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seresinhangmanjake · 2 years

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A First and a Second

Dad!Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader

Summary: It’s just soft Dad!Hangman from start to finish. And cute marriage stuff.

Warnings/notes: some curse words thrown in. I think that’s it. Idk, folks. I just thought it was cute. I know there’s got to be typos and all that stuff. Pregnancy.

Words: 2190

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A First…

Jake took it harder than you did when you found out you were pregnant the night before he was to be deployed for a year. The doctor had confirmed that morning that you were only a few weeks along, and the thought that he wouldn’t get to watch you grow with his child, or dote on you, or feel his baby kick, completely destroyed him.

You promised to send him pictures of your belly swelling, and videos of the little bumps that would show when your baby was kicking. You swore you’d inform him of everything the doctors said after every appointment, but all that did was remind him that you’d also have to do that alone. Get to and from appointments by yourself, get to the hospital by yourself, go through labor by yourself. By the time he would be back, your child would be around three months old, and there was nothing he could do about the millions of moments he would miss.

You reassured him everything would be fine, to which he had only nodded in response, but you knew he was unconvinced. It wasn’t a lack of confidence in you and your ability to take care of yourself that stressed him, it was simply that he wanted to be there, he wanted to see it all happen day-by-day. He wanted to take care of you and watch your child come into the world.

Truthfully, you had wanted that as well. After he left, in every picture you sent or video chat the two of you had, you put on a brave face. But when the calls would end, you’d cry for an hour and whisper sweet words to your baby bump of how wonderful Jake was. You told your baby stories about him, about how you met, about how annoying you used to find him, about how talented he was; and you continued to share bits and pieces of your and husband’s history until the day you gave birth to your son.

-----

“He looks even more like you in person, doesn’t he?” you asked as you watched Jake lay eyes on his son for the first time. The baby was fast asleep and Jake didn’t want to wake him, opting instead to glue himself to the side of the crib and lean over the rail, gently running a knuckle along the infant’s pillow-soft cheek.

“He’s got your nose,” Jake whispered, tracing the curve of the tiny nose with the tip of his index finger, then proceeded to do the same to the cupid’s bow of the sweet mouth, “and your lips.” He stood straight and faced you, “Which I fucking missed, so kiss me again.”

He was on you before your next breath, pressing his lips to yours for what felt like the hundredth time that night, not that you were complaining. Being without him had been a complete nightmare. Your son’s Seresin temperament had yet to kick in, so luckily the baby was easy, but you still needed your husband. You missed his taste, you missed the feel of his body pressed up against yours, the curves of his muscles under your fingers.

“Alright, we have our own bedroom, mister.”

“Sorry,” he pecked your lips once more. “I’m just so happy. I’ve got you back,” he said as he looked back at your son, an indescribable expression taking over his face. “And we made something…amazing.”

“We did.”

“He’s so perfect.”

“He is.”

Jake’s eyes met yours again. “I want another.”

Your jaw dropped, and then you chuckled awkwardly. “I literally just had your son.”

“I know, baby, I know, and I love him so much, I love you so much, but we need a girl.”

“A gir—can we let this one grow a little first?” You motioned in the general direction of the baby.

Your husband had the audacity to pause in consideration, so you smacked at his chest. He laughed, green eyes lighting up—the same eyes he now shared with your son—and he said, “I suppose we can wait a day or so.”

“Good lord,” you groaned, fingers massaging your temple to relieve the ache. Two! You now had two Seresin men to deal with. “You’re lucky I love you, Jake Seresin.”

“Don’t I know it.”

-----

And a Second…

“Caleb, honey, don’t get your sister dirty,” you called from the kitchen, voice travelling to the small children in the backyard through the screen of the open window above the sink.

“Mommy, Ella likes to be messy,” your son called back, shrugging his slim shoulders, “I can’t stop her!”

Your daughter wobbly walked her way to a mud puddle and plopped down into it, little droplets of wet dirt sprinkling over the kids’ clothes. You huffed and left them to it, knowing it was definitely too late to hope for two clean children before dinner anyway. “Determined and hard-headed just like her father,” you mumbled to yourself as you began to cut the carrots for the meal.

“But beautiful like her mother.”

You jumped at Jake’s voice. “Shit,” you snapped, twisting in your spot. “You scared me!”

Your husband only smirked, took the knife from your hand to set on the counter, and wrapped you up in his arms. “I’d feel bad,” he whispered, kissing the side of your neck, “but I missed you too much. I am sorry for being late, though.”

“Long day?”

“Very. I just wanted to be here,” he said.

He leaned forward to connect your lips and you stood there kissing, hands innocently exploring one another until the chorus of giggles from the backyard distracted you. Nudging your head towards the back door, you said, “Can you go get them? Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Sure thing.”

He kissed you three more times, each one slightly longer than the last, then finally released you to gather your children.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Trouble One and Trouble Two,” Jake spoke as he stepped onto the back porch, hands on his hips.

Your son’s head whipped to his father’s voice. “Daddy!” Caleb yelled, instantly hopping up. The boy rushed forward—unashamedly forgetting his sister entirely— and tackled Jake so hard he stumbled back a foot and was forced to let out a small grunt.

“Alright there, little man,” Jake rubbed the boy’s back, “You been lifting weights while I’m at work? You’re stronger than an ox.”

Caleb unwrapped his arms from Jake’s legs and matching green eyes met. “As strong as you, Daddy!”

“Oh, yea?” Jake crouched to his son’s height and said, “Let’s see your muscles, Hulk.”

Wide smile across his face, your son speedily pulled the short sleeve of his now-muddy t-shirt up to his shoulder and flexed in attempt to be the spitting image of Hercules. Since watching the Disney film, the Greek demi-god had grown to become one of Caleb’s favorite heroes, coming second only to his father, of course.

With the back of his hand, Jake patted at Caleb’s abdomen a couple times then wrapped his fingers around his bicep to feel for the muscle that wasn’t there. “Got to be the strongest four-year-old the world has ever seen,” Jake chuckled, poking at his son’s stomach until the boy broke form and doubled over in giggles.

“Five, Daddy!”

Jake stood and ruffled the little head of blond hair. “Five in three months. Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he said, pointing a stern finger at the boy. You and Jake were constantly struggling with how fast the two were growing. You swore you woke each morning to your son an inch taller and you daughter speaking words you had yet to teach her. “Now where’s the princess?”

Jake put a hand up to block the evening sun’s rays from his eyes as he scanned the grassy yard. “She seems to be missing, Cay.” But then he heard a sweet little snort and a smack from tiny hands hitting a sloppy puddle of mud. “Oh, I see. Not missing but hiding in plain sight!”

Jake stepped down the short staircase into the grass and bent at the waist to look at his daughter who peered up at him in return, Y/E/C eyes round like those of a bushbaby. “I mistook you for a pile of mud, little piglet,” he said as he picked her up and settled her on his hip, not caring to become just as dirty as she was. “I bet mommy is so happy about this.”

He bounced her once and swiped his finger through some of the mud on her chubby arm to press a little dot on her nose.

“Mommy is not happy about it,” Caleb chimed in.

“Well, we can’t have the queen upset now, can we? You want to do me a favor, strong man?”

Your son nodded, eagerly watching as Jake pulled a long, velvet box from his pocket. Small hands opened up in preparation for receiving the special task his father was entrusting him with.

“Can you take this to your mother? Tell her this is why Daddy was late,” he said, then turned his gaze to Ella. “As for you, little lady…I have a feeling you’re in for it.”

“Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy!”

“What’s up, sweets?” you asked, wiping your wet hands on a dishrag.

Caleb ran to you and shoved his hands up as high as they could get towards your face. “This is why Daddy was late.”

You took the box from his grasp and carefully opened the lid as Jake came into the kitchen with Ella and started cleaning her up as best he could while you examined the delicate silver necklace. There were four diamonds set in a straight, neat row, two twice as large as the others.

With the hand not holding your still-dirty daughter, Jake pointed to the two larger diamonds, one on each end of the row, and said, “Those are us.” Then he tapped the two little diamonds in the center. “And these are the kids.”

“Mommy’s crying!” Caleb all but screamed.

In all fairness, he rarely saw you get so emotional. A habit you had developed when you were practicing being strong and brave for your newborn while you waited for your husband’s return. You always knew it would happen again. Inevitably, Jake would have to leave you and your child at some point, so you didn’t want to constantly be sobbing in front of your son.

“No, sweets, it’s ok. I’m ok,” you sniffled and wiped away the tears.

Jake set Ella on her feet. “Cay,” he began, “Can you take your sister and go clean up your toys in the living room?”

Caleb immediately snapped his heels together, straightened his spine, raised his hand in salute, and said, “Yes, sir!”

There was an edge of determination to the small boy’s voice that reminded you way too much of Jake. God, you were going to have another pilot on your hands in no time. Your husband saluted back so Caleb could grab his sister’s hand and drag her away, leaving teeny muddy footprints on the hardwood floor.

Jake winced as he watched the children trot their way into the other room. “I’ll clean that u—" He started, but his words died from your kiss.

“I’m going to assume you like the necklace then?”

“I love it,” you beamed, and Jake leaned down to rest his forehead against yours. “Where did you get it?”

“I had it made and picked it up on the way home,” he said, then his eyebrows rose. “Want to know the best thing about it?”

You hummed.

“The jeweler said that if we ever need more little diamonds, it would be very easy to add them in.”

Your head jerked back, eyes widening. “More little diamonds?”

“Yea…I was thinking two, maybe.” He shrugged. “Who knows?”

Palm planted firmly on your chest, you stated quite clearly: “I do. None.”

“Ok, well, I say two and you say zero, so how about we meet in the middle? One more little diamond.” He held up his index finger, his pouting face in full force behind it.

“Jake, If I agree to a third, then you’ll say we need a fourth to even it out, and then it’ll be five because if you have four then you might as well have five, then you’ll say we need six because six makes a solid country band, and then it’ll be seven because turns out we need a Handball team in the house, and—”

He kissed you to stop your rambling. “Just one more.”

Taking in the look in his eyes, a noise somewhere between a groan and a whimper vibrated in your throat. “…fine,” you sighed as you were yanked into a crushing hug. “I wish you weren’t such a hard man to say no to.”

“I’m glad I am. If I were an easy man to say no to then I wouldn’t have been able to get you to marry me.”

“That’s n—”

“Mommy! Ella got mud on the couch!”

“Jake—”

“I’ll clean it up, baby, I swear.”

And a Third…

Tags: @marvel-ousnesss @thespeeder @nobody7102 @marrianena @fangirlingoverfangirls @blue-aconite @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @dempy @chaoticassidy

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dduane · 2 years

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When the writer freaks herself out

I’ve been working on an entry for Food and Cooking of the Middle Kingdoms this afternoon. It’s a recipe for honey-candied apples (which appear as a sweet on a farmhouse dinner table in Tales of the Five 2: The Landlady). (With cream, and an imported apple-based spirit.)

So this is part of what I wrote:

On our Earth there are only a few species of bees that make honey—or more accurately, enough honey for humans to safely harvest without harming the colonies from which it’s obtained. One of these, and the one most kept for commercial uses both here and in the Four Realms, is Apis mellifera: what we call the Western or European honey bee. However, the Kingdoms’ continent is shared with their version of A. mellifera by two other honey-making species.

Widespread in the cooler southern regions is a larger variant of the eastern- and southeast-Asian giant honey bee, Apis dorsata, which builds tremendous comb-filled nests in trees of the southern Darthene and Arlene mountain-cedar forests, and on cliffs in the Steldene Southpeak foothills. (Apis dorsata medioregnis, fortunately, does not entirely share the blindly vicious temperament of its Earth-based congener.) Meanwhile, in the semitropical northern regions, a variant of the stingless bee Tetragonula mellipes is widespread from the mouths of the Darst and the northern shorelands of the eastern Waste, right along the Darthene northern Seaboard to the North Arlene peninsula. Because of its higher water content and low glycemic index, this bee’s honey is runnier and less sweet-tasting than that of A. mellifera and A. dorsata, but also has a unique tangy/citrus flavor that’s much prized.

So there we go, thinks the writer. That’s enough worldbuilding for the moment. Now we can get on to the recipe.

...Or not. As without warning, things go a bit green and dark in the writer’s head, and she suddenly sees what she’s just installed in her unsuspecting world:

...Forests. Mountain forests. In this one, unnumbered broad-canopied cedars are the uprearing deep-ribbed pillars of a high, shadowy-roofed cathedral a league and more wide. And suspended from the branches, almost completely hiding the upper reaches of the trunks, hanging pendulous and tremendous from the branches, in swags and curtains an arm’s-length thick... the hives.

There may be twenty or fifty of these in a single tree... maybe a hundred or more, in the oldest and tallest of the forest monarchs. And the hives are as social among themselves as the bees who live in them. The queens of a tree’s many hives make up their own small self-aware swarm. They have ways of communicating without ever leaving their hives. Some say their souls speak together, and with the queens of other trees’ hives... soundless, wordless, needing no words to discuss what matters to them: the prosperity and the safety of their colonies and their kind.

The naked hives themselves, and the brood-combs and honeycombs inside them, are not easy to see. This is because each hive is covered a handspan thick by a hundred thousand warrior-workers or more, endlessly alert for danger. Even the average worker giant bee is the length of the top joint of your thumb; the warriors can be twice that size. These too have obscure modes of communication that bind them together. If an enemy approaches, all the warrior bees of a whole tree’s hives will rise together to defend their homes. All together, they will fall on the marauder and cloak it as thickly in their furious bodies as any hive... and then will come the stings.

Fortunately you will hear the hives singing long before you see them. If you hurry, you will still have time to turn back before the scout-bees find you.

If you are hunting their honey, though, your only chance of escaping unharmed is to make the bees understand that that you have not come to harm their brood, but only to harvest and share some of the honey they do not need. You cannot lie to them. If you do, they will know.

So when you meet them, speak to the bees. Tell them what you desire... and pray that you speak truly.

...

And meanwhile, a long way away from the forests in the foothills of the Southpeaks, a writer sits staring at the computer screen and thinking:

WHERE THE HELL DID THAT COME FROM?!

...And then goes off to get some tea.

With SUGAR.

#bees #Middle Kingdoms #Middle Kingdoms meta #Food and Cooking of the Middle Kingdoms

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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years

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The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 21

Original Title: 二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 21 - This Venerable One Will Tell You a Story (Part 3)

Yao Qianjin had quite a temperament. When she got back, she didn't even think about eating and went straight to pestering her father to inquire about Chen Bohuan. Although Chen Bohuan was already married, it was done behind closed doors. Who knew about it? Even when their marriage had been arranged, the town never knew about their relationship.

So Yao Qianjin learned that the eldest Chen son "wasn't married yet."

The county magistrate made several inquiries and found that Xiao Chen was capable, gentle-tempered, and his familial situation was good, so he sent someone to talk to the Chen family about the marriage.

Mr. Chen was filled with regret. They politely told the county magistrate they would think about it first. They closed the door and the two old people immediately started to quarrel.

Mr. Chen said: "Look what you've done! The poor scholar died early and his daughter should have mourned him for three years. If you hadn't been in such a hurry for them to get married, our son wouldn't have to regret it now! Look at what happened!"

Madam Chen was also anxious: "You're blaming me? Weren't you the one who wanted to arrange the marriage in the first place? Now there's a better option: the daughter of the county magistrate! Can. . . can Luo Xianxian compare to that?"

The two elders closed the door and quarrelled until they were red in the face. At the end of the quarrel, they were exhausted and panting across the table from each other.

Mr. Chen asked: "What should we do? Should we call back the magistrate?"

Madam Chen said: ". . . We can't do that. Our family is relying on Yao Qianjin's money."

Mr. Chen said angrily: "Then will the daughter of the Yao family be a concubine? Will she? Our son already has somebody, how can we add another? Look at how in love they are!"

". . ." Madam Chen didn't say anything for a while. Her eyes suddenly lit up, and she murmured, "If you think about Luo Xianxian and our son, except for our family, no one knows about them. . ."

After a few moments of silence, Mr. Chen was shocked when he suddenly understood his wife's intentions.

He was trembling, half from panic, half from anger.

"You - you mean. . ."

"If no one knows about it, it doesn't count as a real marriage." Madam Chen said. "Let's try to find a way to get rid of her. We can do whatever it takes. All the surrounding villages think he's unmarried. Do you remember how she stole oranges from us as a child? As long as we all stick to that story, no one would believe her word over ours!"

Mr. Chen strode to the door, confirmed that the door was closed tightly, and hurriedly rushed over. The two people who had been arguing like two chickens in a cockfight were nestled together again, quietly lowering their voices, and discussed.

Mr. Chen said: "This method of you, I'm afraid it won't work."

"What's wrong?"

"Our son won't agree. He's had a crush on Luo Xianxian his whole life. Why would he agree to drive her away for someone else?"

Madam Chen thought for a while. She patted her husband's hand and said, "Don't worry, I'll take care of it."

After a while, Madam Chen suddenly became seriously ill. It was a strange illness. The doctor couldn't explain the reason, but she just would have fits all day and talked nonsense, saying she was possessed by a ghost.

Mr. Chen was terrified so he asked a Daoist priest to come. He carried a whisk on his back and said that there was something negative in the Chen family directed at Madam Chen. If it wasn't resolved, Madam Chen wouldn't make it to the new year.

Chen Bohuan, who was the most filial, anxiously asked: "What attacked my mother?"

The Daoist priest pretended to be mysterious and hesitated for a while. He said it was a "beauty who couldn't see the light of day."

Everyone in the room froze. The Chen family's sons all turned to look at Luo Xianxian standing on the side.

Luo Xianxian also froze.

She has been told many times when she was a child that her life is cursed. She brought tragedy with her. As soon as she was born, she killed her mother, then her brother, and later her father.

Now, she was being accused again, saying that she was going to kill her mother-in-law.

The Chen family was petrified. The sons took turns telling her to leave the Chen family. Besides, no one outside the family knew that she was married and had an innocent reputation. They would give her some money and let her find another good family.

Luo Xianxian was anxious and afraid. She was really worried that she was killing Madam Chen and she couldn't control her tears.

Chen Bohuan was heartbroken. As he watched his mother grow weaker, he was caught between a rock and a hard place. He didn't want to leave Luo Xianxian, but he couldn't bear to watch his mother suffer. She had lost so much weight in such a short amount of time.

The brothers of the Chen family quit trying to be civil. One day, while their elder brother was away, they sought out their sister-in-law. Luo Xianxian was mixing butterfly fragrant powder in the greenhouse. They rushed up and knocked over her utensils. The fragrant powder fell on her. The pungent aroma seemed to instantly seep into her bones and she couldn't wash it off.

The brothers surrounded her and talked about the most important duties, such as "a woman's virtue", how a wife and daughter should be humble, parents should be respected but Luo Xianxian was very tough. Although timid, she was very stubborn. She cried and said she didn't want to leave, begging them to think of another way.

The second son of the Chen family was impatient so he went up and slapped her. He said: "You're going to kill our mother, you cursed bitch. If there was another way, would your father have died? Would your mother have died? Would your brother be dead or alive?"

As soon as he beat her, the rest of them rushed up, punching and kicking Luo Xianxian, shouting things like "get out", "vermin" and "quick fuck".

These sons had the same idea as their mother. In fact, they had known about their mother's idea for a long time. At this time, taking advantage of their elder brother's absence, they worked together to expel Luo Xianxian from the house. They threatened that if she dared to come back, they would beat her every day. She didn't have a family anyways. If she was beaten to death, no one would care.

It was a snowy night. Luo Xianxian was thrown into the snow covered in bruises and one of the embroidered shoes on her feet had fallen off.

She slowly crawled forward, a muffled choked sob escaping her lips, like the low howl of a dying cub.

It was late at night. Few people would be outside on such a snowy day. She crawled through the vast world, not knowing where she was going, not knowing where else she could go.

The Chen brothers were right.

She had no family; no father, no brother. No one to stand up for her, no one to take her in.

There was nowhere she could go in this white, awe-inspiring world.

Her bones were weak, and she was wearing thin clothes when she was thrown out, so her legs and feet quickly became numb and useless.

Crawling all the way to the outskirts of the city, she came to the earth temple where the Master of Ceremonies Ghost was enshrined. She curled up in the temple to hide from the snow. Her lips were blue and frozen, and her heart felt even colder.

Looking up at the clay statue with gorgeous red makeup, she couldn't stop the tears rolling down her face. It made her think of the rules of the Lower Cultivation World, and how a married couple should have a master of ceremonies to witness it.

