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mypoisonedvine · 3 years

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𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞 || helmut zemo, bucky barnes and sam wilson x reader

(this is a sequel to 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭-𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞, I recommend reading that first although it’s not 100% necessary... it would make this make a lot more sense though)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : it was just a matter of time before he upped the ante, all four of you knew that, but taking you all on a vacation specifically for this was a bit over-the-top.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 7.9k (hoo boy)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : smut (foursome/group sex + a scene that’s just zemo/reader, cockwarming, d/s dynamics, brief oral f receiving, a touch of dubcon/cnc but it’s very subtle and the reader is 100% consenting), established zemo x reader, sugar daddy relationship, ‘sir’ kink (with zemo), ‘daddy’ kink (with sam), orgasm control/denial, overstimulation, creampie, praise with light degradation, possessiveness (but also sharing, lol), exhibitionism/voyeurism, choking, brief anal mention, once again technically cuckolding but not in the typical sense, slight corruption kink?, too many robes, latin sokovian (or as I like to call it, serbukromanian), also assume that whenever the reader and zemo are alone they are speaking sokovian even though I write the convos in english for the sake of simplicity

thank you for being my beta @nsfwsebbie !!

When your Baron told you he wanted to take you on a vacation, you immediately assumed it would be to the mountains or some European city full of history and culture. Instead, you were a bit surprised to hear he was interested in a beach resort, a private villa he had purchased in French Polynesia.

And then you found out he wanted to bring Sam and Bucky along too… and you were simultaneously more and less surprised. More, because who brings tentative coworkers one barely gets along with on a romantic vacation? Less, because of course he would do this. Of course he had plans to dress you up in the tiniest bikinis he could find and show you off to the men who had already become pawns in his perverted game of social chess.

Not that you minded; you were the Queen of the board and it didn’t bother you if it was what the King wanted.

You spent the first night in the villa alone with him, which you appreciated. It had been a while since you two had some real quality time together, and you were craving him more than ever, in every way.

After a beautiful day spent swimming in the crystal blue ocean and enjoying the sights your new temporary home had to offer, you took a shower and tried not to get too excited about how you might be spending the evening with him. But, of course, you were only a few minutes into washing the saltwater off your body when you began to imagine his tongue on you, god that man could use his tongue to destroy you any way he wanted: with his words, with his kisses, or perhaps best of all with it tasting every inch of your cunt. It was amazing how he could get on his knees for you and still have all the power. He liked to make you keep eye contact with him while he did it, make you beg him to let you come, whatever it took to remind you that you were thoroughly and properly owned.

And you loved every second of it, you loved being helpless to him. He made you feel so safe that being vulnerable with him by now felt like no risk at all. You could remember early on when your fears and insecurities made you more hesitant to submit to him, and it was only with gentle patience that he coaxed you into it, never pressure or anger. You weren’t a virgin when you met him but, sometimes it felt like you might as well have been since you were so inexperienced and undersexed then. In fact, he was the first man, the first person other than yourself to make you come… and he made you come more ways than you had known possible.

Okay, so maybe the plan to not get your hopes up wasn’t going so well… you were already struggling to keep your hands from between your legs. Frankly, you would’ve already done it if you didn’t know that touching yourself was against the rules.

You’d gotten so used to taking care of yourself while he was in prison, at which point he obviously suspended that rule, and it was a hard habit to break at times.

You emerged from the bathroom in the fluffy robe you found on the door, smiling when you saw him lounging on the bed in a matching one, reading Анна Каренина (known by the West as Anna Karenina). He looked contemplative, as always, and you always thought he looked especially sexy in his reading glasses. You slipped into the bed beside him, resting your head on his chest as he found a position where he could read comfortably with his arm around your shoulders.

“You must’ve already read that book a thousand times, Helmut,” you sighed.

“And it gets better every time,” he mumbled back, turning the page.

You pouted slightly, nuzzling into his shoulder, and he chuckled. “Is my little lutka in need of some attention?”

You nodded, and he kissed the top of your head softly.

“Why don’t you keep me warm while I finish this chapter, hm?” he offered, and you involuntarily clenched your thighs together at his words. He phrased it like a question, but it felt more like a gentle demand, and you were happy to agree either way.

“Yes, sir,” you hummed as you sat up and straddled his legs, undoing your robe and opening his to wrap your hand around his half-hard cock.

He reached his full potential with only a few slow strokes, and you found yourself absent-mindedly licking your lips as you saw the way your fingers just barely met with your thumb and imagined how your body would be pushed to its limits to take him. Good thing you were already dripping wet even though you’d just been in the shower.

You indulged in rubbing your pussy over his shaft for a moment, enough to coat him in your wetness, before you lined up his tip to your entrance and sunk down onto him with a sigh, feeling like you could never tire of being stretched open by his thick cock.

When your hips met his, and the tip of his cock brushed against the deepest parts of you, you had to bite your lip to suppress a whimper. After so long apart, you were still readjusting to taking him and being on top didn’t make it much easier.

Honestly, you really weren’t trying to move; you just found your hips rocking slightly, seemingly of their own accord. You moaned under your breath as your clit rubbed against his body, but you were pulled from your trance with a whine as he slapped your thigh.

“No moving, draga, I think I made myself clear,” he reminded you sternly.

“Yes, sir,” you breathed.

You were pretty sure that at some point, you were a patient person. But you couldn’t imagine that now, not when all you could think about was how amazing it would be to just ride him right there, memories running through your mind and making your inner walls ripple unintentionally. He either couldn’t feel it or didn’t care, stoically continuing to read even as you were struggling to stay still.

Your plan was to be good for a while and then hope that you could convince him later… but you know what they say about best-laid plans, so you ended up cutting straight to the convincing pretty fast.

“Can I move yet, sir?”

“It’s hardly been a minute,” he frowned.

“Please,” you sighed, just barely moving your hips without even meaning to.

“Not yet,” he asserted, sounding a bit annoyed, but you needed this more than anything.

"Please let me move, please; I just wanna ride you so bad,” you begged.

He sighed, clearly irritated, and just when you thought you’d made a grave error, he finally put his book aside and looked up at you with a grin. "If I had known you would be so whiny, I would have had you keep me warm with your mouth.”

You opened your mouth to respond but let out only whimpery moans when he ran his hands up your body, toying briefly with your nipples before wrapping a hand around your neck and pulling you down into a rough kiss. Moaning into it, you couldn’t hold back any longer and started to rock your body atop his, savoring that perfect drag of his length along your walls that you’d missed so much.

Before you got a chance to really set your pace, he grabbed you tight and rolled the both of you over, pinning you under his weight as he fucked you in that way that was somehow rough and slow at the same time, moving his kiss to your neck and holding you down by your wrists.

“Fuck, th-thank you, sir,” you sighed, your cheeks warming when he chuckled against your skin.

“You really are too sweet, draga,” he whispered.

Your arms wrapped around his neck while your legs did the same to his hips, keeping him deep inside you while his lips and tongue teased your collarbones, his fingers interlacing with yours.

He spent the entire night somewhere between making love to you and fucking you within an inch of your life, making you come more times than you could count, only taking breaks from fucking you to eat you out like a starving man (and one time for a quick drink sometime around 3 a.m.). It was no wonder, then, that you passed out just a few moments after he finally came inside you, sleeping soundly in his arms until well into the morning, nearly noon in fact, when the sun was streaming in through the massive window.

After a relaxed breakfast of champagne and fruit (the native pamplemousse was unlike anything you’d ever eaten before), Helmut encouraged you to shower again and meet him at the pool, which was a bit surprising since he normally liked to have you keep his come in you as long as possible. “Our guests should be here this afternoon,” was his only explanation, and you had a few ideas about what that meant, all of which made your gut sink in an oddly pleasurable way as you were filled with anticipation.

“Wear that bathing suit I bought for you, the new one,” he added finally as he stepped out onto the back patio.

It might seem silly to have a pool on a property right by the beach, but on days like today, where the ocean water was just a bit too chilly, you were thankful to have the heated pool to take a dip in. Honestly, you were a little surprised that Helmut didn’t make you swim in the ocean to see your nipples get hard through the tight black bikini, but then again, they were already getting there just from sharing a pool chair with him.

He was lying against the cushioned chair; your body sat between his spread legs as the back of your head rested on his chest. And, this is entirely unrelated, but you really liked how he looked in the round sunglasses he had on.

You hummed contentedly as you reached up behind you to touch him, rubbing his shoulders and pecs. You wiggled a bit, slowly, and imagined how it would feel if he got hard right against the small of your back.

"Mm, what's gotten into you, lutka?" he purred, rubbing your arms.

You rolled your eyes playfully. "You know the effect you have on me, don't act surprised."

Just before anything exciting could happen, Sam and James entered through the fence, apparently already having changed into their swimsuits; you wished you had thought to wear sunglasses so they couldn’t catch you ogling their muscular bodies, but instead, you just tried to keep your cool as you waved hello.

“Welcome!” Helmut called out, both of you getting up to greet them properly. “I hope your flight was alright…?”

“Yeah, it was great,” Sam nodded, “thanks.”

“You really own this whole place?” James added, glancing around.

“Yes, would you like to have a swim? I hear it should be warm enough tomorrow for the ocean, but until then…” Helmut trailed off.

Sam went right ahead, diving in and smiling wide when he popped back up. That man had such an infectious smile, you thought he should charge people to see it or something because you felt spoiled seeing it for free.

James jumped in behind him but seemed a little surprised when he returned to the surface to see you back in your chair with Helmut. “Care to join us?” he asked you.

“Um, no, I already swam a bit this morning,” you remembered, suddenly shy, “I think I’ll stay by the pool a while longer.”

“Aw, I was looking forward to getting to know you better,” he pouted, and everyone else raised an eyebrow at that statement. “Um, verbally, I mean,” he added, cheeks flushing slightly.

“What would you want to know?” you asked, sighing as you relaxed against Helmut’s chest.

“Well, what’s your story?” he shrugged, swimming up the edge of the pool to hang his arms over the edge.

“I… suppose it’s a rather short story,” you realized, “I was born in Sokovia, but my parents were immigrants. I was a bit of an ugly duckling as a child, I think.”

“You look like quite the swan now,” James winked, and you hoped Helmut wouldn’t notice how much that affected you.

“Oh, thank you,” you mumbled.

“Which reminds me, that’s a cute bikini you have on,” he complimented.

“Do you like it?” you hummed coyly. “Helmut picked it out.”

“Why don’t you give them a better look, darling?” Helmut prompted, and Sam swam up to hang over the edge too as you stood up and fought the urge to cover yourself with your arms. The Baron motioned his finger in a circle, silently instructing you to twirl so they could see the back, and you did though you felt a bit self-conscious about it. Finally, once you were sure they’d had an eyeful, he let you sit back down in his lap.

“Cute, isn’t it?” he cooed as his fingers travelled slowly up your sides. “It’s Chanel.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Sam dismissed, unlatching himself from the edge of the pool and falling into a backstroke. “This is weird. I just wanna swim.”

“You didn’t think this was seriously a free vacation, no strings attached, did you?” James shot back, getting up out of the pool and shaking some of the water off of himself before sitting down in the chair beside you two and letting his eyes wander over you. “So, Chanel, huh?” he prompted, and you nodded.

“Helmut says I should only wear the nicest things,” you explained, sitting up slightly.

“Why does it matter? You’d look beautiful in anything,” James cooed, and you felt a little dirty for how much you liked his attention. Good thing you liked feeling dirty.

“And a rare wagyu steak would taste just as good served any way, but you wouldn’t put it on a paper plate, now would you?” Helmut countered. “Well, maybe you would…”

James rolled his eyes but brushed off Helmut’s insult, returning his attention to you. “I guess I’m just… hungry enough that it doesn’t make much of a difference.”

You reached up to trace your fingertip over the silver chain dangling off of his neck, biting your lip as you hooked your finger around it and pulled him closer. “Are you hungry enough that you don’t mind that it’s another man’s meal?”

His blue eyes went wide for a moment before glancing down to your lips and back up to your unwavering gaze, your brow raised as if a challenge while his furrowed as if he were considering accepting it.

“If he’s willing to share…” James whispered back.

“Then kiss me,” you requested softly, pulling him closer by his dog tags one more time until your lips met.

The way James kissed you was… difficult to describe. Gentle, but with this edge of intensity— like he was restraining himself, like there was so much more passion teeming beneath the surface. You wanted to bring that out if you could; you wanted to see how far you could push him until he lost it.

As James carefully ventured his tongue into your mouth, only to pull back and nip your bottom lip with his teeth, Helmut kissed you too— on the back of your neck, that spot that always made you wet and desperate right away. You moaned, and you couldn’t be sure exactly who it was for, but James sure decided to respond to it either way, tilting his head more to let his kiss explore you deeper.

Helmut’s teeth dug into your shoulder right as James nipped at your bottom lip like they had somehow explicitly coordinated to make you desperate; your right hand reached up to weave into James’ hair, your left squeezing Helmut’s wrist at your side.

The kiss ended just a moment too soon, and there was a delay before you blinked your eyes open to look back at James, who seemed quite proud of himself.

“Touch me,” you pleaded in a whimper.

“Where?” he asked, somewhat innocently.

“Y-you know where…” you mumbled.

He grinned wide, all trance of innocence gone. “I know, but I want you to say it.”

“My cunt,” you whispered, and he snarled just a bit at the word. “Please?”

“Of course, which one do you want?” James prompted with a grin, showing you his hands as your eyes instantly gravitated to the metal one.

“I think you know which I’m going to choose,” you mumbled shyly, and he smirked as he reached forward with the vibranium arm to brush his fingertips over your stomach, moving down to the top hemline of your bikini bottom.

You just barely gasped when the metal digits swiped over your clit and began to rub gentle circles, almost too slow as if he wanted to tease you… which, of course, he did.

"Do you like the way he touches you, draga?" Helmut whispered. His voice in your ear was like honey on your tongue, like honey everywhere.

"Yes, sir," you nodded, looking down at James' hand buried into your bikini.

"Hey, tell me you like it, too," James protested, "I'm the one doing it after all."

"I like it, James," you repeated, looking up at him. "I… don't have a title for you. Should I call you something when you touch me like this?"

"You can just call me Bucky from now on, okay? I think we're well past close enough now for that."

"Okay, Bucky," you sighed, watching the way his jaw clenched when you called him by name, "please put your fingers inside me."

"Both?"

"Yes, please," you breathed.

"But my fingers are thick, they're hard metal, and you're so small and delicate…"

"I want them to stretch me out, just please—"

A loud moan of shock jumped out of your mouth when he pushed the fingers in all at once, and though it reawakened some of the soreness from when Helmut had fucked you the night before, it felt wonderful enough to make your back arch up from the strong body behind you, his erection now digging into your hip.

It was certainly loud enough to get Sam's attention, who suddenly appeared beside the chair while he towelled off his chiselled chest.

"Damn, what are y'all doing to her over here?" he wondered aloud as if he were concerned for your health.

"Just playing with Zemo's little doll," Bucky answered. "She's really fucking tight, can barely fit two fingers."

"Wait, move over, let me see," Sam insisted, making Bucky pull his fingers out and Helmut holding you more firmly as Sam slipped his hand into your bikini as well, poking his fingers at your entrance before pushing them in.

His fingers were even thicker and longer than Bucky's, just by a slight margin yet enough to make you mewl and arch your back as your eyes fluttered shut.

"Fuck, yeah, you were right," Sam breathed, and you felt more hands running over your body but you couldn't even tell anymore whose they were; you knew one that reached to pull up your bikini top and expose your breasts was Helmut's, because only he would be so bold, but the fingers teasing your nipples, the rough palm running up your legs… they could've belonged to anyone, and that realization made your clit throb.

"Okay, okay, that's enough. I was here first," Bucky mumbled as you felt Sam's fingers slip out and the metal ones push back in— not to mention the thumb reaching up to circle your clit slowly.

He wasn't just exploring you this time; you could tell he had a mission. The way he instantly curled into your spot, the way he moved quickly yet deliberately, all made your thighs begin to quiver.

Helmut kissed your ear, gently tilting your head to access your neck better where he began to suck hard enough to leave a mark, mumbling something in Sokovian about how good you were being for him and his guests.

You loved being good, and the praise made your hips lift a little so you could rock yourself onto Bucky's fingers; the three men chuckled proudly.

"Feels that good?" Bucky pressed, and you nodded quickly.

He fingered you even faster, harder, and you cried out.

"Ohhh fuck, Bucky!" you gasped. "Bucky, I'm gonna come!"

"Oh no, you're not," Helmut groaned, giving you a quick spank on the inner thigh as you whined and jolted. "James, take your fingers out."

"Do I have to?"

"You do if you want a chance to fill her with more than just your fingers…"

That worked right away, Bucky pulling back as you pouted at being empty again.

“Let’s take her inside, and we can continue this there,” Helmut suggested, and Bucky lifted you up into his arms as the Baron led the group back to the master suite.

The convenient thing about bathing suits is that it takes so little time to get naked, which is why the second the patio door was shut, Bucky and Sam were stripping as their hard cocks bobbed up against their stomachs. As if that weren’t overwhelming enough, Helmut stepped away for a moment (which left you feeling more alone than usual) just as the men began to help you strip; Sam untied the back of your bikini while Bucky knelt and pulled down the bottoms, leaving you feeling exposed as you were totally bare before them. Bucky smiled up at you and kissed along your thighs while Sam grabbed a handful of your ass and growled a bit under his breath.

When you looked over at Helmut, you saw he had actually dressed in his robe rather than stripping, nearly making you whine with disappointment. But you couldn’t focus on that long as hands moved all over your skin, both of them still just slightly wet from the pool, and you shivered for both of those reasons.

You gasped when Bucky suddenly licked a thick stripe right over your folds, and if it weren’t for Sam’s arms holding you up, you might not have been able to stay standing.

Looking down at where Bucky was devouring you, he looked back up at you with a lot less dominating intensity in his eyes than you were used to seeing. Not that you minded; after all, no one could do what Helmut did as well as he could, but maybe Bucky could do something different, and it would be just as enjoyable. His tongue lapping at your clit was certainly wonderful so far.

Sam guided one of your hands back behind you to stroke his cock, your mouth falling slack, which he took advantage of by turning your face and capturing you in an open-mouthed kiss. You heard your moans stifle against his tongue, felt his cock flex a bit as you smeared the precum you found at his tip.

“I think that’s enough for now,” Helmut interrupted, and everyone turned to look at him. “Darling, come here,” he instructed with a curled finger that pointed to the bed, “hands and knees.”

You nodded and pushed the other men away, taking your place on the bed and looking up at him as he held your jaw gently.

"How long has it been since you had another man inside you, lutka?" he asked lowly.

"I can't even remember,” you admitted, “it's been so long…"

“Are you willing to try it?” he asked gently, no hint of domination or pressure in his tone, and you found yourself searching his eyes for the right answer.

“What do you want?” you asked him instead of answering.

“Draga, I’m asking what you want,” he reminded you, but you were afraid he would be hurt if you showed interest in the other men. Sure, previous evidence indicated that wasn’t an issue for him, but your gut instinct was to deny your attraction. So, you compromised.

“All I want is you,” you answered first, “but…”

“But?”

“But is it awful if… if I want them to fuck me, too?”

He smiled, kissing your forehead. “No, I don’t think so. Only as awful as it is that I want to watch them fuck you.”

You looked up at him and smiled back, brimming with gratitude that he was so gentle with you. It was fascinating how he wielded complete control over you and yet never used it against you.

“I have one rule, draga,” he added firmly, “you cannot come for them. You only come for me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And stay on your hands and knees, so I can always get a good look at you, yes?”

“Yes, sir.”

He kissed you one more time before pulling away and sitting back in the chair in the corner with his ankle over his knee, looking at Sam and Bucky expectantly. Every chair he sat in seemed to look like a throne as soon as he was in it.

“Well, get on with it, then,” he instructed, motioning to you. The men looked at you and looked at each other before some kind of silent agreement took place and Bucky stepped up first. Sam sat down to watch you as you felt Bucky stand near the bed behind you, flesh and metal fingers running over your back until you shivered.

Then he pressed his cock against you, coating himself in your wetness, and that made you shiver, too.

You braced yourself as he lined himself up, whimpering slightly as he pushed his cock into you as well as hearing him moan lowly. The hand at your waist tightened as he hissed in a breath through his teeth.

"Fuck," he breathed, holding you still so he could fill you completely. “S’tight…” he slurred.

“How does it feel for you?” Helmut asked you, raising an eyebrow as he examined your expression, your mouth fallen slack, yet your brow furrowed.

“It feels… different,” you stammered your answer. You gasped loudly as Bucky started to move, and yes, this was very different. His cock was curved differently and though it didn’t exactly reach any new parts of you (you were sure Helmut had already touched every part of you physically accessible), it did stroke them in new ways.

He gained speed rather quickly, clearly too on edge himself to stay patient, and you didn’t blame him although it sent you moving faster toward the edge than you would’ve liked. At first you wondered if it would even be a challenge to keep from coming like Helmut had demanded… you chided yourself internally for ever being so hubristic.

His legs pushed yours apart, spreading them wider, and he began to really fuck you in earnest, fast and needy and each slam of his hips against your ass harder than ever. “O-oh fuck,” you choked, forcing your eyes shut and scrunching up your nose for a second when he slammed the tip of his cock right into the deepest spots inside you. This position left you with nowhere to go, put your whole body on display for him along with giving you no escape from his onslaught of pleasure. Worst of all was that you were pretty sure he wasn’t even trying that hard to make you feel good, and yet feeling used like that only turned you on more.

"Bucky, please, slow down," you whimpered.

"Absolutely do not do that," Helmut interjected sternly. "Don't let her tell you what to do."

And, possibly just to spite you, he actually fucked you faster. You sobbed and bit down on your lip, fighting everything building up inside you.

“You’d better not come,” Helmut warned through his teeth, “you’d better not fucking come. You know how bad it would be for you if you came for another man.”

“Y-yes, sir,” you nodded.

But Bucky was slamming right into your spot, and he knew it, too. He knew how desperate you were becoming, and apparently, he didn’t mind at all that you’d be punished for it. He leaned down to growl against your ear, “I know how close you are. Don’t you think it’d feel so good to just let go and come on my cock?”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks as the force it took to hold back your orgasm became painful. “No, it would only feel good to come for Helmut…”

“C’mon baby, just stop fighting it and come for me,” Bucky taunted, “squeeze me tight with that sweet little pussy; I know you need to so bad.”

He wasn’t wrong, but you blinked with teary eyes up at Helmut and wanted nothing more than to please him and make him proud of you. “Please, m-make him stop,” you begged, “I won’t be able to hold back anymore…”

“He’s not going to stop until he comes, lutka, and you need to stay strong,” he explained, his voice soothing you slightly. “You need to be my good girl. Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir,” you whispered.

Bucky held your hips tight as he pulled your body back onto his cock, and you forced your eyes shut to try to focus on not coming. No other man had made you come in your life but Helmut, and you had no intentions of breaking that streak.

“Think you can make me come before I make you come?” Bucky challenged.

“I have to,” you answered breathlessly. “And I want you to come… I wanna make you come so bad, Bucky, please…”

“Mhmm?” he encouraged.

“Please, I want it, please come for me,” you whimpered.

“Fuck, I will,” he promised darkly, fucking you even harder.

Helmut interjected a brief instruction: “Pull out.”

Bucky nodded a little, breathing heavily as you felt his cock throb slightly, especially at the base where each movement stretched you out even more. It was so beautifully erotic and you were tensing every muscle inside you to try not to come, which helped speed him up quite a bit since you were gripping him so tight.

“Fuck,” Bucky grunted, “fuck!”

He pulled out and instantly painted your back with a roar, sliding his cock over your ass as he pumped stream after stream of come onto you. You sighed happily, satisfied that you had managed to stave off orgasm with perhaps only a few seconds to spare— you’d never been so happy to make someone come before because this time it brought relief that you had done well for your Baron.

Then again, you always felt that way when you made the man himself come, but this was different because you had been moments away from failing him.

Speaking of the Baron, he stared down at you proudly the whole time, kneeling down slightly to swipe his finger through the cooling spend on your back and bring it to your open lips. “Mm, you really are my perfect little girl,” he mumbled as you sucked his finger diligently. But he turned his attention away from you to call out across the room, “Sam! It’s your turn.”

Your eyes went wide. “W-wait, Helmut, I’ll come!”

“No, you won’t,” he hissed, eyes darkening again, “because I told you not to.”

And Sam was already behind you, taking Bucky’s place who had already cleaned himself up a bit and returned to his seat, letting the Baron pour him a drink which he gulped down in one go.

When Sam pushed into the end of you, your natural instinct was to arch your back up to try to keep him from going too deep, but he growled and pushed your back down again with a strong hand that made you feel so small for a moment. “No, baby, no running away… you’re gonna take it all.”

“Yes, daddy,” you breathed, yelping a little when he roughly shoved in that last inch.

From then on, he went much harder on you than Bucky had, spanking you and gripping your ass while he fucked you, and the most embarrassing part was how much harder it made it to keep from coming. It was clear that he realized making you come would give him power over everyone else in the room for different reasons, and he was determined to gain that power.

“Does he fuck you this good, huh?” he groaned.

“He fucks me better,” you shot back right away, making Helmut chuckle slightly.

“If your plan is to make her switch allegiances, you’ll have to do better than that,” Helmut taunted, and Sam doubled his efforts as one hand pinched your clit and the other groped your breast. You almost lost it right there but managed to pull yourself together, your whole body shaking with the effort to keep the pleasure at bay.

“Well, if he can fuck you better then why doesn’t he?” Sam continued his leading questions, even though you could barely keep up a conversation at this point. “Why does he keep pimping you out to us if he’s fucking you right all on his own?”

