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marvellovegalore · 3 years

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Breaking You

Chris Evans

Parte Deux - Hurting You

Synopsis: You begin to feel the true consequences of you hurting Chris and it's beginning to overwhelm you - and him.

Word Count: 2,483

Author's Note: I listened to quite a few songs to truly get into the vibe of this but The Cinematic Orchestra - To build a home (slowed) really got me into the energy I want to be delivered from this write-up. Happy Reading! Feel free to let me know how you feel!

Warning: Explicit Language, Mention of Mental Illness, Sexual Content

You’ve rarely had to consider yourself as someone who runs from her problems. You’d probably proudly tell anyone that asked that you quite confidently tackle your problems head-on.

However, you’ve created quite a serious problem for yourself. A broken heart.

What you have periled numerous men with, is now afflicting you. The odd thing is, is that you are exulting in it. It’s an oddly familiar sensation; it drowns your body in an intangible sickness that paralyses and asphyxiates you.

You sit at your piano, watching the silent and unmoving countryside. The fields of Portofino showered with golden sunlight, the brio reflecting into your room.

You haven’t pushed aside the sheer curtains since you arrived four days ago. You’ve taken your first shower this morning, the water sinking you into its comforting, warm embrace. You don’t really want to tell yourself aloud why you chose to come back to your grandparents’ old house, when stuff is going wrong. You’ve decided that playing the piano and smoking your days away is better than confronting yourself in the mirror - good thing all the furniture is covered with sheets. The sorry state of your face would make you plunder even deeper into your melancholy.

You will yourself to forget him and try to forget his existence.

But it’s virtually impossible, with him promoting a new film three towns over.

Good thing is you feel physically incapable of stepping outside of the confines of the house. The ladies that tend to the house scurry around the town buying food for the house and maintain its upkeep, they attempt to feed you three meals a day or four. You refuse most of the time, and they regard you with concerned gazes.

How could you begin to explain that with breaking a man’s heart, you subsequently had broken your own? His words blistered with bitterness bit you and dragged you down to the same pits of sadness that you plunged him into. You can probably say that you loved him, but you’ll probably truly never grasp why you can’t stay in something that requires such cemented commitment.

“Signora?” Your house governess interrupts your train of thought, you pull your cigarette away from your lips. “Sí?” She presents you with a letter addressed to you. The handwriting vaguely familiar to you. You thank her and dismiss her, the cigarette back in between your lips.

The letter doesn’t inform you of who it is from, but you hope, in the depths of your ribs that it’s from him, but you couldn’t possibly understand why he would ask to meet with you. He left you wordlessly two months ago and hasn’t been in contact since, not even through subliminal messages on social media. You can wager that you’re probably dead to him. It was made clear to you when you stood at the beach outside of your friend’s Malibu compound. He would rather die than get back with you; you don’t blame him.

You turn back to your piano, the keys feeling like lead beneath your shaky fingers. You play out a melancholic tune, your fingers feeling like they’re losing blood, you play clumsily, your eyes welling with tears.

You do have to admit, you feel extremely guilty for leaving him.

Life was beautiful with him.

He would have served you the sun on a platter if it meant making you smile - but you’re meant to destroy beautiful things.

It was what your father told you. You ruined his marriage to your mother; your sheer existence drove her to the brink of insanity. Since you were conceived you were a parasite that took the love your mother had for your father and you guzzled it out of her, taking all of her focus and affection. When you were born your parents refused the diagnosis of postpartum psychosis. Your mother believed you were an angel sent from heaven and doctors were trying to take you from her; so, she slowly succumbed to the madness and your father eventually was forced to send her away. The resentment he felt towards you all but scented the house, you were a poisonous leech, and you were treated as such.

You take the last drag of your cigarette and drag yourself to your walk-in closet, you decide on taking another shower - scrubbing away the odour of tar and smoke. You ready yourself for your strange and mysterious encounter. You dress yourself and half an hour later rush out to your car. The sun is low in the sky by the time you start driving away from the house, the countryside hugging you from all sides.

The drive is long into the town centre. The sky is blushed with pink and tinges of orange. You park your car and take a slow walk to the Splendido Mare; you enter the hotel’s restaurant and are led to a table. Your order a glass of wine and wait. After ten minutes you take out the letter, you read it from start to finish and confirm that the invitation was not a figment of your imagination; you were indeed summoned here by a mystery writer. Whom you hope is him.

You sit for half an hour at your table, you sip your anxiety away through two glasses of wine, you step outside and smoke two cigarettes and yet you’re still waiting. You flit through your phone notifications; you decide against your better judgement to type his name into the Goggle search bar. You fleetingly glance around the sparsely attended restaurant. You lock your phone without looking at the updates about him.

The thought of him makes your chest ache, harshly. The pain is tangible, you place your hands over your chest and wince. Something is not right.

You’re not aware of his slow approach, his hands wringing around each other, his cheeks red with nervous energy. He wishes he had had a shot of something - anything before getting here. He doesn’t recall what filled him the mad inspiration to send you a stamped letter to meet him at his hotel restaurant. He doesn’t know whether he wishes he had just called the brunette and spoken to her tonight; but he misses you. Madly.

He pulls out the chair in front of you. You can both tell that you’re holding in your breath.

Every time you see him it feels like the first time, all over again.

And he feels the same, but for either of you to admit it would be succumbing to defeat. You’re engaged in a silent and unspoken battle of wills.

“You sent me a letter?” You show him the letter. He nods, you sigh. “What is it you want to talk about?” You’re afraid to look into his eyes, they’re huge lakes filled with your dreams and deepest desires.

He hesitates, a ghostly sentence is formed on his tongue – he decides against materialising it. “I heard you were nearby; thought we could catch up.” He motions for the waiter. You narrow your eyes in - almost offence. What does he think, that you’re old pals?

He wants to catch up, but you want to do everything. Mostly profess your adoration for him and make love to him.

You despise the feeling; you’ve never felt like this for anyone. The alien feeling makes you heat up, your chest rises and falls quickly; agony filling your body as if you were a vessel to claim. “Right,” is all you can utter.

“What have you been up to?” He’s ordered two martinis, his eyes connecting to yours. You wince as the pain in your chest returns. How can he be so close yet so far?

“I was filming a fragrance campaign recently.” You speak quickly, an itch to smoke tickling your fingers. He nods, his eyebrows raised high.

“Nice.” He sighs and extends his clasped hands further onto the table. You look even more beautiful than in his thoughts, which he can’t expel you from. It seems your haunting presence is with him to stay, and his imagination can’t do any justice to your face and your intoxicating smell.

The conversation you have over your first drinks is dry, emotionless and full of hidden desires.

After each of you have three cocktails you let out the first laugh. He’s released himself a bit from the shackles of wanting to one-up you, his joke about his dog’s stubbornness reminding you of the good days of domesticity with Christopher and his dog. You move out to the terrace, candles flickering in the wind; you share more laughs. Memories being shared between you about life together.

There’s a clear shared emotion - longing. You crave the late summer nights sharing the dance floor with his friends or yours; him undressing you slowly in your pool; the nights watching the fire pit in your Santa Barbara home; the dinners enclosed in brick walled Italian restaurants with candles illuminating your elated faces.

“Come up with me.” His suggestion is quiet, his lips edging closer to yours. You nod, overcome with emotion. He grips on to your hand, the grip of a man thanking his lucky stars. He leads you to his room, on the top floor. A paradisiacal view of the sea and hills greeting you. The sun has set completely, and the moon casts a pale light over the buildings across the water.

Chris closes the door, and no sooner is he clutching at your lips with his. His hands smother you onto him and you meet him with the same desperation. Your hands slip under his shirt and moan into his mouth, your lipstick smearing over his lips. You feel him inhale your smell; he sighs desperately as he pulls you closer to him. You fall onto the chaise lounge in front of the open doors leading onto his balcony. The wind whispers sweet nothings onto your skins as you meld together, your bodies wanting desperately to be combined. He removes your clothes with familiar precision and your fingers touch him where you know he likes it.

The grooves of his skin are familiar, his dick entering you slowly as your fingers caress his tanned skin. He looks spectacular underneath you, his skin illuminated by the moonlight. You ride him slowly, you lips adventuring each other, like your bodies are each other’s long lost home territory. Your lips touch again, but it feels like the first time all over again. You feel yourself melting, your brain feels high, your limbs terribly relaxed. You guess this is what true love feels like. There’s nowhere else you’d want to be.

You love him. Only him.

He turns you over, on all fours, one hand gripping your throat and the other around your hair. He thrusts into you - with passion, his lips ghost over your shoulder. You feel your eyes close, the strength to fight the sedation unable to be found. It goes on for a while, and he flattens you onto your stomach. He lays on top of you, his hips gyrating against your skin, his arms encircling your torso. You feel safe, his head laying to rest in between you shoulder and jawline. He inhales your scent and kisses your shoulder, his lips printing their mark on your skin.

He turns you over and takes a deep breath, his eyes hold your entire world. They’ve trapped you into his universe and you have no desire to leave. He’s your whole world and you gave him away on a silver platter - but he’s here. He accommodates himself in between your legs and gives you a hug, his lips find yours in the darkness. The moonlight bathes you generously and he nestles himself inside you again. His lips refuse to leave yours; his thrusts grow in fervour; he wants to bury himself inside you and never leave.

He’s so deeply, and madly in love with you.

He can’t believe you hurt him. He hates you for it.

He pulls away from your kiss, his breathing heavy and slightly laboured.

His hides his face in the nook under your head. You feel like crumpling when you feel tears run over your shoulder, you hug him tighter. You want to stitch his wounds closed, tightly with your bare fingers and your lips. You want to mould your bodies together and live forever in this moment. His fingers reach for your clitoris and he makes love to you in two different ways. Your head lolls back and you feel ecstatic, currents washing over you slowly and you orgasm.

Chris kisses you desperately, swallowing your moans. He thrusts into you, complementing your orgasm. He releases himself into you, slowly moaning into your mouth.

After a few moments he stands up from the lounge chair and heads to the shower, as he walks through the door, he turns to you. He smiles in a way that you understand is an invitation to join him in the shower. You stand slowly, your legs feeling like jelly. You join him for a warm shower, peppered with tender kisses and saccharine touches.

Your bodies unconsciously refuse to part until you’re lying in his bed. He turns off the lamp and lays facing you.

A sweet look embalms his irises. His hand lifts itself to nestle under your cheekbone. He regards you softly.

“I love you,” he whispers, his voice shaky.

You smile sleepily, “I love you too.”

You’re hypnotised to sleep by his soft breaths.

—

The sunlight reflected on the lake wakes you out of you slumber, the first dreamless one you’ve had in months. You turn to the side where Chris is and find nothing but empty air. You sit up quickly; the room is deadly silent. Nothing but your movements on the bed make noise. You scramble out of the bed and look for him.

There’s no trace of him in the room. You let out small wail of desperation. What if it was all a dream?

You pace the room, an uneasy feeling setting itself in your chest. You feel the space between your ribs tighten and your head feel faint. Your legs feel weak and unsteady, you crumple into a heap near the chaise lounge. Your breath feels constricted, massively so. The world begins to spin, and you fall onto your back.

It feels like a heart attack.

You can barely feel your heart.

You drag yourself to the counsel table, desperate to reach the phone. Your hand misses it massively, instead a hotel branded paper flickers down next to you. You pick it up, the tightness in your chest limiting your movement.

I guess this is goodbye, I can’t get over the fact that I’ll never be able to trust you. No matter how much I want to.

I hate you for ruining us

I’ll miss you, forever.

With all my love,

Parte Quatre -

Tags -

@chvntelle-99, @krispy-toes, @hampass, @calimoi, @saltyflowermakertaco

#chris evans imagine #chris evans #chris evans x female reader #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans angst #chris evans smut #chris evans fluff #andy barber #andy barber series #andy barber one shot #chris evans blurb #steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers fanfiction

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gingerteaonthetardis · 2 years

Note

15 for Abedison! Unless you aren't quite ready to write for these dummies and then Fremione instead!

CONGRATS, you picked the saddest song on my playlist! i'm gonna give this my best shot, but tw: for depression, mentions of past addiction, and a touch of depersonalization.

"wings wouldn't help you / down / down fills the ground, gravity smiled"

(roslyn, bon iver & st. vincent)

Action.

The girl—because, for all intents and purposes, she is just a girl; that’s just what she is, without artifice or unnecessary detail—walks across the football field at night, her heels sinking deeply into the turf.

She wasn’t previously aware that there was a football field at Greendale, actually, but that’s not important. What’s important is the mood, and this place has the mood she is looking for.

It is empty, but the stadium lights—most of which are still turned on, some of which need bulbs changed—lend the place a sense of suspended grandeur, as if she is walking through a still life painting. The place needs only the presence of something intangible to feel alive again: bodies in seats, bodies on the field. Maybe a mascot.

She crosses the thirty yard line. There is no sense of achievement in crossing this arbitrary boundary.

There’s no sense of achievement in anything anymore.

The maudlin thought hangs in her head for a moment, and she lets her tears bubble close to the surface, but she does not let them fall. Without witness, they would just be too pathetic. They aren’t for anything.

At times like this, she thinks it would be easier to slip into a character. She can understand why Abed does it. But he always seems to know exactly what character to be—what character would be most narratively interesting, or who would move the story along—and she doesn’t know. Is she the dignified captain of a losing team, beating back her tears to be brave? Is she the cheerleader who just got dumped behind the bleachers, who has to hold it together until she gets home, where nobody will see her non-waterproof mascara streak down her cheeks?

Who even is she? What role will make this empty, god-awful feeling go away?

Her heel sinks deeper than before, tipping her off-balance, and she tumbles toward the turf.

Only, she does not land.

The girl is caught.

It is not a heroic kind of catching, so much as a hurried grab that wrenches her arm a little. But though she staggers on her feet, accidentally losing her other shoe along the way, she remains upright. And a backlit face, narrow and quizzical, comes into view.

“I think if you want to play football, you’ll need appropriate footwear,” Abed says matter-of-factly. “Is that why you’re crying? Because of your unrealized dreams of becoming a star quarterback? Because that’s kind of Troy’s thing.”

“I was just thinking of you.” This isn’t what she means to tell him, but it’s what comes out—she doesn’t know her lines. How come she never knows her lines?

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he follows her when she starts walking again, staggered a little behind her, shoes crunching lightly on the turf. It’s like he doesn’t want to interfere with the drama of her journey. But he doesn’t get it; there is no journey.

“I was thinking of how sometimes you relate to things through movies and shows, you know? And how it gives you this set of rules to live by.” She pauses, crossing her arms over her chest. Her dress—her pretty dress, which she’d worn to be pretty and to make herself feel like someone—will be wrinkled, and she doesn’t care. “And I was just wondering how you do that.”

Silence again. The girl wants to turn and look over her shoulder and make sure he’s still there, but she knows he doesn’t love eye contact, particularly one-on-one. And she doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable. Things are already bad enough.

“Because sometimes I just feel like I don’t know what I’m doing—or why I’m doing it. I mean,” she snuffles, gesturing at the football field, “I don’t know why I’m out here. I just sort of wandered here because nowhere else felt like anything. It’s just—empty. Empty like this field. It reminds me of when I was going through withdrawal and everything just seemed so boring, so nothing, and I hated it then, and I hate it now!”

She realizes her voice has picked up speed, increased in volume, just in time to shut up.

The turf is starting to scrape the soles of her feet, and the girl stops. She scrunches her toes against the cool nylon and listens for the sound of Abed’s footsteps, to hear if he’s still following. But he’s stopped, too, apparently.

After a little while, she finally says, “I guess I feel like a character with no motivation. I’m just—floating.”

“No, you’re definitely walking,” he finally says. “On the ground.”

“It was a metaphor, Abed.”

“I know. But I thought some non-metaphorical language might help you ground yourself in the reality of who you are and where you are.” To her surprise, Abed’s footsteps pick up, and he circles in front of her. “You’re not a character in a story. You’re Annie,” he says simply. “You’re five feet and three inches tall, brown hair, blue eyes. You used to be addicted to Adderall and now you’re not. You’re really smart and sometimes kind of scary. You’re here and now and also real. As real as any of us. And just because you don’t understand your own purpose yet doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.

“I do characters because I know who I am and I know I won’t get lost in them,” he goes on, eyes drifting off to the side. “It’s the privilege of people with self-confidence. But you’ve been playing roles all your life, and playing another one won’t help you.”

She thinks that, coming from anyone else, his words might sound callous. But oddly, his even tone makes her feel—reassured, somehow. “You just have to keep going, Annie,” says Abed, “and you’ll find out eventually.”

Annie thinks he’s right.

In the middle of an empty football field, she uncrosses her arms and asks a question she never really thought she’d ask. “Can I hug you?”

Abed’s gaze skitters across her face momentarily before drifting again, and he cocks his head a little, clearly considering. And then he nods once, decisively, before softening his shoulders. He doesn’t open his arms; she hasn’t asked if he’ll hug her. But the distinction doesn’t matter so much when she slides her arms under his, wrapping them around his torso for a long, quiet moment. She puts her ear to his chest.

Overhead, a fizzing, hissing stadium light flickers and goes out. But neither Annie nor Abed move an inch.

Cut.

#ERIN I'M SO SORRY... i recommend watching some kind of 'annie does bambi eyes' compilation for a while after this #but... hugs??#abedison #community posting #abbey.txt #ficlet

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 4 years

Text

Witcher Of The Night (Chapter 1)

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: You've woken up being hunted by an Alghoul. You were in a death race and hollered for help. Though, it seems like the human you've first seen didn't exactly appeared to look human all through out as his eyes glowed beneath the moon light. You've talked to him but he didn't seem friendly at all except for his awakened friend. The words coming out of their mouth seemed baffling because they were acting like they didn't live in earth, and deep inside you were in denial because they really weren't.

Warnings: Monsters? The word 'whores' and cusses? Blood? A lot of modern references because reader lives in modern day era in earth.

Words: 3,800+

A/N: Hello! Yes, this is my first Geralt fic! There will be eventual smut in the future chapters. I can just tell. LMAO. I ain't good with medieval things but I'm trying! I hope this isn't a failure nor a disappointment, spuds! 😅 Reader lives in modern day earth in this fic but magically woke up in The Witcher’s dimension, alright? This turned to be comedic because of the modern references from the reader. 😂🤣🤣 I had fun writing this! FOR REAL!

TAGLIST IS OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS FIRST PART! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE!

Taglist: @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog

Disclaimer: PNG's used in edits are not mine even the GIF's too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi. Characters and said monsters aren't from moi as well. (GIF taken from Tumblr!)

MY WORKS ARE NOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

Tweaks of branches echoed around the unspecified woodland. The satisfying crack of the frail wood felt on the soles of your feet which wore some nasty pink Havaianas slippers as the night sky became colder than from what you were accustomed with.

You were running away from god knows what as you've heard a loud thud beside the tree you've woken up with. Taking a trip down the memory lane, your forgetful mind could only recall a lake in which you were drowning in and the sudden flash of lightning occurred above you as the water rested upon your face.

Then after that terrifying nightmare, you suddenly woke up in the middle of nowhere. A slightly dead looking forest before you've heard the rustle of some twigs and leaves beside you.

Having a vacation in the forest of Switzerland has never been a dream and considering how God smacked you in the head unconscious and teleported you in Switzerland was entirely bewildering from the start.

Your heart was hurriedly pounding out of your chest as you sprinted as fast as you can. Abnormal shrills whistled with the wind that made you mewl as you ran for your life. There has been cuts and bruises across your knee from how you've stumbled upon a large log that hid beneath the earth-like soil. No pain has been sent to your nerves yet because of the adrenaline rush rising in every part of your veins with the need for the hushed voices to stop.

"Ah!" Another loss of one's footing, you've tripped over a large rock and fell face flat. Face now covered in grime and soot as you've heard the intangible whisper of words for the tenth time.

"Leave me the fuck alone! If this is a prank, it's not funny because I'm hurt!" you shrieked in the night and no one in particular. Limbs were turning feeble and shaky, but you've offered all your will power to survive in the damn forest if you were about to get murdered and be found after a year where your body has already been eaten by some wild animal.

The hushed voices were coming closer to a definite scare that took your heart out of your chest. You've pushed yourself up and began sprinting with a limp as you saw the end of the forest; like a meadow was waiting for your damn demise as you won't be outrunning the murderers behind you.

You stood in the middle of a grass field. So, this was the end for you. The voices inside your head spoke as you've scanned the whole area and saw a peculiar wooden house in the middle of the vast area.

The wooden house seemed to be made of Hazel twigs, daub and wattle. Its whole structure was darn weird to be seen in the era you knew you were in. Year 2020. It looked medieval, old and superannuated. The house's structure had a timber frame with a light glowing inside the open panels of its windows.

Human. Someone can help you. Based on the clothes that hung on the sides of a wooden fence in logs, you knew there was someone living inside the peculiar looking house.

Then, you've heard a loud roar. It was enough for you to spun on your heels and see who had been chasing you like a wild boar.

Yet, it wasn't a normal wild boar that could calm you down just a slight because it was just an animal.

The one chasing you didn't seem a murderer nor an animal. Its body appeared to live on the ground, like a zombie who came to life and had no lower body. Though, it had a large stomach and uses his burly arms to chase you down the forest. With Bright cardinal eyes wrathfully staring you down as you stood rooted on the ground in the middle of the field; your heart seeming to run out of oxygen because of what you were witnessing.

You didn't know if it was an alien or a zombie. Proper thinking thrown out of the window as you were running away from the nightmare that was bound to kill you in your sleep, if you were even sleeping.

Your feet ran a trek to the house; looking behind. Focal point completely at the fast carcass crawling to where you were, tons of disgusting looking saliva dripping out of its eroding jaw and you were screaming for help as you skedaddle away.

Until your head hit a hard wall, but not enough for you to fall unconscious.

Vision falling like a kaleidoscope world, you blinked repeatedly and squinted you eyes up at the wall. Though, you were met with a clothed robust chest and a strong warmth he radiated through the crispy, cold Autumn wind. You've scanned him from chest to face and noticed a coin-like silver necklace just a meter away from your face that had a symbol of a wolf.

You didn't know if you were just still dizzy from your newly awakened-self but it was as if your world spun around you as the brawny, marvelous man towered over you like a lion over a mouse. His jawline impressively great enough to cut a bitch; a prominent, cleft chin that can be quite tempting to poke at and eyes that were glowing in Aurum like a star in the night sky or a pot of gold in the other end of the rainbow, with majestic half-tied hair that ended below his shoulders tinted in ivory that stood upon the Tartarean night.

Though, despite of how dashing, grimy and haggard he appeared before you. The scowl on his face was enough to take you to step back from how disturbed he looked like.

You've seen him somewhere. In the movies back in your laptop when you were having a marathon of something.

Lord of the rings. Right, you were dreaming about it in the middle of being chased in your nightmare. That explains why he appeared.

You clapped excitedly as you lifted your chin to stare into his beautiful blazing gold eyes. The grumpy looking man cocked his head to the side as he scrutinized and studied your filth-filled face and you couldn't help but notice the concealed scrunch of his nose if you weren't staring a little bit too closely.

"Hmm," it was the first word you've heard from this intimidating man standing in front of you and hearing such an impossible, low timbre of a hum that vibrated from his chest could get your knees weak from such a tone because you didn't know if it was scaring you or telling you to run for the hills instead.

"Legolas?" your voice croaked out loud, voice turning small when you've received only a grimace that wouldn't be considered as a fake smile, much to your dismay. Your scrutinizing eyes noticed something different from one of the Lord of the Rings character and it was the maturity of his face, "--a middle aged Legolas! Help me! Use your arrow thingy--" he pushed your shoulders to stay behind him, making you stumble from the impact but not enough to ignite another bruise to your knees. Your eyes staring weirdly at his back as you studied the long metal knightly looking steel wrapped around his thick, large, powerful looking palms.

"---Oh, a sword would suffice." you muttered, suddenly uninmpressed because you wanted him to have an arrow instead of a sword to live in your fantasies and continued to hid behind the large build of his body, taking a peek as you saw the bizarre looking creature who screeched so loud that it echoed all over the meadow. You've unconsciously held onto the hem of the wool sweater behind the first human you've ever encountered other than the creature who planned to eat you alive.

"There's a zombie!"

Geralt felt the hand tugging at his sweater. He was close to jumping from the sudden physical touch because of how sudden you've reach out for him regardless of meeting him just tonight. His eyebrows in a tough knot and expression unreadable as he eyed the Alghoul running towards you. The hand holding the hem of his clothing was instantly right out of your hands as he prepared his stance and tread towards the critter like he was confident enough he could eliminate him.

He swung the sword, aiming for the head using just one hand as he lifted it with no trouble; like it was his own weapon and you couldn't help but watch the whole scene unfold before you. The Alghoul jumped using its arms but he was stronger, faster, braver and definitely had no sweat with the upswing of his sword as he slashed the head off the creature with one blow.

Well, he was great. Too great with the sword indeed.

Black blood spurt as he'd cut his head off with no remorse, some of its blood flying off to your grimy sleeveless top and face as you winced from the gore and stared at the head rolling on the ground till it hit your toes.

You just wanted to scream out loud but it seems like your jaw has been stuck and you had no voice to start.

The man seemed to be unruffled at the fact that he just cut the creature's head off with his sword, turning his back at face front that you saw black fluids on the smooth wrinkle of his forehead and cheeks.

"It's an Alghoul," he abnormally grumbled so deep that you mistaken it as a growl. You could feel your tongue stuck in your throat and heard his heavy footsteps coming close. Your eyes still focused at the monster's head scratching your feet that you haven't realized that the man who saved you was actually in front of you already, grabbing its head and throwing it away to save you from another nightmare.

Faded set of footsteps came echoing in. Lighting up a startle from you as you heard a door swish out loud in the open. Until, a budding pitch of a man has said the name of your gory savior in the middle of the night.

"Geralt?" Jaskier hesitantly stepped on the creaking, wooden porch. Eyes still weary of sleep and fatigue as he blinked to the both of you who stood at each other in just an arm reach.

Your savior mumbled another distasteful hum as he observed the short woman before him who seemed to be in total shock; staring at the ground where he'd took the head of the Alghoul away before sighing and taking a step back and away from you to take a look at his bloody sword. "Why, who is this adorable, small grimy lady here in the middle of the night?" the light tone of the man's voice made you blink twice; snapping you out of your reverie.

You turned your head and studied the somnolent man standing outside of the porch, hair disheveled like he'd been disrupted by such a beauty sleep. He looked younger, like he was in his 20's and had a youthful beam with lean muscles beneath the white undershirt wore under a Tunic. Jaskier placed both hands on his hips before pointing a finger at you, sending you a bright smile other than the moue you've received from the man named 'Geralt,' "You came here for Geralt, I suppose? One of your..midnight sashays with him?"

Geralt didn't need to look at his friend and ignored everything he said by walking towards a beautiful brown horse, "Jaskier," he lowly reprimanded as he eyed his horse with an indecipherable expression of his.

Jaskier deeply sighed, his shoulders going up and down from how he did and you eyed him with a baffling twist of your eyebrows.

"First and foremost, you ruined his nap and now he can be as grumpy as an--an Alghoul! An amputated Alghoul!" he blinked in surprise, peeking behind you to see the creature who had its head cut-off laying on the muddy ground.