At that time, all she had was a red flower hairpin, a beautiful smile and Chen Bohuan kneeling next to her.

Was this closed-door marriage all a big dream? That day, the beauty in the brass mirror was picturesque. Was it just a greedy joy that she had concocted deep in her mind?

She knelt in front of the Master of Ceremonies Ghost, dragging her increasingly heavier and cold body. She bowed three times, crying and laughing.

"Married as husband and wife. No doubt about their love. Rejoice. . . in this. . . tonight. . ."

She started to feel dizzy and her vision was getting blurry.

A thin layer of moonlight seemed to sprinkle in front of her eyes. In the small courtyard from her past, she cried and said: "I didn't steal. I didn't steal. I didn't steal the oranges."

However, three men make a tiger* and everyone was terrified. No one would believe her side of the story.

*(T/N: 三人成虎 - means that the more someone repeats something absurd, the more likely people are to believe it)

To this day, she knew that even if she ran up to every person she saw and screamed that she was Chen Bohuan's wife, no one would believe her. She was still the same little girl as back then, stuck behind the mud wall with no one to share her grievances with.

Nothing had changed.

But there was still that person, looking over the wall, holding a white steamed bun, stuffed into her palm, saying: "If you're hungry, eat a steamed bun to curb your hunger."

Now. . . that person. . . where was he. . .

When he came back and couldn't find her, would he be worried, or would he secretly breathe a sigh of relief because his mother would be safe from her?

Luo Xianxian curled up in the earth temple, eyes dripping with gradually drying tears, and whispered: "Madam Master of Ceremonies, I want to be with him. I'm his wife. . . When we came to the temple, we didn't have a master of ceremonies with us. You're a Master of Ceremonies Ghost. You can't control the living, but I. . . You're the only one I can talk to. . . and I can tell you. . ."

She whimpered in a broken voice, the last sound coming out of her throat: "I didn't lie. . ."

I didn't lie.

The heavy snow was silent, and the long night was quiet.

The next day, the townspeople who passed by the earth temple on the outskirts of the city found Luo Xianxian's cold body.

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#the husky and his white cat shizun translation #the husky and his white cat shizun #2ha novel #2ha translation #2ha #chinese bl #bl novel #chinese novel #yaoi novel #yaoi #danmei novel #danmei #english translation #mo ran #chu wanning #ranwan

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shinydelirium · 3 years

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Kiro’s Rumors and Secrets: Discarded Light (Season 2 Chapters 6-9) Translation [CN]

***SPOILERS*** THIS POST CONTAINS HEAVY SPOILERS FOR CONTENT NOT YET RELEASED ON EN SERVER!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!***

So I lied when I said I was gonna translate and post Kiro’s Season 2 chapter 12, lol. But rest assured, it will be next. Just wanted to include this R&S after translating chapter 8-9 to provide some more insight into Kiro’s character from an outsider’s perspective. Although it’s also a pathetic excuse to delay the chapter 12 translation cuz I know it’s gonna hurt just as much as the first time I read it T_T

Anyways, enjoy~

This “superstar” is always beyond everyone’s expectations.

[Chapter 1]

The giant, reinforced concrete extends high into the sky, and the spotlessly wiped glass reflects the neon and dilapidated crescent moon in the distance.

Ah Liu perched on the top of the building, aiming at the silent building opposite him.

Soon, the 8 o’clock bell and a sound in his earphones rang at the same time.

“It’s time to start.”

Ah Liu tightened the rope harness, confirmed the safety of the landing point, and jumped down into the bottomless abyss between the two buildings.

Ah Liu is a bartender, a kind of superficial meaning.

Although he is indeed employed by the owner of Mondlicht bar, his work is not just about bartending and wiping glasses.

“A guest will come in the afternoon, and you will be in charge of collecting it.”

In the bar, the man behind the counter hummed a small tune and placed the wine glasses on the shelf as usual, attached to the task at hand without raising his head.

Ah Liu nodded and when he got up, he heard the man add another sentence.

“This time it’s a long-term big deal. The employer’s status is a bit special, so be more cautious.”

Ah Liu has done many assignments, but the boss reminded him as if this is first time.

This means that the employer is really not good at talking.

The owner threw a report from the counter. Ah Liu took it and looked up in surprise after a few glances.

“What is this person?”

The owner knew what he was thinking, and smiled amusingly.

“When you see him, you will know how kind and compassionate my reminder is.”

Ah Liu put the file on the table suspiciously. The knife in his hand gave off a silver light, feeling a bit funny.

The man on the file has brilliant blonde hair and his blue eyes seem to reflect a clear lake along with a pure smile.

Even Ah Liu, who doesn’t know the entertainment industry at all, knows the person in the photo.

Kiro, the most sought-after superstar of the Inverted Smile Film and Television Company.

His smile appeared on the electronic screens in the streets and alleys as well as on the packaging bags of the new potato chips in the convenience store, making it difficult to miss for anyone who passed by.

Why would such a person who stands at the top, shining and dazzling, pay a big price for a piece of information?

Ah Liu glanced at the file. The paper listed the employer’s request and the price.

The price is irresistible, and the request is worthy of this astronomical price that is suffixed with many zeros.

“The work content of other people has already been arranged, so please prepare.”

Ah Liu made a rough estimate of the time and energy required to take this big arrangement, and then thought about his fortune, and neatly put the file into his pocket.

“It seems that for a long time, we have to work for this Mr. Kiro.”

Soon the appointed time arrives.

When the door of the bar was pushed open, Ah Liu involuntarily glances over.

The person who came in wore a black hat and was dressed up very simply. He walked straight to the bar, threw an envelope to the owner, and then reached out and took off the hat, revealing his golden hair.

“As agreed before.”

He said the words briefly, as if he didn’t want to say more.

If he hadn’t already known his identity, Ah Liu felt that the star’s temperament at the moment was more suitable for this bar than him.

The owner nodded, put away the envelope, and raised his chin towards Ah Liu.

Ah Liu leaned against the bar, turned the knife in his right hand, raised his eyebrows at the guest in front of him and said hello.

In fact, generally speaking, the attitude towards guests should be a little more polite, but Ah Liu was inexplicably teasing. Perhaps because of the other person, or perhaps he was just curious about the true appearance of the superstar hidden under his handsome face.

However, Kiro’s expression was plain and straightforward.

“My request, you should know everything.”

It was completely different from the reaction he expected. Ah Liu pulled back his shoulders and put away his knife.

“Almost. Although it’s a bit tricky, it can be done.”

It was probably the first time Kiro saw someone who dared to speak so directly. He raised his eyes and reminded him not to be serious.

“Think carefully, don’t accept the task so quickly.”

“We are in this business, and we have to do it to the end after receiving the customer’s order. Although this task is not my responsibility alone, but since it’s within the scope of my work, I will definitely do it for you.”

Ah Liu was frank and extended his hand towards Kiro.

“I will follow you in the future.”

Probably out of respect, Kiro held the hand that was stretched out, but that’s all. He didn’t seem to want any contact other than trading with the person in front of him.

“How it’s done, I will tell you later.”

After he said this, he didn’t stay any longer, so he turned and left the bar.

“Why did you find this star? He’s a bit different from what I thought.”

Ah Liu turned around, tapped his index finger on the table, making a clicking sound.

The owner slowly handed him a glass of wine and smiled meaningfully.

“He’s really not any ordinary star.”

“As for what kind of person, you will know soon enough.”

[Chapter 2]

Ah Liu is a practitioner with a sense of professional ethics.

Although he found it very difficult to understand the employer’s, Kiro’s, request, he paid enough for Ah Liu to add ingredients to the menu shamelessly. While eating instant noodles, he made preparations very rigorously.

When Ah Liu completed all the preparations, Kiro also came as scheduled, with a laptop computer.

Ah Liu didn’t think Kiro could help him with his work, but half an hour later, his impression of Kiro was completely overturned.

Kiro asked for some relevant information, then turned on the computer with familiarity, tapping the keyboard quickly with his fingers.

Soon, lines of complex codes flashed across the screen like some kind of fluorescent green tide with special beauty.

Ah Liu stared at Kiro’s movements dumbfounded and couldn’t help but utter a hometown dialect.

“Yo, how are you so good?”

Ah Liu knows that when employers choose a place like theirs, it means that they need to deliver a little more or less of their own secrets and trust.

But….it’s already hard being a star right now, do you have to have to work part-time on the side too?

The security system on the screen was easily hacked, and the red warning turned into a green traffic sign. Kiro stopped typing until he locked a certain area on the outskirts of Loveland City.

“Found it.”

He stretched his waist and habitually reached near the computer as if looking for something to drink.

When he didn’t feel anything he gave a soft “huh”. His extended hand stiffened for a second, and then quickly retracted it, speaking nonchalantly.

“I have locked a few addresses that appear to have logged in to the server, but the specific locations need to confirmed.”

“How is it on your end?”

Although shocked by Kiro’s hacking skills, Ah Liu did not forget his work, and pointed to the surveillance screen in front of him.

“The monitoring software is installed, but there is no movement yet.”

“I suggest waiting for another two or three days to take a look.”

Kiro nodded, put away the computer, put on his hat and mask, and left quietly.

Ah Liu stood up, moved his shoulders and inadvertently walked towards the window.

Next to a vending machine on the corner downstairs, Kiro, wearing a black hood, was bending over to drop coins and soon a bottle of green soda rolled out.

He was a little far away, but Ah Liu still saw the drink clearly.

The green apple flavor is very high in sugar, and young girls are unwilling to buy it, so they are always not able to be sold.

Kiro finished drinking in one breath. His eyes raised slightly, showing a satisfied look. He threw the plastic bottle into the trash can briskly, then turned and left.

Ah Liu once again became curious about Kiro.

[Chapter 3]

He didn’t meet Kiro again until a long time later.

During this period, Kiro did not take the initiative to contact Ah Liu, and he has been diligently monitoring the marked area while waiting for Kiro’s news.

The days of waiting were a bit boring. It wasn’t until one time, on the convenience store TV news that Ah Liu learned that Kiro was involved in a “wounding incident” and revealed his identity as an Evolver.

Ah Liu slurped the instant noodles. On TV, Kiro looked directly at the camera and generously admitted his hidden identity.

He swallowed the instant noodles, wondering what he was doing.

Although he didn’t have much contact with Kiro, he knew very well—this person would not be so reckless and willful, and that he might have his own reasons behind this incident.

After that, a while later, Kiro’s company also underwent some trouble, and he himself claimed to retreat for creation purposes.

In the silence, Ah Liu disassembled and reassembled the pistol bought from the black market in the dark. The screen beside the pistol showed clues that he finally tracked down.

Hunter game.

It’s time to contact his employer, he thought.

In the dark, the cheerful and broad bells rang—

The so-called hunter game, even though Ah Liu never heard of it before, Kiro specifically called him to investigate since it was also related to what they had checked before. Naturally, Ah Liu concentrated all his time and energy into it.

When following Kiro’s clues, he slowly became more aware that there was a behemoth showing his minions in the darkness.

But it paid off, and finally someone bit the hook that had been cast before.

Ah Liu stuffed a pistol into his waist, holding his cell phone, and dialed Kiro.

The phone picked up after a few rings.

“What’s up?”

“I found a building where the other party had been active. I’m going to explore it tonight. If I’m lucky, I might find something.”

Kiro on the other end paused for a moment, inhaled and quickly stopped talking.

It seemed that Kiro was not the only person on the phone. Ah Liu vaguely heard another person speaking to Kiro and his voice rose naturally.

“Savin, I’m really not stealing snacks. If you don’t believe me, then come and see for yourself.”

“Hey—wait, come back later. Now I’m bitter. As soon as you interrupted, the melody of my new song is gone.

“I never told anyone that you hid my three boxes of snacks and two refrigerators of carbonated drinks. So inhumane….”

The voice gradually became quieter, and it was probably the person named “Savin” who finally left Kiro alone.

Ah Liu felt that Kiro was really weird.

Obviously, he has the warmth of light that ordinary people can’t touch, but he had to turn around and go to the darkness.

He wanted to ask why, but held back.

Employers have their own secrets to some extent. Keeping to their duties and not asking too much is the best way to stay out of this circle.

After a while, Kiro’s calm voice came from the phone again.

“Send me the address and I’ll find you.”

“I’m fine by myself. You don’t trust me when I say this?”

Ah Liu felt that Kiro didn’t trust his capability. He repeatedly emphasized that his business potential was very good. His performance ranking has been ranked first.

But Kiro still insisted on working with him and Ah Liu couldn’t help but send Kiro the location of the building.

[Chapter 4]

Under the endless night sky, Ah Liu received Kiro’s signal.

He stood up and flung himself into the opposite building with the help of the rope. After he rolled into the room and came to a stop, Ah Liu suddenly held his breath.

There were no clues left as expected. The whole room was empty. The huge glass windows were opened and the cold moonlight showed the man’s brilliant blond hair and the timed explosive device in front of him.

“Was it successful?”

“It seems that someone expected this visit and left us a gift.”

Kiro’s expression was very calm but when Ah Liu saw the detonator under his feet, he couldn’t help sucking in a cold breath.

Kiro seemed to be indifferent, tapping quickly with both hands on the computer and laughed coolly.

“Although the internal structure is complicated, it is still flawed…”

“How long will it take?”

‘Five minutes.”

Ah Liu glanced at the time displayed on the screen and the countdown just reached five minutes.

“The risk is too great.”

Ah Liu crouched down, took out a wire from the portable tool bag beside him and gently inserted it into the bomb.

“Leave it to me, it will be done in a minute.”

He specializes in surgery. Ah Liu is best at disassembling and reassembling various complicated equipment. He moves cautiously.

Kiro didn’t say anything, he stopped hacking and switched to another interface.

There is nothing in this world that can come and go without a trace. No one can be completely invisible.

The ability of top hackers is to dig out some seemingly and completely irrelevant content from the vast data stream, and continue to piece together and combine them until they restore the trajectory of something generated, assembled, grown, and disbanded.

Every day, the flood of information carries everyone’s joy, anger, and sorrow, surging through the city and no one can stay out of the matter.

The people who had been in this room carefully avoided all information channels, but it was precisely this carelessness that allowed Kiro to find their exact address.

The computer snapped shut and Kiro briefly breathed out. At this time, Ah Liu also successfully analyzed the data of the detonator and shut it down perfectly.

“It’s done.”

Ah Liu stood up and looked at Kiro.

“What are you going to do with this thing? Take it away or keep it here?

“Since they gave such a ‘big gift’, how about a ‘return gift’?”

Kiro turned and walked towards the door hidden in the dark. Ah Liu picked up the device that had turned into a pile of scraps on the ground, and walked to catch up with Kiro.

After coming out of the building, Ah Liu stopped when he passed a small alley.

“Hold up.”

He shouted to Kiro and dropped a few coins into a battered vending machine.

With two crisp ‘plops’, accompanied by mechanical electronic sounds, two cyan bottles of carbonated drinks were held by Ah Liu.

He handed Kiro a bottle but didn’t move to take it. His voice was a little cold.

“I don’t like being spied on by others.”

Ah Liu laughed a few times, trying to pat Kiro’s shoulder, but was subtly averted. He didn’t feel embarrassed, so he touched his head instead.

“Shouldn’t a celebrity be used to being watched by others?”

Probably when he was immersed in darkness, no one would exactly associate him with the dazzling star on stage.

Kiro froze for a moment, then took the carbonated drink from Ah Liu’s hand.

“By the way, when the device was dismantled, how could you be sure that I could do it? Weren’t you afraid we would all be blown up?”

The person in front of him showed a slight smile. Although it was shallow, it was indeed Kiro’s smile.

At this moment, he seemed to be covered with light and shadow, and the sun and moon were equally magnificent.

“It was just a gamble.”

“It turned out that I was right.”

He finished his drink in one breath and walked around the corner with his hands in his pockets.

Ah Liu suddenly felt that Kiro was very interesting. If he worked with him, he would probably gain a lot of things that he hadn’t encountered before.

Thrilling enough, but also exciting.

For men, true friends should be like this.

In the bottom of his heart, he listed Kiro as a friend who had already had a “friend for life and death”, so he shouted to him.

“I’ll study the internal structure of the device when I go back. I’ll tell you the results but it will take several days.”

The person in the distance did not answer and disappeared into the depths of the night.

[Chapter 5]

It took a lot of effort to crack the device, and several days had passed by the time Ah Liu got all the analytical data.

Kiro sent the other party’s real server address. Following this clue and the special materials of the installation, Ah Liu has been busy for a long time. He also managed to get a sense of the so-called “Hunter Game” in his mind.

At this moment, perhaps somewhere in this world, a silent survival game is being staged.

Although he is used to fighting and killing, the nature of the incident is completely different. He feels it is necessary to tell Kiro immediately.

But the phone call couldn’t get through.

After waiting for a while at Mondlicht, Ah Liu got up and decided to go directly to Kiro.

One minute late, one more minute for risk of exposure.

However, Kiro had a deal with him, and the less people knew, the better. Instead of alerting the security guard, Ah Liu walked to the gate of the backyard with his waist bent.

The security system of the gate is complicated and difficult to understand.

When Ah Liu was scratching his head to study how to crack it, he suddenly heard Kiro’s voice.

He was sitting cross-legged in the yard with a mobile phone, a golden retriever in front of him.

Not knowing what the person on the other end said, Kiro spoke briskly, with a smile that could not be contained:

“Wait for me to show you the mushrooms I’ve grown these days! This one on top of my head is new!”

“I wrote a song at home these last few days and I will send it to you when I make the demo.”

“When the ban is lifted in a few days, I must have a big meal!”

“Do you have anything you want to eat?”

……

He naturally exudes the aura of a “little sun”. The grand light not only comes from Kiro, but it also seems to come from the person on the other end of the phone.

It turned out to be so, Ah Liu suddenly realized.

He has always wondered why Kiro had so many contradictory points, but the bright star walks in the dark, intersecting with people of his identity.

Now he found the answer.

Because even the stars that live above the clouds have a future that they want to gaze at and protect forever.

Suddenly, there was a shattering sound—

Ah Liu looked forward immediately. He didn’t know what was said on the phone. Kiro stood up instantly, holding the phone tightly, his eyes were full of fear and anger.

Next to him was a glass that has been broken into pieces.

This was the first time Ah Liu saw this look on Kiro’s face.

He seemed to have noticed something and without hesitation, he pushed aside the branches of the tree and walked straight out.

Since seeing Kiro’s first side, Ah Liu has not been accurate in all of Kiro’s predictions. But this time, he confidently wants to try again and he has a hunch that he will not be wrong.

And that is—

Kiro is a person worthy of his trust.

#spoilers #mlqc #mlqc spoilers #mlqc season 2 #mlqc season 2 spoilers #translations #mlqc season 2 translations #kiro #kiro spoilers #rumors and secrets #kiro rumors and secrets #kira #zhou qiluo #love and producer #koi to producer #mr love queen's choice #mr love game #mr love dream date #mldd

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thelordofdarkreunion · 3 years

Text

Family Business II

A follow-up to “Family Business.” More family, more Scoundrel shenanigans. If you want to see anything in particular or have any requests, feel free to tell me! As usual, no one except Drake belongs to me.

“I bring peace through superior firepower.” -Thomas Drake

After introductions were made, the various Scoundrels mingled throughout the room, speaking with the families of the only two among their number that really had them. Many of them knew that Kirk had a family, somewhere, and that his upbringing was quite good, especially compared to most of theirs, but he never spoke of them, and they never asked. Shepard stood near his mother, who was currently shooting ‘we’ll talk later’ looks in his direction. They were deep in discussion with Kirk, apparently speaking of the various intricacies and differences between the Starfleet and the Alliance Navy.

Vir was next to his parents, talking politely with Cooper and Quill. Solo and Cain stood in the middle of the room, holding drinks and generally mingling, but not speaking to anyone. Solo did this out of habit; he really had no desire to speak with anyone, and in most of the parties he went to, talking with others was a good way to die quickly. Old habits. Cain looked completely at ease, not wishing to speak with anyone. He found tensions flared quickly with the people of these new galaxies when they asked about the Imperium of Man. Best not to upset anyone.

To the surprise of every person present, a group of Vir’s nieces and nephews had immediately gravitated to the Chief. One of them grabbed him by the hand and outright insisted he come with her. Currently, the massive armored form of the Master Chief was sitting next to a gaggle of children as they played some sort of game. The more talkative were babbling to him as he simply sat, almost unmoving, watching curiously. The children thought he was great. Here was an adult that actually listened to them! It also helped that he was wearing a very cool set of armor. Children were odd like that, thought the Chief to himself. He didn’t have much experience with them, but he’d heard stories.

