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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 28 - ao3 -

The answer, it turned out, was paint.

It wasn’t an answer that Lan Qiren would have anticipated in any way, shape, or form. He had been under the impression, as had Lao Nie, that Wen Ruohan had stopped painting long ago. After some teasing by Lao Nie, the man had even off-handedly confirmed it at a private dinner they’d shared at a discussion conference – there had been more than usual planned in this past year, accounting for the fact that all of the Great Sect sect leaders (except Wen Ruohan) were unusually young, and therefore active. And although no one acknowledged it as a reason, everyone knew that it was also meant to help calm the concerns of the smaller sects regarding the chaos in their Great Sect leaders’ personal lives, between Jiang Fengmian losing his servant to his beloved or possibly the other way around, Lao Nie’s extremely bizarre marriage situation, and Lan Qiren stepping up unexpectedly to the position of sect leader on account of his brother’s retreat from the world.

According to Wen Ruohan, it hadn’t been anything in particular that had made him stop painting, only a lack of time and then of interest; there had been a severe crisis some time ago, long before either of them were born, and he had been obligated to devote himself exclusively to those affairs for an extended period of time. When he had finally resurfaced, years later, he had returned and found an old painting sitting there half-finished, and staring at it, realized that he was no longer the same man who had begun it.

He had never painted again.

Lan Qiren was unsure if this was a real story or not – Wen Ruohan, he had learned, seemed to consider the truth about his past to be little more than a gentleman’s agreement between friends – as it seemed to be an especially pointed reminder aimed at Lan Qiren’s situation in particular.

Lao Nie had certainly taken it as such, throwing in his own concerns about Lan Qiren’s work schedule, and when even Cangse Sanren had joined the growing mob of all the rest of his friends, Lan Qiren had finally, if reluctantly, agreed to defer to their concern. He’d finally taken a step back and reorganized his duties as sect leader, standing his ground against the elders and insisting on having more time to devote to his own interests, including those outside of his work as a teacher – music, study, quiet contemplation, even maintaining his training with the sword, despite the fact that he would never match his brother as a sword cultivator.

It had, in fact, made him a better sect leader, less prone to working until he burned out, and he was grateful to his friends for their wisdom and steadfastness in the face of his stubborn grief.

At any rate, though, Wen Ruohan was no longer the painter he had been in his youth, and the hints of burning that marked all such paintings that Lan Qiren had seen suggested that the transition had been an unpleasant one for him. It was a surprise, therefore, to receive, as a gift from the Nightless City, a painting in that immediately recognizable hand which was so freshly made that Lan Qiren imagined he could still smell the grinding ink.

The painting depicted a dragon amidst a misty bamboo forest, its massive coils interwoven throughout the bamboo until it appeared almost part of the earth from which they sprung, or alternatively that speared through from above by a rain of spears; in its claw it held a beauteous dragon pearl, shining bright against the dark haze that surrounded the rest of the painting, and its eyes were fixed upon it as if it had forgotten all else.

The pearl, Lan Qiren presumed, was himself, given Wen Ruohan’s fondness for comparing him to one, which Lan Qiren still did not entirely understand – while he knew it was a sign of Wen Ruohan’s appreciation for him, and an indication that he treasured him, he thought that the particular choice in the type of precious stone was likely to be due to the fact Lan Qiren largely preferred white and grey and silver for his clothing.

(Privately, he had determined that one day, out of sheer spite, he would wear an outfit primarily composed of blue for no other reason than to give the other man a shock; he just hadn’t found a reason yet to justify the expense of having such clothing made when he would only use it the once.)

Similarly, the dragon was the symbol of imperial might, of overweening power and influence and even arrogance; naturally that would be Wen Ruohan himself. But as for the rest of it – the lonely but beautiful bamboo forest, often associated with moral integrity and loyalty, yet juxtaposed in this painting as piercing spears, penetrating the dragon’s hide as if attacking him – the dark mist that seemed to envelop the dragon, held at abeyance only through the light of its pearl –

Lan Qiren did not understand.

There were too many meanings possible, and he did not know how to differentiate between those that were there and those he only wanted to read into it. There was nothing for it, but that he would need to ask the artist himself what was meant.

When, as expected, an invitation came a few days later, requesting that Lan Qiren visit the Nightless City in his capacity as Wen Ruohan’s sworn brother, Lan Qiren accepted.

There were all the necessary pleasantries when he arrived, of course. No longer could he just slip in through the back door, a younger brother come to leech off some resources from an elder; he was the Lan sect leader, and that came with certain obligations even on a casual visit. There were a few formal procedures, and then dinner with Wen Ruohan and his wives, with whom his dynamics had completely reversed – Madame Wen had thawed towards Lan Qiren on account of his new position as sect leader, which guaranteed that he would never be able to move to the Nightless City and thereby obstruct her personal power, while the new concubine, former maid, seemed to think that his involvement in her ascension to the position she now held was a matter of embarrassment, resulting in her wanting to snub him whenever possible.

Wen Ruohan largely ignored their antics, his eyes fixed on Lan Qiren throughout their meal, and afterwards, he had finally dismissed them all and taken Lan Qiren back to the small study he preferred to use for their time together.

“The painting you sent was lovely,” Lan Qiren said, playing a little with the cup of tea that was warm and aromatic in his hands. “You have lost none of your skill.”

“I rebuilt it,” Wen Ruohan corrected, looking amused. “You ought to have seen the first few efforts; I think I wasted enough paper to feed a small family for a year.”

Lan Qiren smiled at the thought. He could scarcely imagine Wen Ruohan struggling the way he described, making an effort and finding his ability wanting; still less could he have once imagined Wen Ruohan having admitted to that fact in front of another.

It was a little like what Lao Nie had said, that between the two of them they were excavating the residual humanity left in Wen Ruohan, slowly and methodically moving aside stone and dirt in order to find the treasures lurking beneath.

“I like it even more, then,” he said, and decided to be a little bit bold. “I like knowing that you thought of me for as long as it took you to make it.”

Wen Ruohan’s eyes curved in delight. “You need not be concerned on that score,” he said, his voice still calm and unhurried as always. “You are not so easily expelled from my thoughts, now that you have entered them…ah, little Lan, little Lan, you make me impatient! I had made plans on how to broach the subject with you, and yet now that you are here, I find myself rushing forward, intent to get to the point like some savage Nie.”

A savage Nie of whom he was exceedingly fond, he did not say, and Lan Qiren managed not to roll his eyes at him.

Instead, Lan Qiren put down his cup and folded his hands in his lap. “Don’t hesitate on my behalf,” he said, then added, a little dryly, “I’ve had enough indirect statements to last a lifetime.”

“Welcome to politics,” Wen Ruohan responded, just as dry, but his smile faded and his expression grew more intense; he stood and came closer to Lan Qiren, looking down at him for a long moment before taking a seat beside him. “Qiren, why are you here?”

Lan Qiren blinked, a little confused by the question, but before he could put together an answer, Wen Ruohan continued. “You are sincere and true to yourself; you follow your sect’s rules because you believe in them whole-heartedly and wish to live up to their strictures. Yet do they not say Do not associate with evil?”

“I don’t think you’re evil,” Lan Qiren said. “I think we disagree on what actions constitute evil, on what divides good from evil, and that you are more comfortable walking closely along that line than I. I think that there will be many times in the future where we disagree once again on what is or is not the straight path, and what is the crooked, but – fundamentally, I don’t think you’re evil.”

He considered the question for another moment longer, then added: “And if you were, what is there to do about it? You’re still my sworn brother, bound by oath and blood, and that makes you my responsibility whether I like it or not. Even if you were evil, the only thing that would be left for me to do would be to try my best to lead you out of the dark and back to the light.”

Wen Ruohan was watching him again. His red eyes were narrowed a little, his gaze as intense as it had been when Lan Qiren had been little more than a child, although experience had made it a little less overwhelming.

“You know that I see you as a pearl in the palm of my hand,” Wen Ruohan finally said. His voice was low and intimate, and Lan Qiren shivered to hear it. “A treasure I never expected to find, a gem of such surpassing purity that I fear it will burn me to dare profane it with my touch. Time is eternal; the pearl flows, the jade turns, and yet I remain, walking my crooked path and you your straight broad bridge, shining with righteousness. I see you and yearn for you both day and night, and even in my dreams…”

He reached out and put his hand on Lan Qiren’s. “I would have you be mine, if you would have the same.”

No hollowed-out puppets soon to be discarded here, Lan Qiren thought nonsensically, and swallowed.

“I am yours,” he said carefully, pronouncing each syllable at a time. He had to get this right, he thought, and he would only ever have this one singular chance to do so, or else he’d lose something as bright and shining as the pearl Wen Ruohan was always comparing him to. “I am your sworn brother, as you are mine; I will always be yours.”

“I know,” Wen Ruohan said, and it seemed for once that Lan Qiren had expressed himself clearly rather than muddling it up: he hadn’t misunderstood him into thinking that what Lan Qiren had said was a rejection. “If I were not one of those evil men that your rules warn you against, I would find it in myself to be content with that. But I am, and I am not.”

Lan Qiren wet his lips with his tongue. “You know what I told you,” he reminded him. “About how I – I could compromise myself if I had to, if it made you happy, but I don’t want to have to. That is not who I am, what I am. I don’t want to have to bend and yield. I don’t want to break under the weight of love the way my brother did.”

Wen Ruohan was watching him, patient and waiting.

“I’m not comfortable with that type of intimacy, the type shared between lovers since the start of time,” Lan Qiren finally said. “I don’t want it intrinsically, and I don’t think I want it logically, either. More than that, I don’t think, having never wanted it before and not wanting it now, that I will ever want it. My brother once compared me to a block of ice or a mountain lake frozen over in winter, frigid, and there was something true to what he said. There is no heat that will make me melt as others do…and yet.”

“And yet?”

“And yet you are not the only one who wishes to possess.” He met Wen Ruohan’s eyes. “I, too, would have you be mine.”

His stupid Lan sect heart, burning a hole in his chest; it should have been enough to make him forget his own wishes and be willing to give in, to want to give everything to his beloved no matter the cost to himself, but it wasn’t – he wasn’t. And yet, at the same time, he judged his own affections to be no less than his brother’s for all that they were quieter and less flamboyant, understated rather than loudly proclaimed

Wen Ruohan leaned forward, bringing their faces closer together. “Then why don’t you claim me?”

“Because I cannot offer you what I should,” Lan Qiren said truthfully. “What you would expect –”

“And when,” Wen Ruohan cut him off, “have I ever cared for the expectations set out by the rest of the world? Would I have done half the things I did if I cared for the world’s conventions and determined my aims through their lens?”

Lan Qiren had to admit that he had a point.

“I know what you are,” Wen Ruohan said. “To taint you would be to ruin my own pleasure, to force you would be to deny myself – and I never deny myself. I am greedy, little Lan; I am not content with what the world would have me want, not when I can have what I really want.”

“And what is it that you want?”

“Lao Nie told me that he told you about his wife,” Wen Ruohan said. “How he stayed and she went, and they were still happy…I want that, with you.”

Lan Qiren frowned, not understanding.

“I want you,” Wen Ruohan told him, and his long-fingered hand traced over Lan Qiren’s cheekbone. “I want to have you, to own you, to keep you. I want to possess you down to the marrow of your bones; I want every inch of you in every way that I can have you. I want you to be mine – and I don’t need to fuck you to have it.”

Lan Qiren stared at him.

Wen Ruohan smile was like his smirk, triumphant and arrogant, certain of his impending victory. “If I want sex, I have my wives or Lao Nie for that, don’t I? To my wives I have only promised power, which I have given them. As for Lao Nie, I know now that he cannot promise me his heart: he is too facile, too free, too easy with others – he is compelled to share not only his body, which I wouldn’t mind, but also his heart, and I find that I am as unwilling to share in matters of the heart as you are to share your body.”

He shifted closer yet again, until their eyes were level with each other and their breath intermingled in the air between them.

“You will not be like him,” he said, voice dark and certain. “You’re barely willing to divide your attention to things you consider less important than your particular interests. Your heart is your clan’s curse and its treasure, taking you to the heavens and casting you down to the hells – if you give me your heart, full and entire, it will be as if you have removed it from your chest and put it in my hand. No one else will have any part of it, not like this, not in this way. It will only be me.”

“That is true,” Lan Qiren said. “I love no less deeply than my brother. My heart is a placid lake with a surface as clear as glass – you can see everything therein. Within it, there are only my interests, my nephew, my few friends, and you.”

Wen Ruohan’s smile widened.

“What exactly are you thinking?” Lan Qiren asked. His heart was beating in his chest so fast that it hurt. “If you want the assurance, you have it already: I am yours, and you are mine, and it would shatter me to let you go now. Is that what you want?”

“It is.” Wen Ruohan laughed, and it was full of pleasure. “Ah, little Lan! It is, it is.”

“What does it change?” Lan Qiren asked. “How is it different from what we have already?”

“It changes everything,” Wen Ruohan said simply, and Lan Qiren thought about and felt that he was right. “Knowing that you are mine makes it easier to release you into the world, to watch you shine and others see it; let them all look and know that it will never be theirs. All good things in the world are mine, and you are the best among them.”

“Pretty words,” Lan Qiren said, aiming for dry but probably just coming off as short of breath. “I’m a little more interested in the practical.”

“I would have you share my pillow while you are here,” Wen Ruohan said. “I do not need you to share your body with me, but I would have your company as a husband has his wife’s…and there are things that can be done without involving your body, depending on your tolerance.”

“Oh? Like what?”

Wen Ruohan grinned. “As it happens, that’s a matter I’ve given some considerable thought to…”

Lan Qiren rolled his eyes, and felt the heat in his ears fade a little; he appreciated the small reprieve from the emotional intensity, the humor breaking the tenseness of the moment.

“You know I find you beautiful,” Wen Ruohan said, and this time his hand came to rest on Lan Qiren’s cheek, his thumb brushing over his lips, and as quickly as that the reprieve was gone. “Perhaps you would permit me to find my own pleasure beside you, gazing upon you, or even invite another to share the bed while you busy yourself with your work – you are never as beautiful as when you are focused, your soul and mind wholly absorbed in your passion for the subject. Perhaps I would invite you to read a spring book for me, spilling out dirty words in that cool tone of yours that you use regardless of the circumstance, so that I might torment myself with hearing you at any time and think of that…I have a thousand and one ideas, little Lan, and I would try them all to see which ones you like and which ones you don’t, to yield to your preference and glory in so yielding.”

None of that sounded like something Lan Qiren would dislike, he thought to himself; it really was only his own personal involvement in the act that he truly objected to. And if Wen Ruohan had Lan Qiren’s heart and Lao Nie’s body, and both their friendship besides, perhaps even he in his ceaseless ambition could find a way to be satisfied with what he had for a time.

“I would like that,” he said honestly.

“Then having gained a cun, I will take a chi,” Wen Ruohan said. “I would like to kiss you.”

Lan Qiren swallowed.

“…all right,” he said. “You may.”

And he did.

#mdzs #lan qiren #wen ruohan #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls

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starfirette · 4 years

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fantasy | diana prince x reader

»a/n: 😈

»masterlist

» Diana Prince x Reader | sensitive Diana | fem x fem smut | lowkey angst | wordcount: 4,563

Your little London townhouse has a perfect view of the steelyards and its workers who slave away under a sunless sky. It’s your tradition to fall asleep to the sound of them packing up, then to wake up to the sounds of them beginning work again.

To say time passes slowly for you would be a grand understatement.

You tried many times to find happiness in the city, looking high and low in the most unseemly of places. No thing or person could make you happy these days. You sit at a desk most of your life, taking notes for a bitter old man who can’t ever say ‘please’ or ‘thank you’. Secretary positions are all the rage these days since it’s the only real way women can make money without signing away their soul and what little freedom that have to an angry, rich man. To be a wife is to be silent and gentle, even if you’re hot tempered by nature. If you were to marry, you would surely have to give up the outlandish dreams you have. You crave independence, freedom, true love; what woman doesn’t yearn for these things? Some women have the unsuspecting loophole to win a man’s affections and hope he will let them at least pretend they have rights.

This option is not one you can choose so easily. You have never had eyes for a man. When you are alone, lounging on your bed or soaking in the tub, you envision yourself in the arms of a woman.

That’s your deepest, darkest ‘secret.’ You badly want to live in a world where your desires of romance don’t count as a real personality trait or as a sin.

You’ve never uttered this secret to anyone, ever. How could you? What friends do you have that are loyal enough to keep that to themselves?

Conversion therapy frightens you a good deal more than a heterosexual marriage. And that’s saying something.

There are plenty of times where you feel completely alone, stranded in silence, and forced to live in your cramped, London townhouse, where the wind whistles through the cracks of the walls and the floorboards creak anxiously. Even in your own home you feel trapped.

The only escape are your books, which you come upon rarely enough as it is. Your books aren’t the type of books women read. Your books are textbooks. Some you’ve purchased under fake names or titles, as if you were shopping for your husband or father. Some you’ve stolen. But all are cherished by you.

The largest wall of your home is lined with weak shelving where you could display your texts happily. Almost proudly.

Ah, to have independence—to be free to study at a university, to do such good with talents reserved solely for a man. And how could they be? What makes you different from a man? You love women, like they do! You breathe, like they do!

It’s the curls of your hair that keeps you from achieving your dreams. The breasts and the curve of your hips which you are coerced into keeping hidden, even on the hottest summer day.

In your ideal world you’d live with a wife, with a few cats and dogs, and you’d be a real doctor of history. A professional, dedicated to her work of uncovering the truths of the world.

In your ideal world...

It doesn’t do good to live in a fantasy land. As cruel as your reality can be, it is the only reality you have. It is in this reality that you must crawl out of bed at five in the morning and be at the office no later than twenty after six, with a plate of pastries and a mug of tea ready for Mr. Landings.

A dreary winter day you leave your London townhouse dressed in a new, fine suit of buttercream cashmere. It had taken the majority of your yearly savings to purchase, but you figured if you cannot be granted the right to bury your head in a woman’s thighs, you can at least dress the way you’d like to.

