#on another note i just remember something else that fucking pisses me off in english

[whywoulditho]

english (and almost every other european language tbh) has always been fucking weird to me because why the fuck would you need gender-specific names to like, body scent. why not just call them the same thing. what exactly is the difference between a perfume and a cologne?? or like, niece and nephew? i mean why go out of your way to invent two words that mean the same thing but one is only for men and the other is only for women? when they're quite literally the same thing???

[elvenbeard]

Q&A with Mikolaj Szwed and Björn Schalla at Phantom Liberty Tour Cologne

(Björn (male V's German VA) left, and Mikolaj (CDPR localization director) right)

I cannot believe my luck still about having been able to attend the Phantom Liberty Tour in Cologne yesterday (Aug 25th 2023)! I'll make a separate post just about the event as such once I've emotionally recovered xD But I wanted to make a separate post for this topic for reasons!

Around two months ago I made this post. I'm currently on my second playthrough of Cyberpunk 2077, playing with the German dub and English subtitles. That's because I'm streaming the game for some international friends via Discord as I go, for fic-writing purposes, and finally just out of general interest for the difference between dubs and translations and such. In short, it has been a super interesting experience noting all the differences in tone, word choice, and more, between the English and German translation. It stood out to me for example that in English Goro adresses Wakako as "Okada-san", but in German as "Okada-sama".

Now, imagine my face yesterday (something like this probably: 🤩) when it was announced there would be a Q&A with Mikolaj Szwed, Localization Director of Cyberpunk 2077, and Björn Schalla, who voiced male V in the German dub.

I took some notes on the whole Q&A, since this is a super special interest of mine, and I think it might definitely be interesting to some of you too! Therefore though this is gonna be long, so I'll put some more tidbits and details they spoke about below the cut (such as what it's like playing a game with a character that has your own voice, and how CDPR views and uses AI voices - excellent questions asked by some of the other attendees).

But, the thing that confirmed to me what I had been wondering about in my above post, is this:

The VAs of the various different localizations were somewhat free in what they said and how they said it, therefore 100% bringing something of themselves into the characters they played. Mikolaj told them precisely "this is what your character is doing/feeling right now, they're facing this or that guy, so-and-so is with them" along with their translated lines, but there was always wiggle room. The translations are not blindly following a "canon" script, for lack of a better word (as CDPR games are written in Polish first, then translated to English, even though English is the primary dub everything's recorded in "first"). Also, unlike in dubbing movies/TV shows, the VAs are not bound to characters' lip movements (the talking animations are made to fit the respective dub, which is so, so neat). They only have to fit a similar timespan as the "original" line and scene. Therefore, each dub is unique to its language to a degree, and not a mere translation of some original source text (resulting in me sometimes laughing about some chars being a lot more crude or making a completely different joke in one or another scene). An example I remember at the top of my head: in the English dub, when talking to Dennis at Afterlife, V will call his lack of details on the "very simple, easy money" Big in Japan Gig "duty-free and detail-free". This just doesn't work as a funny alliteration and play on words in German. They settled on something else there that also kept Vs comment humorous, and that's common in "regular" TV show/movie dubs too. The other way around, during the interrogation of Hellman, English Johnny will say something like "well, fuck me sideways, (...)" on one of Hellman's comments, while in German he's like "well, fuck me and call me animal names" in a slightly more crass way expressing how pissed off he is at the corpo just admitting he's kind of useless to V. No direct translation, but same vibes fitting the mood, and making each dub and each interpretation of every single character unique to their respective VA and language in a way. And I love that so much!!

Back to my post above. While I didn't get to ask Mikolaj directly myself, cause there just was not enough time really to answer all burning questions, I think with what they spoke about it seems realistic to me that Takemura's German VA definitely added that "-sama" to Wakako's last name as a bit of flavour he deemed fitting for his character in that scene. Which, in my eyes, is making German!Takemura just a tad more sly than other incarnations of him I know of. Björn also said he was able to use his own sadness or not feeling well on some days to really sell V's sadness or pissed-off-ness at his shitshow of a life, and put something of himself into the performance. He definitely shed a tear here or there, and it really really shows that he gave 110% doing this character and his story justice. I'm totally not biased here because my V is male and I love the German dub so much, obviously xD. But no, for real, not just him, I think every single person working on this game put their blood sweat and tears into it, it's a huge labour of love and filled to the brim with creative passion on all ends, on every level.

But yes, so much to VAs influencing their characters, confirmed! More of what they talked about in the Q&A under the cut while my memory's still fresh! Thanks for reading this far, like with my above post, I'd love to hear your thoughts and experiences as well, especially if you played the game with different dubs yourself!

For this part I'm gonna vaguely paraphrase the questions that were asked by other attendees as I remember them, followed by what Mikolaj and/or Björn replied, respectively!

Q: How did the casting process for the German dub go?

Mikolaj was presented with 8 different VAs that could fit the part of V originally (for both masc and fem V respectively iirc, but could also be it was 8 altogether). Four of them were invited to an in-person casting, respectively. Björn recalled having to say some lines and only understanding half of what he was saying really, not really knowing the context much yet xD But he had voiced characters in games before and had had a lot of fun with that, so when he was presented with this opportunity he happily jumped at it. A little while after the casting he then received a call going "Glückwunsch, du bist V!" ("Congrats, you're V!") to which his initial, surprised response was "Ja, wie?!" ("Wait, what?", more literally "Yes? What?" Note: "wie" is basically pronounced like "V" xD).

Also, Mikolaj has people for all languages the game is dubbed in on his team and the process is the same for each dub, more or less.

Q: At Björn: did you have someone to "act with" or off of in the recording booth?

V was actually one of the first, if not the first to be recorded so other VAs had lines to use as base to respond to with their acting. Björn was solely in there with Mikolaj who directed him and responded with dialogue where conversations happened, if need be. That kinda ties into what I said above the cut, that Vs VA really could shape the tone (together with Mikolaj) based on but not copied off of the English script.

I don't recall how long the overall recording of all the dialogue took, but it was 8+ hour long sessions, not every day, but over the course of weeks.

Q: At Björn: Is it weird to play a game as a character that has your own voice?

He mentioned he is only now having the time to play Cyberpunk himself for the first time and already incredibly addicted (what a mood). He doesn't find it weird hearing himself constantly, because through his job alone he is used to hearing his own voice (even though he could just play femV, too, he prefers playing male, "his" V xD). Also, he's usually so immersed in the world anyway that he doesn't think about it much, can distance himself and his voice from the character. He did note being a little self-critical about his work though (also such a mood xD), especially about lines that ended up with a slightly off intonation that he'd fumbled. That simply happens though, in dubbing in general, and in video games moreso because you're usually just using your imagination for picturing a scene instead of talking over an already filmed sequence. BUT actually, when they went back into the studio to record for PL, they re-recorded some of those messed up lines with mispronounced names or off intonation, which is making me look forward to my 3rd playthrough even more now! Gonna come with patch 2.0 I assume :D

Q: At Björn: What kind of character is your V?

A very nice and friendly one! He likes playing a goodie two-shoes. He also noted he's not far into the story yet, just finished Automatic Love, and it may have awoken something in him xDD He said when he had to pick a doll at the start of the quest he got distracted by his cat pissing on the carpet. So he didn't pay attention, just picked any, and ended up in Angel's booth, whom he didnt mind but also wouldn't have chosen otherwise. But then he wound up weirdly enticed by the scene and quite enjoyed it xD And honestly who wouldn't be, Angel is lovely 💜

Q: How do you both feel about the rise of AIs and AIs potentially replacing VAs in the future?

Björn said this is a concern to a degree, but will likely not affect him much anymore in his career (he's been in this line of work for 40 years, started as a kid, and is not doing only voice acting). It is a thing though that is discussed and unions and such are looking into means and ways to protect VAs rights to their own voices through contracts, for example, if VAs wish so. He also briefly touched upon the fact that some iconic German VAs are simply getting old and dying without enough new people following and able to take over their iconic roles for example, or even finding VAs that fit certain parts AND get them accepted by audiences (there was a huge shitshow around the German The Simpsons dub a couple of years back when Homer's German VA died of old age and his predecessors were not well-liked by a very entitled audience).

Mikolaj said he is generally not opposed to AIs as tools that should be used, in fact, they should be used but not abused for more than what they're good for. An AI can never convey the human range of emotion necessary to really "sell" a line, that is something you just need VAs made of flesh and blood for that are capable of understanding complex emotion (which AIs, who are not intelligent in the way humans are, cannot). Then again, in certain, highly specific cases, there could be exceptions made. He said that Viktor Vektor's Polish VA died after being sick for a long time. Before his death he'd heard about what AIs could do though and gave his okay to have his voice "live on" in a way after he is gone. CDPR also discussed this with his family before doing anything, but to have him remain a part of Cyberpunk they cloned his voice and artificially created some voice lines for him based of the material they already had. To Mikolaj, the decision on whether or not to use AIs and in which context always needs to be an ethical one done on a case by case basis.

Q: Some Hollywood stars like Johnny Depp never watch movies they acted in - how do Mikolaj and Björn feel about this sentiment?

Both of them agreed that they actually really like looking back at their old works. Mikolaj started at CDPR with the localization for The Witcher 2, and sometimes he cringes at some of the decisions he made there when going back. But it also shows him how he's grown as he realises "I'd do that differently now".

Björn is similar (he is not just a VA, writes screenplays as well and does voice directing iirc). He likes looking back at older stuff and, as mentioned in an answer above, both he and Mikolaj are a bit self-critical sometimes and see things they could improve when revisiting old ideas. It's a good thing to do to live through the awkwardness of looking at your old art xD

Q: What were your favourite lines/scenes to record?

Since Phantom Liberty is fresh in their minds (and Björn noted how nice it was to be back in the studio with everyone again), they kinda had to omit answering this for spoiler reasons xD There is supposedly an extremely emotional scene to come though that had everyone go absolutely quiet and sad in the booth, when usually there was always joking and laughing to a degree. You could've heard a pin drop (what are we gonna bet it's the new ending? 👀).

On that note, Mikolaj also mentioned how he loved seeing everyone come back to reprise their characters with new confidence, knowing them and how they wanted to play them now already, and they had a blast during the recording of the Phantom Liberty dub.

Out of the main game Mikolaj said though, the lines that hit him the hardest, that make him super emotional still, are the voice messages left to V in the suicide ending epilogue. He especially mentioned Judy and Panam (his faves 💜), who gave their all and poured all the despair and sadness into those, it was and still is hard for him to watch.

And on that super happy note the Q&A ended xDD I definitely didnt include everything that was said, I think I missed a smaller question or two as well, I'm just really going off of my memory mostly and a handful of notes I took during the talk xD

But yeah, I think this was definitely one of, if not the highlight of the night for me, at least looking at the schedule and what the local team had prepared for the Cologne stop of the Phantom Liberty tour :D

I still feel super privileged to have been there, given how new I'm to the game and fandom still, but yeah. I'm still so pumped and hhhhhhhh about everything, hope I can share some of my joy and excitement through this post with you all as well!!

\o/

[soapfcrce-a]

Excerpts from the journal of John MacTavish. If found, return to 22nd SAS regiment, Credenhill, UK. (Part 1. Part 2. Part 3)

Page 1.

Can’t believe Andrews made me get a new journal. If he wanted a token of affection that bad, think we could’ve figured out something else entirely than stealing. Or I could’ve given him those socks.

Page 2-12.

[ Various sketches ranging from different kinds of lethals and tacticals marked with component listings as well as spec preferences for his preferred sniper rifles. There are also lists of chemical components, preferred wire materials for varying uses, and an anthropomorphic rubber duckie. ]

Page 13.

Shipping out for a job in Al-Mazrah in a few and they got me bundled with the marines. Target named Hassan… honestly would’ve thought we nailed him in that missile strike. Guess the guy’s luckier than we are.

The marines aren’t too bad at least. Laswell says I’m gonna be working with Ghost again. Honestly? Bit surprised, but man I’m glad for a familiar face on my six at least. He’s a mean shot, but he gets things done and that’s something I can really look up to.

Wonder if he’s still mad about the kill stealing through… oh well, one way to find out.

Page 14 – 15.

[ Compound blueprint sketches. ]

Page 16.

[ Two more sketches of birds, though noticeably they seem to be vaguely dove shaped. ]

Al-Mazrah was an absolute shitshow, but I can’t remember the last time I was ever in Urzikstan and it wasn’t one. Eight marines injured, six dead, and we didn’t even get the guy in the end. Fucking “choices have consequences” indeed, but I gotta keep telling myself that if we didn’t secure the site then it would’ve been much worse.

The American missiles keep bothering me though… US wouldn’t be in bed with the terrorists, would they? Given past history, suppose that’d be the least surprising thing about this…

Page 17.

[ Another dove sketch ]

Found Andrews had left my journal on my bed before leaving for Russia. Found out he didn’t come back.

Guess I cursed him for thinking there’d be a thing there.

Page 20.

Would’ve thought we’d have had more time, but I’m getting shipped back out with Ghost again. Mexico this time, guess that means Price and Gaz actually turned up something on their end about this. Narco related, by the sound of things. What the hell could drug lords be moving American ballistics for?

And what the hell’s Hassan doing hand in hand with them? Shouldn’t think too hard about it, it’s only gonna make me mad.

Supposedly working with a PMC on this, too. Never worked with one before, so this’ll be interesting. Dossier on their leader’s impressive as hell. If we got time, wonder if Graves will let me poke around an AC-130.

[ Below, a now updated sketch of Ghost the Beagle having made its return, next to a poor man’s helicopter. ]

Page 22.

Absolute shitshow of the last 24 hours.

Going after Hassan as soon as we made contact, only to have to release him? Fucking rules… it’s not like we ever played by them in the first place, so why does it suddenly matter now? I didn’t jump off a cliff for this.

Finding Graves just about as pissed about it as I was had been surprising. Knew I was going to like the guy… Owe him for the save, should remember to pick up a bottle of tequila before we leave.

Ghost has been strangely quiet since we got back to base. I wonder what’s going on in his head…

Page 24.

[ A drawing of Ghost’s mask, large and surprisingly detailed. Specifically he’s focused on the cracks in the material and tears in the fabric. Notes about seeing if Alejandro’s base has tape around and other repair things, plus an arrow pointed at the eye holes that simply says ‘Brown??’ ]

Page 25-26.

[ A long, four column list of Spanish words and their English translation. ]

Page 29/31.

[ The page is positively beaten up, the only signs of any legibility being found behind from indenting and pen markings bleeding through. The only clear thing that can be made out are the words ‘May he rot in the deepest fucking bowels for what he did to us, and the rest of his Shadows better run’. A few dried blood smears can also be seen. ]

Page 37-38.

[ A surprisingly accurate drawing of Ghost and Alejandro can be seen on the top of the page ]

As much of a shitshow as it was, I’m going to miss Mexico. Not the new injuries though, pretty sure that ache in the back of my knee’s still from the damn Narco guards… Though can’t wait to actually get my shoulder properly looked at. Not looking forward to explaining how I caught a bullet in it though…

Gonna miss Alejandro. Man’s a right crazy bastard, and that’s coming from someone who’s an even crazier bastard himself. Honestly, couldn’t have asked for a better partner, really. Actual hermano for life right there.

Couldn’t help but notice Ghost seemed easier when the helicopter finally took off. Relieved, almost, but I couldn’t blame him for that. Now that I’ve seen what he looks like, I wonder if that means he’s finally come around to trusting me a bit more. Could’ve sworn I heard him speak Spanish on the tarmac, too.

Weird guy… every time I think I’ve got him figured out, he’s got another three mysteries on hand.

Page 39.

[ Extensive drawing of the suspected building in Chicago after having gotten the blueprints over computer. There’s a crossed out scrawl of plans, entry points, counting for how many flashes and stuns he should split with Price, and something about C4 in case of locked doors ]

It ends today. Get Hassan.

Page 40.

[ An idle small doodle of an explosion could be found in a corner ]

CIA levels of creative writing should be a standard in school. Wouldn’t have gone with blaming a power outage on wind, but suppose even weirder things happen in this country. Still not sure what hurts more now, the fall down the elevator shaft or the fact that Hassan reopened my shoulder.

Probably a bit of both.

Finding out Shepard’s fucked off was not a good way to end drinks. Finding out Makarov’s back in the picture even worse. No rest for the wicked as they say, and sure as hell no rest for us. They can be tomorrow’s problem though, we earned ourselves a hard won victory.

Page 41-42.

[ A continuation, though it’s separated by a surprisingly large portrait of Simon ]

Getting saved again by Ghost though… twice now? Think I paid him back for the first time in Las Almas already by saving him, but it’s never a good feeling to be left in debt. We got a few more days in Chicago (I blame Price and Laswell insisting I get my shoulder sorted while here), I’m thinking maybe I see if he wants to go out on a bar crawl as thanks.

He probably doesn’t even think about it, but he’s close to owning about as much of me as Price does.

[marauders-venting]

Pardon My French

pairing: wolfstar (sirius x remus)

genre: fluff

warnings: none

words: 3556

note: thank you to @ probably_wizardingworld_artist on instagram for helping me translate things into french. also i got some of the lines that sirius says from this website https://www.fluentu.com/blog/french/french-pick-up-lines/

a/n: if you dont speak french (like me) dont look up a translation! everything will be clear by the end of the fic and its more fun if you find out along with remus. i mean, i cant really stop you if you want to translate the sentences but thats just my advice :)

Remus was sitting in the library, a French to English dictionary open on his lap, sighing in frustration as he flipped through the pages. For the past couple of weeks, Sirius had taken to murmuring things in French under his breath and it drove Remus crazy that he didn’t know what they meant. He had asked Sirius on several occasions but Sirius always refused to tell him. But the fact that he didn’t understand the words wasn’t the only reason it drove him crazy when Sirius spoke French. It’s not Remus’ fault that Sirius sounds really hot when his lips curve around the words in “the language of love”.

Remus tries not to think about it but it’s becoming increasingly more difficult because every time they’re alone together Sirius seems to find something to say in French (if only to piss Remus off).

The last time Sirius had said something in French to him had been last weekend. It was the first sunny weekend since the winter and Marlene had suggested that they all go down to the lake for a swim.

Remus’ brain could barely form a single coherent thought from the moment Sirius took off his shirt; he was too busy trying not to stare. He remembered jumping into the lake and trying to get warm by swimming to the far side, away from all his friends. Sirius had followed him to make sure he was okay.

“I’m fine,” he had said, smiling slightly at Sirius. “Just cold.”

“Oh okay,” Sirius said, looking relieved. He had glanced back at their friends before whispering, “On devrait t’arrêter pour excès de beauté sur la voie publique” and submerging his head in the water and swimming back to James, Peter, Lily, Marlene, Dorcas, Mary and Alice. Remus had felt a shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

Then there was the time that Sirius had skipped Quidditch practice to visit Remus in the hospital wing after a particularly bad full moon. James, being the captain, had been able to delay the practice so that he and Peter could come to visit as well but they had to practice for the game the following day. James had to be at the practice because he was the captain and Peter had to be there because they didn’t have another Keeper to fill in. But James had given Sirius permission to stay with Remus (which showed just how terrible he felt that he couldn’t stay as well). They watched a bit of the practice from the hospital wing but Remus was getting frustrated, having to stay in a hospital bed for so long. So, after clearing it with Madam Pomfrey, Sirius helped Remus climb all the way to the Astronomy Tower. They sat up there watching the sunset when Sirius said, “Il y a tellement de soleil dans tes yeux que je bronze quand tu me regardes.”

“Ugh, do you make it your life goal to patronize me?” Remus had said.

“Of course, Moony, what else would I live for?”

“Are you ever going to stop doing that?” he asked.

“Probably not,” Sirius had replied, grinning at him. “It’s too much fun.”

“Why do you even bother?” Remus said. “You know I don’t understand a single word of what you’re saying. Why don’t you go talk to someone who speaks French?”

“Because then they’d know what I was saying,” Sirius replied simply. He had refused to answer any more of his questions.

Remus had needed to spend that night in the hospital wing again. All night, Sirius’ voice rang through his head but every time he tried to make something coherent of it, actually words or letters or even sounds, he couldn’t. He could never remember what Sirius had said long enough to actually look it up or ask anyone.

But lately, Remus had noticed that Sirius had been repeating the same sentence in French practically every day. He recognises the sound of the words in Sirius’ mouth.

So today, Remus waited until he was alone with Sirius, waited for Sirius to say what Remus knew he would. And when he did Remus repeated the words in his head a million times until he remembered them. And now Remus was in the library and looking up the words in a dictionary. 

He knew that he could’ve gone to Lily and asked her to translate it for him but he didn’t want to. He knows it’s stupid but he feels like this is something that Sirius is saying to him and only to him. Remus had never heard Sirius whisper in French to anyone else. And as much as Remus pretended to be annoyed by it, he actually liked that he had this with Sirius. He liked that they had something that was just their own. And even though it was probably nothing, he didn’t want to share it with Lily right now.

Chaque jour je tombe plus amoureux de toi. That was the sentence. Remus looked up each word individually and came to the conclusion that he must have heard wrong or maybe the words were spelt differently to how they were pronounced. Because there was no way in hell that Sirius had said these words to him. It was impossible. Right? Remus didn’t know. And he knew that the only way he could be sure was by asking Lily. He had asked Sirius a million times to no avail. And he needs to know what Sirius has been saying to him, especially now that there’s a chance… No, Remus tells himself, you just translated wrong. Don’t get your hopes up. So Remus gives in. He’d rather ask Lily and find out what Sirius has been saying to him every day for the last month than keep this to himself without even understanding it.

“Hey Lily,” he started, getting her attention. Remus had waited until the two of them were alone, just in case he had translated right. Which he hadn’t. He knows he translated it wrong. But he’d still rather nobody knew about it. “What does ‘chaque jour je tombe plus amoureux de toi’ mean?” He fumbled across the words a bit, hearing how terrible his pronunciation was. Lily looked at him, her eyebrows raised.

“Where on earth did you hear that sentence?” she asked.

“I read it somewhere,” Remus lied easily. “So what does it mean?”

“It means ‘every day, I fall more in love with you.’” Remus’ jaw dropped open. “Remus, who told you they’re in love with you?”

“What? Nobody! What makes you think someone said that to me?”

“You said that you read that sentence somewhere but if you had read it, you would have no idea how to pronounce it. Besides the look on your face when I told you what it means is more than enough. So who was it?”

“None of your business,” he said. “But y–you’re kidding, right? That’s not actually what it means. Right?”

“No, I’m not kidding, Rem. That’s what it means,” she replied, laughing at the look on his face. “Come on, tell me who it was.”

“No fucking way,” Remus said. “Besides, they’re probably joking. I mean… no, they’re definitely joking.” Lily shrugged.

“Just ask them,” she said. “And then you have to tell me who your secret admirer is.” She poked him in the side.

“Stooooop,” he said, jumping away from her and laughing against his will. “I’m going.” He got up and started walking away.

“Have fun with your mystery lover,” she called after him without looking back. Remus rolled his eyes but his mind was racing. So apparently he hadn’t been wrong. That was what Sirius had said to him. What does this even mean? He’s teasing you, said a voice in his head, like always. Sirius doesn’t love you. Not like that. But he said he does. Don’t be stupid. Sirius isn’t in love with you. He’s joking. Like always.

The next time Sirius said it, they were in the Room of Requirement. Sirius had ambushed Remus in the middle of his prefect rounds with Lily levitating a cardboard box in midair. Typical. He had practically given Remus a heart attack by interrupting his conversation with Lily, leaving Remus to wonder just how much of the conversation he had overheard.

“So have you talked to your mystery French lover yet?” Lily had teased. Remus groaned.

“No, I haven’t,” he said. “And I probably won’t.”

“Why not?” Lily demanded. “They’re being very romantic, Remus, you should at least appreciate their effort.”

“I’d appreciate it more if they’d just tell me what the fuck they want instead of sending me coded messages that they know I don’t understand,” Remus grumbled.

“Moonyyyyy,” Sirius said, coming up from behind him. Remus jumped, turning around, heart racing in his chest.

“Sirius? What are you doing here?” he asked. “You know it’s after hours, right?” Sirius snorted.

“Yes, Remus, I am fully aware of the fact that I’m breaking a school rule,” he said, smirking.

“Are you aware that technically Remus and I have to turn you in?” Lily said.

“Ah, but do you really plan on doing that, Evans?” Sirius asked.

“That depends,” she replied. “Why are you here?”

“Right,” Sirius remembered, then he turned to Remus. “James forgot to put this box with the rest of the stuff for tomorrow so I said I’d take it. And you’re coming with me.”

“Remind me why again?” Remus said.

“Moony, come on, don’t make me go alone. I’ll be lonely,” Sirius pouted.

“You are insufferable, did you know that?”

“And yet, you’ve tolerated me for 6 years now.”

“Yeah, the keyword there is ‘tolerated’,” Remus said, rolling his eyes. “Lils…” he started, turning to her.

“Nope,” she said before he could even ask. “No way. You are not leaving me to do these rounds alone because then I’ll die of boredom. So unless you want me to tell McGonagall that your planning something for tomorrow, you’re going to finish this floor with me and then I’ll go back to the common room and you can do whatever the fuck you want.”

“Evans…” Sirius pouted.

“Nope, that’s non-negotiable, Black. Also, do I want to ask?” She gestured to the hovering box.

“The less you know, the better,” he said. “Although, I would avoid the classrooms near the dungeons tomorrow if I were you.” She nodded and Remus thought he saw her smile slightly for a second.

“You go on, I’ll catch up,” he said to Sirius, knowing that Lily’s mind would not be changed. He couldn’t blame her. He wouldn’t have let her leave him to finish this chore alone either. She was right, it was painstakingly boring. Which is why he would much rather be with Sirius. But it was only fair that he finished tonight’s rounds with her; she did cover for him around the full moon, after all.

Sirius pouted but knew better than to argue and turned to go to the Room of Requirement. Remus watched him and he disappeared up a flight of stairs. Only then did he notice Lily was smirking at him.

“What?” he asked, sounding a bit defensive.

“So Sirius is your secret French admirer?” she said.

“W–What?” he spluttered. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, for one, the look on your face when he showed up right behind us while we were talking about your mystery lover,” Lily said. “It was the look people make when you’ve just been talking about someone and then they show up and you’re worried that they may have overheard you.”

“That… is a very specific look,” Remus said, avoiding the question she was asking.

“Then you smiled at him when you called him insufferable,” she said.

“So?”

“So it was one of those I’m-smiling-at-you-while-I’m-teasing-you-cause-I’m-secretly-in-love-with-you smiles.”

“Again, that's a very specific expression,” he said.

“Look, I know you like him, so will you just admit it already?”

“Why? What good would that information do you? It’s for me to worry about and for Sirius to never discover, ever.”

“Remus, you’re kidding, right?” she said. “Sirius literally told you that he loves you, in French no less.”

“Exactly, Lily. In French. If he actually meant it, why would he say it in a language that he knows I don’t understand? He just knew that I would look it up and he wanted to make some joke.”

“I really don’t think so, Remus,” Lily said, shaking her head. “I think he really loves you.”

“He doesn’t,” Remus said. “He can’t. Not like that.”

“Remus, do you love him?” she asked. Remus closed his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I love him.”

“So why are you doing this to yourself? Just ask him what he meant when he said it. You don’t even have to tell him anything, just ask him what he meant.”

“But… what if he says it was a joke?”

“First of all, I don’t think he will,” Lily said. “But if he does, that’s what you’re expecting, isn’t it? It won’t be a surprise or anything.”

“I know, I know, I just…” Remus sighed and looked away from her. “I don’t think I’m ready to hear him say it. To be properly rejected.”

“Oh, Rem,” she said. They had reached the end of the corridor and Lily stopped to hug him. “Obviously I’m not going to make you do anything. You know what I think. Go find Sirius now, he’ll be waiting for you. Do what you think is right.”

“Yeah,” Remus said, hugging her back. “Yeah, okay.” So Lily went in the direction of the common room and Remus went to the Room of Requirement.

He found Sirius sitting with his back against the wall, the box beside him.

“You’re an idiot,” Remus told him, trying to put the conversation with Lily out of his mind. “You’re practically begging to get caught.” Sirius shrugged.

“I was waiting for you,” he said. “Come on, let’s go in.” They paced back and forth in front of the wall three times. We need a place to hide our things, Remus thought. A door appeared and Sirius opened it, leading the box in with his wand. They had been here before to hide loads of things. The room was pretty cluttered from years of students dumping their things in it but they knew where exactly to hide the box so that they’d be able to find it tomorrow when they needed it. Remus followed Sirius through aisles upon aisles of junk, looking at all the broken, discarded things people threw in here.

They found the corner where they’d left everything else and Sirius added the box to the rest of the pile.

“Are we done here?” Remus asked.

“Yep, we can leave now,” Sirius said. They had started walking back towards the door when Remus heard Sirius say it from behind him.

“Chaque jour je tombe plus amoureux de toi.” Remus turns to him and stops him in his tracks.

“Pads, why do you keep saying that? Who are you talking to?”

“Remus, you are aware that you’re the only one here right? I’m talking to you.”

“Then why… why are you—?”

“I know, I know, you don’t understand French,” Sirius says. “That’s why it's fun. It’s amusing to know something that you don’t, for once.”

“Sirius… I know what that sentence means,” Remus says quietly. Sirius’ neck snaps up.

“What?”

“I know what that sentence means,” Remus repeats.

