#under the lights flag football

[honeyhoshi]

hat trick!

the term 'hat-trick' is used to define when a player achieves the feat of scoring three goals in a single game.

summary: the first half of the championships is going to their opponents and everyone is looking to mingyu to lead the team to victory. as their star player, it’s a tall order, especially when his plate is already full with you.

this a part of the man of the match universe

genre: professional football (soccer) au, porn with a little plot

wordcount: 5,616

pairing: mingyu x afab!reader

warnings: HEAVY DDlg kink, HEAVY d/s themes, both parties are safe, sane, and consenting adults, reader is implied to be significantly smaller than mingyu, huge mingyu, big dick gyu (canon), (acknowledged???) exhibitionism, unprotected sex (pls dont do it, its not worth it), multiple sex scenes, spit kink (bec i wrote it), creampie (also bec i wrote it), mentions of masturbation, size kink go bbrrrr, bulge kink, pussy stretching, plenty dirty talk, mingyu uses soooo many nicknames (pretty, baby, princess, etc.)

author's notes: this is written for my dearest friend @madeforgyu who helped me bring forward!mingyu to life and for making his gf such a joy to write. thank you also to her for inspiring me to come back to tumblr after almost a decade.

Mingyu is pissed. He’s absolutely fucking livid.

This game had to have been fucking cooked. There was no way the ref was making all these shitty calls for him not to be paid off or something. The team had been making all the right moves but the second something seems like a foul, a whistle blows and somehow it's always someone from the Diamonds getting the blame.

Mingyu had come to four attempted goals on target and any other time was deemed offside by the refs. If he sees that fucking checkered flag go up one more time before they call for half time he’s going to really give them a reason for a red card.

Any other day he’d probably be able to brush it off after the half time break. But this isn’t any other day or any other match. It was the last match of the season — it was the Korean FA Cup final.

The 23-24 season was grueling but rewarding for the Diamonds. After the major upset at finishing as runners up in the season prior, the whole squad had come into this season with fire under their asses. The change in coaches was another thing — while their ex-manager, Mr. Cho was a hardass, their tearful promise to give him a win even after his retirement paired with Seungcheol’s no-bullshit coach style took them from 100% to 250% in the space of the off season.

Mingyu’s never been a better football player. Which is why he’s unhappy when the half time whistle does blow and they’re down 0-2.

Both teams shuffle into the tunnel to head to their locker rooms where their managers and coaching staff were waiting. Then Mingyu sees a flurry of pink shuffling through the mess of white and red kits.

“Excuse me, excuse mee, coming through please,” comes a light voice, parting the crowd.

There are a couple of chuckles and greetings coming from his teammates and even a high five and a “hey tiny!” from Hoshi before it finds its way in front of him.

It’s his girlfriend. It’s you.

Your presence at the game is no anomaly. You’re pretty much a permanent fixture, sort of like the 12th man of the team. Except you can’t play football for shit and you’re always somehow wearing the worst shoes for going on the pitch.

Everyone on the Diamonds’ side knows you — from the press, to the coaching staff, even some of the nutritionists. You’ve been with Mingyu forever. You hardly phase anyone around you when you bat your eyes at Mingyu and grab one of his hands in both of yours.

Mingyu tries to harden his glare at you, doing his best to send a look of displeasure at whatever it is you’re trying to pull.

“I’m soooorry,” you start, playfully rocking on the balls of your feet and trying to tiptoe to get closer to him.

Mingyu almost wants to roll his eyes.

The last of the team coaches enter the locker room but before the door closes, Seungcheol peeks out and meets Mingyu’s eyes. Hoshi’s head pops out next to him shortly after.

“I don’t have to tell you anything, I’m sure," Seungcheol starts, “But you’ve got 10 minutes, Gyu.”

“Tiny, I need my forward in tip top shape, alright?” comes Hoshi’s laugh.

Now Mingyu really rolls his eyes.

You can’t help the giggle that bubbles out, “Aye aye captain!”

You don’t have to be told twice when Mingyu drags you into an extra locker room and says “Skirt up, pretty.”

He makes quick work of slamming the door shut, not even bothering to lock the door. But he does flick the lights open. He wants to see. He has to see all of you.

When he turns around he clicks his tongue at you seated on one of the benches. You’re still rolling your underwear down your legs. They’re a completely useless pair. Though he admits most of your underwear is useless, either too frilly, flimsy, just there for decoration. It’s okay. He likes pretty things. No wonder he likes you so much.

“Uh-uh, doubletime princess. No time for the usual. I need to come before stepping back on that fucking pitch.”

Mingyu’s agitation from his sub par showing during the first half is bubbling under his skin. He’s been stiffening under his shorts since he saw you shuffling through the tunnel and the minute you grabbed his hands, the only thing in his head was how badly he needed to stuff you with his cock.

He grimaces at the pout on your lips as you finally untangle that stupid lacey thing from your frilly socks and platform sneakers. Mingyu grabs your wrist and drags you up against the wall that isn’t lined with lockers. He presses your front against the wall and uses his knee to spread your legs apart.

On instinct you stick out your ass, eager already despite him still being fully dressed, wiggling slightly to show him you want this too.

With quick, practiced fingers Mingyu undoes the knot of his bottoms and pushes down his compression shorts low enough to pull his cock out. He breathes a sigh of relief because finally he can flip up your skirt and see just how needy you are.

He has one large hand wrapped around his equally large cock and inspecting the view in front of him. His other hand settles on the roundness of your ass, grasping slightly to spread you open. He eyes your pink puckered hole and allows his gaze to move down to your pussy. He’s pumping himself roughly to get himself to full hardness as he eyes the slick that’s seeping between your lips. You’re almost jealous. That’s your job.

Once he’s satisfied with himself, he lets his cock rest between your cheeks, and he grasps you on both sides to squeeze. You want to cry, almost scared he’ll get off like this, just fucking the tightness of your pressed asscheeks. It’s almost quiet save for his panting and the way your slick cunt is starting to wet his cock.

So you whine loudly, that unimpressed, unsatisfied one that precedes a—

“Daddyyyyyyyy!”

Fuck there it is.

Mingyu grimaces and clicks his tongue again. No use being quiet now. Or ever, really. Everyone knows anyway.

He turns you around quickly, hoisting you up in his arms and moving to wrap your legs around his slender waist. This position has your pussy pressing up against the underside of his cock and the slight relief it gives you makes you nearly sob.

Instead you whine. You whine and start to grind sloppily as the feeling of delirium starts to course through you. It comes naturally when it comes to Mingyu. You’re addicted and so is he.

Even if your bare cunt is already pressed against him and all Mingyu has to do is angle your hips slightly to slip in, he goes the extra mile.

He supports your smaller frame with one hand and uses the other to lift a corner of his jersey to his teeth so he can bite it. He pulls it up high enough to expose his stomach and your mouth waters at the sight.

Mingyu looks good. He always looks good and he knows you like it when he’s on display for you as well. The dips and groves of his stomach, how it's still damp from the sweat from the first half, has you clenching around nothing.

He feels it against his cock and he quickly decides to quit playing around. You two probably have around 6 minutes and not a second to lose. So he flips the front of your skirt up and groans at the sight of you.

You’re soaked and coating his cock as you try to grind against him, a futile attempt to somewhat relieve yourself. 

So Mingyu pulls away slightly to position the head of his cock at your entrance.

“D’you play with yourself at all, sweetheart?” He says, tapping the large head of his cock against your clit.

“Huh?” comes your confused response.

“I asked my dumb baby if she played with this little pussy?” He answers meanly.

You flush. It’s like a routine for you to stay with Mingyu the night before a game, allowing him to let off steam and go into a game day glowing and stress free while you sit on his lap in the team bus full of his cum from your morning fuck.

But the night before the cup finals had you attending a work event at the last minute because of a scheduling issue that had both you and Mingyu pissed off and horny.

You suppose that’s partly to blame for the first half that had even you swearing at the refs from your seat in his private box.

“Just a little—“

He clicks his tongue, “How many fingers d’you use?”

“Just two daddy, a-and I stopped!” you cry almost petulantly.

“Yeah, baby? Why’d you stop?”

“Because it was no good!” You bounce in his hold slightly, biting your lower lip as he continues to tease your entrance and clit. Just the head of his cock was enough to get you this wound up.

He grins. It’s brilliant and handsome and just so fucking mean because he says, “Thats right. Two of my dumb baby’s fingers are nothing on daddy’s cock,” and pushes into you.

Mingyu has always been so big and thick and you have always always been so much smaller than him, his cock always stretching a little painfully when he first slips in. But today, with such little time and even spending the night away from each other, the stretch punches the breath from your lungs.

You squeal in equal parts delight and distress and Mingyu sets a brutal pace, not even letting you settle into the feeling of him inside of you.

But you understand. You’re his good girl so you look at him with big teary eyes, bottom lip in between your teeth and nod dumbly at him. Words fail you whenever he’s inside you but it’s okay. It’s better than okay. 

You two have long established how nothing nothing in this world makes you happier than when he uses you as he wants, when slips into you whenever he wants, and calls you his princess while destroying your insides.

His eyes are transfixed on where the two of you meet and you can’t help but follow his gaze. It’s absolutely lewd how you wrap around his cock, airtight, and how the sloppy noise echoes in the room.

“Look at my little pussy,” he starts, “my perfect little hole. My baby’s little cunt was made for me.”

Your cries are growing needier, louder, and more depraved. At the back of your mind you remember to worry about how tonight's the championship match and that the halls are surely bustling with press, staff, and even the opposing team. But Mingyu is fucking you so deep, so fast, that he’s literally fucking the thoughts out of your head.

You fight to stay with him in this room, in this moment, but before your eyes completely shut close, you feel his hand wrap around your throat.

“Daddy’s running out of time, baby,” he says, “so be a good girl and stay still for daddy, huh?”

You whine and nod as his hips move faster and he cages you up against the wall, your arms coming up to wrap around his head. 

“Words, princess. I need words.”

You want to swear at him and thrash in his arms but you’re feeling too good, too lost in the pain and pleasure. You bite at the collar of his jersey because it's the only thing you can do to quiet the pathetic whimpers, babbling, and indecipherable cries Mingyu’s pulling from you. 

Mingyu presses a kiss to your temple quickly, “My dumb baby,” he coos, “look so pretty when you’re crying on my cock. That’s my pretty baby, daddy’s almost there. Keep being good for me, m’kay?”

He speeds up his fucking, hips pistoning, and the press of his cock pressing against that spot in you that makes you see stars.

Mingyu pulls you into a kiss that’s all spit and teeth and bruising lips. He sucks on your tongue before separating the two of you and looking back down at his cock bullying its way into your pussy. 

It happens before your mind can process it but at the speed of light you feel a wet, hot thwack of his spit landing on your clit harshly and you cry out, unable to keep it in.

“Daaaaddy!” It’s loud and keening and you’re sure everyone on the other side of the wall hears.

But it’s all Mingyu needs and one, two, three, brutal thrusts later, he’s spilling deep into you, fucking you through his orgasm.

Your eyes fly open as he rubs at your clit with his thumb while he pulls out and slaps at your puffy clit before he brings your face close and presses back in for a long, deep kiss.

When he pulls away and meets your eyes there’s a mean glint in them and a shit eating grin that is almost frustrating enough to bring you back to tears.

“See baby, if you’d been good, I’d have made you come.”

“B-but! I was good, daddy! I was so good for you!” He settles you back down on wobbly legs and tucks himself back into his uniform.

You’re looking at him in indignation, tears brimming at eyes, threatening to fall. Mingyu’s eyes soften as he brushes the tears away with large thumbs and tucks your hair behind your ears.

It’s a futile attempt to have you looking presentable but your smudged lip gloss and the mess at the back of your head are enough to sell you both out for your halftime activities.

“Being good means not touching what belongs to daddy when he’s not there.”

All you can do is huff. He’s right.

You’re trying to fix how your jersey (a custom pink version of the Diamonds’ home jersey) is tucked into your skirt when you catch Mingyu picking something up from the floor.

It’s your underwear.

“Gimme!” You pout, trying to reach for it. But all Mingyu has to do is raise it above his head and it’s impossible for your to retrieve the flimsy lace

“I think I’ll keep this one for now,” he starts, “Think of it as a lucky charm.”

He unrolls the flimsy fabric and folds it into a small square, tucking it into his compression shorts and tightening up the drawstring of his uniform.

“If you want to be good for daddy tonight, you’ll keep all my cum inside of you, won’t you?” He says sweetly, talking you through the idea he’s suddenly come up with, “then daddy will win this game and fuck you with my medal on.”

After trying to get both of you presentable again, you slip out of the auxiliary locker room hand in hand just two minutes over Seungcheol’s initial 10 minute deadline.

You greet the team as they all line up again to return to the pitch and smile proudly as Mingyu talks to his teammates about feeling more relaxed and ready to play. You don’t miss the way he lets go of your hand just to wrap an arm around your waist, hand resting just on the curve of your ass as you two pass the players of the opposite team.

“Good luck, daddy. Come back to me a champion, please.” You bat your eyelashes at him and press the most innocent of kisses to his cheek.

The sweet moment is interrupted by an exuberant, “OKAY! LET’S GO!” from Hoshi.

You roll your eyes at him playfully but give in when he asks for a fist bump and says, “Tiny, thank you as always for your invaluable contribution to the Diamonds.”

You head off to where Hoshi’s girlfriend is seated, opting to be surrounded by friends and fans alike, but not before hearing the two teammates’ exchange.

“You ready to show them up, rockstar?” Is Hoshi’s jest.

Mingyu can only laugh and say, “Fuck you.”

And show them up he does. Just 6 minutes back on the pitch and Mingyu reminds everyone why he’s one of South Korea’s most prolific strikers. With an assist from Jeonghan Mingyu is lighting fast as he performs one of his signature moves and sends the ball flying to the top left corner of the goal.

You scream your throat hoarse as you watch him run across the pitch towards a camera, pointing and kissing the diamond crest on his chest.

Not long after that Mingyu nets a freekick from just beyond the penalty box, equalizing the game. With so much at stake and still so many minutes on the clock, you can hardly breathe easily, knowing it could still go either way. And it does. 

At the 80th minute the opposition scores their third goal and you could practically feel the Diamonds’ crowd deflating, fearing a repeat of the previous year.

“They can still equalize, I’m sure of it,” you hear Hoshi’s girlfriend from beside you, “As long as Soonyoung doesn’t fuck up and your boyfriend produces another one of his miracles, we can take this to penalties.”

You groan. You hate penalties, but you know how much this match means to Mingyu and the team.

Despite the possibilities, the game has gone into injury time and the crowd around you already look like they’re ready to pack up but sticking around just in case.

The majority of the players are crowded around the opponents’ goal, desperate feet hoping to score or hoping to defend. At this point some of the opposite side’s players are just trying to kill time to secure their win.

Hoshi is yelling orders from along the Diamonds’ midfield, abandoning his goal with the confidence that his teammates will surely take another goal. 

But time just about stops when the Diamonds are awarded a corner. Jeonghan looks like he’s dragging his feet about taking it, walking away to have someone else take the kick. But in a split second he turns back to kick the ball in a beautiful arch that meets none other than Mingyu’s right foot to take a third goal.

Hat trick.

Penalties are an awful cruel thing for any football fan, you think. Even after over ninety minutes a winner still isn’t decided and it falls down to each team’s five penalty takers and their goalkeepers.

Hoshi’s girlfriend is in hysterics next to you, gripping your hand like a lifeline. Mingyu had been the first to take his penalty, the ball floating almost gracefully and finding itself out of the keeper’s reach in a split second.

The score was at 4-3 with the Diamonds in the lead after Seungkwan’s attempt had found the back of the net neatly. If their opponents miss this, the championships would be theirs.

This all falls down to their captain.

Hoshi has always been so dependable and today is no exception. The very second he deflects that fifth and final attempt, cheers erupted in every direction and the final whistle is blown. 

The Diamonds won the Korean FA Cup.

The players, the coaches, and press flood the pitch and white confetti erupts around you. Before you know it your seatmate has vanished. She’s running across the pitch to jump into Hoshi’s arms, kissing away the tears pouring down his face, the team captain overcome with emotion.

Jealousy flares in your chest and you try to look everywhere for Mingyu. You stand indignantly, looking all over for him when you’re reminded of gravity.

The intensity of the match and the anxiety at its uncertainty had taken your mind away from your mid-match tryst with Mingyu and from the fact that he had come so deeply inside of you that it was only now that you were standing and pacing and you could feel the thick, sticky seed moving inside of you, threatening to drip out of your hole. You didn’t even have any underwear to catch it and sop up the mess, the lace neatly folded and tucked into Mingyu’s own underwear. 

You stamp your foot and a whine pathetically when you feel someone come up behind you. You quickly turn to see that, amidst the chaos, Mingyu had found you.

You’d only been away from each other for an hour but in that hour he had become a champion and that fact alone had changed him. He looked like some Greek hero with how he stood with pride painted on his face and how his handsome smirk screamed winner.

God, you needed to suck his cock. 

Luckily for you, Mingyu had the same idea. With the flurry around the win and the podium and carpets still being set up, the captain, manager, and executives still giving interviews, Mingyu knows everyone will be busy and he has time to whisk you away before anyone will even notice he’s gone.

That’s how you end up in the team’s main locker room, still a bit messy from the half time huddle, kneeling in front of Mingyu’s locker and choking on his cock.

“That’s right, baby. Take it slow so you can take more daddy in your mouth,” is his sweet encouragement before he takes the bottle of champagne next to him and takes a long swig.

You’re transfixed, blinking teary eyes to clear them, just so you don’t have to look away from the sight in front of you.

Mingyu had stripped everything off, feeling like he was overheating from the match he’d just played. He sat like a king, leaning back against his locker, spreading his legs and propping one leg up on the bench. He’d popped open a bottle of champagne and pressed the mouth of the bottle to your lips, watching the alcohol overflow from your mouth and drip down your chin to your neck and down your chest.

He kisses you shortly after, tasting the Moët on your tongue and pushing you down onto your knees.

There’s no need to preface anything because in no time you’re gagging on him. It doesn’t take much to have you drooling all over him, his cock so much bigger than what you should actually have in your mouth.

“You can fuck my throat, daddy, please please please!” You gasp out as he pulls you off of him so you can take in a deep breath.

“I know baby,” he says before taking another swig of that champagne, your eyes following the way his Adam's apple bobs. 

He leans down to bring the bottle to your mouth and says, “tongue out, my filthy girl.”

Your spit is thick and sticky in your mouth and you make a show of it when you follow his orders. He wraps a hand around your throat to steady you as he pours champagne into your mouth again, not caring about how much falls down the side of your mouth and dampens your jersey.

He leans back, pleased with the indulgent mess before him, and grabs at the hair at the crown of your head to pull you back down on his cock.

You’re a dream. You had been so good, so obedient at learning to take his cock over the years, and now he’s sure he’s molded himself into your throat the same way he’s made your pussy perfect for only him.

