#although its not pronounced that way
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i hate the word prep its so grating to me
#not even because of what it does or doesnt mean i dont care about that it's literally just the word itself#the way it's pronounced these specific consonants put together#same for eepy#although i also find eepy stupid because to me its an unnatural way of mispronouncing sleepy and comes off as trying too hard to be quirky#idk What is wrong with me but sometimes i have like a mild physical reaction to some of the ways ppl pronounce words#like i heard someone pronounce 'about' as 'abowt' at some point and felt like i was gonna tear up
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A Careful Balance: Portraying a Black Character's Relationship with their Hair
@writingraccoon said:
My character is black in a dungeons and dragons-like fantasy world. His name is Kazuki Haile (pronounced hay-lee), and his mother is this world's equivalent of Japanese, which is where his first name is from, while his father is this world's equivalent of Ethiopian, which is where his last name is from. He looks much more like his father, and has hair type 4a. I plan to make his character very finnicky about his hair, both enjoying styling it, but also often being unsure how to style it (not in that he doesn't know how to, but has so many options for how to style it, he has trouble choosing). However, I know that there are some very harmful ways to write black hair, especially in regards to how the black character themselves feels about it. Kazuki does not hate his hair, in fact he takes joy in it, and I'm researching black hair and hair styles to be as accurate as possible. But I'm unsure if portraying a black character as occasionally overwhelmed by or vain about his hair is negative. How would you suggest either changing this or making it work? Does it need to be changed in the first place?
Black Character Overwhelmed by Curly Afro Hair
Your Black character wanting his hair to look its best and at times feeling overwhelmed seems reasonable and natural to me. It appears their challenge comes with how to style it. Not so much with struggling how it looks or how hard it is to manage. That is good, as this further helps avoid placing a strong negative focus on Black hair.
Him caring a lot about how it is style should not be deemed vain or frivolous, either. In any case, hair care is self care. There’s nothing wrong with having pride with your hair, especially hair that mainstream society, historically and present, might say is not beautiful. This still matters, even in a fantasy world, since your readers still exist in this reality. It’s empowering and a welcome change to see someone who loves their afro hair, actually.
There are unique factors someone with coily afro hair would experience vs. straight, wavy, or looser curls, but people struggling with their hair (too frizzy, too flat, too limp, too thin, too thick!) is universal.
There is a delicate balance to achieve.
Avoid Writing a Black Hair Journey Experience
An overall negative Afro hair journey might be the reality for many, especially when society deems Afro hair as unacceptable and slaps so many uninvited opinions, laws and policies over its existence and on certain styles (again, historically and very much at present), but that’s the kind of story that is best handled by someone with the background. Someone willing to commit to the research might also be able to pull it off, although it’s truly not the kind of thing an escapism novel needs in my opinion. If the story is not meant to delve into “A Black /Black Hair Experience” then I'd avoid going that route. That is moving a bit towards a struggle narrative, depending on how much it defines your character’s story.
Add positive and neutral hair language and interactions
For your writing, I’d avoid using unchallenged negative language about his hair. Being overwhelmed at times and frustrated is one thing and expected. If his hair is constantly brought up, and is associated with uncontrollable, ugly, or too [insert struggle here], then rethink the direction you’re going.
Add some positive or neutral terms, reactions, and interactions in the narrative towards afro hair, such as describing color and texture.
“His fine coils bounced in the wind.”
“Hair black and shiny”
“She wore her hair in two large, fluffy buns.”
“He admired his fresh, neat braids in the mirror, smiling at his reflection, before turning to leave.”
Another tip: It may have been for research purposes, but leave out any hair number categorizing in the story and rely on description. I’d say this goes for any story, as reading the number would feel off.
“He had coily 4a hair.” Nahh! :P
Also, I would suggest sending all passages that focus on his hair to a Black sensitivity reader for review.
More reading:
~Mod Colette
#asks#black#black hair#hair#afro hair#description#tragedy exploitation#struggle novel#creator responsibility#representation#guides#writeblr
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My demons' periods cycles. By Mc
Note: these are purely my headcanons at the moment, they are based on animal ethology and behaviours that I think would suit each character depending on their personality and Lore. I would love to read your headcanon in case you have them.
Warning: Long text. Possible grammatical errors. It's written as if Mc was writing for themself.
Hey, it me Mc, the best human. Here is a compilation of the behaviours of my demons during their periods, cycles, for practical day to day use. It wasn't easy but I sat them down and got to talk to them, with a little effort I now know what they need. So now I am ready to assist them during these complicated times and be prepared in case I find a dead goat on the porch as a tribute.
Lucifer, Mammon & Levi || Satan, Asmo, & Beel || Belphie, Barbatos & Diavolo || Simeon & Raphael
Satan
Light damages his eyes, and during his period he does not sleep at all.
During his cycle, the plaques that extend from his tail to his entire body become more pronounced and acquire a bioluminescent coating. As do its horns. Beware, they prick.
Some parts of his body grow feathers (I think this is a "side" effect of his birth). He aggressively plucks them out, help him not to hurt himself.
His teeth grow continuously, he has to be sanding them (biting things or his own tail). Other than that he doesn't groom much.
Satan doesn't have a fixed place to spend his heat, and although he likes to "nest" he doesn't know how to do it well, which frustrates him a lot. Help him, you already have experience (I think that's why he has chosen my room as his favourite place)
Depending on the weather he may make something more like a nest or a burrow.
Satan is terribly territorial, even with his siblings. He has had a run in with Cerberus from time to time. Please don't let that happen, the house won't hold.
Satan does not have a pre-heat period as such, but you can tell it is coming because he becomes more taciturn and solitary.
Raw meat is his main food, which is what he goes out to hunt very often because he needs a lot of it, but make sure he doesn't eat more than his capacity or it will make him sick. One way to do this is to feed him yourself (I think he thinks you have hunted for him if you do this).
Satan is the only one who haunts other demons and even souls of the condemned.
It is the only one that has fought other demons. Any living thing within 100 metres of him is encroaching on his territory, which is a problem because he moves so much for hunt.
Satan becomes non-verbal. But he does not use noises to communicate, only physical contact.
Growls and roars are reserved for threats and warnings (in other words, to communicate with everyone but you).
He likes physical contact, but is afraid to get close in case he hurts you (his tags and tail), you won't deny him comfort so be careful and that's it.
Satan produces pheromones, but does not usually mark.
His way of courting is to offer you resources, especially prey (he wants to prove he can feed you), it's not the first time he's brought you a live demon. Once he brought you a Little D, the poor thing kept shaking.
Satan's senses are heightened to the extreme. Many stimuli upset him and he has fits of rage. talk to him, so that he focuses his attention on your voice, that will calm him down. Lucifer's voice calms him down a lot too (but it's a secret)
All these changes (hormonal, behavioural…) are not good for his anger, the poor thing gets very angry without knowing why.
Satan's temperature is a reflection of his activity, when he is on the move it increases and when he stops it decreases.
During periods of low activity he curls up next to you, holding your hand (for fear of hurting you) with his pupils fully dilated, don't be fooled, he is fully alert and ready to attack.
Satan purrs? YES! It's the purr that most resembles a cat (that will make him happy, but don't tell him, the avatar of wrath has his pride).
Mc: *in their bedroom helping Satan* Here is ok?
Satan: *looking at them and nodding*
Mc: Making a nest is complicated… are you sure this is okay?
Satan: *standing next to them and rubbing his cheek with their cheek *
Mc: *smiling* Okay, let's go to the next part.
Satan: *grunting at a demon that's approached the house*
Mc: Satan!!! Satan stop!!!
Demon: *paralyzed with fear*
Mc: *hugging* Satan now, let him go, he's going, he's goi- agh!
Satan: !!!
Mc: *cut themself with his tail* It's okay, it's nothing.
Satan: *guilty look*
Mc: *taking him by the hand* Don't worry, this heals fast.
Satan: *nodding still guilty, squeezing their hand*
Demon: …. I thought I was dying!!!!
Satan: *purring as he presses his chin on Mc*
Mc: *talking to him to calm him down* And remember you don't have to go out every day, there's plenty of food here….
Satan: *purring more loudly*
Mc: But if you see my great uncle's soul, the one from the village, it's all yours.
Satan: *nodding with a smile*
Mc: *laughing* How trustworthy, you're awesome Satan.
Asmo
Although he spends most of his time awake, he needs to sleep.
He can be just as active during the day as he is at night (like arachnids).
For him to sleep, you have to be right next to him or he won't sleep.
Asmo needs to nest completely under cover, underground, but prefers the safety of his home to going outside. So he improvises a burrow in his room.
During his period the scales of his exoskeleton become shiny and velvety coated, as do his wings and horns.
Them take on a more striking fuchsia colour than usual. It will be one of the few times you will be able to see Asmo's tail with its sting.
He preens himself a lot, moistening its wings, polishing its scales... At first he is a little reluctant to be helped, but later he will be constantly asking for your help.
More than territorial, Asmo is possessive. He doesn't want you to leave his side, sometimes with his siblings too. If he smells a scent of someone else in his tribe, good luck to that individual.
Asmo doesn't have pre-heat, you'll just wake up one day with all your clothes gone and you'll know it's started.
Asmo's diet during its cycle is varied, although its consumption increases, ranging from fresh meat, fluids of all kinds, to poisonous substances such as flowers, mushrooms or other live animals. Be sure to allow some time to pass before he kisses or bites you.
If you get him a rare poisonous plant, he will be happy and content.
He can talk normally, but he will also make clicking sounds to indicate his mood.
Lots of pheromones, Asmo produces lots and lots of pheromones during his period, pheromones that he will use to mark his territory. Often his siblings can't be near him. You don't have that problem
Asmo is very needy to contact, hug him, give him kisses, caress his wings, his hair. He will be happy to let you.
And he will return the gesture, he will bite you too (always have your first aid kit handy). He will always try to be on top of you or for you to be on top of him.
Asmo's courtship consists of exsivating while performing a dance (like scorpions), this dance is complex and elaborate, and during it he releases a large amount of pheromones.
He gets very confused when you don't react to it, Asmo I'm sorry but I can't smell your pheromones, sometimes he even gets sad.
His senses are very developed, especially his sense of smell, which is more developed than any of his siblings. Make sure the flowers in his room are enchanted so that they don't emit odour and with perfumes and other fragranced products the same or he can get hurt.
Asmo's temperature will generally drop, but he will go through periods of very high fever (due to his sin) which will leave him tired.
During fever peaks he will become very active, and will devote most of his time to courting. To balance this out you will have to COURT him yourself, you'd better improve that dance.
Because of his temperature, he will spend most of his time hiding in the burrow, demanding your cuddles.
He purrs? , yes, in an adorable and soft way. It is easy to make him purr, with a simple praise.
Asmo: Kiss? *with Mc sitting on his lap*
Mc: Not yet Asmo.
Asmo: *with teary eyes* Don't you love me anymore?
Mc: *sighing* Asmo, my life, my heart, you just ate three nightshade roots.
Asmo: *almost crying* And?
Mc: I love you very much but I also want to live.
Asmo: My nose itches.
Mc: Wait a bit longer, I'm finishing enchanting the flowers.
Asmo: *sad * It would be less trouble to remove them…
Mc: But you like them, don't you?
Asmo: Mc..
Mc: *hugging him* I'm here to help you and to make you comfortable, if you like the flowers, the flowers stay.
Asmo: Love you so much!
Asmo: *dancing with a very high fever*
Mc: Asmo, you are so beautiful… you can rest now.
Asmo: *staring at them non-stop*
Mc: *blushing while standing up * You leave me no choice *starts dancing and grabs Asmo by the waist*
Asmo: ?! Are you courting me?! * excited*
Mc: *Grabbing him in their arms to take him to rest* Yup, it worked?.
Asmo: I'm all yours, Mc, from the beginning…
Beel
Light is not a problem for him, although he prefers darkness.
During his period, the exoskeleton hardens and plates of it appear all over his body, and his horns become iridescent.
In addition, its wings become ribbed in a pattern, which at first glance is very beautiful. The more complex the pattern, the more attractive it is. You always see his wings as beautiful, but you agree with him, Beel deserves it.
He does a lot of grooming, which is lovely to see, because Beel is a bit clumsy and needs constant help, he has been injured a few times and you don't want that to happen again.
There are some flies and other insects that lay their nests underground. In Beel's case he has a small gallery dug in the garden, which he uses for storage too.
Beel at the beginning of the cycle may be in the house, but as he progresses he will be in his gallery.
More than territorial, he becomes protective of you and his siblings (he once kidnapped Luke), so when he is in his gallery he feels bad, because his desire to protect them is crushed by his need to be hidden.
Beel has a very marked pre-heat, in which he accumulates large quantities of food in his small cave and his appetite doubles. All the inhabitants of the house join in at this time to cook.
In contrast, during his period of heat his activity is reduced and his appetite decreases, this does not mean that he does not eat, he eats more often but in much smaller quantities and from storage (food that does not spoil).
He will insist on feeding you constantly, prepare indigestion medicine, you will need it.
Beel becomes totally non-verbal, be prepared to become an interpreter, he communicates with grunts, clicks and buzzes his wings.
Lots of buzzing, it's not the first time you've been hit by his wings, with the different buzzes he makes all sorts of claims and they have a high communicative range, you'll just need some time to figure it out.
His pheromones are strong, and he will mark, although he does it unconsciously.
As I said, he likes to have his family around him, but when he can't, anxiety takes over, vibration and physical contact calms him down. The easiest thing to do is to lay him on your chest and talk to him while stroking his hair or wings.
Beel's courtship is complex, first he feels the need to prove he can be a good provider, so he will constantly enlarge and improve his gallery.
And then there is the display of his wings, patterning and rhythmic, synchronised movements and buzzes to impress you.
He sleeps more than usual, will want you to sleep in his arms, and usually does so perched on one of his walls, hopefully you won't develop vertigo….
His senses are not as sharp as those of his siblings, but he becomes much more agile and has much better reflexes.
Beel's temperature increases, due to the continuous movement of his wings (insects produce a lot of heat when flying), but when he is at rest he tends to cool down.
Beel's purr is a mixture of a buzz and a vibration, he will purr when he is calm and content.
Beel was a little worried about how you might react because many humans detest insects. Be sure to praise his wings and other attributes, because this demon is adorable.
Mc: So this is your lair?
Beel: Yes… I decided to keep it from period to period to not destroy the garden…
Mc: I think it's very practical!!! It must be very cool in summer.
Beel: Do you really think so?
Mc: Yes, and cosy too, you're an artist Beel.
Beel: *smiling as he blushes*
Beel: *grunts*
Mc: Beel I can't take anymore…
Beel: *holding out a piece of fruit to them* *buzz*
Mc: Really Beel, I'm going to explode…
Beel: !! *hugging them*
Mc: It's a figure of speech… but can you eat my share… please.
Mc: *sleeping hugging Beel in one of the corners of his gallery*
Beel: *caressing them with his cheek*
Beel: *crackling with worry*
Mc: It's all right Beel?
Mc: Don't worry... Lucifer is with them… and the others will take care of Lucifer for you.
Beel: …*cradling them adoringly*
Mc: And I'll take care of you, so rest…
.
.
.
If you have made it this far thanks you 🩷
#obey me periods#obey me#obey me! shall we date?#obey me headcanons#obey me imagines#Obey me periods#obey me shall we date#obey me mc#omswd#om! mc#omswd satan#satan obey me#obey me satan#om! satan#om satan#asmo obey me#obey me asmo#omswd asmo#asmo om#omswd beel#beel obey me#obey me beel#om! asmodeus#om! beelzebub#omswd asmodeus#obey me beelzebub#obey me one master to rule them all#obey me otome
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I don't want to have a girlfriend because the examples or such relationships I've seen growing up always seemed kind of shallow. It never seemed like the couples actually shared their worries with each other. Always seemed like the significant other was a person you'd just kiss and cuddle from time to time. And it always seemed like only when you were "officially" someone's partner, that that's when the shallowness started. Seemed like the partner was just somebody you'd sometimes bring around your group of friends and kiss them on the cheek. I don't get the idea behind dating. So many people have said that they get into relationships before they even love the person. I don't understand the societal rules around relationships.
#see things like this make me want to adk if its my autism. but also like. im right about this..#i see society and i hate that thing immideatly..#have you noticed that i hate labels? cause language is a social construct and can never convey all the feelings behind something..#and you know im not talking about calling chairs chairs..#idk i feel like the reason i was convinced that i was the equivelant of aromantic when i was younger.#because i didnt see myself loving the way people in media did..#rn my definition of love is basically codependency. which i atleast acknowledge..#also everyone convinced me that you automatically love all your family members. which is not true..#if i could press a button to save any of my family members. or push a button to let them die. i dont think id be able to save them..#less people in the household means cheaper living. im not that attached to these hoes anyways..#thoughts#whenever i write with a british accent i feel the need to make a ''sorry for my bad grammar english is my second language'' joke..#and yes writing in a british accent is a thing.. im writing what im thinking and my thoughts are currently in brittish..#dw they go back to american when i listen to an american talk for some time..#i dont know if thats a non-native english speaker thing..#although speaking is a whole nother world.. its horrible how my mouth just cant pronounce some things..#fucking ''through'' ..#i tried tjinking of other words. dw the hard ones will come to me when i cant remeber the finnish word for them..
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Hi! I’m starting to learn French and one thing that’s both cool and weird to me is how everything is gendered in a way (referring to someone/whose saying the statement/etc.) and I was wondering how that relates to people who identity as non-binary or gender fluid in France? Are there equivalents to they/them pronouns or neo pronouns in French?
I do plan on doing my own research about this but I figured since I love your blog and you’re really open about different cultural lgbtq+ communities I’d try here first!
That's an awesome question... with a complicated answer lmao. So buckle up and bear with me !
Basically, you can't be non-binary in French. The community found ways to do it but it's not mainstream. Most of the time, they're going to get misgendered or will have to misgender themselves to get understood.
Some things I'm going to list here are not proper French. Actually, they can even be forbidden in some circumstances, according to the law (the use of inclusive language, and more specifically le point médian, was made illegal in schools in 2021 for ex) or simply because your company etc forbids it. So use this wisely, there is a time and place for inclusive language in France.
That said, things have greatly developed over the last two decades. Which was partly because of the queer community and mainly because of feminists, who are tired of the way French erases women. More and more people are using inclusive language, at least in some circumstances and circles (for ex, i wrote my master's thesis in inclusive language and it was accepted bc i was in a leftist faculty). And inclusive language is debated as a serious issue now, which is saying something.
So, how do you use inclusive language in practice?
There are different ways, as it's informal and mostly new. People are still testing new things and trying out various methods. You can stick to one or alternate or mix them up.
Pronouns
Officially, there isn't a gender neutral pronoun. We don't have an equivalent to they. You're either talking about a man or a woman. If it's both, you use masculine pronouns ("masculine trumps feminine" rule). Same thing if you don't know the gender of the person ("masculin générique").
The most common neopronoun is "iel" (plural : iels), which is obviously a contraction of the masculine pronoun "il" and its feminine equivalent "elle". It works for nb folks or to avoid talking about someone's gender or to refer to a group of men and women. So it's equally used by the queer community and feminists.
I'm pretty sure other neopronouns exist but I can't think of any at the top of my head.
Choosing the right words
Sometimes, inclusive language is just about learning to use alternatives.
Instead of using gendered words, you can choose to use gender-neutral words or words "épicènes", aka words which are identical in their feminine and masculine form. For ex, instead of "homme politique" or "femme politique", you can use "personnalité politique". Personnalité is a feminine word but it's actually gender-neutral as you can use it for women and men alike. "Élève" (student) is épicène, as a female student and a male student are both referred to as "élève". Although épicène words as a gender-neutral option only work in their plural form, as you have to choose either a feminine or masculine article for the singular ("les élèves" is inclusive but it can only be "un" or "une" élève).
As good as this method is, it can be quite limitating. Your vocabulary will be drastically reduced and it can be quite hard to master that kind of speech so you can reach the point where you don't have to think everything over for ages before you open your mouth.
With oral French, you can take it a step further by choosing words that sound the same even if they have a different spelling. Ex, friend is "ami" or "amie" but it's pronounced the same way so if you say it out loud, people can't know how you're gendering it (as long as there isn't a gendered article/word with it ofc).
It avoids misgendering people but the downside is that, as masculine is considered neutral in French, people will often think : no gender specified = masculine. Not even because they're sexist or whatever, it's just so ingrained in our brains that it's a knee-jerk reaction.
That's also why most feminists often prefer to use explicitly feminine words when talking about women. For ex, they prefer the word "autrice" to "auteure" (female writer) because the second one sounds the same as its masculine version "auteur". And as previously mentionned, out loud, people will assume by default you're talking about a man. It's a big debate though, lots of women prefer words that sound masculine - going as far as refusing to use feminine words at all! Which sounds cool and gender-bending as fuck but in reality comes from feminine words traditionally seen as less legitimate and serious. Even today, if you look up the word empress "impératrice" in a French dictionary, the first definition that comes up is "wife of an emperor". "Woman ruling a country" comes second. Using a masculine title to refer to women can also be a way to mock them and show they're not welcome (a french deputy got fined in 2014 because he called the female president of the national assembly "Madame le président" and refused to use the feminine title "Madame la présidente").