“Don’t you understand?” you breathed, your head falling down onto the bed as you were almost able to look back enough to see his face. “This is my punishment. He knows I don’t want anyone else; that’s why you’re here.”

Sam smiled, perhaps in pity, and yet you honestly had to close your eyes because his smile was so lovely that it could’ve brought an end to your restraint. “Poor thing, he’s really got you whipped. I… still can’t believe I’m doing this, but you feel too good to stop now.”

He yanked your head back by your hair for emphasis, making you yelp as he fucked you brutally. Your toes curled and your fingers dug into the sheets, and you had to close your eyes because the way Helmut was staring at you made this all much too difficult. Maybe it was just that he didn’t seem jealous at all, or angry; but he didn’t seem like he was getting any excess pleasure out of this, either. It was… almost neutral, but something burned behind his eyes brighter than maybe you’d ever seen it, his legs crossed and his fingers interlaced as he waited for you to either hold or break.

With the top half of your body fallen limply onto the bed, you reached out above your head and felt Helmut’s hand grab yours, squeezing slightly, and it helped keep you grounded as you held his fingers.

“Oh fuck, ‘m gonna come,” Sam groaned out his warning, “gonna cover this pretty ass in my come, you want that?”

“Yes, please,” you shuddered.

“Keep begging for it,” he demanded, rushing his words as you felt his cock start to throb against your walls with his impending orgasm.

“Please come, please come, please come on me, Sam, please,” you chanted, over and over, struggling not to come and hoping that if you could speed him up, then you could make it.

He grunted through his teeth as hot ropes of seed covered your ass; though your body was left wanting, dangling on the edge so close to your release, your mind was satisfied that you had managed to follow your Baron’s rules.

Sam stepped back to admire his work, finding another spare robe to cover himself with as he rejoined the other men across the room.

“Would you like a drink as well?” Helmut offered to Sam, unfortunately letting go of your hand in the process. Sam was still catching his breath, running his hands over his short hair as if he was processing everything.

“No, but are those cigars up for grabs?” Sam replied, pointing to the ornate box propped open, and Helmut nodded.

“Of course; what’s mine is yours,” he answered, presenting the box and lighter to him.

“Yeah, you can say that again,” Sam added flatly, the three of them all looking at where you were sitting, covered in come and waiting patiently for your next command.

Just as you feared they’d all have their cigars and whiskey and ignore you completely, your Baron knelt down to look at you face-to-face, smiling proudly.

“You did so good for me, darling,” he cooed, and your insides clenched as if you could come just from hearing that. “You don't think I'm horribly cruel, do you?"

"No, sir," you smiled weakly.

“I’ll be right back,” he promised with a kiss to the tip of your nose as he stepped away to the master bathroom.

You glanced at the other men— Bucky with his crystal glass of whiskey, Sam puffing at the cigar stoically— and wondered what, if anything, you could possibly say.

“So, how’s your weekend been so far?” Sam asked you plainly, breaking the silence.

“It’s only Friday night,” you realized, sighing as you tried not to imagine how much debauchery the Baron had in store for you. Right now you were so exhausted that it sounded like too much work; and you were so desperate only for Helmut that the idea of anybody else being involved intimidated you.

Helmut returned quickly with a washcloth, sitting beside you on the bed and placing it gently on your back.

“As pretty as you look covered in come, I’d rather not make too much of a mess,” Helmut explained as he wiped you down with the damp cloth, your skin tingling and your body crying out for more of his touch.

“Will you fuck me, sir?” you mumbled, somewhere between an honest question and a desperate plea.

“Yes, I will,” he answered, making you hum happily, “and I’m finally going to let you come.”

You bit down on your lip, trying not to moan just from hearing that.

“But I’m not going to let you stop.”

The lump in your throat was impossible to swallow, but you tried anyway as he tossed the rag away and circled the bed, standing behind where you were laying limply. He grabbed you by your ankles and pulled you down to where he needed you, covering your body with his as he kissed the back of your neck slowly.

“I bet you’ll come the moment I’m inside you, draga,” he whispered. You nodded in agreement, gasping a bit as you felt his cock teasing your swollen, sore pussy. Just the tip bumping into your clit was enough to make you think you could come right there, you’d been on the edge so long.

But then he pushed into you in one stroke, not rough yet enough to reignite the soreness of being filled by two men already, and your walls started to pulse around him. A million words swirled in your mind, words about how perfect he felt and how you’d missed him so much and how no one could fuck you like he could, but none of them made it to your mouth where you could only moan loudly.

He wrapped his arms around you, he kissed everywhere he could reach, and waves of pleasure washed over you until tears filled your eyes. You lost count immediately, coming on his cock over and over as you became a limp, whimpering mess right away.

“You two really did miss out,” Helmut taunted the other men between his own moans, “it feels so fucking amazing to be inside her when she comes. She gets tighter every time… blyat, so tight I can hardly control myself.”

It was already hot to hear him speak to you like that in these moments, but for him to speak to someone else, to keep you from forgetting that you weren’t alone and that these men had just fucked you and were watching you come right now? You hadn’t even imagined before what that would be like.

“Please, please, sir, please,” you chanted, your voice breaking until you could barely whisper.

“What is it that you want, lutka? Do you even know what you’re begging for anymore?”

“I want whatever you want, sir, please,” you cried. He reached around your body to rub your throbbing clit, and you all but screamed.

“I know you do, beautiful, I know,” he breathed, kissing your back and shoulder tenderly to calm you. “I love you so much, draga, you know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I love you too, Helmut,” you whispered, “more than anything. I love being yours.”

“Aw,” you heard Bucky briefly sigh.

“Dude, shut up,” Sam corrected him harshly.

“It’s sweet!” Bucky defended.

“It’s weird; this is all so weird,” Sam frowned.

“You didn’t seem to mind before…” Bucky trailed off.

Two of Helmut’s fingers swiped over your open lips and you immediately sucked them into your mouth with a satisfied hum, the taste of his skin always comforting you. When he rolled you onto your side, it was so much easier for him to touch you wherever he wanted and it only did more to keep you overwhelmed with pleasure until you worried you couldn’t take much more. But you kept sucking his fingers, tears still falling which he occasionally kissed away, until he took his hand away to wrap around your neck instead. You nodded a little to let him know it was okay to choke you, and your loud moans fell to sudden silence when he tightened his grip.

It made your eyes roll back, it made your walls flutter and your toes start to go numb, it made you wonder if you were going to pass out whether or not he let you breathe again because your body was already ready to give in.

You sucked in a gasp when he let go, sobbing his name as a particularly deep thrust knocked you right into your peak again. He kept one hand on your neck as the other reached between your legs to play with your abused pussy as he fucked it harder than ever.

“I can’t come anymore,” you assured, shaking your head and trying to push his hand away from your sore clit. “I— I can’t…”

“Yes, you can, draga, I know you can. Just relax and let me keep making you feel good,” he instructed, somehow both gentle and demanding all at once.

“I… I can’t…” you breathed, nearly incomprehensible between thick sobs, but you were already coming again in spite of your words, shocks of pleasure electrifying your body from the inside out. He choked you out into silence again, praising you all the way through it.

“There you go, shh, it’s all right,” he soothed, “you’re so beautiful, darling, so good for me, just keep going…”

You reached back to lace your fingers into his hair and tug, which did nothing to deter him from kissing your neck just beneath where his thumb gripped it, same as your hand wrapped tightly around his wrist didn’t stop him from quickly rubbing your clit.

Breath filled your lungs when he let go, and you were so desperate for relief that you felt like you weren’t even in control of your words anymore.

"Please come inside me," you begged mindlessly, "please, I need you so bad, please…"

“Is that what you need?” he groaned. “You need to be full of my seed?”

“Yes, please, want it deep in me— fuck, Helmut, please!”

He growled and bit your ear lightly, mumbling his promise to fill you up in Sokovian— sometimes you thought he spoke Sokovian when he was about to come because he was so distracted that he forgot English, but you didn’t think that at the moment because you were currently too cockdrunk to think about anything.

His low moan echoed right through your body as you felt his cock flex and throb with each pump of come, just as deep as you’d wanted, and you sighed happily at the familiar feeling, finally relaxing into the mattress.

But perhaps you relaxed a little too soon because he made you come one more time after he’d filled you, whispering something about he wanted to use your pussy to milk every drop from his cock, but after that finally he pulled out, and you collapsed face-down onto the bed, ready to pass out even though the sun was only just beginning to set and you’d slept until noon earlier.

“Well, I think we sufficiently knocked her out,” Sam chuckled.

“‘We’?” Helmut repeated, sounding a bit offended yet bemused as he redressed.

“Okay fine, you did most of the heavy lifting, but only cause you wouldn’t let her come for us,” Sam relented with a frown.

“I swear, I was this close to getting her to break,” Bucky interjected, sighing before taking another slow sip of his (third) drink.

“Yeah, what would’ve happened if one of us made her come, anyway?” Sam wondered aloud. “She seemed pretty worried about whatever punishment you had in store for her.”

“Nothing too terrible,” Helmut shrugged, “I just would’ve fucked her in the ass.”

Bucky choked on his whiskey as Sam tried and failed to suppress a smirk.

“She lets you do that?!” Bucky blurted out between fits of coughing.

“She lets me do whatever I want,” Helmut replied, “I’m surprised that hasn’t become abundantly clear to you by now.”

“I guess we’re still adjusting to it, that’s all,” Sam explained. “I don’t know about you,” he looked at Bucky, “but this is new for me.”

“I was born in 1917; everything is new for me,” Bucky frowned.

“Well, this is new for us too,” Helmut assured, “especially her, she was so inexperienced when she met me…”

He paused for a moment to reminisce before glancing at you lying prone on the bed and looked totally fucked-out.

“But look at her now!” he finished. “She takes it all in stride.”

“Yeah, she’s a trooper alright,” Sam agreed. “Be careful with her, Zemo, ‘cause I think if you hurt her too bad, Bucky here is gonna be waiting in the wings to steal her.”

“I— what?!” Bucky snorted defensively.

“Don’t think we can’t see you giving her googly eyes, not that I blame you or anything… getting deepthroated for the first time will definitely make you catch feelings,” Sam smirked before taking a puff of the cigar again.

“It’s not like that, I’m just… listen, I guess I’m just a bit more conventional than you perverts,” he frowned. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful or anything, I just can’t imagine having a girl like that all to myself and letting anybody else lay a finger on her.”

“Not everyone is as insecure as you, James,” Helmut shrugged. “Women can’t be stolen. They can only go where they want to. And she wants to be with me.”

He turned back to ask you if you agreed, but you were already fast asleep. Smiling slightly, he grabbed a blanket from the foot of the bed and unfolded it to drape over you; you instinctively cuddled up under it without waking up, letting out a quiet sigh.

“Goodnight, draga,” he whispered with a kiss to your forehead. “Rest well, you’ll need it for the morning.”

#baron zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #bucky barnes x reader #sam wilson x reader #helmut zemo smut #bucky barnes smut #sam wilson smut

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gh0stfacesho3 · 3 years

Text

Transfer of Words

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Gender Non-Specific Reader

Word Count: +3.5k

Warning: Fluff, mild angst. Professor x Student (College Au, all characters are +18), language, mention of abuse, mention of alcohol.

Summary: As a Professor in the states, you were used to transfer students. You weren’t exactly ready for this new transfer student who is the son of the owner of Mike Sneakers (we don’t do free sponsors here )

You were especially used to transfer students because you had a doctorate in linguistics. Being this, you knew a plethora of languages, from English, Spanish, French, Mandarin, Korean, Japanese, Greek, Latin, and a few native languages. You were always fascinated by languages and how people came up with these mixes of characters and words to make beautiful phrases. Since you were a kid you started to learn other languages. You had a French neighbor in your old hometown which is where you picked it up at age 7. Then, when you were 10, your family took a trip to Mexico which is when you became interested by Spanish. You fully understood the language by age 11 due to your prior knowledge of French. Then this process just continued where you would just learn languages mainly for fun. This lead to you being a linguistics professor who also taught second languages and would take in quite a few transfer kids. This lead to the journey of Jeon Jungkook and it was definitely a wild one.

You walked into your office at about 9:00 and placed your laptop onto the desk. You straighten up your outfit before settling in and getting to work. As you looked through your emails, you noticed an email that was about another transfer student. You kind of glanced over it, but didn’t pay too much mind to it, assuming it was just another kid from out of country. As 10:00 started to roll around, your students walked in. Some smiled, others chugged some unhealthy energy drink, some even chatted with you before finding their seats. As everyone found their seats, you looked out to see a new student.

“You, new kid, come up front and do that cringe introduction.” You chuckle, emitting a chuckle from a few kids. He tilts his head in confusion, probably because he doesn’t speak English. Due to your gesture though, he assumes you want him to introduce himself.

“You don’t already know who I am?” He whispered loud enough for you to hear in his first language.

“Actually, no, I don’t.” You responded quickly as you clasped your hands before beckoning him to the front again. He was a little shocked that you spoke Korean so well, being he had no prior information on you. You were used to kids who thought they were all that but something about this kid who was ‘dressed to impress’ rubbed you the wrong way. He walks down to the front and rolls his eyes at you.

“I’m Jeon Jungkook...23. Korean” He said in English the best he could. You smiled and introduced yourself.

“I’m Professor Y/L/N, find your seat now.” You responded before turning to the large chalk board and continuing your lesson. After the two hour lecture, you dismissed class. Jungkook was asleep in the back, which made you walk up to him and nudge him.

“Its lunch time, go eat.” You say as he wakes up. He shrugged off your hand before collecting his things.

“Filthy commoner.” He mumbled as he shoved past you. You would’ve been insulted if it were true, but it wasn’t. You collect your things and head out to your favorite cafe. Being it was a Tuesday, that class was the only one you had for the day so you treated yourself to some coffee. You notice a bit of commotion outside, but you try to ignore it and sneak inside.

“Y/N Y/L/N!! IS IT TRUE YOU’RE TEACHING JEON JUNGKOOK?!”

“Y/N?!?!”

“DO YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT JUNGKOOK?”

You were confused by all the bombarding questions so you ran into the café and shut the door along with someone else. You turned to see the brat himself, Jeon Jungkook.

“What mess have you fuckin brought me into?” You huffed as your back pressed against the door.

“I didn’t do anything! I just went for a walk and got lost!” He huffed back at you.

“Why are you so popular?” You asked as you held your hand on your forehead.

“Ugh, you’re a horrible teacher if you can’t read a simple email. I’m the son of the owner of Mike tennis shoe company.” He responded. You rolled your eyes as stood up and walked in line, happy to see police shows up to wrangle up paparazzi.

“What? Don’t care about my father’s company?” He mumbled. You go to order your drink and the barista looks confused. You realized you just ordered in Korean. You apologized before trying again. After you pay, Jungkook walks up and tried to get a drink.

“C-coffee?” He basically asked, leaving the barista to ask a series of question. Jungkook looks over to you for help, making you chuckle.

“Why should I help? You called me a shitty teacher.” You faked being offended which made Jungkook embarrassed.

“I’ll pay for you.” He said, making you more than willing to help him. Being you already bought your drink, he just handed you a 20 like it was nothing.

“That's way to much money Jungkook.” You said as you grabbed your coffee and went to hand him the money back.

“It’s nothing to me and my father always says to help the less fortunate.” He said before drinking his coffee, which intern made you laugh.

“You’re a brat but you’re a cool kid.” You say as you sit down and he follows. You quirk an eyebrow at him and he does the same back.

“Who said you could sit with me?” Making him tilt his head.

“Who said you got here first?” Jungkook barked back at you. You held your hands up in defense.

“You’re going to have to get used to me being I will probably be your living translator...also whos your host family?” You waited for his response as you took a sip of your coffee.

“I-...I’m not sure.”

“You didn’t check your email?” You teased like he did you which seemed to piss him off.

“I can’t fuckin read English!” Which made you shocked. How could a school send this kid an email in a language he doesn’t know. You hold your hand out for his phone which he reluctantly gives to you. You mumble out the email before getting to the important part.

“Your father has entrusted Professor Y/N with your care being they have the most experience with transfer students.” You were used to hosting kids but you thought someone of such class would be with, well you didn’t know, maybe someone the kid knew?

“With you?” He almost sounded disgusted. You were actually upset that you didn’t read that email but you had a rough weekend.

You sighed, “Look kid-”

“I’m not a kid!” He fussed. He was right. He said he was 23 and so were you. (Seems young for being a professor right, you’re just pretty smart and graduated early)

“Okay, sorry. But look, you either live with me for the what, 3 months you’re gonna be here? Or ask your daddy for money to live in a hotel for 3 months.” You teased, making him sigh.

“I’m not talking to him...that's why he sent me here.” Jungkook looked down at his now empty iced coffee.

You stood up and patted his shoulder. “Then suck it up buttercup. Lets go get your shit and move you in.”

“Want me to call an Uver?” The boy asked. (again, no free sponsors in this house).

“Nope. My car isn’t too far from here.” You smiled as you walked closer to the college campus. You turned before getting to campus and walked up to the car park.

He pointed to an abandoned car that has been there for years, “Is that yours?” he teased.

You smiled as you pulled out your key fob, clicking the unlock button to see a black lambo unlock. Jungkook stopped in his tracks and stared in awe.

“Come on pretty boy, not scared are you?” You smiled as you hopped in. He scurried into the car with a wide smile.

“Here I was thinking you were some poor teacher.”

“I’m a professor first of all, second” you start the engine with a loud purr, “I have my perks.” You smirked.

Its been about a month since Jungkook has been moved in. One day y’all were sitting at the table, awkwardly eating dinner like you guys did every night when he got a phone call. You have never seen him smile since the first time he got in the car and besides that, he’s been a pain in your ass more than anything. Good thing is, he’s actually learned quite a bit of English and can order his food in public.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when you heard him fussing.

“No Dad! Please you can’t make me stay here! I am studying and doing my work! This isn’t fair!” He argued, pacing back in forth before heading to his room which was a guest room. “YOU CAN’T JUST KEEP ME IN AMERICA BECAUSE YOU DON’T WANT TO TAKE CARE OF ME. MY PROFESSOR ISN’T MY BABY SITTER, THEY HAVE THEIR OWN LIFE WHICH IS BETTER WITHOUT ME!....you were only right about one thing dad... I’m a bother to everyone around me.” Jungkook finished before in went quiet. You didn’t know what to say. He knew he was being difficult because he wanted to be. He wants you to be upset and kick him out so he can go home. He wants to be out of you hair. You walked to his room and knocked, and saw something you never saw you see. Tears.

“W-what?!” He sniffled as he turned around and rubbed his eyes. You just walked up to him and turned him around, pulling him into a hug. He was reluctant at first before he finally gave in.

“You’re a brat yes, but you’re not a bother. And if you’d stop distancing yourself, we might be able to make this extended time more enjoyable.” Was the only thing you could say.

“I’m sorry I’m so mean to you...I just thought if maybe,”

“Maybe if I got annoyed enough I’d kick you out so you could go home?” He nodded to your question.

“Welp, I’m a tough cookie to crack.” You smiled as you pulled away.

“God we are the same age but you talk like a 80 year old.” He laughed as he wiped his face again.

The two of you then go and talk about him and his life back at home. He explains how his grades are slipping and that is why he is forced to stay here longer. How he doesn’t like going to college because it’s not what he wants to do in life. Jungkook explained that he wanted to be a singer and even showed you a few songs he has covered and composed. They were really good in actuality. You agreed with him if he can get English down pat and pick his grades up, you’d help him peruse his career.

It’s now been 3 months and Jungkook is basically speaking fluent English. He is also passing all your classes and is starting to open up to you a lot more. It was Spring break so you decided to go out with a few friends to get a drink. You invited Jungkook but he said he wanted to finish a paper he got an extension on so you just went out on your own. You and all your friends were dancing in the club and downing drinks like fish. You may have gotten a little too drunk being it was your first night out by yourself. Jungkook recently started to get more friends so you had some free time, but you haven’t gone out since he got here which is why you let yourself get as drunk as you did. It was towards the end of the night and the bouncer would not let you out with your keys due to how drunk you were.

“Move you b-big bo-ouf...” You stumbled as you tried to squeeze past him. He grabbed your arm and pushed you back. You huffed before pulling out your phone and smashing keys in and calling whoever popped up.

“Professor? Are you okay?” Jungkook asked, concerned as to why you called him after not responding to his text asking when you’d be home.

“I-im dr-drunk and this fuckin cunt won’t let me out.” You whined as you still tried to squeeze past him. “Don’t-...Don’t fuckin touch me.”

“Look, I’ll get an Uver and come pick you up.” Jungkook said as he got his things and hung up on you.

You looked at your silent phone with an angry expression,”...bitch”

Jungkook came walking in and saw you sitting on the floor poking the bouncers leg.

“Can you get this parasite off of me?” The large man asked looking down at me.

Jungkook stoops down and helps you up. You stumble toward him before you turned to look at the bouncer and stick your tongue out. You also flipped him off before Jungkook grabbed your hand and brought you to the Uver. You sat by the window and he did the same. You two finally got to your house and he helped bring you up. You tore your arm away from him as you stumbled up the stairs.

“I’m not a fuckin baby.” You grumbled as you immediately fell on the stairs. The male huffed as he helped you up.

“Get OFF of ME Jackson!” You pushed him away as tears filled your eyes. “I’m not your fuckin victim anymore!”

“Y/n?” Jungkook put his hands up and came to you slowly, “Its just me...Jungkook.” You finally started to calm down as you slowly tried to climb the stairs to your home. Jungkook helped you up and brought you to the couch. Jungkook grabbed a wet cloth and wiped the palms of your hand that were scrapped up. He then wiped your eyes and petted your head.

After Jungkook helped you that night, there was this awkward air again. He felt like walking on eggshells around you. Who was Jackson and why did you say you weren’t his victim. Jungkook asked his classmates around campus and even a few teachers as best he could. He finally found a teacher who was willing to give him a small amount of information.

“Now, I’m not going to say a lot because it isn’t my story to tell, but Jackson is Y/n’s ex....and let’s say he won’t be getting boyfriend of the year award.” Dr. Nick explained. Jungkook had enough information to make a firm decision. He was going to show you what a man should treat others like. He wasn’t your boyfriend or even considered you that much of a friend, but he felt guilty for living with you almost rent free (even though the school payed for his stay).

Jungkook went to the store after he was done with classes and picked up a lot of food to make you dinner as payment for all the times you made him dinner. He bought you your favorite candy, or so he assumed because he’d always find the wrappers in the trash. He even bought you a gift card to the coffee shop you love and headed home. Being it was a Friday, he knew you would be home a little later. The more Jungkook thought about it, the more he realized he knew a lot more about you than he thought. Jungkook started to think about all the little things you did for him. How certain foods would pop up more after he mentioned them. How you would cook different meals just for his liking and make sure he had a decent environment to study in. How you would stay up late and call of work a few times just to help him study. Jungkook smiled as he started to mentally prepare himself for cooking. He also hoped he wouldn’t burn your house down because he had very little cooking experience.

Jungkook starts cooking a dish he often enjoyed back at home: Spicy Ramen with rice cakes and kimbap. The button down shirt he wore to school was now slightly disheveled and stained. He rolled his sleeve up as he looked at the time-- 5 more minutes. Or so he thought when he heard your keys jingle at the door. He mildly panicked before setting up the food at the table and cleaning up quickly. He ran to the door as you finally started to open it and he stopped you.

“Huh?” You asked looking at his slightly sweaty face. “Jungkook if you’re having sex-”

“AH No no no!! But I have to ask for you to stand out here for 5 more minutes...trust me.” You don’t know why but you did trust him, and so you stood there for 5 whole minutes. You thought about all the possibilities you could walk into: A girl or a guy running out half naked, your house destroyed, drugs...etc. Jungkook came back looking a lot more put together and opened the door. You were hit with a mix of smells and were shocked.

“J-jungkook, did you ? You didn’t- no you can’t cook can you?” You asked as you walked in and admired the kitchen.

“I noticed you’ve been working more and I felt bad for staying here, even longer than expected... So I wanted to show you that I can be a proper man and treat another human being with respect.”

“I don’t care the reason as long as it taste good...and it looks amazing Jeon.” You quickly wash your hands and sit down ready to eat. Jungkook sat closer to you which you didn’t think much about being the ramen was in a big shared pot. You start digging in but you try to avoid the kimbap. You didn’t know if it had seafood and you didn’t want to take a chance. Jungkook picked up a piece and brought it up to your mouth.

“Made without seafood.” He smiled before you opened your mouth and took a bite. You smiled as you continued to eat. Jungkook ate as well before making the perfect bite. You even noticed it and tried to follow what he did, but before you could, he offered it to you. You were about to take in the food before you paused.

“Where is all this coming from?” You asked before taking the bite You smiled and almost forgot you asked a question until he cleared his throat.

“Well, like I said I felt bad for staying here and being a brat...I also wanted to give you a taste of my culture since you’ve welcomed me into yours.” He explained with a small blush and a smile.

“Yeah I get that, but what's with that stuff?” You asked pointing to the flower bouquet lined with your favorite candies and snacks.

“Oh...well the same reason.” He smiled. You were suspicious but you decided to finish eating. You heart was really warmed but he wasn’t that much of a brat. Yeah it was inconvenient on occasion, but he’s helped you a lot. He helps with chores and keeps his area clean, he is good company since you’re always alone, and well...he’s a pretty boy to keep around. Not to mention he saved you from that club when you were piss ass drunk. The two of y’all were cleaning up and things were going good...until Jungkook said the forbidden name.

“Y/n...who is Jackson?” You almost drop the plate you were cleaning.

“I fuckin knew you were up to something...Did you go through my room?! My fucking personal life?!” You started to fuss but by the look on his face, he didn’t.

“When you were drunk, you called me Jackson and said ‘I’m not your victim anymore’...” He paused, looking down before looking back at you, “he hurt you didn’t he?”