Geralt continued to pet his horse as your eyes snapped to him, his back on you as you heard his horse neigh, the man named Jaskier still rambling about the creature who laid dead on the ground.

"Alghouls appear in old necropolises and crypts," he scratched his temple with a finger, walking down the path till he was studying the corpse on his foot, "It's a miracle that they've hunted you down. They seldom appear in the forest! Also, they knock down their victims and eat them alive. Right, Geralt? You've taught me these!"

Geralt ignored him and continued petting his horse.

You eyed the man named named Jaskier and watched him walk back to you, a solemn smile on his face because of your unfortunate experience with the forest. Suddenly, realizing about the information he'd uttered, you were sure it was just like those creatures in the movies like Resident Evil or The Walking Dead.

"So, it's basically a zombie!"

Jaskier stared at you like you've eaten a dead mouse. Forehead creasing as he tried mouthing the word you've said, giving his friend a once over as he does, "A zom--what? please do enlighten me, Geralt as to what is a Sombre when I can see with my own splendiferous eyes that the monster he'd killed is an Alghoul--"

You've huffed and bit the insides of your cheeks, fists tightening on either side as you stubbornly bantered, "Z O M B I E. Zombie."

Thus, at the retort; Jaskier had his hands on his hips with his chest puffed out like he was trying to intimidate you. But, it was a failure because he never looked intimidating from the start, "A zombie. Alright. I understood you but not entirely, dirty maiden. Geralt--" he looked over his friend who was now already on the side of you, startling the both of you and sky-scraping from your side as you lifted your chin to see him oddly closing his eyes, breathing you in.

Was he smelling you?

You eyed Jaskier like you were finding it peculiar and he just gave you a shrug, "Your scent..It's...It's...otherworldly, " Geralt uttered, completely resonant and low-pitched that vibrated your calming nerves, "It attracted the Alghoul," he continued with a frown and another sniff before humming in disdain.

"Very out of the ordinary," the latter muttered beneath his chest, a snarl coming out of his mouth as you swallowed the butterflies wanting to come out of your mouth by how monumental he was and you feel so small, "Who sent you?"

You took a step away from the man, eyeing him weirdly as he stubbornly took a step close like personal space wasn't known to the world you are in, "Uhm, no--no one?" a pathetic stutter came out of your lips and felt the tremble of your fingers because of a thought running in your mind that he was also as dangerous as the Alghoul they were saying; maybe even more treacherous, "I came out from my mother’s reproductive organ? You know what, Geralt--"

Jaskier suddenly cut you off, crossing his arms behind him as he watched his friend tower over you, an amused grin etched on his face because you were actually crumbling like a rat before the ginormous cat, "Geralt. A letter G. Not a J. G E R A L T---"

"---Alright, GERALT!" you stopped taking steps back and declared out loud, mocking their accent that you couldn't distinguish. Your palms were outstretched in front of you, ceasing Geralt from pushing you away but not enough to be touching his torso. A pleading look in your eyes that made him breath out of his nose, "---Just please tell me where the airport is and I'm off to my country,"

The man in front of you stared you down, completely uncanny at what you were voicing out. You winced and realized you wouldn't get an answer from him and tried to ask help from his friend instead, but Jaskier was fast to distract you and criticize the clothes you wore, "What even is that clothing?"

You blew out air out of your mouth loudly, not believing their words. They were acting like they weren't actually living in earth at all, "It's casual! Don't judge!"

Jaskier also gave a huff, not believing the outlandish behavior from a lady and continued complaining to the Witcher who seemed to never have the decency to give you space, "Cas--what? Geralt, this woman is foolish. Don't even attempt to ravish her in any way. Utterly not worth it! She's a cuckoo with that flimsy short trousers, an odd looking footwear and a thin top like the Alghoul has taken all of her silk. Unless, this woman is actually your type, well--I wouldn't judge you for your taste in women because most of the time it is utmost round the bend--"

His spouts were cut short as you managed to get a proper look at the strangely, beautifully rugged man before you, giving him one of those tired, puppy eyes that made his frown much less more like it as he waited, "I just wanna go home," your voice sounded so vindicated and you were sure his eyes were really glowing under the night sky, "---please tell me where the airport is and I'll go, or you can probably help me with my wounds first before you shoo me away,"

You've felt the burns from your wounds and ungracefully tried to avoid those glowing eyes that seem to suddenly make your heart pound. Damn you and your horrid types, "Do you...have a car?" you asked no one in particular as you watched the stars that also seemed to be peculiar because of how many they were.

His horse neighed from a distance which gave you an idea that their house didn't have a garage nor do they have a car. You peeked behind Geralt and saw his horse standing behind the stables, "Oh, you have a horse. A beautiful brown horse, I take it we're in a province, I see."

Again, no response from him other than Jaskier's sighs. It was like taking to the wind, but actually talking to a corpse.

You could feel the heat of his stare and it was making you conscious of how you actually looked like, so you continued to avoid his eyes and looked at anywhere but him, "We're in Switzerland right? Or in a province in the U.K, Scotland or Australia considering your accents?"

The only response you've gotten from him was a mere seven word that made you scrunch your nose by how weirder they get, "You aren't from here, I can tell."

"Way to tell her that she's a woman and not a man, Geralt. Stop stating the obvious,"

You ignored their utterance as they've also ignored your question. All you needed was an airplane to get you back to where you came from and escape from this madness. Yet, they seem like to be beating around the bush which began to slightly irritate you because you were sounding like a broken record, "So where's the airport, gentlemen? I still need to feed my cat at home and I'll tell the entire universe that its the end of the world with the zombies. Gotta' tell them a zombie apocalypse is happening--my phone!" you patted the pockets of your shorts and felt your Android phone inside. You've fished it out and pressed the home button, the bright light gleaming beneath the night and both men couldn't help but stare at you in oddity.

"Your what?" was the only thing Jaskier has muttered, looking at what you were holding. Geralt observed the unfamiliar looking thing in your hand and squinted his eyes shut at the bright light, "It's--there's no signal! Where are we?" you tapped on your phone repeatedly and found the GPS not working as the results were indefinite.

Jaskier marched till he was beside his friend, clasping a cold hand on his burly shoulders, cocking his head to the side and clasping his other on his own hip as he gave you a look, "Not just simply absurd but also a strange one, Geralt. You definitely pick the best ladies, First was Renfri; the rebel princess, second is Yennefer; that cunning beautiful mage in which you’ve been in love with and the other hundred are your whores--"

Geralt cocked his head to the side, an unexpected small smile lifting his lips as he continued laying his golden eyes on you, "Year 1268. In the far north kingdom of Kaedwen,"

You nervously nodded, crossing your arms at how exposed you feel from the man before you especially that your clothes were also thin for a weather you were in. Fingers were feeling like ice and you couldn't help but shiver, "Kaedwen? Padawan? Star wars references, I see. Okay, okay, this is getting out of hand and I know you're still in character but please tell me that this is a prank and you're just fond of cosplay,"

"Hmm," His smile was quick to fall, like it has only been a hallucination of your imaginations. Geralt studied you from head to toe. Your breath catching in your throat at how barren you felt with just a simple scan of his eyes and also by how beautiful he looked. Such a pain but soothing for the eyes. He caught the bruises and wounds all over your body and heavily sighed another one before turning his back away from you and letting Jaskier lightly stumble on his feet after giving him a manly tap on the shoulder.

"He's letting her in," Jaskier mumbled to himself and watched Geralt walk away, completely amused as he couldn't believe it, "He really is!"

He scratched his disheveled bed-head and huffed another one, pointing at the retreating man who entered their wooden cavern. "Based on how long I've been a friend with this grumpy Witcher, that answer was either a yes, or a no."

"---Unfortunately, it seems like a no because he took off without a word," he gestured with a finger and used his other to welcome you like a humble gentleman giving way for a princess, "---but also an approval that you can stay in our humble abode to cure that wounds you have which is oddly strange because he never lets anyone in, yet here you are. A grubby ground breaker,"

He eyed the Alghoul's blood on your top and face, his face morphing into disgust as he pointed a playful finger at you, "---And you, small rat. Need a bath," before waggling them around to tell you his point, "---However, you don't get to take my bed,"

The hopes of having your sleep or tightly shutting your eyes, repeatedly wishing inside your head to wake up on your mattress back at your apartment would definitely be a difficult task especially from what you've witnessed. Though, maybe closing your eyes shut and having a nap was the only cure to the nightmare you were living in; taking note at how long this dream of yours have been occurring. It was technically a nightmare full of magical creatures and magic that promised you would only be a mere dream of yours.

That is, when you've opened your eyes after repeatedly wishing up at the sky to wake you up in your dream and saw Jaskier walking in, leaving the door open for you to make yourself at home completely answered your questions.

You weren't dreaming and it appears to be like you were in a different dimension.

"Oh, I'll be damned,"

A PART 2? YES? Y’ALL WANT THIS TO HAVE A SECOND CHAPTER? HEEEHEE!! TELL ME WHAT YA THINK ABOUT THIS!

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bamfdaddio · 3 years

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X-Men Unabridged: Hellfire (1980)

The X-Men, those often stripsearched mutants that have sworn to protect a world that hates and fears them, are a cultural juggernaut with a long, tangled history. We’ve been untangling that history for a while, but sometimes, you really want a more in-depth look. Interested? Then read the (un)Abridged X-Men!

(X-Men 129 - 131) - by Chris Claremont and John Byrne

Since I think Scott, square extraordinaire, would also say: “I know squat about rap, but this Vanilla Ice dude is excellent,” I’m not putting much stock in his musical opinions. (X-Men 130)

Before we finally reach the apotheosis of the Phoenix saga, we’re going to take it a little slowly by focusing on the first three issues of 1980. They are basically the ramp-up to the end, putting all the pieces in place for the X-equivalent of the Red Wedding, the Bridge of Khazad-Dûm or the explosion of Alderaan. But, before smashing the board, Claremont introduces three new queens to the game. Here they are, in order of Awesome:

Emma Frost, or The White Queen; a telepathic HBIC with ambitions beyond dressing up in lingerie;

Kitty Pryde, or Sprite (Shadowcat, these days);

Alison Blaire (Dazzler), a disco dolly with light powers who unfortunately starts out as a relic of time gone by.

But before we can expand, Claremont shrinks the cast: Banshee, who sold his voice to a sea witch has injured vocal chords, stays behind on Muir Isle, retiring officially. (It’s gonna be a while before he returns to the X-Family in any true capacity - I think it might be the 90s?) It’s the first time since Thunderbird’s death that the core cast changes, and it’s not that surprising that Sean gets the shaft: Banshee, who has been positioned as the older, more experienced member of the team, has had very little to do (and Claremont has seemed reluctant to flesh him out the way he has the rest of the X-Men). Sean is essentially a decent, upstanding man who has mastered the use of his powers: there’s very little way to go without breaking him down or changing the course of his character. (If you’re a fan of him, go read the Phalanx Covenant and 90’s Generation X: it’s the best use of Sean.)

Polaris, Havok and Jamie also stay in Scotland, choosing a quiet life without superheroics. (For those familiar with X-Factor, this is where you laugh and laugh and laugh.)

Jason Wyngarde, meanwhile keeps fucking with the Phoenix, using his psionic fantasies to unleash her darkest self.

Jean’s darkest fantasies amount to little more than a Victorian bodice ripper, which is adorable. (To be fair, if I were trapped in a lusty prison of my own design, I´d probably dream up my own Downton Abbey soap opera where I was sleeping with all the hunky house boys, so…) (X-Men 129)

Scott, meanwhile, reveals the sheer depths of his repression by admitting that he never let himself feel the grief for Jean’s death.

If you think it’s weird that Jean falls for a sleezeball like Wyngarde, remember that the love of her life is a man who is so repressed that it took him 5+ years to tell his friends he had a brother. Her taste in men is questionable at best. (X-Men 129)

The whole “I accidentally picked up a stray thought” has to be such a bullshit. It’s like your sister claiming that she heard from a friend of a friend that you like someone, while she actually just read it in your diary. Telepaths are snoops, Jean, own it.

Speaking of telepaths without boundary issues, Professor X is back from space! He immediately slips back into a stupid, patriarchal role and treats this X-Men team the same he treated his X-Men in the sixties. Scott is like: dude, these aren’t the same dumb teenagers we were, but Xavier won’t listen. Their squabble is interrupted by Cerebro, alerting them to the existence of two new mutants! One in NYC, one in Chicago.

Somewhere else, the Hellfire Club is revealed to be listening in: they have bugged the mansion a long time ago. While most the Inner Circle is featured in some way in this arc - we finally get to see Sebastian Shaw’s face! - the main villain here is the White Queen. She’s coordinating the attack on the X-Men and is looking to recruit Kitty for her Academy in Massachusetts.

It’s kind of bizarre that it took so long for this plot - an emerging young mutant is an object of interest for two competing factions - to be a main plotline, considering it’s such a staple for the X-Men mythos as a whole. (See, for example: the New Mutants, Generation-X, the Young X-Men, but also Rogue in the first X-Men movie and the whole of X-Men: First Class. Hell, X-Men Evolution’s first season was practically built on this trope.) It is kind of fitting that one of the mutants introduced this way is Kitty Pryde, the first X-Man that would be completely Chris Claremont’s creation.

While teacher’s pets Cyclops, Phoenix and Nightcrawler can go to New York, Xavier takes Colossus, Storm and Wolverine to a suburb in Chicago (“to monitor them in the field”, fuck you too, Chuck). In the Windy City, we meet plucky YA-novel heroine Kitty Pryde, who’s being tormented by headaches.

The KISS-poster in Kitty’s room is fortunately the only crossover we’ll have between the X-Men and the KISS-comics published by Marvel. (X-Men 129)

Just after a certain Ms. Frost has pitched her Academy to the Pryde parents, the X-Men arrive. While Charles works the parents, Ororo takes Kitty to get some ice cream, letting slip the secret of the X-Men.

Wolverine reading a titty mag in an ice cream shop while both Ororo and Charles are trying to convince people they run a legitimate school is a hilarious mood. (X-Men 129)

Kitty’s appearance is supposed to have been inspired by a young Katherine Hepburn, which is particularly evident in these panels.

Anyway, they are promptly attacked by Hellfire droids, who spook Kitty into jumping through a wall. Finally, her powers are confirmed: Kitty can become intangible, ‘phasing’ through objects. When the X-Men defeat the droids, Emma Frost comes along to finish the job, psychically overwhelming Storm, Wolverine and Colossus. She abucts them, not realizing Kitty has stowed away in their… floating… hovercraft… thing. She also manages to abduct Xavier.

I love how Emma’s to-do-list was:

Abduct the X-Men

Strip them naked (X-Men 130)

The Inner Circle and their motivations are slowly fleshed out: they’re all in it for power, money, glory. (Emma would love Lana del Ray.) But they’re not a united front: Wyngarde considers Phoenix the road to power, Emma believes in raising (and controlling) the next generation of mutants and Shaw… Well, Shaw is a clever opportunist, not afraid to sell out his own kind. (It’s heavily implied the Hellfire Club helped fund Lang’s Sentinel program.)

Through Jason, we pick up the thread in New York, where Jean and Scott visit some shady club downtown. Nightcrawler is stationed outside. Inside, Jean enjoys the relative perversion of the clubbing crowd, until Jason shows up and twists reality, shunting her to ‘their wedding day’.

It’s never made explicit, but in between the lines, it’s highly probable that Jason seduced Jean, violated her body and mind. That, combined with the whole BDSM/Marquis de Sade atmosphere of the Hellfire Club where the men are fully clothed and the women prance around in lingerie amounts to a whole lot of ick, ick, ick. (X-Men 130)

In Chicago, Kitty skulks around the compound of Frost Enterprises. She manages to creep up to Ororo’s cage, who gives her a number to call. Before she can do anything else, Emma sees her, calls all her henchmen cretins and orders her to get that pigeon kitty. Kitty flees and manages to get a call in.

Kurt picks up the phone in their limo (which feels super swanky for the eighties!) and Kitty delivers her warning. Kurt is then promptly attacked, as are Phoenix and Cyclops. Together, they make short work of their attackers, with the aid of Dazzler. Introductions follow:

Dazzler’s “nope” tells you about 80% of what her character is about. (X-Men 130)

It’s funny to see how relatively unknown the idea of mutants still is. Kitty doesn’t even consider it, even though freaky shit is happening to her, and Dazzler hilariously doesn’t give a figgin where her powers come from. (Though she may just be in denial. Anyone who wears a disco ball around her neck can’t be accused of good common sense.) In ten, twenty years, I bet there’s tons of teenagers in the Marvel Universe who get headaches or weird growing pains and fear that one morning, they might wake up a mutant.

It’s odd how Cerebro picks up Dazzler as a ‘neo-mutant’, even though it’s obvious she had her powers for a while. It might have to do with the fact that Dazzler wasn’t created by Claremont and Byrne, but by Tom DeFalco and John Romita Jr. However, because editorial wanted to Dazzler’s debut to make a splash, so they added her to their best-selling book and she had to be shoe-horned into this plot. She was originally intended to be closs-platform - there were plans for albums, Bo Derek would star as her in movies - but since Marvel had the keen foresight to introduce her just as disco was dying all of this got shelved. After a solo series, she’ll become a pretty solid B-Lister X-Man in a couple of years. (Should I be covering her solo series? It’s only very tangentially X-Related. Sound off below!)

Cyclops, Phoenix, Nightcrawler and Dazzler Trojan Horse their way into Frost Enterprises and make quick work of the White Queen’s cronies while Emma is creepily making Storm her personal plaything. Kitty, meanwhile, manages to free Wolverine by phasing through the electronic lock. Jean recognizes the Hellfire Club from her (fake) memories with Jason, but doesn’t connect the dots quite yet.

Emma, frustrated that her plan is falling to pieces, takes out her ire on Storm, threatening to lobotomize her. Jean… does not take this lightly.

“I understand you call yourself something of a telepath” is absolutely the most badass line Jean has ever uttered. Fuck yeah. (X-Men 131)

With the White Queen defeated (rumors of her death are greatly overrated), the X-Men can briefly regroup. Dazzler does not join the X-Men, being too into the idea of becoming the mutant Madonna, while Kitty is delivered back to her parents. To prevent a nasty scene, Jean casually alters the memories of her parents, removing the memories of Kitty’s involvement with the kidnapping of the X-Men. This also neatly prevents her parents from realizing what a horrible idea it is for a 13 year old to join a superhero squad. (Even if she has a defensive power.)

This arc ends with the two people who love Jean the most voicing their concern:

When you look up ‘muhahahaha’ in the dictionary, this picture of Jason Wyngarde will be the definition. (X-Men 131)

Hold onto your butts, people. We’re almost there.

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castielscarma · 3 years

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Rain

For @eatyourdinnerjoseph and @dreamnovak https://archiveofourown.org/works/27573535 A 15x19 coda. Rating: GA Words. 1.3k Rain “The only journey is the one within.” ―Rainer Maria Rilke Even in the moments where life refuses to slow down, where it rushes forward in a whirlwind of salt-and-burns, home-cooked meals, and endless grocery shopping, Dean still takes time to pause and marvel. Cas loves him. It's been months since they beat Chuck, since Earth was saved (again). Months since Cas came back to him. Dean smiles and trails his fingers down Cas' arm. He's seen the movie a hundred times but each time he watches it with Cas, he discovers something new. Not about the movie, but about Cas. He loves the feel of Cas' warm skin against his own. It reminds him of all the times when he longed with his entire being to touch Cas but couldn't. Now he can't get enough. Cas shifts and leans back against Dean's chest. It's a heaviness that brings comfort to Dean. Not the kind of heavy that leaves the heart dull and aching, shattered. Where words crumble somewhere between chest and lips. This is a heaviness that holds and wraps Dean with loving wings. It reminds him of what is his. Dean squeezes Cas' arm and senses more than sees the smile that graces Cas' lips. He plays with Cas' hair, fingers combing through gently, just because he can. Cas loves him.

Sometimes Dean thinks about before. It's already something intangible, not because Dean doesn't remember but because that's not who he is anymore. The snake doesn't reminisce of its old, dried up skin. No, it lets go and revels in the new, because it's larger now. The same but different. “Hey, Cas?” Cas hums and looks up. Dean looks down at Cas' blue eyes. They never changed throughout it all but now they shine with love. Or maybe it's that Dean recognizes it for what it was all along. “I love you.” He plants a kiss on Cas' forehead. “I love you too.” Cas pauses. “You haven't been paying attention, have you?” Dean shrugs. “I have. That's the guy that's supposed to find the girl, uh, his daughter?” “Yes, his daughter. I was under the impression that you've seen this movie many times?” “It's hard to pay attention when you're doing the thing.” “What thing?” “You know, just being you.” He continues to play with Cas' hair. He chuckles when he hears Cas sigh from pleasure. “You're like a cat, you know that? Turning into putty at the slightest touch.” “The human skin is full of nerve endings so this is a perfectly normal response.” Dean digs his fingers in harder and Cas practically melts against him. “Uh-huh. There is nothing normal about you, Cas. You're quite extraordinary.” He turns Cas' head to the side and kisses him softly. “This still feels... amazing,” Cas mumbles. “Mm, good. Perks of being human. You feel amazing too, Cas. All of this is amazing.” “Urination is still quite the chore.” Dean chuckles. “Such a romantic Cas.” Cas squeezes his hand once. “Just the spot, Dean.” Dean's fingers work their magic with Cas' scalp, kneading and pressing in all the right places. “I think, this is one of my favorite experiences as a human so far,” Cas muses. “Me stroking your hair as if you're a chinchilla?” Cas turns and kisses him. “No, Dean. Just sitting here and enjoying your hands on me. It's remarkable how the body responds to touch, like it craves it from the deepest corners of primal memory. It's a universal longing.” Dean strokes a finger down Cas' neck. “Yeah, I dreamed of touching you for years.” “Now you have me.” Dean opens his eyes with a start. The TV is still on, but the sound is muted. The heat of Cas on his chest has dissipated. Dean yawns and gets up. It's not that late but suddenly Dean feels tired to his very bones. He turns the TV off. Cas has probably gone to bed. The thought pulls a smile from Dean. In everything that Dean has taken for granted, that he's written off as just life, Cas takes notice. Sure, Dean still marvels at life with Cas but Cas sees everything as something to revere, even the most mundane things. One time Dean caught Cas staring at him when he was making a sandwich. He said something about Dean looking peaceful and present. Dean had written it off – there was nothing divine about making a PB&J sandwich but Cas had kept looking at him like he was responsible for the stars shining in the night sky. The harsh lights in the Bunker do chase away some of Dean's fatigue but bed is the best option. Cas wakes up early no matter how hard Dean has tried to convince him that sleeping in is awesome. It's soft at first, so subtle that Dean dismisses it as noise from the old pipes. It changes, a soft whisper turning into a drumming song. Thunder cracks above him. Dean turns around and walks towards the Bunker exit. The raindrops fall on Dean's flannel, momentary beads that shine before they flatten and are absorbed into his shirt. The moon hangs fat and yellow in the sky. Thunder rumbles again but Dean has his sight on Cas. He sits crossed-legged in the field with his face towards the stars and galaxies but to Dean, Cas is the brightest star. The sight makes Dean's heart constrict. Cas doesn't move as Dean sits down beside him. Dean closes his eyes for a few seconds, inhales and exhales softly. “Sometimes I can hear him, “ Cas says. “Jack?” Cas nods and smiles. “Yes. In the rain, in the thunder right now as it crashes around us. In the woods when we're out walking with Miracle. A faint whisper in the halls of the Bunker. In the nudge to eat some nougat.” Dean clears his throat and takes Cas' hand. He intertwines their hands. “Jack urges you to eat nougat?” “Well, Sam is the one that buys the nougat but Jack inspires me to eat it. I do it in his memory.” “I hear him too sometimes. Mostly in my dreams.” Cas opens his eyes and looks at him, his brows drawn down in concern. “They're good dreams, Cas.” He wipes away water from Cas' cheek. “You're all wet.” “Happens when it rains.” Cas plays with the wet grass and sighs heavily. “I miss him.” Those simple words pierce Dean's heart; they're spoken with such vulnerability. “Sometimes so much that I feel this lump in my chest, an actual ache.” “Yeah.” Dean doesn't mention the times he has felt that. For Jack, for Cas, for Sam. Every time they died. “That's just your body trying to process. You miss him. You're supposed to feel that. We humans, we feel things all over.” Cas huffs. “It's amazing but inconvenient at times. It makes me think of you.” Dean shudders. The rain is seeping into his clothes. “Are you trying to say that I'm amazing and inconvenient? You sure know how to flirt. Why pick one side when you can go for both a compliment and an insult?” “We were lucky to know him.” Dean puts an arm across Cas' shoulder. “We are. And he's not gone.” “He isn't.” Cas gets up stiffly. “I should move. My legs are falling asleep.” Dean gives him a hand. “Not easy being an old man.” He kisses the back of Cas' hand and suppresses the shivers going through him. “How about a nice warm shower and then bed? Don't want you catching a cold. That's a human experience we can put off as long as possible.” “I don't know. It seems nice to be pampered. Someone to bring you cakes and hot soup. I can watch movies all day.” Dean laughs. “I'll make you soup tomorrow, Cas.” He pauses because he doesn't want to put a damper on the mood. A sudden wind hurls towards him, peppering him with misty raindrops. Dean sputters and wipes at his face. Jack is anything but subtle when he wants Dean to understand something. Dean figures he needs that bluntness. “You know, it was worth it. Everything was worth this. Worth being free. Worth having you. Love you, Cas.” “Love you too, Dean.” Above them, the thunder quiets and the drizzle of rain dies down. Dean laughs.

#CastielsCarma #my writing #Destiel ficlet #Destiel coda #15x19 coda #fluff

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zanniscaramouche · 3 years

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Spoonful of Sugar - Director’s Cut - Characterisation

@risthebrave asked : Director's Cut for Spoonful of Sugar??? That fic blew my mind but the one thing I loved most about it was how complex and tangible the characters were so I guess I'd really love to know more about how you figured out characterizations!! Ah! I could talk about this forever so buckle in! It’s LONG 😬 . Want to know a ‘Director’s Cut’ bit of info from any of my stories? Send me an ask about a specific fic! Or send a star ☆ if you want me to choose at random :)

The first thing I had on this fic was the prompt, which in itself gave quite a lot of information for the characters. Here I’ve highlighted the key elements I kept from this prompt:

slow burn, enemies to lovers punk drug dealer, mob boss Louis is 22, Harry is 30 Louis gets in trouble, Harry has power over him

Wonderful! Already I was so inspired by this! Then I started to break down the logistics. Every time I write a character I start with this outline:

Specific Lie - This is the starting position for your character's arc. At some point in their life & experiences they started to believe a lie. About themselves, the world, a concept, anything! They don’t know this is a lie. They believe it so much their entire character literally revolves around it.

Example: in Legally Blonde, Elle believes her looks are the most valuable thing about her.

Specific Truth - The end of your character’s arc. The opposite of the lie. The entire point of the story you’re writing is to tell the journey of your character discovering this Truth.

Example: Elle realises there’s more to her than just looks.

