#but in any case they were definitely not sleeve tats

[coquelicoq]

just saw the emperor and thought he had sleeve tats. but no they were actual sleeves 😩 not even sure how to dunk on myself for this one but i do definitely deserve to be dunked on

[rainydayathogwarts]

Hey I’m the anon that asked about the JJ fic. I’m so sorry i definitely should’ve checked who you wrote for. If it’s ok could you please do the same prompt but with Emily instead? Thank you so much and sorry again

Hey! It's absolutely no worries, there's nothing to apologise for! Your request just reminded me that I had made a list of characters I wrote for but when I went to look for it, I couldn't even find it, so how was I supposed to expect other people to? Anyway, I hope you like the fic!

summary: tatted!reader is new to the team and she talks back to Emily so one day after work Emily corners her and teaches her a lesson about respect. warnings: public sex (parking lot), bratty!reader (i think), fingering, dom!emily (who's also kind of a bitch:)) 1.4k+ wc

When Emily first joined the team, it had taken people time to warm up to her, so she knew the importance of showing kindness and respect to new members of the team. However, when she'd seen you walk through the bullpen doors for the first time, she knew she'd have a problem with you on the team. Not for any personal reasons per se, but rather due to the effect you had on her. Clearly a few years younger than the others on the team, you walked confidently, wearing an all black outfit; trousers and a top with elbow-length sleeves that put no effort in covering the tattoos snaking down your arms. Emily briefly wondered where else you had tattoos that she couldn't see.

"Well that's no good." Had muttered Derek, trying to hide his smirk while looking up at Emily's reaction to you walking in. It didn't take a profiler to figure out she was attracted to you, and unfortunately for her, you were able to read all her signs. Over the first month of you working at the bau, you had pieced together why she could barely hold eye contact with you, avoiding speaking to you altogether until her behaviour completely changed and she started acting bossy towards you, holding eye contact for perhaps a little too long, trying to intimidate you. She was unsuccessful. Even though you didn't mind that she liked you, sharing knowing glances with Derek, who you had quickly grown close to, you didn't appreciate being treated any less nicely than your other teammates due to a little crush.

One day, on a local case in Quantico, you and Emily had been put in charge of getting lunch by the big bossman Hotch, a list of everyone's order written on your phone. "Hey, y/n," Emily started, at the end of a very awkward drive. You hummed, turning your head to face her. "I'm just saying this out of care for you, coworker to coworker. I don't think your tattoos being on display is professional for work. Strauss wouldn't appreciate them." You tried not to let your annoyance show on your face, instead shooting her a smile and saying "Well I'm sure Strauss would appreciate the fact that they don't get in the way of my work, wouldn't she?"

It was obvious to the rest of the team when you returned that tensions between you and Emily were high. Emily tossed the takeaway bags on the table with an irritated sigh, her jaw clenched tightly. You sat on your chair around the circular table in the conference room, tugging your sleeves higher up your arm. "Hey guys," You started smugly "do you think Strauss would have a problem with my tattoos?" You got a mix of responses, starting with JJ's "Well, she hired you so..." And Derek's straightforward "No she shouldn't." while Spencer only stared in confusion, glancing between you and Emily. "Yeah, I didn't think so." You stated, looking straight up across the table where Emily sat, opening her container of food.

That night, you and Emily had been the last to leave, frantically finishing up your reports. It was a silent race, an unspoken battle. You slammed your last file close in victory, running up to Hotch's office to hand it in before packing up your things, hoping to get to the elevator before Emily magically finished her reports too. Fetching your keys out of your bag when the elevator doors opened, you clicked the button to unlock your car, jogging to pull the door open and dropping your bag on the driver's seat when a shout of your name had you shutting the door frustratedly, spinning on your heels. "Oh shit." You mumbled, watching the taller woman storm over to you. You could just get in your car and drive away before she got to you, but... you were intrigued.