It’s always best to wake up extra early to be at the front of the bakery line. The freshest breakfast treats sell out first thing of the bakery’s opening, and considering you buy for Mr. Landings, Mr. Trevor, Mr. Carber, and the two respective secretaries, you have no choice but to be at the front of that damned line. This morning the cost of your number three spot was your rouge and lipstick. You feel absolutely plain, but your fine suit cancels out most of the insecurity.

You managed to get a good number of items. On your way out you found most of the line to be other secretaries, dressed in their own cashmere suits and nervously tapping their heels. No doubt they were praying the bakery didn’t sell out of breakfast goodies. You tip your hat down to avoid meeting their eyes. You’ve had your share of failed food runs, and it’s never fun.

You run across the street, only able to take sparing steps as your heels wrestle against loose gravel. You arrive to the office at the perfect time, with your fellow secretaries Etta Candy and Julia Deneiros still in the process of unlocking the doors.

“Sorry I’m late,” you murmured to your work friends.

“You have nothing to apologize for when you have the breakfast, my dear,” Julia assured you.

As Etta got the doors open, Julia ushered you in first. You hurried to set the treasure down on the main desk of the office. Once that was out of the way, you started tea in the side room, then proceeded to settle at your ‘desk.’ It was a small slate of red stained wood, though the legs sometimes wobbled and creaked. Your telephone on the left, accompanied by the contacts you kept for Mr. Landings, hardly rang as Etta usually took care of every business call.

Emptying your pockets took hardly a minute. You set your coin purse and silver pocket watch on the wood before shuffling through the loose pages that cluttered your workspace.

The tea kettle lets out a whistle. Julia tended to it herself, and you softly muttered a ‘Thank you’ but she’d already been gone.

Around a nibble of croissant, Etta wondered aloud whether Mr. Trevor would be coming in today.

You shrug without looking away. "Perhaps he's gotten himself a lucky lady,” you suggested. Julia poured you a steaming cup of tea.

You half expected Etta to scold you, but she instead made a small sound of agreement. “I suppose he could have found himself an exotic bride!” Etta laughed.

Julia giggled like a school girl, choking on her words: “We mustn’t gossip!”

Even though she said as such, she couldn’t help but to entertain the topic. The two ladies remarked that Mr. Trevor would settle with one woman the day the sky turned green.

And for a moment, you agreed with them, humming softly into your tea before you took a cautious sip.

For a brief moment the world was just right—and then Mr. Trevor quite literally waltzed inside with a beautiful woman.

Now, beautiful couldn’t properly describe this woman. What you notice first was her lips, round and quirked as though she was seeing an office like this for the first time in her life. Her eyes sparkled with a million untold stories.

Also, she appeared to be wearing the strangest of costumes. A coat of black fur strapped close to her waist, but every step she took revealed flashes of bare legs. You could have fainted.

Etta only saw the face of her boss, and she cheered. “You’re not dead!” She exclaimed. She doted over the wrinkles of Steve Trevor’s suit before hitting him over the chest with friendly familiarity. “I did think you were dead, you know.”

You frowned. “No, you didn’t,” you mumbled halfheartedly. You made to your feet, shuffling over to greet Mr. Trevor. “Hello,” you said, nodding your head.

The young woman met your eyes and she smiled, showcasing her perfect, pearly teeth.

“I’m Y/n L/n,” you say, forcing yourself not to stutter. Etta introduced herself next, holding a hand out to the woman for a handshake. While that would have been proper, you find it’s rather scary to shake hands with attractive people.

“We ladies are Mr. Trevor and Mr. Landings’s secretary.”

She cocked a thick brow. “What is a secretary?” She has a thick accent, one you can’t quite recognize, but it’s rather musical.

“Oh, well, we do everything. Go where tells me to go, do what he tells me to do.”

The woman looked flabbergasted. “Where I’m from that’s called slavery!”

You laughed before you could stop yourself. Both you and Etta became large fans of the woman, who introduced herself as Diana. No last name, but she seemed so confident with the partial title that you couldn’t bring yourself to ask.

“Would you like a cup of tea? Shall I take your coat?” You offered. Can we run away and get married and adopt lots of babies?

“Oh, thank you,” Diana beamed. She went to shrug off her fur, and you quickly stopped her when you saw what she had been wearing under it. Etta lurched to tie the coat up tight, making Diana grunt as the air was pushed from her lungs.

You laugh nervously, eyeing Mr. Trevor, who looked annoyed rather than surprised.

“Fantastic,” Mr. Trevor snubbed. “Ladies, would we care for a trip to, uhm, get Diana new...well, new…”

“Clothes?” You suggested when Mr. Trevor became clearly uncomfortable.

“Yes, that, thank you.”

“Mr. Trevor I would be more than willing to, but I do have to wait for Mr. Landings—”

“Nonsense, Miss L/n, Julia can manage on her own. Let’s just be on our way.” You gathered your few things, shoving your coin purse and silver watch deep into your pocket. “Sorry, Julia, dear,” you say. She shakes her head. “It isn’t a bother. Try to enjoy your day out of the office.”

You smiled and waved her goodbye before joining Mr. Trevor and the ladies.

Mr. Trevor inquired where you and Etta frequent for clothes. You suggested Paya’s Apparel, but Etta suggested Madame Penny’s Dresser. You tried not to take notice when Mr. Trevor sized your outfit up to Etta’s. He dubbed Etta’s suit no doubt fancier and declared Madame Penny’s.

Diana didn’t move her feet to follow. “What is the difference?” She asked. She asked you. You were caught at a pause. “I would think Mr. Trevor finds Madame Penny’s

more suitable for a...for you.” You awkwardly shoved your hands into the pockets of your skirt. You’d splurged on this suit. Or so you thought.

“Steve! Steve, wait, let's go to Pa-Papaya’s?” Diana asked you.

“Just Paya’s,” you giggle.

“Steve,” Diana continued, “I think Paya’s will do just fine.”

Mr. Trevor sighed heavily, as if he had been expecting something like that to happen. “Fine. Lead the way.”

Diana held a hand out. You looked at it fearfully. “We are walking together, so should we hold hands?” She asked. She went to wrap her hand in yours. Steve scrambled for Diana’s arm, pushing it down to her side. “No, no, no, don’t hold hands. When I said people hold hands when they’re together, I meant together as in married.”

Diana’s mouth rounded out as she said, “Oh!” She sent you an apologetic smile, to which you promptly looked away from. Looking her in the eye made you nauseous, more than you’ve ever felt before.

Away you were whisked to Paya’s. It’s a good center, with plenty of fashionable dresses. Admittedly it isn’t nearly as expensive as Mr. Trevor probably would have preferred. But it’s fashionable, affordable, even for you. It’s a large shop with dim lights behind brassy lamps and lanterns.

Diana looked around, her eyebrows raised practically to hairline. She approached a mannequin clad with a silky pink corset. She touched the material and frowned. “Is this what passes for armor in your country?” She asked.

You couldn’t quite imagine what she meant by armor.

“No, no,” Etta explained, “that’s what keeps our tummies in.”

Diana sent a sharp glance to Etta. “Why must you keep them in?” She demanded.

Etta repressed a few other comments. She settled with, “Only a woman with no tummy would ask such a question.”

“Why don’t we look around?” You suggest as Diana’s eyes wander for more things to poke at. You figure she’s never visited a London shop before. Where could she be from that has such different traditions?

“How about this one?” Etta suggested as she found a brown suit with a thick fur wrap. “Stylish, professional, but still good to wear for a night on the town!” Etta seemed thrilled with her sales pitch. You weren’t impressed. If Diana was to wear something, she should wear something more flattering. Of course Diana could wear a sheet of dirty canvas and still look stunning.

Diana tucked her hand into yours, catching your attention immediately. You looked to her, finding that her eyes were already fixated on you. “What do you think of this one?” She asked. She didn’t seem sure of her own choice. Your legs felt numb as Diana’s fingers tickled the top of your hand.

You quickly pulled away from her. “I think something like this would be better,” you suggested, turning to the first suit you could find. It was black, with a long skirt and a frilly kind of blouse.

Diana still seemed uncertain. Mr. Trevor begged her to at least give it a shot. Diana sighed. “I suppose I can,” she declared. She began to remove her coat. You got a longer glimpse at what was underneath it.

Etta darted like lightning to stop her. Once again Diana was gasping with confusion as Etta tied her coat shut tightly. “Come with me, dear,” Etta said, blotting the sweat off her forehead with her handkerchief. “We’ll find you a dressing room.”

Diana was ushered off with Etta, leaving you to recollect your thoughts. You stopped Mr. Trevor from following.

“Might I have a word, sir?” You softly asked.

“Of course.” He continued to look quite ill.

“It’s just that I did see what she was wearing, sir,” you began. You’d seen such similar armor in your stolen books. “Is she…?”

Mr. Trevor suddenly gripped you by the shoulders. He looked absolutely relieved. “So you know about them?! And the magic island? I don’t think I can handle it on my own, Y/n.”

You blinked a few times. “Did you say magic island?” You finally asked. “No, I meant is she Greek?”

Mr. Trevor recoiled, falling into a fit of coughs. “Absolutely, yes,” he said. “I’ll be...I need some water.”

You wonder what in the hell happened to Mr. Trevor for him to lose his usual composure. He’s been known to always have a witty remark for something, but today he’s entirely off his usual tempo.

You searched for Etta. She is speaking with the oncall saleswoman, who was in the process of explaining the most boring details of Diana’s selected suit. “Etta, Mr. Trevor bid me go ask you if you could pick out a few more outfits for Miss Diana to try.”

“Of course!” Etta said. “Stay and wait with her, please?”

“Done,” you promise.

Etta and the saleswoman took off to find more dresses and blazers for Diana. You looked around before darting back to the dressing rooms. “Diana?” You called.

A door opened promptly. “Hello.”

“H-hi,” you stuttered out.

Facing her was incredibly difficult. Her eyes literally seemed to sparkle with pure joy. Among that, her hair falls over her shoulders in loose, brown curls. Her coat is off, strewn behind her over a chaise. You can see her arrangement of weapons on the floor. Her armor, red and gold, has yet to be removed.

“I wanted to-to speak with you. About you.”

Diana moved aside for you to come in. You felt a bit uncomfortable. It’s not really wrong for you to be here. Any other woman wouldn’t mind helping Diana dress, and afterall, richer women have handmaids specifically for dressing them and even to bathe them. Diana may be a stranger but she’s warm and kind; she’s different.

She didn’t seem to bashful about her variety of weaponry. You’re mostly in awe.

“I’ve never known any female warrior before,” you muttered as you gave the sword a final glance. The hilt had strong patterns carved over it, and the blade looked razor sharp. A stab with that sword would feel completely painless at first, while the blade sliced through you like a ribbon.

“I am an Amazon,” Diana explained.

“Pardon me?” You asked.

“Warriors put upon the world by the gods. We are...well, a bridge to a better world. The guardians of mankind and all that is good.”

Oh, well okay. You weren’t exactly sure how to respond to that, considering it’s a bit crazy.

“You don’t believe me,” Diana says. “I cannot say I don’t understand. We have lived in secret for most of history.” She shrugged in her plates of metal. “I feared the world was under a bigger threat than it ever has been. That is why I left my people to join Steve Trevor.”

You nod. “Alright, I guess. While I’m hesitant to believe all of your story, I trust Mr. Trevor’s judgement.”

Diana smiled at that. “That is all I need.”

She gestured to the loose garments of purple you’d chosen for her before. “I hate to trouble you more than I already have. But I cannot understand how this is supposed to work.” She referred to the corset which ties up underneath every layer. “Oh, well generally someone can do it for you, but there are some that tie up in the front. Should I choose one of those for you?”

“No, that’s alright. I have you to help me.” Diana started to remove the plates of armor, starting with her thigh pieces. She organized her things very sternly, as if she were keeping a strict inventory log in her mind. For all you know she is.

She wrapped her arms over her chest to keep some modesty, but even so, even as you chant to yourself not to look, you felt your mouth become bone dry. You grabbed the corset and waved for Diana to turn around. She molds the front of the corset to her chest, using one arm to keep it in place while she used her left hand to move her hair. Your fingers dragged over her skin. She is so golden, so soft. The smell of soap and seafoam lingers.

You could easily dip your head down and kiss her neck.

You force the thoughts from your head. Trembling, you lace up the corset, hardly able to maximize your strength as you pull as tight as you can. Your limbs feel like phantoms. They move on their own while you bite back tears.

When you finished, you blotted your tears away with the inside of your wrist. “I’ll be leaving, now,” you tell her. “Good luck.”

Fleeing the room while Diana calls after you was the only way to save yourself. The need for Diana built up strong in your belly, as did the cloud of heartache in your chest. Your breath became restricted by the pain. You brushed past Etta on the way out of the store, briefly explaining you needed to leave and to send your apologies to Mr. Trevor.

What worries you most isn’t Mr. Trevor and Diana’s alarmingly fictional stories, or even Diana’s weaponry she keeps strapped to her body; it was the fact you had let Diana get to you. She messed with your brain without even knowing it, and now you couldn’t help but think how horrible your life is.

You briskly walked home. You fumble with your keys at the door, scraping the sides of the lock with the blade. Throwing yourself inside is the only thing that relieves you. This little house by the steel mills is your palace of your true nature. While you shiver at night and hear things creak, you can at least be yourself.

Typically you would calm yourself with a nap or a bath, but your nerves are far too shot.

You journeyed straight to your bedroom and kicked off your heels. Settling over the squeaky mattress with your lip caught in your teeth, you struggle to steady your hands enough so you can unbutton the top of your coat.

You lay back and slide your hand down your belly, poking through the band of your skirt. And you imagine…

You imagine yourself in that dressing room, your hands sliding down Diana’s smooth back.

You pressed the smallest of kisses atop her bare shoulder. The little hairs on her neck rise, her breath caught. She turns on her heels to face you, practically forehead to forehead.

She drops the corset to the floor, kicking it away without a care in then world. Her hand finds yours, and she holds it one more time, tickling your skin with the lad of her thumb. With a gentle smile, Diana raises your hand to hold one soft breast.

You palm and squeeze at her, feeling completely in awe of her beauty. Diana dragged you down to kneel with her on the floor. In the fantasy you lay not in a dressing room, but on a soft quilt. Where you are doesn’t matter; it’s Diana. Diana pushes you to your back, undoing the clips in your hair and massaging your scalp of the pain your tight bun left behind. She drags her fingers through your hair, then down your chest. She bows her head down, mouth catching your hard left nipple. Your right breast is tended to with her hand, while your left earns the attention of hee teeth, tongue, and lips. She leaves tender bruises over your chest, purring her affections and compliments into you.

Soon she trails her mouth down. Her long, dark hair drags over your stomach. Diana places herself just between your thighs, resting her weight onto one of her elbows.

With two fingers she spreads you apart to see your dripping cunt clenching with suspense. Diana presses a kiss to your hipbones. With a finger dipping inside of you, she catches arousal and swirls it around your hole, preparing to widen you out. Two of her fingers creep inside of you, curling up and pressing the top of your cunt’s walls, making you lurch your hips up against her face.

With a muscled arm she pushes your hips down, a hand digging into you to keep you in place as her lips pucker over your aching clit.

The bead pulsed with excitement as Diana pressed a gentle kiss against it. Her tongue poked out to swirl a small circle over your clitoris. You whined, wiggling your hips desperately to feel more of Diana.

Her fingers pumped in and out, scissoring apart and always tickling that magic spot deep inside of you.

Her tongue swirled faster and wider, occasionally taking breaks to ease the muscle, but her attention on you never failed.

Her cherry red lips sucked on your clit. She sang a sweet song into your cunt, the vibrations making your thighs tremble.

She made you cum hard over her fingers, which she stuck within her mouth to clean them.

As you wind down, she places her own two fingers at her own entrance, already slick with arousal. She lubricates her own clit, rubbing the bead for a few moments while gasping your name like a prayer. She roughly grabbed at your legs, spreading them apart so she could position herself at your cunt. She lowered carefully onto you, her warm pussy sliding against yours.

She forced one of your legs over her shoulder as she started to wiggle her hips. She murmured your name, casting her head back and closing her eyes. The movement was rhythmic and precise, your clit rubbing against hers sweetly. Tears bubbled in your eyes, blurring the vision of Diana’s face as she fucked you into the floor, her hips bucking faster, skin and cum mixing and slapping loudly.

Lewd moans fell out of your mouth as you cried out to Diana, begging her for more, to which she obliged. She thrusted faster, kissing the side of your leg that now trembled violently over her shoulder.

You whimpered when she sang your name, a warm smile still quirked on her lips.

You wanted to sink into the fuzzy blanket and stay there forever, being fucked blissfully by Diana’s hot, soaking cunt.

The intense orgasm brought you to the brink of sobs as Diana pushed your hips hard into the floor. “Fuck, yes,” you shout. You beg for it harder and Diana listens, giving you everything you could ever want.

In your fantasy you would cum twice. You would reciprocate the pleasure, flipping Diana over and crawling between her thighs. Her hand would weave in your loose hair, pushing your face deeper into her hips. Your tongue would dip into her entrance, lapping up her cum like it was honey. You would send wide stripes up and down her before using one finger inside of her—then two, then the third, as gently as you could. Her hips would be grinding against your face, her cum dribbling down your chin. She would whimper like she never has before, moaning your name mercilessly, because it doesn’t matter who heard.

Your fantasy ends.

Your fingers are soaked with cum and you move off your bed to wash your hands. You use a warm, damp cloth to clean the mess between your thighs. A part of you feels satisfied, but only the primal part. The rest of you feels sad. Lonely. You crawl into bed, still dressed in your new red suit. You wonder if Diana thinks you to be totally insane, considering how you had run away so abruptly. You worry that she knows, somehow, your secret. You want to know what she would think. What would she say if you ran to her, now, and confessed you wanted nothing more than to kiss her and be held by her muscley, tanned arms.

Despite it being the dead middle of the day, you stay in your bed for hours. Your telephone rings a few times, but you don’t bother. It could easily be your office calling to fire you.