Wants - This is what the Character thinks they need. It is often very incorrect, but they will spend a lot of energy trying to get it. This has to be a concrete and specific goal, not something like ‘happiness’ - narrow down what exactly they think will bring them happiness. Trying to attain this ‘want’ will be the driving point for your character’s motivation.

Example: Elle wants her boyfriend back.

Needs - Very, very, VERY different from the want. This is what the character NEEDS in order to realise their Truth. This can be intangible, such as freedom or love. Need is internal, emotional, and is rarely stated.

Example: (Switching films here) Thor needs to earn his power.

Ghost - this is the exact moment a character began believing the Lie. What caused it? An event, a person, something else? Whatever it was, it haunts your character to this day.

Example: Thor was promised the crown regardless of his merits.

Tip: the bigger the ghost, the bigger the Lie, the bigger the arc.

Now I am still learning, so I don’t always nail these. I do think I’m getting better at it tho! Here is what I have down in my notes for SoS:

Louis Tomlinson

Specific Lie - Louis will never be able to support his family : Louis is weak Specific Truth - Louis has been supporting his family this entire time : Louis is strong

Wants - To independently support his family

Needs - To be supported

Ghost - Being told he will never amount to anything

Harry Styles

Specific Lie - He is fulfilled without love

Specific Truth - Love is a key component to his happiness

Wants - to control as a singular individual

Needs - to be supported

Ghost - The betrayal of Kendall

Then I started thinking about traits and values. Traits for fanfics don’t tend to shift much given the core of the characters stay the same, but they can change given the back story and situation they’re placed in. Personal values aren’t something I often think about when writing fics, but with a story that toyed with grey morals I knew it would be pretty important to make sure there was enough middle-ground in their morals for a relationship to logistically make sense between these two characters. If your characters don’t have similar or matching values, you’re going to have a really tough time making them fall in love.

Louis

- Loyal - Intelligent - Fast thinker - Athletic - previous footie experience (gave up for family) - Selfless - Young - Hyper - blunt

Family Above All Loyalty Order Safety

Harry

- Controlling - Strict - Direct and Cold Demeanour - Sympathetic/Empathetic -Older - Powerful - Lonely

Family Loyalty Order Control

Once I had all of this sketched out, it became much easier to predict how they would act and react to the world around them. Only one more step remains- music.

I listen to a ton of music when outlining and drafting. It heavily inspires the vibes I want each character to carry every time they step into a scene. I think this is the step that really allows my characters to pop out in this fic specifically, as I was reeeaaaally into these songs ( they’re in my top 10 for 2020 🙈 ) Harry’s songs : Hey You, Yeah You - KONGOS Heart is Black - Escondido Devil Like Me - RKS Louis’ songs: Run - RKS CHOKE - IDK But They Found Me Trouble - Cage the Elephant

You can see the whole playlist I listened to while writing the fic here ♡ If you read this post until now, I hope it made sense and gave an idea of how it all came together!

#zanni writes #zanni thinks #directors cut #Spoonful of Sugar #♡ thanks for asking ris

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dontasktheradiodemon · 3 years

Text

Gardens #2 (1/6/2021)

Click here if you’re like “What the heck is this about?”

Two chats today because I forgot to post one yesterday!

Angel @sluttyspiderpolkacock catches up with Madame @usedhearts after his abrupt arrival from Hell. He talks to her about his hopes to get away from Valentino and she offers support.

Madame

The gardens had drawn her away from the beach-- as much as she loved the sea, she missed this. She missed life, growing and sprawling, curated into beauty.

Madame sat at the fountain, her tentacles trailing in the water as she admired the plants. It was different from how she remembered Earth's flora, but it was flora all the same, and she loved it.

She adjusted her top, still in her bikini but with an added sarong around her hips, and leaned to smell a flower. "It's so lovely here," She muttered to herself.

Angel

" Big Mama, ya up here, too? " It was easy to see her, towering over the bushes and gracing the flowering vines from the trees, despite being seated. Angel's own willowy form almost could've passed for a foxtail.

He wove through her tentacles to come see her. " Valera's e'ry bit the butterfly, ain't they? " Arms in a welcoming spread, he flashed her a bright smile. " It's good t' see ya ~ "

Madame

Her head turned when she heard him and her face brightened into a beaming smile.

"Oh, Angel, darlin'! I'm so glad t' see ya, c'mere 'n give Mama a hug." A tentacle caught him around the waist to pull him into her arms, too excited to let him walk the rest of the way to her. She wrapped her arms around him and smooched the side of his face.

"Thought you'd be at that shindig with Big V. How'd you sneak away, sweetheart?" She held his face gently in one hand, gently stroking his cheek with her thumb.

Angel

Angel smiled sweetly, giddy and the smallest bit shy with her affections but welcoming them with a tight hug in all his arms.

" I just got m'self a lil break, no biggie! They'll survive wit'out me just fine! They got Babygirl Paps an' the fluff girls takin' care a e'ryone. It's time the newbies got a chance t' shine, don't'cha think? "

His smile grew wide with an affectionate lean of his cheek. She was hitting JUST the spot and he was becoming PUTTY in her hands.

Madame

"Yeah, suppose yer right about that-- them new girls gotta learn sometime!" She laughed, taking one of Angel's hands and gently guiding him to sit next to her.

"Well, c'mon then, take a seat, get off ya gams, and tell me everythin'. How're ya, shug? How ya been likin' this whole palace we got to explore? Pretty schnazzy if ya ask me." She winked and very, very gently poked him with her elbow-- didn't want to hurt him, after all.

Angel

He almost fell off balance as her hand left his cheek and led him to his seat.

" I ain't seen e'rythin', but it's pretty fuckin' nice, " he said simply with a dip of his fingers into the fountain ( for no particular reason whatsoever ) , " I been workin' my ass into the ground all season. Everyday a huge fuckin' clusterfuck a shoots an' appointments... " Angel gave a roll of all his eyes as he mocked the tone of Valentino's voice.

" _Gotta churn out that fresh content, Angel Cakes ~ Camera ain't gonna eye - fuck itself, Angie Baby ~ If I don't see a chicken supreme in my office in five I'm gonna throw a BITCH FIT... SUMMER._ 'Cause y'know, he don't like me doin' the food runs. "

Madame

Her eyes roll at the Valentino impression. Yeah, that sounded like him. Madame shook her head, her large hand wrapping around Angel, rubbing his back.

"Course he don't want ya doin' the food runs-- fuckin' idiot thinks if he starves his workers, they'll look better when all it really does is make 'em give subpar work. How ya gonna entertain a John if ya really wanna just eat his burger insteada his dick?" She laughed, her head shaking again.

"Angel, darlin', he ever send ya out ta run an errand, come to me 'n I'll get a meal in ya. My babes ain't gonna starve on my watch-- can't rightly let 'em, breaks my poor Southern heart." She looked off into the distance and closed her eyes, wiping away a pretend tear.

Angel

Angel giggled and covered his mouth with a sly aversion of his eyes. " Y'know... sometimes dick be temptin'... " A snort, and his arms wildly fanned.

" I didn' even GAIN THAT MUCH! " he continued, " I ain't e'en said nothin' about livin' up the hotel and downin' everythin' Alastor whips like a fuckin, GARBAGE DISPOSAL, NO! I just go to Cherri's, post ONE picture, ONE TIME, of the CUTEST FUCKIN' DONUT...! "

Oh he was full on venting, now. He held up a finger and dug through his fluff a hot second. " An' he sends me THIS! " There he had it, The Book. " What kin'a palooka e'en uses these anymore?? Ya THINK he'd fuckin', hire a nutritionist or some shit who moonlights as a hitman, or some shit. He HAS the FUCKIN' MONEY! I KNOW! 'CAUSE I'M OUT THERE MAKIN' IT FA 'IM! "

He then collapsed into Madame's chest, still muttering but full tuckered out, arms limp. " _I'ma fuckin' kill 'im..._ " **Did he say that out loud?**

Madame

Madame listened to everything, watched every flail of arms, intently. Poor boy. It was a tough gig, being Valentino's prized pet. She honestly thought she'd taught him better, but he was always on about how he already knew the business, knew how to handle people. Obvsiously not, with how Angel was going on.

Her arms wrap around him when he falls forward-- a chest this big had many uses, pillows being one of the best in her opinion. Madame gathered him close, going so far as to pick him up and cradle him against her chest.

"Aww, honeybunch. I know just how ya feelin'. Valentino....well, he's an asshole. Head so far up his ass he eatin' his own shit fer breakfast." She shook her head, rocking Angel a bit, like one would a child who'd had a nightmare. She hums softly, an old lullaby her mother used to sing, way back when. She kept that up for a few moments before falling silent. The silence hung between them before she spoke, voice low.

"If'in you did kill him, I wouldn't blame ya, honey. There'd be no love lost between me'n him. I'd support ya claim to that throne, if'n you wanted it. In Hell, ya learn ta balance the cruelty with the kindness, and if ya can't find that balance, well, then, ya deserve to reap what ya sow. And Valentino's sewn a whole lotta hate down there. Karma's a bitch, even for the dead, and all I'd say would be 'good riddance'. You deserve so much more'n him, 'n so much more'n he gives ya. Yer the star and you deserve to be treated like one."

A tentacle scooted under his chin, tilting his head up so she could look at his face.

"You remember Mama's in ya corner, alright, Angel? I'm rootin' for ya. And my arms and doors're always open for ya."

Angel

His eyes blew wide and cornerless, staring not at Madame but at a far off, intangible point behind her. It never really occured to him just how impactful erasing Valentino's existence from Hell would _be._ All he found himself stuck on was getting it _done,_ losing himself in the possession of madness and the mindsets of cornered prey whenever he acted.

Angel didn't want to inherit the empire. Having the responsibility of so many souls under his care wasn't something he ever thought suited him. Protecting his peers on the streets was one thing, so was taking demons of all walks of life temporarily under his wing until they could fly on their own. _Management_ was another. Keeping souls in _line_ was another. He always thought himself the soldier, the weapon, the right hand, the poster boy of the wall supporting his image. An _Overlord_ of his own right...? The closest he'd come to it was before he partnered with him, fresh into demonhood, throwing his power and whims wherever he wished...

_But claiming Valentino's head would **do** that to him, wouldn't it?_ He'd inherit his power, his enemies, new enemies out of his allies... Angel's head began to spin. This was the nature of Hell. _Endless tiers of suffering._ All he wanted was his freedom... _How much was too high a price to pay...?_ He'd be fighting Valentino's battles _long_ after he was gone...

" That was, uh... " he said in an uncharacteristically small voice, " ... a fig're a speech... He's good t' me... really... " Angel bit his lip, eyes meeting her now that he'd processed all she had to say to him. Madame and Valentino sure had _history..._ and if Angel learned anything from his partnership with him... _it must've ROTTED to the very CORE._ They had this in common and he could feel it in her voice.

He trusted her. He knew he could. But maybe he didn't have to use it... not QUITE yet...

A warm, genuine smile bloomed over his face and he took her hands. " I will, " he promised with a binding kiss between her aligned pointer fingers, " Ya have my word, I love ya club an' what'cha doin' wit' it... I'll... " _Meet you in the middle._ " I'll... come aroun' some more. Maybe a performance or two would make 'im nervous enough t' give me next holiday off, ah? "

Angel laughed, knowing that chance was slimmer than his waistline after routine removals of his floating ribs. It _would_ be _nice_ not to have to work Valentine's Day...

" Thanks... fa hearin' me out... " he said sweetly, subtly off the edge of a choke, " The grind don't stop, an' it gets pretty fuckin'... MUCH... "

Madame

"That's right, baby, the grind don't stop, but Mama's here for you." Her tentacles moved around, and she used them to cradle Angel instead of her arms, freeing them up to hold one of his set of hands.

"Now, you listen to Mama, alright? I know Big V better'n anyone around. Raised him in Hell myself, and he shames me every day, the way he acts. I know his temper, his vices, I know it all, Angel. And darlin'? He ain't never treated no one right since the moment he landed ass over tea kettle in Hell. Probably long 'fore that too, considerin' he landed in Hell in the first place. I know the sorts a things he tries to pull..."

She took a deep breath, and leaned down, her tentacles lifting Angel higher. She pressed her forehead to his, and took his face in her hands, her voice lowering as her throat tightened.

"Next time he tries anythin'-- _anythin' at all_-- you come to me, Angel. I know yer a big boy, I know you can handle yerself, but it breaks my heart to know you're there with him, every day. It honestly truly does. Bein' Val's favorite is a hard life, or unlife, I suppose, but just know Mama's got ya back. I'd sooner slap that grin off his face and grind that stupid hat a his inta the dust than see ya hurtin' cause a him. I know it can be hard to accept help, but I do want ya ta know that it's there, if'n ya need to accept it, alright?"

She sniffled as she straightened up, using both her hands and tentacles to hold him close. "You're my boy, Angel, I love ya like my own. We ain't blood, but what's blood ever done for anyone? We better'n blood, we're family, got it?"

Angel

_Oh the tears._ They were coming. She already knew what he was keeping safely lodged in his throat. It saved him from having to admit ANYTHING while making it crystal clear to him that she had just what he needed, and was willing to give it to him.

But for NOTHING in return...? Angel closed his eyes and nuzzled into her forehead as the tears beaded off the long length of his lashes. Behind his eyes were the memories branded into his skull, words insisting that there was no such THING as the sentiments he found himself faced with. _With every sanction, there was a CATCH. With every favor, a FEE to be repaid twice over._

He fought them with the help of her every word.

" G... got it, " he choked, " I got it. I won't let'cha down... " A small sniffle. Angel's emotions flowed, but they were soothed and much more contained than they were when he was alone. It was becoming clearer and clearer now that he was in the company of trust.

He found traction in her tentacles and allowed her to support him, the tight pressure of the coils feeling more like safety than constriction. Perhaps, he really could survive post extermination Hell...

" I, uh... " Angel swallowed thickly. " ... Blew the top floor window... b'fore I took off... I dunno if any angels got in, but... he 'ad t' deal wit' 'em... "

Madame

She lifted a hand to wipe away a couple tears before they could fall-- she was wearing waterproof make up, as she always did, thank fuck. Madame pressed a kiss to his forehead, and held him.

Until he said that. She blinked and looked down at him, shock clear on her face for the moment or two it took her to process what he said. And then she burst out laughing. Her entire body shook with it, loud cackles that rose into the air.

"Oh fuck, oh god, Angel! Baby, you're a fuckin' riot! Did ya really? Just broke through the damn window? Damn, shug, ya know how ta make an exit!" She laughed again, Angel pressed against her chest.

"Oh, honey, ya ain't hurt, are ya? No scratches, gashes? I mean, ya looked tip top when ya walked up, but that fur a yours hides a lot. Anything ya need Mama ta look at?"

Angel

He chuckled sheepishly with a comical bump along the waves of her laughter. Despite how afraid he initially was to return, it must've been HILARIOUS from Madame's point of view. It eased him some.

" Nah, nah! I'm fine! I think...? Uh... " Angel did a quick survey of himself. Valera might've brushed out the last of the glass from his fluff already. Enough of the alcohol wore off for him to have felt any stinging by now ( he was PRETTY sure. )

" Yeah! I think I'm good, thanks ~ " he assured, " I take color real easy so if I'm bleedin' , it SHOWS. BRIGHT an' hot pink ~ " He took a little too much pride in that.

Madame

"Oh, fancy Mister Pink Blood over here," She said, still giggling a bit. "Mine's blue, if'n you were wonderin'."

Madame took a deep breath, rocking him in her arms again, just on instinct.

"God, I'd pay a million bucks ta have seen the look on Valentino's face when ya did that. Serves him right. An Angel lead the angels to him!" She started laughing again, devolving into softer giggles after a few moments.

"How's everthin' else, though? Ya feelin' alright? Ya body's fine, but wanna make sure my boy's doin' good."

Angel

" It shows up pretty in pictures, is all ~ " he said casually, " Bloodplay photosets always turn out real good. " He then casually reclined along a tentacle and drew idle circles in the fountain to watch the calming ripples.

" Think... e'rythin's ok... " he mused, " Just really needed not t' work the Extermination pa'ty an' just... chill out some. " He scrutinized his own reflection in the water for clues. Not much else came to his mind from the massive shadow his immediate issues casted over them.

Madame

"Alright, if that's it...." She trailed off, two of her tentacles peeling off to plop into the fountain as she leaned back.

"Y'know I hadn't even seen the ocean since I was a young'n? Hadn't swam in it fer longer'n that, too. I'm....so thankful to Valera fer invitin' me. Not only do I get to not worry about the Extermination-- at least as much, but I get to enjoy somethin' I missed fer so, so long."

She gave Angel a squeeze. "And now my boy's here'n safe 'n sound. Nothin' better to relax an ol' ladies' heart."

Madame smiled down at him. "Everythin' will be fine, Angel. We may be in Hell mosta the time, but this right here?" She gestured to the plants around them. "This all is proof that we ain't always there. Even in our hearts'n minds, when we there physically, we aren't always in Hell. There's a sayin': Hell is other people. But I think Heaven can be, too. If ya got the right people around..."

Angel

Angel wrinkled his nose. " Heaven's a load a bullshit. All of it, " he said cynically, " Ya condemned, ya condemned. Ain't no POINT in tryn'a make nice wit' the fuckin' feathery DOUCHEBAG brigade lookin' t' ERASE US e'ery fuckin' YEAR. " The words came from his gut. He wasn't hiding any hidden hopes or dreams. " Ya really think a place that commits annual fuckin' genocide a sinner's where it's at? A thing to LOOK FOR IN PEOPLE? It's a fuckin' fairytail, the fuckin' shit they tell us t' be believin' about Heaven, _**Mamina...**_ "

The last endearment rolled off his tongue like a plea. _ Don't try t' sell me anythin' I'm never gonna have..._ " Ya know I fuckin' - RAN, from the party. I ran from the fuckin' studio too. Hotel ain't gonna save me wit' their redemption prayers. Just... gonna put a lil' pause on the sufferin' awhile. Like 'ere. It's just a break. After this, it's Hellhole Sweet Hellhole all over again 'til the next time we're at our wit's en'. That's all there is, that's I got. " Angel sat up from his recline so he could look Madame in the face. " ... E'en if I got you. I don't mean it like anythin' ya do don't matter, but... y'know... " He sprawled his hands defeatedly as his words failed him, and his face fell into a bittersweet anguish. It seemed some things were completely beyond even his imagination.

Madame

Her face only softened as he spoke, and her heart ached for him. Oh, this poor thing, tossed about by life and then by Hell, it was no wonder to her that he was so cynical.

"Angel, darlin'," She said, after he finished his rant, her hands moving to ever so gently hold his face between them. Madame let out a long, slow sigh, staring into his eyes with the sweetest, most motherly expression she could.

"Call me an optimist, but I'd like to think that livin' over a century in Hell has taught me one thing: even Hell can have some sweetness. Sure, we all sinners'n demons down here-- or there, but that don't mean there ain't still decent folk who'd treat ya right down there. That Princess for one, she's a good egg, startin' up that Hotel may not get the results she's lookin' for, but it can help. She wants to change things, and I don't blame her.

"Hell is Hell, it's true. Heaven ain't no picnic either, but I think ya missed my point, shug-- When I say that Heaven can be other people, I ain't meanin' the feathery bastards that come down ta kill us every year, or even the fuckin' cunts that live up in them clouds and send 'em down. I'm meanin' the _concept_ what ya learned in Sunday school. What Heaven is _supposed_ to be. It's supposed to be a place where ya surrounded by people that love you and that ya love too. And if we can find those kinds of people, even in Hell? Well, that's a bit of a miracle in my books.

"So no, Hell ain't never gonna be Heaven and thank fuck fer that, cause I think Heaven's prolly borin' as shit compared to the fun we can have in Hell. I'd rather run a cabaret in Hell than lay around bored as sin in Heaven any day. But what I'm tryin' to say is that, if ya got good people around ya, then things'll get better. Hell, honestly, ain't been no different from life up above, fer me. Ya gotta make the most of what ya got, honeybunch."

She pressed a kiss to his face, her lips covering half of it when she did. "That make sense, darlin'?"

Angel

" Yeah. Total sense. " Angel deadpanned into the rosebush behind her. " First rule t' makin' it in Hell's bein' an Overlord or the fuckin' Princess, " he replied caustically. It didn't seem like she was going to understand or stop lecturing until he relented one way or another. But if Madame was Hell bent on teaching him something, he had to let her know he wasn't a CHILD that could be sold far off dreams when he was preoccupied with spending his every waking moment surviving the present.

" I _know_ there's sweetness in Hell. Dealin' sugar's my JOB. Makin' the most outta the scrap I got doesn't give me time ta KID. " He got up and started pacing the pavement, cigarette in his teeth and a light in his claws. " First thin's first, get outta Big V's horseshit. If it don't kill me, THEN I can see what I can do about gettin' a fuckin' life preached to me by a sister who fuckin' rapped my ass every Sunday. " A puff of red hearts whisked into the sky. He couldn't bring himself to buy a thing she said past offering to help him if he needed a place to be. The crystal clear promise of security was the only thing that made sense to him and as he was, he had no place for faith.

Madame

Her expression didn't change, even when Angel got up and started pacing. It was alright-- he wasn't ready, in his heart, to hear what she said, and that was okay.

"It's good to have priorities, shug. Glad ya got that shit figured out. I don't mean to preach, just speakin' my own truth, Angel. If ya don't wanna hear it, well, then, I'll shut my yapper 'n we can just enjoy the respite we get here, yeah?" She took a deep breath and swirled a hand through the water.

"Just want ya t'be happy, sweetheart. Like any Mama would. Just cause we in Hell doesn't change my heart."

Angel

" I appreciate what ya sayin', Big Mama, " he sighed through curls of crimson escaping from the valleys of pointed teeth, " It just ain' it fa me. I 'ad to lie, scrap, and _fuck_ m'way to where I am now. I don't... _got_ the means t' be thinkin' a what it'd be like to not have to. I don't 'ave the POWER - I mean, maybe, I _USED TO,_ but... "

Angel looked around. He couldn't imagine littering the pristine garden with his ash, so he kept the butt on hand. " ... I gave it away. Fa this. Fa... " _He could say this to her, right?_ " ... Fa HIM. Before... it all got to 'is head an' before I knew it, I wasn' it anymore. He was chasin' more an' more power, the kind I gave up. So it's gonna... _TAKE..._ s'more lyin', fuckin', an' scrappin' before I get anywhere else. Until he could look me in the fuckin' eye an' SEE... how BAD. He fucked. Up. "

Madame

She nodded along with him, knowing those words well, knowing that feeling. "I getcha, baby, I getcha. Don't need to explain none to me about shit like that. I understand, babydoll, I do."

Madame reached over, gently taking his hand in hers, drawing him back to sit next to her again. "Ya got a smoke ta spare, Angel? Mama's got a cravin'."

She let out a sigh, and glanced out over the garden. "If'n ya need to talk about it though, I'll listen, Angel. No one'd understand better'n me, yeah? I know Vee better'n anyone cept maybe you 'n possibly the other two Vees. So ya need to vent? Just rant ya head off? I can listen. I know how much that can help sometimes."

Angel

" That - ... That's it, " he said calmly, starting to feel more comfortable in the stimulants soothing his system, " Ye... yeah, I... " Angel procured his case and flipped it open for her to browse, allowing his head to lean against her shoulder. The light off the pink crystal seqins sparkled in the water.

" He's... gonna pay. An' I'm gonna collect. That's all I got an' all that matters. Until I do that, ain't nothin' in the shithole that's gonna be up fa my takin'. " He put out his cigarette on the empty side of the case and fixed himself another. That could do for now. " _C'est la CAZZO vie._ "

Madame

Madame looked over his selection and took one. She waited until he lit his next and leaned in to light hers off it. She took a long drag, blowing the smoke out-- no shapes like Valentino's, just a cloud, the way she preferred it.

"Sure is, Angel, sure is. I'll be there ta have ya back, though." She ruffled his hair affectionately. "Mama's in ya corner, and don't forget it."

Angel

_That_ was the reassurance he needed, something concrete he could trust in. " Never, " he affirmed sternly as if his voice wrote a contract in the smoke, " I got that, ain't much I couldn't do. " Snapping the case closed, he lounged against her and looked up into the sky, redless save for the dissipating shapes they blew. For the moment, he really felt like he'd be ok.

Madame

Her hand moved to the back of his head, giving him some gentle scritches as she held him close.

"Got any ideas fer an act ya'd wanna do at the cabaret? Anythin' ya wanna do that ya hadn't got to before?"

Angel

" Zorita 'ad some shit goin' on, " he said immediately through brightened eyes, " Dunno if I could really pull it OFF, but the SHOWS were real fuckin'... _choice ~_ "

His arms then got animated, slicing and molding the air around his thoughts as he brainstormed.

" I got chances to try a lotta thin's, but only the one time it'd take fa Big V t' decide it wasn't worth gettin' me into when the pole was just as good an easier t' maintain. If I got back to anythin'... I think I'd wanna do the ring... "

Madame

"The ring, eh?" She smirked, giving a nod. "That's a fun one, fer sure. What about the ribbons? He ever let ya do those? The things soma the girls can do...."

Angel

" Ribbons? The ones on the sticks? " He racked his head through the years. " Huh... no... I don't think so... Unless the prop's somethin' I'm wearin' an' can throw, he thought it a waste a time. I tried t' pitch 'im the idea a dancin' wit' 'em in nude if I could keep a trailin' ribbon over my junk the whole time, but he didn' believe me, " he explained, snickering, " I could TOTALLY pull it off if he gave me the time! _His loss ~_ "

Madame

"No, no, the ones hangin' from the ceilin'! It's like the ring but, y'know, big ol' ribbons a cloth. Some circus level shit, but damn, if it ain't pretty." She laughed, shrugging.

"Think ya'd look real pretty danglin' up high from all a them."

Angel

He blew a raspberry, a storm of popping hearts spraying over the fountain. _Can't take that image back NOW -_

" Oh, silks, yeah, I TOTALLY knew what ya were talkin' about, " he said between giggles, " Yeah, I done those once or twice. It came pretty easy, I dunno, an' it was lotta fun, but y'know Big V... "

Angel then put a pair of free hands to his head to mimic feelers. " _They wanna see ya ASS, Angel Cakes,_ " he mocked.

Madame

Madame laughed, shaking her head. "Fuck, ya got that down, don'tcha?" She shrugged.

"Valentino's always been shortsighted about these things. If ya _always_ give em what they want, then there ain't no reason fer them to be tantalized! Can't give 'em all a it up front, ya gotta _tease~_" She gave her chest a little shake and winked at Angel.

"But acourse you know what I'm talkin' 'bout, don'tcha, Angel?"

Angel

" Probably more than HE DOES, " he joked with a mirroring preen of his own chest, " He's all about that fast money, but he ain't got NO. IDEA. How far ya can stretch the bucks. LEMME TELL YA! "

Angel excitedly straddled the edge of the fountain to face her. " The LONGER ya can edge a John, the more he's gonna give ya. Physically, emotionally, all of it. Big V deadass for - fuckin' - GOT that there's more t' hustlin' than _wham, bam, thank you ma'am_ - 'in it out. Time he trade in those goofy fuckin 'eart shades fa dollar signs, ya'd THINK! "

Madame

"Oh, I know, honeybunch, I _know_. It's all about the tease! All about the tantalizin'. Give 'em just enough to keep 'em comin' back fer more 'n more!" She laughed, winking at him.