Thomas Drake found himself face to face with Thomas Vir.

“Thomas. A pleasure to meet you.” He stuck out his hand. Vir took it.

“And you as well, Thomas. A good name, Thomas.” Pale skin met black leather. Vir looked up, puzzled. He half-held a slip of paper to the light, slid to him during the handshake. Before anyone else could notice, Drake moved forward. In a completely unobtrusive and natural movement, he lowered Thomas Vir’s hand into the shadows.

“Don’t speak. Look natural. Talk to whomever you wish after this, but still, act natural. I know you can. In several minutes, excuse yourself. Go to the bathroom, and if there isn’t anyone there, look at the note. If there is, go in a stall, wait for them to leave, I care not. After this, quietly and unobtrusively tell them the contents of that note, and make sure they keep it a secret.” Drake flashed a grin. Vir looked worried. He’d been a part of things like this for far too long, and wanted to put it behind forever. “Relax, Thomas. It’s a party.” Drake made a move to pull away. Vir stepped forward to block him.

“Why me?” he hissed.

“Because I trust you to know what you’re doing. You and your father are the only ones with the skills to do this and do it correctly. There’s more to us than meets the eye, Thomas.” With a wink and swirl of his coat, Drake disappeared into the talking throng.

Twenty-ish Minutes Later

“So. You’ve been stationed aboard my son’s ship?” asked Martha Vir. Admiral Vir himself stood nearby, ready to quell any arguments about to start. He’d learned from almost bloody experience that the Imperials did not initially get along well with the citizens of the other galaxies, and vice-versa. He tried not to think of the beginnings of Imperial propaganda he’d seen springing up on his homeworld, and the people who might accept it… But he knew his parents wouldn’t. They were better than that. And, from experience, so was Cain. The Commissar stood across from Adam and Martha, resplendent in his dress uniform and far too much gold lace.

“I have indeed,” replied Cain. Gloved hands covered a glass of some sort of alcohol. He had no idea what it was, but if he wasn’t put in these new galaxies to sample all their drinks, then what was he here for, Throne-dammit? “It is a fine ship.” He pursed his lips, considering for a moment. “Very new, a bit small compared to most of the battleships I’ve been on, but a wonderful ship nevertheless.”

“Small? It’s one of the biggest ships in the galaxy!” teased Martha Vir. “Tell me. What’s the largest in yours?”

“I am by no means a naval expert, so I wouldn’t really know,” offered Cain apologetically.

“Nonsense! Give me your best guess,” insisted the Vir matriarch.

“From what I have heard amongst the naval officers and Astartes personnel I’ve had the pleasure of serving alongside, I believe the largest would be the Gloriana-class battleships assigned to some of the Space Marine chapter fleets,” said Cain.

“How big are they?” asked Admiral Vir, his personal and professional curiosity piqued.

“Gloriana-class battleships are extremely rare… and are usually about twenty kilometers long.” The silence was deafening.

In another corner of the room, Thomas Vir spoke with his father. He had discreetly gone around the room and passed on Drake’s message. It had been simple, two lines of pencil scrawled on a tiny piece of paper.

Do not speak of Eris. Do not speak of Adam and Sunny.

Thomas was an intelligent man. He realized the tensions between these new galaxies, but only now did he understand their full extent. If Drake had sought to warn them already, even against members of his own group… well. That wasn’t good. The bigger question was: how did he know, and what was he going to do?

“What do we do, Dad?” asked Thomas Vir. His father considered for a moment, frowning.

“I’ve talked to all of these people your brother works with. Especially that one.” He pointed to Cooper, currently speaking with Quill in underhanded tones. “He’s fine. Special forces. Seems like a good enough person. But the one who gave you the message…” he trailed off. He sighed and closed his eyes as he remembered. “I met a man like that once. During the war.” Thomas kept quiet. His father rarely talked about his time serving in World War III. “We saw him around occasionally. He said he was a clerk. He wasn’t. It was too obvious. He never had the skills or temperament of one. But no one ever asked, because there was something about him… some core of sheer violence behind his eyes that everyone knew they probably wouldn’t be around long if they questioned him too much. Some sort of special forces. Or a spy. We never really knew. But him,” Vir’s father nodded over to Drake. “He’s like that. He’s dangerous.”

“What about everyone else?” asked Thomas, not wanting this opportunity to go to waste.

“The other two that scare me are him,” he pointed to Cain and the golden Aquilia on his cap, “For obvious reasons, and him,” he pointed to the massive armored bulk of the Master Chief, “For also obvious reasons.”

“So why are we letting them play with the kids?” muttered Thomas. Indeed, both the Master Chief and Thomas Drake were over in the open space to the side of the ballroom entertaining the children. Thomas Vir and his father watched with slight trepidation, and, in the other corner, Han Solo, with amusement.

“And then James said he’d go with me and then we did and it was awesome! And there was a big hill and we played king of the hill and I won but I still rolled down the hill because that was fun and have you ever done that?” asked one of Admiral Vir’s nephews, continuing his story. Master Chief regarded him with solemn eyes behind his golden visor.

“I have,” he said shortly. Although, not in the particular way the child was thinking. There was a lot more gunfire and explosions involved.

“Great! So then after that we went near the river and we-” The Chief tuned him out for a moment. It wasn’t to say that the children were boring, but he was just so miserable at this party. He had no idea what to say to the adults, and the children had already grabbed him to make him sit with them. There was some sort of paper decoration on the top of his head, put there by one of the children. He didn’t move to take it off. It would fall off, eventually, when he stood up. He had run through every conceivable situation he could think of that resulted in the room being attacked, and gone through each combat simulation in his head. Twice. He had gone through what might happen if one of the wait-staff was hostile. Or one of the family members. Or the children. He looked down at the small boy, still babbling to him about things he did last week and how the starship ride to this planet was so cool. So, probably not the children. He couldn’t help it though. He was built for combat, built for death. He had no idea what he was supposed to be doing here.

“Why do you wear gloves?” asked one of the children to Drake. Another, her cousin, older and much wiser, tried to sush her.

“You can’t just ask people why they wear what they wear!” she said to her cousin. Drake laughed. You could fool adults, you could fool super soldiers, you could fool demi-gods, but you couldn’t fool children. Somehow, they always knew. He knelt down to the youth and removed his gloves by the fingers; first the right, followed by the left. In the corner, Solo watched with fascination. Come to think of it, he’d never seen Drake without his ever-present black gloves. He’d never thought about it until now, but it was rather strange. Even when eating, Drake never took them off. Why?

The two children recoiled, the younger with a slight shriek at the sight of Drake’s ruined left hand. The third and fourth fingers, along with the flesh beneath, were horrifically burned. The right side of the hand, fore- and index finger along with the thumb, were normal, unmarred flesh, though a shrapnel scar ran down the edge of the thumb. The smaller child stared at the hand in horrified fascination, as one might look at a particularly dangerous animal in a zoo.

“Don’t stare,” said her cousin. Despite her warning, she, too, was sneaking peeks at the burns. Drake chuckled at them again.

“It’s alright,” he said. He took his right hand, scarred, but not horribly burned as his left was, and traced the edge of the burn marks. “I look at it, sometimes. It’s interesting. Like a science experiment. Here,” he beckoned the two closer. “It’s really interesting, actually. Look at the contrast between the burned side and the regular side.”

“What is… contrast?” asked the younger one, her mouth still trying to frame the unfamiliar word. Drake smiled again.

“Contrast means difference. You’re learning about burns, you’re learning about words. You must be smart. I can tell that.” The two children watched in fascination as Drake told them about burns, what they did to the skin, and how to treat them.

In the corners, Solo and the Virs watched the two men, one a super soldier with an admitted zero amount of social skills, one a very dangerous gun for hire, play with small children, and did it well. Interesting.

Ten Minutes Later

It was with a not insignificant amount of hassle that everyone was seated. The children were at a smaller side table, talking amongst themselves, while the adults were seated at a massive long wooden table. It reminded most of them of some sort of medieval feast table. It was almost impossible to talk to the people on the other end, but, in the end, it somehow worked.

Vir and Shepard were next to their respective parents. Quill still looked as if he had no idea what was going on, and Solo was next to him, having no one else to talk to. Cooper had assimilated into the party wonderfully, and was next to the Virs. Cain was on one end, looking slightly uncomfortable with the knowledge that everyone else was uncomfortable near him. Poor Cain. Drake had his gloves back on, and was looking over everything like a hawk about to strike. The Chief was near the entrance door, having politely declined to eat anything. This consisted of a much kinder “no” from him. Oh, well.

It was after the first course was served that it happened. Everyone was talking, the idle dinner chit-chat so common amongst human parties. The waiters had moved out of the way, their job temporarily done. The double doors that led to the ballroom opened, ever-so quietly. An unmistakable human figure, dressed in an all-black jumpsuit and mask, stepped forward, pistol outstretched, pointed at the table. Before anyone saw him, it would already be too late.

His arm was twisted, knocked aside with such force he was left temporarily breathless. The gun dropped out of nerveless fingers, and the assassin screamed as the Master Chief broke the radius and ulna with a crush of his massive hand. The black-clad killer only had a slight second for shock and utter horror to register beneath the mask as the Chief’s gauntleted hand punched him so hard it left a dent in the wall where his body impacted.

A second assassin, wielding a much more powerful compact submachine gun, stepped into the space her fellow had vacated, weapon already raised and ready to fire. Master Chief was out of position. For all his speed, for all his lethal reactions, the Chief would be too low, and he knew it. Shots would be fired before he got there.

Gunfire rang out, the individual cracks! of pistol fire. Drake and Cooper stood, hands forward, clutching guns they had summoned from the recesses of their coats. The assassin’s head exploded, brains scattering in a ruined mess. Children screamed. The killer’s dead body slumped backward, into the hallway. The Chief grabbed her weapons and shut the door behind him.

The Scoundrels were all standing now, as was Hannah Shepard and Vir’s father. Drake slid out of position, pushing his chair back in, and opened his coat.

“Gentlemen,” his voice broke the eerie silence of the ballroom as everyone tried to react to what had happened. “Meet your dates for tonight.” Inside his coat lay a veritable armory. Pistols and full magazines hung from holsters and hooks. Dozens. Dear lord. Cain, Solo, and Quill were already on him, picking guns that looked closest to what they normally wielded. Drake slid the other weapons on the table, which were soon joined by those of the assassins. He grabbed most of the sharp steak knives off the table, and tucked them in his belt or gave them to his fellows.

“Drake?” asked Vir tentatively. “How is it possible to carry that many guns and still move normally?” Drake grinned as he pulled what looked like a sawed-off plasma rifle from his pants and assembled it.

“Cybernetics in the coat. And beneath.” He tossed a weapon to each of his comrades, and one each to Hannah Shepard and Vir’s father.

“You two know what you’re doing with these, I think,” he said. “Right. So, uh, yeah. I am going to take all the unstable maniacs, no offense intended as I am one, and we are going to kill everyone who dares interrupt this glorious dinner, while all of you who need catching up go catch up with your families,” Drake gave an elaborate bow to the still shocked table. “Please ignore any explosions, music, gunshots, and unpleasant gurgling noises.” He made a move to leave, followed by Quill, Solo, Cooper, and the Chief. Hannah Shepard held up a hand.

“Wait! I wouldn’t want you to get yourselves killed on our behalf,” she said. Drake only gave a lopsided grin in response.

“Haven’t you heard? Legends never die.” With a cackle of maniacal laughter and swirl of greatcoats, they were gone.

And there we have it. I hope you enjoyed the story. More to come soon! If you have any questions, comments, criticisms, concerns, or requests, feel free to tell me!

#magnificent scoundrels #story #writing #my writing #crossover #mass effect #halo #empyrean iris

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soukokuwu · 4 years

Text

↳ genre: angst

↳ characters: dad!chuuya, wife!reader, you guys have a child

↳ synopsis: a small look at how he handles himself in the aftermath of the catastrophe.

↳ warnings: implied death

↳ word count: 1,689

↳ requested by anonymous || Do whatever you want have s/o killed by one of Chuuya's enemies or die in childbirth idc which one you choose or how you do it JuSt maKe iT hURt

Chuuya sits in the living room, in the dim opalescence of the moon, picture perfect memories scattered on the coffee table before him. He takes a sip of shiraz as he carefully appraises the photo in his hand, thumb delicately grazing over the smile set on your face.

You were so beautiful.

No, not like those typically featured starving adolescents on countless magazines, covered in so many products they barely appear human. Not in that way. You were much more.

Your kind of beautiful was a smile so freely given, a sign of how tender your soul was. It was that spark in your eye — the one that showed him you were always up for an adventure. They held such an intelligence and serenity that he couldn’t help but be prisoner to them. Your kind of beautiful was a mind singularly practical and sagacious.

Your kind of beautiful... was who you were.

And the most precious beauty you graced him with in this life, he thinks, would be the faint memory of your voice muttering out an “I love you”, a phrase that rolled off your tongue so smoothly like birdsong, forever echoing in his heart.

He spends every night like this, as he has for the past twelve years. A nightly routine, brought about by a nameless sadness which is always born of moonlight. And each time, the colours of the day will fade into the black, and it gets dark with unutterable sorrows.

Your death haunts the recesses of his memory. What was supposed to be the happiest day of your lives turned into his worst nightmare. Chuuya can’t remember how many times the scene plays back in his head; the doctor apologising and the sounds all turning into muffled feedback right after, the blood staining your hospital gown, the sounds of his screams muffled by the blanket covering your hollow shell and the gentle touch of Kouyou trying to pry him away from you. It didn’t matter how much he held on to you anyway, Chuuya had already lost you to death’s grip.

The incomparable happiness he felt just a few hours before had given way to immeasurable grief. And he was conflicted, so conflicted, because in another room, she was crying too. So he did what a father was supposed to do — he straightened up, cradled his little baby in his arms and hushed, telling her everything was going to be alright.

One of the first few sentences he had ever said to his newborn baby, and it had to be a lie. Because how was he supposed to know if everything was really going to be okay? For the first time since he’s met you, Chuuya had felt utterly lost, despondent. Every day since that moment, he has felt his mind being beaten into the ground because of the catastrophe.

Not to say there aren’t happy moments — how could there not be? He lost you, but he also gained an amazing daughter who, he realised after some time, was quite like you.

The first few years had been extremely hard on him. He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know if he was doing it correctly, he didn’t know what else he should do. He had thought the two of you would figure it out together, learn how to be parents together. Turned out to be just another unattainable dream. But Chuuya considers himself lucky. Even until now, the mafia takes care of her as they do him, because she is, by extension, a part of him. She keeps him sane, grounded, particularly during her waking hours. She is not only his miracle but also someone who never fails to distract and beguile his soul. When he spends time with her he can’t help but be completely absorbed in it, in her.

There’s so much that reminds him of you. Why wouldn’t there be? She is your daughter too. Although, she has his eyes (he silently wishes she got yours, so that maybe, somehow, he might see a glimpse of you from time to time). But there are other, more significant, things that reminds him of you. Her smile; the way it slowly and sometimes unwillingly (when she’s feigning being mad at him) shapes into a grin, before the silence gives way to a laugh of jovial significance. It’s not just in its melody — it’s in the way her face changes into a vision of unrestrained mirth. Just like you. Even her, as a person, reminds him of you; the way she manages to touch someone’s life just with mere words (he’s very surprised at this, considering how she’s still just a kid), and the way she protects those she loves with utmost enthusiasm. Even the way she manages to make Chuuya, the hot-headed brute with short temperament, have a patience worthy of admiration, is remarkable in itself.

It’s only in the night that he allows himself to feel about you; to let it out. It’s only when his daughter is asleep that he allows himself to crumble under the pressure of trying to hold it together for them both. Never once does he allow himself to falter in the face of his daughter. Chuuya feels the undeniable need to be her pillar of support, an iron wall that would never break. He can’t let her see him like this, ever, lest she worries. And she would, because she is exactly like you. If he can’t protect you, the least he can do is to safeguard what you left behind — the family.

“I miss you,” he utters into the night, well aware that no one is there to hear him, to respond to him. His eyes are glued to your face.

“I miss you so much.”

But someone does hear it. She has heard it ever since that night two years ago when she woke up due to a little nightmare about fictional monsters. But she met an even greater one that night. The one that haunts her father until the dawn breaks each day. She hears him sobbing every night through the little crack in her door, the door that faces the living room, allowing her a small peek at her father’s shoulders trembling, his crimson locks — now mixed in with several white hairs — a disheveled mess against his body. She knows he goes through this every night — mind in a daze and wandering in a mist of memories.

It’s when she realises that her father is just like her — not a villain, not a hero, just human.

Have you ever felt responsible for something that wasn’t your fault? For something that you had absolutely no control over?

Because that’s how she feels. She feels responsible for her mother’s death. She feels that it’s her fault her father is miserable. She feels if she wasn’t born that none of this would have happened. And she only blames herself… because she knows it’s true. Without pregnancy, you wouldn’t have died. Without a baby, you’d still be here.

And every moment there’s a chorus of conflicting thoughts playing in her mind: “I’m the reason mommy’s gone”, “I wish I could meet you, mommy, daddy loves you a lot”, “I should’ve been the one, not you”. There are more, but she’s lost track of them as the years passed.

Her misty eyes train on the back of her father’s head. Should she finally talk to him about it?

“Daddy?”

Cerulean eyes shoot to the clock on the wall. 1.12am. He wonders why she’s even awake but he pulls it together. This is no time to be panicking. He clears his throat, subtly wiping the tears away from his cheek.

Keep up the act.

“Yes, my little princess?”

She skips toward him in spite of the somber mood. Anything that can make her father smile, no matter how small, she will do it. But the real tension comes when she opens her mouth seeking the truth.

“Is it my fault mommy is… dead?”

Many a times Chuuya had wondered what was the right thing, the best thing, to say in a situation like this. But somehow, in this moment, now that she’s actually asked him the very thing he wished he would never have to address, he knows exactly what to say to put her at ease.

“Honey,” he calls as he carries her up to sit on his lap. “It could never be.”

He lifts an index finger to boop her on the nose, just to watch as she adorably scrunches up her face in response.

There it is — the same reaction as you.

“Wherever mommy is, she’s glad you were born. And you weren’t there but, the moment she laid eyes on you that day you were born? I promise you, I’ve never seen her happier than she was.” He plants a kiss on her temple. “She loves you, little lady, and so do I. So don’t worry your pretty mind with this, okay?”

The relief they both feel — it’s unbelievable. A huge burden off their shoulders. And he carries her into bed, tucking her in as he usually does, but this time he stays beside her, lulling her to sleep, just as he did you — tenderly, softly, like she’s the most precious thing in the world. And your daughter? She feels safe, warm, tranquil.

...

Or so she would have.

But she’s still a child.

The doubt of the practicality of the ideal situation etches itself in her mind, securing a permanent spot in the back of her head. Fear takes over, and she snaps out of her daydreams, closing the room door instead of going to talk to her father — coming back to the nightmare where her father cries himself to sleep at night, all alone on the couch, then to sleep in a cold bed; coming back to the nightmare where her father lives with the monster.

The monster called pain.

And unfortunately, that’s a monster they both share. And will share, for as long as they live.

@yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes

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jackrrabbit · 4 years

Text

excerpts/tasting menu of upcoming works

You’re in luck anon because this past week my dumbass brain decided to start like 5 different fics and not finish any of them, so I have plenty of things to preview (specific CWs included with each individual section)

As always, encouragement goes a long way for my motivation, so if you see something you’re interested in, give it a shoutout!

Also, all of these are super rough ;///; please have mercy on my pitiable first-draft skills

[BNHA] Spoiled Rotten /// Overhaul x f!Reader

Summary: You’re daddy’s spoiled little princess, but unfortunately daddy’s got debts to the yakuza and Overhaul’s going to make you work them off the hard way.

Warnings: restraints, kidnapping, harassment, drugging

“Do you know why you’re here?”

Against your will, your eyes flip up to the speaker. He’s the only one sitting, and somehow that gives him a position of power among the others. The leader?

Golden eyes rest steadily on yours, and you realize he’s waiting for your answer, so you slowly move your head from side to side.

“Didn’t know about daddy’s bad habits, huh?” This time the person speaking is behind you—the one who untied your blindfold, a thin man with lank, greasy blond hair. He’s the one who drugged me, you remember in a surge of panic, and you try to shift away from him only for him to step on the chain that connects your cuffs, jerking you back and pinning you in place.