Something within you no longer cares. Let them.

Leave this place, maybe, and find that magic island which Mr. Trevor had spoken of. It would be a land of freedom; freedom to study what you want, to kiss who you want—to sleep in past eight in the morning and not worry about the secretariat duties of providing breakfast.

If Diana is an “Amazon” then you want to be one too. For besides her blatant beauty, there was something about Diana that was incredible. Her smile, her eyes—she glistened with confidence. She knows who she is.

You know who she is, too.

She’s the love of your life, but of a life you will never get to have.

#diana prince x reader #diana prince #wonder woman x reader #wonder woman #dc #dceu #dceu imagine #dceu x reader #diana prince imagine #wonder woman imagine #starfirette writes #i wish queue well

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oh-its-souichi · 5 years

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Unfair

Yo!

L X Reader

Ya’ll remember Death-note?

Here is some a--n--g--s--t that has been sitting finished in my drafts for months.

When it comes to Death-Note... I get emotional

So here is some pain.

Warning- Character death, a--n--g--s--t, I changed the timeline/shortened the Kira case, grammar is shite as usual.

He nuzzled his face into your neck breathing in your sweet scent while your arms wrapped tightly around him bringing your bodies closer together in a reuniting hug. It had been three years since he had seen you last, three years to long. Due to the dangerous nature of the Kira case he forbade himself any contact with you not wanting to put you or his unborn child, at the time, in danger. “Do you want to meet him?” you said excitedly ending the hug prematurely. Your face lit up before him, the E/C on your eyes seeming to amplify. He nodded his head “Yes. Where is he?”

You wrapped your hand around his leading him down the hallway of the house he had bought for the two of you and into a nursery. Unlike he normally would he didn’t bother checking his surrounding instead gently walking into the door way, hie eyes resting on the three year old that lay fast asleep on the twin sized bed.

The babies small thumb was pressed against his upper lip while his black tresses seeming to have a mind of their own and pointed up in all directions decorating the white pillow he rested his head on. L dropped down onto his haunches his eyes becoming level with the bed staring at the child in utter fascination. “This is my son?” he questioned not really expecting an answer having said it more to verify the fact to himself. You walked forward dropping your hand gently on his shoulder. “He looks a lot like you doesn’t he?” you whispered. L nodded in complete awe his hand reaching out to touch him before he stopped pulling his reach back. You giggled taking your hand off of his head walking to position yourself on the bed in front of him.

His dark eyes watched as you took the baby in your arms motioning for him to take a seat next to you by tapping on the empty space next to you on the bed.

Hesitantly L rose to his feet looking down on the two of you. His mind for the first time in his life completely blank. He had never imagined in his 28 years of life that this would be the future in store for him.

Spotting his hesitancy you lifted yourself off of the bed holding the baby out to L who looked at you. “That may not be wise.” he said entertaining fear in his eyes, a emotion you were not used to seeing from him. “It will be okay” you reassured holding the child out to him regardless

He took the child in his arms pressing him protectively against his chest the world seeming to slow down around him. He felt his chest lock up and his heart clench. Falling completely in love with the bundle he held. ‘Is this how he felt?’ he thought picturing Soichi Yagami holding a very infant Light in his arms.

Was the same love he felt now radiating out of the elder man’s eyes?

Was there a possibility that his child would walk the same path Light did?

Ruining their own lives for the sake of some misguided and blind justice? He shuddered picturing your eyes full of tears, as your son was sentenced to death on horrendous crimes like he had watched happen to Light. His mind whirred with horrible images of everything that could go wrong while raising the child.

‘What if one of us has health complications or I fail him as a father? What if some murderous perp. finds out about my family and kidnaps one of the two of us on a whim taking away the most precious thing-’ Exhaustively he played through each scenario before putting a stop to the toxic thought process. It was completely unnecessary because none of that would come to reality. He wouldn’t let it. Gingerly he set the child back down in the place they had laid in before pinching the soft blue blanket between his finger and thumb dragging it up onto his son’s chest, tucking him in.

He stood up turning to you engulfing your body in a hug. “I will be the best I can be for the two of you” he said softly feeling the softness of your hair brush against his cheek. “Please believe me when I say that” He lulled his head back looking you in the eye. You nodded your head with a cute smile on your face. “I know you will be” you responded cupping his face in his hands.

He looked at you admiring the way the moonlight streaming through the window lit up your face, the light seeming to sparkle on your skin. He parted his lips feeling the urge to feel you completely against him. “I’m going to kiss you” he said bringing his face slowly to yours. Before you could nod he closed his eyes crashing his lips against yours reveling in how good they felt against his. He pulled you closer deepening the kiss. losing himself entirely in your touch before his lungs felt like they would explode from lack of oxygen. He pulled his head away from you letting his body remain tightly against yours, not ready to be apart.

It had been to long.

“I missed you” he heard you sing the words absolute music to his ears.

He opened his eyes expecting to see you there in front of him, looking forward to still feeling your touch. So when the moment finally came and he opened his dark eyes expectantly he was shocked to not see you there. Instead of resting on your face, the face out of all the faces he had ever seen in his life he had adored the most; his eyes fell on the white ceiling above him.

‘Oh right’ he thought feeling his body hit the cool ground below him. His heart hammering in his chest. Beside him he heard the plate of cake he was eating hit the ground the metallic clash of the spoon on the tile rang in his ears. “Ryuzaki!” he heard one of his colleagues yell. Which one he couldn’t tell and frankly he didn’t care. His vision began to fade and he tried so hard to bring himself back into the nursery wanting to feel your touch once more before he was taken out of existence. He wished you were here to see him out, to hold his hand while he made the last discovery, solved the last case of his life. Before he revealed the truth behind death.

He longed to feel your hand in his, being the last human he came in contact with before crossing over, before becoming completely alone. He understood why people clung to the idea of an afterlife. Why at funerals some did not cry reassuring one another that they would see their long lost loved ones again on the other side. He entertained the idea liking the sound of it but knew that would not be the case.

He would never see you again.

His lungs pushed a shaky breathe out of his throat and his heart began to slow, coming to a stop. Your face came up in his thoughts again. This time it was smiling, your hand traveling up and down his arm the sun shining brightly. ‘Isn’t this a memory?’ He thought. Your mouth began to form a word but the image was fading fast. ‘No not yet’ he pleaded with himself bringing back the sight. You brushed your nose against his looking him deeply in his eyes, adoration spilling from your face. Suddenly the image cut and your voice spoke the words he saw you attempt to form.

“I love you so much”

Darkness engulfed him until the spark of his mind was snubbed out.

#l x reader #l lawliet x reader #lawliet x reader #l #lawliet #deathnote #deathnote fanfiction

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aureumjeon · 5 years

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@seventeenthingsblr: can you do 38 and 8 with Yoongi for the angst plots please?? Thank you!!

I see you, bub. 💗 Here ya go! Hope you enjoy this lil blurb. added a keep reading tag!

“I’m never letting you go.” + “All I wanted was for you to be happy.” with Yoongi.

Genre; relationship!au, badboy(?)!yoongi, BIG angst, fluff. Warnings; mention of alcohol and smoking, cursing. Word count; 1.4K

‘No new messages.’ Your phone screen read before you’re tossing the clump of metal to the floor. “Y/nieee,” Somi droned, her voice reeking of annoyance. She then flopped her petite body next to yours on the mattress of your bed “Are you done sulking over a boy now?” Missing your usually outgoing and talkative self, she pouted. “I wanna hang out with you so bad.” “He’s been ignoring me for a week now.” You muffled through the pillow concealing your face, each word coming out inaudible. “I don’t know what I did wrong” Your sniffles were barely muted by fabric. “Maybe it’s what you didn’t do.” She brooded sarcastically, yanking the rectangular plush off of you and chucking it to the other side of the room. She brattier that usual, you think. “What?” Your blood shot eyes squinted at the abrupt exposure to the florescent light on your ceiling. Nose equally red and lips disgusting chapped. “Maybe it is you, maybe you did something that ticked him off. Maybe he found you annoying and decided to ghost you. Maybe he doesn’t like you anymore. Who knows?” “Okay, stop. You’re not helping.” Your worry lines started to show as your eyebrows knit together, not liking her current attitude. A sour grimace imprinted on your face. “Like, at all.” “Ugh–” She frustratingly mewled, suddenly pouncing on top of you like a lioness striking its prey. Caging you between her arms that were currently pushing and fisting at the bed sheet where you laid flat. “Let’s go out. Jin’s hosting a party tonight. That’ll definitely get you mind off of Yoongi.” "No.” Your voice was stern and unyielding, reinforced with your incorruptible resolve to stay in bed all day long. “Please, Y/n! I swear it’ll be fun!”

You pushed her hovering frame and quickly cocooned yourself with the thick comforter, tucking in the edges and shielding yourself from her incoming attacks. It was essentially a game of tug of war now, with Somi giving it her all. You were wrong to underestimate her strength because now the two of you were laughing uncontrollably at the tangled position you’ve put yourselves into.

Knowing Somi, she’d saved the best for last. With her wild puppy-dog eyes focused on you, she was soliciting her desired answer from you like a seasoned haggler. Whenever she’d put on that face, you knew you were screwed. You sighed as a sign of surrender, “Fine.” Her eyes lit up exponentially while a wide grin cuts from ear to ear. “I’m picking your dress and doing your make up.” Ten minutes in and you’re already regretting your decision. Loud music rattling up entire house, dozens of people occupying the whole dance floor and couples two steps shy of fucking each other in the living room. “I thought you said, this was going to be fun.” You say over the noise, “The only thing this party is making me want to do is go home and sleep.” Somi grabbed two red cups from the table of refreshments and shoved it in your hand. “Get some alcohol in your bloodstream. It’ll do you some good.” She winked. You rolled your eyes to the side and recognize a familiar head of silvery hair. Could it be? No, it couldn’t. But what if? Your body began moving on autopilot, abandoning your friend behind and slipping past the sea of sweaty bodies to get to where the male silhouette was. You reached the end kitchen and caught a glimpse of the same boy puffing out smoke through his lips with a cigarette tucked between his fingers. “Y-Yoongi?” You were second guessing since you couldn’t really tell if it was him by the way the smoke was still clouding over his face. As the smog around him began to dissipate, his features were finally distinguishable. “Y/n? I didn’t expect to see you here.” His cold facade never wavering even at the sight of you, you think. You scoffed at his fine choice of words “Since when have you been expecting to see me?” Fury bubbled up your in your chest and your cheeks were set ablaze. You wanted to erupt like an angry volcano, spewing out lava and rocks everywhere, obliterating everything that crosses its path. “You’re the one who’s snubbing me! I’ve been wasting my time thinking about what I might have done wrong and you’re here at some wasted party enjoying your ass away while your girlfriend has been crippled by anxiety 'cause you can’t give a damn about how she might be feeling.” There was a significant pause before you could compose yourself again after that horrible mental break down. People were already staring at the commotion you’ve caused, and it’s time to wrap it up. Quick. “And quite frankly,” You huffed, connecting you arms in front of your chest as you continued to speak, “I wasn’t expecting to see you here either. Good bye, Min Yoongi.” You concluded that someone who’d disregard you like without reason wasn’t worth even one second of your time. You turned on your heel and faced him with your back, preparing to walk away. Before you could split, Yoongi’s already gotten his hold on you and spins you around. “Y/n,” He looked at you with vulnerable eyes, his voice was the softest you’ve heard from him. “Hear me out, please. All I need is two minutes, let me explain.” “You’ve got one.” The resonance of your voice was icy cold. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, like he was swallowing a huge mass stuck in his throat. He was having second thoughts if he should say it or not but he pushes through, “Your parents talked to me. They said if I genuinely wanted what’s best for you, I should break up with you and leave you alone.” “And you decided this on your own without even consulting me?!” You were stunned at his confession, but the rage still empowered the initial shock. You knew from the start that your parents weren’t quite fond of Yoongi, with his reputation and all. Though you didn’t imagine they’d go this far to ruin your relationship with a guy they know nothing about. Under Yoongi’s hard and rigid exterior past all the scars and tattoos he had, hid a little boy who’s just scared. A boy who’d rather put up a tough face than convey his true emotions; a boy who’d rather shoulder all the burden on his own than let the ones he loved suffer; and boy who’d give up his own happiness just to see you smile. Yoongi was everything but what people perceived him to be. Yoongi was your saving grace. He was your personal angel sent from heaven to make your miserable life more tolerable. He’s that little tune you’d hum in your head when your nerves got you; he’s that soft blanket you’d drown yourself in when you wanted to hide from the world. And he’s the person you’d share your whole life with. What you didn’t understand was why he didn’t tell you about it instead of making things more complicated. “Don’t I have a say in this? I’m one half of this relationship, Yoongi. Do I really mean that little to you?” You were on the brink of tears, the strain in your voice was a solid confirmation. You fought the sobs wanting to escape with the strength you had left. “All I wanted was for you to be happy.” His hand was starting to loose its grip on you, dropping weakly at his side. His eyes were heavy and swollen as he looked up at you. “And me? I’m not good for you, y/n.” “You don’t get to decide what’s good for me. My parents don’t get to decide what’s good for me.” This time, you couldn’t stop the wave of emotion washing over you like a massive tidal wave. Globules of the salty liquid started spilling from your ducts. You pressed forward into him and buried your face into his chest, his once dry shirt was now soaked with your tears and snot. “I do,” you sniffled, wrapping your arms around his torso. “I get to decide what’s good for me, Yoongi.” “I’m sorry, y/n.” With his voice hoarse and husky, he placed a chaste kiss atop your head. “This time, I’m never letting you go.”

Feel free to send requests!

Prompt list.

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flowerfan2 · 5 years

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Bound To Be Together - Ch. 18

McDanno, M, A03

A continuous story of Season 9 codas exploring the bond between Steve and Danny as they grow even closer.

Chapter 18: 9.18

Steve is frozen in place, standing at the door to the hotel room as Amanda leaves, her black evening wear glittering as she strides away. She’s headed downstairs to meet Danny, who thinks that Steve is coming to join him for a well-earned drink after a long day of being berated by his ex-mother-in-law. Instead, Danny is going to be ambushed by said ex-mother-in-law, who Steve has concluded is at least as dysfunctional as his own mother.

Steve hadn’t been all that surprised when Amanda (“call me Mandy”) summoned him back up to the room, on the pretense of having heard a strange noise coming from the balcony. She’s not the most subtle person in the world. And the questions she fired at Steve about Danny weren’t entirely unexpected, not after Steve opened the door at dinner by making it clear that in Steve’s view, Danny did not deserve the shit Mandy was shoveling.

Mandy apparently already knew about the liver donation (although the way her lip twitched when Steve mentioned it seemed to indicate she thought Danny a fool for risking his health for Steve, which didn’t sit too well with him), and how much of a role Danny played in his children’s lives (soccer, scouts, cheer team, college search). She tried to get Steve to agree that Danny’s job was unreasonably dangerous, and wondered if running a restaurant was still on the table.

Steve had promised to be quiet and look handsome, but he couldn’t help but defend Danny in the face of Mandy’s interrogation. Frankly, he was all too close to confessing that what he felt for Danny was more than just friendship. But then Mandy started asking him about how much time Danny had been spending with Rachel, and Steve realized with a sickening jolt where all this was going. Hell, it was probably the reason Mandy came to Oahu.

By the time Mandy swiped Steve’s phone and texted Danny, Steve was spinning novel-length worst case scenarios in his head. Spending all this time with Danny was bound to affect him in more ways than one.

Steve retrieves his phone from the couch where Mandy had dropped it and blinks at the newest text, a message from the car service Mandy had ordered earlier. Because of course even Danny’s Camaro, his pride and joy, isn’t good enough for her majesty.

A memory flashes before his eyes - another muscle car, in another place and time. Two boys cruising with the top down on a deserted highway. The summer after Steve’s senior year in high school, one of his buddies had to return his uncle’s borrowed Ford Mustang, necessitating a road trip. Marco proposed that Steve come along, just the two of them, driving cross-country. For a high school kid, this was freedom.

Marco was tall and lean, with curly hair and dark sparkling eyes. Third generation Mexican-American, his father was a state congressman and military through and through. Marco intended to follow in his father’s footsteps and pursue politics after a stint in the Army. Steve had never met anyone quite like him, with his quick wit and his fierce love for his family.

The first day on the road they blasted music and ate their weight in junk food, driving late into the night just to see how long they could stay awake on caffeine pills and coca cola. They slept in the car in a parking lot of a rest stop, blearily stumbling into a sticky diner in the morning for coffee that tasted like sludge but was the best cup of joe Steve had ever had.

Thing is, you can’t go on a road trip on an island that you can drive across in an hour. Road trips were something Steve had read about in books, seen in movies, but never experienced. Turns out, the movies were right – road trips were awesome.

Of course, he had no interest in ending his life in a dramatic Thelma and Louise moment, but drinking cheap beer in a bar where no one knew their names (or cared who their fathers were) and then sleeping it off in the back seat of the car was a pretty damn good time.

Steve’s phone vibrates in his hand, and forces him to focus on the present. He looks down to see a text from Danny. Ha, ha, nice set up. Heading out, see you tomorrow.

Steve stares at the phone for a long moment, trying to read more into those ten words. Why didn’t Danny suggest they get together now? Is he headed to Rachel’s? Should Steve respond, demand to know what’s going on?

He sags forward, his head in his hands. Steve has tried to be the friend that Danny deserves, the partner he deserves. The boyfriend he wants him to be. But he’s afraid it’s not enough.

Steve’s been annoyed with Mandy all day long, but he realizes he’s been kind of ticked off at Danny, too, for letting Mandy treat him so poorly. Mandy’s theatrics were over the top, but Danny seemed to accept it as his due. Mandy clearly knows how to play into Danny’s insecurities, his long-standing doubt in himself that Rachel had only confirmed by leaving him for a rich, successful businessman.

Steve wanted to believe that Danny just allowed it to keep the peace, but he wonders if maybe Danny really buys into it.