"Big V's lost sight a that, he's too preoccupied with shittin' out content fer Vox that he fergot the biggest money maker in th' game." Her smile turned sly as she looked at Angel.

"But I never fergot that. That's why I lasted this long, and why I'll keep lastin'."

Angel

" Time's up, ah? He sells fuckin' Voot Floops fa $666 an they taste like FUCKIN' ASS! I WOULD KNOW! " he joked as he toyed with his case, " Ain't nothin' in 'em either, just THE emptiest shit there is t' be eatin'. Fa like a week? Month? Fuck I know, but it was all we 'ad in the studio breakroom an' I swear ta FUCK I always en'ed up HUNGRIER than before I ATE 'EM. "

He then opened up his case and started rolling some more cigarettes. " Wonder when someone's gonna tell 'im his new boyfrien's fuckin' _STUPID..._ " A sly smile. " He ain't got nothin' on ya, yeah? Could _you_ get away with it? " Angel chuckled, " Not too 'arshly, though! I ain't about t' be feelin' bad fa his new squeeze... unless... _he's got a cravin' fa spider..._ "

Madame

She snorted. "I _could_ but don't mean I _would_. I ain't about ta stir that pot like that-- besides, ya _know_ I'm a good ol' Southern Lady, and we have better ways a sayin' shit like that ta the point were people ain't even know we talkin' shit."

She placed a hand on her chest and batted her lashes. Madame deepened her accent as she spoke again. "Well bless yer heart! I ain't ever seen a bug quite as cute! Yer as adorable as a bee's wing!" She started laughing.

Angel

Angel echoed her laughter with intermittent snorts. " Ain't no gay bitches got time fa that. Our petty, impatient asses WANT ya knowin' when we're takin' ya fa a DRAG, " he joked with a wink. _Pun intended._

" That's the master plan, though ~ " he sang with a quick drag of his tongue over the end of a fresh cigarette before slipping it into the case, " Fuck 'im. Fuck 'is boyfriend. THEN fuck over 'is whole ass life. Shit ~ "

Madame

"Sounds like a plan, shug. Sounds like a plan, indeed." She chuckled. "Just know I can't take _direct_ action in ruinin' Big V's shit. I'll support ya, but I can't get involved with my own tentacles-- plus, I mean, Val'd smell that a mile off, so's best I keep to the background, fer all our sakes. It he breaks our deal first, then I'd have free reign to help ya more directly, though."

Angel

" Yeah yeah, ya don't gotta, " he assured, " I ain't plannin' on involvin' or takin' no one down wit' me. Promise. No one better take this from me, either, but... What, kin'a deal ya got goin' wit' 'im? "

Madame

"Ain't nothin' fancy, basic sorta non-interference thing. I don't mess with his business directly, he don't mess with mine. Mostly keeps us outta each other's hair-- but poachin' talent is fair game, which is why I can offer ya protection 'n such." She smirked and winked again.

Angel

" _Nice_ loopholin' ~ " he sang, " No wonder ya been sittin' pretty all this time, Big Mama. Save a spot fa me an' I'll be the prettiest throne candy anyone's e'er seen ~ "

Madame

"Deal Makers gotta get those loops on lock, baby boy, and I wouldn'ta lasted this long if I weren't a damn good Deal Maker." She giggled again.

"Ever since ya started up with Big V, I had a spot primed 'n ready for ya. Knew ya were a star, baby."

Angel

" HA! " Angel gave a short, small burst of slightly embarassed laughter. " Spotlight's where I belong, Mama ~ Chargin' me rent in m'own house oughta be a _crime ~_ "

Madame

"Ain't that true, babe, ain't it true!" She laughed again. "Ya belong in it."

#extermination party palace #sluttyspiderpolkacock #usedhearts #chat log

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rubyleaf · 4 years

Text

As I’m almost done with Night of the Dragon (yes, finally), here I am again writing fic! This time, Tatsumi and the friendships he never formed with the squad in canon. I still think we were robbed, so here goes!

As the sun rises over the destroyed landscape, a single soul floats to the horizon in a glowing ball of light, drifting into the sky and leaving the confines of the world.

For a long time, Tatsumi flies through darkness. The earth grows smaller and smaller below, the sun a distant light that is soon lost in the vastness around him. Stars drift by, constellations, twinkling colorfully in the distance—glimpses of other worlds, perhaps, inhabited by beings far beyond his imagination. Tatsumi doesn’t stop to explore them. Carried by an unexplainable pull, he flies past all of them, on and on until he loses all sense of space or time.

And then, from one moment to the next, he flies into a bright light and his feet hit solid ground.

Tatsumi opens his eyes. He doesn’t know when he has taken up human shape again, but when he looks down along himself he sees the body he is used to: the lean teenage boy, dressed in his clan’s black and purple, black hair falling into his eyes and obscuring his vision. But his wound is gone, and when he feels for his sword he discovers it is no longer there.

Where…am I?

Tatsumi looks around. He has landed on a rocky shore, the waves of the sea crashing and foaming where they meet the land. His legs are up to the knees in water, but he barely registers the way it seeps through his clothes, and even though it’s cold, he doesn’t shiver.

So this is Meido, he thinks. He doesn’t know how he imagined the place to be, but somehow this isn’t it. This place looks like it belongs to the world of the living, except that, back in Ningen-kai, he couldn’t feel wind or warmth or water anymore after he died.

His eyes scan his surroundings, searching for other arrivants, other souls he might know. There is no one. He is alone.

Tatsumi starts walking.

Bordering on the shore is a deep, dark forest, the gnarled trees taller and older than anything found in the living world. All the same their shadows are eerily familiar, and as he passes between their roots he suddenly remembers why.

I carried her this way.

He has been here before, but back then he wasn’t alone. Back then he was alive, and he was half a demon, and on his arms he had a dying kitsune girl, unconscious and bleeding out. Now he isn’t injured anymore, not half drowned, not merged with the First Oni of Jigoku anymore. But his arms are empty, and the forest he walks through is silent except for the sound of his footsteps.

The forest deepens. On the edge of Tatsumi’s vision lights flicker by, but every time he stops and turns to look at them, they are already gone. Sometimes he thinks he can hear a voice calling out to him—Yumeko’s, Master Ichiro’s, Hakaimono’s—but there is never anyone there. The only thing around him are the trees, tall and silent and oblivious to his presence.

There are no times of the day here, no sunrise or sunset. There is no wind, no weather; only the trees, the undergrowth, the ever-unchanging light beneath their branches. Tatsumi keeps walking. He doesn’t know where he’s going, where he wants to go. He doesn’t know if he has anywhere to go. For all his life he has always had a destination, a place to go, a task to fulfill. But now there is nothing, nothing except for the great unknown.

Tatsumi keeps walking. He’s used to walking great distances alone. For most of his life, he has always been alone.

Except…has he?

Not truly alone, he realizes. Hakaimono has always been with him for the better part of his life, a constant presence that ensured he was never truly on his own. Abruptly Tatsumi finds himself missing the oni. He was the one responsible for most of his torment, and yet he would rather hear the demon’s taunting than nothing at all.

Without Hakaimono, all on his own—who is he, anyway?

Tatsumi’s feet stumble. The trees around him look exactly the same as those he already passed a few hours ago, or maybe days. Is it an illusion? Has he been walking in circles? Where is he coming from? Where is he going? Has he ever been headed anywhere at all?

And then his eyes land on a shimmering light in the distance, and though he doesn’t have a pulse anymore, his heart skips a beat.

This glade…

Forgetting himself, Tatsumi runs, crashing through the undergrowth into the light beyond. And sure enough, there it lies: the very glade where he called on the Kirin to bring Yumeko back to life, mere days ago and yet an eternity away. Except now the glade is dead and empty, and there are no kodama watching him from the trees, no sacred spirit to bring back the girl he loves more than life itself.

He is alone. Completely, truly alone.

Everyone and everything he held dear is worlds away, and he has no way to return.

His vision blurring, he falls to his knees. Can souls cry if they have no bodies to form tears with? For the first time in many years Tatsumi wants to cry, wants to break down sobbing until there are no tears left in his body, calling Yumeko’s name over and over until she hears him and answered. And yet there are no tears in his eyes, no sobs escaping from the tangle in his chest, no words coming from his ghostly mouth no matter how much his soul aches with loneliness and deep, deep loss.

Darkness falls around him. Tatsumi doesn’t know how long he sits there, unable to look up, unable to move, unable to think of anything other than Yumeko’s tear-stained, beautiful face. His light is gone. Gone, gone beyond his reach for many years, perhaps centuries, and all that remains for him are the shadows grinning at him like they want to swallow him up.

“…san? Kage-san!”

Something in Tatsumi stirs. This voice…he knows this voice. The shadows lift a little.

“Oi, Kage-san, can you hear me?” Footsteps rustle through the grass behind him, then a hand appears in his field of vision. “Are you awake? Hey!”

Tatsumi stirs, but his soul is still too heavy to respond, let alone take the long, familiar hand that is waving before his eyes. Something slides down his face, and it takes him a moment to register that it’s a single teardrop falling from his eye.

“He must be heartbroken,” another familiar voice remarks, and on the edge of Tatsumi’s vision something bright and shimmering moves over the grass. “Let us give him time, Okame-san. He may not yet be ready to stand up and speak.”

Tatsumi can’t respond, but he doesn’t have to. Two figures sit down beside him, one on either side. A hand comes to rest on his back, warm and strangely alive even though souls should be intangible. Another slides across his shoulders, then an arm wraps around his back and pulls him over to slump against a bony shoulder.

“I get how you feel,” Hino Okame mutters, his voice very quiet. “I miss Yumeko-chan too. She was like the little sister I never had.”

“We all miss Yumeko-san,” Taiyo Daisuke remarks, still resting his hand on Tatsumi’s back. “I am glad she still lives, but however selfish it sounds, our lives are less bright for lack of her presence.”

Little by little, the darkness around Tatsumi clears. His soul is still heavy, but the pain of losing Yumeko is now less acute, less overwhelming. Slowly, he lifts his head to look up at his two companions.

Hino Okame and Taiyo Daisuke. Yumeko’s friends, he thinks, and only tangentially his. If at all. They barely had any time to get to know each other.

“Why are you here?” he asks, his voice raspy from lack of use.

“We came across you on our search,” Daisuke replies, smiling quietly. “We have been looking for you for a while.”

Tatsumi blinks, an unfamiliar emotion fluttering up inside him. “For me?” he repeats. “Why?”

Okame offers a lopsided grin.

“We know how it’s like to be lonely,” he says, scratching his head the same way he did back when he was still alive. “So, you know. We were worried about you.”

Tatsumi’s soul tangles up into knots.

“Why?” he asks quietly. “I was never your friend.”

“You always were,” Daisuke corrects him.

“Yeah, you were a bit scary,” Okame admits. “But you’re still part of the family. Also, who else is supposed to look after you for Yumeko-chan?”

“I…” Tatsumi’s words fail him. He still isn’t used to kindness, to being cared for. And yet here these two are, offering just that.

“Thank you,” he mutters at length, staring at the grass and suddenly feeling like a small child.

Smiling again, Daisuke stands up, offering him a hand. Tatsumi takes it and rises to his feet, assisted by Okame from the side. To his amazement, he finds he can stand again. The glade doesn’t look quite as empty anymore.

“Let us go,” Daisuke says. “Reika-san will be glad to hear we found you.”

“Oh, she sure will,” Okame mutters. “The shrine maiden’s been nagging us for ages. Some things never change.”

Side by side they pass through the forest. The trees quickly grow less dense on either side, light filtering in through the branches until they finally step out into the open. A town rises up ahead of them, but even closer lies an almost-familiar shrine.

“Reika-san!” Okame calls. “We found him!”

There is a shuffle from inside, then the shrine maiden comes out. “About time!” she exclaimed. “What took you two so long? Kage-san!”

Hurrying up to him, she looks him up and down, inspecting his form as if looking for injuries. “Your soul is very battered,” she remarks, furrowing her brow. Turning to the noble and ronin, she adds, “What were you two thinking, taking so long to bring him back? Look at the state he’s in!”

“We humbly apologize,” Daisuke answers before Okame can respond with something less polite. “We only found him very recently, and at first he was in no state to walk. We brought him in as soon as we could.”

“Merciful Kami! Next time, Chu and I are doing the searching alone.” Reika lets out a huff. “Come on, Kage-san! Before you go anywhere else, we need to patch you up.”

---

Some time later Tatsumi finds himself sitting in the shrine, covered in patches and bandages by Reika’s skillful hands. “There you go,” she says. “This is as far as I can mend you. Some of your wounds are too deep for me to handle.”

Tatsumi looks up and down along himself, not understanding a thing. “Wounds?” he repeats.

“Your soul is badly hurt,” Reika answers. “I’ve done what I can for the more recent injuries, but there’s a lot that needs to heal on its own. I suspect you won’t be able to be reborn until your soul has fully finished healing.”

Dread jolts through him. “How long will that take?”

“I can’t say,” Reika replies, and the dread teeters on the edge of despair. “It depends on the person. The best thing you can do is try and heal from the bad things you dealt with in your lifetime.”

That’s a lot, Tatsumi thinks. So much he barely knows where to start.

“How do I do that?” he asks.

Reika hesitates.

“There is no one-size-fits-all solution,” says an aged voice from the door. “However, the best thing you can do is surround yourself with good things to balance out the bad.”

Reika lifts her gaze, her face lighting up. “Master Jiro!”

Striding over, the old priest sits down across from Tatsumi, Ko—in small dog form—curling up at his feet. “Find people who make you happy,” he says. “Do things that make you happy. Take your time to process all that happened to you, and then leave it in the past.”

People who make me happy. Things that make me happy.

At first Tatsumi’s mind comes up all Yumeko. If he could spend time with her, he thinks, he would surely heal in no time. Except, that isn’t an option. And suddenly she seems further away than ever.

Except, something within him whispers, he isn’t alone. He is sitting in this shrine flanked by Yumeko’s friends who insist they are also his friends, who found him in the middle of despair, picked him up and brought him here to be pieced back together. He didn’t get to know them much while alive. But maybe now he actually has a chance.

“In that case,” he says hesitantly, fully prepared for a rejection, “may I stay here with you for a while?”

The smiles on the others’ faces tell him all he needs to know.

---

“There you are, Kage-san!” Okame calls out to him as he enters the shrine, returning from a walk and a lot of thinking. “Sit down, we’ve been saving a spot for you!”

Wary, Tatsumi pauses, regarding the ronin, then the noble with him, both smiling so invitingly that it’s obvious they’re up to no good. “What?”

“Sake,” Daisuke explains, motioning to the bottle between them. “Okame-san found it in town. Would you like some?”

For a second Tatsumi wants to say no, mentioning his duties, and then he remembers he doesn’t have duties anymore. He is free to drink, if he wants to. He isn’t sure how comfortable he is…but then again, without a body, can spirits even get drunk?

“Just a little,” he says, sitting down beside his companions. Okame doesn’t look for further encouragement before pouring a cup of sake and handing it to him. Tatsumi eyes it, then the ronin, and frowns.

“I said a little,” he remarks.

“That is a little,” Okame shoots back. “Just take it! If you’re that much of a lightweight, take a sip every hour or something while we get wasted.”

Muttering an awkward thanks, Tatsumi takes a sip and can’t help grimacing. He has never much liked the pungent taste of alcohol, and the smell strongly reminds him of the stuff healers used to put on his wounds to keep them from getting infected.

“Disgusting,” he mutters.

Okame bursts out laughing. “It’s nasty when you first try it, huh?” he says, patting Tatsumi so hard on the back that he almost spills the sake. “Don’t worry, Kage-san! Just keep forcing it down, and someday you won’t be able to live without it.”

Now it’s Daisuke’s turn to laugh as Tatsumi snorts. “Is that a good thing?”

“No, it isn’t!” Reika’s voice comes from the next room. “We already have one alcoholic too many in this house,” she adds, poking her head out through the door. “Don’t you dare corrupt Kage-san with it!”

Okame eyes her up and down, then a smirk crosses his face. “Would you like a cup, Reika-san?” he says. “I’m sure we’d all love to see what our proper shrine maiden’s like piss-drunk.”

She chucks her comb at him, which he easily dodges. “Keep dreaming!” she shouts. “I wouldn’t think of it!”

Picking up the comb, Daisuke turns it over in his hand before an idea lights up his face, and he sticks it into Tatsumi’s hair. “Why, it suits you,” he remarks. “You should keep it in, Kage-san.”

“No, he shouldn’t! Give me my comb back, you thieves! I’m so sorry for their nonsense, Kage-san.” Pacing across the room, Reika reaches for Tatsumi’s hair, then gives him an appraising look. “Though Taiyo-san’s right, it does suit you.”

Tatsumi blinks. “I can’t say,” he replies. “I don’t have a mirror to check.”

The shrine erupts with laughter. Tatsumi doesn’t understand what he said that was so funny, but in the face of all this mirth he can’t help cracking a smile anyway.

---

Reika blinks as she looks up from the texts she was studying, visibly surprised to find Tatsumi in the doorframe. He understands her bafflement; he rarely seeks out the others, even now, Master Ichiro’s lessons about keeping distance still too drilled into his mind. But Master Jiro has told him to get rid of all that, so here he is, making an effort.

“What’s wrong?” the shrine maiden asks.

Tatsumi takes a breath, even though, as a ghost, he doesn’t technically need it. “Nothing,” he says. “Can you teach me about healing?”

Turning fully around, she stares at him like she thinks she didn’t hear him right. “Healing?” she repeats. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind, but…why all of a sudden?”

Tatsumi looks away. “I realized the only thing I know is how to fight,” he admits, his voice quiet and a little awkward. “I have no other skills, no interests, nothing. So…I thought I should change that.”

Reika gets up.

“Of course,” she says. “No problem at all. What would you like to know?”

For the next hour or two she lectures him about herbs and salves, cures for illnesses, pain and exhaustion. She mostly leaves out the part about patching up wounds, fully aware that Tatsumi knows that all too well already. Tatsumi listens closely. There are so many things she knows that he has never heard before, things that he hopes he’ll remember again in Ningen-kai so he can save people’s lives with this knowledge.

“You’re a good student,” Reika remarks when they finally take a break. “You pick things up fast, and you don’t ask stupid questions. I can’t imagine what would happen if I had to teach the other two idiots instead!”

“Teach what idiots what?” says a voice from the doorframe.

Reika snorts. “Speak of the devil,” she says. “How long have you been eavesdropping?”

“We just came in,” Okame retorts, entering the room followed by Daisuke. “What’s going on?”

“I’m trying to learn about healing,” Tatsumi explains. “All I can do is fight, and I want to change that.”

Daisuke’s face lights up with understanding. “Broadening your horizons is always a good idea, Kage-san,” he says. “If you would like further help, I can teach you about music and literature as well.”

Tatsumi lifts his head. “I would like that,” he says. “Thank you.”

Okame pulls a face.

“I don’t really know anything fancy,” he admits, cracking a wry smile. “But I guess I could teach you about playing dice.”

Tatsumi snorts, but he also smiles.

“I’ll take it.”

---

The moon is shining when Tatsumi steps outside, startled to find that he isn’t alone at the small stream passing in front of the shrine.

“Oh, it’s you,” Okame mutters, briefly meeting his eyes where he sits on the grass. “What brings you out here?”

For a moment Tatsumi doesn’t say anything; he only sits down beside the ronin, pulling at the grass. “You look like something is bothering you,” he remarks at length.

Okame lets out a humorless laugh. “Is it that obvious? Yeah, I guess there is,” he admits. “It’s nothing to worry about, though.”

Tatsumi looks up at him, his messy hair silhouetted against the light of the full moon.

“You can tell me,” he says.

Blinking, the ronin turns to stare down at him. “Hey, now—”

“You were there for me when I needed it,” Tatsumi adds. “Let me return the favor.”

Dark eyes rest on him, a heavy gaze, pensive and hesitant. Then Okame lets out a defeated sigh.

“I saw my brother today,” he says.

Tatsumi pauses. “What?”

“Yasuo. My younger brother,” Okame explains. “When we were out on the town. I don’t know if he recognized me, but…I keep thinking about it.” He stabs a hand through his hair. “You know, when my clan held that siege on your clan…he and I were both there, back then. Except I got scared and ran away from the final battle. And he stayed behind and died.” He swallows. “I left him to die.”

Tatsumi doesn’t say anything; he doesn’t know how to comfort people, except maybe Yumeko. And certainly not in a situation like this.

“It was so long ago,” Okame continues, “but I keep thinking about it. If I wasn’t such a coward, maybe I could’ve gone after him. Told him I’m sorry for abandoning him. But…” He shrugs. “Would he even want to hear it? Our relationship was never that great…maybe he’ll refuse to forgive me.”

Turning the ronin’s words in his mind, Tatsumi thinks, wondering what to do. Wondering what he would do in such a situation—what she would do.

“Yumeko,” he muses, “would tell you to talk to him anyway.”

Okame looks up.

“She’d say it’s clearly still bothering you, and you should get it off your chest,” Tatsumi continues slowly. “If he forgives you, maybe you can forgive yourself. And if he doesn’t, then at least you tried.”

“…you’re probably right.”

Taking a deep breath, Okame pushes himself to his feet, flashing a grin down at Tatsumi. “You’ve changed,” he remarks. “The old you was all prickly and loner-y, and here you are snapping me out of my funk.” He ruffles Tatsumi’s hair. “Thanks so much, Kage-san! I guess I’ll get myself some liquid courage and then go talk to him.”

For most of the next day Okame is absent, and when he returns his eyes are red and swollen from crying. But his features are also glowing with relief, and the grateful smile on his face tells Tatsumi everything he needs to know.

---

“Tatsumi-kun,” says a voice in the street, “it has been a while.”

Tatsumi spins around, his long-forgotten walls shooting up in a heartbeat. He knows this voice, even though the man it belongs to has aged in his absence; his hair is fully white now, his face covered in wrinkles. All the same, it barely takes him a second to recognize him.

“Master Ichiro,” he whispers. Panic grabs him. His eyes flit to the friends at his side, crowding closer to him as if sensing his fear. He wants to tell them not to. This man will surely beat him for letting people into his circle, and then force him to banish them all—or worse, cut them down to prove his loyalty to the Kage and the Kage alone.

But Master Ichiro doesn’t do any of these things. He only smiles—a sad, almost grandfatherly smile the likes of which he never showed while the two of them still lived.

“So we meet again,” he says. “I was hoping to see you here someday. I have had many students after you, but you are still my favorite.”

Something inside Tatsumi recoils at the phrasing. “Your favorite?” he repeats quietly.

“You were like a son to me,” Master Ichiro says. “It’s a shame I needed to be so strict with you to ensure your survival. I loved you dearly, you know.”

Loved me? Master Ichiro…loved me? Like a son?

Little by little, Tatsumi’s lips form the next words, quiet, calm yet filled with deep betrayal. “And you never told me?”

Master Ichiro blinks, taken aback. “Tatsumi-kun—”

“Don’t make me laugh!”

Bursting past Tatsumi’s side, Reika leaps into his path, glaring up at the old master like she wants to strangle him. “You loved him? Like a son?” she yells. “Don’t be ridiculous! Don’t even think of claiming the title of love when all you ever did was cause him pain and suffering!”

For a second, Tatsumi is convinced Master Ichiro will hit the shrine maiden, right here, in the middle of the street. But his old teacher does no such thing. He only frowns.

“I needed to do so,” he tries to explain. “It was for his own safety. Otherwise, Tatsumi-kun would—”

“Silence!”

Reika is positively trembling with rage. “For your own good! For your own safety! How many times have I heard that excuse?” Her hands are clenched into fists, barely restrained from grabbing Master Ichiro’s collar and shaking him. “I don’t care what you tell me! People who claim to love their children and hurt them ‘for their own good’ should never be allowed to raise a child—”

“Reika-san.”

Striding past, Daisuke places a hand on her shoulder, gently pulling her back. “It’s all right, Reika-san,” he says in an undertone. “Leave it to Kage-san.”

Taking a sharp breath, Reika closes her eyes and forces herself to calm down. At the same time, Okame gives Tatsumi a subtle nudge forward. “Go tell him, Kage-san!”

Tatsumi looks at his friends. Then at Master Ichiro. The man who raised him…the man who caused him so much pain.

The fear is still deep within him, intensely and painfully real. But…he isn’t the same person he used to be.

Tatsumi bows his head.

“Thank you for raising me,” he says, “and telling me the truth.”

Reika lets out a disbelieving gasp, but Tatsumi squares his jaw. Sizes up his old master. Swallows the fear of repercussions.

Then he swings and punches him hard across the face.

“And that,” he says as he returns to his cheering friends, leaving a startled Ichiro behind, “is for everything else.”

He doesn’t notice until later, but a large part of his soul heals that day.

---

When Tatsumi feels the pull, he almost doesn’t want to leave.

Of course he can’t wait to see Yumeko again. But returning to her will mean leaving his friends behind, the people he has grown to love so dearly, the people who helped him heal. He’s going to miss them. Even if, sooner or later, he will surely meet them here again.

“I have to go soon,” he tells them when he can’t resist the pull for much longer. “I can feel Ningen-kai calling. But…I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.”

The others’ faces are both happy and sad. “I’m glad you can return to Yumeko-chan,” Reika says. “May you be happier in your next lifetime.”

“Happier, and may you live longer,” Daisuke adds. “We shall miss you. But, who knows—maybe we shall soon follow you into Ningen-kai.”

“Or we’ll still wait here when you come back,” Okame replies. “Either way, look after Yumeko-chan for us. Tell her we still miss her.”

Tatsumi feels choked up, but he cracks a smile. “I will.”

A heavy silence falls. The pull grows stronger. None of them know what to say.

“Thank you all,” Tatsumi says at length. “I’ll never forget what you three did for me.”

Daisuke smiles. “Don’t mention it.”

“That’s what friends are for,” says Reika.

Friends, Tatsumi repeats in his head. His friends.

He’s going to miss them so much.

But the pull grows ever stronger, nearly impossible to resist. “It’s almost time,” Tatsumi says. “I—”

This is as far as he gets before Okame pulls him into a crushing embrace.

Tatsumi splutters, but before he can respond, Daisuke and Reika join them to form a big hug-pile. Tatsumi tries to hug them all back at once, physical impossibilities be damned. Okame sniffles a little.

“Take care,” he says. “Good luck.”

Tatsumi closes his eyes. Then, suddenly, the pull grows too strong, and he transforms into a ball of light and starts drifting away towards Ningen-kai…towards a new life, hopefully with Yumeko.

On the grass by the shrine, the other three remain behind.

Okame wipes his eyes, sniffling again. “I miss him already,” he says.

“Me too,” Reika answers. “Now who am I supposed to give tired looks to when you two are being ridiculous?”

Daisuke smiles sadly.

“We shall all miss him, I think,” he says. “After all, he is part of the family.”

---

From the chamber of Kage Haruko’s daughter-in-law erupt the cries of a newborn baby.

Kage Kousuke has a little brother. The child has wide, solemn eyes with a hint of purple, and somehow he looks like he has already been to this chamber, this palace.