“Careful, Setsuno. I told you not to leave marks. Let her talk.”

“Got it, boss.” The blond—Setsuno—fumbles at the back of your head and then he’s pulling the gag out of your mouth.

You open and close your mouth a few times to stretch out the stiff muscles. “Oh my gosh, was that polyester you just took out of my mouth? Do you have any idea how bad synthetics are for sensitive skin? I’m totally going to break out.”

A hush falls over the little room. You could hear a pin drop.

“…Are you complaining about the quality of the fabric we gagged you with?” the leader asks after a beat.

“You may be gangsters, but you don’t have to act like savages,” you reply primly, aligning your knees together and sending a proud look off to the side.

“Ohh…little princess deserves better, does she?” Setsuno coos. He edges closer to rub his cheek against yours and laughs when you flinch back from him. “Boss, you shoulda seen her bedroom. All pink and frilly, looked like royalty lived there. Bet they treat you like a real princess at home, huh? No wonder your daddy’s in debt.”

[BNHA] Sweet Tooth /// Bakugou x f!Reader

Summary: Pro hero AU—Your boss Ground Zero is an insufferable prick, but you just can’t get enough of the way he smells.

Warnings: none? arguing?

“Do you hear me? I don’t want you here. I don’t want you as my assistant. You can call yourself my ‘administrative support’ but you and I both know you’re a glorified janitor here to clean up my messes and I. Don’t. Want. You.” There’s a muffled bang and then the air is permeated with the acrid stench of burning. You don’t even have to look down to know that the papers (the report you spent three days of unpaid overtime trying to finish in the hopes that maybe this would convince him that you’re on his side) are going up in smoke.

And okay, you slip a little bit. Who can blame you?

“Well guess what, Katsuki? I don’t want you either.” You step as much closer to him as you can manage without literally touching him and jab your index finger into his chest—see how he likes it when you get up in his personal space. “I got placed here. I didn’t choose this. I don’t want to work for a temperamental brat who doesn’t know how to be appreciative of his staff, so the feeling’s mutual. So how about you shut up and let me do my job before the Commission decides you’re too much of a liability to let you run wild any longer?”

Bakugou sneers. He’s clearly not intimidated in the least, and dear god do you want to wipe that smug look off his face. “If you’re the best tactic the Commission’s got, they know they can’t touch me. I’m the number two hero—“

“—and you’re the number one expense when it comes to damage control and repairs. Seriously, do you think Deku goes around blowing up government buildings every other week? I’d kill to be at his agency instead of yours.”

“It was one stupid post office, and no one was hurt—“ Bakugou stops in the middle of his rebuttal and scarlet eyes narrow at you. “Wait. Deku? You’re saying you’d rather work for shitty Deku?”

He says it like the alias is an insult, and you frown. As a long-time admirer of Deku’s, you feel the instant impulse to come to his defense. “Of course I’d rather work for the top pro hero. Maybe if you weren’t so hot-headed you’d win a popularity contest once in a while.”

Uh-oh. Looks like you struck a nerve.

Bakugou leans into you and now you’re the one who has to shuffle back to keep your distance. He looks—well, murderous is a little too terrifying, so you’re going to go with pissed. Light shimmers out in harmless sparkles over his palms (it would be pretty if it wasn’t so foreboding) and the accompanying crackles make you shiver, but you hold the determined look on your face. He’s so close you can smell the fresh sharpness and witch hazel in his aftershave and under that—

—huh. It’s weird, but there’s a really sweet, really rich scent. Like…what is it? It’s wrong, out of place. Your brain is convinced that it’s not supposed to be there, so you can’t identify it. Without thinking, you inhale roughly, trying to get a better sense of the mouth-watering smell.

[BNHA] Runaways /// Dabi x f!Reader

Summary: Yandere—You were like an older sister to Dabi back when the two of you were teen runaways together; now that he’s found you as an adult, he’s never letting you leave again.

Warnings: unsafe piercing practices, don’t do this at home kids

When you turn your head like that, Dabi can see the tiny dots running up the side of your ear where your old piercings have scarred over from lack of use. Do you remember when he gave them to you? You did his first, running a needle through the lonely flame of your lighter (he offered to use his quirk, but it was still hard for him to control then so you declined) and then threading the metal through his ear. You promised it would only hurt for a second, and you were right, so he let you do the others.

Then, you’d offered to let him give you one. Just one on each ear—you already had an impressive collection of piercings, but you wanted to let him return the favor, so he did it. You were older than him and more experienced and had lived on the streets for longer, so when he held the needle in his hand and you told him you trusted him, it was the first time he’d ever thought of you as fragile, something delicate, something that he was capable of harming.

He’d chosen twin helix piercings for you, cresting the shell of each ear, silver band rings to match his. When they were done you’d pulled him to a mirror and asked him what he thought. It’d been a while after the worst burns on his face, the ones under his eyes and wrapping around his chin and down his neck, and he was still getting used to the knowledge that the wrinkled purple-red scars were never going to heal. “I look like…” he’d started.

A monster. A freak. A victim.

“A badass,” you’d said. “You look fucking cool. Any asshole who wants to pick a fight with you will take one look and know you’ve been through worse shit than whatever they can dish out, and that’s something to be proud of.”

Now that Dabi thinks about it, he probably wanted you even then.

[KNY] Moonrise /// Kokushibou x f!Reader

Summary: A shrine maiden is spirited away by a demon posing as a land god.

Warnings: references to Shinto religion

“Look up there, up in the mountains behind our shrine,” your grandmother told you. “Do you see the place where the earth rises into the clouds? Our kami lives there, in the boundary between the physical world and the celestial one, higher than any human can reach.”

You stopped crying just long enough to follow the direction of her gaze, staring into the hazy mist in the mountains beyond your village. “Kokushibou lives in the woods?” The idea of your supposedly beloved deity living off the land like a wild animal was unsettling to you.

The anxiety was obvious in your voice, but your grandmother just laughed and patted your hair. “In the woods, yes, but the legends tell us he lives in a mansion fit for an emperor. His house is so fine that our little temple could fit inside it a dozen times.”

“Does he live there all by himself? Isn’t he lonely?”

“Kokushibou may be alone, but he spends his days watching our village. He has three pairs of eyes so that he may look upon the human world, the heavens, and his own affairs without changing his gaze.” Your grandmother pointed to one of the stone carvings that had scared you earlier (the one you thought was so demonic with so many eyes in its face) and her wrinkled lips curled up in a smile that made her look like a girl again. “Can I tell you a secret?”

You nodded yes, too enthralled in the tale to remember that you’d been upset.

“Once when my aunt—your great grandmother’s sister—was young, Kokushibou came down from his mountain to watch her perform her kagura dance. When she first met his eyes she was afraid, but her fear only lasted a moment, for although he was fierce in temperament his face was as beautiful as the full moon.”

Your mouth dropped open. “Did she say anything to him?”

“No, he disappeared before she could speak to him. But she told me she always regretted not being able to thank him for what he does for our village.”

“But what does he do? For our village?”

Your grandmother’s rough hands closed over your small ones, pulling them to her mouth so she could place a tender kiss upon them. “Kokushibou protects us. In other towns like ours there are criminals, raids…even attacks from demons and other creatures of darkness. Our village is peaceful because the evil fears retribution from kami.”

“So he takes care of us?”

“Yes, all of us.”

“Even me?”

“Even you, little one.”

[Haikyuu] Fanatic pt. 3 /// Oikawa x f!Reader

Summary: Oikawa takes advantage of a devoted fan for some stress relief after a bad match (…and then other stuff happens, see [part 1] and [part 2])

Warnings: implied smut?, 18+, implied dubcon??, degradation

“Wait!” you gasp out again, craning your neck to meet his gaze as best you can from over your shoulder (still without the nerve to pick your hands up off the glass or move your ass away from him). “Wait, we can’t—we shouldn’t, it’s wrong—“

We can’t. It’s wrong. Oikawa rolls your words around in his head and almost wants to laugh again—and he would, if he weren’t so focused on the fact that in a few seconds, he’s going to get what he’s ben wanting for months. You’re perfect, still his dutiful little cheerleader, still so deeply in denial that you can’t even say that he can’t, he shouldn’t, he’s wrong. None of this is your responsibility, but you’re acting like it’s a decision you’re making together. Because you want it too, he knows, he’s sure of it. Just like all his other vapid fans, you’re the same except you’re lucky, because he’s about to give it to you.

“Yeah, it’s wrong.” His voice is low and so close to your ear that you can feel the steam of his breath splay out over the skin of your cheek. “It’s wrong…you’re so sick, wanting it like this. So dirty, my sick little slut, let me make it better. I’ll make it all better, hm? Just stay put and—take it.”

A/N: I also wrote a bunch of iwcb pt. 3 but I really hate what I wrote so I might have to rewrite it, pray for me :(

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trashyswitch · 4 years

Text

The Amazing Discovery

Logan is hanging out with the teeny Virgil in his palm, and shows the side a pillow feather he found. Virgil ends up LOVING it, and discovers the super fun aspects of it!

This one was requested by @agarus-fallen-lershal!

...I will warn that this fanfic is a little short, tho. Because I couldn't wait to upload this fanfic (And because I already wrote for day 24 at the beginning of the month),

Here is Tickletober day 25: New Discovery

Logan was sitting at his desk on his laptop, typing up something. The typing was going really well for the most part, but his eyes had started to get tired bit by bit. So, Logan took a break and leaned back in his chair. He took off his glasses and wiped his eyes free of tired tears. His eyes have been watery for at least 15 minutes and it was starting to affect his concentration and vision. So taking a break and rubbing away the tears seemed to help his eyes out at least a little bit.

Soon though, there was shifting and ruffling in Logan’s pocket. Logan looked down inside and pocket and smiled as a tiny head popped out from inside. The tiny head belonged to Virgil: the most anxious side, and the tiniest for that matter. Virgil’s hood flopped off his head as he stretched his arms out of the pocket and let out a tiny, high-pitched yawn.

“Good morning Virgil.” Logan greeted, patting his head with his finger. Virgil smiled and knelt down a little at the head pats, before jumping up and grabbing onto the finger with both his hands. Logan giggled and quickly brought his free left hand over so he could sit on it.

Virgil sat down on his palm in criss cross applesauce, and shook his hair out. There were bits of black lint stuck in his hair from the pocket, which shook out of Virgil’s hair and left little black bits of lint on Logan’s palm. Feeling bad for leaving a mess on Logan, Virgil summoned himself a tiny fan brush with a broken handle that made the handle short enough for him. With the fan brush, Virgil quickly swept up the black lint bits and swept it off his palm. When he was done, Virgil dropped the fan brush onto Logan’s desk and sat back down with a big smile.

“Thank you, Virgil.” Logan said with a smile. Virgil nodded his head and stood back up before flapping his hands around and running in circles on his palm. Usually, this would mean he’s either energetic, or growing bored. So, Logan looked around for something to give the tiny human that would keep him entertained.

As he looked around, one little thing caught his eye: a little white feather that had fallen out of a pillow earlier today. Logan picked it up and looked at it, before holding it up to Virgil. “Look what I found earlier!” Logan told him, holding the feather up to him. Virgil’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped at the look of the feather! It was BIG! It was a little taller than him! Virgil held out his hands and did the grabby hands to tell Logan ‘I want it!’. Logan nodded and handed him the feather.

Virgil looked at the feather and placed it onto Logan’s palm. He laid himself down and snuggled into it, and giggled as the bits of white fluff tickled his neck. Logan smiled at the cute little side and watched him wave the feather around.

“Fluffy, huh?” Logan said to him.

Virgil nodded and took one last look at the feather before throwing it to see it fall. Virgil kneeled on his hands and knees and held onto the side of Logan’s palm while he watched the feather float down. As the pretty feather floated slowly down to the ground, Virgil let out a curious “oooooooh” sound. Logan chuckled to himself and caught the feather with his right hand.

Pushing it up and pinching it with his index finger and thumb, Logan brought it back up to Virgil. “Wanna see something fun that I can do with it?” Logan asked. Virgil nodded his head and sat back in criss cross applesauce to watch. Logan brought the feather closer and closer to Virgil...When it touched down on his neck, Logan fluttered it a little. “Eeeek!” Virgil squeaked, giggling and kitty fighting the feather.

“Ticklish, isn’t it?” Logan teased as he tickled under Virgil’s chin. Virgil nodded his head and surprisingly managed to keep his chin up despite being tickled on that spot. Logan noted that feat. “You know where this would really tickle?” Logan asked him.

Virgil looked up at Logan, nodded his head with a smile and lifted up his shirt. Logan giggled at this reaction. “Yeah, that’s definitely a ticklish spot!” Logan replied as he fluttered the feather on Virgil’s tiny belly. Virgil let out a mouse-pitched squeak and started kicking his tiny legs against Logan’s palm. Despite being tickled on the belly, Virgil managed to keep his shirt up relatively easily. The tickling didn’t seem to hinder his strength whatsoever!

“Fascinating...You are really good at not covering up a tickle spot! Not a lot of people can do that.” Logan told him. Virgil let go of his shirt to clap his hands out of appreciation for the compliment. The little side felt so proud of himself for such a tiny achievement!

Logan snuck the feather under the loose t-shirt and fluttered it left and right. Virgil squeaked yet again, and actually started laughing this time! Virgil was tightening his fists up against his chest and was kicking his feet nonstop from the ticklish adrenaline rush. “Tickle tickle tickle, Virgey! Does Virgey like de tickles? Does Virgey like de tickle tickle tickles?” Logan teased. Virgil nodded his head up and down as he started hugging himself with his arms in an X on his chest. His belly was left completely free and open for the tickling, just how the tiny side wanted it! And tickles, Logan happily gave him.

Logan started to move the feather up and down, rather than left and right. This made Virgil’s eyes widen for a moment and his laughs heighten. Everytime the feather would tickle his abs and lower ribs, Virgil’s laughter would go up a few notes in pitch! The tiny side’s voice was already somewhat higher-pitched (thanks to his tiny stature) but the tickling of his abs and ribs just upped this pitch even more for the tiny dude!

“Listen to that adorable sound! You have such an adorable giggle!” Logan told him proudly.

Even though his kicking and giggling continued, Virgil shook his head at the nerd’s claims. “No? Are you denying how cute you are?” Logan asked him. The truth is, Virgil will always do this. He has been denying his adorable temperament for the longest time, most likely even before he met the tiny being! And everytime Virgil would deny being cute, Logan would do this:

“Don’t make me bring out Bat Bean…” Logan warned with a smirk. Virgil giggled and stuck his tongue out at him. That was just enough to tip the man over the edge.

Logan let go of the feather and kept it under Virgil’s shirt while he walked up to Virgil’s doll house and grabbed a tiny black crocheted bat stuffy. It was exactly as described, and it even had a tiny red heart sewn onto it! It was Virgil’s favourite stuffy, and Virgil LOVED seeing Logan bring it to life!

Logan waddled the bat towards him. “Hello! Virgil!” Logan greeted, with the bat’s infamous high-pitched voice. “Do you remember me? It’s Bat Bean! Your Faaavorite bat!” Logan continued, bringing the bat closer to Virgil. Virgil giggled at the bat as he removed the feather from his belly. “Ooooh! What a pretty feather!” He reacted, flapping the bat’s wings. “Is it yours?” he whispered the question.

Virgil giggled and shook his head no. “Ihihit’s Logan’s!” Virgil replied, pointing to him. Logan paused his acting part for a moment as he fell in love with Virgil’s adorable voice. It was such a tiny voice! He always melted at the sound of Virgil’s voice. It was super hard NOT to!

“I was using my very strong bat ears, and I heard some not true things!” The bat told him. “Did you say you were not cute again?” The bat asked.

Virgil fell into a big giggle fit and nodded his head. Logan couldn’t help himself as he let out an unscripted chuckle. The tiny side was CLEARLY hungry for tickles!

“Oh NO! That’s terrible!” The bat gasped. Suddenly, the bat lifted one wing up to show an idea clicking into its yarned head. “Nothing a little tickling can’t fix!” the bat declared as he stood up.

Logan made a small inhale sound, and started nuzzling the bat’s face into Virgil’s neck while making nuzzling sounds. “Om nom nom nom nom! Om nom nom nom nom nom nom nom! Mmm! It’s been awhile since I’ve slurped up ataste of your blood!” The bat declared before nuzzling its face back into Virgil's neck for some more tickly nibbling. Virgil’s giggles grew all bubbly and jumpy from both the teases and the nibbles. Bat Bean was ALWAYS the best at nibbles! And the best part? His bat teeth didn’t hurt! Bat Bean always gave him soft nibbles that were more fluffy than bitey.

Logan brought the bat away from Virgil’s neck and flapped the bar’s wings. “Wow! So giggly! Logan was right! You really ARE a cutie!” Bat Bean told him.

Virgil giggled and shook his head yet again. He didn’t want to believe he was cute! He also didn’t want the nibble-nibbles to stop anytime soon. He wanted the nibbles to keep going and going! He loved nibbles, and he could do anything to have nibbles all the time! Logan gasped and sent him a playful frowny face. Logan brought his voice down low to make the tiny side laugh. “You DARE deny your hidden charm?! I could have you BEHEADED for such accusations!” Logan warned him in his deep superhero narrator voice.

Virgil just bursted out laughing and rolled all over Logan’s palm. The teeny anxious side looked like he was gonna die of laughter from hearing such a voice! It was the funniest voice he had ever heard in his LIFE! “Again!” Virgil ordered excitedly.

“Again?! AGAIN?! You’ve denied the truth for much too long, Virgil! You are a cute little emo and NO ONE will ever tell me otherwise! Not even the emo himself…” Logan added in his narrator voice.

Virgil rolled all over Logan’s palm, just cackling up a storm! It was like one of the funniest men, Charlie Chaplin, was speaking his lines for the very first time at the movie theatre! The voice was way too funny for him to comprehend! Meanwhile, Logan couldn’t help but giggle at Virgil’s endless laughter. He couldn’t quite understand just why the voice was so funny. It was like watching a baby cackle happily at a ripping piece of paper! It was not really meant to be funny, but the baby was cackling nonetheless! And nothing could stop either one of them from cackling!

So, Logan waited patiently for Virgil to calm down. It took a few minutes, but Virgil did manage to calm down. “You okay, Virgil?” Logan asked.

Virgil stood right back up and grabbed onto Logan’s thumb. “Again! Again again again!” Virgil shouted, hugging Logan’s thumb.

Logan shook his head with a giggle. “Aren’t you tired from all that laughter?” Logan asked him. Virgil lifted his chin up proudly and shook his head. “MM mm.” He hummed no.

“Wow! Is that so?!” Logan dramatically reacted. Virgil nodded his head excitedly.

“Hmm...since you're not quite tired yet…” Logan thought for a moment. Suddenly, Logan switched back to his narrator voice. “Perhaps some more TICKLES are in order!” He declared in the deep voice before skittering his finger all over Virgil’s tiny belly.

“HahahAHAHAHAHAHA! LOHOHOHOHO!” Virgil laughed happily.

“Yes, my dear metal man?” Logan replied in his deep narrator voice.

“BAHAHAHAHAT BEHEHEHEHEAN!” Virgil shouted.

“Oooooh! You want your precious bat bean?” Narrator Logan specified.

Virgil nodded his head and stretched his arms out while doing the grabby hands. Logan happily handed the tiny bat to Virgil before resuming his tickle attack on Virgil’s belly. “YAHAHAHAHAYYYYYYY!” Virgil laughed and squirmed around with his bat in his hand and a smile on his face.

Logan giggled and laughed at the adorable boy. The side’s belly had the tiniest little belly button you’d ever seen! In an attempt to tickle Virgil’s belly button, Logan grabbed a super thin paintbrush from his collection of supplies and started dipping and swirling the teeny paintbrush inside his belly button.

Virgil squawked and suddenly rolled onto his stomach! ...Well, that was unexpected. Confused, Logan chose to put the paintbrush down, pick up the feather again and push it down Virgil’s back. Almost immediately, Virgil bursted into cackles! His fists started pounding against Logan’s palms while he kicked his feet all over the place.

Logan stared at Virgil in awe. VIRGIL’S BACK IS TICKLISH?! He couldn’t believe it! Out of all the ticklish spots...his BACK was one of the worst?!