Despite the awkwardness of the situation, Steve really did try to behave today, to stick to the script Danny had laid out. But he should have known there was more to a day with Amanda Savage than Danny let on. For god’s sake, Danny was willing to trade bragging rights to saving Steve’s life for one day of babysitting, this should have raised a giant red flag. But it didn’t, at least not until now, when it might just be too late.

Steve’s eyes fall on the fancy box holding the cufflinks Mandy gave him, another deliberate snub to Danny. What the hell is wrong with this woman? She clearly came to Oahu to manipulate Danny into getting back together with Rachel, that much is clear to him now after their parting conversation. Was beating Danny down for the past twelve hours – for the past decade or two – just part of her long game? Does it somehow give her more power over him?

And there is anything Steve can do about it?

Steve has been teetering on the edge of a precipice all day, watching Mandy toy with Danny like a spoiled dog in thousand dollar pumps. When Mandy swiped his phone to text Danny, Steve felt himself falling over the edge.

Another memory from his long ago road trip with Marco flashes through his mind.

After three nights of sleeping in the car, both of them are ready for a change, so when Marco suggests they veer off their path Steve readily agrees. They stop at a state park and hike for a few hours, over and around dramatic rock formations, finally finding their way to a waterfall that rivals Hawaii’s finest.

He and Marco strip to their shorts and wade into the freezing cold water, staring up at the gorgeous cascade crashing down in front of them. They swim for a little while, the area to themselves, and Steve can’t stop himself from staring at the way Marco’s wet curls cling to his forehead. Better that than examining how his thin cotton boxers cling to his ass.

When Marco grabs him by the arm and drags him out on to the rocks to dry off, his hand lingering just a little too long on Steve’s skin, Steve knows Marco’s been watching him, too.

They spend the night in a hotel that caters to vacationing familes in the area, a step up from most of the roadside places they drove by on their journey. Marco insists that they order room service, and they laugh as they toss French fries to each other, each seated on one of the double beds. When Marco’s aim goes awry and a pile of fries land next to Steve instead of in the vicinity of his mouth, Marco brushes it off and says they’ll just share Marco’s bed. To avoid sleeping in the grease spots. Of course.

The next day they resume their trip, and by nightfall, they reach Marco’s uncle’s house. He treats them to dinner out at a local barbeque place and they feast on brisket and baby back ribs, cheesy corn and loaded potatoes. Marco drives Steve to the station the next day in the Mustang, now empty of soda cans and candy wrappers. Marco waves goodbye as the train pulls away, his smile as bright as the summer sun.

Steve hasn’t thought about Marco in a long time. Hasn’t seen him since that road trip, either.

Back in the here and how, in Mandy’s hotel room, Steve stands up slowly from the couch. Time to leave.

Steve wishes he could take a detour, put off the inevitable for a little bit longer. But Amanda Savage has done what she came to do. Steve fleetingly considers going to Danny’s house, making his case, demanding that Danny remember all the misery Rachel put him through. But he’s not going to.

Because every road trip has an end, and maybe Rachel was the destination all along.

#H50 #mcdanno #episode coda #9.18 #my fic

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thevikingsheaux · 6 years

Text

Jól (aka Yule)

Part 5

A/N: Welp. Here’s Part 5. Had to release it before I chickened out! I think this chapter makes me want to definitely continue Jól!

Warning: discussing the death of a parent, hella NSFW, 18+ ONLY

Pairing: Hvitserk x reader

Masterlist

Björn’s return filled you with elation and you had much to catch up on with him. He told you about his grand adventures through the blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea and the deserts of Egypt. He had seen the enormous Great Pyramids and walked through the Roman Colosseum. “It was hard to return here,” he confessed. “Seeing the world is like a drug,” he admitted, “I don’t think I will ever get enough.”

“Well I’m glad you have decided to return for a while,” you said. “It has been difficult without you and mother and father.” Björn looked at you with sadness and guilt in his eyes. He hadn’t known that your mother had died while he was away. “Can you please forgive me, Y/N? I regret not being here to support you,” he said softly.

You leaned back in your chair and thought a moment before answering his question. “Of course I can, Björn. How could you have known?” He looked at you with relief, happy that you weren’t upset with him.

He got up and hugged you before climbing the ladder into the loft and into his bed. “Goodnight, Y/N,” he called down. You smiled softly before getting in your own bed.

That night you dreamed of something strange. It was late spring and you were standing near the river. The ice and snow had melted, but it was still somewhat cold. In the dream, you were clutching a cloak made of swanskin with the feathers still intact. As you pulled it on, you transformed into a beautiful white mute swan and landed in the river. You had a feeling that someone was watching you from the trees and you could barely make out Hvitserk, staring with his mouth agape. You dipped your head down into the river and suddenly woke up.

Your brow furrowed as you thought about the dream. What did it mean? How and why did you become a swan? You decided that you needed to talk to Aslaug immediately despite the early hour. You pulled on your favorite bright red cloak and headed to the Great Hall.

Once you arrived you burst through the huge doors and into the empty Hall that had a small fire going and candles everywhere, illuminating it nicely. When you heard Hvitserk’s sleepy voice behind you, you turned around, surprised.

(Ignore the people in the back lol..)

“What are you doing here? You do know it’s like 4 in the morning, right?” he mumbled. “I need to see your mother. I had a very strange dream,” you confessed. You weren’t sure why you were telling him that because you knew how nosy he could be.

“Well now you have to tell me what it was about,” he demanded, eyes perking up. “Oh, nothing,” you said nonchalantly before starting to walk off towards Aslaug’s room. He pouted, but returned to his room, feeling the sting of being snubbed.

Surprisingly, Aslaug didn’t have an interpretation for your dream. “I will have to think about it before I can discern the meaning,” she said. Feeling somewhat irked, you left the Hall and headed back to your farm. It was almost time to feed the animals.

Björn was still sound asleep after you finished your morning chores so you decided to head to the market and put your goods on display in your stall early. It was still dark out and would remain so for a few more hours so you were grateful for the small fires that burned throughout Kattegat.

Throughout the weeks of Yule, the fires were continuously kept alight. They were meant to keep the Sun goddess warm throughout the darkness of the day and night. As the Sun began to rise, more people began to arrive in the market. Eventually, Hvitserk arrived but you didn’t see him at first. He was leaning against a post, eating an apple, watching you as you helped your customers.

He approached you and greeted you. “Will you be coming to tonight’s festivities?” he asked. You smiled and replied, “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it!” He smiled, making excitement bubble up inside you.

As Hvitserk trotted off, Björn approached with a smirk on his face. “Blushing are we?” he teased. “Y/N, you like Hvitserk don’t you?” Embarrassed, you quickly denied it but you know he didn’t buy it. He laughed with a wink and said, “Your secret is safe with me.”

After the Sun had set, you took your wares back to your home and settled in for a nap. There were still several hours until the dance and feast would begin.

Torvi woke you, shaking your shoulders, and hurried you out of bed. The celebrations had already begun and Torvi didn’t want to miss out.

A sizeable fire burned in the square in front of the platform that had overlooked the fighting ring, and many people were gathered around it. The rocks and racks of weapons had been removed to make way for the fire and dancers. When you arrived, people were already dancing to the music. Before you found Dagmar and dragged her out from the crowd, you removed your cloak, knowing you would warm up soon. Torvi took it and found a spot to sit down. She didn’t like dancing much.

Throughout the whole dance, your eyes constantly flitted to Hvitserk, hoping he was watching you. You were dancing with Dagmar, moving seductively, trying to provoke Hvitserk. The other men in the square were beginning to notice you as well, including Ubbe.

You were distracted by Ubbe approaching you and starting to dance alongside you. Realizing this was your chance to make Hvitserk jealous, you rolled your body along Ubbe’s and crushed your breasts to his chest, making him exhale heavily. Then you leaned back and Ubbe followed, leaning in towards you as you grinded your pelvis into his. He reached around and squeezed your ass, making you giggle.

When you finally looked back to Hvitserk, you caught him staring at you, envy raging in his eyes. He turned around and walked off as the song transitioned into a new one. You guessed that he meant for you to follow him, so you apologized to Ubbe and started in the direction that Hvitserk had disappeared. Before you left the square Torvi shoved your bright red cloak back into your hands, with a knowing smirk on her face.

You found him lurking by one of the fires near the blacksmith forge, leaning against the building and staring intently into the flames. You could hear the new song playing in the distance, as Vikings danced around the fire in the square.

youtube

(The song you can hear in the distance. If you want to listen, just skip to 2:28 or so. If you’)re listening on mobile, it counts down instead so skip to like 3:07.)

Suddenly, Hvitserk lunged at you, ripped your cloak off, and then shoved you up against the outside of the wall of the forge and pulled your dress up. He wrapped your legs around his waist, making you draw your breath in sharply as the ice cold air hit your legs and wet center. His clothed cock was pressed up against you and you could feel how hard he was through the rough fabric of his pants. His kisses were urgent and his lips were crashing against yours feverishly, desperate to finally taste your plump lips and tongue. As he kissed you, he wrapped a hand around your throat, squeezing gently, but with enough force that you knew he was irritated about you dancing with Ubbe. You ran your hands along his biceps before cupping a hand to his jaw while tangling your other in his braids.

Instinctively you rolled your hips against him and you felt his jaw flex under your hand before he exhaled loudly. “You’re going to be the death of me, woman,” he whispered as he pulled his lips away. One hand held you up and he pushed you into the wall more firmly so he could reach down with the hand that had been on your throat and dip into your wet folds. The feeling of his calloused fingers finally on you made you gasp and squeeze your legs tighter around him. He moved his hand up to rub on your clit, making you moan loudly. He clasped his other hand to your mouth and shushed you. “Be quiet or Floki will show up and I’ll have to kill him,” he growled with an intensity that made you believe he actually would.

Hvitserk pulled his hand away from your clit to free himself from his pants, eliciting a whimper from you. He guided the tip of his cock into you, stretching you open. Without warning, he shoved himself completely inside you which made pain temporarily blind you. He began to roughly rock his hips into you with the quick rhythm of the distant chants and drums and grunted every time he thrust into you. The music made the experience feel primal, like fucking Hvitserk was the only purpose of your life.

“You don’t know how long I have waited for this,” he rasped and placed his forehead against yours as he continued to aggressively push himself all the way into you. The cold air on your skin and warmth from his cock stretching you apart was a delicious contradiction.

You came with an intensity you had never felt before and were unable to hold your screams in. Waves of pleasure crashed over you and you could barely breathe. Hvitserk smirked, knowing he had just given you the best orgasm of your life. Ubbe could never. He laid you down on the hay near the fire and started to unlace the top of your dress, but he quickly became frustrated and just ripped it open.

He pushed your dress up again and planted his lips on your clit after kissing your hips and thighs. His eyes closed and his cock twitched as he tasted how sweet you were. His tongue dipped into you and your eyes rolled back when his mustache tickled you and he started to suck on your already sensitive clit. He nipped at your swollen folds before licking you again. As he continued to dip his tongue in you repeatedly, he started to stroke himself and began to rub your clit with his other hand, making you moan and buck your hips up. You were on the verge of another orgasm when he pulled back and prepared to fill you up again.

Hvitserk put his hands down on either side of your head and kissed you before burying himself inside you, going as deep as he could. As soon as he did, you squeezed his cock with your pussy, making him groan especially loudly.

He began fucking you so vigorously that his balls were slapping loudly against you, the sound of which seemed to make him go faster and moan louder. “Fuck, Y/N! How do you feel so fucking good?!” He was crushing you with the weight of his body, but you didn’t mind. “Harder, babe,” you begged. Your request made him pound even harder and deeper, making you cry out and scream his name.

“Fuck, I’m so close, Y/N,” he croaked out. “Come for me, Hvitserk,” you coaxed him, clenching around his cock and moaning every time he thrust into you. His moans became louder and frantic and a guttural groan escaped his mouth as he pulled out and spilled himself almost all the way up to your belly button.

Hvitserk collapsed next to you on the hay, closing his eyes and breathing heavily. You looked at him and noticed a sheen of sweat coated his face. Eyes still closed and a soft smile lighting up his features, he said, “That was the best fuck of my life, Y/N. I can’t believe I just fucked the greatest warrior of all time. Next time I will make love to you, though.” Butterflies filled you up after hearing him say there would be a next time.

After a moment, he turned his head to you, a dour expression hardening his features. “Do not ever dance on Ubbe like that again,” he commanded. “Or what?” you teased. He growled and rolled over on top of you, crushing you. He bit your neck and whispered, “You don’t want to find out.” A tingle of fear mixed with pleasure coursed through your body because you were unsure of what he would do.

“We’d better get back,” you said, though you wished you could stay there with him forever. “You’re right,” he agreed, also secretly wishing you could just lay with him for eternity.

Torvi smirked when she saw you emerge from a dark alley. “Well how was it?” she asked when you reached her side. “What?” you asked, surprised. She laughed and said, “Well the sex with Hvit of course!” Your eyes widened in disbelief, “You heard that?!” Torvi laughed again and said, “I think all of Kattegat heard it!”

“‘Hvitserk! Hvitserk! Oh fuck me harder Hvitserk!’” she mimicked. Her words provoked a blush that felt as if it spread across your entire body. “How big was he?” she quizzed you. “I’ve always wondered.” A small smile formed on your lips as you said, “He’s huge Torvi, I don’t think I’ll be able to walk tomorrow!”

Hvitserk entered the square from a different alley and quickly found your eyes from across the fire and writhing Vikings. They stayed on you as he found his brothers and sat down with them. A slave brought him a horn of ale, but his eyes that were still filled with lust never left you as he accepted the drink. Ubbe said something indistinguishable to him with a grin and Sigurd punched his shoulder, making Hvit finally tear his eyes away from you.

To be continued...

Fun fact: The song that I included is called IngwaR by Wardruna and I found a translation of it to English on https://lyricstranslate.com/en/ingwar-ingwaz.html-0 The translation is this - Tie yourself to me, Weave roots to roots, Over and under, Inverting Ing*, Carrying you in me**, Growing seed from seed, Outer and inner, Inverting Ing, Feeding me of you, Winds branch with branch, Over and under, Inverting Ing. So you can see the translation is super rough and may not be totally correct but I chose it because I think those lyrics are very fitting for a sex scene. (If you click the link and scroll down you’ll see what the * are for.)

Tags: @laketaj24 @tephi101 @grungyblonde @voodoodollgirl @tierneygonzalez@captstefanbrandt @lisinfleur @two-unbeatable-beaters @moondustmemories

#hvitserk #hvitserk x reader #hvitserk lothbrok #ragnarssons #vikings #vikings imagine #vikings fandom #ubbe lothbrok #ubbe #ubbe x reader #aslaug #wardruna #ingwar #bjorn ironside #bjorn lothbrok

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inkytealeaf · 5 years

Text

Milo’s story

Part 3 - New beginning

Part 1 - Part 2

Milo pressed ‘send’ as he watched his father’s car turn left at the end of the street. He stayed at the front door for a little while, squeezing his phone nervously in his hand and shifting from one foot to the other, icy-blue eyes burning the spot where his father’s car had been a few seconds ago. They hadn’t exchanged a single word during breakfast, his father’s rage still palpable, and Milo too scared he might provoke him by only asking him to hand him the bottle of milk. The last few days had been a real nightmare for Milo. Never had he seen his father with such hatred in his eyes, not even when he came back home with a fresh new piercing. During these days, Milo had learned to know another side of his father. Darker. Scarier.

His body shivered as the cold morning breeze licked his naked feet. He sighed, louder than he had expected to, and closed the door behind him. Pressing his forehead against the cool glass, he let his thoughts wander far away from this place, to his friends, but the pain on his ribs brought him back to reality. Each breath he took in sent a stabbing pain to this area and he hoped he hadn’t broken anything. Milo had absolutely no will to go to the hospital right now to check his body. It would only anger his father even more.

Milo gritted his teeth at the thought. He has been lucky enough to not get punched this morning and he swore to himself that it would be the last time his father would lay a hand on him. Of course, he had sent a text to Maeva the first time, but she hadn’t been able to give him more than a few pieces of advice and promises of killing his father with her gay bare hands.

Speak of the devil, his phone buzzed in his hand.

We’re on the road, sweetie. I have the cardboard boxes, and yes you have the time to take a shower. Let the door open <3

A smile stretched his lips, making him wince a little. ‘We’ meant that she had dragged her girlfriend with her and Milo couldn’t wait to see her again.

Maeva and Adeline had been dating for nearly three years now despite the fact that Adeline had had to move to the other side of the country for her studies. He remembered the first time he had seen her, anxious and not knowing what to tell him as if Maeva had introduced her to a family member. He was her best friend, she considered him as her little brother. He had only seen her a few couples of times, and he loved her as much as he loved Maeva. Adeline was making her happy, and that was everything Milo wished for his best friend.

Milo rushed upstairs, trying to not pay too much attention to his body screaming for some rest, and locked himself in the bathroom. A warm shower would do the greatest good to him.

He might have spent too much time under the water because when he left the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his hips, he heard Maeva let out a loud ‘Finally!’ from downstairs. Smiling, he opened his wardrobe and took some clothes he put on. A pair of too large jeans, a burgundy sweater that had a hole in one of the sleeves, and his favourite – and only – cardigan.

As he walked down the stairs, he heard two new voices. Men’s voices. Milo stopped just before walking in the kitchen where they were, anxiety seizing his stomach. He never did well with meeting new people, and the only thing reassuring him was that they were with Maeva. They had to be good people if they came with her.

“Sorry I took so long.” He said, his eyes searching for Maeva. Sitting at the table, she had her arms wrapped around Adeline’s waist, twirling the end of her long braid around her fingers.

“They’ll forgive you if you pay – Oh shit,” Maeva exclaimed when she saw his face, the black eye and the split bottom lip. She rushed to him and cupped his face, carefully not to hurt him more. “You weren’t kidding. I am so sorry Milo.”

“It’s okay, Maeva,” He said hugging her back. “They’re only bruises.”

“Sorry to interrupt that sweet moment but,” One of the guys who was leaning against the sink started, “maybe you could introduce us to your pretty friend?”