They name him after a hero, the fearless young shinobi who slayed the Harbinger and then the kitsune god.

A boy named Tatsumi will surely be just as brave.

#this got widely hugely IMMENSELY long and i wrote it all in one sitting #shadow of the fox #night of the dragon #kage tatsumi #hino okame #taiyo daisuke #reika #kage ichiro #night of the dragon spoilers #BIG FAT SPOILERY SPOILERS #me and my writings #headcanons

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saiilorstars · 4 years

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The Fairy Tale Memoirs

Author’s Note: This is part of a one-shot/AU companion story to Stars Dance & Falling in Temptation that features Avalon Reynolds and the Doctor (from 9th-13th Doctor) along with other companions + Lena Reynolds.

// Current Masterlist //

taglist: @ocfairygodmother @anotherunreadblog

Ch. 3: Found

Summary: Avalon watches her daughter grow up into a teenager. She just doesn't realize that Aurora knows more than she leads on.

A/N: An AU based on the last chapter of Falling in Temptation.

~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~

On Aurora's 100th birthday, her grandmother River brought her to Akhaten. She explained the importance of the planet as soon as they got there: Akhaten was the spot her father promised to bring her mother to. He never got the chance but it was only right that one Reynolds see it. River promised Aurora that the Doctor would want nothing more than to know that his daughter got to visit the planet.

Aurora was amazed by the different sight. She had never been off planet so she was very proud to know at least half of the species she saw. She was as fast as her father on her feet, leaving River out of breath several times. She wanted to see everything and try everything - she had inherited her father's knack for tasting everything and anything. Like Avalon, she had an attitude that put her in arguments with people several centuries older than her. River knew that she should've disapproved but the sight of seeing her little granddaughter - who was nothing more than a small child - argue the hell out of a grumpy old man was far too amusing. That was definitely all Avalon. There was one significant thing that River took great notice of in her granddaughter. What Aurora saw did not work, she talked about making it work. Whether it was a couple machines she noticed sparking or an intangible system like making lines for a shop, if it did not work then Aurora would talk about fixing it. It made River smile. That was uniquely Aurora.

"I like building things," the little girl would shrug and say each time River asked her that day why she was so focused on brainstorming ideas to fix whatever she saw wrong.

When the day finished and Aurora came home, she stayed up all night telling her mother everything she saw. Avalon let her talk throughoutthe night. The mother and daughter laid on one bed that night with Aurora rambling on and on about Akhaten. At 100, Aurora was more than aware that her lifespan would allow for centuries and centuries of potential adventures. She promised to bring her mother to Akhaten when she was older.

That brought Avalon to tears.

"I know that Daddy promised he would take you but if he doesn't ever come back, I'll take you," Aurora shifted on the bed to face her mother, a clear older version of herself.

Avalon smiled sadly. "Oh princess, that'd be nice but it's okay. I don't need to go anywhere. I'm good where I am."

"But I'm going to go one day," Aurora said with an impossibly big grin. "I'm going to go to all the places in the world! I'm going to see everything and fix whatever I can to help!"

Aurora would continue to excitedly announce the galaxies she would see one day, never knowing the fear it instilled in her mother. As much as she would love for Aurora to explore the world, Avalon couldn't let go of the fear that the Silence would capture Aurora in one of those adventures. She did not want to keep her daughter locked up but she didn't want any harm to come to her either. What would she do?

As Aurora continued to grow, she started making a list of possible places to see when she was a legitimate adult. Not even the continuous moves would affect her anymore. Avalon always put on her best supportive face whenever Aurora talked about a new place to visit. Even when River would take Aurora out somewhere completely safe, Avalon was a nervous wreck. She didn't want anything to happen to Aurora.

One hundred years turned into 200 and by that time, Aurora resembled the appearance of a young girl. From a human perspective, though, she was a teenager. Fourteen years old is what Aurora's brain scans said. She was at the beginning of her teenage-hood and while Avalon prepared herself for a troubled teenage-hood resembling her own, Aurora turned out to be the opposite.

Where Avalon was impulsive and a loud mouth, Aurora was quiet and sneaky. If she had a problem, she dealt with it discreetly. She was quick but learned quite well how to pretend to move like the other students. She learned the cues of social life and when she chose to follow them, she was a natural. Almost graceful. She was adept at pretending, something neither of her parents ever mastered. Although it pained her to think about it, Avalon felt sure that if something happened to her - if the Silence ever caught up to her and Aurora was left alone, Aurora would have enough skills to hide herself. This was Avalon's second backup plan. If the plan of River hiding Aurora fell through, Aurora could still fend for herself. It was a horrible way of thinking but it was a neccessary way too.

Aurora loved travelling so it only seemed right to believe that she would be able to handle things on her own if something happened to her mother. However, all of a sudden, Aurora seemed to drop the idea of travelling. Whether or not she still wanted to, she never said, but Avalon got the jist when Aurora started expressing a desire to go to a local university after she finished her schooling.

"I'm just saying if you would like to see a college maybe off-planet, then I would be just fine with that," Avalon would smile to her daughter as convincingly as possible.

Aurora would simply shake her head. "Nope, I'm good. I found out that there's a university with a really good engineering program in the next city. I don't need to go off planet. I can stay right here with you." She reached across the isle to grab her strawberry milkshake Avalon finished making. With no cherry on top she gladly drank from the straw.

Avalon drank from her own milkshake. "Well you still have time. Plenty of it."

Aurora shrugged. "Yeah, we'll see." She eyed the mess of papers on the edge of the isle and from a quick glance, she knew what they were. "Are you writing again?"

Avalon quickly set the papers in a neat stack. "Just the usual short stories."

"Right," Aurora kept the sour tone hidden very well. She knew the short stories were used to get them by and that the real stories her mother wrote, the full books, were never going to see the light of day.

The subtle sourness would turn into bitterness when Aurora turned 16 in human terms. By that point, she was aware of everything that went on around her. She was a competent, intelligent woman. She'd learned how to navigate on her own without her mother's knowledge.

She would make sure to come home on time even when things begged to be seen and explored. She owed her mother that much. She was a law abiding citizen and a stellar student, everything to not give her mother any worries.

Avalon was too busy looking over her shoulder to notice anything. She busied herself with keeping them hidden like always. While Aurora was at school, she would do quick trips for the groceries, trips to her job to drop off new short stories, any other miscellaneous errands and then be home long before Aurora was due home from school.

Today she was busying herself with a new short story. She had a cup of tea sitting beside her while she worked through the drafts. It was like any other day...until she heard a noise.

She rubbed her forehead, thinking it was just a trick her mind was playing. It wouldn't be the first time. She picked up her pen to keep writing but three words down and the sound wasn't going away. It was actually getting louder.

"Absolutely no way," she whispered with a hammering heart. She got out of her stool and sprinted towards the door, all the meanwhile her heart prepared to burst from her chest. "No, no, no, no, no—" She opened the door to find the Doctor on the other side.

He had the decency to be nervous. He was fidgety and since Avalon only stared at him, he had nothing else to go by.

And then suddenly, she slapped him. Hard.

"Yeah...I had that coming." The next time he met her gaze, she was blazing with fury. "Ava—"

She slapped him again. "I thought you were dead," her voice was trembling as was the rest of her body. "I thought...I didn't know what to think sometimes." The Doctor nodded silently, only listening to her for the first minutes. "I didn't know if you were still fighting the Silence or if they'd killed you...or if you'd just moved on."

"No," he spoke up as soon as she said that. "I would never be able to. I had to fight until every last Silent was gone."

Avalon stared at him with no readable expression. Her eyes were shiny but not one tear had fallen. Her frazzled brain was trying to make the connection she'd just heard. "They're gone?"

The Doctor nodded. "Yes. Every last one of them. It took me 200 years but I got them. They're not going to hurt you or your family ever again."

Avalon swallowed hard. They're gone. Her mind raced with thoughts and a whirlwind of feelings. They'regonethey'regone. Her legs buckled.

The Doctor reached forwards to catch her as she collapsed. She fell against his chest and instead of pushing him away, she retreated into him. Her eyes squeezed shut.

"They're gone, they're really gone?" She sniffed.

The Doctor wrapped his arms around her body. "Yes, I promise. I'm so sorry it took me this long. I know you must be angry with me."

Avalon pulled away suddenly, her eyes flickering to the TARDIS sitting in her front garden. She shook her head and pulled him inside. She had no idea what she was doing but for now, they needed to be inside. She made a conscious quick zip through the living room — there were pictures in there that she wasn't ready to explain — into the kitchen.

"How did you find me?" she asked. She let go of his arm once they were in the kitchen.

"There was a sudden read of vortex energy," the Doctor said distractedly. He was studying the kitchen and found it to be quite normal. He always pictured Avalon living extravagantly. There was a white isle in the middle of the room with a matching white counter behind. Odd mugs lined the wall on the left side of the sink. He eyed some strange princess plates in the dish dryer.

"Vortex energy?" Avalon frowned. "I...I think I would've noticed if I suddenly leaked Vortex energy."

"Uh, the energy signatures were clear. It was brief and spontaneous but high enough for the TARDIS to sense it. She was adamant we come here." His eyes eventually found the papers on the isle. "You're writing," he smiled and met her gaze. "Do you write books now?"

Avalon's shake of head was nervous. "N-no."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow at her. There was no reason to be nervous with him. If anything, she should be angry with him. That's what he prepared himself for when he caught the reading of the vortex. He knew it had to have been her so he gathered the courage to come find her. But she wasn't angry. She was just...like that.

"It's been nearly 250 years for me," she said quietly.

"I'm so sorry," he sighed. "I swear I didn't want anything like this to happen. I didn't want to leave you. I love you. I never wanted to hurt you."

Once more, instead of being reproached with anger, Avalon took it all with a few shaky nods. "I understand." Because she literally understood his reasoning. She'd done the same.

"Really?" The Doctor knew that he could take the easy win but something about Avalon's eerie calm attitude unsettled him. He took a few steps towards her until she was locked between him and the counter. He looked into her eyes, her sweet blue eyes that he'd missed so much, and searched for any clue of what she was hiding.

"Why did you come back?" she asked. She was aware of how close they were.

His hands moved to rest on either side of her on the counter. He leaned down enough so that when he answered, she would feel his breath. "Because you're my Ava." His words caused a ripple of warmth over her chest. "I had to at least try to win you back. Am I too late? Is there someone else?"

If she wasn't so shaken, she would've laughed in his face. How could there ever be someone else? "I've been on my own."

"No," he said suddenly, pulling away from her to head for the sink.

Avalon blinked. "What?"

"You said you've been on your own but that's not true." He started pointing at the line of mugs and then the dishes in the sink. "There's too much stuff around for just one person. Someone else lives here..." He met Avalon's gaze, her nervous gaze. "Don't they?"

~0~

Aurora walked down the street of her home. She was carrying a few books in her arms that she was trying to put away into her bookbag. She didn't need her mother finding out what she was doing. It would end with the grounding of a life time.

She was stuffing the last of her books into her bag when she came into her front garden and saw a bright blue box standing there. Her book fell to the ground.

She rushed up to the blue box and touched the police sign. "You wouldn't happen to be...?"

One of the doors creaked open. Aurora stepped back and watched as the other door opened for her. The soft orange glow slowly brought her in.

"O-oh..." She had stepped inside to see the console room. It was a bright orange, just like her mother had said. It was shiny with glass floors and those odd circles on the walls just like her mother had said.

Aurora swallowed down as she carefully made her way towards the console. Her hand gingerly brushed over the controls. "It's really you..." She breathed in.

Suddenly, a hum rose from the center. Aurora jumped back but after a few more hums she realized what it was.

"You're the TARDIS. You...you let me in," she glanced at the open doors. "Do you know who I am?" She remembered her mother saying the TARDIS could open and close her doors at her will. She chose who to let in, including the Doctor himself.

Oh my God, the Doctor.

Aurora's eyes widened. "He's here," she whispered. She heard another hum. "Listen, I'm...I'm Aurora. You're my..." she languidly pointed at the time rotor, "...my grandmother. And-and the Doctor...he's my..."

The TARDIS hummed rather sadly. Aurora was sure that it was a sad hum. She always asked her mother how she knew what type of hums the TARDIS gave. Avalon would simply say that she just knew. Aurora would snort. Turns out her mother was right.

Her thoughts were interrupted when a song started playing. It took her only a second to realize what it was. She laughed.

"Very funny." She folded her arms as Once Upon a Dream continued to play. "You should know that my favorite princess is Mulan." She smiled to herself as she started making a round on the console. "I too stood out." She stopped when she spotted a couple of things hanging out from a drawer underneath. She bent down and saw some miscellaneous things inside. A cellphone, a ball of yarn, a keychain, a magnifying glass and a stethoscope. She pulled out the stethoscope and played with it. "You wouldn't happen to know where he is, right?"

The TARDIS hummed dutifully.

Aurora smiled smugly. "Yeah, I ask questions even though I already know the answers. Does he do that too?" Yet another question she already knew the answer to.

~0~

He had no right to demand any answers from Avalon. He chose to leave which meant she had every right to move on. So why was he still standing in her kitchen when it was so clear that someone else lived with her now?

Avalon felt her tongue was literally twisted. She couldn't come out and say the truth even when he asked her directly...and more than once.

"Ava, if you want me to leave, I'll do it," the Doctor said, holding back his sigh. "I never meant to hurt you. I just wanted to keep you safe." He ducked his head and left the room.

"Doctor, wait!" Avalon hurried after him. "I-I don't know how to say it—" She abruptly crashed into his back.

He'd felt a buzz in his pocket and pulled out his sonic to see it whirring alive. "What the...?" He checked the readings and soon knew what it was. He spun around to face Avalon. "Someone's in my TARDIS." He saw a visible trace of fear in her eyes. She knew. "Who's in my TARDIS?"

Avalon's eyes flickered to the clock on the wall. She gulped.

The Doctor didn't wait for her to answer. He turned away and hurried for the door.

"Doctor!" Avalon once again chased after him.

The Doctor flung the door open to run out and catch whoever was trying to mess with his TARDIS. He found a young girl with long ginger hair. She was of average height and wore a simple dark blue button up shirt with a brown cardigan and black jeans. Though her hair was in neat, casual waves, there was something oddly familiar about it. Her eyes were a nice green shade. Familiar too.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow at the girl, warranting some explanation of her presence and much more about her intrusion in the TARDIS. Instead of seeming nervous or even scared, she simply held out his stethoscope to him.

"She just let me in...like she knew even before..." she said, still sounding like she was in awe. Her expression certainly said she was.

"Aurora," Avalon breathed in. Tears were shining in her eyes.

"It's okay Mum," Aurora studied the Doctor's immediate reaction to her word. "I'm okay." Her hearts may be threatening to stop beating altogether but she was fine. Since the Doctor was frozen to his spot, she had to nod at him to take the stethoscope from her. When he still did nothing, her lips curved into a smirk. "Scared?"

It was like he was seeing Avalon in front of him. A challenger. He looked back at Avalon who couldn't string two words together. She brought her hand up to her mouth and cried behind it.

"Mum, it's okay," Aurora reiterated, offering her mother a kind smile. "I'm not upset. None of it is your fault." Her eyes locked with the Doctor again. "I want to talk to him, if that's alright...?"

The Doctor had no choice but to nod. Avalon turned away and hurried into the house. Aurora truly didn't seem fazed by her mother's behavior. She had come to terms with the reality of their situation a long time ago which left her plenty of time to plan for this moment.

"You are...?" the Doctor started when Aurora forced the stethoscope into his hand. She pushed her hair behind her shoulders and motioned him to use the stethoscope on her.

"You need to do that first," she ordered.

The Doctor silently did that. He put on the stethoscope and readied it, all in the meanwhile of holding Aurora's stare. He gingerly pressed the end of the stethoscope to her chest and heard one heartbeat. Strong and healthy.

Just as he was about to pull it away, she spoke up. "Your left."

He gave her a look but her eyes left no room for such discussion to be made. He moved the diaphragm to her left and heard the second heartbeat. She almost laughed at his reaction.

"Hi Dad," she said calmly instead, if only to see how he would react to that too.

"You're...?" He was essentially left without air. He looked her over from head to toe until he rested on her eyes once again. His eyes.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You're late." Her mother's words right out of her lips.

The Doctor swallowed hard as he yanked the stethoscope out of his ears. "You're my...you're..."

Aurora raised a hand to shake with his. "Aurora Leigh Reynolds," she introduced herself with a much less playful tone. "Though to the people in this area, it's Aurora Smith."

With a trembling hand, the Doctor took Aurora's to shake. As soon as their hands connected, he felt a jolt kickstart his entire system. His daughter. "You're my daughter," he said, heaving a heavy sigh. "I...how could I not know...?"

"Because Mum did a very good job of hiding me from the Silence," Aurora's knowledge about the order froze the Doctor. Her eyes flickered past him to the open door behind them. "Mum doesn't know that I know, but I wouldn't be her daughter — and yours — if I didn't go searching for answers. She used to tell me that the reason we moved a lot was because she wanted to see cities. I believed her as a kid but then I started to realize that she didn't move because of her, she moved us because of me. I'm too much of a freak not to be noticed—"

That damn word continued to be a nuisance for the Ponds. It broke the Doctor's hearts on the spot to hear it come out of Aurora's lips to describe herself. Avalon used to do it all the time. "No, you're not. You're not a freak. You're..."

"Unique?" Aurora smiled sourly. "Yeah, I've heard that. Grandma River says that's what Mum and I are. But the point here is that it's because of me that Mum had to keep moving, had to always look over her shoulder to make sure nobody noticed me. She did a very good job, so much of a good job that she stopped living her life because of me."

The Doctor lowered his head. He knew exactly what Aurora meant. Avalon had prioritized Aurora — no doubt since the beginning — above anything else. That's why she wasn't upset with him...because what he has done for Avalon, she'd done the for Aurora. She made the sacrifices she needed in order to keep Aurora safe.

Aurora watched him process everything she'd said and for a moment, she felt pity for him. He had to accept the fact that not only had he missed out on her life but he had to learn what her mother had done for her sake. "C'mon," she grabbed his hand and led him inside the house. She couldn't ignore the warmth of his hand in hers. She had always wondered what it would be like to hold her father's hand and get a hug from him. She felt ridiculous now that she remembered that as a child she used to wonder what it would be like if he spun her around like a princess.

"Au...Aurora," the Doctor said once they were inside the living room. Aurora turned around and watched him test her name out in his lips. "Aurora Leigh...it's a beautiful name," he smiled at her.

Aurora didn't know what to do with herself in that moment. She folded her arms over her chest but it resembled more like she was trying to hug herself. "Aurora because of, you know...princess...but do you know what 'Leigh' means?"

"Uh, no, I don't..."

"In Celtic it means 'healer'..." Aurora lowered her gaze, "Healer as in...doctor. She named me after you."

Warmth blossomed in his chest. "No," he said suddenly, making her gaze rise again. "Your name is a blend of your mother and I. Aurora is for Avalon. It was the first story she told me of when she was a child. It was the story that brought us together when she was grown up. That story followed us to our last day together."

Something flickered across Aurora's eyes. It was almost like fascination, a deep awe that she just learned something new about her parents and it was her father who shared that knowledge. "I never thought of that. I just thought 'princess' and..." She shook her head and tucked some of her hair behind her ears. She took her book bag off and tossed it to the couch.

"Are you...?" The Doctor presumed. He wanted to know everything about her in that moment. How old was she? What did she like to eat? Did she like milkshakes like her mother? Did she hate pears like him? There were so many questions he had no idea where to begin.

"I'm glad you found me," she suddenly said, flashing him a smile when he blinked.

"What?"

"Time Vortex?" She raised her hand and allowed it to glow gold for a few seconds. "I've been trying to, um, make something. Mum said you always carried this little, um..."

The Doctor quickly pulled out his sonic screwdriver for her to see. As soon as she laid eyes on it, she beamed. His hearts warmed. "You were trying to make one?"

She nodded, almost looking mesmerized by the sonic. "Yeah, um...with some modifications. I like building things. I thought maybe I could make something similar to it but infuse it with my own energy. At the very least I could use it to draw you in...if you were still alive."

"Oh, Aurora, that could've been very dangerous."

"Which is exactly why I didn't tell Mum. I told you that I know everything and I had enough. I'm almost going to be an adult and it's time Mum got some of her life back."

"How old are you?"

"250."

The Doctor scoffed. "Hardly an adult. You're a teenager."

"I am an adult!" she stomped her foot. The Doctor smirked. She rolled her eyes. "It's not the point. I realized Mum gave up her life for me. She hasn't done anything except look after me and make sure that nobody realized I was here."

"Yeah, I can imagine she did," the Doctor nodded. "Because it's what I would've done too."

"But I don't want her to keep doing that. She doesn't have friends because of me. She doesn't go out and I know that she loved going out. Even her job...it's not what she wants. I know that she could write the best selling books out there but because it would draw attention to us, she doesn't do it. She doesn't visit Earth, she hardly sees my great grandparents. She doesn't travel at all. Dad..." She lowered her gaze almost fearfully, like she was waiting for the Doctor to scold her for the use of that word, "I need help. I need you."

The Doctor exhaled deeply. "I would do anything for you," the words fell out out of his mouth.

Aurora raised her gaze with shiny eyes. "Really?" Her voice shook. "You don't even know me."

"Your my daughter," he took a few steps towards her. "You're me, you're Avalon...you're ours. You don't understand how much I already love you." Aurora could barely swallow the lump in her throat. "And you have no idea how sorry I am for not being here with you."

Aurora felt like she was unraveling into her child self. Everything that could've been she was imagining. "I, uh, I used to wish that you were here so we could play. I loved playing princess."

The Doctor smiled softly. "Oh, I bet you did. Aurora?"

"Actually, I like Mulan. I like the swords," she bit her lip as a laugh threatened to slip out. "Plus, a cool talking dragon. I want one for a pet, actually."

The Doctor did laugh though. "That's more of your mother peeking out."

"Grandma Amy said the same thing." Aurora licked her lips nervously as she prepared to make her next question. "Are you...are you going to stay now? With Mum and I?" She searched his face for any clue of what his answer would be. "Please don't leave," she said quickly. "I-I don't want you to leave us, please!" She threw her arms around him and sniffled.

The Doctor wrapped his arms around her tightly. A fierce protectiveness flourished within him. Nothing would ever hurt her, not even him. He loved her to the moon and back. "Hey, hey, hey," he ran his hands through her hair. It really was like he was holding another version of Avalon. This was one was a young, more scared version but with stars in her eyes and an obvious glint of mischief. "I'm here, sweetheart. No matter what happens, I'm not leaving you again." He kissed the top of her head. "Your my princess."

Aurora's tear-stained face formed a smile. "Mum used to say that when I was a kid. She wasn't your princess anymore, I was."

The Doctor chuckled. "Yeah? I think she may have been right."

"Then I told her that she was your Queen instead."

"Above and beyond."

Aurora raised her head to meet her father's gaze. The same eyes stared at each other. "I love you, Dad. I've never been able to say that."

"I love you too, princess," he kissed her forehead. "Now I have to go speak with your Mum."

She nodded. "Yeah, okay." He let her go and headed for the hallway, only stopping when Aurora called after him. "If Mum says that she's okay, don't believe her. She's been by herself ever since you left."

The Doctor assured her that he wouldn't believe Avalon's lies. He continued on his way, stopping by the door that had quiet sniffles on the other side. He knocked gently against the door and opened it slightly.

Avalon was sitting on the side of her bed with her back to him. She obviously heard him come in but she didn't look back. "I was so scared when you left," she started. "I didn't know if the Silence was going to hurt you. But then I realized I was pregnant and I was terrified."

"I'm sorry, I should have...I should have talked to you about the possibilities..."

"I didn't know what I was going to do," she looked over her shoulder, revealing her reddened eyes. Her face shined with tears. "But then she was born," she whispered, "And suddenly I couldn't think of anything that wasn't her. I missed you and I loved you but I chose her in a heartbeat. I chose to forget about ever seeing you again to focus on keeping her safe."

"You did nothing wrong, Avalon," the Doctor walked over to her. "You did what a Mother always does. You cared for your child and you kept her safe. How could I blame you for that?"

Avalon turned her body around so that she could face him. "But I never forgot about you. Not a day passed by where I didn't wonder if you were alive. I never forgot about you, Fairy Tale Man."

"I always thought about you too, Ava," the Doctor smiled at her. "I'm so sorry for leaving you. I'm sorry for leaving you on your own with Aurora. If I had known about her—"

"How could you have?" she cut him off with a sad smile. "I did everything I could to keep her hidden. I didn't want the Silence coming after her."

"You protected her," he cupped her face and cleared as many tears as he could off her face. "I wish I could've been here though. I missed out on a lot by the looks of it."

"She's just like you," she chuckled through her tears.

"Yeah," he laughed with her. "I saw some of that."

"She invents things. She's been inventing things since she was a kid."

"Guilty as charged."

Avalon slid off the bed and moved towards the dresser against the wall. The Doctor followed her and watched her go through some of the picture frames sitting on top of the dresser. Finally, she picked one up and showed it to him.

Aurora was a child who couldn't seem to grin more than she already was. The Doctor laughed when he saw one of her teeth was missing. Her orange hair was in pigtails but some of it was sticking out like she'd been working on something. That 'something' had to be the small device in her hands that she was showing proudly to the camera.

"She was 6 right here and she somehow invented a weather predictor. Who needs weathermen when you have Aurora Leigh Reynolds?" Avalon mused. "She's built all types of things. I dare say she got a stronger bite of the inventing bug than you did."

The Doctor started looking at the rest of the frames. He was sure that they chronicled some of Aurora's best moments. There was one of Avalon and a younger Aurora, probably when she was around 4, at a lakeside.

"You hate camping," he remembered.

Avalon hummed. "But Aurora doesn't. She likes looking at the stars and with all the lights in the city it's impossible. We go camping once a year."

"Really?" The Doctor smiled warmly. "These all look amazing. You've done a good job with her."

Avalon carefully placed her frame back on the dresser. "But it's not enough anymore. There are some things I just can't figure out. She thinks like me but with your intelligence. She's a lot quicker than the other kids her age and sometimes it brings her unwanted attention. I know her. I know my daughter and I know that she doesn't want to live here anymore. She wants to go exploring. River takes her out sometimes."

"She sees things that others don't." The Doctor felt like he was visiting Avalon's file all over again. "The pace here isn't enough for her. There's not enough stimulation."

Avalon nodded. "She's talked about some university here but I know that the only reason she wants to go here is because she doesn't want to leave me. I've instilled the idea that we should always remain together and as much as I love that, knowing that the Silence is gone, I don't have keep her here anymore. She's free."

"As are you." The Doctor curled his hand around hers, watching her cautiously for any negative reaction she could give. He needed to test to what extent he was allowed to touch her. So far, he was only subjected to her long stare. "You've done an amazing with Aurora, she absolutely loves you, and she never wants to leave you alone. I don't want to leave you so—" he nervously licked his lips, "—if you still have any lingering feelings for me...I'd like to be with you." He heard Avalon's quiet gasp but he was unsure what type of gasp it was. Would she send him away? Tell him that he'd lost his chance? Or would she agree?

