get it out of the box and so I thought, I should ask if that’s alright.” And my heart just went awwww, that’s adorable. I smiled at him and told him that it was absolutely fine. He seemed so relieved. So he went away and I closed the door.

ENFP: This is for the man with the kind, but heartbreakingly sad eyes who sometimes sits in front of the train station silently begging for money. This is for the grandparents who spent their train ride trying to teach their little grandchildren the numbers from one to five. This is for the old woman who always kneels down in the middle of the train station with her forehead pressed to the ground, keeping still for hours, enduring the devastation of thousands of people passing by without stopping. This is for the woman who knelt down next to a homeless man, who took his hand and asked how she could help him. This is for the man who made faces at the little boy sitting next to him on the train to make him laugh. This is for the anger I felt when I saw the distraught face of a 10-year-old boy coming out of the movie „1917“ at the cinema with his father. This is for the happy little puppy who lives next to the bakery where I usually grab my lunch. This is for the twenty people who decided to all speak a foreign language during a meeting with each other just because I was there too, a total stranger they had never even seen before who is bad at their native language. This is for the creep that asked me in the middle of the street at night to accompany him. This is for the two teenagers who went to buy sandwiches and coffee for a homeless woman. This is for the families I often see sitting at the train stations, sometimes with a baby in their arms, holding a sign saying „Syrian family. We are hungry, help us please.“ This is for the man who yelled at his girlfriend because she gave them some money. This is for the people who play music during everyone‘s morning commute on the train. This is for all the people who approached me speaking in French and started to laugh when I apologised for not being very good at it. This is for Paris, in all its beauty and all its ugliness. This is for humanity, in all its beauty and ugliness.

ISTJ: He was sitting alone on the train, looking out of the window while listening to something with headphones. He was a tall guy in his mid-20s, one with a full beard, long brown hair in a neat ponytail, and a t-shirt of some rock band that I had never heard of. So, I was sitting there, three meters away, minding my own business, when I suddenly heard a giggle. The entire car of the train had been quiet all this time as it usually is, so I looked up and saw this guy trying to contain his laughter. He pressed the lips together, scratched his nose in order to inconspicuously cover his mouth. I don’t know where this sudden burst of laughter came from. Maybe he was listening to an audio book and reached a funny part. Maybe he was listening to a voice message of a funny friend. Maybe he just had a very amusing thought, I don’t know. But I’ve always had a soft spot for people who randomly start laughing in public and get embarrassed about it cause it’s always, always adorable.

ESTJ: She was a PhD student at my university and she was the one who mainly organised the conference that the above mentioned INTP was attending, too. And even though she didn‘t get tired of complaining about how much work this all was, how typical it was of her boss to volunteer to hold the conference at our university and then not lifting a single finger, she was like a fish in the water, not out of it. She observed everything and everyone, immediately recognised little problems or things that could become a problem, she was constantly running around checking everything, and she kept so many things in mind, it was impressive. One of the attendees sat in a wheelchair and as soon as she noticed, she made us rebuild the entire cafeteria immediately so that everything was reachable for her. And in all the running around, all the obligatory smalltalk, all the stress, she still found the time to stand with us student helpers and joke around.

ISFJ: It was 6pm on a Friday afternoon when all of Paris was trying to get home in the middle of a train strike, so the trains that did run were even more crowded than usual. I did not enjoy sharing 5 square metres with almost 40 other people. But then he entered the train and stood right next to me, leaning against the doors without moving, looking like an intellectual in gangster clothes. We were surrounded by noise of people talking and of rails screaming, by strangers breathing onto our skin, and he just stood there unfazed by it all. He radiated calmness like I‘ve never seen anyone do before. Soon it reached me too, filled me up and left no place for any distress or anxiety. He was like an island in the storm that grew and grew and grew until all of the 40 people around him were safe. I felt safe. I don‘t think he has even the faintest clue about how special he is, but I feel like it has been a privilege to have crossed paths with him.

ESFJ: Did you ever meet someone who, on first glance, looks like the perfect example of a jock, just a short guy with bigger arms than he’s tall? But then you look again, take a closer look at him and you realise that his face has goodness written all over it. He may be horribly bad at grammar for a linguistics student and he may be a bit too sensitive for his own good, but he never made it a secret of how much of a sweetheart he really is. And in situations like these, when he talks about how emotional he got as a tutor when his student told him about a dying grandfather because he felt responsible for the student’s wellbeing, in situations like these, when he approaches my friend after a class to apologise for his harsh criticism of her presentation and to tell her that he didn’t mean it that way, to which she gets all confused because she didn’t take the slightest offence to anything he has ever said in his entire life and he mumbles that he may have to stop beating himself up about stuff like this, I just want to give him a hug and never let go.

ISTP: I saw her on the metro during rush hour in Paris, and I immediately noticed her to be different. Everyone else always only stares at their phones or into space, everyone else always look like a tired zombie. She was not a zombie. She was leaning against the doors, shaking her leg in the rhythm of the music she was listening to. She was short and skinny, and not even her punk boots could hide that, but there was such a confidence shining out of her, a confidence in who she was that made her look like a giant. She looked like she‘s probably had it rather rough in life, but it didn‘t break her. She rose to the adversity, rose in spite of it all. She seemed to be capable of so many things. Intelligent enough to go into science if she ever wanted to, vicious enough to end someone who ever dared to cross her, warm enough to love deeply and with all her heart if she let it.

ESTP: It was a hot day and far hotter than a September afternoon ever should be. I was stuck in a traffic jam in the city, melting in my car as were so many others, waiting for that red light to finally turn green. And then he came, a young guy in an ugly shirt and with a hat on his head. He started to cross the street, but then stopped right there in the middle. And he started to juggle. In the middle of a traffic jam on a Friday afternoon, he juggled. Just before his green light turned to red, he bowed down to the cars a few times, and then jumped to the sidewalk and left. Thanks, mate, you enigmatic juggling traffic hero.

ISFP: I met him at a wedding. He was a bald man in his 70s with thick horn glasses and probably the most intimidating person I’ve ever met. Not because he was mean, but because he was so confident in himself and so observant. His gaze constantly changed direction. He took everything in that happened around him, he didn’t miss a single thing that was going on, and still he was calm and sure of himself that everyone at our table felt like they had to impress him in some way. Just by looking at him you knew he must have lived an extraordinary life and he really did. He liked talking about himself. He talked about living in the American desert, on a mediterranean island, in a Buddhist monastery, and on a cruise ship. He talked about the smell of the desert at night, about the taste of oranges picked from a tree. He talked about the people he met, about professors and musicians, about cooks and monks. He talked about how much his village loved him. But he also liked listening to others talk about their own lives. It was obvious that he treated life as an experience, as a journey that cannot be planned or imagined, only lived. When we said goodbye, he looked me right in the eye and told me that he thinks it’s great what I’m doing with my life and that he’s looking forward to meeting me again some day. It felt a bit like receiving praise from a deity.

ESFP: He was a nurse in the accident and emergency department at the hospital and the first person to talk to me while I was waiting in front of an examination room. He was only passing by with a colleague, but he stopped the conversation when he saw me and put his hand on my shoulder. “Aw, sugarmouse, what happened to you?”, was the first thing he said to me. You know, if an unknown man in his 50s is coming towards you and calls you “sugarmouse”, you’re usually not exactly happy, but he was just an overwhelmingly non-threatening guy that called all of the nurses and doctors by kitschy nicknames and radiated warmth wherever he went. He had noticed that I was nervous, and so he came to me and tried to gently put my mind at ease and I was really grateful for it.

#writing this took 3 years #nothing happens during a pandemic but all the more important this kind of testimony to these people feels to me #esfj has actually become a friend of mine by now #isfp is part of my family now since it was his brother's and my mother's wedding #and the enfj guy is the same as in the first version of this post that i wrote 5 years ago #i don't know where he is now or what he's doing but i really hope that his life is filled with love and happiness #i just think it's strange that after graduating i never saw 98% of the people i went to school with again #but the two people i did meet again dozens of times? were enfj and his little brother #sometimes it felt like a conspiracy of the universe and we were just too stupid #every time i think about how we had eye contact while driving past each other twice i think i‘m going insane #mbti #myers-briggs #types as #strangers i wish i had known #intj #entj #intp #entp #infj #enfj #infp #enfp #istj #estj #isfj #esfj #istp #estp #isfp #esfp

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dragon-kazansky · 3 years

Text

Made with love | Helmut Zemo

Chef Zemo AU! 👨‍🍳

Gender neutral reader!

Collage by @realremyd

[Next chapter]

Part 1

You had always wanted to travel through Europe. You wanted to see those streets at least once in your life. Meet the people, attention the languages, taste the food, and maybe even do a little shopping in certain cities.

Your friend, Wanda Maximoff, came from a rather unknown country called Sokovia. When you had told her about your trip, she had brought it up. She hadn't been back home since she left, but she remembered it well. She suggested some places to go if you ever stopped by. You made a mental note to drop by her home country for her sake.

Sokovia was a declining country. It had its fair share of issues and problems, but it was still out there waiting to be discovered. The least you could do was visit on your travels.

You had passed through Spain and France, spent a few extra days in Gemany, stopping by the Netherlands to see Amsterdam. You have lost count of the photos you had taken in Austria, and it was as your stay in Poland was coming to an end when you remembered about Sokovia. The other countries you had planned to pass through would have to wait. You spent your last night Poland planning the flyover to Sokovia, luckily finding a flight that will take you to the capital.

In your pocket you kept the list of places Wanda and suggested, her hoping most of them were still there. You would of course take pictures for her.

The plane landed and you exited the airport. You wanted to see the city. A cab station near by grabbed your attention, so you hurried over. You asked the driver of the nearest cab to drop you off in the city centre. He did.

Looking around Novi Grad, you were taken in. The city was old. People were going about their business, but some even turned to smile at you as you walked along. You took in the area, admiring the buildings and the people. You were impressed and in awe with the city.

You keep an eye out for somewhere to stay, checking Wanda's list as you go incase you spot one of the places on it.

You're not sure how long you have been strolling the streets when something catches your eye. It's not a very big building, but it stands out. A restaurant. A Spanish restaurant. You smile. Spain was one of your first stops when you got to Europe, the food was one of your favourite parts.

You realise just how hungry you are. You hadn't eaten anything since before your flight. The door is open and it looks like a good place to stop.

You look up at the sign as you get closer to it. Gold letters on a purple background. There was something elegant about it.

Escorpión Morado

You look at your list quickly. It's on there. Purple Scorpion. Wanda knew about this place. You put away the list, grab your camera, and stand far enough away to get a shot of the exterior. You smile at the outcome.

Outside there were a few tables. Four, to be exact. They had a nice view of the courtyard just in front of the restaurant. The entrance was two narrow double doors, opened wide to let air into the shop, and allowing easy access for the customers to come and go. The shop being on the corner of the street allowed a view on either side theiugh the large windows. On each window was the name of the restaurant in faint lettering. You could see inside, but decided you could admire it better by going in.

Entering the restaurant, you were welcomed with a certain warmth. It wasn't too busy, but there was still several people here, enjoying themselves. You took a picture of the inside.

The inside was nice and open, plenty of room to move around. A bar was situated at the far end, a couple of people sitting at it. You walked over the polished floor and made your way to the back. You pick a stool and sit down, looking up at the menu. There were plenty of options.

"What can I get for you?" A voice asks, coming over to you. You turn your head to see who was speaking, your voice suddenly doesn't want to work.

The man comes to stop in front of you. Brown hair swept to the side, dark brown eyes, sparkling with amusement, a smile tugging at his lips. His shirt sleeves were pushed back up to his elbows, and apron was around his waist. He had very clearly just been in the kitchen.

He tilts his head to the side slightly. You had yet to answer him.

"Are you alright?" He asks. "English?"

Oh, he thought you didn't understand.

"Um, yes. I speak English. I'm sorry, I'm fine," you feel embarrassed, shuffling on the stool slightly.

"That's alright. What can I get for you?" He asks, offering a friendly smile.

You glance up at the menu again. "What do you reccomend?"

As you glance back, you see his smile widen. You had eaten tapas while you were in Spain, but you found yourself wanting to hear him speak again. There was something about his accent that was satisfying.

"Since I haven't see you around here before, I'll make a special for you. How does that sound?"

"That sounds lovely, thank you."

He smiles and leaves you to go and make it himself. You look around the restaurant again while you wait.

On the wall just off to the side, there was a plaque. You get up and walk over to it, wanting to read what was on it. There was a photo above the plaque that caught your attention first. An older gentleman, dressed smartly and looking proud. You read the plaque to find out who he is.

Or was.

Heinrich Zemo

Founder of Escorpión Morado.

He died a few years ago, leaving the restaurant to his son, Helmut Zemo. There was no photo of his son, but you assumed he was here somewhere.

Actually, looking at the photo, you could awe some semblance with the man who had served you. Was he the owner?

You look at the plaque once more before going back sit down. The atmosphere in here was nice. You could see yourself coming here every day just to pass time. It certainly seemed like a favourite spot for these people.

You smiled as you glanced over the few people gathered here. A couple by the window, just looking out at people passing by. A man sitting at the bar talking to one of the staff members, they seemed to be enjoying themselves. There were a couple of families taking up tables here and there.

It was very relaxing here.

You turn back around when the man returns, he puts the dish down in front of you and smiles. It looks delicious, just like the one you had back in Spain.

He stands there as you take your first bite.

You stop and look at him as soon as the food touches your tongue. It's amazing. You smile as you eat it, nodding at him, impressed.

"This is the best tapas I've ever eaten."

He looks really pleased with himself.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, especially since I was Spain not that long ago." You go for another bite.

"A traveller?"

"Yeah. I always wanted to see Europe, so I've been saving like crazy and here I am."

He leans against the counter, seemingly interested in this information. You're not complaining, he is definitely attractive company.

"And you found yourself here of all places."

"I have a friend who comes from Sokovia. She had mentioned it to me before I left for my trip, the least I could do was come and see," you told him, still enjoying your meal.

"Sokovia isn't exactly a popular destination, but I welcome you all the same. I also welcome you to my restaurant."

"Ah, so you are Helmut Zemo? I was reading the plaque over there," you said, nodding over at the wall.

"The one and only. Do I get the honour of your name?"

"So you ask all your customers for their names?" You ask, smiling at him.

"Only the really interesting ones."

"Interesting? I've been here all of five minutes. What makes you think I'm interesting?"

"When you work in a business like this, you get to know who is interesting or not. It comes with the territory. Also, moat of my customers are locals, so anyone from outside the country has to be interesting in some way," he crosses his arms and looks at you smugly.

"I see," you chuckle.

"Is that a no, then?"

"Y/N. My name is Y/N," you reply rather bashful.

"Y/N, lovely."

The way he says it with his accent makes a shiver run down your spine. You had a sudden need for him to say it again, but you also had to remember to be a normal human being who isn't going to freak out the lovely man they just met.

"Your meal is on the house."

You look up at him sharply.

"Oh no, please let me pay," you say urgently.

He shakes his head.

"No, this one is free. Only this one."

"You say that as if you know I'm going to come back," you look at him with a narrowed gaze.

"I trust that you will," he smirks.

"Why?"

"Well, you ate everything, complimented both my food and establishment, and I'm far too interesting, myself, for you only to come by once."

You laugh softly, shaking your head at him. His eyes lit up at the sound.

"Insufferable," you say, sliding off the stool.

"I'm aware, you get used to it."

You smile as you make sure you don't leave any of your belongings behind and thank him for the delicious food.

"Come again," he says.

"I'll think about it."

You leave, knowing he was smiling as you left the building. You make your way across the square, resisting looking back through the window to see if he was still there.

You pull out your phone and bring up a map. You needed to find somewhere to stay for a few nights. You didn't have to look far. There was a small hotel up ahead and around the corner. You decided to try there.

Finding it wasn't too hard. You only had to go down a small backstreet. It was out of the way and hidden, a nice peaceful place to stay for a while.

You enter. The lobby wasn't too big and it was nice and quiet. The building was old, but the inside seemed well looked after.

You walk over to the desk and smile at the man sitting there.

"Hello."

He smiles, "hello."

He spoke English too. That was good. Your Sokovian was... nonexistent.

"I would like a room for a few nights."

He nods and opens a big book information front of him. He grabs a pen and flicks through room numbers.

"How long are you staying?"

"Three nights? Yeah, three should do." You still had countries to check off your list.

He nods and asks you to sign the book. While you do so he grabs a key from the wall behind him. You pass him the book back and take the key.

"Enjoy your stay."

You nod and take the stairs up. Your room was nice. Big enough for one person and on the main street side, where you came up to get here. You could just about see the square from the window.

You sat on the bed. Perfect. There was a TV, but something told you it would be Sokovian television. Maybe you could watch it just for the sake of it.

You lay back on the bed and took our your phone, calling Wanda.

She picked up almost immediately.

"Y/N, where are you?"

You smile, "Sokovia. You were right, Wanda, it's very pretty here."

You hear her little gasp down the phone.

"You're actually there? You're making me homesick now."

You chuckle softly.

"I'm sorry, Wanda. It's a beautiful city though. I even stopped off at one of the restaurants you listed."

"You did? Which one?"

"Escorpión Morado."

"Escorpión Morado? Oh my gosh! It's still there? Did you meet Heinrich? I remember him being so wonderful to his customers."

"Actually, Wanda, Heinrich passed away a few years ago. His son runs it now, but I guess you could say I did technically meet the owner."

"My heart is saddened to hear of his loss. I do vaguely remember his son. Though back then he worked in the kitchen and very rarely came out."

"Helmut is rather lovely. He stayed and talked to me while I ate."

"Is he cute?"

You roll your eyes at her question.

"He might be," you chuckle.

"Perhaps a romance will spark and you'll be left heartbroken because you'll have to come back here and maybe never see him again. I'll be here watching you drink wine straight from the bottle and gobble down ice cream because you're utterly in love with this man you met once while travelling."

"Wanda, I need you to stop watching those chick flick movies and come back to the real world. I'm not going to fall in love with him. His food, however, is to die for."

"Oh, you're in love with the food. Spain exists, you know."

"I know, I was there, remember? Kind of missing the sun, if I'm being honest, but my God Wanda, this man can cook."

"Marry that man, Y/N. He can cook."

"Wanda, shut up," you laugh with her down the phone.

"Never. Enjoy your time in my home country, Y/N. It honestly means the world to me that you're there."

"In taking photos, don't worry! I'll be home soon, Wanda. See you."

You end the call.

You drop your phone on the bed beside you and stare up at the ceiling. So far you really liked Sokovia, very different from places you had been to so far.

You smile as you think about Helmut. He was certainly the most memorable part of your stay here so far.

Maybe you would visit him again tomorrow.

For the food, obviously.

@namethathasnotbeentaken @belle82devart @cathrin2405 @lieutenantn @wilder-fangirl @latenightartist-author @lucky-luck-lucky @hb8301 @charistory @thatoneartgalsstuff @thesuitkovian @malkaviangirl @zemosimp420 @realremyd @the-chaotic-cow @lostghostgirl94 @zafiro-draco @lazygurl05 @pinkcutiepiee @goddessofmischief03 @whovianayesha @myybebe @awesomesauce-abbie @that-stupid-head-tilt-thing @zemo-is-my-muse @nonamec0s

#helmut zemo x reader #zemo x reader #helmut zemo #zemo #baron helmut zemo #marvel #AU #chef zemo au

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uswntxfootball · 3 years

Text

golden (ona batlle x nedwnt!reader)

your crush on the spanish defender was blatantly obvious, so what happens when jackie introduces you to her?

word count: 1934 ish

rated: S for soft bros, I for idiocy, and C for chaotic.

——

you don’t know when your crush on her started.

probably from one of jackie’s story posts.

you’re not entirely sure.

but here you are, double tapping a like on the spanish defender’s new post.

“i’ve never seen someone like something so fast.”

you whip around to see jackie with a teasing smile.

“shut up,” you blush.

“you should let me introduce you to her i-“

“no i’m okay thanks.”

jackie quirks an eyebrow before huffing:

“i don’t understand why you don’t let me introduce you to her. for all you know you could’ve had a girlfriend by now.”

you let out a snort at that.

“yeah right.”

“alright whatever put down your phone and stop staring at her post we’ve got to get to training anyways.”

you shoot a glare at the midfielder, who rolls her eyes upon seeing your response.

and with that, jackie starts walking out of the room.

she makes it halfway down the hall before turning again, only to see you still in the room, staring down at your phone.

“y/n!”

“all right all right i’m coming!”

“y/n.”

you stiffen on the ground.

the room remains silent.

“you know i can see you right?”

you still don’t speak, opting to shuffle slowly and quietly out of the room instead.

you see jackie mute herself and turn in your general direction.

“come say hi or something instead of sitting there in the dark like a weirdo.”

jackie lets out a sigh in defeat and turns back to her computer at your silence.

“guess i’ll talk to her on my own then.”

the midfielder was on a manchester united zoom call, and you, you totally weren’t sneaking in to catch a glimpse of ona… no definitely not.

you continued backing out slowly, but suddenly you hear a heavy spanish accent and your head snaps up…

promptly hitting the table above you.

“fuck!”

you slap your hand over your mouth half a second after your outburst.

jackie turns to you and has to stifle her laughter upon seeing you.

“you’re hopeless, you know that right?”

you let out a pained grunt from under the table, and jackie just shakes her head and laughs at you.

you hear jackie tell her call she’ll be right back and the chair is pulled out from in front of you.

when she ducks down to look at you, you’re rubbing your head and pouting, something that the midfielder finds very amusing.

“come say hi. i’ll introduce you.”

you shake your head vehemently, determined to not do what jackie suggested.

“y/n.”

“yeah?”

“you’re the most stubborn person i’ve ever met.”

“is that a compliment?”

“not really no.”

“well i’m pretending it is one.”

“well it’s really not.”

“shh go back to your meeting and let me pretend in peace.”

“JACKIE!”

jackie jumps and almost drops her toothbrush in fear.

the panicked look on your face disappears temporarily as you laugh at her response, your action causing her to glare at you through the mirror.

“what do you want?”

the panicked look quickly returns.

“why didn’t you tell me about our next game?”

jackie furrows her eyebrows:

“what do you mean? why would i tell you? its not like you’re not at all our team meetings.”