Recently the tendency and official guidelines have been to feminize words, so I'd say go with that by default, but respect other people's choice if they specify how they want to be called.
Anyway I'm getting off-track but what I meant was that in French, if you avoid talking about gender, you're automatically erasing women (and nb people). So if you want to include everyone, you need to make it obvious.
Inclusivity as a statement
The most common way to make women and men equally visible is the "point médian" rule, which you can also use to refer to non-binary people as it avoids picking a specific gender.
Basically, it means pasting together the masculine and feminine forms of a word and using dots/middle dots/hyphens/parentheses/capital letters to create an inclusive word. For ex, instead of saying acteur (♂️) or actrice (♀️) for actor, you'll write "acteur.ice". For the plural form, there are two schools of thought : either you separate the feminine and masculine form AND the suffix used to signify the plural, or you don't. Aka, "acteur.ice.s" or "acteur.ices". Personally I prefer the second option because less dots makes it easier to read and faster to write, but it's an individual choice, both work.
There are two major downsides to this method : it only works in writing + it isn't doable for every word, as feminine and masculine words can be quite different and pasting them together that way would be unintelligible. Ex, "copain" and "copine" (friend or boyfriend/girlfriend depending on the context) would give something like "cop.ain.ine"...
You can work around that by choosing alternative words (as previously stated!). And it's still a pretty good method, especially as it works for any type of word (adjectives etc). Some people argue that it's hard to read and ugly but personally I think it's just a matter of habit (although it does pose a problem for people using screen readers). Be aware that it is the most controversial version of inclusive writing, as it's the furthest structure from how languages typically work.
If you don't like dots or want an alternative for oral speech, you can also straight up create new words that sound both feminine and masculine, making them gender-neutral. To use the previous example, "copain" and "copine" become "copaine".
Obviously, this only works if it's obvious which words they're based on. I think it's a great way to make French more inclusive but I'd advise against using it with uninitiated people as it would probably confuse them more than anything. This method is still quite niche.
An inclusive, yet binary language
As you've probably figured out, inclusive language remains quite binary in the way we approach it. It's more about making things both masculine and feminine than transcending gender and creating gender-neutral alternatives. Probably because inclusive language was more often a will to stop women from being erased rather than a non-binary friendly gesture.
Which means, there are also some rules that were created to avoid the "masculine trumps feminine rule" but don't allow room for non-binarity at all. I'll still explain them because they're interesting and you might encounter them at some point.
The proximity rule ("règle de proximité") is one of these. It existed in Ancient Greek and Latin but was dropped in Modern French in favor of the masculine trumps feminine rule. Basically, you gender things according to what's closest in the sentence instead of systematically using masculine words to gender a mixed group. For ex, instead of saying "Les hommes et les femmes sont beaux" you say "Les hommes et les femmes sont belles", as the subject "femmes" is closer to the adjective "beau/belle" than "hommes".
Another method is to systematically use both masculine and feminine words (which I personally find excruciating to write and read). Meaning, instead of writing "Les étudiants mangent à la cantine" (students eat at the cafeteria), you'll write "Les étudiantes et les étudiants mangent à la cantine".
This is mainly for the subject of the sentence : adjectives and such are gendered according to the masculine trumps feminine rule. The point is to explicitly include women, not to make the sentence unintelligible or gender-neutral.
When following this method, you also have to pay attention to whether you put the feminine subject first or the masculine. The rule is to follow alphabetical order. For ex, in "l'égalité entre les femmes et les hommes", "femmes" comes first because F comes before H. But in "Les auteurs et les autrices de roman", "auteurs" comes first because E comes before R. Etc.
This method is common as it's the only inclusive language you can get away with, given that it's a valid way of speaking French. It's even mandatory in some situations now, like in job descriptions for the french administration, in the spirit of gender equality.
So, how do I gender a non-binary person?
In short, you can use the pronoun iel + avoid gendered words and/or use the point médian and/or make up new words.
But keep in mind that if you're not talking to someone familiar with these rules, you'll have some explaining to do. And looots of people are still very anti inclusive language, because they're sexist and/or transphobic, ignorant, language purists, etc. A few years ago it was the thing to be angry about for conservatives and anti-feminists so it's still very controversial. But if you're in a trans inclusive queer space or talking with intersectionnal leftists, go for it !
I hope I covered everything (fellow french, don't hesitate to comment!) and didn't put you to sleep lmao. If you want to see some examples, you can look it up on Wikipedia or check #bagaitte on tumblr (it's the french queer tag) 😉
#it's a slow but steady effort!#the fact that it was accepted by my uni teachers shows how far we've come already#a decade ago it would have probably been dismissed#i don't even know if i was aware this existed a decade ago#😅#anyway THANK YOU for this ask#i hope it was comprehensive and helpful#ask#language inclusif#écriture inclusive#inclusive language#upthebaguette#bagaitte#french#languages
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gigs phasmo but the ghost is just confused mumbo jumbo
physically unable to write a snippet so here's a whole oneshot AKJSDKJ I hope you like it!! Personally I had a ton of fun lmao
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The house was nice, as far as haunted locations went. The flowers out front were dead, sure, but that was probably on account of their caretaker being dead as well.
The neighbors had been the ones to call this address in, claiming that although the owner of the property had died quite some months ago, lights frequently turned on and off in the house. The police had been by several times to check for intruders, and had come up empty every time. Finally, some desperate neighbor had given in and called paranormal investigators.
So there they were, Impulse pulling up on the curb just as the sun dipped below the horizon. Prime ghost hunting time, for some reason; Scar hadn’t really paid attention to the science and research when he’d signed up for the job. Besides, the other three had all that handled quite nicely. Scar was just along for the ride.
“Scar, you know what you’re doing?” Impulse asked, grabbing a flashlight off the wall and clipping his walkie onto his belt.
“Sir, yes sir!” Scar quipped, scanning the gear for his usual fare. “One paraba-dolical microphone coming up.”
“Grab a thermometer, too,” Impulse suggested, clapping him on the shoulder on his way out of the van. “Let’s try to keep this one clean! The company is running low on cursed items with resurrection abilities.”
“I know for a fact we’ve made the biggest dent in that,” Skizz’s voice crackled out of the walkie, changing to a slight echo as he presumably walked in the house.
“Why do you sound proud of that?” Grian asked, speaking into the radio as he grabbed a salt canister. Scar snickered, reaching over him to grab the thermometer.
“We’ve got a record going, man! No one can stop us!”
“You have to admire his positivity,” Scar said brightly, clicking his flashlight to make sure it worked.
“Yeah, I guess he’s got that going for him,” Grian replied, giving a short wave as he left the van. “See you on the inside, Scar.”
Scar gave a jaunty wave, doing one last check on his equipment before starting after him. A voice cut him off before he could leave.
“Did anyone check the name?” Impulse asked, and Scar turned around to squint at the corkboard, eyes catching on the top.
Huh. Interesting.
Scar clicked the talk button on his walkie. “Looks like… Mumbo Jumbo?”
There was a long pause, and Scar almost thought they had missed it somehow. Then the response came.
“Scar,” Grian said, sounding tiredly amused. “If you can’t pronounce it, don’t just make something up.”
“No, It— It literally says Mumbo Jumbo,” Scar replied, glancing up to double check. “Don’t make me waste a photo to prove it. I will, you know I will.”
“Don’t, Scar,” Impulse jumped in, so quickly that the start of his sentence cut out. “We believe you.”
“Get in here before I come and drag you, Face,” Skizz chimed in, and Scar rolled his eyes with a chuckle, stepping out of the van.
The house was warmer than the air outside, so Scar took that as a sign that someone had gotten to the fuse box. He wandered around with the paradabolic microphone for a few minutes, watching closely for big leaps in the readings. Eventually, Impulse called out from upstairs, claiming that he’d found the room. Scar hurried towards him, making it there just in time to watch him set up the video camera, fiddling with the tripod and muttering complaints about its stability.
The room was a bedroom, a large bed against one wall and a shelf full of dead plants on the other. Everything was covered with a thin layer of dust, but that was pretty usual. Obviously no one had been keeping up with the cleaning.
“Anyone done spirit box?” Grian asked, and Scar jumped and whirled around, finding him in the doorway. Grian giggled, and Scar huffed.
“Not yet,” Impulse said, finally getting the tripod to settle. He looked over at them. “Want us to leave?”
“Not really,” Grian grumbled, starting to power up the spirit box. “But yes.”
Scar walked out of the door and Impulse followed him, closing it and leaving Grian in the room alone. Immediately, they heard the telltale singing introduction of Grian beginning to ask questions. The rest of the house was quiet. So far, everything had been entirely unremarkable.
“I’m going to go grab D.O.T.S and a book,” Impulse spoke suddenly, starting to walk away. “Maybe you could start grabbing some stuff for a polty pile?”
“Sure, will do,” Scar said, and started picking up objects from the table in the hallway. A lot of picture frames and spare wires, for whatever reason.
Grian opened the door to the room just as Scar arrived with his arms full, and Scar tilted his head at the odd look on the other’s face. His eyebrows were furrowed and he was wearing a faint frown.
“What’s wrong?” Scar asked, curious. Normally, Grian came out of a spirit box session with wide eyes and immediately ran to the van. This was out of character.
“I think…” Grian started, contemplative frown getting more pronounced. “I think the ghost apologized to me.”
“...huh?”
“I asked where it was,” Grian said, spirit box slack in his hand. “And then it said something, and then I screamed, and then it— I could have sworn it said sorry. Like, for scaring me.”
“Oh,” Scar said, tilting his head. “Has that happened before?”
Grian shook his head slowly, staring at the spirit box for a minute before exhaling forcefully. “Let’s just keep going,” he said, shoving the device in his pocket. “We still have a job to do.” Then, into his walkie: “We’ve got spirit box, guys. One thing down.”
They kept doing their jobs like they normally would, but none of them could quite shake the sense of something being different.
Usually, the haunted locations they visited had a foreboding sort of feeling to them. They get in and out of those places as soon as possible, the feeling of imminent danger settling on their shoulders like a heavy jacket. There was none of that, here. It was obviously haunted, but it still just felt like... a house. It didn’t feel malicious at all.
Impulse put a book down, and writing appeared a few minutes later. Just a single sentence, asking if they would water the plants on their way out.
They laid down D.O.T.S and stayed out in the van for a while, eventually seeing a tall, hazy figure pass quickly through.
They caught ghost orbs on the video surveillance.
Impulse took the Ultraviolet flashlight and found fingerprints on the side of the video camera, like the ghost had been curious about it.
The salt Grian had placed on the ground was smeared and scattered, almost as if the ghost had slipped on it instead of stepped in it.
“If we discovered some new type of ghost,” Grian said eventually, muffled through his own hands covering his face, after hours of pouring over the conflicting evidence. “I am going to be upset.”
“None of this makes sense!” Impulse complained, flipping through the research journal that Scar had never touched. He was scowling at the pages like they’d personally offended him. “It won’t even hunt!”
“He seems kinda friendly,” Scar said, staring at the steady line of the EMF reader on the screen. “The poor guy just wants his plants watered. I don’t even have the heart to tell him that it probably wouldn’t help. Those things are dead dead.”
Impulse’s head thunked down on the table in front of him. “We’re so fired.”
In the silence following that statement, Skizz burst into the van, holding an object aloft in celebration.
“I found it!” Skizz yelled triumphantly, the wrinkly figure of the monkey paw clutched in his hand. “It fell behind some boxes. I told you it was here.”
“Oooh,” Scar said, rushing over in excitement. “What should we wish for?”
“A quick death?” Grian said flatly.
Scar waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve had too many of those. It gets kind of boring, believe it or not.”
“Let’s just wish to see it,” Impulse said, heaving himself up from his hunched position by the monitor. “We’ve done everything else we could do, let’s just do it.”
“Sure, why not,” Grian said, shrugging. “Let’s go out in a blaze of glory, then.”
“That’s the spirit!” Skizz laughed, and together the four of them marched back into the house.
The room was exactly as they’d left it, and Impulse took a moment to turn off the D.O.T.S. Then they stood in a loose circle, tense and determined. Whatever was happening here, it would be over soon. One way or the other. Maybe the company wouldn’t even bother to bring them back, this time.
Skizz held the monkey paw aloft, dim light casting dramatic shadows on his face. “I wish to see the ghost!”
A finger on the monkey paw cracked and groaned as it bent down, and a chill swept across the room, quick and encompassing. Their flashlights flickered, and then died, leaving them in complete darkness. For a long moment, the only sound was their chorus of quick and shaky breathing.
When the lights turned back on, Scar was face to face with a ghost. A ghost that looked equally as startled as he was.
Scar yelped and stumbled backwards, tripping over the open book on the ground and hurtling towards the bed. The ghost — a tall man with dark hair and an absolutely wonderful mustache — lunged forward and reached out as if to catch him, eyes wide and panicked. To be fair to the dead man, it absolutely would have worked if his hands were still a tangible thing; As it were, his attempt at grabbing Scar to keep him upright was rather rudely foiled by his outstretched hand passing right through Scar’s flailing arm.
Scar hit the bed with a grunt as various cries of alarm sounded out around him, light bouncing around the room haphazardly as the sound of clattering reached his ears; someone had dropped their flashlight, apparently. Scar laid on the bed and stared at the ceiling, dazed.
“Oh gosh! I’m so— I didn’t mean to pop in like that, I—”
Scar looked up just in time to watch a crucifix fly through the air and pass harmlessly through the ghost’s head, hitting the wall with a thud and falling gracelessly to the floor. The ghost yelped and ducked — much too late, not that it mattered, anyway — and Scar’s gaze next landed on Grian, still standing there with his arm extended in a throwing motion, hand empty and eyes wide.
“What was that gonna do, G?!” Skizz asked hysterically, fumbling for his camera, accidentally snapping a picture of his own face and swearing when the light blinded him.
Impulse had knocked over the tripod in all of the chaos, and was now frantically attempting to set it back upright. The ghost — Mumbo Jumbo — turned his anxious eyes on Scar, who for once was struck speechless, jaw slack.
“Are you alright, mate?” Mumbo Jumbo asked, hands fidgeting together. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but— Well, you summoned me. There’s only so much to be done for that.”
With everyone else still scrambling about the room, Scar allowed himself a few seconds to process things. Most ghosts they’d come across — all of them, actually — had been nothing less than murderous and bloodthirsty. The cordial ghost of a perfectly normal man was not something they had been trained for, but that didn’t exactly mean that it was impossible. Sure, maybe it had come way, way out of left field, but Scar prided himself on rolling with the punches. He pushed himself up from the bed with a sheepish, charming smile.
“It’s all good,” Scar said, bright and friendly. “For sure our fault, we summoned you and got surprised when you showed up. Kind of rude of us, I think. Your mattress is super comfortable, by the way.”
Mumbo Jumbo blinked, as if surprised by the onslaught of words, a confused little furrow appearing between his brows. “Thank you?” he said, glancing behind him at the bed. “It was…expensive.”
“I mean, hey! We spend a lot of our lifetime in a bed, right? Might as well shell out some cash for quality.”
“What are we doing?” Grian asked quickly, almost like he was talking to himself, hands pressed to his head in utter bafflement. “This is insane, what is happening.”
“Grian! Don’t be rude,” Scar admonished playfully, then turned back to grin at the ghost. “Mumbo Jumbo, right?”
The man nodded faintly. “Just…Mumbo is fine.”
“Sweet! I’m Scar,” Scar said, and then started pointing to his friends, all standing stock still in various stages of shock and confusion. “The rude one who throws stuff is Grian, that’s Impulse by the window, and over there is Skizz!”
“Nice to meet you?” Mumbo said, glancing around nervously. “I would offer to shake your hand, but…”
“God, this is weird,” Skizz blurted, eyes still wide but starting to relax his stance. “You do know you’re dead, right? We never actually get to ask any of the ghosts we meet.”
“Oh, I— Yeah, I’m well aware,” Mumbo said, laughing a little. “You’ve met other ghosts, then?”
“We’re ghost hunters,” Impulse said, and now that the shock was fading, Scar could see a spark of excitement in his eyes. “But I mean— We’ve never met any like you.”
“Mostly they want to kill us,” Grian said, stepping up next to Scar. “Are you sure you don’t want to kill us?”
“I don’t think I know how, much less want to,” Mumbo said, glancing out the window. “Did someone call you to find me? I’ve been trying not to scare anyone, but I suppose the lights might’ve done me in.”
“Yeah, that was pretty much what tipped them off,” Scar said apologetically. “A few too many weird things happen and boom, here we are.”
“What happens now?” Mumbo asked, chuckling nervously. “I mean, you found me. Job done, yeah?”
“Usually we figure out what type of ghost it is and the company sends out a specialized team to evict it,” Impulse answered, brow pinched in thought. “But normally that’s for safety reasons. You don’t seem like a threat. No offense.”
“Oh, none taken.”
“Can I ask how you died?” Skizz asked, eyes alight with curiosity.
“Skizz,” Grian hissed. “You can’t just ask people how they died!”
“I was just wondering!”
“No, it’s— it’s fine,” Mumbo stuttered, and Scar had a feeling that if ghosts could blush, he would be doing it. “I… fell down the stairs.”
Scar nodded solemnly. “Could have happened to anyone.”
“So what are we actually going to do about this?” Grian asked, vaguely gesturing at the room. “It feels like it would be wrong to kick this guy out of his own house. He’s not really causing trouble.”
“Yeah, I— I do like my house,” Mumbo interjected, awkward smile on his face. “I’d rather stay, if that’s alright.”
“Someone’s bound to move in eventually, you know,” Skizz said, pitying frown on his face. “There’s already a for sale sign in the yard. The new owners might not be super ghost-friendly.”
Mumbo’s shoulders slumped, a dejected look on his face as he frowned at the floor. Scar felt a pang of sympathy grow in his chest, and he glanced out the window at the rows of houses down the street.
It really was quite a nice neighborhood.
“...You know,” Scar started, gaze drifting over to Grian, a slow smile forming on his face. “Our lease is almost up.”
Grian looked over at him, eyes already resigned, and sighed.
Scar laughed, grinning, and Mumbo slowly smiled back.
#this let me practice my ability to write silly fun things AKSJDKJ it was a blast actually :]#thank you for the prompt anon!! I hope i brought your vision to life aksjdk#goodtimeswithscar#gtws#grian#skizzleman#impulsesv#mumbo jumbo#my writing#writing request#now that this is finished i am going to go to bed <33#might post this on ao3 later but rn i'm tired <3
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In Emerald Hearts, Emerald Minds - Nikolai Lantsov x Reader
[mentions of unwanted advances + suggested groping + suggestive/sexual (consensual) themes]
☽ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ☾
SUMMARY: When Vasily asks you to forget his half-brother and marry him instead, you escape the Little Palace along Alina. Nikolai realizes something strange is going on when Kaz mentions seeing a similar emerald ring on the woman that came with the Sun Summoner. With how much you and Nikolai have been running in circles to find each other, the reunion aboard Volkvolny feels almost fated.
WORDCOUNT: ~ 4.6k
>>Grishaverse-inspired playlist<<
It feels like the Winter Fete has been going on forever. The champagne keeps on being poured, the guests keep on dancing and the circus acts just keep on performing as though tomorrow is a mere mirage, a concept of a certain time period that never actually comes. Inside those walls of gold and marble, the misery devouring all of Ravka seems like nothing beyond a mad nightmare - something so removed from reality, it’s hilarious in its ridiculousness. Everyone is so carefree and happy you almost take their joy as your own.
Almost.
The orchestra begins playing Waltz of the Flowers and you feel your throat tighten. Despite doing your best not to, your mind relives that fateful night when everything changed. For the longest time, you’d been claiming that the change was for the better but now, standing alone for another year in a row and watching the dashing aristocrats spin to the music, you’re not so sure anymore.
“You really need to stop doing this,” Nikolai says firmly. Although his tone is decisive and clearly unwilling to accept defiance, a pronounced hint of amusement lives between his words - a thread of light-heartedness, one might say.
Your eyebrows gently furrow. “Doing what?”
“Smiling at me like that. Any longer and I might ask you to marry me.”
It feels like you’re about to burst at the seams. Trying to contain your emotions, and failing at it quite horribly, you bite your lower lip. “I might say yes.”
“Where have you gone, Kolya?” you whisper under your breath. The gloss of vacancy covering your eyes blurs the dancing bodies into one mass of faceless strangers. But it also makes you not notice someone approaching you.
“I find it quite admirable.”
Vasily’s voice startles you. To your now-gone relief, you didn’t have the displeasure of running into him all evening - until now. If you were to list all of the things about the older Lantsov son that makes your skin crawl, you’d be done by the time another Winter Fete is organized. The top of the list, however, deserves to be mentioned as it’s an inseparable part of your every interaction with the prince: he’s quite adamant and crude in his desire to be more than just a future brother-in-law to you.
“Excuse me?” you stutter out.
That patronizing look on his face is now accompanied by a cocky half-grin as he realizes he caught you off-guard. “Your devotion to my brother. For all we know, he might be already dead, Saints’ protect him.”
“Don’t even say that!” you hiss at him. Right after, you look around to check whether one of the guests has noticed your unpleasant exchange.