Logan soon stopped tickling Virgil and gave him a break. Virgil’s cackles slowly softened into giggles as his body went somewhat limp. His breathing was slowing down bit by bit as he rolled himself back onto his back. “You okay, Virgil?” Logan asked.

Virgil giggled some more and gave him a thumbs up while he grabbed Bat Bean. Logan, happy to see him getting better, gave Virgil a belly rub with his index finger to relax him. Virgil’s giggles slowly faded and his body started to melt at the calming touch. “How about a really warm heated donut?” Logan offered.

Virgil gasped, sat up and nodded his head excitedly. With permission from the tiny side, Logan grabbed a tiny fabric donut with pink icing and sprinkles, and threw it into the microwave for 40 seconds. After the 40 seconds were over, Logan removed the donut heating pad from the microwave and lightly placed it onto his palm. Almost immediately, Virgil belly flopped onto the donut heating pad and snuggled into it.

It was SO WARM! SO BIG! SO SNOOOOOGGALEEE!

Virgil snuggled further into the donut heating pad and started to relax himself on the donut. The bottom of his legs were dangling off the donut, while the rest of his body was all snuggly on the side of the donut. Carefully and slowly, Logan placed the back of his hand down onto the desk. While Virgil relaxed further into the donut heating pad, Logan gently picked up the donut, set it down onto the desk and moved his hand away.

With Logan’s hand completely free and Virgil falling asleep on the heating pad, Logan gently moved Virgil’s bangs away and placed a light sheet on top of Virgil’s body.

Virgil made one last slight arm movement before falling into a deep, comfortable sleep.

#tiny virgil #caring logan #cute #ticklefic #ler!logan #lee!virgil

72 notes · View notes

chcnce · 4 years

Photo

guess the TWENTY FOUR YEAR OLD OCTOBER baby just arrived to dallyeog! it makes sense, because HWA YOHAN / CHANCE HWA is just as CRISP as the month of OCTOBER. wait, why do they remind me of BANG CHAN? beyond that, they seemed RELIABLE AND PASSIONATE upon first glance. i heard someone say they’re sort of SELF-CONSCIOUS AND CAUTIOUS though. i hope they get acquainted here in COMPLEX # 4 / APARTMENT # 1 / FLOOR # 2 ; HE seem(s) to have a lot going on with HIS job as STREAMER.

hi! i’m lu and i’m really happy to present to you to my mess of a son. he’s certainly a hard pill to swallow but he’s not as bad once you get to interact with him. chance is his real english name, but also the persona he’s crafted to remain popular and relevant to the masses. he’s blunt and brutally honest, but mostly when he’s streaming. all in all: a whole ass mess, i insist.

without further ado, here are his basic stats, a trivia and wanted connections under the cut. however you can find his background and plots linked accordingly ( i’ll add other pages eventually ). i’m really fine with talking either here or discord, so whichever works fine for you, works fine for me too! i’ll be reaching to everyone go gives this a like soon enough <3

basic information

― full name: hwa yohan / chance hwa ― nicknames: yohwa ― age: twenty four ― date of birth: october 3rd, 1996 ― birthplace: cheonan, south korea. ― hometown: sydney, australia ― current location: seoul, south korea ― living arrangements: dallyeog / complex # 4 / apartment # 1 / floor # 2 ― ethnicity: korean ― nationality: dual, korean (natural born) and australian (naturalized) ― gender: cis male ― pronouns: he / him ― orientation: demiromantic, heterosexual. ― religion: atheist ― occupation: streamer ― language(s) spoken: korean (fluent), english (fluent) ― accent: heavy australian accent

physical appearance

― faceclaim: bang chan / christopher bang of stray kids. ― hair: naturally brown, though he often dyes to a variety of colors, mostly black and blue. right now, it’s a purple color that’s already fading. ― eye colour: coffee brown ― height: 171cm ― weight: 56kg ― tattoos: none at the moment. ― piercings: lobe and upper lobe on both ears. anti-tragus, orbital and rook on the left one. double helix on the right one. ― clothing style: regularly techwear when he goes out and athleisure at home.

personality

― label: the cynical ― positive traits: attentive, dependable, reliable, passionate, brave, energetic, honest, humorous, clever, versatile, truthful, affectionate, sociable ― negative traits: self-conscious, cautious, opinionated, arrogant, detached, critical, tactless, stubborn, loud, quick-tempered, harsh, unfiltered, cynical, restless, ambitious, ― hobbies: baking, collecting enamel pins and funkos, jigsaw puzzles, skateboarding, reading, listening to music, curating playlists when he has time, learning origami. ― habits: obsessively organising, borrowing books and rarely ever returning them (he forgets who they belong to ok), really bad road rage, awful at keeping track of time, people watching, always wears a black ring on his left index finger, always hugs something when sleeping, gets easily impressed by things, quotes movies and shows in regular conversations, knuckle cracking, snacking between meals, eye rolling without noticing, squinting when concentrated, crossing his arms over his chest, running hands through his hair, slouching, rolling his shoulders. ― zodiac sign: sun libra, moon gemini, ascendant libra. ― mbti: infp-t “the mediator” ― enneagram: 8w7 “the nonconformist”. ― temperament: melancholic ― hogwarts house: ravenclaw ― moral alignment: chaotic neutral ― primary vice: greed ― primary virtue: diligence ― element: air

trivia:

― he’s played all kind of games and his twitch channel was created 9 years ago (whew) and it currently has over 5 million subscribers. currently, he streams mostly genshin impact, valorant, league of legends, overwatch, spider-man: miles morales, cyberpunk 2077 and the witcher iii. every now and then he makes charity streams. he also makes special lives with other gamers and figures where they play games like among us, minecraft, fortnite (though he absolutely hates it), party animals, fall guys and other party games. ― despite the rumours around him and his parents, he’s never talked about them to the media. it’s not like chance hides the information, after all it’s online, but he swerves questions about them and pretty much decides to not say anything about them just to avoid controversy. his parents didn’t mind until last year the company they worked at offered him a sponsorship and yohan turned it down. it’s safe to say they were pretty hurt over this and they haven’t talked much recently. ― yohan is, in his words, the biggest fan of spiderman (not really) but he’s his favorite heroe of all times and he collects everything and anything that has him in it. his biggest collection is funko pops with over 30+ figurines. he collects funkos of various other interests of him as well as enamel pins. ― lowkey a weeb. he likes watching anime in his spare time and if he likes it too much, he’d buy the manga and read it as well. his latest obsessions are kimetsu no yaiba, boku no hero academia, haikyu and jujutsu kaisen. ― won’t ever admit this out loud, but almost every ghibli movie makes him cry his eyes out, even when he’s watched the same one over and over again. he prefers to watch these on his own. his favorite one is grave of the fireflies. ― it took him a while to get used to korean culture, a part of him is still trying to. luckily, his family would speak in korean in their household most of the time and this helped him not struggle as much when it came to the language. his streams are most of the time in english to cater to a bigger audience, but recently he’s got himself a small team of an editor and a translator that’s helped him add subtitles to the videos he uploads in youtube. ― his current setup is completely sponsored except for a few extra things he’s bought himself and he has minimal experience when it comes to builds, though he’s really interested in learning and has recently researched more about the whole topic, hoping to get his first custom build by the end of the year. ― has terrible road rage and this is the reason why he doesn’t own a car or a driving license, even being in the backseat makes him anxious and would much rather prefer to use the bus, a bike or his skateboard to commute between places. taxis and other rides are his last option, if he’s quite honest. ― as a neighbour, he’s polite and tries to be mindful just to avoid needless problems. the first thing he did was soundproof his office in order to not disrupt others, but sometimes this doesn’t work as well due to how loud he can be. chance will try to greet every neighbour he encounters either with a wave or a simple nod. ― loves dogs but doesn’t feel he’s responsible enough to take care of one yet, though he will certainly volunteer to pet-sit his friends’ dogs.

wanted connections:

― life in seoul: he’s been wanting to start a podcast that has nothing to do with his main channel, aka a podcast about the culture in seoul from different perspectives, he wants to know about other people’s experiences. can be people that have lived all their life here or foreigners that, like himself, are pretty much new or can’t get enough of the city. it’d be a pretty chill podcast and anyone can participate! ― people that know about him and lowkey follow his streams (or just play them in the background while doing other stuff) ― or people that know about him but dislike him because he’s said stuff before about other public figures you’re a fan of. or he just simply rubs you the wrong way. ― people who absolutely hates when he streams late at night and he’s full on screaming at the screen (he tried to soundproof his streaming room but someone he can be way too loud, sorry) ― he’s always up for a good collaboration regardless of the topic: food, art, random tags and challenges. even if it's not up to his alley, he's likely to always say yes just for the laughs. ― the group of friends yohan met in different ways. they're not all strictly gamers, streamers or anything of the sort, but whenever they get together to play some games, it's a total chaos. and he wouldn't change it at all. ― the one person that always gets his packages delivered by mistake to your place instead of his. or the other way around. ― more: friends, enemies, a penpal, a platonic soulmate, workout buddies, etc.

#dallyeog:intro #𝐜: \ \ ooc

23 notes · View notes

ravenempress101 · 4 years

Text

*Requested* Sweet Pea Au X Virgin!Reader

Thank you for requesting sweetheart love writing for my loves Enjoy And your welcome anytime this was my best one yet!

Warnings:Unconditional Love

Words: 4.1k

Y/n sat in her school chair. The bell began to ring. as she starred over toward her seat next to her and it was empty. Y/n blew out a breathe toward herself while rolling her orbs .

“He’s late again, knowing the teacher is gonna get him” y/n writing on her homework the night before she did it. Finishing her math problem. A fustrated sweet pea walks in. He smiles at fangs in the front and hand bumps Jughead right next to him. While taking his seat he smirks at yourself.

“Oh there he is”

Sweet pea placing a rough kiss on your heartshappes. She kisses back with a smirk in the kiss as he pulls away he winks at yourself. Taking out his spare notebook and his pencil and starts to write down the problems that appeared on the board.

“Hey baby”

“Hey”

The teacher knocks you out of your greetings and slams a ruler on the desk.y/n and sweet pea examined her outburst but laughing at the temperament the teacher had.

“Mhmm no PDA on school campus and Mister Sweet Pea your late again also you know what that means

The teacher Capturing her pink slip and pencil. Tracing Sweet Peas name from being late and kissing in public. Sweet Pea rolled his eyes and looked at yourself while making a smart remark toward the teacher.

“Oooo Yes another kiss from my baby ooo lucky me”

The whole class chuckled in there seats and sweet pea joined in while slapping the desk. A small peck place upon your lips as she smirked at him and looked up at the teacher. The teacher let out a fustrated breathe and slapped her ruler once more on the desk the whole class fell silent. You could hear a pen drop. The teacher walked right up to sweet peas desk with practice quiz papers in her hands.

“Yep detention for a whole period Mister Pea”

The teacher placed the paper on Sweet Pea’s desk and made it over toward your desk and placed one in your hand. Sweet pea looked at you with a smile and then teased yourself.

“Great What wonderful day it must be”

Y/n giggled toward him. Began reading her questions and opening her book and writing down answers. While Sweet Pea pulled out his phone and started playing games on it y/n said to Sweet Pea

“Baby your so funny”

Both of you had smiles appeared on your face. Then he licking his tongue at yourself teasing you. While you write on your paper. Y/n forms two peace signs on top of her head and licks her tongue out while cockeying her eyes. Teasing the greaser. He switches his phone to camera and snaps a quick photo of you.

Placing the phone in your face and y/n scheming at the picture bursting out in laughs at her boyfriend. He uploads it to his story and then goes back to playing his game. While y/n goes back to studying for her test.

Moments later

Sweet Pea places his ear buds in his ear and starts playing music while y/n still working her math problem. Capturing her iPhone out and clicked her contacts searching for Sweet Peas name.y/n typed a message.

“Hey I’m sending you a note”

Sweet Pea scanned the message and looks over at yourself curiously.she nodded and got her paper and pencil and started writing the note.

“Okay???”

Sweet Pea gets his pencil and starts doodling a serpent character. She finishes the note and then flings it on Sweet Pea. Grabbing the note from her. He opens it and reads her handwriting.

“How about after school I want to surprise you with my first time”

Sweet pea finished reading the note and looked at y/n. scanning her surroundings. Trying not to notice Sweet Pea reading her note but him whispering to yourself knock you right back to his conversation with him.

“Hey first time what kiss, us meeting”

A confused Sweet Pea placing his hands in the air. Thinking to himself what your little mind is wondering to. Y/n smiled at the naive man and began to write a fresh note. folding the note and then threw the note at Sweet Pea. The teacher came across your desk and mocked evilly at yourself. Y/n looked back down at her assignment. Tracing invisible letters on it and then when the teacher wasn’t at the row anymore Sweet Pea opened the letter.

“I already had those moments you know what I’m talking about”

Y/n tapped on Sweet Pea shoulder and bite her lip. While teasing him. Sweet Pea laughed at yourself. A light bulb went off in his head about what you were talking about. In amazement at yourself, placing his hands up in defense. Sweet Pea thought you were out of your mind for even suggesting this. He knew you were a Virgin and he wanted to wait as long as possible for him so he could prove your love to yourself.

Sweet Pea darts his eyes at yourself and began to start a silent argument with you.

“No i refuse your waiting missy”

Sweet Pea placed his index finger in front of yourself and y/n smiled scanning at the man’s pugey legs and at his thick torso and back at his brown eyes. Y/n got lost in his aroma he carried. She was so lucky to have Sweet Pea in her corner. He was so blessed to have you in his. Dealing with abandonment issues you were his sunshine on a rainy day and on a summer's day. He could not give yourself up even if he begged to.

“No hun I love you and I want the Man that’s infront of me now”

Y/n capturing his collar of his serpent jacket and bringing him over toward her desk. Placing a soft Kiss on his index finger While getting lost in his eyes.y/n rubbed her nose with his and smiled. Her thoughts running wild about the greaser. She wanted to feel his love inside her. It was her first time and with him she wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Well if this true and not a game I’m making it special for you”

Sweet Pea Wrench himself from your grasp. Grinning at his plan he had in his head for you. Y/n nodded at him. the room filled with everyone getting there bags and papers placing everything up and then the bell rang signaling them to go to the next class.y/n grabbed Sweet Peas hand and walked on the side of him into the hallway.

“Oooo as Sweets of the serpents went soft on me”

Y/n and Sweet Pea stopping by her locker. Enclosing the space that Sweet Pea kept. Tracing her finger on his chest as he embraced her. He kissed her on the forehead and walked with her. While placing his arm around her they walked outside toward his motorbike.

“Oh yes I know I’m a gangsta but you are getting it special”

Sweet Pea seized his motorcycle helmet and placing it on his head and then climbing on his bike. Starting up the engine he waited for your approval.

“Deal”

Nodding towards yourself he placed his foot on the gas. Handing yourself a motorcycle helmet. Y/n grabbed it and placed it on her head and then climbed on his bike and secured her body toward his then he gunned it. Him and yourself sped off from Riverdale High.

Shortly Afterwards

She hopped off the motorcycle and Sweet Pea following yourself right behind he grabs your hand twirling yourself around in a circle, laughs escapes out your mouth as Sweet Pea and runs up towards the door smirking.

“I’m following you gangsta”

Sweet pea capturing his keys from his pocket unlocking his door of the mini trailer he owned. Y/n ran in and jumped with excitement at the fun time Both of you will endure but he grabbed your hand and place his other hand on your cheek running smooth circles.

“Y/n please I want to wait with you, I don’t want to rush things till your ready”

Sweet Pea contemplated in your eyes making sure he didn’t doubt what you said to him about him taking your Secrecy.y/n placed her hand in his plump cheek and kissed it. Reassuring sweet pea. Wanting to do it with him and nothing was changing her mind at this point. trusting Sweet Pea with all her being.

“Well I’m ready Sweet Pea I promise”

Y/n walking into the room and taking off her serpent jacket and then her leather boots. While Sweet Pea followed behind her he brought out a pink bag and placed it on the bed

“ Alright well since it’s going to be special I bought you some laundrie cause you should always feel pretty and definitely some new sheets are already on the bed for you”

sitting on the bed and laid down running her arms on the sheets. They were so warm to the touch. Y/n couldn’t wait to get under the sheets with Sweet Pea. His warm frame send her into a Frenzy. Y/n got up and jumped in Sweet Peas arms. as he catches her and return the catch with a big smile at the greaser.

“Really Pea aweee that makes me feel like a woman”

Leaping out of his arms and to the bathroom with the pink bag. Y/n couldn’t wait to try on her outfit for Sweet Pea. She knew he would buy her everything she needed for them both. He sat on the bed and screamed back yourself

“A very special woman”

“I wanted this for so long Sweat Pea”

“Not to long”

“How’d does it look”

Y/n approaching the gentleman hands on both sides of her love handles. Sweet Pea appraise her long legs covered in her thick pugey thighs, then at her lingerie covered breasts and trailed up toward her delicate orbs.The Man of your lover couldn’t believe she looked so stunning and it was all for him, only him.

“Perfect like you always are sweetheart”

Sweet Pea deposits passionate kisses as he slides his shirt off and then his jeans pooled to the floor. seizing yourself in his arms and carries yourself to the wall pecks your neck while in between kisses he nips at your throat. Y/n giggled at how sweet pea tickled her with his tongue on her neck.

“You know I’ll always take care of you right”

Sweet Pea stations a airy kiss on your shoulder while using his teeth to slide off the bra straps as y/n swam in Sweet pea’s chocolate orbs.massages velvety circles on your pudgy thighs. He loved your abnormal frame. All the dimples and stretch marks were his forever turn on.

“Yess sweet pea”

Sweet pea slides your bra off colliding with the floor. sliding yourself up the wall and kisses your chest. Trailing down toward the end of your chest. In the middle of the bridge of your breast gliding his tongue over it. Tracing his tongue on the side outline of your breasts where it’s made. Then he placed smooches on your thick stomach. Sweet pea looked up at yourself admiring all the features you carried as a woman.

“Your so beautiful princess”

Your lover Plastered yourself like a painting on the wall and his heart ached for yourself. Souled kissed, y/n tilt her head back while letting a big gasp out from sweet peas Plump Heart shappes. His Mini 5 o’clock shadow dancing on your stomach as y/n began to touch sweet peas head and then Retracted her hands back to her side.

“Pea thank you, do you want me to touch you?

Y/n’s little taunt moan spilling from her mouth. As y/n shook a little at sweet pea warmth and his hold on her. Y/n couldn’t believe the man that was kissing her held her up for so long and enjoyed her on the wall.

“Yess baby where ever you feel”

He makes it back up towards your lips and places slow snogs on them. Placing her hands on his exposed chubby chest. His kisses gradually becoming tougher. Her plump lips forming into a swollen tenderness at his hard kisses.

Then Sweet Pea withdraw yourself from the wall. Wrapping your legs around his torso as he guides you to the bed both of you collided with the sheets.towering over yourself and then start biting at your lip.

Sweet Pea starts droop down to your heat as he starts kissing yourself on your inner thighs positioning red and blue starts flaring up on your skin y/n touched the marks that sweet pea placed with his mouth starred amazed at what her skin formed.

“Hey why is my skin turning up with purple marks, am I allergic to you?

Sweet Pea immediately stopped kissing your thigh and his deep giggles filled the room with your innocent mind.

“No Boo omg, shit, I’m dieing that’s just a hickey”

Sweet Pea placing a sweet peck on your heartshappes. He loved that you were so innocent.The adorableness complimented the innocence that was made for yourself. Loving every minute of you being you.

“A hickey well it’s on my skin and it needs to leave” y/n giggled and playfully rolled her eyes as the mini bruises on her neck and thighs appear. As Sweet Pea Licked smooth circles on your thighs were the hickeys were placed.

“ darling it looks so perfect on you, it’s suppose to be there”

Furthermore, Sweet Pea snog closer to your heat. Beginning to place his lips on your bud. Tracing figure eights with his tongue. Y/n’s mouth hung open as her lovebox being loved.

“Wow that’s different mhmm Pea”

Strangled moaning from his kissing. He hummed from his mouth making yourself vibrate.y/n’s legs shaking and gripping the sheets. As he saw your lip in-between your teeth struggling to express your emotion. he stopped reassure yourself

“ babygirl What feels good you can tell me”

Sweet Pea rubbing your stomach and then him massacre your clit. Her breathily groaned danced out her lips. Sensitive toward Sweet Pea’s warm tongue made her go into a frenzy. Then she Sob out toward him.

