#just the desperation when you see a full page in the alphabet when you're not fluent enough to just “see” the words in the text

[protect-daniel-james]

He would come back to his cold appartment (the nervous habit of turning off the heating every morning as he was leaving had its effect; the ceilings were high and it took ages for the rooms to get warm once he came home and turned the heating on again), sit down to his desk and try to go through the papers of printed texts that the translator made for him, all very basic stuff about the football terms so he could at least get the simplest of messages across to the players. As long as there were parallel Spanish words and sentences listed next to the Russian ones, he felt safe, although he would always slip into reading the familiar forms instead of trying to decrypt the Cyrillic alphabet. Then he turned to the page that consisted only of the Cyrillic text in paragraphs of eight, ten lines. Not even looking at the opposition team's striker running straight at the shaky goalkeeper of his club has ever made him feel so exasperated. There, he could always hope in the sudden brilliance of his players; here, he was lonely in his fight. The lines made him feel dizzy, not even the familiar As and Os could save him. How was he supposed to ever figure out anything here? The lines of unintelligible gibberish blurred before his eyes. 

I want him gagging I want him desperaze I want him dry heaving I want ---

[panda-noosh]

Hey! I was wondering if I could request scenarios where the Paladins meet the reader's siblings and help babysit them? If you need inspiration for the siblings, maybe my little sisters. Youngest (7 years old) is shy at first, then sassy, stubborn, smart, and talkative. The other (10) is deaf, quiet, creative, bubbly and sweet. And my bro (he's 13) protective, stoic, sarcastic and quiet. If you need more to go on, message me! Thank you! You're a blessing to the fandom ❤️

I hope you enjoythese! Thank you for the compliment, my love x

   Shiro:

    “They'renot that bad.”

   “Inever said they were.”

    “Youlook horrified, Shiro. You haven't even gotten in the front dooryet.”    Shiro sends you a sideways glance, one that is a mixbetween a warning and a 'please help me.' You can't help but chuckleat it – he hadn't stopped being nervous from the moment you twoleft your own home. Not only was this the first time he was meetingyour younger siblings, but he was being forced to look after them, aswell.

   Itwasn't as if he had disagreed with it. He had kindly said 'of courseI'll help you!' upon the initial request, but there was only so muchconfidence a man could fake at the one time.

   Assoon as the two of you were stood outside of your old childhood home,the sound of giggling and your parents telling the younger kids tobehave sounding through the door, Shiro's hand shoots out to grabyours in a desperate plea for you to just staybeside him.

   Youhadn't planned to do otherwise, knowing full well how Shiro acts inpublic situations with people he has to impress, but the gesturestill shocks you. You squeeze his fingers gently, before the door isopening and your mothers face is showing through the crack in thedoor, a smile on her lips as if she had no aged a day.

    “Finally!”she exclaims, opening the door fully to reveal the three youngerchildren behind her. They had quietened down, becoming slightly shyat the sight of the bulky man on their doorstep. You give them warmsmiles as your mother pulls both you and Shiro into a hug, exclaimingher praises.

   Youfollow her into the home, allowing her to tell you all about the newplan and the set-up and bed times and school work – all of which,you know will go out the window as soon as they leave. You and yoursiblings were like best friends – they never took you seriouslywhen you were babysitting them, because all you did was joke around.

   Yourmother and father leave the house shortly afterwards, and havocensues. For the first hour or so, you and Shiro genuinely try to bereasonable adults towards the younger ones. Attempting to sit themdown to do their homework, or cooking them little meals and makingsure they drank enough water.

   Butit wasn't long before that layer of shyness was picked away,revealing an all-too familiar giddy side that you had seen amongstthem for years.

    Inminutes, Shiro was being pinned to the floor by three giddy kids whoinsisted on singing the alphabet all too loudly in your boyfriendear. Shiro groans, wiggling under their grip and begging for you todo something butyou can't do anything but laugh in the corner at how much of a turnthe night took.

   “Alright,alright!” Shiro exclaims. “Time to go to bed, or something. Idon't know! Just – get off of me!”

    “Youtook the remote, Shiro,” you say from the doorway. Your brothergrins at your words, knowing he now has an even bigger excuse to keepShiro pinned down.

   Theoriginal excuse had been the fact that he had risked kissing you infront of them all. That had no panned out nicely, an array of 'ew'sand 'get a room!'s' being passed around before Shiro was eventuallypinned to the living room floor.

   “I'mthe big kid,” Shiro argues, sending you a look of annoyance foradding fuel to an already massive fire. “I'm allowed the remote.”

   “Andthis is my house,” your brother comments. “So surely we shouldget first say?”

   “That'snot how society works. You need to be doing your homework.”