Maeva rolled her eyes. “Milo, the Don Juan over there is Damien, Adeline’s brother.” She pointed to the tallest of them, and Milo only noticed now the resemblance with Adeline. The same snub nose, the same big blue eyes, the same round face.

“Hello!” Damien winked at him, a smirk on his lips.

“And this is Akela, my cousin,” Adeline said as she walked to her cousin and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“Yo.” Was the only thing he said.

Standing side by side, Milo found them so different from one another. Tanned skin compared to Adeline’s porcelain white. Hazelnut eyes compared to blue. Black hair compared to light brown. If she hadn’t told him he was her cousin, Milo would have never been able to tell they were related.

“We thought, well, Adeline thought,” Damien said without tearing his eyes off Milo, “that you might need more hands to help you move out.”

“Oh, uhm, I don’t have a lot of stuff you know.”

“Not a lot of stuff sure. That includes your whole wardrobe which is bigger than mine,” Maeva started counting on her fingers as she sat back at the table, “your shoes, your dozens of books, the huge panda and koala plushies you’re hiding in your wardrobe, and your bed. Did I forget something?”

“Why would I bring my bed with me?”

“To sleep on it, duh.”

“Wait, you didn’t tell him, honey?”

“Tell me what?”

“Oh look at him. He’s so cute when he doesn’t know what’s happening.”

Maeva rolled her eyes at Damien’s comment and sighed, deeply, against Adeline’s neck when she sat back on her lap. “You’re living with us now. I inherited the house from our parents.”

“You mean… Oh, I am so sorry for your loss.” They all chuckled. “What? I didn’t even know you decided to live together, you could have told me, Maeva.”

“They’re not dead,” Damien said crossing his arms on his chest. “They’re both retired and travelling around the world. They’re in Spain right now.”

“But, why isn’t it you who inherited it?”

“I already have a place of my own,” He winked again.

Milo arched an eyebrow. “How old exactly are you? If I can ask.”

As Damien pointed a finger towards him, the other started to laugh. “No, you can’t ask this.”

“He’s 29,” Akela said.

They all laughed as Damien whined, telling him he thought he was his favourite cousin, and couldn’t believe he had betrayed him like that. In other circumstances, Milo would have loved to talk and laugh with them more, getting to know them better, but they only had a few hours to move his things out before his father would come back home. Milo only hoped that by the time his father would, his room would be empty, and him far away. Safe with the girls.

It took them three hours to pack all of his stuff into cardboard boxes, four round trips with Damien’s van, and three more hours to unpack everything before they could all collapse on the couch.

His head resting on Maeva’s thighs, Milo thanked them for their hard work – and help – to which they responded that he should pay for the pizzas tonight. Damien though, said he would prefer a kiss, but the only thing he got was a slap on the back of his head by Akela.

Milo shivered at his words. He had thought Damien would be like his sister; nice, funny and a little goofy, but the day had proved him the contrary. He hadn’t mind answering his inappropriate questions, hoping he would leave him alone once he’d get an answer, but the nicknames, the soft touches on his arm or neck, the way he had been looking at him or his lewd innuendos had ended up making him feel uncomfortable in his presence. But he had said nothing. Damien would already stop.

“Who’s calling for the pizzas?” Maeva asked, eyes closed and fingers playing with Milo’s hair. “And who’s going to buy beer?”

“Damien you buy the beer,” Akela said, half-sleeping on Adeline’s shoulder. “I order the food.”

“Why me? You’re all adults.”

“Yeah, but you’re the oldest big bro.”

“What are you still doing here?” Akela asked as he stood up and stretched his back. “We’re all thirsty, hurry!”

They bickered for a few minutes before Adeline dragged them both out of the house. She came back inside soon after and made the order instead.

“You’re okay sweetie?” Maeva asked him, playing with his fingers. “Not in too much pain?”

“I’m fine,” He told her as he rolled on his back. At one point during the afternoon, Maeva had taken him aside to ask him how he was feeling, if his father had done something else than hitting him, and that was when he showed her the bruises on his chest and ribs.

“Did he try to call you?”

“Not yet, he’s still working. Later tonight, maybe. I won’t answer.”

“And no one will force you,” She told him, her thumb rubbing soothing circles on his cheek. “You’re safe with us. He doesn’t know where we live.”

“Are you sure it doesn’t bother you that I live with you?”

“Adeline suggested it when you texted me after he… you know.”

“I’ll help pay the bills, and the groceries, and–”

“Don’t worry about that now. There are more important kinds of stuff.”

Milo sat up straight and without warning, wrapped his arms around Maeva’s neck and hugged her tightly hiding his face against her shoulder. He whispered many ‘thank you’s to her, more when Adeline came back in the living room and joined them in their hug.

Not even ten minutes after, Damien and Akela came back to a coffee table full of crisps and appetizers to sustain them until the delivery guy would come with their pizzas, and the three of them dancing to a groovy music. They stayed in the doorway watching them making strange dance moves – each crazier than the next – until Milo turned around and saw them.

“Oh,” He let out, his face flushed to his neck, and scratched the back of his head. “You’re back!”

“Do not stop because of us,” Damien said as he put a full plastic bag on the couch then leaned on his elbows, watching him intensely. “We’re enjoying the view. Right, Akela?”

“I’m more concerned about Maeva’s body. Didn’t know you were that flexible. Are you even made of bones?”

“Who knows?” She said as she looked in the bag and took a bottle of vodka among five other bottles. “Guys, I said beer. Not strong alcohols.”

“Hey don’t look at me, it was his idea!”

“Well,” Akela started, embarrassed. “I thought maybe we could celebrate Milo’s move and do a house-warming party, just the five of us. Tomorrow’s Saturday anyway, and no one works or has classes. And I don’t want to go home.” He whispered that last sentence, but they all understood what he meant. All, except Milo.

“I’m always ready for a party, Maeva needs to relax a bit so, what do you think Milo. You’re in?”

“Sure, it could be fun.”

“Let’s do this then! Baby, could you bring fruit juices and cola here?” Adeline asked before turning her attention to her brother. “Text your girlfriend and tell her you’re staying here for the night. No one is leaving this house wasted!”

Then, without warning, she rushed to Akela – already digging in the bag of crisps – and trapped him in a tight embrace.

Milo watched the scene with a smile on his lips as he sat on the couch. He saw her whisper something in his ear, something that brought a smile back on his lips. His curiosity was telling him to ask what they were talking about, but he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t know Akela enough for that. Seeing them so close reminded him of the relationship he had with his own cousins. Would he see them again? Would he be able to hang out with them without fearing his father might be with them only to try to take him back home? He couldn’t. Milo was an adult now and could make his own decisions alone. No one would tell him how he should live his life anymore. No one would tell him what kind of people he should surround himself with.

He started as cold fingers brushed his neck. When he turned his head, Damien’s bright smile was facing him.

“Sorry,” He said, his fingers still on Milo’s neck. “I didn’t want to scare you. Are you okay?”

Milo nodded. “I didn’t hear you come, that’s all.”

“Really?” Damien bend over a little, and whispered in his ear, “Are you scared of me, pretty boy?”

“Back off Damien, or I’ll kick you so hard your whole family won’t recognize you,” Maeva warned him as she came back from the kitchen, arms full of bottles of fruit juice and cola.

“I only was teasing him,” He said as he straightened his back, but his fingers were still moving on his neck, tickling his shoulders.

A long shiver of disgust ran down his spine as Milo moved to the side, and he thanked whatever god could be watching over him when Adeline and Akela sat on each of his sides.

“My buddy,” Adeline said as she wrapped her arms around him, scowling at her brother. “Not yours. You’re too old anyway.”

“Hey!”

They all laughed until they were interrupted by the doorbell. As Maeva brought their food inside, Milo took the opportunity to thank Adeline for the umpteenth time this day. Adeline knew her brother could make people uncomfortable, and as she told him, it was her duty to protect him from that old creepy man.

They spent their dinner time with joy and good humour, the music loud and their glass never empty.

Milo felt dizzy. Dizzy but good. He was giggling more than usual, talked more – way more – and couldn’t even tell who was poking his thigh under the coffee table. Thanks to the quantity he had already drunk, he didn’t mind being alone with Damien when the others went outside for a smoke. He didn’t mind the attention that man gave him, the sweet words, the soft caresses, the kisses on his neck. His phone buzzing and ringing.

Damien had cold hands and tasted like whiskey.

Milo laughed again when his teeth nibbled his earlobe, a soft warmth blooming in his stomach. His head hit the couch behind him. Wrapping an arm across his eyes, his grin widened for no reason as the ice cubes in Damien’s glass tingled, the only sound he could focus on.

“Can you keep a secret?” Damien asked as he straddled his hips and pinned his hands on the couch.

He nodded. “What’s your secret?”

“You won’t tell anyone what just happened. Can you do that for me, pretty boy?”

He kissed him again, a hand around his throat, and got off his lap just in time as Akela, Adeline and Maeva came back inside.

As Maeva slouched beside him, his phone rang again. Milo didn’t move though, and kept his eyes focused on his glass. Sometime, he would look just a little higher and meet Akela’s gaze.

“You should maybe answer,” Damien said once the tune stopped. “It’s the third time someone’s trying to reach you.”

“No. I don’t want to talk to him.” Because who else could call him at nearly midnight the same day he had left his house?

“And no one is going to force you,” Adeline said as she patted the top of his head. “Turn it off!”

That was the best thing to do. He reached for his phone in his pocket and pressed the button, but before the screen turned black, he could decipher the beginning of a text his dad had sent him. A nice text with nicer words, as always. Milo closed his eyes and took deep breaths. He was far away now, he would never hurt him again psychologically or physically. Those times were over. Milo was with friends, people who cared about him – at least he was sure Maeva and Adeline did – and it wasn’t his father who would destroy this happiness.

“Refill my glass, please.” Eyebrows furrowed, he handed his glass to Akela, head bowed. He didn’t want anyone to see how a few incomplete words had managed to shatter his good mood.

He drank it down in one, his throat on fire, but immediately asked him for another one. And another.

“I think you drank enough for tonight,” Maeva took his glass from his hand and put it on the table. “We all drank enough.”

She helped him get up, and without a single word to the others, she helped him go upstairs, to his room. There, she made him sit on his bed and sat in front of him, putting his long legs on each side of her hips. She brought him closer to her and hugged him tightly as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and hid his face in the crook of her neck. She smelled like cigarettes and alcohol, but Milo didn’t care. He had to reek worse.

They didn’t talk for a long, long time, only listening to their breath and the ruckus – a karaoke with three wasted people – the others were doing in the living-room. From time to time, Maeva would run her hand up and down his back, kiss his shoulder or even make a comment about how none of them could sing.

“What happened,” She asked as the first notes of ‘Let it go’ started. “Where’s the bright Milo who danced on the couch, laughing his ass off?”

“Far away. Won’t come back tonight. Sleepy.”

“Sure. We’ll talk about it tomorrow if you want. Or remember.”

Maeva helped him change then tucked him in bed. She stayed with him a little more, her fingers threading his hair, telling him everything he needed to hear to feel better, promising him that they wouldn’t make too much noise.

Her reassuring words lulled him to sleep and just before she closed the door behind her, he called her.

“Yes? What is it, sweetie?”

“You’re the best big sister I could ever wish for.”

With these last words, he fell asleep without seeing the surprise on her face. Without seeing her smile, nor hearing her say how much she loved him.

#milo's story

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worldticketsandhospitality · 2 years

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bestmusicalworldcup · 11 months

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#best snubbed musical world cup #best musical world cup #musical theater #musical theatre #broadway #best musical #musicals #theater #theatre #polls #great comet #falsettos #dave malloy

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shamelessly4shameless-blog · 6 years

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130lb of Ukrainian Courage (pt 15)

Ian is holding Yevgeny’s hand as they walk down the road, half thinking about the steaks in his carrier bag ready for the cook-out and half listening to Yev prattle on about dinosaurs and which lizard is most like a dinosaur.

“Woah! Dad!”

Yev yanks suddenly on Ian’s sleeve and points down the road at their house. There is a huge, blacked out van parked wonkily in front of the house and a rusty motorbike dumped on the sidewalk beside it.

“Who’s is that?”

“I think maybe your uncles have arrived”

Ian’s pulse quickens and he grips Yev’s hand a bit tighter. Mickey had warned him that the Milkovich’s were likely to descend on mass, and that he had called the meeting so they were probably going to be pissed but Ian had kind of hoped it would just be Mandy and Iggy that actually arrived.

He considers taking Yev back to Svetlana’s but Yev is already tugging forward excitedly and Ian remembers how much calmer the house had been when Yevgeny was present as a baby.

“Hey listen, we’re gonna go in and say hi, but if Papa needs to get down to business, we’ll get Mama to come collect you, Okay?”

“Okay.”

Yev nods happily but Ian narrows his eyes at his son, he knows that sort of ready agreement is usually surface deep. Just like Mickey, once he needs to, Yevgeny can dig his heels in and kick up a stink with the best of them.

“I mean it, bud. If I say we have to go …”

“Got it!”

Yev is close enough now that he can hear the heavy metal music blaring out of the house. Papa is having a party and he isn’t there! This is something Yev decides to fix immediately and he let’s go of Ian’s hand and takes off at a run.

“COOL!”

Yev stands over the sweet smelling glass bowl that is releasing awesome peels of smoke

“Is that a cauldron?”

He looks up at the huge man sprawled on the sofa, who is looking back at him with a sleepy grin on his face

“A fuckin’ what? It’s a fishbowl … you know? A bong.”

“Oh.”

Yev bounces on his toes a couple of times to the rhythm of heavy slamming guitar and waves a hand through the smoke

“You supposed to be in here or are you robbin’ the homos?”

“This is my house.”

Yev wrinkles his nose and quirks his lip irritably in a way that anyone who has spent more than five minutes with his father would be entirely familiar with and the big man lets out a surprised laugh.

“Oh shit! You’re the Russian’s kid, ain’t ya?”

“I’m Yevgeny Milkovich – are you one of my uncles?”

“I might be your fuckin’ Dad. Man, that was a wild fuckin’ party...”

The man laughs again, louder this time. Yev scowls at him and is about to respond when a large arm wraps around his waist and boosts him up.

“Hey Joey, I see you met your nephew.”

Ian smiles in what he hopes is a friendly manner but doesn’t wait for the oldest Milkovich to respond before bearing Yev away.

“He said …”

“I heard. Ignore him. And if you see something smoking, don’t go near it.”

Ian deposits Yev on the stairs and pokes his head around the kitchen door. Mickey and Jamie are locked in an arm-wrestle, both of them in cut-off black t-shirts, holding beers in their free hands. Iggy is sat on the counter with another fishbowl in his lap and he gives Ian a wave when he notices him.

“Hey Ian.”

“Hey Ig, how you doing?”

“Fuckin’ starvin’, man. Mickey says you got steaks.”

Iggy grins at him and Ian can’t help grinning back. Iggy is less gruff about it than his older brother’s but he has that uncanny Milkovich way of letting you know exactly what he wants without using a whole bunch of words.

“Yeah I’ll get started on that in a bit. Uh … Mick?”

“What?”

Mickey’s brow is creased in concentration and his lips are pressed tight, Jamie is sweating heavily and his forearm is starting to tremble. Mickey is focussed and going in for the kill, forcing his wrist to bear down infinitesimally more, his knuckles stark white. Ian is almost distracted by the swell of his boyfriends biceps flexing and the determined look in his eyes, but he forces himself back to the issue at hand.

“Yev’s here so ... uh … maybe the bongs could …”

“Ig, put the fuckin’ bowl away.”

Mickey grunts

“Joey has one too.”

“Tell … Joey … to … FUCK YEAH!”

Mickey leaps up, slapping the table triumphantly as Jamie gives in and swears furiously, grabbing his arm and flexing his fingers.

“All that cock pumping got you strong as shit!”

“Yeah? I bet you pump your dick more than I pum…”

“Mick! Yev’s here.”

Ian snaps and Mickey grins guiltily, letting the last of his rebuttal trail off and punching Jamie affectionately on the arm.

“Hey, you wanna meet your nephew?”

“Sure, why not.”

Jamie lights a cigarette but there is a look on his face of quiet unease and as Ian ushers Yev in, his finds himself fighting the urge to keep a protective hand on his shoulder. It is a side-effect of the last couple of weeks that he hadn’t really expected, he almost can’t stand to let either Yev or Mickey be touched by anyone else, especially Yev.

But Mickey is beckoning his son forward and like a magnet, Yev is drawn toward him.

“Jamie, this is Yevgeny.”

The pride in Mickey’s voice is so obvious that Ian lets go of his misgivings and folds his arms, watching his boys happily as Mickey drapes an arm around Yev’s shoulders and Yev leans his head shyly into Mickey’s waist.

“Well shit. He looks just like you.”

Jamie leans forward on eye level with Yevgeny, peering at him closely and Yev, a Milkovich to the core, straightens and holds his uncles gaze as boldly as he can, though he keeps one arm around his father’s leg.

“You got your Grandma’s eyes kid, like your Pop.”

Jamie’s eyes flick up to Mickey and he nods.

“Guess he is yours.”

Yev frowns

“Who elses would I be?”

“Well exactly! Quit saying dumb shit, asshole!”

Mickey scoffs at his brother, there is no real heat to his words but the look in his eye is one that makes Jamie shrug and sniff apologetically and the matter is quickly dropped.

“Mandy here yet?”

Iggy asks, bored of watching the play power between his brothers when it is obvious to everyone that Mickey has already won.

“Nah, haven’t heard from her.”

“Me and Joey can stay a day but after that we got shit to do. You wanna wait for Mandy for the meeting?”

Jamie isn’t sucking up to Mickey but it’s as close as any Milkovich is likely to get to it and Mickey favours him with a small smile

“We’ll wait til tonight. You dickhead’s are all high as fuck right now anyway.”

“Hungry too.”

Iggy grunts and Mickey rolls his eyes at his brother

“This ain’t a fuckin’ resort, man. If you’re hungry go to the fuckin’ fridge and make yourself a God damn sandwich.”