“No, you don’t,” Sirius says, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I do. I asked Lily after the last time you said it. She translated for me.”

“Fuck, I didn’t know Lily could speak French,” Sirius says, rubbing a hand over his face. “So… so this whole time you’ve known what I’m saying? So you know that I… you know that I… oh god, Remus I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I didn’t want to… I was just…” Sirius starts to back away, shaking his head and looking anywhere but at Remus. Remus reaches out and grabs his hand.

“Don’t go,” Remus says. “Sirius. Is it a joke? Are you making a joke? Actually, no, don’t tell me. Cause if it’s a joke I’d rather you bury me under all the crap in this room and spare me the pain.”

“What?”

“It’s not a joke, is it?” Remus asked, a pleading look in his eyes.

“No,” Sirius said, softly. “It’s not a joke. I’m sorry, Remus, I didn’t mean to—”

“Shh,” Remus said, pressing a finger to Sirius’ lips. “Sirius,” Remus tucked Sirius’ hair behind his ear. Remus was vaguely aware of Sirius stepping towards him, towards his touch. “I love you, too.” Sirius gapes at him

“Really?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Remus says. He’s still holding Sirius’ hand. He pulls Sirius closer and lets his other hand graze Sirius’ cheek.

“Puis-je t'embrasser?” Sirius whispers.

“Pads, I… I don’t know what that means.” Sirius lets out a small laugh and looks down at the floor. Then he looks back up at Remus, his grey eyes glistening in the last sliver of sunlight. He’s biting his lip.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please,” Remus says, without thinking. He feels the blush blooming on his cheeks but Sirius is already kissing him, rising on his tip-toes to make his lips reach Remus’. Remus feels electric currents dancing around his body, unable to contain the excitement. He’s kissing Sirius. Sirius is kissing him back. Sirius loves him. Sirius loves him in the same way that he loves Sirius. Sirius is snaking his hands around Remus’ waist pulling him closer. Sirius’ hair is soft, tangled between his fingers. Sirius is here, in his arms, and it’s everything Remus has been wanting and more.

“Wait, so now can you tell me everything you’ve been saying in French the whole time?” They’re sitting in the same large armchair, hands still linked together, legs tucked against their chests, knees and thighs and hips pressed together. Remus is very aware of every point where his skin is making contact with Sirius’. He’s counting them.

They found the armchair in the Room of Requirement; it’s unclear to them whether the chair is something that’s been dumped in the room by somebody else or if the room conjured it up because they were looking for it. 

Neither one of them wants to go back to the common room yet. Remus doesn’t want to see Lily’s smirk and to have to admit she was right at the moment. He’ll do that tomorrow. Right now, all he wants is to be with Sirius. To press little kisses to his nose, his cheeks, his jaw, his lips just because he can.

“Oh god,” Sirius says, burying his face in between Remus’ shoulder and the back of the armchair. “It’s like you want me to embarrass myself.”

“This surprises you?” Remus kisses the corner of his mouth. Then his jaw. Then his neck. Just because he can. “Please.”

“Ah fine,” Sirius gives in. “Um, what do you want to know?”

“What did you say that day at the lake?” Remus asks.

“Oh that. I said, ‘on devrait t’arrêter pour excès de beauté sur la voie publique’. It means uh… ugh, you’re going to laugh at me for this. It means ‘you should be arrested for excessive beauty in public’,” Sirius said, blushing. Remus rolled his eyes but he felt his cheeks heat too. He smiles a little.

“What about that day on the Astronomy Tower?” he continues.

“Ugh,” Sirius buries his face in his hands. “You’re trying to kill me. I said, ‘il y a tellement de soleil dans tes yeux que je bronze quand tu me regardes’. Which means, uh… ‘there’s so much sun in your eyes that I get a tan when you look at me.’”

“You’re quite the poet, aren’t you?” Remus smiles. “And what about tonight?”

“I thought you said you knew what that meant,” Sirius says. “Or were you bluffing the whole time?”

“No, I know what it means,” Remus says. “I just want to hear you say it. In English this time, please.”

“So demanding,” Sirius teases. “I’ve said it in French a million times already and you want me to say it in English? What difference does it make?”

“Well, none to you, you speak both languages.”

“Oh, alright,” Sirius says. It’s the first time Remus has seen his face really go red. He decides he likes it. “Every day I fall more in love with you.” Remus can’t hide his smile, nor does he want to, as he leans in to kiss Sirius. He brushes his lips against Sirius’ timidly before connecting them, his hand caressing Sirius’ cheek. Remus loses count of the points of contact between him and Sirius as their bodies melt together and Remus worries that he’s about to wake up from a dream. But when he feels Sirius’ hand gently tracing the scars on his hand he knows that this is real, that Sirius can really love him. Sirius does love him.

People come to the Room of Requirement to throw things away, to hide things that they don’t want anybody else to know about, to leave things they never want to see again. But that night, Remus didn’t just leave something in the Room of Requirement. He found something, too.

[spiltscribbles]

Prompt: Pro Athlete Sirius because that my and Remus' kink

~Notes: OMFG VICTOrIA!!!! I FUCKING SCREECHED!!!! lkadfjlaksdgjoiaejfalskdgjioeugisfkldshg Yes tis my kink as well!!! And then I saw this from Nonny and worlds collided and BOOM! I hope you like this my love<3<3 You incredibly talented sugarplum!!! TBH I want to write a thousand more things in this AU XD

.-

FROM THIS LIST  |  Send Me A Prompt!💜 | A REBLOG MEANS THE GALAXY!!💜

.-

When Remus was young— surrounded by the light breeze of the Welsh coast and the harmony of birds chirping in the distance— he would follow his mother to their small garden behind their cottage  at the cusp of twilight as his father cooked their supper, and he’d watch as she laid flat all sorts of newspapers written in French and Arabic and English, watch as she brought her red pen against the ink and marked the articles with underlines and shorthand he wouldn’t understand for years still.

He asked her once, when he was barely eight years old, why she bothered to keep up with so many different publications, why she read the same story penned by countless perspectives when all the facts stayed the same at the end of the day. And he remembers how she had let out a quick, shrill of a laugh, tossing back her golden head while sucking in a puff from the bubbling hookah she had set up besides her— a habit she acquired from her Algerian, refugee parents, and one that became synonymous to those late nights in Remus’s eyes.

“Facts can be wielded to someone’s personal vendettas, Remus John,” she had crooned in that adoring way of hers whenever she spoke to him— honey eyes that were the same color and shape to Remus’s own flashing alight and their matching smiles going crooked in her stunningly beautiful face. 

“Oh.” Remus had replied, still confused as all get out but was perfectly fine with just holding his small vigil, watching her beneath moonlight and the soft glow of their outdoors lamps, as he listened to the shuffling of papers while she commenced this odd quirk. 

It’s a decade and a half later—  as his editor for the Phoenix, a small, but bustling online editorial that plans on dethroning the likes of Politico and Vox in only a matter of years, scans his latest findings on the corrupt boosters linked to MP Avery from Leeds— when Remus thinks he suddenly understands what his mother, with her keen eyes and pixelated air, had meant by facts in how they can be colored differently simply by the words surrounding them. And he wonders if one day soon, one of his bylines will join her little stack of stories, if she’ll be proud of him even if she says as much even now, when he’s a lost twenty-something stumbling through life in the capitol and barely making it as is, between his actual job and the gig he has at the coffee shop nearest his dingy flat he shares with three other blokes.

“Mmm, this is good, Lupin,” Dorcas declares after what feels like an eon, dropping her long, dark legs from where they were lounging leisurely on her desk and scuffs out her cigarette in a pretty, glass ashtray. “Send it over to Flores to look into deeper, maybe it’ll corroborate the info she’s already gotten from her sources.”

Remus feels himself bristle, hopes that it doesn’t show, that his face stays passive as he contends, “I think I should at least help her write the expose, I’m the one who got this bombshell.”

“That’s not how it works, sweets,” Dorcas toots, tossing back her dark head of curls as she rises, perching on the corner of her desk delicately and looking down, straight into his gaze. “I know it’s frustrating, but you’re fresh blood. barely six months here, but Alice has been with us for years. This is her baby, and we’re just here to nurture it.”

“So I’ll have to wait another ten months, at least,  to get the same treatment?” He argues in an admittedly petulant way, making Dorcas laugh endearingly, and Remus is suddenly,  searingly reminded of his age, and how he’s the youngest staffer that this London based news outlet has on hand. 

“C’mon, love, it won’t be that long for someone as sharp as you, just be patient, and don’t try to pull a Zoe Barnes on us, yeah? You’re far too pretty to clean up on the rails of  the tube.” Dorcas tousles a hand into his dark tawny curls, and Remus holds back the roll to his eyes that he feels willing up inside of him as he stands fully.

“Thanks Cas.”

She smiles beatifically, and throws him a wink. “You’re joining Emmy for the report tomorrow on those United footballers and their fundraiser for the hospital, yeah?”

“Bright and early,” Remus replies, still feels a bit miffed that he was chosen to write up the charity function, considering he doesn’t know a lick about football and doesn’t really get on with anyone who does. But Caradoc— their typical sports reporter— is out sick with the flew, so it’s on him. “I’ll have it on your desk early enough so it’ll be published by tea time.”

“Good man,” Dorcas says in thanks, picking up her crowing cellphone before waving him off.

Remus isn’t all that surprised when he strides out of the office only to find Benjy Fenwick sitting against the opposite wall, knees pressed to his chest and quickly scrambling up when he catches sight of Remus. Sometimes it’s impossible to believe that the bespectacled man in front of him is one of the top editors for the Phoenix, that he’s a regular corespondent for places like the BBC or CNN— that his rebukes against the piss poor inquiries waged during PMQs have become more anticipated than the sessions themselves. Remus tends to forget all of that when he sees him like this, messy haired and wearing a graphic T-shirt with some marvel superhero embossed on the front. “Wotcher Remus.”

“Hiya Remus says, smiling softly and rocking back on his heels. “You wanted to talk to the sergeant then?”

“Huh? Oh, no, no. I didn’t want to talk to Dorcas, I just— Erm, I know you were showing her that stuff you got from that intern, Pettigrew, and i know you were chafed about not getting any opportunity here so—“ He trails off, scratching the back of his head and studying a point over Remus’s shoulder, and it’s all too endearing, and Remus is so beyond thankful he’s made such a good friend here.

“No cigar,” he says in answer to the unspoken question, shrugging noncommittally even if he feels like shit over it.

Benjy nods, face contrite in a way that tells Remus he never thought it would’ve went otherwise. “I’m sorry, that’s bollocks.”

“’S whatever,” Remus shrugs off the apology, begins walking down the hall and straightening his report to hand over to Alice. 

“Ah,, erm. We can get a drink, yeah? In commiseration,” Benjy offers, and Remus stilts only for a beat before continuing the twisting trail to where Alice is set up with the more senior members on staff. And he feels only sorta bad about wanting to refuse. He knows that if he says yes, it’ll mean something different to Benjy than it does him, that he’ll probably take it as Remus finally giving into his pestering and deciding to actually go out with him, even if he’s refuted the other four times he’s asked as much. Remus’s simply just too busy trying to get a footing in this city, and trying to figure out where he’s suppose to go from here, and what he’s suppose to do. And yes, Benjy is cute— a complete Seth Cohen archetype. And he’s sweet and smart and funny enough. But Remus is really not in the mood for doing the whole flowers and wine and candle lit dinners shtick, had gotten enough of that while still with his university boyfriend. And yeah, he’s only just turned 24, but he already feels too old and too jaded for that sort of puppy love— even if Benjy’s got a good decade and some change on him.

Probably sensing his hesitation, Benjy is quick to rectify the offer. “I’ll ask Mary, and Fabian too, and a few others. We can make a night of it, just some drinks on a Friday after work.”

Stalling by the last turn to Alice’s desk, Remus looks at him from over his shoulder, and sort of hates himself for being such a soft hearted fuck sometimes. “Yeah Benj, sounds nice. Just let me know on the group chat, yeah?”

Benjy grins, much more genuine than his awkward quirk of the lips from earlier. “Yeah, good call, I’ll let the others know pronto.”

“Aces,” Remus says, tosses him a obligatory thumbs-up before finding an expectant looking Alice who’s tapping her foot impatiently.

Yeah, today is so bloody shit.

.-

Surprisingly, the round of drinks turns to another and then a third and fourth and Remus is currently nursing his fifth mango margarita on Benjy’s tab, and he actually feels lighter than he has since taking the job at Phoenix, feels bright and bubbling and like absolutely nothing could be wrong as long as he’s got this drink in his grasp and he’s sitting with the handful of reporters and photographers from the office that don’t all have sticks up their asses. It’s fun, it’s good. So obviously it couldn’t have lasted.

Mary is currently cackling about her Uber driver from last night who asked her all sorts of well meaning, but incredibly dense questions about her hijab— a freshly poured glass of coke in one hand, while the other is tangled into her girlfriend Emmy’s. And From his left Remus can hear Fabian ribbing Frank on his crush on Alice, while Benjy scoots intermittently closer as they watch Kingsley and Marlene sparring over something to do with a Kardashian or TikTok trend or whatever the fuck else— The guy has resilience, Remus has to give Benjy that.

“Right, who’s buying next?” Marlene asks, abrasive as ever while scrolling through her phone, ostensively finding something to prove her point against the managing editor.

“Reckon it’s my turn,” Benjy crows, standing up smoothly and glancing down at Remus with a nervous sort of half grin.

“Just a water for me, ta. I need to sober up,” Remus tells him, feels proud that he didn’t even slur slightly. Benjy bobs his head understandingly, and Remus turns to ask Marlene about her latest tinder hookup which always is a good laugh, but then he catches on it. On the sound of the pub’s doors flinging open, followed by a raucous crowd of athletic looking guys probably only a bit older than he is, clambering indoors. 

They’re all so very sixth-form, broad grins and slapping each other’s shoulders with jeers, topped off with loud, bark like laughter that makes it obvious to Remus that these wankers think that they’re some sort of group of gods amongst men, roaming around like everyone should fall to their feet and offer everything they have. It makes Remus roll his eyes so far back that it feels like he might’ve sprained them. They just give off this exhausting aura that reminds him of a past boyfriend in tenth year who was on the footie team and who’s favorite activity was either making Remus feel lucky enough to go out with someone so popular, or dragging him around like some sort of bloody trophy.

To put it nicely, Remus sorta hates them on sight. So when he sees one of the tossers— regrettably the brightest of the lot who’s all pearly teeth, and glittering eyes and incredibly impressive shoulders that tape off to a narrow waste in an objectively infuriating matter— swivels up to the barkeep and jostles Benjy on his way, well Remus doesn’t hesitate to dart forwards to tell him off.

“Oi, watch where you’re going, yeah?”

Benjy and the bloke who looks like he might moonlight as a model for Calvin briefs for when he’s not lounging in a yacht off the Tuscany coast, both turn to him at the same time. Benjy looking abashed, and the aforementioned tosser preening like the cat who’s just caught a canary.

“Sorry, love. Didn’t see you there,” he says in a delightfully deep tenner, giving Remus an appreciative once over, and Remus absolutely despises how the action makes him feel both thrilled and irritated. “Trust and believe, I wouldn’t have looked away if I saw you.”

“Not me, arse.” Remus spits back, refuses to pay any credence to how his cheeks have begun to flush. “You bumped into my mate right there, the one with the tray of loggers.”

The tosser darts his almost molten gray eyes over to Benjy for a sparing second before he laser focusses back onto Remus, the most phony expression of contrition all over his face. “Sorry to your friend,” he says the descriptor like a joke that no one else is in on. “Let me buy you a drink in sorry for the one I made slim here spill.”

Remus is officially unimpressed, hopes that his flat tone gets it across. “You’re an arse.”

“You’re mouthy,” he retorts, looks like it’s something he greatly appreciates— delights over even. 

“Ah, ’s fine Remus, really. I’ll just bring these back and get us a new glass.”

“Listen to slim, Remus, he’s got the right idea.” The tosser hurriedly interjects, strutting close enough to him that he makes it so Remus has to tip his head back just slightly so not to drop his gaze. “I’m Black, Sirius Black, just to get the pleasantries out of the way.” His leer tells Remus that the name should probably evoke some response of aw into Remus, but all it does is make him sound so egregiously pretentious that Remus wants to smack his own bloody head against a dry wall and stay in the hole until this ruddy Sirius bloke leaves him the hell alone.

“Good for you,” he says instead of all of that, and spots Sirius’s friends from behind Sirius chuckling and elbowing one another. Evidently this is a line the tosser uses frequently, and Remus is pleased that he might be one of the first who aren’t at all impressed by the grandiose way he introduced himself.

“Hah, you know I’m use to the pretty ones playing hard to get, but I’m really feeling here that you’re not exactly liking my company, love.”

Remus sucks in a frustrated breath through his nose, shouldering past Sirius and taking the tray of drinks from Benjy before storming back to their table where the others have begun openly gawping at the scene— Marlene outright squawking with Fabian just as Remus takes his seat.

“Don’t,” Remus warns them all as he silently says fuck off to the water and instead gargles down one of the loggers. And if he has to steadfastly not turn around for the rest of the night towards where he can feel Sirius’s gaze burning into his back— well then so be it.

.-

The next morning, Remus has to puke twice into the toilet, and gulps down three aspirins just to stave off his bloody hangover from the night before where he decided that getting properly sloshed would prove as a good technique to not end up making out with Sirius in some dark corner— or regrettably the backseat of his car. And if he does still remember flashes of ranting to him about how insufferable preppy, rich boys actually are while Sirius gazed at him endeared— well Remus just decides to purge it out along with the stomach acid. It’s not like he’ll ever see the douche again.

.-

He meets Arthur— one of the accountants who also helps out by taking photos for more low key news stories— outside the hospital where the conference will be taking place with the Manchester United team. There was a scrimmage that they all played with some of the kids in the cancer ward that occurred at around eight in the ruddy morning, but thankfully Remus didn’t have to show up until an hour later when the team presented their big shiny check, to the big, shiny hospital. 

However, Arthur has been here for hours, so he’s beyond chirpy and looks like he’s downed three cups of espresso as he chatters on about his son Percy starting secondary school, and his eldest, Bill, getting an award for his reading prowess, and all the strange craving his wife has been having throughout her pregnancy with the twins they’re expecting any week now. And Remus loves Arthur, he does— one of the sweetest folks he’s ever met— but God, his head is still thrumming from those misguided tequila shots and he really just wants to get his three quotes, and write up the story so he can find refuge back in his sheets.

While Arthur has moved to talking about his wife, Molly’s, plans to open up a daycare in their refurnished garage, Remus scans his eyes over the familiar face of reporters from other outlets who look just as bored as him, and then to the stage where a woman in a sharply pressed suit is ushering for the group of football stars to join her, so that the conference can finally fucking begin. 

And Remus thinks that their faces are sorta familiar, probably from all the publicity they get on the telly— but then he freezes as he stops at one of them with dark brown skin, and thick rimmed spectacles— and he suddenly can hear him chatting about his redheaded girlfriend and drunkenly declaring that she’ll be the mother of his children some day soon. So he completely expects it when his stomach drops as he moves his glance just a bit to the right, being struck by pearly teeth, and glittering eyes and incredibly impressive shoulders that tape off to a narrow waste, made all the more infuriating by the tight kit he’s got on and the blazing number twelve splayed against his chest.

And fuck.

Remus runs through about a dozen scenarios in which he can make a discrete, or not so discrete exit before he notices him, but in tandem to his spiraling thoughts, the wanker actually looks forwards, and like a creepy metal detector, his quick silver gaze pinpoints onto Remus.

They stare at one another for a beat before his smirk goes wolfish, and he runs a hand through his artfully tousled hair in a way that practically screams, fancy meeting you here. And holy fuck he looks so mouth watteringly attractive with that faint film of sweat running down his neck, and how his smile pulls slightly more to the left, and how he’s looking at Remus like he’s his birthday and Christmas presents all rolled into one.

Remus suddenly hates everything— but most of all hates Sirius, and how bloody fit he is.

“Oh, you’re a fan then?” 

Starting, Remus shifts around slightly so that he’s facing Arthur completely. “Pardon?”

“Sirius Black I mean, you’re a fan?” Arthur asks in that abrasively congenial and intensely scrutinizing way that he treats everything. “I mean he’s a great player, but I know you don’t really watch. So I bet it’s all that charity work he does, yeah?”

“Charity work?” Remus echos, feeling like a floundering fish.

“Truly some amazing stuff.” Arthur pontificates, rubbing a hand against his jaw as he tips his head back. “I mean obviously I’m partial to the fundraising for Reporters Without Borders, but of course the things he does with the more impoverished kids is great. And I know Molly likes his very outspoken posts about being anti war and his annual live streams to earn money for refugees in those war torn nations, like the last one he did for Syria?”

“Oh—“ Remus says, feeling like his head is being overrun by a fountain of new information.

“Yes well, you don’t usually see athletes get into the thick of it with political issues, but I reckon he never really minded. I mean the fact he’s the first football star from United to have come out without any fanfare really proved that. Oh, I think they’re starting, I should probably get some photos before Dorcas gives me a tongue lashing.”

And as quick as the flash of his camera’s lends, Arthur is using his considerable height to get to a more advantageous spot towards the front, and leaves Remus in the dust, as if he hasn’t just obliterated his every assumption of Sirius from after that initial meeting.

And unbidden, the words his mother had told him so many years ago, about facts and how they can color a situation just simply based off the person who’s speaking them— flood to the forefront of his mind.

“Fucking hell,” Remus mutters lowly, gets jostled by Greengrass, a hawkish reporter from a rivaling publication who always has on the most wickedly sharp acrylic nails, and perfectly quaffed curls— as she waves around her certification to speak her inquiry.

“My question is for Potter,” she announces when the woman leading the event, McGonagall, points her way. “And I was wondering how early you boys have to rise for training during the season? And how intense the sessions are that Coach Hooch puts you guys through?”

Potter, the one with the redheaded girlfriend that Remus heard so much about last night between his ranting at Sirius, parts his lips, but it’s not his voice that ends up reverberating through the outdoors space. Instead, it’s Sirius, who’s shouldering him with a goading air, obviously expecting his comment to have only ended up in Potter’s ear and not caught by the mike.

“I wonder if Lupin will let me wake up with’m so he can let me get some real training done before practices, eh?”

And just as soon as his words pitter off, the entire crowd drops to a hush— quiet enough so that they could probably hear it if a pen dropped. 

Sirius’s handsome face— strong jawline, and broad but sharp cheekbones, and a long, narrow nose— goes suddenly ashen, and he flashes over to Remus as if he’s terrified that he’ll bite his face off.

God, what an idiot.

With a long suffering sigh, Remus plucks out the microphone from a slack faced Greengrass’s hand. “We can discuss the regimen afterwards, Black. Just meet me by the front doors and let your mate answer the bloody question.”

Everyone around them falls into laughter that’s caught between uncomfortable chuckles and amazingly amused cackling, but the only person Remus is paying any mind is Sirius, and how he seems to have gone absolutely incandescent, nodding electrically before miming the zip of his lips and gesturing for Potter to carry on.

Jesus help him, Remus has no idea what he’s gotten himself into.

.-

~My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist

~Buy Me A Coffee 

[inomios]

Beauty behind the madness || levi ackerman x reader || PART I

Summary: “You knew that under all of his layers of grief and rage there was something worth loving; he knew that under your easy smiles and sweet words there was something dark lurking. He wanted all of you and you wanted all of him.”

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Words: 7,4K

TG: Brief allusion to soldiers’ suicides; little description of a panic attack on the seventh part (I can’t feel my face); brief talk about death and addiction; and even though I wrote it all using gender neutral terms, at some point I used the term girlfriend because partner sounded too cold for the situation.

-        If you are triggered by some content that I haven’t mentioned, please tell me so I can add it to the list and prevent it from happening again.

Author’s note: Mushing my favorite album with my comfort character is being so much fun. I’m enjoying so much this process you wouldn’t believe it. The second part will be up next Tuesday, and it’ll be the ending. Please, share, comment and like if you enjoyed, it would mean the world to see your reactions and impressions. As always, English is not my mother language, so sorry for the mistakes.

                                                          . . .

1. REAL LIFE

He had carved on his soul, heart and mind the words that Kenny had once told him, back when he was a scared and weak kid under his wing in the Underground, back when Kenny had caught him crying in the dead of night over his mother.

‘Boy, you won’t survive a day with that attitude. Your mother was a whore and now she’s a dead whore, get over it. You don’t have time to mop over her, crying is for people who have nothing more important to worry about.’

Kenny, for better or for worse, had taught him many lessons that became the key to his survival, advices he would never forget, and this was one of them: ‘Grieving is a waste of time.’

Every second he cried over his mother was time he could have spent granting his sorrowful existence. He couldn’t let his grief control him, because missing his mother wouldn’t make him last another day, she couldn’t protect him now that she was gone. So, for better or for worse, he let his sadness and rage aside and started focusing on what was important: survival.

Grieve is a tricky feeling, it makes you think you can control it, while it just keeps bottling up until it explodes, and you better be ready for when that happens, because you may not be able to fix the mess it’s going to leave behind.

Levi thought he had masqueraded his feelings pretty well, he tried to shrug everything off, as if nothing mattered to him, but it did, and Kenny knew it and he loved to tease him about it, he loved to press his buttons, Levi had learned that pretty soon in the relationship, but he was trying to handle his feelings, he wanted to prove Kenny he was worthy of his time, that he was strong, that  he wasn’t weak, not anymore. So, whenever Kenny tried to get a reaction out of him, he kept his mouth shut, but he couldn’t water down the fire in his grey eyes and Kenny could see it, he always could.

‘You are as worthless as your mother, maybe I should leave you in a brothel too, then you would be useful for something.’

A loud howling laughter.

Levi’s brow twitched.

‘Did your mom have time to teach you how to read or was she too busy fucking half the Underground?’

He thought he had said something hilarious. He bent over his back.

Levi had a little knife clutched in his hand.  He was starting to see red.

‘You’re as worthless as your mother.’

He was pushing him to his limits.

Levi had already passed them.

He liked to think that there was a dark abyss inside of him, a bottomless place where he could hide all his emotions and thoughts, they were useless, so he ignored them, he kept them away, far from the surface. Levi thought that he could detach from his pain, but it was a part of him, and if you stare into the abyss for too long, the abyss stares back at you. The Levi who grieved was still there, looking at him, the Levi who felt too much but said nothing wanted to get out, so he did, he escaped from the abyss and took control.

He run towards Kenny, eyes gleaming with unshed tears, knife in his hand, aiming for his heart, but Kenny was faster, quicker on his feet, he moved just in time. However, Levi still managed to scratch his shoulder, he teared his shirt and he could see the blood slipping, tainting the white fabric.

Kenny got mad. Levi had never seen him that furious. He grabbed his scrawny body and gave him the beating of his life. When he ended, Levi couldn’t even move, he was lying on the floor on a puddle of his own blood.

‘Listen kid, I don’t give a fuck about your shitty problems. You think you’re special? Guess what, you are a piece of shit, just like everyone else. Everyone here has issues, solve them or do whatever you want to do with them, but don’t you ever dare to pull a stunt like that again, because I’ll will leave you here to die, boy.’

That was the second lesson Kenny had told him: ‘Control is vital.’

He thought that by ignoring his feelings he was controlling them, but he was wrong, he realized that when those bottled emotions caused him to be bed ridden a few days.

Instead, he decided to let his feelings out in really calculated moments, he started to canalize all his rage into more productive stuff, like cleaning. He liked to think that by cleaning he had control over something, there was something cathartic to him in scrubbing floors, doing the laundry, and mopping floors. It was the Underground, it was filthy no matter how much effort he put into it, but it gave him something he could focus on, something he could use to let his frustrations out.

So, he cleaned, for his mother who deserved a better live.

For the innocent child that he once was, who had been stripped from everything he loved.

For Kenny, who he despised and was cruel and ruthless.

For all the things he had to do to survive.

He cleaned and cleaned, and he never had an outburst again. He was in control.

Looking back, he is sure that part of Kenny’s fury that day was that a kid made him bleed. You see, Kenny liked to think of himself as some kind of god, a ruler, someone who could control everybody, someone who was holding your fate between his calloused hands. And when he hurt Kenny, both of them realized two things, especially Levi, who discovered this: ‘Gods bleed to.’

Levi learnt his third lesson that day. No one could control him, the same way he couldn’t control anyone. You are the one who makes the decisions, just be sure to choose one you won’t regret. Kenny had no power over him, he wasn’t a god and if he was, Levi wouldn’t bow down to him.

Kenny learnt that Levi, that child, had a fire within he couldn’t tame, Levi wasn’t going to be a submissive, brainless follower. He had potential, he had willpower, he didn’t really need him, but the boy didn’t know it yet. So, when the moment came, he left. He had grown to care about his nephew, at least a little, but Levi was a survivor and Kenny knew he would fight with teeth and claws until the very end. Therefore, Kenny left him with the only person who could protect him: Levi himself.

When Kenny left him at his own, alone again in the Underground, he learnt his fourth lesson: ‘Love is a risk he wasn’t going to take again.’

  2. LOSERS

Stupid is next to ‘I love you.’ He was pretty fucking sure of that.

He made a bow to himself: he wasn’t going to love anyone ever again, people are bound to leave, and whenever they left, they took away a part of him, and he was already too broken for that. However, life happens, and it turns everything upside down, it doesn’t ask for consent, so his plan of never loving again was ruined sooner than he would’ve liked.