You stumbled backwards when she kept on charging your way despite how close she already was to you, your back hitting the cold steel of your car. The woman stood chest to chest with you, a hand coming to rest on your car right next to your head, dropping the bag she carried on the floor next to your feet. "What, so you think it's funny to just call me out like that in front of all my coworkers?" She seethed, her face only inches away from yours. Your breath shook when you replied "Well I wanted to hear their insight on what Strauss would think of my tattoos before I did anything about it." Gasping at the hand grabbing your waist, you couldn't help but glancing down at Emily's lips, licking your own in the heat of the moment

Emily's breath hit your face when she chuckled and you swallowed, thighs clenching slightly. "It's so fucking obvious that you want me." She scoffed, hand on your waist lowering to grip your hip. "Says you. Couldn't make eye contact with me for a month." You squealed when her lips hit yours in a desperate kiss, both your hands coming up to cup her jaw. Emily pushed her knee between your legs, thigh pressing against your pussy, making you gasp. She took the opportunity to slip her tongue in your mouth, moaning when she felt you grind your hips down on her thigh. "Take this as a sign to respect people when they give you advice, okay?" She panted, biting down on your lower lip. You whined, pushing her away from you by the shoulders so you could bite back with "What kind of advice is telling me to cover up my tattoos?"

"Well unless you want me pouncing on you every day, I'd suggest you take it." She whispered before reconnecting your lips together, her hand lowering from the side of your face so she could unbutton your trousers. Tugging Emily closer to you, you briefly separated your lips from hers to whisper "Yeah, no way I'm taking that advice." Your words were cut off into a gasp when Emily slid her fingers under your panties, finding your clit in no time. "Emily, we're gonna get caught!" You whispered, all hints of sass leaving your voice. "Not if you stay quiet sweetheart." She kicked one of your legs to the side, making you spread them further as she rubbed your wetness around your entrance, pressing kisses on your neck.

Probing two fingers at your entrance, she slowly sunk them into your core, observing your face carefully. The second your jaw fell open, a loud whine escaping you, she slapped her free hand on top of your open mouth, quickly averting her gaze to the rest of the parking lot, making sure you in fact would not get caught. "What did I just say?" She angrily muttered, pressing herself against you even more, trapping you between her body and your car. Both your arms moved, one wrapping over her shoulder to help hold you up, the other coming up so you can grip her bicep tightly. Her fingers were quick to move in and out of you, the graphic squelching noises louder than the sounds of pleasure you were making, head leaning back against the cool steel of your black car with your eyes shut tightly.

Desperate for more friction, your thighs squeezed around Emily's hand, a silent plea for more. Her hand didn't budge against your mouth, even when you drooled on it, instead slowing the hand inside you so she could rub your clit with her thumb while thrusting in and out of you. You're sure her hand will start cramping at any moment now. Your brows furrow, and you moan quietly against her, accepting the forehead kisses she gives you as a compromise for trying to stay quiet. You try telling Emily you're going to cum, but your words muffle against her hand. However, she somehow gets the hint from the way you give her a desperate look and your thighs start shaking, moans getting harder to compress. "Shhh, good girl, good girl." She mutters, leaning so close to you her breath hits your ear.

When your quiet moans subside, Emily finally removes her hand from over your mouth, instead using it to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. She lets you catch her breath before pulling out of you, buttoning up your trousers while you observe her quietly. "Thank you." You finally say timidly. Emily grins, leaning in for one last kiss. "How about you let me take you out on a date this weekend." You nod with a laugh, turning around to tug your car door open. "Oh my god, we're so dumb." You gasp, spinning to face Emily again. At her confused expression, you continue, stating "We could have done all of that in my fucking car." Emily laughs, leaning down to pick up her bag before she walks off, calling out "Good night!"

[mister-ious]

YouTuber!Ghost participating in YouTuber collabs omfg..

There was a million requests for collabs in his comments—many others in videos—since there was no email address linked to the YouTube account. It was mainly fitness influencers that have asked for Ghost to appear in their videos and vice versa. It was kind of funny actually, just seeing comments in an email format under his videos asking for collabs, with thousands of likes from their and his fans.