“My perfect girl’s got the most perfect mouth, huh?” He’s holding you down onto him, keeping your head in place, “The filthiest fucking mouth and its all for dad’s cock.”

The noises are disgusting. With your mouth full you can’t say anything but you’re happy just to listen to him come undone. Your spit and his pre-cum gather at the sides of your mouth but you don’t want to stop until he’s pumping his sticky cum onto your tongue.

You pull off of him to lave your tongue over his balls, sucking on one and then the other before saying, “Daddy, I think I deserve to drink your cum, right?”

Mingyu swears under his breath, somehow still not believing how lucky he got with you, your depraved mind the only one that can match his own.

He downs the rest of the champagne and moves to kiss you, sharing the drink. You gulp down what you can before going back down on him, holding down his hips as the muscles beneath your fingers jerk as he fills your mouth. 

Mingyu comes in thick ropes of sticky hot cum that you almost have trouble swallowing, but daddy trained you to be a good girl, thankful for everything she gets. So you swallow every single drop, proudly showing Mingyu your empty mouth.

“Atta girl.”

You try to be on your best behavior and good for Mingyu for the rest of the evening. You’re the picture-perfect girlfriend watching and cheering proudly as he gets his gold medal and the team cheers in unison once Hoshi lifts the trophy above his head. The pictures are taken and the interviews are given but there’s only so much you can take and by the time Mingyu has you buckled up into his car, you’re feeling unnecessarily bratty.

“Baby,” Mingyu starts. You’re some fifteen minutes away from his house and he’s about to get into it now?

“Mm,” is your petulant response.

“Listen to me,” he warns.

But it almost comes as an instinct to you to retaliate, having the most fun when you two go back and forth like this.

“Don’ wanna.”

From the corner of your eye you see his jaw harden.

“Didn’t daddy fill you up, today?” He says as more of a statement.

“He did.”

“Didn’t daddy feed you his come, princess?”

You start to flush, “He did.”

“And then didn’t daddy say he was going to fuck you with his medal on if he won the championships?”

He’s pulling up to his house now and you almost let out a sigh of relief.

“He did,” you answer.

He parks and turns to you, “Then you are going to get out of this car and head up to our room and you are going to strip yourself naked.”

You’ve been waiting for this. Finally, away from any prying eyes and ears, no matter how accepting, you can finally let loose and have him every way you want him.

“Daddy will park the car and unload the stuff and when I come into the room I better see that messy pussy served up for me.”

There’s buzzing in your ears and you bite your lips.

“Of course, daddy.”

It starts with your good intentions, really.

You had asked him kindly to lay back against the pillows and the headboard promising that you were going to be real good, daddy, I promise! And that you were so proud of him, that he was so yummy on the field and of course he was going to be the winner.

You wanted to reward him, said that daddy deserves to be ridden to have your tits in his face, to be spoiled.

To be fair, it was a valiant effort on your end. Once he’d settled into bed, you squealed and threw yourself over him, chest to chest as you rubbed your bare pussy onto his cock.

You were aching to be stuffed but you know how sloppy and wet he likes your pussy to be. And through his cum from earlier today was smeared all over your cunt and thighs, you knew you could do better for him.

You pressed kisses to his chest while running your hands over the dips and divots, the hardness and softness of his chest and abs and sighed dreamily as you met his eyes through thick lashes, “I love you daddy, I’m so happy for you.”

“I love you too, baby. I’m happy I made you happy,” was his simple response.

You bit your lip at the elation that filled your chest and you pressed a quick kiss to the gold medal resting on his chest. You stood on your knees on either side of his hips and kept one hand on his stomach to steady yourself as you lined his cock with your entrance.

The delicious stretch and resistance was still there as you sank down on him, his own spend mixing with your slick, making the slide delicious.

He couldn’t keep his eyes off how your pussy split open to take all of him. The pace is slow and your whimpers of “Daddy, daddy, daddy” made his head spin.

But while slow and romantic was good, it was always just how your love making started. This was all before your thighs had grown tired and your lower back started to hurt.

Mingyu tried to talk you through it, guide your hips on how to grind just right for the head of his cock to press against that spot inside of you. Even his encouragement of you can do it, pretty, daddy’s tired is futile when you finally cry out.

“But daddyyyyy,” comes the high pitched whine, “I’M TIRED TOO. Don’t you feel bad for your baby?”

And he breaks at that.

He sits up and flips the two of you over without even pulling out and your eyes roll as the movements jostle him inside of you.

The anticipation is reaching its boiling point when lifts one leg and places it over his shoulder and pulls out of you to rest his cock on your sopping cunt.

He loves this. It’s fucking sick, but he loves to see how big he is compared to your little hole. He loves to see the head of his cock aligned with your belly button and how you clench around nothing, already missing him inside you.

Before he decides to push his cock back inside you he grasps himself by the base and rubs harshly at your entrance and clit with the engorged head of his cock. It makes you squeal as the rough stimulation shocks your system.

He had left you hanging during half time, with only just enough time for him to fill you up, and you had been too preoccupied blowing him to rub yourself to completion after the match.

But the blessed feeling of an orgasm is finally bubbling back onto the surface now that Mingyu was focusing on your pleasure.

“You’ll give me this, right, baby?” He says pulling you back to him. He wants you to be present, to know how he’s making your body tick, “Be my good girl and wet my cock, daddy wants this pussy to be dripping when he fucks it.”

You whimper in acknowledgment and he speeds up his ministrations, the stimulation getting to him as well as beads of pre-cum mix with your slick and eventually, the spray of your cum squirting out of you messily. 

Your moan is music to his ears and you cry out as he pushes his cock into you, not giving you even a second of respite.

With both hands free, Mingyu positions both of your legs over his shoulders, your stupid frilly socks tickling his ears. This position is a favorite for the both of you. He loves how deep he can fuck you like this, the head of his cock kissing your cervix. And you love how when you put your hand just under your belly button, you can see and feel how his cock moves inside you.

“Fuck, look at you,” he says all too breathless, “So fucking perfect.” The sweat beading on his face falls on your temples and you want to cry — what a waste not to taste him on your tongue.

“My perfect little cocksleeve, that I made just for me, isn’t that right. Fuck.” He’s losing it and God do you want him to fall apart.

He pulls away slightly and laughs to himself a little when he sees how his medal, still around his neck, is resting on your chest, bouncing slightly as he continues to fuck into you. What a sight. And only his.

What a day it’s been for him to have woken up in this very bed alone and just another football player hoping for a dream to come true. And to end up here now, in the same bed with you calling out to him like a litany of prayers and his champion’s medal sitting between your tits, bite marks on the flesh contrasting prettily against the yellow gold.

He bites his lip and focuses on your bodies and how you can barely get the word ‘daddy’ out coherently, mumbling dadd-da-daddy-dad unintelligibly. He does you a kindness and presses a hand down where your smaller one is, and thrusts hashly, loving the way you clench around him as you finally reach a second peak. The vice grip your pussy has on his cock is enough to push him over the edge as well, spilling another load into you and your eyes flutter shut.

Mingyu doesn’t pull out of you but sets your legs down and massages the insides of your thighs because he knows you’ll complain about them tomorrow.

He slips off his medal and sets it on the bedside table next to your phones.

After arranging your bodies to be more comfortable, he presses soft kisses on your ear and into your hair, chuckling slightly as you mumble in your sleep that it tickles. 

Mingyu can’t help but keep that smile even as he settles down. It feels so good to be a winner.

-`✮´- if you've come this far, thank you and it'd mean the world to get a reblog or to hear your thoughts on my first fic on here!

[transform4u]

What happens when a whole gay friend group suddenly is converted into straight guys? How long does it take for them to morph into your average straight friend group.

A mass transformation is actually quite simple. It's quite quick even. You and your friends are out at the bars, dancing joyously amidst a sea of rainbow flags celebrating Pride. The music is pumping, filling the air with infectious energy and laughter. You're singing along to ariana grande and chappell roan. Suddenly, a thick fog rolls in, casting an eerie shadow over the festivities. You squint through the haze, bewildered as the vibrant rainbow flags above you slowly transform into University of Alabama banners, their crimson and white stark against the dim lights.

The once sweet aroma of cocktails is replaced by a pungent blend of stale beer and used gym socks. You crinkle your nose in distaste, exchanging puzzled glances with your friends who are equally taken aback by the strange shift in atmosphere.

Even more disconcerting, your trendy, expressive outfits begin to warp before your eyes. What were moments ago stylish Pride attire now morphs into tacky, gaudy bro outfits—tight tanks, polos, basic jeans, cargo shorts, and baseball caps that clash horrendously.

In your hands, the vodka crans magically transform into ice-cold beers, condensation dripping down the sides. Without missing a beat, your friends instinctively clink their bottles together, the chilled beer splashing onto your newly acquired bro-shirt.

As the fog settles into your mind, a strange heaviness descends, dulling your thoughts and making them harder to grasp. You blink, trying to recall how you ended up here, surrounded by the pulsating beats and colorful lights of the bar. The TVs that once played vibrant pop music videos suddenly flicker and transform, displaying intense football, baseball, and basketball games.

The plays, the scores, the athleticism—it all draws you in, stirring a primal excitement deep within. Your friends beside you are equally ensnared, their cheers and yells blending with the roar of the crowd in the bar.

As the games unfold, you and your friends grow more animated, more boisterous. You shout at the screen, criticize referees' calls, and passionately debate strategy. The atmosphere around you intensifies, fueled by adrenaline and the communal thrill of competition. The usual cares and worries dissipate, replaced by a temporary escape into the world of sports and beer, where passion and intensity reign supreme.

You realize that your perception of your friends has changed. They're no longer individuals you find attractive or admire on a personal level; they've become your "bros" in the most superficial way possible. The thought of hooking up with them is now gross as fuck. You only want to hook up with chicks from now on.

A memory forms of working out at the gym with your bros and catcalling at girls as you flexed your muscles under the weightlifting machines. The smell of sweat and stale air clings to your body, reminding you of how much time you spent there trying to impress girls instead of focusing on schoolwork or hanging out with actual friends who cared about more than just physical appearance.

You begin to see your bros only as people who share similar interests in sports, video games, and partying - nothing more than that anymore.

As the night progresses, your fixation on women's bodies intensifies. You find yourself unable to look away from any woman who walks by, constantly staring at their breasts and imagining what it would be like to touch them. The thought of hooking up with a "dumb slut" consumes your mind, making it impossible for you to think about anything else.

Your friends seem just as obsessed as you are, leering at every chick who passes by and making vulgar comments about their appearances. It's clear that this altered state has taken hold of all of you in different ways but with one common goal: finding someone willing (or unwilling) enough for a drunken hookup.

Your friends join in on the catcalling and lewd remarks as they pass by, egging each other on with crude comments about how "dumb sluts" they are for dressing so provocatively. The thought of hooking up with any one of them fills you with an intense horniness that makes it difficult to focus on anything else.

With your bros egging you on, you start to rate each girl loudly and openly, "A total 10"...."Dude she's like a 5, tops" "Bro, that's a fucking 9!" reducing them to mere objects. The laughter and camaraderie that once felt genuine now echo with a hollow, performative quality. The bar, once a place of celebration and community, becomes tinged with a sense of toxicity as you and your friends revel in this distorted version of masculinity.

In this altered state, the fog not only obscures your thoughts but also distorts your values and inhibitions. What began as a night of dancing and celebration for Pride has veered into a troubling territory of objectification and disrespect and above all else straight Pride. Your muscles begin to swell and bulge beyond their usual size. Your abs tighten and define themselves, while your pecs become more prominent. Your biceps grow thicker and stronger, making it easier for you to flex them whenever the opportunity arises.

Your friends undergo a similar transformation, their figures becoming more imposing with every passing moment. Their postures become more confident and aggressive as they flex their newly enhanced muscles to get the attention of various chicks in the bar,

You grab around of shots for you and friends. You struggle to recall their names, but suddenly it clicks in your mind. You're Brock, and your friends are Bryce, Brody, Brady, Brad, Brayden, and Brandon. It feels oddly comforting to remember these names, as if they've always been there, waiting just beneath the surface.

Your surroundings seem to echo with a thick Southern accent, every thought and word peppered with its distinctive cadence. The pride in being associated with the University of Alabama swells within you, a deep-rooted allegiance that feels unquestionable and natural.

In this altered state, a surge of conservative beliefs and values begins to replace the liberal, progressive mindset you once held. The fog in your mind acts as a catalyst, erasing the complexities of nuanced thought and replacing them with a stark, black-and-white worldview. Suddenly, concepts like political correctness and social justice seem foreign and misguided to you.

You feel a growing disdain for what you now label as "liberal snowflakes," dismissing their concerns as overly sensitive and irrelevant. The camaraderie with your friends intensifies as you bond over shared conservative ideals, mocking those who don't align with your newfound worldview.

As the night progresses, you and your friends continue to embrace your transformed identities with a fervor that surprises even yourselves. The once inclusive and open-minded individuals you were have been eclipsed by personas of Southern pride and conservative values. It's as if the fog has not only altered your physical appearance but also reshaped your entire psyche, leaving behind starkly different versions of yourselves -just a bunch of dumb fratbros looking for a good time.

As drunkenness sets in, so does a sense of entitlement born from privilege: believing that because you are men, you deserve whatever women offer them without considering their opinions. You just want one thing. Sex.

With each passing moment spent hitting on various women at the bar comes an increasing desire to bring one back home for some drunken fun – no matter how shallow or meaningless it may seem at first glance – driven by primal urges fueled by testosterone coursing through newly enhanced bodies thanks to this foggy haze surrounding them all night long.

[dancingtotuyo]

Overtime

Joel Miller x F!reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Summary: You and Joel fight over the remote as adults do.

Warnings/Tags: language, established relationship, handjob (M receiving), some restraint, insinuated that Joel is larger than reader (he can move you around), implied sex, football references, Joel and reader being menaces to eachother

Words: 1165

Notes: Let’s try this again! Tumblr flagged the first one (tumblr you prude!) written for @iamasaddie’s moodboard game! I had so much fun writing this! And seeing everyone else’s creative genius with their moodboards! Huge shoutout to my love and fellow sportsball enthusiast, Angela @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin, for letting me talk through stuff and beta reading! And last but not least, @saradika for the divider!

Joel is used to lazy Sunday afternoons on the couch. Typically committing Saturdays for errands and projects, he’s tried to use Sundays as a day to spend time with Sarah, but she’s out of town with her best friend until this evening. Which is how Joel finds himself spread out on the couch, the warm sun pulling through your window on the other side of town.

The tv hums with the voices of the sportscasters over the Cowboys’ game. He can hear you bustling around in your bedroom, two threads keeping him tied to consciousness.

There’s the distinct sound of your footsteps and the channel switching as the broadcaster’s voices change. They’re leading into the late game.

“I was watching that,” Joel says, gruffly.

“You’re sleeping.”

“Am not.” Joel runs a hand over his face, slowly blinking his eyes open. “Just resting my eyes.”

You let out a huff of laughter. “Okay, Dad.”

He eyes your backside as you’re engrossed in the pregame commentary. Dressed in the familiar light blue of your well worn Houston Oilers shirt, a smile spreads across his face. “Is that really what you want to call me?”

You flip him off.

Joel bites back a laugh. He reaches out, pinching your bottom firmly between two fingers. You squeal, spinning to face him. “Joel Miller,” you say, crossing your arms.

“C’mon, Sweetheart. The Oilers left Texas years ago. They ain’t even the Oilers anymore,” he prods, knowing he’ll get a rise out of you. “Turn the Cowboys game back on. It’s almost over.”

“My aligiance is not dependent on the location of my team.” You stick your tongue out. “The cowgirls should’ve put the Giants away by now. Not that you would have noticed.”

“Rude.” He scowls.

“My house, my rules, Miller.”

He lets out a sound that reminds you of a growl and before you have time to tease him about it, his arms are around you, pulling you down to the couch with him. You laugh as his lips press to your neck right where you like it.

Your laughter quickly turns into a soft moan as your head dips against his shoulder. His fingers skirt under the hem of your shirt, caressing the soft flesh of your stomach. “You like that baby?”

You nod your head as soft whimpers fall from your lips. Joel chuckles again. His arm slips around your waist, tugging you flush against him.

“Such a good girl,” he purrs in your ear, fingertips trailing down your wrist.

If you thought you couldn’t melt anymore, you’re wrong. Something akin to a whine escapes your lips as you turn your head to kiss him. You’re so close to his lips when his slow chuckle turns to a laugh and the tv remote slips from your grasp.

He flips the station back just as the Cowboys are kicking off for overtime. Before you can react, he tosses it across the room, holding you against him.

“You jackass!” You strain against him, trying to break free.

“I’m just trying to finish my game.”

“You barely started it before you passed out.”

“Wasn’t sleepin.” Joel’s voice is still gruff in your ear.

You try to wiggle free, but it’s useless. He knows from more than enough experience how to keep you in one spot.

You get more anxious as the minutes tick by, shifting as you can between his legs.

“They’re about to kick off,” you fuss at him.

“Overtime will be done soon.” He pats your thigh placatingly. “We’ll turn on your Oilers’ game then, or whatever they’re calling themselves now.”

You roll your eyes.“The Titians?” You shift again.

“I know my teams, Sweetheart.” Joel nips at your earlobe, eyes trained ahead. “And quit shiftin.”

You furrow your brow, until it hits you, literally. His cock presses into your back as a slow smirk spreads across your face. “Why? Is this affecting you?”

You rub against him more intentionally this time. His breath grows ragged in your ear. His hands move to your hips, desperate to stop your motions. He’s not going to let you win the game.

Try as he might, he doesn't have the sheer strength to keep you immobile. Your hands drop to his thighs, fingers trailing the inner seam of his jeans.

You glance behind you. Joel refuses to look at you, a slight twitch in his set jaw. You’re not sure he’s actually absorbing the game anymore.

Your hand creeps up, landing between the two of you as you palm his erection.

He lets out a low groan, gripping your wrist. “Don’t start what you can’t finish.”

You smirk. “Who said I couldn’t?”

He groans, back hitting the couch, but keeps a hold of your non-dominant hand, tethering you to him.

You pop open the button of his jeans and his cock springs free. You raise an eyebrow at him. “This is a new development.”

“Had to make things easier for you.” He winks.

You scoff, tracing a vein with your finger tips. “Such a pretty little cock.”

“Little?” He teases. “Ain’t nothing little here, Sweetheart.”

You spit in your free hand before gripping him. You run a finger over his tip, spreading out the precum that’s begun to leak. Joel’s head hits the couch with a low groan.

Using your tongue and hands, you waste no time working him to the edge. You’re far enough into your relationship to know how to get Joel off with quick efficiency.

His hips thrust up. “Fuck, Just like that, Sweetheart. You know how I like it.”

His eyes are closed, chest heaving with desire. He’s all but forgotten about the heated overtime match playing on the TV.