Furlan came first. He wasn’t looking for a companion, at all. A companion meant more people to care about, a distraction, and he didn’t need any of that. However, Furlan managed to convince him that he could be useful to him. Whenever he looks back, he thinks that both of them knew that Levi didn’t need anyone, he could survive on his own, he was tougher than anyone else in the Underground, but he was alone, so alone, and a part of him yearned so much for someone that he let Furlan come with him.  

Their relationship was weird at first, not sure where the boundaries of the other laid, what they could do or don’t. Furlan didn’t want to overstep and piss off Levi and Levi didn’t want to overshare with him, he didn’t want to show him his weaknesses, but at the same time he wanted to spend time with him.

He remembers that there were moments when Levi desired to say something, talk about pointless stuff, but he never did, after Kenny he was deprived of human contact that he even thought that he had lost his voice. However, as time passed them by, they fell into some type of routine, boundaries became clearer. Furlan started to get Levi, how he would never start a conversation no matter how bad he wanted; how his mind was always plotting something; how he always had an ace upon his sleeve… Furlan grew fond on him, he knew that there was a lot Levi wasn’t telling him, but from time to time he got to see a glimpse of all the man he was under his façade and layers of secrets, and he wanted to learn about him, he wanted to be his friend, he wanted to have someone to help and he wanted someone to take care of him, he wanted to stay.

On the other hand, Levi liked how Furlan seemed to know when he could talk and joke around and when he had to stay silent, it was like he understood him, Furlan was prudent and chill, thinking before acting, and he knew when to fight and when to give up. Levi started to care about him, a lot, against his better judgement, he just hoped he wouldn’t regret his choice.

Then, Isabel appeared on scene. Levi was happy enough with Furlan, he didn’t need someone else to worry about, that was more trouble, more chances to get hurt. However, he soon found he had a soft spot for the girl. She was so energetic, so bubbly, eyes always gleaming with hope, she was a ray of light in the darkest place. She was messy, reckless and wild, she balanced them out. When she asked to join them, Levi wanted to let out one of his characteristic ‘Tch’ and turn his back on her, there was no room for compassion in the Underground, but he couldn’t, he was weaker than he thought. He couldn’t leave her at her own knowing she could get herself killed, he didn’t want to be like Kenny, he wasn’t going to be like him.

The three of them became a gang, well, not just a gang, a family too. They looked after each other, they looked after Levi, just like his mother did. They were the best criminals in the Underground, and sometimes Levi felt like a god with the world at his feet. He shouldn’t have forgotten his third lesson: ‘Gods bleed too.’ He thought they were invincible, they weren’t, they were no gods, life wouldn’t bend at their will.

When Isabel and Furlan died, he didn’t even have proper bodies to bury, he just did two little makeshift graves and carved their name on the gray stone. He was the only person who would remember them, so he visited them at least once a week (he still does), mainly during his sleepless nights, when no one would ever question or notice his absence. Talking with them was the only reason why he hadn’t given up long time ago, he was their leader, he told them to always keep going, to never back down.

So, he kept going, for his mother, for Isabel and for Furlan. For the only people who ever loved him.

Maybe he didn’t really keep going, maybe he just let life pass by, what mattered was that he was alive and fighting for a purpose, he owed them that, their deaths wouldn’t be in vain.

Why did he always have to lose everything?

Why there was nothing good in store for him?

He was bound to lose to lose everything.

Stupid is next to I love you.

He was so fucking foolish.

3. TELL YOUR FRIENDS

The mission had been a carnage, a lot of fallen soldiers. He could still hear their screams and see the fear in their eyes, more images to haunt him while he was sleeping, as if they weren’t already enough. He couldn’t save anyone, he never could, he was human after all, even if some people thought about him like a god.

He had had a problem with his ODM gear during the mission, the gas cylinders were failing and wasting too much gas, so he ran out of it pretty quickly, which costed him a seven meters fall, breaking his right leg, his left arm, a few ribs and a concussion in the process. He could have died and a part of him wished he had, then, the pain would have ended. Luckily, Hange arrived just in time to help him, he still thinks that maybe they knew what was going on in his head, that he had thought about giving up right there, and that’s why as soon as they arrived back home, they sent him to the infirmary, not wanting to leave him alone. Hange still says it was because he couldn’t take proper care of his injuries by himself. They both knew he had had it way worse than that.

The infirmary was clean, and that meant a lot according to his standards, but your desk wasn’t, not at all and it was driving him crazy, if he could, he would get up and clean it himself. However, you seemed unphased by it, every day you would drop more documents on your table (but no document ever left, they just kept piling up); he had seen you drop coffee on some paper and not giving a fuck a single fuck about it; you had seven books on your table, none of them related with medicine, you just had them there because you wanted; and if you asked him what irked him the most, he would say the brush, you had a brush in your desk and it was full of hair. He couldn’t get his eyes of your desk, and if you ever noticed, you never did anything about it; or maybe you did notice and since you are a little shit, you just wanted to see how far you could go before he went feral. We will never know.

If you had been any other person, like one of the members of his squad, he would have said something way earlier, but you weren’t his subordinate, you were a medic and as far as he knew, he didn’t have the right to scold you at your own workplace.

You were competent, you just talked when necessary and you would always ask him if he wanted something, no matter how many times he had said ‘no’ and whenever Hange came to visit, you would always talk with them and ask them about their experiments and research. Hence, Hange thought you were the sweetest person ever, they had even told him that he better not be giving you any trouble.

You both had an easy routine. You would come in first hour in the morning, trying to be silent with no success at all, you were so noisy, luckily for him, he never sleeps more than four hours. You would sit on your desk and write a letter, every day, who the fuck had so many people to talk to or how many things worth telling did happen in your life? Then, you would go out to get him breakfast and you brought more documents with yourself, his breakfast always came with a cup of tea, a shitty cup of tea, but at least it wasn’t coffee or juice, he didn’t know if you were the one behind the tea, but if you were, he was glad you didn’t work on the kitchen. After breakfast, Hange would pay him a visit and talk with him, his squad would often visit him after training and Erwin once or twice a week, whenever his work let him a little free. At midday you would water the plants on the window, you had once called them ‘Asphodels’ and after watering them you disappeared, at the beginning he thought you just went to eat, later on, he would find why you did that. The rest of the day was the same, you wrote and read documents and he would either look annoyed at your desk or he would vert his gaze at the window to distract himself.

This routine changed the second week, because you asked him two questions that made him be more comfortable around you.

‘Why do you look at my desk as if it were making you sick?’

‘Tch, because is making me sick, it’s dirty as fuck.’

Okay, not the best words, but you asked, and he answered. He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel better after telling you. You blushed a little and scratched your neck bashfully.

‘Sorry, I can be a little messy sometimes.’

‘I can see.’

That day you spent the evening emptying your desk, any other person would have asked you not to bother, but Levi couldn’t care, after all, his last thread of sanity depended on that desk. When you finished cleaning, you asked the second question.

‘You hate my tea, but you drink it anyways, why?’

He felt his ears getting a little red, and he just shrugged and looked away.

‘You are taking care of me, didn’t wanna be a bitch about it.’

You smiled, a smile brighter than the morning star, and for a fraction of second he forgot how the breath, but he obviously didn’t say a thing about it.

‘I promise you that tomorrow you’ll have the best tea ever.’

‘Tch, if you say so.’

He appreciated your gesture, kindness wasn’t something he was used to, it felt weird and strange to have someone to do good things just for the sake of doing them, it made him wary, he would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought that maybe you wanted to get something from him and that’s why you acted so nicely around him.

The next day, after writing your daily letter, at your then clean desk, you brought him breakfast with a steaming cup of tea. He drank the beverage under your expecting gaze and to his surprise it was nice, not the best tea ever made, but definitely not the worst.

‘It tastes better.’

‘Thanks, this time I followed the recipe.’ You admitted proudly.

‘How the fuck were you even making tea before?’

‘Instinct?’

He looked at you astonished, how come you were a doctor, but you couldn’t follow a three-step recipe? At that moment he thought his health was in the hands of dumbest medic in the area, however, he didn’t really care, well, at least not as much as he would have expected. You had something, an aura around your persona, that was soothing and endearing, rather than infuriating.

At the crack of dusk on that same day, he was the one who asked a question.

‘Who are you always writing?’

For a moment he swears he saw your happy demeanor quivering, as if he had opened a cage that should have remained closed, but you quickly fixed, the funny glint coming back at your eyes as fast as it had left. It was in that moment when he knew that you weren’t as shallow as he may have deemed you to be.

‘I’m just telling my friends about this annoying patient I have. Do you know he made me clean my office desk?’

Your voice was laced with amusement, you were trying to divert his attention to another topic, and he knew, but he was no one to press you about it.

‘Well, as soon as I’m free, I’m telling my friends about how my medic is a fucking shitshow.’ Too blunt, but you brushed it off.

‘They sound like a nightmare.’

‘They are.’

You smiled, yet again as blinding as the sun.

He didn’t smile, he didn’t even grimace, his face was as stoic as always, but for a split of second, a smile nearly slipped in.

To his surprise, he actually talked about you to his friends. When he had the medical lease, the first thing he did was visit Isabel and Furlan’s impromptu graves and talk about you. It wasn’t a lot, he just mentioned you a few times. It didn’t mean a thing, and at the same time, it meant everything.

 4. OFTEN

It didn’t mean a thing.

Not a single thing.

It was unimportant.

He was like that with everyone.

Except he wasn’t and he knew it.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He would always find himself at your door, not because he was sick or harmed, he just felt the need to see you. He didn’t even talk with you that much, he wasn’t good at opening up or even small talk. He was foul-mouthed, snarky and his words could cut deeper than a knife. You were soft, kind, funny and there weren’t uncomfortable silences with you, your presence was comforting. Levi didn’t get why he felt that way about you, he barely knew you, but you had something that drew him in, maybe it was the normalcy you brought him. You were a doctor, you healed people, you tended their injuries; you hadn’t seen the titans, you hadn’t seen comrades die at their merciless hands, you didn’t know what was outside the walls and he liked that. You were an escape. It was as if his life was only centered around Titans and his existence had no other point but to kill or think about to kill Titans: Hange were always babbling about Titans; his paperwork was always a painful reminder of fallen mates; Erwin was always tracing missions and plans; and the whole point of his squad was training to defeat those beasts. He never had a break, but visiting you felt like it.

He knocked at your door and it opened, you were at your desk, which was an unorganized mess then again, humming some song he didn’t know while you were reading some medical reports. And the asphodels in the window looked beautiful as always.

‘Hi, Levi.’ You looked up and gave him a smile.

Your smiles.

Oh man, he took them in like a dehydrated man would savor the first droplets of rain.

He just nodded as a salute and walked towards the window to see the asphodels.

‘Why asphodels?’ he asked, you loved those flowers, and they weren’t necessary the most beautiful.

To him you were more like yellow lilies, he had read somewhere that yellow lilies meant joy and happiness. They always brought a simile to one’s face because they are the true depiction of the sun, just like you were.

‘I don’t know, they are special’ you said with a small voice, the same haunted look in your eyes, the same that appeared when he asked about your letters.

‘I guess they are.’

A comfortable silence fell in the room. He was getting used to these havens of peace.

That night at dinner, he was sitting next to Erwin, Hange in front of him, looking at him quizzically.

‘What’s going between you and y/n? You’re always at their place.’ They ask.

‘Tch, nothing, I just visit them often.’

Lies

‘So, there is no ulterior motive, like, I don’t know, our Short king having a crush?’ Levi sometimes forgot how punchable Hange’s face was.

‘No.’

More lies.

Something was going on, they both knew, but he was too scared to think about what it was.

 5. THE HILLS

Another fight. More deaths. What was the point of it? He felt like he was fighting for a pointless cause, the more deaths, the less they knew. He would have to send more letters to the families, telling them that their sons and daughters fought bravely until their last breath and sacrificed their lives for the sake of humanity. However, broken families would come to him and ask him if it was worth it, if the death of their children, cousins, brothers and parents brought them answers, if their deaths meant that humanity was closer to taste the freedom they longed for. He had always said that no death was in vain, but he was starting to question that.

He had barely seen you after the mission, he retreated to his quarters, drowning himself in reports and regrets, if he had been better, he could have saved more lives, but he wasn’t enough, he was no hero, he was a human. He had been fighting his whole life and he just wanted it to stop, he wanted peace and tranquility, not more deaths at his shoulders, no more ghosts to haunt him at the end of the day.

He never slept, at least not for more than a few hours. However, after a mission he didn’t sleep at all, the images of his comrades’ deaths still fresh on his mind, their screams still piercing his ears, his sanity vanished a little bit more every time he tried to close his eyes, so he just laid awake looking at the roof, thinking about all the things he could have done to save them, repeating their names as if he was asking for their forgiveness.

Sometimes it all got too much, and he needed to walk to clear his mind, there were nights when he walked for hours with no direction at all, but that night he did have a direction: your office. He didn’t really know why he was doing it, but he was too tired to turn back and ask himself why you. He thought that you would probably be asleep, but to his surprise there was a dim light coming from your office, so he knocked, just like all of those times before, and your soft voice told him to come in.

He had never seen you so disheveled and tired, dark bags under your eyes, traces of tears on your face and bloodshot eyes. He also noticed four new asphodels on your desk. He looked at them and then he looked at you. He wanted to ask, but he couldn’t, so you spoke.

‘My regrets follow you to the grave.’ He barely heard you.

‘What?’

‘That’s what asphodels mean, you asked me about them once, you remember?’

He nodded, that’s all he could do.

‘I couldn’t save them, I tried, but I wasn’t good enough.’ You broke down to tears.

He wasn’t good at processing his own emotions, let alone other people’s. What was he supposed to do? He knew that people hugged to show support, but as he would say, he was ‘emotionally constipated’, so he just stayed there, looking at you.

Do something.

Do something.

Do something.

But he remained stiff, it was like watching the scene happen in third person.

‘I’m sorry, I know this is making you uncomfortable, it’s just that it’s been a long day.’

‘It’s been a long day for me to.’ His voice was hoarse. ‘You told me that asphodels mean ‘my regrets follow you to the grave’, that’s why you have them? Because you feel guilty?’

‘I plant one for every soldier that dies on my watch.’ That was the first time you opened up with him.

‘I keep the badges of their uniforms.’ That was the first time he opened up with you.

Right then everything shifted.

‘It wasn’t your fault.’ He knew those feelings, the remorse and the guilt, he was so painfully familiar with them that they had become a part of his being.

‘It wasn’t your fault either, Levi.’

It wasn’t your fault either.

It wasn’t your fault either.

It wasn’t your fault either.

Your words echoed in his mind like a drum and for a moment he believed them.

You came closer and you wrapped your arms around him, he tried to respond, embracing you in strangely, you laughed at his antics and in that moment, he wanted to disappear. You smiled and you readjusted his arms around your waist. He brought you closer, slowly, not wanting to scare you away and break the moment. You laid your head in his chest, right above his heart, and he hoped you couldn’t hear his heart beating wildly. He hid his face in the crook of your neck, his breath tickling your skin and your smell intoxicating him. For a moment he felt like home, even though he didn’t understand what ‘being home’ meant, but it had to be very similar to that: comforting, reassuring, peaceful, safe.

That night, he spent what felt like hours holding you, until you had to part separate ways, the only witnesses were the asphodels and the hills at the distance.

  6. ACQUAINTED

What are we?

Levi couldn’t stop asking himself that question.

Friends didn’t have what you two had. Maybe he wasn’t the most amicable person, but he had had some friends in his life: he once had Isabel and Furlan when he was younger, and now he had Hange and Erwin, and maybe he could even consider his squad friends. And none of what he felt for them was like what he felt for you.

He tried to make sense of his thoughts by writing them, but words weren’t his forte and he just ended more and more confused.

You were nice.

You were beautiful.

You made him laugh, well, not laugh, but close enough.

You were kind.

He appreciated you, he cared for you and he wanted to protect you, but he also felt the same towards Erwin, Hange and his squad. Then, if it was the same, why it was completely different.

He kept visiting you, everything looked like it was the same, but everything had changed. It felt like the calm before the storm, as if something was about to happen, the tides were shifting, he could feel it. There were words unsaid lingering in the atmosphere and sooner or later, someone would have to utter them. But who? And if you spoke them, what would he say?

He also spent a lot of his time thinking about that too, if you happened to confess your feelings for him, if you had them, would he be able to respond them? Normal people would try, give it a shot and see what would happen, what the relationship had in store, let things flow; but he wasn’t normal, he was far from normal, he knew he wasn’t the easiest to love. He was rude, mean, a control freak, he wasn’t the one for big displays of affection, he was the last person someone would want as a partner. People yearned for epic love stories, something that could take your breath away and he wouldn’t be able to do that, he wouldn’t be able to give you the bare minimum.

Also, after all the people he had lost, he didn’t want your name to be added to that list. He preferred the uncertainty of your relationship than the possibility of losing you. If he left more people in, more people he could lose. He wasn’t stupid, he knew you were already in, but there were still boundaries between both of you.

He had also fantasized about laying himself bare in front of someone, share all of his trauma and memories, share the burden with someone, but who would love all of him? If he couldn’t even stand himself most of the days, how could he expect that someone would   do it?

‘If you were a flower, I think you would be a gladiolus.’ You would always blurt nonsense out of the blue, but for some reason, he found it endearing instead of annoying.

‘Tch, what’s even that supposed to mean?’

‘I don’t know, it’s just, gladius symbolize strength, generosity, faithfulness and I guess those are things I associate with you.’ Your cheeks were tainted with the softest tones of red and you weren’t looking at him, your gaze was fixed on your paperwork.

Those words had a way deeper meaning, he knew it and you knew it, it was as if you were testing the water by putting the tips of your feet in it. As per usual he didn’t know what to say, what was he supposed to say to that? Thanks? I think I may be falling for you?

‘Sorry, I made things weird, I should just-’ you couldn’t finish because he had started talking.

‘I think you would be a yarrow flower.’ Amazing, now he was the one talking nonsense.

Not so long ago he pictured you as yellow lilies, joy and happiness, but after getting to know you better, he realized that that description was too shallow for what you meant to him. He didn’t know a lot about flowers, he wasn’t really into botany, but he had heard about yarrow before, he had heard merchants inside Sina call them ‘plant doctor’, since they would be often placed near other plants to keep the pests away, he had also heard that it was considered invasive too, because how easily it spread. Therefore, the association came quickly to him, you were healing, a solace from the cruelty of his world; and you were invasive, because he couldn’t be away from you, you consumed him.

‘That means a lot.’ Your blush was now more pronounced now and he wondered what you had made out of his words.

He felt a wave of panic travel through his body, maybe that statement was too deep, maybe he screwed it all, so he decided to excuse himself and ran away from the situation he had created. He had told you he was going to his room, he lied, he was going to the library, he needed to see what his words had meant. He wasted all his evening looking for books about the meaning of flowers, he sure looked like a madman, he hadn’t even gone to the Mess Hall to have dinner, he needed to found answers, and he found them at two a.m.

“The secret language of flowers” said the title, he opened the book and he started looking for the yarrow’s meaning.

Healing and Good Health

Courage and War

Everlasting Love

When he read the last symbolism of the flower, his heart stopped for a whole minute, did he just declare his feelings, that he wasn’t ever sure of, to you? He wanted to disappear in the spot, just vanish into the air.

He went to his room, holding the book close to his chest. He spent the rest of the night reading the book, he wouldn’t mess up again, if he ever wanted to talk about flowers with you, he would be informed. When the sun rose, his head was buzzing with flower meanings, and he would be lying if he said that he hadn’t thought about you while reading some of them.

At breakfast he did go to the Mess Hall and took his usual place.

‘Where were you yesterday at dinner?’ asked Erwin.

‘With his girlfriend.’ Replied Hange with a big smile.

‘She’s not my girlfriend.’ He said with a grunt.

‘What are they then?’ Hange was using the tone, the one which meant “I know you’re hiding something, and I won’t stop pestering you until I discover it.”

‘We are just acquainted.’

‘Liar.’

 7. CAN’T FEEL MY FACE

He remembered how there were days when Kenny would drink himself to oblivion, Levi didn’t understand why he did it. He didn’t see the point of passing out in the floor, and when he asked, Kenny answered that ‘his vices kept him sane’. It still made no sense to him, how a man could be so cunning and sharp, while he wasted his nights and days with alcohol, women and many other things that Levi wasn’t interested on trying. He had seen Kenny drunk and it was far from having control. The first lesson Kenny had told him was that control is vital, then, how come he was powerless in his own life, letting alcohol take control of him.

‘You’re old enough to try it, boy. Take some if you want.’

The first time Kenny offered him alcohol, he had declined, he had said no, and Kenny had shrugged it off, as if saying: ‘more for me.’ He wouldn’t get it, it didn’t make sense, Kenny, who prided himself on his cold-blood and his steel nerves, would renounce to that control so easily, he didn’t want to be like that, never in a million years, he would never give up his self-control.

Until he did.

He had lost control. And he now understood Kenny.

He knew he should distance himself from you, he didn’t want more Furlan’s and Isabel’s, he was getting dangerously close to you and he didn’t want that. He should run away, disappear. You were kind and sweet, you would find someone else to feel the void he would inevitably leave. He had always been the one being left behind, and he survived, you would too. Also, it’s not as if he contributed a lot to your life. He was sure you both would be better with the other far away, I mean, the facts were there. Actually, they had been spiraling in his head for a while.

Then, if he knew all of that, why was he helping you cut clean bandages, especially so close to you that he could smell your shampoo? Oh yeah, because you asked him to, as easy as that, all his conviction melted away from every fiber of his body.

Why did he do that? Why was he so helpless around you? Oh yeah, because you made him feel so damn good. You had him wrapped around your finger and you didn’t seem to notice, you acted as if it was nothing, you had power over him, you had Humanity’s Strongest at his knees.

‘My family died a long time ago, I couldn’t save them, I moved in with my aunt and I decided that I’d study medicine for them.’ You said out of the blue.

You cut one bandage.

‘The letters I write are for them. It’s stupid, but it makes me feel closer to them.’

You cut another bandage.

He didn’t say a thing.

He hated himself, any other person would have hugged you or said something, he just stayed there, frozen and acting as cold as always. Why did you confide in him something so personal? He wasn’t the one to go when you are sad, he didn’t even know how to process his own trauma and baggage most of the time. What was he supposed to do?

On the other hand, you trusted Levi more than anyone in your life. He brought you peace and solace, something you thought you would never have.

You lost your family when you were really young, always feeling guilty for being the one who survived, and you promised to yourself you would vow your life to help the others, never putting your needs first. When you joined the military, you watched many soldiers die on your hands, you could still hear their last words, how scare they were, how they didn’t want to die like that, alone and far away from their family; you could also recall their mutilated bodies; and you could also remember how many of them would survive the Titans but lose the fights against their own mind and end up being another fallen soldier that died for nothing. You loved your job, but it also killed a part of you every day, there were no victories on a war, and you knew it. That’s why you picked up gardening, you planted a flower for every soldier who died, something to remember them.

When you met Levi, you admired him, you had heard the stories about him, his courage, mood changes, sharp tongue, skills, intelligence… You would be lying if you said he didn’t make you curious, you were used to soldiers haunted by the horrors they had faced, but something about him was different, maybe because you saw yourself in those grey eyes. You two were similar, you both had so much pent up that you could not talk about, you had an image to keep, and it was exhausting. He had a name to uphold, people looked up to him, if he failed, if he crumbled, everyone else would; you were a doctor, and no matter how hard things were, you had to be strong for your patients, never showing how much their pain took a toll on you. You could let your mask down, because even though he didn’t talk too much or overall understand why you were sharing that, it felt good, liberating.

Sometimes, he would also talk about him, not a lot, but enough to make you feel understood, and those moments, when he showed the man underneath the façade, glimpses of his true persona, those few minutes, sometimes even seconds, were responsible for your growing feelings for the captain.

‘It’s not stupid, I talk to my dead friends’ graves.’ He said nonchalantly, as if he wasn’t baring a piece of him in front of you.

Those kind of flashes of the man he was underneath took your breath away every single time.

You came close to him, slowly, testing the waters, not wanting to scare him away. Maybe it was too forward, too reckless, too much at a time, but he didn’t move. You brought your hand to his cheek. He didn’t jump away. You looked into his eyes, pools of mercury. He held your gaze, expecting your next move. You could feel the tension. He could too.

‘They would be really proud of you.’ You said, voice thin and trembling.

He was silent. Your words caught him of guard.

He was feeling too much. His heartbeat was erratic, beating wildly, he could hear it. He felt the blood boiling under his skin, he was so hot, he was sweating. He couldn’t move, but he felt his body trembling. He could feel the room closing on him, trapping him. He wasn’t in control.

It was a too familiar feeling, one he had experienced a thousand times before.

‘Levi, are you okay? I’m sorry I’ve made you uncomfortable.’ You said worriedly.

He didn’t know what to do, he just wanted the pain in his chest to end.

You were too close. You were trapping him too. So, he pushed you away from you and run from the infirmary. You couldn’t see him like that, no one could.

Why did he share that with you? Why did you get too close? Were you going to kiss him?

Why?

Why?

Why?

Why was he like that?

Why did he ruin things?

Why did he lose control of himself? He couldn’t even feel his face when you touched it.

He felt pathetic. He felt like the little kid he once was.

Control is vital.

Control is vital.

Control is vital.

If he was with you, he wasn’t in control. And if he lost his control, then he would have nothing.

He had to get away from you, because you were stripping him from the only thing he had: his control.

[let-it-raines]

I Hope We Never See October (3/?)

When his personal life and football career go up in flames, Killian Jones escapes England for America, finding seclusion in Martha’s Vineyard in order to hide from his demons. It’s a fresh start, or at the very least a paused moment in his life, and all he needs is a few months alone to allow his heart to heal. He doesn’t count on meeting Emma Swan.

Emma’s life depends on tourists who come to the island every summer. It’s how she makes her money working in restaurants and clubs across the vineyard, but every year, she cannot wait until autumn comes and her life returns to normal. She especially cannot wait for Killian Jones to leave.

Rating: Mature

a/n: Not gonna lie, I forget I'm writing this story, remember, and then the moment I sit down to write, I get called away. But here's part three!

AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: One | Two | Three

-/-

His head is pounding. It’s been awhile since it has pounded like this. Usually, it’s from a lack of sleep from the nightmares or the stress. This morning, he knows it’s from the rum. He did everything he could to cancel it out – coffee, water, food, medicine – but his head is still pounding. He is a bloody lightweight now.

Huh.

Killian is making it sound like that’s a bad thing, when really, it’s good. A week ago he was standing with a beer bottle in his hand early in the morning tempted to drown his entire day away. Last night, he made it the entire day without wanting to get pissed and only had two small drinks to toast his friends goodbye.

That’s progress.

This hangover, though, damn. It’s a sign he’s making progress, but damn.

Or he’s simply getting old, which is something else he doesn’t want to think about.

“Fuck,” Killian moans, pressing his fingers against his temples as he opens his eyes. His neck is also killing him, probably from how he slept on this damn couch all night. He should have driven home, but he didn’t trust himself to. Besides, Ariel had offered the couch before she went to bed.

Emma had too.

He’d nearly left after she offered. She was likely only doing it because she assumed Ariel or Eric already offered. He gets the feeling the woman doesn’t like him, which usually isn’t something that happens with him, and that intrigues him. It also makes him realize how much of an asshole he is.

How has he gotten to a point in his life where he expects women to always fancy his company?

Killian sits up, his muscles aching, and slowly, he rises from the couch. The lights in the house are all off, and he knows he can leave now with no one knowing the wiser that he slept over, that he felt bad enough to not be able to drive home. Or maybe that he didn’t want to spend another night in that giant house by himself.

The floor creaks beneath him with each step he takes, but no one seems to stir. Killian finds a notepad and pen in the kitchen and quickly scribbles a note to Ariel and Eric. He said his goodbyes to them last night, and he’ll talk to them on the phone at some point today. He doesn’t need to stick around to say another goodbye this morning. It’s still early enough that the sun hasn’t risen, and they won’t be up for hours. Killian finishes his note, grabs his wallet and keys from the counter, and heads out the front door to his car. It takes him a moment to find his car, to remember what said of the road they drive on over here, but he eventually spots it across the street under a large tree when a light from the house turns on.

Killian turns to see it’s coming from an upstairs window, and Emma Swan is standing between the curtains. He nods, and he swears he sees the slightest nod in return before the curtains rustle and she turns off the light.

She didn’t get in until two this morning, and she’s up at six. How the hell is she functioning?

Then again, how is he functioning?

Killian’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and after he gets in his Jeep, he checks the message.

Elsa Jones: The girls say thank you for their new Leggo set. My bare feet do not.

Killian laughs and puts his phone back in his pocket. That’s how he’s functioning. He may have flown across an ocean, but he’d never leave Ally and Sophia. They’ve already lost enough, and Liam will have his head, someway and somehow, if he doesn’t do everything he can to make sure all his girls are happy.

To make sure Killian is happy too.

“Bloody hell,” Killian whispers to himself as he cranks the engine, “it’s too early to be thinking like this.”

He should be able to have at least a little reprieve from the voices in his head.