   “I'vegot all day to do my homework. The Simpsons finishes at half 4.”   “He's got a point,” you chirp in, again. Shiro groans,throwing his head back and finally going limp against the carpet.Your sisters giggle as your brother hops off of him, wiping his handsdown his school slacks with a proud smile on his face – victory forhim, again.

    Shiroputs The Simpsonson himself, a true sign of weakness for the Paladin. It makes youchuckle as he walks towards you in the living room doorway, the threekids finally settled down behind him as he wraps an arm around yourwaist and digs his face into the crook of your neck – a form ofcomfort for him.

   “Youdidn't tell me I'd be this exhausted so early on,” he mumblesagainst your skin. You giggle, wrapping your own arm around hisshoulders and pressing a kiss to his lips.

   “You'vejust got to be nice. They love you.”

    Keith:

   Uponinitial arrival, you had low hopes.

   Itsounds cruel, you know, but Keith wasn't one for social interaction.He could barely go a minute without sending out some sarcastic,offensive remark towards somebodyinthe room, so whenever he offered to babysit your little siblings withyou, you weren't entirely sure what to say.

    Therewas always the chance he could be good with kids. You had barely seenhim around children before, so the discovery of a nice and soft Keithcould be made, but from what you hadseenof him around people, he wasn't much of a pleaser of people.

    Sochildren were a long shot.

   Nonetheless,you said okay. It was the least you could do – he was planning ondropping you off and picking you up anyway. There really was no pointin you leaving.

    Yourhopes were low, and your anxiety was high, but Keith barely seemed tocare. He surprisingly walked right up to the front door, knockedpolitely, greeted your mother with a kiss to the cheek before sendingher off with a grin on his face that never once faltered as she leftthe house.  

    Threechildren to take care of, all of whom were on a sugar high from thesweets your mother had given them in an attempt to keep them quietfor at least a few moments.

   AndKeith handled it perfectly.

   Youbarely had to step in once as he sat down on the living room floor,your seven year old sister at his elbow with a colouring book in herlap. Keith sat beside her, legs folded as he passed her the crayonsshe asked for like a nurse handing a doctor his tools.

   “Green,”your sister would say, and immediately a green crayon would be placedin her small hand.

    “It'slooking good,” Keith comments every now and then, looking over yourlittle sisters shoulder as the colouring book. She had always beengood at being creative – the colouring genuinely was good. An arrayof pastel colours that made the Mandala page pop to an impressiveamount. “You need to draw me sometime and then colour me in withthat red colour.”    “Even your skin?” your sister giggles.

   Keithgrimaces as if the words had affected him. “Do I look ill? Am Iflustered?”

   Yoursister nods teasingly, giggling at her own actions. You watch on asKeith gasps, placing a dramatic hand over his heart like a clawreaching into his chest.

    “You'vewounded me,” he says, dramatically. “Perhaps to make up for it,you should let me colour in a little bit?”

   Yoursister nods her head almost immediately, passing the colouring bookto Keith and letting him choose his own drawing. He eventually comesacross a solar system picture and gets to work on colouring it, yoursister passing him the colours just like he had done for her.

    Theywere like two best friends, and you couldn't help the stupid grinwhich erupts on your face at the sight of them.

   Lance:

   “Lance!”

   Yourbrother greets you and your boyfriend at the door before the handlehas even been turned – because Lance is here, and that means goodthings. That means a day of fun, and pranks being pulled on no othervictim than you.

    Youhadn't initially agreed to bringing Lance for that reasonspecifically. After last times bad experience with the prank war hehad secretly organised with your teenage brother, you didn't see itas much of a good idea to let him back in. The two caused troublewhen they were together – quiet stealths.

   Butyour mother had insisted that Lance be your right-hand-man tonight.Your brother had apparently done nothing but ask about Lance from themoment he had left the house the last time to now. It was aheartwarming thought, until you were forced to suffer through thesame things as last time all over again.

   Itstarts off simple. You stand in the kitchen, cooking dinner for thetwo of them as Lance entertains the teenage boy. It doesn't takemuch. A few maths questions giving extra time for Overwatch game play– a deal of many. You can hear them plotting in the living roomthrough an array of pencil scratches and lazor shooting noises, butchoose to ignore them for now. You had put enough trust in Lance tobe mature that you didn't feel the need to be paranoid -

   Notuntil there was flour drenching your clothing and you were yellingfor your brother to “Get back here now! I'm telling mum!”

   Youhad grabbed your brother and pulled him into a death grip hug,smothering his clothing in flour. Lance had screamed dramatically,attempting to pry your younger brother from your hands, and beforelong, the two of them had gotten away and had hidden upstairs.

   “Don'tdie on me, damn it!” you had heard Lance yell as your brotherpretends that the flour is his own blood. “She will pay for this!”