You could finish him off right here. Two quick moves and you know he’d make a mess right here, but his grip on your wrist loosens just enough for you to slip free.

The moment your warmth is gone, Joel’s eyes open. He’s dazed, looking blissed out on your couch. He makes eye contact with you, and you shoot him a wink before flipping the station once again to your football game.

Joel groans, rising to his feet. Laughter settles in your bones. He’s trying to look menacing, but his features are still clouded in lust and desire.

“That wasn’t very nice of you.”

“Neither was turning off my game in my house.”

He rips the remote from your hands, tossing it to the couch. He grabs your hips, spinning you toward the wall.

Your hands spread out against the dry wall with a thud, breath catching in your throat as heat floods your body. “Suppose I need to teach you a lesson now, Sweetheart.” He drags out the nickname as if there’s nothing sweet about you.

Shivers rush down your spine. You’re not sure how much of a lesson he teaches you, but it’s worth missing the first quarter.

Joel doesn’t know how his game ends until the halftime report and quite frankly, he doesn’t care.

[blingblong55]

Ghost of the past -Alex Keller

Based on a request:

Alex Keller angst with f reader? 👀 Do your worst, break my heart --- F!Reader, angst, death of character, cheating, established!relationship ---

It's perfect, a relationship between a soldier and his civilian girlfriend, nothing more than happiness and great talks. That is what the plan was meant to be like. The day he met her, something you wish to know how it went. Platonic, is all he explained, but she was not meant for that and neither were you. Farah, the girl he worked with, was so sweet you too swore she was just a friend, clung to that. Just a friend. His gaze, was not on yours but on her as she wore a gown to the military ball. Oh sweet sight he held dear to him. He never called your relationship love, something you did behind his back. The chilly autumn wind, the scarf that he kept in his home even to this day. Last reminder of what once was. 

Singing in cars, dancing in bars and kissing at American football games when his favourite team won. Getting lost in the woods so he can have just five more minutes of you. Family album his mum swore you and he would create the minute he married you. "Come on sweet pea," something he always said to you, now said to his oh-so-sweet love. The love he had for you is long gone, something he wished to hold for just five more minutes, get lost in the woods with you for that time. Just him and you. 

Dancing in the kitchen's dim light, the fireplace keeping you warm as the winter winds came by. Your scarf on the sofa as he made love to you that night. His clothes and boots were under your bed as he claimed your body over and over again. 

"Alex Keller will be your teammate for this, Farah," what a way to meet the jewel of his glimmery eyes. The family home you swore he'd grown old in with you, now left abandoned at that mossy end of the road. No more drives to the airport for him, no more keeping up with American football teams for when he came back home to ask who would be going to the Superbowl. He lost the one cheerleader that kept her chant even at the worst of times. Hand in hand, hospital rooms, sick days and now...tombstone he cleans. 

"Alex!" you giggle as he carries you through the field. His brothers chasing you both. Flag football, trying to win the heart of his dear sweet pea and the carrot cake his lovely mother made. Did she know you were the first girl he took home? Did she know you were the one who held his hand when she failed to cover for him on the battlefield? Maybe not but could she care he lost it all after you? 

Now, he walks through that empty football stadium alone, the January wind making his nose red. The same one you kissed with his rosy cheeks. "And this was him at 5, Halloween at the old house," his mum shared the picture of the young Alex. 

"One day, you and I will walk that same street, trick or treating with our children," he kisses your temple on that November night. 

"Wait, what does that mean?" you ask him, he chuckles and cups your face. "They are going to the Super Bowl, sweet pea," the Eagles t-shirt hung from his shoulder. 

"WE WON!" He raises his arms and then turns to you, a smile on your face. Eagles shirt, worn by you. 

Springtime came by last spring morning with you. The night time came quickly and so did the end. You drove to the local shop for some medicine and then you saw it. Her hand, greeting his mothers. Your heart ached. Was this the reason why for Christmas, Thanksgiving and New Year's he told you, he would be away and not contact his family? Was he creating those memories with her? Deception, betrayal and solitude. All given in the blink of an eye by the man who fathered your unborn child. 

Flashbacks swarm you. August, when he kissed your forehead and drove you to the first of many lectures you gave as a professor. September, the way he made love to you, how by morning he made breakfast, how in that night of love, you made the child that would hold his last name. October, the sweet nothing he whispered before he went on deployment. November, December and January of that time, how you didn't hear from him or anyone of his family. Betrayal began on the second of October. March only brought blues and grey skies. 

April brought black gowns. 

"R/N, please let me explain. I got carried away, I forgot-"

"You forgot me, Alex! You forgot me!" you cry, the resentment felt by the child growing in you. "It's not that, I swear it's just-"

"Was it not enough? To give you all of me? I never asked for much. Respect and honesty? Was it so hard for you to even give me the decency to not run around town with her?"

"It's not good for the baby-"

"Don't you pretend to know between right and wrong!"

That night, it is said that a soldier so fierce and strong like him became the weakest of them all. He lost the battle between you and life. He became a man...no...he became the ghost of a man. A ghost that haunts the home he made with you. The empty cradle, the empty side of the bed that belonged to you. The two tombstones he visits every day. The picnics and conversations he has with two souls who wanted him home, all as he created another home with a woman who fell in love with someone else. 

Wise men say, don't chase two lovers, not when the right one is there, playing the fool as you chase the one who can't give you more than a glance or a word. Stay with the one who made you feel safe in a danger zone. Stay with the one who even after all, made you soup, tucked you in bed and reminded you of how strong you are, all whilst she carried your child. A child he never met, a child that went with you to the great big sky. 

"I'm sorry, sweet pea," the drunken man cried to the tombstone of what was his beloved. Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter, all watched him beg to the skies for a second chance at this. To press replay on that time of his life, when he had it all. The girl of his dreams, the woman set to carry his blood, the woman who cheered him on during war. Now, all that is left of you, is all you left at home. The way you set the portraits, the furniture and the nursery, to only be watched by the ghost of him. Fool, the man he became. 

A/N: I love Farah, okay, so this is no hate for my baby Farah, I just needed to make this interesting

Tags: @liyanahelena @sadisticfiremelon @aquavenus58 @iamashadows-blog

[azulera]

Jadon and y/n coming back to Dortmund. The first game back and everyone is super happy to have these to back

By Night in Dortmund

Pairing: Jadon Sancho x Black Reader

Words: 2.5k

Notes: anon i know you probably wanted something short and cute but the emotions were flowing and i needed to let them free (i am in a writing slump). verrry mushy fluffy hurt / comfort forgive me, hope u like it  

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

By night, Dortmund looks just how she remembered it. Locals are still trickling out from the shops and bars downtown, but the thin, quaint streets are familiar as the chauffeured car zips toward the hotel the club has booked for them. The driver’s English is fluent and though it’s nearing 22:00, his manner is chipper, and polite. He doesn’t blink an eye when Y/N leans over, pressing into Jadon’s side in the backseat.

“Are you alright? You’ve been quiet.”

“Yeah, I’m good.” Jadon reaches for her hand and pulls them both to rest in his lap. “Just thinkin.”

“About what?”

“About how when I came here for the first time, remember I saw someone’s nan, like, a group of em, leaving the pub like 2am. Couldn’t believe it.”

She huffs, and leans her head against his shoulder. Her hair and ears are protected by a yellow, silk-lined BVB hat.

“The exact same as England, no? All the nans love a pub run now and then. What was the one in Manchester all the aunties went to?”

“Don’t remember.” Jadon fidgets in his seat, and a cold surge shoots down her back. Perhaps it wasn’t the aptest comment to make. She can do better than to mention the city that for the next five months at least, they will both hope to forget.

“Well, anyways, it’s normal. Do you think the physios will-”

She interrupts her own sentence with a yawn, which is long and drawn out and makes both Jadon and the driver laugh.

“Are you tired? You can stay at the hotel while I go to medical.”

“‘No,” She shakes her head, rubbing the drowsiness from her eyes that has seemed to strike from out of nowhere. “No, I’ll go with you.”

“My sleepy girl,” Jadon tutts, and kisses her on the forehead, right above her frowning eyebrows. She is determined not to let his affection relax her into sleep. “M’sorry it’s so late. Know you had a long day.”

It’s all of the past week– the past three years, really– that have been long, and even though leaving Manchester feels like a genie's wish finally granted, there is a balloon of tensions still swelling just under the surface. She’s thrilled to be back in Germany, and beyond excited to see Jadon in action again on the pitch, but also knows the current solution is only a quick one. A long term plan for her boyfriend’s career is not yet in their hands, still fluttering up in the air.

The uncertainty has been a frigid block of ice in her stomach since they deboarded the plane.

“So have you.”

“Yeah, but, still. How bout you decide after we check in our room? We’re almost there.”

Jadon peers out of the window, and she follows his gaze. The colorful passing lights, and the possibility of receiving more of his kisses are motivation to stay awake.

“We’re almost there? How d’you know?”

“‘Cause I know.” He continues looking out the window, but his hand tightens in her grasp. Leaning against his chest, she can feel his deep, hopeful sigh when it escapes him. “I’m at home, innit.”

—--

The Merck-Stadion am Böllenfalltor is no Signal Iduna Park, but the incessant fervor of German football fans is found in almost every city. Blue flags and scarfs are scattered so densely across the stadium that it’s hard to make out anything else from her seat, but when the players exit the tunnel at kick-off her eyes spot Jadon like magic. He is a tiny dot, covered in black, a dark speck on the bench, and simultaneously the only one in the crowd who matters. She wants desperately to know what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling about the match, but knows his phone with her “good luck” texts is tucked dutifully away in his locker. So from here, she can only think at him: You can do this, You deserve this, Everyone here is behind you.

The ice block inside shifts every time she moves.

It has melted down a fraction when the first half ends, with a lovely finish by Julian, but not much else to show. Darmstadt are not the most formidable of opponents, but anyone knows that home or away, a one-goal lead rarely guarantees anything, is hardly enough to shrink the worry down to size. During the break, she orders two hot chocolates from the beverage stand to stay warm and for moral support.

Once she’s finished the first cup, she reflects, that, just maybe, the anxieties she’s harboring are unfounded. The homecoming, after all, has been mostly joyful: Jadon’s medical test last night went seamlessly, the other partners and families in the seats next to her have been incredibly kind, and the welcome from Terzic and Jadon’s new and not-so-new teammates has been sincere, and warm.

So she can’t explain why it feels still as if she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Or, for some snag or slip up to scratch the surface, and ruin the pretty picture that Jadon is fighting so hard to restore. There's no logical reason why, in the 60th minute, when the match resumes and she sees the yellow #10 shining on his back, she's teleported back to those dreadful evenings in Manchester. Then, it seemed that no matter what Jadon did or said, in public or in private, his actions were misconstrued, his words twisted up by a manager who was determined to misunderstand him.

She tried, in those moments, to do what she could to help. The days she got home before him, she would order his favorite meals - spicy curry goat and rice-, queue his favorite 90's American movies, and bring him tea before bed. When they settled beneath the covers, she would rub his back and pet his hair, his hands clutching at every part of her he could reach, and their heartbeats echoing. Some nights his dry lips would press against her throat, whispering, confessing. I just wanna play. After a while, she never knew how to respond. “It’s gonna be okay” was the truth of what she believed, but she knew that words, however heart-felt, were not what he needed to hear. He just needed her to be there.

And so she was.

And now, here they are.

Regardless the color of the kit- this is where Jadon belonged. On a green, frost-bitten field, panting, his face frozen and his lungs burning. Blitzing defenders and setting up his teammates, performing how the world always knew he could and giving everything to push the team toward a win.

As long as he can be somewhere, and doing this, she thinks, a future will sort itself out. She’s sure.

He flits his way down the wing, and she imagines she can see the fire in his eyes all the way from her seat. The ice block resting in her stomach begins to melt away in its heat. By the time he delivers the assist, Marco flying into the box to tap the cross home, there’s nothing left but a puddle, quickly drying up.

—--

She beats the team coach back to Dortmund and looks up from her phone when the players begin to file out. Their shoulders are hunched against the cold, but even from a distance she can tell the three points, the clean sheet have lifted the daunting weight beginning to rest there. When she walks closer, she can even see the grins, hear the jokes and banter flying in a mix of German, Dutch, and English. She says a quick hello to Gio and Jamie when they pass, and congratulates Mouki on his goal, and it’s a lovely moment, - she’s more than pleased to see their faces, to be back among them. She’s almost taken by surprise when Jadon comes up behind her, sliding an arm across her shoulders.

“Baby,” She jumps into him, circling her arms around Jadon’s neck while he squeezes around her middle. They are in the middle of Germany but that spot between his neck and shoulder smells just like the body wash and cologne he uses at home, and for a second she isn’t sure she can let go. His new, old teammates still surround them, respectfully ignoring their PDA, but it’s all she can do to not kiss him on the mouth right there, in front of them all. “An assist first day back? You were born to do this, you know.”

“Yeah? You think so?”

The crest on her yellow BVB hat scratches against his coat as she nods.

“Yeah, it felt good, innit. Good to be back.”

She pulls away an inch to look in his face, at his cute nose which is pale from the cold, at the relief and fatigue and shine in his eyes which is back and which she hasn’t seen in long months. She cups his cheeks in her hands as she speaks, feeling her own grin spreading, making sure he hears what she’s saying, and feels it too. “I’m so proud of you, Jadon. And no matter what else happens, I’m gonna be here.”

Her words and their sincerity make Jadon smile, too, and he turns his head, kissing into the center of her palm, and nuzzling his fuzzy cheek there. His eyes slip closed for the briefest second. Y/N isn’t sure that her own eyes aren’t watering --she’s that happy for him, she loves him that much-- but is hastily wiping any moisture away when she catches sight of the platinum blonde standing just over Jadon’s left shoulder.

“Marcinho,”

“Y/N!” She and Jadon separate long enough for her to offer the midfielder a tight squeeze that he returns in kind. Save for a short chat after a match in the USA in the summer, it has been years now, since she last saw him. “It is so good to see you again. How are things in England?”

“Everything is good, but I have missed it here, to be honest. We’re both happy to be back.”

“I am happy to hear this. You were taking good care of our boy while he was away, yes?” Marco asks in the same light-hearted tone, but she can tell his meaning hints at something deeper. Marco knows what the past years have been like.

“Yeah, I was. Someone’s got to keep him out of trouble, you know?” She looks over to Jadon who is sucking his teeth, his eyes almost rolling. “He’s wild, this one.”

“Nah, I’m a good boy. Marco knows.” Jadon defends himself with little success, as the former captain is cackling in disbelief and ruffling his hair.

“Yes, I know exactly what you are like. That’s why it is good that you are back here, we will at least try to make you normal. Now come,”

Jadon steps away to wrap his friend and teammate in an embrace, and then he tucks her back underneath his arm, their fingers are interlocked, and they’re saying not goodbye, but “see you later”. The walk to the car is short, but it seems as if Jadon still has a lot to say.

“Thank you for comin here with me, baby. Know it was a bit crazy, the schedule and everything so rushed. Know you’re tired, even though you pretend not.”

Y/N shakes her head, even as the adrenaline rush of the past 48 hours has begun to wane, and the physical and emotional toll of a mid-season loan has begun to set in. It doesn’t change her answer in the slightest. “You don’t have to thank me for that, Jadon. I’m happy to be here.”

“No, but, I mean–” It’s Jadon's turn to command her attention, as if he hasn’t been doing just that all evening since he walked on the pitch, from the first time they saw each other on a night in south London, and every day since then. His eyes are wide and shimmering, and he finds it’s easy to speak to her, even if the memories are difficult. “It’s been hard, lately, innit. Really hard. And you been there, even when I was … even when it was hard. And I’m happier now, but you put up with me when I wasn’t. And that helped me to get here, so. Thank you.”

She does lean up to kiss him this time, but the car is hidden enough and she is too in love to care whether his teammates or coaching staff watch. Jadon, whose hand has raised to cradle her neck, his tongue pushing against her lips, doesn’t seem to mind either.

“I love you, baby." He bumps their noses together. "Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Her breath flutters over him when she replies, telling him how she loves him back, how there's no place she'd rather be, in a small voice that's almost a whisper. Jadon is smirking, licking and biting his lips like he’s preparing to go in for more, but instead says Look, and tilts her chin to take in the twinkling stars crowding the purple-black sky above.

She was sure before that she had stopped crying, but Jadon’s hands are holding her so gently, his mouth is so soft, his eyes are so full of everything, that the tears may have returned. Because by night, like this, Dortmund is just how she remembers it. The sky is cold and dark but Jadon’s body next to hers, his hand along her throat is warm. The ice block in her belly is evaporated. They’re both a couple of years older and painfully wiser, but the thin, quaint streets that will take them back to the hotel, the taste of Jadon’s lips on her skin, are familiar.

The future opening up ahead of them is bright as a shining #10, as a yellow BVB hat.

As bright as they both make it.

[imaginedreamwrite]

Wildest Dreams: Part 4

It seemed like weeks since they had found you in the library and tried to trap you, the two massive alphas who had practically been dry-humping in the aisle that you were needing to get into, but in reality it was a little over a week.

You had exited one of your physiology classes only to be flagged down by one of the junior receptionists that worked directly for the dean. She had caught you before you could head to your second class, and had in not so many words, informed you that the dean needed to talk to you.

You’d thought that maybe there was a problem with your admittance papers, or there could have been a few issues with your classes since you’d been told they were reaching peak registration numbers. What you had been thinking was on an entirely different level and scope than what was waiting for you when you arrived at the dean’s office.

The first indication that the older alpha and dean were not alone, was the wavering and wandering scents of the two alphas who had cornered you in the library. The first integral notes that had infiltrated your nose were confusing at best, given that you had no reason to be here with them unless the head librarian had made a complaint about you from the week before. Still, it hadn’t eased you.

Still, as you had entered the office and had taken the seat to the far right of Bucky you were not unbound.

You were confused, you were anxious and you had been stuck between wanting to throw your book at Barnes’ big head and fleeing the room as the scent of alpha became overwhelming.

“Hey bean-“

“Don’t talk to me.” You cut Bucky off with a tense snap, your entire body and hindbrain firing off neurons that only added to your feeling of unsettled composure.

There were too many alphas in the office that wasn’t nearly big enough to give you ease or peace of mind. It was much too concentrated to focus on anything but the way Steve and Bucky’s scent had reacted in time with your own, and the dean was looking between you expectantly.

There was a moment of awkward silence that fell between the four of you, as you waited for the news of why you were here to come to light. You had no possible idea why you were called to the office or why the two meatheads were here with you, the junior secretary had revealed nothing, and with no given clue as to why you were called, you were becoming more agitated and put off the flurry of scents.

It was only after the dean of the university had leaned forward and rested his elbows upon the desk, tucking his hands under his chin, that he had addressed you with a clearing of his throat.