“Sweet Pea your tongue is so warm against me”

As Sweet Pea glides his tongue inside and out yourself. Y/n’s hands found there way into the messy man ravens hair. As y/n pulled his Lengthy Longs. He started wiggling in and out of you.

“Is this okay boo?” Sweet Pea Presenting small pecks on your sensitivity and starring up at your body. As your body trembles underneath his eating you out.

“Yess making me feel so good oh shoot I feel a knot in my stomach”

As he starts again wiggling his tongue on your bud and placing his movement in your clit. Y/n could feel the familiar knot in her stomach as the combinations he placed on yourself made you go insane.clenching around his tongue trying not to spill in his mouth but Sweet Pea Purred on your heat.

“Yess baby let your stomach release it darling that’s your orgasm your gonna have plenty of those

“Uhhhh Sweet Pea””

Y/n’s Release laced her thick frame. She began to squirt all over his mouth. Her moans fell from her mouth. Y/n couldn’t believe she had an release so strong that her body spilled itself.

while he captures your ankles opening her legs wider Sweet Pea grabs her thighs for more leverage and suck up all her sweet juices that leaked from her.

Finishing cleaning her up he goes back up to your face depositing wet kisses on your cheeks and trailed down to your neck. lay of hold of his condom tearing it open with his fangs and rolls it over himself. Sweet pea kisses your chest lining himself at her entrance. Y/n’s forehead appeared with sweat at how lengthy sweet pea was. She didn’t believe in herself to deal with pain if there was any.

“Is it going to hurt”

Sweet Pea met his forehead with hers and told her the honest truth and made her vulnerable and comfortable under him.

“No because I’m going slow with you it will be some pain but the pleasure will drown it out”

Slowly sliding the tip in her. Y/n purred from the warmth he carried. Placing her hands on his broad shoulders. y/n winces as she braced herself. Him becoming still adjusting to his size.y/n clamped around his member. taking deep inhales as her peace came over her. once she can handle he moves out slowly and you grab on his back as yourself moan while missing the feeling he entered in.

“You are making such adorable sounds”

Sweet Pea Boomed while he glides himself launching back in. He was delicate with his thrusts. He didn’t want you to feel the excruciating pain that would subside over time while letting you get used to his stabs. But Sweet Pea grew an inch inside of yourself which made you whine.becoming harder for you he felt your snugness and yourself felt his.

y/n breathless moans out as he stays inside of yourself but accelerates a tiny speed. He curves hisself inside you striking your special spot. Y/n’s Purrs painted the walls of the room. While sweet pea booms “fuck”. Both of you were enjoying each other’s vibes. Giving and receiving one another.

“Nuhhh yesss ahhhh”

closing her eyes as she enjoys Sweet Pea contracts at her while he placed his lips on yours and slipping his tongue in your mouth gently. Moving at a respectable speed. Sweet Pea began to pulsate inside. Then he stopped moving checking on yourself

“Do you want me to pick up pace”

“Uhh uhh please Pea”

Y/n agreeing while placing her head in his shoulder. Her nails attached to his back Clawing. While he pulled out he slammed inside and then back out accelerating with his panther like thrust. Keeping a rhythmic pace form.

“Ohhh...yess Sweet Pea don’t stop”

Sweet Pea placing your back on the bed capturing your hands from his back and placing them on the bed holding your soft palms in his. Him grabbing the sheets for leverage having your hands intertwined with him.

“You feel so soft y/n”

she felt the familiar knot in her stomach.

“Pea I’m feeling that knot again”

She began to scream his name at the acceleration that was abruptly picked up by him.stabbing her a couple of moments at a time. Then his form weakened around her. Sweet Pea high was lacing his body as he took deep breathes and y/ns escasty was waltzing on her sensitive pleasure.

“Ooohhh ahhhh I’m about to spill out”

Sweet Pea digging deeper and harder in her. Y/n felt the knot and tensed around his hard on that tumbled with precum. Almost hugging around him but y/n couldn’t hold much longer. As Sweet Pea commands your oragam.

“Cmon sweetheart spill all over me”

Y/n cummed all over him in an instant her body rising and falling from the high crashing down on her. your lover slowed his thrust riding out her oragasm as he released himself in the condom and he pulled out tossing the protection and laying on his side of the bed kissing y/n on the side of the head. As his back made contact with the bed he winces.

“Wow I got scratches on my back y/n”

As sweet pea placed his hand over his shoulder feeling the indents of your claw prints. He sobed at the marks.

“Oops sorry it felt good Pea thank you”

Y/n felt guilty for making damage toward his back. But y/n was so relieved to have given herself to the greaser.he was such a gentleman during all of it and she was beyond grateful for it

“Mhmm your welcome beautiful”

174 notes · View notes

mileycyprus-hill · 4 years

Text

Chpt 1, Chpt 2, Chpt 3, Chpt 4, Chpt 5

Also can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22218607/chapters/58951003

Thank you to @oodanijadeoo for beta-reading this chapter and giving such great, constructive feedback!

Chapter 6

You leave the apartment above Dr. Birner’s office with reluctance, thinking back to that brief period you were recuperating. You were in a peaceful limbo. No worries, no anxious thoughts of the future. For one week, you lied there with your infant son, living in the moment. You basked in his cherubic glory and thought of nothing else. For all you knew, there was nothing beyond those four walls. Just you and Isaiah.

And it was perfect.

You remember feeling Arthur’s eyes on you. He’d visit once a day at the apartment and spend a few nights on the floor of your room, despite your small protests. While holding Isaiah in his arms after his feeding, you’d catch that particular look Arthur gave you. It was a look of uncertainty; a question begging to be asked.

That question tortures you both.

He didn’t want to ask it and you didn’t want to hear it, but you both knew it had to be said.

Now, you finally have the strength to walk and ride in the jostling wagon without pain. The reality of your situation soon returns as you lie in the wagon. Leaning back on the mattress that comfortably lines the bed of the wagon, you look over to Susan who sits by your side. She holds your infant son in the swaddle of a soft wool blanket, gently caressing his cheek with her index finger.

It’s not often you get to see Susan grow soft like this. Her life has been ridden hard and rough and it often shows in her moods. One can hardly blame her. She’s proven she’s come out of it stronger and more alive than any other woman on earth.

You envy her strength.

Swaying with the rolling wagon wheels on the trail, you replay the conversations in your head: Dutch, Arthur, Dr. Birner. All of them asking for a decision. All of them telling you what’s best.

Can any decision be the right decision? You wonder.

.…

Arthur has become an enigma to you in these passing days, you realize. He often gives Isaiah attention and offers help whenever he can. But something deep down inside you gives you this cynical notion that he’s saving himself up. That he’s only doing these things and acting paternal to get you to trust him.

He’s going to have to play his cards soon, and he needs an ace.

You try to shake these thoughts away, but they soon return whenever Dutch checks on you both on numerous occasions.

“Has a decision been made between you two?” He would ask.

His check-ins are a now weekly occurrence. So often that you now avoid crossing his path so he won’t have a chance to bring it up.

You hope you could reply ‘no’ long enough that he’d soon give up. You’re too fearful to say what you truly want. And you know Dutch is not one to forget or give up.

But you truly hope this time he would.

However, you forget the one person Dutch could still corner and persuade to change this whole situation.

Arthur.

…

It’s three months to the day of Isaiah’s birth and you worry if you can finally breathe. You hope to continue with the routine of a child in the gang now that it’s been long enough; allow the members of the gang to grow attached. Little Isaiah grows stronger and more lovable each day. Even John has taken a liking to him. He approaches you and Isaiah sitting underneath a shady lean-to. You sit cross-legged on the blanket while supporting Isaiah in your hands. His little back lays on your forearms, with his soft head resting in your palms. The ruffled hem of his crisp, white baby gown cascades down your arm. The sun was so warm before you retreated to the shade. Through the light cotton, you can still feel a little sweat on his back from the desert heat.

“Can I hold him?” John asks meekly. He slowly drops to his knees before you and watches Isaiah curiously.

Looking up at John, you reply, “Sure. Make sure to support his neck, and watch his head.”

You adjust your baby in your arms and carefully transfer him to John, who fearfully holds him like holding a wounded animal. John keeps an elbow awkwardly high to support Isaiah’s head and you hold back a chuckle at the sight of him. The corner of his lip upturns into a nervous smile.

He catches you grinning at him and his face turns sour.

“What’s so funny?” He asks defensively.

You reply genuinely, “Nothing. Just…you look cute together.”

You watch as Isaiah babbles and attempts to grab at the strange young man holding him. His chubby legs kick and kick with such energy and excitement of seeing a new person.

John scoffs at your remark and opens his mouth to retort. Though he’s quickly distracted by Isaiah wiggling in his arms and he grows nervous at keeping him still.

“Uhhh,” John groans uncomfortably. “I think..oh shit, I’m gonna drop him.”

You giggle and quickly relieve John of his anxiety, fluidly scooping Isaiah from his stiff arms into yours. Isaiah babbles and squeals in your arms, testing his voice with his high pitches. The soothing rocking of your arms and the heat of the air settles his excitement and he soon grows weary.

For several minutes, you and John watch his eyelids slowly fall and rise every couple of seconds as he jerks himself awake, kicking a leg and trying his hardest not to sleep. He’d attempt this a few times until he could no longer fight it. The warmth and comfort of your body allows him to relax and finally sleep in your arms.

John sits cross-legged in front of you in silence, watching Isaiah fall into a deep sleep. He watches his little stubby fingers attempt to grip at your forearm tightly before relaxing. Moving his gaze up to your face, John notices your smile is gone and replaced with a forlorn look.

He asks quietly, “What’s wrong?”

The heavy weight of guilt grows in your chest and you lift your head with glassy eyes. As you break your attention away from Isaiah to John, your chin quivers and a rogue tear slides down your cheek. With a shaky breath, you answer.

“I’m afraid,” You say with a cracked voice. “I thought everything would be better once he’d be born but, I feel trapped.”

John looks to you with understanding. For the past few months, he’s watched you and Arthur struggle against each other. He had secretly grown proud of how strong you kept yourself under Arthur and Dutch’s pressure. He knows Arthur’s only reciting what Dutch tells him, never thinking for himself and that aggravates John. He thinks himself far younger than Arthur and yet so much more headstrong and independent. John had been watching you struggle with your options in silence and he worries you’ll choose one you’ll regret.

This is his opportunity to tell you what he thinks.

He attempts to console you, speaking quietly and honestly.

“Everyone loves him, (Y/N). I can see that.” He says.

Another tear escapes your eye, painting your cheek.

“It don’t seem to matter how much everyone loves him,” you croak. “What matters is what Dutch thinks and what kind of life he should have.”

“But your life’s been better since you joined. And mine. And Arthur’s!” John exclaims in a hush. “Don’t you think? What makes ‘im think we can’t give him the best life with us?”

John points to Isaiah who remains unstirred in your arms.

“Because we’re criminals, John.” You say with dread, letting Dutch’s repeated lectures finally sink in.

“And who’s to say I won’t resent him later on? Treat him like my parents did me?”

Those last words tear into your heart like a jagged blade. Who’s to say you won’t inherit your parents awful temperament towards your child? Will you truly love him as he grows, or will you see him as just a mistake that took your freedom away?

John’s words grow heated in response to your self deprecation.

“Cause you’re not them, (Y/N),” he hisses through his teeth in frustration, “You’re better than them. I know you love Isaiah. Because if you didn’t, you’d leave him the first chance you get.”

He speaks bitterly in remembrance of his own childhood. The grief from loss and abandonment is all too familiar to him. He stares at Isaiah with his dark eyes glowing in a mix of resentment and woe. He knows from experience that little Isaiah is too fragile to live and grow without the love of a mother. Or a father.

“Just promise me one thing, will ya?” He asks, his own voice cracked and quiet.

Staying silent, you look into his eyes and nod.

“Don’t send him to an orphanage…please. Find him a family. A good one.” He confides solemnly. His head droops low and he lightly fumbles with the tip of his boot.

“Of course, John…” You assure him.

With his head still held low, John reaches forward and grasps at Isaiah’s hand. He holds the tiny hand in between his thumb and index finger, rubbing at the top of Isaiah’s hand with his thumb. Isaiah remains asleep while he curls his little fingers over John’s finger, holding onto him tightly.

“I promise.” You whimper through quiet tears.

…

The sun is dropping from its high noon perch and its heat begins to cool into the late afternoon. You stand by the food wagon, behind the work table with a variety of vegetables laid before you. Carrots and parsnips in orange, purple and white and fresh, crisp celery lay in bright contrast against the dark and scratched wooden table.

Your heart remains sunken from your gloomy exchange with John, and the mundane task of prepping supper has left your mind open to racing thoughts of what-if’s and should-I’s.

You barely hear the familiar footsteps belonging to the one who shares those thoughts with you. Both of your minds are unknowingly linked with troubled ruminations. The heavy strides step forward to you while your head remains low and your eyes focused on the rations before you. The tip of his boots come into view at the corner of your eyes, but you don’t react.

“(Y/N),” Arthur greets with hesitation, “We need to talk.”

“About what?” You ask, sensing his mood and growing on edge.

You already know what he wants to talk about, but you want to hear him say it. You want him to reflect on the terrible request before speaking.

Arthur fidgets with a carrot on the wooden table, rolling it back and forth on the un-level surface with his dirty hands. The speed of the rolls grow with your mutual irritance. He feels the tips of his ears flushing red. This decision hurts him too, but he hopes to make it quick before it can get worse. Never has he made such a paramount decision like this. The life he was thrust into at a young age taught him to react, to not waste time with decisions of morality, only survival.

In the past several years, he often left these choices to Dutch, because the man would take it upon himself to do so. This was something that Arthur had grown used to. Something he trusted.

Leave it to me, son. I’ll think of something. Dutch’s words echo in Arthur’s ears.

But how can Arthur tell you? Standing before him with a knife in your hands, how can he tell you that while he doesn’t like it either, it’s actually for the best?

The knife in your hand hits against the cutting board a little harder with each slice.

Watching you carefully, Arthur speaks, “I wanna talk about us.”

You involuntarily crease your eyebrows in confusion, your eyes squinting and still focusing on the vegetables. The smell of boiling beef stock in the pot next to you would’ve made you sick just a few months ago before Isaiah was born, but you’re too irritated to care now.

Neither of you wanted to cross this road again. But there’s only so many detours you can take before you reach the fork again.

Your voice slices into him like the knife through the carrot, which you snatch from his light grip.

“What makes you think there’s an ‘us’?” You say bitterly. Your tone is a little more than a hurried breath, but is loud in your heart.

Ignoring your bite, Arthur rests his hands on the table and leans his weight forward on them. He drops his chin low, watching your hands work quickly in repetitive movements.

“I wanna know what your plan is. For Isaiah.” He says.

The knife stops in your hand and your grip tightens against the handle.

“It’s too early, Arthur. He’s only three months old yet.” You say, steadying the frightened tremble in your voice.

He leans himself further over the table, bringing his face closer to yours but you keep your gaze low to the chopped vegetables, only feeling his breath on your forehead as he speaks.

“I know, but when? The longer we wait, the harder it’s gonna be.” Arthur speaks in a distinct whisper, meant for your ears only and no other.

If your thoughts hadn’t been racing, you could’ve detected the fear and reluctance in his voice as he spoke. You could’ve noticed the tremors in his hands and fingers, left empty to tremble in fear without an item to fidget with. You could’ve seen the tension in his broad shoulders growing stiff at the emotional weight that bears down on them.

“I don’t know when, Arthur.” You spit, “I can’t think with everyone breathing down my neck like this.”

“But you ain’t alone—“

“Oh, I ain’t?” You finally draw your gaze to him and stare into his eyes with a painful glare. “I don’t think you understand. You may be his father but, in the end it’s my decision to make. Not anyone else’s, regardless of what they think.”

“Just lemme help,” Arthur pleads.

“I think you’ve done enough,” you reply bitterly, “You’re a father now, Arthur. Start actin’ like one.”

Your words flood his ears and leave an awful dry pit in the back of his throat. He remains silent, allowing your statement to pierce him and the venom to fill his veins. It makes its way to his heart, filling it in each painful contraction.

You finish your harsh words, “Now leave me alone.”

Arthur complies and turns away. He takes his first step to leave before stopping himself.

With a slight pivot of his head, he utters, “Y’know, you keep this up and soon you will be alone with no one else to blame but yerself.”

…

Three weeks pass and you refuse to start the conversation again, despite Arthur’s pressing. Deep down you wonder, is it selfish of you to want to keep Isaiah? To keep Arthur tied to you this way?

You would never try to keep Arthur leashed to camp like a dog; to hold him hostage in a false sense of domesticity. You’re more than willing to raise this child on your own. Even if Arthur had this sudden change of heart and wanted to be rid of his mistake. You at least, are mature enough to step up to the plate, you tell yourself.

It’s been a few days since you’ve seen Arthur and John. They had been sent by Hosea to follow a tip about a train carrying payroll for a silver mine. After your argument with Arthur, you found yourself distancing from him again. Which you hated and it caused you much pain, but you forced yourself to; to avoid hurting Arthur again with such unkind words.

Laying Isaiah down to bed in your tent, you step out to walk across camp, towards Hosea’s tent. You see him sitting in his chair in front of his large tent, reading a book like always. An oil lamp sits beside him on a small table, cascading him in a soft, golden glow. Your thoughts remained troubled lately, and you hope Hosea would preach some wise words to calm your worries.

You hear hushed voices from behind one of the supply wagons and slow your pace, eyes slowly peering to the covered wagon. You stop with your feet planted when you recognize them.

“She’s still nursing, Dutch.” A voice whispers. Miss Grimshaw. “It’s too early to separate them.” She says. You detect apprehension in her tone.

“I know that Susan. But think about this. We’re getting too comfortable here and the law is startin’ to notice. We’ve got to move now, and we can’t travel with a baby. It’s too dangerous.” A deep, authoritative voice persuades.

Dutch.

He continues, “She needs to think about that. We need to think about the rest of the gang. We can’t afford any distractions.”

“But—“

“No. Exceptions cannot be afforded now. This is the safest option…for everyone.”

“And Arthur?”

A pause lingers.

“He’ll understand.”

Stepping swiftly and quietly, you turn to retreat to your tent. Closing the flaps of the entrance, you sob quietly into your hands. A few short cries are muffled by your palms. Your heart hammers in your chest and its beats roar loudly in your ears. After a moment, you release yourself with a deep, shaky breath.

We’re leaving? No, no, no, no. Not now. Not right now.

This can’t be happening.

Your cot gently creaks as you lie on your side and watch Isaiah. He sleeps soundly and unstirred in the little bassinet next to you. Earlier this week, you were persuaded by Hosea to have your tent moved closer to Arthur’s instead of near the perimeter, away from everyone else. Even though you were oblivious, Hosea could see the wanting in Arthur’s eyes as he watched you and Isaiah together. Arthur wants to help. He truly does. Unfortunately, you were blind to it.

“Closer to his father,” Hosea’s words repeat in your thoughts. “Make him get up with you when Isaiah wakes in the middle of the night. Don’t think you gotta do this all by yourself.”

A swirl of voices and past conversations enter and exit your anxious mind. You try so hard to silence them, but they break through the door of your conscience and demand to be heard.

Before long, the demanding voices exhaust you and you fall into a troubled sleep.

You’re walking along a red sand beach. The grains of sand give under your weight and hold onto the shapes of your feet and toes. The tide is low and the dry beach stretches out for miles towards the horizon. The cold white caps of the sea lap gently in the distance. The sky is bleak and gray, and the cold air bites at your exposed skin. You move to draw your shawl closer, but find you’re wearing only a thin, white nightgown made of silk. You find yourself standing alone in the middle of the dry ocean bed, the growing tide laps at your feet. Looking down at your bare feet in the sand, you see your pregnant belly. It’s so large, you can barely see your toes.

A voice calls behind you. It sounds so far away and distorted, you can barely make it out. You want to turn to see who’s calling, but you’re stuck facing the horizon.

Your body feels like it’s stuck in a vat of molasses. Every movement of your muscles is slowed and you’re snapped back to your original stance when you try to break its grip. The unidentifiable hold on you is forcing you to watch the growing tide as the water rises higher and higher. The voice behind you grows louder and louder, its call becoming clearer. It’s a familiar voice shouting your name, and it begs you to return to shore. You desperately want to run to the voice, to be wrapped in its warm embrace, its rich timbre filling your ears, but the hold on you refuses to break.