    Thenext prank comes not ten minutes later. You walk back into thekitchen, only for Lance and your brother to jump out from behind thedoor and startle you, your brother up on Lance's shoulder fordramatic effect.

   Youscream and kick Lance in the leg, watching as he grips your brotherthat little bit tighter to avoid him falling.

   “Lance!Y/B/N!” you exclaim, gripping your chest. “So help me god, if youdo anything else-”

   “Don'tthreaten him!” your brother exclaims, causing Lance to burst outlaughing. You pout, folding your arms over your chest – you lovedseeing them get along, but bonding over your misery wasn't somethingyou particularly liked.

   Lancesighs upon seeing your pouting face and quickly sets your brotheronto the floor, pulling you into a sideways hug. It isn't long beforeyour brother is clinging to your waist, joining in on the embrace.

   “Welove you,” Lance whispers against your hair. “This is just ourway of-”

   Hedoesn't get to finish his sentence before you've sent flour into theair, it latching onto both of their faces in seconds.

   Hunk:

   Hunkwas lucky your younger sister liked to cook.

   Thatwas what he had told you. That your little sister liking to cook washis saving grace amongst your family, because that was all he likedto do. Cook. Bake. Make food.

   Soto walk into your household and be told that your ten year old sister– the shy, quiet and sweet girl you had looked after  so many times– actually liked to make her own stuff as well, was like a breathof fresh air.

   Henever failed to make you smile with the way them two were together.It was adorable – a mix of admiration and confusion. Your ten yearold sister wasn't one for talking. She was quiet, locked inside ofher own head a lot of the time, just like you were. So to see hergiggling and laughing along to Hunk's playful jokes was a rare andweird sight.

   Butyou wouldn't trade it for the world. Not even as you walked into thekitchen on one summer afternoon to see Hunk and your sister dabbingpieces of frosting on each others faces as if the dessert topping wasmake up.

   “Y/N,look!” you sister exclaims upon seeing you standing by the door.“We got icing.”

   Younarrow your eyes, stepping into the kitchen fully. “I can see that.May I ask why?”

   “Wewere baking,” Hunk replies, adding another dab of icing onto yoursisters cheek and watching her as she crinkles her nose up cutely atthe sensation of it dripping from the skin. “We're bored waiting onthe cupcakes to cook, so here we are. Do you not think she looks likeElsa from Frozen?”

   “Iprefer Anna,” your sister insists. “Can we put cinnamon in myhair to colour it? Then you can be Elsa!”    Hunk's eyes widenplayfully as he turns to you. “Can we?”

   Allyou can do is smile in reply, because you know that no matter whatyou say, they'll do it anyway. And a part of you doesn't entirelymind.

   Pidge:

  “I'mjust telling you that it's scientifically impossible for the eventsof this game to actually unfold in real life. That's why I'm notplaying it with you.”

   Yourbrother narrows his eyes, folding his arms over his chest as Pidge'sreply for her to play World of Warcraft with him in real life. “Whatif wizards are real somewhere and we just don't know about it?”

   Pidgebarely glances at him as she replies. “I find that very unlikely,since the level of technology in this age would make it close toimpossible for such beings to hide from us.”

   “Butwhat about the level of magic? We don't know how well they can hide.”

   Pidgeshrugs, still looking up at the roof. “Well, why don't you go lookfor wizards, then? Playing an online game of them won't make themcome out of hiding.”

   Yourbrother turns to you, a look of confusion dazzling his features. Yousimply roll your eyes, telling him that this was what your girlfriendwas like on a daily basis – always had to have an answer foreverything, a reason behind everything. It was almost impossible toargue with her, because everything she said was so well thought out.It was as if she had planned the argument beforehand.

   Yourbrother sighs and turns back to Pidge, taking a seat against the sofaand letting his back rest against her legs. “You're no fun, Pidge.”

   “I'mgreat fun. I'm giving you advice on how to look for wizards.”

   “Afteryou told me they weren't real.”

   “AfterI broke the cold truth to you, buddy.”

   “Whatif you just play the online version with me? You can use mum's laptopand we'll make you an account!”

   Youhave to bite back your laugh at the thought. Pidge's face screws intoexactly what you thought it would – slight disgust.

   “Youwouldn't catch me dead playing an online game,” Pidge insists. “Iprefer to look into things outside of the internet. Maybe I couldteach you how laptops work from the inside instead of-”

   “Wedid that last week.”

   Pidgescrews her eyes shut, sighing. “Right. I forgot.”

   “Ididn't. I'm the one that got in trouble for my laptop being rippedopen.”

   “Itwas for educational purposes.”

   Yourbrother shakes his head. “It always is with you, Pidge.”