“Mr. Rogers and Mr. Barnes are in need of a tutor in order to continue playing with the football team, they need to maintain a GPA of 4.2 and they’re sitting at 3.9. You were recommended by a few professors here and because of your connection-“

You felt the heat, bubbling and boiling anger poignant under your flesh as you grit your teeth and sucked air in through your flaring nostrils. You had bounced your heels against the floor as you fidgeted while listening to the dean yammer on about the pride the university had in their football team, and the great importance that having two players like Barnes and Rogers on the team.

He had continued, applying pressure to you to give in without formally asking you, all while the sound of his voice and his grading scent was fuelling your internal engine that would eventually lead to an outburst. You were biding your time, you were positively stewing from the weight of this news.

And you couldn’t cognitively explain why.

“We need the help, omega bean.” Bucky had fixated his gaze upon you, watching you with widening eyes and a droop of his bottom lip into a pout that had simultaneously made you more irritated than before and empathetic to their cause.

“We can’t play if we don’t raise our GPA.” Steve had also allocated a pout, and his blue-green eyes had become wide and doll-like.

You knew they loved the game, you knew they were talented and incredible at the sport. You knew they had to be extremely talented to have made the team in the first place, but to then have the admiration of so many people in and out of the school? That kind of talent and skill was impressive and had stirred support that was as powerful as it was poignant. They loved it, and they needed you.

Still, you were annoyed.

Was it because of the insistence that you and the two alpha form a bond again? Was it the feeling that this was all contrived by your parents and the past you shared? Or were you so annoyed and triggered by their presence because you recognized the familiarity you shared when you were younger? Was it your stubbornness that wouldn’t let you get past this re-admittance into your life?

“-you’ll receive extra credit toward your degree for your hours put into tutoring Mr. Rogers and Mr. Barnes-“ The dean continued to speak even as you had shoved your chair back and stood with your bag resting on your hip, and Steve and Bucky looking your way.

“It would’ve been nice to be asked instead of coerced into it.” You slammed your hand upon the flap of your bag, feeling the weight of your physiology and biology textbook that you’d used no less than ten minutes ago while wondering if you could get away with bashing them over the head with it.

“Omega Bean-“

“I’ll help you, not because I like you.” You smacked Bucky’s hand away when he tried reaching for you, warmth and piercing irritation stirring your ire like hot coals. “You miss one study session and it’s over, I won’t let you waste my time.”

You were overwhelmed by the scents of alphas, you needed out and you needed to breathe in a more even mix. You had stepped outside and slammed the door behind you hard enough to rattle the doorknob and the windows in the office. You had stumbled forward while your legs shook, desperate to get rid of their heady mix and get outside into the fresh air, your feet carried you until you hit an invisible wall and found yourself unable to move any further.

“We didn’t do this on purpose.” Steve jogged after you, coming to a stop just as you had a few feet away, his scent coming unhinged and still as potent yet it made you feel less stifled and more invigorated.

You had slowly exhaled and pivoted partially toward him, your hands clenching and leaning in a slow rhythm, his eyes fixated on you while your eyes had bounced around his face and shoulders, unable to focus on one thing for too long.

“Bucky and I, we’re not….trying to manipulate you. I know what you’re thinking, both of us know-“ you turned and darted away from him again, taking the nearest exit with a fire under your ass.

You pushed open the fire door and let it slam behind you, the metal clicking into place only to be opened again a few moments later. The sound of the door opening for the second time had echoed in your head just as the sound of their footsteps on the concrete had called out to your hindbrain like some kind of siren song to take control of your body.

“Y/N, stop!” Bucky had spoke up, Bucky had given the alpha command that slid too easily into your hindbrain and was accepted far too easily by those primordial and basest urges.

“Can you just talk to us? We’ve barely been able to keep up a conversation with you.”

They encroached, they drew closer and you were enveloped by their scents like you had been in the office only there wasn’t such a tarnished concentration as before. This was easier than before, even if you hadn’t wanted to be in their presence at all, at least their scents weren’t aggravating.

“I don’t want to talk to you, have you ever thought of that? Have you taken a moment to think that maybe I don’t want anything to do with you?” You turned on your heel, quickly coming to face them head on while also leaning into the stubborn nature that was inflicting you with such strong resistance.

The truth was, that having them pursuing you, it made you feel weak. Having them actively trying to worm their way back into your good graces and into your life, in general, was more than you could handle right now. Steve and Bucky wanting to pick up whatever you had in daycare when you were five, it had felt like you were standing on the edge of a high board, ready to dive into the water but being too afraid to look over the edge.

You knew that eventually you would have to go over, eventually you would have to take the plunge but it was your fear and your anxieties that kept you from completely giving in.

“Come on, you know that’s not true-“ You screamed in frustration and slipped your bag off your shoulder, whacking Steve in the side with your physiology and biology textbook as you countered his claim.

“It is true! I don’t want to be around you! You and your annoying little posse of cheerleaders and constant fuck cycle!” you huffed and whacked him once more before you turned sharply and started stalking away, only to stop again and turn back to look at both of them.

“That’s what you’re so mad about? You think we slept around with the cheer squad? JellyBean, those girls are our friends-“ Bucky had begun laughing, a sweeping chortle making his shoulders shake while Steve had winced and waved at Bucky to shut up.

“And the other omegas? The other girls who like to comment on your stupid instagram page-“

“Steve and I only fuck each other. Occasionally we have a third but-“ Bucky groaned when Steve had smacked his chest with enough power to knock the wind out of him, but the damage was done.

You had groaned and huffed again, stomping your feet dramatically like you had when you were younger. They let you leave, they let you walk away while they watched you and the steam billow out from your ears as you huffed and puffed about the two alphas who were caught under your skin.

They waited a few minutes before they had begun trailing on after you, walking the same path you had until you turned a corner and headed straight into one of the coffee shops on campus. Bucky and Steve had watched and waited as you took a table near the back and dumped your bag onto the seat, sitting with another, silent to them, huff and a purse of your lips.

None of this was going like they wanted, none of this had played out like what was in their heads and given how excited they were for you to be back it had felt like a harsh blow. There had been a long stint between daycare years and university, with most of the time passing as you were across the country from Steve and Bucky while they had each other.

It was, in part, a necessary evil to save you three from being socially isolated in a formed pack, but while Steve and Bucky had each other you had no one.

“We have to talk about it eventually.” Steve had grabbed Bucky’s hand to yank him into the coffee shop, the bell above the door announcing their presence but you had sparsely lifted your head.

You had only glanced at them when they approached the table as a pair and remained quiet and solemn. You had leaned back against your chair and crossed your arms over your chest, giving the two of them a deeply seeded glare that was akin to something cute and sweet trying to look deadly.

“We’re sorry,” Steve had cleared his throat and attempted an apology, settling one hand upon the back of the chair, “for…being stupid.”

“That’s a lifelong disease, Rogers. Being stupid.” You snipped and bared your teeth, your ire and anger as an omega was almost as deadly as theirs as alphas and you hadn’t needed to get physically violent. Again.

“Can we talk, please? explain ourselves?” Bucky started to slide the chair out from under the table, only to cease his actions when you whipped your head in his direction and let out a soft little growl of your own that had sparked little noughts of desire.

“We’ll buy you hot chocolate, and something to eat.” Steve attempted to smooth you over, with a bashful smile and a wave of his hand toward the counter. “You still like crushed candy cane and whipped cream, right?”

“My next class got cancelled.” You huffed and grit your teeth. “You have two and a half hours, and if I don’t want to listen-“

“You can leave anytime.” Bucky had quipped, adding the little bit as he took his seat across from you and then craned his neck back, grabbing Steve’s wrist to stop him from moving. “Grabbing me something, Stevie?”

“Are you going to pout if I don’t?” Steve grumbled, yanking his hand from Bucky’s wrist and rolling his eyes when he fell silent. “Why do I even bother asking?”

The cacophonous scents that had irritated you earlier had now dissipated and was replaced with the aroma of brewed coffee and slightly burnt sugar, the blend of teas and additives to the tops of their seasonal drinks that you had focused on.

And then Steve and Bucky’s scents crept back up and overpowered it all, leaving you feeling as if you could have purred and revelled in its comfort since your heart, brain and hindbrain all seemed to be discordance with each other.

“We didn’t sleep around, I should clarified-“ Bucky’s voice was akin to honey, laced with the kind of sweetness that was natural for an alpha trying to connect with an omega.

“Your friend…Rhys-“

“Rhys! Yes!” Steve spoke with overexcitement, knocking his knee against the underside of the table, a sharp whine falling from his lips.

“Rhys, the cheerleader, she found me after you left. But then I saw all these other comments-“ you sighed, your eyebrows furrowed. “We’re not friends, we haven’t been friends-“

“Steve and I have only been with each other, and occasionally we’ll sleep with an omega when our ruts are really bad.”

Bucky reached out and rest his hand upon yours, only connected for a moment before you yanked your hand back. “Sorry. Sorry…”

“She said you’re like their brothers, and that most of them are in relationships.” You steeled your gaze toward Bucky, yanking yourself and your coffee back to create more distance. “But you still have all those girls hanging off of you, your little fan club-“

“Omega Bean, we waited for you. We would never-“

“Yeah? Did you?” You snapped again, bearing your teeth with bite and ire. “You had each other. I had no one. You at least got to grow up together while I was ripped away and moved across the country.”

“You know what our parents said-“ Steve had reached for you again, his fingers grazing your forearm. “I’m sorry we had to leave, but you’re here and we can start off-“

“No,” you cut him off, confused by your feelings and the screeching of your hindbrain to just give in, “no we are not diving back in. Not where we left off. Absolutely not.”

“Friends then?” Bucky stole your attention, smiling charmingly and beautifully. “No courting, no dates. Just…friends? And a tutor..?”

“I’m so pissed at you, I could throttle both of you.” You growled, still as intimidating as a little bunny, but if it made you feel better they would’ve heard it all day.

“You got Steve already.” Bucky grinned, boyishly chortling under his breath. “I don’t remember you being so strong.”

“Bucky-“

“Yeah? You’re next Barnes.” You grabbed your bag and lifted it over your shoulder, letting it fall against your hip. You stood and grabbed your coffee and your untouched pastry, clinging to both as you stood but hadn’t left.

“Friends?” Bucky batted his eyelashes at you, pouting and pleading in a very un-alpha like manner.

“You really waited? You had no one else?” You questioned, your guard slipping for a moment.

“Of course we did.” Steve’s voice had grown softer, his eyes just as tender and sweet. “I can count on one hand-“

“We missed you.” Bucky grabbed your wrist, his thumb brushing against your veins as he scented you. “We missed you every day, omega bean.”

It brought you comfort and warmth, and you had to mentally berate yourself not to close your eyes and revel in it.

“Friends. Barely friends.” You jabbed your finger into Bucky’s chest, your eyes narrowing into a glare that was neither intimidating nor deadly. “And we start studying Thursday.”

“We have practice Thursday.” Steve spoke, sliding the calendar over to you. “Friday and Saturday’s are saved for games-“

“Fine. Wednesday then,” you spoke again, with a little more fierce, “I can only do Monday and Wednesday.”

“Since we’re friends…” Bucky slowly stood, trapping you between the next table and his chest. “Would you consider coming to our practices and games?”

“Our first game is this week. Start of the season-“

“-fine.” You stepped around Bucky and began walking toward the door, stopped once more by the sound of his voice.

“Would you consider friends with-“ you turned and looked over your shoulder, a laugh bubbling on your tongue as Steve slapped his hand over Bucky’s mouth to shut him up.

“Silence,” you laughed under your breath, “it’s a real good look on you, Barnes.”

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[une-femme-de-lettres]

Call of Duty MWII Headcanons - Soap taking you home to his mom's for the first time

Warnings: Mainly fluff but some spice is to be expected (only a pinch) and some angst too cause I'm terrible person

Note : Sorry this is so fucking long, it's more of an imagine than just headcanons at this point but hey!

John told you about how he enrolled in the military at a young age and left his home to live alone shortly after. This resulted in him never really taking the time to move on from his home with his mom to make a home for himself in his new place, especially considering the very few moments he had on leave from his work.

So when he has to take you with him to his mom’s to introduce you, he is very nervous.

“You look stressed out, are you okay?” “Aye, it’s just… I’ve not updated my room since I left my mom’s house, you know…” “Is that so bad?” “I still have the things I had when I was a kid, she didn’t want to change anything to it, and I never got around to it, really…” “I’ll get to see the man you were in your late teenage years, I’m curious,” you laugh slightly at the prospect. “I still have my single size bed in there...” he says, already feeling embarrassed. “We don’t need much room anyways,” you chuckle, eyeing him with a sly smile. He smiles at what you’re hinting.

Your heart flutters when you enter his room for the first time. It’s painted in a light cerulean color that you can barely see as the walls are littered with football and rock bands posters, medals hanging from hooks and flags of various nature, including a Scottish one. His single bed is there as promised, you go and take a sit there, surprised with the creaking ensued as you do so.

Right after you’ve spotted it, John quickly rips a poster of a girl in a very tiny swimsuit from his wall. “Yeah, that’s not…” he tries to say as he crumples the paper up into a tight ball, throwing it in the closet and closing it swiftly. You laugh silently from your seat as he stands in the middle of the bedroom, hands on his hips, not sure what to say.

“So what about this one?” you ask with a chuckle, your index finger pointing to the ceiling, where another poster is taped in between other sports club images. His facial expression crumbles, his eyes widening as he bolts to the bed, climbing on it and ripping the offending poster off like the other.

You can’t stop laughing as he tries to tidy things up a bit. He assures you he’s tried many times to get rid of some of the stuff but either kept getting set back by his mom or by him having to go back to base.

Once you’re back to the living area, John comes to talk to his mom, rubbing the back of his head. “Maw, I need to arrange things for us to sleep?” He could take the couch while you sleep in his room but, what’s the fun in that. He feels so stupid deciding to take you here so quickly, not even taking the time preparing to welcome you properly. “We can put the air bed, Johnny, it’s fine,” she dismisses him lightly and he looks back at you with a disappointed expression, embarrassed to have to have you sleep in a single bed, alone.

The same night, you watch him try to get some sleep on the small air bed placed on the ground beside his bed. The situation is very amusing to you and you smile to him, your arms crossed under your chin. “It’s like a little slumber party,” he looks at you, annoyed with himself. “Wanna come in my bed? There’s some room left,” he smiles smugly and joins you, spooning you and kissing you. You have several blankets on because it’s very cold tonight and you sink into his warmth with a sigh.

All this cozying up against each other makes you both incredibly horny. You end up trying to have sex very silently and you can’t help but laugh as the bed just keeps squeaking and making noise. John ends up having a fit of laughter, his head resting on your chest as he still tries to support himself with his arms.

You try to shush him so you don’t wake his mom up in the room across the hallway but you can barely keep yourself for laughing loudly. You end up having to make love in a spooning position, very slowly. He puts his hand over your mouth when you’re about to cum and he feels you tighten around him. You scream out your orgasm and your voice gets muffle by his hand.

He pulls you so tight to him since the bed is so small but it’s probably the soundest sleep you’ve had in a long time.

In the morning, he tried to stretch a little and ends up falling down from the bed. You laugh at him as he groans from his place sprawled out on the floor. But you lean out of the bed to plant a kiss on his forehead that makes it all better.

After you’ve settled down a bit from your journey, John decides it’s probably time to clear some of his old room. You ask him if he’s sure he wants to do this since you don’t want him to be pressured to do anything just because you’re here.

You start sorting things out in his room, putting away things he doesn’t want anymore, small objects and trinkets he accumulated over the years. You help him a lot and you’re just curious to learn more about him and his life before your relationship. It’s a nice bonding activity for the both of you.

While rummaging through his closet, you gasp in surprise as you find an old rabbit plushy. It’s a bit worn down but you can tell it’s white and wears a black suit and a monocle. You show it to him excitedly. He starts blushing immediately, shaking his head “Christ, why did she keep that?” “Does it have a name?” you ask, petting the light fur. He pretends to dismiss your question, looking away but you insist. He starts mumbling under his breath. “Mister Nickels.” He groans the name out and you can’t help laughing. That man is just so cute. You insist that he keeps Mister Nickles and he pretends to casually give in to your pleas when you can secretly see in his eyes that he’s so attached to the plushy.

One night, when you’re both asleep in his bed, John starts to twitch in his sleep, trembling and whining, waking you up. You rub your eyes slowly and try to get him to calm down. You know he’s having a nightmare and your heart sinks with worry. “Johnny,” you call softly, trying to wake him up. He ends up waking up with a scream and a jolt, sweating and panting. You take his face between your hands and force him to look at you. “You’re safe, Johnny, you’re safe!” he doesn’t hear you at first but you repeat the same words over and over until he calms down, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his face to your belly. He hugs you so tight, you can barely move. You smile softly as you run delicate fingers through his hair, trying to soothe him.

The door of the room opens slowly and you look over at his mom. “Lass?” she calls for you as she steps into the room, looking at him. “He had a nightmare, it’s alright,” you say with a smile. She approaches hesitantly and caresses his back. “Braw wee Johnny,” she looks at you lovingly, smiling and leans in to plant a kiss on the top of your head. “He’s in good hands, now,” she whispers before walking out silently, leaving your heart melting inside your chest.

[shiyorin]

Mournival but they are your college roommate

No one asked it but I need to share that :v

Ezekyle Abaddon

Comes to school with a huge duffel bag and toolbox. When you ask what's in it, he just smiles and says "tools." You don't ask anymore.

Always blasting really aggressive rap/metal music super loud. His top jam is "Back in Black" by AC/DC on repeat.

Leaves his dirty laundry everywhere but his bed is always perfectly made with tight hospital corners.

You're pretty sure you saw him behind the wheel of a rusty black van late at night, but the school won't investigate strange disappearances.

Loves party games but is way too competitive. No one wants to play Mario Kart with him anymore after "the incident".

Constantly gets in fights at parties but never seems to get in trouble. Cops take one look at him and just shake their heads like "not dealing with this tonight".

Always standing shirtless in the room doing calisthenics. Claims he's cultivating mass but you think he's just trying to intimidate the RA.

Somehow accumulated the world's biggest knife collection despite the no weapons policy. Admin turns a blind eye for fear of their safety.

Tries to get you to join his intramural flag football team, the "Black Crusaders". They go way too hard and half the other teams have dropped out.

Somehow has a 4.0 GPA while seeming preoccupied with "more important things." Howwww.

Tarik Torgaddon

Brings way too much beer to your first Friday night dorm party. Claims "Bro always shares his drinks!"

Leaves practical jokes everywhere - who put googly eyes on the toothbrushes?!

Always trying to get you to join the campus meme lodge with him. "Come on, it'll be fun! We just post poorly photoshopped history professors, I swear."

Never cleans the mini-fridge. Wonders why mystery science experiments started growing in there.

Burns popcorn at 3am trying to make "late night snacks." Fires the fire alarm and you both get written up.

Steals your lounging spot in the common room to "hold court" and tell loud stories to anyone who will listen.