-/-

Killian doesn’t leave the house much over the next few days. He doesn’t have reason to. He’s got everything he could possibly need in the house, including his own private stretch of beach that he walks along a few times a day, but the repetition of nothing begins to drive him mad. He trains in almost the same way as he did when he was playing, and while that takes up a good portion of his day, it’s not enough to keep him occupied. He reads the books that the owners of the house left behind but finds it’s mostly romance novels he can’t stomach. For a day or two, he binges Netflix, leaving a permanent imprint of his ass in the couch cushions, but there’s only so much time he can spend staring at screens.

Elsa and the girls call more than once a day with them being on summer holidays, and he gets a call or two from Scarlet, who finally had the bullocks to ask Belle out to dinner. That was good to hear since Killian has been giving Will shit about doing that for years now, and it’s good to see that people are moving on with their lives.

He’s not, not really, but he’s not trying to move on so much as he’s trying to not be a total disaster every day.

Sitting in this house alone all day every day isn’t helping. Why did anyone think sending him to be alone would be a good idea in the wake of his brother’s death? He knows it’s more so the scum English tabloids would leave him alone and he could fix his public image so he doesn’t go broke before he’s forty from loss of sponsorships and possible opportunities to get involved in the league, but damn, this was a bad idea.

At least he’s not drinking himself to sleep anymore.

Or drinking himself awake. He thinks that feat is slightly more impressive.

Killian puts his bottle of water down and opens the door that leads to the deck. It’s cool out today, the sun hidden behind the clouds, and since he cannot stay here anymore, he decides he’ll go for a run. It’s been years since he ran outside and not on a pitch or a treadmill, but maybe it’ll be a good distraction. He’s noticed more people filling into the houses around him, the summer tourists showing up in large droves now, so at the very least he can pass time watching people while hoping no one watches him.

It takes him little time to get dressed, lace up his trainers, and pop headphones in his ears before he’s out the door. The roads aren’t flat around his house, so he drives the Jeep a few miles until he finds smoother, less crowded ground. Maybe it’s a way to keep him from running that little bit longer, but mostly he knows his knees need the flat surfaces right now.

He really has gotten old, hasn’t he?

Eventually, he finds what looks like a good path behind a long stretch of beach, finds a place to park, and then he starts running.

It’s horrible, which was expected, but he does it anyway. There are families lining the beaches, music playing from speakers and phones, and he watches as boats skip out on the water. Maybe he should rent a boat for a weekend and take it out. It’d be nice to be out on the water again. He hasn’t been since Liam’s death, the fear of something similar happening to him despite the unlikeliness, but maybe one day while he’s here. It’s not as if he has anything better to do.

Killian runs until the endorphins kick in and then again until his legs get tired. He’s an idiot, however, because he doesn’t think to turn around to his Jeep.

Bloody hell.

He stops and reaches his hands over his head, stretching out his shoulders, and looks to see what’s around him. It’s mostly beach, but there are several restaurants and shops a few blocks down. He notices the familiar Blue Dog Tavern sign and the long deck filled with their outside seating. That means he’s minutes away from a populated area of shops and restaurants where he could cool down and catch his breath, but he still walks toward the Blue Dog. There’s another diner around here he went to that was horrible, and he doesn’t feel like taking the chance again. He’s still over his phase of twenty-four-hour diners. He doesn’t think he can handle more sticky tables.

Killian cools down on the walk to the restaurant, taking in the people walking along the sidewalk, and he dodges them until he’s inside and the cool air is hitting against his skin. It’s past the prime of the lunch rush, so the place is mostly empty. He thinks of going to the bar again, but as he wants to stay as out of the way as possible, he asks the hostess to seat him at a booth in the corner.

“Is someone coming to meet you?” she asks, smacking her gum as she hands him a menu.

“I’m afraid not. Just me today.”

She smiles, popping her gum again, and leans forward, casually popping a button on her shirt. Killian tries not to snicker at the obvious attempt, mostly because she is attractive, but the last thing he needs is to burn more bridges at one of the few places in towns he likes. “Well, if you want company, all you have to do is come find me. I’m Marina.”

He raises his brow. “Seems like you were born to work by the ocean then.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because your name is Marina.”

She cocks her head to the side and laughs. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing, love.” Killian smiles and nods toward the front. “I believe you’re needed.”

She jumps and walks away, obviously putting a little sway in her hips when she moves, and in another life, he’d ask her to join him for lunch and meet her after her shift. He nearly does it now, but the man he’s been and the man he’s trying to be war with each other in his mind.

No burning bridges, he reminds himself. He’s done enough of that in his lifetime.

He orders water and coffee and avoids eye contact with Marina as much as possible, especially when she keeps finding ways to come by his table despite there being no other customers in his section. He texts Will and Rob, sends Elsa some pictures of the beach to show the girls, responds to Ariel about him doing another video conference with a hospital back home, and then he puts his phone away and tries to focus on his meal.

Unsurprisingly, it does not take a hell of a lot of focus to eat a sandwich and chips.

The music coming over the intercoms keeps him occupied for awhile, so does the television hanging over the bar until someone changes it to ESPN, and eventually Killian starts fidgeting for headphones and something to do while he waits for his meal to settle and drinks another cup of coffee. He needs to start the trek back to his Jeep, but that’s the last thing he wants to do.

“Heather, I get that you don’t want to be here, but your uncle and your parents want you here. And you either need to take it up with them or start doing some actual work.”

Killian recognizes that voice, and he sinks in his booth. He was hoping to get away with not running into her here today, if only to save himself the headache. He doesn’t have any paper money on hand, so he can’t pay and leave, and he imagines there’s very little chance he’ll avoid her when she’s walking right toward him with Heather, his server from last week.

She’s in those bloody jean shorts again. They barely cover anything and hug her ass to show it off, and the blouse she’s wearing is fitted to her skin. Her hair is down, hitting past midway on her back, and she looks just as gorgeous as she has every other time he’s seen her…which is exactly why he needs her to not notice him.

So, of course, she does.

Right after she teaches Heather how to clean the tables, she looks up and over at Killian, raises both brows, and walks toward him with her arms crossed beneath her chest. “Anything I can help you with today?”

“The check may be nice, Swan. Lovely to see you again.”

“Uh-huh.” She looks over her shoulder, holds up a signal toward Killian’s server, and he hustles to the back, presumably to get the check. “I can recommend other restaurants in the area. This place is great, but I promise there are better ones.”

He shrugs. “I like the food and how calm it is during off hours. Are you enjoying your house with no Fishers in it?”

“I don’t mind when they come to stay.”

It’s a lie if he’s ever heard one. Killian points to his temple and taps. “I know this may surprise you, but I’m actually quite perceptive.”

Her smile is tight, and she tucks her hair behind her ears. “The Fishers are great landlords, and I can’t complain.”

“I’m not going to tell them what you’re saying, love.”

She smiles again, and he can tell she’s still faking it for him. “All I can say is I’m glad not to have strange men scaring me in my kitchen at two in the morning. Now they simply show up at my work.”

He lifts his glass. “It’s good food, and you’re right, I don’t know of many other reliable eateries around here. Some of them seem a little too…made for tourists.”

“And the Blue Dog Tavern doesn’t? I mean, come on. We have a giant blue animated dog cutout outside. We’re on all those lists of ‘Places in Martha’s Vineyard you have to visit.’ We’re made for tourists like you.”

“I am not a tourist.”

“Says the man who is renting one of the big houses out in Edgartown and staying here for the summer. I’m guessing you go to the beach and lounge around the pool and go through way too many of the bad books the owners of the house have on their shelves.”

Killian huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back in the booth. That was a little too spot on. “How do you know where I’m staying? Wait, no. Ariel, right?”

“Yeah,” Emma smiles, and God, it feels like a hell of an accomplishment to get her to smile. “She went on and on about the great Killian Jones.”

“Ah, so you know who I am then?” He leans forward and waggles his brows, flashing his brightest smile.

“Yeah, a rich British tourist who is friends with my landlords.” Someone calls her name from across the restaurant, and Emma holds one finger up. “Your check will be with you soon. I’ll ask Marina to give you some other restaurant recommendations on your way out. You’ll get sick of this place soon enough.”

“I’m perfectly happy with it, Swan.”

She shrugs and walks away, and Killian chuckles to himself. He doesn’t understand this woman at all, but she intrigues him.

He knows that’s a dangerous game to play.

Killian gets the check, pays it, and before he can escape, Marina corners him to give him more recommendations. She ends up veering into bars and clubs on the island and the surrounding towns, asking him if he wants her to show him around, but he declines and takes the list of places. Maybe he’ll check them out, but the last thing he needs is to go to a club. A bar, maybe, but not a club. He’s learned that there’s a hell of a difference.

He’s also learned that he’s bored to tears in this place, and no amount of calls to Ariel and Elsa can solve that boredom. He finds himself googling pre-season training information, checking up on mates and rivals, and while that’s a bit of a slip-up, he does manage to still stay away from looking himself up. He never used to have the urge to google himself or to read any of the tabloids, but ever since his retirement, he’s been curious. Were people sad? Happy? Did he leave any kind of lasting impact? Or did they all just see him as the drunk, washed up old man with a dirtied past?

That is a path he absolutely cannot go down, and since he’s already run a half marathon today, he decides to shower and get dressed to go to one of the places Marina recommended. If his time alone doesn’t start to get less depressing, he thinks he’s going to have to fly back to London and bother Elsa and the girls until they kick him out. He’ll pay for the remaining time on the house, but he won’t be staying there.

While the sun sets, Killian drives down new roads on the island, going to different towns and neighborhoods to see what others are doing, before ending up at a bar near his house. Marina said it was a spot for locals with good food and a quiet energy, so he doubts Marina has ever stepped foot into it. Killian pushes open the old oak door, and the lights inside are dimmed, the music quiet. There’s a guy playing guitar in the corner hidden between two pillars, and Killian finds himself sitting at the opposite end of the bar on a stool that’s cushion squeaks when he sits down.

Charming.

“You eating, drinking, or both?” The bartender asks, wiping his hands off with a cloth.

“Eating. Have any recommendations?”

“You have an objection to seafood?” the old man asks.

“Not a one.”

“Good. I’ll fix you up with the daily catch.”

Killian nods as the man makes his way through a door behind the bar, and then Killian swivels on his stool, looking around the place. He doesn’t know about the food yet, but Marina was right. It definitely has a quiet energy to it. There are people in nearly every booth and at every table, but there’s a hushed tone except for a laugh in the booth nearest him. His eyes are drawn there, and to both his surprise and horror, he finds Emma Swan with her head tilted back with laughter.

Fuck.

She’s definitely going to think he’s stalking her, and as hungry and bored as he is, he’s still tempted to leave. So of course, that’s when Emma stops laughing and looks directly at him.

Bollocks. Utter bollocks.

She blinks and stares at him a little longer, her brows raising before falling, and then she turns back to whoever is sitting in the booth with her. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see her arms moving, but he turns on the stool until he can see her no longer, wishing at the very least he had a water to nurse.

“Hiya. Come sit in our booth with us.”

Killian twists and looks at the brunette who’s now sitting next to him. “Pardon?”

She sticks out her hand, and he takes it, shaking it. “Ruby Lucas. You’re Killian Jones, the – ”

“There’s no need to – ”

“ – the guy who scared Emma half to death at her house in the middle of the night,” Ruby completes, grinning like the cat who ate the canary. “And I must say, you are much more attractive than she described.”

“So she talked about me then?”

“In her own special Emma way.” Ruby tilts her head back toward their booth. “And in my own special Ruby way, I’m inviting you to eat dinner with us. It’s me, Emma, and this super wholesome woman named Mary Margaret who will take you home and bake you cookies while asking you about your childhood because she had a good one of those.”

Killian chuckles, cheeks still flushed from him thinking Ruby knew who he was earlier – he is a pompous, entitled ass obviously – and from being invited to their table. “I couldn’t intrude.”

“I insist that you do.”

He likes her, he decides. She’s stunning and funny with no filter, but she reminds him too much of a dirtier version of Anna. It’s a rather peculiar comparison, but it’s true. It’s also half the reason he agrees to switch tables, rising from his stool and walking toward the booth. The other half a reason is the blonde woman with her face pressed into her forearms against the table top.

She looks beyond thrilled for him to be joining them.

“Oh, Emma, you were right, he is handsome!”

Emma bangs her head into the table as who he presumes is Mary Margaret smiles at him from across the booth. Killian slides onto the seat and elbows Emma’s side before patting her shoulder. “It’s alright, darling. I told all my mates you were beautiful, so we’re even.”

“Go to hell.”

He laughs, grinning at her, and slowly, she peels herself off the table. “Just so you know, I’m only here because Marina recommended it.”

“Remind me to fire her in the morning.”

“So,” Mary Margaret interrupts, tucking her short hair behind her ear, “tell us about yourself, Killian. Where are you from? What do you do for work? How long are you planning on being here?”

“Good God, Marg,” Emma sighs, slumping down, “give the man some room to breathe.”

“What? I’m curious.”

“You’re nosy is what you are,” Emma corrects.

“Aren’t we all?” Killian shuffles in his seat, hoping they move on to another subject, but when Mary Margaret turns to him, he knows she isn’t one to forget. “So, how long are you staying?”

“I have the keys to the house I’m renting until the first of October, but I imagine I’ll leave sooner.”

“And why’s that?” she asks.

Killian shrugs as the man behind the bar drops off a glass of water at the table and tells Killian his food will be ready in ten minutes. “I’m afraid no matter how nice it is here, I don’t know many people. I miss the people I’m closest to. A man can only spend so much time alone.”

“Then why’d you book a house for so long?”

“I needed to get away.”

“Yeah, but – ”

“Marg,” Emma interrupts, placing her hand over her friend’s, “please. You don’t have to know everything about him. Not everyone wants to reveal their entire life to complete strangers.”

She’s right. He doesn’t. But for some inane reason, he doesn’t think he’d mind revealing most of his life to her.

He has obviously lost his damn mind.

But it’s nice to spend a night with other people, to be included in the conversation, and while Mary Margaret and Ruby are delightful, he finds Emma captures his attention, not that this surprises him.

What does surprise him, however, is how much friendlier she is in this environment. He knows it’s her friends and not him, and maybe the glass of wine she had with dinner, but it’s nice to see her laugh freely and blush when Ruby tells stories of Emma he cannot imagine knowing otherwise. He can’t imagine Emma ever scaling a building to break into an ex’s apartment to get her favorite sweater back, but then again, that seems exactly like something she would do if she wanted it badly enough.

He fancies her.

He has no business fancying her, none at all, but when he ends up driving all three women to their homes because Ruby and Mary Margaret had too much to drink and Emma can’t drive the stick shift in Ruby’s car, he accepts Emma’s invitation inside for a cup of coffee.

He also accepts her invitation upstairs into her bed.

To hell with the consequences and burning bridges. He’ll deal with those in the morning when he isn’t so enticed by the trail of freckles running down Emma’s bare stomach.

-/-

-/-

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[sideblog-666-thousand]

Euronymous Interview in Decibel of Death, ‘87. English Translation. Ft. Euronymous’ depraved torture fantasies involving Coca-Cola.

‘Decibel of Death’ was a French fanzine from the 80s. It’s first issue was released in ‘86, and by the summer of ‘87, it switched over from French to English-language. This has been my favourite interview of Euronymous for a long time now, so I decided I’d translate it to English so that other, non-francophone, people could enjoy it too. This issue in particular is from February of ‘87, and was their fourth issue overall.

I’ll add a link to where you can find this, and other D.O.D scans, below. If anybody wants me to translate more French, or Russian, interviews, feel free to PM me.

Note: NDLR is the editor’s notes. Any commentary or context by me will be in bold and in parenthesis, so feel free to totally ignore it. If something is between “« »” it’s because it was already written in English to begin with.

Disclaimer: if some of the sentences sound like the energizer bunny is hooked on an iv rig full of pure meth, don’t blame me, I did my best. Take it up with Euronymous himself. Also, I’m not excusing Euronymous’ poor behaviour, I’m just saying his poor behaviour is kind of entertaining.

Without further ado...

D.O.D: And once again, here’s Norwegian Mayhem. If you remember, we presented them to you back in the May issue of D.O.D. Since then, they released a new demo titled “Death Crush”!! Because of this event, we decided to ask the guitarist of this rather sinister band a few questions.

D.O.D: Okay, there’s been more than a few line-up changes in Mayhem. Can you tell us what the current one is?

Euro: Alright, there’s me on guitars, Manheim on battery, Necro-butcher on drums, and our session vocalist, Maniac.

D.O.D:  And what is the medium age of the group?

Euro: We are all 18 years old.

D.O.D: How long has Mayhem been around for?

Euro: Mayhem has been around since August of ‘84 with this line-up, before that, I played in another shitty metal group that was also called Mayhem. The other members also played in a crappy band before we all met.

D.O.D: How would you describe your music?

Euro: Ah, well, it’s like a wall of sound played at extreme speed all mixed with the sound of a chainsaw!!

D.O.D: In your opinion, who are the biggest posers on this planet?

Euro: That definitely has to be the Swedish group ‘Europe’. «Fuck them!!» I hate this band!!

D.O.D: Ha ha, what would you like to do to make them suffer?

(This is the exact moment where the interviewers realize that Euronymous is literally fucking insane. The editor censors some of the things Euronymous says because he has a very vulgar manner of speaking, so, brace yourselves. To make it abundantly clear�� I didn’t censor any of this, if it was me, I’d let him continue swearing ‘til next year if he wanted to. Take it up with D.O.D!)

Euro: First of all, I’d cut them and make them eat their own (bleep)!! Then, I’ll fuck them in the ass with an empty bottle of Coke, and if they’re still alive somehow, I’ll drown them in their own piss!! (NDLR: I’d do the same to a few guys in Germany and Switzerland!!) But all of this is reserved for their guitarist, drummer and bassist, I have a far crueler torture for their singer, for him, I’m simply going to break his mirror and steal his perfume!! Haaaaafuckinghah!!! (NDLR: ahahahaha, this is so much fun!!)

D.O.D: Okay, Euronymous, onto more serious topics, who composes the most in Mayhem?

Euro: It’s me and Necro, but sometimes Manheim comes up with good riffs, he actually wrote most of P.F.A (Pure Fucking Armageddon)

D.O.D: I believe thrashers reacted pretty well to your first demo, right?

Euro: Despite the zero sound of this demo. It's true that it's actually the hardcore thrashers that appreciated it, although it was the others hating it that gave us an enormous promotion like with 'Metal Forces'.

D.O.D: Has there been groups that have influenced you?

Euro: Of course, early Venom has really inspired us, although we don’t sound like them in any way. We’re also influenced by bands like Hellhammer and Sodom.

D.O.D: Mayhem is a common band name, what do you think of other Mayhem (such as NYC Mayhem, Mayhem (WC), Mayhem (Oregon))?

Euro: NYC Mayhem* are excellent, I adore them! (NDLR: me too!!) and they call themselves NYC Mayhem. But as for the other Mayhems, they stink, «fuckin’ shit»,  like the Mayhem that’s on Metal Massacre VI*, they really stink, their music isn’t destructive like ours is at all, they don’t deserve this name, I hate them!!

D.O.D: I heard you guys played a show, how did that go?

Euro: It was really «cool», it was at a small rock festival that had around 3-400 «discofucks» (NDLR: this is the censored translation) and when we went on stage with our first session vocalist “Messiah”, we broke a bass over their mouths!! We gave these idiots hell!! Ha ha!! (I’ll link the show he’s referring to below)

D.O.D: And how did your other gigs go?

Euro: For now this has been our only show!! And we don’t know how the crowds will react at the prospect of future gigs.

D.O.D: Fair. Since we’re talking about future gigs, what will those be like?

Euro: They’ll be full of occult things, we’ll play in complete darkness and there’ll be red blood spots, chandeliers, smoke, and pig heads on stakes, it’ll be totally thrashing!!

D.O.D: How’s the Norwegian thrash scene? It’s pretty dull, no?

Euro: Right now, «it sucks», there’s no audience, but it seems to be going in the right direction with bands like Vomit*, Septic Cunts, Decay Lust, and Flowers in The Dustbin.

D.O.D: And what kind of things are your lyrics about?

Euro: depravity, like tearing someone’s (bleep), eating worms, and all those fine things!!

D.O.D: What are your favourite bands?

Euro: Really hard question, there’s so many good bands coming out but I think the bands I like the most are old Venom, Deathchamber, Sodom, Necrophagia, Destruction, Death, Kreator, Poison. (No, not THAT Poison)

D.O.D: Do you ever listen to hardcore?

Euro: «Yeah» I like Chaotic Discord, Septic Death, UK Subs, and others. It hasn’t been that long since I went to see Disorder and it was awesome!!

D.O.D: Are you considering going on tour?

Euro: No, not exactly. But soon we’ll play at a Norwegian thrash festival. We’ll also play at a thrash festival in Copenhagen, and probably do a few shows with Kreator/Necrophagia in ‘87.

(No, this isn’t a typo on my end, it actually says ‘87. There’s two reasons why this might be the case. One, it could be an error on the part of the editor, who deserves an interview of his own, or two, it could be an error by Euronymous himself since the interview might have been conducted in January. Euronymous could have mixed the years up as one sometimes does. However, ‘Death Crush’, the demo, actually came out in March of ‘87. What the interviewer and Euronymous are referring to as ‘Death Crush’ is likely ‘Death Rehearsal’, which is exactly what it sounds like, and was taped back January of ‘87.)

D.O.D: I heard you guys are recording a new demo, is it ready?

Euro: We just entered the studio to record the second “Death Crush” demo, but at the moment, we only have three songs. I’m also unsure of whether or not we’ll have enough money to record anything else, and the vocals still haven’t been put to music!!

D.O.D: There’s some rumours that you guys were contacted by certain record labels, is this true?

Euro: It’s true, we got a letter from Axe killer records saying that they were interested in us but they never listened to our music and I also sent them our demo tape but I don’t believe we’ll be receiving any letters from them now!!

D.O.D: Do you have anything to add?

Euro: Of course, «fucking ARGHHHH!!»

There, that’s all :)

If you’re interested in some of the asterisks I put in, here they are in order of their appearances:

*Unlike most of the bands Euronymous named in this interview, NYC Mayhem (and later as Straight Ahead) never released more than a few demo. They were a straight edge band from, you guessed it, NYC— Queens to be exact. Despite never releasing a full album, their sound inspired some grindcore and death metal bands, notably Carcass. They were also straight edge, which makes Euronymous’ mental breakdown over the Mayhem that was on Metal Massacre very, very ironic. Especially considering he was pretty straight edge himself, especially back in 1987– outside of maybe smoking some pot.

Here is their 1985 demo, https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=t-3geR1JbY4

*Metal Massacre is a series of compilation albums starting in 1982, released by Metal Blade records. Typically, these were independent and unsigned bands. Some notable ones include Metallica on the first edition with ‘Hit the lights’. Slayer in ‘83 with ‘Aggressive Perfector’. The ‘84 edition had Voivod, Overkill, and Hellhammer.

The one which Euronymous is referring to, however, is the one from ‘85. Here it is, the timestamp is 14:19 https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=HqwfsLvLvuY

It’s really not that bad— certainly not worth the double exclamation points.

*If you don’t know who Vomit are, you must not know much about early Mayhem. They were another thrash band who shared rehearsal space with Mayhem. Torben Grue and Kittil Kittilsen (what a sad fucking name) were also ‘in’ Mayhem at some point. Kittil once shaved off his eyebrow, but I don’t know why. Here is a picture of the dork:

The show Euronymous is talking about: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=mjay2Lmj9C8 yes, this is the show where Euronymous flashes his ass. I think it’s funny because he talks big but he seemed very hesitant to do it, and practically ducked backstage afterwards. Necro, on the other hand, was very proud to have broken his bass.

Well, that’s all I have. If you read this far, I hope you enjoyed the additional notes I left. Outside of a few more interviews of Mayhem, I also have a few obscure Emperor interviews that were posted to the internet in late 90s. There’s an especially funny one where Faust is allowed to interview Ihsahn and Samoth from prison. He’s sarcastic the entire time, refers to the readers as ‘morons’ and proclaims everyone should all die in a nuclear war with the same energy you cross yourself with. Overall, it’s a funny read. I also have one where he interviews Varg, and Euronymous (separately) for his own ‘zine back in the early 90s. Actually— I have A LOT of interviews of Faust for some reason, including two where he’s actually on camera. I might post them if I feel like it, or if somebody wants them. Is anyone here an especially big fan of Faust?

Last but not least, here is the link to the ‘zine:

http://france.metal.museum.free.fr/revues/fanzines/decibel_of_death/04/page_03.htm

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Imagine:

M’Baku and Erik have the pleasure of sharing a woman for one night. It turns into a regular routine of threesomes. She gets pregnant, and doesn’t know which one of them could be the father.

Warnings: Smut, pregnancy kink, threesome first time writing for M’Baku.

“I think you need to come to your senses,” M’Baku laughs loud and booming before approaching his friend, Erik, shoving the young man roughly against his left shoulder, “Zalika is mine, Erik, and I don’t like it when what’s mine is messed with.”

“Oh, so that’s a threat? Remember, she approached me first, way before she even knew we were friends,” Erik uses both of his hands to shove M’Baku back harder, “and DONT put your fucking hands on me unless you wanna die, brother,” Erik spoke snidely with a warning finger almost stabbing M’Baku in his face before readjusting his suit jacket, a mug set on his handsome, chiseled face. 

“OH! So that is the excuse you give? So she approaches you...but plans a booty call with me?” M’Baku says with his strong and powerful African accent, “Who has the upper hand now, brother, hm? Looks like I will finally get to taste the cocoa beauty. I bet she tastes just like cacao beans to,” M’Baku’s thick, taffy colored tongue swipes across his full upper lip before his teeth lined with silver caps tugged sexily on his bottom lip.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. It looks like I’m fucking her from the texts she sent me...texting me pictures of that phat peace of pussy covered with lace panties between her thighs...telling a nigga to come over and suck up her pussy in my mouth...she say that to you? Baku?” Erik gives M’Baku a sly smirk.

“I’ll do you one better,” M’Baku pulls out his phone, “Last text she sent me was this,” M’Baku held up his phone towards Erik for him to see. M’Baku’s loud laugh almost rattled the walls when he looked at Erik’s stuck expression. Erik removes his gold-rimmed glass, eyes blinking with disbelief while his lips parted. 

“Sheeeeesh,” Erik’s pouty bottom lip dragged between his teeth, “She ain’t send a nigga that...she got them big, suckable nipples…” 

“Even through her wet T-shirt they look delicious...like they want to rip through, right?” M’Baku grunts deeply enough to vibrate your senses, “I plan on biting them with my teeth...leave a mark.”

Erik removes his suit jacket, hanging it up on a brass coat rack that stood at the entrance of his apartment door. He takes a seat next to M’Baku on a black suede sectional, leaning over in hopes of catching another sexy photo of Zalika. M’Baku quickly locks his phone before tucking it in the pocket of his slacks, standing from the couch. 

“I showed you one photo, you don’t need to see the rest. It gets better and better... what is one photo to the amount that I have from her alone,” M’Baku spoke in a cocky manner. 

“Let me see you match what I got. And just because I told you about one photo, that doesn’t mean it’s just one,” Erik pulls out his phone, “You see this?” Erik swipes his finger up and up to show all the sexy photos Zalika sent him. He looks from M’Baku to his phone, eyebrows raised in challenge, “That’s about a good 20 photos right there for me to bust a nut to so what’s up?” 

“Says the man who will be in here for the rest of the evening while I go spend time with Zalika myself. Did I tell you how much she loves it when I speak Xhosa? She says it makes her pussy nice and wet for me.”

“Wow, that's it? Damn, she tells you how wet she is,” Erik strokes his chin, “While she shows me how wet she is…” Erik hummed, “And it gets wet...tastes good too-

“YOU FUCKED HER?” M’Baku damn near charged over to Erik, his 6’5, 250lbs body right above him while he sat back on the couch with a nonchalant expression.

“Nah, She just let me suck her fingers that’s all,” Erik spoke casually, knowing that it would piss M’Baku off, “She’s a creamer too, I can almost taste how sweet that pussy is,” Erik makes multiple slurping sounds with his mouth and tongue, laughing at how angry M’Baku looked at the moment. Erik was almost to tears while bending over with his hand clutching his abs. 

M’Baku was seething, teeth flared, before walking away to pace back and forth, “I will see her today, we are going to talk about this. I don’t like being played with. She’s confused and if I have to make her come to a decision, I will, even if that means stuffing my dick down her throat.” 

“She ain’t confused. It’s obvious, right? She wants two dicks instead of one. Like I said, she knows that me and you are cool. Let’s just give her little ass what she wants. It’s been a minute since we shared some pussy...remember Michelle from grad school? Remember how we tore that up?”

“Michelle...oh, yes...Michelle,” M’Baku gives a knowing smirk, “I wonder how she’s doing.” 

“Shee old news, Baku, let’s focus on Zalika. You’re seeing her in class tonight...invite her over,” Erik says with a roguish grin.

“I told you, I don’t want to share her,” M’Baku spoke through clenched teeth, “Like it or not, Erik, she is mine. Don’t you have other options? You could have any other girl on your phone but instead you want Zalika? Let me have her...I want her so fucking bad I just might handle her after class myself.”

“Yeah, we’ll see...if she hits me up tonight with that wyd text I’m putting this steel on her,” He says with a subtle arch of his brow, “you don’t think I want a piece of that puss just as much as you?”