You stared at the wall, looking for the right words to say. “Yeah...he did. And I’m sorry I did that that night...but I’m not a baby. I don’t need your sympathy or your fuckin pandering.” You huffed as you started to leave the kitchen but he grabbed your wrist.

“I’m not doing this to make up for him,...Nothing I can do can heal those scars. But I’m doing it to make up for me and my actions. And its my way of showing-....” Jungkook trailed off.

“Showing what?” You said looking down at his hand holding your wrist.

“It’s how I show affection to people I care about.” Jungkook said the words without really thinking. You were taken aback and pulled away from him.

“Jungkook...I-” You started before he cut you off.

“I know what you’re going to say. I’m not the first kid to say this am I? And you tell them all the same thing. ‘We can’t be together because I risk losing my job’ and all that...I know.” He said looking down at his feet. You were shocked he even had feelings for you. He was completely wrong because since Jackson, you kept these walls up and didn’t let anyone like you. You normally noticed when people would catch feelings and immediately turn them away...but this was different. You hadn’t realized he liked you because you were to busy pushing yourself away from him. You noticed you liked his presence more which is why you stayed later at work, to push yourself away.

“Jungkook, that’s not it. I actually really care about you too. But there is the case with work that I don’t know if I can get passed...but I do appreciate this. And I appreciate you so much, but after Jackson...” You trailed off.

“You don’t know if you’re ready and I understand that...but out of all the people I’ve met, your the one person I wouldn’t mind waiting for.” Jungkook admitted. He didn’t realize how strong he felt about you until he was in this moment. You also didn’t realize how strong you felt until you realized you moved closer to him. You always had your guard up around people, but you realized you were more venerable with Jungkook than with anyone else. You peered up at him to see his eyes were red from holding back his tears.

You chuckled softly, “You’re such a baby.” You teased making him laugh before nudging you.

“Yeah well this baby just cooked your dinner so whose baby now?” He retorted.

“There’s that smile...”You mumbled, smiling as you two just stood there looking at each other. Jungkook’s eyes darted down to your lips before saying fuck it. He leaned in and held your cheeks in his hand. You felt this weird tension finally dissipate. You leaned in closer and placed your hands on top of his.

“If you think about it, I graduate this year in a few months...so if we wait it out, you won’t have to worry about your job.” Jungkook reasoned as he pulled away.

“That is true...even if you weren’t, I can always find another job.” You smiled, kissing him again.

A/n: Sorry if this is a little rough, but I have been on a hiatus for about a year now. Writing is something I love doing but I’ve been so busy with school and have had so little motivation. I really wrote this whole thing within 2 days and I’m proud of myself. If you really liked it, hit that like and share button! If this gets enough love, I might open request again.

#bts #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x male reader #jungkook x female reader #jungkook x gender neutral reader #fluff #angst #bangtan #bt21 #self insert #bts x reader #bts x male reader #bts x female reader #bts x gender neutral reader

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inkandpen22 · 3 years

Text

Time is Irrelevant (3/?): The Beauty of a Perfect Rose

Pairing: Eleventh Doctor x Female!Reader

Warnings: so much fluff

Word Count: 3k

Part Summary: Y/N finds herself alone amongst the French Court and she’s panicking. Then, she meets a charming young gentleman who becomes quite fond by her.

Masterlist

The Doctor ran off who-knows-where, so I decided to go on my own little adventure outside for some air. In truth, it’s hotter than the Sahara inside and I was feeling claustrophobic. A major flaw of mine, it doesn’t take much to get me to feel claustrophobic. Large crowds, small cars, closets, elevators, I can’t stand to be in any of them.

I take a breather on the grand terrace that overlooks the massive estate. Everything is so immaculate here. I’m amazed when I stare up at the night sky, in the future stars are too faint to see with all the lights. In 1778, the sky is lit up like a Christmas tree. Hundreds of bright tiny lights scatter the sky and they’re indescribably beautiful. The people who live in this time must take them for granted, unaware of their ancestors won’t have the pleasure of seeing them each night.

“It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves… ”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a man appear beside me. He admires the starry night.

“You know Shakespeare, impressive," I compliment without thinking.

I swallow hard, I don't know French, at least not well. If we're counting a high school education, I'm an amateur. Wait, how could I understand him? How can he understand me? I spoke in English.

The man chuckles lightly, “what is more impressive is you could identify the words as Shakespeare, shows you know him well.”

I sway my head from side to side. “I suppose you could say I know a lot about English literature.”

“Do you visit England often?”

Aware of the everlasting feud amongst the nations, I deny the chance. Better safe than sorry, right? Especially since there's the American Revolution happening this moment and I’m meant to be a French lady of a higher social status. I must be loyal to France whole-heartedly.

“Not as much as I used to when I was a child. I simply enjoy the art and literature the English produce among other foreign creators," I answer rather diplomatically.

The gentleman snickers lightly, seemingly impressed by my reply. “I take it you travel often? You appear well-aware and educated on world matters.”

I suppress my laughter, the irony doesn't go over my head. I've traveled further in the last twenty-four hours than I have my whole life.

“Yes, traveling is one of my many passions!" I enthuse. "Experiencing other cultures of the world is fascinating to me and I almost need traveling to survive I feel.”

The stranger nods in agreement, “France is home but when there’s an entire world to be discovered, I never feel content settling here when I could be out there. Especially now with the new world across the sea. One day I wish to see them for myself.”

I turn to the gentleman and without a second thought, I encourage him to do so. I may be giving him the chance to survive the French Revolution.

“I’ve heard they’re incredible! Of course, I suggest you plan a visit for the colonies after the war.”

He meets my eyes with a smile. He's young, just a few years older than me maybe. “Definitely, speaking of, what is your opinion on the war between the so-called “patriots” and England?”

In my mind, I’m thinking the revolution was the best thing to happen to the world. America exists because of the revolution and my era wouldn’t be the same without it. However, this is 1778 and I’m supposed to be a French aristocratic woman, so my answer can’t be so blunt.

“My belief is our alliance with the colonists was a wise political move. Economically, the alliance with benefit us greatly, and by being allies we’re hitting England directly where they’ll feel the effects. In addition, the war is not on our land, so the people of France ultimately go untouched. It’s the perfect situation.”

The man smiles brightly, "You know Madame are-"

"You're Majesty," a man interrupts us. He bows to the stranger and I see the smile falter from the young man's face. "You're needed, Sire."

My eyes nearly pop out of my head once I comprehend what's happening. I stare at the gentleman wide-eyed. I've been speaking with King Louis XVI this entire time!

I quickly snap out of my state of shock to curtsy properly. "Your Majesty."

King Louis scoops up my hand as I rise from my curtsy. He kisses the back of it softly.

“Excuse me, Madame,” he requests calmly. “I promise to find you again tonight to further our conversation. It has truly been a pleasure.”

Swiftly, King Louis follows the man back into the palace without another word. He doesn't acknowledge that he never announced that he was the king. This entire time I’ve been speaking with King Louis and had no idea! I thought he was just another noble or something.

“Holy-” I gasp, into the air, covering my mouth in shock. King Louis XVI just kissed my hand, this is unreal! _________________________

I’ve found that if I act as though I know what I’m doing, I blend in and they assume I’m one of them. I've also learned that they think I'm speaking French. I open my mouth and I hear English, but for some reason, they hear my words in French. I'm going to have to ask the Doctor about this whenever he decides to come back.

Look at me go, The Doctor was so worried I would stand out amongst the French court for nothing. Well, pish-posh to that! For a young woman of the 21st century, I'm killing it! I made friends with some of the women attending the party, especially Thérèse-Lucy de Dillon. Everyone here is mainly interested in palace gossip. Having grown up in a somewhat small town where everyone knows everyone else's business, I know how to gossip and make it interesting.

Thérèse is one of Marie Antoinette's closest friends and one of her ladies-in-waiting. The most interesting part, she married her second cousin.

“Yes, quite lovely indeed.” I agree with Lady Thérèse about summers in Paris. I've never been to Paris, but I've watched enough TV and movies to fake it.

Thérèse fans herself, I must agree the room is undoubtedly hot. The idea of air conditioning hasn’t even been considered yet and it’s August according to the women. I hope The Doctor finds whatever he’s looking for so we can leave sooner rather than later. Acting this posh is draining!

A man clears his throat behind me, interrupting the circle from our conversation. I turn around and am met with a familiar face. I find myself frozen for a moment until out of the corner of my eye I see Thérèse curtsying and I do the same.

“Your Majesty,” we greet in unison

“Madames,” he smiles kindly to each of us. “Pleasure to see you again Madame de Dillon," he addresses Thérèse.

"Pleasure is all mine, Sir," she smirks.

King Louis then directs his attention to me with a grin. He scoops up my hand as he did before and plants a kiss there. “I don’t believe we have met Lady…”

I play along. “Benoit,” I reply with the first name I could conjure up.

“Madame de Dillon, would you mind if I stole Madame Benoit for a moment?” He asks.

“Not at all,” she complies, sending me a mischievous look. “If you would excuse us,” she curtsies to the King.

He grants his permission with a slight nod of his head. Once they're gone, King Louis gestures toward the doors leading out to the hall. I stroll with him into the hallway, leaving behind the lively atmosphere and the security of others' presence. Now, it’s just him and I, excluding two of his guards following us.

I admire the art hanging on the walls as we pass stroll. The time it must’ve taken to paint such detail is beyond me. I also think of how priceless these pieces will be in the future.

“Would you like to see the gardens?” He offers.

I jump at the opportunity eagerly, "oh could we?!"

The King chuckles lightly at my enthusiasm. I’m sure he isn’t used to receiving such a genuine reaction from someone. Everyone has to be so uptight around him.

"I'm sorry I-"

"No, no, don't apologize," he waves his hands to ease my nerves. "I'm glad to see your interest." He places a hand on my upper back gently. "They're right this way."

King Lous guides me through two glasses doors leading outside to the gardens. The area outside is lit with tall torches lining the paths throughout the entire estate. If I let myself overthink the fact that I’m strolling in a garden with King Louis XVI then I’ll geek out and ruin the chance of speaking with him truthfully. Thus, I must remain calm and try to not think about the circumstances. After all, I spent almost five minutes with him before without any slip-ups. Then again, I didn’t know I was speaking with the King of France.

“Madame Benoit, tell me,” he implores. “How is it we have yet to meet before tonight? Unless we have, but I believe I would have remembered the pleasure and your beauty would be quite memorable.”

My cheeks become warm, though I think the excessive amount of white powder Joséphine plastered on my face may mask my blushing.

“I’ve been away in Italy.” I make up a story as I go. “My father sent me away from my education. He wanted it to be only myself and my tutor constantly.”

King Louis seems impressed, even fascinated by my tale. The secret to a good cover-up is to lie as little as possible, to basically sugarcoat the truth. That way it’s easy to remember but also simple to discuss.

He glances up from the pebble-covered path to me. He raises his brow slightly. “What are you favorite subjects?”

I notice his body language, his interlocked behind his back. It’s very informal. He must be becoming comfortable around me. I first noticed the shift in his demeanor when we left the crowded party. He almost instantly relaxed once when we were out of everyone’s view.

“I enjoy literature and history above all. Yet, I also find learning to speak other languages such as English, Latin, and Italian all very fascinating.”

I make it a point to name the languages I’m positive His Majesty is fluent in. If this works to gain his approval, perhaps I could use my knowledge on him to gain earn his good graces.

He halts and I immediately dread that I may have said something wrong. Reluctantly, I meet his eye.

“You are quite the fascinating lady, Madam,” he states as if it’s fact.

He’s dropping compliments like candy from a Piñata. Granted, he’s French, they’re known for their romance. Plus, I’m sure Louis is used to charming women in his court. He is a politician after all.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” I manage to say though I feel very exposed under his gaze. I mean, he is iconic after all, for good and bad reasons.

The two of us continue through the paths, exchanging facts about one another. I find similarities between us, genuine ones too! Everything I say about my interests and background is practically true, just altered a little, so there’s an honesty in our conversation.

“What are some of your favorite pieces of literature?” King Louis asks as we stop in front of the Fountain of Apollo.

I hum, pretending to be thinking over my favorite when in reality I’m rushing to remember work from before the Colonial Era. I can’t exactly say A Farewell to Arms, it doesn't exist yet.

“I don’t have a favorite piece per se because I prefer to read all sorts of work. Authors, philosophers, playwrights, I will read them all. Including the essays written by Rousseau or Voltaire in particular. Though they challenge the essence of our beloved country's system, I believe it is important to be well-read and educated on all points-of-view to form a legitimate opinion.”

In reality, Rousseau and Voltaire were geniuses with the An Essay on Tolerance and The Social Contract. Yet, I’m a women currently in a male dominated world. I shouldn’t be speaking of philosophers or politics.

He picks up my hand and holds it in both of his gently. My heart starts beating rapidly as my breathing catches in my throat. I’ve spoken out of turn for sure. I suppose my modern views can’t be so easily suppressed despite my efforts. I prepare for any insults he could say.

“You, Lady Benoit, are by far the most alluring woman I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

Taken aback, I was expecting the polar opposite reaction. I bow my head in gratitude. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

He grins charmingly, “please, call me Louis.”

His request flatters me more than his compliments. It means far more to me that we share a bond rather than his appreciation of my appearance or words. Now, I know he respects which this time is rare to earn from a man.

This entire experience is so unreal and I feel as though I’m on cloud nine. In history books, these figures seems so far away, almost like fictional character. Yet, here I am, speaking to King Louis XVI and he just asked me to call him Louis.

“In that case Louis, please call me Y/N," I request in return.

In exchange for his respect, though I already did, I give him my real name. He is trusting in me by opening up, so the least I can do is give him my real name.

“Y/N,” he repeats to himself.

Boy, it sounds so beautiful with his perfect French accent. I could listen to him speak all day.

“So unique! Exquisite, the same could be said for the woman who possesses it," he smirks.

My gaze falls to the pebbles beneath us as we start to move again. I can feel Louis’s eye on me, but I can’t form the courage to meet his focus. In history, it’s said he is very shy and kept to himself. He certainly isn’t shy at the moment.

Unexpectedly, Louis jogs ahead a few feet and leans over the short perimeter of a small edge. I watch as he picks a flawless red rose from the massive bush.

He hurries back to me, gleaming. “For the girl who's beauty is unparalleled, even by that of the most perfect rose.”

Wow, he’s good, and he just came up with that? Smooth.

I accept the flower with a soft smile. “You’re too sweet.”

The back of his hand rises to my cheek and gently brushes against my skin.

“I see the world in your eyes,” he mutters under his breath, mere inches from my face.

My heart is pounding in my chest from both excitement and mere shock that this moment is occurring. King Louis is totally hitting on me right now. What am I supposed to do? This isn’t just some creep in a bar I can dismiss!

“You’re not what I expected… ” I blurt out in a whisper

It could never be more true. The history books don’t do him justice. Considering many of them were written off the accounts of people who were not close to him the lack of fact makes sense.

He laughs breathlessly, unfazed by my words. “‘expectation is the root of all heartache,’ as Shakespeare once said. What were you expecting?”

I shake my head, unsure in all honesty. Deciding to put a stop to his advances while things aren’t too complicated, I create some distance between us.

“I guess I was prepared to meet the person subject to the rumors and gossip. I was told to expect one person and was met with someone completely different,” I answer honestly.

“If it means anything, you’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met. You don’t treat me like the King, you treat me as you do anyone else and for that, I’m eternally grateful to you. It was that very fact that drew me to you! When we met you didn’t know who I was and I took advantage of that. Yet, hereafter you continue to treat me like the average man.”

“At the end of the day, we’re all human," I reason with a shrug. "Each of us play a role in life and yours happens to be King. You were born into your position, you didn’t choose it. The least I can do is treat you normally for all you do. When I look at you, I don’t see the King, I see Louis. The man who enjoys intellectual conversations, loves to travel, who one day will see the colonies for himself.”

I know the last part not to be true, but I can at least hope that he may listen to my advice and go.

Louis smiles softly, leaning in closer to me. I prepare to turn my cheek and dodge his lips when suddenly the rapid clicking of heels on the pebbles cause both of us to whip our heads toward the castle.

The same man before jogs up to us. He halts and bows to Louis, struggling to catch his breath.

“Your Majesty, you're requested by Her Majesty the Queen to give a toast and begin a dance."

Louis signs deeply, clearly not wanting to return to his duties. “Yes, very well, let us get it over with.” He starts to the palace in a brisk march.

I debate whether to follow Louis as I watch the man frantically tries to keep up with him. Suddenly stops in his tracks and the man nearly runs into him but skids to a halt. Louis turns on his heels and walks back to me, shaking his head.

“My apologizes, Y/N.” He offers me his hand, “accompany me please?”

If I do choose to return to the party hand-in-hand with him then it will be evident that we were alone together. People would have a field day for gossip. That wouldn't exactly count as 'laying-low.' Against my better judgement, I slip my hand into his. Louis kisses the back of it, then interlocks our arms. I place my free hand over his arm as well. Finally, he escorts me inside at a much slower pace than before, evidently not caring if he’s late.

“Tell me about your family,” he requests, glancing at me with a joyful grin.

_____________________

Masterlist

#eleventh doctor x reader #eleventh doctor x you #doctor x reader #eleventh doctor #doctor who

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connorandersons-blog · 4 years

Text

To the Library

Rating: Explicit Word count: 3,576 Warnings: explicit content Ship: Markus/Connor AU: Human Chapter 2/5

-----------------------

Markus goes to the library a week later. He hadn't finished with his book, but Carl was. He had eagerly taken the book from Carl's hands, ignoring Carl's pointed looks.

When he got there he expected Connor to be behind the desk, but he wasn't there. Markus felt his heart sink as he placed the book in the return pile.

He might as well look around. Maybe he would find something intriguing to read. He took his time walking around, pulling out a few books to read their summaries before putting them back.

He went to walk around the corner and jumped when he saw Connor sitting in a chair, reading a book. His feet were pulled up, and he had black full-rimmed glasses on. His curly hair fell into his face and wore a soft-looking cable knit black turtleneck.

He looks simultaneously adorable and sexy as fuck like that. Oh fuck. He's totally fucked. He really hopes Connor is at least a little gay, and single, otherwise he knows he's going to hurt his heart. Apparently, he made some type of noise because Connor glances up from his book.

"Markus! Did you need any help?" He asks, putting his legs back onto the ground. He had texted Connor but he wasn't sure what was appropriate to send, so he always kept it short.

Connor grabbed a bookmark and put it in the book, which wow, was Les Misérables and it looked like it was the actual version in French.

"You're… you were actually reading that?" He asks, walking over. Connor glances at the book, flipping it over in his hands.

"Oh, yeah. I hadn't gotten the time before, but yeah. Amanda, she made sure we were able to learn any language we want. I learned French, German, Spanish, Latin, and Russian. Oh! Also ASL." Holy fuck. He was sure his jaw was on the ground.

This man was smart enough to be literally anything he wanted, and he was here working at a library, reading a book most people didn't even attempt to read.

"That… wow. That's really impressive, Connor." Markus said, sitting down in a chair close to him.

He ducks his head again, and Markus is getting to the point where he wants to keep making him have that reaction. "Amanda taught us early so it was easy, nothing truly impressive."

Markus shakes his head. How could he not see how impressive that was? It didn't matter when he learned, he retained the information even after all these years. "Trust me, it's impressive."

"I… thank you, Markus." He says, looking at him through his lashes. Wow, his eyes were so stunning and now he really wanted to see him on his-nope! Nope, he is not thinking about that. Not in a library.

"Of course, I was wondering, do you have any books you'd recommend reading?" Connor quickly stood up and pulled Markus up too by his hand. He probably didn't even realize he was still holding his (ugh, probably sweaty) hand as he dragged him through the library. Well, dragged isn't the right word as he was doing his best to keep up, but gladly following along.

"Ok, so the first is technically not for adults, but the humor is amazing and generally flies right over kids." He says, pulling down a book- Artemis Fowl- still not letting Markus go. Apparently, he's getting more than one book as Connor leads him around, explaining some as he pulls them out.

Markus laughs as he's pulled and watches as the stack of books grow taller. It isn't actually that many books, but it's incredible how enthusiastic he is.

Once Connor seems to be done he leads them back to where he left his own book. He lets go of Markus to set the stack of books on a table, then picks up his own book. He sits down again, pulling his legs under him. "I know that's a lot, and you don't have to check them all out."

There are seven books in all and Markus is most definitely going to at least attempt to read all of them, even if it meant renewing them.

"No, this is wonderful; I look forward to reading all of them." He glances through all of them before picking up the shortest one. "I hope you don't mind if I read with you."

"No! Of course, feel free. The Artemis Fowl series has always been a favorite of mine." Connor said, flipping open his book. "Oh, I never asked, do you speak any languages other than English?"

Markus flips to the first page of the book, taking in the worn feeling of it. "Not really. I know a few things in French and a few in Latin, but that's just what I learned from Carl."

Connor smiled and nodded. "Du siehst umwerfend aus." Connor said, before quickly looking down at his book.

Oh, he really wanted to know what that meant. "I… that was German, right? What does it mean?"

"Oh, um it means to enjoy your book." Connor's face flushed and he puts his nose back into a book. He has a feeling that's not what he actually said, but he doesn't know any German to dispute it.

"Thank you, I'm sure I will." He starts reading the first page. He has to admit, it's incredibly easy to follow. The humor is dry and makes him crackle. The first time he does it, he glances up and sees Connor staring at him. They both quickly look back to their books.

He gets lost in the book and reads almost half of it before his phone rings. He jumps practically out of his skin. He fumbles for a bit before pulling his phone out. He sighs when he sees it's a message from Carl. He isn't upset that Carl messaged him, but he is that he'll have to leave.

"Ah, I need to get home, well to Carl's." He definitely considered Carl's place home more than anywhere else had been. They both stand and Markus grabs his stack of books.

"I'm not technically working, but I can still check you out," Connor says, taking the books when they get to the desk. He scrunches up his face as he types something into the computer then scans the books. "I gave you the six weeks employees get but don't tell," he fake whispers.

Markus snorts and puts a finger up to his lips. "Your secret is safe with me." He took the books and waved at Connor before leaving.

______________________________________________________________

"Markus!" Connor panted, arching his back. Markus reached out and covered Connor's mouth with his hand.

"Shh, you gotta be quiet baby, or we'll be caught." He whispered but didn't let up at all. He set a steady, but quick pace with his hips, matching the same with his hand stroking Connor's length.

They were in the back part of the library, where they hopefully wouldn't get caught. Connor was wearing the same thing from when he gave him all those books, but his glasses were skewed and his hair was completely tousled. He looked fucking amazing like this.

Connor whined into his hand, pushing back into him. He wanted to hear him so badly, but maybe once they were alone.

The sound of skin hitting skin was obscene in such a quiet place. He could smell the old books, but he couldn't focus on anything but Connor.

He leaned forward and kissed the back of Connor's neck, nipping at the sensitive skin. He wanted to absolutely wreck him; he wanted him to not be able to walk straight for a week.

"Connor, you're so beautiful. So beautiful, and all for me." He mumbled. Connor's eyes watered from so much stimulation. He could feel how close they both were. So, so fucking close.

Markus jerked awake, sitting up. His eyes were wide as he looked around his dark room, panting. He groaned and flopped back onto his bed. This wasn't the first time he had that particular dream, but each time ended the same.

He reached down and didn't bother opening his eyes as he stroked himself. He wouldn't be able to go back to sleep until he came so it was better to get it over with.

He imagined Connor on his knees, looking up at him with those stunning brown eyes. "Fuck," he groaned, spilling into his hand.

Markus was supposed to go to the library today to bring back Carl's book, but this would make it so much harder (no pun intended). He didn't know how he could face Connor after thinking about him like that.

He rolls over and digs through his drawers finding his wipes. He cleans himself up, and checks his phone, squinting when the brightness is too high.

To Connor:

I'll be there tomorrow

[Read, 9:19 pm]

To Markus:

I can't wait! ☺️

[Read, 9:20 pm]

Ugh, how could he be so cute? Even his typing was cute! It was completely unfair. What had he done to deserve this kind of torture?

He had a feeling he was at least somewhat gay, especially since Carl seemed to be trying to get them together. He probably knew more about Connor than Markus did, though he wouldn't tell him.

He checked the time and groaned again, dropping his phone on his chest. It was way too early to get up, but he doubted he'd be able to sleep again. He should at least try, though.

Before he knows it his alarm is going off and he honestly feels like crying. He hadn't gotten any more sleep, and he couldn't stop thinking about Connor.

He slowly sat up and got ready for the day. He lived with Carl so it wasn't like he had to drive to work, so he got more time in bed than he would have otherwise.

He gave Carl his medicine and breakfast before the man waved him off. Markus huffed and grabbed the book before taking the bus to the library.

It was a much warmer day than it had been in a while, and Markus basked in the sunlight. He loved raining days but there was something so comforting about the sun coming out after days of rain. It was like he could feel how alive the world was, and it just made him livelier.

He walks in and before he can even say hello Connor is up and beside him. He's wearing a sweater vest again with a white button-up, but the sleeves are rolled up, and Markus is sure he's dying. He's not wearing his glasses but his hair is mostly pushed back out of his face, except for a few curls that seemed to do whatever they want.

"Markus! How are you?" He asks, smiling widely. Markus leans over and drops the book in the return bin, but feels his heart stop when doing so brings him close to Connor. His mind flashes to the dream and he quickly leans back.

"Not too bad, didn't get much sleep last night, you?" They start their walk around the library. At some point, he'd get the next book Carl wanted, but for now, he just enjoyed Connor's company.

Connor gave a sympathetic hum, "neither did I. Today has been lovely, though. The weather is much better than before. I'm planning on taking Sumo for a walk later."