Hogs the bathroom for hours getting ready to "go out in style" on the weekends. Comes back drenched and you don't wanna know from what.

Leaves you in charge of the dorm when he goes home for breaks. Comes back to three keggers you "somehow forgot" to tell him about.

Somehow always tests positive for COVID right before big exams. You're 95% sure he's faking to get out of studying.

He's a really fun dude and always has your back. Gonna miss this guy after graduation!

Garviel Loken

He wakes up at 6am every morning to do pushups and calisthenics in your room.

Never seen him drink or party. That one time you tried to get him to come to a frat party he responded with "Nah bro I gotta hit the hay early, lifting at 6 am."

Tries to get you to join the campus military re-enactment club. Insists you could benefit from "some discipline and camaraderie".

Cooking? You thought you were the one making ramen but he shows up with a whole homecooked meal like beef wellington from scratch. "My friend Tarik taught me."

That one time the fire alarm went off at 3am? He carried you and your mini fridge down the stairs in one go."

Always does his dishes immediately after using them. Not one speck of food left. The clean freak we all need but don't deserve.

Super into his classes, always studying. You often find him making color-coded notecards at 3am under his desk lamp.

Somehow still finds time to join every club and sport. Is president of the book club, captain of the ultimate frisbee team, volunteers at the animal shelter on weekends.

Has a strict 9pm lights out bedtime. You've tried stay up late to play game but he just throws a pillow at you look and says "some of us have 6ams."

Somehow always has cute girls knocking on your door asking "is Garrie there?". The chad energy is real.

Horus Aximand

The second you meet him you're like "Woah this dude looks EXACTLY like the frat bro president."

Helps you move in but 'accidentally' gets protective plating mixed in with your clothes and snacks. Whoops!

Forms LARP club which is really just him and 3 (actually 4) other guys who are all as intense as he is.

Constantly blasting Sabaton songs from his speaker. Claims it's for "battle prepping" but we all know he just loves some power metal.

Bonding over late night games of Smash Bros while deep in the existential crisis of your freshman year.

Always wears matching sweatsuits with "Little Horus" embroidered on the chest. Claims it's his sport team uniform but you've never seen him play any sports.

Making you try all the experimental protein shakes he conjures up in the mini fridge. You're scared but don't want to hurt his feelings. So many regrets.

Finding mysterious used bandages around the room. He swears they're from "glorious battles" but they're really just from the intramural dodgeball games.

That one time the fire alarm went off and he tried to purge it with a flamer.

Always "forgetting" he can lift a textbook one-handed and showing off to the swole bros.

[overallsonfrogs]

Foxes as types of color guard performers (for the like 2 people who live in this part of the venn diagram with me)

Kevin:

- Parents & older siblings did DCI

- Will name drop shows from like 20 years ago and act like you should know them

- Needs direct validation from the director or they’ll take their frustration out on everyone else

- DEFINITELY a JI (derogatory)

- Pissed that they’re not captain even though they’re not a senior

Neil:

- Feral unknowingly queer child who needed an after school activity to avoid being at home (😅😅😅)

- Stays in the gym after practice to learn cool tricks

- Channels anger into conditioning workouts & gets super strong out of spite

- Isn’t naturally talented but works really hard & makes rifle line

Andrew:

- The sabre prodigy that thinks they’re too good for flag & that everyone low-key hates bc they’re jealous

- Always gets a solo & makes the choreo harder without asking bc it was “too easy”

- Never knows the counts for the choreo when asked but is always in time

- Silently counts every drop they see in other shows

Nicky:

- The first out kid on the team who sings along to the pop girlie warm up music

- Saw the Flaggots at Philly Pride and decided to join despite having no prior athletic or musical interest

- Has watched Light Brigade’s Madonna show like a billion times on youtube

- Technique is just okay but they bring ~the dramA~ when performing

Allison:

- C*nty former competition dancer who hated all the drama but still wanted to perform

- Helps underclassmen with their hair & makeup

- Hosts the “summer sectional that’s really an excuse for a pool party” every year at her house

- An absolute beast on rifle

Renee:

-Upperclassman career flag who *could* make rifle line but simply doesn’t want to

- Helps all of the flag newbies not be too scared to let go

- Unofficially in charge of team bonding

-Bakes cookies related to the show theme for show days

Matt:

- Also plays an instrument and is therefore friends with everyone

- Knows all of the cheerleaders & football players & convinces them to come to a band/winterguard competition

- Runs the guard insta & makes the section t-shirts

Dan:

- Guard captain who is very supportive but also wants to WIN

- Very strict about conditioning days, but will always chill out if someone is on their period

- Organizes a ton of sectionals even when it’s cold and no one wants to go, but always buys pizza

Aaron:

- The straight STEM girlie who somehow ended up there

- Instead of practicing, they just complain about how hard their classes are to justify not knowing the choreo

- Got in trouble with the director for being homophobic, but the team was too small to make them quit

Seth:

- Only wants to spin rifle bc he thinks flags are “for girls”

- Refuses to try during dance warmups

- Never goes to optional sectionals

- Skips band parties for “real” parties

Bonus:

Jeremy:

- Former baton girlie who’s really good at sabre & can do a bunch of cool tricks under tosses

- Always the first to point out when someone shy/new does well

- The “GET IT!!”/“You got it!!” girlie, depending on circumstance

- Organizes bigs/littles for show day traditions

[jonasiegenthaler]

hi! since the off season is dragging and i miss the devils - what are you favorite moments for each player (or select players) from this season, not just goals or plays but an interview, soundbite, off ice moment, anything

(missing pk big time because he always posted fun team content)

hiya anon, this was a fun one, thank you! this got, Long, so i'm gonna put it all under the cut (alphabetized, not ranked, and definitely not comprehensive)

kevin: 

not like one thing in particular but playing more regularly this season! especially the second half

yanking multiple guys around casually

this was more last season but there’s a bunch of guys in utica that, every time he goes over the boards for a shift, chant a call-and-response of “who’s out?” “bahls out!” and it is beautiful

nate: 

the video of him and johnny in seattle

this one of him nearly getting taken out by a football

also he’s seen the memes he loves the love

boqy: 

a lil cuddle, or two, or three

i’ve always said he’s the devils’ morgan frost so i’m just very glad he’s found some semblance of a role this season he’s very neat to me

bratter: 

hatty! 

big hat hat!

him and nico reaching milestones together talking about how special it was,

more cuddles

notably too cute to be good at chirping

gravy: 

carshield commercials - ïf you don’t call now, your wife should stop loving you.”

for some reason his goal in the oilers game early in the season stands out? keeping the winning streak alive!

smacking nico’s ass on a driveby

[30 seconds of uncomfortably polite staring as the sm admin waits for him to complete the heart]

dougie: 

the six flags promo, wild that that was this season it feels like ages ago. 

those few games where we kept going 4v3 in ot and dougie just kept scoring gwgs, iconic, showstopping. 

fully lifting bratter like a foot? off the ice? 

herding a flock of dudes 

signing off the camera with a “hi grandma”. 

floor time!

the movie re-enactments? wheres his oscar

haula: 

“this is where i want to be. this is my family” <3

single handedly bringing us timo.

getting hit with a chicken finger

facing the other way on the bench when we went to shootouts (one of us).

laughing curling up on the floor instant fetal position

nico: 

there’s. so much. because i’m nothing if not biased. 

“i’ve just got a good feeling” 

pumping up the crowd 

selke finalist! career high in goals, assists, points! 

being absolutely dominant in the rangers series. 

game 5 nico chants! 

[gestures vaguely at 1386 tag] 

having the time of his life with some kids toys

marner’s “i felt good until nico decided to take me for a walk” 

“siegyyyy! don’t worry everyone siegy is here!” <3 

“let’s not forget to have fun. stick together. whatever happens.” + all the pre/post game speeches during the playoffs. 

nate talking about how nico made him feel like he belonged + so much more

“he cares more about his teammates than probably does about himself”

timo facetiming him because he was anxious about the trade 

jack

“oh shit :d”

hatty!

devils win for hanukkah :) 

“yeah i knew that”

“those are quinn’s boys so--”

whatever him and pk were on at all-star weekend

“i want that record”

“we are off on our chemistry today, hey?”

looney tunes ass fall

[gestures vaguely again at 1386 tag]

nothing but respect for my lady byng finalist

the dance

all the hugs

luke

first goal! ot winner!

dream dinner guests: julius caesar and george washington + getting chirped about it by dawson

the entire exit interview, all of it - messy but working on it (lie, probably), doesn’t know what day it is, hasn’t retained a thought for more than 5 seconds, fidgety

marino

[looking at a children’s toy] look i’m not not saying this looks like a bong

him and gravy giggling after they pushed pally off the ice

dawson

the players tribune article

hatty!

setting the franchise record in consecutive games with a goal

the hair, it’s majestic

yegor

santagovich

a pet bird, named ham

throwing shit at sevo

messing with the camera lights during bratter’s interview

messing with tuna during his interview

vv

made friends with a bird :) 

consistently referring to himself as “the vitek”

every time akira makes a big save vitek gives huge taps over the board <3

[anthrofreshtodeath]

fake dating au? 👀

Let's do it! Fake dating is one of my favorites.

“Hey,” Jane Rizzoli runs into Maura’s office, huffing and puffing between clops of her boots on the linoleum. “Maura.”

Maura removes her blue light glasses and looks up from her report to take Jane in. “Hi,” she begins, “why are you sweaty?”

“I just ran into Frankie in the parking garage,” Jane explains. Her armpits have dark circles under them on her baby blue v-neck. Her chest shines. 

“So you had to sprint in the opposite direction?” Maura asks, smiling despite her confusion. She glances up at the clock above her coffee station - 3 PM. What exactly could Frankie have caused two hours before the end of the work day?

“Yeah,” says Jane, and Maura didn’t expect a confirmation of what she means to be humor. Jane takes a big breath in and then plops herself onto Maura’s couch. “Exactly.”

“I’m sorry; I think I’m missing something,” Maura saves her work even though her word processor has an autosave feature and makes her way to Jane. “You love your brother.”

“I tolerate my brother. Most of the time,” Jane grumbles.

Maura chuckles, and shakes her head. “You love him. You do everything together.”

“Exactly. And he’s got four tickets for tonight’s game,” Jane replies, making even less sense than before.

Tonight’s game. Out of a countless number of games that could be scheduled this evening in the city, pickup basketball games, baseball games, board games, flag football games… She knows now that Jane means the Boston Red Sox game happening at 7:05 at Fenway Park. This is the first year that Maura has paid attention to baseball, from spring training on, but this is the game Jane always means. When they go to the Garden it’s the Celtics game, on Sundays at one o’clock from September to January it’s The Pats game. When it’s just the game? Jane means the Red Sox. “Tickets for the game,” Maura tries it out on her own tongue, and she likes how the intimacy with her best friend tastes. She likes even better how said best friend relaxes her body when Maura says it, Jane’s back sinking into the cushions of Maura’s sofa, inching closer regardless of her mysterious predicament. “Tickets that he isn’t sharing with you?”

“Oh no, he is, and that’s the problem,” Jane groans.

“So, you don’t want the tickets,” extrapolates Maura, and that statement tastes wrong in comparison. Her understanding of the situation continues to deteriorate. 

Jane glares and the downturn of her eyebrows says are you crazy? “Of course I want the tickets. But the condition is that I go with him and his dumbass friend Kurt Rossi.”

“The solution to this seems simple,” says Maura. She folds one leg over the other, draping her skirt just above her knee. “Take the ticket and ignore both Frankie and Kurt. You can even put a seat between you and them.”

“Not that simple. He wants it to be a date.”

“For him and Kurt?” Maura asks.

“For me and Kurt!” Jane laments, and Maura chides herself - of course that’s what Frankie meant. “Wait. Your brother is setting you up? Why?”

“Because he’s the most like my mother,” Jane rolls her eyes when she answers. “But I really, really want to go.”

“So you said yes,” Maura posits.

Jane grimaces with one eye open, and gives Maura a guilty smile. “Sorta?”

“Sort of.”

“Yeah.”

“Well what did he say?”

“At first I told him hell no. Kurt’s boring,” Jane explains. “And so then he goes, ‘well it doesn’t have to be Kurt, but I’m not givin’ you this ticket unless you bring a date.’ Apparently Ma’s also holding his lunch at the cafe hostage until he gets me to go out with somebody. But I think he secretly likes it.”

“Your mother is… truly dedicated,” Maura covers her mouth so as not to laugh at Jane’s misfortune. “But Frankie is smart. You can’t pass up Fenway.”

“I can’t. So… I came up with a plan. And I need you to back me up,” Jane tells her. “I’m telling Frankie that you’re gonna be my date. Come with me?”

Maura turns rigid next to Jane, when they had all but knocked their bodies together before. Jane doesn’t know. Jane can’t know, right? Maura has dived head first into baseball, incorporated fried foods into her diet, and made a cop bar her Friday night routine, all for Jane, and to Maura, those are neon signs over her attraction. But to Jane? Well, Jane is a detective. A rather decorated one. Oh shit, maybe Jane does know…

“Hey, Maura? You hear me?” Jane asks, and Maura must have wandered off.

“I can’t,” she blurts in reply. When Jane stops talking and glares, she revises. “I… I can’t lie. You know this.”

“I know. That’s why you’re just tellin’ him you’re my date for the evening. And then, he can be fat and happy, Ma can think I went with Kurt and voila. Everyone wins,” Jane thinks she’s solved it all, clearly.

Maura can’t think of a reason to deny her, especially since being Jane’s date for the evening 1) would not technically be a lie nor necessarily have lasting romantic connotations, and 2) she would get to go on a date with Jane. Something she’s fantasized about since Jane recovered from sending a bullet into her own gut nine months ago. “O-ok,” she says.

“Wait, yeah?” Jane’s face cracks open, each muscle tightening to a symphony of happiness, and Maura wonders how she ever would have stayed steadfast in her refusal. 

“Yeah,” Maura assures her. She checks the clock again. 3:05. “I would love to go. It would only be my third game.”

“Thank you!” Jane, with genuine, child-like excitement, gathers Maura up in her arms. “We’re playin’ the Jays and I do not wanna miss it.”

“You’re welcome. Should we meet there?” Maura asks, remembering the last time they went to the park, Jane rushing to their seats just before the first pitch because she had to arrest a suspect and it had turned into a chase. One man a couple rows back yelled at her to sit her ass down and she’d spent another three minutes cursing at him until he left his own seat.

In other words, Jane is a true member of the Fenway Faithful, even if she is also faithful to her job. With such a last minute engagement, Jane may need all the minutes between now and then she can get so that she can dedicate her entire attention to the game. But, she surprises Maura yet again with her answer. “Nah. What kind of date would I be if I did that? I’ll pick you up at six.” She rises, bends down and kisses Maura’s warm cheek, and then sticks her thumb in the front of her belt. 

“See you then,” croaks Maura, face-to-buckle with said belt when Jane stands up straight. She licks her lips just before she glances up to Jane’s eyes, warm brown when they stare back down at her. 

“See ya,” Jane leaves with less speed than she entered, but with no less purpose. 

Maura must wait for two hours and fifty-three minutes to see Jane again.

___

Kurt Rossi is actually a handsome young man. Maura has learned on the way to the park that he is between Frankie and Jane, so two years removed from both of them. His laugh is pretty for a man’s, but it barely registers because Jane is here. 

Jane is here, Jane is relaxed because Jane had a couple of beers when they stopped at The Bullpen, and Jane walks next to Maura with their index fingers entwined. Maura keeps her new beer up to her face as they circle the concourse just so no one notices her blush. 

This might be her favorite Jane.

“What’s the over under on Beckett strikin’ out ten tonight?” Frankie tosses his head toward his shoulder so he can call out to his sister behind him. A rush of jealousy tickles Maura, because why does he need to monopolize Jane’s attention if his friend his here? Kurt supposedly knows all there is to know about Boston baseball. Maybe jealousy isn’t the right word. A rush of possession? Ugh. It’s all irrational. 

Jane shrugs and it reverberates all the way down into Maura’s palm. “‘02 was a long time ago,” her voice booms right outside the Budweiser Deck where the Rizzolis plan to spend the first few innings of the game. “I’m takin’ the under.”

“What’s ‘the under’?” Maura whispers into Jane’s ear when they take a high table close to the railing over right field and set all their drinks down.

“It’s a betting thing,” Jane explains. “You have a figure and if you don’t think the athlete is gonna make the figure, you take the under. If you think they’re gonna surpass it, you take the over.”

“Do you bet on these games?” Maura gasps.

Kurt laughs from his place across from her. Maura tries not to snap that he’s blocking her view of the field. “You kiddin’ me? These goody two shoes would never,” he says. When both Jane and Maura glare at him for his audacity, still connected at the fingers, he coughs. Frankie widens his eyes and finds the Bud logo on the tabletop fascinating. “It’s just… just the way we talk,” Kurt adds, almost to himself. 

“Hey, tell you what. You two meet us at our seats,” Jane says after a few extra tense minutes of staring. “But don’t rush.”

Maura slides her entire hand into Jane’s simply for saving her from Kurt. When their skin touches, she realizes it calls for more than holding hands. She blames the beer just before she tugs Jane’s jersey close, fingers closing around the D in the RED SOX print, and kisses her.

Jane’s lips are soft. Jane’s mouth tastes like hops and cinnamon gum. Jane’s tongue sure does slip in quite quickly after Maura initiates and… maybe Jane blames the beer, too.

But good god does it curl Maura’s toes inside her Gucci sneakers.

“You know what? I’ll pay you double what the tickets cost if you don’t meet us at our seats,” Maura, finding her own voice, says. She looks only at Jane, smiling at Jane’s half-open mouth, but the proposition is definitely for Frankie.

Frankie’s mouth looks exactly like his sister’s. Maura tugs Jane toward the concourse, unwilling to wait around and watch him fix it when Kurt says to him, “I see what you mean when you said I didn’t have a chance in hell.”