Despite what you’ve just said, you know he’s right. There’s no way you can be sure that your Kolya is either dead or alive. Perhaps this is the detail further ripping your heart apart - you don’t know anything about his fate; you’re mourning, although you’re yet to see the coffin. You haven’t for a few years now and each passing month of silence only made court gossip more cruel and bold.
“All I’m saying, dearest,” Vasily begins quietly as his hand drags along your arm, “is that the moment the news of Nikolai’s death reaches the Grand Palace, you’ll be thrown out. On the other hand, I can make you the Queen of Ravka. And unlike my brother, I won’t disappear off the face of the Earth and forget about his beloved lady.”
The word of endearment is dripping with sarcasm as it leaves his chapped lips. His breath reeks of alcohol and you unknowingly turn your head away. Vasily seems to think you’re about to leave his side, so his hand tightly grips your arm. The hold is almost bruising. He yanks you even closer towards himself.
“Kolya hasn’t forgotten about me,” you say in a shaky voice. Maybe he’s not as foolish as he appears and Vasily is genuinely trying to break you down.
The prince studies your face for a moment, definitely noticing how shaken you are. His eyes have the strangest glint to them - something between desire and contempt. “Is that so?” he barely stifles a grim laugh. “He would have written you a letter if that were true, no?”
Tears sting your eyes. Vasily is certainly smarter, or at least more cruel, than he lets on. He knows exactly what to say to get into your head. It’s a startling difference between him and Nikolai - only one of them does what he can to keep a smile on your face. Well, did.
His dirty, rough hand grabs your chin. Vasily forces you to look at him, his smile wavers upon noticing your desperation. “Consider your options, зайка,” he purrs out. The prince’s other hand trails your face. “The choice is yours.”
A tear falls down your cheek. You feel it rolling across your skin and you silently hope the guests surrounding you are watching this scene. Then, you lean in even closer to Vasily’s face. The whisper leaves your lips like a viper’s venomous hiss: "I will marry you the day you lay his dead body at my feet."
To your surprise, Vasily drops his hands and takes a step back. Despite the self-assured smile on his face, you can see the fury inside his eyes. “As you wish.” He bows curtly, turns on his heel and marches away, undoubtedly looking for another glass of alcohol and a lady naive enough to warm his bed.
The palace suddenly feels stuffy and overcrowded; the music is too loud, the plethora of smells make your head spin.
Outside. You need to get outside.
Bumping into several guests and mumbling half-coherent apologies, you run through the halls of the Little Palace. When the cold, night air hits your flushed cheeks, only then do you stop. Taking in a deep breath, you can actually feel your thoughts becoming clearer.
With each gust of freezing wind, all the anger and sadness is leaving your shaking body. Vasily just wanted to get a rise out of you and, as much as you don’t want to admit it, he succeeded. Unlike he claims, Nikolai surely is alive. Maybe bruised or sick or not sleeping well but as long as there’s no news about him being dead, he is as alive as one can be. The same starry sky hangs above your and his heads. Perhaps, in this small moment of longing, he’s thinking about you too. Wherever he is.
A tired sigh leaves your lips. You’re about to turn around and go back inside when a silhouette moving in the night catches your attention. The shape is swift although careful like a lizard approaching a fly. You see them looking around before running for another few meters only to hide behind a bush or piece of architecture.
Curious and a little scared, you follow the stranger towards one of the carriages. Quietly, you get close enough to grab their wrist. The shape lets out a gasp and turns around to look at you.
“Alina?!” you whisper. What in Saints’ mercy is she doing? You look at her warm, casual clothes and the bag on her back. “Are you running away?”
“I need to leave,” she answers equally quietly. Her voice as well as her stare is filled with certainty - she’s convinced beyond reasonable doubt this is the right thing to do. “Please, don’t try to stop me.”
You let go of her hand. “Stop you?” A dry chuckle leaves your lips. “I’m coming with you.”
“What?” she deadpans. Alina is staring at you with a vacant stare and her mouth slightly agape. Apparently exchanging royal comforts for hay and stolen apples is unthinkable.
“If I have to spend one more day around Vasily, I will murder someone.”
Alina slowly nods her head - she can definitely understand the sentiment. A dimwitted Fjerdan would have more charm than the older prince. But then she squints her eyes, looking at you with a sense of scepticism.
“Out there, there won’t be warm beds and three-course dinners, you know?”
“I know,” you answer with a careless shrug. Loitering and wandering isn’t for ladies of your sort, it’s like throwing a finless fish into a tank with sharks. Despite that, you’re quite convinced the means justify the end, at least in this scenario. “But out there is my Kolya. And I’m done politely waiting for him.”
A shadow of sadness covers her face. If there’s anyone who can understand your plight, it’s her. In fact, she is luckier than you - she saw her lover maybe an hour ago. Pleasant or unpleasant, the meeting confirmed to her that Mal is at least alive. It’s not a privilege you could afford.
“Then let’s go,” she says to you before opening the chest in the back of the carriage. Forgetting all of your etiquette and social standing, you climb into the compartment with her. Towards adventure or death, you’re going somewhere.
“The ring gave you away,” Kaz announces. “It’s too expensive for a bodyguard.”
Jesper knits his eyebrows together, suddenly remembering something. He leans towards Kaz but speaks a little too loudly for the question to be inconspicuous: “Didn’t that girl wear the same-”
When Kaz’s cold glare meets Jesper’s squinted eyes, the dark-skinned man immediately closes his mouth halfway through the question. Both of them sit back as they were but the cat is already out of the bag. Well, not entirely - half of it is peeking out of the metaphorical sack.
Nikolai looks between them with unmissable suspicion. Although he’s heard enough to be aware of the possibility that the Sun Summoner isn’t travelling by herself, this is the first time either of the Crows admits it.
His heart begins to beat slightly quicker: Alina run away from the Little Palace along with another woman and that lady was wearing a royal jewel at the time. As long as Vasily didn’t lose his signet on one of his distasteful escapades, the course of events points to only one person - you. Shoving his restless excitement into the deepest chasms of his heart, Nikolai manages to remain his composure:
“Who was wearing that ring?” The prince-turned-privateer unknowingly fiddles with the heavy jewellery on his finger. Noticing the Crows’ reluctance, he makes them an offer: “If you tell me who you saw wearing an emerald ring, I might, say, give you ten minutes to escape.” Nikolai vaguely gestures to the closed window on his right-hand side.
Kaz knows there’s no point in lying any longer. The man in front of him is not only well-informed but also smarter than he looks, making the Crow wonder whether he also knows the answer to this question but prefers to play some kind of a game. In any event, he’s done his part of the deal and his ex-accomplices are left to their own devices. Additionally, he could really use those ten minutes. “A young woman that accompanied Alina Starkov. High-born, confident, decisive. Not a Grisha as far as I know.”
“Not a Lantsov, obviously,” Jesper chips in.
Brekker’s keen eyes catch the barely noticeable change in Sturmhond’s expression - the corner of his mouth merely stuttered up and down but it is enough to tell Kaz as much as he needs:
“You know her.”
Know her? If Nikolai had a weaker grip on his emotions at the moment, he’d laugh until his stomach and diaphragm hurt and then he’ll burst with laughter once more, unspeakably joyous that he might get to see her sooner than he thought. Yes, he does know her but in the way heart knows blood and lungs know air. She’s the ligament that keeps his bones together, the fibres that construct his muscles, the very blood that runs in his veins. Does the Moon simply know the stars? Do trees know their roots and branches?
But for now, he needs to stay focused.
“Not really,” Sturmhond answers while scrunching his nose. “Many aristocrats wear a ring like that. While I may know of a lot of them, I hardly know anything about them.”
Kaz fights back a mocking half-grin begging to twist his thin lips. “I’d argue that an emerald in Ravka is a rather rare gem.”
“Hers is probably genuine. Mine’s stolen.”
Silence falls between the three men. Nikolai and Kaz are staring each other down, battling in some kind of war of wits and nerves, waiting for the other to give in. Jesper is stealing glances at both of them, feeling the cold tension rise in the air.
Against his deep-seated desire, Kaz doesn’t inquire further about the emeralds or the strange coincidence that the two enigmatic characters wearing them might know each other. He sits back in the chair, his shoulders visibly drop. As much as he’d love to dig deeper, he’d much rather get out of here and reclaim his freedom that is now endangered.
“Well, gentlemen,” Nikolai begins in an upbeat tone, “your ten minutes start now.”
Without saying anything else, he leaves the room. Only then, when the dark, wooden door close behind him, does he let suppressed emotions wash over him. A quiet chuckle brushes past his lips and for a moment even tears sting his eyes. Delight, worry, relief - conflicting sensations merge into one, completely overpowering flame burning inside his chest.
Maybe he doesn’t have the Sun Summoner and he still needs to come up with a plan to catch her but Nikolai hasn’t been this happy for a while now: his солиышко is alright, still making the world brighter and warmer. If he can get to Alina Starkov, he might see her again, although he begins to wonder whether she wishes to see him after all those years of silence and ignorance. But if he can see her, just witness the marvel of her entire being even for one last second, he’ll be cured of the longing and loneliness that has been gnawing at him ever since he left Os Alta.
You’re following the Shu man to what you assume is his captain’s cuddy. The ship creeks and groans under the weight of the crew as well as the power of the waves. The bussing crewmen spare the three of you a glance, only to show disinterest and go back to their duties. It’s a nice change compared to the kerchen ship you travelled on to Novyi Zem, where the captain asked Alina and you to stay under the deck because of the sailors’ superstition. After getting off the ship, it took you a good week to wash out the reek of cured cod from your clothes and hair. Sometimes you still felt like you can smell it in the air, even in the dusty wind sweeping through Novyi Zem.
Your ‘guide’ pushes the door and they swing open with a creak, the list of the ship aiding the motion. Except for the squeaky hinges, probably rusting faster than anyone can manage, Volkvolny is in good shape. In fact, it looks brand new - no mould or woodworms.
“Captain, request for charter,” the stocky stranger announces with a hint of amusement or excitement in his voice. Despite his imposing visage, the Shu man has made a good impression on you but the long sword on his back kept you vigilant against getting too comfortable in his company.
Only when he moves to the side, presenting the three of you to his captain, do you see the face of the infamous Sturmhond.
You want to laugh. In fact, you have to clench your fists to stop yourself from bursting out with laughter. This situation feels like the strangest coincidence that you can think of, which in turn makes you suspect that it’s not a coincidence at all. Because what are the odds?
Nikolai’s face momentarily brightens up when he recognizes you, a new glint lights up his eyes. He looks different than you remember but in all the right ways: his shoulders look broader and his hair is longer, curling in a way that makes him appear more infantile. You remembered him as a handsome man but the Nikolai in front of you is beautiful enough to be considered unreal.
He's staring into you like a deer caught in headlights until Tolya hands him Alina’s unusual means of payment. As Nikolai is turning the piece of jewellery in his fingers, you notice another change: his hands look rougher, definitely scarred from all the adventures you hope you’re yet to hear about.
The blond prince turns his attention back to Alina, Mal and you. “A gold hairpin can get you anywhere. But an emerald ring?” He gestures to you. “It can get you everywhere.”
“It’s not for sale,” you answer, although you know he’s not trying to buy it. After all, he’s the one that gave it to you.
“I don’t want it.” Nikolai shakes his head. Then, a flirty smile appears on his face. “Looks better on you anyway, doll.”
You’re about to respond to his remark when his attention is once again placed on Alina. “Now, Tolya says you’re looking for a charter. Where are we sailing?”
Alina begins the story with ‘the creation of the world’ as your mother used to say: the Little Palace, Darkling, Morozova’s amplifiers and the Fold. Nikolai nods along, never giving away that he’s privy to most of the story. He doesn’t believe in the Sea Whip at first but that’s hardly his fault - not too long ago people wouldn’t believe in the existence of the Sun Summoner and now she’s standing beside you, nervously rubbing her hand. As you have expected from the moment you saw that Nikolai is Sturmhond, he agrees to the insanity of taking up the quest to catch the amplifier.
“Tolya will show you around.” He sends you off. You’re about to follow your friends out of the cuddy when he adds: “You, emerald lady, I’d like to talk to in private.”
Alina gives you a concerned look (‘blink twice if you need help’) but you only smile and nod at her in response. With Mal tugging at her arm, she reluctantly leaves you and Sturmhond alone.
The moment the door closes behind Tolya and your friends, Nikolai runs around his desk towards you, engulfing you in a bone-crushing hug. His hand threads through your hair, pushing your head further into the crook of his neck. Even if you tried, there’s no way you can pull away or even move. Taking a deep breath, you smell the familiar fragrance of his cologne but now it’s mixed with the scent of resin, saltwater and seaweed.
Then he pulls away, looking you up and down with burning worry. “Are you alright? Are you hurt? What are you doing here?”
You swear he could be bleeding out on the floor and still he’d be apologizing for staining your clothes. It’s heartwarming that despite the years and evident change in his appearance, Kolya is still Kolya.
A wide smile enters your face. “Looking for a frisky sailor to take me on a voyage filled with indecency, obviously.”
“Well, here he is.” Nikolai points to himself and winks at you. “And he’d really like to know why you’re in Novyi Zem with the Sun Summoner and whats-his-face and not in the Grand Palace in Os Alta.”
You let out a heavy sigh and shake your head gently. “I grew tired, Kolya.” His eyebrows slant upon hearing the exhaustion in your voice. Despite the sheer happiness he feels when you say his name, the concern gnawing at his heart seems to be more powerful. “Years have gone by without you giving me even the tiniest sign that you’re alive and well. And your brother, Saint’s have mercy on him because I won’t, has been adamant about marrying me ever since you left. I told him I will accept his proposal the day he lays your dead body before me.” You make pause, noticing a strange shadow hanging over Nikolai’s face. But he’s not saying anything for a moment, so you finish what you wanted to say: “I had to get away from it all. There’s only so much uncertainty and intruding fingers a lady can take.”
“By the Saints,” he breathes out, “did Vasily lay a hand on you?”
You feel his grip around you tighten but it’s not painful, rather securing. “If you’re asking whether he hit me or forced himself on me, then no, he did not. He did, however, make it abundantly clear what he wants from me. On multiple occasions.”
Nikolai’s face twists in a scowl. The glint that lit up his eyes when he saw you is now gone, exchanged for something dark and unstable. “I’m so sorry, if I knew-”
“I know, love,” you interrupt him. He doesn’t need to announce the ends he’d go to in order to ensure you’re safe and comfortable. Nikolai has never said or done so but you’re fairly convinced he wouldn’t shy away from fistfighting Vasily if he said something less-than-savoury to you. “But neither of us could have known.”
“I promised you’d be safe in Os Alta.”
“And I promised to stay put.” You can’t keep laughter in any longer. You’re not quite sure whether your chuckle is born out of happiness or disbelief. “Now look at us.”
Suddenly, he knits his eyebrows close. At first, you think he’s confused but then the slight rise of his cheeks suggests something closer to contempt or disgust. "Would you actually marry Vasily if he gave you my dead body?"
You can only give him an indifferent shrug. "Maybe?” you ponder aloud. “If you were dead, I would lose all care about what happens to me or with me. In a way, I’d be dead too."
Nikolai takes one of your hands and kisses its fingers. Your breath hitches in your throat when you feel his warm lips against your skin. “I could never rest in peace knowing how he’s treating you.”
“Having you haunt me would be incomparably better than you just being gone. Everything is better than silence.”
His shoulders slouch. Nikolai looks away from you for a moment, admiring the floor in his cuddy but even this can’t hide his guilt and shame. “I couldn’t have just popped in for a visit. Not anywhere in Ravka.”
"You couldn't even have written me a letter?"
"Someone at the palace would recognize my handwriting. I couldn't risk it."
"Then you could have dictated the letter to one of your crew."
That self-assured, flirty smirk appears again on his face. "And scandalize my crewmen with the things I want to tell you?”
As much as you’ve dearly missed his insufferable humour, at the moment it’s making your skin crawl. “This is a serious conversation, Nikolai,” you state firmly.
“I am serious, солиышко.” The pet name rolls off his tongue with both weight and lightness as though it belongs exclusively to you and no one else can ever claim it as their own. He kisses your hand again but keeps it against his lips for a while longer. Then, he places your fingers on his chest and you can feel the soft thrumming of his heart. “Do you think I never thought about writing to you? That I didn’t stay up at night thinking about what I will tell you when we meet again? Countless letters I have begun only to tear them apart and throw them into the sea or burn them. If some people found out we know each other, you’d be in much greater danger than Darkling following your steps. I’d rather deal with the heartbreak of staying away from you than know I put you in danger because I can’t live without you.”
It brings you a grim sense of comfort that he’s been equally torn as you were over the lack of contact. You never thought about it before but Nikolai must have been worried sick, not knowing whether you’re alright and happy. Has he imagined your plight and misery as often as you did his?
“What did you write in those letters?” you ask in a shaky voice.
“I wrote about how much I miss you, how it physically hurts to consider that you might think I have abandoned you. When I was hungry, cold, tired or sick, only the memories of you made me push on. On nights when I couldn’t sleep, I’d stare at the sky above me and wonder whether you’re looking at the same stars. I wrote that wherever I go, I see your face. You are in every sunrise and sunset, every flower I see and every fire that warms me.” Nikolai lets go of your fingers, placing both of his hands on either side of your face. The softness in his eyes makes you swoon. “I only wrote the truth,” he says slowly, making sure you understand the weight of his words.
Swallowing back tears, you lean into his warm touch. “My beloved, my heart yearns for you?” you jest in a dramatic voice.
A playful smile creeps back unto his lips. “If only my heart.”
“Gross.”
“You wanted a frisky sailor.”
"You’re a pirate, not a sailor.”
"I’m a privateer,” he drones out the word as though it makes a world of a difference.
"Pirate sounds sexier."
Nikolai gives you a fake frown. “Oh, I definitely am a pirate."
Without thinking twice, he’s kissing you. The sensation is just as comforting as you remember. His soft lips are doting on you, growing needier with each peck as though this is some feverish attempt at making up the lost time.
He pulls away to catch his breath and although you’re panting yourself, you unknowingly chase after him, unwilling to dismiss this carnal desire just yet. Nikolai seems to notice your eagerness - he flashes you a cocky grin and shortly pecks your lips again.
“You crossed Ravka, the Fold and the sea just to find me?” he whispers. His eyes are stuck to your wet, swollen mouth.
“And I’d do it a hundred more times if I had to.”
You exchange a few more hungry kisses, pecking and nipping at each other’s lips, before Nikolai continues the conversation:
“I want to say that I’m flattered but I’d rather not encourage you to do something this stupid and dangerous ever again.”
“Hate to break it to you but you took all the stupid with you.”
He rests his forehead against yours; hot, laboured breaths brush against your flushed cheeks. “I’d like to clarify that I’m not stupid, I just can’t seem to think about anything other than you.”
Nikolai wraps his arms around your waist. In a swift motion, he turns you around and pushes you against the edge of his desk. His strength surprises you when Nikolai effortlessly lifts you and places you atop the table, pushing off maps and navigation essentials. Firm, warm hands are restlessly wandering across your body, unsure where to lay or what to grab.
You gasp quietly when his fingers sneak underneath your shirt. “Is this the indecent part of the voyage, my frisky sailor?”
“By the Saints, I hope so,” he whispers against your lips. Then, he furrows his eyebrows questioningly. “Is that offensive to say around a living Saint?”
“I don’t think Alina heard you.”
His nimble fingers are quickly undoing the buttons on your clothes. “Well, she will hear you in a moment.”
“Gross,” you say with laughter in your voice but the word gets muffled as Nikolai gets back to kissing you again.
Even if the crew did hear you that day, no one dared say a word.
зайка [zay-ka] - bunny (feminine; term of endearment)
солиышко [sol-nee-shko] - little sun (unisex; term of endearment)
#nikolai lantsov#nikolai lantsov imagine#nikolai lantsov fanfiction#nikolai imagines#nikolai x reader#nikolai lantsov x reader#nikolai lantsov x you#shadow and bone fanfic#shadow and bone x reader#shadow and bone fanfiction#shadow and bone imagine#shadow and bone#shadow and bone x you#sturmhond#grishaverse
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When Greed is too much
Characters: Mammon x gn!MC
Main Masterlist
M. Anon: good day, tennis. im an anon who lurks around your work. i find your work fascinating and I hope you may make a small oneshot for me. can you make a mammon x reader fanfiction? the pronounce doesn't matter. and the fanfiction could be about mammon and reader sneaking out frequently because mammon likes to gamble and they get caught one day and mammon took all of the blame for himself. i think it would be a good idea for a oneshot. but putting that aside, I adore your work. i like how you describe everything and your headcanons are interesting. i hope you can keep uploading. sending platonic loves.
A/N: I got a little distracted and made Mammon feel guilty af instead of taking the blame, I'm sorry, I hope you like it anyways <3 A little reference right at the end
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Mammon had a complicated relationship with money.
He loved it too much to hate it and he needed it enough to forgive the danger it brought within. He would inlay it under his skin if he could, if Lucifer let him, making him shine under the lights like a kaleidoscope.