"Sumo?"

Connor's eyes light up and he bounces more as he walks. Overall he looks even more adorable. "He's Hank's dog. When I was a detective Hank was my partner, and he's basically a father to me now. Amanda never let us have pets, and I really like dogs so I go over to Hank's a lot." Ah, that did sound like Stern. She could be an exceedingly uptight woman from what he's heard.

"Sumo is Saint Bernard! He's basically a giant teddy bear, though he likes to lay completely on me." Connor says, sighing happily.

Markus chuckled and shook his head, imagining a big dog lying on Connor while he was splayed out on the ground. "He sounds adorable." So do you, he wanted to add but bit his tongue.

Connor quickly nods. "He is! I like dogs. Well, all animals honestly. I've got a fish at home, Trichogaster Laliu, or most commonly known, a Dwarf Gourami." Leave it to Connor to know the scientific name for it.

"Carl has parakeets, but I never got to have pets growing up." Well, that wasn't completely true, he did but it never lasted long.

"Oh? Were your parents strict too?" Connor asks, swaying his arms and accidentally brushing against Markus's.

Markus is so tempted to just take his hand but decides against it. He was a very tactile person, so holding hands between friends weren't uncommon for him. However, he didn't know if Connor was open to that.

"Ah, not always? I… I grew up in the foster system. Eleven foster families in all, but I aged out." He remembered the day and how much it hurt, knowing he wasn't wanted. "Carl, he found me and took me in. He paid for my college and now I take care of him." He smiled. He honestly owed his life to Carl.

Connor's eyes go wide. "Oh, I'm sorry. Caelum and I got adopted pretty quickly, but I remember how hard it had been." He wondered if they ever would have met if Connor hadn't been adopted.

Markus shrugs. Sure it had been hard but now he has the life he always dreamed about. He had someone who cared about where he was, or if he ate enough. He had his friends, and now he had a very huge crush on a very adorable man.

"It's fine, I'm happy now. Are you?" He honestly didn't mean to ask something so deep, but it just slipped out.

Connor hummed and thought for a moment. "I think I am. I loved being a detective, but I also love this," he motions around to the library. "Sometimes if Hank can't figure a case out he'll ask me. There's always room for improvement, but that's just life."

He couldn't agree more. To him, the purpose of life was to grow. If you became stagnant then the ability to become happy disappeared.

"I hope this isn't offensive… but from what I've heard about Stern, she doesn't seem the type to think being a librarian is an actual job." She was a strict woman but he knew she always just wanted the best for those she cared about.

Connor chuckles. "Yeah, but I still consult for the dpd and even sometimes the FBI if they need me. At first, she thought this wasn't acceptable at all, but I guess she saw how at peace I am. I get the best of both worlds doing this."

Holy fuck. He worked with the FBI and said it like it was nothing. "How old are you?" Wow, that came out wrong. Thankfully Connor just laughed.

"I'm twenty-five, but technically I'm six." Apparently, Markus's confusion shows on his face. "Leap-year baby."

"Leap-year baby and a twin, what are the odds of that?" He really didn't think Connor would have an answer.

"There's a one in 1,461 chance of having a leap day birthday. The odds of twins are one in 67 times the odds of being born on February 29, which comes out to one in 97,887." His jaw was definitely on the ground.

"Though, because we are identical the odds go up to one in 365,250. So, I am exceedingly rare in that case." Connor shrugged.

"That and you're a genius." Markus points out. Connor blushed and ducks his head. He grins and bumps their shoulders together. Connor's eyes widen and he actually brings a hand up to cover his face. Hm, interesting but also adorable.

"Oh, I was wondering if you have Odes by John Keats. Carl wants to read it." Connor sighs, he's probably glad for the subject change.

He stood for a moment and glances around before nodding to himself. "If we do, it'll be this way." Connor reaches out and gently touches Markus's arm, but he doesn't hold onto him like before. He really wished he would.

Connor finds the area and looks around. Oh goodness, they are definitely in the back of the library and it's almost the exact same as his dream.

Connor crouches down, and runs his fingers against the books, squinting at them a bit. He obviously still works out and Markus would very much like to feel those thighs. They practically stretch his pants to their limit and it's driving him insane.

Then, of course, Connor makes it worse. He doesn't know why, but Connor turns to him without standing and looks up at him, smiling softly. He really, really needed him to stand back up soon, or he was going to have a very obvious problem.

Thankfully Connor doesn't stare at him for long (even though it feels like an eternity). He finds the book and stands up in one fluid motion. That did make him wonder, how had he been injured badly enough to have to retire so early? He had stated that he loved being a detective, so it wasn't for want to stop, and he just took the chance.

This time he doesn't hand Markus the book, he just holds onto it. "Do you want to get coffee?" Connor blurts out. "I-I mean, they have a small coffee shop upstairs. We can get some if you want. Or, if you have the time. Sorry." Connor cringed at himself, keeping his eyes trained on the ground.

"Ah, I'd love to, but I should be getting back to Carl. I'll treat you to one another time. Or, well… there's this new Cafe opening, we could go there if you'd like." He's ready to apologize too but Connor quickly glances up and nods.

His grin is so bright it's blinding, but Markus can't seem to look away. "I'd love to! I heard about that but didn't have a reason to go."

"How about," he paused, mentally going over his schedule, "Thursday at two? We can do it earlier if you want."

By then they were at the desk again and Connor scanned the book. "Two works, it's a date!" He smiled handing him the book and card back.

Markus fumbled but tried to play it off with a chuckle. He probably didn't mean it like that, but fuck he hoped he did.

He is almost jogging away, mostly to stop himself from saying something stupid. He considers just walking home but decides to take the bus. He didn't need to have to take another shower today.

He's definitely more calmed down by the time he gets home, but his mind was still racing. Connor definitely hadn't meant it like that. No, he couldn't. It was just coffee. Just two guys, who are friends, getting coffee. Totally nothing else. Nope, nada.

He feeds the parakeets and looks around for Carl. He notices the lights are on in the studio, so he goes there. It wasn't odd for either one of them to spend most of the day there.

Carl is working on the huge painting that he'd been painting for over three weeks now. Even now, it was incredibly striking, unfinished. Carl looked down at him and then back to the painting. Markus stands back, taking it all in. He was always stunned at Carl's work, even when he couldn't quite get it.

The moment Carl could he had given Markus a paintbrush. At first, Markus had just painted the world around him as it was. Carl had taught him to paint what he saw, yes, but what he felt about it.

He definitely wasn't the best, even after all this time, but he still enjoyed painting, especially with Carl. Though, it seemed Carl was already one step ahead of him.

An easel was set up, along with a blank canvas for him. He knew what he wanted to paint before even picking up his pencil to sketch it out.

He loved the sound of the pencil against the canvas, though he often had to take a step back, look it over and fix the problems. Some people could just paint, but Markus preferred to be able to actually see it first before he put any paint on the canvas.

He hadn't even realized Carl had stopped painting until he heard him from behind. "Oh my god."

Markus let his hand drop as he looked at the sketch. It was definitely his best work so far and he hadn't even started painting yet.

It wasn't even that exquisite, definitely not as good as Carl's, but even still. It had so much emotion in it that you could overlook any mistakes.

"I… I probably should have asked him if I could paint him first." Markus mumbles, scratching the back of his neck.

Carl quickly shakes his head, "no, this is amazing." Carl rolls closer eyes wide. Markus can't help but agree. Drawing Connor was the easiest thing he'd ever drawn, and he didn't know why. Well… that wasn't completely true but he wasn't going to think about it.

He was definitely not thinking about that as he picked up a paintbrush, and he wasn't thinking about it as he started to paint.

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dariodanoite · 4 years

Text

sting like a beamer | alain & dario

LOCATION: garage babineaux. PARTIES: @carbrakes-and-stakes and @dariodanoite. SUMMARY: dario gets a job from an old...friend?

Dario was careful to make sure he’d be on time for his meeting with Alain, knowing he really needed to get another job if he wasn’t going to be begging on the streets anytime soon. Sure, he had the tattoo shop, but minimum wage with just one job wasn’t exactly enough to keep him afloat when he’d come back into this world with nothing. Beyond that, though- he was anxious to see Alain again. Would he look the same? Dario himself had grown a few inches while he’d been missing after it was widely assumed his whole family had been murdered, their house burned to the ground. It had Hunters written all over it to the trained eye. Beyond his extra height, he’d filled out a bit more as well, no longer a lanky seventeen-year-old, but a fully grown man. Now, he waltzed into the office of the garage in an attempt to find his old mentor, nostalgia practically smacking him in the face. There hadn’t been all that many places in White Crest filled with strong enough memories to give him any sort of reaction that came close. After all, he’d only lived here for a year before everything went to shit. But he went up to the attendant working the desk, simply saying. “Is Alain here? I had an appointment with him about the mechanic job.” Would Alain even remember him? It’d been thirteen years, and he’d just been a single snobby kid all that time ago. Maybe this was a bad idea.

Alain was almost done repairing yet another windshield when he heard his name told. It was just him and his colleague at the counter and so the garage was almost quiet, which happened rarely enough to be noted. An eyebrow raising, it took him a second to remember the appointment he had with the kid. Alright, maybe it was not a kid, he corrected himself as he took a look at the guy standing in the entrance. “C’est quoi ce bordel,” he had a confused look on his face as he approached him. What was his name again? It had been God knows how many years but he knew he’d seen this guy before. Even if Alain was used to people disappearing, he remembered that when Dario -there was the name- went missing, the whole town talked about it. “Well you haven’t changed one bit,” he looked up at him and held up his hand. “Don’t stay here, come in,” he pointed at the front door, as if to tell his employee to close for lunch break, and walked toward a car which already had the hood opened up.

As Alain came into view, another sharp wave of memories hit Dario. In truth, he hadn’t thought all that much about his time here in White Crest since he’d been back. And perhaps...that had been for good reason. He didn’t need a reminder of all the things he’d lost. Nevertheless, he couldn’t deny that he was happy to see Alain. Someone who’d known him before- certainly it might be validation with the state that he was alive, but...perhaps it was also simply a reminder to Dario that he hadn’t died all those years ago. “You still speaking French when you know damn well know one can understand it?” he asked with the beginnings of a grin, perhaps the first one he’d granted to anyone since being human once more. Relief washed over him. Alain did remember him. “Well- I’m taller. Wish I could say the same for you.” In only moments, it seemed Dario had fallen back into something closer to what he’d been before his days as a jaguar, poking some fun at Alain. But he followed after the other man, eyes looking over the car that was in front of him.

“Je vois pas le problème,” Alain replied, raising an eyebrow. It was common for the mechanic to speak to himself in French as he worked, and he exclusively cursed in French if he happened to pinch his fingers while working on an engine. “You are taller, yes,” he deadpanned as he heard the comment on his own height. Well that was certainly original. “You could have learned new jokes while you were away,” he drily replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “Alright. Can you tell me what’s wrong with this car?” There weren’t many ways to know that, and Alain figured that his first question wouldn’t be too hard. What he was most interested in was to see if he could fix that quickly enough. It wasn’t much work and could be done in less than an hour.

Perhaps in a bit of a teasing and stubborn tone, Dario simply replied, “Dois podem jogar esse jogo.” Alain could have a taste of his own medicine, not that Dario actually minded all that much when the older man babbled in his French. But he’d always enjoyed poking some fun at the mechanic. “My jokes are fine as they are.” The hint of a smile was still on his lips, the rush of having someone even somewhat familiar to talk with still filling him with that grain of excitement. But as Alain asked about the car, he grew more focused, knowing he needed this job. Otherwise- he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t end up sleeping on a street corner someday soon. “Definitely. You want me to just do it, yes? Fix it?” Part of him was itching to get to work, missing the feeling of fixing a car and doing something with his hands.

Lucky for you, I was forced to study latin, and understood mostly everything, Alain thought to himself, closing his eyes in despair. Did he really want this smartass back in his garage? His arms still firmly crossed over his chest, he shook his head as Dario declared that his jokes were good enough for now. Well maybe Alain had a shitty sense of humor then. He had already been told that it was an acquired taste, after all. “Well enough jokes, get to work,” he motioned toward the car with his chin, a stern look on his face. Dario might have been a nice kid, Alain didn’t want a clown in his shop. He had a reputation to maintain and old times’ sake was not going to count in Dario’s application. “Do you really want me to answer this question?” He drily replied, heading to the workbench to pick up his cup of coffee and sitting down on a stool for now. “Maybe you could start by trying to turn the engine on?” You could tell from his tone that he was slightly annoyed.

Perhaps Dario should cool it with his jokes, but he’d simply been so excited to see a familiar face. There weren’t many familiar faces left in his life anymore. He was somewhat surprised Alain didn’t seem phased by him being missing for thirteen years, or his family being murdered and their house being burned but….not entirely shocked that Alain was focused on more important things. That was the past. This was now. At least- that had been the method Dario was trying to employ as for late. “Just making sure, Alain,” Dario said back with more of a relaxed air than he’d had as of late. He was much changed in demeanor from his seventeen-year-old- self, quieter and not nearly as vibrant, but parts of him were still here. Nevertheless, he began the process of diagnosing exactly what was wrong with the car, his hands remembering the process of their own accord.

Alain looked at his former apprentice with a stern look on his face. You could see the fondness in his eyes if you were attentive, but now was not the time for this. He stood up from his stool after a certain time, to get a better look of Dario’s look. If it seemed at moments that it had been a while since he had been around a car, Alain figured that it was due to stress, and whatever backstory that led Dario to disappear for a decade. “Well, I’ll probably have to stay around you when you work for the first week or so,” he said once Dario was done both confirming that he had a job, and telling him that he would have to work hard to keep said job.

As he finished up, Dario wiped the grease from his hands on a dirty rag as best he could. He’d enjoyed fixing the car, realizing there were some gaps in his knowledge. But hopefully that’d come back soon enough with the rest of the things he’d forgotten. Spending thirteen years as a jaguar did some strange things to the mind, and the memories he found foggiest were the ones that came just before his family’s untimely demise, and the year surrounding it. Apart from those momentary struggles though, he’d loved the feeling of a car underneath his hand once more, the way working on it had taken up most of his mind, not letting him think about some things he’d rather forget. It was a momentary respite. The grin Alain got in response was probably one of the widest he’d felt since turning back to human, mixed with utter relief. Maybe he’d be able to get out of the garage the strange cat lady had let him stay in for now sooner rather than later. “Thank you,” he said, with perhaps more sincerity than he’d ever given to Alain, desperation making him eternally grateful. “You won’t regret it.. And I meant what I said like- online about- paying me in food or something if that’s more legal or now. Or whatever.”

Approaching the car, Alain rubbed at his jawline. He had a look at the boy, or should he say the man’s work, and while it had taken him a bit longer than it should have, it was a job well done. There was no reason that he would not improve if given the chance, and a little push in the right direction. Since Alain had already had plans of taking an apprentice, this would not be much different, and he was certain that Dario would learn a lot more quickly than anyone else. “I would feel terribly uncomfortable paying you in food,” he gave his new mechanic a pat on the arm and asked him to follow him to the register. Putting what would be worth one week of paycheck in an envelope, the hunter handed it over to Dario, without a word. He would have to replace it later with cash he kept at home, but this seemed like a more than ideal solution for now. “We can sign your contract later, when you get your ID back.” The man paused, sighing. “You spoke to the guy I told you about ? Winston?”

It seemed that Dario’s gratitude wouldn’t end as he followed Alain to the register, and he held the envelope the older man had handed him with a slight reverence. He had a job. A way to have some sort of income. Did this mean he wouldn’t have to eat only ramen for every meal? Well- he might still have to. He needed to pay the strange cat lady that had let him live in her garage something in the way of rent, most likely. But either way, it felt like an enormous weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He wasn’t rich, but he had a means of surviving. A simple nod was what he gave Alain when it came to contract terms, unable to form words for a moment because of the sheer amount of gratitude coursing through his veins. “Yes- yes he said- something about my immigration papers. Or records. They took my fingerprints so- they might be able to prove I’m me with those. But...really...I don’t know how to thank you, Alain.” It seemed that he’d been humbled from the sarcastic man that had walked in here an hour or so ago. “And I mean it when I said you won’t regret it.”

“Oh ? That’s… that’s pretty good for you,” patting the man on the side of the arm, Alain gave him his brightest smile so far. It was not often that life rewarded kind people, and to see that Dario’s troubles would come to an halt (maybe not an end), soon, was making him feel really happy, right now. “I’m… That’s great,” he repeated. The mechanic had, since the moment he offered Dario to come here, been worried about how this all would end, and to know that maybe this would not end terribly, was a relief. Now time would tell whether Dario would become a proper employee, although he was not worried. Back then, he learned fastly and always showed interest for what he was taught. This would be fine. He had good hopes.

#chatzy #ch:alain #sting like a beamer

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dementeris · 5 years

Text

Peter Parker [bursting into the living room] : I’ve found a new game !

Clint Barton [rising an eyebrow] : Cool, how do you play it, Spidey ? Tactics to confuse your challengers?

Thor [countering] : Strength to make them kneel ?

[Loki’s silent thoughts: Why do I feel irony right now?]

Tony Stark: Incredible ingeniousness to let them see how awesome you are?

Peter Parker [scratching his neck nervously]: Hum, not really… it’s more about vocabulary and speed…

~ The three men exit the room, all of them suddenly pretending to remember some kind of urgent affair ~

Shuri [taking him in a supportive embrace]: Aw, don’t be sad, Pete : I’m interested ! So let’s play together, yeah?

Loki [closing his book]: Your friend is right, Spiderchild. Forget about those brutes, they wouldn’t have achieved anything but destroying this place at the first argue anyway…

Peter Parker [quite overwhelmed by the sudden affection]: T-Thank you, you two. But it will be better if there are one or two more players.

Stephen Strange [making a surprisingly human and non-supernatural entry]: Then, may I offer my participation?

Loki [hissing slightly]: Tss, nobody cares, Doctor I-want-to-be-a-sorcerer.

Peter Parker [on a begging child’s tone]: Mister Loki, please!

Shuri [giving Loki a vigorous tap against his back]: Come on, big guy, it will be fun!

Stephen Strange [sitting in the nearest armchair]: Don’t ruin the mood, Thirty-minutes-falling God. And after all, since it shouldn’t break our universe’s balance, I can do what I want for once, can’t I?

[Loki’s silent thoughts – second take: Is it a quotes’ contest or something?!]

Peter Parker: Okay, So let’s begin with the rules!

~ Le Petit Bac : a french game in which your goal is to be the first to complete a succession of words, each one belonging to a specific category and beginning by a same letter. These ones are defined by the players before the party starts. For the first player who finishes his list, there’s one bonus point. Then, every player compare their words, so if two or more of them have found the same one, 0 point counted. On the contrary, if you manage to propose a unique word, take 1 point. Continue the same process by taking new letters. At the end, the player with the higher score win ! ~

Peter Parker [wearing a beaming smile] : Understood ? At worst, the first round is always here to do some practice.

Shuri : Right, so we need different classes to start. Any suggestions?

~ Few minutes later ~

Peter Parker [counting on his fingers] : So we have : domestic pets, colours, …

Shuri : Advanced technologies…

Stephen Strange : Mystical artefacts…

Loki : And fantastic creatures…

Peter Parker [shrugging] : Well, it’s a bit original, although not unexpected. Next step : Mister Loki, can you read alphabet in your mind and give me a letter when I tell you to stop ?

Loki : Sure, child, but which alphabet do you want me to use ? Asgardian’s or Midgardian’s? In the second case : latin, hebraic, manda- ?

Shuri [throwing a tired glance towards the Asgardian] : Don’t mind it, I will do it!

Peter Parker : Huh, thanks Shu ! So………….. Stop!

Shuri : T !

Stephen Strange [brows furrowing] : Hum, well, it promises to be entertaining.

Loki [smirking devilishly] : Already admitting your defeat, Strange ?

Stephen Strange [completely ignoring the tease] : You may have had the privilege to accumulate a monstrous amount of knowledges through your life, immortal, but don’t underestimate me and the Sorcerer Supreme’s teaching.

Peter Parker : L-Let’s started !

~ Not even two minutes later ~

Loki [making his pen click dramatically] : And… Finish !

Peter and Shuri [in unison] : What ?!

Stephen Strange [mumbling to himself] : Tss, I had just one left…

Peter Parker : B-But how- ?! Hum, no problem, you got one point there, let’s just… Check your words, ‘kay ?

~ And so goes the Scores’ debrief and commentaries ~

· A fantastic creature

Peter Parker : Thunderbird (Hey, Have you seen the Fantastic Beasts, Doctor Strange ? / Depends of which ones you’re talking about, Peter…)

Shuri : -

Stephen Strange : Tokoloshe (I’m surprised you didn’t find this one, Miss Shuri : it normally comes from South-Africa / I’m an engineer, not a wizard…)

Loki : Triton

· A mystical artefact

Peter Parker : -

Shuri : Talisman (That’s also a category, Shu… / I said : I’m not a wizard !)

Stephen Strange : Time Stone (This one was easy…)

Loki : Tesseract (For once, I agree with you / Aw man, how can have I let pass these ones ?!)

· An advanced technology

Peter Parker : Tracer

Shuri : Trans-dimensional Teleportation device (That’s my domain…)

Stephen Strange : Tracer (I’m not a big technologies’ user myself / Well, think it’s 0 point for us, Doctor…)

Loki : Television (Man, really ? / Should I remember you that I come from a Realm where Magic is our best technology ?)

· A colour

Peter Parker : Taupe (Miss Pepper-Potts knows a lot of things when it comes to space design !)

Shuri : -

Stephen Strange : Topaz

Loki : Terra Cotta (Hey, isn’t that one a dessert ?! / Peter, you’re again mistaking it for “Panna Cotta”…)

· A domestic pet

Peter Parker : Tarantula (I assure you they’re really nice !)

Shuri : Tiger (Come to Wakanda for the next holidays, Pete, and I will show you how to ride one !)

Stephen Strange : -

Loki : …

Shuri [astonished] : “Thor” ?! How’s that, “Thor”?! I’ve let pass the television-thing, but this one?!

Loki [perfectly calm] : I don’t see where is the problem with that one : the rules don’t say that proper nouns are forbidden.

Peter Parker [trying to sound sympathetic to the both of them] : I’m sorry, Mister Loki, but I have to agree with Shu on this point…

Stephen Strange [maybe a bit concerned] : I know your relations with your brother weren’t the most… amicable. But still, Loki, you can’t consider him as an anim- !

Loki [shrugging] : Then give me a definition of what is a “domestic pet” according to your standards…

Peter Parker : Hum, well, to start that’s a living being with whom you have created a special and profound bond. It’s a proof of affection, even if it can be overwhelming sometimes…

Shuri : As a life partner, he never object to help you and make you feel better when you need him…

Stephen Strange : And, for some of them, when the danger arises, he won’t hesitate to protect you.

Loki : So you gave me the terms, I now feel obliged to give you the facts in return.

~ At the same moment, loud laugh and stomping steps echo through the corridor ~

Loki [sighing with a grin] : Speaking of the dog…

Peter Parker : Huh, the correct expression is “the dev-“…

Thor [almost running towards the group] : Brother ! We and the Captain have returned victorious from our mission! Oh, hello again, Spiderchild ! And nice to see you too Shuri, Sister of the Black Warrior, and Strange, Master of the Magic Cape!

Stephen Strange [massaging his temples] : For the umpteenth time, it’s a Cloak, not a ca- !

Loki [an ounce of worry in the voice] : Thor, you oaf, what’s that red mark on your armour ? Have you let yourself be hurt? Again?!

Thor : Oh! This? Don’t worry for that little scratch, Loki : it takes more than that to kill me ! [gently ruffling his hair and taking him in a warm strong suffocating embrace] And what about you? How have your day been so far?

~ Proof of overwhelming affection : checked ~

Loki [gasping for air] : Good, good : I h-have been playing with the m-mortals. But l-let me breathe n-now!! And can you go take me s-some water, p-please?

Thor [finally releasing Loki] : Of course I can !!

~ He then goes straight to the kitchen, bringing back a large glass of fresh water with even some snacks which have been neglectfully left on the counter. Next time, Clint would have to let a warning note for his lunch’s sake ~

Thor [beaming radiantly] : Here ! I must say that I’m glad to see that you’ve finally found some friends to spent time with!

~ Proof of selfless carefulness : checked ~

Loki [now sounding nervous] : Yeah, you’re… right, brother…

Thor [brows furrowing] : Loki ? Is something wrong? You don’t seem convinced.

Loki [waving his hand slightly] : Oh no, I… That’s really nothing’s big anyw- …

Thor [taking his hand in a comforting manner] : Nonsense! So, what is it brother?

Loki [avoiding Thor’s gaze] : It’s really nothing, it’s just that he…

Thor [now panicked] : Come on, lillebror, tell me!

Loki [nearly crying and pointing an accusing finger towards a perplex Doctor Strange] : H-He called me a m-monster!

Thor [roaring] : He what!?!

Stephen Strange [too but incredulous] : I what!?!

Loki [now almost crying] : A-And he menaced me with his fa-falling portals too!

Thor [fulminating] : Strange, how dare you?!

Stephen [holding his hand in surrender] : Thor, please, let me explain ! I’ve used those words, but it was not in this con- !

Thor [battle’s death mode : on] : Your magic won’t save you from the wrath of a god! Mine!!

~ If one of the other Avengers would have entered the room right now, he would have surely wondered why on Earth an ancient blond god was chasing after a mystic Art’s sorcerer with a hammer and all lightning’s effects, screaming “Get back here and face your fate, wizard!!” ~

Loki [rising an eyebrow in expectation] : So… Does it mean I won?

Peter Parker [eyes glued to the scene] : Protect when the danger arises : checked.

Shuri : I still maintain that he putted the danger above the Doctor’s head…

Loki [grinning maniacally] : Double-win for me then.