_________

Zalika walked into her evening class, an Xhosa language course. It’s an elective that was a new edition to UCLA. The sprinkling of thirteen students were listening attentively to Professor M’Baku fluently speak the Bantu language of South Africa. Zalika’s father is from Botswana and he moved to California for med school where he met Zalika’s mother, an Art History Major. She always wanted to learn how to speak Xhosa and when Professor M’Baku who is also her English professor told her about the evening course she added it to her already overwhelming schedule. The wedges on Zalika’s feet clattered against the polished tile floor all the way to her designated seat; seat number three, in the front row. The intense, masculine aroma that Zalika damn near memorized within her senses made her smile the minute she planted her round, dark chocolate ass down in her seat. 

“U-Miss Zalika,” M’Baku says, stilling Zalika’s movements, “kuhlwile kwakhona?”

“....uhm...Intoni?” Zalika adjusts her black, cat-eyed frames lined with rhinestones.

“How long have you been coming to my class and all you can say to me is WHAT?” M’Baku squints at her.

“I’m sorry, I have other classes and...it’s becoming overwhelming, Sir, that’s all-

“No excuses,” M’Baku pushes up the sleeves to his navy blue dress shirt aggressively, “kufuneka sithatha.”

The clicks he made with his tongue whenever he spoke Xhosa has Zalika sucking the gloss off of her bottom lip and pressing her inner thighs together. She could understand him clearly but he didn’t need to know that. Just what did they need to talk about exactly? Everything seemed to be going smoothly between them. Zalika opens her designated notebook for the course, turning it sideways so that she could look over the Xhosa alphabet. Learning the click constants was their focus lately and Zalika found it hard to keep up, pulling extra time to study them whenever she had downtime like doing her laundry or cooking dinner. 

For the remainder of the class, Zalika took notes and practiced Xhosa phrases and click constants with a classmate. Whenever she had a question, Zalika would call for M’Baku in Xhosa like he instructed his students to do for added practice. He would squeeze Zalika’s shoulder gently while leaning over her desk, helping her sound out the phrases and occasionally glancing at her. His eyes would travel from her glossy lips all the way down to smooth, dark chocolate cleavage. This thick, tall, beautiful African man with such a stern voice and obvious ruthless personality turned Zalika on heavily, so heavy that she wanted to make his face a seat while he growled into her folds. 

After the class, all the students filled out except for Zalika who lingered behind acting as if she needed to ask Professor M’Baku a question. While he wiped down the white board, Zalika watched the door softly close shut leaving the both of them alone finally. As her eyes went back to M’Baku he gave her a cunning smile before strolling over to her. She held her ground but the more he approached, the more Zalika realized just how big, and intimidating this man is. 6’5 and 250 lbs stood before her. He crosses his thick, beefy arms across his chest, the outline of the tattoo on his arm teasing her eyes.

“You wanted to talk?” Zalika finally says.

“Let’s get straight to the point, yes? What are you doing with me, hm?” He asks with his profound voice ringing in her ears. 

“Having fun...what else?” Zalika grabs M’Baku’s tie, twirling it around her finger, twisting it tightly, “You don’t want to have fun with me?” 

“You call this fun? Toying with me? Let me tell you something, Zalika...I plan on handling you properly...tonight. Why are you talking to Erik? Who do you belong to?” 

Every time Zalika tried to speak M’Baku would cut her breath short. 

“Can I speak?” Zalika spoke defensively.

“...Yes,” M’Baku reluctantly says before leaning on the edge of his desk. Zalika’s eyes swept the classroom before they fell back on M’Baku.

“I’m feeling Erik too. I’m feeling both of you, actually.”

The muscles in M’Baku’s jaw popped out from grinding his teeth hard. His eyes narrowed at Zalika for a long time. He could taste the anger on his tongue from her words. Erik was right, Zalika wanted both of them to herself. Standing there in front of him with tight leggings, a very revealing top, and heels on her feet, M’Baku couldn’t be angry with her. She smelled like strawberries and her dark chocolate skin glistened. Whatever this woman wanted he would give her. Anything to have her; taste her. She gave M’Baku a kittenish smile while fluttering her lashes at him slowly. 

“I know I should have told you that I was talking to him as well, I apologize for that. I just...I can’t help my feelings towards the both of you…” Zalika approaches M’Baku, standing between his legs and wrapping her arms around his shoulders, “Baku…” she whispered, “Please don’t be mad at me, daddy...I just want to see what it will be like if I had both of you to myself…”

“Fuck, Zalika,” M’Baku’s shoulders slumped with defeat, “Look at what you do to me girl.”

“Huh?” Zalika spoke breathlessly. M’Baku grabs one of her arms from around his neck, dropping it over his crotch. Her hand drags down, mouth widening and eyes falling to his lap. 

“Daddy...this is all of you?” 

“Not all of me,” M’Baku spoke dangerously, “You have played with me long enough, Zalika, it’s time you take care of your master...emadolweni akho.”

Zalika drops to her knees almost instantly, a voracious look in her eyes as she watches M’Baku pull his slacks down with his briefs. The beauty of his big black dick couldn’t be put into words. It is very very girthy. Damn...Zalika wanted to ride that dick. Ain’t nothing like a black man’s dick, she thought before grabbing him, wrapping her hand around him as best as she could. She could feel the power that he beholden from how much he pulsates in the palm of her hand. This would definitely hurt but she wouldn’t chicken out on the opportunity. There is a first for everything. 

“Focus on all of me. There are too many parts untouched...unappreciated,” M’Baku unbuttons his dress shirt, his thick torso revealed to her, “you said you love sucking dick? Worship me then.”

Zalika stares at his thick, mammoth of a dick with bewildered eyes, “Baku...I don’t think I can.”

M’Baku fusses in Xhosa, “Open your mouth, girl.”

“And here I thought Erik’s dick was huge,” Zalika spoke under her breath.

“What was that?” M’Baku pulls on Zalika’s 4C fro to make her look up at him, “Did I hear you use Erik’s name with my dick in your hand? HUH? Who are you supposed to be focusing on at the moment!”

“You,” Zalika spoke quickly, bringing M’Baku’s dick to her mouth to slap her lips with it, eyes pleading, “You, daddy, you,” She opens wide, sinking him into her mouth with timid eyes. Her throat kept clenching up on her so Zalika had to pull him from her mouth, hawk spit on it a few times, before trying again. With the added moisture she was able to get about three inches of him inside.

“FUCK ZALIKA!” M’Baku hisses, “I finally got you, girl...I finally got my dick in your beautiful mouth. I would have done anything to get my dick in your mouth...now I need it in that sweet pussy, girl.” 

“Mm-

“Take it easy, Zalika, you will take your time when sucking me, girl, I don’t like it when you rush.” 

“EK!” Zalika gagged, “ghah, ghah, ghah,” she squeezes her eyes as her throat closes up. 

“Mmm, Zalika,” M’Baku wipes her tears away, “sloppy and slow is exactly how I like it...keep going, girl.”

“I can’t, you’re so big in my mouth,” Zalika’s bottom lip quivered from being stretched, “Baku, I can’t it’s so much-

Zalika was silenced with M’Baku’a dick back in her mouth. She grabbed for his legs, squeezing his enormous calves each time his dick hit the back of her throat. She was going to have a sore throat after this. 

“That’s it, girl, yesssssss, FUCK ZALIKA. Did you let Erik have this mouth too? You don’t have to talk, just nod your head...did he have this mouth before me?”

Zalika shakes her head no while M’Baku’s smooth, ebony dick barley slides in and out of her mouth. 

“Very good,” M’Baku’s lips poked out and his eyes rolled back, “fuck ewe...fuck ewe...uziva ulungile,” M’Baku’s hips were off of the desk, one large hand on the back of her head to keep her in place while his vast dick released a plentiful amount of cum. No wonder, his balls are heavy and big. She could feel the cum that couldn’t fit down her throat fall to her cleavage. 

“Look at me, Zalika,” he asked with a shallow breath escaping his mouth.

Zalika met his eyes while wiping his cum from her cheeks.

“If I find out that you fucked Erik, I will fuck the living shit out of you,” he spoke evenly with vengeful eyes, “I will not be gentle, entle, I will show you just how angry I am when I punish that sweet pussy, girl.” 

That was a challenge for her. Rubbing her throat, Zalika nods, unable to properly speak since M’Baku abused her vocal cords. 

___________

Erik was just stepping out of his shower when he heard M’Baku, his roommate and best friend enter the luxury apartment. It was way past the time for him to be home from his evening class and the thought of that alone has Erik squeezing the hell out of his bottle of body wash, spilling the contents to the bathroom floor. Frustrated, Erik takes a hand towel to clean it up, his other hand trying to keep the fluffy black towel around his waist together. Balling it up and tossing it in a linen wicker basket in the bathroom, Erik steps from the bathroom, M’Baku making his way down the hall with his work satchel in one hand, and his suit jacket in the other. M’Baku couldn’t fight the evil grin on his face when he noticed Erik’s irritation.

“You fucked her, didn’t you?” 

M’Baku chuckles while opening his bedroom door, “Good night, brother.”

The humor laced in his voice made Erik’s blood boil and his water stricken skin gave his lean muscles more definition as they flexed with rage.

“Did she tell you about me?” Erik is standing in M’Baku’s doorway now with his towel hanging on for dear life around his tapered hips, “cuz last time I checked she still hitting my phone.” 

“She did,” M’Baku removes his tie, “But after what I gave her tonight, you can forget everything. She knows who her real daddy is.”

“Nah, we’ll see about that,” Erik challenged M’Baku Before walking away and towards his bedroom. Once he is inside, Erik closes his door, grabbing his cell from the bed and automatically calls Zalika. She answers on the third ring, her sweet, airy voice making his dick twitch. 

“Baby girl,” Erik spoke with a hushed tone, “You want me to come over there and beat that ass?”

“Hello to you too, Erik,” Zalika responds, “and why are you threatening to spank me?”

“M’Baku is back home...he told me that he gave you something tonight...you mind telling me what that something is?”

“Teh,” Zalika sassed, “It’s no concern of yours, E, all you need to worry about is me and you.”

“Zalika, I’m not playing with you...did he hit that puss?” 

“...no,” Zalika finally says, “But I did suck his dick.”

“Hmm,” Erik hummed into the phone, the sound vibrating into Zalika’s ear, “You’re a nasty bitch, Zalika. Couldn’t control yourself, could you?”

“He made me...I liked it though...I haven’t had dick in my mouth for a long time…my throat is still pretty sore.”

“Fuck,” Erik pulls his towel from his waist, “If you’re such a slut it shouldn’t matter how sore that throat is...you’ll want more dick, right?”

“True...what? You got more for me?”

“Why don’t you come through...I’ll show you.” 

“M’Baku is home,” Zalika says, “Wouldn’t he hear?”

“Girl, I don’t give a fuck about that. I pay the bills in this bitch too so what? He ain’t got control over this. You coming over or what?” Erik spoke with malice. 

The aggression in both of them is one of the reasons why Zalika can’t leave both men alone. She first met Erik on campus as a substitute teacher for a physics course. He’s a Radiological Physicist. The chemistry between them both was undeniable and Zalika needed to see him outside of class. Since she wants to be an engineer herself, she would schedule tutoring time with Erik at the schools library and that’s when they exchanged numbers and started sexting. 

“Yeah, I’ll come over, daddy,” Zalika says with a seductive voice, “Keep that dick nice and hard for me.”

“I’m getting some of that puss too, Zalika...you show up at my door I’m using both of your holes to empty my nut and think I’m playing,” Erik warns.

“Unh,” Zalika moans. 

“Had me waiting way too long for you, ma...can’t wait to beat it up,” He spoke with a rough tone, “Hurry up.”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Get off the phone,” Erik ordered and then soon after, the call ended.

The wait will finally be over, he was about to dive in that wet ass pussy he’d been longing for. She is freaky on the phone. She better be just as freaky in person. All of that stop, it’s too big, I can’t take it, all of that shit will not stop Erik from tearing her little ass up. Have her walking funny and feeling his fat ass dick in her pussy forever. M’Baku wasn’t a heavy sleeper so he will hear everything from her moans to her cheeks clapping and Erik didn’t give a fuck. He offered to share her since Zalika wanted them both but M’Baku wanted to be possessive of the girl. She wants BOTH OF THEM. One dick in her mouth, and one in her pussy. 

Erik rubs his body down with some cocoa butter and puts on a pair of drawstring shorts to lounge around until Zalika finally shows up. Erik shot her a quick text letting her know what the apartment number was and not to park in a number spot. He only had to wait twenty minutes, the faint knocks on the door made Erik aware of that. Leaving his bedroom, Erik strolls to the door, opening it to find Zalika standing before him in a T-shirt dress, some sandals, and her kinky afro picked out and full. Her lips are painted a matte brown and when she smiles her white teeth almost blinded him. He could smell the coconut oil on her skin and she wasn’t even up under his nose yet. 

“Don’t be shy,” Erik held the door open further, “I won’t bite unless you want me to.”

“We’ll see about that,” She steps inside, looking around the spacious luxury apartment before turning back to Erik for direction, “It’s nice...looks like a bachelor pad...where’s your room?”

“So damn eager...you don’t want anything to drink?” Erik leads the way further into the apartment, “We got water, apple juice, papaya juice, something stronger…”

“I’m good for now, I’m gonna need it after we...you know…” she giggles, looking down at her toes.

“Fuck. Yeah, you gon’ need that,” Erik grabs Zalika’s soft hand, “Let’s go, ma-

“Where is M’Baku?” She asked with a hushed tone.

“Shh,” Erik says with a finger to his mouth. He points to M’Baku’s bedroom with his thumb while they walked to his room, “He’s in there...you wanna say hi or something? You’re here for me, remember?”

“Yeah, I know, it’s just...he’ll hear us…” Zalika stood rooted to the spot in front of M’Baku’s door.

“Yeah, I don’t give a fuck about that shit. I told him we can make it a threesome thing but he wasn’t with it, that’s his loss,” Erik pulls on Zalika’s hand, making her move, “Nah, let’s go, you got some making up to do with all that teasing shit.” 

“Threesome?” Zalika says with an elevated tone, “You would like that?”

“We’ve done it before, ain’t no problem with me.”

Erik pushes his bedroom door open with his shoulder, turning to grab both of Zalika’s hands. He finally had her in his bedroom. All of that freaky shit she said she could do he wanted to see it for himself. Zalika took a seat on Erik’s bed, her feet slipping out of her sandals before laying back against his bed. She placed her keys and her shoulder bag to the side, her eager eyes studying Erik’s bedroom. 

“Get comfortable, you know, but ass naked,” Erik says while removing his own clothing, “and spread your thighs for me too...remember you told me how you like that puss licked?”

“From the back,” Zalika spoke breathlessly while lifting her T-shirt dress up and above her head. She then takes off her bra and panties, dropping those to the floor as well before laying back, titties spreading to the side from how heavy they are, smoothing her hands down her petite waistline before bringing her thighs up and out. The sound of her pussy lips spreading is what caught Erik’s attention first. 

“That puss is just waiting for my tongue...it’s even prettier in person.”

“Let’s see what that tongue can do,” Zalika spreads her plump pussy lips for Erik to see, “Come and taste me, daddy.”

________________

M’Baku was in the middle of dozing off with his Beats headphones on and a Wakandan rap artist named SS1CASH’s music playing. Something, maybe a small voice inside of his head told him to wake up. M’Baku removes his headphones, placing them on his bed before stretching his large, thickset arms above his head, one hand coming down to scratch the tight, 4C coils on his head. He didn’t have anywhere to be the next day since it was a Saturday so M’Baku decides to pull an all-nighter to grade the English papers that are piled high on his desk. 

Swinging his weighty legs over his king sized bed, M’Baku stands, grabbing his glasses before walking to his bedroom door. He felt parched and needed some papaya juice to hydrate himself. On his way out, M’Baku hears a soft, feminine moan from down the hall. Pausing, M’Baku waits for the lovely sound to grace his ears again. Please, don’t let it be who I think it is, he thought. As if reading his thoughts, the same, pleasure-filled sound fills the darkened hallway again and before M’Baku could stop himself he is walking towards Erik’s door. 

Of course it has to be Zalika. That moan sounded too familiar and the way it has his almighty girthy dick stiff and compressed in his briefs it had to be his Zalika. What was he doing to her at this precise moment that has her gasping and moaning with such blissful surprise that she can’t believe her body is reacting the way it is? At Erik’s door, M���Baku’s large hand grabs the satin nickel door knob, twisting it quietly before pushing it open enough so he could peek inside. The sound of her moans intensified, M’Baku’s brown eyes widening when they fell upon the nasty sight before him.

Zalika is fully naked and riding Erik’s face on his bed, her wide ass bouncing, grinding her pussy on his open mouth. Each time Zalika’s cheeks would spread from her continuous ass popping her pink slit and puffy, chocolate outer lips would grace his eyes. Erik’s tongue was flat and thick, licking up and down her pussy while his hands rubbed the back of Zalika’s thighs and occasionally went up to give her generous cheeks a slap. Yes, yes, yes fell from Zalika’s mouth with her head towards the ceiling. She was loving that tongue, her body visibly shaking. 

M’Baku’s dick was ready to fucking bust. Staring at it, his girthy dick was pointed straight out, the tip of his dick peeking through the opening of his briefs. He wanted to yank Erik’s vertebrae through his throat at first but the more he watched the more he concluded that seeing his best friend tongue fuck and slurp all over Zalika’s beautiful puss has him horny and ready to join. He wanted a taste of her now, especially that puckered ass hole. He dreamed of training her tight ass to fit his thickness knowing that it will be too much for her. It wasn’t M’Baku’s first time seeing Erik in his naked grandeur. Erik’s chiseled hips were pumping the air like there was a pussy situated over his dick for him to sink into. 

“What a yummy, puffy pussy, ma,” Erik says with his voice much deeper, “Mmm I’d suck on this pussy all fucking day,” he goes back to devouring Zalika like pussy is his favorite meal. It’s M’Baku’s favorite meal too. All that cream just leaking on Erik’s tongue. Her pussy is nice and bald, plump, and juicy. What a beautiful picture of a beautiful body piece. M’Baku would love to put a lip lock on her and snatch. 

“Unh, Erik right there, Unh, yes Erik right fucking there, daddy, fuck,” Zalika lets out ragged breaths, “daddy keep doing that I’m gonna cum.”

That’s what made M’Baku approach the both of them within long strides, grabbing a fist full of Zalika’s kinky afro, extending her he’d back so far her eyes widened with fear, she couldn’t see him correctly because of the position so her eyes looked towards her peripheral, that same strong, masculine scent crowding her like it always did in class. Erik notices the change in Zalika’s movements, lifting his face from between her legs to find M’Baku yoking her up by her hair, so close to her face with fury that Zalika was whimpering. Erik didn’t say anything, didn’t care to be honest. He simply takes three fingers, slipping them inside of Zalika’s pussy and starts finger popping her pussy. 

“Baku...Unh shit, Erik...Baku, daddy,” M’Baku wasn’t sure who she was calling daddy at the moment since Erik was curling his fat fingers inside of her, “Baku, I’m sorry-

“It’s too late for that, girl...I already caught you riding my best friends tongue...no need to lie about how it felt...I know it felt good,” M’Baku glances over at Erik, locking eyes with his friend before both of them share identical sly smirks, “Keep going, Erik, dig deep and don’t let up until she’s cumming hard.”

“Erik-

“Since you’re here, bro, why don’t you fill that mouth up...she said her throat was sore let’s see if it’s still like that,” Erik spoke harshly, “ooookayyyy, that pussy got a nice grip,” Erik’s free hand comes down to slap her ass.

M’Baku pulls his briefs off, grabbing his chocolate dick in one hand, tapping Zalika’s lips with it, “You are amazingly talented, why don’t you show Erik how you suck dick, hmm?” M’Baku rubs his dick against Zalika’s lips, “come on, girl, suck your master.” 

“Damn,” Erik strains his neck to watch Zalika take M’Baku in with difficulty, “She is trying her hardest to fit them big lips around your dick...too much dick, Zalika?”

“Damn it!!” M’Baku says through clenched teeth, “Fucking pro,” M’Baku grabs both sides of her head, “THATS it girl, you are special, love, so special.” 

Hrgurrk!!!” She gags, trying her absolute best to fill her mouth up with M’Baku’s dick but there is no use, this man’s dick is inhuman. All that Wakandan strength he’s yielding in his dick...her throat is no match. Erik pulls his fingers out to rub Zalika’s clit, his eyes envious of M’Baku being slobbered on. 

“Do that shit bitch! I need that shit right there,” Erik says while rubbing his drenched fingers all over her pussy, “she the real deal, Baku let me get some of that.”

“Here,” M’Baku pulls his dick out of Zalika’s mouth, watching her exhale, “Come fuck her throat up.”

Erik sucks Zalika’s mess from his fingers before trading places with M’Baku, eagerly grabbing his long and girthy dick up. M’Baku gets down on his knees behind Zalika, dick in one hand while the other one grabs one of her ass cheeks firmly, spreading her nice and wide so that he could rub his thick tongue from her pussy to her ass and back. The mess Erik created has M’Baku growling before he buries his face in her pussy. He couldn’t help but to leave a trail of sucks continuously. 

Erik has Zalika’s hair in his hand, moving her head up and down his dick, “Damn, you dangerous with that tongue...that’s a bad bitch,” Erik drags his bottom lip between his teeth, “I love how she sucks dick, got my dick throbbing in her mouth.” 

“The best, right?” M’Baku says between licks, “makes you want to abuse her little throat.”

Zalika’s lips slips off of Erik’s dick with a loud pop, “Umph!!! Baku oh my God,” She jerks Erik’s drool covered dick while looking back at M’Baku, “Daddy suck on my pussy like that, yessssss-

“Aye, pay attention,” Erik turns Zalika’s head around, “Nope, don’t touch my big dick with hands, ma. Mouth, tongue, and throat only, fuck is wrong with you.”

“Yes, daddy, Umph, fuck,” Zalika started sucking with no hands but stops again when M’Baku starts tongue-fucking her ass, “Ooooooo-

“Bitch, you got my dick in front of your face you better come suck this,” Erik orders while yanking her hair, “UH-HUH, fuck yeah,” Erik’s eyes were dark on her, “And don’t let my cum drip down my dick. You better clean up every single drop.” 

“Mhm,” Zalika focused on the dick currently stretching her throat out while grinding her pussy on M’Baku’s tongue. He was right on her clit and each time he sucked Zalika’s body would clench up. She was getting closer and closer while Erik’s balls slapped her chin. 

“I know you wanna cum, girl, cum on daddy’s tongue, baby,” M’Baku spoke into her pussy before wrapping his lips around her clit again. 

“Damn, I’ma fuck you good, Zalika,” Erik could feel his balls growing tighter, a tingling sensation forming, “Ima make you cum all over this dick, ma, fuckkkkk!” 

Erik’s hips began to move faster and faster and faster until he buried his dick down her throat, his thick, tasty cum filling her mouth up. Zalika locked eyes with him while swallowing his nut.

“That’s that nut you’ve been dying to taste, drink it up, ma,” Erik says while focusing on Zalika sucking his dick softly, “You tryna get more?”

Zalika pops her lips off of the tip of his dick, “yeah.”

“Ain’t no more right now you sucked a nigga dry...you plan on giving M’Baku some good suckie-suckie too?”

“Mhm,” Zalika says before bringing her lips down to suck on his balls.

“Damn. Never forget the balls baby,” Erik whispers while jerking his dick.

“Fuck!!!” Zalika shouts, her body shaking from cumming on M’Baku’s tongue, “YES DADDY YES!!”

Erik reaches behind her to slap her ass while M’Baku continues to suck all the cum out of her pussy. Erik couldn’t help but to walk around to see what M’Baku was doing. He has his lips on her clit, sucking slowly, savoring in her sweet taste. Erik leans over, spreading both of Zalika’s ass cheeks before spitting on her ass hole. He takes his finger, bringing it to her ass to rub it. 

“Damn, I can tell you play in this ass girl…my type of woman...super thick and creamy,” Erik sticks his finger in her ass, “You gon’ let me dig in this ass real good?”

“She better,” M’Baku says, his face finally from between her legs and covered in her juices, “I’m fucking that ass too.” 

“It’s your lucky day, baby girl, turn around,” Erik says, watching a weak Zalika flip over onto her back, “There you go, I’m getting in this pussy-

“Fuck!!!” Zalika tries to push at Erik, “Daddy it’s in my stomach that dick is so big!”

M’Baku is walking to stand by Zalika’s face, jerking his dick, “It’s okay, entle, suck my dick.”

“Unh,” Zalika grabs M’Baku’s dick, “This is going inside of my pussy too daddy? This big ass dick?”

“Where ever you want it, I’ll put it, baby,” M’Baku hisses when Her juicy lips wrapped around his girth, “Fuck, mmmm.”

Erik has Zalika’s legs thrown over his shoulders, his hips expertly snapping into hers while grinding them. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of Zalika’s pussy creaming all over him. Her fat pussy fit snugly around him and the more he digs deep the more he wants to fill her pussy up with his cum. That pussy is gripping his dick something serious making his eyes roll. 

“Pussy good, girl,” Erik says between breaths, “got me digging deep baby, so deep...uhmmmm, this pussy is so wet,” Erik pulls his dick out all the way to the tip, “nasty bitch, suck that dick while I fuck this pretty pussy.”

“Dig deeper,” M’Baku says while grabbing her legs, pulling them back, “That’s better, see? She’s opened up a lot more now, fuck her hard, brother.”

“Like this,” Erik leans over her body into a push up position, giving it to Zalika so hard and with long strokes that she takes M’Baku’s dick out of her mouth, hand barely able to grasp it, while staring at Erik with a crease in her brow and low eyes. He kept that same stroke, hips snapping into her and his dick hitting the back of her pussy.

“Fuck,” she says softly, unable to control the tears that fell from her eyes and rolled into her hairline, “fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.” 

“Look at that yummy pussy taking that dick,” M’Baku was fascinated, “Uhmm, make her pussy cum.” 

“Ima make this pussy cum,” Erik repeated.

“Fuck my pussy good, daddy, please, oh my god,” Zalika was in a trance staring at M’Baku’s vast dick in her face and Erik’s dick that is just as whopping digging deep in her pussy. He was aiming for her to feel it push up against her cervix. Her toes curled back so hard it hurt and she would surely have cramps in her toes by tomorrow. 

“Daddy get this pussy, Baku,” Zalika wiggles her tongue, “Slap that fat ass dick on my tongue.”

“Nasty little bitch,” M’Baku bends his knees a little because of his height to slap Zalika’s tongue with his dick. 

Zalika slurps on M’baku’s tip while watching Erik have a blast in her pussy, “Pussy good? Is she good, daddy? Huh? Make your pussy cum.” 

Zalika was on fire, talking shit while taking dick. Her pussy has a mad grip on Erik’s dick. 

“Love to hear a girl talk nasty when I beat it up,” Erik says while rubbing her clit while stroking her pussy.

“Mmmm I wanna fuck her so bad...she’s taking that dick so good,” M’Baku was longing to split Zalika’s pussy in half. 

“I can’t wait to fill this ass up,” Erik spoke with a hushed tone. Sweat poured from his body and it smelled just like the cocoa butter he applied to his skin after he showered. 

“Look at your face, that’s all you need, Zalika, dick all the time,” M’Baku strokes her hair while she sucked the tip of his dick.

“I’d love that,” She says before gasping, “Ima squirt on your dick Erik,” She could hear her pussy making even louder wet sounds now, “it’s coming, daddy, Ima squirt on your dick!”

While Erik was killing her pussy, Zalika acted like the hype man pumping his head up and spewing nasty talk after nasty talk to make her squirt. Erik watched with rapid attention while colorless fluid splashed from Zalika’s pussy while he continued to fuck her. The grip she had on him almost made him cum. Erik pulls out, slapping his dick on her pussy before trading places with M’Baku. 

“Let me,” M’Baku says, being a gentleman and lifting Zalika up to straddle him. With one bulky arm around her waist to lock her down, M’Baku uses his other hand to line his dick up with her pussy. 

“Shit, Baku,” Zalika clenched up when she felt M’Baku trying to get the tip of his dick in, “this big black dick,” Zalika hisses, “oooooo, fuck that’s a big dick, baby...ouch-ouch...daddyyyy.” 

“I know I’m too thick...it will fit, girl, you just gotta let me in,” M’Baku whispers to her, “Why don’t you suck your mess off of Erik while I work this pussy on my dick, hmm?”

“Okay,” Zalika grabs Erik’s creamy dick, going straight to sucking her cum off while keeping eye contact with him. Her taste and Erik’s sexy eyes did distract her enough to let M’Baku slip his dick in. She froze with a mouth full of dick, her hips suspended in the air. 

“Nah, get some more of that dick,” Erik says, slapping her ass, “come on, girl throw that pussy back.” 

“Fuck,” Zalika tries to but she was so wide open it was too much, “Daddy’s dick is so big in my little pussy.”

“Remember how you said you would take me? Show me how you would take me…” M’Baku has both of his hands on her hips, “It’s just my dick, girl...imagine if Erik was in your ass? You would really be crying then.” 

“I’m about to get in that ass now,” Erik says while reaching behind Zalika to stick his finger in her ass again, “Ima put my dick balls deep in this tight ass.” 

“Erik, no,” Zalika looks at him with puppy dog eyes, “Daddy not my ass.”

“I like how you play like you don’t want it,” Erik positions himself behind Zalika, crouching down so he could line his dick up with her ass, “remember you said you wanted me to make this ass a gaping, cum-filled hole?”