Cold metal between his fangs to check its authenticity, smooth paper sliding through his fingers, hard plastic shaping his wallet. Jewellery, clothes, his car. He had them because he needed it in any way, shape or form, like water to fish, riches to him. A bottomless pit that got bigger and bigger the more he threw in.
His fingers were longer and thinner than his brothers’ and more than once he had wondered if his sin had modified his body to easily indulge in it. He was also the fastest runner when he needed to and he could turn his words to honey if the situation required it. An opportunist thief, even if he disliked the term.
And he knew stealing wasn’t okay, but no amount of Lucifer’s punishments would stop him from doing so. He could manage hanging upside down for hours on end and, even when the lectures were painfully boring and made him want to die, sitting in the same position for as long as his brother decided was something he could live through. Lotan, or rather the flood it implied, was a bothersome threat and, although terrifying, the witches wouldn’t seriously hurt him unless Lucifer knew he could take it.
Still, constantly going through that was annoying, so he went to the next best thing, a place where condemned souls like him got together and did what pleasured him the most: bring money to the table. The wheel of fortune laid deep in his chest; sometimes he deceived himself, others, he was right.
Fortunately for his ego, his dignity and his integrity, Mammon had found his perfect lucky charm. Human shape and devoted to him, every time MC joined him in his escapades, his wallet came back home fatter than when they left. It was refreshing and addicting and it didn’t take him too long to actually need MC’s presence each time he left the house to gamble.
At first it was just once or twice every week and a half, then at least once a week, then three times a week, then every night. He would invite them to his room, taking advantage of the alibi their relationship offered, hang out and fool around until every single one of his brothers was asleep and then sneak out through the garage door.
It was a fun, bonding time between them. Holding hands while running from one corner of the town to another, pockets heavier and heavier as the night went by and clothes reeking of the cigars, alcohol and perfume of those who pushed them around amidst the chaos of the casino.
Mammon lived for all of that, especially now that MC was by his side, watching him thrive and win, over and over and over again. In their eyes, he succeeded and he was the one to carry the golden medal. Not his brothers, not their friends, him.
Eventually, he did what he did best and pushed his luck.
After an outstanding winning streak, they finally got to the night when everything went astray, losing every bet and every game, eventually finding themselves deep in debt with the casino and a bunch of furious patrons and, although begrudgingly, admitting that a period of restraint was long overdue.
And then they got home.
“When will you learn?” Lucifer said for the hundredth time while tightening the rope around his torso and trapping his hands behind his back.
“C’mon! It wasn’t that bad!”
He tried to smile to downplay the situation, but it came out wobbly and his fear was too obvious for his brother to ignore. Lucifer grinned with malice, eyes darkening in evil enjoyment before bending down to tie Mammon’s ankles together, slow in his movements and his words.
“Do you truly think this would’ve ended well? We both know you’re an idiot, but the limits you’re willing to cross outstand me. Bringing MC into this? Really? You moronic dimwit… I thought you would be the last to put them in danger. Alas, I was wrong”
“I’ve never put them in danger”
His immediate response brought Lucifer back to his feet, both of them now serious and locking eyes with each other. Mammon felt the rough edges of the rope scraping his skin, uncomfortably keeping him in place under his brother’s infuriated gaze.
“Taking them out of the house for hours every night, making them play games against lowlife demons and risking their safety for a few coins, what is that to you if not jeopardizing their life?”
“A few coins? We made ourselves rich!”
“Is that what bothers you about what I just said?”
“I’m telling you they were safe with me!”
Lucifer sighed, shaking his head in disappointment and going around Mammon. A noise coming from behind filled him with dread and he didn’t have time to beg for more time before something pulled his feet to the side and his body hit the carpeted floor. It barely softened the fall and soon his pained groans reached every corner of the staircase.
“You truly never learn”
“I’ll do it! I’ll learn! Please don’t leave me here! You can’t abandon your baby brother here, can’t you? It was an honest mistake!”
“Mammon”
After securing the rope around one of the beams from the ceiling, the eldest took a few steps down and looked at him from above. His voice was low, hopeless, and Mammon found that more hurtful than the strong grip around his limbs or the pounding on his head.
“You’re lucky MC’s heart shines brighter than mine” Lucifer said, leaving him speechless “One of these days you will go too far and I’m not sure who will be there to catch you”
“What…?”
“Rest well, Mammon” he continued to go down the stairs, not bothering to look at him anymore. He spoke one last time before disappearing completely. “And think about what I said, will you?”
Lucifer’s footsteps merged into the night, the lights turned off and, suddenly, Mammon found himself alone.
He was still wearing the clothes he’d chosen to go to the casino hours ago, jewellery dangling over his face and DDD threatening to fall out of his pocket. The screen lightened up, showing MC’s name, and the desperation to answer the call made him squirm enough to ultimately make the phone fall to the bottom of the stairs. He grimaced at the cracking sound.
Asmo would say it was karma for being a scumbag and he didn’t know if he should start believing that.
He wasn’t a scumbag, was he? MC was fine! Not a scratch in their pretty face to complain about and every bit of their outfit still in place and making them look even better. They had been smiling when they finally got to the garage door, shallowly breathing while they checked him out in search of any type of damage.
They were fine.
They had been smiling because they’d been having fun. Or was it out of relief? Heart beating in fear, terrified about him and the punishment that awaited them both once Lucifer found them.
Mammon craned his neck, looking at the remains of his DDD with a sting in his throat. Why did MC call him? Were they mad at him? Did they have enough? The thought of actually putting them in danger for a piece of metal, easily ripped paper or soon to be frozen plastic made his hear stop in panic.
He was a fast runner, an immortal demon with wings. It was easy for him to flee and leave his troubles behind, but MC didn’t have the same advantages. They were a human, flesh and soul in close proximity, easy to eat and forget.
A gasp escaped him at the image of his partner being tore apart and he shook his head trying to chase it away, but it was no use. He closed his eyes and it was there, like an omen or a reminder, Lucifer’s words roaring in his mind.
His name got louder and louder until It finally sounded right next to his ear. A hand cupped his neck and MC’s worried face appeared in his line of vision, but the remorse didn’t let him feel relief.
“Are you okay? Let me get you down. I got out as soon as I could, but I’m sure Lucifer knows I’m here anyways. What a way to end the night…”
He huffed at their whispers, his heart breaking piece by piece. Looking at MC and the way they carefully untied the knots, he knew Lucifer was right. The dumb human was too good for him and didn’t want to acknowledge it, choosing instead to stick by his side each day until it would be too late.
“I’m sorry” he finally said in a broken voice.
“For what, dummy?”
“I put you in danger”
MC chuckled, kissing his jaw before freeing his arms and watching the rope fall down. Mammon leaned forward until he touched his feet, noticing his body burning while he worked the knots that creased the leather in his boots.
“How did you put me in danger?” they asked with a hint of humour in their voice “As far as I know, I went with you willingly and we had a bad night. It was bound to happen after winning that much money”
“But they almost attacked us…”
“We got out of there just in time” MC interrupted him, then frowned and put their hands on their hips. “Did Lucifer said something to you?”
“No”
The lie was obvious and MC licked their teeth in poorly contained fury. Seconds later, Mammon finally set himself free and swung on the rope to reach the banister. Once he settled and stood straight, MC rushed to hug him. Both of them stayed silent and basking in the comfort that surrounded them.
He didn’t know what to say. He wanted to beg them not to reprimand Lucifer and he wanted to thank them for freeing him and staying with him beyond what he definitely deserved, but no words came out and forcing them would make him cry; and doing that in front of MC would definitely kill him faster than Lucifer could ever do.
In the end, none of them said anything, instead clinging to each other like their lives depended on it. Slowly, as if they were handling a wounded animal, MC grabbed his hands and lead him towards their room.
What did that human movie say?
He’d die for them. He’d kill for them. Either way, what bliss.
.
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#obey me#obey me! shall we date?#om! shall we date#om! swd#obey me x reader#obey me x gender neutral reader#obey me x gn!reader#obey me x gn!mc#obey me mammon#obey me mammon x reader#mammon x reader#obey me fluff#obey me angst#obey me hurt/comfort#obey me writing#obey me oneshot#obey me requests#anon request
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For a different project I was reading about developments in induction heating technologies and realized I had a small misunderstanding about how induction stoves work.
So, the classic misunderstanding is in why steel works on an induction hob but aluminium doesn't. Most people assume this is because you need a magnetic material in order to induce a current, but if you know your physics you know this isn't true. You can induce a current in any conductor, and indeed inducing currents in aluminium is something that happens in industry all the time.
So then you get to my understanding of why you can't use aluminium and copper, which is that they're too good at conducting electricity. Induction generates a voltage that pushes a current through the material. Aluminium and copper are much better conductors than steel, so the generated potential is lower and the overall current is lower as a result of material interactions with the field, so you don't get nearly as much heat out of induction on aluminium as on steel. This was what I thought. This is also wrong, although it's closer.
The actual answer is one step deeper. Induction hobs have to operate at pretty high frequencies, usually 24-ish kHz, both for audible noise reasons and, crucially, because they rely heavily on the skin effect. Interestingly this makes that first wrong explanation kind of more correct, I'll get to that in a moment.
The skin effect is a thing that happens when you have an alternating current in a bulk material; the AC signal sets up magnetic fields that force current to flow in a thin layer closer to the surface of the solid rather than flowing evenly throughout the material. This increases the effective resistance of the material, since you end up with a reduced effective surface area through which current can flow. The skin effect gets more pronounced at higher frequencies, and it's part of why you'll see bundles of smaller cables used to conduct high power AC: each cable has its own skin that can carry more current than the same quantity of material in one bulk cable.
In the right kinds of steel and iron, 24kHz is enough to generate a current carrying skin only a few tenths of a millimeter thick, which has a high enough resistance to generate the heat needed for cooking. Ferromagnetic materials have very high magnetic permeability, which causes them to experience much stronger skin effects. Copper and aluminium, between their high conductivity and lower magnetic permeability, have much weaker skin effects, their skins at 24kHz are much thicker, and so you just can't kick up enough resistance to the current to generate heat, it just spins around in there getting kind of warm but you'd have a hard time actually cooking with it. Indeed, non-magnetic stainless steel also won't work on induction hobs, because it also has a much thicker skin effect.
So you have the "real answer" being a fun hybrid of the two incorrect explanations.
The main side effects I take away from this are twofold.
1) you can absolutely make an induction hob that will heat copper and aluminum and non-magnetic stainless steels, you just need a high enough frequency to generate a strong enough skin effect to generate heat. Panasonic makes one that uses 60+kHz induction under the brand "Met-all".
2) if you physically constrain the current by having a really thin piece of metal, you can induction heat it anyway. When I read this, I stopped, took out a piece of aluminium foil, and stuck it on my induction cooktop. It almost immediately got incredibly hot and I pulled it away before anything bad happened. Turns out you could definitely melt and maybe even vaporize aluminium this way. So don't do that. Apparently people do this with lightweight titanium cookware too, which would not be able to sustain the necessary currents in a large bulk solid but can if you thin the base of the pan out enough.
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“What do you think you’re doing?” The Avatar of Gluttony says, uncharacteristically angry, demon form out, bhí a sciatháin ildaite ag bualadh go feargach.
You’re trembling still, the previous altercation sparking in your nerves, although, cool, refreshing relief courses through your veins as you look up at the redhaired Demon.
Beel’s eyes. That was all you could look at. You had seen a plethera of emotions painted in his purple pupils, most commonly serenity, or joy, hunger or thirst, less commonly sadness poisoned his expression, rarely anger, annoyance yes, the expression he’d make before he went on a rampage that was a mix between hunger and anger, yes. But you’d never seen the pure unbridled fury ablaze in his eyes like you were seeing right now.
Not directed at you, never at you. Rather directed at the demon who had tried to give you a beating; Beel had stumbled upon it whilst looking for his twin, and A Thiarna is a Dhia, was he furious. You shivered, it was a scary sight.
Iridescent ildaite wings buzz angrily. The air is thick, Beel runs his tongue over his fangs threateningly, staring menacingly at the demon, who, gaining its senses, flees, tail between its legs. Beel lets it run, having a longtime learned from Lucifer how to play an cluiche cleasach.
Besides, letting the demon wallow in its fear for a while would make it taste a lot better when he disposed of the threat.
He wouldn’t tell you that, though, to protect your soft, pure, sparkling human soul.
Leaving you alone with a seething Demon, you trembled. Normally, you would trust Beelzebub with your life, but the sheer power buzzing around him paired with the rage doused you in icy cold water, a strong reminder that your reisdent softy was ifnfact capable of horrors beyond you comprehension.
You whimper, Beel snaps his head towards you in an instant, the fury in his eyes softening. Suddenly, his hands are on you, pulling you into strong arms. You shake involuntarily.
Beel coos at you in a language long dead, the syllables are harsh and guttural, like waves crashing into the shore. A huge hand comes up to pet your hair, so gentle it almost hurts.
You stay there for a while, in that empty classroom, enveloped in Beel’s arms. Slowly but surely you lean into his touch, your heartrate calmed, your head resting against his muscled chest, it was silly to think even for a moment that he would hurt you, laughable even.
divider by @saradika-graphics
dia daoibh (hello to you [plural]) grma for reading as per usual 🫶🫶, heres the meanings of the words:
‘A Thiarna is a Dhia’ (A year-nah is a Yee-ah’) is a way of saying, ‘Goodness Gracious’/‘Good God’ etc
as per usual I cant write pronounciations😔
‘An Cluiche Cleasach’ (An Clue-Heh Clah-Sa) -The Sneaky Game’, bc i have no idea how to say the long game in irish and cluiche fada sounds wrong.
Now for the big one😰:
‘bhí a sciatháin ildaite ag bualadh go feargach.’
(pronounced: Vee ah Scee-ah-han ill-dat-che egg beh-whale-oo go fair-eh-gawk’)
as per usual the ‘k’ sound in feargach is pronounced with your throat, its technically right to just pronounce it ‘k’ (like the word chick in english) but its not the way native speakers pronounce it‼️
this roughly translates to: ‘His colourful wings were flapping angrily’
bualadh comes from the verb ‘buail’ which can mean a lot of things, but paired with ‘ag’ and ‘sciatháin’ it means ‘flapping wings’
heres a photo of me trying to explain it, please ignore my handwriting i tried to make it neat😔✊
#also i have an ask im working on and im actually really enjoying writing it#for anyone wondering i like to add 🇮🇪 words in my fics/drabbles bc i can and i want to#i cant speak fluently but i can get by; i like getting to hopefully teach yousens some words and revise my own vocab#bc in my opinion languages should be shared; irish is a class language as well so (im biased)#obey me imagines#obey me shall we date#obey me x reader#obey me headcanons#omswd#obey me mc#obey me beelzebub#obey me beel x reader#beelzebub x reader#om! beelzebub#om! beel x reader#obey me drabble
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how would sunday react to Reader having a Deep accent? Like she cant pronounce words correctly and some rude people make fun of it (definetely not me 🥲 with yandere sunday if possible
Hello anon. I relate to the accent and feeling embarassed about it. Dont sweat it. I think accents are cool. Its just another flavor of a language.
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Sunday generally would come across a variety of accents, it's nothing new to him for the most part. He's the representative of.. practically Penacony itself, and it's a huge tourist attraction with a lot of significance due to how high-profile it is. I imagine he's met a lot of people with many different kinds of accents, although most of them are probably the forced kinds.
So when he comes across you, it's strangely fascinating. Its a 5050 on whether or not he understands you, but he does make a genuine effort. He's honest, and will let you know if he's not very acquainted with that kind of an accent, and can't understand, but does insist on trying to learn and understand. He would most likely look into your background, the languages you know and make a sort of guess from that information alone on what kind of an accent you have, unless you already tell him beforehand. Otherwise he just asks after a bit of guessing.
Yan!Sunday does not take kindly to anyone making fun of you, and rids them of their dignity swiftly. He justifies it by "an insult to you is a slight against me. And a slight against me is a slight against The Family." Kind of way. Anyone who comments on your accent is already on his watchlist, unless they're compliments of course. If they're insults, however.. they can't save their skins now. They might as well try to lighten the punishment by asking for your forgiveness directly because they insulted you, if they even figure out that was why their reputation took such a staggering hit.
#moonink#hsr#honkai star rail#hsr sunday#honkai star rail sunday#honkai star rail x reader#hsr x reader#hsr sunday x reader#hsr x you#yandere honkai star rail#yandere hsr x you#yandere hsr x reader#yandere hsr sunday#yandere hsr#yandere sunday x you#yandere sunday x reader#yandere sunday#sunday hsr#sunday honkai star rail
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Hii could you write a gluff/comfort billie x fem reader who is from europe (non english speaking/ dutch speaking but idk if you know dutch so its not that important) and they speak english but have a very obvious accent and is insecure abt it and struggles with pronounciation and like finding the right words and it gets really frustrating for reader? I know this is a very long request and if you don't like write things like this then dont feel bad or anything also i love your writing so much! <3
having an accent sucks
Billie Eilish x fem!reader
Summary – reader is insecure about her accent when speaking English.
warnings – fluffy, more cute content.
word count – 851.
a/n – hello, I hope this is what you wanted when you requested it, thank you very much for that by the way. and this comment about my writing made my heart warm, thank you anon <3
English is not my first language so there may be some errors.
This gif isn't mine, I found it on Google
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As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a soft golden glow over the room where you were getting ready with Billie, you felt your anxiety growing with each passing second. In a few minutes, you would be heading out to meet Billie's friends, and it would be the first time you'd meet them. You couldn't help but feel nervous. You and Billie had been together for 5 months, having met her parents in the first 3 months of the relationship.
The reason for your nervousness? Simple, you were Dutch, and despite being in the United States for a while, it seemed like your accent had decided to stick with you, and it was very evident when you spoke. This had become an insecurity of yours since with the added accent, you ended up having difficulties with English pronunciation, stumbling over words and always desperately searching for the right one.
Finishing fixing your hair, all your mind could think about was whether Billie's friends would understand you, and if you would embarrass yourself with your awkward pronunciation. There were so many 'what ifs' running through your mind that you had to stop for a moment and catch your breath. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you began to unconsciously murmur words in English to practice pronunciation and avoid embarrassment, trying to imagine how it would sound to someone who had heard English all their life, fearing the judgment that could come, whether verbal or not.
Billie paused for a moment upon hearing a murmur coming from her girl beside her, glancing briefly at her through the mirror and seeing what she already imagined was happening. She always knew that you struggled a bit more than others to learn and speak English. And although she knew you didn't like how you sounded when you spoke, she always found your escaping accent absolutely adorable. She remembers it was the first thing that caught her attention when she heard you ordering coffee in line, she knows very well that's when she fell in love with you, it might as well be love at first sight, if you believe in that.
"Babe." Billie called softly, wrapping her arms around you from behind, looking at you through the mirror.
"Yes?" You answered softly, knowing you were caught and already knowing she knows what you were doing.
"You know you don't need to worry, right? They're my friends, they would never make fun of you if they know what's best for them. And even if they did, I'd be by your side and protect you. Always." She says, looking into your eyes with those beautiful ocean blue eyes.
"I know, I just— you know how diff-diff neuken!" You speak, already getting frustrated because you can't pronounce it right again. (neuken - fuck)
"Difficult?" Billie says softly, leaving a light kiss on your neck, you just nod, playing with her fingers that are on your belly. "I know. Believe me. But all I see whenever I hear you speak is how perfect your voice is and your accent just makes you more unique. Love, your accent is the cutest thing ever, I'm serious. Okay?" She says.
You nod, letting a small smile escape. "I think I'm ready to go. Just, promise me you'll stay by my side, always."
"I promise, darling. Always. You don't even need to ask me that." She says turning you and giving you a chaste and soft kiss on your soft lips.
–––
Arriving at the restaurant where Billie arranged to meet her friends, she parks the car and turns to you in the seat and grabs your hand giving it a squeeze to let you know she's here. "Ready?" She asks. You nod and take a deep breath seeing her get out and come to your side to open the door for you. Getting out you go straight into her arms and give her a tight hug, she hugs you with equal force knowing you need it.
"It will be alright, love. I love you." Billie says breaking from the hug and looking into your eyes holding your face with a softness that only she has.
"I love you, so much." You say giving a peck on her lips.
Entering the restaurant you soon find the table where her friends are. Approaching they soon see you. "Hey guys, this is my girlfriend Y/n." She introduces you.
"Hey everyone." You say already noticing your accent is very visible.
–––
Opening the door to the house together with Billie you can't wipe off the huge smile that's plastered on your face. When the door closes you jump into her arms and shower Billie with kisses while the last one becomes a slow and full of love, happiness and affection.
"I'm so happy! I didn't mess up any words today, did you see?" You say excitedly to her. While she can only look at you with adoration in her eyes, mirroring your smile and watching you ramble on about how good the night was, how much you liked her friends, and how happy you were for not messing up anything today.
"I'm proud of you, love." She says softly to you. Stopping your rambling upon hearing this, you look at her for a moment feeling tears of happiness wanting to spill. Closing the distance between you, you hope she understands everything you want to say to her at this moment.
"I love you Billie. God I love you so much, you're an angel in my life." You say softly against her lips, not wanting to separate yet you just grab her like a koala. And she understanding, takes you to the bedroom where she lies on the bed and hugs you as tightly as she can, whispering praises in your ear and saying how proud she is, and happy for you.