#loki #loki marvel #thor #Avengers #peter parker #stephen strange #clint barton #tony stark #shuri #Marvel Universe #marvel #story #short story #humor

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nobodies-png · 5 years

Note

If each member was a language, what language would they be and why?

I’m assuming you mean from the OrgXIII so here you go ! This was an interesting question lolol - I had to look up and read a lot of articles on wikipedia to make sure I didn’t end up saying bad or weird shit bUT IT WAS SUPER FUN

Xemnas :

Greek, probably ? The language and culture that rivaled Latin and Rome throughout history and despite it’s age, it MANAGES to still be a living language (if you think I overthink too much about metaphors and shit just wait till you read the rest of answers). It also fits all Scala Ad Caelum’s aesthetic inspired by Greece and all the shenanigans with the Norts !

Xigbar :

LEET Speak just to give every homestucker a heart attack. Maybe just surfer speak, if it counts. Xigbar would fit Latin perfectly - it’s a dead language and the source of many other languages just like Xigbar is the fucking source of many things that go down in KH. Cryptic and old, like him ! And considering his ties with the KHux Foretellers and such, it makes sense for him to be Latin, right ?

Xaldin :

I literally have no idea why but I think of Portuguese when I think of Xaldin. I havE LIKE NO ARGUMENTS OR EXPLANATIONS, IT’S JUST A THING (tm) SO YOU’RE FREE TO ADD TO THIS. Or give him a different language to be w h e e z e.

Vexen :

You know when old people try to be hip and come up with shit like How o You Do Fellow Kids / I’ll Krump With You Sweetie ? Yeah that’s him Okay but honestly, when I was a kid I really liked the idea of Vexen just screaming shit in Latin whenever his experiments went wrong. Now that i’m older, I like to imagine the same thing except now he speaks a Slavic language. I wouldn’t be able to tell you e x a c t l y which one, though. But I guess also a language from north Europe would work, like Finnish or Swedish - mostly because the countries remind me of cold weather lol

Lexaeus :

Nghhhh, I wanna say either ASL/Sign Language or Braille - but i’ll go with Braille ! Lexaeus is a quiet man of a few words, so I think it suits him just fine to be a language that doesn’t need to be spoken. And we know he’s tactful and gentle, considering he does a lot of puzzles in his free time, so Braille seems perfect for him ! While he might not actually need Braille, Lexaeus would be that kind of guy who just teaches others how to read and tries to normalize the use of Braille !

Zexion :

A lot of people might give me shit for not making Zexion Latin bUT LIKE LISTEN. THIS SMART BOY WOULD BE SOMETHING LIKE CHINESE/MANDARIN. Think about it, we’re talking about a super flexible language whose entonation can change the meaning of a sentence completely - yes, i’m talking about that one poem that only has ONE word and it still manages to be a fully fledged story. Like, i’m an artist, not a literary major but I still think that’s super smart and dope and i’ll gladly compare that to magic anytime. In retrospect, it matches Zexion’s illusion motif and complex character !

Saix :

Uhhhh, i’d say either Japanese or Russian. Cause both are languages with strong accents and pronunciations which suit Saix’s strong and firm character - and also because Russian reminds me of NASA and space for some reason and Japanese makes me think of that one tale about the rabbit on the moon. Also Japan puts a lot of emphasis in discipline, honor and loyalty too, traits that Saix shares.

Axel :

Axel is definitely Spanish. Not to be confused with the latino dialects from South America ! I’m talking Spain’s spanish ! And no, I didn’t choose this one because it’s an “exotic sexy firey language”, tRUST ME IT’S MY FIRST LANGUAGE AND IT’S ANYTHING BUT THAT - I chose spanish because it’s an abrasive and brash language. Most words (and the insults specially) give the feeling you’re about to spit on someone’s face and be a cocky disrespectful brat OR you’re just a super friendly and extroverted fella - it suits Axel’s previous ruthless mercenary personality with his current and contrasting kind, outgoing self. 50/50.

Demyx :

Okay hear me out, it’s been like 45 minutes since I went researching to write Demyx’s answer and I still don’t know if I have a proper one. I wanted to say a language from India, since it’s where his signature sitar originates from and what else can accompany a sitar better than the language of the place it was pretty much created in ? So researched Ravi Shankar, the Sitar Maestro and a super important figure in indian classical music. But I know barely nothing about that side of Asia, so i’m NOT exactly sure what language he spoke or used in his music ! Like I looked for his songs and they’re in Gujarati, but HMMMM, NOT SURE CHIEF.

So if anyone feels like educating me on this subject, please go ahead. Otherwise I have to give Demyx the way us millennials talk and oH boy.

Luxord :

I’ll go with the obvious choice here : English. Like, back in the day, most people just HC’d Luxord as a britishman because of his mannerisms and etc etc - but like, it works for him ! He’s closely tied to Alice and Wonderland in both the game and the manga, as well as Pirates of the Caribbean like come on it’s rIGHT there. Also imo, british English just sounds like super polite and elegant, the way Luxord acts most of the time.

Marluxia :

Either German or the language of flowers. German because it’s That Type Of Language™ that seems to have a word for every specific thing, action and feeling no matter how obscure - which kinda seems to suit him somehow ? A language with a rough appearance, intimidating to most people due to the hard sounds but eloquent, deep and extensive ! The other option is pretty obvious, considering his power with nature and stuff - Marluxia is definitely the time to give bouquets and flowers as gifts with double edged meanings and intentions.

Larxene :

The only one that comes to mind is French. Just cause I think Larxene reads french literature in the 358Days manga - but like, dark and smart stuff only Intellectuals™ can understand. And also because it’s a tricky language to speak properly (LISTEN I TOOK 5 YEARS OF FRENCH AND I STILL DIE WITH ALL THE VOWELS). There’s just something about the way it’s spoken that screams her name. It’s fast paced, coquettish, sounds mature, there’s a lot of sharp sounds. Y’know !

Roxas :

Not specifically a language, but Roxas reminds me of the mix every bilingual person speaks sometime when they can’t remember a specific way of saying or explaining something. Or when your group of friends is mostly bilingual too and y’all just mix both languages and it’s a fucking mess for outsiders ? ( Like “Me cago en la fucking madre que te parió” o “I swear to god pOR QUE ERES ASI” are examples from the groupchat I am, wheeze). So probably Spanish and English !

Xion :

I’m torN AGAIN between ASL/Sign Language and Braille. But I think i’ll go with sign language ! Not to get Deep and Philosophical, but Sign Language seems to fit Xion, someone whose voice was silenced by those around her. We know she’s timid and quiet, but she’s also young and energetic, quick and witty around her friends - so unlike Lexaeus who’d calmly read using Braille, Xion is the type who’d sign at the speed of sound when excited or panicking and she’d enjoy sending secret messages to her friends.

#kh headcanons #organization xiii #Anonymous #xemnas #xigbar #xaldin #vexen #lexaeus #zexion #saix #axel #demyx #luxord #marluxia #larxene #roxas #xion

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wandering-----wonderings · 4 years

Photo

A glimpse inside everyones favorite hyperpolyglot, Sydney Bristow. (Yes, I childishly cut Danny out of the picture because I prefer Sydney with Noah, but I like this picture, so there you go.)

Let's start this off with a quick quote from Recruited: I speak five languages (six if you count pig latin. From Shadowed, we also know this: for SD-6 agents, mastering five or six languages was the bare minimum. So right out of the gate, before she even starts working at SD-6, she's already met the 'bare minimum' requirement. Sort of; I'm not sure if SD-6 would count English - or pig latin for that matter.

My current wondering is: what five languages (six including pig latin) did she know before starting SD-6? English would be 1, obviously, and Pig Latin would make two. I'm assuming she's counting her Spanish and Mandarin college electives when she said that (unless she already spoke those languages and just took them as electives to get more of a background on them), so that would be 3 and 4. So what were 5 and 6?

Truthfully, I have no idea. Wikipedia has a list of her speaking 30 languages: English, Russian, German, Greek, Dutch, French, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, Norwegian, Swedish, Romanian, Hungarian, Hebrew, Uzbek, Arabic, Persian, Urdu, Indonesian, Cantonese, Mandarin, Japanese, Korean, Hindi, Vietnamese, Polish, Serbian, Czech, Ukrainian, and Bulgarian.

Now this is completely a supposition, but the Wikipedia list doesn't mention Latin - it doesn't mention pig latin, either - but I would think that one of the languages she knew before coming into SD-6 would be Latin; it just ... sorta seems like it would be the first language she would learn with her being as studious as she is since, while being considered a dead language, it's still quite present in today's world, especially in the sciences. So my guess for language-number-5 would be Latin.

The sixth language is more of a long-shot. Seriously. In the pilot episode, in the SD-6 briefing room, we hear this:

Sydney: ''What is that? Hieratic?'' Sloane: ''Good try. That's what I thought. Actually, it's demotic. Taking notes in ancient languages was just one of Muller's quirks.''

A quick Google search showed this:

Now, she obviously doesn't know Hieratic or Demotic, otherwise she would've been able to translate right off. However, she was able to recognize it. So my theory is that she either learned the 'parent language' or one of the other 'child languages'. None of them are on the Wikipedia list. Most kids are interested in hieroglyphics but usually not enough to actually learn them (at least, such was the case with me), but I think we can all agree that when it comes to languages Sydney is a bit different - in a good way. So my long-shot-of-a-guess is that her 6th language is 'Egyptian'. Granted, she'd been at the agency for about seven years when we see her in the pilot episode so she could have learned it within that time.

Now that we've done that, let's review her language history in the books (at least, all of the one that I can remember off the top of my head). (I don't think she spoke in anything but English in Sister Spy, Father Figure or Skin Deep, but I may be wrong.)

Recruited: she's taking Spanish and Mandarin as electives, and she also says that she can speak a total of six languages (prior to being recruited)(see above). Spanish is also used later in the book. A Secret Life: she's was trying to teach herself Russian. French was used in this book, but she couldn't understand it. Disappeared: she had to learn Romanian (which she was distracted and didn't do too well at, but I assume she went back and learned it properly later). She also states that after the events in A Secret Life, she came back to L.A. and learned French as if her life depended on it. Free Fall: had her brushing up on one of her ''better languages'' - French. She was also able to translate an one-sided phone conversation she was eavesdropping on, from Russian. Infiltration: her Russian is described as amazing (and at times she'd been ahead of her SD-6 tutor), she says the Romance languages had been easy to learn (I haven't got a clear answer as to how many there are), Japanese took an impossible amount of concentration, and says it was difficult to keep the Oriental languages straight when she threw Cantonese and Mandarin into the mix (which, she should have already knew a fair bit of Mandarin since, as stated above, it was one of her electives). Vanishing Act: speaks in 'flawless' Dutch. (Also, she asks a woman working in a bookstore if she has any first additions of Chekhov, and when the woman ask if she wants it in English [the book], Sydney says she wants it in Lithuanian. This doesn't necessarily mean she speaks Lithuanian since it was a code phrase and it's not listed in her Wikipedia languages, but maybe she learned at some point.) Shadowed: she had recently brushed up on her Greek, and had learned German at some point.

Think about that for a minute. Did you catch what I did? She was recruited in the fall of her freshman year (a few weeks into the school year) and Free Fall says this happened in September. Shadowed itself happens in October of her sophomore year. Which means, Sydney learned 11+ languages in a year. So, aside from learning stuff for school, learning bank stuff (so she would be able to lie more efficiently to anyone who asked what she did on a daily basis for Credit Dauphine), and learning cool spy stuff and going on missions, she managed to cram in 11+ languages amidst carving out time for a social life with Francie (and a few dates with Noah) in one year's time. At the age of 19 and 20 years old. If you didn't think she was superwoman before, you should now.

Not to mention, that that's just the languages she speaks. While Sydney's trading card lists her languages as ''numerous'', she obviously knows a various amount of codes and ciphers as well; which, to me, counts as a language. We know she knows Morse code (2x18) from her mother's earrings, the Substitution cipher from when her dad encrypted her crossword puzzles (4x12), and Skip Sequencing Cypher Text (2x19) from when she was trying to get a message to Vaughn and an ever-helpful Weiss. That's just the ones I can remember right off, I'm sure she knows quite a few more.

As a side note, on Noah Hicks' trading card, it claims he only speaks three: English, French, and Russian. Oddly enough, the Russian was episode based while the French happened in the books - it's odd because I like to find what's different between the show and novels, but that's something that lines up. I'm sure he knows more languages - as it's said, five or six was the minimum - but it's not stated in the novels, the show, his Wiki page, or his trading card.

((Update: Ok, so two things. One, one the back of her season 3 trading card, it has one of Sydney’s languages as Taiwanese, so I guess that bumps her (known) total to 31 languages. Secondly, I did forget about a language from Vanishing Act; ''... a circle filled with words in what Sydney immediately recognized as Latin.'' Now again, it said she recognized it and not knew it (though, that’s probably the same thing for her), but I feel it’s further evidence supporting my theory.))

#Alias #Sydney Bristow

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sozotohakai · 5 years

Text

15 QUESTIONS, 15 MUTUALS

Tagged by @moon--wake (thank you!)

⭑ are you named after anyone ?

Technically yes, my mom was raised Christian though she grew apart from the religion itself (but not from her belief in God and angels), and when she learned she was getting a daughter (which she had desired but until me didn’t get), she named be Christelle, to be written like this (rather than Kristel for example), and it can be read as Christ+elle (elle being french she). This works perfectly for me too as it shortens to Chris, which is a more gender neutral name, which is rather fun considering mom wouldn’t have known back then I would realize I’m non binary.

Fun fact: my middle name is the same name from an aunt if I recall correctly, one of the few people from my father’s side of the family that mom did like.

⭑ when was the last time you cried ?

This weekend, there was Doctor Who on TV and there was the episode with Doctor Donna so if you know it you know it’s the ending that made me cry. It didn’t help my mind start going “Yooo super angst Wangxian” and I yelled NOPE. Long story short: the episode deals with how the only way to save someone is to erase all memories of the time spend together (including meeting) and how they can’t come into contact with anything that could lowkey remind of said times. Now I’m not okay thinking of how the theme of having forgotten is heavy in DGM ouch.

⭑ do you have kids ?

Nope, unless you count characters I created we always joke that with mom, they’re her grandchildren.

⭑ do you use sarcasm a lot ?

Depends, it can come out of me at random times, its more likely to happen if I’m playing; or if I’m lacking sleep.

⭑ what’s the first thing you notice about people ?

That is a good question... It can vary? But mostly I feel like I take right away into the overall appearance, like... either to recognize them, or store them in my mind so I can hope to recognize them later. I don’t really (or not often) stop at a detail, it’s just, get a reading of the general appearance of someone. After that I pay attention to expressions and how they speak (which is funny to say since I have trouble with eye contact half the time).

⭑ what’s your eye color ?

Brown

⭑ scary movie or happy ending ?

Happy ending, though tbh, I do kind of love scary movie, it’s just that I have troubles actually watching.

⭑ any special talents ?

Uuuuu, I guess, I’ve been told I’m good at emotional empathy? I’ve been able to know when someone felt low just by how they would write. That’s, I believe, the main reason I find my way with words (when I have time to think) because it’s heavily based on my empathy mixed with experience. Like, I feel so much what someone else is feeling, and that’s why I can come with up with words for them and their situation.

⭑ where were you born ?

France

⭑ what are your hobbies ?

Writing, reading, playing games, listening to music, watching videos (Markiplier, React, MMD&Vocaloid stuff, AMV&Anime mix videos, sometimes bloopers and funny stuff).

⭑ do you have any pets ?

I don’t, but my brother and his dad have a cat so he’s like my pet. His name is Grisou (gris = grey so it’s totally a cute naming of his fur colour), he’s playful and seems to view any approach as a signal to play (aka paw at you and try to nip), though he’ll get cuddly at times from what I heard. For my part, we’ve got this ritual that I’ll slowly approach my fingers so he sniffs them (unless I see him about to paw/bite so I dont even try), he lets me pet his head a tiny bit, and then I leave him alone. So he doesn’t try to paw or claw or nip at me because he knows I’ve learned to tell if he’s okay with an approach and when I should stop.

(Fun fact: one time he kind of accidentally hurt my leg, despite my pants he dug fangs and claws too deep and I ended up with a few cuts that bled, I was a bit scared that day and for the next few times I saw him, then I kind of hesitantly start to approach him again, and I think he picked up on it and that’s why he’s a bit more patient with me? I’m the only person he doesn’t straight up claw or paw or nip at, and the few times he does, it’s slow, and/or light).

⭑ what tattoos / piercings / body mods do you have ?

None, sometimes I get the thought of having tattoos, but I’m not sure I’ll ever follow through. But probably if I did, I would got with a small tattoo first just to like, see? I once thought about wolf tattoo, but tbh if I get a tattoo one day, it’ll be a dragon. Oh gosh yeah, a small tattoo of an eastern dragon circling my wrist or maybe higher like close to elbow level, maybe on both side. And after that if I’d have the courage, a western dragon in the back (with feathers wing, I love my dragons with feather wings).

⭑ how tall are you ?

5 ‘7~ I don’t think I’m that tall, but I’m amused because it seems like I’m taller than most of my friends. My brother is even taller than me, he’s 6′/6′1. Or because I’m squinting at the conversion, I’m ~172 cm (and he’s ~185 cm).

⭑ dream job ?

What I’m doing right now, which is work as an independant/freelance writer. Lemme be shameless for a tiny bit and link to my site too, since. Kind of fit with the question.

What’s funny is that, as a child, when it first start to float around, what will you be later, I loved dinosaurs so I thought, I’ll become a paleontologist. I stayed on this path until college, I could feel in me something off, there was nothing else that I could see myself do, so I stick to it, but in college I truly felt how much I just didn’t see myself become a scientist. And it’s totally all thanks to mom and my bro that I realized, hey, writer can be a job too. Then came the hilarious realization that I’ve always been writing or reading, mostly in/for school, but at the end of middle school I discovered fanfics and I never stopped writing&reading those since then (and later rping was added).

⭑ favorite subject at school?

I’ve always enjoyed literature (no surprise here) though to be precise, here in France the subject is called “Français” and is a mix of learning grammar&spelling&punctuation, then all kind of things like analyzing books and poems. It was, in fact, a bit rarer to actually write a story ourself, as it was more about learning the french language and what is expressed in books. But in elementary school I did have a teacher that gave us a homework that was literally just “write a story” and I got an almost perfect mark (in my teacher word: the only reason you didnt was for the grammar&etc mistakes”). While in my mom words, years later, “that was the moment I knew you would become a writer”.

I also adored learning English, I think I do love learning languages in general, but the other languages I tried to learn (Latin for one year, Spanish), the teachers were... not helping. The Latin one was, bless her, good but boring (my mom literally almost fell asleep in a teacher-student meeting, face to face); and my first spanish one had no authority and we barely learned anything, so the next one had to try catching up, but it left me (and those who had come from the same class) with very shaky basics and next to no motivation except just have marks above or equal to average. Compared to those, English was made fun to learn, and then it also got associated with my mind with tons of things (fics, subbed animes, being able to talk with friends).

Tagging: @ask-cross-marian @avellaturortem @shensheng-aoman @xueyaang @crowleiii @illusiive @manadcampbellrpblog @crystallizecrimsonbutterfly if you want to!

#outofhost

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hvndcvffed · 5 years

Text

“ let me just –– can you –– uh. ” grizz clears his throat and raises a finger. because this? oh, boy. stomaching this shit without laughing mandates a breather. “ hold that thought for a moment while i collect myself. s’been quite the day and i want to give you my undivided attention. ”

or, alternatively : yo yo yo, party people ! guess who finally made it ? i’m lev / linc ( she/her/hers ) , comin’ atchu from the ever so lovely est timezone with ya boy, the tru ledge, grizz visser! click on that read more to read some headcanons i’ve got goin’ for west ham’s resident handcuff-owning, intellectual beb !

[ g r i z z v i s s e r –– B O Y O N F I R E .

✔ ┊❝ ( nick robinson. 18. he/him &. cismale ) rumor around town is that gareth “grizz” visser was on one of the buses that left for the field trip. they’re the eighteen year old that resides in new ham. over the summer news spread that he purposely botched his chances to win a football scholarship to a local uni because he applied to several ivies behind his parents’ backs, but who knows if that’s true or not? what we do know is that their friends describe them as well-read & piquant, but who knows when they’re known to be elusive & misanthropé from time to time.

( &&. general information )

full name: gareth visser

nickname(s) or alias: grizz

preferred name: grizz –– call him gareth and he will... not be happy.

current age: eighteen

astrological sign: leo

gender: cismale

preferred pronouns: he/him

sexual preference: homosexual ( but closeted )

romantic preference: demiromantic

home environment: a quaint three-bed / two-bath house with his parents. a positive, almost sickeningly sweet home: family portraits all over the place, cheesy “ home is where the heart is ” décor all around from his mother’s many trips to pier 1 imports.

current occupation: student, student athlete.

language(s) spoken: english, french, a tad of latin. wants to learn more hebrew, but that shit is complicated as heck.

native language: english.

current relationship status: single.

( &&. background )

reason behind name: y’know, he’s asked his parents this countless times. why gareth? why. gareth. and each time he’s just gotten the same vague response: they liked it. it sounded respectable. ack.

birth order: only child.

ethnicity: american. west ham born & raised, baby!

nationality: american.

religion: agnostic. goes to church with his mother as a way to keep the peace, but... the idea of a god out there saying homosexuality’s a sin gives him a bad taste in his mouth. he’d rather discount his whole existence and uphold morality than accept that there’s a bigoted big guy in the sky. sees the bible more as a literary exercise to instill human value. did jesus really walk on water? heck no. but it makes a good fable.

political views: very, very liberal. doesn’t subscribe to labels, but as close to democratic socialist as you can get in this country without causing riots. anti-brexit. anti-trump. anti-bullshit, basically. maybe socialism or communism done right wouldn’t be a terrible idea.

financial status: very, very comfortable. his parents earn well and know how to save / spend frugally. the vissers are modest in living so they can pour more into experience. for grizz’s twelfth birthday, his parents took him hiking through the adirondacks. they’ve gone on some awesome trips together, and most of their vacations include some aspect of super cool nature. unbeknownst to grizz, his parents’ planned grad gift for him was a month-long backpacking tour through new zealand.

hometown: west ham, connecticut. cool beans.

level of education: high school senior. but he’s one of the learned folk: ap literature on lock. he took some college courses at the local community college last summer, because his job as a summer camp counselor wasn’t exactly intellectually stimulating. leading kids on hikes is fun ‘n all, but... not as engaging as college-level philosophy.

( &&. physical appearance )

looks like (or face claim, if applicable): nick robinson. with longer hair. reference [ here ] .

height: 6′0 ( jack’s shorter, but nick’s my main fc i’m workin’ with so i decide to bump it up. plus, height? football? makes sense. )

weight: 158 lbs

shoe size: 10.5

figure/build: athletic build. muscular. broad shoulders, lean waist.

hair colour: deep, deep brown. almost black. natural.

hair length: about jaw-length. curly. ( REFERENCE. )

eye colour: brown with an overlay of hazel-y jade-green. his campers over the summer compared his eyes to moss a lot. it kinda felt badass. “moss boss” had a ring to it.

glasses?: nope. 20/20 vision. but he’s been known to steal friends’ glasses sometimes, just for funsies.

skin tone: light, but not necessarily pale – spends a lot of time outdoors. no freckles.

tattoos: none, yet. would love to get a quote from walden. or a pine tree, if it wasn’t so cliche.

piercings: none. but getting an ear pierced has always intrigued him.

birthmarks/scars/distinguishing marks: some miscellaneous scars on his hands from whittling incidents growing up. a faint line across his arm from stitches, when he broke it in the peewee football league in fifth grade.

dominant hand: left-handed, but very recently learned he’s marginally ambidextrous for important tasks.

if painted, what color are their nails?: never painted. he keeps them short.

usual style of clothing: letterman jacket. jeans. tall socks, boots. pants tucked into socks, because why the hell not? flannels, hoodies, utility jackets layered over plain white tees. pendant necklaces, leather bracelets. occasionally he’ll wear a statement button-downs that looks like your grandmother’s upholstery, but somehow it’ll work really well. varsity t-shirts. hats of all varieties. if he could, he’d showcase some edgier styles. but he’s paranoid. he’s got a stanford hoodie buried in his closet. and a yale one, too.

frequently worn jewelry: leather bracelets. a silver ring strung on a chain, engraved with “ for sylvie, with love ”. he found it on a hike, and... figured he’d be sylvie for a day, or something.

describe their voice, what accent?: he has a light, gentle voice. a soft autumn breeze. laced with some gravel. strong, resolute. kind.

what is their speaking style (fast, monotone, loquacious)?: often speaks slowly, surely. not always keen to fill silences. but words are some of his favorite devices of deflection. if he’s unsure, he’ll cut himself off, leading to some choppy and hard to follow sentences. he very rarely mumbles. not afraid to speak eloquently, but will certainly match his speaking style to those he’s around, to an extent. rarely seems bothered. he masks it well.

describe their scent: amber, sandalwood, musk. vague hints of cinnamon.

describe their posture: grizz holds himself proudly. shoulders broad, chin up, chest open. it makes his vulnerable moments very easy to spot.

( &&. legal information )

any speeding tickets?: nope. this kid drives by the book. probably because he very much prefers to walk or bike around town, when he can help it.

have they ever been arrested?: never. he’s only been to the police station once, to drop off some promotional donuts for the homecoming football game.

do they have a criminal record?: nah.

have they committed any violent crimes?: no sir.

property crimes?: no.

traffic crimes?: nope! unless you count accidentally cutting cars off with his bike, because that’s happened a handful of times, when he’s been deep in thought.

other crimes?: just breaking hearts.