“Yes,” She says with a weak voice. Erik could see her ass hole clenching and it made him smile. 

“Hurry up, Erik, I’m ready to fuck her,” M’Baku says impatiently. Erik leans over Zalika’s body with all of his strength keeping him up before grabbing his dick in one hand, pushing it inside of her ass slowly. Zalika’s face was priceless. She felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. He pushed in and her ass hole sucked him inside so swiftly she didn't see it coming. Erik felt good in her ass. Tight, thick, and smooth. When he pulled out to thrust back in, Zalika moaned, looking back at Erik, silently telling him to do that again.

“That thick ass dick,” Zalika’s eyes rolled shut. She was just getting used to Erik’s dick in her ass but M’Baku thrusting upward into her pussy has her feeling full. She turned around to look at him with wide eyes, moans stuck in her throat while this giant of a man started thrusting his hips upward. His dick went in and out, in and out, stretching her pussy to his girth. She could hear her pussy making noises around his dick, she could see the longing in M’Baku’s eyes. 

“Oh my goodness, Baku,” Zalika grabs his shoulders, “Baku it’s so big… ooooo, Erik,” Zalika couldn’t forget the way Erik was tearing her ass up, “Daddy,” She says to Erik, “Daddy,” she says to M’Baku. She was being double penetrated and it felt so damn good. 

“Ass is gripping the fuck out of my dick, FUCK,” Erik rubs his hands up Zalika’s spine, “I love this tight ass.”

Erik slips out of her ass, spreading her cheeks so he could see how wide open she is. The cum on his dick from fucking her pussy helped to lubricate his dick so he could fuck her ass. He went right back inside while watching M’Baku pull her down over his dick. 

“BAKU! ERIK! YES!!” She shouts, “Make me cum!! I want to cum!!”

Zalika never had an anal orgasm before but she could feel herself ready to explode through both openings. She could feel the same tingling each time Erik fucked her ass. M’Baku was all up in her pussy with so much excitement his balls would slap her ass.

“Give me that pussy, girl,” He would say, “Daddy will make you cum on this dick,” He growled, “I’m stretching your little pussy out, baby.” 

“Yes, I’m cumming!!!” 

Zalika was trapped between two men so no matter how powerful her orgasm is she couldn’t move or run away. Tears burst from her eyes and she felt her ass growing tighter around Erik’s dick just like her pussy around M’Baku’s dick. 

“AHHH SHIT!!!!!” Erik says, pumping a few more times before erupting deeply inside of her ass. He came harder than ever from anal and she was begging for more. 

M’Baku hooks his arms under her knees, lifting Zalika up and down his dick. This man was bringing her body up in the air and slamming her down on his dick. 

“Yeah, Baku, give her that dick, fuck her up,” Erik says while stroking his dick. He could feel it growing harder and harder in his hand, “Damn, bro, you got her pussy creaming heavy.”

“Fuck, Baku Ima cum, mmmm, Baku yes!!!!”

Zalika was cumming all over M’Baku and he didn’t stop fucking her until she stopped cumming. When she was drained, M’Baku pulled her into a kiss before lifting her off of him, trading places with Erik while he fucked her ass. Thanks to Erik, Zalika is nice and stretched, giving M’Baku easier access. M’Baku lifts from the bed, grabbing some lube from Erik’s dresser, applying some to his dick before putting it back, kneeling behind Zalika. Erik has Zalika sucking his dick like it was her favorite thing in the whole wide world. 

“BAKU!!!!!” Zalika almost pushes away from him but he holds her hips down firmly while he fits his dick inside of her. He cursed in Xhosa with more and more of himself sinking inside of her. 

“Tight ass butt, give her that dick, bro, make her feel that shit.” Erik encourages M’Baku while Zalika sucks his dick. 

M’Baku was ready to cum already but he held it in as best as he could. Zalika was throwing her ass back on M’Baku and he was meeting her thrust for thrust.

“Yes, girl, that’s daddy’s little slut, this ass is tight on you, fuck,” M’Baku grunts, “Mmmm, yes, get this hole filled all the time, girl.”

“All the time,” Erik moans when Zalika strokes his balls with her hand while sucking on the tip of his dick, “You taste yourself on my dick? Taste good?”

“Mhm,” Zalika says while slurping on Erik’s dick.

“She is well trained,” M’Baku says while digging in her ass, “this is how I told you I would use you, entle, destroy your asshole without mercy...pound you until you cum then pound you again.” 

In between Zalika’s vicious sucks Erik grabs her hair to fuck her face. Already he could feel himself getting ready to explode, “Goddamn, Zalika, Ima bust in that mouth again.”

“I’m about to cum in her ass,” M’Baku slaps her ass, “Mmmm, DAMN!!!!!” He felt that cum shoot out hard, “DAMN!! DAMN!!!”

Erik was right behind him, cumming down Zalika’s throat for the second time that evening. 

________________

How often was Zalika fucking Erik and M’Baku? Practically every damn day. It’s been three weeks and now they were taking turns making a cream pie in her pussy. Zalika swore she was protected with birth control. The risk of letting both of her Daddy’s cum in her pussy felt so dangerous and delicious at the same time. Just last night Erik and M’Baku fucked her in the shower, picking her up and giving it to her deep in both holes. M’Baku was in her ass first while Erik was in her pussy and then they would switch places, aiming to make her cum. 

“Big fucking dicks!” Zalika screamed to the ceiling. 

“Daddy, yes, cum in my pussy,” she would say while Erik was pounding her pussy from the back while sucking M’Baku’s dick. 

“Fuck, M’Baku, it’s so much dick in my pussy,” She would say to M’Baku while riding him reverse cowgirl.

Erik loved fucking Zalika doggy style or with her legs thrown over his shoulders. M’Baku enjoyed making her ride his dick and he especially loved fucking her in the ass. She would suck both of their dicks at the same time no matter what they were doing. They could be on the couch watching a game and Zalika would be on her knees, moving from one dick to the other. You know it’s big when you have to use both hands. She sucked both M’Baku and Erik’s dick with both hands even though Erik preferred for her to use her mouth only. M’Baku didn’t fuss too much because he knew how wide and girthy he was so he let her use whatever resources she needed. 

Zalika had plans to go see M’Baku and Erik but she was feeling funny for the past few days. She felt nauseated and fatigued and that had her taking time off from school to rest up and get some energy. She didn’t want to worry M’Baku and Erik with her problems so she told them that she would have to see them that weekend. They were both disappointed but they understood that she needed some time off. Zalika made herself some chicken noodle soup. She played with it, no appetite at all. The nausea became more and more difficult so Zalika placed her bowl on her dresser, speeding to the bathroom. The second she lifted the toilet seat up Zalika vomits in the toilet. 

She knew it was coming. It was only a matter of time. In that moment it came to her that she missed her period. She was so used to having irregular periods with taking birth control but it always came towards the end of the month. It’s been a week into the new month and she didn’t come on her cycle yet. She did feel bloated, cranky, cramps, and light spotting but it was on and off. Now, she was vomiting. Zalika flushed the toilet, walking to the sink to brush her teeth. As she scrubbed her tongue she looked at her reflection, unable to shake the uneasy feeling in her belly. Zalika knew what she had to do, there was no reason to avoid it. After brushing her teeth and using mouthwash, Zalika walked back to her bedroom to put on some sweats and a pair of sneakers. 

She grabs her keys and wallet, grabbing her keys to leave. There is a CVS about a mile up the road in a shopping center. In her car, Zalika’s conscious kept telling her that she couldn’t be pregnant, not with birth control. The closer she got to CVS, the more she couldn’t accept it. Sure, having M’Baku or Erik as a baby father is wonderful when you think about it but she was still in school, no career, and what if one of them didn’t want the baby? What if they cut ties with her and she was left on her own to take care of a child? If she is pregnant, Zalika will keep the baby, there is doubt about that. But it will be hard. 

Zalika grabs two tests from the shelf, deciding to do self-checkout instead since there was such a long line. Zalika was out the door in under five minutes. On her way back home so she could get it over with and face the inevitable. Back at home, she undressed, standing in her bathroom with her phone on the sink for a timer. She could see two texts from Erik and M’Baku on her lock screen.

Daddy Erik: Awww, I can’t see my baby today, now I gotta take care of myself.

Daddy M’Baku: I hope everything is alright. This dick will miss you girl.

Zalika opens the first test. She pees on the test, sitting it down on the sink before wiping and flushing. While washing her hands, Zalika waits the amount of time needed before grabbing the test quickly, anxious to see what it says. 

Positive

“No fucking way,” Zalika says with a shake of her head before grabbing up the second test, “Let’s be sure….”

______________

“Zalika,” Erik says with a lopsided grin on his face. He’s wearing an Under Armor top with some drawstring shorts and socks on his feet, “I thought you weren’t coming to see us today? What changed your mind, gorgeous?”

“We have to talk,” Zalika says with a solemn expression.

“Aight...come in,” Erik gave Zalika a weird look before closing the door behind her, “Are you cutting ties with me?”

“I need to talk with you and M’Baku, Erik,” she says, “where is he?”

“Kitchen making something to eat, Baku!” Erik calls for him, his eyes never leaving Zalika’s, “Is it bad? You look like you wanna cry.”

“What’s going on,” M’Baku’s deep voice startled her. He softened when he saw Zalika, his little slut, “Ah, so she comes back for more,” M’Baku walks up to her, kissing her lips, “Are you hungry? I’m making oxtail stew, Erik’s recipe.”

“Not right now...we really need to talk...all three of us.”

“Shit,” M’Baku says before sharing a look with Erik, “Well, let’s sit on the balcony.” 

M’Baku leads the way towards the balcony, turning on the light so they wouldn’t be sitting in darkness. There is a long patio chair with two small ones and a few Aloe Vera plants. Zalika takes a seat between Erik and M’Baku, both of them watching her attentively. Zalika began fidgeting, looking down into her lap. 

“Zalika, baby, what’s wrong?” Erik says, scooting closer, “You got me and Baku over here worried.”

“If it's something we did, you can tell us both,” M’Baku says while gently squeezing her shoulder. 

“Okay,” Zalika exhales, “Uhm...I’m pregnant.” 

Silence. 

“I’m pregnant,” she repeated. 

Both men looked at each other again. Erik looked at nothing in particular while M’Baku’s expression hardened. 

“When did you find out?” Erik asks.

“Today...I missed my period and I’ve been feeling sick, weak,” Zalika glances at M’Baku, “I took two tests, they were both positive.”

“Zalika...this is serious...what will you do?” M’Baku grabs for her hand, “I’m with you in whatever decision you make.”

“I want to keep the baby...but I don’t know which one of you could be the father,” She spoke timidly, “You both came inside of me…”

“That’s the dilemma,” M’Baku sighs, “Well, if it is my child, I will take care of it...take care of you.”

Zalika shudders when M’Baku’s hand pressed into her belly. 

“I hope that it is mine,” He spoke with a whisper. That alone made Zalika’s nipples erect. They were a little sore as well but she couldn’t help feeling so turned on by M’Baku’s words.

“It could be mine,” Erik says, “and I’ll make sure my baby is provided for just like her mama,” Erik leans in, kissing Zalika’s cheek. His soft, plump lips against her cheek made her gasp. Erik’s hand joined M’Baku’s on her belly, both men sharing a look, before staring at Zalika. 

“M’Baku...what if it’s Erik’s...how would you feel?”

M’Baku’s jaw clenched. He wanted to believe that it was his seed growing inside of her womb. If Erik’s cum made that happen he would be happy for his best friend but at the same time it could have been his. 

“I would support my friend...but I won’t lie...I want the baby to be mine.” 

“Hmm,” Erik hums, a brow raised at his friend, “You sure you won’t go full gorilla mode on me?” 

M’Baku gave Erik a challenging look. He knows that the Jabari courses through M’Baku’s veins. Very possessive. He practically imprinted on Zalika. 

“Then how would you feel if my baby is what’s making her hips spread and breasts leak milk?” 

Erik licks his lips, one of his eyes twitching faintly. 

“Ah, So we have a challenge,” M’Baku grabs Zalika’s chin, “We will see in nine months.”

“...okay,” Zalika stares at M’Baku’s lips. 

“3 months, right? Until we find out about the sex of the baby?” Erik asks. 

“Yeah, about 14 weeks.” 

“I’ll be right there by your side, baby girl,” Erik kisses her neck, “Right by your side the entire time.

“And I will be by your bedside whenever you need me,” M’Baku says, taking charge and kissing her lips. 

“Come stay with us, Zalika,” Erik takes it up a notch, trailing his hands up to grope her breast, “That way, you’ll be with us the entire time.”

“The lease will be up on my apartment in another few weeks,” Zalika bites her lip when Erik’s thumb tweaks her nipple, “I could do that...are you guys sure?”

“Of course,” M’Baku reassures her, “You are most welcome.” 

Zalika was in heaven. She thought up so many different scenarios of how this would play out. Erik and M’Baku would argue, M’Baku would get upset at her for sleeping with Erik, Erik getting upset with her for sleeping with M’Baku, or both men calling her delusional, telling her to leave. None of those things happened. They were both comforting and accepting of what was happening between the three of them. The only problem would be the competition but that could be dealt with. M’Baku and Erik are now taking turns kissing Zalika, pulling on her clothes. This will be an everyday thing. They will want her pregnant pussy and she will give it to them. 

@tgigoldie @soufcakmistress @chefjessypooh @chaneajoyyy @pananegra @theblulife @becincere @blaqwidow91 @fish-outta-watah @eyeknowmywrites @crowngold @njadakillthiscookie @blktinkerbell @luvanxi @sheisexcellent1 @chocolatedippedinhoney @brandithecrystalgem @dababydababydababydababy @soulfulbeauty19 @btitannaaa @sunkissedebony97 @youngblackndgifted @harleycativy @rbhp @thee-germanpeach @thadelightfulone @palmstreesallday @skylahb @bakaris-shorty @nizzle-mo @truglori @queenflaws @ljstraightnochaser @theegoldenchild @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @nickidub718 @vikkidc @thehomierobbstark  @abluesforlyssa @abeautifulmindexposed @fd-writes @chasingsunlight @sickaddiktions @munteanhore @xo-goldengirl @tiava143 @33kiara@honeytoffee @asiasblackworld727 @momobaby227 @informalmelancholy @soulshinechronicles @hearteyes-for-killmonger @goddessofthundathighs @soulfxll @whazzzupmyhitta @seyven89 @lahuttor @janelledarling @shewritestheblues @fanfangal @kreolemami @thoughtsoftheantagonist @luvwitoutlimit1 @mygirlrenee @hippiesandpeacesigns @alittlejd @jaysaidhi @thewaysheis--awkward– @walkrightuptothesun @shawnstacksss @theesotericqueen @mareethequeen @browngirldominion @ceeverse @therealmrsrhodes @sensitivelegend @teheeboo @yomiloo @msreshel-blog​ @bbygirrll05 @fahi0nanart @afteracouplepuffss​ @shaelyn102​ @yaminax-kuss-a @lackbbaby @amyhennessyhouse​ @thattruckinwitch​ @dameshaemonique​  @glittermakesmesmile​ @justgetitoverwith0​  @notavintagecliche​ @pariahcolored​ @cydneyrenee4​ @ajjiiaaahhhh​ @naeelyniecee @ambthegamer​ @efonteno​ @mikesteel20​ @wisenerdcreator @draggingstxns​ @eevolsidog​ @xoxomyaah​ @asweet-serendipity​@therealmrsmbjordan​ @ajspencer1892​ @queengodiva619 @niqui87​ @quietpoeticheart​ @itsjustyazz​ @dasia21​ @woah-express​ @bbgiirrll​ @backandbetter2​ @megabriahall @forbeautyandlife​ @queenflaws​ @cecereads209​ @queenbetter​ @yomiloo​ @daddys-baby-girl-t​ @lovinthemelanin​ @ladymac82​ @ambitionwood @t3mporaa​ @toniilaney​ @iv0rysoap​ @sinfully-dope​ @lovehatecritique​ @chocolategirl605​ @naysianaee​

[powerosewaterpuff]

yk so i was watching bmw (boy meets world :) ) while procrastinating an essay so oF COURSE i decided to write some more of my reverse robin au (that pertains to jason being the oldest of the batkids w/ him and dick growing up together) except fLUFF bc i cannot handle angst rn (oR cOulD I wE wiLL nEvER kNoWwwW)

oh and disclaimer there may be several medical inaccuracies so please feel free to correct me :)

jason often gets night terrors, ones that can get particularly awful when bruce goes on an overnight business trip. so one night bruce is in new york after being forced into it by lucius, with dick being adopted for some time now. dick was awake because he was having trouble sleeping, for no real particular reason in all honesty. he heard a short yell though, coming from the room next to him and he dashed over, tripping over his blanket and still gripping zitka tightly. he knew that he wasn’t supposed to fight yet, but he doesn’t really think about that as he yanked jason’s door open.

he then saw his brother laying on his side, turning back and forth, breathing heavily looking so visibly pained it was hurting dick. he rushed over to jason, his eyes darting around because he just didn’t know what to do. taking his chances he tapped jason’s shoulder gently, and he already felt like it wasn’t the right move but he sucked it up and tried again, only this time to some result. jason shot up, gripping on tightly to dick’s arm, his eyes hazy and unfocused and his chest heaving.

dick remained still, only slowly trying to push jason off of him and back into his bed. jason’s grip didn’t let but he laid back in bed, squeezing his eyes tightly as if he was trying to push away everything he had just witnessed. dick took this as an initiative to gently climb into bed, as jason fell back into a less violent but equally as stressful sleep. he placed zitka next to jason, who still hasn’t let go of his arm, and awkwardly sat up in bed, almost acting as a protector. slowly, dick began to doze off, feeling a lot more comforted in his brothers prescence then he had been in his own room.

jason on the other hand, doesn’t remember much of that night, as he rarely fully remembers any of his night terrors (only the scars they leave behind), but when he wakes up at the ass crack of dawn with a few fragments of something he would prefer not to remember, he puts it together rather quickly. he guessed it would happen, and he could’ve told bruce and he knew the guy would drop anything in a heartbeat, but that pissed him off, more so then it justifiably should. he wasn’t a child and he hadn’t been a child for a long fucking time, and it was stupid that he couldn’t deal with a single night without bruce. jason then turned onto his side, disgruntled with a new found rage directed at himself that he might take out on someone else, when he found dick, sleeping at an awkward position.

he was leaning on the headboard, but was slumped down and drooling a bit, which would have been hilarious blackmail material on any other given day. but today, jason felt a pit in his stomach. the only rational thought that his mind could conjure in its fear muddled frenzy was please tell me i didn’t hurt dick, pleasepleasepleaseplease. he quickly checked over dick’s face, cupping his checks and looking for any signs of a bruise. he had given bruce a particularly nasty one earlier in his tenure at the manor, after bruce attempted to restrain him while he was having a night terror so he could avoid hurting himself, instead jason kicked him in the jaw. he even felt bad about it the next day, which was an odd surprise for him at the time.

after checking over dick hasilty, he could see he wasn’t all that hurt, even though if he looked hard enough he could see inklings of nail shaped markings in dick’s right arm just under his shirt sleeve. jason felt a bit of bile rising up, as he gently shifted dick into a better sleeping position, and pulled the blanket up to his chin and slipped a pillow underneath him. dick opened his bleary eyes, mumbling jason’s name in question, and squinting his eyes. jason rolled his eyes but nodded, “yeah, it’s me. now sleep–why’re you shaking yer head? you don’ wanna sleep? too bad.” jason pressed another pillow onto the side of dicks face in a teasing attempt to smother him to sleep, but dick only proceeded to giggle, and snuggle closer to jason, who had sat up already. jason tossed the pillow to the side after a few seconds of play fighting, dick was going to be too sleepy to remember this break in the ‘teasing older brother’ façade. so, he ran his hand through his little brothers hair and laid back down, tracing soft circles into dick’s scalp absentmindedly. and feeling a rush of gratitude that bruce had brought this little circus boy into his life. he really didn’t know what he would do without his little brother. (needless to say, dick became a constant comforter in jason’s night terrors).

jason blames dick for everything. if a vase got knocked over, it was a dick. if the tv wasn’t working, dick had been playing with the satellite. if his phone was missing, dick stole it to play games. if his sweater had a stain, you better bet it was dick. the boy in question, of course, adamantly denies these facts and does have a way of persuading bruce (he is the golden child after all, jason could testify to that), but bruce also knows both of his boys are annoyingly good liars. so every incident is treated like a little miniature crime scene, and it never fails to make jason howl in laughter at dick explaining how he couldn’t have possibly used up jason’s shampoo because he has his own washroom with his own shampoo and so w h y jason w h y would i steal your shampoo. (jason’s usual response is a deadpanned ‘why wouldn’t you’, and that just gives bruce another headache as the two bicker on and on and on.)

the pair of them usually go biking together, and it’s usually quite tranquil to start. until dick makes a sly comment that jason’s old bones must be so tired from cycling, so why not take a break? jason snide reponse is how the fuck are you touching the pedals with your stubby ass legs. that’s really all it takes for them to delve into a full on biking race. it never really ends well, but the two always come out rolling in laughter so whose to complain.

dick thinks real housewives of beverly hills is better then new jersey, and jason is adamant that new jersey is superior in every shape and way. the two agree that atlanta is the absolute winner no matter what though.

jason is dick’s english tutor. and it’s safe to say that it’s an experience. dick already knew a fair amount of english growing up, his father had been a wonderful teacher but it wasn’t exactly up to gotham academy standards apparently (jason knew the feeling) and his accent was still quite prevalent to have him be considered an esl kid, so jason ended up being his tutor once dick started going to english class at school and after his time with an esl instructor. jason, who has an untapped passion for literature that not many can match, is absolutely dedicated to teaching dick, because fuck man this is genius! genius, dick! and dick isn’t exactly a fan, but he does secretly think jason should be a teacher, he’s better then any of the teachers he’s had that’s for sure (his father would’ve really loved jason too, that was also for sure). and dick is considering buying him a little briefcase with his little initials on it. ((it happens, and jason tries really really hard not to cry))

bruce is absolutely that parent that secretly takes pictures of every single moment possible. he isn’t a photographer, in any sense, but he likes to capture natural moments, and he has a series of pictures dedicated to the one trip him and the boys took to Barbados where he started this habit. he wasn’t and still isn’t a big fan of beaches, they’re hot, crowded and just too much for bruce to feel any kind of comfortable in. he remembers sitting under a floppy beach umbrella, feeling the knot in his chest sit heavily on his heart, fire ants scurrying across the underlining of his skin, burning under the side stares of those passing by. it wasn’t until he caught a glimpse of dick riding on jason’s little shoulders, as they trotted around waist deep in the clear ocean water, that the fist squeezing his heart like the rotten fruit it was began to ease. he glanced down at the camera that alfred had subtly slipped into their bag after dicks insistence, and lifted it up to fiddle with it slightly. then raised it up to take a swift picture. capturing jason mid laughter as he leaned back, in a joking attempt to shake dick off who was in the middle of a yelp but had entrenched his hands in jason’s mop of curly hair. it was hilarious imperfect, but bruce would not want it any other way. not at all.

(jason found it once. he saw the picture at the corner of his eye sitting by the keyboard of the ‘Batcomputer’ ((dick was so shitty with names, thank god he didn’t come up with flippy man as his code name )), and he hesitated for a moment before hastily grabbing it. examining it with an unexpected amount of gentleness, he rubbed his thumb against the glass above dick’s hands in his hair and felt something snake around his heart. slowly and methodically seeping into it until he felt like he couldn’t fucking breathe. then he heard damian trotting down the stairs as he explained the details of his anthropology class to dick who was hopping down behind him. jason shoves the picture back and grits his teeth together to ignore the sting that was absolutely not in his eyes)

aAAAND THATS ALL!! i’ve had these in my notes for a while so it’s relief to get them out there hehe so i really hope y’all enjoy ive legit been falling in love with this reverse au bC THERE IS SO MUCH POTENTIAL U G H IVE NEVER BEEN EXCITED TO WRITE SHIT UNTIL NOW SO Y A Y FOR INSPIRATION

Y A Y :)

[aellynera]

SPEAK UP (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x Reader)

SPEAK UP

(there is a sequel called SOUND OFF now, but they can be read independently)

Summary: Santiago x Reader. Well, kind of. More Santi & Frankie being jerks and bffs and their POV. But Reader part is still important. Takes place before the events in Triple Frontier.

Word Count: 2361

Warnings: Language, because Frankie & Santi.

(with prompts: Anyone could tell from here; Great. Perfect. Nice. Fuck this; and So what? You did it.)

“You ever gonna tell her?”

This is not the first time Frankie has asked Pope this question. It’s not even the first time he’s asked today. It may not even be the first time he’s asked in the past hour. Pope has frankly lost count and is doing his level best to ignore his best friend.

“I’m sorry, what?” Pope says with a slow blink.

“Raptor. You ever gonna tell her?”

“No idea what you’re talking about, Frankie.”

“Uh huh.” Frankie shakes his head, turning his attention back to the pack he’s in the middle of loading. “You keep telling yourself that.”

Pope stops for a minute to glare at his friend and teammate. He knows exactly what Frankie’s talking about, but right now, Pope doesn’t really want to talk about it. If he’s being honest with himself, there isn’t really an actual time he does want to talk about it, but right now is definitely not it.

There were only a couple hours left until they needed to leave and Pope was one hundred percent in mission mode. This mission had been hanging over their heads for months and it was too important to mess around with or mess up. He was checking and double checking (and, seriously starting to wear on Frankie’s nerves, triple and quadruple checking) the supply bags and gear and making sure everything was packed into the jeep just so. He always did this, like a ritual. For as much as he could lay back during off hours and leave, he was equally if not more focused when it came to a mission.

Which was why he didn’t want to talk about it.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Frankie finishes zipping up his backpack and securing it behind the passenger seat. Pope was driving the first leg, then he would fly when they got to the remote airfield. He leans on the bumper of the jeep, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. “You’re a fucking coward.”

Pope bites his tongue for a long second before zipping and securing his own pack. “And you’re an asshole, but you don’t hear me going on and on about it when we’ve got more important things to do right now.”

Frankie scoffs at him. Pope reaches for another bag to start inspecting - again, for the fifth fucking time, Frankie notes - and Frankie smacks Pope’s hand away from it. Pope glares at him.

“You,” Frankie says as he pokes Pope in the chest, “need to stop fucking around with these supplies. We got what we need. What you do need to do, though, is go over there and fucking tell her how you feel.” His voice has gotten quite loud and Pope tries to quiet him down.

“Shut up, Frankie. This is...not the time,” Pope shakes his head. Frankie’s his best friend but damn it he’s exhausting sometimes. Pope needs to save his energy and pick his battles.

“Jesus Christ, man, everyone sees it. Anyone could tell from here. What happens after this mission, huh?”

“I’m going to Brazil, is what’s happening. You know I’ve been planning that for a year already. I’m out. And she’s...not. She’s in for at least two more years. What the fuck right do I have to bring...whatever it is I feel into this?”

As he’s talking, Pope glances over to the garage where the rest of the jeeps are parked and you’re currently halfway under one of them on a creeper, messing with something by a wheel well. You’re always tinkering with something, but that’s what makes you such a great mechanic. Pope has known you since you came to the base a few years ago. You’d run a few missions together and one night, after a particularly difficult extraction, he’d asked you why your call sign was Raptor. He’d never asked before, and had barely even talked to you, but while you waited for your pickup, suddenly he’d wanted to know. He would never forget the sound of your laugh as you explained that, when you were twelve, Jurassic Park had been your favorite movie and some of your friends started calling you Raptor because it was your favorite dinosaur, and it just stuck. He teased you about it, sure, but he secretly (or not so secretly, if you asked Frankie) loved that you were a nerd. He remembered how he’d told you it also fit because you were so good at stealth recon and he’d seen you take out a few enemies with deadly precision. He remembered the way your cheeks colored when he’d said he admired your abilities and tenacity. He didn’t think he could ever forget.

“So what do you have to lose then? Huh? You go on this mission, you get out, you go to Brazil. You tell her you love her and if she tells you to fuck off then at least you know. And if she doesn’t, well, you’ll figure some shit out.” Frankie shrugs.

Now Pope is shooting daggers clearly aimed for Frankie’s head. “Fish…”

“Yeah?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Frankie raises his hands in surrender, then nods to somewhere behind Pope. “Fine, fine. But you may wanna turn around.”

They had been speaking in Spanish the whole time, until that last sentence when Frankie suddenly switched back to English. Pope turns just as you walk over to the pair, wiping your hands on an oily rag. “Hey guys,” you greet them. Frankie gives you a smile and Pope shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other, trying his best to not meet your gaze. “What’s up? I can give her a once-over before you pull out, if you need.”

Frankie snorts on a laugh and you punch him in the arm. He pretends to look pained but you laugh in return, call him juvenile, and even Pope can’t stop the small grin that comes to his face.

“Nah, she’s good,” Frankie replies. “But Pope here could use some assistance.” He sidesteps quickly as Pope moves like he’s about to swing at him.

“Oh yeah? What’s up?” you ask. Pope still won’t meet your eyes. Actually, now that you think about it, he hasn’t really looked at you or talked to you all week, not even during the planning meetings and the initial mechanics overview, or in the mess or passing by in the hangar. This is not normal for him. Usually you shared laughs and jokes and silly comments. You were already fairly sure you knew why, but you still eyed him suspiciously. You would give him a chance to answer your question.