"Aurora..." She said first, making him smile. "She wants you in her life. She's always dreamt about meeting you and travelling with you..."

"I'd love nothing more than to do that with her," he nodded. "Regardless of your decision, I'd like to be a part of my daughter's life. If you decide that you don't want anything to do with me, it won't affect anything with Aurora. But if you decide that you do want me around..."

"Would you stay here with us?" she asked suddenly. "Would you stay here with us and live...here?" she made a weak gesture to the house.

"Without a doubt," he answered on the spot. He allowed her to search him for any trace of that doubt he swore didn't exist. She wouldn't find it.

"You would do that?" she asked in disbelief. She pulled her hand out of his and moved around the room. "You would do the house, the-the getting up early to take Aurora to school, the grocery shopping, the laundry, the—"

"I'd do it all, Avalon, if it meant I got to stay with you."

Avalon turned around and met his gaze. She swallowed hard. She'd forgotten the way his long gazes made her feel. She'd forgotten what it felt like to have someone want to be with her. Together. Her eyes ultimately looked away from the Doctor when a river streamed from them.

"Avalon..." the Doctor felt utterly helpless watching her slowly break into sobs.

"Please come hold me," she managed to say before the sobs took her over. "I-I—" The Doctor was already by her side before she could say more. He held her as tightly as possible but it paled in comparison to Avalon's death grip she had on him. "I don't want you to leave me again. I love you. Being with you and travelling together was my life — it was when I was the happiest. I want to come back and be with you. I want to visit places, get into trouble with you, run together."

"I want that too," he whispered.

She pulled herself away enough to look up at him. "Most importantly, I want to wake up and go to sleep at your side. I want to make milkshakes with you, bicker with you, read stories together..." Her hands found their way up to his face, fingers delicately stroking his skin. "I want to be your Ava again."

The Doctor lowered his head, his words coming out in a whisper, "I want to be your Fairy Tale Man again too."

She smiled at him through her tears. She watched him come closer until there was no space between them. Their lips reconnected for the first time in two centuries and yet it felt like no time had passed them by. They remembered every last detail about each other, from the way their fingers felt on each other's skin to the perfect angle they favored as they deepened their kiss. Everything stayed exactly the same.

Avalon parted slightly to speak, but when she did their lips would brush over each other's. "We shouldn't get carried away," she said specifically for the trailing fingers she felt under the hem of her blouse.

She felt the Doctor's smug smile against her lips. "Right," he pulled his fingers out from under her shirt to place them on her waist. "Wouldn't want to come up with a little sibling for Aurora right now."

Avalon instantly shoved him on the chest but he just laughed. "That's not funny," she said. "You know she knows about the Sapling? They've met and all and somehow they were convinced that one day, they'd have a little brother to be a trio."

"Oh," the Doctor grinned.

"Stop it!" she warned him before he said anything else. "You should also know that the only reason they planned that is to overpower us...in a heist."

The Doctor's face lit up at the word. "A heist? Against our own children? That's cold...and also strangely exciting."

"Aurora's always wanted to heist with you," Avalon sighed. "She's always had all this list of things she wished she could do with you."

"Well, I think it's about time I make some of those things happen. What do you say, Ava?"

Avalon suddenly grabbed his head and kissed him fervently. "Take me away," she managed to say in-between kisses.

The Doctor was quick to respond to such hungry kisses, but he also found time to slip out some words. "Where to?"

"Neverland."

The Doctor pulled away to meet her gaze, letting their breathless mouths fall into laughter.

~ 0 ~

Aurora was pacing back and forth in the living room when she heard her mother's bedroom door opening. Her wide eyes watched her parents emerge from the hallway and the first thing she noticed were their interlocked hands. Her hearts skipped a few beats.

Avalon met her eyes once they stood across from her. "We'll have to pack one more time."

The grin that spread across Aurora's face was from ear to ear. Aurora laughed and ran towards them. She was encased in a tight hug. "We're actually leaving? To the TARDIS?" She looked up to meet their gazes. "To-to be a family?"

"And to travel," the Doctor touched Aurora's cheek. "And learn. You're not done with school—"

Aurora rolled her eyes. "But I know more than everyone does!"

"See?" Avalon glanced at the Doctor while she gestured to Aurora. "Your daughter."

But all the Doctor did was smile proudly. "Yes she is." Aurora beamed at him. "And she's going to be phenomenal."

"Feed the ego," Avalon sighed. "That's also yours."

The Doctor did not care at all. He just held her and Aurora together, as tightly as possible, while he wondered where-oh-where he would bring his princess and queen first.

#ocappreciation #doctor who #dw imagine #dw fics #11th doctor #11th doctor imagine #doctor who fics #fic: fairy tale memoirs #oc: Avalon Reynolds #oc: Aurora Leigh Reynolds

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mininky · 5 years

Text

Love is for the birds baby!

Summary: You refuse to believe in love. It’s a concept created by big corporations like hallmark to get sad saps like you to buy their shit. But it’s all fake. You’re convinced of that at least until a series of events with a certain tattoo artist who you loved to hate makes you question everything you’ve ever known.

Pairing: Tattoo artist!Yoongi x (fem) reader

Genre/Warnings: Romance, slow burn, fluff, comedy, smut warnings include: unsafe sex (always wear a condom), oral sex (male & fem receiving), multiple orgasms, spanking, light breath play, mentions of squirting. Non smut warnings for lots of cussing. Lots.

Word Count: 13.3K

A/N: A special shout out to @mzpandylu for inspiring me with such odd dialogue. Also challenge accepted, a quivering starfish is mentioned.

Love is a completely abstract and intangible concept to you, at least romantic love is. There are many forms of love. Familial love is a concept you sort of understand, let's just say that your home life wasn't the greatest but you do at least understand the concept. Platonic love you completely understand. But romantic love? You very secretly yearn to understand it, desperately trying to figure out how the fuck some people get so lucky that the spark happens. You've dated, sure. But try as you might none of them have ever made your head spin or your heart sing. Lust you get. You've had plenty of flings and even some longer relationships, but love? Love is for the birds baby.

You refuse, absolutely refuse, to admit that you have in any way shape or form an interest in this bizarre concept that is the investment and endeavor of romantic love. You've carefully hidden away all of your fanfics and all of your shojo mangas and all of the things that others would say is honestly completely normal to keep questions at bay. You know that your friends are interested in love, and unlike you they have no shame in admitting it. They talk about it all the time. They fall in 'love' with each man they date. But you're convinced that's not love. It's something more than like, sure you'll give them that but you're sure that it'll all end eventually. Love isn't sustainable because it's all a lie. Maybe you're too romantic at being romantic, perhaps you've just been suckered into all these stories into believing that a whirlwind romance is possible until one day the crushing realization that it wasn't possible occurred. That the sparks of electricity and burning hot embers of passion aren't sustainable and aren't indicative of love.

You were twenty, he was twenty-one. The two of you had been dating mutually for three years at that point, a lifetime in college years. Billy Johnson. Fucking Billy. He was smart and funny and he actually knew what a clit was, and he kissed you under the night stars and made you feel like you were in love. Maybe you were, but you like to think that the feelings you felt weren't actually that strong. It made the fallout easier. Which brings you to the fallout, that realization that romantic love is all a big corporate lie to sell shitty grocery store roses and cute snuggly teddy bears and dime back novels to sad sops like you. A marketing ploy. Not a reality. Fuck Plato for being the first to sell the idea of soulmates, and fuck Billy too. Billy Johnson was a cruel heartless asshole who fucked your best friend. And in one day you lost two loves, one romantic and one platonic. In turn, you gained a distinct hatred for romantic concepts and a world-weary view on relationships, waiting for the other shoe to drop every time you encountered someone new.

You dated again after that, but now at the young age of twenty-six, you've decided that it's time to give up. Or maybe you gave up after Billy. You can't say you've ever actually given it a real try after that if you're being honest. You know when to call it quits. You refuse, absolutely refuse, to be a corporate sellout. And your feelings are in no way shape or form reflective of the animosity at being broken up with by Johny last week because you were too 'sarcastic' in the middle of your vacation to Busan. Too sarcastic your ass. You'll show that motherfucker sarcastic. God, sorry, you're getting off track here. Where were you again?

Ah yes, love is for apparently everyone that isn't you. So you'll just be a cat lady. An affection earned entirely by ear scritches and feeding them. A reward system that makes sense. You take care of them and they tolerate you. Now that you understand. That makes sense. Why in the ever loving fuck would you try romance again when instead you can have a mutually beneficial understanding with something as cute as a cat that can't tell you 'I think you're a bitch' in a language you understand? Fuck Johnny, and Billy. And every other man for that matter.

You're ruminating in anger as you order your coffee, eyes staring straight into the young and timid barista as you slap down the change. Poor kid, it's not his fault but today you just hate the world. You try to smile but you're pretty sure that just scares him more if the way his eyes go large and round in fear is anything to go by. Christ, you need to work on your people skills. And you're totally not thinking that because of that dick weasel who you've decided will no longer be named.

Normally once you get your caffeine fix you're in a much better mood, but today the only thing you want to do is karate chop your own throat. Or maybe just play Red Dead Redemption 2 and kill a bunch of people in a completely legal way. Not online though, you really don't need another 13-year-old boy slurring about how much girls suck unless you want to unleash the crazy bitch inside of you to the point of no return. But unfortunately, you have bills to pay. Caffeine fixes to afford. Student loans to pretend you'll someday actually pay off except interest is a bitch. Which means going to work. Normally something you love, but today you're really not in the mood to edit another shitty sci-fi story where the physics of breasts go beyond the dudebro fedora lover that wrote the shitty thing.

Be an editor they said. You love books they said. You'll be great they said. They hadn't warned you that being an editor at a major publishing house still meant reading through a painful amount of crap writing that you would, in turn, make all pretty and nice and somewhat more presentable garbage for public consumption with no acknowledgment or credit for all the hours you spent trying not to bash your screen in with your face. At least you were close enough to walk to work.

You grab your piping hot venti quad shot vanilla latte (with soy) as you go back out into the frigid air. Your eyes are cast down on the pavement, trying not to bump into too many of the zombie state morning foot traffic as you make your way into the office. At least you have an office of your own, a salvation of peace and quiet away from prying eyes that allows you to wallow in self-pity safely. The rest of the day goes by in a blur, your normally somewhat antisocial personality becomes far more present as you hide away from even your beloved breakroom coffee pot to avoid too many interactions. You just knew that you would end up running into Susan. Nice gal, but she talks way too much and she set you up with Johnny no wait, the douche canoe. You forgot he must never be named again. The last thing you need is her bringing up how he dumped in you in the middle of your vacation.

You're also the last one to leave tonight. For someone who didn't really want to step foot into the building, you sure do seem to be having a hard time getting out of here. But there are deadlines to meet and your vacation meant that there's a pileup of work that needs to be done. That and you really don't feel like going into your empty apartment to binge watch on Netflix while you host another internal pity party.

By the time you're finally out the door and into the freezing winter night, you can feel exhaustion seeping deep into your bones. Or that might just be the joint pain that this super shitty winter is causing. That's another thing the world lied about, joint pain isn't just for old people. It's apparently also for future cat spinsters who hate everything no matter their current age. Your head is stuck on the last chapter you were editing, trying to make sense of how exactly you might be able to convince the author to scrap the whole damn thing politely as your nose picks up on the smell of a cigarette wafting over. Your stomach rumbles, brain shutting off as fingers twitch. God, it's been two years since you stopped smoking but it smells so painfully fucking good right now.

Your face whips up as you see the small trail of smoke wafting over to you. It's the guy from the tattoo shop, Min fucking Yoongi. You should've known. The guy is hot you'll give him that. Eyes just sharp enough to give him that bad boy image when paired with his full sleeve tattoos and the crawling cherry blossoms on his neck. The chronic scowl that says 'try me' in a way that oddly makes him hotter. Hair that looks like he spends way too much time on usually. Today however he's decked out in a beanie and black leather jacket with pants just tight enough to make you wish he would turn around and walk away. But in the last year since you've unfortunately gotten to know him you know that he's every bit as snarky, bitchy, and firey as you. He's also as much bite as he is bark, although so far you've never been the one he's pointed his bite at.

"(Y/N), I see you were working late again." He takes a lazy drag on his cigarette, eyes staring straight through you as his lips quirk up into a smirk.

"Yoongi." Your eyes narrow in on his, fingers twitching at your side as you bite down the incessant desire to beg for a cigarette. You won’t break, especially not in front of him. Just because you’ve had a series of bad days doesn’t mean you actually need that cigarette.

"Jesus, what's wrong with you? You seem even bitchier than normal. I guess this cold snap we're having is because the ice queen decided to control your body."

"Har-har-har little man." He bristles at the jab and you can't help but cackle internally at your small victory (pun completely intended.) "No for your information the world is a cruel, evil bitch and yet again I fell for its corporate seductions and evil capitalist ploys."

"Right, I'm going to nod my head and pretend I understood what that meant just so you don't kill me. Hey, so are you ever going to get that tattoo or not?"

You reach into the trenches of your memory, recalling months ago on a particularly good day when you told this same tiny Satan that you wanted to get a tattoo. He had seemed oddly impressed that you wanted a snake on your upper thigh and all was well until he told you that he pictured you wanting some shitty positive statement, most likely placed on your collarbone or ribcage and adorned with little doves or a dreamcatcher or some other shit. Bleh. That's when he first learned that you are possibly insane and most certainly a bit of a bitch. It's all been downhill with him since, each run in turning into a battle of insults.

He stubs out the little remaining part of his Marlboro before gesturing to the warm shop. "I've got an opening to do a consult if you wanna talk about it more."

Perhaps this is it, maybe this is what you need to do. Something different. Something that doesn't include your usual routine of wake up, caffeinate, work, work, work, and Netflix binge all in between minor anxiety driven breakdowns. Besides, it's just a consult, not the actual tattoo. "How do I know this isn't an elaborate plan to eventually see me half naked?"

Yoongi rolls his eyes as he opens the door to the shop, glaring at you as he speaks slowly. "You might be hot, but I have a feeling you'd be the type of girl to try to peg me with no lube. I prefer cuddling. Trust me, I'm not interested in getting you naked and seeing where it goes." You're thrown for a loop at that one, shuffling slowly behind him as your brain tries to make sense of it. You know you should be offended that he seriously thinks you wouldn't use lube, but Yoongi likes cuddling? The guy who scowls at life itself? The guy who you've watched physically throw out a neo-nazi who wanted a tattoo? The same guy who rides a motorcycle and refuses sugar in his coffee because he likes it as bitter as his very soul? Man, life is really fucking weird.

You follow behind him tentatively, shocked to hear rather calm hip hop station on. Maybe you stereotype too much but you pegged him (pun not intended this time) as a Lamb of God kind of guy, definitely not a Dean and PH-1 fan. He takes you over to his office, gesturing at a free seat before he sits down at his desk. Every surface is covered with intricate artwork. From Japanese style tattoos to Sailor Jerry flash pieces to pops of dystopian Disney paintings. "So, you still thinking about doing the same thing?"

"Yeah. Red Belly black snake. I'm thinking upper thigh/hip area." You stand up and move your coat to the side to point to the area.

"That's a good sized piece. Have you thought about adding anything more to it? Maybe some hyacinths on the left and right of the snake, I'm thinking in maybe a pale pink so it doesn't offset the red in the snake too much."

"You know what a hyacinth is?" You snort slightly, glaring back at him when he leans onto his elbows to shoot a look that he's probably hoping will kill you.

"I'm a tattoo artist. Do you know how many fucking flowers I have to draw every day? Swear to god I should open up a flower shop next door and make a killing with my amazing arrangements." This time you give a full-blown laugh, shocked to hear him mirroring quietly. In all the time you've kinda sorta known him you've never heard him laugh. It's nice, deep, and the gummy smile he gives has your heart doing little flip flops that you absolutely refuse to analyze.

You take just a beat too long to look at him, your head tilted slightly as you mentally murder the lone butterfly that has survived all of the anger you've culminated in the last few years. "How about a peony instead? I think it would look better."

"We can do that. With the size you're looking for and all the color work I'd guess that we're looking at at least 6 hours if we want to make sure it's done right. We can split it into two three hours sessions. I charge $200 an hour so you're looking at at least $1200, but you might want to be thinking to around the $1600 range just to be safe. I also require a $300 deposit usually just for a consult and another $300 later but I figure I can always hound you if you don't come in." He opens up his computer, clicking away for a moment before adding, "I have enough time to get started this Friday night if you want? At 8:00."

"Gee thanks for the trust. Yeah that all sounds good, I'm down."

He nods quickly, hands grabbing at some paper as he starts making drafting up some rough sketches. You try not to invade his space as you look over the paper, brain desperately searching for a small talk topic. God, you've always been bad at this. "So...how long have you been a tattoo artist?"

"Well I started my apprenticeship right out of high school at 18 so 10 years total, but as an actual artist only about 8 years." Interesting, so that would make him two years older than you. For some reason, you feel a need to put that in one of your mental files. "What exactly do you do at that giant office building down the street?"

"I work for a publishing house in there as one of their many editors."

Yoongi snorts, nodding his head as he keeps sketching away. "Yeah, I can see you working with books. Your creative insults suddenly make so much more sense."

"I'll take that as a compliment." You lean back into your chair, taking in your surroundings a little more closely before focusing unabashedly at the man before you. His tattoos are on full display now that he's taken off his jacket. Almost all are black and white with small splashes of reds and pinks laced mostly on his neck where cherry blossoms fall delicately off a branch. His eyes are cast in complete concentration, lower lip bitten as he works. There's something painfully sexy about the image. You almost want to burn it into your brain to use for late night consumption.

You aren't sure how long the two of you sit there in silence, but it's comfortable. There's something soothing about listening to the way his markers glide over the paper as soft music, buzzing tattoo guns, and chatter filters in fuzzily through the closed door. You can feel yourself finally start to relax, all of the earlier rage and grudges held at the world slipping away momentarily as you enter a near-meditative state just watching him work.

Finally, he glances up, a smile on his face as he pushes the paper over the desk to you. It's beautiful, a little rough around the edges without the finishing touches but it's better than anything you thought of. "Wow, Yoongi this looks great."

"It's just a rough drawing. I still need to work on some of the other touches but if you're good with that I'll get started on making the transfer later this week."

"Yeah..." You words are quiet as you look at the picture, elation growing in your heart. You might turn into a cat lady, but at least you'll be a badass one. "Okay, so seriously though do you want me to put down the deposit now? I have no problem with that."

"Nah, don't sweat it. Oh, but I do need your full name and number to actually book it. And don't give me some shit about this being a ploy for your number." You roll your eyes before giving him the information. Standing up slowly when he opens up the office door and leads you back out to light snowfall. "Alright, see you this Friday (y/n)."

"See you Yoongi. Thanks again." As you turn back to send a smile something painfully familiar stirs in your brain when he flashes that gummy smile and sends you on your way.

---------------Friday----------------

By the time Friday rolls around you've been through a whole litany of emotions. You're of course excited about the tattoo, that's not the problem. No the source of all evils is Min Yoongi. Sexy. Witty. Can handle your sarcasm. Enjoys cuddling. He's plagued your thoughts, gummy smiles invading your daydreams and inky tattoos hovering over you at night. It's been a long time since you've actually crushed on anyone. Dating as an adult is an entirely different experience. Usually, you know someone who knows them or met them on tinder and you're just praying that they aren't a secret serial killer and that you share enough interests to talk in between getting railed while praying for an orgasm. At least, that's been your shitty experiences anyway. You know that it isn't always the case considering that just about all of your friends have gotten magically engaged or married recently. But Yoongi? There's something about him that stirs up all of your previously assumed dead thoughts on love. All of the secret romantic pinings combines with lust in a painful swirl but luckily the thoughts you have of him are usually fleeting.

You step forward into the tattoo shop after grabbing a bite to eat, two warm cocoas in your hand as you try not to freak out that the big event is finally here and you'll be face to face with tiny, sexy, tattooed satan yet again. The man behind the counter looks over at you, and you can't help but wonder for a moment if being really good looking is a requirement to work here. Deep dimples, sunkissed skin, glasses perched on his nose.

"Hi, do you have an appointment?" You shake your head yes, staring at the floor for a moment before finally squeaking out that you're there to see Yoongi.

"Ay, (Y/N)'s here!" He shouts out towards Yoongi's office and you see him strolling out just a moment later.

"Jesus Joon, you've been spending too much time around Hobi. I think the whole shop could hear you." Yoongi steps around the desk eyeing the other cup before you hand it out to him.

"It's just cocoa, I didn't lace it. This time. Also, it's made with soy milk." You can hear the man called Joon laughing in the background as Yoongi slowly grabs the cup and squints at it before taking a tentative sip.

He gives a small nod that you assume is to signify satisfaction before he starts walking over to a curtained-off section in the back. "You ready to get started?"

"Yep, all ready!" You take a sip of the cocoa and sit down on the tattoo chair slowly.

"Alright, just check over this transfer and let me know what you think before you undress so I can put it on." You look over the image, heart warming up slightly at the brush of his fingers before you finally nod a silent affirmation. "I need words babe, is it good or not?"

You can feel yourself bristle at the tone, sighing wearily before you finally bite out, "Yes, babe, it's perfect."

"Cool. I'll leave you to get undressed, I'll be back in just a moment." The one shitty thing about the placement of your tattoo is that it will require not only pants to come off but underwear too. Before nerves can take over you strip quickly, laying back down on your side before you can think about it too much. Getting undressed faster than you can sneeze was probably a bad idea though because now you're forced to just sit there with your ass cheeks freezing and mind shutting down while you wait for him to come back. After a minute you hear him announcing that he's coming in before opening up the curtain.

Your eyes are trained on the floors. Jesus, you wish you could get your tiles to glisten the way their's does. They must mop a thousand times a day, you can't even see a speck of dirt in the grout. The sound of him clearing his throat has you jolting a bit before turning around to glare at the sound of his laughter. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I'm just going to disinfect the area and put the transfer on then I'll have you take a look and let me know what you think of the placement." You decide to go mute apparently as your only response is a feeble thumbs up before quickly turning to resume your ever so interesting study on what floor cleaner they use. Probably Fabuloso.

You force yourself to stay stock still when you feel his warm hands on your hip as he cleans the area and peels the transfer on before he gives a light tap to your thigh. "Alright, take a look." With all the grace of a hospice patient you slowly swing your legs off and walk over to the mirror, trying to not pay attention to the fact that you're awkwardly half naked in front of arguably the hottest man who's admitted he enjoys cuddling before you finally relax at the sight of the transfer. "Man, this is going to look rad. Alright little satan, do your thing!"

"Little Satan? Really? What happened to all your usual creative bitchiness? What was it you called me that one time?"

"Oh! Degenerate Malfoy with a nicotine problem? Or was it wannabe colon inspector?"

"Neither actually, it wasn't even something you called me now that I remember it. You once told me 'Ah I see the fuck up fairy decided to mess with my life and force me to see you yet again.' That's a good one by the way, I've used it a few times."

"Glad I could help, but I wish I could copyright it so you could pay me the rights to use it." You try not to get too nervous as you hear him slip on his gloves and the needle buzzing ominously behind you. The pain won't be that bad right? "Relax, you'll be fine." His voice for once isn't laced with sarcasm. It seems that even the formidable Yoongi has a professional voice that he employs occasionally.

After what feels like ages filled with anxiety-ridden thoughts you feel the needle prodding away, moving quickly while leaving tingling and ever slight burning sensations in its wake. It does hurt, but not to the point of being unbearable. "See it's not so bad, scaredy cat." You resist the urge to turn around and pummel him in his annoyingly handsome face.

"If you weren't tattooing me right now I'd choke you out."

"Kinky, but I prefer a chick to at least buy me a drink first."

"Already did jackass, the cocoa remember."

"Huh, you did didn't you. Okay, well it's still off the table for you. You'd probably keep going until I actually died."

"Hell misses it's little satan though, I'd just be helping you reunite with all your friends."

"Do you have a snarky remark for everything princess?"

"Nah, depends on the day and the person. You're a special one Min Yoongi, something about you makes me want to bludgeon things."

"Oh, what a sweet compliment. Isn't that how people feel when things are too cute too?" You don't even need to look over to know that he's smirking as you flip him off.

"Or annoying." The rest of the three hours the two of you spend going back and forth with each other to the point that some of the other artists passing by started to call out their two cents in. By the time you're done, you have the outline complete and some of the black shaded in. The rest will be done in just two weeks time at his next opening.

-------------2 weeks later-----------

Oddly enough for once, you haven't seen Yoongi outside during his normal smoke break time when you leave work for the last couple of weeks. You also haven't seen him getting his normal disgusting black coffee either. Not that you've been looking for him. Okay...so maybe you have. There's just something about him other than the really good looks you like. In one sense it's almost like walking on a blade the entire time you're with him, never sure when he's going to make a jab. On the other hand, he's also easy to talk to. In a way where everything is oddly comfortable even with this underlying lurking sexual tension. Or maybe that's just in your head. Maybe there's no sexual tension and it's just been so long since you last had a good lay (the dingleberry boy who shall not be named was terrible) that you're starting to hallucinate. Which is a rather real possibility.

This time when you walk in with another cocoa it's with far fewer nerves. No, you're ready for the battlefield and only tremble ever so slightly when you have to face him with a bare ass in his face.

"Alright sunshine, let's finish this bad boy up." Is all he states before he gets right into it, ever the professional. By the time he's finished, you're 110% positive that you were just imagining the sexual tension because his eyes don't even wander as you check the tattoo in the mirror. Which is a good thing right? Because you're supposed to be on your fast track to nundom not trying to bag the super hot tattoo artist who works near you.

There's a bizarre sinking feeling in your heart though when you realize the tattoo is done and you won't be able to see him for extended periods of time on such a good excuse. An expensive excuse, but an excuse nonetheless. Now, however, with your beautiful, intricate, and very sore skin you'll have to go back to happenstance run-ins. You think that maybe, just maybe, if the somewhat hollow looking smile he gives you when you leave is anything to go by that he doesn't really want it to end either. But that's probably just the few embers of hope remaining in you that needs to be crushed out.

--------1 month later---------

You've spent another night overworking yourself. This time there wasn't really a good reason to either. You're not only on schedule but way ahead and yet you've decided to just keep busting through work until dusk begins to fall and the shitty flickering streetlights by you turn on. Almost every night for the past few weeks you've been working longer days and as much as you hate to admit it it's to try to keep yourself from wallowing too much at night about your impending lonely doom. Tonight will be different though. Tonight you'll ruminate and bask in the fucked up world with your dear old friend Irene as she's finally decided to have a night away from her obnoxiously good looking fiance Taehyung. She might not be able to relate to your doom and gloom sentiments on life but she's always a good friend for a pick me up.

You set off in the opposite direction of your usual route, winding through the chilly streets until you get to your favorite bar that serves oddly impressively delicious fried chicken. The moment you step in you notice Irene sitting at one of the few tables at the place, glaring at a man who clearly can't take a hint. Marching over you grab the seat across from her before biting off a 'Jesus how much aftershave do you use? Did you put in on your asshole too or something?' Knowing he's now outnumbered, and out bitched, the two of you watch the man leave without protest.

"You know you really should be careful. People are crazy, aren't you ever afraid that you might get hurt or something?"