( &&. medical information )

blood type: o negative.

date/time of birth: july 26, 1997. 3:23am. during a rainstorm.

place of birth: west ham hospital.

vaginal birth or cesauren section?: vaginal birth.

sex: male

smoker? / drinker? / drug user?: no / yes / marijuana.

addictions: does good lit count?

allergies: sulfur-based antibiotics. bullshit.

ever broken a bone?: his left arm in fifth grade. right foot at the seventh grade dance –– the girl he asked to slow dance tripped and grizz, wanting to show off his cool socks, wound up with a stiletto heel to the talus. ouch. collar bone, freshman year of high school: he climbed a tree to save his neighbor’s cat and slipped.

any physical ailments/illnesses/disabilities: nope.

any medication regularly taken: allergy meds. sometimes he gets the sniffles.

( &&. personality )

direct quote from them: UNO. DOS. TRES. QUATRO.

positive traits: charismatic, cunning, introspective, virtuosic.

negative traits: cataclysmic, self-destructive, reckless, careless.

likes: classic literature, trail mix, synth vibes, 60s/70s/80s rock, the beatles, radiohead, faith by george michael. old vinyls. bob ross. vanilla-cinnamon candles and jasmine tea. wind-rustled leaves. fresh fallen rain.

dislikes: bitter coffee. the disappointment just after sunrise. katy perry. cleaning, laundry. the warmer side of the pillow. waking up without a hand to hold. gareth. secrets, but he harbors a few big ones. pretending. hiding. transitively, himself.

strengths: can be quite resolute but sometimes about the wrong things. his ability to analyze and respond to complex literature is… uncanny. intelligence. deduction. survival facts. he’s a postmodern bear grylls trapped in suburbia.

weaknesses: impatience. do-it-yourself attitude. fear of rejection. fear of acceptance. fear of others. fear of himself.

insecurities: what if people in west ham discover who he really is? how’s he supposed to postpone that?

fears/phobias: irrelevancy. book-burning. ignorance. time.

habits: playing with his fingers. biting his bottom lip and twisting it between his teeth. humming when he thinks no one is listening. going for late-night walks through the emptiest parts of town. staying up ‘til 4am to read and re-read and read again.

quirks: rarely settles his gaze on anything for more than a few seconds, except for other peoples’ eyes. eye contact is probably one of grizz’s biggest conversational strengths. probably why he makes such a good liar, when he needs to. he’ll finish a pint of ice cream and just sit there for over an hour sucking on the spoon, lost in thought. licks his lips when he’s nervous. plays with his hair a lot. you know he’s nervous when he keeps tucking his hair behind his right ear. chuckles to himself, even when things are the pure opposite of funny.

hobbies: jotting notes in book margins. he dabbles in poetry but feels like his shit is too beat-generation to be that cool. wandering through the woods and attempting to generate his own maps, then checking them for accuracy. lighting matches in the cold, mid-evening air just to watch them burn.

guilty pleasure: peanut m&ms. twizzlers. burned marshmallows. apartment tour videos on youtube.

desires: to prove he’s… sometime more than this. something more than a footballer destined to pretend.

wishes: he could come clean about college. wishes he could come clean about himself. wishes he could work up the courage to ask a guy to prom.

secrets: he purposefully botched an interview he had with central connecticut state university’s football recruiter because he doesn’t want to play in college. he wants to go to yale, or stanford, or brown. to study literature. classics. philosophy. his sexuality. but it’s getting harder and harder to keep that locked down.

turn ons: intelligence. genuine, pure intelligence. sharp-witted humor. dimples. dorky laughs. gentle touch. someone who doesn’t bother with worries ‘bout tomorrow.

turn offs: idiocy. khakis. people with too much pride. line cutters. naggers. people who don’t think the proper way to eat bugles is by fashioning crisp-claws first and pretending to be edward scissorhands. people who overlook adrienne rich’s poetry, or claim dante shouldn’t be taught in school.

lucky number: 0.

pet peeves: hearing people scratch their scalps. sniffly public transit users. people who don’t use earbuds. cold fries. nail-clickers. knuckle-crackers. people who slurp from straws like they’ve never had a drink before in their lives.

their motto: “ i’m surrounded by idiots. ”

( &&. favourites )

food: curly fries with cajun seasoning.

drink: half-oreo half-chocolate milkshake. extra whipped cream. two cherries. please.

fast food restaurant: he’s not huge on fast food, but he can fuck with five guys.

flavour: anything chocolate and peanut.

word: fuck !!! or zephyr: a soft, gentle breeze.

colour: a nice, deep forest green.

clothing: his letterman jacket. his deep green flannel’s a close second.

accessory: “ for sylvie, with love” . silver ring. he likes pretending he’s sylvie and that someone cared enough to get his name etched into a precious metal forever.

candle scent: the connecticut homesick candle. it smells like cinnamon and nutmeg and vanilla and fireside bliss. and pine trees. yum.

game: monopoly. but only if he wins.

animal: fish. they’re so graceful.

holiday: halloween. boo.

weather: sunset, just after rain. golden rays peering through deep gray clouds. it makes the greens of trees practically scream against the sky. it’s glorious. it’s heartbreaking. grizz loves it.

season: late fall.

book: le petit prince by antoine de saint-exupéry. it was the last book his grandmother ever read to him, on his fifth christmas eve.

artist: edvard munch. or van gogh, simply because he chopped his ear off and mailed it to his lover. now that’s modern romance.

band/group: the divine comedy, radiohead, pink floyd, the beatles, the rolling stones, the kooks. the avett brothers. belle & sebastian.

song: high and dry, radiohead. elephant, tame impala. anything by the beatles.

movie/film: mr. nobody. eternal sunshine of the spotless mind. the first time little grizz saw alice in wonderland, he wouldn’t shut up about it for two weeks.

tv show: he grew up watching wallace and gromit. he’s still got a soft spot for it.

sport: football.

possession: his dad’s collection of beatles original release vinyls.

number: 0.

person: henry david thoreau.

( &&. skills )

talents: writing, but he won’t admit it. football. wood-whittling. gardening. navigation.

ability to drive a car?: yes.

can they ride a bike?: yes, and will frequently do so with no hands.

do they play any sports?: football.

anything they’re bad at?: juggling. sleeping. pretending to like gross food.

do they have any combat training? why?: grizz once yahoo answered how to punch somebody to the moon, after one of his best friends got made fun of in grade school for accidentally wearing a costume the day before halloween. he’s still waiting for an answer to that post.

( &&. firsts )

childhood memory: waging what was left of his fruit gummies during a game of fireside poker on the first visser camping trip.

crush: matty kerrington, pre-k. his hair smelled like strawberries and his smile reminded grizz of the hot honey that clung to his mum’s spoon after stirring tea. but to this day, he’ll say his first crush was amanda vander-voss, because her hair was pretty in braids and she reminded him of the pretty deer from bambi.

email address: [email protected]

job: camp counselor at a hiking / adventure camp based in west ham.

phone: a nifty samsung with a slide-out keyboard. made him feel like a god.

kiss: jessica winthrop, in a game of third grade truth or dare.

love: tess de luca ( @tessdl )

sexual experience: with jessica winthrop in the woods behind the middle school, three years later. jess got poison ivy in all the wrong places. grizz thought it was hysterical.

( &&. childhood )

best childhood memory?: honestly? wearing that boa in dance class. his mom was quick to stop that.

worst childhood memory?: nearly breaking his nose on the neighbor’s front porch, while attempting to ding-dong ditch with his friends. he’s not sure what gave them away more –– his blood staining their pavement, or the fact that he blubbered the whole run home.

what were they like as a child?: grizz tended to poke his nose into all the wrong matters, landing him in oodles of trouble. he’d steal from the snack cabinet, sketch constellations across the walls… even stole his dad’s old walkman so he could listen to music under his covers past his bedtime. tried to sneak into the library after hours to get his hands on another thoreau novel. but it was all harmless. the vissers weren’t very firm disciplinarians: they just loved that their son was engaged and passionate about knowledge.

any crushes growing up?: oh, loads. more than he’d like to admit.

( &&. this or that )

expensive or inexpensive tastes?: inexpensive, but lasting.

hygienic or unhygienic?: hygenic.

open-minded or close-minded?: open.

introvert or extrovert?: ambivert. thrives in social settings but the mood has to be right.

optimistic or pessimistic?: pessimistic with a weak optimistic veil. pragmatism, is how he’d put it.

daredevil or cautious?: cautious daredevil.

logical or emotional?: a blend of both, but emotions often influence his actions more than he’d like to say.

generous or stingy?: generous.

polite or rude?: polite when it’s socially mandated. but if there’s no threat of repercussions? a bit rude, if he has to be.

book smart or street smart?: both.

popular or loner?: popular, by proxy. but grizz vibes with some solid solitude, especially to recharge.

leader or follower?: leader. follower, though, in the high school structure of things. it’s a way to ensure his place and avoid potential fallout. he’ll call his friends out if they’re up to no good, though.

day or night person?: night. definitely night.

cat or dog person?: both! prefers cats just a smidge more.

closet door open or closed while sleeping?: open. maybe his demons wanna cuddle or some shit.

( &&. social media )

do they have a facebook? twitter? instagram? vine? snapchat? tinder/grindr? tumblr? youtube? yes to instagram and (begrudgingly) snapchat.

if so; name on facebook: none.

instagram user: grizzvisser

snapchat user: grizzybear

( &&. musical tastes )

theme song: kimochi warui ( when? when? when? ), car seat headrest. god... get him OUT of this town.

makes them sad: blackbird, the beatles. his grandparents used to sing this when he’d sleep over/ they’d be in the kitchen early in the morning trying to convince him to eat his cereal. they’d change the lyrics and snap slightly off-tempo, all smiles and coaxing gestures. ave maria. he’s not sure why. it inspires melancholia.

makes them dance: hazy miss daisy, kid bloom. anything with a sick beat and erratic synth. take on me, a-ha. good times bad times, led zeppelin.

loves the most: fool of myself, the band camino. it’s a song he can throw his head back to, close his eyes, and sway in the breeze.

( &&. miscellaneous )

do they have a fake i.d.?: yep, used to, but now that’s not necessary!

are they a virgin?: nope siree!

describe their signature: it’s unapologetic on the page. takes up more room than it should with lateral squiggles and grandiose swirls. G and V are decipherable, but everything else is convoluted by its own physics. a muddled mess. beautiful in its self-collapsing structure.

how long would they survive in a zombie apocalypse?: he’d outlive everyone. survivalist visser, right here.

do they travel?: yes, but he wants to do more, see more. the grand canyon would be cool. or maybe the alps. he’s always had a dream of hiking yosemite.

one place they would like to live: anywhere but here.

one place they would like to visit: new zealand. australia. hawaii.

celebrity crush: young johnny depp. emma watson.

what can you find in their pockets/wallet/purse: tic tacs, but never the mint ones. only the odd flavors.

place(s) your character can always be found: anywhere with trees. rooftops. alleyways. the football field. coffee shops. the local diner. roadside sunflower fields. his parents’ garden.

when does your character like to wake up?: with the sun.

what’s your character’s morning routine?: blink at the ceiling for about 20 minutes. wash his face, brush his teeth. annotate a few lines of whatever book he’s reading. push-ups, pull-ups, crunches. run a mile or two. rush into the shower. grab his lunch from the fridge and bike to school (and barely make it).

what does your character eat for breakfast/lunch/dinner?: grizz’s mom loves to cook, so they’re always trying some new paleo trend. some of it’s awful. but he’ll try to eat it and if he can’t, he’ll sneak a granola bar later. if the school’s serving smiley face fries, he’ll have those. he really likes green apples and those little clementines.

how does your character spend their free days?: hiking. reading. writing. lying in the sun and just... thinking. lately, he’s been daydreaming a lot about an ivy league education. something more engaging than west ham’s high school snoozefest.

what’s your character’s bedtime routine?: some kind of pre-bed stretching routine. wash his face, brush his teeth, curl up in bed with a book. fall asleep with it still open on his chest.

what does your character wear to bed?: boxers and a t-shirt.

if your character can’t fall asleep, what are they thinking about?: the past. mistakes. time ticking away.

what is their idea of perfect happiness?: he’s still workin’ on that bit.

on what occasions do they lie?: very rarely, if he can help it.

most marked characteristic: his hair. it’s all russet waves. untamed. some days, his hair truly has a mind of its own. it screams free spirit. it doesn’t let on that, inside, his soul is burning.

what is one thing they’d most like to change about themselves?: honestly? it’s not so much what he’d want to change about himself as it is about this town.

how would they like to die?: well-read.

do they snore? not unless he’s got a head cold. then there may be a few soft snores here and there.

can they curl their tongue?: yes!

can they whistle?: yes indeed!

do they believe in the supernatural?: not really. but it’s fun to indulge on halloween. did he move your cup, or did the ghouls?! s p o o k y .

has anyone ever broken their heart?: no. haven’t had the opportunity to.

have they ever broken anyone’s heart?: yes. little marsha lapone’s, at summer camp. she was 8, he’s 18. he told her there was no chance, and she cried into her pb&j. tough.

are they squeamish?: no.

have they ever seen anyone die? what happened?: just in films.

are they a lightweight?: heck no.

that was a very lengthy thing but... yeah! hit me up for plots! i’m gonna get to crafting and replying to starters v shortly!

#newhamhq:intro #ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀɴ ɪ ᴀᴍ ! ɪꜱᴍꜱ.

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spamano-secretvalentine · 5 years

Text

Snake Charmer {gift}

To: @offshootavadonia / @avadonians

From: lluviadinoche / askitaliaromano

NOTE: You asked for an AU so I give to you a quality Pottertalia oneshot with to dumb gay teen wizards. (also, if you are not familiar with my work, I use the name Lorenzo not Lovino). I hope that you like this :)

Word Count: 2,863

Warning: Profanity

“Son of a biTCH! MY SHIRT!”

He was frozen in that moment, staring straight ahead at the man screaming at him in Italian and looking red enough to compete with the Spanish flag painted on Antonio’s face.

“How the fuck do you manage to spill your fucking face paint all over my shirt? Are you bat shit fucking blind?”

Well fuck. Antonio didn’t know how to respond to that. He didn’t speak English and he was barely grasping a damn word that this man was saying. He spoke Spanish, German, French, he knew Latin and Italian. But not English. And frankly, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to speak to this man yelling at him.

“Are you gonna say something?” Francis asked from next to him, “He screamed in Italian so I think it’s safe to say he probably speaks it.”

“No se. I don’t really want to try and talk him. He looks like he’s going to rip my dick off if I speak.”

“Eugh, you’re French,” the man scrunched his nose upon hearing the two speaking to each other.

Francis clearly took offense, gasping dramatically and shouting at Antonio to hit him. But Antonio pushed Francis back and tilted his head, laughing hysterically. He wheezed and eventually let go of Francis, simply howling in amusement.

“Dios mio! You’re such a dumbass!” he snickered, watching the man’s face twist in confusion at the sudden switch to Italian.

“You speak Italian?”

“No no,” Antonio shook his head, “I’m just speaking in Italian to you to let you know that I clearly don’t speak Italian.”

The man’s lip quivered a bit before he burst into laughter, snorting in the middle of his amusement.

Antonio shook his head, “You have a fucking filthy mouth, you know? And apparently a terrible prejudice against the French. You’re more of a dumbass than anything, you know. This is the Spanish flag on my face, shortie.”

“I dunno. Maybe you just like the team.” the man said with a shrug, “And call me a dumbass one more time and I’ll-”

“You’ll what? Kick my ass? Chiquito, you can barely reach my neck,” Antonio chuckled, clicking his tongue.

The man gasped the most dramatic gasp Antonio had ever heard in his life. Hell, this man was even clutching his chest dramatically despite the horrid red stain that was smeared all over the once green shirt. Eyes shot wide open, he went silent and Antonio waited, expecting a terrible insult from him that he could shoot back at.

But instead, the guy burst out laughing and collapsed back into his seat. He was snorting in between his laughter. It was absolutely horrid. Yet, Antonio listened in awe and watched this man who had been yelling at him seconds before laughing hysterically as if they were joking like a pair of friends.

“I’m sorry. I know we were having a bitch fit there, but that was the gayest gasp I have ever let out and I felt like I was acting in a soap opera for a moment.” he snorted again, laughing at his own ridiculous laugh, “Why do I even care that you fucked up my shirt? I can easily clean it or just get a new one.”

Antonio raised his brow, a half smile on his face. He didn’t notice Francis trying to talk to him since he was far too invested in the guy in front of him with an ugly laugh and the cutest wrinkles in the corner of his eyes when he smiled.

“If you’re not planning on yelling at me again, I might as well introduce myself. Antonio Fernandez.”

“Vargas. Lorenzo Vargas.”

Antonio’s mouth went into a small ‘o’ as he reached out to shake his hand. Lorenzo looked at him knowingly and grinned proudly. Perhaps he should have picked up that this was a Vargas. He was the spitting image of his grandfather and he didn’t shy away from appearing in the news.

“A pleasure to meet you, Vargas. Now, what was this about that being the gayest gasp that you ever let out? Is the prized Vargas son attracted to men?” he asked.

Lorenzo gasped and pulled his hand away, folding his arms over his chest, “Are you flirting with me? Weren’t you just calling me a dumbass a few moments ago?” He had a point. Antonio had been rather irritated. Yet, the banter kinda attracted him. It was refreshing and it filled him with a sense of glee. Not to mention the way that he laughed was absolutely adorable in his eyes despite it being so absolutely horrendous. He might as well have listened to the recording of a dying cat because that was what his laughter reminded him of.

“Maybe, but I’m also a very sad gay man and I am also very very poor.” he laughed as he said the last part, watching Lorenzo’s eyes light up with amusement for a moment before he pushed Antonio’s shoulder gently. There was a delicate smile that grew on his face, it spread crookedly, but Antonio was a very helpless man and he practically melted.

“A gold digger, huh? How attractive. I’m just falling at your feet.” Lorenzo rolled his eyes, slouching forward.

Antonio shoved his hands in his pockets, “Who knows? Maybe you actually are attracted to me. Though the question is whether or not I am willing to date someone who goes to Hogwarts. Especially a Slytherin.”

Lorenzo gasped again, a hand flying over his chest, “How dare you! I am a proud Slytherin and I will defend Hogwarts til my dying breath! Tch, you act so high and mighty. I bet you go to Beauxbatons.”

From behind the bickering pair, Francis’ eyes widened and he huffed angrily, looking ready to strangle the both of them. But Antonio did not see, he was far too invested in the Vargas gem who truly was much more wonderful than he allowed himself to be viewed. A bit of a jackass really, but actually kind of funny and very interesting to challenge.

“What’s wrong with Beauxbatons?” he asked with a tilt of the head. His hair fell in his face and his eyes stared at Lorenzo who stared back with the same passion.

That snake, the way he looked at Antonio like some sort of pet. He shrugged gently and stepped forward, inches away from being pressed against his chest, “What isn’t wrong with being from Beauxbatons? It’s French.”

“Antonio, I am going to murder the little demon. Stop flirting and crush him! He’s tarnishing my honor!”

“What have you got against the French?” Antonio asked.

“What haven’t I got against the French? I’m fucking Italian.”

Antonio snorted.

Neither of them (nor Francis) seemed to notice the people staring at them from all around. This was rather concerning considering they were at the Quidditch World Cup and they should have been watching the game. But no. Instead, Antonio was ready to ask the man whom he had been arguing with out on a date and Francis looked ready to pounce (or cry) from the “dishonor” inflicted by a man who didn’t even look like he was 5’6 and sounded like the biggest twink Antonio had ever met.

Though to be fair, Antonio was pretty gay and this was a situation where he was allowing himself to fall victim to The Homosexuality™.

“Well,” Lorenzo said, putting his hands on his hips, “Unless being a Hogwarts student who is a Slytherin is too horrifying and terrible for you, I’ll be here until Monday.”

Antonio grinned, “Is that a date offer?”

“If you want it to be, sure.”

“Antonio, do not run off with the enemy!”

He was not listening to Francis. A shot with someone like Lorenzo Vargas? Antonio was taking that shot. It had nothing to do with his wealth or status, that was just a side thing that he found funny. Truth be told, Antonio was rather interested in the stupid arguments that they could get into. If all it took to calm him down from a messy shirt was laughing at his own reactions, Antonio wanted to be around him more to see what other things got that sort of reaction out of him.

“You don’t mind lowering yourself to someone from Beauxbatons?”

Lorenzo shrugged, “I think I’ll manage.”

Francis was practically screaming from behind Antonio while the people around them slowly began to lose interest and went back to the game that they had come to watch. But these two wizards kept their gaze on each other. With soft smiles on their face and this playful look in their eyes, it wasn’t hard to tell that they really liked each other (much to Francis’ dismay).

Even if whatever this moment was didn’t last, Antonio wanted to spend his time getting to know Lorenzo properly. He was funny and cute and Antonio was a weak man for that ability to go from angry to laughing in a few seconds. He knew that he wanted to get to know him; he could tolerate one Slytherin.

“Can you tolerate a Hogwarts Slytherin?” Lorenzo asked, plopping himself back in his seat.

“I think I can tolerate one,” he replied.

“I’m conflicted between supporting this romantic endeavor or murdering you in cold blood for wooing the man who spat on my culture and living.”

“Does he realize I can understand him?”

“Nope.”

Lorenzo shrugged and went back to talking to Antonio.

The two clicked in this way that sparked this light in their lives. Antonio didn’t know if it was the joking rivalry, the way Lorenzo later stained his shirt as revenge for the ruined one he was wearing, the ability to poke fun at each other, the subtle flirting in between their convo, or the fact they missed the entire game because all that they could do was talk to each other because they were the most fascinating part of the night in each other’s eyes.

They didn’t even know who won.

What Antonio did know is his tiny teenage stomach did flips with every light touch that Lorenzo gave him and that awkward laugh that was too loud and too animated. Even if this fling was temporary and he and Lorenzo went on to simply be friends, he didn’t mind so long as he got a chance at all.

Neither of them noticed when the game had ended and Francis draped himself dramatically over the seat next to them, waiting for them to quit flirting and notice that it was time to go. Where were parents when you needed them to interrupt this shit?

“We’ve been talking a long time, but you never did tell me why the Vargas family ended up in the UK.” Antonio said as their night drew to a close.

Lorenzo sighed, “Well, Italy isn’t exactly the best place for magical people with the Catholic Church and all. And yeah, most people don’t really believe in it or attack us anymore, but enough do that my grandfather took us away and it was right about when I was old enough to go to school. When Romeo got hurt, we ran out as fast as we could.”

Antonio fell silent.

He forgot about things like that.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, reaching and putting his hand on Lorenzo’s arm. Lorenzo looked up at him with the softest, most genuine smile he had seen that night, and sighed.

“It’s alright. You don’t usually think about these things and I don’t talk about them.” He brushed it off so quickly and as if he didn’t care.

“You must miss Italy though.”

Lorenzo’s breath hitched and he clutched his arm, holding on tight as he looked away, “….Terribly.”

There was a heartbreak Antonio (and even Francis) had never seen in his eyes. It was as if his entire world was plucked away and he was left attempting to stand bold while he crumbled apart. It was odd how that worked; the way a person could go from laughing to crumbling and shattering in the matter of a few seconds. But, it was that change that convinced Antonio he truly wanted to be a part of Lorenzo’s life. Yeah, he had little to nothing to offer; the fact was that he was poor. Yet, Antonio wanted to give him the world and life and laughter.

“One day, I’ll take you there.”

The moment he said it, his face went red, realizing how stupid he sounded. Lorenzo came from the Vargas bloodline! They could go back whenever they wished, they didn’t need empty promises from some teenager with no money to his name.

And yet, Lorenzo looked up at him with big eyes, as if he had offered him more money than a king could offer.

“Do you mean it?”

“Of course I do.”

Lorenzo kept staring at him, his face burning up and the awkward teenager in him pouring out onto the floor, “You’re so fucking gay.”

Antonio laughed and shook his head gently, “Yeah. But I’m going to be honest with you, I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”

“Even my date for tomorrow night?”

“Especially your date for tomorrow night.”

After giving each other their info and agreeing on where to meet the next night, the two sat there and just stared at each other. They didn’t need to say anything to feel like they were having the most intimate conversation. It drove the reminder that they were teenagers who went to schools far apart with little chance of maintaining a stable relationship, but for that moment, just the fleeting second, the world was theirs and none of that mattered.

It didn’t last long. Soon the crowned Vargas himself walked in. He was as big and bold as Antonio imagined. He radiated power and it was funny to see him so bold and strong next to Lorenzo who was not exactly weak or fragile, but definitely much smaller.

“Lorenzo, there you are! Come, we’ve been looking for you so we could leave.”

“In a minute, old man. I’m having a moment.” he said.

Antonio’s eyes widened even more. He expected yelling or anger, but Romulus simply rolled his eyes and laughed.

“Cute, but we have to leave, boy! Come on. You can flirt with the guy tomorrow.”

Lorenzo groaned and threw his head back, “Ugh! Let me be gay!”

“No.”

He gasped dramatically staring at his grandfather with the fakest pair of puppy eyes he or Francis had ever seen—which was really fake considering Antonio was king of the puppy eyes game, “I always knew you didn’t support my pursuit of men!”

“Boy, I am just as gay as you are, don’t start.” his grandfather shot back with a chuckle.

Antonio was stunned. He hadn’t known that about the Vargas family. No wonder he was the prized grandson; he truly was the image of his grandfather (albeit not as muscular).

Lorenzo laughed a little and shook his head. He looked to Antonio and shrugged. It wasn’t like he really had a choice. Antonio understood that and he understood that he respected his grandfather’s words.

“Tomorrow night?” he asked, grabbing his hand as he stood up to leave.