“you know i don’t pay attention to what sarina’s saying ninety percent of the time!”

jackie shuts off the sink and spins around, flinging water in your face before saying:

“and how is that my problem?”

you grab her arm and jackie almost laughs at the expression on your face.

she finally asks:

“what’s wrong with this upcoming game?”

you groan and say:

“it’s against spain that’s what!”

jackie now does laugh, finding your panic funny and reveling in your frankly very sad pining.

“well now you’ll be able to see her in person rather than through a screen for once.”

“THAT”S THE PROBLEM.”

you groan again, and jackie only laughs, pulling you into a hug before saying:

“now can i introduce you to her?”

you pout.

“no”

“you’re so annoying. why won’t you just let me introduce you to her?”

what you say next just makes jackie laugh out loud.

“cuz i’ll be a gay mess.”

she snorts.

“are you always this pathetic?”

you roll your eyes and shoot a glare at her.

“are you always this annoying?”

jackie scowls.

“watch your mouth. or i’ll talk to ona next game.”

well that sure shut you up.

your heart was beating frantically, to the point where you were surprised your teammates couldn’t hear it.

you were on the bus, on the way to your international friendly between the netherlands and spain.

and you.

you were losing your mind.

“y/n!”

you look up when jill calls your name.

“you okay buddy? you look a little sick.”

jill’s concerned tone earned a snicker from jackie beside you, who you promptly kicked in the shin before turning back and smiling at jill, saying:

“yeah just nerves i guess.”

jill’s brows furrowed a little.

“it’s just a friendly dude, you’ll be fine. you’ll nail it.”

jackie adds quietly so only you can hear:

“that’s not the only thing she’ll be nail-ow!”

you elbow her in the ribs before giving jill an apologetic smile, your face sporting a bright red blush.

“thanks jill, appreciate it.”

jill nods slowly and apprehensively before turning back towards viv, the two forwards engaged in conversation once again.

you turn to jackie, who’s doubled over, pouting at you.

you roll your eyes.

“oh stop it you big baby.”

jackie scowls, then grins mischievously.

“i guess i’ll just talk to ona after the match today then…”

your eyes widened in panic.

“no no no i take it back i take it ba-“

“nope i’ve made up my mind.”

“please jackie let me- no- don’t i-“

jackie just sticks her tongue out at you and turns towards the window.

you tried so hard.

so so so hard not to make a fool of yourself on the pitch.

you ended up resorting to not even glancing in the full back’s direction in hopes that that would help.

it didn’t really.

it also didn’t help that the pitch was muddy and therefore slippery.

one can put two and two together.

there was one super embarrassing moment in the first half in which you had the ball and began making your way through the spanish midfield when you saw the number 2 making her way towards you.

you were so nervous in being close to her that she barely touched you and somehow you ended up on the ground.

the ball was put out of play a few seconds after, and the spanish defender stuck her hand out at you to help you up, whispering an “i’m sorry i didn’t mean to push you” which left a bright blush on your cheeks as you managed to get out:

“don’t worry i just slipped.”

but by the end of the game you were getting into your groove, and finally managed to function like a normal and coordinate person around her.

the game ended with a 3-1 win for the netherlands, 2 goals courtesy of viv and 1 from daan.

but all in all, you weren’t all too focused on the game.

you ran to jackie when the whistle blew.

the two of you talked a little bit about the game and slowly the people on the field fell into groups, club teammates saying hi to each other, and old friends finding a topic to talk about again.

you were walking backwards, as you were talking with jackie about the game, something that you did after every game.

you always trusted jackie to tell you if you were going to run into someone.

you should have remembered about that bus conversation.

you saw jackie look past you for a second and before you could turn to see what was ahead you body collided into someone else’s.

one look at jackie’s face and you knew who it was.

luckily for you, or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it, ona’s reactions were quick and promptly held onto your waist to stabilize you before you fell to the ground.

you face was flushed scarlet at the feeling.

jackie approached the two of you.

“ah perfect, y/n, ona, ona, y/n, the two of you talk, i’ve gotta go do something, bye!”

one of these days you were going to kill jackie.

the heavy spanish accent broke you out of your thoughts.

“hey i’m ona.”

you blushed at the proximity.

if you had thought that the spanish defender was pretty in photos, well jeez.

here up close you could see every freckle on her face, her eyelashes, and in all honesty it was too much for you.

you felt like you were going to pass out.

she still hadn’t let go of your waist and the two of you were inches apart from each other.

she seemed to realize this too and quickly let go.

“um i’m y/n..” you mumble, cursing yourself for your ineptitude to talk to people.

well maybe just really really really fucking pretty people.

one of ona’s brows quirked up as if she was thinking about something, and then she said:

“your voice sounds familiar.. you sound like- are you the one who cursed on that one united call?”

you looked down at the grass and blushed harder.

“yeah that would be me.”

ona let out a laugh that made your heart stop in your chest.

“well since jackie’s so keen for us to talk, why don’t we get a coffee sometime and do just that?”

your heart felt like it had disappeared at this point.

“you want to get coffee with me?!”

you cringed internally at how loud and enthusiastic your reply was.

the corners of ona’s mouth tugged up a little and she said:

“well of course, i don’t waste my time when i see something beautiful.”

so your heart was gone. long long long gone.

“y-i-um” you stuttered all over the place, unable to form a coherent sentence.

ona broke out into a full grin (which of course, just made you even weaker at the knees), and said:

“jackie was right, you are cute.”

you really were going to kill jackie one day.

you didn’t realize how quiet you had been until ona speaks up again.

“so about getting coffee…”

she looks up at you expectantly, and you open your mouth before closing it quickly, instead nodding ferociously, something that made ona laugh.

the two of you turn when ona’s name is called from across the field, to see mapi standing with an amused smirk on her face, yelling something in spanish you didn’t understand.

ona turns to you again.

“well i’ve got to go. i’ll text you about coffee?”

you nod and give her a timid wave.

“and it’s a date!”

you blush a little and nod again, not trusting your mouth to speak normally.

she’s halfway across the field when you shout after her:

“wait you don’t have my number!”

ona turns and gives you a one word response:

“jackie!”

you roll your eyes and give her another wave before you turn towards your locker room, where you see jackie standing and watching you.

she mouths an “you’re welcome” in your direction.

you just shake your head.

#ona batlle #ona batlle imagine #ona batlle x reader #espwnt x reader #espwnt imagine #uswnt imagine #uswnt x reader #muwfc x reader #muwfc imagine #woso imagines #woso imagine

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arsonaetcuh · 3 years

Text

Incorrect Hetalia Quotes part 6/? Romerica/Americano/Roaring 20s Trio edition (very long)

Lithuania: How did you and Romano get together? America: I almost beat him up when he was trying to clean Lithuania: America: It was love at first fight.

Romano: Alfredo is too tall for me to kiss on the lips. What should I do? Prussia: Punch him in the stomach and kiss him when he doubles over in pain. Lithuania: Kick him in the shins America, sobbing: just ask me to lean down.

Romano: What are you, five? America: Yeah, five heads taller than you! America: I'm so sorry please don't kill me-

America: I think I just figured something out. I got to go. Romano: Aren’t you forgetting something? America: Uhh… *hesitantly kisses Romano's forehead before running out*. Romano: No, bastard! Pay your bill! Damn, who raised you?

America: isn't this wonderful? Romano: Yeah, it's just me, you, and the moon. Lithuania, as the moon: HEY, YOU TWO SHOULD KISS

Lithuania: Hey, Romano, are you free on Friday? Like, around 8pm on Friday? Romano: Si? Lithuania: What about you? America: Yeah, I am. Lithuania: Great! Because I’m not. You two go out without me. Enjoy your date! America: Did he just-

Romano: WHICH ONE OF YOU BASTARDS TOUTCHA MY SPAGHETTI?? I AM GOING TO KI- America: *raises hand* Romano: -iss you and bring you some more spaghetti. Do you want cheese on top?

America: YOU’RE UNDER ARREST FOR ROBBERY Romano: WAIT NO BUT WHAT DID I STEAL? America: My heart.

America: *whispers in Romano's ear* This place is pretty dangerous, want me to hold your hand... just in case? Romano: *rolls his eyes playfully and grabs America's hand, intertwining their fingers together* Lithuania: …We’re at the mall, what is wrong with you two???

Romano: Your smile? It makes my day. America: Your happiness? I live for that. Lithuania: A room? Just get one.

America: Oh c’mon, I didn’t drink that much last night! Lithuania: You were flirting with Romano. America: So what? He's my boyfriend. Lithuania: You asked if he was single… Lithuania: And then cried when he said he wasn't

England: If you wanna marry America, you're gonna have to ask for my blessing.

Romano: Ok. May I have your-

Netherlands: And mine.

Romano: What?

France: And mine.

Romano:

Spain: And mine

Romano: You're supposed to be my dad!

Norway: And my blessing.

Sweden: And mine

Finland: And mine

Romano:

Denmark: Don't forget mine!

Canada: And mine!

Romano: *nervous sweating*

Lithuania: Alfred F. Jones, do you take Giacomo Vargas as your lawfully wedded husband? America: I Scooby-Dooby-Doo. Romano: I want a divorce.

America: Be the bigger person. Romano: No! I’m 170cm and bitter. You be the bigger person.

America, singing: This woman is my destiny. She said; Nyo!Romano, singing: Ooo oo oo ooh, shut up- Nyo!Romano, normal voice: Just shut up!

America: Making my way downtown. America: Walking fast. America: America: Walking slower to match my pace with Romano's because he's short.

America: For self defence purposes, imagine this scenario: I have a gun to your face and say "Your money or your life!" What would you do? Romano: Bold of you to assume I have money. Lithuania: Bold of you to assume I want to live.

Romano: So, bastard, what’s Alfredo's type? Lithuania: Hazel eyes, brown hair, oblivious, likes food, rude as hell Romano: Sounds kinda like me... Too bad we’re just friends! Lithuania: Did I mention oblivious? Romano: Si, why? Lithuania: Okay, just making sure.

Romano: I'm cooking my brother America: ok Romano: *for Romano: I love how you would've believed me.

Romano: What time is it? America: *rips off normal clothes to reveal revolutionary uniform* SHOWTIME Lithuania: I'm so sorry America: SHOWTIME SHOWTIME YO--

*After an argument between Romano and America* Lithuania: Alright, now America, do you have anything nice to say about Romano? America: …I've seen... shorter people.

Lithuania: So, why is America mad at you? Romano: He sneezed and I accidentally said “shut the fuck up” instead of “bless you.” Lithuania: How do you accidentally say “shut the fuck up”?!

America: So we went to the only person we could trust— Lithuania. Romano: But he told us our plan was way too devious. America: And illegal.

Romano: This is torture. You're torturing me. Stop trying to seduce me, it's not going to work. America: -literally just washing the dishes-

Romano: Anyone above 170cm doesn’t deserve happiness America: I’m sorry could you say that a bit louder? Couldn’t hear that from up here. Do you need a ladder? I can get you a ladder.

*Watching a horror movie* America: Are you scared? Romano: In this economy, who wouldn’t be?

Romano and America: Can you feel the lo- Lithuania, joining in: love tonight- America: Really? Lithuania: I'll shut up now

America, singing(???): IT'S THE EYE OF THE TIGER IT'S THE THRILL OF THE FIGHT! Romano: *unsheathes sword* Lithuania: *stops him* America: RISING UP TO THE CHALLENGE OF OUR RIVAL!!!

America and Romano: *making out in the kitchen* Lithuania, casually walking by while eating cereal: Oh hey am I interrupting anything

Link to part 5

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falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 3 years

Text

Under A Storm - Bucky Barnes x mystery (f)reader Avenger

Summary: You’ve been in love with Bucky for awhile now, and so has he, what will happen when you reveal your true origins? Will he still love you?

Warning: got some good’ol angst, fluffy times with Bucky I don’t hate you I promise

Masterlist

“I think I’m winning. Just putting that out there.” You quip, not even breaking a sweat as Bucky uses everything in his power to get your arm to budge, even just a little.

“I’m trying...just give me a moment..” Grumbles Bucky as he strains to keep his metal arm from reaching defeat at the end of the table.

For the entirety of the day the two of you have been wandering around the Avengers base with nothing better to do then annoy Tony in his lab, and harass Clint who’s recovering from a broken arm while everyone else is off somewhere in the Netherlands, probably freezing their asses off.

Luckily for you, Steve said this was your vacation week, while Bucky on the other hand was told to hang back while his abdominal scars heal up nice and pretty. And since you could care less about heading down south to some fancy and excessively hot beach all on your lonesome, you’ve decided to keep your friends company. Especially Bucky.

But if you’re being honest with yourself here, you mostly just stayed to spend time with Bucky. Ah yes, that beautifully handsome blue eyed bastard with the metal arm and incredibly good looks paired with an equally as stellar personality.

It’s almost like the universe said “I know you’ve had a hard time down there so here’s this literal angel for you, you’re welcome, lots of love now go and do nothing about it sucker.”

It’s not like you didn’t want to make a move, it’s just, you’re origins are so different from his. In fact, your ass isn’t even from earth! You’re not even an actual human being! Granted you look humanly enough, separate from the fact that you’ve got a beautiful pair of darkly colored curled horns, and eyes the color of fire embers that reflects light due to your nocturnal vision.

But other then those little oddities about yourself, you look pretty normal, even more so when wearing a hoodie and sunglasses. Which has become a staple of your usual street attire in general and even when on missions.

Even with all the mystery that still surrounds you and that you’ve kept hidden within yourself since you’ve met him, Bucky likes having you around anyway, and without a doubt you are his favorite person on the team.

Smiling adoringly, you chuckle while Bucky struggles to pin your arm to the table, while your arm holds his up with little effort due to your inhuman strength.

He’s trying really hard, putting all of his effort and sweat into winning this round, which would be the first if he does happen to win, which you already know won’t be happening today, nor the next week.

“Just give me a moment.” Mutters Bucky through clenched teeth as his metal arm adjusts and readjusts to use as much strength as physically possible by this special Wakandian tech.

Blowing air out of your lips, you casually rest your head against your knuckles on your free hand as you wait for him to finally crack, “Just tap out or I’ll pin you again. And I know how much you hate losing.”

“I’m not tapping out Y/N.” Says Bucky defensively as he focuses all his energy into moving your arm even just an itty bitty inch, something, anything.

“Fine then.” You reply before slamming his metal arm against the table with a loud clang that rings throughout the entire lounging area. He quickly gives you an annoyed look as your face turns into a bright grin.

“I hate you.” Grumbles Bucky as he leans back into the couch.

Snatching your water bottle from the side table, you take a swig before shrugging, “We don’t have room in this house for weak bitches. Barnes I’m sorry to say this but....you’ve gotta go.”

Bucky shakes his head in annoyance before the corners of his eyes begin to crinkle, followed by his beautiful smile and then that contagious laugh. “Y/N I couldn’t make it without you, please be kind.” He pleads jokingly as you set the bottle down.

“I’ll consider your words.” You muse with a dramatic hair flip as he reaches over to take the half empty bottle of water, drinking it all in one long chug that has you memorized for a good ten seconds.

Snapping out of your Bucky-being-unknowingly-hot-without-realizing-it trance, you quickly fake pout, “My water you ass!”

“I’m from Russia so it’s our water.”

“Shut up you just lived there.” You retort before giving him a double take, “And hey.”

“Ah, come on doll let’s go bother Clint again.” Suggests Bucky as he rises to his feet and walks around the table to pull you to yours as well. God all you wanna do is kiss that stupid face of his and shove him back down onto the couch and...

“Hey guys what’s up.” Chirps Clint as Bucky wanders into Tony’s lab, you following right after.

Nodding to him in acknowledgment, you casually shrug while looking around at the various contraptions and work-in-progresses, “Oh you know, the usual.”

“Here to lighten up the place? Things were getting pretty dull.” Confirms Clint just as Tony walks out of the bathroom.

“I heard that. And what? Are we not having fun? Are you not entertained?”

“I’m entertained all right.”

“Exactly.” Points Tony before shifting his attention over to Bucky, “Speaking of entertainment. I need you for a little something out back involving a knife and you throwing it at a couple things I’ve been testing out.”

“He’d love too.” You add with a beaming grin as Bucky turns to glare at you, noticing his agitation you quickly take a step forward and squeeze his shoulders, “Right?”

Pursing his lips together, Bucky turns his head to face an expectant Tony before glaring back down at you, “Sure.”

“Alright great! Just follow me and let’s blow this popsicle stand.” Claps the genius enthusiastically as he gathers a bag full of various materials, making certain to snatch a camera before making for the door. Oh, you’ve gotta watch that tape later.

Releasing your grip from Bucky’s broad shoulders, you hand him a small smile, “Hehe sorry.”

“You owe me you little asshole.” Jokes Bucky with an apprehensive smirk as he swiftly touches your chin affectionately before turning to jog out the door after Tony.

Smiling like a fool in love, you suppress a childish giggle as Clint loudly slurps down a smoothie, “You got it bad kid, you really do.”

Raising a brow at him, you walk over to the swivel chair he’s seated comfortably on and take the free spot on the table nearby, “I’m almost as old as the dinosaurs so don’t call me kid.” You sass, causing him to chuckle.

“Fair point. But still, you’ve got it bad Y/N.” Rolling your ember irises, you let out a huff of air as he grins knowingly, “Decide on telling him anytime soon or are we waiting for something tragic to happen first?”

“I’ll get around to it.” You mutter unenthusiastically as Clint takes another long pause to awkwardly suck down his weirdly colored smoothie.

“Sure. Okay, and I believe the earth is flat.” Snorts Clint, his words absolutely dripping in sarcasm.

Scoffing you throw a dirty cloth at him before letting your head fall into your hands, “It’s too fucking difficult Clint. I’m too goddamn weird.”

“What?” Laughs Clint in bewilderment, genuinely surprised that you would say such a thing considering he’s know you for years and finds that completely false, “I don’t believe that for a second.”

“No it’s true.” You mumble against your palms, “He doesn’t know about everything about me yet, I don’t wanna freak him out just as he’s starting to like me alright.”

“Ah, so he does like you.” Confirms Clint with a knowing nod, “I knew it.”

“Yeah me too.”

Nodding slowly once again, the archer stands and makes the less then 1 foot distance to reach you. Head still in your hands, he gently knocks a fist against one of your horns as you try your best to ignore his existence.

“Knock. Knock. Anyone home?” Asks your friend as he awaits in hope that he can talk some real sense into you about your strong feelings for Bucky. “Please, I know you’re in there Y/N, time to open up.”

Cracking a smile at his theatrics, you slowly release your head from your palms to greet him with an annoyed half glare, “By the way I am not waiting for something terrible to happen. I have my reasons okay.”

“Your reasons being...”

Biting your lip, you pull your legs up to sit cross legged on the table, “You don’t get it Clint, I’m me alright. I’m not from this planet, I’ve got horns, I can sense peoples emotions, and since my mother is Goddess of the Underworld I’m technically herald of bringing this earth to a bloody and violent end!” You shout as he keeps the most irritating of faces on, making your anger rise by the second.

“Isn’t it nice to talk about our feelings.” Replies Clint in the most soothing voice you’ve ever heard, if you weren’t so flustered right now you could probably have laughed.

“Fuck off Clint I’m in love and he doesn’t know that shit part about me.” You grumble with a frown, “Bucky doesn’t know anything.”

“Well...” Wonders Clint for a brief moment, “Maybe he should. I mean you said it yourself, he does have affections for you.”

“Oh I know he does, every time I’m around him he smells like what happiness and love smells like.”

“Which is?”

“Hard to describe in this world, but it’s the best smell in existence.” You admit with the smallest of smiles as you think about Bucky, “Clint why do I have to feel this way? Why does he have to love me? I’m destined for terrible things....or, well...I was, but still.”

Noticing how your eyes have suddenly glossed over, Clint holds your shoulder while giving you a reassuring smile, “Y/N, listen to me. You will never do anything like that, you’re too morally correct and are almost the embodiment of a kitten for that shit anyways. And I know Bucky will love you either way, because he’s Bucky and that man needs a wild woman like you in his life to keep things interesting. You’ll be fine, believe me.”

Shutting your eyes tight, you reveal the tiniest of smiles before looking at Clint, “Maybe you’re not just a pretty face after all. Thanks Clint I needed that.”

Taking a step back, be claps his hands together happily, “Why thank you. I’ve been watching a lot of Ted talks on our higher purpose and motivation recently and you gave me the perfect opportunity to test my insight.”

“Clint you’re ridiculous.” You laugh, “But still, I think it’s time to tell him. I just hope he’s okay after all is said and done because I don’t know what I’d do with myself if he walks away.” You worry.

“Well if he does I make the best margaritas...”

“Shut up.”

——

For the past half an hour your mind has been swimming with worries and thoughts about how Bucky may react when you tell him the full truth of your origins, and possible future that you’ve fought to keep away since you walked into this world.

He’s only a man, a full mortal, but you have grown to love him so much it hurts sometimes.

Your ember eyes watch as the trees sway back and forth with the moody wind who pushes and pulls them back. A storm is on the rise as giant puffy dark clouds appear in the far distance, causing the once sunny day to darken.

You slouch lazily in your comfy plush lounging chair, one that you easily dragged over to the nearest giant window to watch the clouds race by while you wait for Bucky to return. Getting lost in your drifting thoughts in the process.

“Guess we won’t be going for a walk today after all.” Interrupts Bucky from your jumbled mind, your head immediately turns to watch as he walks from the kitchen to your side by the window.

“Yeah, too bad. I’m not that mad though, I like listening to the thunderstorms.” You confirm with a casual shrug.

Bucky smiles down at you, head turning to watch as the wind rushes against the trees, “I guess there is a beauty in the chaos....but hey Y/N, you know what we could do now?”

Chuckling at his excited expression, you tilt your head up, giving him your full undivided attention, “I’m dying to know Buck.” You muse with a cute little smirk that unknowingly caused his heart to jump with happiness.

Breaking out into a shy smile, Bucky quickly runs his fingers through his less then shoulder length hair, “Uh, what do you say to a movie night? With me?” He asks cautiously, hoping you’ll say yes so he gets even the tiniest opportunity to maybe, possibly, cuddle you.

Your eyes shift back to the growing grey clouds as small water droplets flicker against the window, smiling to yourself, you swiftly stand and turn to face him, “That’s a compelling question...” You muse with a lopsided grin, your hand rising to touch the tip of your chin thoughtfully as he leans against the thick window with a bemused smirk, “And since you asked so nicely and look so very polite too, oh I guess it’d be a tragedy and lonesome night if I declined.” You laugh.