“Nothing,” Pope mutters.

“Something,” Frankie says at almost the same time.

“Nothing? Or...something?” you ask, quirking a brow at Pope and looking between the two.

“Nothing,” Pope replies, finally meeting your eyes. That lasts for about a second before he turns back to one of the supply bags and reaches for the zipper. Again.

“Damn it, Pope, if you open that bag one more time and don’t tell her, so help me--” Frankie starts. Pope cuts him off when, this time, he really does swing and punch Frankie directly in the face.

“Pope!” you shout. “What the hell!”

“Jesus, man!” Frankie moans from the ground. “Seriously?”

You glare at Pope, while bending down to blot at Frankie’s split lip with a clean section of your rag. “Why do you two always act like such children. This is ridiculous, you’re two hours out from operation, and you’re doing this shit now?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him!” Pope throws his hands up.

“Oh, save it, Santiago Garcia. You’re a horrible liar,” you snap.

His eyes narrow at you, and then at Frankie, who despite his delicate position on the ground has started to laugh. Frankie knows more than Pope thinks. There’s a bomb about to go off, and he can’t wait to see the look on his friend’s face when Raptor drops it on him. “The fuck are you laughing at, asshole?” he asks. 

“She’s right,” Frankie gasps. “She already knows you’re full of shit.”

Pope seems genuinely confused. “What?”

Determining that Frankie is fine, you stand up and step towards Pope. You’re several inches shorter but you’ve never been afraid to get in his face. “You sure you don’t have anything to say to me?” you ask, a slight edge of danger in your voice.

Whether Pope doesn’t pick up on it or chooses to ignore it, you’re not sure. But at this point, neither of you really care. You’re both just annoyed. “Not. A. Thing,” he replies through gritted teeth.

You take a step back, and before he knows what’s happening, your hand is flying across his cheek and your eyes are molten. And, he notes vaguely while the sting registers on his skin, not in the good way.

“Santiago. Garcia. You are the worst. I heard your entire conversation, you idiot. Yo entiendo español, pendejo.”

The next thing he registers is your dirty rag thwacking him in the head and the back of you storming into the base. He knew you knew Spanish. He’d just forgotten you understood and spoke Spanish since you two never actually used Spanish together. Pope opens and closes his mouth several times but nothing comes out. He just stares after you, shocked and confused and strangely sad and mostly just pissed off at himself. Then he realizes Frankie is straight laughing his ass off. Pope looks down.

“You remembered, didn’t you. You knew the whole time she could hear us and you fucking set me up.” 

“I’m sorry, man. That wasn’t quite what I had in mind, but seriously, you’d be more pissed if something happened and you never told her,” Frankie wheezes. It was true. He was sorry, but he also was completely not sorry. At all.

Pope picks up the oily mechanic’s rag from the ground and whips it at Frankie. He shakes his head and stalks off towards the hanger, muttering under his breath. “Great. Perfect. Nice. Fuck this.”

*****

It’s several hours later, when the jeep reaches the remote airfield and the waiting helicopter, that Frankie finally breaks the silence that has hung over them since they left the base.

“So, did you tell her?”

Pope closes his eyes and bites his lip. “Fish…”

“Okay, okay. I won’t say anything else.” He holds up his hands in surrender again and starts unloading the jeep.

After a few minutes working in silence, Pope sighs and stops moving. He sighs again before speaking, as if the extra pause might give him extra courage or maybe help him feel less. “Yeah, I did.”

This time it was Frankie who was speechless, but he recovers quickly. “You did? You did. Holy shit...what did she say?”

“That I’m the biggest idiot alive.”

“Well, no arguments here, but…”

Pope silences him with the sharpest eye dagger he could muster, which wasn’t particularly sharp given the circumstances. Frankie wisely shuts up and lets Pope continue. “She also said that she’s known for a while but didn’t want to fuck it up by saying anything to me, either.”

“God, you two are meant for each other.’

“And we agreed that we would wait and see what happens with this mission, and then figure it out when I get back to base.”

Frankie nods. “Good. That’s good.”

Pope picks up the duffel in front of him and starts to lift it, but stops again. He looks down at the bumper of the jeep. “Is it? Is it really good that this is out now but nothing can really come of it?”

Frankie sits on the bumper and considers his response. “So what? You did it. You told her that you love her.” Pope looks up and off into the distance, in the direction they’d driven. Looking back towards the base. Frankie suddenly looks exasperated and worried and says sternly, “You did actually say it...right?!”

Pope’s gaze doesn’t leave the backward glance to base, but the corner of his lips does tip upwards. “Yeah.”

“Oh thank fuck,” Frankie says. “I thought I was gonna have to punch you back, only I’d have to aim lower.”

Pope laughs and shakes his head. “You’re an asshole, man.” He grabs the duffel and slings it over his shoulder. He reaches for another bag and then starts walking towards the helicopter.

“So did you kiss her?” Frankie shouts from behind him.

Pope shakes his head again but doesn’t answer. He knows Frankie can’t see him, can’t see the ridiculous, cheesy grin that spreads across his face. Maybe Frankie is right after all. Maybe it was, in the end, a good thing that you did it. Maybe it would all work out. Maybe everything would be okay after all. What he did know for sure was that now he had something to hold on to during this mission, the thought of getting back to base and knowing you would be there when he did, and he didn’t have to pretend anymore. He ignores Frankie’s question and keeps moving for the bird, his steps a little lighter than they were a minute ago.

“Pope? Come on, man, did you kiss her?” Frankie yells again. Pope can hear the irritation growing in his voice, but he still doesn’t answer.

“Pope! Fuck, man, come ON!” Frankie yells.

Of course he kissed you. He kissed you breathless and senseless and it was in the supply closet in Barracks C after he’d finally found you and you both fought out your frustrations and admitted your feelings. He kissed you like his life depended on it, and maybe he hadn’t realized just how much it did, but now he couldn’t wait to do it again. So he would get through this mission and get back to base. And the kiss he would give you would be even more earth-shattering than before.

But Frankie didn’t need to know that. Just because Frankie was his best friend didn’t mean Pope had to tell him everything.

~end~

[irkimatsu]

Okay, after way too much delay - it's my Eurovision 2021 Final Ranking! This took me a while for a lot of factors - took extra hours at work to make sure I could get time off this week, some recent family events... and most relevantly, the fact that this year is so damn good that no matter what, I knew someone was going to get ripped off by ending up somewhere in the bottom half. Just know that being toward the bottom of the list doesn't necessarily mean I dislike it, especially this year - it just means I like other things more. This year is going to be an absolute bloodbath. I am both excited and terrified.

Try not to take my ranking too seriously, by the way - I'm an American who unironically listens to stuff like Scooch and Dolly Style. I'm not exactly a seasoned music critic. I just know what sort of music makes the happiness center of my brain light up, what the hell is music theory

Ranking made with the sorter at http://esc.gerbear.com/sorter2021.htm, then slightly adjusted when it put some songs concerningly low on the list. Okay, so I cheated a little

Firstly, in the interest in completion - if Belarus didn't get disqualified, they'd be in the big fat 40 rank, with a big bold "Hate" right above. Fuck that song. I've only listened to it once and am so glad I have no obligation to acknowledge it any further. Those fucking lyrics. Mother of Christ. Fuck you guys.

I also offer my condolences to Armenia for their having to bow out this year. I'm sure whatever you guys sent, it couldn't have possibly been worse than "Chains On You".

Now, for the songs that actually matter:

Indifferent:

39 – Spain - “Voy a quedarme” by Blas Cantó: Welp, already I’m gonna get shot. I can’t remember how this song sounds at all. I know it’s tender and genuine and sweet and everything… I just… kinda don’t care. Nothing to say. I liked his entry last year even more, and even that was pretty damn dull. Just not destined to be a Blas Cantó fan, I guess!

38 - North Macedonia – “Here I Stand” by Vasil: I’m with most other rankings I’ve seen; what the hell is this? I at least kinda remember it, which is more than I can say for poor Spain, but oh my god it’s so boring. I really liked “You” last year! What the hell happened, Vasil?

37 – Albania - “Karma” by Anxhela Peristeri: Another “oops” from me, huh. It’s another one I immediately forget about the instant it ends. I at least don’t remember it boring the crap out of me, hence it placing higher than Spain and Macedonia, but I still can’t say anything nice about it – or anything at all, really – so I’ll leave it this low. I acknowledge that I’m in the minority, I won’t protest if it qualifies, but personally, it’s not my pick.

36 – Georgia – “You” by Tornike Kipiani: Give him points for passion, I suppose! At least I’m not laughing at him like I was last year. On the other hand, less ridiculous also means more boring. Points for earnestness, but this is just another song that goes right over my head.

35 – Portugal – “Love Is On My Side” by The Black Mamba: An English song from Portugal? That’s new. Too bad it hasn’t rescued the song from the darkest depths of Boring. I will confess that I spice it up a little by associating it with Homura from Osomatsu-san, thus rescuing it from the deepest pits of my ranking list… but it’s still stuck down here. Portugal and I have never gotten along well Eurovision-wise. I’ve come to accept that.

34 – Slovenia – “Amen” by Ana Soklič: I’m gonna call this a song that I respect more than I like. She’s got a great voice, I can’t deny that… but when I’m ranking this purely based on what I’d go out of my way to listen to, this one falls flat. I warned you at the beginning that I have no taste! I’m not normally into straightforward ballads, the religious connotations are lost on me… this isn’t the song for me.

33 – Austria – “Amen” by Vincent Bueno: Back to back “Amen”s! Tip for getting me to like your Eurovision entry, apparently, is “don’t call your song Amen”. It’s a ballad, earnest and trying but overall not my type of music. I’m running out of ways to say that. Breakup song, a tad bitter, we’ve all heard this sort of song so many times before. It doesn’t stand out, and I think it’d be a waste of a spot in the final.

At least, I thought this was a breakup song when I first wrote this, but apparently it’s about the death of a loved one…? I would say that makes me hate the bitterness, but… given how I’m handling a death in my own family right now… god, I don’t know. I just can’t handle this song, not at any time but especially not now. It doesn’t even provide catharsis like a song later on in the list. It stays this low regardless of its meaning, I just don’t like it, I’m sorry, moving on.

…” 'Cause it all feels like you didn't even try to save us, all this time wasted on a lie”… ugh, my personal problems…

32 – Switzerland – “Tout l'Univers” by Gjon’s Tears: Another one I respect more than I like, and another opinion I’m gonna get my ass beaten for, I’m sure. I respect the artistry, but this is so far removed from anything I’d ever listen to on purpose. It might have landed even lower if I wasn’t afraid of pissing people off. I’ll understand if it wins, but I’ll also be hoping for most anything else.

31 – Russia – “Russian Woman” by Manizha: I don’t get it. Sometimes it’s pleasant enough to listen to, but overall I don’t get it. It’s unique, I’ll give it that! I understand why it won its national final, and why so many people enjoy it! But for me, it doesn’t quite cross that line between “interesting” and “enjoyable”. I'm not Russian - this isn't for me, and it wasn't supposed to be. Though I will confess that there may be some bias at play here. God, I miss Little Big…

Okay:

30 – Estonia – “The Lucky One” by Uku Suviste: The voice is okay, the music is okay, I like how the bitterness is handled here more than in Austria’s… but this is still as high as I can go on this one. It’s serviceable, but this year has so much better to offer.

29 – Sweden – “Voices” by Tusse: Sweden really does like sending the same song over and over again, huh? I don’t hate it, but it does strike me as a lesser “Too Late For Love”, sound wise. Sweden almost never takes risks, and it’s causing me to look over them more and more with every year. I respect it too much to put it in the “Indifferent” category, but given how the rest of my ranking played out, this the best I can do for it. (But again, do not trust the opinions of someone who teethed on cheesy Europop and fondly remembers when Sweden was flooded with the stuff…)

28 – Belgium – “The Wrong Place” by Hooverphonic: Once again, Hooverphonic help Belgium fill the role of Eurovision’s “Most Likely To Appear In A Bond Movie” song. It’s fine. It’s a song! I don’t know what else to say about it! It does its job well enough, it’s just not really a job I care for that much.

27 – Ireland – “Maps” by Lesley Roy: It’s cute enough! A cute little radio tune. It’s no “Story Of My Life”, though. If “22” couldn’t qualify then this probably won’t, either, and I can’t say I’ll miss it all that much. Still pleasant enough when it comes up on the shuffle.

26 – Bulgaria – “Growing Up Is Getting Old” by Victoria: I admit it, this ranks as high as it does because of anime and that’s basically it. If I was still doing plain category sortings this would have landed straight in “Biased”. My favorite anime is about a bunch of 20-somethings learning that growing up sucks and trying as hard as possible to avoid it, and I first heard this song around the same time that I watched that show’s relatively melancholy season finale, so it ended up sticking with me on that note. Don’t have much to say about it musically, just that it makes me picture sextuplets crying and that’s one of my hobbies, so I’ll grant it an “Okay”. (It may also worth noting that if I heard this song before 2019, in the state my life was in before then it would have probably left me too inconsolable to listen to it more than once. Growing up is growing old indeed!

…it’s also worth noting that after I wrote this blurb, a major event happened that really enforced that growing up is getting old, so I listened to this quite a bit for a few days, among some other non-Eurovision songs. I’m probably gonna have an emotional breakdown on Thursday when this one starts. So, um, look out for that, guess. Between this one and Austria’s, I swear to god…)

25 – Italy – “Zitti e buoni” by Måneskin: I’ve been trying to get this one to rank higher, I really have, but its inability to crack the top 20 just says a lot about how damn good this year is. It sounds great, it’s very well done, and I wouldn’t hate to see it win! It’s earned its popularity. Everything holding it back in my own personal ranking is just that, personal – I do lose something when I can’t sing along or understand the lyrics, and there’s another rock song this year that I like way better. Still wishing you guys the best!

24 – Netherlands – “Birth Of A New Age” by Jeangu Macrooy: This song has a great style that I respect a lot. The message, the vibe – even if it’s not a culture I’m a part of, I feel and appreciate the hell out of it, and I really hope it does well. I don’t understand why so many people seem to think it’s not interesting! It may not be the sort of thing I’d go out of my way to listen to, but I’m glad it’s here. Catch me singing out “Yu no man broko mi” on Saturday! It’s been a while since I’ve given a shit about a host country’s entry, so I’m really glad for this one.

23 – Romania - “Amnesia” by Roxen: I’ll admit something else unpopular – I hated “Alcohol You” last year. Didn’t see what the big deal was at all. It sounded okay, I guess, but the lyrics were so pretentious and awful, and I’ve never liked the topic of “I love you even though you have no redeeming qualities whatsoever and you make me feel like shit”. But it seems like in that year, Roxen has discovered that self-love is important, actually, and it’s not worth it spending your time on some shitbag who consistently disappoints you. I appreciate it for that alone. Character growth! Plus, I feel the whole thing of “forgetting how to love yourself because everyone around you sucks”. It’s not the perfect song, not by a long shot, but it has a nice melody, and Roxen has a nice voice. It’s good to hear her using that voice on something I don’t find obnoxious.

22 – Norway – “Fallen Angel” by TIX: Okay, I’ll admit it, this is one where I watched the live video the first time I heard the song, and I was too busy laughing at his outfit to take the song seriously. Jesus Christ, dude, what the hell. Well, that’s Eurovision for you, and the more I listened to it, the more I admitted to myself that I’m a sucker for “I love you but letting you go for your own good, not sure what I ever offered you in the first place” type songs. Knowing the song is inspired by his own disability and self-loathing really twists that knife, to the point where I feel bad that I almost threw this at an anime character. I know I’m usually cold on songs that try to evoke emotions about the singer’s personal problems – Germany 2018, and this year’s Austrian entry – but this one really works for me. Only reason it’s in “Okay” tier is because of its competition – it’d rank way higher in a weaker year.

21 – France – “Voila” by Barbara Pravi: I like a good waltz, I guess! It’s a unique number, and the French language sounds nice, especially with the music. It’s yet another example of how this year is filled with so many interesting entries that I appreciate the hell out of. God bless this diverse year! (Or maybe everything just sounds so good to me because last year’s cancellation left me in withdrawal.) I expect a really nice performance for this one – this song isn’t one you can perform while just standing there, especially not during that speedup toward the end.

20 – Australia – “Technicolour” by Montaigne: That song that sounds like it’s about stripping if you don’t know that she’s saying cloaks. (Guilty as charged.) It’s catchy and fun, and I really love it when it first starts… but unfortunately, it does wear out its welcome toward the end of things. It’s a good party song, just a little repetitive. I still like it just fine, and wouldn’t mind seeing her in the final this year! Hope the performance is colorful and sparkly, it’d suit the song well

Like:

19 – Germany – “I Don’t Feel Hate” by Jendrik: I know stereotyping is bad but I was not remotely surprised to find out that Jendrik is gay. This song is pure gay sass, and god, I love every minute of it. I fully expect it to fall on its ass – this wouldn’t make it to the final if it wasn’t an automatic qualifier – but I’ll have a grand old time watching it! The sarcastic lyrics, the cheerful little ukulele, the middle finger costume… this song is a delight. Only thing that I think really brings it down is that weird spoken bit that interrupts the song. That’s so annoying, brings me right out of it. And I did purposely rank it below songs that aren’t complete shitposts. But thank you for your existence, Jendrik, your contribution to Eurovision is much appreciated.

18 – Israel – “Set Me Free” by Eden Alene: I said it this year and I’ll say it again this year, Eden Alene is a goddess of a woman. Absolutely gorgeous. Appreciation for pretty women aside, it’s a fun party song in a sea of fun party songs! I really do like it, I like her voice, but there’s so much else this year that drowns it out – not much stands out here compared to later entries on the list. Still a good song, though.

…and I do not expect for an instant that this is going to make it to the final. …my personal ranking is based on how the song sounds, okay? Just the song. Just the song. Nothing else. Just the song. Anyway…

17 – United Kingdom – “Embers” by James Newman: What’s this? A UK entry I don’t find bland as off-white paint? That doesn’t happen often! I didn’t like his entry last year, romantic ballad bla bla bla whee, but I’m always down for a good party song. It’s a little generic and radio friendly, sure, but that doesn’t mean it’s not fun as hell to sing along with!

16 – Greece – “Last Dance” by Stefania: I really liked last year’s “Supergirl”, but figured it didn’t have too much of a chance because it struck me as being a little too teen poppy to be taken entirely seriously. It seems like Greece thought so, too, because they’ve ramped it up with this year’s entry. They’re not playing around anymore, sending a grand, powerful song that, like “Embers”, is fun as hell to belt. This is another one I’m really looking forward to the live performance for – the music video is gorgeous, and I hope they capture that same majesty on stage!

15 – Moldova – “Sugar” by Natalia Gordienko: Oh, Moldova, I’m so glad you guys decided to be completely batshit again this year. I’ve missed your nonsense so much. Dancing ice cream cones. Cake men. This video is glorious. And the song goes well with the insanity! A catchy dance tune that can only be improved with downright insane staging. Please let the dancing ice cream cones be on stage, I’m begging you

14 – Latvia – “The Moon Is Rising” by Samanta Tina: A unique electronica number backed with a powerful as hell voice. I can see where all the wubbing would get on people’s nerves, but personally, I love it! I love the voice, I love the attitude, Samanta just oozes confidence, and if she doesn’t make it to the final it’s not gonna be because she didn’t give it her goddamn all.

13 – Poland – “The Ride” by RAFAL: Why is this one so unpopular? You people don’t know how to have fun. Yeah, yeah, last year’s “Empires” was a powerful song… but I like my club nonsense much more, so I’m favoring this one. Yet another song that gets me pumped – this whole Contest is gonna leave me with a smile on my face, there’s so much good party music

12 – Azerbaijan – “Mata Hari” by Efendi: Yeah, they’re basically just sending “Cleopatra” again, but “Cleopatra” was so goddamn good that I can’t even blame them for it. This song needed a chance to compete, and I’m glad it’s getting it again this year. I like it so much that I can even forgive the line about being a “godless”. Oh, Europop, don’t you ever change.

11 – Cyprus – “El Diablo” by Elena Tsagrinou: Huh, I didn’t know Cyprus had perfected their Lady Gaga cloning technology. Neat. More seriously, the early 2010’s club vibe of this song is exactly my jam, enough that I can forgive the “I’m in love with a horrible person” theme. (I think I forgive that theme a lot more from catchy party songs than heartfelt ballads I’m actually supposed to feel for.) Hell, I even like the creepy chanting! Sure, it’s a little cheesy, but cheese is always a good ingredient when used in moderation.

(How many songs are we going to get this year, not just in Eurovision, about wanting to fuck devils? I mean, not that I don’t get it… mmm, Akuma Ichimatsu… um. Anyway.)

10 – Czech Republic – “Omaga” by Benny Cristo: And here we enter the top ten of a strong year, where I’d love to see any of them win! Benny, what is with that title. Why. Ah well, like I said earlier, I do like moderate amounts of cheese, and this song is more than fun enough to have earned itself a ridiculous lyric or two. It’s unique, I’ll give it that! The song is just so bouncy and fun that I manage to ignore how pushy the singer is. Another one I expect big things from the staging for.

9 – Lithuania – “Discoteque” by The Roop: Ignoring the current events that surely inspired the song, I do love the more generic “party song for introverts” read on it – if only you knew how many one-person dance parties I’d had in my own house. This song speaks to me deeply. I can’t even begin to call it a joke song; I think it’s doing exactly what it set out to do, and it’s doing it oh so well. God, those synths. Totally okay with dancing alone!

8 – Iceland – “10 Years” by Daði og Gagnamagnið: I want Daði Freyr to adopt me. I don’t even care that he’s younger than me. He’s just such an earnest, fun guy, and I love his 8-bit aesthetic! And come on, he submitted a song about how much he loves his wife! If I ever stop loving this song it’s because my heart shriveled and died. Love isn’t dead, it’s just in chiptune now. I will throw things if this doesn’t make it into the final, do you all have no souls, this is too damn cute

7 – Serbia – “Loco Loco” by Hurricane: Another group I am so excited to see return, because I adored “Hasta La Vista”. I don’t know if I like this one quite as much, but it’s still catchy as hell! I love trying to sing along with it despite not knowing a word of Serbian.

6 – Croatia – “Tick-Tock” by Albina: Another catchy-ass club song! What more can I say? I love how much of this stuff we got this year. I will absolutely be screaming “Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go!” Oh god that was cheesy… I’ve been working on this ranking for too long. Don’t know what else to say about this one, just that I adore it. Just barely missed the top 5.

Love:

5 – Malta – “Je Me Casse” by Destiny: This girl’s got pipes– not surprised to hear she won the Junior contest before! I get major “Toy” vibes from this song, and you all know just how much I adored that one. Aaa, those horns! Expecting big things from you, Destiny! We may have our winner!

4 – San Marino – “Adrenalina” by Senhit – As much of a soft spot I had for last year’s “Freaky”, I don’t think it was gonna make it into the final, unless Senhit had the blessing of the same angels who were looking out for Serhat in 2019. This one, though? San Marino tasted the final two years ago and they are never giving it up again! This song goes hard! Love the song, love the video’s aesthetic, I even kinda like Flo Rida’s rap, even though I’m still baffled by the idea that I have been regularly listening to a song featuring Flo Rida on purpose. I don’t know what he’s doing here but I’m glad he is. Please, please make it to the final, San Marino! You clearly want the hell out of it this year! Favorite club song in a year of amazing club songs.

3 – Finland – “Dark Side” by Blind Channel: After spending about five seconds disappointed that Finland wouldn’t be sending Pandora this year, I gave this song a shot, and was not expecting what it gave me. I feel like an angsty middle schooler again, and it is bliss. This is everything Hatari wanted to be, but unlike Hatari who just confused me, I absolutely love the hell out of this song. …some of those lyrics, though. “27 Club, headshot, we don’t wanna grow up”? Yikes. But as dark and questionable as it might be, I can’t help but get pumped when I hear it. Definitely my favorite rock song of the year – sorry, Italy!

2 – Denmark – “Øve os på hinanden” by Fyr & Flamme: I love you, 1983. I don’t care how dated it is when my entire soul consists of a disco ball. The song’s so damn cute! This is the one member of my top 5 that I’m most terrified of losing – I know it’s not popular, with everyone calling it dated, but my top 5 always has that dated song that I love the hell out of becauseit sounds so classic. The translated lyrics are adorable, too. Even if you guys flame out in the semi, you’ll live on in the disco in my heart.

Favorite:

1 – Ukraine – “Shum” by Go_A: Holy fucking shit. There’s something about the blending of traditional and electronic that gets me hyped – see KEiiNO – and this one does not disappoint. The last minute of this is the best minute of Eurovision this year, and god, the buildup! I don’t even know Ukrainian but I am trying my damnedest to get the lyrics down, phonetically, at least. You know that “dancing goths” meme video? That’s me whenever this song comes on, especially during that speed up. Love the hell out of it. Could Ukraine be on its way to another victory already? I sure hope so, because this song fucking rules. Definitely checking out the rest of the discography someday, if all of their songs are in this folktronica style then they’ve gotta be a treat to listen to. Go Ukraine!

Ideal Qualifiers (favorite of each semi in bold):

Semi 1

Australia

Azerbaijan

Croatia

Cyprus

Israel

Lithuania

Malta

Norway

Romania

Ukraine Semi 2:

Czech Republic

Denmark

Finland

Greece

Iceland

Latvia

Moldova

Poland

San Marino

Serbia

This is definitely not what's going to happen - there is no universe where Switzerland and Sweden don't make it - but it'll be interesting to compare the reality to my hopes.

Let's go, Eurovision 2021

[ratabrasileira]

Period

OneShot

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Sarah J. Maas.

Note: This is my first fic that I write in English, so any grammar mistakes, please call me out!!

“Shit” She exclaimed when her body was unconsciously dropped to the floor due to the intensity of the pain.

She felt the blood slowly run between hers contracted limb, trying to contain the uncontrollable spasms that hit her hard. The torment was endless; the pain didn’t had beginning neither end.

Shit, Feyre. Don’t stay here laying as an incompetent weaky.

She said to herself while tried to raise her body. The effort was useless. She felt her vision darken as her arms trembled at the weakness that she found herself. When was the last time that she ate something? Through the affliction, she could listen to a door being opened and footsteps echoing through the place.

The door was open when Lucien stepped into the hall of the sinuous River House.

Of course, yes.

He thought while was closing the polished door behind him. He still wasn’t used to being part of the High Lord of the Night Court’s family.

Although both had some things in common, which was summed up only in impeccable style and a good taste for affairs (mainly wine), it still did not accommodate the fact that, by law, they were brothers. An idea that was quickly spent on his worries when he thought that the law also made him brother of Feyre Archeron, High Lady of the Night Court.

He wouldn’t deny that he was proud of her.

But the sound that came from the dining room dispelled any thoughts that were in his head: his focus was caught in that familiar sound. For a moment he remembered her. The anguish was the same that had come out of Jesminda's lips when she was being beaten by the man who he thought that was his father.

No, he couldn’t let himself be distracted by something that only bring sorrow, fear and guilt. Retaking to his surround, he heard the moan again as he took long strides on his way to the dining room. What he had to do at River House had long since left his mind.

Entering the room, he found her. The smell of blood was tangible in the air. She was lying between the feet of the table, seemed to be trying to shrink her body as much as possible while sweat soaked her clothes. The last time he saw her like this, so vulnerable and withdrawn, they were in the place that he never wanted to be again.

Under the Mountain still plagued his dreams when he least expected it.

"Feyre!" He exclaimed as he ran to help his friend. Her face was pale and her eyes were full of pain when she looked at him.

"By the Cauldron, what the hell happened." Lucien continued to ignore the moans and murmurs that came out of the High Lady's mouth. "Are you okay, where's Nyx? Rhys?”

Feyre tried to speak, to emit something coherent while her friend helped her to get up, but the pain was still acute, and it seemed to get worse as she was lifted off the floor. However, by the time she was seated, both her vision and mind cleared.

“I’m fin—” She tried again, but a wave of pain emerged from her core to her hair. She moaned as she leaned forward.

“Mother above, is this any side effect of the baby's birth? Did anyone come in here, Feyre? Where the hell is Rhysand?” Lucien, desperate for his friend's distress, didn’t know what to do. The lack of a sign; a broken flower pot, anything that could at least give some idea of what had happened. He did not know how to deal with his current situation.

Feyre, however, just wanted his friend to shut up for at least a minute. A little minute so she could breathe, so she could process what her body asked for. As if she had spoken, or perhaps she had indeed spoken in his mind, she could not say, Lucien called himself to the kitchen.

"Wait a minute, I'll be right back" he said before heading to the room to get a glass of water for his friend. Perhaps she had eaten something extremely indigestible and that, in a way, had caused her tremendous pain. With that thought he also took a banana from the fruit basket.

"Here, drink, eat and explain me what happened." Said the redhead, placing the glass and fruit on the table.

The High Lady at least had the strength to be able to spill the water in her mouth and drink it as if she depended on it, which in fact she did. After taking the last sip, the banana, already peeled, was waiting in his friend's hand, so she chewed, chewed and chewed until her pressure relatively rose, her stomach satiated from having something to cover.

"Better?" Asked Lucien, sitting down at the table and stroking his friend.

"Gods ... Yes, thank you." Replied Feyre, resting his head on the back of the chair.

"What happened? Why the hell were you— ”

But a howl of pain interrupted Lucien from his shifting question. Feyre leaned over again, now with a slight green tinge in her face.