Lorenzo looked back at him with large eyes and a slightly opened mouth. It curved into a big, dorky, goofy grin and he nodded, “Tomorrow night. Don’t leave me hanging or I’ll have to hate Beauxbatons forever.”

“Aw,” Antonio smacked his leg with a faux look of disappointment, “Now I have to go.”

Lorenzo rolled his eyes, that smile still on his face despite his deepest attempts to bury it from sight. he waved him goodbye and ran off with his grandfather who appeared to be cheering him on. Antonio watched them laugh and push each other as they left, Lorenzo chasing his grandfather after he said something that Antonio assumed was embarrassing from the way he put his hand to his heart.

As he watched them leave, he felt like a large spell finally released him. He was no longer in this moment of sublime where the sky was filled with reds and oranges and the simple words that were spoken shook him to the core. Now it was reality where the sky was dark, people were leaving, and all there was to prove that Lorenzo had ever existed and had not been a figment of his imagination was the ink on his arm.

“So,” Francis stepped in sitting next to him, “You’re flirting with the enemy.”

“Hell yeah, I am.”

The two friends walked out and Antonio thought about the warm feeling in his stomach that spreading to every other part of him. For once, he wasn’t a poor kid nor was he someone with no opportunity to find someone to love. He was Antonio and he was flirting and he was content.

A million little thoughts of what could happen and the things that could develop swarmed through his mind. He took one last look behind them to Lorenzo who was still chasing his grandfather and smiled. Yes, he liked this guy and he couldn’t wait for their date.

“Wait, who won the game-?”

#spamano secret valentines #spamano #aph spain #aph romano #APH #hetalia #submission #spamanovalentinesday2019 #offshootavadonia #lluviadinoche

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sleepinelysium · 6 years

Text

Church

Here we are! Another one shot! I really like this one, and I hope y’all like it too! Comment if you want me to tag you when I post another fic and always feel free to drop me a prompt!

@princess-of-france, @skeleton-richard

He was exhausted, though that was nothing new. He’d been in meetings all day, talking about what to do with the people of Harfleur, with his soldiers, where to attack next, and what to do with all of the soldiers that were falling ill will dysentery. He shuddered. What an awful way to die. He’d finally slipped out when one of his nobles was starting to look a little worse for wear. Though, that was a really bad sign.

He sighed. He had a cloak on with the hood up and he was wandering through the town. Aimless. Lord, he’d never felt more aimless, more distracted, then he had recently. Everything was a blur until he walked past a pair of red double doors and stopped in his tracks, then turned to look at them.

The church was small. He’d taken service in Saint Paul’s, Westminster, and Christ’s Church in Oxford, among others. All fine, big, ornate churches, much finer than this one. There was one conciliation at least, he smirked as he stepped inside. They all more or less smell the same. The smell of incense filled his nose as he walked through, looking at the stained glass. Colored light shafts danced through the air, casting their colors on the floor and across his face as he passed them.

It had been too long since he’d been inside a church. God, for at least a moment, he felt he could breath again. He went back and walked down the aisle, making a sign of the cross before slipping into a pew towards the front. He pulled out his jet rosary, feeling the short strand of cool beads between his fingers. He couldn’t quite focus on the Latin, though the words flowed off his tongue unbidden. He just focused on the feel of the beads and the smell of the incense and the sight of the corpus hanging from the cross.

His mind was blissfully blank, though there was still something…he didn’t even know what was going on. But, he just tried to savor the moment.

It wasn’t working as well as he’d hoped. The more he trued to focus on nothing, the more he became aware of how everything just…hurt. He wished he could pray, that he knew what he wanted or needed, but all he knew was that something had to change. There were no words bouncing in his head, no images burned into the back of his eyes tormenting him, but he ached to his very soul, and it wouldn’t go away.

He felt a huge knot tie itself in his throat, and all he could think about was when the physicians would help him into the aisle of the nave after he was wounded at Shrewsbury. They had tried to get him into a pew a few times, but he had been too weak, so they let him sit or lie on the floor so he could look up at the crucifix and he would run the beads of his rosary through his fingers so much the smooth wood would grow warm. Lord, he thought he’d wear the reliefs down, he counted many prayers that year. He got rid of that rosary once he was healed. The bloodstained beads were too heavy a reminder of how close he’d come to death.

Shit. That wasn’t helping him keep composed. Thinking of how young he’d been and how thoroughly terrified he’d been, sitting in the middle of that Latin cross church, trying to get as close to the heart of Christ as he dared, begging for his life and his soul…

Maybe not so much had changed in twelve years.

He didn’t hear the priest walk up and didn’t know he was there until the man sat down. The two sat in silence until Henry had finished running the beads through his fingers for the n-th time. Then, Henry turned to the priest and kissed his hand.

The priest greeted him in French, and Henry shook his head. “I don’t speak much French, Father.”

The priest blinked a few times, then repeated himself in Latin. Henry couldn’t keep the smirk from his face as he answered back in the same tongue.

“What seems to be the problem, my son?” the priest asked.

Henry shrugged. “Father, I wish I knew.”

The priest nodded. “It is good, then, the Lord knows all.”

Henry sunk back against the pew. “I just wish he’d let me in on it, a bit.”

The priest smiled. “We all do, my son. It would make all of our lives a bit easier.”

Henry nodded in return. “I feel so out of sorts. I’m just— I want to feel… not like this.”

“You’re in the right place to start. But, tell me what the problem really is.”

“If I knew, I’d share. But, I don’t even know what’s wrong.”

“You are…English, yes?” the priest asked delicately.

Henry nodded. “Yes.”

“And you participated in the…recent conflict, yes?”

The pale faces of his men in the dying light flashed in his mind. “Yes. I did.”

“That may perhaps have something to do with your feeling out of sorts. It was…not a pleasant experience for anyone involved.”

“It’s part of my job, Father. What am I supposed to do?”

The priest shook his head. “I don’t really know, my son. Bloodshed and death…they were not meant to be natural to us. This is…not natural. The world is out of sorts and groaning under the weight of our wrongs. But, the fact you groan under the weight of this shows there is good in you, my son.”

“But what do I do? I can’t just stop.”

“Why not?”

Henry didn’t really want to reveal himself. He shifted uncomfortably as he answered, “I am an English Captain of a company.”

The priest gave him a look, but nodded all the same. “Ah, I see. You lead men, no?”

“Yes, I do.”

“You do your best to lead them well? To protect them and care for them?”

“To the best of my ability, yes.”

The priest shrugged. “Sounds like you’re doing the best you can, to me.”

“Then why do I feel like shit?” he asked before he could really think about he was saying. Once the words were out of his mouth, he turned to the priest, eyes wide. “Forgive me, Father.”

The priest held back a smirk. “You’ve been saying enough Hail Marys here, I think I’ll let this one slide.” He scooted a little closer to Henry, resting his forearms on the pew in front of him, clasping his hands. “You must do as every other hurting person. Take a deep breathe, and try to make it through the day.”

“That seems impossible, right now.”

“It seems you don’t have much of a choice, Your Majesty.”

Henry’s head snapped to the priest. He was greeted with a knowing smile on the older man’s face. “Your scar is not a common one, My Liege.”

Henry nodded absently. Suddenly, he felt so tired. All of the pain and turmoil had boiled itself into vapors. He gave a deep sigh. “It’s just hard.”

“Being mortal was never easy.”

Henry stood from the pew. His feet felt like they were cast in lead. He needed to return to his tent. Maybe lie down for a bit. Maybe that would help. “Thank you for your time, Father.”

“The Lord’s doors are always open, my Royal Son,” the priest answered, making a sign of the cross.

Henry gave a slight bow, made a sign of the cross before the crucifix, and walked down the nave and towards camp. Lord, he hoped no one would try to catch him. He really needed a rest.

Catherine’s blonde hair was tied up, and she wore a white cap and veil with her white dress that her mother had insisted on. She hated wearing white for funerals. When your eyes are already uncomfortable from crying, white does no favors to them. She shifted where she knelt on the pew, her knees creaking from kneeling so long. It felt like the hard facets of her beads would make callouses on her fingers, she’d prayed so much.

Good, she thought. Maybe Mary will listen, then.

A sob tried to claw it’s way out of her throat, but she swallowed it, turning it into a broken whimper. Louis had died horribly; his corpse had been thin, too thin, and so pale. Nothing at all like how he’d been in life. He’d been full of fire and light. She shuddered.

She heard someone walking down the nave behind her and they shuffled into her pew and knelt next to her, pulling out their own rosary as well.

She turned to see her brother, John, the new Dauphin. He looked as pale as her dress, no, as pale as a corpse, and she had a fresh memory of what that looked like. His hands shook slightly as his fingers fumbled with his beads.

She shouldn’t do this, she thought to herself, but she wrapped her hands around his and a sob strangled itself in his throat. “I didn’t want this. I never wanted this,” he whispered.

She pulled him into a tight hug. “I know, John. I know.”

They sat in silence and she stared at the cross on his rosary. Why did Christ need another of her brothers? This was the third son her Mother had lost, and it showed. Mother was strong, much stronger than Father, but everyone has their breaking point. She looked up at John and prayed harder than she ever had that he wouldn’t be next. “God keep you, John,” she whispered.

He gave her a hug. “God keep you and bless you, Catherine.” When he let her go, he sat back, looking at her a moment, then he slowly stood. “Dear sister, don’t forget to eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” she answered sharply.

“You should come to dinner anyways.”

She shook her head. “The smell of all that food would make me sick.”

“Catherine, I don’t want to be there by myself.”

She arched one eyebrow. “We’re never alone.”

“I’ll have no one on my side.”

She was still confused.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “You love me because we’re family, not because of anything I can do for you, and I need that. Please?”

She sighed. “Fine. I’ll come.”

He looked relieved. “Thank you, Catherine.”

She turned back towards the altar. “Send someone for me when it’s time.”

He nodded and bent to kiss the top of her head. “You are too good, Catherine. Say a prayer for me, too.”

She looked up, her eyes watery. “You think I would forget you?”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” he answered. “Thank you.”

She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Bless you, John. I’ll see you later.”

“I’ll see you later, Catherine.”

He walked down the nave and out of the church without looking back. He’d already intruded enough in her moment.

When the doors shut loudly behind her, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Her hands shook and she couldn’t make it stop. When she heard the doors opened later, she flinched. She prayed it wasn’t Father. He was…not well. That’s how Mother always put it. She wouldn’t admit to herself that he was mad, only that he was ill. And she hoped it wasn’t her Mother, either. It was most painful to watch her crumble. Mother was not made of the same flesh and blood as everyone else. She was carved of stone with ice running through her veins. To see anything else of her…well, she’d just rather not.

She needn’t have been concerned, the footsteps were different. “My Lady,” the voice said, softly.

Catherine looked up into the kind face of the bishop who had read Louis’s funeral mass. “Your brother, the Dauphin, sends for you.”

“He calls from the grave?” she said before she could think. “Votre Excelence, forgive me, I shouldn’t have said that. I will come, as promised.”

He slipped into the pew and sat next to her. “Were you close with your brother?”

She shook her head. “Not particularly, but he was still my brother.”

“He still is your brother,” the priest amended. “He was still born of your parents, and death does not separate us from the Church.”

She shook her head again. “That may be true, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.”

He nodded. “I know. I lost my brother at about your age. And some days, it still hurts. But I promise, the ache dulls and it hurts less frequently. You just have to have patience, my daughter.”

More tears welled up in her eyes. “I don’t want to be patient.”

He offered his hand to her and she took it. He gave it a squeeze. “No one does. But, we don’t get much say in the matter, so better to practice patience then to remain impatient and increase our own suffering by over-anticipating its end.”

She nodded. “I’ll try, Votre Excelence.”

He gave her a small smile. “Your best is the best I could ask for.”

She slipped her beads in her pocket and stood. “I will come with you, Excelence.”

He stood as well, but shook his head. “I’m not going with you, I was simply asked to deliver the message.”

“Of course.”

He made a sign of the cross, whispering a short blessing over her, then moved to let her out of the pew. Once in the nave, she curtsied as she crossed herself, then gave a curtsey to the bishop, and started out.

Alice sat just on the other side of the door against a wall, asleep. Catherine smiled and shook her gently. “Alice? Alice, wake up.”

The woman jumped as she startled awake and looked up at the princess. “Princess, are you well?”

Catherine nodded. “I’m heading to dinner and I didn’t want to leave you here.”

Alice nodded as she stood from what had obviously been an incredibly uncomfortable position.

As they walked together towards the hall, Catherine thought maybe she understood better than she had thought what it was like to be alone in a crowd versus having someone there on your side. After seeing Alice asleep against that wall, she knew Alice was on her side.

The ink stains were fresh on his hands as he stood at the altar, his heart beating out of his chest. She had assented, she had smiled, but would she really come? Or would she turn and run?

Humphrey put a hand on his arm. “She’ll be here, Hal.”

He nodded, just staring past the bishop at the altar wall. The music started, and he really thought he might drop right there. He so wanted to turn around and watch her, but he kept control of himself and turned to Humphrey instead. Humphrey gave him a reassuring smile and a nod. He counted the clicks of her steps until the clicks stopped and he could feel her next to him.

The bishop spoke, but Henry couldn’t hear it through the blood rushing in his ears. Finally, they could turn and look at each other and his heart stuttered in his chest. She looked radiant in a sapphire blue dress with gold trim, her blonde hair tied up under a gold cap. Her eyes shone like jewels under her short veil and he could see she was trying to keep a smile from her face.

He didn’t even try. Later, when the bed was cold and her heart shattered, she would think how his smile was radiant as the sun, and just as warm.

“Do you, Henry, King of England, take Catherine of Valois to be your wife?” the bishop asked.

Henry nodded as he tried to find his voice. “Wholeheartedly, I do.”

“Do you, Catherine of Valois, take Henry Plantagenet to to be your husband?”

Catherine’s smile grew wide. “Oui, votre Excelence, I do.”

The bishop smiled in return as he turned to Henry. “You may give the ring.”

Henry took the three lions from his finger and held it at the tip of the ring finger of her right hand as he took a step closer. “Say that I am yours,” he whispered.

“You are mine,” she whispered back.

He slipped the ring on as he said, “Then England is thine, Ireland is thine, Wales is thine, France is thine, and least among them, Harry Plantagenet is thine, my Queen.”

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the bishop said.

Henry carefully lifted her veil, but her lips were on his before he could think of bending down to hers. “You are the least of nothing, votre Honneur,” she spoke against his lips.

He didn’t think his smile could get any wider without breaking his face, but he managed. “We are one in the eyes of God, Cate. Such formalities of court do not confine us in private. I am your Harry.”

She brushed her thumb lightly across his cheek and his scar. “You are my Harry.”

His heart flew higher than the ceiling of Troyes Cathedral as they walked out the doors together, into the waiting carriage that carried them off. He didn’t really care where he went, because his whole world sat beside him, beaming. She kissed his hand where the lions had sat on his finger, then his scarred cheek, and not for the first or last time, he wondered what the hell he’d ever done to deserve to have someone so beautiful and gentle in his life.

#this is 7 pages in word #i really like this one #and i'm usually more nervous about my fics #Lord I love Hal #Prince Hal #henry v and katherine #henry v and catherine #Henry V #Catherine of Valois #Katherine of Valois #I can't decide how to spell her name #I keep changing it #Shakespeare #my writing #fanfic #histories #shakespeare fandom

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pokechars · 6 years

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[EXCLUSIVE MATERIAL] Pokemon Anime Translation Glossaries (with trivia/beta stuff)

[Veeeery long post, but believe me, it's worth it]

Alternatively, just scroll to the download links and see the thing for yourself.

So, you are probably used to the fact that this blog is strictly themed, sharing pictures of various (but always official) representations of human characters from Pokemon series, especially the lesser-known or forgotten characters from the games.

This update, however, will be a bit out-of-theme, but still strictly Pokemon-centered. Lately, we’ve had much stuff revealed about Pokemon beta versions. We learned more about Pikachu’s origins and the manga about Satoshi Tajiri revealed some previously-unknown early Pokemon designs... Because of this (added with the fact that my blog has recently hit 300 followers), I think it is good time to publish something that has been in my files for years and which you surely have never seen and which may feature some (usually minor and trivia) facts that are not widely known to Pokemon fans.

These are two Translation Glossaries that were provided to the official translators of the Pokemon anime. I got that years ago from my friend, who was among the people working on the Polish dub of Pokemon DP anime series (not really sure what year was that, but if the file metadata is right, then it must have been 2008). He asked me to be quiet about that, but years have passed, I have pretty much lost contact with that guy (I’m not even sure if he’s still into Pokemon but I believe he’s “beyond repair” like me). I also doubt that he’s still involved in making of Polish anime dubs (same goes for the studio that he cooperated with), so I think I’m not getting anyone in trouble for that anymore (but I’ll keep his identity secret, just to stay on the safe side).

As I said earlier, these glossaries were provided to the anime dubbers, but judging from their content, I believe they originally served the game localizers and then were forwarded to anime translators and amended with some anime content (which is rather incomplete, as opposed to game content).

The files may be downloaded from here: Glossary “A”: [Download Link] Glossary “B”: [Download Link]

I know that all this stuff may seem fishy to you - some random guy from Tumblr jumps off with some “insider info” all of sudden. But believe me, even I don’t have THAT much free time to fabricate such extensive and detailed files. Also, the info contained in those files is rather unspectacular compared to what you usually see in various “fake leaks”. But it’s up to you, whether you deem these real or fake. I know I’m not shitting anyone.

So, as you can see, those are two .xls files with the names of various characters and aspects of Pokemon series, divided into many sections and sheets.

The first glossary (which I named “A”, but the actual name is “Master TV Glossary”) lists all possible names from the first three generations (a couple of last sheets, likely added later, have some Gen IV stuff too) translated into the European languages that the games are available in (German, French, Spanish, Italian), as well as Dutch, Portuguese and Greek (transcribed to Latin alphabet). It generally doesn't use Japanese names, except in few cases. There is also another version of that glossary (an exact copy, just with all that multilingual stuff replaced by draft Polish translations) but since it doesn’t feature any additional interesting info, I didn’t upload that.

In this glossary, we can find a bunch of interesting things. I'll list the ones that are less-known or completely unknown to facts (the list may be incomplete, so I encourage you to seek through these files, maybe you'll find something interesting):

Not much interesting or new stuff in the "Places" section, but some of the anime-only locations (especially the Hoenn ones, listed on the very bottom) sound strange or unidentifiable.

"People" section is where it gets interesting. First of all, among the Red/Green in-game trade mons, there is a "Bob", which replaces Terry from the final game. I guess they realized their mistake that "Bob" isn't the best name for a Nidorina? Or maybe it has something to do with the Nidoran trade, where the Nidorans had switched genders compared to the Japanese version?

Just below the names of the Red/Green (English Red/Blue) trademons, we find names of what seem to be Japanese Blue in-game trade Pokemon (never available in English, as the trademons in English Red/Blue are based off Japanese Red/Green and not JP Blue) among the RGB characters. These names are as follows: Michelle, Wagster, Swanny, Fluffy, Mymo, Jimbo, Jenny, Shane and Valerie. I have been able to identify Wagster as Poliwag, Mymo as Mr. Mime and Michelle as Haunter (since the French localization of that name plays on the word cauchemar "nightmare"). The rest are up to debate. Maybe we can work them out?

Among the anime characters, we find some characters whose names were never told on-screen (such as Dick and Phillip, who had the same names in Japanese version, or Lacy, confirmed also by closed captions). Furthermore, Dr. Proctor is known as "Doc" (his Japanese name). Also, the order of listing of late-Kanto characters is unchronological (may it have something to do with the fact that some episodes were aired out of order after the Porygon incident in Japan)?

There are three Kanto anime characters, whom I can't identify - Billy, Barry and Bobby. Note that those could be Pokemon nicknames, but I have no freaking idea who are those.

Among the Gold/Silver game characters, we find two mysterious names - Kaz and Audrey. Who are those? I've no idea. I haven't found any references to them in the game data. Some cut beta characters?

Some of the GSC Trainer Classes have different names than in the final game, e.g. Guard (Officer), Thinker (Sage).

Some of the regular Trainers had their names changed to fit in the limitations of the Game Boy screen. Those changes are indicated in the file. Notable examples include Kimono Girls, whose names were shortened. Sayo was originally Sayoko, Kuni was Kunimi and Zuki was Hizuki (note that they're still different from their Japanese names).

Speaking of Kimono Girls, this file list an additional Kimono Girl named Kyoko. Could she be intended to be the Eevee user?

The RS character listing notes Mr. Stone twice - first as Mr. Stone (as he's usually called in-game) and secondly as Stanwick Stone. This is interesting for two reasons. Firstly, the name "Stanwick" was actually used in Polish dub (I remember it), although as his last name (consequently, Steven Stone was named as Steven Stanwick in Polish). Secondly, in ORAS he was known as Joseph Stone, so I guess "Stanwick" counts as scrapped material. His first name is localized to all four game languages.

The “B” glossary (PKMN DP TV Glossary) lists names from Generation IV (Diamond and Pearl), only game stuff. Unlike the first glossary, it does include Japanese names. However, it doesn't have all those international translation, just preliminary Polish translation (I believe that the other version of this glossary, with all that multilingual stuff like the first one does also exist, but my friend never sent me that [or he never had that]).

This glossary is much less extensive, but it also have some interesting trivia stuff.

Japanese name etymologies for human characters and some locations are listed, although the fields mentioning them are hidden.

In a commentary (probably left by original Japanese creators, as they're written in rather bad English), Byron is referred to as "Peter's father". I guess Peter is an English name suggested for Roark by the Japanese creators, but they didn't use it in the end.

The "Goods" sheet is when the fun begins. We have the names of the Secret Base decorations there, with the Japanese names of certain dolls seemingly revealing the beta Japanese names for those Pokemon!

Glameow Doll is リズミィドール (Rhythmie Doll)

Buneary Doll is ミミットドール (Mimitto Doll)

Magnezone Doll is デカコイルドール (Dekacoil Doll)

Drifloon Doll is フーセンドール (Fuusen Doll)

Happiny Doll is コラッキードール (Kolucky Doll)

Pachirisu Doll is パチリッスドール (Pachirissu [with a doubled "s"] Doll). Compare these Japanese names to their final versions and see that they’re different! In all other places of the glossary, all Pokemon names are just normal.

So yeah, that's all interesting stuff that I found in these two glossaries. Perhaps there's something more that I didn't notice. I hope that you enjoyed all those little trivia bits contained in them, even though they may not be that spectacular. I especially loved the fact that JP Blue trademons did get English nicknames. I can only assure you that I really got those from my friend and never edited or changed anything in them. But I'm not really sure how can I prove that, you basically have to believe my words. And I hope that you do.

Uh... that's a long entry. I hope you don't regret reading it. Please reblog and spread the word about these glossaries. They are really valuable material, especially to those who collect little-known Pokemon trivia facts, so I hope this entry gets popular. That's it for now. I don't plan more of such unusual updates (unless I find something worth it) and now we'll be back to our usual updates, with Pokemon character pictures.

#pokemon #unusualupdate #outoftheme #translationglossary #insiderstuff #lostpokemonstuff #obscurefacts

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lostinfic · 6 years

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Nubivagant 1/3

(adj.) wandering through or amongst the clouds; moving through air; from the Latin nubes (“cloud”) and vagant (“wandering”), c. 1656.

Summary: Based on the movie “A walk in the clouds” but on a sheep farm in the north of England, at Christmas. During the war, Betty ran away from her grandfather’s farm with a man. Now that he’s left her and she might be pregnant, Betty must go back and face the family she abandoned. When Colonel Mercier finds her crying at the train station, he offers to pose as her husband. Tags: Hurt/comfort! fake married! sharing a bed! huddling for warmth! and many more! Pairing: Jean-François Mercier x Betty Vates (Spies of Warsaw / A Passionate Woman) *You don’t need to have seen either show. Word count: 5500 Rating: Mature Warning: pregnancy scare

A/N: thank you to @invisiblerobotgirl for the little brainstorm and her enthusiasm. For @timepetalsprompts adoption drive

Ao3

December 22nd, 1945

Jean-François bowed his head against the wind and hiked his duffel bag higher up his shoulder. It contained all his possessions, four years in England crammed in khaki canvas.

The breeze kicked off his hat, he turned on his heels to catch it and collided with a young woman. Her suitcase fell open on the tarmac, and he dropped his bag and papers. “I’m so sorry, miss.”

They bent down at the same time and knocked their heads together. He caught her before she fell and she threw up on his jacket. The young woman visibly blanched, and her eyes widened in horror. “Oh, God, no, please, no.” Tears spilled from her eyes as she rubbed her handkerchief over the stain.

“Porridge?” he asked. She didn’t laugh, she cried harder, her hands shook. “I can clean it up. Don’t worry,” he reassured her.

“Oh, no, no, no, it can’t be.”

Her reaction seemed disproportionate given most of it had landed on the ground beside him, and he began to worry. He took her by the shoulders. “Miss Vates.” For the first time, she actually looked at him. Her doe eyes were puffy from crying, and he suspected it had begun before their collision. “I’m Jean-François Mercier, I worked with F-section.”

“I know... I didn’t think you knew me name.”

During the war, they’d worked for the same organisation but in different offices, she as a clerk for the Poland section, and he for the French section as an operations officer. He’d seen her several times, especially in the last two months-- following the end of the war, many employees had transferred to Wanborough Manor, in Surrey, to close and file everything away permanently. They had never exchanged more than a few work-related words.

“Are you all right?” She wiped her eyes with her gloved fingers and nodded. “Are you sure?” he insisted.

“Oh bugger, me suitcase.”

He helped her pick up her stuff and his. “Are you going home too?” he asked to make conversation as he pretended not to see her underwear. The mention of home brought on a new wave of tears that all her lip biting could not hold off.