“It would be very lonely for sure.” Agrees Bucky, his face suddenly shifting to slight nervousness, “So uh....you in?”

Breaking out into a beaming grin, you playfully roll your eyes, “No shit I’m in.” You quip before walking past him and into the kitchen for a drink, Bucky following close behind.

He stops to lean his torso against the marble countertop as you fill up a glass of water, “Well I wasn’t completely sure, just checking.” He admits with a nervous chuckle. Bucky you are unbelievably adorable.

Finishing your drink, you roll your eyes as he hangs his head in slight embarrassment, “God Buck, it’s a good thing you’re pretty.” You jest, causing his cheeks to dust pink as he rises his head to meet your shimmering irises. You’re so beautiful, he thinks, incredibly glad that you can’t read minds like Wanda.

Little does he know you can sense emotions, smell them even if they’re strong enough; and if Bucky doesn’t just smell of love and absolute joy right. It’s the most adorable thing in the whole entire world, there’s no fucking way you’ll refrain from admitting your feelings tonight. It just wouldn’t be fair if you didn’t.

“Hey I’m trying here.” He protests half defensively, pushing himself off the counter as you walk around and head for the door. He’s at your side in a second, smile on and eyes trained on nothing but you.

Keeping your eyes forward, you bite your lip as he stares, suddenly his metal arm gives you a slight friendly nudge and now you have no choice but to look at his dumb face, “You think I’m pretty?” He wonders with a mischievous smirk.

“Yeah.” You mutter before pushing him to the side as he’s drifted comfortably close to you, “Pretty annoying.” You retort, doing your best to hold in your laughter as he takes offense and grips his chest dramatically.

“Y/N you monster.” Gasps Bucky, mouth a-gap as he watches you casually shrug.

“I am evil and cold blooded what can I say.” You muse back, a smug grin on your lips that Bucky would like nothing more then to kiss right now. Yet he refrains, not today, he needs to gather his courage first.

Turning the corner to the Avengers sleeping quarters, he quickly stops when he realizes none of you know which room to take, tugging at his sleeve you hand him a calming grin, “We’ll watch in mine. You’re bed is too hard anyways.”

“It is not.” He argues.

“It is too.”

“Not.”

“Well it is so shut up.”

“Not.”

Pushing him into his door, you raise a brow at him, “Just get the movie, I’ll be in my room waiting for your annoying ass.”

Shaking his head at your humorous sass, he quickly salutes you before opening up his door, “What are we thinking? Horror? Comedy? Adventure? All three?”

Taking a step forward, you lean in closer to Bucky; almost testing the waters, before lightly pushing him backwards by his strong chest, “Surprise me.” You quip, wiggling your brow once for emphasis. He breaks out into an adorable crooked grin as he watches you leave and close your own door right across from him.

After making record time changing into your comfortable movie watching sweatpants and some ten year old shirt from Nat that says SHIRT in red letters with the R in a dull grey. Yeah, its one of your favorites; you race to turn the tv on as rain pounds against the glass, one flash of lightening strikes in the distance as a knock sounds at your door. Bucky.

Bolting for the door so fast you almost trip on a stray hoodie, you quickly regain your cool before taking a breath and opening up the metal door. You’re immediately greeted with the smiling face of Bucky as he holds a movie and two beers.

Leaning nonchalantly against the door frame you meet him with the chillest guise you can muster, “So, you come here often?”

Bucky instantly chuckles at your amusing antics as a small blush creeps out over his stubbled cheeks, “Only when I’m invited.” He replies before holding up the movie, “Is this one good?” Hell yes, and you’re now in my room.

Snatching it out of his hand you pull him fully into the room by tugging on his red shirt without much warning, he practically stumbles in, quickly regaining his balance while you shut the door and practically swagger over to the bed. Bucky following close behind.

You gracefully jump onto the comfortable mattress and twist into a seated position before grabbing some kind of hand held scanner, Bucky awkwardly shuffling to the bedside as he then moves to find a spot against the headboard as you fumble around with the movie and whatever device is in your hand.

Raising a brow he watches in curiosity, “Uh, Y/N. What exactly is that?”

“A movie scanner made by Tony. I scan said film and boom it translates to the tv no problem. Technology right.”

He nods in understanding as you press some button and suddenly the movie is on the tv screen, set and ready to play, “Woah.” He mumbles, genuinely in awe of the advanced tech of today. And how fast you were able to do that, god you’re just the best, he thinks.

A second later he flinches back as you throw a pillow at his side, “Shit sorry.” You mutter almost shyly while crawling to his side, “Heads up.”

“Yeah thanks for the warning. I’ll sit on the floor next time until you give me the all clear.” Sasses Bucky as you sit, grabbing the pillow and smacking him on the side of his head while also pretending not to notice your little theatric as you turn towards the screen. Very nonchalant.

Bucky on the other hand is left with some disheveled hair and the dumbest smile on his handsome face while you press play and grab a beer from out of his right hand, “I’m gonna take this.” You add before gasping in excitement, “You wanna watch something?! I have a party trick! It’s a good one too, you wanna see!”

“Please.” Snickers Bucky as you turn to face him better. He watches in awe as you raise the bottle to your left horn and in one calculated motion, use the sharp tip to crack open the beer bottle. “Wow.”

“I know right!” You exclaim with excitement, “It took me a week to perfect it. I just kept breaking the bottles neck and then Steve would drink after cause he can’t get drunk so.....uh yeah, you want me to open yours too?”

“I’d be honored.”

After drinking both your beers and watching the movie progress in relative peace, with the occasional gust of wind against the glass and a crack of thunder and lightening here and there. All was going pretty well, Bucky was laying on his one side while you were laying on your stomach totally engrossed in the film until....

Crack! BOOM! Darkness.

“Dammit! They were getting to the best part!” You whine, shifting around to sit while dramatically yelling out your frustration as Bucky turns to lay on his back, suppressing bemused laughter while you curse the shit excuse for efficient electricity in this place.

“It’ll come back on soon.” He inquires, “Guess you’ll just have to talk to me now.”

Snapping your head over to him, you scoff, “Why do I feel like you planned this?”

“I thought you planned this? Considering.....well, I guess I don’t really know.” He says thoughtfully, pausing for a moment before he hums, “We could ask each other questions.”

Y/N this is the absolute perfect opportunity, take it you lovestruck idiot, “Uh, yeah sure....I like knowing things.” You internally cringe, wanting to smack your head for that one; and you thought you could go a full hour without embarrassing yourself. Nope.

Nevertheless, Bucky smiles in the darkness, “Alright uh, let me think.......hmm okay uh.....where are you from? Since I’ve never really asked about that before.”

Well, fuck. I guess he’s going for the big guns straight off the bat.

Biting your lip anxiously, you twist a piece of frayed fabric from your one strange little pillow as you gather your courage to finally tell him everything. This is it, no holding back, “Oh uh.....well......you know I’m not from earth, yes?”

“Yeah, I did know that. The horns.”

“Right, good.” You mutter, your voice wavering with nervousness so much that Bucky sits up and turns to properly look at you even if he can’t really see your face.

“Y/N, are you okay?” He worries, brows furrowing in concern.

Hastily you regain your once dampened composure, “Yes! Yes.....yeah, I’m good. Awesome. Great....”

“Y/N.”

“Yeah.”

“Is it because you had a bad childhood?” Quips Bucky, using your own inside joke against you to help lighten the mood and make you laugh.

Snorting in amusement you smack his arm, Bucky mentally rejoices when he hears the sweet song of your happiness coming back, and the light sting of your always powerful hand.

“I didn’t have a bad childhood Bucky.” You admit, voice suddenly somber and thoughtful, “I didn’t even have a childhood.” Already getting depressing Y/N, nice one.

“oh.”

You shrug, letting out an apprehensive sigh as you look from the window then back to Bucky again, while he tries to watch your every move in the blackness of the room, “Bucky....there’s some things in this world that are so incredibly hard to comprehend and fully understand....you’ve seen the power Wanda can create and the talent of the mind stone inside Visions head. Yes?”

He sits in deep thought at your intriguing words, trying to piece together where you may be going with this, “Of course. What does that have to do with you?”

“I wasn’t actually born like a normal being....rather, I was formed and created by my mothers will and raw power. I was molded by earth, thunder, magic, and chaos.....I am.....well..” You sigh, “I don’t really know.”

“Well that’s......neat.”

Cracking a small smile, you continue on, lest confuse him more, “My mother...which I assume you’re curious about by now. She’s essentially, goddess of the Underworld, keeper of beasts and master of chaos. Some type of divine something, who can really say when I’m not even sure.”

Bucky stays silent for longer then you would like, each extra second making you grow more nervous and regretful for revealing all this to him. Soon enough he answers, “So that means.....Y/N you’re technically a demigod?”

“I guess.”

He pauses for another moment before gently shaking your leg, “Y/N! That is the coolest thing anyone has ever said to me in my entire life.”

“What?” Is he serious?

“You’re a demigod! I’m sitting next to a demigod. Y/N I didn’t think you could be any more amazing then you already are.” Exclaims Bucky in awe as you cover your face in your hands, a flash of lightning illuminating your reaction.

Immediately he stiffens and feels maybe he shouldn’t have reacted that way, “oh, uh.....Y/N? Is that not a good thing?”

“No. Not really.” You mutter sadly.

Bucky frowns, “Please tell me why? Because I think you’re the best person alive and I don’t want you to be upset.”

Releasing your hands from your face, you let out a shaky breath, “It’s why I was created. Not out of love, or the want of a daughter.....she formed me so one day I will turn this world to ruin.”

“Why-I don’t understand?”

“She has made me live among the mortal before, in other realms, other planets very far away from here.....I learn about them, I see how they live, how they treat one another and if she sees that they are terrible and violent to each other through what I tell her....”

“Well, I imprison their world leaders, forcing them witness portals open to the Underworld...where beasts of all ugliness and terror wipe out most of the population.” You reveal, your voice breaking with every word, “I then kill all of them......and turn them to more beasts....hellhounds.....shadow creatures.”

You swallow hard as Bucky takes a moment to process the heavy imagery and story you’ve just told him. You can sense how conflicted he feels, he’s known you as the literal funniest and sweetest person ever; he’s come to fall in love with you even, how could you do such horrible things, “Did you enjoy it.” He asks, voice slightly colder then you would have liked, but you understand.

“It’s all I knew. It’s what she created me for, my only purpose. Her herald of death..I..I can’t say..”

“Did you?” He interrupts, sadness lacing his words now, the anger and disappointment only but a slight simmering in the back of his voice.

Your heart breaks in two, he feels hurt by this news of what you did to others, “I did.” You monster. He’ll never love you now.

The atmosphere is thick with emotional tension, if not for the sound of the raging storm outside, you’re certain you could hear a needle hit the carpet. His breaths are slow and heavy, you can tell he’s deeply conflicted with what to do now, yet he refrains from leaving your side.

“Why did you stop?” Asks Bucky, voice a soft whisper as a flash of lightning illuminates around your sides, ember eyes and two curled horns flashing for a brief moment and your heart sinks when he slightly flinches.

Hanging your head low, you nervously fumble with your hands, “Because I met someone....he reminds me of you actually, I guess I felt...” Biting your lip, you suck in a breath as a stray tear runs down the side of your cheek, “I fell in love....it was a long time ago, before this continent was discovered. He gave me humanity, empathy, and I saw what I was truly doing....I bared witness to the monster I truly was. So I ended it.”

You pause, nothing is said from either one of you for a long time until at last you break the tension, “I don’t deserve forgiveness from anyone. I hate my mother and my only friends are the people here. You don’t have to stay any longer then you want.”

“I want to stay.”

“oh.”

He takes another heavy sigh, “And this whole time I though I was the worst person on the team.” Muses Bucky to your great surprise and puzzlement.

“What? You’re not mad I don’t understand? Not even scared or disappointed...you’re just...uh...”

“I’m what? Y/N what wild thing are you about to tell me now? I cut it off with learning you’re a demigod who caused multiple apocalypse’s.”

Slowly sitting up a bit more, you fold your legs and fully face him as he tries to see you in the darkness, “I can kinda....uh....sense peoples emotions and umm....smell the scent if its strong enough.”

“Can you sense what I feel right now?” Asks Bucky, voice above a whisper though you hear it all the same.

Hugging your sides, you nod, “Yes.” He’s practically ecstatic, he feels relieved and grateful that you have trusted him enough to share something so deep and personal. He smells sweet, better then the most lovely of flowers or most delicious of fruits. He smells of love and hope, paired with a smile that could warm a frozen lake.

Reaching a hand out into the darkness, you quickly take his with yours as he brings his other one in to gently clasp your hands with his, “Don’t believe I would ever leave you Y/N....you mean more to me then anything else in this entire world and I’m honored to be someone so special to you. I hope this isn’t too soon or rushed but uh....I love you.”

The way you subconsciously tighten your grip on his hands is enough to indicate that his words have been well received, “I know Bucky.” You confirm with a small smile, “I love you too.” A second later his lips crash messily against the corner of your lips as he fails to completely find them in the darkness. oh, you idiot.

Smiling into the kiss, you pull him into a fierce hug as your lips move slowly and blissfully against one another, his hands quickly find their way around your waist as yours reach up into his long dark hair that you love so much. Moments after you and Bucky fall in a heap of tangled limbs onto the soft mattress, lips still feverously locked with one another. Soon he begins subconsciously smiling into the kiss which causes you to giggle with amusement for how absolutely adorable he’s being right now.

Confused to your cheerful laughter, Bucky breaks from the kiss to gently beck your cheek before resting his head against yours, “I wish I could see you right now.” Mumbles Bucky as he holds you flush against him.

Kissing his stubbly cheek, you quietly snicker, “I can see you.”

“Let me guess?” Humorously asserts Bucky as his fingers trail casually down and up your back, “You can see in the dark too......this whole time?”

“Yeah.”

“Do I look good?” He wonders.

“I’m gonna faint you’re so hot.”

And with that said does he pull you in for another heated embrace, tonight's defiantly going to go extremely well for you. Without a doubt.

#bucky barns x reader #bucky barns imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #marvel x you #marvel x y/n #the winter soldier x y/n #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier #bucky barnes

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dismuch47 · 3 years

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ADVANCED SETTINGS (Part 1)

And the winner of the Scarlet Vision Drabbles Voting is... Advanced Settings! With Custom Skin as a close second. Luckily this one is turning out waaay longer than I thought it would be, so I had to break it into two parts. Second part will come out later this week.

It’s been awhile since I’ve fanfic dabbled, so this has felt really nice. I feel I will be writing more about these soulmates.

Advanced Settings: Wanda and Vision find there is more to iron out in making their relationship “work”. Rated Mature.

Wanda made her way down the narrow stairs, holding her two bags close to her person. The creaky boards protested against her dainty weight and brown chips of aged paint flaked away with each step of her boots. She strode to the stained plaid couch in the musty living area and plopped down her burdens. A roach scurried out from between the cushions and zoomed to the sanctuary of a hole in the upholstered armrest.

No… she would not miss this location.

“Has anyone seen my… oh, I see it.” Wanda walked to the defunct treadmill in the corner of the room, plucking her ear-pods from the treadmill’s control panel. The train ride would be long and music was the only way she would survive it. She shoved the corded earphones into her jacket pocket with her phone and smoothed the sides of her hair behind her ears as she ran through her mental checklist again.

“Got your ticket?” Natasha inquired over a near empty dinner plate, supplying the reminder, not out of real concern but rather a sense of familial normalcy. She was a stern but stunning mother hen.

“Ah… yes!” Wanda had to pat herself down and found the ticket in her back pocket. She held it up victoriously before putting it in the smaller of her bags. “I think I have everything…”

“Not everything.” Steve’s rich tenor voice cut in over the hissing and bubbling of the shabby kitchenette that occupied the same small space as the living area. He placed a plate of peppered chicken, plain rice, and steamed broccoli in front of Wanda before draping a dish towel over a toned shoulder. “No one should travel on an empty stomach. Eat up.”

Wanda scrunched her nose up at the the corny paternal grin he gave, but accepted the plate. She took her seat at one of the mismatched chairs that occupied the dingy room, refusing to sit on the couch with food.

“Moscow… my old stomping grounds.” Nat sighed, before taking another bite of chicken. “Shto-to s chem-to.” Her Russian was comically muffled by food.

“I’ll take pictures.” Wanda promised, scarfing rice. “I’m forcing myself to take in more of scenery this time. But I swear once I’m in a hotel, all I want to do is shower and never leave the bed.”

Wanda winced as soon as she dropped that setup.

“Oooooh? Do tell…” Wanda had actually forgotten that Sam was in the room as well, as small as it was. He had been unusually quiet, nursing some leg soreness from a tech-recalibration injury. Nothing seriously hurt, save for pride. The plastic baggies of ice duct-taped to his thighs sloshed and clacked as he shifted in the only run-down chair with padding. “And when exactly are we gonna meet this mystery boyfriend of yours? Who pays your way to exotic locations and expensive hotels, hmmm?”

Wanda gave a tight smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes… and forked more food into her mouth to occupy it.

Sam chuckled at the intentional silence. “I see how it is.”

“A girl’s got to have her secrets.” Nat supplied, taking her plate to the sink to rinse. “Besides, I don’t recall you being very open about your copious tawdry affairs back at Avenger Headquarters.” Wanda smiled down at her food, thankful for the deflection of topic.

“Copious, yes. Tawdry… never.” Sam grinned back, putting his joined hands up behind his head in bemusement, leaning back in his chair. “I’m an open book about the ladies, Steve can tell yah.”

Steve shook his head, but acknowledged it was true with a dimpled grin. A far cry from his blank expression that used to overshadow his stoic face at any mention of Avengers history. It had been 8 brutal months since the fall-out with Tony Stark and the US government.

“And as I seem to recall, Romanoff, you were caught more than once coming back to the compound. Late. Shoeless….” Sam continued.

“Late night scrapbooking.” The ex-assassin responded dryly. “Scout’s honor.”

“And then we have Mr. Virtue over there. Clamped tighter than a nun’s thighs…” Sam continued.

Steve gave an innocent shrug. “Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell.” Nat was looking down, but gave a small grin, arms folded over her chest. Wanda briefly wondered if the two had ever connected on a level other than as a commander and his right-hand.

“Tony, well… Tony had Pepper.” The topic was exhausted, but he kept talking. Steve turned away, back to the grimy stove to tidy-up. “Brody, shit, I don’t know how Brody had time for anything other than cleaning up after Stark, but he consistently wowed even me with all his ‘war stories’ in the battle of love.”

“And Clint was the honorable family-man.” Wanda said half-heartedly. She turned her wrist up to check the time on her watch.

“Yeah. Good man. Good man.” Sam nodded, respect for the settled existence that Hawkeye had found and chose over a life on the run. “And then there was Vision...”

Wanda’s grip on her fork slightly tightened.

“Yeah, I couldn’t figure that guy out. He invited to his room, like, twice to talk about a painting he purchased. Twice. One of the three things in his room. A little odd…”

Wanda’s jaw tightened. The painting was a New York Street Artist’s rendition of the Tree of Life. The artist was also blind. He created a picture from memory, using odd colors to convey a synthetic translation to the image to stand out against what would be considered normal and correct. It created something beautiful and breathtaking in the process. It resinated with Vision deeply. The proceeds went to a medical facility that specialized in therapeutics for children with disabilities. Wanda had been there with the Synthezoid when he had become enamored with it at first sight. Had come to his room numerous times afterwards to talk about it, or just sit with him, staring at it’s mastery as he read aloud.

“I don’t think he ever…you know?” Sam finally said. It cut through Wanda’s thoughts. “I mean, how could he? I don’t think he even had the… machinery… for it. Poor guy.”

“Sam…” Steve didn’t have to look at Wanda to feel her bristling. He didn’t always understand it, but he knew that she had a close friendship with the synthezoid.

“Oh don’t tell me you never wondered about it.” Sam huffed.

“No, Sam. I don’t wonder about a teammate’s junk.” Steve turned around, impatient that his friend wasn’t picking up on his annoyance. He took a sip from a mug of black coffee.

“Or lack, there of.” Sam countered, oblivious.

“I have to go.” Wanda stated, louder than needed. She went to the sink with her plate.

“To be fair, Vision has molecular control of his physical structure and density.” Natasha continued, to Steve’s surprise. “So, in theory, he could get the job done. But it would be very one-sided.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “How so?”

“I imagine it would be like using an over-elaborate vibrator. All sensation for the partner… nothing for him.” Nat shrugged. “A safe and controlled simulation, where there is nothing asked of you.”

Sam blinked at the thought-out response. “Damn, Romanoff…”

Dishes clanked loudly, even angrily, at sink. Wanda didn’t meet Steve’s concerned look. “Sorry I don’t have time to clean these.” She strode to her bags on the couch and muttered a farewell before storming out of the apartment. The door slammed shut with the flick of Wanda’s wrist and a flash of bright scarlet energy.

Sam’s brown eyes drifted from the door where the youngest teammate had just left. He glanced at Steve and Nat. “Did I say something?”

“We all did.” Steve put his mug down on the counter, brows knit in concern. “Vision is her friend. She misses him.” He gazed at the hot brown liquid in his mug thoughtfully, thinking of those who he missed. “We shouldn’t have talked about her friend that way.”

“Oh…” Sam blinked, and then frowned at himself. “I didn’t think… Should I go and-?“

“Just stop talking for a sec and take your pills.” Nat interrupted, striding over to him to offer two painkillers in one hand and a glass of water in the other. “I’ll go talk to her. Smooth things over before she leaves.” Sam nodded sheepishly and accepted her offerings.

Steve made a noise of protest, to perhaps leave Wanda be, but Nat gave him an understanding “Time for Girl Talk” wink before stalking after her companion’s trail out the door.

It didn’t take her long to catch up with Wanda, who walking down the stretch of road to the nearest bus pick-up to take her to the station.

“Hey.” Nat called, not even out of breath after the jog. “You did forget something,” she held up a flash drive. “…with the next meet-up location, job details, instruction on-“

“How could you say all that about him?” Wanda shot back.

Nat considered her young teammate… her friend… for a moment. “Well, it’s the kind of thing I would say if I didn’t think that you had an intimate relationship with Vision going on, currently.”

Wanda’s lips thinned into a firm line. She crossed her arms and looked down at her feet.