“By the edges of the Cauldron!” He exclaimed, standing up suddenly as he stroked his friend.

The pain again became acute, radiating throughout her body. The blood now bothered her between her legs; a slight trickle was felt on one of her inner thighs.

"I-I’m fine! Fine ...” Feyre grunted. She was bad, it was a fact, but she didn't need to bother her friend, besides, she was strong! How much did she suffer to worry about something like that? "It's just— Shit!"

"What? Is your stomach?" Lucien questioned.

"My fucking uterus, Lucien!”

“Is it because of the baby?! Mother above, I will call—”

"Period, damn it!" Exclaimed Feyre, more out of pain than anything else.

For a moment, Lucien stood and watched Feyre squirm. Never in more than decades of existence has he seen a woman suffer so much because of a period. Part of him thanked the Mother and the Cauldron that Elain is not as unlucky as her sister in this regard. No, hers was a mild pain, there were no chills and nausea as apparently the High Lady was having. The other part of him regretted his friend for going through this twice a year.

"Ok, do you want to lie down ... something like that?"

“No need to worry—” Feyre howled in pain when he felt another sharp twinge in the right part of her womb.

"Gods, are you expelling your uterus?" Lucien teased as he took Feyre in his arms and carried her to the comfort of the couch, located in the living room.

The atmosphere was as comfortable as the rest of the house. A well-lit room with natural light. Perfect for painting, Lucien thought, accommodating his friend on fluffy pillows, trying his best to avoid making her feel even more uncomfortable.

When Feyre adjusted to the new position, she was able to feel, even if very little, a momentary relief. She didn't remember feeling that way the last time she had her period. Yes, it was turbulent for her body, but never that intense. She hoped that after having her anatomy altered by Mother or the Cauldron (anything Nesta did), her cramps would not be as intense as they were before she got pregnant. She saw that she was very much mistaken. She had moments when the blood came and it seemed, as Lucien had said, to expel her uterus out, others came with less severe pain.

But of course, compared to the traumatizing pain she had had at Nyx's birth, it didn't handle a candle. Watching the blood flow quickly between her legs knowing that her firstborn, her baby, was dead not only shattered her body, but also her heart; everything that she is.

She deviated the subject. She couldn't be reliving the moment when she almost lost everything she loved most. Your partner, your life and especially your child.

She only noticed that she had rambled on for a while when Lucien appeared holding what appeared to be a soft, thick towel.

"Here" He put the fabric over her belly as he sat on the floor in front of her. The fabric was quite too warm, but Feyre didn't complain when she felt some of the tension ease. He had made a “lukewarm” compress for her. “My mom used to do this for me and my brothers when we had colic. It wasn't my body creating life to torture me, so I don't know if it will do any good.”

"Prick" muttered Feyre as he closed her eyes, losing the affectionate smile that appeared on her friend's face. No, the compress didn't help much, but the comforting warmth and the little pressure that the empty tissue made on her womb got her relaxing a little, although her entire body was still sore and tired. Still, she murmured a thanks.

“Nah, but I'm a little relieved that Elain’s is not the same as you. How does Rhysand take it?” The question elicited a chuckle from Feyre.

"He can't take it." The day that Rhysand will stop caring about the least discomfort his mate feels is going to be the day when both of them will no longer be in the world.

“Speaking of him, where is he and Nyx? Didn't he feel anything in the bond?” Lucien asked her again.

Feyre sighed. In fact, she was partially alone in that gigantic house. Her son miraculously slept upstairs while the mother almost passed out from the pain. This thought made the fear visible in the atmosphere of the room.

“Rhys is solving that project that I told you yesterday; about Cesere. Nyx is up there, sleeping like an angel, thankfully.”

Lucien understood the line of reasoning when he caught the scent of fear wandering over the air between them. If something had happened to the child while Feyre was incapacitated by something natural in her body ...

"This ... This whole pain .... Is it been since he ..."

“No, my periods have been like this since my first time. In fact, I hoped this would end after my birth.” Replied Feyre. They both knew they were getting into a sensitive subject, both Feyre and Rhysand did not mention the birth of their son, who turned 1 years old last spring.

"No wonder you have masochistic tendencies." Lucien joked; humor is something that has become a comforting good among them.

"Prick"

"Yes, yes, and you miss me when I'm not here to piss you off"

"Oh, relax I have others"

"Are you calling me replaceable?" With that Feyre opened his eyes. Partly because he knew that maybe it had affected Lucien, partly because he would never be replaceable for her, her first and best friend, now her brother.

"No, Lucien, never ..." Denied the High Lady "I miss you to bring me sanity." She stated with a simple smile on her face.

"I think I'm forgiven then, for the witchberry." The comment made Feyre laugh tiredly, as well as a groan of pain.

“No, I'm still planning my revenge. I wouldn't sleep peacefully if I were you.” She replied, closing her eyes again.

"Nah, I think living at the Day Court protects me a little."

"A little?"

"Yes, I will not take Elain's credit for completely protecting myself from you"

Feyre let out what appeared to be a laugh along with a hiss. Lucien stroked his friend's hair again. He could see the pain in the wrinkles caused by the way her brow twitched on her face.

The two spent the minutes like that, in a comfortable silence that they both knew very well, thanks to the moments they spent together "hunting" in the Spring Court, when Feyre was still a human. Lucien rambled on about those moments he barely noticed when his friend's breath had become something heavier and deeper.

He watched the female's rested face before him. A pinch between the eyebrows was the only sign of persistent discomfort. But at that moment, he felt a tightness being slacken, and did not even know that he needed that loosening so that he could perceive that something was holding him back. Perhaps it was because he finally felt that he had a place, a family that would make him happy and support him regardless of his choices.

And looking at Feyre Archeron, the human girl who killed his friend, he felt grateful and content. Grateful for what she did in the world in such a short time, with her human longing that still enjoyed that heart so generous and simple. Content, because in times, he felt really loved, not only by his mate, but also by those who one day he thought he would never be able to return the feeling.

Lucien, Heir of the Day Court, was proud to be able to consider himself brother and friend of the woman who had emerged Under the Mountain.

[gallavictorious]

11x01 Reaction Post

Random thoughts on and reactions to 11x01; no careful analysis or anything, just the bits and pieces that's not likely to make it into meta proper but which I still want to make note of so I can go back later and remember what my initial reaction to the episode was (since my impressions are likely to change as the season unfolds). Mostly Gallavich related, because duh, but there's disordered rambling on a bit of everything. Under a cut (God I miss LJ sometimes) because this got long.

Ian looks damned good as the homocidal muscle. I don't do AU:s, but if I did... On the other hand, Frank as a member of the Chicago “Eight” looks like a werewolf. Less interested in that AU. And listen, I get that they couldn't get Emmy Rossum for this, but I really miss Fiona showing up in a few random olden day pictures. She's gone, but she's still a Gallagher dammit! Carl at the slaughter house looked weird – and part of me thought that was appropriate because slightly off editing would be a sweet way of communicating that it's all bollocks, but the rest of shots looked okay (Debbie as a milk maid and Frank as the aforementioned werewolf) or good (everything else) so no.

The sound of a baby crying is a horror matched only by persistent lack of sleep so I feel for Lip and Tami so much. Here's to all parents who managed to get through the first year without murdering anybody! I think that maybe you don't get enough credit... I, for instance, want to kill someone just hearing Freddie cry in the background for half a minute. Not sure it bodes too well for their relationship for them to be so ready to spend every night apart like Lip suggests, but a, what wouldn't you do for a good night's sleep, and b, love the thought of Lip spending more time at the old house. Could see them breaking up during the course of the season, though. Not sure how I feel about that – Tami's my favourite out of Lip's love interests, but having too many of the couples staying together all through the finale wouldn't feel quite right (for Shameless) and I don't see them breaking up Ian and Mickey or Kev and V. Don't really expect Sandy or Debbie to last either, but since it's more of a casual thing it might have more of a casual end.

Do you remember when the promo dropped and there was Concern about That Look on Ian's face after he kisses Mickey, and I tag theorized about it being because Mickey stole his coffee? Turns out there wasn't really A Look in the actual episode, but I sure as hell was right about the coffee, and I want noted somewhere. Maybe there should also be a small diploma? A golden statue seems a little over the top, but I mean, if you insist...

I appreciate that Ian is very adament about it being their money but when Mickey thinks it's their breakfast it's suddenly every man for himself. Do you share or not, Ian? Hmm? (Let the record show that I'm joking, please. Ian is damned right to take his toast back, and I say this as a “person most likely to steal their partner's toast right out of their hand”. I also love that Mickey completely gives up on breakfast when he can't have Ian's toast and just grabs a beer instead.) The kitchen scene is glorious and I just really like their dynamic here; the casual kiss, “I only make breakfast for husbands who have jobs”, how relaxed it is even when Ian's a bit annoyed, Mickey being so... Mickey. I do wonder what went through his head when Ian started talking about their wedding present money, though – he seems worried for a moment, but then shrugs it off, and that could be either bravado or just actual lack of concern. I tend mostly towards the latter, since Mickey quite genuinely figures this isn't a big deal (even though he still recognizes that Ian will probably think it one). Please note that he immediately offers to get money when Ian mentions that they need more of it coming in. Not his fault Ian vetoes his methods, right? (Also love that Ian's objection is due to him not wanting to be separated from Mickey, rather than any moral qualms about robbing stores.)

Okay, the gag ball. Would they really keep it like that if they were actually using it? Maybe either of them just tossed it there after taking it off, I suppose... Yeah, I don't know. Not what I'd imagined them being into, but that might be my own extreme lack of enthusiasm for gag balls and harnesses talking. Either they're into it and if so, you do you, boys, or it was a gift and they're keeping it around and semi-prominently on display for shits and giggles. (But if it was a gift, they did try it at least once, right?)

Mickey in the bath remains stupidly and surprisingly gorgerous. Incidentally, I really don't think his question about the meds is any indication of him not thinking them important, but there's little wonder that Ian bristles at the mention of them. Maybe not be an ass just to prove a point, eh, Mick?

I've already talked about how hard Ian is trying here but let's just take another moment to congratulate our boy on his persistent attempts at mature communication. Though he might have given some actual consideration to Mickey not wanting to save the money if he's really serious about them making decisions together... But he gets there! I think this whole situation – which would royally piss most people, including me, off – is actually particularly difficult for Ian, because he might well see Mickey's behavior as uncomfortably reminiscent of Frank and Monica's destructive habits and yeah, that would fuck him up. And still! He forces himself to calm down! He takes Mickey's hand! He refuses to let himself be distracted by Mickey looking SO INSANELY PRETTY I CANNOT EVEN UNDERSTAND IT! Ian, I salute you!

[starwars_eu_nerd_mode]KORRIBAN! YES! HA! TAKE THAT DISNEY! You take your new so-called “canon” and your “Moraband” and you fuck right off. I salute you, Bitcoin Boy![/starwars_eu_nerd_mode]

Ah, the porch scene... This one I do have a bunch of thoughs on that will probably make it into meta proper one day, so I'll leave it for now. It was the one that took the most thinking about for me to square (still not a lot, it should be noted), but now I'm actually very happy about it. (Full disclosure: none of their scenes feel quite right the first time I see them these days, because I'm just so very on edge about what's to come that I kind of miss the forest for all the trees you know? It's not a Shameless thing – it's always like this when I'm extremely invested in something and have waited for it for some time. Will it fit with how I see the characters? Will it be cringey? Will Mickey suddenly profess a love for hideous Hawaii shirts? Also, what are they saying because English is hard... But then I watch them a couple of times and they sink in and I start to get giddy over them. I guess watching actual canon unfold always requires a little bit of re-calibration if you've been busy fanoning while waiting for it to arrive, and while I love that sort of interpretative work, there’s also the fear that the show will veer off into a direction I cannot easily follow.)

Mickey's insistence that he spelled monogamy wrong does genuinely amuse me. Not to mention the whole “No more parking tickets for me!” - “You don't have a car, dumbass.” Also, Mickey being friendly with Carl kills me, in a good way. Family FTW!

Frank's storyline fails to stir even the vaguest hint of interest in me, as per usual. For all his talk of family in this episode, the lack of interaction with any of his kids is striking. If he's to have any value at all this season I'll need him to get involved in the rest of the Gallagher's storylines (which seems like it might be happening at least for a bit later on, so I'm vaguely hopeful?). I find but faint intrigue in Carl's and Debbie's stuff, but it doesn’t annoy me either so I'll call it a win. Kev and V are (almost) always a delight, but do anyone else feel like their kids are only props, even to them? I don't know... I just don't think there's a connection or sense of realness to their relationship, you know? Maybe it's just me... Anyway, here's to hoping V turning pageant mom changes all that! Oh, and I'll need Liam to have some more screentime and stuff to do.

The Tommy and Kermit thing was weird. Eh. Whatever.

Sandy is so gorgerous. I can't. The Milkoviches really be bringing it this episode.

This is only the second season I've watched episode by episode as it airs (other one was S6) and it's a curiuos experience. I think that by and large, and particularly in later seasons, Shameless works better when you binge it, but I love the delightful anticipation of waiting for a new episode and the feverent discussion that follows. Sometimes I also despair over the ferverent discussion that follows, but... you know. It is what it is. Admittedly, any attempts at meta this early in the season is a precarious venture at best, since we don't have the whole story, and it might be wiser to abstain but it's just so much fun, so I'm not very likely to stop.

All in all, I love the Gallavich stuff, am intrigued by Lip & Tami and Kev & V's lives, okay with whatever Debbie and Carl's got going on, hot for Sandy, bored by Frank, and missing Liam. It sets up a lot of promising things, but as an episode all unto itself it felt a bit empty – probably because there were no real plots and the storylines didn't intersect as much as I would have liked them to. Shameless is best when it's about family, which both the show and Frank seems to recognize, but there's little narrative follow-through on that realization in this episode; everyone is pretty much doing their own thing. Adored the Lip and Ian convo, and that house party scene was wonderful, but so short. Think we'll get more of all of them together going forward, though, and more actual plots too, so I'm very excited about it all. Can't wait for Sunday!

[spookyceph]

ShigaDabi Week Day 8 | Free Day!

Rating: SFW

Warnings: Swearing; use of Ouija board

Summary: Way to Confess Your Crush #13: Get a Ouija board to tell them on Halloween.

I Sense a Presence in the Room

“You’re moving it, Twice.”

“No, you’re moving it, Spinner. Demons are moving it, and we’ll all be cursed for messing with this stuff—haven’t you watched any horror movies?”

“Both of you, shut up. You’ll scare the ghosts away before I get to ask them anything.”

“Himiko, honey, I don’t think the ghosts are the ones likely to get spooked in this situation.”

“Why are we using a board with English letters? I mean, I do remember the basics from school, but that was some time ago. Wouldn’t it be easier to play Mr. Kokkuri or something?”

“I can read it.”

“See? Dabi knows English.”

“Yeah, but what if the ghosts don’t?”

Like he was watching a tennis match, Tomura turned his head to and fro, following the bickering as it volleyed around. Just a few short months ago, he couldn’t have imagined such a scene: his friends gathered on both sides of the hideout’s bar, playing a game better suited to middle school kids. Then again, a few short months ago, he couldn’t have imagined using the words his friends in any sentence.

The game had been Toga’s idea. A fun way to celebrate Halloween, she'd said. Tomura didn’t care about some imported holiday, just as he hadn’t paid any attention to Bon when it came and went a couple months back. But he did enjoy seeing the others participate, learning all the different ways they interacted. So, silent, he watched from the edge of their circle as they finally settled down, cramming their fingertips on the planchette in the middle of the Ouija board Toga had picked up from who-knew-where.

A lack of holiday spirit hadn't been the only reason he'd sat out. The sight of so many hands squeezed into such a small area sent a chill rolling down Tomura’s spine. He wasn’t about to risk Decaying someone over a silly party game.

“Okay…” A quivering note had crept into Spinner’s voice despite his earlier accusations of Twice moving things. “What do we ask first?”

Toga bounced on her heels. “I know, I know! Who am I going to marry?”

A collective groan filled the room. Nevertheless, the heart-shaped plastic pointer gave a jerk, like an eager dog tugging on its leash, and began to slide across the board. Everyone held their breath. Tomura squinted in concentration, sounding out each letter chosen in his head.

D…E…K…U.

“What’d it say? Tell me, tell me, tell me!” Toga demanded the second the planchette stopped.

“Deku,” Tomura answered, wrinkling his nose. Maybe demons were rigging the game.

Toga held a differing opinion. With a squeal, she hugged herself and collapsed into a fit of maniacal giggles.

“Oh? Shigaraki speaks English too?” Even through his ever-present ski mask, Mister looked impressed. “A man of many talents.”

Tomura shrugged. “It can be useful sometimes.” Mostly for online games, but still.

“Hey, it’s spelling something else,” Dabi said.

Instantly righting herself, Toga watched with huge, shiny eyes as a second name emerged.

“Ochako,” announced Dabi, triggering a second giggle explosion. “Congratulations, vampire girl. You’re a bigamist.”

Spinner snorted. “What a load of crap…”

“Let’s ask it what unlucky slob gets stuck with you then, lizard lips.”

Toga was on it like a shark on a baby seal. “Yeah! Spinner next!”

Heedless of stammered protests and long-suffering sighs, the planchette launched into action. Tomura smiled wryly as the next name took shape.

“I knew it.” Dabi clicked his tongue. “Mandalay.”

“Total bullshit.” Spinner’s entire face had flushed deep forest-green, the edges of each scale almost black.

“Don’t get all bent out of shape. Not like you’re the first nerd to be into catgirls.”

“Get fucked, staple-face.”

“Let’s ask the board whether he does. I’ll do it if no one else gets the honor!”

“You’re making me blush, Twice.”

“Dabi’s true love next!” declared Toga, mercifully taking the reins again.

The planchette went to work. Tomura craned forward, curious despite himself.

T…O…

That could be the start of hundreds of names, Japanese or otherwise.

…M…U…

Wait—maybe he was separating the syllables incorrectly?

…R…A.

“Well? Who’s the one destined to tame the Blue Flame?” Mister asked with a laugh.

Not Tomura. It couldn’t be. That was simply impossible. The stupid board had to mean someone else—without kanji there wasn’t any way to tell one name from another if the sounds matched.

Except when he looked up, he caught Dabi staring straight at him.

Dabi, whose blue eyes burned hot and electric as they met his.

Dabi, the only other person in the room who knew English.

Dabi, his true love, according to the board.

In one smooth motion, Tomura pushed away from the bar and spun on his heels. He didn’t look back despite the bewildered and shocked questions the others pelted him with as he marched out of the bar. It was a miracle he didn’t accidentally Decay the door in his haste.

He’d gotten as far as the top step in the upstairs hallway before he heard pursuing bootsteps.

“Hey, wait up.”

Tomura refused to give in to weakness and look over his shoulder. If he hurried, he could make it to his room in time.

“Fucking hell, mophead, come on. Don’t make me run. I’ve got shitty lungs.”

A switch flipped in his brain, killing power to all rational thought. Tomura halted and did a sharp one-eighty. Dabi skidded to a stop just out of reach. A good thing too—there was no telling what might’ve happened if one of Tomura’s hands, fingers hooked into talons, had been able to grab him. Dabi read the other warning signs with a neutral face: tensed shoulders, narrowed red eyes, breath hissing in and out.

Only two words managed to bob to the surface of the stew of rage and humiliation Tomura’s mind was boiling in, but they were enough. “Not. Funny.”

“Who’s laughing, mophead?”

Slowly, the question and its serious tone sank in. Tomura blinked, his roiling emotions thickening into a sludge of confusion. “You…you rigged the game.”

“Guilty. The girls were in on it too. Toga was going to ask fluffy stuff about her crushes anyway, so I only had to bribe her to keep quiet and not gush to anyone else. Magne used her quirk to tug everyone’s hands in the right direction. Her English is even better than mine, as it turns out.”

“You had her spell my name.”

“And the others, yeah.”

“B-but…”

Dabi arched his eyebrows. “But if I wasn’t making fun of you, why would I do such a thing?”

“ Yes.”

“Because I think you’re interesting and smart and hot in a gangly, goth sort of way. I like you is what I mean.”

Tomura opened his mouth, but no sound came forth. So, he closed it with a click of teeth. Then he tried again. Same results.

With a sardonic smile skewing his lips, Dabi shook his head. “I’ve been dropping hints for months, but they flew over your head every time. So, when Toga suggested the stupid Ouija board game, I figured I might as well literally spell it out for you. Speaking of dropping hints, Spinner wasn’t embarrassed about the catgirl thing. He was pissed because your name didn’t pop up. Just thought I should mention it, in the spirit of fair competition.”

Though Tomura glanced all around the hallway, there was neither a convenient couch to faint on nor a hole to crawl into. So, he settled for the next best option: directness.

“I…don’t know what to say.”

Dabi’s smile softened as he shrugged. “You don’t have to say anything right now. When you’re ready, you can tell me to fuck off or whatever. I just wanted to tell you how I feel.”

He turned to go, but some unknown impulse spurred Tomura into grabbing his wrist, two fingers safely tucked away. Both red and blue eyes widened in identical degrees of astonishment.

“Uh…” Tomura scrambled for a reasonable follow-up. “Do you want to, um, talk about it?”

The way Dabi’s staples followed the curves of his smile did warm, strange, fluttery things to Tomura’s insides. “About which part? Telling me to fuck off or being my one true love?”

“I-I-I—”

“Relax, mophead. I’m just trying to lighten the mood.”

“Oh.” Tomura looked at Dabi’s hand, which had moved to link fingers with two of his and certainly felt serious. “Does that mean—”

“Yeah, let’s talk. Up on the roof fine? Kurogiri hates it when I smoke inside.”

“Sure. Okay.” He definitely wasn’t the former, but something in the back of his mind assured him the latter would stick eventually.

Warm fingers on a scarred hand gave his a squeeze. “After you.”

[kidney9-9]

Petty Chapter 5

Yay it’s updated, I hope you enjoy! MJ in this series is not a love interest of Peter Parker, but she is friends with him and Ned. In this chapter, you’ll see the struggle going on with the Reader, as she tries to make a decision about Peter Parker. 

Tags will be in the reblog; to be added to the taglist send me an ask, or click the link in my bio to fill out the form :) Let me know if I forget you in the taglists as well, or if my tags aren’t working. Thank you!

Series Masterlist  

Peter Parker x Reader  Warnings: Swearing and some anxiety Word Count: 1.6k

You shuffled the mini cookies into your mouth as you read through the lines over again. You muffled your mouth shut as the teacher glanced over to your desk, and you moved your head down even more towards the desk, trying to lose his attention. History class was… it was shit. You were terrible at it, and you needed those notes, but Peter ruined them.

The pre-exam made no sense to you, because all the questions were so mixed up. It included questions about the type of clothing people would wear, and the language, but you barely paid attention to any of that stuff, instead you tried memorizing the dates and certain names. It sucked. You glanced up to the clock, instantly wincing when you noticed you only had five minutes left, and you just got to the second page of it.

You couldn’t stop thinking about Peter either, which did you no good now. You were going to apologize, maybe even try to get to understand why he wanted to be a stupid superhero, but now you felt even more pissed. You cleared your throat, shaking your head at yourself to stop thinking about him, and focus on the test.

You scribbled down random things at the end of the test, for the bonus question, just hoping your teacher would be forgiving. The bell rang the second you sat your pencil down, causing you to sigh. As you glanced over your exam quickly, you cringed, realizing some of the mistakes you made and you bit your lip, shaking your head as you stood up.

“Look- I don’t know what to do, you’re going to be stuck here during vacation. I have to go out of town for those meetings, and they booked my flights really far apart. You’re old enough to stay home for three weeks by yourself as well, and I’ll send you money for food and supplies.” Your mom rambled on the phone as you strolled through the halls. She called you a few minutes ago, telling you about this sudden trip, and you didn’t know what else to do but feel worried.

“Mom, but what about, what if someone breaks in?” You questioned her back, stressing about the idea of being home alone and the exams coming up. Your mind spun up with many other possibilities about everything, while your mom laughed back, thinking you were just joking, “It’ll be fine. You’re already an adult, just see this as practice.” She responded.

You cleared your throat as you found a seat outside. “I’ll see you tonight for dinner though, right?” Your question was left unanswered as your mom yelped out, “Oh got to go, Simon’s calling,” You sighed as she hung up. You glanced around, looking for any of your friends as the second bell rang, signaling the official end of school.

You hummed, not seeing any and looked back down to your phone. Should I? You wondered as the thought of Peter Parker came back to your mind. Your finger edged over the Twitter app, as you thought if you should look him up. You clicked on it after another second of hesitation and sighed as you quickly typed out his name. “Shouldn’t be doing this…” You mumbled to yourself, clicking on his profile. You bit your lip, almost nervous as you scrolled to his latest tweets. You raised your eyebrows as you started to read them over, “Does anyone have notes for English? Lost them and freaking out about exam.” You pouted at it, instantly feeling guilty again.

Should you feel guilty though? Not exactly, since he destroyed your notes for History, causing you to fail, or at least barely pass that class. That history test was supposed to boost your grade just the slightest, so when you failed the real exam (because you were terrible at memorizing history), it would lower your grade to a C, or around 70%. Sure, even that grade wasn’t that “good”, but it was passing, and you could retake it during the summer, before college.

Speaking of college, your application to NYU was accepted for now. You were happy with that. If everything worked out, you’d be going there. You scrolled through Peter’s twitter again, still feeling the ounce of guilt build up into something more, as you started to bounce your fingers against the bench. The doors opened again, and you glanced up, seeing a few of your friends and classmates. You grinned to a few of them, waving as your leg started to bounce nervously.

You looked back down to your phone after the door closed again, and you scrolled all the way back up to the top, rereading his last tweet. You hummed, shaking your head to yourself, “Oh, fuck it.” You decided, getting up in an instant and stumbling to the door nervously.

You needed to help him.

That was the human thing to do, right? Or the villain redeeming themselves? Yes, it was, you nodded, coming to terms in your head.

Where was Peter though? You looked at random people, groaning as you couldn’t see his face, and stomped through most of the first hallway, confused. You huffed out a sigh and leaned up against one of the walls, glancing around. A few people still were walking around, and you knew for sure that Peter or one of his friends still had to be here. You glanced down the hall, back to the lockers he lifts in the mornings sometimes and wondered if he’d even let you help. It was quite a dumb idea now that you thought of it.

He was close to hating you, and you were close to hating him. But why did you even want to help him after he fucked up your history grade? You kept second guessing and thinking yourself, he was a complete asshole! Why would you even help?

You groaned aloud when you thought of an answer immediately, because he’s hot, and because he’ll be held back probably without help. Your groan was heard by MJ, and she furrowed her eyebrows at you slightly, recognizing you as the girl that fucked Peter’s grades up, he told her the whole story so many times.

She cleared her throat, staring at you almost indifferently, “What are you doing?” She questioned causing you to snap out of your thoughts. You let out a strange noise, shaking your head as you thought about what to say. “I just- uh, nothing.” You responded, stuttering back to her.

You knew her from your freshman year computer science class, which was boring to say the least. You remembered how she would turn her computer off ten minutes into class and scroll through her phone instead, because the teacher never paid attention. “It’s MJ, right?” You asked politely, scratching your head. She nodded, raising her eyebrows back to you.

You both stood there, almost awkwardly. You blinked, realizing you’ve seen her hang out near Peter before, or with him. You opened your mouth for a second before closing it, wondering if you should really go through with this plan.

You listed the pros in your head: he might be kind to you, he’ll forgive you, your mom won’t be upset with you anymore, and your cousin will act normally again. Cons would be everything fucking up and backfiring. You let out a sigh at the thoughts, before you focused on MJ again, seeing she was still standing there.

You had to do it.

“Hey, MJ, you know Peter Parker, right?” Fuck, fuck, nope, you instantly regret it. But you watched as MJ tilted her head back to you suspiciously. You griped onto your hands, tugging on your fingers nervously as she nodded back to you.

MJ didn’t know what to say except this, “You’re not going to kill him, are you?” Your face melted into a weirdly guilty look as you laughed back, holding back a groan at yourself. No, you weren’t going to kill him, and even if you were, you wouldn’t tell one of his friends. That would just be dumb.

“No, of course not! He’s fucking Spi-” You cut yourself off, cringing in distress at the almost slip up, and quickly covered over it, “He’s fucking splendid, I love him so very much.” You lied through your teeth, almost wanting to roll your eyes at yourself.

“Great,” MJ smirked back, chuckling quietly at your obvious devastation, knowing what you were trying to hide. “Were you going to confess to him? I’ll go with you.” She continued, causing you to groan, shaking your head.

You wanted to crawl in a hole and stay there. Like a rabbit, or a gopher. Or maybe one of those bears that go into hibernation, you quickly shook your head at the thoughts, getting distracted.  “I- no, I just wanted to talk to him about the English exam.” You explained back to her, dropping your head low to stare at the floor.

Wow, the floor was very interesting now. It looked amazing in fact, to the point you’d- okay, stop. You blinked back up to MJ, listening as she explained where Peter was.

He was out back at the football stadium, sitting under the bleachers with Ned and a few other classmates. You thanked her and briefly apologized to her for lying about loving him, which she laughed over, shrugging it off. You huffed quietly to yourself as you started to walk back outdoors, preparing yourself to just ask if he’d like any help. Maybe he wouldn’t want it, you had no idea, but you were about to find out.