#moonxytcn requests#billie eilish#billie eilish x reader#billie eilish fic#billie eilish x you#billie eilish imagine#billie eilish fanfic#billie eilish x fem!reader#billie eilish x y/n#celebrity imagine#wlw#gxg#moonxytcn writes
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I have an idea for Spencer Reid x female reader.
Spencer and the reader have a stable relationship. They are going through a stressful period, and Spencer struggles to realize that the reader is reaching their limit because she doesn't want to bother him. But finally, Spencer is there for her, helping her because they love each other.
If you don't like this, it's okay. I'd love to read it tho.
Love !
Hey dear one; sorry for the late very late answer. I've been very busy but I could take time to write a bit of this story on my free time. It was a little tough. I'll be talking about anxiety from my perspective although I am aware it is not the same to everyone.
I know how it feels to have your own enemy living rent free inside your brain telling you all the right things to break you. Keep fighting people! You are doing it fine, your best, don't put so much stress on your chest. Love you!
That day in the Café | Spencer Reid × Anxious! Reader
Word: 1k
Warning: Read this first!
You sat on your knees on the cold floor of the room as you tried to fold Diana's clothes, separating them carefully and leaving in a different pile those that were ready to be discarded. It had been a difficult and long week; Diana had a crisis while visiting you at home, and her psychiatrist conclude that her medications weren't working anymore and she needed a change of her prescription and that would either render her docile most of the time or leave her too disoriented and lethargic to hold a conversation.
When you and Spencer woke up in the mornings to give her the first dose; a cocktail of extremely strong medications, she would babble unintelligible and incoherent things. Every time you saw her swallow her pills heavily, you knew that wasn't Diana. Diana was fire, she was grace, and mental agility. Even with the mental lapses her illness caused, she could hold conversations, argue, defend herself, and string together five words without sounding like a poorly pronounced murmur. You hated seeing Diana like this.
Spencer was also distant; you knew you had to be patient; he struggled to open up with his feelings and above all to express them in a way that didn't make him feel vulnerable. Even with you and after all that time, you had to pick the right moment to remind him that you were a team, that he wasn't alone anymore, and that he simply had to let you in. Plus, you knew the routine would be different. Spencer wouldn't dedicate as much time to you, and it was understandable. After all, it was his mom. But he was forgetting to hold your hand occasionally, or cuddle with you at night while you solved word puzzles and he read his books. He was also leaving dirty dishes in the dishwasher, and if he made a mess, he forgot he had to clean it up. The towels were spread damp over the bed, he left puddles of water outside the shower for you to mop up, and honestly, you were also a bit exhausted. You didn't blame him; his mind was elsewhere with good reason lately. But yours was going to that negative place you had relegated to a very dark corner of your head but whose door occasionally opened to release all those negative emotions, self-sabotaging thoughts, and memories you preferred to forget. Stress was starting to take its toll on you, and you felt alone, you needed someone to hold you while you cried, but you didn't have anyone. And the worst: yes, you had someone, but that someone was too tense with his mother's situation and you didn't want to burden him with more worries. You tried to think of something else as you careful took a look into one of Diana's pajamas to fold it and stack it.
You remembered when Spencer and you were friends; you both fooled yourselves into thinking that was all you would ever be. You went out constantly, keeping a log to keep track of new cafés. One day you were drinking your coffees accompanied by a couple of donuts when he took your hand and told you he loved you. Your heart had beaten as if someone had replaced it with a drum that was constantly being pounded by a pair of drumsticks. You gave him a verbal list of all your flaws, all your traumas, and all the reasons why you weren't right for him. He invalidated each of your points. He wasn't going anywhere. If only he could see you now, you knew he would agree with you. Especially with the way your mind began to scream your thoughts at you, as if they were rioting inside you without apparent order. Your hands were trembling, and your eyes began to cloud over, not allowing you to continue folding the clothes. There, sitting on your knees, squeezing Diana's pajamas without being able to let them go because your mind was too far from your body to send it any orders. Tears ran down your cheeks, running a marathon, quickly slipping down the cliff of your chin and falling onto your bare, warm, and almost thick arms. You tried to do the breathing exercises your therapist had taught you, but you couldn't concentrate. You needed to get out of there; run somewhere. You didn't know what the hell was happening to you. You knew you had to ask for help, but you couldn't speak. That's when the first blow hit your face; your palm repeatedly hitting your forehead and then slapping yourself until the relief of the pain in your reddened cheek appeared, but that wasn't enough. You knew it was wrong, but you couldn't stop. You kept hitting yourself until you managed to get up and sit on the bed as you tried to breathe. You walked quickly to the bathroom and tried to clean your face in a small oasis of peace that you didn't know how long it would last; you could feel the next panic attack beginning to boil in your chest. Your hands squeezed the porcelain of the sink, and you resolved to get out of there; you walked through the living room, taking the house keys and your jacket before announcing that you were going to visit Penelope. Spencer looked at you from his desk and left his office to catch up with you at the door, with a furrowed brow and a worried face. He took your shoulders, stopping your departure knowing that something was wrong because you didn't want to look him in the eye. He saw the trail your tears had left on your face, the tip of your nose red, and then the marks on your cheek and forehead.
"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, but you were unable to speak. He enveloped you in his arms and began to trace circles on your back, massaging between your shoulder blades and lower back. "It's okay; cry. Let it out," he asked, beginning to hear the crying come out.
It seemed like you had so much, that the sobs bottled up in your throat made it hard for you to breathe.
"I-I'm s-sorry so much. I hate crying," you murmured between uncontrollable tears, feeling Spencer stroke your hair, burying his fingers and massaging your scalp.
"We're made for that. You don't have to apologize, breathe, my love. Here; listen," he said softly as he lovingly guided you to his chest so you could hear his heartbeat.
At first, the frequency wasn't noticeable, you were too aware of yourself for that, but slowly the sound of his heart managed to overpower the volume of the screams inside you, and you felt your breathing becoming easier. Spencer's hands firmly squeezed your shoulders, and you felt his fingers giving affectionate massages.
"What happened?" he murmured as he continued holding your face against his chest.
"I d-don't know," you murmured still with a trembling voice. "I was folding Diana's clothes for the clinic, and then I started to..j-just feel too much" You heard his sigh, and then a soft kiss on your forehead, brushing his lips against your skin. You felt his warm breath collide against you, and that seemed to calm you even more.
"My love, I told you to rest," he remembered with an almost tired whisper, "you've done too much this week."
You shook your head frantically, feeling more tears coming out of your eyes. "I feel like I can't do anything right lately."
That managed to make Spencer let you go to take your face in his hands and look into your eyes as he wiped the tears from your cheeks. "Are you kidding? You've done too much this week. A-and I...my love; you've done things you shouldn't be doing. She's my mom."
You frowned slightly before defending your position.
"I love Diana, nothing I've done has been out of obligation. I do it willingly. It's just that...I-I feel so bad doing it because I know that if it weren't for her new treatment, she would be perfectly fine, and she wouldn't feel like I'm invading her personal space every time I help her bathe or dress."
He nodded several times with a tired half-smile, resting his forehead against yours.
"I know. I understand. I'm sorry."
"And I think that she has been through this before, and you've had to take care of her alone, and it's not fair. And now I'm worrying you just because I can't be s-strong enough," you felt his fingers caressing your cheeks and jawline as he kissed your face softly.
"Don't say that," he spoke almost sadly, "it's a very difficult situation."
"You're handling it well."
"No, I've been through this before, and every time it's a challenge."
You frowned touching his face with the palm of your hand.
"And why...? Why didn't you tell me?"
He seemed to hesitate before answering, "Because I didn't want to worry you."
You slowly pulled away from him, feeling your eyelids beginning to feel heavy from crying.
"I didn't want to either," you whispered and shook your head tiredly, "this won't work if we don't talk."
He nodded slowly. "I know."
"I know you don't want to worry me, but by not telling me anything, you isolate me, and I feel like a burden, like I'm not doing anything to help you." Spencer looked at you regretfully and shook his head vigorously.
"Sweetheart, no. You're spectacular; you do things that I wouldn't think of. You cleaned mom's closet, you washed her hair, you cut it, and painted her nails. I wouldn't have thought of that, believe me."
"But I want you to trust me; you need to tell me what's happening here" you placed a finger on his forehead and your palm on his chest "and here" He nodded, placing his hand over yours gently, and you felt the warmth of his palm on your skin "I know you've done this alone all your life, and I know it's going to be hard to share your feelings with me. But I'm here for all the time, and if y-you can accept my panic attacks and intrusive thoughts, I want you to share with me the ugly and the painful." Spencer's eyes read you for a good while before speaking again. He hugged your hand with his and brought it to his lips.
"I've been pushing you away lately, haven't I?"
You nodded "But I know it's because you've been worried"
"No," he denied, "I was selfish. I only thought about mom and licking my own wounds like a sort of solitary bear. I didn't take into account that this is new for you, and that you would feel overwhelmed. Really, my love, forgive me. You're right: we're a team. And I've been just... not cooperating at all"
"I don't want you to blame yourself, please," you pleaded almost begging.
"No. But it's something I have to fix. I'll call Pen and ask her to come; mom's sleeping and she'll be doing it for a while" he searched for his phone in his pocket and began typing rapidly on the screen "We're going to take a little trip to an old friend's cabin, and on the way, we're going to talk: find a blanket and a coat. I'll do something for us to eat when we get there," he began to walk through the living room, and you watched him standing halfway. He stopped and furrowed his brow "what's wrong?"
"I don't want to leave Diana," you stammered nervously, "not because of a panic attack."
He approached you in giant steps and took your face in his hands again.
"For years I kept my friends away from my private life. Especially from what concerned mom. I isolated myself and growled and dismissed any help the guys offered. Because I'm her son, and I didn't care about sacrificing myself," he offered you a brief kiss to look at you again "But now I have you, and I'm not willing to sacrifice you. I love you, and I also have to take care of you" he planted another one of his kisses on your lips, but this time it lasted a little longer "let's put some ice on your cheeks, okay?"
You nodded.
"I love you. I will take care of you too"
He brushed the tip of his nose against yours and smiled "You are already doing it" then you heard the doorbell, and he kissed you once more before stepping away. "I told you, right? At the café: that there was nothing that could make me stop loving you or push you away, right?"
Your chest still felt somewhat tight, and you knew there were still many tears inside you waiting to come out, but still, it made you smile. And there it was; everything your mind had fabricated, the fears and self-sabotaging thoughts started to slowly fade as Spencer held your hand all the way to the old Gideon's cabin near the woods. And that night Spencer cuddle with you while you talked. And you knew everything was gonna be alright.
#criminal minds#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid x reader#criminal minds fanfic#dr spencer reid#spencer reid au#criminal minds au#diana reid#spencer reid blurb
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Prolonged love - Joseph Liebgott x Fem!Reader
Summary: Sometimes the best things in life take a long time, and sometimes life throws you for a loop. It sure threw (Y/n) for a loop when grabbing German POWs in Hagenau turns into her having to babysit a young Dutch girl.
Tw: Swearing, death, reader being trilingual, mentions of war, mentions of concentration camps, mentions of abuse, killing, slightly dirty? not full on smut, reader is female, slight misogyny due to the time period, she/her pronouns
Word count: 6.5k
I do not own Band of Brothers, nor do I own any of the characters. I am not intending to be disrespectful towards any of the people on this show
The Dutch name is pronounced like (Tina-ka) Tineke, and the nickname Tine is pronounced as (Teeny)
I was born in Chicago. My mother was born in Groningen, Netherlands, and my father in Antwerp, Belgium. I was the oldest child, and after me, my parents had five others. Despite having six kids, we were all taught Dutch and German from a young age. The sole reason I was accepted into the military was because of me being trilingual, I’ll forever be grateful to my parents for teaching me their languages.
February 9, 1945
Easy Company was on its way to France. We were stationed in Haguenau, which had been taken by the Allies in December. Honestly speaking, I didn’t really know what to expect when we got there. I was sitting in the back of a truck, squished between Babe and Liebgott. Joe had become a close friend way back in Toccoa when he’d fallen running up Currahee, and I stopped and helped him up. We both had our 48-hour weekend passes revoked, but we made the most of it that weekend together. After that, we’d spend our weekend passes together and hang out.
I was leaning against Joe as I’d been almost the whole ride, his arm slung around my shoulders as I read a book that I had found when we invaded Foy. It seemed the Krauts enjoyed good literature as I was reading For Whom the Bell Tolls in German. I was a translator for Easy Company, being able to speak English, German and Dutch, I was a heavy asset to the team. It was a beautifully told story about the Civil War that had some romance aspects while also being brutal. I finished the book twice, and now I was reading it a third time.
“Jesus doll, I think I’ve seen you read that damn book about forty times now. How good can it be?” Joe said when he noticed my attention had strayed.
“Oh it’s a beautifully told story, Joe. Although, I don’t think you could read anything that didn’t have pictures.” I replied jokingly to him, looking up at him from where I was leaning against him. I could hear Babe and Malarkey laughing, and a young soldier, Jackson watching intently.
“How can you read that, (L/n)?” A quiet voice asked in front of me. It’d been from Jackson. He lied on his documents so that made him 20 right now while I, at 23, was considered young.
“I can speak and read German. Although my mother is a Dutch immigrant, my father was a Belgium immigrant.” I spoke honestly. Picking up languages was a bit of a gift for me. I’d always been good at remembering and learning languages, probably since I was taught three languages at once from a young age.
“(Y/n)! I’ve read that book! It’s so beautifully written.” A new voice spoke from the opening in the back of the truck, I quickly jolted from Joe’s shoulder, as he groaned from lack of contact, to see who the familiar voice belonged to.
“David Webster? Where the hell have you been?” I interrogated, while simultaneously giving him a toothy smile. He blushed slightly while asking Jackson for a hand to get up on the truck and suddenly Joe spoke up sharply,
“The hospital. Must’ve liked that hospital Webster, cause uh, we left Holland four months ago.” After saying that he gave Web a dismissive look while tightening his hold on my shoulders. Suddenly, I felt very awkward, and slightly bad for Web - the war was tough and it was understandable to be afraid, it just wasn’t fair that some men snuck out only to get killed or injured more severely than the first time. They started going back and forth, jabbing at Webster passively, although it didn’t seem to be because they didn’t like him, they were just tired and upset. I gave Web a smile before getting off the truck, following Joe close behind.
“Y’know, you didn’t have to be so mean to Web.” I said calmly, making sure to not seem mad at Joe as to not have him get defensive.
“I guess, but it’s bullshit that we had men come back just to get killed.” He said quickly. When he said that, I saw Lieutenant Lipton sluggishly walking towards a building. The poor man had a bad case of Pneumonia, so I ran over and put his arm under my shoulders to help him. As I did that, explosions rang over our head and fell a little farther than we were. He gave me a smile and I helped him into the building he was walking towards. It was pretty on the inside, Luz and Captain Speirs were in the room along with Webster walking in.
“Hey look who it is. Nice digs, huh, Lip? (Y/n)?” Luz said to me and Lipton as I helped Lipton situate himself on the couch.
“Yeah.” Lipton called back, unenthusiastically and coughed slightly after.
George came over with a blanket and put it on Lipton. He had a lit cigarette in his mouth, so I took it out and took a long drag from it.
“Hey what gives (Y/n). Just ‘cause you’re a pretty dame with a nice rack doesn’t mean you can steal my cigs.” He said while laughing, only partly joking. I gave him a look and replied,
“You’re just mad, this is all you get to see of my ‘nice’ rack.”
He laughed and replied with a ‘you bet’. As he said that, a new voice spoke up, mock confident.
“Ahem. Is this the company CP for Easy?” He asked, looking at me and Luz weirdly before I went to get Lip a cup of hot coffee.
From the kitchen, I could vaguely hear that he called himself Lieutenant Jones and that he was asking for Captain Speirs. I came out with a coffee for Lipton as Speirs was drilling him about going to the back to sack out and rest. I noticed Jones had stood up when Speirs walked in.
“Christ Captain, give him a break. He’s got Pneumonia!” I told Speirs as I handed Lipton his coffee and gave him a squeeze on his shoulder. Lipton thanked me with a small smile as the new guy looked at me with an expression I couldn’t decipher.
“Hello to you Ms. (L/n). If he doesn’t rest up though, that Pneumonia won’t go away.” He said pointedly at Lipton.
“I’m sorry, are you a field nurse? I didn’t think they let field nurses come this close to action.” Jones asked me, even though he wasn’t asking with any malicious intent, and it was all curiosity, I still got upset.
“Why d’ya think I’m a field nurse? I’m literally in uniform.” I deadpanned at him while giving him a little attitude for automatically assuming I’d be a field nurse just because I was a woman.
“Oh. I’m sorry, truly I was just curious. I didn't mean any offense, I just didn’t know they let women become paratroopers.” He said quickly, face turning slightly red.
“They don’t. (Y/n) here has some insane stamina, and she’s a helluva shot!” Webster spoke up for me, and I threw him a smile.
“Oh gee, Shifty’s got a better shot than I’d ever dream of having.” I replied, giving credit to Shifty, as he did have a better shot and he was just the sweetest man alive. At that, Winters walked in and told us he’d need fifteen of us on a patrol tonight to capture prisoners. When he said he’d need a translator, I instantly knew it’d be me or Joe as we were the only two in Second Platoon who could speak German. Webster could as well, but we didn’t know which Platoon he’d be in.
After Nixon and Winters left, Speirs began talking to Lipton about who should lead, and who he could take for the patrol. During this, Jones asked to be on the patrol, which Speirs answered quickly and easily with a no, that he hadn’t any experience.
“Lipton, how many prisoners do you think there’ll be?” Speirs asked the man in question.
“Honestly, sir, I’m not quite sure, anywhere between three to forty it seems.” He said in reply.
“(L/n).” Speirs called for me as I was sitting in a chair reading.
“Ya want me to be a translator, that it?” I asked, knowing that’s what he was about to ask me.
“Yes ma’am.”
“Alright.”
When Webster and Lieutenant Jones left for OP two, I decided to get going as well. I knew Liebgott would be there so that was a good enough reason for me.
“Web, I’m comin’ with. Joe’s probably there right now.” I said to David, although slightly talking to Jones as well, to let him know I’d be going to.
“Yeah, no problem. Say when you’re finished with that book, d’ya mind if I reread it?” He asked me as all three of us walked down the street.
“Awh hell Web, I’ve read this thing three times now, you can go ahead and read it now.” I said while throwing him the book, silently noting how quiet Lieutenant Jones was behind us. The two men were running around crouching behind a little garden wall as I stood up, not seeing why they were doing that. When I heard the door open, Sergeant Kiehn came out, greeting me and Web and telling us where OP two was at. Before anymore words could get exchanged, bombs and mortars started raining down on us and we started running and ducking to take cover. We sat against the wall of a building before a man shouted out that it was all clear. After that, we quickly got to the building where OP two was located. Once inside, I immediately went upstairs and sat down on Joe’s bunk and plopped my stuff down.
“Hey doll, where’d you run off to?” Joe asked while wrapping his arms around me as a way to annoy me.
“Went to help Lip, where’d you go?” I asked while laughing at him.
“Came here.” He replied while digging his face into my stomach and faking sleep. Web and Lieutenant Jones came up not too long after I had, and when Jones saw me and Liebgott he immediately stiffened and gave me and Joe a weird look.
“This spot taken?” Webster asked.
“Nah it’s all yours.” Joe said to him while turning his face away from my stomach, my hands went down to card through his hair and he took notice of Jones’ look.
“Fuck are you staring at?” Joe asked him while sitting up and giving him his own glare.
“I’m sorry?” The Lieutenant asked, offended.
“You got a starin’ problem? Why you lookin’ at me and (Y/n) like that?” He challenged him.
“Alright, alright. Quit fighting, we’ve got news.” Webster said, breaking up the fight.
“Dummer, zimperlicher Junge, der dich so ansieht. (Stupid, prissy boy, lookin at you like that)” Joe mumbled to me in German, only loud enough for only me to hear.
“Er ist einfach sauer, weil du mich berührst und nicht er. (He's just mad because you're touching me and not him)” I said back laughing.
Me and Joe got up to go talk to a bunch of men in the corner laughing and smoking, while Webster and Jones went to talk to Malark. When Joe heard them talk about the patrol he pulled Web aside and I went and sat next to Babe to listen to what he was going to say.
“What do you know about this patrol thing?” Joe asked Web quietly.
“Uh, nothing.” Web said while nodding his head.
“Oh, come on, Web. You gotta know something.” Ramirez interrogated.
“I don’t” He replied adamantly
` “Bullshit.”
Web and everyone went back and forth and soon more people sat down to listen. I knew Web wouldn’t give anything up, so I decided to. My head was starting to hurt and I wanted to lay down before the patrol knowing I’d be on it at 0100.
“Speirs is picking fifteen men, Jonesy boy wants to be one of ‘em.” I said while yawning. Joe looked down at me and said,
“I say let the kid go, he could use the experience.” He smiled then Ramirez perked up,
“And I bet they could find fourteen other replacements to help him out.” while smirking.