“It’s the kind of thing that throws the boys off the trail about what I saw in the Netherlands when I tailed you.” Nat shook her blonde-dyed head. “I hate lying to teammates. Especially Steve. But out of respect for you and female bonding, I’ve kept my word. Keep yours and don’t let your feelings ruin your focus.”

“If you think my focus is a problem, why even let me go?” Wanda asked.

“I wouldn’t.” Nat retorted. “But Rogers seems to think you deserve some semblance of a young-adulthood. He thinks your mysterious Euro-boyfriend phase is healthy for you. And that’s of utmost importance, considering how closely your control is tethered to your emotions.”

Blunt, as always, but Wanda appreciated the honesty. And the freedom. She reached out for the flash drive after a moment. “I’ll keep my head down. Check in when I need to.”

Nat nodded approvingly, then turned to leave.

“Natasha,” Wanda called, halting her friend. “Did…did you mean what you said, though?” She searched Nat’s guarded blue eyes for truth. “That…he can’t feel what I...”

The silent response was deafening.

“That I’m just… using him?” Wanda finally ventured.

“I won’t pretend to understand… any of that.” Natasha shrugged. “But what does it really matter what I think?”

It wasn’t reassurance. And the cold sentiments expressed in the apartment would loop themselves in Wanda’s head, no matter how loud she turned up her music on the bus. And then later on the long train ride.

As farmland and rolling hillsides blurred past, Wanda kept her forehead pressed against the cool glass of her window. She felt like Vision, her mind endlessly running and playing out memories and scenarios whether she wanted it or not. Analyzing and computing to try and find a solution to ease the pit in her stomach.

She knew that Vision could feel. She had stumbled upon that realization during one of their first few kisses, 5 months ago. What linked her given abilities to it’s source in Vision’s forehead, though unexplainable, proved that what she felt for him…label-less yet profound…he definitively felt for her. And her absence from him, the lack of that engulfing feeling, caused him a wounding loneliness. It’s what had made Wanda want to give herself fully to him.

But with the introduction of intimate relations 1 month later…

Vision had learned everything there was to know about her body and what delighted it. What actions and sentiments yielded the most sincerest, and surfeited, responses. Always so lost in her desires and satisfaction, she always believed it when he said that his greatest pleasure was bringing about hers. But if she really thought about it…. really thought about it…

Wanda pulled her knees into her chest, boot heels digging into her seat.

He didn’t moan. He didn’t sigh. He didn’t heave. He didn’t lose himself like she could completely in him. His eyes never left her face even when she had to close hers in convulsive ecstasy. His broad and handsome smile was always waiting for her when she would come back to reality. Waiting and in need of no reprieve.

She hated this feeling. This feeling that she was doing something wrong. That she was taking and taking without giving when she would literally set the world on fire if it meant Vision’s well-being.

Wanda was so consumed that she didn’t look up to take in the environment of Moscow as the taxi pulled in to take her to the hotel. She almost dreaded it. She was tugging at her sleeves to cover more of her hands. Did Vision have resentment about this? That she could flaunt how human she could be when he couldn’t? She hadn’t thought about that when she took the plunge to have him. She had followed instincts and emotion… like always. Wanda rubbed her forehead, upset with herself.

She checked in as usual, requesting a key to a room under “Victor Shade”, always left for her at the front per Mr. Shade’s instructions. The front desk clerk was beaming at Wanda, expressing how nice Victor was and how he talked about his world-traveling girlfriend with so much admiration. Wanda smiled weakly and accepted the extra $100 room credit gift because Victor was just “so sweet to hotel staff”.

Wanda stepped off the elevator and drudged down the hall to their room. She arrived and took her keycard out, ready to use it on the card-scanner, when the door swung wide open.

Vision was there, beaming down at her stunned face, keycard still held up in her hand. Though of course, at the risk of being seen even for an instant, he was visible in his human mapping. Blonde hair smoothed with a slight, playful waive. Skin fair but peppered with human imperfections like freckles, freshly shaved skin texture. But his cerulean eyes were the same piercing blue true to his actual form.

“The front desk computer confirmed your arrival.” He said, to quell her surprise. “Wanda. Darling.” He said, deeply, and reverently. “Welcome to-“

Wanda let her bags fall to the floor and leaped up into his arms, legs wrapped as high on his torso as she could manage, lips crushing the end of his sentence. Vision grinned handsomely against her needy lips.

“I’ve missed you.” She managed finally, pressing her cheek against his.

“I reciprocate your sentiments.” He combed graceful fingers through her auburn hair. “Considerably, so.

***

Ever the perfect gentlesynthe, Vision carried his barnacle of a girlfriend to the suite’s luxury bathroom. She detached from his waist with a gasp as he showed her the candlelit bathroom, large clawfoot tub frothing with lavender scented bubbles, soft piano renditions of movie love-themes emanated from a portable radio he had relocated from the bed stand. He gave a controlled ray from the mindstone in his forehead to bring the lukewarm temperature of the bath back to a simper again.

“Vision… this is…”

“Exactly what you need after a long day of training and travel.” He placed a hand on either side of her head tenderly and tilted her forehead up to plant a kiss. His human facade shimmered away with the contact. “Are you hungry?”

“No.” Wanda then realized that she didn’t even eat her whole dinner. Hours ago. She reconsidered. “Well…”

“How about Olivier Salad? Or Shuba? Better known as ‘Herring under a Fur Coat’? A Russian delicacy, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

Wanda scrunched her nose up at Vision.

“Cocktail shrimp and cheese sticks it is. “ He grinned at her default preference.

“And wine! You know the kind I like…” She added, unzipping her jacket.

Vision smiled, emitting a chuckle. He left her in privacy to unwind and rejuvenate, while he called down to the front about room service to be delivered in 30 minutes. He then sat down to compose a note on hotel stationary, thanking the staff for the lovely presentation of the room and the warm reception for his Wanda. Satisfied with the flourish of his penmanship, he then accessed streaming guides to find vintage sitcoms that might please Wanda.

Only 10 minutes had passed when he heard his name being called from the bathroom.

The synthezoid was there in an instant, concern conveyed in his tone. “Wanda, I’m here. Are you-“

“I’m fine, Vis.” His human girlfriend peeked over the tub’s edge, visible only from her shoulders and up. Her long hair was wound in a sloppy bun, piled atop her head. “I just… wanted to look at you…”

Vision felt his lips curl into yet another smile. A frequent, unprompted state of expression when Wanda was near. “And…?” He inquired, kneeling to the floor to gain eye-level with her rich hazel gaze.

Wanda bit her lip, taking his hands in her own, lacing her soapy fingers with his maroon digits. “And… I think you are wearing far too much. For a bubble bath.”

“You would like me to join you?” Vision asked, after a beat of processing the subtextual request. “Would that not defeat the purpose of… relaxing?”

“I’m tired of relaxing alone.” Wanda retorted, leaning her head down against their joined hands. “Come assist me.”

Vision stood, untangling his fingers from hers, and began stripping down. He could easily phase through his clothing, but he found the act of undressing much more interesting and human than being unencumbered by the physical properties of clothing. It also slowed down his naturally speedy rhythm of existence, which he observed pleased Wanda. The human drank in the sight of her nude synthetic boyfriend, mindlessly swirling her index finger around in the warm water she soaked in.

One long vibranium-infused leg stepped into the tub. Wanda maneuvered to the far end to make room, until Vision had sat down, adjusting his sculpted length to the confined space. She floated herself to sit on his lap, her back leaning heavily into his chest, auburn head resting against the dip of his shoulder. She signed deeply and emitted a noise of contentment at the feeling of him against her. Vision brought a hand up to cup her dainty shoulder. The other slipped across her belly, splayed out to absorb the toned smoothness of her.

“This feels nice.” Wanda murmured. Vision smiled into her neck, planting a firm kiss at the base. “Does this feel nice, Vision?”

Something in her tone of her inquiry sounded peculiar. As if there was an answer she was desiring. It puzzled the Synthezoid, who had most of her variations of responses and phrasings committed to his memory. But humans were complex and ever-evolving. Wanda was no exception.

“I am very content to be a variable in your relaxation.” Vision retorted. He was met with silence. She was unable to see the smile on his face falter. “Unless… you wish for something more stimulating now…” HIs hand skimmed through the water, over slick skin, down her navel, to the her silky region. Seeking her sensitive entrance…

Wanda lightly clenched her thighs together, pulling his hand up out of the water and kissing his knuckles. “I just want to sit like this for a bit, Vis.”

There was a pause before his response. It made Wanda wince. “Of course, darling. Whatever you desire.” He wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “Is this alright?”

“Yes…it feels nice. It always feels nice.” Again, her words said pleasant things, but conveyed a tone ill-at-ease.

“Wanda?”

She turned to face Vision, straddling his lap. Chest to chest.

“I’m sorry….I…” She sighed deeply. “Natasha said something and… it got to me.” Wanda looked up into Vision’s cerulean eyes. “I don’t… use you… do I? When we are together?”

“Use me?” What an odd statement. His hand cupped the side of her face. “I have no qualms about being put to ‘use’ by you, Wanda. Ever. If that is what you ask.”

“No. I mean… ugh, how do I say this….”

“You know you can say anything, Wanda. I’m made of vibranium. I won’t be damaged.”

Wanda smiled weakly. He had come so fair in his speech patterns. Had learned personality traits that he obviously preferred. She could feel… him… a soul within, if that was what it was. She took comfort in that.

“When we come together, intimately-“

“Sexually.” Vision supplied. Unabashed.

Wanda huffed. “Yes…sexually… you give so much. And I’m not complaining. At all. It’s… unreal.”

Vision smiled tenderly, placing another hand on her other cheek, kissing her lips the way she had showed him awhile ago. He liked the little noises she made when he did so. And would watch her face as their lips departed from one another, her eyes usually heavy with serenity and arousal.

But not tonight.

“What do I give you, Vision?” Her inquiry was direct. She rested a cream-colored hand against the rich maroon and reflective vibranium of his chest.

Vision tilted his head at her. “Your pleasure and well-being is of paramount significance to me.” His eyes blinked excessively as she pulled her face away from his contact. He had said something unsatisfactory. “Is that not enough?”

Wanda’s gaze was now downcast. “I suppose I underestimated how much it would mean to me. To not be able to give you pleasure. To not see you able to take it for yourself, instead of just for my sake.”

The sythezoid’s eyes darted away as he processed. Avoiding her returned hazel glance. He knew it would betray his discomfort. But stoicism was not what he wanted with his Wanda during moments like these. He wanted her to see him… really see him… even in time of uncomfortable vulnerability.

“This body was not made with human reproduction in mind, but synthesized evolution.” Vision said, finally breaking the silence. “Pleasure, desire… arousal… these are constructs that I loosely understand in definition only, and by observing how they manifest in you…who I care a great deal for. And that was enough for me.”

“Was?”

He finally brought his eyes back to her face. Her expression, contorted in aching sympathy, made his eyes close. The repressed hurt upon his face seemed an honest response, though he knew it would further upset the situation. He sought to remove himself before causing Wanda more distress.

“Vision, no…” She gently protested, but his form disappeared from the tub and rose outside of it. The vibranium striations across his broad back glittered from the reflection of the flickering candlelight. “Vis…”

He turned towards her, his smile was back, as if it had never left. “Room service will be here soon. I surmise it best I not greet them naked.” He stooped to kiss her on top of her head, then collected his clothes before leaving her presence.

#scarletvision #wandavision #wanda maximoff #vision #Advanced Settings #drabbles #fanfiction #FOR THE FANDOM

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lovlydovlyjaycie · 3 years

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Ævi - Frontlines

Hey again! This will be a continued series. The first Ævi series is in my masterlist and is only four parts. This is going to be a ongoing series, so there is going to be a lot more of Ævi to come. :)

Summary: Y/n or also known as Ævi has lived through varies of world events. Now it is 1941, she has excepted that some things cannot be changed so Loki has convinced Y/n to go to New York and live a normal life, a life Y/n always wanted. Or as normal it can be, because new introductions lead to events that didn’t go down in the history books.

Warnings: Fluff

Characters: Y/n, Loki, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

Part 2

Two weeks later

Bucky POV

“How about Dottie?” Steve asked. He was asking me if I went on any other dates with her. But truth be told. After I had met Y/n I couldn’t think of anybody else. I sighed and took a sip of my coke, we were sitting at a diner. “No? Buck you still got your mind on this girl? It’s been two weeks.” He tried to reason. He was right, but a girl like y/n I have never met before. “She was somethin’ else Steve.” Was all I has to say. “How was she so special?” Steve asked. “She was beautiful, you had to see her. She had this beautiful smile and this glistening in her y/e/c eyes. She carried herself in a way that was just so graceful. And she was so kind. and her laugh, Steve, you had to hear her laugh.” I sounded crazy, but that one encounter with her was what that did to me. “Well if it is meant to be you’ll see her again.” He tried to cheer me up. I looked out of the window at all the people that were walking around going places, work, home. “Maybe it wasn’t.” I said quietly. I wanted to look for her, but she would definitely think I’m crazy if I succeeded in that and I wouldn’t want to scare her away. In the corner of my eye I saw a woman walking the same walk as y/n did. I tried to get a better look, as much as I could with the window being in the way and the people on the street. I could only see her back. She had a yellow dress on with the same hairdo as y/n had that night. “It’s her.” I couldn’t believe it. I immediately stood up and walked out of the diner as fast as I could. I kept a quick pace to keep up with her. “Y/n!”

I must have startled her, she turned around a little shocked looking to who ever just called for her. “Y/n.” I said again coming closer. “Hey.” I gave her an awkward wave. “I saw you from out of the diner and had to say hi.” I quickly explained. This might have been a mistake, because she still hasn’t said anything yet. “Uhm, hi, Bucky. I didn’t think I’d see you again.” She said the last part a little more quiet. “Oh, uhmm-.” This was a mistake, a stupid one. I mean of course what would anyone think if some guy ran up to them after only seeing them once for an hour two weeks ago. “No! I didn’t mean.. Sorry.. How have you been? It’s been like, what? Two weeks since we had an escape?” She said making light of this awkward situation. I laughed at that. “I’ve been doing good. Just grabbin’ some food with a friend of mine at the diner over there. How about yourself? You look beautiful.” Shouldn’t have said that last part. She is probably gonna run away screaming. But then I heard her angelic laugh, that made me smile. I hadn’t heard it in so long. “Thank you. I was actually on my way back home. Not doing a lot today.” She told me. “Well.. If you want you can join me and my friend, Steve, for some milkshakes? Only if you want.” Please say yes, please say yes. “Steve? I think you had mentioned him when we met, right? He left you alone on the dancefloor.” I snorted at that. “Yes, him. Other than leaving me behind on the dancefloor he’s a good pal.” Again she gave me a beautiful laugh. “Well, I would like to meet him then.” That made me sigh in relief, I was so happy seeing her again. And now I get to spend time with her. And Steve will now know I wasn’t just drunk talking to myself the other night. “Great follow me.” I put my arm out for her to take and she did. I could smell her perfume, it was some sort of citrus, it smelled amazing. Keep it together Buck.

We walked in the diner to the booth I was sitting with Steve. I waved at him and he looked at me with big eyes. “Steve, this is Y/n. Y/n this is Steve.” I introduced. Steve stood up and patted down his clothes quickly before he put his right hand out. “Pleasure to meet you ma’am.” He said I snorted. Y/n took his hand. “Nice to meet you Steve.” She responded. I motioned for us all to sit down and a waiter came over. I ordered us all some smoothies. “So.. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Steve started as I gave him a glare. I had only seen her once before. “Oh, he has.” Y/n gave me a look. I was busted. After all the ways I could’ve embarrassed myself, this is how, with Steve. “He has now? What are the things he has told you?” She asked Steve. I swear if this kid embarrasses me more. And by the look he gave me he was going to embarrass me more. “Oh, well just that he can’t stop talking about how beautiful and funny this dame is he met at the dancehall. Ahh.” Under the table I kicked Steve. That is enough. “Did he now. And it was me right? Or did you meet another beautiful dame there after I left?” She asked me narrowing her eyes and smiling at me. “What no! It was you definitely you.” I stammered rubbing my neck awkwardly. If I had known I was going to be this embarrassed I would’ve sat at a different table. Who am I kidding, I would still embarrass myself then. All she did was laugh again, that made me smile. The milkshakes couldn’t come fast enough and when they were placed in front of us I took a big gulp, hoping to cool myself down. Didn’t work.

After a short moment of silence Steve continued small talk. “So what do you do for a living?” Steve asked. That intrigued me as well, I didn’t know this. “Uhm, well my family invests in anything that seems interesting all over the world. We have a lot of connections and houses all over the world because of that.” Interesting. They must know exactly what to invest in then. She seems like she or her family have a lot of money. “Where over the world do you have houses.” I wondered out loud. “In Sweden a few, but that’s where I am from. Then we have a place in Norway, Italy, France and the Netherlands, Australia and now I’m looking for a place here. I have been staying in a hotel so far. And I used to have a place in Germany, but.. you know.” The war in Europe, we are all hoping this ends soon. Germans or Nazi’s taking over killing. “It is awful that that is happening.” I stated not really knowing what else to say. “Is your family in Sweden still?” Steve asked. “Yes, but luckily Sweden has been neutral so far.” Y/n looked down so I gently took her hand. “I’m sure it will all be over soon.” It had to be. She looked at me and nodded. She held my hand a little tighter. Considering the topic that made my heart beat a lot faster and I was almost scared she could hear it. Cause I certainly did.

Y/n POV

I held Bucky’s hand a little tighter. Considering what I know I still wished he was right. I wished that that awful nightmare would end now and that it would be the end of it. But millions of people would still die and I couldn’t do anything about it. Over the years I had tried to stop or help with world events that would lead to a lot of deaths, but always it would do absolutely nothing. If I tried to kill someone that would late cause a lot of tragedy, something always seemed to go wrong and someone else would die. Believe me I have tried to kill Hitler himself in WWI, but I missed. I tried to get him in to a painting school as a last resort, but he got denied. Always nothing seemed to work. And everything that went down in the history books that I know happened exactly like it was written. It was a sick game knowing exactly what was going to happen, but I could not do anything to stop it. Loki had seen that it was getting to me and wanted to leave earth and go back to Asgard, but that was too hard for me. If I did that it felt like I wasn’t even trying to do anything, even if it was small. I keep getting in my own head about this situation, so I decided to change the subject.

“So have you guys been keeping up with football or baseball?” I asked. I didn’t really care much for it, but they might. “Yes! Next month our team is playing, but it is impossible to get any tickets the baseball game.” Bucky said excitedly. “I’m telling ya, we just need to show up there and hope that others might not show up, so we can take their seats.” Steve responded. Alright they love baseball. I smiled. “Who’s playing?” I asked. “The Dodgers against the Phillies and it’s gonna be here in Brooklynn.” I’ll have to look into seeing if I can get tickets for that for them. They seem excited about that.

After some more time and more small talk Steve excused himself. “He seems nice.” I noted out loud. “He’s a good kid, but seems to get himself in trouble a lot.” Steve didn’t seem like a troubled kid. “How come he gets in trouble so much?” Genuinely curious. “He wants to stand up for what is right. Fight against the bullies you could say.” “But that is not bad.” I told him. “No it’s not, but Steve is not a big guy or anything and seeing that the bullies usually are the big guys gives him a disadvantage.” I see what Bucky means now. “You fight any bullies?” I asked him squeezing his left hand. It made me smile. The first time I met him I couldn’t let go of his hand and now again. It didn’t feel uncomfortable even though we barley knew each other. It felt like the opposite, it felt like we had known each other for a very long time. “Not like Steve has.” He said smiling. “Here’s your check.” The waitress interrupted. This was the first time Bucky had let go of my hand to reach for his wallet. Instantly it felt empty. “Let me-.” Bucky started. “Oh no you don’t have to pay for my-.” “I insist.” He said as he put his hand on my purse.

As we walked outside I looked at my watch and saw it was getting late. ”Oh, I need to go it’s getting late.” I told Bucky. “I can walk you back, where ever you need to go.” He said with hopeful eyes. Honestly I wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet. It felt nice seeing him again. So I nodded in response and we walked back to a hotel I had a room at in Brooklyn. It wasn’t very far from the diner, I really was almost back before I saw him. “I am happy that I saw you again Bucky.” I told him honestly. “I’m happy that I saw you walking outside. Honestly I had been hoping that our first encounter wasn’t our last.” We both smiled at that. “So you and Steve were not lying that you couldn’t stop talking about me.” I said jokingly. He laughed at that, he had such an amazing laugh, so light hearted. “No, he was telling the truth.” I thought that was very sweet. I walked slightly closer to him and our hands were slightly brushing up against each other. I wanted to grab his hand so badly. I decided to do it when I man walked in-between us separating us a little farther. We both let out a breathy laugh at that cause of the awkwardness. We tried again getting closer and closer when another man tried to walk between us. Bucky quickly grabbed my hand and put it us so the man walked under us. The stranger seemed a bit shocked at that, which made it all the more funnier. We both started laughing and Bucky pulled me closer. “This time I’ll make sure it won’t happen again doll.” He said half jokingly but also serious. Because of that I felt my cheeks heat up. “Such a charmer.” I noted, but I couldn’t look him in the eyes as I said that, cause I knew I would turn more red if I did.

We walked around the corner of the block. “Well this is me.” I said a bit sad. “Thank you for walking me back, even though it was a short walk.” I was looking at our hands not ready to let go yet. “Of course doll, no problem.” And he put on his charming smirk. “Before you go. I was wondering if.. Would you like to see me again, maybe?” I gave him a big genuine smile. “I would like that very much.” And his smirk turned in a full smile. “Great can you do this Saturday at six?” He asked eager of my answer. “I can do Saturday.” “Alright it’s a date I’ll pick you up here then.” He said happily. “Ok! See you on Saturday.” I stepped closer and gave him a kiss on his cheek. I slowly stepped away and let goof his hand. I waved at him before walking inside the hotel and hearing a “Yes!” From Bucky who was still standing outside. He’s a good man.