A white-capped wave rolls towards you, high as the cliffs behind you. The sound of the approaching wave is deafening, like an oncoming train. It muffles the screams and hollers of the voice behind you. You’re knocked back as the wave crashes into you like a wall of stone. A sudden pain jolts like an electric current in your stomach, and something slips out between your legs. You move to grab it with both hands, but it slips out of your grip. Still submerged in the dark waters, you open your eyes and see Isaiah sinking below you. His cries echo in the water. You try to scream his name, but the water fills your lungs and no sound can escape your throat. Swimming further and further down to catch him, he slips out of your grip and you find he’s sinking so much faster.

Reaching your hand out, he seems so close. Just a little more and you can grab his heel. A rough hand grips at your arm, pulling you up towards the surface, away from your baby. You claw at its grip, but it’s holding you so tightly that it digs painfully deep into your muscles and bone. Gold rings adorn the fingers of the hand, with coarse black hair on its knuckles. Screaming and thrashing, you bite and claw at the hand, but its burning grip doesn’t give. Looking back down into the abyss, you can faintly see a speck of your infant child, sinking further down. His cries are still loud in your ears, amplified in the water.

Suddenly, the hand pulls and you break the surface with a deep gasp.

“No!” You cry, throwing your hands up and swinging wildly. Your palm makes contact with warm skin, and you feel a slight sting in your hand as you slap whoever’s holding you.

A booming voice curses above you, “Dammit!”

Opening your tear-filled eyes, you see Dutch holding a hand to his temple, rising up off his knees and angrily walking out of your tent. Bewildered, you look around your cramped tent and see Miss Grimshaw kneeling by your cot, trying to calm you down with sweet words. She shushes you and holds your head in her hands, your hair feels wet with sweat against her gentle fingers.

You notice the bassinet beside her is empty and you nearly leap off your cot, trying to push Miss Grimshaw away.

“Where is he?” You frantically ask, “Where’s Isaiah?”

Miss Grimshaw raises her hands up, “He’s fine, (Y/N). Arthur’s got him.”

“Why?” You ask, nearly crying in fear. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Grimshaw answers, “It’s okay. He’s okay. You were just having a nightmare, sweetie.”

Your chest heaves in panic. The images of your nightmare are still vivid in every blink of your eyelids. You struggle to stay standing as you become dizzy, raising a hand to your head.

Miss Grimshaw takes notice and lightly wraps her arms around you.

“It’s alright. Everything’s alright.” She soothes. “Let’s just lie back down. Hmm?”

Suddenly, a sputtered cry comes from outside your tent. Instinctively, you move to run to the source of the sound, until Grimshaw holds you back.

“It’s alright dear. You just rest now…I’ll go get ‘em.” She reassures you.

Your anxious breathing refuses to subside until Arthur steps in with Isaiah in his arms. He’s cozily wrapped in his white cotton blanket, hungrily fussing in Arthur’s thick arms. You reach out and silently ask for your child, to which Arthur grants. He seamlessly transfers little Isaiah from his arms to yours.

Grateful for the familiar weight in your arms, your panic finally begins to subside. Tears roll down your cheeks and you hold back a sob, kissing Isaiah’s warm forehead.

He continues to fuss and cry until you unbutton the front of your nightgown and drop a shoulder to draw him to your exposed breast. You notice Arthur shift uncomfortably at the sight and move to exit your tent.

“Wait, Arthur. It’s ok.” You stop him.

Standing by the entrance, he looks to you and asks, “You sure?”

You nod and pat the empty spot beside you with your free arm. Arthur still hesitates.

“It’s not like you haven’t seen them before.” You remind him.

Arthur gives a tense shrug and responds, “I know but, this is different.”

“Please, Arthur?”

Arthur nods and sits besides you with a tense sigh. He looks over and watches his son suckle at your breast with his tiny yet plump lips. Isaiah’s eyes close while you and Arthur hear the occasional breath through his little nose as he greedily feeds off your nipple.

You finally look over to Arthur and whisper, “Did I wake everyone up?”

Embarrassed for you, Arthur nods and runs his fingers through his thick hair.

“Yeah…guess you had a bad dream. Isaiah was cryin’ and Dutch and Grimshaw were tryin’ to wake you up. All of a sudden, I’m standin’ outside with ’im and I hear you give Dutch a big slap.”

He wraps an arm behind you and rubs his hand on your shoulder. With a small chuckle, he says, “Ain’t seen him get that red in a while. You musta hit him pretty good.”

Wiping the lingering tears from your eyes with your free hand, you smile, “Yeah. My hand still kind of stings.”

Arthur shifts closer to you, wrapping a corner of Isaiah’s blanket over his little bare feet.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asks gently, hoping to ease the tension.

Normally, you had come to Arthur to talk of your dreams or nightmares. He enjoyed deciphering them with you, figuring out what they could mean or what would cause them. But the image of your baby sinking into the black waters makes your heart feel like it was pierced with hot iron. You want to erase it from your mind.

Blinking away a stray tear, you answer, “No. I just wanna forget about it…Will you stay with me though?”

You feel so pitiful in asking, but you’re afraid to go back to sleep. You don’t want to return to that red beach.

You look into Arthur’s tired eyes and silently plead. He grasps your free hand beside him and looks over to Isaiah, whose lips have now released your nipple and remain agape as he sleeps soundly. Arthur nods and offers to take Isaiah from your arms. He gingerly places him in the bassinet while you button up your nightgown. Returning to your cot, he lays behind you and pulls you close. His warm arm wraps around you and he holds your hand in his, intertwining his fingers in yours. He slips his other arm beneath your neck, offering it as a pillow. You let out a shaky breath and allow Arthur’s warmth envelope you. His hot breath upon the back of your neck soon lulls you back into a peaceful, dreamless slumber.

The morning sun has not yet risen as you wake. Through the crack of your tent flaps, the sky is barely lightened to an early morning hue of sapphire, cascading everything on earth with its deep color. Leaving Arthur and Isaiah to sleep behind you, you quietly step through the canvas entrance of your remaining solitude. An unease remains buried in your heart from last night as you step back out to the outside world.

A decision has to be made. Today.

#Mistakes #fan fiction #chapter 7 coming soon #hopefully next week #Arthur Morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #writing #it’s back baby #isaiah morgan #dutch van der linde #original characters #john marston

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whats-the-wish-of-your-life · 3 years

Text

Every First, Every Last (Part 2)

Even in his old immortal form, he had always detested this young man. Maybe because he could hear his thoughts and how they refuted his actions towards Dong Kyung. How he acted indifferently, while in his heart he was completely smitten by her.

What a hypocrite, Saram thought to himself as he took a deep sigh to alleviate his annoyance.

To his amusement, the young author then approached their table.

"Noona!" Park Young greeted Dong Kyung with a big smile. And a bear hug.

Dong Kyung could only lightly rub his back in response while avoiding Saram's glare from across the table.

"Jagganim. Glad you could make it," she greeted him when he finally pulled away.

Saram could barely keep his temperament in check. Especially when the young author had the audacity to sit next to his wife.

"I asked my manager to fix my schedule for this," Park Young said proudly. "And I don't have to wear a mask since I am here as a donor."

"You should still wear a mask because your face is hideous," Saram interjected with a smirk.

Park Young just snorted at his disdainful remark. "You should wear glasses. You obviously have poor eyesight. Probably because you're old," he retorted.

"Do you want to wear a cast? Because I can crush your bones. But I'm a doctor, so I can also treat you after. "

"Do you want to wear handcuffs?"

Dong Kyung could not bear to just watch the ridiculousness in front of her. So she belligerently stood up from her seat causing the two gentlemen to fix their eyes on her.

"Ya! Do you want to wear a leash, both of you?" She erupted.

"Ani."

"Aniyo."

Both men responded almost simultaneously.

"Now the two of you, make nice with each other," she glared.

"Mhianada," Park Young was the first to apologize.

Dong Kyung then turned to Saram who then gave her a questioning look. But he quickly understood when her eyes narrowed.

"Mhiane," he muttered without actually meaning it then took a slug of beer.

"I'll go back to my table now, noona. I just really wanted to greet you," the young author said, then stood up and slightly bowed his head before walking back to his table.

Dong Kyung then moved to the chair beside Saram, who was obviously still fuming while chugging his second bottle.

"Ya, you can't drive anymore with that amount," Dong Kyung pointed out. "Give me the keys."

So he fished out the car key from his pocket and handed it to her. "Yeogi."

The fundraiser took more than half of their day but both of them had so much fun during the auction of first editions from popular authors who attended the event. Saram's inner bookworm was so excited to get his hands on some new books. While Dong Kyung received a copy of Park Young's first novel to be published in print. She was delighted to say the least, but her husband didn't exactly share the same sentiment.

When they got home from the event around five in the afternoon, Saram went straight to the shower to sober up. Dong Kyung just washed up in the small bathroom and changed into her house clothes, then went to the kitchen to fix a quick dinner.

She decided to cook instant ramyeon for her tipsy husband, some egg rolls and spam gimbap, since they were the quickest to make. Saram stepped out of the shower 15 minutes later and joined her in the kitchen.

"Are you sober now?" Do Kyung asked as she stood in front of the stove while watching the ramyeon simmer.

"I wasn't drunk at all," he responded while taking out a bottle of water from the fridge. He then walked towards Dong Kyung then leaned his back against the kitchen island behind her.

Dong Kyung turned to him and only then did she realize that he had nothing on except a towel around his waist.

"Are you going to eat dinner without a shirt on?" She quipped, after giving him a once-over.

"Are you hungry?" Saram asked, ignoring her question, then took another gulp of water as he tipped his head back, while looking at her down his nose.

For some reason, his question got her all flustered. Not to mention the way he was gazing at her without blinking.

"Food is ready."

"You didn't answer my question," Saram muttered, then put the water bottle on the kitchen island. He then took a step closer and gently pulled and pressed his wife against him, as he reached for the stove knob behind her and turned it off. He then put his arms around her waist and pulled her even closer as he leaned back on the kitchen island again. "Are you hungry, Dong Kyungie?"

Dong Kyung looked up at him, a little distracted by his still damp and messy hair. Her eyes followed the driblet of water that trickled down his temple, down to his jaw and how it briefly hung there before it trailed down his neck.

"Yes, I'm hungry," she answered, when finally, she managed to hold his gaze.

Saram's lips broke into an indelicate dimpled grin. Here he was, thinking he was sober, when he was clearly intoxicated by his love for his wife.

He had been aching to hold her all day while they spent hours outside with other people. And now that they were alone together at last, that ache had only grown into a burning greed.

So he lifted her from the floor and raised her to the kitchen island. Dong Kyung was quite delighted with how she could look at him squarely now without having to crane her neck.

"Happy?"

"Eoh," Dong Kyung nodded with a cheerful smile. "Do you...want some ramyeon?"

"I'm starving, Dong Kyung," he said with a rasp, while eyeing her lips with a hungry gaze.

Still at a loss, whether she should fix him up a bowl or kiss him, Dong Kyung decided to go for the latter.

She cupped his face with her hands and her husband closed his eyes in anticipation. She then planted a kiss on his forehead, then slowly moved down his nose, then both of his cheeks, then the corner of his lips.

But Saram could not hold out any longer. Using his index finger, he gently angled her face so the next kiss landed on his mouth and he welcomed her lips with ardent greed. His thumb swiftly tugged at her bottom lip, making room for his tongue to slide into.

Dong Kyung held onto his bare shoulders, while he held onto her waist. It didn't take long before he had to pull away to draw a quick breath. He took that brief opportunity to lift her sweatshirt off of her then pulled down her pyjamas, before plunging back in, with a new resolve to make her just as breathless and needy as he was.

His mouth started wandering down her chin, as his hands traveled around her back to unhook her bra. Dong Kyung tipped her head back when his mouth began to trace her neck, his warm breath making her skin blush a delicious shade of pink.

He then buried his face between the delicate mounds of her breast and licked the dip all the way back up to the base of her neck where he lingered for a bit more. He quite enjoyed the feel of his wife's chaotic pulse whenever he pecked at that area.

He decided to explore how far he could stretch his restraint by deliberately keeping his hands off of DongKyung's breast. He then hinged her thighs around his waist and swooped her from the kitchen island. He was determined to leave a trace of their lovemaking everywhere in this house. Surely, he couldn't leave the couch off the list.

Reenacting their position from their interrupted shenanigan this morning, he made DongKyung straddle him again. Only this time, it was just that towel restraining him aside from his wife's underwear. Even the slightest move she made was creating a delightful friction.

To his surprise, Dong Kyung suddenly pulled away from kissing him. She then looked him in the eyes as if making an important decision, before she finally dismounted from his lap.

His brain went into an overdrive when like a shot, she kneeled between his thighs and divested him of his precious towel. Her eyes widened in surprise when he sprung stiff and proud upon exposure.

"It's not like it's your first time seeing me," Saram nearly laughed at Dong Kyung's reaction.

"Not this close," she retorted while looking up at him.

Her gaze from that position created some interesting sensations all over him, making him breathless.

Dong Kyung then lightly gripped him by the shaft and gave it a gentle stroke which made him tip his head back against the headrest of the couch and groan a little louder than he intended. It was all the push she needed to keep going a few more times. Every move her hand made was rewarded with Saram's resounding moans that filled the spacious living room. And when her hand reached the swollen head, Saram grabbed her by the wrist.

Was this the extent of his restraint?

"I can't take it anymore," he panted then pulled her up. He then maneuvered her so she was sitting on his lap again, then planted a swift wet kiss on her mouth. "Ride me, honey."

Dong Kyung stared at him for a few moments. She had that same look in her eyes as if she was pondering a very important decision.

This was the first time he asked her to take control and it was wracking her nerves for that reason. Not to mention that he wasn't exactly average in size.

Ottoke? I can do this, right? She thought, giving herself some much needed peptalk.

Although he couldn't read minds anymore, Saram could tell that Dong Kyung was nervous about his request, just by how dilated her pupils were. He was getting ready to draw back and take her to the bedroom instead, when she suddenly moved and properly positioned her knees on either side of his thighs.

"Are you sure?" He inquired, unable to hide the need in his voice.

"Eoh," she nodded. "I know you'll be careful."

Saram smirked smugly at his wife's confidence in him. "I really can't promise you that right now."

And with that statement, he pushed the crotch of her underwear to the side and rubbed the head of his penis against her slit. Both of them groaned at the sudden contact.

He then guided her on how to sit on him properly, as she held onto his shoulders. They were both gazing at each other intently, eyes wide and breaths hitching in anticipation. And when finally, he could feel her wet opening slowly swallowing him, he pulled her by the waist and pushed himself deeper with a sudden jerk.

Dong Kyung whimpered weakly as she propped herself against him for support. Saram helped her keep a steady pace by meeting her halfway as she moved up and down on him, every inch of him gliding delectably in and out of her.

Her whimpers quickly turned into a series of moans when Saram started to fondle her breast while he suckled on the other. He needed a distraction from all the sensations quickly building up in his groin.

#doom at your service #tvn doom at your service #myul mang #kdrama doom at your service #seo in guk #tak dong kyung #fiction #park bo young #bboing couple #myulkyung

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blucmoon · 3 years

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━ ☾ ⊹ ( bang chan, cis male , he/him ) say hello to HWA YOHAN / CHANCE HWA, the TWENTY FOUR YEAR OLD that seems to have a lot in his hands with HIS job as a STREAMER AND CONTENT CREATOR! beyond that, they seemed RELIABLE AND PASSIONATE upon first glance. i heard someone say they’re sort of SELF-CONSCIOUS AND CAUTIOUS though. HE seems to live in a 2 BEDROOM APARTMENT in SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA. anything else to add? oh, yeah! he also USED TO BE A PROFESSIONAL GAMER PART OF SEOUL DYNASTY (OWL) UNTIL HE GOT KICKED OUT.

basic information

― full name: hwa yohan / chance hwa ― nicknames: yohwa ― age: twenty four ― date of birth: october 3rd, 1996 ― birthplace: cheonan, south korea. ―hometown: sydney, australia ― current location: seoul, south korea ― living arrangements: 2 bedroom apartment ― ethnicity: korean ― nationality: dual, korean (natural born) and australian (naturalized) ― gender: cis male ― pronouns: he / him ― orientation: demiromantic, heterosexual. ― religion: atheist ― occupation: streamer ― language(s) spoken: korean (fluent), english (fluent) ―accent: heavy australian accent

physical appearance

personality

trivia:

― despite the rumours around him and his parents, he’s never talked about them to the media. it’s not like chance hides the information, after all it’s online, but he swerves questions about them and pretty much decides to not say anything about them just to avoid controversy. his parents didn’t mind until last year the company they worked at offered him a sponsorship and yohan turned it down. it’s safe to say they were pretty hurt over this and they haven’t talked much recently.

― yohan is, in his words, the biggest fan of spiderman (not really) but he’s his favorite heroe of all times and he collects everything and anything that has him in it. his biggest collection is funko pops with over 30+ figurines. he collects funkos of various other interests of him as well as enamel pins.

― lowkey a weeb. he likes watching anime in his spare time and if he likes it too much, he’d buy the manga and read it as well. his latest obsessions are kimetsu no yaiba, boku no hero academia, haikyu and jujutsu kaisen.

― won’t ever admit this out loud, but almost every ghibli movie makes him cry his eyes out, even when he’s watched the same one over and over again. he prefers to watch these on his own. his favorite one is grave of the fireflies.

― it took him a while to get used to korean culture, a part of him is still trying to. luckily, his family would speak in korean in their household most of the time and this helped him not struggle as much when it came to the language. his streams are most of the time in english to cater to a bigger audience, but recently he’s got himself a small team of an editor and a translator that’s helped him add subtitles to the videos he uploads in youtube.

― his current setup is completely sponsored except for a few extra things he’s bought himself and he has minimal experience when it comes to builds, though he’s really interested in learning and has recently researched more about the whole topic, hoping to get his first custom build by the end of the year.

― has terrible road rage and this is the reason why he doesn’t own a car or a driving license, even being in the backseat makes him anxious and would much rather prefer to use the bus, a bike or his skateboard to commute between places. taxis and other rides are his last option, if he’s quite honest.

― as a neighbour, he’s polite and tries to be mindful just to avoid needless problems. the first thing he did was soundproof his office in order to not disrupt others, but sometimes this doesn’t work as well due to how loud he can be. chance will try to greet every neighbour he encounters either with a wave or a simple nod.