You shrug nonchalantly before sighing at the doe eyes she gives you. "Irene, I love you but I'm not curtailing my inner bitch just because some douche might murder me. There are countless absurd ways I could die, if I have to check myself in fear of that then I just let all those asshats continue being menaces to society without being put in their shitty sad places."

"So what you're like a superwoman with a bad attitude only you save the world one dick at a time with well-timed insults?" You know that voice, you know that voice all too well. Your ears perk up and your jaw drops open as you whip around to come eye to eye with Yoongi. For one whole month, you haven't seen him even with perfectly timed coffee runs around his smoke breaks. Not that you learned his habitual schedule or anything. Nope. Nothing like that at all. Just coincidence is all. And you just happened to notice he wasn't there. That's all.

"Yoongi!" You hate the way your voice goes up an octave, excitement making your voice quiver like a little puppy reuniting with their owner after a short separation. You can already feel the heat bursting on your cheeks as his head tilts, eyes watching you carefully before he cracks a lazy smile.

"Um, (y/n), who is this guy? Do I need to mace him or something?" Irene whispers to you, but just loud enough that as Yoongi steps closer he can hear her.

"Please don't mace me. I promise, I only bite if you're into that."

"Hey, watch it, mister. She's a taken woman." Reluctantly you wave your hand over the free seat to invite him over before looking back at Irene. "Irene this is Yoongi, Yoongi this is Irene. Yoongi did my tattoo for me."

"Oh, you got a tattoo? Can I see it?"

"We'll definitely get a free round of drinks if you show it off, that's for sure." You can't help but smack Yoongi's shoulder, shocked at the sturdiness of it. Considering how slight he looks you really didn't think that he worked out but now your mind is starting to wander.

"Yeah well, kind of can't show you in public considering I have to take my pants off. Oh! But I do have some pictures!" You pull out your phone, swiping through until you find one and turning it to show her.

"Wow, that looks like it hurt. It looks great though you did a good job..." Irene pauses, eyes going wide with panic before she finally adds, "Yoongi."

"Thanks." He almost looks shy and you can feel your heart breaking. Yeah, typical to have the hot dude fall for your friend and not you.

"Did you order drinks yet?" At the shake of Irene's head, you're grateful to have an excuse to flee to the bar not rushing to grab the bartenders attention and face falling slightly when he sidles up next to you immediately. The world is a cruel place. You want them to take their time and they're there immediately. You want them there right away and suddenly so do seventy other people. Luck. Or murphy's law maybe. Whatever.

You huff out a sigh before plastering a smile on your face, "Two cranberry vodkas, please. Tall and stiff." The bartender nods as you slap down a twenty, praying that perhaps he'll at least make the drinks slowly but oh no this man must be one of those bartenders that enters fucking speed competitions because he's sliding both drinks over before you can fucking blink. Unbelievable. The service at this place is just too good and it's making you twitch slightly in irritation.

Trying not to huff, you grab the two drinks and make your way back to your table. Heart sinking even more at the sound of Yoongi being strangely amicable to Irene. This was not the night you wanted at all. You wanted to get drunk and hang out with Irene and forget about how shitty boys are, not have glaring reminders everywhere about how the capitalist ploy that is romance will suffocate you to death. Okay so maybe you're being a little melodramatic. A lot. Whatever. It's your pity party, you can cry if you want to.

When you finally sit back down and hand Irene her drink you can't help but guzzle yours back right away, ignoring the acidic burn in your throat and the quirked eyebrow from Yoongi.

"So...(y/n)...any new boys after Johnny?" Irene refuses to look you in the eyes as she asks, smart enough to sit just out of reach from your possible rage.

"I refuse to fall victim to the bullshit masquerade we call love yet again. I've called it quits. I'm just going to be a spinster with a million cats who will inevitably be forgotten until my landlord finds that mittens, my favorite cat, has eaten my left asscheek for sustenance after my untimely death."

Irene bawks, trying immediately to rush into lengthy reasoning as to why you shouldn't stop searching for love as Yoongi nearly falls off his chair laughing so hard. At the end of Irene's dialogue, Yoongi wipes away a stray tear before shooting you a gummy smile. The kind that makes you want to hate him less, but you refuse to. Because that's dangerous territory. Territory you've sworn to never cross again. "You don't actually mean all that bullshit right? Love is natural, it's needed. It's biologically ingrained in us to be social creatures and affectionate."

"Don't you judge me and mitten's life path!"

"You don't even have a cat!" Irene looks exasperated as she takes a sip of her drink, silently judging you. "Listen, I get it. You've been fucked over a million times by terrible guys. But that doesn't mean that the whole world is that way." At the withering look you send her Irene sighs, shaking her head but falling mute. You feel a little bad that yet again you've ruined the mood so you try to lighten it up a bit, reaching over to pinch her cheek lightly.

"Thanks, Irene. I'm sorry. I'm just...I don't know. I've been in a bit of a mood." You bit your tongue from further sarcasm at the pointed look she gives you. "Things haven't been so hot lately. I'll get over it. In like a decade. But you know that's better than never." You can feel Yoongi peering at you, analyzing you from the corner of your eye.

"Why though? Why are you so convinced that love is such a sham?" Yoongi's words don't seem to hold any judgment or his usual quiet hostility, instead just honest curiosity.

"Well if they don't cheat on me they always grow tired of me. I'm a bit too much of a bitch for my own good. I should really work on that." You shrug, staring at your almost empty glass as you try to shush the self-loathing thoughts that want to invade.

"I like that part about you though. You've got spunk doll, it ain't a bad thing. You just need to find a guy who can match it." He smirks at the way you go quiet before leaning slightly into you at the table. "I don't know, I think I'm up for the challenge if you are." He grabs a card from his pocket, placing it next to your cup as he stands up. "That's my cell on there. Text me sometime babe." You hate the way your brain shuts down, playing back the way he calls you babe until all senses fail.

"You should do it. You know he was asking about you the entire time you were getting drinks?" You feel your heart sink even further at the realization that you judged the situation too quickly before suddenly soaring at the idea that Min Yoongi asked you out on a date. You. Snarky, bitchy you found a match in hell. Capitalist ploys be damned! You'll at least find out if he's cocky for a reason. If you don't chicken out that is.

-----------------------------------

Later that night after all the alcohol has left your system and you're snuggled up under enough blankets to possibly suffocate you, you find yourself staring at your phone. You entered in his contact almost immediately after he left at the urging of Irene. Apprehension has held you back from actually sending anything though. Your fingers hover over the screen, bottom lip stuck between your teeth as you suck in a breath. What have you got to lose?

[You]: Hey...

[Yoongi]: (Y/N)?

[You]: Yeah

[Yoongi]: This is unusual. I'm used to quippy remarks. Don't tell me you've grown soft?

[You]: Fuck off. I'm just confused that's all.

[Yoongi]: What's there to be confused about? You're funny, you have no problem with giving it right back to me, and you have a fantastic ass

[You]: Well that was blunt

[Yoongi]: I'm an honest man [Yoongi]: So listen, about that date, I wanna take you out Sunday

[You]: That's in like a day from now

[Yoongi]: Yeah well I've wanted to take you out from the first time you told me off for smoking on the street. And that time you told me you were going to shove my tattoo needle up my ass solidified it.

[You]: You have some odd kinks sir

[Yoongi]: Is that a yes babe?

[You]: Hmmm....yeah I'll go

[Yoongi]: Great send me your address I'll pick you up at noon

[You]: You aren't going to chop me up in a million pieces and feed me to the fishes right?

[Yoongi]: No I prefer my women in one piece

You send over your address, butterflies swarming around as you squeal into a pillow before sending him a quick good night. You don't need to embarrass yourself by saying something off the wall as exhaustion starts to set in. Like "I want to kiss your face" or "Fuck me in your office." Yeah, that's not good pre-date material. You need to keep it kosher for now.

------------------------------------

You had spent all day Saturday cleaning to keep your nerves at bay. Not that you can really tell much in your closet after you ransacked it. And not that you can tell you went through all of that energy just to pick a simple oversized black hoodie and jeans. It's too cold to go all out anyway. You've been staring in the mirror, double checking your hair and makeup a thousand times as you hear the doorbell chime through the apartment. It's a good thing no one else is around to see you nearly trip over yourself as you slip on your shoes and answer the door. "Hi!"

Yoongi is wearing his usual black leather jackets, skin-tight black jeans, and cat-like smirk. "Hey. You ready?"

"Yeah, oh just let me grab a jacket." Pulling one off the rack you shut the door behind you, locking the door before shuffling behind Yoongi. Much to your surprise, he slows down until your right next to him, clasping his hand around yours and smiling as he silently leads you to his car.

"What, no motorcycle today?"

"Nah, I figured you'd strangle me and we'd crash. Dieing on the first date just seems tragic. We need to get on date number five at least." He shoots you a wink as he opens your door, shutting it lightly behind him as he jogs around to the other side.

"So...where exactly are you taking me?"

"You're a curious little thing today, aren't you? Well at first I was thinking something simple like coffee, but let's be honest that's overplayed and boring. So then I thought about going to an aquarium just so I could make a joke about feeding you to the fishes but then I thought nah too easy. So I spent more time than I'll tell you plotting. And I realized exactly where we needed to go. We're going to the river for a picnic. Something that's oddly ordinary and you'll secretly love but no dude's ever actually done for you. Am I right?"

You're at a loss. You certainly didn't expect him to think this through to this extent. Honestly, no guy has ever cared this much about a first date before. You figured that only existed in stories and movies at this point. "You're certainly right. Isn't it a little cold for a picnic though?"

"I have brought plenty of cocoa and jjigae to keep us warm, don't you worry your pretty little head about it." You can't help but fidget slightly, nerves boiling over until his hand rests soothingly on your thigh and you feel yourself melt. Or maybe boil over until you malfunction. But that's something to dwell on at a later time.

It doesn't take long after that until you pull up at the river. During springtime it's packed, everyone comes out to drink under the cherry blossoms, but right now it's serenely quiet. You're almost the only people in sight save the zealous runners and elderly couples strolling through on their daily walks. When you try to help set up the blanket and food Yoongi refuses, so instead you watch him meticulously lay everything out. Maybe this is a post-season Christmas movie because you swear you can feel your dead cold heart grow as you watch him. It's an oddly domestic feeling. Certainly romantic. Painfully sweet. And for once all of your usual bitter snarkiness has drowned it's self in the river to leave you a heart-eyed mess.

"Come on, come sit. I told you before, I don't bite unless you're into that."

"I'm into that, but right now I'd rather have cocoa and jjigae." You watch him pour out your drink as you sit down, carefully handing you the piping hot drink before pulling the still boiling soup out of the basket.

"Alright, so I figured that being you'd probably refuse to tell me too much out of wariness. So I propose that we play 21 questions. What's your favorite food?"

"Tofu, in all it's many forms. What's your favorite color?"

"Black, just like my coffee."

"And your soul." You duck as he tosses a napkin at your face, laughing at the gummy expression he sends your way.

"Aish. Okay, next question, what are your hobbies?"

"Reading and video games. Why'd you become a tattoo artist?"

"I love drawing, but I especially love the idea of a living canvas. It's just so interesting. Although I hate that I don't usually get to control the outcome of it, some people have god awful tattoo ideas. Most people actually. I'm at least booked enough now that I can refuse those ones without worrying about my bank account too much. Why are you so afraid of love?"

You weren't expecting that question. You figured he'd keep things easy but then again you should have known better. Of all the many ways you can describe the man before you easy isn't one of them. "Trust problems I guess. I didn't have the best home, parents kicked me out young and we haven't talked since so that's probably at the root of it all. I don't know though, never seen a shrink about it so that's just an educated guess. Add all the boys that I've dated either dumped me or cheated on me and it makes it tough to believe that love, especially romantic love is real. Why do you believe in it?"

"Because love is the very essence of humanity. The best way to fight a shitty system that tries to keep us all down is through love. It's not power or money or any of that other bullshit they tell us we need. It's love. We all just need someone who understands us. It doesn't need to be a ton of people, just one who really gets us and bam! Everything's good. Sometimes those people come and go, but that doesn't make the love you held for that time discounted. It just means that now you need to find someone else who understands you." He chooses his words carefully at first, but when he sees that you're held in rapt attention he grows passionate. Eyes blazing as if to dare you to disagree. And suddenly you're seeing the world through a different lens. Here you had been chalking romance up to marketing, which isn't entirely untrue but that's just one part of it. But love the way he sees it? To him, love isn't about marketing or money it's just about human connection. And suddenly you're starting to understand that abstract intangible concept. You also realize that what you were looking for wasn't love, but perfection. You didn't want to do all the work, you just wanted all the pieces to magically fall into place for you and gave up when expectations weren't instantly met. "Next question, why'd you say yes to this date?"

"Because you're hot." You roll his eyes at the exaggerated wink he sends you before eating a bit of the jjigae. "Okay so that was a part of it but mostly I was curious. You're this weird enigma Yoongi. At first, I thought I had you all figured out. Tough dude with tats and a motorcycle who probably has a slew of booty calls waiting for him. But then you said you liked to cuddle and I got curious. And then I realized that I didn't have the whole picture, just a glimpse. Why in the world did you ask me out? And for the love of god don't say 'dat ass.'"

"Okay but dat ass though." The way he laughs full heartedly, slapping his knees at the sight of your glare almost makes you not elbow him. Almost. But you have a reputation to uphold. "You've just got this thing about you. You're like a fortress. A puzzle. I guess that same idea of wanting to figure a person out is the same reason why I'm so attracted to you. You see at first glance you seem to be just brutally honest, but then when you look closer it's easy to see that you're vulnerable. Fragile. Callous due to a previous naivety that landed you in shit places by the sounds of it. I like that you have spirit, you aren't afraid to tell people to fuck off. But what I like most of all is under that there's this heart of gold. At least if your interaction with your friends is anything to go by you do." Fuck, you think you have something in your eye. It's definitely not your long extinct tear ducts learning how to work again. Nope.

You can feel his thumb brush a stray tear, hand cupping your face as you automatically nuzzle into the warmth before he clears his throat. "Next question-"

Before he can finish the question your lips are on his. They're chapped but still soft, plush under yours. And suddenly that tailwind romance you thought was all fake feels so real as a spark of electricity zaps you. Or maybe that's more carnal, but whatever it is it feels so right. As if his lips were made to be against yours. And when you feel him kiss back roughly, hands weaving through your hair as he pulls you in closer you know that he must be feeling the same thing. You're floating. High in the clouds. Weightless. The sound of someone running past finally has the two of you breaking apart slowly. "Right next question, can we do that again?"

This time there's a fire behind the kiss as your hands grab onto his jacket and his tongue slips into your mouth. This time you know it's more carnal. Burning bright. Passionate. Hungry. Needy. But before it can devolve into public debauchery you reluctantly pull back, blush creeping up your neck as you see his molten brown eyes focused on you in a way that clearly states that he is indeed as dangerous as he looks. At least if your definition of dangerous is sex right out in the open at a very public park anyway.

"My turn. What's your favorite music?"

The rest of the date goes by too quickly and you learn about everything Yoongi related and he learns everything about you. You're positive that you've never learned so much about a person on a first date, or hell even by the third. You've learned his birthday, his favorite music, all about his friends, how he actually co-owns the tattoo shop and how that all happened. You've learned about how he came from a poor family and how he makes sure to send a little bit each week to help out on top of the apartment he bought them. Suddenly the $200 an hour fee makes a whole lot more sense.

By the time you're pulling back into your apartment, the two of you have already planned a date for next Sunday. And as he puts the car in park you can't hope but wish that somehow it was already magically next week. But when he pulls you in for a heated kiss and presses his forehead against yours before sending you off you're too much on cloud nine to pay any attention. You'll have to add that Yoongi is certainly the best kisser you've ever known to your mental file.

-------------1 week later---------------

Well, it's official. You're nuts. You'd like to blame Yoongi but let's be honest, all you needed was a little help to push you over the ledge. Except the problem is that before you were very sure of life. Completely comfortable with anger, bitterness, and believing that everything inevitably fails. And in some sick twist of fate, his words have been playing back in your head over and over every single day for the last week. Before you thought it was all or nothing. Love was there or it wasn't. You get one shot at true love and if it fails then it never existed. Except now your world is flipped upside down.

Perfection is a fruitless endeavor. An impossible task. One with zero rewards. And what you've been looking for all this time is perfection. A perfect love. A whirlwind romance. But if it's perfect it's fake. It's all a lie. An elaborate performance. Which is mostly all you've ever gotten, granted usually in short-lived moments but sometimes longer. And when the curtains closed each time you thought, "this show wasn't a real show. I'll go to a better play next door." Except the play was still very much real. A part of you. A part of them. Which means that love is indeed real it's just not always very grand. But when it was there it was beautiful, you were just blind and ignorant in even the good moments. Unaware of the magic in small acts. But with Yoongi suddenly you want to see all the small acts. You want to not just see the show but be a part of it. Go behind the scenes with him. See how this plays out.

Which is completely fucking nuts. You're already talking about your entire worldview changing and the concept as something as obscure as falling in love with a man you barely know and have only been out on a date with once. It makes you afraid. It makes you feel free. It gives you options. It's like being able to use all of your senses at once for the first time. Except that's scary because there's too much coming at you at once. But it's equal parts exhilarating. You've been through every single possible emotion a person could have every day.

By the time your second date finally arrives, you're suddenly calm about it all. As if everything is right and the puzzle pieces to life are aligning and maybe just maybe you have a chance to see things differently. And while before you would have rather poked your eyes out than face rejection again this time you just want to see where this takes you. You aren't thinking so much about the end results, rather the journey.

Tonight Yoongi is taking you out to his favorite record store. While you don't own a record player you can certainly appreciate the aesthetics of vinyl. There's something oddly charming about them, even if it is ridiculously impractical in the modern world of space-saving technology and cramped apartments. Perhaps the impracticality of it is apart of the appeal, however. This time you aren't tripping over yourself to get to the door. But that's because you're standing right by it giving yourself a pep talk. Not that he needs to know that of course. After smoothing down your hair and doing a quick checklist in your head your pulling the door open.

This time he's wearing an oversized sweater but again the same tight black jeans. The man must have stock in them. Not that you blame him, it looks good after all. "You look great, babe." Heat blossoms on your face as his eyes scan you from head to toe, that signature lazy smile adorning his face before he takes your hand in his and leads you to his car.

"Still no motorcycle?"

"Nope, still don't trust that you won't freak out and kill me accidentally. Why? You seem oddly keen on the bike."

"It just looks fun that's all."

"It is. There's nothing better than a good ride, and you can take that any way you please." He winks at you, laughing when you scoff and punch his shoulder. If any other guy said that line you would have jumped out of the now moving vehicle, but for some reason when he says it you turn into putty. Maybe it's the charm of being absurdly good looking. Or that tattoos. The bad-boy charm. Or maybe it's because in all his infinite aloof glory he's just Yoongi. Comfortable and confident in his own skin without being sleazy.

The record store is quiet, playing a selection of upbeat jazz. Your brain is trying to figure out the tune until you finally snap your fingers and softly say, "Giant Steps!"

"You know jazz? Are you a secret Coltrane fan or something?" Yoongi is giving you that look. The look that says he's clearly analyzing you. Studying you. Dissecting your brain as you speak.

"Sort of. I dated this guy in college for years, he was a jazz major. His thesis was going to be on Giant Steps, it's been years since I've heard it though. Are you secretly into jazz, Min Yoongi?"

You watch him shake his head no as he scans the records before pulling one out. Outkast, ATliens. A great album, one that invokes nostalgia. He quickly puts the record under his arm before he continues searching. "Nah, I'm more of a blues guy myself. Nina Simone. Etta James. Bill Withers. The building blocks to all modern music. At least hip hop, R&B, and all the subgenres of rock."

"You know an awful lot about music considering you're a tattoo artist. What's the background story on that?" You peruse next to him as you speak, flicking through the music slowly.

"Once upon a time I wanted to be a rapper." There's something far off about his voice. As if he's reliving the memories. A gentle smile on his lips as he shakes his head as if to push them back into their little file in his brain to not be disturbed for some time. "But I had bills to pay. I'm not complaining though. I love music, adore it. But I love what I do too. It's almost like trying to pick between your two children. You might actually have a favorite, but it changes depending on the day."

"Let's hope you only have one kid then."

"Nah, I'm going to have a horde of mini Mins. Take over the world with them and overthrow capitalism. It's my diabolical plan to get housing prices back to normal and get student debt forgiveness."

"And how exactly do you plan to have this army of darkness? Polygamy? A sex cult?"

"God that just sounds exhausting. I can hardly keep up with you let alone more women. No, I think I'll actually stick with two children. You know, just so on tough days I can look at one and go 'ah yes today you didn't fuck up.'" You pray that he doesn't look over to see your cherry red face. He in a way made it sound like he's thought about children with you. Clearly, that's not what he means but now your mind is wandering. Mini mins. They'd be cute. Probably slightly evil but cute nevertheless. They might be born glaring though. Or smirking instead of crying.

"What happens when they both fuck up?"

"Then I've got you." Fuck, he was implying you. Holy shit. Holy shit. Act natural. Don't look at him. "Ooh look! They have a Frank Ocean Blonde vinyl. Unopened this bad boy is worth a few hundred. Man, I can't believe how cheap they're selling it for." He tucks it under his arm before cataloging through some more. For a short while the two of you work in silence, falling into a pattern that when you stare at one for just a little too long he's plucking it out of your hands and refusing to listen to you protest.

By the end of it all, the two of you are walking out with a dozen records after learning a wealth of information on all of Yoongi's favorite artists. You also learned that once upon a time his rap name was 'Suga.' Which led to you immediately and passionately singing Sugar by System of the Down quickly increasing in volume until he clamps his hand over your mouth and stares at you with the rage of a thousand suns. Totally worth it though. Especially when the dude behind the counter picks up where you left off.

Dinner goes by too quickly. You wish you could freeze time, force it to slow so you can languidly explore his world. It's with a heavy heart that you unbuckle your seat belt before leaning over and pulling him into a heated kiss. One that makes your head spin again and proves that the first date wasn't a series of flukes. Nope, Min Yoongi really does have a skilled tongue. When you pull away you can see stars in his eyes, his hair ruffled and cheeks red as he tries to even out his breathing. The most dangerous part about Yoongi is his duality. The way he can flit between sexy to cute and somewhere in between without trying.

------------2 months later----------

You've lost count on how many dates you've gone on at this point. He's taken you out on his bike finally to go stargazing. Out to plays and art galleries. Sometimes you've just stayed in and watched movies together. You have lunch together at least twice a week now, grabbing coffee together for a short reunion in the mornings after spending all night talking about everything and nothing over the phone. It's as if a time before Yoongi didn't exist. It's comfortable. Oddly easy.

It's to your chagrin and surprise that you learn that Yoongi wants to take things slow. He doesn't rush you into bed. He's the perfect gentleman. A punk Disney prince, albeit with a sharp tongue. No even after the third and fourth date when you try to heat things up he's quick to pull away and tell you that he doesn't want to rush things. Not with you, he says. He wants you to trust him first. He wants you to be truly comfortable first. He doesn't want you to think that he's only in it for that.

You get it. In fact, in a twist, it actually makes things hotter. But the build-up is getting almost painful now. The sexual tension mounting to epic proportions. Your poor vibrator would hate you if it wasn't inanimate. He wasn't lying about loving cuddling. He's also apparently a man of extreme patience because no matter how many times you've felt his hard dick against your ass mid-spooning he's refused to act on it. Or let you. It's left you more than slightly frustrated on multiple occasions. It also wasn't helpful that it, in turn, made you an awkward mess. In fact, you remember jokingly mentioning some gibberish about your starfish quivering to try and crack the tension and for a while you thought he would never let you live that terrible joke down. Starfish, really? What were you thinking?

What you belatedly realize though is that his master plan fucking works. Because somewhere along the way you started letting down your guards. Somewhere along all your dates, you find yourself falling. Allowing yourself to be human. Allowing yourself to stop fearing love. Allowing yourself to trust. Without fighting it. Without running. It's no longer terrifying. It's no longer something that gnaws at you in the chasm of anxiety.

And just shy of three months into dating Yoongi you realize that you love him. Love. Abstract. Intangible. Yet not. It's the way he looks at you. The way he holds your hands. The way he thinks about the things that make you tick. The way the two of you try to find joy in the tiniest of things. Marie Kondo would tell you that you've finally found something that sparks joy. But it's not just from him. No, even when he's not around you feel lighter. Freer. Happier. You're still sarcastic. A bit of a bitch. But this time it's no longer from a place of longheld bitterness and pain, rather it's from your twisted brand of humor.

This realization comes to you as you after hanging out with Yoongi's friends and coming back to his place to just chill and listen to his vinyls. When his thumb soothingly rubs your hand as you curl up into his chest. It's so natural. So right. "I love you." The words come out a soft sigh, muffled slightly into his chest but he hears them loud and clear.

Yoongi twists, pulling your face up to his. "Did you just say you love me?"

"Min Yoongi I love you." You don't expect to hear anything back. You aren't saying it for affirmation or reciprocation. You just want him to know.

"I don't think I've ever heard better words. Say it again." That gummy smile is back. The one that stirs up butterflies. The one that warms your soul. The one that you fell in love with.

You swing your legs over his lap, straddling him as you stare into his eyes. "I. Love. You."

"God, you don't know how bad I've wanted to hear that. I love you so fucking much. So much. Holy fuck. I want to kiss you, can I kiss-" Before he can finish the sentence your lips are on his. Soft and pliant under yours, a lingering taste of leftover chapstick and nicotine. It's captivating. Dizzying. It's so easy to get drunk off his lips. His taste. The soft groans that leave him. Tongues intertwine as his hands roam your body before landing on your ass with a firm squeeze. It's messy. Needy. Sloppy but full of passion. As if you're the only cure for each other. Each emotion lingering in the air. Your hips swivel down, grinding against his pants as one hand weaves into your hair to pull your neck back and attach his lips to there.

You can feel the small bruises blossoming already. Love bites and harsh sucks leave cherry blossoms along your neck, mirroring the pattern of his own tattoo. Quiet moans of need are spilling out, desire pooling into your panties each time his teeth scrape against you. "You, doll, are the hottest thing I've ever seen. I could worship you. Dedicate a temple to you. Can't wait to feel you. God, I want you so bad. I love you so fucking much." Each word spills out from him like a deep moan, reverberating through his chest and chewing them off at the end. A loud mewl of satisfaction leaves you. He loves you. He loves you. You're in love. Over the moon. How could you ever think that love wasn't for you? How could you ever give up? How could you honestly think that you were destined to be a spinster when a man like him wants you?

His hands claw at your shirt, quick to remove your bra and leave you partially bare. Even with the slight chill seeping in through his apartment you still feel feverish. Each time his calloused hands roam your skin you can feel your temperature increase. God, you've never wanted someone so much. It's almost an out of body experience. Sex elevated off the mortal plane. You swear you might cum just from him touching you at this rate. His lips brush against your nipples before biting down, one hand reaching back into your hair as you arch into the touch.