“Bite me, asshole!”

“Fuckin’ bite you? I’ll kick your ass!”

A fight ensues that is mostly for show but there are a couple of blows that make Ian wince and he snatches Yev back out of the way, wrapping his arms around him. Iggy’s lip splits in one corner spilling blood down his chin and Mickey grunts loudly as an elbow catches his chest, but they break away laughing and Mickey ruffles Iggy’s hair affectionately as Iggy claps him on the shoulder.

“That’s what you fuckin’ get!”

Yev’s eyes are like saucers watching his Papa. He is so absorbed he barely notices his Dad let go of his shoulders and turn to speak to a lady with long dark hair who has just come in.

Swearing is not uncommon at all and even Yev is allowed to drop a few cuss words here and there but it’s like Papa is trying to get in the world record book in the school library, like the man with all the pegs on his body. His Dad has stepped out into the hall and so Yev takes it upon himself to draw it to Papa’s attention.

“Papa? … Papa? … PAPA!”

Yev raises his voice and gives a sharp tug on Mickey’s shirt as he passes by to grab another beer.

“What?”

Mickey grins down at his son and then arches one questioning eyebrow at the tiny, judgemental scowl

“You’re swearing a LOT.”

“Too much, huh?”

Mickey asks, squatting down and tapping his beer bottle against the snub of Yev’s nose.

“I dunno but it’s a lot.”

Yev raises his own eyebrows in a fairly decent imitation of the warning look Papa gives him when he’s going too far and skating on the edge of trouble.

“We bitched at your grandpa like that, he’d fuckin’ whoop us. You want your daddy to whoop you?”

Jamie grins at Yev as if he’s said something particularly funny and wipes his nose on the back of his hand.

“Papa doesn’t whoop me.”

Yev smiles kindly, as if explaining something obvious to a slightly slow person and then turns his attention back to Mickey, missing the look that his uncles exchange at that admission.

“Can I play Xbox until lunch?”

“Sure, man. Love you.”

Mickey murmurs the last words low enough that only Yev can hear them and kisses his forehead very briefly

“Oh, hey, if your uncle Joey hogs the remote, come get me. He’s shit at video games but takes, like, fifty turns.”

“Okay.”

“and where’s your Dad gone?”

“Chatting to a lady.”

Yev calls over his shoulder and Mickey jerks as if slapped. Mandy!

“Hey, here, chips, dips, go nuts.”

He opens a cupboard and gestures vaguely to it before closing his brother’s into the kitchen and going in search of his sister.

Mandy and Ian are on the porch, smoking. Watching them, Mickey is transported back to when they were kids and he grins to himself remembering the joint relief and absolute jealousy he’d felt when Ian had pretended to be Mandy’s boyfriend.

“Hey!”

Mandy spots him coming and cocks her head to the side. They’ve never been great at gauging each others reactions and Mickey finds himself moving toward her with a weird, gangly armed stance, half open to hug, half not.

“You look stupidly fuckin’ good.”

Mandy laughs, shaking her head. The tone is set and Mickey opens his arms properly, enfolding her in a tight embrace, cupping the back of her head in one hand.

“I didn’t fuckin’ know you were comin’.”

“Neither did I.”

Mandy admits and accepts the fierce kiss her brother plants on her forehead, scrunching her nose in an amused grimace

“You high?”

“A little drunk,”

Mickey admits, letting go of her and stepping back

“It’s good to see you, Mandy. I … well … yeah, fuck it, I missed you.”

Mandy turns to Ian, mock surprised

“Shit! You almost got my brother fully domesticated, talking about his feelings … what did you do?”

“Magic dick.”

Ian quips, fending off the playful gut punch that comment earns him.

“Asshole.”

Mickey mumbles but his attention is firmly with Mandy

“How you doin’?”

Mandy twists her hands into the pockets of the tight denim skirt she is wearing and bobs her head.

“I’m good, a little freaked out by this summons though.”

“Wasn’t a summons!”

Mickey frowns defensively as Mandy rolls her eyes at him.

“Course it was! You’re like Michael Corleone and where ever the fuck Terry is, right now he might as well be the old don in his orange garden.”

“What the fuck are you ...”

“It’s the Godfather, idiot! Anyway my point is you run the family when Terry’s away.”

“No I don’t.”

Mickey is clearly uncomfortable with this but Mandy isn’t backing down from it and simply shrugs.

“Kinda do. We haven’t all got together for years ...”

Both siblings fall silent, trying to think of the last time they were all together. It’s been so long neither of them can actually remember and the chances are it wouldn’t be a happy memory anyway.

“Yev’s here.”

Mickey offers finally and Mandy smiles a little sadly

“Yevgeny? Really?”

“Yeah, we have him almost every weekend officially but he swings by whenever really. Got his own room … y’know.”

Mickey fidgets a little awkwardly and Ian instinctively hands him what is left of his cigarette, which Mickey takes with a grateful smile.

“That’s nice Mick.”

“He’s got Mom’s eyes.”

Mickey tries to make it sound casual, well aware that this has become some sort of code for claiming Yevgeny as his own amongst his family and he’s eager to get that cloaked conversation out of the way as quickly as possible.

“I remember.”

Mandy rubs his arm reassuringly and Mickey wonders what her hesitation or surprise is about the kid if not the question of his paternity.

“I must owe him a fuck ton of birthday and christmas presents.”

Mandy jokes, lighting another cigarette and Ian and Mickey exchange a quick look of exact understanding.

“Don’t be silly! We spoil him rotten as it is!”

Ian wraps and arm around her shoulder and gives her a gentle squeeze. He still thinks of Mandy as being of a height with him and the frailty of her bones beneath the check-shirt surprises him anew but he doesn’t let it show.

“Yeah, besides, I ain’t slavin’ away cookin’ eggs for you all tomorrow, fuck that! We’ll go to McDonalds and you can get him a hashbrown. Kid’s like a damn dog when it comes to food. Feed him weird, greasy potato shit and he’ll love you forever.”

Mickey takes Ian to one side as Mandy greets her other brothers and nephew

“I’m gonna get this done now.”

“Okay,”

Ian nods, his place now is to support, he can’t get in the way of family business, no matter his place in Mickey’s life.

“What can I do?”

Mickey glances around and bites his lip, thinking.

“Get the BBQ goin’, take Yev with you and keep him outside. You hear any shit going down, call the cops and get Yev away.”

Ian takes a deep breath and holds it until the urge to protest passes, then lets out a long sigh through his nose.

“Okay.”

He says again. Mickey quirks his lip upwards and reaches up, tugging Ian lightly downward to kiss him. It is a long and steady kiss, nothing like the furtive pecks that Mickey used to give him when any of his siblings were around. It is a promise and a reassurance and Ian gives him a warm smile as they separate.

“Just be safe, okay?”

“Always, man.”

Mickey pats Ian’s butt and turns on his heel, shoulders squared and South Side swagger in full force, barking out his summons that is not a summons.

“Meeting. Now. Kitchen table.”

Mickey sits at the head of the table without thinking and then gives Mandy a withering look when she starts humming a low tune that he recognises as a theme to an old movie, probably the Godfather or whatever the Hell it was called.

“Where’s Dad?”

Joey asks as soon as he has his cigarette lit. Mickey tongues his lower lip and is about to answer when Mandy snaps her fingers assertively

“Hey! You all know the rules! Weapons on the table in family meetings.”

“Come the fuck on, Mandy.”

Jamie sighs but Mandy only glares at him and then each of the others in turn

“Rules! Centre of the table.”

She snaps and removes a slender can of mace from her bra and a small knife from the edge of her boot. Joey complies next. The rule was made after Terry slashed his shoulder open with a flick-knife in a fit of temper over a confessed loss of some merchandise. Iggy and Jamie follow, adding brass knuckles, a dirty butterfly knife and two vicious looking curved blades to the pile. Mickey hesitates and then pulls the ruger out of the back of his pants, opens the chamber and empties the bullets into his hand before chucking it on top.

“A fucking gun? Shit! What the fuck have you done?”

Iggy laughs but the atmosphere is starting to bristle with the threat of violence. Mickey licks his lips and sets his hands flat on the table, braced palm down. If he waits any longer he’s going to lose his nerve. He cricks his neck left, then right and says

“Dad’s dead. I killed him.”

There is a moment of silence and then Jamie puffs his cheeks out and exhales a rush of air noisily.

“Damn Mickey.”

“This something to do with Ian’s face?”

Iggy motions to his own eye, it is the only bruising that is still really bad, the eyeball itself still a little bloodshot and although the swelling has gone down, it still doesn’t open fully.

“Yeah, he was supposed to meet Yevgeny but he came here instead when I was out. Fucked Ian up, badly. I came back … we fought. I killed him.”

Mickey’s gaze is flicking between each of his siblings. Mandy has her eyes fixed on the table top but beneath the table her booted foot nudges against his in silent support.

Iggy isn’t smiling any more but he is nodding in grudging understanding and that is something.

Jamie looks pretty non-plussed and Mickey knows he is waiting for Joey’s reaction. Everyone is waiting for Joey’s reaction. It’s why Mickey unloaded the damn gun before surrendering it.

Joey has always been the most like Terry: looks, temperament, ideals. He was also the one Terry gave the hardest time to, the most beatings, the most vicious insults and the only kid that Terry ever gave up willingly during a bust. It had been pretty much game over to Joey anyway when the cops came in but still, it had been heartbreaking for him to hear his father casually admit that he had been with him when they did the heist.

He looks at his youngest brother now and rubs his bottom lip, considering.

“You do it in cold blood?”

“No, we were fighting, I pistol whipped him and thought he’d go down but he … he fuckin’ grabbed it and we were both trying to get control … he got shot.”

Mickey is trying to keep as close to the truth as possible because lying to Joey has always been damn near impossible. His hands are starting to tremble but he manages to hold them steady under the cool, dark gaze.

“And it was definitely you? Not your … boyfriend?”

The word drips with distaste and it gives Mickey the last surge of indignation he needs to get through.

“You fuckin’ deaf? I said it was me.”

Joey grunts and then shrugs

“Fine. Old man should have known better than to come after your family. Fag or not.”

Jamie nods at this and turns to Mickey

“Yeah man. He should have fuckin’ left it alone. Fag or not.”

“He’s actually dead. I always figured he’d die in jail.”

Mandy murmurs quietly and Iggy snorts, smiling despite himself

“Yeah, or if it was gonna be one of us, I always thought it’d be you.”

Mandy’s head jerks up and she gives her brother a ‘what the fuck’ look which makes Iggy actually laugh, though he quickly raises an apologetic hand to Joey

“Why the fuck would it be me?”

Mandy demands and as she speaks memory rushes around them all in a vicious, vice like grip, the barbs of knowledge long repressed sinking in deep and they all fall silent, though Mickey’s boot presses firmly against Mandy’s and holds there.

After a minute he breaks the silence and looks directly at Joey

“So what do we do? I killed our dad.”

Joey drums his fingers on the table thoughtfully. They could be discussing who’s turn it is to go collect a pizza or which team might when the season this year. Death is a natural part of life for all people but for the Milkovich’s of South Side, it is so much a part of life that even when it is one of there own, the feeling tends to be a sort of muted awareness at best and none of them are damp eyed at the loss of their father.

“We could take you outside and fuck you up a bit but … ah … fuck it. I’m on parole, man. Looks like you got a broken nose, mostly healed... Ig?”

Before Mickey can move, Iggy’s fist connects with his face and his vision explodes in a star-burst of pain.

“FUCK! Jesus fucking Christ!”

Mickey rocks back in his chair, nearly toppling it over. Blood pumps out of both nostrils and splashes onto the palms of his hands as they instinctively cup beneath his face. It was a damn good punch, hard enough to create a lot of drama but not hard enough to actually break the cartilage afresh. Iggy was always a fuckin’ savant when it came to his fists and Mickey is grateful.

Mandy hands him a bandanna from her shirt pocket and the atmosphere softens noticeably

“Did he get a decent burial? Whole?”

Jamie asks quietly and Mickey nods, dabbing lightly at his nostrils

“Yeah. With the silver chain from Mom. I left it on him.”

“Good.”

Jamie nods and Joey smiles slightly

“What do you wanna do about territory?”

Mickey shakes his head lightly and stands up.

“You guys split it - four ways, if Mandy wants in. I don’t want any of it and don’t deserve the inheritance anyway.”

This is clearly the right answer because Joey retrieves his weapons and pockets them. The family meeting is over.

Iggy, clearly not giving a shit about territory grabs another beer and nods to Mandy

“Hey, you meet your nephew yet?”

“Yeah, he’s cute.”

“Mickey don’t whoop him though.”

Jamie offers, clearly expecting some level of horror from Mandy on Mickey’s blatant lack of parenting skills.

“You don’t?”

Mandy’s smile is bright and hopeful

“Yeah .. no, I mean, I guess I’d swat him if he was being an asshole but what the fuck does a grown-ass man want with beating on a little kid?”

Mickey shakes his head and Mandy sighs happily

“You’re doing so good, Mick.”

“Pop beat us and we turned out fine.”

Jamie mumbles and Mickey raises a sardonic eyebrow at his brother but Iggy retorts first

“Yeah and one of his kids fuckin’ shot him. Times change man.”

Jamie ponders this for a minute and then huffs out a startled breath

“Shit! I hadn’t thought of that. I’m not gonna lay a hand on my kids if I have any. Or my wife either, just in fuckin’ case! Times change!”

It is the most eloquent he has been all day and he looks rather pleased with himself until Joey shoves him and says

“You’ll have to find a bitch desperate enough to marry you first.”

“Fuck you!”

The ensuing scuffle breaks one of Ian’s kitchen chairs and smashes the fruit bowl but it is good natured and clears the last of the tension.

Business completed, retribution delivered and the subject of territory to be settled later, Joey and Jamie eat, fill their pockets with booze and leave. They don’t hug Mickey or Iggy but they hug Mandy in a sort of awkward way, unused to contact with a woman that they aren’t trying to bed.

Mandy settles into the sofa with Ian, catching up on everything, trusting him to tell Mickey the things she cannot tell him herself. She falls asleep against Ian’s chest, secure and utterly safe in her brother’s home.

Iggy sticks around, plays video games with Yevgeny and tries to teach him how to make a butterfly blade dance between his fingers until Mickey swoops in and forbids it, giving Yev a spoon to practice with instead.

“But can’t I ...”

“No.”

“But Papa …”

Fine, black eyebrows raise and a pair of stern, blue eyes widen and the whining ceases immediately.

Iggy goes into the bathroom and does another fishbowl and when he comes back into the living room, he looks around and gives a little amused giggle.

It is a Milkovich household in which a child is safe, loved and cared for.

A father doesn’t hit his kid.

An alpha male is gay.

Family is welcome and no weapons are needed.

Women are safe inside the four walls and each person has enough food without having to ask. He is on his fourth sandwich and no one has yelled at him.

Times fuckin’ change indeed!

#shameless #shameless us #shameless fanfiction #shameless imagine #mickey milkovich #yevgeny milkovich #ian x mickey #Milkovich #ian gallagher #Ian loves Mickey #130lb of ukrainian courage

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goddamnitdazai · 7 years

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Like Smoke

[ Chapter 2 ] [ Mafia!Dazai x Reader ] ******* {Previous Chapters} ******* [ Words: 1,449 ][ Mature ] [ Canon Divergent - Canon typical violence ] [ Language - Adult situation ] Between midnight and two am when the rain sprinkles lightly and mixes with the heat of growing summer a thick fog billows through the city. Tapping feather-light over the windows and doors of sleeping inhabitants the rain brings an eerie chill slithering between alleyways. The streets are barren and ink black. Pale amber flickers down from towering streetlamps and glimmer across the wide diner window. The booth feels stiff against your back; the edges of your sleeves feel soggy against your thumb and forefinger. Apparently the dead of night was the perfect time for a decadent hot pot, and a decent way to warm up after being drenched in ice water for nearly eight hours. His eccentric behavior didn’t seem all that strange given his position. Despite the fancy clothes donning each member and boatloads of cash funneling in from all areas of the darkest parts of the city the mentality of hustling didn’t change. Charisma, control, dominance, and manipulation were key to running a crime ring be it small or large, and the kings of the land always kept their cards tight to their chest. Dazai was another prince waiting to be crowned king, and in spite of the airy cheeriness in his voice when he offered a sorry-we-tortured-you meal you weren’t fooled into thinking his kindness didn’t come with a price tag.