As just closed the door of my room I heard a knock. Loki. I sighed and walked over. “Where have you been?” He asked already stepping inside. “What are you concerned now?” I asked Loki. “You said you’d be back by three... It’s almost five. Where have you been.” I rolled my eyes. “Not like I can’t protect myself or anything. Not like I have this weird energy shielding me.” Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. “You said three, it’s almost five now. Where have you been?” Loki asked more calmly this time. “Nowhere in particular.” I said not really wanting to answer him. Because I already knew his response if I told him I saw the guy from the dance. “Y/n. I don’t like to play these games.” He started. “Since when? I thought you were the trickster God? Or has that changed in the time I was gone?” “Y/n..” He narrowed his eyes at me. “Alright fine. The guy I met at the dance was at this diner that I walked passed and he asked me to go for milkshakes. And I know what you’re gonna say, but it was just a milkshake, nothing more.” Loki walked up closer to me. “Was it?” He asked. “Well.. He asked me out for this Saturday.. and I kinda said... Yes.” I answered and Loki sighed. “Y/n, you’re going to get hurt, again... You need someone that is not.. what’s the word.. Die. They grow old and die and you’re still you. You need someone who can be there for you, not someone that you have to be there for them.” He has told me this so many times. “Who is that person than?” Loki got quiet at that. And I decided to leave it at that. “I’m gonna go take a shower.” I said as I was walking towards my bathroom. “Oh one last thing.. It is just a date. It doesn’t mean anything.” I said as I closed the door of my bathroom.

It doesn’t mean anything. It is just a date. Nothing more. Bucky is just.. a random guy I met and I am going to see him for a third time. After that I am not going to see him anymore. It doesn’t mean anything.

Saturday

So that was a complete lie I told myself before the date. Bucky was wearing a very nice tuxedo and had his hair done. He had given me some flowers, tulips. They looked lovely. I wasn’t excepting this much. And the date itself.. He did all the things right. He made me laugh, he made me feel comfortable. “Bucky you’re being too kind tonight. This restaurant? The flowers? You? This has been amazing!” I said genuinely and took his hand again. Taking his hand every time felt good. “Really? I was nervous to take you to a restaurant like this.. I thought, maybe it wouldn’t be up to your-.” “No, all of it was perfect.” I interrupted him. After that I excused myself to go to the ladies room, but I went to the host instead to pay for dinner. I am not letting him pay this time. “Alright we can go.” I told him when I came back. “I just need to pay for tonight doll then we can go.” He told me. “Nope, we don’t, I payed. And before you say anything, you can pay me back by taking a walk with me right now. I don’t want this date to end, not yet.” I put my right hand out and he took it and we walked out.

Outside we were both enjoying the cool night breeze. “It’s cloudy today.” He noted. “It is.. you can’t really see the stars.” He nodded at that. “You have to be lucky to be able to see stars in a city like this. Did you live in a city in Sweden as well?” He asked. “No, I.. It’s a island where I lived and they are basically stuck in time. Not really noticing what is going on outside of that island.” I decided to tell him the truth on that. I don’t know why I did. Usually I would lie and say Stockholm, but with Bucky I didn’t want to do that. It wasn’t even a thought to lie. “That sounds interesting to live like that. What do you prefer?” And I honestly didn’t have a answer for that. I loved the island Kattegat, but I only went there when I wanted to take a breather from the world and live the life.. Bjorn.. always wanted to keep alive. The Viking life. It was something for me to hold on to for all this time. The world was moving so fast and Kattegat always stayed somewhat the same, at peace. Kattegat was my vacation and the rest of the world was basically my work. “I like both. What about you?” Was all I had to say. “I like the city. It’s fast paced. It’s the future. I mean have you seen Stark industries? What they’re doing there you won’t find on a secluded island.” I laughed at that. “Stark? he sounds familiar.” Bucky’s eyes lit up. “He is this brilliant guy and rumor has it he is building a flying car. Before you know it everybody will have flying cars! trust me.” I laughed at that. “And his name is Stark?” He nodded his head. “Howard Stark is his name.” I hummed at that. “I have heard of that name I think.. a long time ago.” And I am pretty sure I have it sounded so familiar, but it was such a distant memory. Over the years a lot has happened and I have been better at remembering faces than names. Especially from before I got sucked back in to time.

A cold breeze went by and immediately Bucky gave me his jacket. “What a gentleman.” I said and he smirked. “Always doll.” He said. I couldn’t help but smell his jacket straight away. It smelled like fall, the woods. We got to a pier and could see the New York skyline. “Isn’t that a sight.” He stated. “It is as I stepped closer to his side. He put his arm around my back and I rested my head against his shoulder. “I really liked tonight.” I said out loud, but it was more meant for myself. I enjoyed it a lot more than I thought I would. And I’ll be sad to go back home soon. “I did too. I would like to see you again.” And Bucky looked down at me. “I would like to see you again too.” I said turning my head towards him. “Tomorrow again?” He said softly. Our faces were close I could feel his breath on my skin and smell his cologne better now. Wood, grass and peppermint. “Tomorrow again.” I answered back getting closer to him. Bucky inched closer as well and our lips were almost touching. He rested his forehead on mine and our noses bumped. He was waiting, trying not to overstep any boundaries. I didn’t know if I should tell him I probably wanted to kiss him just as bad as he did me. I leaned forward and pressed my lips against his. For a short moment we just took each other in. His soft lips against mine. I put my hands up against his chest and he moved to put his hand on my neck and one on my back. Pulling each other closer.

Loki is going to kill me if he finds out.

...

Let me know what you think :)

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keanureevesisbae · 3 years

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Protection Chapter 5

Summary: August has some explaining to do.

August Walker x Mia Makaruku (ofc)

Wordcount: 4.5k

Warnings: Little fight. A very very quick murder.

A/N: Thank you to everyone for the sweet messages I’ve received during my “flagged” situation. It was a fucking shitty start of the year, but I’m happy it’s over now 🥰

Masterlist // Previous chapter //

The second Mia asked that question, August feels the color draining from his face. He opens his mouth, closes it and opens it again, but no words emerges from his lips. The only thing he can hear right now, is the loud beating of his own heart and the jammed traffic outside of their apartment building.

‘Mia,’ he finally manages to say, ‘please, allow me to explain this, because I can.’

Though she asked him why he has her entire life compiled in one file, it’s clear she doesn’t want to listen to his explanation. August hasn’t seen her like this before. Now, of course, he barely knows her, but adding the intel on top of the things he learned about her this week, he figured she would listen to him. He thought she would give him an opportunity to explain himself and she’d except it.

However, he totally misjudged Mia. Her eyes scream bloody murder. ‘Are you stalking me?’ she asks him.

That feels like a punch in the gut and then some. ‘What?’ August asks her. ‘No, no, no, of course not.’ He closes the door behind him, a little harder than intended. He sees her jump from the loud bang. August is already on his way over to her, but she starts to shake her head.

‘Stay there,’ she manages to choke out, as she is holding onto the edge of the table for dear life.

It doesn’t sound very convincing, however he stops in his tracks. Instead of bulldozing over her and ignoring her pleads (like he usually would’ve , he sits on the back of the couch. He rubs his thighs with his hands as he grows more and more uncomfortable.

Yesterday she’d sit close to him, wrapping her arms around him when she hugged him goodbye. He wishes he could go back to that specific time. The thing about Mia is that he can let his guard down and while that isn’t something he enjoys to do, with Mia that’s okay.

And he wants to make it right to her or at least explain it to her.

‘I’m not stalking you,’ he says. August so desperately wants to look at her, to see her beautiful eyes, but the hurt in them is too much for him to handle. She is visibly distraught, because of him and rightfully so. Normally he wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t keep a distance because the other person wants to. Normally he can look anyone in the eye, no matter how they are feeling.

But everything is different with Mia.

‘I work with the CIA,’ he continues. ‘I was assigned to both protect you and help you remember certain things.’

It stays quiet for too long, so August looks up, only to discover that Mia is actually getting furious. ‘Protection?’ She nearly spits out the word in disgust. ‘I don’t need protection and certainly not from you. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself without you stalking me.’ She slams the file on the table and lets out a frustrated sigh. ‘And I sure don’t need to remember certain things.’

He wished she was right. He wished she was his neighbor and that’s all. Not an assignment. ‘You do,’ August whispers, loud enough for her to hear.

‘Which part?’

‘Both,’ he answers. While he really doesn’t want to let her in on this, there is also no point in keeping this a secret from her. Besides, he was the idiot that accidentally didn’t close his door properly when he took out the trash, since his mind was solely focused on Mia and how wonderful she is.

August fucked this up himself, now he needs to fix it.

‘You need to remember something about a safe.’

Mia frowns deeply. ‘A safe? Why?’

‘Because we have reason to believe you are connected to it.’

She starts shaking her head, as she lets out a chuckle of disbelieve. ‘What the fuck is so damn important about that safe?’

‘The safe contains incriminating information that could start wars.’

‘Wars between who?’ she asks.

‘Gangs, cartels, CIA, Interpol, entire countries.’ He shrugs before adding: ‘You name it.’

‘And why do you think I have something to do with that safe? I don’t know anything.’

‘You may not have known about it, but your family did, Mia.’

She scoffs. ‘My family is dead. I thought you new, mister big shot working at the CIA.’

August takes in her clenched jaw, her pursed lips and her eyes that could kill him when she looks up.

‘I’m not gonna use a fucking ouija board to ask them about it. I was too young to know a thing about this.’ The frustration that was building up deep inside her, bursts out as she kicks against the nearest chair. It topples over and when they both stared at it for a while, she adds: ‘And by the way, how are you so sure it’s my family that is linked to the safe?’

‘Check page seventeen of the file,’ August tells her. ‘There are pictures of your family.’

He watches her flip through the pages and judging from her eye motions, her eyes are stuck on one in particular. The one of a man, a woman, three boys and a little girl. One entire family.

‘This could be anyone,’ Mia retorts.

‘It’s your family,’ he simply says. ‘Check the other pictures.’

Since he has that file engraved in his memory, he knows exactly what picture is taking up her attention. The pixelated one of both a man and a woman. This family’s identity is probably one of the best kept secrets in the world. While it’s not much, the pictures do give an indication. Even with the pixels as large as her fist, no one has to be a genius to notice the resemblances of the woman and Mia.

She turns the page and her eyes enlarge, when they land on the final picture. The age progression picture. Of course it’s only an idea of what the young girl looks like now and with the limited information they had on this family, also known as the Safe-family, it’s not a match for the full hundred percent. However, tons of characteristics do match with Mia.

‘Six months ago,’ he says, ‘someone took the time to do an age progression picture of the entire family. We ran it through multiple databases and no one was a match. Except you. We didn’t put the pieces of the puzzle together directly, but someone in the office recognized you in it.’

August knows she is looking at the other age progression pictures, of her parents and her brothers.

‘When we put your timeline next to the timeline of your family, also known as the Safe-family… It matched. They weren’t active anymore, since the car accident. Since this all happened in the Netherlands, the CIA wasn’t informed.’

Mia shakes her head. ‘I don’t even know what they looked like,’ she says and he notices her softening up. Sure, there is a chance she is still mad at him, but hearing this vulnerability in her voice… That is what breaks his heart. ‘Even if these people were my family,’ she says, ‘shouldn’t I remember something?’

‘Stuff like that takes time, Mia.’

When she looks up, he notices all the anger she harbored, dissolved. ‘Do you know their names?’

August shakes his head.

‘Does that mean there is possibility my name is not Mia Makaruku?’

‘There is chance, yes.’

Tears build up in her eyes. ‘I can’t help you with this.’ She places the file back on the table and lets her fingers run through her locks. ‘I don’t know anything about these people nor about that safe. Whatever the CIA thinks they know, they’re wrong.’

‘Except, it’s true,’ he says. ‘It’s not just the CIA who is figuring this out. If they can figure it out, other people can too and that is why I’m here. The other ones, they don’t want what’s best for you.’

‘But the CIA does?’

No, the CIA doesn’t care about her, just the information she can provide. ‘No,’ he says to her in all honesty, ‘but I do.’

She shakes her head. ‘I thought you were a CIA agent, not some shrink. I went to multiple specialists for years and they couldn’t help me remember. What on earth gave you the impression that you are some sort of special snowflake, thinking you can help me remember?’

August takes a deep breath. ‘Because I know what I’m looking for.’

Her eyes enlarge with realization. ‘You weren’t trying to be my friend,’ she concludes. ‘You just wanted to get inside my head.’

No, shit, no. This isn’t good. He rises to his feet and approaches her, as he says: ‘I’m your friend, Mia.’ When he notices her shoulders tense up, he stops at a respectable distance from her, because the last thing he needs right now, is her turning him away. She is letting her guard down, but he should not force himself up to her. ‘I meant everything I said to you. I want to be more open to you, I want to hug you and I want to get to know you. That was all true and still is. I just need to protect you. The other people who know this, they don’t want what’s best for you. They just want the information and they’ll go through all sorts of lengths to get that information.’

August senses remainder of her anger flowing away and he decides to take his chances.

He walks up to her and when he is close enough, he carefully places his hands on her shaking shoulders. She isn’t pushing him away nor tensing up. ‘Nothing is going to change about us,’ he says. ‘We keep on being friends and I’ll just make sure no one can hurt you.’

Mia shakes her head. ‘It doesn’t work that way, August,’ she whispers. ‘You lied about your intentions and I don’t even know if anything you just told me is true. What I do know is that I can’t help you or the CIA. I want you to move out of here and leave me alone. Call your boss and tell them you are quitting. I don’t know anything about this, my family is not related to that safe and I don’t want to look at you ever again.’

August sighs. ‘We can’t do that.’

She pushes him away with a surprising amount of strength. ‘All of this isn’t true,’ she tells him. ‘Those people in the file, could be everyone. I am Mia Makaruku and no pictures and intel can change that.’

He is losing her. ‘I am your best shot, Mia,’ he softly continues. ‘Let me just explain everything I know to you. It’ll become more clear and you will realize I’m the only one who can help you.’

‘Drop dead, August,’ she growls. ‘I don’t want to talk to you ever again.’

Mia storms out of his apartment and the door slams shut behind her. August wanders through his apartment, hoping to clear his mind on this. All of his coherent thoughts are clouded however as soon as he sees the mug Mia insisted on drinking her water in. She even went back to her own apartment when her heater broke, to grab it. August still remembers her beautiful smile when she walked back in. ‘I’m leaving this here,’ she said, ‘because I want to drink from something less clinical than the glasses and mugs you have.’

The pink mug with lots of flowers on it. Tiny roses, colorful tulips. Something he would never look at. Something he wants to cherish forever now.

August notices the warm pie on his kitchen island, with a note. As he reads it, he clenches his jaw. He fucked up so badly, simply because he was careless. Mia wasn’t supposed to know about this. At least not yet.

Erika would be embarrassed if she found out about this debacle and he would be fired on the spot. That is the last thing he needs, because if he is fired, that means someone else is assigned to this. Worse, the CIA brings her to one of the safe houses without him and he knows no one will and can take as good care of her as he does.

Despite her being against him, wanting him gone, he is not that easily scared away.

◎ ◎ ◎

Mia was a wreck to say the least during her practice and Coach Riley noticed it too, hence the reason she is the last person to leave the center today. It pains August to see her like this. He can’t believe he is going to say this, but he feels for her. Seeing her missing goals she easily could’ve made, her limping again since she obviously misstepped and the fact she barely touched the ball.

All because he was a careless idiot.

He sits in his car, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel, scanning the parking lot. He finally notices her and he sits up a bit straighter. It’s obvious she is in a lot of pain, her steps carefully calculated. It takes him all of his willpower to not get out of his car, so he can lift her up and carry her to his car.

She unlocks her car and throws her bag into the trunk. From the way she closes it with a force he can see from where he is standing, tells him she is very much upset still.

All because of him.

While she walks to the side of her car, fumbling her set of keys, he sees him. The creep from the game who couldn’t stop looking at her. He doesn’t even think about it for a quarter second as he gets out of his own car.

He knew it, he fucking knew it. He slams the door shut behind him, sprinting towards the creep and Mia. ‘Let me go,’ he hears her say, but her tone is hoarse, as the man’s arm is choking her.

Mia places her feet on the surface of her own car and pushes herself back. They fall on the concrete and it gives her some leverage to wiggle herself out of his arms. The man gets up however and while she is crawling away, she has her back turned to him. Before he can touch her, August runs into him. The impact leaves a big dent in her car, however it didn’t knock him out, but a fist against his temple does it.

Mia is sniffling, her hand in front of her mouth. ‘What are you doing?’ she asks. ‘August, what is happening? What the fuck are you doing here? This is borderline stalking.’

‘Not stalking you,’ he says as he crouches down in front of her. ‘I’m just protecting you.’

A nearly painful sob leaves her lips, as she holds her ankle. ‘I don’t need protection,’ she whimpers.

August wished that was true. August wished that she didn’t need him, but he hates to break it to her. He hates taking her independence away from her. You need me,’ he says, ‘whether you like it or not.’

‘Don’t give yourself too much credit,’ she mutters, but he sees her walls crumble at the same time. ‘My ankle hurts.’

‘I know,’ he says. ‘You stood up to yourself. That was good.’ I’m proud of you.

The words however don’t leave his lips. That compliment stays in his heart.

She holds out her hand to him and he carefully takes it in his. ‘What is it, Mia?’

‘I’m scared,’ she whispers. ‘August, I don’t know what is happening. Who was that? Why am I being targeted? How do they know? Who am I? When is this ever going to stop?’

He wishes he had the answers, but he simply doesn’t. Mia is crying and he does what he thinks would calm her down. ‘Come here,’ he whispers, as he pulls her to his body. She buries her face in his neck, melting against his frame. Mia is shaking with fear.

While he holds her close, he keeps on thinking about the things they need to do. And there is quite a lot.

‘Listen to me, Mia,’ he says, cradling her face. Through her tears, she looks at him. ‘I need you to do something for me.’

‘And what’s that?’

August swallows hard. ‘We need to get rid of him and get you home.’ He pulls the knife from his back pocket and leans over to her front tire, slashing it. ‘When Harold for example asks why we’re together when we go back home, you ask him your tire was slashed and I picked you up. Now go grab your bag, okay?’

She nods and he pulls her up. She limps back to the car and grabs her sports bag out of the trunk.

‘Is there anything important in your car you need?’

‘No.’

August yanks out his belt and ties the hands of the man, before pulling the dead weight up. He is still alive, that’s for sure, but severely unconscious. He throws the keys to her and she catches it. ‘That car over there.’

He holds out his arm for her to take and she complies, leaning her weight on him. ‘Open the trunk for me, will you?’

August drops the man into the trunk. He expected Mia to get in the car, but she just stands there, staring at the car.

‘Listen, Mia,’ he says to her. ‘I know you’re scared.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she whimpers.

‘No, no, don’t do that shit,’ he tells her. ‘I’ll tell you what we’re gonna do. You get in the car, we dump this man and then we get home. We’ll pack our things and then we go.’

‘I don’t want to go,’ she whispers. ‘I want to stay here.’

‘Listen, listen, listen.’ He holds her face in his hands, his thumbs caressing her wet and hot cheeks. ‘We can’t stay, we’ve gotta leave. Now get in the car, Mia. I’ll be right there.’

He watches her get in the car, before he walks to the trunk. The man is still unconscious and August does what he does. It takes him less than a second to snap his neck and search his pockets, but the man isn’t wearing anything or has something with him significant.

He grabs his own phone out of his back pocket and dials Erika’s number as he closes the trunk.

‘Sloane.’

‘Word’s out,’ he says.

The fact she is not responding, means she’s thinking. Erika Sloane has been his boss for quite some time now, so he knows her ways. ‘Okay. What do you got?’

‘Man in the trunk, safe house three hours away.’

‘I’ll send you a location. I want you there now.’

‘On my way.’

When August hangs up the phone, he takes a seat next to Mia, who is staring out of the window. She must sense he is looking at her, since she her gaze from outside. ‘I hate you,’ she whispers.

It stings and maybe hurts a little, but he understands. ‘That’s okay,’ he says. ‘You can hate.’

◎ ◎ ◎

After August swapped cars with one of his colleagues, he drove the two of them back to their apartment building. He had to explain to Harold how not only her tire was slashed, but how she was also injured.

Mia on the other hand, was also totally out of it and still is. It’s just too much for her to handle.

He hoists the small woman on his kitchen counter and Mia finally stops crying. Not much haunts August at night, but those painful, gut wrenching sobs might. ‘What are you doing? Why did we swap cars?’

‘I’m gonna patch you up, Mia.’

‘Why?’

‘Because we are going away. That’s why I swapped cars, so we won’t be followed and my colleague is gonna get rid of the body.’

She looks like she’s seen a ghost. ‘What? Body? Did you kill him?’

He decides not to answer that.

Mia shakes her head. ‘We can’t run off. I have a game this Saturday.’

‘I know, but you can’t play. You are in danger and you need to get out of here. If you stay here, you might not survive.’

‘I thought you were here to protect me.’

She has a point. ‘But I can’t be with you in the locker room, VIP tickets or not. I have a safe house not too far from here and that is where we are going. Tomorrow you call your coach and tell her you are going to take a break.’

‘August,’ Mia says, shaking her head, ‘stop it, please.’

He doesn’t. ‘If you don’t come with me, you’ll die.’

‘I have a life here.’

August decides not to respond to her pleads anymore. He carefully takes of her shoe and sock, to check her ankle. ‘Looks like it hurts.’

‘Stop pretending you care about me.’

She has said a lot of things that stung, but this deeply offends him. He slams his hand on the kitchen counter, next to her thigh. Mia tenses up. ‘For fuck’s sake, I do care about you, Mia,’ he says in a louder tone.

Her bottom lip starts to tremble again and tears trickle over her cheeks. ‘I don’t want this life,’ she cries. ‘I just want to be a soccer player again.’

He places his hands on the side of her head, pulling her closer, until her forehead is resting on his chest. ‘If you come with me, I can guarantee I’ll keep you safe.’

‘You’re asking me to leave my life behind,’ she cries. Her fingers pull on his shirt and he looks down, to see her knuckles turn lighter from the clenching of her fists.

‘I know,’ he whispers. ‘But after I checked your ankle, we are leaving.’

‘I can’t argue this?’

‘Afraid not.’

She looks up, her eyes red from crying. ‘I’ll go with you, but only on one condition.’

She’s going with him no matter what, but he decides to keep quiet. ‘And that entails what?’

‘That Bobo comes with us too.’

◎ ◎ ◎

That scary disgusting orange cat that left an entire patch of fur on his bed, meows from the backseat. August watched a teary Mia leave her apartment behind, with all the stuff she needs and the carriage with Bobo. He had to walk back two times to make sure all the stuff the ball of fur needs. From the looks of it, it seems like Mia is bringing more stuff with her for her cat than for herself.