"Wanna touch you Yoongi. Wanna feel you." The words come out drunkenly. Wobbly. Laced with honey through your swollen lips. When his grip lets go of your hair you lean down to his neck, pressing kisses around his tattoo, tongue laving at the branch as your teeth scrape against his soft skin. The deep moans hiccuping out of him are music to your ears, urging you on as your grind against him. Desperate for friction. Desperate for release. Your hands toy at his shirt before finally breaking away to pry it over his head. Your eyes dance over his half-naked form, taking in the sight before you. Almost every square inch is covered, ink swirling around in intricate stories. God, you're about the fuck the hottest living canvas.

His chest is heaving, breathing uneven as the two of you make eye contact again before lips come crashing together and he's picking you up. Carrying you out of the living room and into his bedroom, stopping occasionally to push you against a wall just to latch onto your neck or chest. By the time you make it to the bed, you're sure that for the first time in your life you could actually forgo foreplay. You're so wet that you can feel it seeping through your underwear and leaving a mark on your jeans. He stumbles onto the bed, your head hitting the wall with a loud thwack that has both of you pausing for a moment. "Shit, are you okay?"

"Mmokay, take your pants off." You rub at the sore spot before reaching up to place a reassuring kiss on his lips. You hold your breath as you watch him strip, dick springing out proudly. Smeared with precum. Red. Throbbing and twitching. "You don't wear underwear?"

He looks almost bashful for a moment. "It's laundry day actually..." At the sound of your giggles, he takes the opportunity while you're disarmed to unbutton your pants, freeing you from your jeans and leaving you in just your flimsy lacy panties. The mood shifts back again when you see the hunger in his eyes. As if he's staring at a feast. "Christ, can't wait to taste this pussy. Make you cry my name." His hands are shaking slightly as he slowly pries your underwear off, eyes narrowing on the way your juices stick to your underwear finally tossing it off the side of the best.

"Please taste me, I need you. I can't wait."

"Who knew you'd be so needy? So quick to beg for my tongue?" That usual lazy smirk is back on his face as he looks at you, hands hooking around your thighs and pulling them over his shoulders. His tongue flattens against your sex before you can respond, a choked moan drowning out your words. Jesus, he's good with his tongue. It moves slowly, languidly against your dripping pussy. Rhythmically. Diving into your folds only to swirl up around your clit, sucking lightly and releasing with a soft pop before going back down all over again. It's when his tongue dips even lower, swirling around your puckered rim that you can feel your eyes roll back and breathing cut off. Two fingers slip into your dripping cunt with ease, scissoring to stretch you. The dual sensation of his tongue on your ass and fingers filling you up has you clenching. Spiraling. Bright white flashing behind your eyes as a silent scream tries to leave your throat. Toes curling, his name finally rolling off your tongue as you chase the sensation, your orgasm consuming your senses. It leaves you dizzy. Panting. A mewling, drenched mess under him.

Through fuzzy ears you can hear his low voice, "God how do you taste so good? Fuck, I could watch you all day baby girl."

His fingers move slowly as he watches you return to earth, twitching underneath him at the oversensitivity. You feel so sated, but at the same time, you want so much more. The look in his eyes makes you hungry all over again. You want him to feel just as good as you. You look up with hooded eyes, hand wrapping around his drooling cock as you speak. "I wanna taste you too Yoongi."

His adam's apple bobs, hands leaving your thighs as he pulls you into another messy kiss. It's almost all teeth and tongue this time, a thin line of saliva breaks apart when you separate. You shuffle off the bed slowly, knees gingerly falling to the floor before looking back up as your tongue swirls around his head before pulling back to lick a long stripe along his prominent vein. You pepper tiny kisses along his base, one hand cupping his balls gently as the other one twists around his base. You envelop his velvety length in your mouth, working slowly into a steady rhythm. Each sigh from him, soft moans of pleasure spurs you deeper. Jaw aching slightly as you try to take him deeper, using your hand to help stimulate the places you can't reach. His hands grip your hair tightly as he reaches past your molars, pulling you off of him with a loud pop. "Sorry love, I'm not gonna last much longer if you keep doing that and I really want to fuck you."

You gulp at the way he's watching you. As if he's a predator and you're his prey. A feast for the night. You wouldn't have it any other way. He helps guide you back onto the bed, twisting you onto all fours as his hands glide over your ass. "Best ass I've ever seen. God, I've had so many wet dreams over this ass." His hand comes down sharply, the sting bringing a wave of pleasure to ripple through you as it soothingly rubs over. Your thoughts are quickly brought back to the throbbing between your thighs as his cock rubs against your swollen clit. "Please, fuck. God." You're incoherent, words stringing together slowly.

"What's my name doll?"

"Yoongi, come on. Fuck me before I bite your head off!"

"Yeah yeah, we'll see how much sass you have left in you when I'm done." You wiggle your hips impatiently as you hear him spit into his palm, adding lubrication before he glides into you. "Holy shit." He stays still for a moment as you spasm around the intrusion. He's just thick enough to have you crying out in pleasure, just long enough to have you seeing stars as he sinks deeper.

"Oh, fuck. Move, please move." You push back, sinker further onto him as he stays still before his hands snake around your throat.

"God, you are so mouthy. And as much as I normally love hearing you talk back right now I really just wanna fuck you." He pulls out almost completely before slamming back in, balls slapping into your clit in a way that has you seeing stars. Each movement is harsh, quick, with stamina and vigor you didn't foresee him having. The feeling of his hand wrapped around your throat, cutting off just enough circulation to stutter your breathing, has you gasping and rutting underneath him. Fuck, was sex supposed to feel this good? In your fucked out state, you can barely make out the sound of him chuckling darkly behind you. "Look at you baby, already fucked out and I've barely started. Do you wanna cum again baby? Already?"

"Fuck, please. Don't stop!" Your high pitched begging has him drilling in deeper, his free hand moving off your ass and onto your clit in quick circular motions that has you clenching around him. This time your orgasm is earth-shattering. Loud. Wet. When his hand finally lets go of your throat you face plant into the pillow, legs shaking around him as he keeps moving.

"You're so beautiful when you cum, did you know that? My pretty baby girl, all fucked out on my cock. Now that's a sight I never want to stop seeing." Another loud smack to your ass has you sobbing into the pillow, moans spilling out as your release gushes around him. "Jesus, how is your pussy so fucking wet? Are you always this wet?"

"No. It's just for you Yoongi."

"That's right. This pussy is mine, isn't it? Say it, doll."

"This pussy is yours Yoongi, fuck. Hold on, I wanna ride you." He stutters, pausing before pulling out so the two of you can shuffle around. You smirk as you crawl over his lap, one hand holding onto his cock as the other grabs his arm while you sink down. You're sure you look a fucked out mess, but so does he. Sweat is making his fringe cling to his forehead, kiss-swollen lips, hickies covering his neck visible even over his tattoos.

You neck snaps back as you sink down completely, the new angle bringing him right to your g-spot and making your legs shake in overstimulation. You fall forward onto his chest, pulling him into another kiss as you circle your hips in small figure eights. You bite down on his lower lip, pulling it between your teeth as you reach behind you and gently roll his balls in your hand. You delight in the way he groans, eyes rolling back at the sensation. "Keep doing that and I'm not going to last (y/n)."

"That's the point. Come on, cum with me Yoongi." It doesn't take much in your overstimulated state to get right back to the point again. Hanging over the edge as you dip your hand down to circle your clit, relishing in the dulcet moans from him as the two of you climax together. His nose scrunches up, eyebrows furrowing as he grips at your hips as you ride him into his own orgasm right after your third. It doesn't take long before he twitches inside you, painting your insides white as you slow down. At the feeling of him coming to his own completion you slump forward, your head falling into the crook of his neck as his hands circle your waist.

"Wow. That might easily have been the best sex of my life."

"Yeah, that was, wow." Your breathing is still unsteady, legs shaking as you feel him soften inside you.

"Did you realize you squirted?"

"Ah, yeah. Sorry to break your heart but that's actually somewhat normal for me."

"God that is so fucking hot." You laugh into his neck, exhaustion taking over as you sigh. "You know, the first time I ever saw you I knew. I just knew. You were all sass and fire, and I just knew that you were it. You were the one."

You wish you could reciprocate and say you thought the same thing when you first saw Yoongi, but you suppose it's better late than never. "I never would've guessed when I first met you that you liked cuddling, or saying such cheesy lines, or absolutely hated scary movies."

"Yeah, but you love that about me."

"Yeah. But I'm pretty sure I just love everything about you Min Yoongi."

"You know, when you say my full name like that I get oddly turned on. Do you think you're up for a round two in like, half an hour?"

You really should say no, you really just want to sleep. But just the thought has your mind spinning. Lord give you strength because you're going to need it, or at least better stamina, to last in survive this man.

You never would've guessed that love could feel so right. So natural. So normal. It isn't always a crazy spark. It isn't all fire and passion, even though it certainly has its moments. No, it's softer. Gentler. It grows and evolves with you. It changes. It takes work. And the two of you do somehow make it work. Even after moving in and trying to learn how to love someone when there's only one bathroom. Even after you get married and fall into a routine. Even after you get pregnant and go a smidge hormonally insane both times. Even on days when both of the kids drive you batty. Even when they leave home and leave you with an empty nest all over again. Because love is something beautiful. It's something innate within us all, it's just a matter of both parties wanting it enough. Working at it enough. And whenever anyone asks you what love means to you it was simple from that day forward. Min Yoongi.

#btssmutclub #yoongi smut #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fanfiction #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #yoongi reader insert #yoongi reader pairing #tattooed yoongi

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theholycovenantrpg · 3 years

Photo

CONGRATULATIONS, CLAUDIA! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF GABRIEL.

Admin Rosey: Wow - this was a terribly difficult decision to make. All the applications for Gabriel were so beautiful. But Claudia, have you no mercy? Gabriel has always held a rather special place within my heart simply because he is so unique unto himself, even among the entire legion of angels. You said it so aptly, but so cruelly: take an angel, give him everything but leave one thing missing. It’s a rather wicked script that one has to follow, isn’t it? But there is something terribly delicious about how this application doesn’t hold back on reading him right to his bones. You saw him for what he was: hunger, hunger, hunger. And you let us know that as well. The details, the small -isms that you gave him granted him such life that I couldn’t say no. Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

Alias

claudia

Age

Personal Pronouns

she / her

Activity Level

i work full-time but i’m always checking the dash or else staying up to date with plotting in the dms in between replies. and of course weekends are my most active times.

Timezone

gmt+10

Triggers

REMOVED

How did you find the group?

following a bunch of the wonderful people who were involved in its creation

Current/Past RP Accounts

here

IN CHARACTER

Character

gabriel

What drew you to this character?

so gabriel was not the first character that sparked my interest and the aesthete in me is very much compelled to justify in metaphor (you know, the whole “there’s this japanese phrase i like: koi no yokan. not love at first sight but second sight. the feeling that when you meet someone that you’re going to fall in love with them. maybe not right away, but it’s inevitable that you will.”). the truth is, i came into thc very much wanting to play a sexy morally ambiguous antagonist and agent of chaos that could wreak havoc and plot death and destruction. admittedly, i had only skimmed gabriel’s bio when it was released.

there’s an ancient roman crying out for blood in the colosseum in everyone that will always be drawn to the dark and the delicious possibility of amorality, because good and evil lies on a spectrum and exploring the shades of grey in between is so much more interesting than delving into a character who positions themselves so firmly at either end and says no, this is me, this is what i am and my conviction will not waver. or, to quote another beloved symbol, idol, champion of the people, that believed so fervently in a cause that the martyrdom nearly killed him, “when the mob and the press and the whole world tell you to move, your job is to plant yourself like a tree beside the river of truth, and tell the whole world — “no, you move.””

it is hard to write good. it is hard to take a character that is so infinitely good and compassionate, someone who is motivated by these enormous, intangible concepts like love and justice and peace, and capture them in words.

how do you explain why gabriel loves humans? how do you explain how he still loves them, fights for them, protects them, when everything his brothers and sisters did to him was because the humans dared to love him back? it’d be like asking the question of god himself — why? you claimed to love humans above all and yet you gave the strength, grace and majesty of immortality and wisdom to the angels. they were your firstborn, and humans were the spoiled youngest child. the unruly, overindulged creatures that got away with everything, that sinned and yet were still worthy of salvation.

for most people, gabriel is the first angel they ever learn about. gabriel coming to nazareth, gabriel saying be not afraid as he explains how a human woman will be the genesis of the son of god. he is the first. and understanding why gabriel loves humans, as god did, perhaps even more, comes back to the beginning, too.

gabriel was created the incarnation of hunger. and i am literally obsessed with the concept of ‘hunger’ in it all its forms, literary, cinematically, poetically. it’s fascinating because it’s not a concept that belongs to either good or evil, it’s simply a force, a manifestation of pure instinct. but we so often associate it with evil, and even in the bible, too much hunger is condemned. you could argue that the seven deadly sins are simply just an extrapolation of hunger in its myriad guises. the idea that you could be made perfect — as all angels are — and yet be left with this gaping chasm inside you, this endless hunger, a hunger that demands to be fed and nurtured, sated with divine higher purpose, is like, my literary achilles’ heel. why does gabriel love humans? how could he not? he was made in their image, and they in his.

What future plots do you have in mind for the character?

THE SUN NEVER SETS ON THE HOLY LAND.

that thing i said about wanting to play a sexy character? well gabriel being the sun and the third arm of the governing body that rules over the holy land is extremely sexy. it’s a shame he doesn’t much care for it. oh, he likes the concept of being a key guardian of freedom and peace across the new world but power holds no sway over him. and ironically that’s what makes him so inherently powerful. gabriel was the natural choice for the sun — beloved by humans, martyred for his love and sacrifices for them — he’d already burned for so long, so quietly, in service of bringing justice to the world. but gabriel has never needed a title to serve. he was born a messenger, a soldier, he has never needed a crown.

and despite what they say, heavy is the head, it is a crown perfectly made for him. the sun — illuminating and all-consuming, the source of all life and light in the world — is all-seeing. all-powerful. gabriel learned at god’s side what it means to rule. and a messenger is not so different from a prophet, from an orator. when he speaks, the world listens.

gabriel is well aware that michael sees the tridium power as child’s play, and their brotherhood as a means to influence the tridium, and thus the entirety of the holy land. power feeds and power corrupts and the lack of it will drive people like his brothers to insatiable madness. gabriel used to play peacemaker amongst his brothers, always defending the mortals or softening the aftermath of their fathers’ worst outbursts. now, as the sun, he stands above them. it is not a position he ever campaigned for but he’d won it all the same by democracy. the angel of the people, the sun of the holy land. he’s never pressed his influence over his brothers, always careful to tread the line of how his title benefits them and advances caelum’s purposes — celestial beings have always done things in three, after all. do i want to see him flex that power and unleash the full weight of his influence and majesty and just go absolutely supernova ham? of course. but it will take more that some sibling bickering and infighting to spark that wildfire. i don’t know yet what that spark would be, whether it’s demons meddling in tridium business or some political shift in the paradigm, but gabriel is not someone you want to cross.

do not mistake his kindness for weakness. the sun gives life as easily as it can set it ablaze.

LOYALTY WILL BE THE LAST BASTION TO CRUMBLE.

now this is entirely dependent on the dynamic of the three, in particular whoever is elected as the stars, but i see the tridium as a wildcard amidst all the vacillating allegiances and power plays of the holy land.

gabriel believes in the true purpose of the tridium, he believes each faction is entitled to equal authority over protecting the peace and future of the holy land. a true system of checks and balances, a democracy that amplifies the voices of the weak and powerless and upholds the cause of the vulnerable and the oppressed. whether that’s in the political interests of azazel and the future stars remains to be seen.

from the very beginning, gabriel would have been vitally curious about azazel. his former sister, a fallen angel. it is not his place to forgive, but he forgives nonetheless, as god would have. if he was not a thing made of hunger, the way she was a thing made of desire, maybe he would have fallen, too. he, more than anyone, had the right to fall. but he didn’t, and she did, and she’s done quite well for herself in the millennia since. finding herself a new throne, new family, even a new brother to dote upon her. in spite of his instincts and the holiness that riots in his veins against the thought of colluding with demons, even under the new testament, he understands. he doesn’t blame her. so, i will leave this entirely tbd for plotting but i could see either a strange, inexplicable friendship between them or a playful, vicious dynamic with an underlying current of empathy.

in many ways the moon and the stars will be the closest people gabriel has to true equals. he is no longer purely archangel, he is other. he must represent the interests of all of the holy land. trusting them would be folly, but unlike the ages of old, the name of the game is no longer a zero-sum winner takes all scenario. if the peace fails, the world will crumble into bedlam. is it a doomed act, attempting to balance the three factions upon the scales of peace? perhaps. perhaps they are playing a losing game, betting against the house, delaying the inevitable. it would be one thing to manipulate the balance of power between them, feeding the poison of their faction into their governance. it would be another if any one of their factions actually won.

why did they call themselves the sun, the moon, the stars? because they are figureheads, above all. symbols of caelum, infernum, the holy land. their factions all believe them to be puppets, leverage for their own political hunger and thirst for power. they are not blind. if either of their sides emerges from an inevitable all out war situation, what will happen to them? crownless, purposeless, no kingdom left to rule. certainly not a kingdom that will be theirs.

azazel wants to be worshipped. gabriel wants to burn until righteousness has scoured all evil from the holy land. the stars will inevitably be someone equally chaotic. they’re all that stands between the holy land and desolation. it’s like the perfect office workplace drama set-up. i would like to see it.

HUNGER IS THE MOST HUMAN THING OF ALL

throughout time, gabriel has had his favourites. he’s his father’s son, after all. zacharias, mary, noah. if these were the ages of old, he might have counted revna among those ranks. if gabriel were not an immortal angel, this would be called having a friend. but because gabriel is who he is, he considers them more like wards. like he’s taken it upon himself to be their self-appointed guardian angel.

it’s lonely being an instrument of god, and now the sun of the holy land, like what do you imagine he does after a long day of work? relax? of course not. so having a friend is nice. and having someone he can talk to, free of all the baggage and weight of being who they are, is like a glimpse of the peace he hasn’t known since before he had wings.

with revna, as with every mortal he had ever taken under his golden wings, he swallows any thought of just how mortal they are. how short-lived. in a blink, she will die. in another, her name will be forgotten, nothing more than a memory imprinted in a lonely angel’s mind. he tries not to think too much about mortality, or the whims and follies of mortals, the lengths they will go to in the name of survival that he has never dreamed. their freedom is predicated on living long enough to taste it. is it such a crime to want to live? for all their limitless powers and immortality, no angel and demon will ever know what that feels like — the sheer, visceral incandescence of burning so fleeting but so brilliant that to die is nothing. to live is the ultimate choice.

also… their powers are literally antithetical to each other. revna creates reality for all the senses, and gabriel deadens them. hello, let’s talk about that!

i’ll keep this brief or else i’ll spend days spiralling into interesting tangents and possibilities but other than the archangels and select few higher-ranking angels are aware of his powers. they think he doesn’t have any. to reveal this aspect of himself, a bearing of something like his true self or maybe even a soul, would be very spicy. in case anyone needs a reminder that all angels are terrifying and just because gabriel is pretty and warm like the sun, you shouldn’t believe he is anything less than terror carved into the sublime.

SO THIS IS HOW LIBERTY DIES. WITH THUNDEROUS APPLAUSE.

this is the darkest timeline plot where i throw a dice just to see where it lands. i don’t see gabriel deviating too much from his course, because he is the tree (planted by the river, if you remember the earlier quote), and he will destroy himself before he has to bend or break beneath the whims of external chaos.

of course, it’s fun to the think about the hypotheticals so i’m going to do that. if the tridium falls, where does that leave gabriel? and to whom will his allegiances lie? if michael or raphael are the cause, would he stand beside caelum all the same? gabriel loves humans because he wants to; he loves his siblings because they are his blood and bone. rip to the angels but you and the mortals are not the same.

he’s also seen how the holiness of the angels have been twisted and warped over time, through countless wars and inimitable suffering, yes. but they’ve changed nonetheless. some amongst them are closer to their fallen brethren than anyone would ever dare to admit but gabriel sees all. he was the angel they left to rot in the farthest corners of heaven, he was the one whose wings were torn, not by enemies of heaven but by his own brothers. and he did not fall. so either gabriel is made of stronger stuff than all the angels or he is the dumbest of them all. it’s very likely both. his faith in the existence of the angels is resolute, unwavering after all this time. his righteousness has burned for a thousand years and it will burn a thousand more until the sun swallows everything and all things cease to exist. if he has to turn against brother and sister, as they did with him, and unquestioningly at that, then he will.

he has sworn to smite any creature that will strike down an innocent before him, and whether angel or demon, it’s a quest that he will pursue to its ruinous end.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character?

yes, preferably by going supernova in a blaze of gory and carnage.

IN DEPTH

Driving Character Motivation

it all comes back to hunger, baby. let’s do this as a thought exercise. imagine god in his build-a-bear workshop for angels creating gabriel like he’s pandora’s box:

take an angel, give him everything but leave one thing missing.

don’t tell him what it is.

teach him the hole inside him is called hunger and that hunger is love, hunger is sacrifice, hunger is knowing that the kingdom of heaven is empty and god is not enough.

take an angel, give him hunger, and then wonder why he becomes more human than human.

gabriel is driven by the insatiable wanting in him to do good. i will note that it is, in a fact, a want and not a need because this in itself is the thing that distinguishes him from his brothers. in a way, falling in love with humanity was an act of free will, and thus an act of defiance. god wanted him to protect his children, yes, but he had never intended for him to enjoy it. he had never foreseen that gabriel, filled with compassion and thirst for justice, would come to empathise with the humans. he never could have imagined that creating an angel out of pure hunger could make him more akin to human than divine. and that was god’s mistake. it’s the mistake of anyone that looks at him and sees weakness — why would a creature so powerful deign to care for humanity? why should he care if they live or die, or wage war or hurt each other? — they imagine that his relentless pursuit of a better world is because he was made for it. no, gabriel chose this world. he chose to strike down god and tear his throne down with his teeth. he chose remake the world better, brighter, braver.

and as god will tell you, beware any that dare stand in his way.

Character Traits

INCANDESCENT — there isn’t really a word that captures gabriel’s essence other than in terms of sunlight and burning. being near him is like turning skywards and feeling of the sun on your face. he is radiant, and charismatic and magnetic, and it ignites a sort of hunger in you to be close to him, to listen to him speak, to tell him everything about you and answer any question he asks, if only to be in his presence for a little longer. to be under the shade of his attention is like being pinpointed at the center of the universe. it’s gratifying, and incredibly intoxicating, being given the sole focus of one of the most powerful beings in the holy land. for a moment, you are the one, and everything else falls away into shadow. but of course, reality snaps back and everything and everyone is simply whirling around in orbit of gabriel, the sun.

COMPASSIONATE — before he was the sun, he was the archangel of the people, the guardian of humans and the champion of god’s most beloved children. out of all the angels, gabriel was the one who took pains to mean it when he said be not afraid. he wore their skin and learned to smile like humans — with the eyes, not just with the mouth — because it would comfort them instead of scare them. as a former messenger, gabriel’s also an excellent listener. he gives excellent advice, too, being naturally sympathetic to the plights and suffering of anyone he meets. he hates injustice and wrongdoing and if it’s in his power, he’ll do anything to help you rectify your circumstances. he’s a very giving person, and despite his various duties and responsibilities, he’s willing to go to the ends of the earth for someone if he believes it’s a cause worth serving.

SELF-RIGHTEOUS — the other side of the embodiment righteousness coin. because when you have a creature as all-powerful and driven as gabriel is, his morality is absolute. there is no room for grey or doubt in the eyes of the self-proclaimed moral compass of the holy land. good and evil lie on a spectrum but gabriel will play the trinity himself if that’s what it takes: judge, jury and executioner.

GRACIOUS. UNYIELDING. SPITEFUL.

In-Character Para Sample

Heaven is cold, if you could believe it. There are places in the kingdom of God where the sun holds no dominion. No, everything here is ruled by and under Him. His omniscience and omnipotence is all. His kingdom is coldest where light shies from the darkness, held at bay by the divine liminality of here and nothingness. You cannot define a space that is simply nothing, simply an absence. An abyss would be too poetic a word for it, this black hole spinning ad infinitum into the dark, soaking up every molecule of anything that could be constituted as being. It is a nothingness. It is a forever of nothingness.

This is where they keep their prisoners.

If you imagine God to be cruel, consider for a moment what he does to his own children.

It could be a month, it could be a millennia, that has passed since they cast him into the shadows of Heaven and left him here. Not to rot, or decay, but to exist; the cruellest punishment of all. Suspended in a vacuum of seeing, feeling, hearing, touching, tasting, a mockery of his own abilities. In the realms of hell, they might call this purgatory. The architects of Heaven would never deign to give a place like this a name.

Gabriel counts seconds and minutes here and there to pass time. A mindless, thoughtless exercise that intrudes upon the endless, desolate stretch of infinity. It keeps him from thinking about his wings and how he might never fly again.

There is no air here to fly, to surge up and taste wind between his feathers. He’s thankful for it — perhaps the only godforsaken grace he’s been granted, a pitiful stroke of thoughtless mercy — if only because it means he cannot attempt it. He thinks if he were to try, wings screaming for clemency, searing fire along his back and down his chest, and fall, that would be the last of him. And if there is nothing left of Gabriel, what would that make him? A creature of divine agony and writhing torment. A monster better suited to hell. If he could claw his way out of the unseeable and untouchable bars of this prison, perhaps he would see that Lucifer had been right.

God was weak. He deserved to be struck down. He deserved to have everything taken from him, as he had taken everything from them.

In the embrace of the void, Gabriel oscillates through every emotion at his disposal. Humanity taught him a great deal about feeling. How hatred and loathing simmered like poison in the blood; how the blaze of fury clawing up your throat could incinerate reason and logic; how love was a form of magic, a trace of stolen divinity pressed between the lips of mortals, enveloped in bodies and hands and kisses. Gabriel did not understand love the way humans did. His love was a consuming thing, a devotion like worship. Like self-immolation. He loved God because that was what he was made for. He loved his brothers because he fought and bled for them, because they were carved from the same grace and streak of lightning crackling through the heavens.

He did not know if he loved God the way humans loved him. They had never seen him, never felt his magnanimous smile or the great vastness of his presence, and yet they believed. They believed so fully, so viscerally, they would die for him anyway. They lived their tiny, fleeting lives grasping for the sky, dreaming and hoping of one day seeing him.

Gabriel saw God all the time, but his love was a necessity to him like existence. It was not a choice.

Did that make it lesser? Was it less true because humans chose and he did not?

Sometimes, he sits here, floating in the forgotten recesses of Heaven’s prison, and wonders if maybe God had truly made a mistake. Why give the angels everything, but free will? Why give the humans nothing and only free will? It was inexplicable, the ultimate riddle wrapped in an enigma, obscured by God’s will and word, that the angels had been asking since Adam and Eve and the garden.

In the time he floats, wavering between ire and despondence, rage and bitterness, he thinks he finds the answer. — The reason why God loved humans above all. The reason why he’d chosen them, blessed them, forgiven them.

Humanity was given the choice. And they had chosen God, in spite of everything.

If he had granted the angels the same freedom, would they have chosen Him?

Extras

PINTEREST.

#accepted #accepted: gabriel

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