“Not that I care much about the car, but you should be more careful when you work,” His lips split into a smile as he talks, cheek cradled in the palm of his hand. “I haven’t seen you before, are you new?” “Sorry boss I’ll be more careful next time,” you retort sharply, “but if I make the same mistake again I’ll get to see your oh so warm and loving subordinate. We had such a lovely time this evening.” Dazai’s eyes spark with amusement. Sarcasm is not something he often deals with (other than from Chuuya) and a rift in the stale ‘senpai’ worship Akutagawa constantly choked him with was something of a cherished gift. Dazai laughs—almost as soft as a school boy—but his eyes remain a swirling ocean of shadows. They flit up and down your face searching for a hint of anything worth triggering his inner alarm but all he sees through the steam is a shiver every now and again. His jacket looks good draped over your shoulders, he thinks to himself, but he’d have to take it back before the sun began to rise. “Did you enjoy the show then, boss?” Dazai’s lips stretch further. Sharp brows rise with the movement of your hands carefully bringing a tender slice of pork belly to your lips. It’s hard to catch up with the way Dazai’s mind works, but a sliver of uncertainty flickers in his eyes before he closes them. A softened hum slips through his lips as his fingers thread themselves with each other and nestle beneath his chin. The pork slides down like a thick ball of sand catching in your throat. His silence is unnerving. Your hand finds the cup of sake—buffering your nerves was better than letting your guard slip. “What makes you think I was watching? My subordinates aren’t attached to me. I don’t care to keep tabs on them until they do something worth my time.” Dazai sighs, eyes popping open and falling on the empty glass in your hand. “Taste good? This is the best sake they serve here.” “Weren’t you having him guard your car? Or were you just using him as a hood ornament because he pissed you off? I know you were there at some point before I got kicked down to that rancid dungeon.” Dazai’s head cocks to the side revealing an empty row of booths lining the rest of the diner. At some point between the hot pot and sake the small room had become vacant. Music drifts through old speakers hanging behind an old half-polished espresso machine. Idling outside the front door a man with a white apron slung over his round belly puffs out thick smoke into the night air. Every beat of your heart feels heavy. Dazai remains still—colder than before, and damn could that man could hold a gaze longer than you could hope to live. Inhale, exhale—don’t look down. “Boss?” A choked utterance of his title barely cracks his demeanor. The wooden chopsticks between your fingers roll back and forth as you wrack your brain for an answer. Underestimation didn’t seem to happen very often under Dazai’s thick veil of intelligence. Something hidden sparked bright against his dark eyes; no, underestimation of an enemy was too rare of an occurrence to be wasted on you. Rather than display his cards he was waiting to see how many of them you could read with the minuscule amount of detail he’d dropped throughout the day. “I’m just guessing that’s why he was there in the parking lot. Or he just loves you too much to let you out of his sight.” Rolling the dice with tone was like prodding a sleeping bear at this point, but flirting with death was a vice you couldn’t kick. Dazai’s hands move slowly down to the table and begin to tap lightly on the edge. His eyes close once more; your lungs forget how to hold on to a breath. He eases one hand over the untouched pair of chopsticks and languidly dips them to the bowl to pluck a piece of pork belly from the stew. The smile you’d first seen down in that grimy dungeon pops back on his face. His eyes fall to the piece of pork like a child finding a hidden prize before he plops the meat into his mouth. “I didn’t want to force it out of you. You seem so stubborn and I didn’t want to deal with that,” he says between bites, “Akutagawa-kun managed to get enough out to confirm my suspicions. Now can we skip the formalities and jump to the part where you just say yes? I’ve had a loonnggg day.” The bitter tang of bile reaches your teeth. Gnarled up like a dead tree root your stomach attempts to lurch. Dazai blinks and pushes a glass of water towards your hand. His smile is captivating, iniquitous—perfect. Take me home, boss. “Do you want to see it?” Offering compliancy is not a state of submission, it is a state of transparent loyalty. Connections between humans locked away in the shadows of society are the only means of survival. He needed you, and vice versa. Perhaps need was too strong of a word, or maybe it wasn’t strong enough. “What drives you, ____?” Your name on his lips feels like cyanide. A response to a question with another is considered evasive, but he is merely working you in circles. Keeping you dizzy, blind, and guessing which step to take next. He plays with people—he was raised to be a puppeteer, and unfortunately your strings were neon lights waiting to be yanked whichever way he pleased. Did he know? He knew your name, he had to know everything. “Money, what else?” You say, “But do you want to see it?” “Not now, _____. I’d rather keep drinking.” Dazai winks and slides the refilled sake cup your direction. A shot of lightening rolls down your spine. Benevolence returns to him; that smile with brightened cheeks the color of a rose due to the sake running through his veins. Dazai, your boss, the man who looked on as you nearly froze to death solely to watch your ability knock death’s grip away. Dazai, who baited you with an expensive car and an unruly subordinate who lusted for nothing other than blood just to bring you in under his command or someone’s because who the hell knew what he wanted. And you fucking fell for it. His brilliance was nothing to snub. Annoying, however, he could have just fucking asked. “A toast?” You suggest while plopping your chin on your palm. His cologne wavers across the booth, had he always smelled so good? White bandages poke out from his sleeve as he reaches for the carafe and pours you both a decent sized shot. Black cups clink as the sun peaks over the horizon and lights up the world in honey-suckle gold. A spell of exhaustion tugs you at your body. The mixture of alcohol and draining adrenaline renders you with the mobility of a half-dead corpse. Dazai’s hand cups your chin from across the table to keep your head steady. “Ah, not yet ____ ~.” Dazai chimes, “We’ve got one more stop before I take you home.”

#bungou stray dogs #dazai #dazai osamu #mafia!dazai #bsd #ls #my writing #my writing dazai #dazai x reader #bsd reader insert #dazai reader insert #osamu dazai #bungou sd #bsd fanfic #dazai fanfic

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365news · 5 years

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365News Headlines Today Sun-09-Jun-2019

365News Headlines Today Sun-09-Jun-2019 �� - Punch Petrol imports rise by 534 million litres NNPC Power generation suffers as gas supply drops by 97mmscfd Bandits strike again in Katsina, kill three brothers Family accuses army of illegal bunkering on seized land Monarchs, politicians behind illegal mining in Osun Oluwo Power-drunk IG teams cops shoot boy dead, dispose of corpse in Rivers You lack powers to probe me, Shuaibu tells APC disciplinary cttee National Assembly leaders elections: Management picks secret poll, open ballot advocates lose out Whistleblower sues FG over alleged N1.9bn commission default Unfreeze MKOs accounts, pay reparation, ex-LG boss begs FG Panel summons NPDC, Seplat bosses over alleged $1.8bn, N8.8bn debt I wanted to be a movie star growing up - Abimbola Akeredolu, SAN NBC illegally approved 16 radio stations- Group After graduation, I gave my parents my certificate -Okekunle Akintunde Trafficking merchants exploit lure of Abidjan, trick Ejigbo girls, others into prostitution Lagos PDP: Bode George, others vow to resist external interference Rwandans encourage visitors to see genocide museum -Bob-Manuel Udokwu Music videos as soft porn 30,000 teachers take national qualifying exams Seek militarys help, South-West govs tell CPs South-East APC leaders demand Reps speakers position Oyo becoming hot spot of girls trafficking NIS N3.4 billion: Emir of Kano, Sanusi replies Gandujes query AGF took over Goje case, EFCC didnt withdraw -Prosecutor FIFA bans ex-Afghan football boss for life over sexual assault Kidnapped expatriates: Wike gives Andoni chiefs, LG boss 72-hour ultimatum Goalkeeper turned rebel fighter dies in northwest Syria - Vanguard Sanusi II replies query, says Emirate had N1, 89bn, not N3.4bn in 2014 Political analyst hails performance of 8th National Assembly AIT/Raypower: PDP lauds judiciary for upholding justice, rule of law Gov. Ganduje, Sanusi reconcile, exchange pleasantries Delta Force win Aiteo FA Cup I kneel to serve and feed my husband ' Jaaruma Chike Ike's secret relationship that defined her life Iyabo Ojo debunks rumours she never married, releases marriage photos, certificate Cossy Orjiakor threatens to beat up Halima Abubakar Senate: S'South APC ditches Alimikhena, endorses Omo-Agege for DSP How do you have economic growth without power' ' Dangote Starting on faulty notes: Governors that got it twisted AFN/IAAF dollar saga: Crisis far from being over, says Ebewele Benue: Gov'ship election tribunal fixes June 24 for hearing Prof Sagay, others are enemies of democracy, says Ikimi 9th Senate: My support for Lawan has no political attachment ' Ifeanyi Ubah AFCON 2019: Rohr under pressure 24hrs to squad deadline Time up for 'history haters' ' Wole Soyinka, Tony Elumelu, Femi Kuti, Kwame Nkrumah's daughter JUNE 12 ANNIVERSARY: Why we need electoral reforms before 2023, by Osoba ODESOLA AT 60: I don't pray for long life 'Redeemed Asst General Overseer who has six PhD degrees Democratic culture and the 2019 general elections in Nigeria (3) APC DEPUTY CHAIRMAN SLAMS OSHIOMHOLE'S NWC: You can't intimidate me, only NEC can try me From Nollywood to pulpit: Eucharia Anunobi's untold conversion story Chika Ike sets the internet on fire with kinky bikini photos Tearful tales from Hiv victims: 'Family members, friends spearheaded our stigmatisation Next level is pure anarchy We can hack into any account, withdraw money from it, even if phone is locked- suspect Lamentation of a blind cop: What answering a distress call from Chivita has caused me My mum took me to three countries where I had sixteen operations as a child ' Adebutu Davido's girlfriend, Chioma goes mean on pregnancy rumour Internet debate as Hushpuppi , Zlatan Ibile pose with same jeep - New Telegraph Mosalasi in Old Ojo where all stolen items are bought, resold Gbenga Daniel reclaims mouthwatering property A time to face dangers of depression We need only 9 radicals from APC 'Opposition Abia South: APGA candidate insists Abaribe didn't win election Sylva to Dickson: We took loans for development Gbajabiamila offers 60 PDP Reps committee chairmanship, deputy slots Shuaibu to Oshiomhole: You lack powers to discipline me Ganduje, Emir Sanusi dialogue towards permanent reconciliation Tompolo's kinsmen raise alarm over alleged military siege Yam price increases 10% Electronics, others unchanged in May NBS: Prices of selected food stuff increased in May Michelin, GM to produce airless tires in 2024 Why APC lost Adamawa, Bauchi, Imo, other states, by Issa-Onilu Barty wins French Open title Assessment of President Muhammadu Buhari's 4 years of governance I sold my Vesper Scooter to pay for university education 'Moses Aboaba Price of beauty Banky W joins call for audit of music copyright You are my heart, my oxygen 'Bambam tells Teddy A I want to build a name for myself 'DJ Cuppy - The Sun How motherhood helped me overcome depression 'Kaffy, dancer Thiem faces Nadal in French Open final after Djokovic loss Oshiomhole and the APC conundrum I went through hell to get pregnant, says woman who had twins after 19 years Fulanisation, Islamisation alarm: ACF tackles Obasanjo Revealed at last: How major Nzeogwu died In 3 years there won't be APGA again 'Nwobualor I'm real chair of APGA, Oye ceased to be chairman June 7 'Njoku Njoku, others who gathered in owerri are charlatans 'Oye APGA: Ominous signs as crisis deepens Obi, others condemn suspension of AIT, Ray Power licenses NGO urges Buhari to probe award of new radio licences What 9th Senate must do to change negative perception ' Abba Moro Speakership: Gbajabiamila offers PDP Reps 60 chairmanship, vice slots DSP: Omo-Agege not APC adopted candidate 'Akpovoka, APC chieftain State police: Experts suggest modalities for smooth transition Islamization: It'll be long, tough, bloody ' Mbazulike Amaechi, Elder Statesman 9th Assembly: You can't sideline South East, other zones ' Ikokwu What is pterygium ' Surfer's eye Imo West election: Time for sanity Stomach infrastructure and Nigeria's emergent political culture What did the devil put in SNIPER - Tribune Nigeria's best university ranks 800th in world ' Babalakin I won't appear before your disciplinary committee, Shuaibu tells Oshiomhole Governors divided over state police N3.4 billion: Emir of Kano, Sanusi replies Gov Ganduje's query 9th NASS Speakership race: No retreat, no surrender as Bago, Onyejeocha, others dare APC, Gbajabiamila Queen Elizabeth celebrates 93rd birthday with parade; Meghan in attendance Thousands of Liberians protest against Weah over corruption, economic decline CBN set to block accounts of smuggling companies, individuals We must tackle almajiri syndrome now or ' ' Tambuwal Kano: Dangote, Fayemi broker peace between Ganduje, Emir Sanusi Never again will external intervention be allowed in Lagos PDP, says Olabode George, others Debtor-states in bigger financial mess as banks obey NFIU order Bandits kill 102-yr-old, 15 others in Zamfara - Guardian Kidnap of expatriates: Wike gives Andoni chiefs, LG boss 3-day ultimatum Emir of Kano replies query over alleged funds misappropriation Lack of political will, responsible for tax evasion World Cups: BON enters free-to-air deal with FIFA CBN blocks accounts of suspected smugglers, begins investigations NGOs urge Buhari notto sign NBMA amendment bill Abuja Indigenes: Their ministerial slot as 'necessary evil EFCC denies withdrawing alleged fraud case against Goje Police bans rallies in Kano over Ganduje, Sanusi rift Thiem ends Djokovic history bid, faces Nadal for Roland Garros title Like a 'hurricane': Djokovic blasts 'worst' ever conditions after Paris exit Discover The Indonesian Tribe Where They Keep Dead Bodies As Part Of Tradition - The Nation Presidency raises four-man team to broker peace between Sanusi, Ganduje Ihedioha appoints Attorney-General, others Bayelsa guber: Group tackles Ogoriba over denial of zoning NFIU policy will ground 774 LGs, CNPP warns Buhari wades into Oshiomhole, Obaseki feud How senators bought office equipment at giveaway prices FG to employ all qualified, licensed teachers Nigerias Popoola develops app for Britons, Nigerians to rate their leaders Obaseki, Oshiomhole and the crisis within We cant predict 2020 elections in Edo Kogi 2019: Intrigues as interests fight over Bello's seat Financial autonomy for LGs good, but Foisting leadership on NASS may cause instability June 12: How Adedibu won SDP ticket for MKO - Aboderin How far can Anchor Borrowers fund go Eagles, Warriors settle for goalless draw in Asaba friendly Emir Sanusi replies query Shuaibu to APC NWC: You lack powers to investigate, punish me 19 people burnt to death in Akure/Owo road crash - Premium Times Ebonyi APC Reps candidate, REC bicker over election results One in five boys 'married off' before age 15 ' UNICEF Nigerians react as EFCC withdraws from Goje's corruption trial Street food consumed in Lagos, Kano 'highly contaminated' ' Study Ganduje/Emir Sanusi Rift: Police bans rallies in Kano FIFA Women's World Cup: Nigeria's Super Falcons lose to Norway FCT records highest road crashes in March ' FRSC APC Crisis: Deputy Chairman seeking Oshiomhole's removal snubs disciplinary panel Gov. Ganduje, Sanusi reconcile as Dangote, Fayemi broker peace Iran has no plans to leave OPEC despite tensions ' Oil minister Road accident claims 19 lives in Ondo Permanent secretaries now heading Nigerian ministries (FULL LIST) CSOs kick as Nigerian mechanic, police officers, missing nine months after - Linda Ikeji WhatsApp conversations between Neymar and rape accuser Najila Trindade released (Screenshots) After Dangote and Fayemi's intervention, Governor Ganduje and Emir Sanusi reconcile (Photo) Filmmaker,Sam Omiyitan calls out his colleagues for shunning late actress Moyi Olaiya's daughter on her graduation day Amber Rose ditches her signature blonde look as she starts growing her hair (Photos) Beware of 542: The Death Code Woman who claimed husband wanted to use her for rituals is a psychiatric patient - LIB reader claims Beautiful Meghan Markle makes her first public appearance since son Archie was born as she joins royal family for Trooping of the Colour Comedian, I Go Dye, shares more photos of the massive house he built for his 9-year-old son as birthday gift Madonna says she feels "raped" by the New York Times over their new profile about her Prince Louis makes his Buckingham Palace balcony debut as he joins his siblings for Trooping of The Colour Rapper Megan Thee Stallion reveals why she still sleeps with her exes UCH Ibadan is overcrowded and overwhelmed - Chief Medical Director, Jesse Otegbayo cries out Private pictures of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle's wedding are leaked online after official photographer's computer is hacked LUTH resident doctors embark on indefinite strike Oluwo of Iwoland reacts as Imam accuses him of trying to sleep with his wife (video) Liberian government blocks access to social media following protests against President George Weah and the missing $100 million - Goal It will not be Miami' - Griezmann says he knows where he will play next season Fantastic' signing Hazard will make the difference at Real Madrid ' Courtois Martino not putting priority on maintaining Mexico winning streak Southgate not leaving England for Chelsea or 'to take any job Scotland showed character with last minute winner against Cyprus - Clarke Sorg: Leading Germany felt strange after win in Low's absence My Hazard fears were proved wrong! Martinez lauds latest Belgium effort Neville calls for 'superhuman effort' from England in World Cup Marta expected to miss Brazil's opening Women's World Cup game Women's World Cup Review: Spain, Norway and Germany make winning starts Mancini expects more from Italy despite 3-0 win in Greece Woeful France hit 10-year low in terrible Turkey performance We took a good slap - Deschamps blasts France after Turkey defeat He trains to the limit' - Santos expects Ronaldo to star for Portugal at the 2022 World Cup Bakayoko wants Chelsea stay despite interest from big clubs, says agent Neymar accuser testifies for six hours to Sao Paulo police EXTRA TIME: Banyana Banyana fans upset with VAR after losing to Spain in World Cup Estonia 1 Northern Ireland 2: Super-sub Magennis earns dramatic late win Notoane: Baxter could solve Bafana Bafana's injury problems with these six players Leyton Orient manager & former Tottenham defender Edinburgh dies aged 49 Ecuador eliminates USA in Under-20 World Cup quarter-finals Estonia 1 Northern Ireland 2: Super-sub Magennis earns dramatic late win Victor Ndinya set to sit out Wazito's title decider on the last day Inter will challenge for Scudetto under Conte, predicts Skriniar Ake backs 'fantastic' De Jong to shine at Barcelona after dominating England Matuidi says Ronaldo 'wants to win everything' even in training - BBC Venezuela crisis: Border with Colombia reopens after four months Walter Lbcke: Person detained in German shooting mystery Where dogs wear pollution masks A telephone for grief after the Japanese tsunami How do you vacuum plastic from a beach The underwater Indian village that emerges once a year How Sri Lanka's arrack coconut spirit went upmarket Women's World Cup: Spain Women 3-1 South Africa Women Africa Cup of Nations: Uganda midfielder Waisma out through injury Letter from Africa: A royal feud threatens Nigeria's heritage I call my stem cell donor my sister India v Australia: Steve Smith is best batsman in the world, says Aaron Finch Scotland 2-1 Cyprus: Steve Clarke's reign starts with victory after Oliver Burke winner Cricket World Cup: New Zealand beat Afghanistan to make it three wins from three Women's World Cup: England play Scotland in their opening match Euro 2020 qualifiers: Turkey 2-0 France Sebastian Vettel beats Lewis Hamilton to Canada pole position Venice protesters call for ban on large vessels after crash Cricket World Cup: Jason Roy hits 153 as England beat Bangladesh in Cardiff - CNN Mass protest in Hong Kong over law critics fear could allow China to snatch anyone Taiwan used to be home to a huge number of bears. No one really knows how many are left DC Pride Parade marchers injured after panic caused by noises mistaken for gunshots New York Times: Mexico, US agreed on border policies months before Trump tariff threat I'm a black man with a teenage son. I can't bring myself to watch 'When They See Us British prime minister hopeful reportedly admits to cocaine use, but does anyone care India's election spending surges past US to record high Maluma's YouTube documentary sends the Latin music star back to his roots Texas governor signs law increasing the age to buy tobacco products to 21 3 children killed after pickup truck hits Amish horse-drawn carriage Analysis: Saudi and the arms race less spoken about Lesbian couple viciously beaten: Five teens held Symptoms pointed to cancer. But it wasn't a tumor surgeons removed You know what really sparks joy' Taking a sledgehammer to your ex's stuff. 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dangerouslyaddictivethings · 7 years

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So it’s been almost 24 hours. Hopefully you had somewhat of a good night’s sleep. I just wanted to gather all my thoughts and say my end of the season thoughts about Pens.