He sits next to her, as they have started their three hour drive. It’s dark and the crying has worn Mia out.

‘Mia, I understand you are mad at me, but I’m doing this for you.’

‘I know,’ she sighs out. Ever since he had to explain himself, he sees the rollercoaster of emotions Mia has been on. She is mad, afraid and fragile, all at once and she does not know how to deal with that. Everything she taught herself, is all worthless compared to what she has to face now.

Mia places her hand on his and he turns his, so their palms are touching. Their fingers intertwined. ‘I’m scared,’ she whispers. ‘I’m in pain.’

‘I know.’

‘My life is over.’

He bites his bottom lip. He didn’t want to tell her that the chances of her being a soccer player… That those days are over. Thankfully she brought it up herself. ‘I know.’

‘What do I do?’

‘Just stay close,’ August says. ‘I called my supervisor again and if we have to, we can use our passports to go somewhere else if we have to, but right now, we need to lay low for a while. The word is out about you and it’s only confirmed after this.’

‘What about the people I care about?’

‘CIA put protection at the apartment building for Harold and near your training center and the houses of your team and coach.’

There are the tears again. The only thing he can do, is squeeze in her hand.

‘August, what is gonna happen?’

‘You and I are gonna stay in the safe house,’ he tells her. ‘I’ll tell you everything I know and we’ll see whether or not you remember something.’

‘But what if I don’t?’ she asks. ‘The CIA also wants to content of the safe. Will they kill me too if I don’t know?’

That is of course a plausible thought and he actually admires her for thinking like that, because he was worried her mind was clouded and she couldn’t think straight anymore. ‘They won’t,’ he says, ‘and even if they plan on doing so, you think I let that happen?’

Mia doesn’t answer. She turns to the side and places her forehead against his shoulder. ‘I just want to play soccer,’ she murmurs.

‘I know you do,’ he says.

‘And while you did lie to me, I feel like you are the only one I can trust.’

‘You can,’ he says, desperately needed her to know that he can be trusted, though his lying tells her otherwise. ‘Grab the file out of the bag from the backseat.’

Mia lets him go so she can turn around and grab the file. ‘What page?’

‘Just start at the beginning.’

‘Why?’

‘Because… I want you to read it. You deserve to know.’

She opens the file, but closes it not long after, causes him to frown a bit. ‘I don’t want to read it,’ she says, placing it near her feet. ‘At least not yet.’ She wraps her arm around his thick one. ‘I want you to tell me about it.’

‘Why?’

‘You dragged me out of my life. I deserve to know what this is about. From you.’

August sighs, realizing she is right. ‘Fair.’

Normally he’d feel suffocated when someone was this close to him and he’d demand his own space, but feeling Mia so close… It reminds him of Sunday. It’s like they are taking a road trip now.

He tells her about the myth surrounding the safe. How the people who knew most about it are linked to her, thus being her family. The alleged information about multiple organizations in the world, illegal and legal. The crime scene of the car accident, the unknown woman who called it in.

‘Okay,’ she whisper, ‘just a thought. If the woman who called it in, did have something to do with the disappearance of my family, why didn’t she kill me? Or took me with them?’

Mia’s asking the right questions here and he wished he knew the answer, but he doesn’t. ‘I don’t know. I’m sorry, but I don’t.’

‘Are you gonna find out about it?’

It’s really quiet on the road, so he can look to the side, seeing Mia placed her chin on his arm. Their eyes meet and despite the tears, she doesn’t seem as panicked or angry as she was. She just seems upset and of course, that hurts him a lot.

‘We are gonna find out about it, Mia,’ he whispers, ‘I promise.’

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x oc #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill x asian ofc #henry cavill x soccer player #henry cavill x mia makaruku #august walker #august walker x ofc #august walker x asian ofc #august walker x oc #august walker x mia makaruku #august walker x soccer player #asian ofc #mia makaruku #fic: protection

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schrijverr · 3 years

Text

Translation Error

Bakugo’s mom is Dutch and at home, he speaks Dutch. He hadn’t realized the class hadn’t caught on yet, until he’s calling with his mom. After that, they notice more Dutch things.

(AKA, I’m Dutch and I’m having fun with making Bakugo Dutch as well)

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: none, but tell me if I missed anything!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bakugo Mitsuki had not always been a Bakugo, she’d not even always been Mitsuki. Before she was a Bakugo, she had been a Jansen, Marjolein Jansen, and her parents had moved from the Netherlands to Japan for her fathers job.

But that had been when she was eleven and she was fluent in Dutch, teaching it to her son when he was young.

They were a multi-lingual household with Mitsuki swearing in Dutch as she stubbed her toe while Masaru told Bakugo to put on his shoes in Japanese.

Katsuki took great pride in the fact that he spoke two languages, often teaching swearwords in Dutch to the other kids on the playground.

However, after a few years the novelty had worn of for most and it became just another fact of life that Kastuki would sometimes swear under his breath in a different language or forget an easy word only to grumble a weird word until he had found the translation.

Being in a Japanese school and watching Japanese media, however, ensured that Katsuki was much more comfortable in Japanese than Dutch. Even if Dutch was the language he spoke at home, so by the time he entered UA, he hardly ever spoke Dutch outside of his mom and grandparents.

Since he hardly ever spoke Dutch, it took a long while for everyone in his class to even notice that he could speak another language.

Of course, when you were running for your life it was hard to notice that your friend was chanting “kut, kut, kut, kut,” under his breath instead of a more familiar swear and you didn’t see them talking to their mom at school.

So, it wasn’t until they moved into the dorms together that people started to notice it.

The first instance was mostly brushed off. Bakugo and Midoriya had been talking about hero training classes when Bakugo said: “We never really did more- more- more,” he snapped his fingers, obviously annoyed, and grumbled, “godverdomme, reddingswerk, wat is dat ook alweer?” he looked at Midoriya and repeated, “Reddingswerk?”

Midoriya shrugged, he didn’t know what the Dutch word meant. Bakugo groaned, before explaining: “What we did with Thirteen.”

“Rescue?” Midoriya offered.

“Yeah, that’s the bitch,” Bakugo said, “We never really did more rescue work after that, now did we.”

“Hmm, yeah, we should ask Iida about that, as class rep, he might be able to do something about it,” Midoriya agreed and the conversation continued normally.

He already knew of the Dutch and hadn’t been phased by it, while most the class had only heard the tone Bakugo used, which was as usual annoyed and angry, not really registering the language as different.

The next time someone could have noticed, but didn’t was when he was helping Kaminari with his English homework. Kaminari groaned: “How can you keep track of all these letters? It’s so confusing.”

“I already knew the alphabet,” Bakugo shrugged, remembering how his mother had showed him how to write down his name differently and the fairytales she used to read to him.

“That’s nice, wish that were me,” Kaminari said miserably, looking at his homework.

“It’s still fucking confusing,” Bakugo huffed, thinking of the English pronouncing ‘a’ as ‘e,’ while pronouncing ‘e’ as ‘i,’ or why they couldn’t say the ‘w’ like a normal person. He blinked out of his thoughts and said: “Oi, focus again, Battery-boy.”

Kaminari startled and whined, but turned back to his homework with much displeasure.

A few days later, Bakugo stubbed his toe on the table near the couches when he got up to grab himself something to drink. He grabbed his foot and swore: “Godver de tering zooi. Kut, kut, kut. Holy shit, godver. Wat een tyfus tafel. Fuck that hurt. Klere ding.”

Everyone blinked at the outburst, before Mina asked: “What the fuck was that?”

“That’s called swearing, Raccoon,” Bakugo glared at her, “Who even put this table here?”

“The school, idiot,” Jiro shrugged, not really looking further into the weird noises that had come out of Bakugo’s mouth, because she didn’t think it above him to know obscure swears, just to add to his repertoire.

Bakugo glared at her as well, but the throbbing in his toe had subsided and he wasn’t really looking to pick a fight when they were about to watch a movie. So he dropped it and just went to grab himself a drink.

It was not until his mother called him that people truly caught on to the fact that it was an entirely different language, instead of some weird swears here and there. His phone rang while on the couch and he groaned when he saw who was calling.

Kirishima asked: “Who’s mama?”

“It’s my mom, dumbass,” he said, before swiping to pick up and saying: “Hallo met is Katsuki, waarom bel je me, heks?”

The person on the other side of the line said something, while Kirishima and Mina stared in confusion at the incomprehensible babble coming out of Bakugo’s mouth.

“Kon dat niet wachten?” Bakugo replied after a moment, getting up to get a bit of privacy as he spoke, “Ik zit hier beneden nu met mensen, we zijn ons huiswerk aan het doen. En dat is pas over een week, ook nog, by the way. Waarom val je me daar nu mee lastig?”

Midoriya came in and Mina whispered to him: “What’s he doing?” with a nod to Bakugo.

The other boy looked at Bakugo just as he said: “Nee, ik heb het al met Aizawa besproken, ik kan gewoon dat weekend naar huis komen. Hij snapte ‘t toen ik uitlegde dat opa en oma van ver komen.”

So, Midoriya shrugged: “Talking with his mom, I suppose. I don’t speak Dutch, sorry.”

“Why is he even speaking Dutch?” Kirishima asked, completely confused.

“Because his mom is Dutch.” Midoriya was confused by Kirishima’s confusion, surely they knew this already?

A few more people walked in and looked between the three confused teens and Bakugo, who was oblivious to the stares Mina and Kirishima were giving him.

He nodded even though his mom couldn’t see and said: “Ja, dat weet ik. Ik heb het opgeschreven. Ik ben niet achterlijk hoor, heks. Natuurlijk vergeet ik ‘t niet.”

A silence fell, in which the newcomers also had a chance to be confused. Then Bakugo hung up with a: “Ja, ja, doei, spreek je later. Doe de groeten aan papa enzo.”

Bakugo turned back to see half the class looking at him and he snapped: “What are you all looking at, eh?”

Midoriya, god bless his heart, spoke up for everyone and explained: “I think they only just realized you’re half-Dutch.”

“Why? Are they dumb?” Bakugo frowned, he hadn’t made the conscious effort to hide it.

“Oi, we’re not dumb,” Mina got out of her stupor.

“Yeah, Bakubro, you could have told us,” cried Kirishima.

“What is that thought?” Bakugo said, “Should I have made an announcement out of it? Do the klompendans while hanging out the Dutch flag? Like what do you want from me? I didn’t even try to hide it.”

It was quiet for a moment as most had to concede that was a pretty solid point. In the end Tsu asked him: “Can you say something in Dutch?”

“Am I a circus monkey or something?” Bakugo growled.

Hagakure jumped in as well: “Please, Bakugo, I missed most of the phone call, I wanna hear what it sounds like.”

More people rallied behind her and Bakugo gave in, saying: “Jullie zijn allemaal stom en ik haat het hier.”

“What did you say?” Mina asked.

“I said that you’re all stupid and I hate it here,” Bakugo said, before turning to walk away.

During dinner that evening more people nagged him. Mina and Kirishima wanted to know what the phone call was about (it was his mom asking if he had gotten permission to come home to see his grandparents next weekend) and the people who hadn’t been there to see wanted to hear what Dutch sounded like (Bakugo hit the closest of said people and told them nothing).

After a while, Momo mused: “I thought your mother’s name was Mitsuki. That’s a pretty Japanese name.”

“Her actual name is Marjolein, but no one ever pronounced or wrote it right, so she just says it’s Mitsuki,” Bakugo shrugged.

“How do you even spell that?” Kaminari wondered.

“You’re not good enough at the Roman alphabet for me to spell it out to you,” Bakugo told him, before adding: “And I’m not sure if it’s the long ij or the short ei.”

Kaminari frowned at the insult, then said: “You just made the same noise twice.”

“Yeah, but one is i j and the other is e i,” Bakugo explained, “It’s the same sound, okay. You just write it differently. I think it’s the short ei, but I never use that name for her. I’ve only heard opa en oma call her that.”

“Who?” Kirishima asked.

“My grandparents, like grandpa is opa and oma is grandma,” Baugo said, hoping they would stop asking him questions, because he was tired of explaining and he just wanted to eat his dinner in peace.

Luckily most had caught on to his annoyed tone and left him alone, but Bakugo could feel that this was something new and interesting that would hold their attention for a while.

He was right, because that week he was often asked what the Dutch word for something was or what the thing he just said was (it was usually swears), but he managed to survive ‘till Friday when he got to leave campus for the weekend.

They were walking back to the dorms, so that Bakugo could grab his stuff, before leaving to go see his grandparents, when he got a notification. He looked and said: “Fuck yeah, m’n opa en oma brought me hagelslag.”

“What is that?” Kirishima asked.

“It’s- uhm, beleg- stuff you put on bread,” Bakugo explained, knowing this was very a Dutch thing and was already pretty weird in countries that ate bread regularly, “I’ll probably bring it with me Monday.”

The others nodded and Bakugo said goodbye, before leaving, excited to see his grandparents again after so long. They had moved back to the Netherlands when he was five, saying they missed their country. He didn’t understand, because it always rained in the Netherlands when he’d been there and he got nearly hit by a bike multiple times.

He had a blast that weekend by excluding his dad from as many conversations as possible while catching up with his grandparents.

Returning on Monday, he had to do a double take when Kirishima greeted him in Japanese and asked how his weekend had been, before he remembered that it wasn’t all Dutch anymore. He said it was good, before sliding into his seat.

That lunch break he got out some sweets from his bag, reluctantly sharing them with his friends: “They gave these to me, something about their youth and shit. Whatever.”

Mina held up a little brown stick like candy and asked: “What’s this?”

“A kaneelstokje,” Bakugo answered, seeing her helpless look, he expanded: “It’s - what that fucking word again - kaneel, uhm… ah, yeah, cinnamon. It’s a cinnamon stick. When you bite it feels weird, but they’re nice. I also have the cherry version.”

With a curious hum Mina stuck it in her mouth, then she bit and grimaced, before mumbling: “That was harder than I expected.”

“Your mistake,” Bakugo shrugged, shoving a stroopwafel in his mouth.

A few tables over Midoriya spotted them and skipped over, asking Bakugo: “Did they give you those pig head candies?”

“Biggetjes?” Bakugo asked, “Yeah, here. I don’t like these, but they keep giving me them. I would much rather have the monkey ones.”

“Those have licorice on them, Kacchan,” Midoriya made a face.

“They’re nice, now fuck off, nerd,” Bakugo grumbled.

“Pig heads?” Hagakure asked.

“Yeah, it’s in the shape of a pig head and it’s a fruit gummy,” Bakugo shrugged, “The ears are slightly different and the monkey version is part licorice.”

“That’s weird,” Mina told him.

“Then you’re not getting more candy,” Bakugo shot back.

“No, I wanna try the cookies. I’m sorry,” Mina quickly said.

With an eyeroll Bakugo handed her a stroopwafel, explaining that it was a hard waffle with hardened syrup between it. He had eaten them hot and soft once and he didn’t get the rave about them fresh of the hotplate, he much preferred them cold.

They ate the foreign candy with interest asking about them and laughed about the guttural pronunciation that it had to them, marveling how Bakugo could make the hard ‘g’ sound, while they struggled.

And the next morning the whole class came together to stare in horror at Bakugo’s breakfast. He had put butter on a slice of bread, then put chocolate sprinkles on it. When Jiro had asked what the fuck he was eating, he scowled and said: “It’s hagelslag, okay, Earbuds.”

“That’s hagelslag?” Kirishima asked, stumbling over the word.

“Yeah,” Bakugo, “Almost everyone eats it. You also have vlokken, but that’s just hagelslag except flat and a bit bigger, though they also have hagelslag XL. There’s also a fruit version, but that’s just flavored hardened sugar.”

Uraraka looked at Bakugo’s plate and said: “This just feels off.”

“Well, then don’t look at, ey, Round-face,” Bakugo growled as he hunched protectively over his plate.

“Can I try?” Kirishima asked.

Bakugo eyed him suspiciously, before handing him a bit of his bread. He watched as Kirishima tried it, face morphing into a grin as he said: “Dutch kids are lucky. They get to eat chocolate for breakfast. Are you sure parents condone this?”

“My grandfather has never eating anything different for breakfast in his life,” Bakugo said.

“Nice.”

And with that they decided that this wasn’t really something to get on the blond’s nerves about, since it wasn’t really a big deal, and the conversation moved on to different topics.

But the knowledge that Bakugo was multilingual settled as normal in the group over time and explained how here and there he would say something incredibly weird, seemingly thinking it’s normal.

No one had commented on it before, but now it was easier to understand why.

For example, when they were having a collaborative training with class 1-B, Kirishima punched Bakugo’s arm and said: “You should give a pep-talk. Come on, Bakubro, inspire us.”

“Nah, Midoriya is better at sticking a heart under someone’s belt than I am, he should do it,” he replied.

“What?” Kirishima asked, confused

“You know, encouraging people and shit?” Bakugo asked, only getting more confusion back, “No, not Japanese?”

“No, bro,” Kirishima grinned.

“Well, it still makes sense,” Bakugo grouched.

“I would say no,” Mina commented.

“Shut up, Raccoon,” Bakugo huffed, “It makes sense. You give someone your heart for courage and the best place to store it is on your belt. Like in Medieval times.”

“Still weird.”

“And you still have to shut up,” Bakugo shot back, “Just focus on beating those pompous motherfuckers.”

Because in the end, it didn’t matter which language he spoke, he stayed Bakugo. Swearing and competitive Bakugo.

A/N:

Fun fact: a lot of foreigners have trouble with our ‘g’ which somehow can also be written as ‘ch’ as well as our double vowels, like ‘aa’ and ‘ee’

As for all the translations:

Kut means cunt, literally, but it is used like you would use shit (and yes, learning the verb cut in English class was very fun and completely misused)

“Godver de tering zooi. Kut, kut, kut. Holy shit, godver. Wat een tyfus tafel. Fuck that hurt. Klere ding.”

Goddamn the [swear] mess. Cunt, cunt, cunt. Holy shit, goddamn. What a [swear] table. Fuck that hurt. [Swear] thing.

When I put [swear] it’s bc I cannot explain why we swear with it and I do not want to put in the mental effort of explaining it and just saying it will make it sound worse than it actually is

The phone convo isn’t really interesting, but if anyone wants to know what Bakugo said:

“Hi, het is Katsuki, waarom bel je me, heks?”

Hi, it’s Katsuki, why are you calling me, witch?

“Kon dat niet wachten?”

Couldn’t that wait?

“Ik zit hier beneden nu met mensen, we zijn ons huiswerk aan het doen. En dat is pas over een week, ook nog, by the way. Waarom val je me daar nu mee lastig?”

I’m sitting downstairs with people right now, we’re doing our homework. And that’s in a week, as well, by the way. Why are you bothering me with that now?

“Nee, ik heb het al met Aizawa besproken, ik kan gewoon dat weekend naar huis komen. Hij snapte ‘t toen ik uitlegde dat opa en oma van ver komen.”

No, I already talked about it with Aizawa, I can just go home that weekend. He understood when I explained that grandpa and grandma came from far.

“Ja, dat weet ik. Ik heb het opgeschreven. Ik ben niet achtelijk hoor, heks. Natuurlijk vergeet ik ‘t niet.”

Yes, I know. I wrote it down. I’m not an idiot, witch. Of course I wouldn’t forget it.

“Ja, ja, doei, spreek je later. Doe de groeten aan papa enzo.”

Yes, yes, bye, talk to you later. Say hi to dad etc.

Only when translating this phone call did I realize how many filler words we have that don’t make sense in translation, so I just left them.

#RR writing #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bakugo mitsuki #bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugou #mha bakugou #dutch bakugo katsuki #dutch #class 1 a #mha class 1a #bnha class 1a

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mrsalwayswrite · 4 years

Text

Calm Amidst the Chaos (Ron Speirs x reader)

I don’t usually write based on prompts but I found this one and couldn’t resist. Prompt is in bold in the story.

In this reader story, I used she/her instead of Y/N, otherwise there is no description of reader.

Please let me know what you think!

Warning: some swearing, soft Speirs

Words: 1,317

Calm Amidst the Chaos

She stomped up the steps of Easy Company's HQ, the least damaged building in Haguenau, practically glowing with joy. Even the tall-tell whistling sound of a missile coming from the German line across the river could not dampen her spirits. Besides, it did not sound that close.

If she could carry a tune, she would have been singing like a canary in spring. For the first time in months she was clean. Actually clean! New ODs, a shower with warm water, and soap. Real goddamn soap to scrub away the dirt, grime, blood and sorrow from the time spent in the forests around Bastogne and Foy. Her stomach was full and she would be sleeping with a roof over her head tonight. It felt like heaven.

Pushing the door open, she heard Captain Winters talking in the back room, most likely to Lieutenant Speirs, which meant Captain Nixon was also nearby.

No one else was around to her surprise. She briefly wondered where Lipton was. Hopefully the man was actually resting in a bed somewhere. Lord knew he deserved it.

With no one else around, she did not feel too bad snooping.

A stack of large boxes against the far wall caught her eye and she went over to investigate. Luz must not have had a chance to distribute the stuff yet. She debated on if she should help him or purposefully hide the stuff to piss him off. It was a 50-50 chance which she preferred to do. She did owe him for that prank he pulled on her back in Holland.

Flipping open one lid, she found packages of cigarettes, gum and Hershey's bars. If a few of each found their way into her pockets, who could blame her, right? There was a large box next to it that particularly held her interest. It took a bit of effort but she finally managed to get the lid off. Inside were several new Thompson sub-machine guns.

She gave a low whistle. "Oh, look at all the pretties!"

"Can you please stop talking about assault rifles the same way you talk about shoes?"

She glanced over her shoulder at Nixon, who stood leaning against the door frame watching her with an amused look.

"What? Every girl needs to have standards about the important things in life."

He laughed. "Shoes and guns, huh?"

She just shrugged as she closed the lid, making him laugh even harder.

Winters and Speirs came out of the back room at that time, both curious at the commotion.

Nixon spoke again to her. "Did you meet our West Pointer yet? Lieutenant Johnson. No, James?"

"Jones." Winters shook his head.

"Ah right. Graduated on D-Day."

Speirs snorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yeah," she said, honestly she felt bad for Malark having to deal with him AND Webster but she did not want them in her own platoon. "Hopefully he doesn't get hurt."

"Hahaha. That's what I said." Nixon chuckled.

Winters sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "It will work out. Sink has high expectations of him."