― loves dogs but doesn’t feel he’s responsible enough to take care of one yet, though he will certainly volunteer to pet-sit his friends’ dogs.

background:

born in cheonan, south korea to two very affectionate parents and an older sister, yohan was the name given to the first boy of the hwa’s; a small loving family who moved to australia two years after his birth.

the reason for this is that his mom was promoted to become the director of a renowned gaming company that was opening its new headquarters in sydney. his father is a software engineer specialised in videogames development who works under the same company.

his sister is a graphic designer and she, too, is currently working with them in the multimedia and design area. she’s almost 7 years older than him and ever since they were kids, she took a protective role over yohan.

it was easy for yohan to get really invested in videogames from a young age, after all, his parents would often bring home their newest releases as well as games from other various companies (his father liked to play a lot as well and he himself was a fan of many games, mostly the nintendo classics).

fast forward to his teenage years; he was actually good at school, not the best, but definitely did good enough to not worry his parents with his grades. sports always piqued his interest. he was part of the basketball team and would use his skateboard often to get to school (which would earn him earfuls from the teachers saying how dangerous it was.) other than that, he was an active member in the gaming club (shocking, i know).

at 14 he got his first close up at what esports were like after participating in a tournament of counter strike, junior division. his team (which was made up by members from the gaming club) won and he got to watch matches from other divisions, only growing more and more fascinated about the whole thing. the idea of becoming a professional gamer didn’t seem so far fetched then.

around late 2011, the same year twitch started as what it is, yohan found the platform and immediately grew curious about it. it was fascinating to watch other people play, thus it didn’t take him long to start his own channel under the username “chance” right after he turned 15. it took him a while to find his own pace there, not quite sure of what to say or how to act. eventually, he saw that the less reserved and cautious he was, the more people watched and liked his stream, so from then on, he stopped worrying about what ifs and what people would think about him.

this is a double edged sword: as his popularity grows, he becomes more and more brutally honest and less mindful of the consequences his words and actions could have. whereas he quickly became one of the public’s favorites, he was also viewed as someone potentially problematic that could bring a bad reputation to the community, though this only seemed to be a prejudice from other gamers and public figures.

he doesn’t care, however, and chance was pretty dead set on keep doing his thing. he was also really active in tournaments, either small or big, and other teams would often reach out for him to fill in. he rarely ever turned down an opportunity and even though they didn’t always win, participating was more than enough for him to gain the favor of the audience.

when he was 18, a formal contract to be part of the chiefs esports club (a recently founded professional club with teams competing in counter-strike: global offensive and league of legends based in australia) was presented to him and of course he signed.

between his streams, which had become a tri-weekly kind of deal, and the “training” with his teammates the rest of the days, it was clear that yohan wasn’t in the slightest interested to pursue a higher education, and honestly his parents didn’t complain about it as he was already doing well on his own. nonetheless, his sister was concerned and pushed him to at least take a couple of online classes (which he did, but mostly to learn how to edit videos and understand audio aspects to improve the quality of his streams.)

around this time, nasty rumours about his parents buying his way into the club were spread which earned him the dislike of some of his teammates. it was the first time yohan ever encountered a situation like that but thanks to the management, he was able to move past that. the oceanic pro league was founded in 2015, a professional league of legends competition, and the chiefs esports club participated and won. this helped the rumours around him disperse for he proved his skills were what put him into the team. sadly, he left the club a year later.

for the next couple of years, he focused on his stream and growing his community. yohan was invited to different events, tournaments and other collaborations during this time and he was always excited for them. he even decided to create a youtube channel to upload highlights and vlogs.

then, the overwatch league was announced (chance quickly became addicted to this game and even reached top 500 in competitive) and he was contacted by the seoul team (seoul dynasty) to become part of their team for the inaugural season. like that, at 21, yohan packed his bags and moved to south korea.

between 2017 and 2019, he was part of the team as dps. he had to change his schedule yet again to stream only on the weekends and with some restrictions his contract established (like not talking about the team or the league live). some of his fans voiced their dislike for this new attitude of his, which yohan brushed with a roll of the eyes and a joke.

however, before the 2020 season started and the team was on break, chance was one day streaming and offhandedly said a comment about another player in the league which he had a match with. this caused a really big commotion online and several pro-gamers were rubbed the wrong way about his words (to this day, he still doesn’t know what was so wrong about calling out someone t-bagging him in a pro game) and his reputation was admittedly tarnished. the seoul dynasty’s management team decided that it was better to let him go.

that’s how last year, chance moved into his current apartment after looking online for a new place to live.

in the present, he streams 5 days a week a variety of games and his schedule varies, some days he goes live in the mornings and other days really late at night. he has a steady income from various sponsorships as well as the monetization of his youtube channel, which he updates twice a week.

#INFO.TXT #CHANCE.EXE #LOC.SEOUL

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 4 years

Text

Wicked Child | Feeding Habits #2

Hey People of Earth!

I’m back with another writing update for Feeding Habits (Moth Work #2) at last!

A few things since the last update: this project is 100% going to be a novel and also has a title (Feeding Habits)!

Chapter two has been sort of strange to write as I actually had written a majority of it before starting over after realizing the events I’d written needed to happen later. This is why it’s taken me a while to update on this book, but I’ve finally completed the chapter and am now here to share it with y’all!

Here’s a scene breakdown of this chapter, which is probably the longest chapter I’ve written in years (6300 words). Buckle up, this update is THICC. TW: lots of religious content in this one.

Scene A:

We go through Lonan’s lonely morning routine (lol) that’s interrupted by Anya, a neighbour he vaguely recognizes. She’s there to take him up to her apartment to paint her kitchen as her husband is away and can’t do it, a plan he was not aware of! (Eliza’s voluntold him to hopefully distract him from wanting to help his friend which is outlined in update #1).

Scene B:

Anya dips before the scene starts to grab some extra supplies to make Lonan some sourdough so Lonan is tasked with watching her young son Joey while he tapes up the baseboards. This is where the “wicked child” aspect of this chapter comes in as he compares the wickedness he feels he and others in his life possess to the full innocence of Joey.

Scene C:

Anya gets back from running errands and at first, seems to be a *chill mom* but as she and Lonan interact more, we get to see that something isn’t fully right with her. From some observation, Lonan finally figures out Anya’s husband is actually dead and she’s struggling with grief.

Scene D:

Lonan is back in his apartment, filling up his bathroom sink. We know from Moth Work that one of Lonan’s hobbies is holding his breath underwater, and he does this in this scene to think. In the middle of this ritual, Eliza gets home and speaks to him as she unwinds, reading rather cryptic notes from fortune cookies she’s brought home with takeout.

Scene E:

Unbeknownst to her, Lonan’s not staying for dinner as Anya invited him to her place as a thank you! However this news doesn't break well and the two bicker until they’re both successfully upset.

Scene F:

Instead of going to Anya’s for dinner, Lonan finds himself at a church confessional. He stumbles through reconciliation in a bit of a haze and eventually heads outside where a concerned mother and her two kids ask if something’s wrong. His thoughts from scene D overwhelm him and he eventually sort of gives himself up to the moment in a bit of a chokehold with the sun.

Though this chapter took a while, I’m happy with the threads I introduced and really got to see Lonan’s mind at this point in time--a sort of lonely state of living. There’s also a lot of religion related stuff in this chapter which is always interesting to write as someone who grew up Catholic, and I was surprised at how pertinent these themes are in this book.

Excerpts:

Here’s the opening bit:

The next morning, Eliza leaves two energy shots on the counter for him, along with a slice of sourdough she bought from the bakery across the street. Both sit on a breakfast tray, room temperature from sitting out too long, icebergs of ginger floating along the glass’s surface, butter on the bread gone pallid and spongy. Next to it, she’s left a note, as she usually does: green casserole in the fridge, running low on OJ.

Lonan retrieves the television remote from the nook between the knife block and flicks the TV to life as he drinks the first shot. Gingerroot—and this morning, a new addition, carrot stems—mush against his incisors, and he swallows just as the TV brightens to an image of some amphibian, a leafy looking treefrog. The crank of their calls bulge like each red eye, the familiar husk of narration outlining the workings of mating. Lonan scoops up the second shot with his pinky and the saucer of sourdough with his index finger and thumb, takes both to the couch where he sits.

Classic Lonan (TM) interaction:

He’s mid chewing the stale crust when he opens the door, expecting a package delivery, an unaddressed sympathy card. Instead, a woman stands in the door, her hair damp and smelling like the coconut salve Eliza rubs onto her kneecaps. He recognizes her face in a fleeting, neighbour-like way, someone he might’ve held the door open for, or let step off the elevator first.

“Breakfast?” She points to the crumb stuck to the corner of his mouth.

Lonan swallows the remainder of the sourdough quickly, combing off the crumb with a shallow smile.

“Sourdough.”

“Did you make it yourself?”

“It’s probably from the back of our medicine cabinet.”

The woman laughs at this, though he’s not fully meant for it to be a joke.

Apparently a new motif in this book is the word stunning that both serves as a descriptor for something magnificent/dazzling and the process of subduing an animal (love being heavy handed about this lmao):

She peers at their half-bloody kitchen wall. “You’re doing red?”

“Eliza’s vegetarian.” At the woman’s blank stare, he turns to look at the wall, examining each plane of his throat as hot embarrassment makes him red like the paint. “Her favourite colour. We’re trying something new. Avant garde.” All things he’s heard Eliza say.

“That’s unique. Very. So unique,” she says, adding, “It’s so kind of you to offer some help while you’re in the middle of painting your own kitchen. When Eliza told me about your offer, I danced in my living room. Is that weird? I danced because I’m going to have a green kitchen—a green one.”

Lonan nods, and steps farther back into the apartment, toward the stack of paint rollers, one of many rolls of tape. “Of course,” he says.

“It makes you feel alive,” the woman says. He forgets what she’s referring to, doesn’t know her name, only vague details like the jeweled bangles she wears on one wrist, the shiny cast of hair gel stirruped around her curls, her teeth, white, like the canines of a wolf. But she doesn’t seem to notice, a starriness in her gaze as she says, “The paint. The green. It’s stunning. Isn’t it?”

Anya’s initial dialogue is some of my favourite I’ve written. Probably because of the moon mention lol. Also Joey’s just chillin and I love him for that!!

The woman’s name is Anya, and she lives three floors up. He finds this out at the same time he finds out Eliza offered to paint her kitchen on his behalf, though what Anya says sounds more like “When Eliza told me you’d paint the wall, I could’ve—what is that saying? I could’ve jumped over the moon. I would’ve. The entire thing. All its phases.”

Anya’s got a toddler named Joey. He’s turning two next month, a little boy with a curly halo for hair, two dimples Lonan sees whenever he glances up from his tape-job of the baseboards. Joey eats apple slices dipped in almond butter and watches cartoons with both feet propped onto the couch cushion, too short to dangle down. Ever so often, he laughs, a shimmery sound, like the inside of a snow globe. Lonan half-watches him, as Anya’s asked—He’s good, don’t stress—if he cries, he wants you to turn up the TV—because she’s out of bread flour and insists on making Lonan two loaves of sourdough.

Some Joey:

“Joey’s good, isn’t he?” she asks, her fingers curving around the tape company’s logo. Lonan inhales. Anya smells like Eliza sometimes does, vaguely floral, like jasmine, or cherry blossoms. “Children are little blessings. Powerful little blessings.”

Of course, he should say. There’s no other way to describe a child—he’s a blissful little thing, his only purpose to keep his feet in his two-inch socks, to stare wistfully at a television like it’s telling his fortune in a language of pictures. Of course a child is a blessing—soft cheeks like the belly of bread dough, pinchable, kissable, thumbable, hands dipped into glittery tempera paint and fingers that make chicken scratches that will never be anything but art. Of course, he should say. He knows that, he should say. But Lonan’s vision fuzzes. He sees little of the TV colours projected on the walls like a hypnotic, technicolour exorcism; he doesn’t remember what it’s like to be that small, what it’s like to have his hands expand right in front of him, like seedlings.

Here’s the title drop ft. a rewritten Bible verse (Revelation 21:8):

He wants to believe children are always powerful little blessings that stay good. He doesn’t know why he doubts her. Joey is just this—a blessing on her couch, smiling at a screen because it’s all he needs to do. But he knows better, knows the cowardly, the faithless, the detestable exist, where they all live, and how they all start—as little blessings. He’s met murderers, liars, sorcerers in the shape of his father, sisters, mothers, all the wicked things that emerge from their second deaths unscathed. He doesn’t know what makes a child wicked. If he is one. If he’s been one. How many wicked children he knows.

Eliza hasn’t returned any of Lonan’s phone calls since he tried dialling somewhere between the first and last half of the wall. It’s obvious Anya knows he wasn’t aware of the plan, which is why every few minutes, she states new reasons for her forgetfulness with the time. “Eliza ran into me in the hallway, and I’m so bad at hallways,” she said, while rolling the dough between her knuckles. “So many turns.” Brushing her benchtop with more flour: “Time as a mother is such a commodity. It’s like, what’s the down payment for five minutes alone? But Joey’s worth it. Joey’s always worth it. He’s just magnificent. Can’t stay away from magnificence.”

More interactions I adore:

“You want some OJ?”

Lonan looks up from the paint blankly, focusing on Anya in an embarrassingly slow haze. “What?”

Anya reaches over to the fridge and tugs on its stainless-steel handle. It gives with a haunted sound, a subtle sort of groaning, and emerges with a glass bottle of orange juice.

“OJ,” she says, and shakes the bottle so the liquid froths.

“Oh,” he says. Green casserole in the fridge. Running low on OJ. “We’re low on that.”

Okay sorry but I’m so in love with Anya and Lonan’s interactions lol:

“Where are you from again?” She undoes her apron from the back with one hand. It falls, a lilac clump, onto the tile, and she leaves it there, only nudging it slightly with her toe.

Her eyes are golden too. Everything in her apartment. Even the silver parts are somehow gold. How much she could pawn off for eyes like those, like individual buttons of solid gold. Anya squints, and there the gold goes, focusing on him until she leans forward and plucks a strand of hair from his jaw. It sags with green paint, and before he blinks, she’s clipped it with a pair of kitchen shears.

“You got some paint on you.”

“Oregon,” he says. “Boston. New York.”

“What?”

“You asked where I’m from.”

Anya pockets his hair. He’s sure it’s a subconscious tick—she hasn’t even realized—but still, he wonders what she’ll do with it. If she’ll send it somewhere to get scanned, bagged, tested. How much you can find out about someone with just a nib of hair.

“That’s a lot of places,” she says. “You’re basically transcontinental.”

From her pocket, Anya’s hand twitches. He wonders what she’s doing, if she’s touching the hair, or flaking off its paint, or simply flattening out her pocket.

“Are you going to clone me?” He gestures to her pocket.

Anya doesn’t look.

“I could.”

“Why?”

“You paint walls fast. You’ve got nice hair.”

“Do you collect hair?”

“Just from the people I like.”

We get to see Anya unravel a little here as she and Lonan share a drink:

He’s always been good at watching. This is what he does as Anya pulls a miniature bottle of a deep amber liquid from her fridge along with the orange juice, mixing them together so what he pushes toward him smells like ammonia. She drinks half, an easiness as she swallows, and then slides the glass to him.

He leaves it there for a while. He watches Joey, how he claps when more animals show up on screen and gets quiet during the wrangle of commercials. He’s gold just like his mother, with a gap tooth that matches the man’s who grins in every photo hung neatly on the walls. A face he doesn’t remember, not even in the hazy slots he reserves for what he remembers working the hardware store. No evidence of him anywhere else, the shoes on the front mat only women’s heels or child-sized sneakers. One hook that holds one set of keys. Only the photographs.

“Where is your husband right now?” he asks. One wine glass in the sink. One coffee mug. One saucer.

“Businessman. Very busy.”

“I don’t remember him coming into the store.”

Anya takes another sip of the orange juice even though it’s Lonan’s turn to drink. Anya looks at Joey, a desperate fondness that answers Lonan’s question for him. She looks at him like she’s searching for the face of the man in the pictures, searching because she hasn’t seen it in years.

Anya really unravelling:

Anya’s face is bloated and red, a soreness in her eyes like she needs to blink but can’t. Lonan instinctually reaches for her hand, and it’s then that he notices it—two wedding bands on her ring finger. Her fingertips jolt him, but her palms are warm, the skin there taut, like she’s been clutching it for years.

“I thought the wall would help. Green means new life. Doesn’t it? I read that in a magazine. That it brings new life, I mean. New beginnings. New, new, new.”

Lonan getting existential ft. the first Harrison mention so far tho I’ll probably cut it because I want it to be a little more impactful and also half of this makes no sense oops:

His father is a dead man. Just like Anya’s husband is a dead man. Lonan knows so many dead men. Some that matter more than others, some names he revisits sometimes at the graveyard when Eliza thinks he’s out to run an errand as innocent as replacing a bad container of cottage cheese. He knows of men who are dead but still living, like Harrison’s father who no longer exists as a person in his dimension, but a corpse, hanging around in unnecessary things like a last name, an eye colour. Beyond men, he knows of many other dead things: dead pets, dead street names, dead countries, dead houseplants, dead first ladies.

He knows what a dead father does, what a dead heart does, that these things are meant to die—an inevitable thing; a sort of giving up of flesh, burying, toiling into new soil.

This is basically a monologue:

Lonan is in love with Eliza. He always has been. He always will be. There is nothing better than being in love with Eliza. There is nothing wrong with being in love with Eliza. There is no reason to not be in love with Eliza. Eliza is intelligent. Eliza is driven. Eliza is sensitive. Eliza tries to listen. Eliza knows how to take care of him. Eliza knows how to spell words like zolpidem, wears lipstick in the shade Very Vermillion and is delighted when it rubs onto her teeth. Eliza is lucky. Eliza is hypnotic. Eliza is a holy woman, a sacred woman, a careful woman, a wicked woman.

Lonan gulps water. Too much to keep himself controlled; he sputters, splatters the mirror. He hooks his fingers over his waterline, tugging until water falls out. He paces, chews his palms like Anya did, and steadies himself slowly from the counter to the tile. He is a wicked child. Eliza is a wicked child. Everyone he knows—all wicked children.

“Accept what comes to you each day,” Eliza says, which means she’s opened three of four of the cookies. “That’s truthful. That’s raw. That’s all you need to do.”

Some Eliza dialogue I like in reply to Lonan’s statement that he can’t do things since she bars him from driving:

“You don’t need a car to do things, Lonan.” She stirs her bowl of congee, the plastic spoon scraping against the Styrofoam. “You need hobbies. Like cross stitch. Pickling. Painting neighbours’ walls.”

Lonan and Eliza being Lonan and Eliza:

Lonan secures his fingers around the tin of madeleines and shifts once more, only for her to mimic his movement. They dance like this for a moment—his shuffle left matched by her shuffle left, his step up matched by her own. More of her mascara has smudged from where she unclumped her lashes, a lazy slash of colour like a samurai belt. Even their stares match each other—as he bores through her with a nimble focus like it’ll move her somehow, she does the same.

Here’s a line I like:

As she reddens, he adds this to his list of synonyms for baptism: to tame.

Here’s an excerpt featuring self indulgence and proof I miss Harrison:

The confessional smells rank, like rotting paper and expired cologne, all of its corners seedy with overuse. Scratches mar the fabric he rests his elbows on, like someone clawed into it while reliving their sins, track marks on the floor from a rainy day. He can’t imagine anyone else but him in this small box, caged in by the lattice, mumbling incoherent sins to the priest he hasn’t even committed. Stealing a set of glass eyeballs from a garage sale. Forgetting his wedding anniversary. Missing Easter Sunday mass to go whale watching. He doesn’t sign himself at the right times or speak at the right times or thank the priest at the right times. He lies when he’s asked if he’s lied since his last confession. He mentions nothing of drinking with Anya, of not saving the sheep or the bunnies even though he knew the outcome of their lives without finishing the program. Of being a wicked child, of knowing wicked children, of not knowing the difference between wickedness and innocence, and which one he learned first. He says his name is Luka. He works at a law firm. He’s married to a Harriet, a seamstress or a stock broker or an antiques trader—he doesn’t know. He likes golfing, parcheesi, drinking martinis on yachts. He’s never overindulged, he’s loyal to his woman, he wants three kids and a house with finished floors and no neighbours. He’s a good father, a gentle father, a careful father, no wickedness, just an empty shell of goodness, like a father should be. His father is retired, and visits him on weekends—they play checkers, paint birdhouses, keep a distance but toast with spirits he can’t pronounce. Everything is good—it’s all good, all good. That’s not a sin, the priest should say but they laugh—it’s good to be good. Children are good, marriage is good, fathers are good, everything an iteration of good. By the time his confession is over and he’s well on his way out of the church mumbling I am heartily sorry, he believes his lies are true—he’s absolved into someone new, Luka married to Harriet, three kids, an empty shell, dreamily stumbling through a house with finished floors that’s actually just the sidewalk until a woman passing by with a two small children has to help him sit on the curb.

This image gives me Forever & Ever More by Nothing But Thieves vibes (music video was def inspo):

She asks if he needs something to drink, if he needs someone to call, and emerges with a half-empty bottle of sparkling water and a cell phone. She asks what’s wrong with his eye, and he doesn’t know what’s wrong with anything—with eyes, with children, with sins, with confessions, with baptisms, with orange juice, with madeleines, with wickedness, with practicing how long he can breathe underwater because he knows it’s possible just like walking on it.

One of the children, hair pulled into two plaits secured with pearlescent butterfly bobbles, pokes at her mother and asks if he’s crazy. Her mother shushes her at the same time her older sister shows him a cool trick she learned with a toy convertible. Its wheels whir. Lonan gasps. The girl says, “Even crazy people think I’m gifted,” and wheels the car again. People stop to watch. Church bells gong an elegy he’s sure he’s heard before. The woman’s sparkling water dribbles from his mouth and dampens his dress shirt. Sun eclipses his face and eats at his throat like a parasite, like it knows all the unclean things about him, a watcher, an eyeball, a scorching little thing that bullets through his neck like the tooth of a wolf. The woman shushes her children and asks if he’s got a health problem, a drug problem, any problem, and he could say yes to all three but instead keeps repeating I am heartily sorry, I am heartily sorry. And when she does call someone, no one he knows, he leans against the cool pavement, cranes his neck to the sky, and parts his lips so the sunlight fills his mouth.

So that’s it for this update! I haven’t really been drafting lately, but I hope I can get more of this written because I love sharing!

--Rachel

#writing #amwriting #writeblr #writerblr #writingupdates #mothwork #feedinghabits #fostered

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