[wingederato]

Modern!Hotd Targaryen siblings headcanons

I have a lot to say about Helaena and Aegon

also please send me ur ideas i have such brainrot ty

tw// substance abuse (aegon's part)

Helaena

has a butterfly tattoo

fairy light enthusiast

dresses like the 70's met the naughties with a hint of grunge fairycore

loves horror films but gets upset when they kill animals

loves astrology and tarot cards

loves crystals even though aegon laughs at her

wants a pet snake but alicent told her she cant have one (aemond is scared of them)

smokes (i do not encourage this kids!!)

luke tried to teach her to skateboard but she prefers roller skating

phoebe bridgers and gracie abrams girl

science girlie OMG STEM GIRLIE

plays sims but never gets past decorating the house and making the sims cuz she takes like 48 hours to do that alone

sometimes plays Minecraft with aegon but literally just collects cats and builds

Aemond

reads history books to try and bond with viserys

so good at sports

football, rugby you name it & he's good at it

wasn't particularly popular at school but had friends through sports teams

mama's boy but that's not a headcanon

instead of losing his eye, he has a massive scar through his eyebrow and under his eye from where Luke banged his head off the edge of a kitchen counter

so incredibly well disciplined to the point where he sometimes will not speak unless he is spoken to

he and jace are sports rivals cuz they go to opposite schools that compete against each other

i feel like I've not thought about this enough so please expect a part two where i just talk about aemond

Aegon

such a fuckboy bitch

writes fucking love songs for every new girl he dates

'I shoulda known all along, I was only the next one To take your love songs as a promise' this lyric from vicious by sabrina carpenter but its about him

OMG this bitch makes tiktoks and everyone LOVES them cuz hes a hot guy doing hot shit

PAINTS HIS NAILS

stop hes just my emo gamer bf

STOP

gamer??

no definitely a gamer.

plays league of legends (red flag but me too)

OMG anyone who plays league i bet this bitch like plays yasuo

i like how im just referring to him as bitch after being nice to aemond and helaena

i kinda love modern!aegon tho. like hes my type of man.

deep down hes a pure sweet heart

HAS BAGS UNDER HIS EYES FROM STAYING UP ALL NIGHT ON DISCORD AND GAMES

i have romanticised him into my perfect man send help

struggles with love cuz he was never shown it while young his perception of love is literally based on artificial perfection

he uses substances (alcohol nicotine etc) to cope with his issues and doesn't ever really open up

he really tries to present himself as a cruel person with no emotions but no one really ever believes him.

was really good at english in school

[sevensjesper]

Modern!Hotd Targaryen siblings headcanons

I have a lot to say about Helaena and Aegon

also please send me ur ideas i have such brainrot ty

tw// substance abuse (aegon's part)

Helaena

has a butterfly tattoo

fairy light enthusiast

dresses like the 70's met the naughties with a hint of grunge fairycore

loves horror films but gets upset when they kill animals

loves astrology and tarot cards

loves crystals even though aegon laughs at her

wants a pet snake but alicent told her she cant have one (aemond is scared of them)

smokes (i do not encourage this kids!!)

luke tried to teach her to skateboard but she prefers roller skating

phoebe bridgers and gracie abrams girl

science girlie OMG STEM GIRLIE

plays sims but never gets past decorating the house and making the sims cuz she takes like 48 hours to do that alone

sometimes plays Minecraft with aegon but literally just collects cats and builds

Aemond

reads history books to try and bond with viserys

so good at sports

football, rugby you name it & he's good at it

wasn't particularly popular at school but had friends through sports teams

mama's boy but that's not a headcanon

instead of losing his eye, he has a massive scar through his eyebrow and under his eye from where Luke banged his head off the edge of a kitchen counter

so incredibly well disciplined to the point where he sometimes will not speak unless he is spoken to

he and jace are sports rivals cuz they go to opposite schools that compete against each other

i feel like I've not thought about this enough so please expect a part two where i just talk about aemond

Aegon

such a fuckboy bitch

writes fucking love songs for every new girl he dates

'I shoulda known all along, I was only the next one To take your love songs as a promise' this lyric from vicious by sabrina carpenter but its about him

OMG this bitch makes tiktoks and everyone LOVES them cuz hes a hot guy doing hot shit

PAINTS HIS NAILS

stop hes just my emo gamer bf

STOP

gamer??

no definitely a gamer.

plays league of legends (red flag but me too)

OMG anyone who plays league i bet this bitch like plays yasuo

i like how im just referring to him as bitch after being nice to aemond and helaena

i kinda love modern!aegon tho. like hes my type of man.

deep down hes a pure sweet heart

HAS BAGS UNDER HIS EYES FROM STAYING UP ALL NIGHT ON DISCORD AND GAMES

i have romanticised him into my perfect man send help

struggles with love cuz he was never shown it while young his perception of love is literally based on artificial perfection

he uses substances (alcohol nicotine etc) to cope with his issues and doesn't ever really open up

he really tries to present himself as a cruel person with no emotions but no one really ever believes him.

was really good at english in school

[tutyayilmazz]

"The true legends are totally casual"

They're young, they're smart, and they're from Rome: A conversation with Måneskin, one of the world's most successful rock bands Interview: Giovanni di Lorenzo

Måneskin for Zeit Magazin. paywalled but you can access it like this 🤫 i google and deepl translated it and fixed some sentences as much as i could but i'm far from being able to judge the accuracy of it all so there may be mistakes. anyway, the full article is under the cut, i highly recommend it, it goes quite into depth!

When they play concerts in the USA, they wrap themselves in the Italian flag. But they wouldn't do that at home in Rome: Måneskin, one of the most successful rock bands in the world. Band members Damiano David, Victoria De Angelis, Ethan Torchio and Thomas Raggi share why Mick Jagger knows who they are and how they take a stand without specifically talking about politics.

ZEITmagazin: When you are on tour abroad, talking to people, giving interviews - are people surprised that a young rock band that is successful all over the world comes from Italy?

Thomas Raggi: Always! At first everyone is amazed, there are a bunch of questions, some are very clever and interested and revolve around cultural differences. Other questions are just plain stupid: "Can you put pineapple on pizza?" There were such questions in America, for example.

Victoria De Angelis: But that's wearing off, everyone now knows that we're Italians. But somehow they are still surprised.

Ethan Torchio: Maybe also because nobody expected this kind of music from Italy. Often, however, we are so busy with our thing that we don't really notice how we are perceived from the outside. And actually our origin and the value of our music have nothing to do with each other. Values ​​are not tied to anything.

ZEITmagazin: In Germany music from Italy is associated with Gianna Nannini, Zucchero, Eros Ramazzotti beyond the hits. Many Italy lovers are familiar with Paolo Conte. But Lucio Battisti is not known here at all. His music is like the soundtrack of entire decades of life in Italy. Today, a quarter of a century after his death, it is still played daily on the radio. Can you relate to Battisti?

Damiano David: It's a long time ago, but that doesn't make it any less great, it's timeless. Of course he's light years away from our music, the complete opposite, but he's still fascinating for us.

ZEITmagazin: Why can music like that of Lucio Battisti stand the test of time?

Damiano: Because it captures something of its time, or rather: because it manages to be the expression of a break in time, to mark a turning point that many people may not understand until years later.

ZEITmagazin: If we stay with the image of Italy abroad, I would like to ask a question that I am often confronted with myself and which unfortunately usually leaves me quite at a loss: how is it possible that such a lovely country as Italy is governed by a post-fascist party together with a man like Silvio Berlusconi, who has committed serious crimes and only recently promised his football club AC Monza a minibus full of prostitutes if they beat big teams, and a Matteo Salvini, who delights in the idea of sending ​​refugees back again in the boat.

Damiano: For me there are two main reasons. For one thing, Italy has a short historical memory. We have forgotten the last right-wing government, we have forgotten what happened. Second, there's this vintage nostalgia: Everything that's old is beautiful. Cooking like in the old days, going on vacation like in the old days, the music of yesteryear...

ZEITmagazin: Does that also apply to fascism?

Ethan: In fact, there are still people who claim that everything was better in wartime. Totally crazy! I believe this latent glorification of the good old days has made neo-fascism socially acceptable.

Victoria: In my opinion, it also has a lot to do with ignorance. The bad thing is that the parties are counting on people's ignorance, their backwardness or their religious attitudes. And now we have a government that is committed to discrimination. Voting behavior is also to blame for this. A lot of people didn't vote at all. 40 percent of young people between 18 and 25 did not vote. That's a hell of a lot!

ZEITmagazin: Why is that?

Thomas: If I want a certain party to win or lose, I go to the polls. But when I don't have the itch and don't feel like getting up from my comfortable sofa to stand in line at some polling station, then this is how an election result happens. Almost everyone in the LGBTQ scene went to the polls and voted against Meloni because there is something at stake for these people. They know they are in literal danger, not just mentally but physically. But a lot of people who don't have a particular concern say to themselves: My voice won't change anything anyway.

ZEITmagazin: After Giorgia Meloni's election success in September, you, Damiano, posted: This is a sad day for my country...

Damiano: They slammed me for that. Both on social networks and on the radio.

ZEITmagazin: Italy used to be very leftist and had the largest communist party in Western Europe. Why has the left lost so much of its appeal ?

Thomas: It's difficult for us to judge. We have only experienced the last five years in a politically conscious manner. When you're thirteen or fourteen, you don't understand anything. That is why our political perspective is very limited. It is not for us to pass judgment on the decline of a political idea. What we have noticed to some extent are broken promises and this very disappointment that your own voice doesn't make a difference.

ZEITmagazin: Do you never hear, for example from your record label, that you should hold back on political issues?

Damiano: We found a pretty good balance because we never talk about specific politics. The four of us don't always agree politically. And we don't want to be political opinion makers or moralizers. We are talking about things that we understand go beyond any political discussion: we are against the war in Ukraine, we are against discrimination against minorities. Human rights are inviolable.

ZEITmagazin: Was Damiano's "Fuck Putin" spontaneous at the end of a concert at California's Coachella Festival, or did you talk about it beforehand?

Victory: That was spontaneous.

ZEITmagazin: But then you all bear the responsibility.

Victoria: Of course. If there is an attitude that should be taken for granted worldwide, then we position ourselves clearly and unequivocally. There should be agreement on this, regardless of whether I am on the right, left or whatever.

ZEITmagazin: Does the Catholic Church still have great influence in Italy today?

All: (ironic, in unison) No! What!

Victoria: It just acts more cleverly and makes less of an appearance.

ZEITmagazin: Under pressure from the church, the state broadcaster RAI in Italy did not play John Lennon's song "Imagine" in the early 1970s because it contains the lines "Imagine there's no heaven ... And no religion, too". These words were enough. In comparison, the influence of the church has become very small.

Victoria: But unfortunately it's still very big. Many people hold to the values ​​of the church. When our posters were to be put up in Rome , the church gave us difficulties. In the photo I was seen with my eyes rolled, you only saw the whites, that was too demonic for them. That's why we were banned from posting posters near the Vatican.

ZEITmagazin: But if that's true, then isn't that actually advertising for you?

Thomas: No. We hadn't told anyone that yet. You can now advertise for us. (laughs)

ZEITmagazin: When it comes to other topics, on the other hand, people are more relaxed in Italy than in America, for example: when Victoria lost her top at the MTV Awards and you could see her breasts, the pictures were immediately hidden. Something like that would be unthinkable in Italy, wouldn't it?

Damiano: In Italy we are more relaxed about nudity, less so about other things. In America, nudity is totally taboo. But you see guns everywhere.

Victoria: And you're not allowed to say swear words, they'll be censored immediately.

Damiano: When Victoria's nipple was censored, there had been a performance before us with all phallic symbols, but apparently that wasn't a problem. Male genitals are fine, females are not.

ZEITmagazin: Were you an outsider at school with your attitude, your hair, your outfits?

Ethan: Yes, we were different, we stood out, we experimented with our looks. I was quite the oddball at my school, wasn't bullied, but was the oddball compared to the others who all dressed alike. That is still the case today. They all look the same.

Damiano: It's about just not attracting attention, being as basic as possible , that's what we call it. The difference can only be determined by the price: You have exactly the same shoes as the others, but in the limited edition, which costs six times more.

ZEITmagazin: And at the same time, tolerance for deviations has decreased?

Ethan: Tolerance is a very sore point. You tell yourself that society is totally open, that the mentality has changed, because nowadays it sounds silly to say that I'm being laughed at because of my clothes. But in reality it's still the same. When I was little, that bothered me. In Italy it is much more extreme than in other countries. Here people are very conservative in many things, being different is perceived as threatening or wrong.

ZEITmagazin: Young men with long hair, for example?

Ethan: Totally. For me it was a filter to understand which people I can get involved with and which ones I would rather avoid. A lot of people have asked me: Why do you have long hair? I answered: Because I think it's beautiful. But you're a boy. So what? Yes, but it makes you look like a girl. That got on my nerves, but fortunately I didn't let it affect me. Nevertheless, I felt like an outsider and therefore discriminated against.

Damiano: If you read the comments and criticisms from Italy that we get on Facebook, for example, eighty percent of them are about our looks. As soon as we post a photo in which one of us shows a bit of skin or is dressed oddly, the comments rain down. It's damn sad to see the concentrated anger of these people putting others down. Why do you care how I dress? Why does it bother you when I'm at peace with myself and post a photo?

ZEITmagazin: Does that also apply to your lyrics?

Damiano: Yes, but paradoxically it's more about our looks. A lot of people don't even listen to our lyrics. They see the photos and hate it.

ZEITmagazin: Is it actually true that only one of you finished school and the others have thrown themselves into music?

Thomas: Actually we all jumped into the music. I graduated from high school, but that was something personal. We all made the same decision: we like it, it's going well, so we're going to give it our all.

ZEITmagazin: Even when you were not yet successful?

Thomas: Yes! Above all, Victoria's decision for music was very important as an impulse. We thought, if she dares, then we dare too.

ZEITmagazin: Did your parents agree?

Ethan: Agreed not. But they understood straight away that this is really important to us. So they gave us more freedom than most teenagers our age would have had. Of course, the school thing went against the grain for them. But they let us do it and believed in us.

ZEITmagazin: You, Damiano, allegedly only worked properly for a month in your life, and that must have been terrible.

Damiano: That was longer than a month. I was on the road as a representative for all kinds of wellness products, going door-to-door. The product range was broad - from cosmetics to mattresses. Our highlights were a coffee maker and a water filter, they cost a fortune, absolutely crazy. When I stood in front of people's doors, I felt like a thief. We got this gigantic nonsense drummed into our heads that we should tell them so they would pay 400 euros for a pillow. I was pretty good at it. But it was awful. I worked from June to September, in the hottest summer I was in a suit from morning to night and had to ride the subway from one end to the other, bathed in sweat.

ZEITmagazin: Did this time bring you anything that you benefit from today?

Damiano: You learn to face an audience, to interact with people, even if you annoy them. And you learn something for life: respect, discipline, punctuality. You learn to belong to a team and to subordinate yourself. You learn to be dependable even when you're totally exhausted: there are people working with you, so don't let them down.

ZEITmagazin: There is a difference between Italy and Germany that, for once, is not a cliché: in Germany children leave home as soon as possible after school, in Italy many are still living with their parents at 35. Why is that?

Victoria: I think about that quite often. In Denmark it is similar to Germany. However, young people there also have many more opportunities. In Italy, they're not just starved from an artistic point of view. There is hardly any support from the state, studying in Italy is very demanding: the requirements are high, there is no time for part-time work, and if you do not receive state aid or earn money on the side, it is practically impossible to leave home.

ZEITmagazin: So it's purely financial reasons?

Victoria: I think it also has something to do with our culture. In my circle of friends there are many parents who are very attached to their children and believe that they have to protect them and keep them at home as long as possible. It's different in other countries, in Denmark your parents kick you out when you're eighteen. Parents who say: Go away! – that is completely unimaginable in Italy. Here it says: No, but you are my child, stay with me, I will take care of you.

Damiano: Family is very important in Italy, but our generation would give anything to get away from home. They can't stand their parents anymore - with all their love. But they don't have the means. For example, I come from a perfectly normal family, we lack nothing, but for my older brother, who works and has a good job, it would be completely impossible at the moment to move out of our parents' house. I, on the other hand, was extremely lucky and was able to leave home early.

ZEITmagazin: You are all in their early twenties. Do any of you still live at home?

Ethan: We actually all fled.

Thomas: I'm still living with my parents at the moment, but I'll be taking the big step soon.

Damiano: But you were already living alone and thought it was stupid!

Thomas: I had this apartment in Trastevere, but it was six months at the most, that doesn't count. I wasn't really away from home at all, didn't have to take responsibility. Now something completely different is going on.

ZEITmagazin: Have you already confessed to your parents?

Thomas: Yes, and they didn't think it was that bad anymore.

ZEITmagazin: In Germany there is this saying: pinch me. Haven't the past few years been a bit unbelievable for you too?

Damiano: And how, every day! When we performed at the Circo Massimo last summer, and that too in Rome, in our city, I asked them to shine light at the audience because we don't see much on stage. Seventy thousand spectators - it was a sea of ​​people!

ZEITmagazin: In 2021, just a few months after winning the Eurovision Song Contest , you were the opening act for the Rolling Stones. You met Mick Jagger. How was he?

Victoria: Super cool.

Ethan: As you imagine him. Fully energized, enthusiastic. With that typical voice.

ZEITmagazin: Did he know who you are?

Damiano: Yes, he was fully aware. He had prepared. Keith Richards on the other hand was quite honest: I have no idea who you are, but I see the guitar, the drums – great, very good, keep it up. Ciao.

ZEITmagazin: At a Metallica concert, two of you - Victoria and Thomas - were said to be seen dancing enthusiastically in front of the stage like normal fans.

Thomas: Right! But we've already seen them in Rome. And in Milan. Before we met her, we were ardent fans.

ZEITmagazin: Would you say that the real artists stay approachable?

Damiano: Yes, by and large.

Victoria: But it's noticeable that today's superstars, especially the young ones, puff themselves up a lot. The true legends, on the other hand, are totally nonchalant, sitting in your studio and chatting for hours without making a fuss.

ZEITmagazin: Almost all old musicians say that what they did when they were young, they can no longer do today - if only because they are no longer politically correct.

Victoria: No, that wouldn't work anymore. Many of those who wrote rock history were totally crazy or permanently high.

Damiano: In the past, when you were crazy and stoned and doing crass stuff, people only noticed if you were a celebrity. Today, any no-name can pump themselves up on drugs, hop out the window, and go viral with it. Anyone can play rock star. Everyone wants to be important and nothing has meaning anymore.

ZEITmagazin: You smashed two instruments in Las Vegas, a classic rock gesture for which you were heavily criticized... Måneskin thinks that today's superstars, especially the young ones, would puff themselves up a lot.

Damiano: For us it was a way of celebrating the last concert. We enjoyed the moment, we didn't care what the social networks say about it.

Thomas: We used extra crappy instruments. I'm not going to smash a five-thousand-euro guitar! Do you think we're so stupid or what! That's what pissed me off the most. But you have to grown up and not give a shit.

Victoria: I find it hypocritical to accuse us of vandalizing instruments. When fireworks fly with other bands, no one says: A hundred thousand euros were blown away.

ZEITmagazin: Is there any of the old rock stars that you would like to meet?

Thomas: Jimmy Page.

Victoria: David Bowie. Unfortunately, that's not possible. So maybe Patti Smith.

Damiano: Me Paul McCartney.

Ethan: I almost said so too. But also Bono.

ZEITmagazin: What would you like to ask them?

Damiano: You always hear these stories from great bands, many of which, at least I think, are simply made up: They played this guitar riff – and boom, the song was there! But that's never how it works. I'd like to be told how it really was, firsthand. According to the motto: The story is a fairy tale, in reality it was very different...

ZEITmagazin: And how about you? It is said that the song "Zitti e buoni", which became your breakthrough, was so successful with young people in particular because it was an outcry against the Covid restrictions. Is that right?