A whistle announced the train for London. He was momentarily distracted, and she took that opportunity to escape his presence and questions. He watched her vanish into a great cloud of steam.

Everyone in the small Surrey train station were their coworkers, going home now that the organisation had closed for good with the end of the war. He hoped miss Vates had friends amongst them. Perhaps it’s parting from them that made her so sad.

On board the train, he made a beeline for the lavatory to clean the vomit off his jacket.

When he walked out through the coach for a place to sit, he saw miss Vates again. Two young men were talking to her. “Give us a smile, eh,” said the one beside her. She turned her face away from them, but they didn’t stop.

“Be a doll, two bonnie lads like us, we fought the Nazis, I reckon we deserve a little lovin’.” He put his arm around miss Vates’ shoulders. She leaned away, elbows pressed into her sides, shoulders tense.

“I’m not interested.”

“Had a girl like that, always used to say she weren’t interested. She never meant it, did she?” His friend agreed with a roguish laugh.

“Leave the lady alone,” Mercier ordered.

“Or what?” Both boys stood up, full of the bravado characteristic of their age. Mercier didn’t engage with them. He simply stared with an air of condescending tolerance, the kind of look he might give annoying insects he could squash with his fist.

“Hey, Frenchie, we freed your country, we did. You should be thankin’ us.”

“Yeah. We get first dib on the lassies.”

Mercier clenched his jaw, jutted out his chin and flexed his fingers. He stepped closer to them, and they stepped back, recognizing the anger of a superior officer. The train jerked, and the two boys lost balance. “Leave. Her. Alone,” Mercier repeated, walking over them.

They walked away to find seats in another carriage. Miss Vates nodded and offered a small smile, but nothing more. Whatever was troubling her, she didn’t want company, so Mercier sat a few seats behind.

He’d bought a book for the long journey back to France. A detective novel with a suggestive cover that should hold his interest all the way to Paris, and yet he zoned out every other paragraph. He kept crossing and uncrossing his legs, his palms were damp. Whenever his thoughts drifted to his home country, he felt a tightening in his chest, from anticipation or anxiety, he couldn’t tell. Restless, he got up to pace the central alley. Miss Vates looked up from her knitting, but averted her eyes as soon as he saw her.

White winter light streamed through the dirty arched glass ceiling of Victoria station, shining on the chaotic crowd of soldiers returning home and families travelling for the holidays. The chatter and laughter, the whistles and the metallic wail of trains made Betty dizzy. She hurried to catch a newly-vacated place on a bench. She took deep breaths to ward off another wave nausea. She closed her eyes and focused on the violin notes played by a busker, but his somber rendition of “I’ll be home for Christmas” brought fresh tears to her eyes.

Betty stared at the ticket in her hands: One-way, to Paris. Colonel Mercier must have dropped it when they ran into each other. She should find him and give it back to him, but she couldn’t help thinking it might be a sign. A sign that she shouldn’t go back to her family.

She imagined starting a new life in Paris, a small flat with a view of the Eiffel tower from her kitchen window, a cat on the windowsill, the scent of warm bread wafting up from the bakery below. She would choose a new name for herself, something optimistic like Daisy or Hope. Who would know after the war? They couldn’t possibly keep track of everyone. And she imagined a little girl, playing in the living room, making her dolls speak French and English.

But it wouldn’t be like that.

She would have the same problems in Paris as she had in London: no friends, no home, no job. And maybe a baby.

“Miss Vates.” Colonel Mercier stood before her. She noticed the stain on the tan tweed of his jacket before the steaming tea he was holding out for her.

“Thank you.” She warmed her gloved hands on the paper cup.

“If you don’t mind me saying, you look like you could use a “cuppa”— as you Brits say.” She smiled weakly and drank. “If you are sad about losing your ticket, I can fix that for you.”

“Were it that simple,” she sighed, looking at the ticket but not taking it. “I have yours too… Paris. Must be nice.”

He shrugged and sat down beside her. “Where is… Tebay?” he asked, reading the town’s name on her ticket.

“In county Cumbria, north of the Yorkshire Dales.” He nodded, but she could tell he didn’t know where any of those places were.

“And your family lives there?”

“Yeah. Me grandad, he has farm there, and the whole family on me mam’s side, we moved there during the war. Safer, you know…” She didn’t even know if they were still there. Her mother and sister might have gone back to Leeds, her aunts and cousins too. Her grandparents would be there for sure, unless, heaven forbid, something had happened to them.

“I hope seeing your family again, on Christmas no less, will make you smile,” Colonel Mercier said, obviously trying to cheer her up.

Betty curled her shoulders forward, her stomach rolled. She had no idea why he was being nice to her, or what he wanted from her, for that matter, but she didn’t want to burden him with her problems. “Yeah, sure… Go. You’ll miss your train. Thanks for the tea.”

He hesitated, brow furrowed in concern. “I apologize if I overstep my boundaries, miss Vates, but I cannot leave you like this… Do you need help?”

Betty had never told anyone the whole story, kept it bottled up inside her chest, putting on a smile at work when inside she wrestled with despair, alone with her dark thoughts and pain. For the first time, she really looked at Colonel Mercier, his eyes were a beautiful clear brown in the light, and she found genuine concern in them. Her barriers crumbled. “I don’t have anywhere else to go, but he’ll kill me.”

“Kill you? Who?” He was on high alert.

“Grandpa Marshall. Oh, God. I ran away and now I might be pregnant, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Through tears and sniffles, Betty told him a somewhat confusing summary of her situation.

In the September of ‘43, she’d found a man hiding in an abandoned shed on her grandfather’s farm. A Polish man named Alex Crazenovski— nicknamed Craze. “With a nickname like that you’d think I’d’ve stayed away.” Craze said he’d escaped from his country and was hiding from the Gestapo, he begged her to keep his secret. He was so charming, she never doubted his words.

All through Autumn, she visited him every day. She brought him food and clothes, anything he needed to be more comfortable. And they made love in the forest. It was the most exciting time of her life. It took her mind off her father’s death and her mother’s declining mental health, off the war and the bleak future.

But her grandfather found out. The food Betty had stolen to feed Craze was supposed to go to the government, all part of the obligatory war effort. He got in trouble with the agents of the Ministry of Agriculture for it. She would later find out Craze had also stolen from her grandfather. She begged her grandfather to give Craze a chance, but he refused and threatened to deliver him to the authorities.

“Craze asked me with to run away with him. Said he knew people in London. That he’d marry me.” She shook her head at her own foolishness. She was so besotted with him, and craved more than the life she had.

Craze never did make an honest woman out of her. He wanted to wait until the end of the war and marry her in Poland with all his family. “They will be your family too,” he’d say, implying she didn’t have one anymore.

“You haven’t spoken to your family since then?” Colonel Mercier asked, offering her his handkerchief.

“Not at first. I was too ashamed. I abandoned them, betrayed them. They needed me on the farm… The longer I waited, the more scared I was to see them again, you know. But last Christmas, I decided to be brave, and wrote them a letter…”

“And?”

“Nothing. I never received a reply. They had me address and everythin’, we didn’t move. They disowned me.”

Craze’s acquaintances in London gave Betty a job, doing all sorts of office work. Craze said he worked too, but he rarely brought money home. “I stopped asking questions, it upset him. I know that were stupid, and you must think I’m the most gullible girl in the world, but I swear when he talked to me, it all made sense. And he loved me. He did. I think. I’m pretty sure.”

They lived together for almost two years, in a small rented room, through bombings and war threats. Every time she was scared or sad or angry, he had a way of making her forget all about it. She simply couldn’t resist him.

“The war ended, and he said he was going back to Poland. That was in October. He said he had money there, that he’d come back with it, that we’d buy a house. Whilst he was gone, my boss sent me to Surrey. I sold what we had. I didn’t hear from Craze so I asked a Polish officer who knew him…” Betty let out a shaky breath. “The look in his eyes, the pity. He knew, they all knew, his friends, all along, that he had a wife.”

“In Poland?”

“In Norfolk! He left me, and he’d have left me wondering all me life what happened to him.”

“That’s awful.”

Around the same time, she started worrying she was pregnant. She missed two periods, but it had happened before. The nausea this morning, though, was another nail in the coffin.

The only friends she had in London were Polish, most of them had already left for their home country. And she didn’t want anything to do with those who had watched her be deceived without a word. Her only option was her family. Her grandfather was the kind of man who held grudges, and her mother had never made any secret she preferred her other daughter. Her sister would hate her for leaving her alone to take care of their mother. And Betty had to face them, with a baby out of wedlocks on top of it.

“I mucked up so bad.”

Colonel Mercier tentatively put an arm behind her shoulders, on the back of the bench, but she resisted crying on his shoulder. She tried to control her sobs, she was getting weird looks from people in the train station, and she’d already said too much.

“It’s his fault, not yours,” he said.

“No, I’m a stupid, gormless girl. Mam always said so.”

Colonel Mercier looked up at the ceiling, skewed his jaw, didn’t say anything. Betty didn’t disrupt his thoughts. After a long moment, he asked, “What if you were married?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “How d’you mean?”

He exposed his idea as he would a military strategy: he would accompany her to Tebay and introduce himself as her husband. That way it would seem like she had lived in London as an honest woman, and that she’d been right to trust him. He would spend the day with her family, and hopefully charm them and make them think he wasn’t the scoundrel they imagined. And the next morning, he would take off before dawn, leaving only a letter behind. “We can work out the details later. Your family will take pity on you and, the holiday season helping, welcome you back with open arms.”

“Why would you help me? Me, a ruined woman.”

“Would you believe me if I said it was the spirit of Christmas?”

“I’m not that stupid.”

“No, I didn’t think so. It seems to me you are a victim—” she frowned at the word— “and I cannot stand the thought of you being hurt even more. I hate that he took advantage of your kindness. I can’t blame you for following your heart.”

“I’m not that kind of girl, Colonel! Don’t think being nice to me will get you in me knickers. I’ve learned me lesson.”

He held up in hands. “I promise I will stay out of your knickers.”

She found no trace of dishonesty in his face, but then again, experience had thought her she was a bad judge of character.

He rummaged around his duffel bag and pulled out a tiny fabric pouch. “This should help.” He tipped it over and two golden bands fell in his palms.

“What are you doin’ carrying wedding rings around?”

“I was married. My wife passed away.”

“During the war?”

“No, before. Consumption.”

“I can’t wear that.” He fingered the rings, hesitating. Even his pragmatic spirit wavered in front of this meaningful memento. Betty’s wariness gave way to sympathy. “What about the one on your pinkie?” He took it off, and she studied the symbol stamped in gold. “What’s it for?”

“A ring of nobility.” He seemed almost uncomfortable admitting it, but it must be important to him if he still wore it.

“You’re nobility?”

“Just a lowly chevalier.”

A knight. How perfect. She was starting to think he really did just want to help her.

“Can you do that, though? Pretend to be me husband and lie to everyone?”

“It would not be my first time. Never in this kind of situation, but I have done some undercover work.”

“You a spy?”

“Not in England!” he reassured her quickly. “But as a military attaché I was part of several covert missions. I spied on the Germans when I was in Warsaw.”

She pursed her lips, inspected his appearance. Beside the hair colour and height and maybe something in the sharpness of his nose, he looked nothing like Craze— a good thing in her opinion— he was much leaner and the way he held himself betrayed his rank. He didn’t look like someone who could get his hands dirty. Her family only saw Craze once and that was two years ago, it might just work out. Most of all, she was desperate for a solution, and having someone by her side to face her family eased her fears.

“Okay. Be me pretend-husband.”

He slid his signet ring on her finger. She admired her hand for a moment, feeling oddly pleased.

“I barely know you, how are we ever going to look like we’re in love?” she asked.

“We have a whole train ride to figure that out, don’t we?”

Mercier climbed on board the red locomotive, still shocked by his own plan.

“Me name’s Elizabeth, by the way. Everyone calls me Betty. What’s your name?”

“Jean-François.”

“Jean-François,” she repeated carefully, looking at him for approval. “I’ll need to practice.”

As the train covered the first miles of a 285-mile northbound journey, they learned about each other, starting with the basics: age (26 and 37), family members (both had a sister, her father died at Dunkirk, and his own during the Great war), and favourite food (her grandmother’s lamb stew, and strawberry sorbet from Le Procope, Paris’ oldest café).

They compared war stories. Although they lived on different sides of London, they’d taken refuge in the same bomb shelters and visited the same public library near Baker street. They’d both seen the latest Humphrey Bogart movie. “We went on a date. I took you dancing afterwards,” Mercier suggested.

“I wore me red dress.”

He asked her to recount her time with Craze on her grandfather’s farm, specifically the part where they were found out. Her family knew he was Polish, but, thanks to his assignment in Warsaw, Mercier could pretend to have both nationalities. For the first time in ages, he remembered Anna Szarbek, Parisian by birth but living in Poland. A transient thought, he’d made peace with the fact that Max had successfully come between them.

Based on his work experience, he easily invented a plausible story as to how he’d ended up hiding in Yorkshire— a story in which he appeared to be a hero. “We can’t have you marry a coward,” he reasoned.

Betty shared her snack with him, her stomach too knotted for more than two bites of carrot scone.

The rest of their made-up life together was pretty much the same as what had really happened to her. Except, he had an honourable job and married her right away. They decided it was best if she waited to tell them about the pregnancy.

Together they wrote the letter he would leave behind. “Make it sound like…” Betty bit her thumb nail. “Like he loved me. Like I can be loved. I don’t want them to think it was just… physical.”

“Of course, maybe I— he thought his wife had died, in Poland, at the beginning of the war.”

“Okay, and found out she’d survived?”

“He loves you but has to go back to her,” Mercier added.

“Yeah, and you bring me back to me family, so I won’t be left alone.”

“Exactly.”

Night arrived early this time of year, and the dark pink hues of a winter sunset already filled the train car. Betty watched closely as he wrote, her chest pressed into his upper arm, her perfume wafted to his nose, something cheap and floral, too innocent for a heartbroken woman.

“Could you do that to someone?” she asked in a soft, distant voice. “If you discovered your wife was still alive.”

“I don’t know. She passed away eight years ago, and I have not loved another woman as much since.”

“I don’t know if that’s sad or beautiful.”

She tucked her chin in her shoulder, her eyelashes cast feathery shadows on her pale cheeks. And something about the nearness of her, about her own confession, made him admit, “it’s lonely.”

“D’you think, maybe, what we’re writing is what really happened?”

Mercier doubted Crazenovski’s behaviour was anything other than self-serving, he would most likely cheat again, but Betty needed to entertain some romantic notion of him, so he conceded it could be the case.

They spent the next hours in pensive silence. Mercier rehearsed his role, so to speak. Betty dozed off, but slept fretfully. She would seem peaceful for a while, but then her lips would pinch and her forehead pucker.

When they reached Lancaster, Betty talked to him again. “Every summer, I took this train to go to me Gramps’ farm. I always got so excited seeing these mountains, knowing I was almost there. He’d wait for me at the station and hug me tight, called me his lil’ chicken. And me grandma… I swear, I waited all year for this moment.”

“We have that in common.”

“How d’you mean?”

“My father sent me to boarding school, and I couldn’t wait to go back to our estate for the summer. Ride my horse, swim in the lake, run in the fields all day with my sister… I love living in the city now, but it was a nice respite.”

“Was?”

He inhaled sharply and spoke before releasing his breath. “It was destroyed during the war. Alsace shares a border with Germany, so…” He didn’t tell her the whole town was ran over by tanks and every villager sent to his death. He wasn’t ready to talk about it. Betty stroke his arm with a sympathetic smile.

As they stepped onto the train platform, in Tebay, Betty said, “I’m afraid we’ll have to walk to the farm”.

“Betty? Oh, my goodness, lil’ Betty Vates, as I live and breathe, it’s you!”

“Mrs. Jeffrey, hi! She’s Gramps’ neighbour,” Betty explained.

“You’re alive!” Mrs. Jeffrey cried out.

“I think so.”

“Your poor grandfather, he said you’d died in a bombing. Oh, it’s a Christmas miracle! Do you have a ride? Let me take you. Albert’s in the truck.” Mercier picked up their suitcases, and Mrs. Jeffrey noticed him for the first time. “And who’s this?”

“He’s… he’s me husband. Col— Jean-François Mercier.”

“Well done, Betty.” She winked.

They followed Mrs. Jeffrey outside the station.

The town square clock chimed five times. A half-moon made the frost sparkle in the dark. Wisps of chimney smoke wrapped around lamp posts and, for the first time since 1940, Christmas lights twinkled in windows, unhindered by blackout curtains.

They squeezed themselves in the back of the truck. “He’s telling people I’m dead,” Betty whispered to him. He took her hand, and she held it, a vice-like grip, the whole ride through.

They disembarked in front of a gate, a long path between ash trees stretched to a farmhouse, its whitewashed walls bright in the night. A dog, twice the size of Mercier’s pointers with its shaggy white and grey coat, ran up to them, barking. “Hercules!” Betty sat on her hunches as it sniffed around them, tail wagging, tongue dripping.

Like a good shepherd dog rounding up its herd, Hercules pushed Betty and Mercier towards the house. Its bark announced their presence, and an old man came out, holding up a hunting rifle. “Who’s there?”

“Hello Gramps.”

“Betty!” A small woman appeared behind the man and pushed past him to embrace Betty. “Where were you, girl? We were worried sick!”

“It’s a long story, Marnie.”

The old woman looked at Mercier. “Is this…?”

“Yes. We’re married,” Betty said.

“Oh, bloody hell,” muttered her grandfather before turning back inside the house.

“Oh, don’t mind the old grouch. I’m Mrs. Marshall, everyone calls me Marnie.”

“Betty has told me a lot about you, what a pleasure to meet you Marnie,” Mercier said, kissing the back of her knobbly hand. Betty smiled at him.

“Jolly nice to meet you, young man.” She pinched Betty’s cheek. “Didn’t he feed you properly?”

“No one has, what with rationing.”

“We managed here.”

“Oh, Marnie, I missed your food.”

“Good, tea’s almost ready.” The women hugged each other again, both tearing up.

Inside the old farmhouse, the air was heavy with the scent of fir tree and wet wool, from the socks and union suits drying in the scullery.

The whole family gathered in the living room. Betty’s grandparents, mother, sister and brother-in-law. They stood in a half-circle, their gaze flickered between the newcomers, on the couch, and the patriarch. Mr. Marshall was a stocky man, all strength, with sunburnt skin even in winter.

Mercier was dying to say something, but followed Betty’s lead.

Mr. Marshall finally broke the silence, “Married?!”

“I—”

“To this… this…” He shook a finger at Mercier, but with his straight back, sharp suit and perfect hair, he found nothing to say. “Who is this?”

“Colonel Jean-François Mercier.” He stood up, his hair brushed the ceiling beams. Mr. Marshall refused to shake the proffered hand.

“A bloody French? For God’s sake.”

Now that they’d heard his verdict, the other family members spoke all over the other, asking more questions than could possibly be answered. Marnie shushed them. “Tell us what happened, Betty.”

Betty took a deep breath and began telling the story they’d rehearsed in the train. “I sent you a letter,” she said, “but I never got a reply.”

“We didn’t receive any letter,” Margaret, her sister, said. The others all agreed vehemently.

“So, you’re not angry with me?” Betty asked.

“Yes, we are angry with you, Mrs. Mercier,” the grandfather replied. “Me own granddaughter, getting married to a stranger. What d’you have to go to London for?”

And the barrage of questions and judgements began anew.

Betty wasn’t the best liar, and nerves made her stutter, so Mercier took over telling the rest of the story they’d made up. “My deepest apologies, Mr. and Mrs. Marshall, and Mrs. Vates, for the way I behaved back then. I was scared and in danger. But I truly love your daughter.” He placed a hand on her knee, and she startled lightly at the contact.

Mr. Marshall squinted at them, his bushy grey eyebrows brushing behind the lenses of his glasses. “Umpf.”

Supper was a tense affair. And he’d been in tense situations before. A conference with England and Russia in ‘39 came to mind. But this was a whole other kind of tension. He complimented the women on the meal, but only received curt thanks in return.

Betty barely touched her plate, her hands shook whenever she picked up her utensils. He admired her valiant efforts to encourage conversation despite the hostility in the air. Two years without seeing them, they had a lot of catching up to do. He flinched every time their answers came with passive-aggressive comments on Betty’s absence and all the hard work she hadn’t had to do. He made a point to chime in with flattering anecdotes about her. “Are you sure it’s our Betty you’re talking about?” her sister asked.

Because both he and Betty had signed the Official Secrets Act for their job, they couldn’t explain what they really did. Jean-François said he collaborated with de Gaulle which wasn’t far from the truth. Eric, the brother-in-law, who had only recently been demobed, scoffed. “You spent the war behind a desk, but I was shooting the Nazis meself, like a man.” He exposed shrapnel scars on his arm to prove his point.

Mercier clenched his jaw. This idea was proving more painful then he’d anticipated. He swallowed his pride and agreed with Eric, hopefully taking the heat off Betty. Mercier wasn’t the type to brag, but he had some go-to spying anecdotes to delight an audience when forced to, and they helped rectify his military credibility.

The Marshalls particularly enjoyed the one about smuggling out the entire Polish National bullion reserve before the Nazis could get their hands on it. “Forty cases of gold, ten ingots in each case, hidden under the floorboards and the seats. We’re heading for the Romanian border. Suddenly the train stops.”

“Why? What happened?” Betty asked, engrossed in his story.

“Don’t you know?” her sister said.

Mercier recovered smoothly. “I don’t think I ever told Betty that story. I couldn’t, not before the Polish got their gold back. State secret, you understand.”

“And what other secrets are you hiding from her and us?” Mr. Marshall said. He stood up from the table, moving his chair and picking up his dishes as loudly as he could.

“Never mind him, what happened next?” Eric asked.

By the end of the evening, some of the tension had dissipated. There attitude towards Betty-- except for Marnie-- was still far from warm. He wished she’d stand up for herself more, but she looked like she believed she deserved it all. It wasn’t his place to judge.

Marnie helped by bringing out a bottle of whiskey she’d hidden before the war, keeping it for a special occasion. “Me granddaughter’s wedding, that’s special enough, I reckon.” She put on a Bing Crosby record. “C’mon young ‘uns, time for a little jitterbuggin’.” She pulled on her husband’s arm until he gave up and stood up to dance with her. Margaret and Eric, paired up too.

Jean-François and Betty’s gazes met across the room. Well, it would seem strange if they didn’t dance. Their fingers entwined, his hand slid over her waist. Betty, who’d drank whiskey on an empty stomach, giggled nervously. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. “Our first dance,” he joked. For the first time since this morning, she smiled, a real smile, wide and bright, and there was a flutter in his chest he hadn’t felt in ages. She rested her cheek on his shoulder, and, for a moment, they didn’t have to pretend.

At the end of the night, Marnie dumped bed sheets and blankets in Betty’s arms, “You can take the blue room.” Mercier walked with her to the attic, carrying an oil lamp as that part of the house didn’t have electricity yet.

The blue room, they realized, had only one bed, and not a big one at that.

“I will sleep on the floor. It’s only for one night.”

He turned his back so she could change into her nightgown. He stared at the faded blue hydrangeas on the wallpaper and at the image of the Virgin Mary above the bed. He heard Betty’s dress fall to the floor, the click of garter and bra being unhooked, the stockings brushing down her legs, and despite himself, he saw it all in his mind’s eye.

Jean-François folded his clothes beside the makeshift bed, ready to put on and sneak out as early as possible the next morning. He placed the letter on the bedside table. As he planned his exit, guilt flickered in his chest. Craze betrayed her, not you, he reminded himself.

Betty lowered the flame of the lamp, and both laid in silence. Through the floorboards, came the hushed argument between Marnie and her husband.

“Are you okay?” Mercier asked.

She sighed. “At least they didn’t kick me out. It’ll be fine, I think… Thank you again. I’m sorry they were so awful to you. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.” And then, softly, “Don’t know if I’ll ever see you again.”

He wanted to reassure her, but could he? Did she even want to see him again? Before he could reply, the stairs creaked. “Someone’s comin’ up.” Mercier jumped to his feet, kicked his blankets under the bed and slipped under the covers next to Betty. She pulled his arm around her shoulders.

Good thing he moved fast, because the door opened right after the knock, without awaiting an answer. Mr. Marshall didn’t cross the threshold and kept his hands in his pockets. He cleared his throat. “Alright?”

“Yeah, we’re fine Gramps, thanks.”

“Alright, good night, then.” He turned back as fast as he had come in, leaving the door ajar. “Don’t forget your prayers!” he shouted from the corridor.

“What was that about?” Mercier whispered.

“That was me grandma sending him. I bet she threatened to not serve her special mince pies on Christmas.”

Mercier became aware of their legs touching under the covers, of her rib cage, expanding with each breath, of her hair tickling his chin. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d shared a bed with a woman without making love to her. With his wife maybe. Melancholy pinched his heart, and he longed for that simple pleasure. She glanced shyly at him, biting her bottom lip.

“Do you think he might come back?” he asked Betty.

“Maybe… I’ll lock the door.”

“Okay. Then I suppose I should…”

“Yeah… ”

Another beat passed and they didn’t move. Their one and only night together, what if they were to make the most of it? He was confident he could make her feel better.

“Anyways.” She laughed nervously and left the bed to latch the door. She looked at him, still in her bed. “S’not too hard, is it? The floor,” she asked.

That was his cue to return to his makeshift bed. “No. Better than a Morrison shelter, at least.”

She turned off the lamp completely and mumbled a prayer. The old bed squeaked as she tossed and turned.

“Elizabeth? Will you be all right after I leave?”

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

Part 2

#Mercier x Betty #teninch fic #spies of warsaw #Jean-François Mercier #a passionate woman #timepetalsprompts #lostinfic writes stuff #nubivagant fic

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