"Course he does." Nixon took a swig out of his canteen that everyone knew only carried Vat 69.

"Nix." Winters reprimanded, with said intelligence officer just waving him off. "We need to get those reports ready. Anything you need, Sergeant?" He asked looking at her.

"No, sir."

"Good, good. Make sure your men get the new winter clothes that came in."

"Yes, sir." She tried to suppress the smile as Nixon dramatically rolled his eyes behind Winters before following his friend out.

And then she was alone with Second Lieutenant Speirs.

"Something you need, Sergeant?"

She shook her head again, now finally able to really look at the man. He looked tired, the beginnings of dark circles under his eyes emerging and his shoulders sagged more than normal. At least he had new ODs on and his hair looked damp still so he had showered recently. She could not help but wonder when he slept last for more than 2 or 3 hours. Especially with Lipton sick, she knew he was under more pressure and taking more responsibility.

"How can I help, sir?"

He just stared out the window, fingers drumming on the desk he leaned against.

"Ron...what can I do?"

It was hearing his name that broke him. She only ever used it when they were alone. He sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. Suddenly he looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Before she could help herself, she moved to stand in front of him. One hand carded through his damp locks, straightening them from their messy look. Silently he pressed his forehead to hers. They stayed that way for several moments, sharing what strength and peace they could.

She was not sure when whatever this was officially formed. There was the time he had knocked out a guy back in Toccoa that was harassing her or trying to find safe places to sleep in the Netherlands or when Roe sent her to Dog Company to get medical supplies and she ended up spending most of the night in a foxhole with Speirs during a bombing that made the Fourth of July look like amateur night. Somewhere over the years something has shifted between them. Not that either had dared to name it. There was a war to focus on after all.

"What's going on?" She tried to coax out, keeping up her gentle touches.

"There's a patrol set for tonight. A prisoner snatch."

"Shit."

Of course, when all the men just wanted to enjoy being indoors and not getting constantly shelled, fucking regiment would order something like this. There was nothing that could be done. Orders were given and orders had to be followed. Even if everyone hated it.

"How are you doing, Ron, and don't bullshit me, I know you too well for that."

He chuckled, lightly wrapping an arm around her waist. "I haven't killed anyone today."

"That's good. Have you threatened anyone though?"

Silence.

"Well its a start, I guess." She gently massaged the back of his neck, earning a low groan from him. "What can I do? Have you slept lately? Can I get you something to eat?"

"You sound like my mother."

"I'm certain that woman is a saint to have put up with you for so...ow!" She gasped after he pinched her side. She teasingly swatted the back of his head but immediately went back to her ministrations.

They lapsed back into silence, him loosely holding her as she massaged the back of his neck and carded her hand through his hair, foreheads still touching. Shouts could be heard outside, the occasional faint sound of a gun being fired, trucks rolling down the bumpy, muddy road. Outside was reality. Outside was their truth. Here in this moment though, they had the peace they both needed to keep going.

The stomping of boots coming up the steps had both of them straightening and stepping away from one another.

Some replacement walked in, rifle slung over his shoulder. "Sir, Winters wants you out front."

"Right. On your way."

The soldier saluted then turned around and left, the door slamming behind him.

Speirs grabbed his helmet from off the nearby table and his rifle, already lighting a cigarette. He stopped and looked at her. "Sergeant, you can organize the new machine guns. See they are distributed evenly...Make sure one ends up in your platoon."

She smirked. "You sure know how to spoil a girl, sir."

He winked then stepped out, back into reality, back into war.

Turning around, she placed her hands on her hips as she looked over the boxes. She certainly had no problems commandeering one of the pretties for herself. Personally she had always thought a new gun was better than a new pair of shoes.

#band of brothers #Band of Brothers fandom #band of brothers fanfic #ron speirs #ronald speirs #ron speirs x reader #hbo war #reader insert #easy company #mzwrites

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hopetofantasy · 4 years

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Culture, parallels & meta - S3 E2

Zaterdag 10:21

That’s character: In this scene, they’re again establishing some of Robbe’s insecurities. We already know from previous seasons that he often feels like the third wheel, keeps to himself, lets people walk all over him or apologizes a lot, so that they don’t hate him or abandon him (like his dad did). But this scene takes it even further: he doesn’t want to be a burden. Not with stuff like his friend’s party mess, so he cleans up as early and fast as he can. Not with taking food that doesn’t belong to him, so he chooses to not eat anything instead.

Perfect parallel: Zoë mentioning “Especially the pasta” in this season, because Milan stole her pasta at the beginning of hers.

Surprise bitch, guess who? Milan’s one-nightstand appears to be ‘Georgy Chtchevaev’, a close friend of Jonathan Michiels (Viktor) and other cast members. Small, small world.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Robbe’s expression at the end reveals how he longs for something like Milan has, but then realizes he might never have/want that. (Internalized homophobia is a bitch, y’all!)

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: The guy pulls out strawberry yoghurt from ‘Colruyt’ out of an almost empty fridge along with a spoon, from the cutlery drawer. Robbe’s gaze keeps lingering a tad too long on the half naked boy in their kitchen.

Zaterdag 14:43

C is for culture:

“Hey, I’m working here” - Teens are allowed to get a student job, as long as they’re at least 15 years old and completed the first two years of high school. The rules around how often they may work, has changed a lot during the last decade. However, nowadays, they’re allowed to work at a lower social security tariff as long as they don’t go over 475 working hours per year. Otherwise, they’ll have to pay the normal amount or even taxes if they surpass a certain income limit.

“No, I was just shopping” - C&A (Clemens & August Brenninkmeijer) is a Dutch chain store of origin with approx. 1,500 stores in Europe. They mostly attract older generations, as their style is seen as a bit old-fashioned and classic. That’s why their popularity significantly dropped in recent years, causing closures in some cities. - A smart move of putting product placement in a youth tv series.

Perfect parallel:

Robbe pulling a t-shirt off the rack to get Noor’s attention in this episode, him using the same tactic with a sweater in the last episode.

Noor sitting on a reluctant Robbe’s lap to kiss him here, Robbe happily straddling Sander to kiss and talk later on.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Robbe again faking that he likes Noor’s sexual advances.

Lost in translation: Robbe’s mom texting him “Ziet ge mij niet graag?”, which could literally be interpreted as “Don’t you want to see me?”, but in this context it actually means “Don’t you love me anymore?”.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: In case you didn’t catch it, Robbe is making a double joke with the t-shirt - saying that Noor is sexy as well as repeating the song on the store radio. Jana’s look at a disheveled Noor reveals that she knew Robbe wasn’t just ‘trying something on’.

Bonus: This season uses a lot of mirrors to reflect Robbe’s emotions and inner turmoil. Even his relationships with Noor and Sander are mirrored within the season itself: he never liked what Noor did for him (waiting outside the school, making out in public, going next level) and he was amazed at Sander doing the same. Mirrors are the perfect way of showing how Robbe has two faces: his ‘straight’ public persona and his struggling inner ‘gay’ self.

Zondag 19:59

That’s character: Zoë’s mom behavior is at full force here. When she spots her friends, roommates or boyfriend in difficult situations, she jumps to the opportunity to make them feel better. She instantly defends them, provides a shoulder to cry on, gives advice, feeds them when needed, tries to figure out what they’re feeling, ... Sometimes giving some tough loving too. Zoë just has that caring nature of her own. This probably stems from the fact that she missed out on parental figures and wants to feel needed as a compensation.

Perfect parallel:

Symbolism! Robbe walking away from his mom’s room in a cold-looking hallway, because he’s not comfortable (yet) with the situation. And him walking towards Sander’s room in a warmly lit hallway, since he’s at peace with what’s happening with his love.

Zoë asking Milan if he’s “Playing hard to get?” in this situation, Milan asking Robbe if his clothes say “Hard to get or playing hard to get?” later.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Robbe analyses what Milan is doing with his partner, not really sure how to feel about it.

Nod to the OG: Zoë stating “The only thing you can do now is just be there for her and yes, that you have to wait”, sounds oddly familiar to the minute-for-minute speech by Sonja.

Funny coincidence: Milan making out heavily with his boy in front of Robbe and his salad, might look like a nod to the ‘Right in front of my salad’ meme.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Robbe’s other (thicker) coat is hanging on a hook in the hallway. Senne’s “If I had have known that, I would have tried harder” indicates that he probably had to retake a year in high school, because otherwise he’d been a student in uni earlier on.

Maandag 16:27

C is for culture: “Kwak en Boemel kwamen binnen” (= “Kwak and Boemel entered”) - Robbe is referring to two side characters in the Belgian comic books ‘Jommeke’, who are homeless, lowlife criminals. The main protagonist in the series is the 11-year-old boy ‘Jommeke’. He is clever, honest, brave, loves adventure and is recognizable by his distinct blonde bowl cut. It’s one of the best-selling strips in Flanders, besides ‘Suske and Wiske’.

Perfect parallel: Jens’ first time suggesting toothpaste to jerk off happens here in S3, but he repeats it again during wtFOCKDOWN.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: The boys questioning why Robbe didn’t go all-the-way with Noor yet.

Lost in translation: Noor saying “Is dat een eik? Want ik zie veel eikels hier!” has completely lost its meaning when translated. ‘Eikels’ means ‘acorns’, which come from the ‘eik’ (= ‘oak tree’). But ‘eikels’ also means ‘assholes’. That’s why she’s pointing out the oak tree, to diss the boys that they’re actually ‘eikels’.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Again, the very subtle hint at the beginning that Sander was at the skatepark - checking Robbe out. Robbe pulls the middle finger at the boys hollering. His skateboard has a ‘World Industries’ sticker on it.

Dinsdag 14:56

Perfect parallel:

Robbe arguing “A whole weekend on a trip with people you don’t know?” against Noor coming along in this episode, his flirty affirmative answer to Sander’s “Like a weekend trip with strangers, right?” in the next.

Amber and her match making skills again! First, she tried to set herself up with Senne in S1, then Jana and Zoë with Max in S2, now Luca with Aaron in S3.

Lost in translation: “Ik denk niet dat ze daar goesting voor heeft” - ‘Goesting’ is a typical Flemish word for anything that has to do with desire, preference or willingness to do something in any context (work, food, activities, sex, ...). That’s why Aaron answers him with “I had a different impression on Friday”, taking the “I don’t think she has ‘goesting’” in a very sexual way.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: The real reason why he doesn’t want Noor to join the trip, is him not wanting to fake his attraction to her. Except Robbe isn’t willing to admit that to himself yet.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Luca has braces!

Woensdag 12:21

Perfect parallel: Noor’s “And then you haven’t even seen the men yet” as a rebuttal to Moyo’s comments about art school girls in this episode, Robbe meeting the beautiful art boy Sander in the next.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Robbe just doesn’t see the appeal in watching women dance, since he’s not attracted to them. But the guys don’t get why he says ‘no’ to the recital.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Noor is greeting Britt with a hug in the background. Moyo kisses the dance recital flyer right before going outside.

Donderdag 07:21

C is for culture: Robbe is making a sandwich with choco spread and speculaas cookies. ‘Speculaas’ (’Biscoff' in English) is a spiced shortcrust biscuit with origins in the Netherlands and Belgium. It’s typically baked for the ‘Sinterklaas’ and Christmas celebrations. Though, it can be eaten as a treat to accompany coffee, thee or ice-cream as well.

Perfect parallel:

Zoë saying “I think you’re not used to eating healthy” earlier this episode and Robbe making sweet sandwich at the breakfast table, confirming her statement here.

Milan taking revenge for Zoë on a sleeping Senne in this episode, him helping Robbe prank Moyo for being homophobic in a later one.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Milan’s breakfast is a banana. Senne pulling Zoë into their bed, without her spilling the coffee in her hand.

Vrijdag 18:02

Perfect parallel: Luca dissing Moyo’s sexist statements with “Do you actually have a girlfriend? ... I understand why” earlier, her saying “Moyo, then you better take a good look at it, because it will be the last time you’ll see that room” here.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Zoë and Jana hugging each other outside. Luca giving Moyo a clear wink after dissing him. Robbe didn’t expect Noor to sleep with him in the bunkbed, as his face falls when she says she will.

Vrijdag 22:04

C is for culture: "It isn’t because he isn’t here...” - The reason that Senne couldn’t join their trip to the seaside, is that he doesn’t have a fall break. Universities usually start their school year a week later than university colleges, so they’re the only ones who don’t have a vacation at the end of October.

Perfect parallel: Robbe looking at drunk Noor with a sad expression of “Why can’t I just love this girl?” in this episode, him looking at a sleepy Sander with a face filled with love in the last episode.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Robbe trying to pry Noor’s hands away from his body.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Senne responds with “#metoo” as a joke, referencing the movement and him missing Zoë. Her face freezes for a few seconds to indicate that she is indeed jealous. Robbe’s little wink at Luca.

#wtfock #wtfam #skam #skam belgium #cpm rewatch

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 4 years

Text

After the Bombs Fall [Animorphs ficlet]

[Note: I seem to have lost the ask where someone requested my post-war headcanon for Alloran, but anyway here it is.]

Less than a month after the end of the war, Alloran applies for transfer off of Earth and back to the homeworld. When the first request gets cancelled due to a minor typo in a sub-section of a supplemental form, he curses himself and immediately applies again.

The second application lingers in the metaphorical z-space between agents for longer, nearly two Earth months, before it gets cancelled as well. The systems are overtaxed due to the sudden influx of Earth tourism, the form letter tells him this time, and they’re very sorry for their inability to accommodate his request.

The third time he applies, the form remains “under review” on the submission portal for half a year, even though the review process normally takes less than a day. So he applies a fourth time, a terrible suspicion taking hold by now. The Electorate automatically cancels both applications, and has the gall to send him a snippy comm message asking that he refrain from filing redundant claims from now on.

The fifth application gets reviewed and cancelled; the sixth one doesn’t even get that courtesy. It just stays there, “submitted” but not yet “under review,” unwanted and ignored.

Just like its author.

Alloran considers, then. For nearly a day he paces, watching the andalite computer and the primitive human device alike, and weighs the merits of stealing Visser Three’s Blade ship out of the impound lot. It wouldn’t be hard; the security system is coded to biometrics. No one but he or Tom Berenson could fly that ship now, and Tom Berenson is dead.

After another day, Alloran instead morphs human and walks to the nearest CVS.

He has to swallow an entire jumbo bag of marshmallows and three jars of tomato sauce for comfort before he can swallow his pride as well. But the comfort food does its trick, and at the end he pulls out the human cell phone still registered under one of Esplin 9466′s aliases and enters the fifth speed-dial option.

“Hey, you.” Eva answers immediately. “How’s it going?”

They don’t know each other, not really. And yet in every one of their three conversations, Eva has greeted him like an old friend. Her voice brings a reaction to Alloran’s human morph: tightness in his throat, the heat of tears behind his eyes.

“I apologize for troubling you,” Alloran says stiffly. “Please, if you are busy, disregard this request.”

Eva snorts a laugh. At least, Alloran thinks that that’s what the sound is. “I’m not busy, and I owe you a favor anyway. Shoot.”

Alloran glances around the room, but there are no weapons, so he decides to disregard that last. “I am truly sorry if it slipped my mind,” he says, “but what favor do you owe?”

“My kid is not in jail on some foreign planet right now, and I hear that’s all your fault. What’s the favor?”

“The War Council would not have imprisoned the Animorphs. That is, perhaps Aximili and Prince Jake may have been imprisoned, but doubtless the full Electorate court would have proven merciful—”

“Alloran. What’s the favor.”

He’s stalling, and she knows it. “It’s a bit of a complicated political matter, and I’m afraid I am not well equipped to explain it to a human, but enforcement of our travel policies is more subject to individual agents’ personal judgment than we ideally would have it be, and...”

“Hijo de puta. They’re not letting you go home, are they?”

Alloran fills his human lungs with more air than they technically need for speech. “It’s a complicated matter.” Nevertheless, his voice comes out small.

“You still camping at the Sharing Community Center?”

“Yes.” His voice is even smaller now.

“I’ll be there in half an hour, querido.” She hangs up.

While he waits, he goes outside to run, to graze, to stare up at the stars.

He didn’t lie; it is complicated. The Andalite Electorate is struggling to recover from a decades-long war, one that threatened the existence of their very soul as a people. Seerow’s mistakes — and Alloran’s own decision to publicize the failings of his prince — have ensured that the whole debacle was a massive embarrassment even before the defeat on the hork-bajir homeworld.

And then...

He’s heard the word, whispered and hissed and screamed and shouted.

Abomination.

His face is the public face of the Yeerk Empire. His voice is its voice. The morph he was just using — a bald, middle-aged human male — was constructed from the DNA of a dozen human-controllers. Everything he owns, from the black limousine parked at the curb to the press pass of a woman called Aria, was taken from the hands of murdered slaves.

Of course his people don’t want him back. Of course not. The quantum virus was one thing, but then he had the gall go to and get himself captured by the yeerks. And he’d added insult to injury when he’d challenged a captain on Aximili’s behalf.

He can see it. That’s what stings. He can stare up at the glittering point of his home star even as he runs across a field of dull foreign grass, and at this rate it’ll never be anything but a fixed point of light in an unfamiliar sky ever again.

Eva shows up then, before he can feel too sorry for himself.

She brings a human substance known as pinot noir.

**********

“And then...” Eva points a wavering finger at him. Her words have gotten blurrier over time. “And then, we just sneak it in, and bam!” She slaps the tabletop.

Alloran leans in across to her. “Bam,” he agrees.

“You needed a ride home?”

At the new voice, Alloran stands up sharply. Too sharply. He gets his two flimsy little legs tangled in the chair and almost pitches over.

Marco catches him. “You all right?” he asks.

“I,” Alloran intones, “am intoxicated. Tox. I. Cate. Ed. Wonderful word. Intock. Sick. Kate. Dd-d-d-d-d.”

“Yeeeaah, I was getting those vibes from the—” Marco leans around him in an impressive display of human balance. “Bottle of wine apiece you two’ve apparently emptied.”

Eva draws herself up. “I did not call and request a ride home, I called and requested a ride to the Netherlands!”

“You’re right, you did.” Marco rolls his eyes. “Which is why I made the decision to show up and bring you home instead.”

“No, no, the Netherlands.” Eva steps up next to Alloran. They both regard Marco carefully. “Not to worry, we’ve thought it through. You call your friend with the private plane, Bradley or Bradford or whomever his name is. We fly out to the Hague tonight.”

“Where is this going,” Marco mutters.

“Holland,” Alloran informs him. “It is-sssss in...”

“Yeah, I’ve been.”

“Anyway.” Eva gestures sharply, bringing attention back to her. “We shall have a perfectly ordinary canister of table salt with us, and we shall request to visit with Visser Three—”

“Oh Jesus. Mom.”

“The guards will not suspect a thing, for it is just an ordinary condiment. All we must then do is create a diversion, and...” Eva flings out both hands as if miming an explosion.

“Splat,” Alloran says. “Pllll-lat. Hissssss.”

“And this will accomplish what, exactly?” Marco asks.

“Making Alloran feel better,” Eva whispers to him. However, she seems to be whispering a great deal louder than she realizes. Humans are ill-equipped for private communication, with their sad reliance on verbal speech. “None of the andalites want him back.”

“Yeah. Cool.” Marco laughs. “Ten out of ten therapists recommend war crimes for a friend in need! And as a guy who’s been to at least ten therapists, I’d know.”

Alloran is not certain, but he believes that Marco might be employing the human verbal quirk known as “sarcasm.”

“No one will suspect a thing.” Eva pats him on the shoulder.

Marco sighs. “Security will just think it’s cocaine.”

“Cocaine?” Alloran asks. “Coke-cane? Co-c-c-c-c-c-c-aine?”

“Something you’re never going to try.” Marco levels a hard stare at him. “Given how well you handle your red wine.”

“Cooo-caaayyy-nnnee. Co-cane.”

“How did you get wrapped up in this dumbass heist, anyway?” Marco looks from one of them to the other.

“Alloran needed me,” Eva says.

“I have no friends,” Alloran announces. “And Arbron does not own a cell phone. Ell. Elffffff-own.”

Marco closes his main eyes for several seconds, massaging the bridge of his nose. An impressive feat of daring, for a creature with no stalk eyes who relies upon bipedalism. “Should’ve known you’d be a morose drunk,” he says.

“So, you’ll take us to the airfield, then?” Eva asks.

Lifting his head up, Marco opens his eyes. “In the words of my wise and estimable mother: if you want it that bad, you can have it when you’re sober.”

Eva opens her mouth halfway, squinting in what Alloran would guess is the effort of remembering when she would have said that. After a second, her expression clears. “I was right to say it, that floozy would have broken your heart in the morning, and this situation is entirely different!”

“That floozy’s name was Jake Gyllenhaal,” Marco mutters, “and I totally would’ve gone for it when I was sober, but I never got his number.”

Eva says something in Spanish, presumably about the loose morals of Jake Gyllenhaal. Marco’s expression would suggest that he only pretends not to understand her.

“Anyway. The point stands. I’m driving you home.” Marco jerks his chin at Eva. “And you,” he says, looking at Alloran, “are gonna morph and sober up before we go anywhere. I’m not having you nothlited on my conscience.”

“But,” Alloran says, “the salt—”

“We’ll revisit the salt in the morning,” Marco says firmly. “Demorph. Please.”

Alloran considers pointing out that he is a war-prince, he does not take orders from alien children, he has his pride... And then considers whether any of those statements is actually true.

He demorphs.

Instantly, he feels both better and worse. On the upside he’s more clear-headed now, but on the downside he’s more clear-headed.

“I’ll call you.” Marco gives him a long look while shepherding Eva out the door.

**********

Marco does not call, but he does send several written missives to Alloran’s cell phone. The Animorphs still have an illegal andalite communication device, it would appear, and Marco has put in requests to channels both official and not about the possibility of transport from Earth to the homeworld.

—Ax is on it, Marco’s latest text reads. —He’s calling an old friend. Might take some smuggling, but we’ve got an idea.

—Thank you, Alloran types carefully on the tiny keyboard. —Your assistance is greatly appreciated, and undeserved.

He’s debating whether to hit send when there’s a knock on the door.

Alloran’s in an abandoned building the Sharing used to use for housing human-controllers. There is very little chance that this is an incidental knock, or someone who wandered by accidentally.

The thought occurs to him that it’d be smarter to morph human and blend in before he answers. But the fear of facing the unknown in a half-blind, tailless morph wins out. He opens the door as is.