Thomas: That's not completely out of thin air. In fact, Zitti e buoni was an expression of our anger at the time. We are so happy that people recognized themselves in it and made the song an anthem for their own causes. Of course, he was not only referring to the Covid situation, nor did he intend to call for a rebellion against the rules in force at the time.

ZEITmagazin: Is it true that you wrapped yourself in an Italian flag at a concert in the USA?

Damiano: That was probably me, because the audience throws everything at me and I'm the only one with my hands free.

ZEITmagazin: Unlike in Italy or America, in Germany this would be interpreted as a patriotic, if not right-wing, gesture.

Damiano: When we play in Rome, I wouldn't think of putting an Italian flag around my neck. But we are on tour in America, and there I show the flag to say: I am an Italian in the world.

ZEITmagazin: Was there a bit of pride involved?

Thomas: Of course, yes! That is celebrated.

Damiano: The more I see of the world, the more I'm convinced that Italy is the most beautiful country in the world, mistakes or not. Nothing to do.

Victoria: Italy is a wonderful country with great people. It cannot be compared to any other country. And it hurts that there are so many people who want to ruin it with their shit mentality. That's why we try to get a positive message across, to mess with it and change the attitude of these people.

ZEITmagazin: My favorite song of yours is "Vent'anni". It says: "I am afraid that I will only leave money in the world." Is that really a fear at your age?

Damiano: Less a fear than the awareness that this shouldn't happen. This sentence means that I not only want to leave the world what I have earned, but also create something that will stand the test of time, something that touches people's innermost being.

Thomas: We spoke earlier about Lucio Battisti. He and also Vasco Rossi, another great Italian singer, will never die.

Damiano: Because they've influenced generations, who in turn influence their children. This is the legacy that counts and that you want to leave behind.

[braveclementine]

Chapter 5

Warnings: None. However, future chapters will contain sexual content so readers that are under the age of 18 may have to skip those chapters (However they are very few so those under the age of 18 can still read a majority of this book. However please keep note of the warnings).

Copyright: I do not own any Wizarding World characters that J.K. Rowling wrote. I do however own Elizabeth Kane (main character) and Trang Nyguen (best friend). There should be no use of these two names without my permission. I also do not condone any copying of this.

💙💙💙💙

𝕴 𝖜𝖔𝖐𝖊 𝖚𝖕 around dusk, Ginny shaking me. "Come on!" She said.

I got up and brushed out my hair and came back to where the others were standing and stretching outside. There were thousands of waiting wizards and all pretenses of being Muggles were gone.

It seemed as though the Ministry had given up trying to hide the magical components. Salesmen were apparating every couple of feet with trays, bags, and carts of magical items and merchandise. There were items with the green colors of Ireland and the red colors of Bulgaria. There were scarves and dancing shamrocks and washable tattoos and face paint and rosettes and collectible figures that would walk across your palm.

Trang was in love. I'd given her about 200 Galleons which was leftover from the shopping trip where I'd bought her broom. Pretty soon, she had all Ireland things. All seven Quidditch player figurines, a rosette, a scarf, and multiple other things.

I got both seeker's figurines from both teams. I had an Ireland scarf and Trang helped put an Irish flag tattoo on my left cheek.

I bought her and I Omnioculars and two programs before we met up with the others, completely decked out. Trang quickly put her figures back in her bag in the tent, zipping it closed as though she thought they were going to escape. (Maybe they would). I set my figurines up on the bedside table.

Bill, Charlie, and Ginny were wearing Green Rosettes and Mr. Weasley had an Irish flag. Since Fred and George had no souvenirs because they'd given Bagman all their gold, I got each of them a Rosette too, helping Fred pin his rosette onto his shirt, while Bill and Charlie shot us glances.

There was a deep, booming gong from somewhere beyond the woods and green and red lanterns blazed to life in the trees, lighting a path to the field. Trang was so excited, she was bouncing up and down on her toes and couldn't stand still.

"It's time!" Mr. Weasley said and he looked nearly as excited as the rest of us, though he kept it in better check than we did. "Come on, let's go!"

We walked briskly along the path, clutching our souvenirs tightly. My Omnioculars were around my neck and my program and wand were in my pocket. My scarf was also around my neck, both ends hanging loosely down my chest.

I couldn't stop grinning, and neither could anyone else. That's what an exciting atmosphere does to you. We walked for twenty minutes. There were snatches of singing and shouting in vast languages.

Finally, we came to a gigantic stadium made of gold walls. Or perhaps it was just bronze painted and shining to look like gold. Trang's mouth dropped and she said, "I wish I had a camera."

"Don't worry." I said, grinning and clapping her on the shoulder, "I don't think you are ever going to forget tonight."

"Seats a hundred thousand." Mr. Weasley called back to us. "Ministry task force of five hundred have been working on it all year. Muggle repelling Charms on every inch of it. Every time Muggles have got anywhere near here all year, they've suddenly remembered urgent appointments and had to dash away again. . . bless them."

"I'll be able to get in, won't I?" Trang asked in alarm.

"Oh yeah." I said, though I wasn't sure if it was true or not. "You know about the magical world and have already been exposed to it." But I held my breath until we entered the stadium and Trang came through with no problems.

"I will admit," She started, "I've never seen a football stadium- American football- that is this big."

"Told you we have the best sport." I said smugly.

We were in the top box which meant we were to go as high as possible. The stairs were carpeted in royal purple and Trang practically squealed with delight. We kept climbing and climbing. I wondered mildly how many floors the stadium had- 10? 50? 100?

Either way, we finally found ourselves on the very top floor and when I looked down, I quickly backed up from the edge. We were higher than the Quidditch hoops which were fifty feet in the air. Perhaps were were seventy-five feet in the air then.

The giant blackboard was level with us and gold writing kept dashing across it and wiping off again. Trang watched in fascination at all the ads that popped up. Bluebottle brooms, Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess, Gladrags Wizardwear, and more.

Trang leaned over to me and said, "When I grow up, I'm going to become a full fledge witch, clothes and all."

I smiled but didn't say anything. She'd never be able to be a witch. She could brew potions, sure, but she could never drink them. She'd also never cast a spell with a wand. Or could she? If she used enough willpower, could she do a simple spell? I pondered over this for a moment. If that was the case though, we wouldn't have squibs, but still. . .

I shook my head to clear my unhappy thoughts. She could be a Professor teaching Muggle studies. She could even work in the ministry as a Muggle representative. But that was about it. And she didn't want to be a Muggle, she wanted to be a witch.

"Dobby?" I heard Harry say incredulously. Hermione, Ron, and I all turned to look and see who Harry was talking too.

It was a tiny creature that I recognized as a House-Elf. I had met Dobby before and knew that this house-elf wasn't Dobby. It had enormous brown eyes instead of green ones and had a nose like a tomato.

"Did sir just call me Dobby?" The house-elf squeaked, her face hidden behind her hands. I realized she was scared of heights. Mr. Weasley looked around in interest.

"Sorry." Harry said quickly. "I just thought you were someone I knew."

"But I knows Dobby too, sir! My name is Winky , sir- and you, sir- You is surely Harry Potter!" She said, her large tennis ball like eyes even larger. Except, unlike Dobby, her eyes were brown.

"Yeah, I am." Harry said, turning a bit pink. Trang was looking now too, coming face to face with her first magical creature that could talk (unless you counted gnomes vulgar language).

"But Dobby talks of you all the time, sir!" She said and lowered her hands, looking a bit awestruck to meet him.

"How is he? How's freedom suiting him?"

"Ah, sir, ah sir, meaning no disrespect, sir, but I is not sure you did Dobby a favor, sir, when you is setting him free." She said sadly, shaking her large head.

"Free?" Trang whispered at me.

I raised my hand to shush her.

"Why?" Harry asked, a bit alarm, "What's wrong with him?"

"Freedom is going to Dobby's head, sir. Ideas above his station, sir. Can't get another position, sir."

"Why not?"

She lowered her voice so low, Trang, Hermione, and I all leaned forward to hear her say, "He is wanting paying for his work, sir."

"Paying?" Harry asked with a blank look. "Well- why shouldn't he be paid?"

Winky looked horrified and closed her fingers so that her face was hidden. "House-elves is not paid sir! No, no, no. I says to Dobby, I says, go find yourself a nice family and settle down, Dobby. He is getting up to all sorts of high jinks, sir, what is unbecoming to a house-elf. You goes racketing around like this, Dobby, I says, and next thing I hear you's up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, like some common goblin." She squeaked.

"Well it's about time he had a bit of fun." Harry said with a smile. I looked on with a serious expression. There was an empty chair next to Winky and I observed it carefully, titling my head just slightly. It looked as though someone was sitting there, yes a bit of a black shoe moving back under the cloak! I looked up, an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach.

"House-elves is not supposed to have fun, Harry Potter. House-elves does what they is told. I is not liking heights at all, Harry Potter, but my master sends me to the Top Box and I comes, sir." Winky said, gulping as she looked down.

"Why's he sent you up here, if he knows you don't like heights?" Harry asked, frowning.

"Master- master wants me to save him a seat, Harry Potter. He is very busy. Winky is wishing she is back in master's tent, Harry Potter, but Winky does what she is told. Winky is a good house-elf."

"But Mr. Crouch won't be coming up at all." I said, in confusion, frowning, trying to pick out the lie.

Winky gave me a frightened look and I gave the empty seat another look, so sure that someone was in the seat.

I turned away.

Trang nudged me and asked about what Winky was talking about.

"House-elves are servants of wizarding families." I said. "It's in their generation and blood to serve until the last member dies or until a member sets them free. The way they are set free is by giving them clothes. Most house-elves actually love their work and they love their families and their families almost nearly love them as well. Kind've like a pet, you see. Of course, sometimes there are horrible families and house-elves that want to escape like Dobby."

Trang frowned, looking uncomfortable. "So even though they're slaves. . . they like it?"

"Yes." I said. "It does sound weird, I know, and as a Muggle, the concept is hard." I paused and tried to figure out the framing of my next words, "Most house-elves actually think it a punishment if they're set free."

"Really?" Trang seemed amazed at this concept.

I nodded, "There's been cases where the family frees an elf, whether they don't want the elf anymore or because the elf failed them in some way etc. where house-elves will actually die of shock."

Trang looked even more amazed.

Hermione meanwhile, was reading from her pamphlet saying, "A display from the team mascots will precede the match."

"Oh that's always worth watching." Mr. Weasley said. "National teams bring creatures from their native land, you know, to put on a bit of a show."

We had been the first in our box and over the next half hour or so, the box started to slowly fill up.

There were many important wizards filling the thirty or so seats up here. Mr. Weasley was shaking hands left and right and Percy kept sitting down and jumping up he looked like an old cartoon animation.

The Minister of Magic came up and Percy actually bowed, which made his glasses fall off and shatter. He fixed them himself and sat down, embarrassed and threw jealous looks at Harry who Fudge greeted like a grandson. He asked him how his summer had been and introduced him to the many wizards around him.

"Harry Potter, you know. Harry Potter. . . oh come on now, you know who he is. . . the boy who survived you-know-who. . . you do know who he is-" Fudge seemed to be trying to explain English to the Bulgarian minister. He was wearing splendid robes of black velvet with gold trimming.

The Bulgarian wizard suddenly started pointing at Harry's forehead and gibbering loudly in another language.

"Knew we'd get there in the end." Fudge said wearily to Harry. "I'm no great shakes at languages; I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing. Ah, I see his house-elf's saving him a seat. . . Good job too, these Bulgarian bludgers have been trying to cadge all the best places. . . ah, Miss Kane, good to see you too." The minister said, coming over and shaking my hand as well. "And how was your summer."

"It was good, how was yours? Busy I expect?" I asked politely. Minister Fudge wasn't my favorite person but being recognized by the Minister of Magic was a big deal nevertheless. But I still held a grudge against him for trying to separate my father and I last year.

"Extremely busy. I suppose you already know what's happening at Hogwarts this year?" He asked with a weary sigh.

I smiled. "Foresaw it about a week and a half ago. I also know who's going to win tonight but I won't spoil that."

"Surely you made a bet then?" Fudge asked, smiling.

I shook my head. "I don't gamble."

"Well you should." Fudge said, almost incredulously, and then said, "This is the Bulgarian Minister. Minister, this is Elizabeth Kane, she's a seer."

I blushed and shook hands with the Bulgarian minister and said in rough Bulgarian, "Znam, che znaesh angliĭski." (Знам, че знаеш английски) [I know you speak English]

The Bulgarian Minister gave me a look of surprise and I winked at him. He smiled and I put a finger to my lips.

Fudge wasn't paying attention to our interaction as he had his back to us and then said, "Ah, and here's Lucius."

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I spun around to see Lucius Malfoy, his son Draco, and a woman who must've been his mother coming up the stairs.

Draco was Harry's enemy and my arch-nemesis (yes, there is a difference. An enemy is someone you hate. An arch-nemesis is someone you fight all the time and tried to destroy). I grabbed Trang's arm, drawing her partially behind me. Draco, a pale boy with no color complexion and white-blond hair was walking up behind his father. Some of the girls at Hogwarts thought he was hot. I could see there point. He was thin and tall and and not exactly ugly.

His father's blond hair was about shoulder length, perhaps a few inches longer. It was parted neatly and his robes were black and neat. His mother, I thought, was a very pretty woman with half black, half blond hair- obviously dyed- with a nice face and thin eyebrows, but she looked as though she was smelling something bad. Maybe it was her husband's cologne.

"Ah, Fudge." Mr. Malfoy said, holding out his hand. "How are you? I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?"

"How do you do, how do you do?" Fudge said, smiling and bowing slightly to Mrs. Malfoy. "and allow me to introduce you to Mr. Oblansk- Obalonsk- Mr.- well he's the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. And let's see who else- you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?"

The two men stared at each other for a moment and my grip on Trang's hand tightened. I suppose I expected them to break out in a brawl at that moment.

"Good lord, Arthur." He whispered softly, glancing down at all of us. "What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much."

I let go of Trang's hand, my hands balling up into fists.

"Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He's here as my guest." Fudge said, not listening.

Mr. Weasley said, "How- how nice," while Trang whispered in my ear, "This is the man who's supposed to be in jail, right? Azkaban? The one who got away with the money?" I nodded a rough nod but didn't turn to look at her.

Mr. Malfoy's eyes landed on Hermione who went pink. His lips curled but she stared determinedly at him. His eyes moved over to me and they narrowed. I clenched my jaw and smirked back. I was sure he was remembering the time when I tripped him in the bookstore after his fight with Mr. Weasley.

Then his eyes flicked to Trang who was half-hidden behind me and she came out, looking at him with disgust. His expression was even more horrible for her, perhaps because she was disgusted with him. Despite the fact that I had broken one of the biggest wizarding laws letting Trang know about the magical world, Trang was a near avid rule follower. The fact that Lucius Malfoy was out of Azkaban even though he was a follower of the killer of her best friend's parents disgusted her. And since Malfoy was disgusted that she was a muggle like Hermione (or assumed she was), she was disgusted with him, a pureblood, and that annoyed him.

"Ah yes! Lucius, this is Elizabeth Kane. She's a seer." Fudge said, trying to introduce Lucius to me.

I smirked, holding out my hand, cocking an eyebrow at the man, ". . . Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Malfoy." 

Lucius slipped his large, rough hand and shook it firmly. "Yes. . . a pleasure Miss Kane." I caught a whiff of his cologne and was taken aback. He smelled. . . delicious.

Malfoy raised his cane higher up into his hands and walked past us. Draco shot Ron, Hermione, and Harry a contemptuous look and shot me a glare. I smiled, raising my eyebrows.

"Ooooh." Trang said, fists clenched, fire in her eyes. "I hate him."

"All right tiger, sit down before you get in a fight." I said. I sat back down between Hermione and Trang.

Ludo Bagman charged up the stairs and skidded to a stop and said, "Everyone ready? Minister- ready to go?"

"Ready when you are, Ludo." The Minister said, seated between the Bulgarian Minister and the Irish Minister.

Ludo pointed his wand to his throat and said "Sonorus!"

His voice echoed all over the stadium as he said, "Ladies and gentlemen... welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

There were cheers from the crowd and waving of their flags which played the national anthem of the country while being waved. The two anthems clashed but it was all part of the excitement. Trang had already forgotten her anger and was sitting on the edge of her seat in excitement. She was squinting down at the field. I reached over and tapped her Omnioculars. The blackboard now read BULGARIA: 0, IRELAND: 0.

"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce. . . the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!" Ludo announced enthusiastically.

The right-hand side of the stadiums, completely red, roared.

"I wonder what they've brought." I heard Mr. Weasley ask and then suddenly he whipped his glasses off and polished them in a hurried way and said, "Aahh! Veela!"

"What are Veela?" Trang whispered.

I giggled and said, "Enchanters of men, look!" I pointed at Mr. Weasley who was polishing his glasses and putting them on. Trang giggled too and then leaned forward to get a good look at the Veela.

I could see the beautiful aspects of them through the Omnioculars. They had smooth skin, I couldn't see a single blemish and they were very pale. Their hair was white-gold and flowed out behind them. I supposed it was probably as long as their knees maybe.

"Are they human?" Trang asked me, puzzled, her Omnioculars pressed so tightly her glasses were cutting into the bridge of her nose.

"No." I answered simply as the music started. I stared through my own Omnioculars and watched the Veela dance. The men in the stadium were starting to do really stupid things. Women were holding them back from jumping off the stadium walls. I dropped my glasses to look left and right. Charlie and Percy were both leaning over the edge, but weren't jumping yet. Mr. Weasley had an odd look on his face but he was still seated. Fred and George had fingers in their ears and Bill looked interested, but not affected.

Ron meanwhile, looked as though he might jump off his chair like a springboard at a pool. Harry on the other hand was standing up with one of his legs was on the wall. I jumped to my feet as Hermione whispered, "Harry what are you doing?"

"He thinks jumping from this box is going to impress the Veela." I said in an amused voice, pulling Harry back into his seat and slapping him across the face. He jerked as though waking from a dream.

"What was that for?" He asked. I noticed Harry's wand was poking out from his pocket. He really ought to shove it in deeper so it didn't fall out. Boys were so careless.

"You were going to do something extremely stupid." I said, going and sitting back down.

I glanced over at the other side. Bill was grinning at me and then got up and everyone scooted down so he could sit between Hermione and me. Fred shot us a glance. Charlie was still recovering from the Veela.

"Way to take control." Bill's voice was amused.

"He's like a brother to me." I said as Mr. Weasley took Ron's hat from him. "Wasn't going to let him make a fool of himself jumping off the stadium- not to mention saving him from impending death."

Bill didn't say anything else as a green and gold comet shot down towards the stadium and did one circuit around the stadium before splitting into two comets and shooting in opposite directions toward Ireland's goal post. A rainbow connected both the comets and then they exploded and rose up to make a shamrock.