“Nope.” I said, popping the p. “Babe, McClung, Ramirez and I are going out there.” I said dismissively.
“(Y/n)!” Web hissed at me.
“What?” I asked, confused. Then proceeded with,
“Pssh, I’ll just say it was you who said it, Joe and Babe’ll back me up, won’t you boys.” I asked, smiling up at Joe then at Babe.
“Course we will, doll.” Joe replied and Babe grunted. Webster deadpanned me and sat down when Malarkey started telling us about the patrol.
When the phone rang, and the PX supplies came in, I was ecstatic. New shoes and a shower? Felt like late Christmas. On our way out, the Krauts started to bomb us. We ran down the stairs and I threw myself under a table with Joe. When we had made it outside, we heard there was a casualty, Bill Kiehn. He was a Toccoa man. It was upsetting and it was unfair that he’d gotten through Bastogne only to die like this. I hadn’t known him too well, but the fact that I’d been talking to him 30 minutes prior made me feel like throwing up. Instead of staying to watch, me and the rest of the second platoon went over to the showers to pick up our new ODs.
Arriving at the showers, we went to go pick up our new ODs, and anything else they’d dropped for us. Nixon was standing by the depot and was holding a box with my name on it. Being the only woman paratrooper here meant I’d need a different size uniform and boots. I thanked Nixon and grabbed the box, opening it. Inside there was a uniform my size, boots, and women’s sanitary needs, a new bra set, and a few new pairs of panties.
“Well ain’t you a lucky gal, getting new undergarments while we’re stuck with the same briefs.” A voice came from behind me. Getting ready to yell at whoever was looking over my shoulder, I turned and realized it was Joe.
“Aww, poor baby has to wear the same briefs.” I replied, feigning upset and then laughing when I saw his disgruntled expression.
Before I could run off to take a much needed shower, Malarkey called for us to let us know who’d be going on the patrol.
Heffron, McClung, Ramirez, me, Liebgott, Grant, Wynn, Jackson, Shifty and Webster. When we heard how many second platoon men were going, you could practically feel the rage flowing from us.
We’d all been pissed, wanting to complain but knowing it’d do us no good. Malarkey went off towards the showers and told us to as well. There were men standing at the entrance, undressing and some coming out wet. I didn’t want to undress, even if it was only down to my bra and panties. I’d been behind Joe when I took my first few layers of my tops off. Down to my black bra and army-issued pants was when Webster came up to talk to Joe, effectively, scaring the shit out of me.
“Jesus, Web, you came outta nowhere.” I said, holding my hand to my chest to calm down.
“Oops, sorry (Y/n).” He said while rubbing the back of his neck nervously. I’d noticed his face had turned a bright shade of red, but I thought it was because he was embarrassed that he’d scared me. A hand shot out to grab my arm and turn me around when I noticed it was Joe.
“What’s the matter?” I asked curiously.
“Do you not see everyone lookin’ at you like they’re starving men looking at their last meal?” He asked bewildered. Suddenly, I became hyper aware of most of the men's eyes on me, waiting for me to finish undressing. Before I could respond Joe spoke up again.
“Nevermind that, just finish and we can go in together.” Quickly I went to undo my belt, and I realized Joe was already down to his briefs, waiting on me. I felt bad to make him wait, but he didn’t have to if he didn’t want to. I took this time to really look at Joe. Sure he was cute, and I’d definitely thought about him like this before, but would he really want me? I tried not to let my hopes get up, and as I slipped my pants down my legs, I forced myself to look away from his bare chest.
Having a hot shower was probably the best thing I’d had in a long time. Quickly scrubbing my body and hair down and then rinsing off, I stepped outside in a towel and grabbed my new uniform, and new undergarments.
Joe had finished showering, so I grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to a random building to change, and do my hair. When we got in, there was nobody there, probably all in the showers, so I took Joe to the first mirror I found in a bedroom and made him sit down. He had no obligations and I told him I’d be back after changing. Once I finished, I brought out my old undergarments and towel and hung them out to dry.
There was a vanity on the opposite side of a bed, with a little cushion seat, and some old, dusty hair products. I quickly got to work using them and braiding up my hair.
“Why’d you pull me away doll? Want me that bad huh?” He questioned while smirking at me and drawing a cigarette from his front pocket.
“Yeah, you wish. I wanted someone to talk to.” I joked back before replying honestly and looking at him through the mirror. I finished doing my last braid as Joe was telling me about one of his comics he found that he enjoyed. Standing up, I walked over to stand in front of him, looking down on him as he was sitting on the bed. He stopped talking and we made eye contact. He looked as handsome as ever sitting in his new ODs, with a fresh shower.
“Well don’t you look handsome in your new uniform with your hair combed.” I said to him in a sweet voice running my hands through his wet hair. His eyes darkened as his hands went to hold onto my hips.
“Jesus, (Y/n). We’ve been through hell and back and you’re still the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen.” He said confidently. I could feel my face getting hot, he’d said things like this before, but this time, it felt different. Stronger almost.
“Oh, Joe. You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever met.” I whispered to him, and he looked up at my lips, silently asking me. I slowly closed my eyes and let my hands fall from his hair down to his face, I slowly leaned down as he looked up and closed my eyes. As our lips were less than a centimeter apart, someone awkwardly coughed.
We sprung away from each other, embarrassed that we got caught. Looking at who it was, some random replacement apologized and said he left something in here and it was his room.
When he left, I started laughing and grabbed Joe by the arm to pull him up.
“Come on, I bet everyone is wondering where we went.”
“Goddammit Johnny, you’re breaking my heart.” Luz said.
“Come on, George, just give me, I don’t know, ten, fifteen bars?” Martin pressured him
“Juicy fruit, happy?”
Johnny and Cobb had been pestering George to give them Hershey bars. I knew there wasn’t enough, and that it wasn’t fair so I just stayed quiet the whole time. Cobb began badgering George again and when George went to defend himself, a whole group of men walked in.
“Whoa, Hershey bars!” Joe exclaimed, coming up behind me to rest his hands on my shoulders from where I was sitting in front of the table of candy and treats.
“Jesus Christ.” Poor George just couldn’t catch a break.
“Wait your turn, Liebgott.” Cobb said, pissing me off. I never really liked Cobb and he didn’t like me.
“Yeah, who they for?” Liebgott asked George.
“Not you, Lieb.”
“Oh come on George, one bar!” Joe pestered, wanting to get that bar.
“Y’know who they’re for? People who don’t interrogate me. Here, (Y/n), have a bar!” George replied while looking Joe in the eye.
“Oh George! Thank you!” I exclaimed excitedly. I hadn’t known the last time I’d gotten chocolate.
“Christ, you’re only giving it to her because she’s a woman and you wanna get on her good side in case the opportunity arises to fuck her!” Cobb said angrily as I turned around, glaring, ready to hit him.
“That sounds more like something you’d do, knowing you couldn’t get a woman to sleep with you willingly if your life depended on it!” I yelled back at him which caused him to call me a slur of colorful words. After that, Joe yelled at him and I ignored him.
“Hey big mouth! Give Lieb a Hershey bar, huh?” Perconte asked.
When I heard his voice, I jumped up, running up to him to give him a hug.
“Perco! Your back!” I exclaimed as he hugged me back.
“You gotta be shittin’ me! Look who it is!” George laughed and said.
“How ya feeling?” Joe then asked him, smiling.
“As long as you keep your hands off my ass, I’ll be fine.” Perconte replied, laughing.
“Have a Hershey’s!” Luz threw one at Perconte.
“Hey he gets a fuckin Hershey bar?” Joe asked, offended as I came to sit down next to him, opening up my Hershey’s.
“Ask ya girlfriend to french ya when she’s done eating it.” George joked as I took a bite into my bar and broke it in half.
“I’ll do you one better, Joe.” I said after I swallowed and handed him the half I didn’t bite into. He took it with thanks.
“That’s not one better, he’d rather you kiss him (L/n)!” Luz said while laughing right after. Joe pushed him backwards while also laughing
At 1700, there was a briefing about the house we’d be going into. I was next to Shifty, talking with him. Every now and again me and Joe would make eye contact, until the other looked away. Winters, and Martin walked in which caused Joe to look away first. Winters explained Johnny would be going in Malarkey's place, and that made everyone slightly more comfortable. I was on Johnny’s team, along with Webster. I walked out and Liebgott was waiting for me, he left with me and as we passed Speirs, he told Joe he didn’t have to go on the patrol.
We’d been all stationed in the basement for now before the patrol. Having to eat slop and we couldn’t have our helmets. I sat with Shifty as I ate.
“Youse gonna be out there with a gun?” Shifty asked me in a sweet voice, I knew what he was talking about. He was asking if I’d be helping shoot.
“Nah, well obviously I’ll have a gun, but I’m mainly a translator.” I smiled at him and he smiled back.
“I don’ understand why they never let you shoot with me. You’re a helluva sniper.” Shifty told me, making me giggle at him.
“Oh Shift, you know how to make a woman feel good about herself.” I replied, happy that I got to talk to him before the patrol. He always knew how to make someone happy, even during nerve-wracking times.
At 0100, we were getting into those rubber boats, and setting sail on a short trip across the river. Before the fourth boat could even get far, it flipped and we were down three men. I wasn’t too nervous, knowing that I’d been through worse. When we got to the other side, Martin had someone cut the fence and me and Web, being translators, meant that we had to be up front in case we found any Germans.
So far, we’d gotten up to the steps of the house we’d need to get prisoners from. Johnny had shot into the window, and Jackson went up to throw his grenade, except, instead of waiting for it to finish detonating, Jackson didn’t stop and immediately went into the house, getting hit straight in the face with his grenade. As we ran in, me and Web were yelling at the men in German. We started to split the three men up when I heard a small cry in the corner of the room. I stopped to turn to go towards the sound.
“(L/n)! What are you doing?” Johnny yelled at me.
“Sir! There’s a child!” I shouted, confused. When I got down eye level with the little girl, I noticed she was only in a thin, white nightgown, with no shoes. She looked malnourished, hurt and mostly scared.
“Alsjeblieft! Alsjeblieft! (Please! Please!)” The little girl cried in Dutch, shrinking away from me when I went to get her.
“Het is goed schat! Rustig maar, ik ben hier om te helpen! (Its okay dear! Relax, I'm here to help!)” I replied to her in Dutch. What had a little Dutch girl been doing here? I didn’t have time to continue to calm the little girl before Johnny started yelling about getting on the boats and leaving.
“Klein meisje, ik ga je ophalen. (Little girl, I'm going to pick you up.)” I warned her before grabbing her bridal style and running with her out of the house and covering her eyes to make sure she didn’t see what was happening around her with Jackson. Pushing everyone into the boats, the girl I was holding onto kept crying and crying. The poor little girl couldn’t have been more than four years old.
“Het is goed schat. Het is goed schat. (It’s alright baby. It’s alright baby.)” I kept repeating to the small frightened girl. When Webster jumped into the boat behind me, we started going back to our side. He had his head ducked, as the Krauts kept shooting at the back boat. He had his arms around me when he realized I was shielding a child.
“(Y/n)! What the hell? Why do you have a child?” He yelled out over the gun fire.
“I don’t know! She was in the corner, she’s Dutch!” I replied, still confused as to how she got here and why she wasn’t in the Netherlands. We all ran downstairs, I was still holding onto the little girl, she had come from the Germans territory so I had to stay with her by the other prisoners. Nobody had come up to me about the girl yet so I took this as a time to try to get information so she wasn’t bombarded when adrenaline wore off.
“Wat is je naam? (What’s your name?)” I asked her calmly. She looked up at me with teary dark blue eyes. “Tineke.” She responded in a quiet voice. I was sitting on the floor and I held her so she was only facing me. I could feel someone watching me, but for now I didn’t care.
“Mooie naam! De mijne is (Y/n)! (Beautiful name! Mine is (Y/n)!)” I replied while smiling at her and gently carding my hand through her dark brown strands. Her skin was deathly pale and it was obvious she hadn’t drank or eaten anything in a long time. I gave her my canteen and she took it wearily. She wouldn’t drink it because she was scared of what could be in it. I took it back and took a small sip and gave it back. When she noticed I was okay, she started drinking out of it rapidly.
When she finished drinking, I asked her more questions.
“Spreek je Engels? (Can you speak English?)” I asked her.
“Little bit.” She replied hesitantly.
“Very good, mijn liefje! (My love!)” She seemed to smile a little at the name I’d given her.
“Where is your mommy?” I asked slowly. She started to get upset at the mention of her mother but she replied anyway.
“She die. The Duits kill her. I am Joods. They take her and kill my mammie in de camps for Jodens. Then they keep me. (The Germans kill her. I am Jewish. My mommy. Camps for Jews.)” She told me in a somber tone. When she couldn’t think of the right word, she’d just say it in Dutch. I thought about bringing her to Joe later knowing he was Jewish, she might feel comfortable with him.
“You’re safe now, liefje.” I told her while bringing her close to my chest. She ended up falling asleep not even ten minutes later. It gave me time to think about what she had said. She never mentioned a last name which made me believe she didn’t know it. The camp she was talking about was also weird. What did she mean by a camp for Jewish people?
Jackson had died. That boy who’d just turned twenty, had died. He had his whole life ahead and he died in a stupid war. I hadn’t even known him too well, but he just died in front of me, in front of everyone. I was thankful Tineke was asleep as she’d already seen enough.
A day had passed since the patrol. The Germans were taken away and Tineke wouldn’t talk to anyone except me, and occasionally Joe. When Winters had found out about her, he had to ask her questions. I had come with because she couldn’t speak English very well and she refused to go anywhere if I wasn’t with her. The poor girl had been traumatized and it seemed like she’d been like that for a while.
While asking her questions, we found out her family was Jewish, and when the Germans found out, they took her and her family out of their homes to be sent to a camp. She didn’t know much, just that her mother and her got away and when they were found by the two Germans, her mother tried to fight against them resulting in her getting shot. Tineke was then taken as a hostage.
Doc Roe came in to see how she was and it turned out she had been malnourished, and if I hadn’t found her when I did she would’ve been dead. Later that day I took her to the building where the second platoon was located to introduce her.
I walked in and held onto Tine and went upstairs.
“Guys, this is Tineke. She was found in the house with the other POWs and she’s Dutch. She can speak some English, but don’t bombard her.” I spoke when I went upstairs and saw everyone. They all looked at us, and one by one I walked around with her and had her say hi to everyone. When I got to the last person, Joe, I sat down on the bunk with him and had her greet him.
“Tine, why don’t you tell Joe what you are.” I reminded her. I had told her to tell him she was Jewish before we went upstairs.
“Jewish.” Was all she said, nervous and not knowing too much English, she turned her face away into my chest. I rubbed my hand down her knotted, dirty hair realizing she needed a bath.
“Ain’t that cool! I’m Jewish too!” Joe responded in a sweet voice, smiling down at her when she slightly turned her head towards him. Before any more words could get exchanged, Webster came in to break the news that we were to go on another patrol that night and there would be another meeting at 1800. It was currently 1530 so I decided to bring Tineke down to the kitchen sink where I could give her a makeshift bath. I remembered how my mom would do that for me and my siblings when we were little and there were no baths in any of the houses.
I grabbed some soap and put it in her hair while I’d tell her stories to pass the time.
“A long time ago, there were two moons. It was said one of them, named houden got too close to the sun, and out came thousands of dragons.” I told her a story my mother used to tell me all the time.
“Houden? To hold?” She asked as I began rinsing out her hair.
“That’s right. That’s how dragons were born.” I told her. As I finished saying that, another voice piped up from behind me.
“I didn’t know dragons were born from the moon.” Joe came up behind me and waved at Tineke, who brought her hand up slightly.
“That’s because I never told you that.” I said while smiling up at him. He moved to have his arms around my waist and laid his head on my shoulder. I finished rinsing Tine off then I grabbed a towel and wrapped her in it. Nixon had got clothes small enough to fit her from one of his sources. It was a small, black dress with a dark brown fluffy shawl. She also had stockings and tiny boots. When I finished dressing her, I braided up her hair and put on a hat.
At 1800 we all went down to the basement to await Winter’s meeting he called.
“Whatcha lookin’ at Webster.” A drunk Cobb said. I put one of my hands on Web’s shoulder, holding Tineke to my chest as she slept on me, and he turned to give me a smile.
“That’s what I thought, college boy.” Cobb said while swaying lightly on his feet. I gave Cobb a glare and squeezed the hand I had on Web’s shoulder.
“Are you drunk, trooper?” Lieutenant Jones asked him, angrily.
“Leave me alone.” Cobb replied, looking away.
“Answer the question.” Jones said firmly.
“Yes, sir, I am drunk, sir.” Cobb said sassily before adding, “Drunk, and sick and tired of fucking patrols. Taking orders-”
“Hey Cobb, shut up. It’s boring, okay.” Martin cut him off before he could finish what he was saying.
“Taking his side, Johnny?” “Yeah, I am.”
After that shit show I went and sat by Joe, wanting to make sure I wouldn’t be in Cobb’s line of fire in case he decided to throw something.
Winters came in to not only tell us that we didn’t have to go on that patrol, but that we’d also be off the line tomorrow. After he left, everyone started talking, which woke up Tine, who had no idea what was going on, but was happy because everyone else was.
When I went upstairs, Winters was waiting for me.
“Hey, (Y/n).” He said, a bittersweet tone to his voice.
“Hello, sir. Anything I can help you with?” I asked, slightly nervous that he had waited for me.
“It turns out, we found one of Tineke’s family members. Her aunt and uncle. They’re set to come tonight.” He said quietly.
“Oh. Well that’s great!” I smiled slightly, feeling my heart get heavy at the fact that the young girl would be leaving.
“Tine, you hear that? Your aunt and uncle are coming to pick you up.” I told her, looking down at her. She perked up, looking between me and Winters and then she smiled. She smiled bigger than I’d ever seen her smile.
When her aunt and uncle arrived at 2100, Tineke ran up to them and they picked her up. They repeatedly thanked me and Winters and before they left, I gave Tineke a hug and kiss and turned around to walk away. As I did that, I noticed Joe was standing there waiting for me, smiling sweetly at me. We walked away, arm in arm to go back to the house together. The next day, we’d all been sent to the trucks to move to our new location. I was sitting next to Joe, my head on his shoulder as I slept.
We had made it to Germany. The Krauts surrendered and Hitler shot himself. We were finally able to stay in an actual house, with actual baths and actual beds. To us, life couldn’t get any better.
Me and Joe had been sharing a house with Perco and Luz. Frank and George went out to get eggs from a farmhouse a few blocks down so right now it was just me and Joe.
“You excited, doll?” He asked me from the table. I put down one of the wet dishes I was washing, and replied,
“For what Lieb?” “We got through the hard part!” Oh. I hadn’t really thought about that yet.
“Well, yeah, I guess. I’m just scared that I’ll have to go to the Pacific if this war finishes soon.” I replied genuinely.
“Oh don’t worry about that right now.” He said while standing up and coming behind me. I put down the last dish and pulled off the wet, yellow gloves I had on to wash the dishes in.
“Y’know, Perco and Luz just left.”
“I know Liebgott, I’ve got eyes.” I replied, smiling up at him while turning around to face him. He put his hands on the sink behind me and smiled down on me.
“Well if your eyes are any good, then you’ll be able to see how much of a hold ya got on me.” He spoke before closing the distance between us and closing the gap.
I immediately closed my eyes and kissed him back. We slowly pulled apart, and without another word he slammed his mouth into mine. This time, he was much more passionate. His hands wandered down to my waist, and mine went up to his neck and hair. I gasped as he bit my bottom lip, and he snuck his tongue into my mouth. I kissed him back with as much fervor as I could, slightly pulling on his hair without realizing. He moaned into my mouth and the vibrations caused heat to pool in my stomach.
His hands started to roam down my body, causing me to moan as well. He pulled me flush against him and then pulled me up the stairs into one of the rooms I was occupying. I gently sat down on the bed and his fingers went to my uniform top, unbuttoning my shirt.
Perconte and Luz were walking down the trail to the house they were sharing with (Y/n) and Joe, they had eggs to cook up for everyone. When they got inside, they expected to see (Y/n) and Joe downstairs, waiting for them like they had been before.
“Hey, where’d they go-”
“D’you hear that?” George cut Frank off when he heard what sounded like muffled banging from upstairs. The two men immediately smirked at each other, and Luz ran upstairs.
They stopped outside of the door getting ready to knock, when they heard moaning from the other side.
Before Frank could hold George back, he knocked on the door yelling,
“You two better hurry up before me and Perco eat all the eggs!” It was quiet for a moment before Joe shouted out towards the two men,
“Go ahead! I’m eating something way better!”
IM SO SORRY THIS IS SO LONG! If I missed any TWs lmk and I'll add them!
#bob#band of brothers#ronald speirs#dick winters#ron speirs#eugene roe#joseph liebgott#joe liebgott#joseph liebgott x reader#joe liebgott x reader#band of brothers x reader
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♡︎ 𝐂𝐖: 𝐄𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐫, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬
♡︎ "__" 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞
♡︎ 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
♡︎ 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @missgab @sucidalbutpretty @kawaiimusiccollection @nekogeisha-blog @k-cris @dreamsygirl @fishisahappydog @mikeyaki @mytaiyakeylover @tampon-earrings @wakashudou
Manjiro’s thankful his nose isn’t broken and his tongue is still intact.