You have no idea how proud I am of these guys. Back to back Stanley Cup champions in the salary cap era. Truly a remarkable achievement. Take a bow, boys. You have achieved greatness. It is always said that every team that wins battles through improbable challenges but this team actually climbed a steep mountain to win the Cup. Last year, we were the better team in terms of skill and speed but this year we were the stronger team because of endurance, belief and strength. So many injuries this season. Oh my goodness. When we lost Tanger, our best defenceman, nobody gave up instead we rallied around Coach Tanger. Flower, now that we know you waved you NMC back in February, this playoffs must have been extra special to you. I will miss you, your brilliant smile and enthusiasm everyday. You are the most classiest teammate in the world. It’s so hard to imagine in any jersey other than the Penguins one. I wish you all the best wherever you go. Sid, o captain my captain, this season and the Stanley Cup win meant so much towards your legacy. Is there anything you have’t won yet? So many uncertainties from all the concussions from 5 years ago and this playoffs but with the 1000th NHL point and all the other milestones this playoffs you proved all your critics wrong. You are not done yet. Geno that Conn Smythe was yours. You were a beast this playoffs. Involved in everything. You cemented your legacy this playoffs also. If that injury didn’t happen at the end of the season what would have happened to the Art Ross race? You may not have been part of the NHL 100 but in our heart you always will be. We all now you were snubbed. Phil Kessel is now a 2x Stanley Cup champion. Such a good sentence. Music to my ears. Muzz, you already won 2 cups and yet you’re still technically a rookie. What an impressive start to a career. When you talked about how Flower passed you the cup and him being your mentor just proves that there was always love and support between these two wonderful goalies. When you got choked up, we choked up too. I thank God everyday that Patric Hornqvist was traded to our team. So vital to this team. Gives them the energy to win which they dearly missed when he went down with concussion. I’m so glad you scored the series clinching goal and your best friend scored the empty netter. This season was full of ups and downs but it ended with the sweet prize, Lord Stanley’s mug. Once again congratulations to the Pittsburgh Penguins. Enjoy your days with the cup boys.

#sorry this got really long #i just a lot of opinions #thank you for this wonderful season #it was pleasure cheering for you #love you guys #pittsburgh penguins

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idolizerp · 5 years

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LOADING INFORMATION ON INDIGO’S LEAD VOCAL LEE HANBIN...

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: N/A CURRENT AGE: 23 DEBUT AGE: 18 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 16 COMPANY: MSG SECONDARY SKILL: Acting

IDOL PROFILE

NICKNAME(S): snow prince (mainly for his complexion, though it became more common after a fantaken picture during a snow day became popular among indigo fans), peach boy or simply peach (for his complexion and naturally rosy lips, as well as his exaggerating his love for peaches in attempts to land himself a pretty nickname during debut promotions), german shepherd (for his acute ability to recognize people and some objects by their scent). INSPIRATION: the only motivation he had to consider a career under the spotlights was his mother, and the ungodly thirst for adoration he had inherited from her. the only encouragement he needed to audition for an entertainment company and take whatever he was given was his mother, and the endless support she provided even when bedridden, faced with the limits of her own mortality. the only passion he found in the aftermath of a tragedy was his mother, and the memory of her love of old hollywood and gut-wrenching endings. SPECIAL TALENTS:

lethal ttakbam: hanbin’s ttakbam skills are known to be powerful enough to crack walnuts

dog nose: hanbin can identify people, especially bandmates, by their scent.

NOTABLE FACTS:

he participated in swimming and judo competitions between the ages of 10 and 15, has won 2 bronze medals for swimming, 2 silver medals and 1 gold medal for judo.

he is a theatre major at sungkyunkwan university, though his studies have been on hold since re:group.

although he doesn’t showcase this ability in variety shows, hanbin’s pretty good at doing korean and foreign accents.

there’s a 7 year age gap between him and his older brother.

IDOL GOALS

SHORT-TERM GOALS:

five years into their debut, indigo remains hanbin’s best bet. he knows his effort now should focus primarily on the group, they’re not in a position to snub the gust of luck blown their way since re:group. second chances don’t come easy. it sits just fine with him, as the new direction the group has taken relies on his strengths and potential. the momentum has pushed him on the path to an actual acting career, so he milks the opportunities for all they’re worth. for now, he double teams.

LONG-TERM GOALS:

hanbin needs independence. he doesn’t want to rely on any name that isn’t his own, he doesn’t want to make a living borrowing chances that can slip from his fingers at any given time. he wants his name to be the first one on posters, typed in bold on the big screen. the future hanbin has in mind is one of major pictures, layered characters and his face setting it all in motion. one day, he’ll play solo.

IDOL IMAGE

hanbin’s image changed not with time, but with the status he pursued.

when he debuted, he was rosy cheeks and honey gazes. soft spoken and clumsy, not too far from his daily life persona. he edits himself, highlights everything his company deemed charming and cut out the bad parts. no one can love a boy brimming with self doubt and obsession. they love the prince made of snow that smiles charmingly at the camera. they love the gap of his appearance and his clumsy hands and gawky stance that made his dance line awkward in a way that wasn’t entirely unattractive.

his market appeal is innocence, one less infantile than it is idealized, too beautiful to be true. they prefer it when he tones down his busan accent and speaks softer, which he can do well. they prefer it when he’s soft and easy, which he can’t do as well, but there aren’t other options. what the company wants is what the company projects onto him in post, and he just needs to learn to settle for it if he doesn’t want to be edited clean out from the final cut.

he is meant to be simple and sweet, and he believed there were worse roles to play.

but when indigo is reworked, he is given the opportunity to mix a little depth into the single dimension of niceties he used to be meant to embody.

to the innocent smoothness, he adds a distinguished coolness. his smiles are no longer desperate to be praised, he expects them to stand out. he remains sweet and charming, but now the interest no longer comes out of his clumsiness or lovable choreography mistakes, as there barely is any choreography to be spoken of anymore. the enticement comes from the subtle maturity of his stance. he could never pull off idol-sexy, but he can set his shoulders back and tip his head well enough to exude a sex appeal that promises there’s more to him than a handsome face.

IDOL HISTORY

— DRAFT 1. REFERENCES.

it starts with mother. the simplistic reality of that never goes understated, a perfectly adequate foreword to what becomes of hanbin. but it’s true that it begins with her moonlit eyes and warm hands, the laughter of his brother ringing distant in the room, and tv static.

her family thought of her as dreamer, but hanbin remembers his mother as ambitious. highly pragmatic, dangerously indulgent, focused. she enjoyed nice things and she wanted more of them, but there wasn’t anything remotely idealistic about the hunger she carried behind her easy smile that was so often derisively complimented as handsome. anyone of less kind disposition would say she smoked like a man, drank like a man, thought like a man. a great beyond was a nice talk to talk, but she could never resist the allure of comfort.

if that isn’t what makes big-headed girls like her settle, pretend they are head-deep into a love that takes no checks, cash only.

so she strapped alongside the bank manager ten years older than her that would father her two sons. if she was charisma and liberty, he was nothing more than a conservative bore, his two heels so grounded to firm earth he never moved out of the spot. it was home to work and work to home, and a visit to the parents on the weekends. fun was only ever mandatory, a bare minimum abiding by his final say.

he decided, she endured. the rules of the perfect marriage.

— DRAFT 2: BONES.

caught between the parents in a house that always felt decades older than its walls aged, the lee boys had to find space for themselves. hanbin always thought junhong had it easier as the first-born. he knew how to deal with his parents, he knew how to talk to people. everything seemed perfectly uncomplicated to him. he could fill his time with friends and the outside world that hanbin was so curious about.

from the very beginning, hanbin was the undeniable black sheep. his health was poor in the formative years of his life, which put his mother on his heels for most of his childhood lest any of his allergies would have him killed before he could reach double digits in age. he barely had an immune system, any common cold would leave him bedridden for days. but that wasn’t all.

his delicate condition made it hard for him to connect to his peers right when children are supposed to develop these skills, which put him under his mother’s wing for most of the affection and sociability he would be getting for most of his years. but that wasn’t all.

his father resented him for his weakness and his medical bills. he didn’t exactly bother to mask his impatience, never censoring himself before ranting about how much keeping his son alive cost him, like hanbin was responsible for it. worse, like his mother was responsible for it. what they say about spoiled offspring – if there’s something wrong with the bitch, there’s something wrong with the pup.

the fights escalated from occasional to daily. hanbin would often catch a waft of a strong, foul scent from his mother’s coffee cup when she fed him his medication before school. he didn’t remember seeing his father without the tension on his jaw or the frown between his eyes.

and he sat wedged between them, bound by his feet. a martyr of his own body.

— DRAFT 3: SON.

when he turned seven, his health took a turn for the better. one by one, his allergies started receding, he grew some muscle between the lot of skin and bones.

while he lived in hermitage, his parents tried to have him take part in monitored activities that could fill his time outside school. sometimes he felt like they just needed to have a few hours away from him. ironically, those only come to fruition after the illness fades. he improves in piano once the lessons don’t have to be taken in his house, at his father’s old keyboard, where his mother could hover around, peering over the teacher’s shoulder. piano used to only be another frustration that he had to get out of the way to make it through the day, but going to the conservatory for lessons gives him a confidence he hadn’t known before, a need to prove himself to the eyes from every corner.

that’s what eggs him on to ditch the therapeutic swimming sessions to do competitive training. that and all of the energy that suddenly is coursing in his blood, making him thrum with a vitality that felt new and foreign and odd under his skin. he’s doctor explains it’s the iron that he had his body used to lack, but it feels like fireworks and three glasses of chocolate milk at one in the morning.

it’s enough to get his father off his case, maybe occasionally going as far as to seem pleased. he himself had been successful enough in baseball to land a college scholarship back in his day. junhong was in a junior soccer league, so he could get used to having athletes for both sons, pass the baton. it was about putting up the trophy shelf and taking pictures at the podiums.

his mother dances to the blues he strings out of the keyboard on late afternoons, her lean, bowed arms drenched in the pinks and oranges of the sunset peeking through the kitchen window.

he knows whose pride and joy he wants to be.

— DRAFT 4: BLUR.

if he wasn’t ready for the energy flooding through him at nine, he doesn’t know what to do with all the anger biting at his gut at thirteen. the world fades to a sanguine blur, and he just knows he wants out. out of music, out of swimming, out of school. out of his house, that became somehow more crowded after junhong enlisted for mandatory service. all his parents seem to do is yell. at each other, at neighbors, at him – it doesn’t much matter. they don’t need much of a reason to pull when their finger never leaves the trigger.

his father has a way of ruining things, everything has to become torture for him to be satisfied. that’s what life is. hanbin can’t do anything but watch as his father turns what is meant to be a hobby into the sad corner of the trophy shelf, all bronze next to the golden cups his brother had gathered. quitting is a fight that breaks furniture and drags out into the dead of the night, and no allowance until hanbin is convinced to go back to competing. his last stand of defiance is switching sports, but he knows that’s a war his father has won.

he doesn’t remember anything outside the training rooms and the competitions. the only thing he hates more than competing is being forced to compete, but at least judo becomes an outlet. junhong makes it less miserable on the weekends he returns home, though those are fleeting graces. he spends his teens like a worker in the mine, sacrificing too much of his life for a sliver of gold.

when he gets it, he quits.

when he gets it, the life goes out of his mother’s eyes, terror flashing in their pale glint as her knees give.

— DRAFT 5: TRIAL.

at the moment of hanbin’s audition for msg entertainment, his mother is back in busan, on her fourth chemotherapy session. he smiles for the testing camera as he introduces himself, uncharacteristically calm, but it looks good on the frame. it’s becoming, suitable. one of the judges says he speaks as pretty as he looks.

he had been there for the first three sessions, tagging alongside the nurses as they checked her stats and replaced the needles. he asks stupid questions, but they’re patient enough to answer them, if a little begrudgingly. they do tell his mother she’s very lucky to have a son like him before they leave the room, and she puts on a proud smile on chapped lips, radiating.

he has her picture as the screensaver on phone, she had sent it right before leaving for the hospital, the morning of his audition.

this is his second audition to an idol company, so he feels a little bit more at ease than he did at midas. he prepares two songs: that i once was by your side, so he could rely on his piano skills rather than his immature singing, a trick that had almost gotten him through the cut at his first audition; and solo day by solstice, a nod to the company’s legacy which thankfully showcases his potential as an idol much better than his butchering of gemini that cost him his spot the last time.

the judges aren’t overly impressed, but the air in the room is light, he can feel a certain warmth as they thank him for his time and instruct him where to wait until the result is announced.

his performance is better than it was the last time around, but the real difference, he thinks, is his poise. a part of him is proud to convey more charm than the did the last time around, and hoped it would pay off.

his mother had told him to get the fuck out of the house as soon as he could, like she had done. his life is far too precious, she tells him, to be wasted away pleasing someone as daft as his father. she knows he wants more out of his time than be a shadow of a man past his prime.

they ask him what makes him want to become an idol, and he understands they want something flowery, palatable.

“get something done”, is her advice. “don’t make money. well”, she adds quickly, a moment of confusion between the loving mother and the worldly woman. “do make money. but don’t live to make money, live for something.”

he doesn’t want to just do a job, he wants to become something – isn’t that what being an idol is all about?

— DRAFT 6: REDACTED.

seventeen months are put into building hope.

he learns, to his dismay, that being a trainee is a lot less glamorous than he imagined. there aren’t even many bragging rights involved once he transfers to a school full of other trainees. it’s mostly just more homework, but he takes to dancing and singing better than he does to studying.

he learns he’s more adaptable than he had given himself credit for, which comes as a surprise. in training rooms, he can come out of his shell and dare say out loud what he wants. he gives advice and receives criticism, meets many limits that he has a hard time pushing. but he adapts.

he learns he can have expectations.

he learns that, once broken, faith takes the soul out of you. the two days he takes off from training, to prepare and carry out with the funeral, are spent confabulating a grand escape. it’s a weekend, it’s the perfect time to disappear. run away from his aunt’s house, never give his father an explanation, leave town, leave the country. leave everything behind until it stops hurting, leave his body behind too, if that’s what it takes.

he learns he can’t forget a promise. the last ten months it takes him to debut aren’t made of the same hope he had carried in the peak of his adolescence, but it’s the only he has left to stay in place and be the person he swore he would become.

— FINAL DRAFT: DOUBLE.

the much awaited glamour does come after debut, but it isn’t as they paint it on magazines and music shows. an idol has to be good at putting on the glitz, fit the happy smile and the alluring wink and the unexpected joke into the right places. the glitz is all about the rosy filter that washes out the feeling out of everything: smile at success, smile at mediocrity, smile at failure, smile at sales figures and chart positions and concert tickets, smile at fear, smile at the unshakeable sensation you have wasted your life away in a lie that was marketed to you, smile at the abyss. isn’t this what you wanted?

life with indigo isn’t made of a whole bunch of success, but there is the glamour. the sad beauty in being a failure at nineteen, the fatalistic allure of having no way out. he suffers, but he does it beautifully, with a touch up on his nose and fuller lips. he fails so well that a drama role is passed by enough actors ends up landing on his lap.

the experience teaches him that failing in a drama is a considerably better than failing as an idol. the drama pales in comparison to the competition and the career actors involved would hardly mention it among their accomplishments once they’re no longer contractually required to promote it, but it’s huge for hanbin. he feels, for the first time, like he’s on the radar.

that puts him at an odd place with his company. it’s not common for a rookie idol to get actor’s disease from a small role in a failed drama, his manager jokes, loud enough so anyone can hear in the hallway. they both know that it’s not what that is about, this is about hanbin struggling to survive and his company pulling him to the rock bottom in a sea of legalities, fine letters.

the news of his company rejecting a role for him reaches him before he can hear what the role is even for. they clip his wings and keep him in the basement, waiting further instructions, as he should. the few fans wonder why he hasn’t been discussing an acting comeback if indigo won’t make a return as a group - some don’t even know he’s in indigo.

all doubt seems to clear when the group is announced for re:group, a second chance at making an idol group functional again.

he plays it like a role, makes a character for himself - passionate, heated but collected, charming. he isn’t the center of attention, eyes set on a prize beyond momentary popularity, but he’s up there. he doesn’t do a whole lot of wacky fanservice or wink prettily for the cameras, but he does enough to be back on the radar.

success fits him tight, wears him like a glove. a part of him revels in complaining about having too much work to do, savors the sleepless shifts to make up for all the nights he had spent awake wondering what would become of him. a part of him delves into the thick of it and reaches for more, hellbent on climbing further up until it’s only him on the podium, gold on his neck again.

but his body is made of memory, and he can’t drink himself enough on the high of triumph to let himself forget. he wishes he could, sometimes. he wishes he could forget his mother’s hands, bony and tiny around his, lips held tight despite her exhaustion as the nurses pulled and shoved needles into her. he wishes he could forget he doesn’t want to become his work. he wishes he could embody ambition with grace and bloody teeth, but god, he doesn’t want to eat himself alive again.

#id.bio #id.msg #id.indigo #id.jung yoonoh #id.guild

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