Gold things started to fall from the sky. Trang pried her eyes away from the sky to turn to me and say, "Elizabeth, they're Leprechauns."

I giggled, "I can't wait until you meet a unicorn."

Trang turned back to looking at the sky. I grabbed a piece of gold out of the air. Leprechaun gold disappeared, but it was still cool.

"Charlie doesn't seem to be happy." Bill muttered suddenly.

I looked down at Charlie who quickly looked away. I frowned, "I don't know why." '

I looked at Bill and quickly away. I fancied Fred of course, but Bill was very good-looking too. I wondered if good-looking just ran in the family. I had fancied Percy for a long time as well. Not Ron though. And even though everyone got mixed up between George and Fred, there really were some differences between the two of them, making Fred more desirable than George. But really, they were both quite good looking. Yes, Ron was the only one I didn't like- romantically. I got along with Ron in a friendship. . . when he got along with Hermione.

And Bill was much different from the others. Bill had shoulder length hair like Malfoy or Snape, but it was red and lovely. His face was thin and and handsome. His earring was cool as well, and none of the other brothers had an ear piercing.

I wondered what Dad would think of Bill. I quickly pushed the thought away. Bill didn't like me and even if he did, I wouldn't hurt Fred like that.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome- the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you- Dimitrov! Ivanova! Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaand- Krum!" Bagman was saying.

"That's him, that's him!" Ron was saying. I looked through the Omnioculars to see the thin, dark, sallow-skinned boy. Because at seventeen he had only just become a man and the difference was amazing. He had thick eyebrows and a hooked nose and he looked a bit like a hawk or an eagle maybe. I supposed if someone asked me if he was good-looking I could say yes, but he wasn't my type and he wasn't the cutest boy I had ever met.

Yeesh, what was with me and eyeing every boy as a potential mate?

"And now," Ludo continued over the roaring approval of the Bulgarians and those supporting Bulgaria, "please greet- the Irish National Quidditch Team! Presenting- Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaand- Lynch!"

I cheered at Lynch's name. He was my favorite player on the Irish team and I had a poster of him in my bedroom. Blond, tall, thin, extremely hot. Deep forest green eyes. Bloody hell.

"And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"

Hassan Mostafa was a short skinny wizard with a bald head. However, to make up for having no hair on his head was a very large, very busy mustache. Trang giggled quietly in her seat.

"Theeeeeeey're OFF!" Bagman yelled so loudly I nearly jumped. "And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!"

The Chasers threw the Quaffle so fast that Bagman had only time to say their names before it was in the hands of another player. I wondered suddenly how Lee Jordan would've had time to make any jokes if he'd been commentating. Knowing Jordan, he would've managed.

"TROY SCORES!" Bagman declared as Troy threw the Quaffle into the hoop, the Bulgarian Keeper missed. "Ten zero to Ireland."

"What?" Harry yelled stupidly. "But Levski's got the Quaffle."

I laughed and Hermione scolded him for watching the game in slow motion.

The Irish Seekers worked as a seamless team. I wondered if any of this stuff could be implemented for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team this year. Cedric would be watching and he was our captain so. . . there wouldn't be Quidditch this year because of the tournament. . . so never mind.

The two beaters on the Bulgarian side- Volkov and Vulchanov- were whacking bludgers left and right at the Irish Chasers as they had scored twice more. Finally, Ivanova scored the first Bulgarian goal.

Harry screwed his eyes up and stuck his fingers in his ears as the Veela began to dance again. I watched him amused.

"They don't affect you?" I asked Bill.

"Oh?" Bill said, "They could if I let them, but I'm used to women trying to charm me."

I would've laughed, but instead, I rolled my eyes, tugged on a lock of his hair, and turned my head away, shaking it in amazement.

I watched the Irish Chasers again and then the whole crowd gasped as both Krum and Lynch were zooming down towards the ground. I looked through my Omnioculars, but I didn't see any snitch.

"They're going to crash!" Hermione screamed.

Krum pulled up out of the dive at the last second, making my jaw drop. I hadn't thought it possible. Lynch, to my disappointment, crashed instead. There was a huge groan from the Irish side.

"Fool! Krum was feinting!" Mr. Weasley groaned.

I sighed with disappointment. Ginny meanwhile, was hanging over the side of the box, looking horror struck. "He'll be okay, he only got ploughed, which was what Krum was after, of course." Charlie said, reassuring her. He looked up and met my eyes. I gave him a thumbs up and looked away.

How horrible! I couldn't stand it if Charlie liked me too! It'd be hard enough if it was between Bill and Fred. I didn't need Charlie involved either. Or maybe I was just being. . . was that word? Self-absorbed? Full of myself? The word was on the tip of my tongue and I couldn't grasp it! Basically thinking that every guy was into me just because they looked at me. . .vain? No, that wasn't it either. Stupid English words!

"That move was called the Wronkski Defensive Feint." I told Trang who looked horrified. She had red eyes from keeping them open to much. "Maybe you should close your eyes for a moment." I suggested.

She took of her glasses and rubbed her eyes and kept them closed until Bagman started back up the commentary. Lynch's recovery seemed to give Ireland more heart. When they began to play again, the Irish Chasers played with such skill I didn't believe it could be rivaled.

Mullet shot toward the goal posts yet again and the Bulgarian keeper rushed out to meet her. I watched in slow motion for this part as he used his elbows against her chest and head and she dropped the Quaffle. Most other people didn't see the entire thing but the Irish shouted out, enraged.

"And Mostafa takes the Bulgarian Keeper to task for cobbing- excessive use of elbows! And- yes it's a penalty to Ireland!"

The leprechauns rose in the air spelling out the words HA HA HA! The Veela became angry and started to dance in a ferocious manner. The Weasley boys and Harry had all stuck their fingers in their ears, even Bill.

I pulled his fingers out his ears, giggling, and said, "Look at the referee!"

Hassan Mostafa had landed in front of the dancing Veela and was flexing his muscles and his mustache in an excited manner. Trang and I collapsed into giggles and I banged my head on Bill's shoulder and winced. Bill laughed too, though I was more certain he was laughing at me as I grabbed my head.

"Now, we can't have that!" Ludo Bagman said though he sounded on the verge of laughing himself. "Somebody slap the referee!"

A mediwizard came running across the field, fingers in his own ears and kicked Mostafa hard in the shins. Mostafa seemed to become extremely embarrassed and pointed off the field for the Veela. They stopped dancing, looking mutinous.

"And unless I'm much mistaken, Mostafa is actually attempting to send off the Bulgarian team mascots! Now there's something we haven't seen before. . . Oh this could turn nasty."

The two Bulgarian beaters landed on either side of Mostafa and began arguing with him furiously. However, Mostafa was no longer in a good mood and kept jabbing his finger in the air. When neither beater got in the air he gave two short blasts with his whistle and the Bulgarians roared in anger.

"Two penalties for Ireland! And Volkov and Vulchanov had better get back on those brooms. . . yes. . . there they go. . . and Troy takes the Quaffle. . ." Bagman was saying.

Play now reached the ferocity point. Volkov and Vulchanov were at the point where they didn't care if they hit a bludger or person and were swing their bats fast and hard.

Dimitrov shot straight up at Moran who had the Quaffle and nearly knocked her off her broom though she managed to keep her hold on the broom.

"Foul!" The Irish supporters roared as one, I had roared so along with them.

"Foul!" Bagman agreed, "Dimitrov skins Moran- deliberately flying to collide there- and it's got to be another penalty- yes, there' the whistle!"

The leprechauns had risen in anger, forming a hand with the middle finger pointed upwards at the Veela. The Veela lost control of them. They launched themselves across the field, throwing fire at the leprechauns. Their faces had transformed into bird-like faces and scaly wings were bursting out of their backs.

Trang lowered her Omnioculars and stared at me in amazement and said, "I take everything I said back. I don't care how many sports Muggles have, this is the best sport there is."

I laughed. "Told you."

"And that boys." Mr. Weasley shouted so that even Harry on the far end could hear him. "Is why you should never go for looks alone!"

Trang, Hermione, Ginny, and I laughed as one. Then I muttered, "But all guys do that anyways."

Beside me, Bill laughed.

"Levski- Dimitrov- Moran- Troy- Mullet- Ivanova- Moran again- Moran- MORAN SCORES!" Bagman announced.

The Irish cheers were drowned out by the shrieks of the Veela and the Ministry wizards trying to get them under control. There were also furious roars from the Bulgarian supporters. I was bouncing up and down in my seat, the end was coming, I knew.

Quigley, the Irish Beater, swung his bat at a bludger which went zooming toward Krum. "Duck!" I shrieked, but Krum did not get out of the way in time. I gripped Bill's arm hard as the bludger hit him full in the face. I was sure that his nose was broken. I quickly let go of Bill's arm so that I could hold the Omnioculars in both hands. Despite the four-second hold on his arm, he still had nail marks imprinted there and I blushed and muttered a sorry.

However, Mostafa didn't blow the whistle for Krum to get medical attention because his broom had been lit on fire by the Veela.

I moved the glasses back up to Krum. Blood was spraying out of his nose in every direction. Bloody hell.

"Look at Lynch!" I heard Harry shout from my right.

Lynch had gone into a dive. This was the real thing. I jumped from my seat. "He's seen the snitch!" I shouted excitedly.

I could see the snitch too, a gold blur down near the bottom of the field. Krum had dove now too. I wasn't sure how he could see as blood was flying up past his face but he had managed it somehow.

"They're going to crash!" Hermione shrieked.

"No they're not!" Ron yelled.

"Lynch is!" Harry and I said together.

I watched as Lynch crashed into the ground for the second time and winced. Charlie was out of his seat too and was saying, "The Snitch, where's the snitch!" He bellowed.

"He's got it!" I screamed with delight, jumping up and down, "Krum's got the snitch."

The scoreboard now read BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170

"You guys won!" I said, turning to Fred and George, "You guys won your bet!"

Fred and George looked at each other and roared with delight, bumping fists and Fred pulled me into a tight hug.

There had been a silence in the crowd for a split second and then the Irish roared with happiness.

"IRELAND WINS!" Ludo Bagman cried a few seconds later, just as surprised as the Irish it seemed by this turn of events. "KRUM GETS THE SNITCH- BUT IRELAND WINS- good lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that!"

"What did he catch the snitch for?" Ron bellowed though he was jumping up and down like everyone else that Ireland had won. "He ended it when Ireland were a hundred and sixty points ahead, the idiot!"

"He knew they were never going to catch up!" Harry shouted back. "The Irish Chasers were too good. . . He wanted to end it on his terms, that's all. . ."

"He was very brave, wasn't he?" Hermione asked, leaning forward. Trang and her were watching the Ministry wizards blast a path through the battling leprechauns and Veela so that the mediwizards could get to Krum. Charlie and I were hugging now, completely ecstatic with Ireland's win.

"This is amazing!" Trang said, looking more at the battling creatures than the Quidditch players. The Veela were reverting back to their beautiful selves but looked dispirited and sad.

Bill picked me up now, swinging me around in a semi circle before kissing my cheek and setting me down. I stumbled for a second, putting a hand to my cheek, feeling quite red.

"Vell, ve fought bravely." A gloomy voice said behind us and we turned to see who was talking. It was the Bulgarian Minister.

"You can speak English!" Fudge said angrily. "And you've been letting me mime everything all day!"

"Vell, it vos very funny." The Bulgarian minister, said shrugging and looked over at me and smiled, "You speak very good Bulgarian."

I blushed with pride as the Bulgarian minister stepped back with his fellow Bulgarians.(It was actually the only sentence I knew in Bulgarian. I'd practiced it when I saw that the Bulgarian Minister would be coming up to the box). I supposed both teams would be coming up into the Top Box.

"And as the Irish team performs a lap of honor, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World cup itself is brought into the Top Box!" Bagman was saying.

My eyes were suddenly blinded by a dazzling white light. The Top Box was being magically illuminated so that everyone could see and we all quickly sat down so that we didn't get in the way.

"Let's have a round of applause for the gallant losers- Bulgaria!" Ludo said. The Bulgarian team came up the stairs and into the box. The crowd below was applauding appreciatively.

Krum came up last, looking like a real mess. He had two black eyes forming and his entire face was bloody. He was still holding the Snitch. He was slightly duck-footed on the ground and his shoulders were rounded. His eyes roved over us and then at Bagman. When his name was announced, the entire stadium- Irish and Bulgarian- roared with approval.

Then the Irish team came up the stairs. Lynch was being supported by Moran and Connolly. His eyes were a bit unfocused. I wished I could've asked for an autograph, but the Irish team left to do another lap around the stadium. Lynch rode on the back of Connolly's broom and I laughed. I too, wished I had a camera.

"Quietus." Bagman said, pointing his wand at his throat and climbing down from the pedestal. "They'll be talking about this one for years, a really unexpected twist, that. . . shame it couldn't have lasted longer. . . Ah yes, yes, I owe you. . . how much?" He asked as Fred and Weasley climbed over their seats to collect their money.

I walked over to where Harry was standing. I noticed his wand wasn't sticking out of his pocket anymore. I frowned. Well, perhaps he'd shoved it deeper into his pocket? I looked at where Winky was sitting, her eyes still covered and then the empty chair and pondered the invisible person. Perhaps they were sick? I bit my lip. Mr. Crouch had no wife, she'd died and I didn't think he had children. I supposed I could ask Mr. Weasley later.

I gripped the wand in my pocket as though someone might try to take it. I supposed that was a sign for something. . .

"Elizabeth, are you coming?" Trang called from down the aisle.

I jerked my head away from the empty, but not empty chair, and said, "Oh, yeah, coming." and I hurried after them, leaving the mystery behind.

⬅️➡️

[harrison-abbott]

Copenhagen Travels - Part III

A bout to the cemetery the other side of the island is the morning plan.

Sunny day. Buoyant sanguine Spring sunshine that pangs off the canal

Water and sparkles that and sparkles the bikes stacked up in their hundreds

By the streets as you dally. You need a fridge magnet for going back home.

Heading off into the hub of the city centre looking for a souvenir store you

Pass the corporate shops with the famous international names. On broad

Windows are splashed the adverts for cosmetics and perfume with these

Supermodels pouting their pulpy lips. And unfortunately there are the

Fast food branches with their sickly logos, mixed in with the fashion stores,

The shoe shops with their lady leather boots erectile through the screens.

On each restaurant MENU that you pass it’s all either meat or fish.

The coins are a bit confusing in Denmark and when you find a magnet you

Like you give the girl at the counter too much change.

After the store you head into this new park with a little lake inside it

All amazed by the light of the sky in simmering in pure reflections.

Swans and ducks mosey about, about as careless as water birds can be.

You come out of the park and onto the bridge that crosses the main canal

Leading off the island and on the brinks of the bridge are the bloody flags

Of Denmark again. Shortly after the crossing you come upon a basketball

Court. Surrounded by buildings smothered in graffiti. The courts of the

Playing field make you wish you had a ball to bounce there, to throw up

At those orange lurking rings … and you can’t discern much of the graffiti

Letters on the walls, nor understand the artwork spattered between the

Raw inscriptions, but they work in the rash urban zeal of the scene.

The scenery quickly changes into a charming district of florists, bakeries,

Bike hire shops, ice cream parlours. Shame you can’t really appreciate

Any of the cuisine, for personal ethical reasons (ha).

In close time you reach the cemetery.

Hans Christen Andersen is buried there. It is odd how a field full of

Skeletons underneath the soil can attract so many free people a day.

Free of charge you can go and see the tombs of dead folks and maybe

Tingle at the nuance of their bones under the flowers and grass that

Align their patches. Above Hans’ tombstone they’ve put Daffodils

And tulips, looking like any Easter Card decoration. Born in 1805,

Died in 1875. Snow queens, angels, goblins, elves, storks, teapots

And ugly ducklings don’t seem to have anything to do with this pretty

Graveyard. But it gives you a bit of momentum, a bit of inspiration,

To try and have achieved something before you perish yourself.

Maybe try and do something before you die to perhaps have your own

Bones nestle in a similar place somewhere on this sublime continent?

…

You figure you might try a museum next. And there’s a castle along

The way so you can see that too.

Heading along in that direction you come across a bunch of kids

Out playing on the street. Are they high school kids? They play

With basketballs and footballs and they shriek and shout with that inner

Value of youth. It’s a week day after all and so they must be on their

Lunch break from the school. Do you wish you were as young

As them? Not really because you remember the agony of adolescence.

And yet, these days when you look across at the car reflections in Europe

You see your white hair and your tired face and you’re always on your

Own and thus you don’t really feel young anymore: and all the folks

In the hotels you stay in are either way younger than you or far older,

And thus you don’t seem to belong to a particular age bracket.

But, meh, oh well, whatever. You’re still alive and that’s what counts.

On the upper scores of the buildings are random chunks of letters

That resemble steampunk videogames from the 1990s, or graphic novels

From the 1980s: and it’s remarkable how those concepts will have influenced

Such phenomena in modernity, right there, illegally splayed on the roofs

Of the city centre houses. …

You get to the castle. There are spike gates in front of a long meadow

Leading up to the building. In the foreground of the fortress are a band

Of soldiers in boots and fancy hats, playing music. A big brass band.

Pumping out crowd-pleasers with their fat drums, trumpets and blushed faces.

They seem to be performing to nobody in particular save the gabble

Of tourists picking photos from 200 yards outside the gates.

But they still do the music pretty well. Have to hand it to them.

The other side of the street there are a couple of Danish men getting drunk

On one of the benches. They drink from green cans and have sweaty faces

And the bigger man sings something to you as you pass. Not intimidating,

Though: only merry rather than offensive. … …

Okay so here’s the museum. History museum. With a mix of cultural and artistic

Regalia from within Denmark and across Europe and northern Africa.

There are respectable ladies at Reception.

They give you a key to stack your bag, and then you head upstairs, going to

The top floor. As you ascend, the light diminishes and all grows dark, and

As you head unto the showrooms, it’s like being a kid again going on a school

Trip, when you’re in a new environment, and it’s humid and there are these

Glass boxes blooming in the darkness. … Maps, diagrams, histories of warfare,

Ancient coins, ancient knives and pistols. They’re all real and so you wonder

Whether they ever killed anybody.

There’s a whole region dedicated to Islamic history. The empires that ranged across

A mammoth wedge of two continents, that spanned between Spain and Persia.

And so you read the snippets of writing under each display. They all seem to

Acknowledge violence as the cursor for history????????????????????????????????

When you go downstairs you see the other floors. They are filled with Danish

Pottery, in milky whites and blue, these china pots and plates that you would

Fear dropping on the floor if you ever held them. … Whilst you’re walking

About, a woman with a museum uniform on comes and asks you to tie your

Coat around your waste. “Okay, that’s fine,” you say. … You explore the rest

Of the floors. Then you figure to head back to the hotel.

Whence outside of the museum the clouds have overtaken the sky and there

Seems premonition in the grey dyes of them.

Head back to the hotel for just now and perhaps a night walk later on?