Although, he wonders if the pain of those things would be any less than the pain he’s currently experiencing.
Left alone to nurse his injuries, Manjiro, for the nth time in a short span, can feel tears welling up behind his eyes.
He’s chased his wife, the love of his life, away into the arms of his best friend, the same friend who he’d just duked it out with over a serious betrayal.
The cold pack on his face does little to soothe the sting.
Sighing, Manjiro places the pack on the counter in front of him, beginning to slip out of his clothes and skulking into the shower.
He lets the scalding water do its best to massage his overworked muscles, but Manjiiro barely feels the heat, so caught up he is in his thoughts.
‘It’s really over isn’t it? __’s going to abandon leave me, and it’s all my fault.’
Manjiro’s shoulders begin to shake, although this time it’s not because of an impending waterfall of tears.
No, this time, it’s because of a red hot anger that begins to course through his system.
‘No. She has no right. She slept with Hanma, and she’ll probably sleep with Ken. She’s no better than me.’
Thoughts racing wildly, and becoming increasingly dark, Manjiro quickly scrubs his body clean and shuts off the water, exiting the shower and wrapping his waist in a towel.
Stopping, he observes himself in the bathroom mirror.
He still looks the same, for the most part- long blonde locks slicked back on his head, the dragon tattoo he’d gotten to twin with two of his best friends still curled quietly up his neck.
Except…
There’s the beginnings of darkness creeping up underneath his eyes. His collarbones are more pronounced, and his cheekbones more prominent, both signs that he’s lost weight.
His eyes themselves, large and usually alight with mischief, have darkened, their inky blackness becoming piercing and empty.
“You don’t get to just leave me, __. You belong to me. And there’s not a force on Earth that can keep me from you.”
The next morning…
There’s something soft yet firm cuddled up against you as you awake.
The sun filters into the room in a gentle stream, casting everything in a golden haze.
Including the man next to you.
Ken looks, as cliche as it may sound, ethereal in the golden light, his hair creating a dark halo around his head. His features, having always been sharp and prominent, are relaxed, softened with the ease of rest.
Every few seconds he snores lightly, and the sound brings a small smile to your face.
You remain lateral for a few minutes more, simply observing the handsome man before a thought strikes.
You’re familiar enough with Ken’s apartment to manage your way around the kitchen. Deciding you like the idea of treating him to breakfast, you begin slowly easing your way out of the bed so as not to disturb him.
Just as you place your first foot on the ground, you shriek as you’re suddenly pulled back.
“And where do you think you’re going?”
You try to control the feeling of heat rising between your legs at the deep, rough rasp of Ken’s morning voice.
He wraps both arms around your midsection, squeezing gently and snuggling into your shoulder.
“I was just about to prepare breakfast.” You speak softly, sensing that Ken is still mostly asleep.
“Let Seishu handle it. Stay with me here.”
A large smile unwittingly forms on your face, and you pat Ken’s hands from where they rest on your tummy.
“Like a big, cuddly teddy bear you are. We shouldn’t make Sei-chan do all the work. And besides, I want to do something special for you, as a thank you.”
Ken groans and falls back, but doesn’t loosen his hold on you.
“You being here with me is thank you enough.”
This time, heat blooms in your chest at Ken’s words.
‘He’s such a sweetheart,’ you muse quietly to yourself, giggling lowly.
“Alright, fine. I’ll stay for a few more minutes. But if I hear Sei-chan moving about in the kitchen I am going to at least offer my assistance.”
Ken nods, eyes still closed and grip still tight around you.
“Deal,” he groggily murmurs, snuggling even closer to you.
For as blissful and domestic as the scene is, as you adjust yourself against Ken, your thoughts can’t help but drift back to Manjiro.
‘Should I tell Ken about what happened? But then they’d surely fight again, and I don’t want things to escalate any further…’
You wondered if you’d seriously injured Manjiro, if you'd created a deep, slow healing laceration on his tongue, or perhaps even broken his nose.
You try to ignore the arguably sick sense of satisfaction the thought gives you.
You also worry about what he meant when he said you “belonged” to him.
‘Has he really gone off the deep end? If he hasn’t, I’m sure he’s right on the edge.’
You hum quietly, not realizing that Ken has been silently watching you as you worried your bottom lip as you thought.
“I can practically hear the gears turning in your head, __. What’s on your mind?”
You sigh, figuring it best to be honest with him.
“I just…I’m just thinking about Manjiro, that’s all. I don’t think-...he’s not doin’ so hot, mentally anyway. I worry that he’ll perhaps do something drastic.”
Ken frowns at the mention of his (ex) best friend.
“He hasn’t been well mentally since he decided to start cheating on you. I’m not surprised in the least. And you don’t have to worry. Should he try anything stupid, you’ve got us to keep you safe and knock some sense back into that bastard.”
Ken’s grip on you subconsciously tightens, and you reflexively snuggle further into him.
“Thank you so much Ken. I mean it.”
You can feel lips against your forehead.
“My pleasure, __.”
About an hour later, Seishu emerges from his room, stretching and yawning quietly. He drags his slipper clad feet to Ken’s bedroom door, intending to knock before he pauses.
He can hear faint laughter and talking, and he peeks through the slightly ajar door to see you and Ken, quietly conversing.
A fond smile finds its way onto his face, and he quietly eases away from the door, intent on heading to the kitchen and beginning to prepare breakfast for the three of you.
Seishu gets decently far into his preparations when he hears Ken's door open, and two distinct sets of footsteps sound.
"Sei-chan! Long time no see!"
You greet the scarred man with a big smile, and he returns a smaller one of his own.
"__, it's good to see you."
You offer to help finish up, but Seishu insists on completing the job himself.
“I was just asking as a courtesy. I’m going to help you. What kind of guest slash friend would I be if I just let you do all the work?”
Seishu can’t formulate a rebuttal to that, so he sighs and says that you can set the table and help him plate your meals.
With a satisfied grin and a nod, you set to work, Ken having already taken his seat at the table and begun scrolling through his phone.
After about 10 or so more minutes, everyone is seated around the table. You’ve taken up the spot next to Ken, with Seishu seated across the table directly in front of you. After a round of clasped hands and “itadakimasu” uttered by all of you, you all begin digging into your meal.
“Wow Sei-chan, has your cooking somehow gotten even better since last I had it?” You speak around a mouthful of tamago gohan, a good portion of your fried tofu slices already gone in just the seven or so minutes that have elapsed since you all started eating.
Seishu’s a little embarrassed to admit it, but he can immediately feel his face begin to flush at the small praise.
“Hopefully. I cook often enough that my skills should have improved.”
You nod, swallowing around a mouthful of clear soup.
“I would definitely say they have. This is simply scrumptious.” You kiss the tips of your fingers, giving Seishu a closed eyed smile.
The flush spreads even further down his neck, and Seishu averts his eyes.
Ken observes quietly, but gives a knowing little smirk when Seishu accidentally makes eye contact with him.
'Not a word,' Seishu mouths, still unable to tame his flush.
Once everyone is finished eating and the dishes have been cleared away, you all make your way into the living room to chat and talk about your plans for the day. You and Ken take the couch, while Seishu is content to occupy the love seat.
“Unfortunately, Seishu and I have a shop to run, but you’re more than welcome to hang around here until we close. Then maybe afterwards we can all go out for dinner or something.”
You and Seishu nod, pleased with the suggestion.
“Sure, sounds good to me. You know, this’ll actually give me a chance to make a few calls.” You place a finger to your chin, contemplating who you’re going to contact first.
A little while later, the boys have headed downstairs, and before you begin your tasks for the day, you take it upon yourself to straighten up and organize some of the things in their apartment. For the most part it’s kept pretty neat and organized, but there’s just a few things that need tidying.
Once that’s finished, you grab your phone and take up residence on the couch, scrolling through your contacts and locating Shuji’s first.
He answers on the second ring, sounding, as always, very enthused about having been contacted by you.
“__! Good to hear from you. You miss me already?”
Chuckling, you nod, though he can’t see you.
“Of course, my dear Shuj. I just called to hear your voice more than anything. It’s been an…interesting 12-24 hours, to say the least.”
When next Shuji speaks, he sounds decidedly more alert and serious.
“Mikey didn’t try anything after I left, did he?”
You contemplate telling him about Manjiro attacking you, but decide against giving him specific details, seeing as you hadn’t even told Ken the full story.
“Not exactly? I’ll give you details later.”
You can tell Shuji’s not exactly ecstatic about being left out of the loop, but he nevertheless acquiesces.
“I also wanted to…make sure things were still good between us.”
There’s a long pause, and you worry that, in the short time between your rendezvous and now, Shuji had come to regret bedding you.
That is until you hear him erupt in loud, raucous laughter.
“A-HAHAHAHA! No, __, you’re too funny. Of course things are still good between us. One fun little romp isn’t going to tarnish years of friendship. As funny as it is to say given the circumstances, I was quite literally the photographer at your wedding. For free. I fuckin’ love you, silly girl.”
Despite the tears of fondness steadily building along your waterline, you laugh at Shuji’s words, feeling so relieved that your, admittedly spur of the moment decision, hadn’t ruined your relationship with one of your best friends.
“I’m so glad to hear that Shuji, truly. I love you too.”
The two of you continue your conversation for quite a few minutes more, before Shuji has to go.
“I’ll call you later. It was nice getting to visit. If it’s alright with you, I’d like to do that more often.”
“Of course! Whenever you’re around and have time, just give me a heads up and let me know. My home is always open to you.”
You exchange a few more words before ending the call.
Afterwards, you remain silent for a few seconds before sighing deeply.
“Welp, on to the next.”
Once again, you search through your contacts, thumbing over the likes of Ken and Takashi when you finally land on the one you’re looking for.
You press send, and you’ve barely gotten the receiver up to your ear before you can hear a slightly winded “__!” sound from the person on the other side of the call.
“NaNa! Are you alright? You sound a little out of breath. I didn’t call at a bad time did I?”
“No no, not at all! I was just moving some things around in my apartment.” You hear what sounds like boxes shuffling and a low grunt. “So, what’s up?”
“Oh, nothing much. I just remembered that I promised to call you back the other day and finally got around to being able to do so.”
“For dinner plans, right?”
“Ding ding, that is correct. I haven’t called too soon have I? I know it was just the other day.”
“No, I was actually going to call you at some point today because I have an opening in my schedule, and you were the first person that popped into my mind.” Izana chuckles, and more shuffling can be heard.
“Doin’ a little redecorating? Sounds like whatever you’re moving is pretty hefty.”
The man laughs again before responding. “Something like that. Hey, I was mulling it over, and I wanted to present an idea to you.”
At that, your ears perk up. “Yeah? Shoot.”
“How about we do dinner at my place? We can cook together and you can finally show me how to make that pasta Manjiro used to rave about all the time.”
At the mention of your (soon to be ex) husband, your smile falls a bit, involuntarily.
“Uh, uh yeah, that sounds great!”
Izana pauses, and you worry you’ve offended him.
“Positive? You sounded a little unsure just then.”
You shake your head, though he can’t see you.
“No no, I promise, it’s a great idea. I haven’t visited since you moved, and it’ll even give me an opportunity to meet the pup! What did you say his name was again?”
“Toto! I heard the name while watching one of those older Western movies and thought it was adorable. And very fitting for how little my pup is.”
You can hear the smile in Izana’s voice, and it causes your own to widen even further.
“Well isn’t that just the most darlin’ story? You’ve gotten so soft over the years NaNa. I like it.” You giggle into your hand, completely oblivious to the effect the sound has on the white haired man.
“You think so? Hopefully not too soft, I am still a shrewd businessman after all.”
“Of course. Well, I’m certainly excited about our dinner plans! Does tonight work?”
“Yep. Let’s say, around 8:30? I’ll pick you up.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll text you my location and see you then?”
“That works for me.”
The two of you talk for a few minutes more before ending the call.
Once again, you sigh, although this time you can’t stop the giddy smile that curls your lips.
‘This is so exciting! Feels like I haven’t seen NaNa in forever. I wonder what his new place looks like?’
The rest of the day passes by in a blur, and soon 7 pm has rolled around.
Ken and Seishu closed up the shop about half an hour prior, and were finishing up cleaning and counting the drawer when you traipsed downstairs, a notable pep in your step.
“What’s got you so chipper,” Ken spoke, his tone amused.
“I’ve got a dinner date,” you sing-songed, humming happily.
“Really? With who?” Seishu pipes up, momentarily looking up from counting the drawer, brows furrowed.
“NaNa!”
The two men level you with blank stares, their confusion evident.
“Oh, wait, y’all probably don’t recognize that nickname. Izana, I mean Izana.”
“Oh, haven’t seen him around in a while. How’s he been?” Ken finishes wiping down the counter, placing the oil stained rag in his pocket before turning to you fully.
“He’s doing well! When last I spoke to him, he said he was redecorating. He’s also gotten a pup recently! When I’m over there, I’ll be sure to send y’all pictures. The pup’s name is Toto.”
Both men nod, before Seishu’s eyes widen.
“Oh wait, is that dinner date tonight?”
You nod. “Yeah, why?”
“I thought…we were goin’ out for dinner tonight?”
There’s a pause, before a groan sounds from you.
“You’re completely right! I forgot all about that in my excitement.” Your head falls back in exasperation.
“Hey hey, it’s alright. You should definitely still go hang out with Izana. We can have dinner some other time. Besides, we didn’t really have any concrete plans anyway.” Ken speaks and Seishu nods, a small, reassuring smile curling his mouth.
You breathe a sigh of relief, thankful for their understanding.
“I really appreciate you guys. I gotta go get ready now. See you later!”
With a little wave, you bound back upstairs, missing the fond, somewhat longing glances both men throw up at you.
8:30 rolls around quickly, and soon you’re bidding Ken and Sei-chan goodbye as you make your way out to Izana’s car.
“Oooh NaNa, this is noiiiice. You didn’t tell me you’d gotten a new car as well.” You praise the man’s vehicle, appreciating the feeling of buttery smooth leather seats and excitedly appraising all the futuristic looking bells and whistles the interior is equipped with.
Izana chuckles, waving to the other two men before beginning to pull away.
"Yeah, I just recently purchased this. It was a little present to myself for that recent successful business venture I told you about when we talked a couple days ago."
You nod, relaxing back into your seat.
"You're right, you did tell me something like that. What make and model is this, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“This year’s Mercedes-Benz A 220. I like to call it, sensibly luxurious.”
You laugh, nodding along.
“Well, if nothing else, the seats are certainly comfortable. Congratulations! I’m glad things have been going so well for you. You deserve all the success, and the luxuries that come with it.”
You can’t see it in the dimness of the night, but Izana’s cheeks flush furiously at your words.
The two of you engage in very pleasant conversation the duration of your ride to Izana’s new apartment, laughing and reminiscing right up until you make it into the garage and up to the door.
“Fair warning, Toto’s very friendly, and he gets especially excited when meeting new people, so just be aware that there’s a good chance he might make a beeline towards you.”
You smile, equally enthused at the prospect of encountering a pup.
“No worries. I love dogs! I’m very excited to meet little Toto.”
With a nod, Izana opens the front door, stepping aside and allowing you to walk in first.
“Ladies first.”
You step inside, and almost immediately the sounds of excited barking fill your ears.
In a flash of brown and cream, a little bundle of fur comes bounding towards you, bouncing enthusiastically around your feet.
You squeal reflexively, bending down to pet and scritch the little furball between the ears.
“Hi Toto! You’re so cute and fluffy!”
Izana chuckles, placing his jacket on the vintage looking coat rack beside the door. He gestures for yours, and you take just a few moments to remove it and hand it off before your attention is back on Toto.
“I went grocery shopping a little earlier. Hopefully I got everything we’ll need.” Izana speaks as he begins making his way into the kitchen. Picking up his little pup, you trail after him.
“Let’s have a look-see. We got pasta, what I’m assuming is your preferred sauce, chicken, onions…,” you trail off, mumbling through the rest of the ingredients and spices spread out on the counter.
“Yep! Looks like we’ve got everything we’ll need here.” With a satisfied nod, you release little Toto, who scampers around your feet momentarily before darting off further into Izana’s apartment.
The two of you watch him with smiles, before turning to each other and setting off to work.
It takes a little under an hour, but soon your fan favorite chicken alfredo is done, complete with a hearty caprese salad and cheese stuffed garlic breadsticks.
“Oh my word, Izana. I don’t mean to toot my own horn but this looks delicious and I am suddenly very famished.”
The man laughs, wiping his hands on a dish towel.
“Then let’s not delay any further. Here, why don’t you set the table and I’ll bring everything over?”
It takes only a few more minutes, and the two of you have everything set around the dinner table. About this time, little Toto comes bounding back in the room, the smell of food obviously having enticed him. He paws at his dad’s leg, who laughs and picks up the little brown bundle, offering him one of the tomatoes from your salad.
“Sorry, I can never resist giving him a little of whatever I’m eating, as a treat.”
“You’re gonna spoil him like that,” you warn, gesturing to hold the pup. He happily makes himself comfortable in your hold, and is surprisingly well-behaved given the veritable feast before him.
“I know, I know. I’m trying to be better about it, promise!”
You give Izana a playfully skeptical glare, before clasping your hands.
“Itadakimasu!”
“Itadakimasu!”
You touch Toto’s paws together and speak in a tinny voice. “Itadakimasu!”
You miss the way Izana’s eyes and smile soften at the act.
Once you’ve set Toto down, you and Izana dig in, holding very pleasant conversation as you do. He tells you more about his latest exploits and even shares some details about future business ventures.
“But enough about me. How have things been with you? I didn’t mention it, but I thought it was a little strange that I picked you up from Draken and Seishu’s place and not your own. I don’t mean to pry, and if you’re not comfortable telling me why that’s completely fine as well, but, I have to ask…,” Izana leans forward, expression concerned.
“Is everything alright at home?”
You don’t know why, but hearing the genuine concern and consideration in Izana’s voice cause you to choke up. Slowly, carefully setting your fork down, you take a moment to consider your response. You don’t want to alarm or upset Izana, but you feel that you can be honest with him.
“It’s…no, everything’s not alright.”
Before you realize it, tears have begun streaming down your face, and Izana rushes to your side of the table to wrap you up in a tight embrace.
“Oh __, what’s going on? Is-...is it Manjiro?”
He can feel you nod against his chest, and Izana immediately begins to feel anger wrap in a tight band around his skull.
“What did he do?”
Izana’s voice is darker, his tone much colder.
You debate whether you should tell him the truth given how he sounds, but the thought is almost instantaneously overridden when the words spill out of you.
“He cheated on me!”
A sob rips itself from your throat, and you collapse further into Izana’s arms.
As you are, you miss the deadly glint that flashes in his eyes at your words.
“__, my love, I’m so sorry.”
You shake your head, looking up at him through your tears.
“No no, don’t apologize. I just…I just hadn’t really taken the time to get a good cry in about the situation.” You chuckle wetly, wiping at your face.
Izana frowns, cupping your face in his hands.
“Is he aware? That you know?”
You nod. “Yeah. We had a pretty major falling out over it. I-...I even slept with Hanma, but it was a spur of the moment thing.”
Izana hopes his displeasure with that revelation doesn’t show on his face.
Instead, he pulls you into a hug, and the two of you are quiet for many seconds before pulling away.
“If there’s anything I can do to help, if you ever need a place to stay, a listening ear or a shoulder to rest on, I’m always here for you.” Izana smiles, and you can feel your already great fondness for him grow.
Returning his smile, you lean into his chest, trying to hide your obvious infatuation.
“Thank you Izana. I’m so glad to have you in my life.”
Izana freezes, before burying the lower half of his face in your hair and wrapping his arms securely around you.
‘The feeling is mutual, __.’
ᵃ/ⁿ: ʷʰᵉʷ ᶜʰⁱˡᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵃʸ ᵗʰⁱˢ ᶜʰᵃᵖᵗᵉʳ ⁱˢ ˡⁱᵏᵉ 3 ʰᵒᵘʳˢ ˡᵒⁿᵍ?!?!?
ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʷᵃˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ⁱⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿᵃˡ ⁱ ˢʷᵉᵃʳ. 🤚🏾😭
ᵇᵘᵗ ⁿᵃⁿᵃ'ˢ ʰᵉʳᵉ ᶠⁱⁿᵃˡˡʸ! ʸᵃʸ! 😆
ʰᵒᵖᵉᶠᵘˡˡʸ ʸ'ᵃˡˡ ᵉⁿʲᵒʸᵉᵈ, ᵃⁿᵈ ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ ᶠᵒʳᵍⁱᵛᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠʳᵃⁿᵏˡʸ ʳⁱᵈⁱᶜᵘˡᵒᵘˢ ᵃᵐᵒᵘⁿᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᵇᵉᵗʷᵉᵉⁿ ᵗʰⁱˢ ᶜʰᵃᵖᵗᵉʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ˡᵃˢᵗ. 🥲
ᵗʰᵃⁿᵏ ʸ'ᵃˡˡ ᶠᵒʳ ʳᵉᵃᵈⁱⁿ'! ˢᵉᵉ ʸᵃ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᵉˣᵗ ᶜʰᵃᵖᵗᵉʳ! 👋🏾
#tokyo revengers#tokyo rev#tokrev#tw cheating#cw cheating#manjiro sano#sano manjiro#cheating manjiro sano#cheating sano manjiro#draken#ken ryuguji#ryuguji ken#seishu inui#inui seishu#inupi#hanma shuji#shuji hanma#izana kurokawa#kurokawa izana
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DEAR READER | C.L 16 (FOUR)
Pairings: Charles Leclerc X Intern!OC
Warnings: Google translated French, degrading headline, people who don’t mind their own business
Note: There’s a reason I’m dragging the fuck out of this story. It’s gonna be worth it, I promise !!!!