It proves to be the right decision. The andalite on the other side didn’t bother to morph either.

Estrid stares at him in silence for several seconds. Her expression is unreadable, all eyes ahead and carefully blank. Alloran doesn’t know what she’s looking for, but he lets her look.

«Estrid,» he says at last, when it’s clear she isn’t going to speak first. He gestures with his tail blade, the downward sweep of greeting for an honored warrior.

«Father,» she says.

Her own sharp tail-turn puts the flat of her blade toward him. A greeting between equals. An insult. Both not formal enough for an aristh to acknowledge a war-prince, and too formal for greeting a family member.

But then, Alloran went for Estrid, didn’t he. Not Aristh Estrid-Corill-Darrath, not Estri-kala or my child.

They haven’t seen each other in over two years. They haven’t spoken in almost twenty.

Arguably, given how young she was when he was taken, they’ve never really spoken at all. Certainly Alloran knows little of the person his daughter has become as a young adult. As a groundbreaking aristh. As a brilliant researcher.

As a war criminal.

Humans have a saying, about apples that don’t fall far.

«How is Jahar?» Alloran says. It’s what he really wants to know, and he doesn’t know how to approach any of the other minefields that lie between them. «And Ajaht, how is he?»

Judging by Estrid’s expression, she takes this to be a standard small-talk opening instead of the deeply earnest inquiry it is. «Mother is well enough. I suppose you’ll have to apologize to her in person.» She doesn’t mention her brother.

Alloran feels his tail blade drop nearly to the floor without his permission. «Yes. Of course. Estrid...»

«I’m on a diplomatic mission to Earth,» she says briskly. «Prince Aximili and I have concluded discussions with several local leaders about access to morphing technology and tourism restrictions going forward. Therefore, I will be able to exit the planet and return home after being subject to nothing more rigorous than human security scans.» The dismissive little flick of her tail at this last is, all things considered, somewhat warranted. Humans have yet to devise a single effective way to detect morphers.

«Return home,» Alloran repeats.

Might take some smuggling, Marco said. It’s sinking in: Estrid is here to bring him home.

Home. To the wife he disgraced. The brother he got killed. The children who won’t even acknowledge him, a feverish pair of overachievers desperate to leave his legacy behind. Ajaht’s tail-fighting is so legendary that, even using human channels, Alloran has been able to find scraps of news. Estrid’s skill is not praised so publicly... but the yeerks got ahold of Arbat’s files, after their disastrous mission to Earth. Alloran knows more about her, he thinks, than he ever wanted to.

«We’re leaving now,» Estrid says. «My window for authorized exit ends in two-point-eight-six Earth hours, so we need to move.»

She must have been here for days if not weeks, to negotiate the way she’s describing. And yet she came to find him at the last possible second. Likely to minimize the time they’re forced to spend together.

Alloran doesn’t have the time or the energy to care. «What would you prefer me to morph?»

«Something small and Earth-based.» She barely finishes speaking before she starts to morph herself.

Alloran pauses in surprise, because Estrid morphs with shocking skill, melding from andalite to human in a mere forty-seven seconds, all without ever once losing her footing. She even wears a normative amount of clothing when she’s finished, a sundress and sneakers and a coat overtop.

She sighs, looking him over. «We don’t have all day, here.»

«You were wasted in Arbat’s lab,» Alloran says.

«You don’t have to tell me that,» Estrid snaps. «Tell me, dear father, what else was a girl and a second-born and the child of a disgraced bloodline meant to do?»

Alloran has no answer. Silently he morphs.

His options are limited — Visser Three overwhelmingly preferred large to small morphs, and Alloran hasn’t bothered acquiring much else — so he opts for snake, Lachesis muta according to a human-controller from the area. It’s still larger than most Earth reptiles, but by coiling in close he becomes small enough to drop into the oversized pocket of Estrid’s jacket.

Estrid doesn’t speak to him, and he doesn’t ask her to, the entire way back to her fighter. She’s under no obligation, and he won’t force the issue.

********

«We’re landing soon,» Estrid tells him, three Earth weeks and eighty-two light years later. She’s maintained that icy formality throughout the entire journey so far, responding to Alloran’s questions — about her research, about her brother, about her morphing — with flat non-answers.

Alloran steps to the viewport to look out over the rolling grasslands of home like a child on his first in-atmosphere flight. Is it home, really? It’s been thirty-nine years since he left home to quell the small skirmish on the hork-bajir homeworld, forty-seven since his first offworld assignment serving under Prince Seerow. He has seen a dozen planets, been a hundred species, since that time. This body belonged to Visser Three for nearly as long as it did to Alloran himself, decades of nonexistence until he all but forgot his own name.

«What will you do next?» Alloran asks Estrid, still desperate for conversation.

She flicks a dismissive hand at the air. «I have my work.»

«Even without Arbat?»

«I didn’t say it was easy.»

«And the quantum virus?»

She turns all four eyes on him. A small part of him wants to scold her for bad form, but a far larger part of him recognizes he’d be overstepping. «The quantum virus never happened,» she says sharply. «And if it did, I was never informed of its existence. This journey was my first visit to Earth, Arbat died in a lab accident, we were never involved in weapons development, and if you even think about saying differently the War Council will back my story, because all of the documentation —»

«Estrid.» He cuts her off as gently as he can. «I would never...»

He sees it, in the stiffening of her stalk eyes. Hears it in the catch of her breath. She doesn’t want a father. Or if she does, she doesn’t want him.

«I would never dishonor the memory of my brother by raising questions about his death,» Alloran says instead.

Estrid relaxes, and turns back to the controls.

He is weary of war, weary of being alone. The person he’d been when he first met Esplin 9466 would have been shouting by now, demanding to know what right Estrid has to consider herself any better than him. He only deployed a quantum virus, had no hand in its evil creation. Either she is a hypocrite... or she is just like the War Council officials who consider it a far worse crime to be enslaved by yeerks than to have murdered ten million hork-bajir.

It’s been a long war, and Alloran has missed her every moment of it. Let her be angry; she’s here.

There is one more delicate question Alloran needs to ask, however, before they disembark on their family’s land. «Jahar,» he says. «I assume... She has found someone else. To help raise you, and...» Dark Sun, but this is hard. «She deserves to be loved, of course.»

Eva’s mate remarried, after all. Together they’d cried about that, somewhere between the third and fourth glasses of wine.

«Who would date her?» Estrid asks. «Who would be seen speaking to her? No. There’s no one. There hasn’t been. There was me, and Ajaht, and that’s it.»

Alloran feels sadness and relief and disappointment and shame at his relief, all at once in a rush too complex to understand. «I see,» he says at last.

«So go to her.» Estrid yanks hard to unseal the fighter’s outer door; they’ve landed without his noticing. «Go to her and—» Another hard yank. «Kriffing thing!»

Alloran puts his hand next to hers, pleasantly surprised when she doesn’t pull away. As one they move, and the door comes open at last.

She came to meet them. Alloran doesn’t know why he wasn’t expecting that, and yet...

Jahar is older, lined around the eyes and stooped in her shoulders and dull-edged around her hooves. She’s radiant. Transcendent.

Alloran is frozen. Aware of all the knocks he’s taken, all the shine he’s lost. Aware that they’ve been apart for longer than they ever were together.

He blames that last for the way his knees lock. For the voice that freezes inside his mind, unable to form words. For the crack in his breath and the painful squeeze of his hearts as she becomes the one to step forward. As she raises a hand to his cheek, in the first gentle touch he’s felt in over twenty years.

[Note: I know that Aloth’s line in #38 about Estrid being Arbat’s niece — which would make her Alloran’s daughter — is probably not meant to be literal in context. But the straightforward interpretation is boring, so I went with the fun one.]

#animorphs #animorphs fic #long post #ficlet #alloran #alloran is my trash baby #animorphs spoilers #victim blaming #estrangement #alloran semitur corass #Estrid Corill Darrath #alloran is estrid's dad #actual dumpster fire alloran semitur hardass #star wars swear words #cold mountain... in space!

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victimhood · 3 years

Text

The one in which the Euros 3rd place playoff is abolished after Italia 1980, and then restored at short notice for Italia 2028, making it the historic occasion in which a whole country cockblocked their captain Nicolò di Genova.

It is June 1980. The European Championship is taking place in Italy. It is the first edition of the tournament with eight teams, divided into two groups. The winners of each group move on to play in the final, and the runners up of each group move on to battle for third place.

It is the final edition of the Euros to have the third place playoff. With dwindling attendances and television viewers, UEFA deems the fixture unnecessary for future editions of the tournament. Italy hold Czechoslovakia to a 1-1 draw, and the match is decided on penalties. The final outcome? 9-8 to Czechoslovakia.

For as long as it has existed, there has been vocal opposition to the third place match. There are those who question its purpose, who see it as a meaningless extension of the tournament for advertisement money. A kinder commentary on offer is from those who see it as cruel to make losers play yet another competitive fixture, for little to no reward. Just think of the fourth-placed team—they played better than the rest of the competition except three—yet they must go home with the bitter memory of having lost twice.

On the other camp, there are those who recall with great fondness the third place match of the 2002 World Cup between host nation South Korea and Turkey. If that doesn’t work for you, what about the consolation it offered to the host nation in the 1990 World Cup, a breakout tournament for Italy’s Roberto Baggio?

Now we skip to June 2028. The European Championship is once more taking place in Italy. There are twenty four teams divided into groups, followed by a knockout stage. There is no third place fixture on the schedule. The much-beloved Italian captain takes his team on a blistering dream run, in front of an adoring home crowd, beating a well-regarded Portugal and incumbent holders Belgium along the way. He has declared his intention to retire for good, once this tournament is over.

Picture this: you are Italy. You play England in the semifinal in Napoli, at the Stadio San Paolo, also known as the Stadio Diego Armando Maradona. You arrive in the stadium, or you watch from home, full of hope, with faith in your captain and your squad. Your team scores one at the 20th minute. Perfect opening. England try but they can’t get past the deadbolt across goal, past your much vaunted defensive line. At the 63rd minute, Foden puts one past your goalie, but VAR rules it offside. At the 89th minute, the scoreline is still 1-0 and you’re nearly through, and some egregious fans are already cheering, and then Foden gets it in for real in a stroke of sheer luck. The ball hits the crossbar but somehow bounces downward into goal. The game goes into extra time, and then to penalties. The final result? England wins 4-3 on penalties. This is a brutal game. At the end of your match, your captain sheds tears and apologizes for not being able to do more to push the team through to the finals. No! You want to scream. Caro Nicolò, il nostro capitano, it’s not your fault. You have done so much for us. You begin to blame yourself: it’s us, it’s our fault. We dared to dream too early. You were so busy dreaming of your beloved captain raising the trophy that you forgot the game wasn’t over. In fact, even before this semifinal you were already dreaming of the trophy. This is how fate punishes you. You hate to see him end his career this way. He didn’t let you down, you let your captain down! Can we do this one over? You’ll do right by your captain this time.

Picture this: you’re the president of UEFA, and the tournament is hosted in your home country. It would have been the honor of honors, to award the winner’s medals to your compatriots. The papers are raging over the match outcome: England squeaked through on a razor’s blade, and Italy were the more inspired team. The fans are out in the streets. The people have spoken! Let us bring back the third place match! Let us see our captain off with dignity and honor! Your colleagues say: this is preposterous. We got rid of it years ago, because of Italia 1980. But does anyone really remember why? The advertisers tell you they’re willing to pay. One extra match means extra revenues. Worse things have happened in the pursuit for money. What’s the harm in a consolation match? An emergency meeting is called. Who’s playing in the second semifinal? France and the Netherlands. Both their feds agree to the third place match. From the next tournament onwards, there’ll even be a sweet cherry of a coefficient bonus—all the feds agree to this, but it would not be fair to the rest to apply it this ongoing tournament (and you hear minor grumbles from the FIGC, FFF and KNVB, who think they should be compensated for the inconvenience). No matter; the people have been given what they want! Another football match in the grand machine of things! The meeting takes so long that France beats the Netherlands 3-2 in the meantime, and now someone has to do the unpleasant job of telling the players. Were any of them consulted in this affair? What a preposterous concept. That’s not how UEFA works. UEFA says jump and they say how high.

Picture this: you are Nicolò Di Genova, and you’ve played the final match of your professional career. It did not end in the way you wanted, but such is life. You are ready to put your former self in the grave. You say goodbye to your treasured teammates, and the very next morning you check out of the training center to make your way to Turin, to see your fidanzato in the semifinals. Well, he crashes out too, his downfall orchestrated by that paraculo of your club teammate, Sébastien of the number 23. And so it is England vs France in the final, to be played in Italy. The thought of it turns even the strongest stomach of any citizen of this noble country. The only silver lining to this cursed final lineup is getting to whisk the love of your life off into the secluded countryside, and maybe with a few rounds of passionate lovemaking you can even forget the pain of loss.

You’re in the car. You just picked up your inamorato from his team hotel. You want to push him into the backseat and blow the brains out of him but you have better self control than that.

“How does retirement feel like?” he cracks a joke at you.

“You know full well my plans,” you return cheekily.

You’re driving off into the E70 when your phone rings. It doesn’t stop ringing so you pull over to take the call.

It’s your national team coach. “They just restored the third place match. Can you come back to the training ground?”

Who agreed to this? Your mind is reeling from the preposterousness of it all.

“They love you, Nichi. The people want you back.”

You exchange a look with your lover. Now his phone is ringing too. It’s his coach.

Due to this unfortunate turn of events you end up having an argument with your lover. You are principled, and having principles means not giving in to this total farce of a circus show, the third place match. Your lover is an incurable romantic, and pleads on behalf of your people. They did this all for you—show them some love in return. And what was the meaning of the past 31 years of your life again? You have already given them everything.

If only the people of Italy knew how much they had to thank Yusuf Al Kaysani. It’s because of him—it’s because of his beautiful deep brown eyes that glisten with all the stars of this universe that you cave and you agree.

“Get out, let’s switch. I’ll drive, and you call your mom and tell her the news.”

How do you begin to articulate how much this man knows the answers in your heart before your brain catches up to the same conclusions?

And so, like Lazarus, on the fourth day of your death you come back to life.

ITA vs NED

Picture this: you’re the cameraman, in the tunnel. The teams are lining up. The two captains emerge from the dressing room and compliment each other on their good looks with wry smiles. Some good natured ribbing, you think. They’re old friends. They played together for eight years at the same club. The Italian captain puts his hands on the Dutch captain, and then, like magnets, his hands seem incapable of leaving the Dutch captain’s back. You start to feel uncomfortable, like you’re seeing something that you shouldn’t be seeing. You look around. Everyone else in the double file of blue and orange is just chatting away, acting normal. Maybe...it’s just your imagination? You train your camera on the chatting crowd, giving the captains space. The match officials appear, taking the lead in front of both teams. You get in position for the money shot, following the two teams out of the tunnel and into the adoring crowd.

Picture this: you have never missed a single football match your grandson plays in. So when there’s a surprise third place match announced, you have to bail on karaoke night with the girls to watch the match on tv. Your friends don’t watch football, but if they do, they watch for the “hot guys on the Italian team”. Oh yeah, he’s playing Italy, you tell them. Feel free to come over to my place, if they don’t mind your oldest son and your rowdy grandchildren. Karaoke night swiftly becomes football night. There is an argument between Hamza and his dad over the pointlessness of the third place playoff. So...your family has been behaving in an unusual manner for several months now, and you suspect it’s because your grandson said he is gay. The papers here don’t report it, because they still want to claim him to some extent, but you have noted that the coverage is more conditional than before. You don’t live under a rock, and you’ve seen the news on YouTube even if no one around you is prepared to talk about it. As the two teams walk out of the tunnel and onto the pitch, you notice the Italian captain letting his hand slip from your grandson’s back, and Hamza suddenly jumps in front of the TV screen to adjust the volume.

“What the heck are you doing?” Mehdi, Hamza’s father and your eldest son, yells.

“The audio was...wonky,” Hamza replies sheepishly. “But I think it’s okay now.”

The match begins. At a corner kick, the Italian captain practically plasters himself all over your grandson, and it’s Hamza messing with the TV remote again, this time accidentally switching channels. Mehdi slaps him in the back of the head. You think that maybe it’s time you called Ibrahim. Someone needs to tell you the truth they’ve been so bad at hiding. Your grandson is not just gay, he seems to have a lover, and it’s that evil-eyed captain, the man who curses all who cross him.

Picture this: you’re a fan from the friendly town of Muggenbeet, watching from the San Siro. You came all this way to support the Oranje and they had to concede that final goal to France in front of your face. Sore and in denial about your loss, you start to make jokes about Waterloo to cope, handing the French off to the English. And then—out of nowhere, UEFA announces that they’ll restore the third place match. You think it’s the most shameless attempt for the host country to award themselves something ever. But, you know, does anyone really want to watch an England-France final? No. Never. For forever. We hate them both. It’s not football. It’s a circus of clowns. The viewership for this third place match is through the roof, higher than for your semifinal vs France. Let’s just treat this as the real final. What a galaxy-brained idea. Your country could steal it from the hosts—no hard feelings to Italy. You’ve enjoyed the pizza and the pasta, maybe it would be fun to crush their team like little peppercorns to sprinkle on your food. Based. Now you want a cacio e pepe after the match. Wait, you’re not in Rome, where the real (fake news!) final is. Boo. There is a corner, right at the end where you are sitting. Poepjes is taking it. Dekmijn and Blootgat are running up. Your captain is being felt up by the Italian captain. (No literally, that guy isn’t even looking at the goal? He’s just...pressing himself against your captain? Why are his hands encircled around Al Kaysani’s waist like so?) Anyway, the ball pings between the Italian keeper and Blootgat, and then it flies into Di Genova’s rather shapely calves...and bounces into the goal.

Uhhhhhh, THANK YOU? Grazie mille Nicolò Di Genova!!!! You gave us one goal!!!

The Italian fans must be flabbergasted. Isn’t this the dude’s retirement match? Or whatever. Who knows. Italy is a place of the greatest contradictions, so you’ve been told. But you’ll take what you can get. You kinda feel bad for the guy, who has buried his face in his hands. Maybe...you should cheer for him. And so...the lot of you, the orange lot, sitting in the Curva Sud, you start singing for the Italian captain. Nicolò Di Genova! There’s only one Di Genova!

The third place match is the most lawless ninety minutes in the historical timeline.

Picture this: you’re an Interista and season ticket holder. And of course you support your national team. You were heartbroken when the England keeper denied Marcuzzi to progress to the finals. You cried when your captain cried. And then, out of nowhere, they said, let’s bring back the third place match. The finals are in the Stadio Olimpico, so...maybe let’s have the third place match in the San Siro? You score a ticket at your usual seat. You get to see your captain one more time before he rides off into the sunset? What more can you ask for? This is romance of the highest order. The San Siro loves Nichi, of course all the staff and volunteers come together to make the event happen in a matter of days. You can’t believe this is happening. And then...your captain opens the scoring with an own goal. The Dutch fans are singing for him. What do you do? Well, if you can’t beat them, join them—you can sing louder for your captain! He’s your captain! And you know, their captain, he’s kinda your guy too, because Sempre Inter. Revenge is served, sweet and cold like a scoop of gelato, when your captain heads in the equalizer. The crowd goes wild. He’s taking this match seriously, but you knew he always would—that’s why you love him. He could ask for your firstborn and you would gladly give it up. You can always trust your capitano. There is a penalty call in the second half of the match and his teammates give it to him—a little unorthodox—but like a deadly sniper your captain sneaks a cool and calculated one past the Dutch keeper. You cheer. Does it count as a hat trick when you’ve scored at both ends? What a scoreline to retire to!

Picture this: you’re Yusuf Al Kaysani. You just lost in the third place match, a match widely panned as the least necessary match in a tournament by those who don’t know better. And yet, the third place match is the purest expression of love for the beautiful game. All other matches are clouded by the temptations of fame and fortune. The third place match you play for love and honor. You watch from the sidelines as your boyfriend leads his team to collect the medals, from none other than Paolo Maldini. Maldini, who’s doing an admirable job as UEFA President. Who knows where and how they got these medals at short notice—sometimes this country pulls miracles like a rabbit out from the magician’s hat of chaos. Everyone in the stadium is acting like this is the final. It’s not—it’s something a little better, a match born of love, played for love, with nothing to win and nothing to lose.

There is no trophy to lift, so Nico’s teammates lift him. They’re yelling for you. You’ve played with and against at least 90% of that team. Come join us, the men in blue say, and everyone forms a circle, arm linking arm, bouncing to the music. There are no losers here—your whole team is invited to the celebrations. The Dutch fans are singing: Second place! Second place! Let’s pretend we’re second place!

Let’s be real, for this one night, in this exact stadium, there’s only one captain, and the ones in the know push you towards him. Here’s your man, the unspoken acknowledgement. But you know your place—this is not your night. This night is for him. It’s for the country that loves him, and for him to say one last goodbye. Daniele Pirozzi jumps on the captain’s back, and the captain carries him for a while, laughing away. Pirozzi, whom you spent countless hours training how to read the field, in a fashion after yours. And then there’s Boselli, Marcuzzi, Poepjes and more. From one generation to another, the baton is passed. Nico, look around, these are our boys, as good as any. They’ll be better than us, and we are happy to see it, for the love of the game. Pirozzi jumps off the captain’s back and jumps onto you, asking you if you want to lift the captain together. You laugh and agree. On the count of three, uno, due—

Picture this: you’re Nicolò Di Genova, and you’re sitting on the shoulders of your protegé and your lover. Here we can mark the passing of the guard—tonight you are unburdened and the only thing that’s left, you realize, is love. Yusuf was right. Look, look how much they love you. Even San Paolo did this for you. Could you ever have denied all of them this? You almost screwed it up at the beginning, but perhaps God was just reminding you to take your responsibilities seriously. You are but a servant of the game and this ground is your ground, your hallowed ground, the church of your sins and glory.

It’s the final competitive match of your career, and you get to walk off the field, arm in arm with the love of your life, cheered on by a country you gave everything to.

Now, for the rest of your life to begin.

(chapter 106: nel blu, dipinto di blu, of The Beautiful Game)

#the old guard #joe x nicky #kaysanova #immortal husbands #nicolo di genova #yusuf al kaysani #this is fanfic!!#football!AU #soccer!AU #this chapter cracks me up each time #tog: the beautiful game #tog fc

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