❝Dear reader,
If it feels like a trap, you’re
already in one ❞
THE BRILLIANT ILLUMINATED ELEVATOR cradled through the rapidly infectious tension in Natalia’s bloodstream. The gap between her and the equally as anxious Monegasque caused the ongoing brawl in their heads to amplify. She glanced down at the carpeted flooring, casually shifting her gaze to the shuffling feet of her company.
She let her thoughts wonder somewhere else, opting to think about the disastrous path they had to conquer in order to acquire the tranquility they have at the moment. Although, her trembling hands and the intensive battering of her chest generated the thought that perhaps road raging in Charles’ Ferrari to avoid the prying eyes of the general public provided a greater deal of enjoyment than this.
“I was thinking,” Charles spoke, moistening his drought lips. “Since it’s your first time here in Netherlands, I’d like you to try authentic Dutch dishes from the restaurant the team took me to last year.”
Natalia nodded, half of her mind floating into a dreamless space. “That sound great,” She faced him, hoping to defy the rising tide of her anxiety. “I honestly didn’t know anything about Dutch culture until I did a quick research about their food.”
Charles didn’t contain his smile, finally looking at the brunette. His gaze journeyed to her luscious naturally straight chestnut locks, previously tied into a neat ponytail but was now released from the gathered style, falling graciously passed her shoulders.
He snapped back into his regular self as he reached the line of her eyes. Immediately saving himself as he followed up on her statement. “Oh? And what did you find?”
Charles despised the way she’d tuck her bottom lip in her every time she needed a second to gather her thoughts. Couldn’t she just think like a normal person?
“Apparently, there’s this food called Profferjes?” She struggled pronouncing the supposed name given to the delicacy she was referring to.
Charles’ face brightened in amusement at her confused appearance but he nevertheless, nodded, having an idea of what she was talking about.
“The mini pancakes?”
Rhapsody laved across her once perplexed expression, pointing a finger at his direction before confirming his guess.
“Yes! That one— but I think they only serve them in the morning,” She sighed, eyes lingering at Charles. A sudden concept bubbled in her mind, showing in her face as a small simper.
The judgement was also beginning to bloom on Charles’ face as he took note of the naught sparkle in Natalia’s orbs.
“Unless— you know—” She drawled her words, making the smile on the receiver of her antics widen. “Charles Leclerc were to call in—”
He disintegrated into a pile of frenzy at that. Clutching his stomach as his laughter, joined in by Natalia’s own, bounced uncontrollably against the four walls of the enclosed space.
“I’m not sure they’d do their beloved Max Verstappen’s rival a favor.” He acknowledged.
“Oh—right.” Natalia had completely forgotten that Max was Dutch. She knew Charles meant it as a joke but the harsh reality seemed to have overtaken its intended merits.
Then again, she was quick to dispel the impending depressive state. “You know, according to my research, Dutch people are very friendly even if they like speak their mind . . .”
An appreciative hum sounded at the back of Charles’ throat, thankful for her efforts of comfort and the ding of the elevator that indicated their arrival to his floor.
In an unconscious move, he reached for Natalia’s hand, grasping it gently in his. To which the latter responded by gawking at him while they both stalked through the nicely lit corridor.
Charles’ room was two doors away from the very last one, and when they arrived, he tapped in his key card, never seeming to have the intention of releasing the chilling palm that rested in his hold.
As the door opened, along with the grating creak of the door was the heightening of Natalia’s senses. The fresh scent of lavender infiltrated the previous musing scouring at her wits.
She inhaled the saving grace of her sanity, finding the soothing aroma also matched the overall aesthetic of his room.
The fuzzy brown carpet at the center of the room adorned the flooring, to which an oval glass coffee table was placed
“Sit wherever you want,” He said, freeing her hand. “Make yourself feel comfortable.”
As he started to walk away, Natalia bent down balancing her weight with her hand on the doorframe as she untied the laces of her boots.
Charles turned to her, hearing the sudden rustling. “You don’t have to take your shoes off,”
She immediately halted her actions, eyebrows wrinkled at the absurdity of all that. “There’s no way I’m stepping my shoes on a carpet,”
The crease in her eyebrows worsen at that thought of her mother. She could almost see the utter disgust on her face when she finds out Europeans don’t particularly care for what she called “unknown bacteria” spreading through their home.
She set her boots aside, plopping on the pearl colored seating. “My mom would’ve strangled you if she heard you say that,”
Her remark made Charles chuckle, shaking his head on his way to the kitchen. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Depends.” She thought, reaching for a magazine on the coffee table. “What are you having?”
Natalia heard a series of cabinet creaking followed by clinks of what she assumed was glass.
“Well, of you’re craving something sweet, I have orange juice and iced tea,” He replied, peaking his head on the doorframe.
Charles took in the sight of Natalia’s wandering eyes on his apartment, ignoring the sudden pang of nervousness creeping up on him.
The curious girl whipped her head towards his waiting figure, lips pursing with a uncaring shrug. “I’m good with that. But if you want to drink something. . . stronger, I wouldn’t judge.”
She watched the chuckle bloom out of Charles’ relaxed features, before disappearing back into the kitchen.
While he was arranging beverages, Natalia reviewed what he had observed from his apartment.
Firstly, she found it surprising that he owned a living space in this country. Him always hopping on a jet to different countries every week, defeats the purpose of buying one. It didn’t look like he used it often either.
It had one of those minimal modern designs. Like the ones she’d see whenever she was at Summit Furniture, a furniture store she frequented at in Monaco. She currently sat on a white polyester loveseat with tapered rosewood legs that angled outwards. It all seemed like they’ve just been bought yesterday. No scratches on the wooden legs nor flaws in the fabric seating. Same goes for the rest of his furniture that she had seen so far.
The television looked like it had yet to serve its purpose and the tables be marked with any stain or evidences of usage.
Her deep observation caused a barricading and tension within her sense. The unbelievable tidiness and perfection of her surroundings made her more conscious of her actions.
“Here we are!” Charles’ unforeseen appearance rattled her core, prompting her to sit up straighter. He had brought a tray of various drinks.
Natalia eyed the colorful liquids in different types of glasses. Some in one in a high ball, champagne and cocktail glass. Beside those were a bottle of Heineken and Jenever.
She bit the inside of her cheek, trapping the laughter threatening to pull through, settling for a supportive nod.
“I’m guessing this is the orange juice?” She plucked the high ball glass from the tray, a teasing smile adorning her face.
“Yes, it is,” Charles took out his phone, the unwavering nerves still present in his veins. “I know I said I’ll order for you, but here’s the menu, you might see something you like—”
She raised his hands, shaking her head. “Trust me, the only food I’m sure are gonna be are Stroopwafel and those ball shaped snack I ate at the paddock. Besides, I’m not picky with food, I’ll swallow anything you give me.”
Charles’ thumbs stopped their typing, his lips thinning at the intrusive thought in his head.
Anything, huh?
“You’re disgusting—”
“I didn’t say—”
“That’s not what I meant!”
“I didn’t say anything!”
“You didn’t have to! It’s written all over your face!” Natalia growled, motioning to the idiotic smirk hanging of his face across her.
“Think what you want,” Charles chimed, resuming his attention to his device. “That’s what I’m doing anyway hmpf—”
A soft object suddenly collided at his face, laughing as he realized that Natalia had thrown a pillow at him.
He removes it from obstructing his view, glancing up at the glowering figure in front of him, now bringing her lips close to the tall glass of juice.
“Give the phone. . .” She said, extending her arm forwards for Charles to pass her the device.
He hands it to her, inclining his body towards her. “I personally love Hachee, it’s meat with mash potatoes and gravy—”
“Frog legs!”
Charles stopped talking, staring stupidly at her exclamation. A wide smile plastered on her face as she turned the phone towards him and pointed to the certain dish.
“You eat frogs?” Charles didn’t mean for it to sound condescending, but the overpowering shock at this discovery halted all sense of thinking.
“Yeah? And?” At her defensive tone, Charles quickly held his hands up, waving them at her.
“No! That’s not what I mean!” He scratched the back of his head, hoping to ward away the embarrassment of his mistake. “I-I just mean, you’re the first girl I’ve met who’s actually excited to eating frogs,”
Natalia raised an eyebrow at Charles. “That can’t be true, frogs are eaten a lot in Manaco,”
“Doesn’t mean everybody likes them,” Charles remarked, taking the bottle opener from the table before twisting it on a Heineken beer.
Natalia watched him take a sip, crossing her arms at his statement. “You mean to say— of all the Monegasque girls you’ve dated— not a single one ate frogs?”
Charles felt amusement trickling at his through as he spotted the doubt on her face. “Well, I did let them try it.” He restored. “But they either pretended to like it or just straight up told me, quite frankly that they’d rather eat dirt.”
Natalia lights up at that, bringing her hands together in an mirthful clap. “At least some were honest about it,”
Charles nodded, glancing up at her as he began to wonder wether or not he should consume more alcohol to gain the courage to ask her questions that may be deemed too personal. Threading lightly on the subject, he reached for the Daquiri, giving in to its undeniable seductive calling.
“Is it a common food in the Philippines?” He asked, eyes traveling to the curvature of her expression.
Natalia’s lips disconnected from the cold glass rim, licking away the numbness spreading through her mouth. “Not exactly all over the country, but in my province, we do eat it a lot,” A mirror of nostalgia passes by her eyes, slotting in the depths of her memories.
Charles observed as she spaced out, blankly staring at the wooden coffee table. Instead of snapping her out of her trans, he waited patiently for her to regain her train of thought.
Blinking rapidly, the fog of her brain slowly disappeared, a large intake of breath released from her lungs before she cleared her throat.
As she craned her neck back to the person she was talking to, her heart lurched at her throat at the intensity of his stare. His eyes were drowned in unbelievable intent, as if she’d disappear if he was to look away.
“Let’s play that game again,” He said, softly.
“What?”
“That game in the car. 20 questions,” He clarified, tilting his head at her, “I want to play it again.”
Dread filled her mind, mouth beginning to ache, along with the slight tremble of her voice. “Why?”
“We’re going to spend a lot of time together,” He pointed out. “I’ve know you for quite a while but I don’t know anything about you. . .”
“There’s nothing to know,” She huffed, eyebrows coming together in a pinch. “My life isn’t interesting in the slightest.”
Charles narrowed his eyes at her, careful not to overstep. “I’ll ask basic questions then,”
She scrunched her face up at him. “Like what?”
With his eyes on her, he shrugged. “How did you end up in Monaco?”
“That’s not—” She sighed, pulsing her palms into an alternating clench. Her hands came up to snatch the beer off the table, taking a large gulp of it.
This was not a good idea from the start but then again, she made no complaints about it either.
Setting the bottle down with a loud clank, she tuts at his waiting figure. “I applied for the scholarship grant, almost failed the final interview, found out I didn’t, and— lo and behold, I’m here.”
The vagueness of her answer made Charles roll his eyes. “You almost failed? Why?” He questioned.
Natalia frowned at him, wagging her finger up at his line of vision. “No—no, it’s my turn,”
Charles sighed, defeated, downing a shot of tequila as the former thought of her first question. “Who’s your favorite sibling?”
Taken aback, he smiled at her random choice of words. “I don’t have one,”
His answer was met by a judgmental glance. “Boo! Everybody has one. Come on!”
Hesitation reeled him in with the desire to end thos query immediately. So, with all the shame warped into a giant ball in his heart. Je all but murmured a name.
“Sorry, say that again?” He could practically feel the teasing smirk on her face as she neared her ear on his mouth.
His eyes fluttered close, amusement and annoyance dancing at his veins. “I said, Arthur—”
She laughed, finding his imminent torture to have soothe her pounding heart. “Don’t feel bad, it’s pretty obvious anyway,”
At that, Charles didn’t indulge in her usual provocative style. Instead, thwacking her back with another personal question.
“What do your parents to for a living?”
She coughed, the sharp taste of alcohol pricking at her throat as it violently drew back to her nose.
“Are you okay?” The concern etched visible at the lines of Charles’ face as he stood up to hand her a tissue. He sat next to her, plucking more out of the box as she attempted to stop the liquid pouring out from her nostrils.
She gratefully took the tissue from him, blowing her nose into it. She would’ve found it embarrassing as she heard the disgusting noise it made as she emptied her now stinging nose of the culprit if it weren’t for her spinning mind.
She wiped her jeans, trying to play it cool as she responded. “My parents— My mom was an accountant and my dad— he. . . used to trade oil.”
Charles peaked onto her face, wiping of the remnants of beer on her cheek. “What’s wrong with that?”
Natalia swallowed the painful block of her throat, hand coming up to where he had his on her face. “Nothing. . . I-it’s not their jobs. I just wasn’t expecting you to ask about my parents.”
“We—”
The loud ringing of a phone interrupted their conversation. Natalia felt the vibration in her bag before she realized it was hers.
This dispelled the heavy ambiance of the atmosphere, waking the occupants from their trance.
Oh shit, Natalia thought as she saw the caller’s name flash on her phone.
Nicolas Todt
As soon as she pressed the green button signifying her death, the device was gone, only to be taken by the tutting Monegasque beside her.
She immediate shuffled up, desperately trying to get the phone out of his grip. It was too late, however, as he stood up at the sound of his manager’s voice.
Deflating in defeat, Natalia hopelessly smothered her head on the soft cushion’s of the couch.
“Hello?”
“What are yo— Hello? Charles? Is that you?”
Natalia winced at the pure hostility in Nicolas’ tone. Even after figuring out that the taker of the call was indeed his well-loved client, it didn’t quell the scorching heat of his flaming outrage.
“Oui c'est moi. Quoi de neuf?” Yes, it’s me. What’s up?
In contrast to Charles’ collected attitude, Natalia could feel her insides churning slowly into a blob of mush. Her only wish was for Charles not to ruin this job for her was beggining to whither away with the his careless actions.
“Quoi de neuf?” What’s up? Nicolas echoed, his sharp scoff going through the phone’s speaker and stabbing Natalia directly in the deepest part of her chest.
“Vous n'avez pas vérifié votre téléphone?” He spat, as it were acid poured on his tongue.
At the word phone, Natalia’s head shot up from the condoling compressor of her resting place, panicking as she searched for her phone.
The cumulus fog accumulating her head, clouded the clarity of her thinking, making her forget that someone else had possessed the thing she was looking for.
Charles nodded along to the string of profanities Nicolas kept rambling through his ear, shifting her attention to the frightened girl on his couch. Her heightened vigilance evident as trembling her hands patted wildly along his furniture.
He aided her frantic movements with a soft brush of his hand on her cheek, tapping his thumb on her paled skin.
Natalia whipped her head around to face him, breathing out of sigh of relief as she followed his finger pointing to his phone.
Wasting no time, she snagged it off the table, nearly shoving it on Charles’ face when it demanded a passcode after failing the face recognition system.
Charles careened his head backwards to avoid the object barreling into his face.
Natalia waited, anxiously fiddling with the stitchings of her clothing, as the daunting atmosphere worsened every second that passed by.
She almost tore Charles’ entire arm from his body by the vast amount of force she exerted at him. Quickly tapping on Google app, her hands shook as they hovered over the keys, thoughts failing to conjure words she needed.
“Charles Leclerc girlfriend. . .” A whisper came next to her.
She gritted her teeth at the awful joke. Perhaps as knew it wasn’t an impossible headline. It dawned to her the severity of their offense as she typed his name on the search bar.
It appears that her groan of indignation was loud enough for Nicolas’ ears as Natalia heard his mocked version of it despite being on Charles’ space.
“Did you see it?” Nicolas queried, his tone unreadable.
Natalia turned the screen to Charles’ vision. And the idiot had the audacity to laugh.
Merely hacking into his balled fist, the presence of his teeth behind his lips irritated both Nicolas and Natalia.
In disgustingly big letters, the headline read:
Natalia swiped at the screen, ticking her brow in victory as the smile drained visibly off his face at what she had shown.
“Now, that’s not funny. . .”
You don’t say. . .” She gritted, padding a hand on her chest to feign shock.
Charles offered her an apologetic pat on the head of the sneering girl. The latter slapped his hand away, force firm but not enough to do any harm.
Natalia could hear the faint murmurs of Nicolas before his voice was amplified by Charles’ simple tap of the speaker phone.
“Listen, both of you,” He commended. “Gossip magazines aren’t exactly fond of what ever it is you’re doing.”
“I am so sorry—”
“You are not.” The dripping venom in his tone made Natalia flinch back, leaning away from the source of his voice as if he were to pop out of the screen. “I don’t know what you were both thinking but luckily social media loved your little rendezvous.”
Silence fell between the scolded individuals, eyes creeping up to see the other’s reaction. Like staring directly at a mirror, they alined body language that could only be read as confusion.
“So. . . That means?” Natalia trailed, leveling her vocals in light of steering clear of another possible volcanic eruption from Nicolas.
“It means. . .” Nicolas pressed, annoyance still present. “You have to continue your. . . what you call it?”
Natalia listen intently as Nicolas asked someone for the word he was searching for. “The what? Oh— yes that. . . Your situationship.”
“Ew no!” Natalia’s extreme protest was met with sheer bewilderment on Charles’ part, struggling to process the meaning of the foreign term.
“What is that? What’s a situationship?”
At his question, Natalia stirred back to him, giving him a look of disbelief. Nicolas on the other hand simply clicked his tongue, sighing brfore supplying the answer to his client.
“They’re two people who have no sense of direction regarding their relationship.” He explained, and though he cannot see the expression on Charles’ face, he knew very well what it was.
“Is that a bad thing?”
Natalia’s jaw slackened, palm slapping on his forehead. And although she knew Nicolas’ explanation of situationship was a fairly watered down version of the real deal, she didn’t have the strength to further Charles’ knowledge on the subject.
Nicolas ignored his question. “We’ll talk more about this tomorrow. I advise you to not step out of that building until daylight.”
Natalia’s eyes widened at that. “What? You want me to stay here?”
“Certainly.” He concluded.
Sensation drained completely from her body. The electric feeling of lacking blood, slowly spread in an infectious manner. With it, the chill of reality came to set in.
“I’ve already informed Toto of the situation.”
As if it wasn’t enough, after hearing that, the lavender scent of the atmosphere that was thought to have the a calming effect seemed impotent, in comparison to the vigorous hold this ghastly chain of anxiety had on her.
Of all the things she feared, the idea of disappointing Toto Wolff and Susie Wolff was an absolute nightmare. How could she face the people who gave her the opportunity of a life time if she were to do dim-witted things like this?
In the midst of her internal battle, her head stirred to the cause of her misbehavior. He just so happened to be looking at her as well.
Unlike the pointed glare she blatantly jabbed into his face, Charles offered her a worried glance that could bloom flowers on his pretty little head.
Despite her scornful demeanor, she couldn’t shake away the guilt of being in this position. She was aware that it wasn’t Charles’ fault alone but perhaps putting all the blame in him would ease her desire to simply jump on a boat and abandon everything she ever dreamed in her life.
Natalia recoiled at the sudden warmth on her arm. Look towards the source, she relaxed at the sight of Charles’ hand on her skin.
He had ended the call, sitting back down on his previous place. “How do you want to do this?”
Natalia heaved a heavy sigh, afraid that the force might collapse her lungs. “I honestly can’t think of anything else but being fired. . .”
Charles took her hand in a grip that he could only hope held the comfort he was trying to induce. “You won’t. I’m the reason you’re here. I’ll talk to them.”
“You better. . .” She huffed, shoving a strong palm at his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ll be able to look my classmates in the eye when I have to go back to University, though.”
“When do you have to go back?” He asked.
“In three days. We have to submit a report every two weeks regarding our performance.” She expounded, thinking about the sour look on her headmaster’s face at the sight of his achingly popular student walking in her office.
“Well, in that case, you can say that you helped me increase my fanbase by 2% in just three weeks.” Charles tried to provide a consolation.
Natalia hummed, lips curling as she was reminded of that information. “You make it sound like I’m a one-man team. . .” She shook her head.
She was sure that Charles’ PR team wouldn’t appreciate her taking all the credit for the improvements in the Ferrari driver’s personal accounts.
“Probably not. But most of it was your idea.”
It was intended to aid the boisterous voices crowding the little space left in her brain that wasn’t consumed by the nauseating noise of failure but alas proved to be ineffective as she abruptly stood up and took her phone from Charles’ lap.
Tapping the number she knew would cover the gaping hole of fear continuously scraping at her brain.
She watched as her phone started ringing, the name of her partner in crime flashing on the screen.
Lissie
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