Ghost was hesitant at first. He didn't know these people; they were complete strangers that just wanna monetise his appearance in their channels. Price and a couple of higher ups that monitored the channel were indifferent about it, they would allow collabs if Ghost wanted to—of course with very strict rules.

There was an influencer that had wanted to make the usual 'I tried military training' with Ghost. Another wanted a fitness competition, something having to do with an obstacle course. Others wanted to make a video to review and go through Ghost's workout routine and diet to find out how he stays so big.

Ghost was coaxed to agree to the invitations by 141. I don't exactly know how, but to make this scenario work let's say they—Price—bribed him with a really nice room at the barracks with a private shower room and offered to do most of his paperwork, or they were just really good at talking him into it.

Sooo... Ghost agreed to do the workout review one with a YouTuber (imagine it was someone like Kim Jong Kook where he'd basically review Ghost's workouts and help him with form and even improve the routine). Ghost was invited to their gym. It's funny to imagine how sketchy the other YouTuber would think of his arrival; Ghost would come with like two other big military people that would make the YouTuber sign papers—it was basically a paper that makes them send the video over to the military incase there was anything that needed to be cut out.

Their eyes widen, gasping, "Wow. You are so much bigger in real life... uhm, sir...?" "Ghost." He grunts from the black surgical mask plastered on his face. His furrowed eyebrows giving himself a stern countenance. Very intimidating but he reaches his hand out for a handshake. "You'll need to talk to my people first before we start." Ghost points behind him; two more big hunks of muscle. "Christ." They whisper.

Ghost in these collabs would wear an all black attire. Hoodie, with a fitted shirt under, and sweats. Sometimes he'd deck out a beanie or baseball hat. However, he wouldn't wear his skull balaclava—or any balaclava for that matter—he'd just wear a surgical mask with some shades. Yes, the fans would go absolutely ballistic for this, making edits and thirst posts of that tiny scar that would pop out of his mask/shades for like five seconds in a video.

I didn't get to mention this but yes they'd also go insane for his full sleeve of tats. Yes, velocity edits on his arms flexing when doing anything. Yes, thirst posts of when they see his eyes crinkle from making a facial expression that they couldn't make of in his videos. Yes, making sound bites of the "I like my women how I like my coffee" joke—anything that he said that they thought was sexy. And yes, Brittany TikTokers making videos about him.

Anyways, back to the collab.

Ghost would definitely let some curse words slip, some bleeped out and some are kept in. He'll be talking about stories from his earlier days in the military, grumbling about how fucking bleeping punishing it was. Also, his voice would still be obscured post editing.

After they'd made their greetings outside, walking into the underground gym, they ask, "Was it hard in the military, Ghost?" "'Course it fucking [bleep] was. That's a stupid question." Ghost curtly replies, slouching his shoulders to fit in the stair case as he muttered something about it being too small. "I don't even know how I survived some of the training—there were too many arseholes for sergeants when I was still new. The real missions were even worse." He goes on further, "Can't tell you shit about all of it on video though. Maybe I'll tell you about them later."

When both of them finally start the workouts and reps, the questions about Ghost's routine and diet finally come.

"How did you get so big? Natty too." "I participated in mandatory training everyday, also went to the gym often. I also ate a lot of protein bars at base, albeit tasting horrible."

Ghost would also be asked to show off his muscle. I think this part would be what he anticipated the most, to flaunt his herculean body, the amount of discipline that it took to look and be this strong. He'd take off the hoodie and roll up the already short sleeves of the shirt underneath, tensing his muscles.

"Good god, dude, you can see his lats and everything under his shirt." They comment, pointing their finger as Ghost rowed one of the machines. "Do you mind if I touch you?" They request, Ghost lets out a grunt of approval as they moved their hands to his back muscles, squeezing the tautness, exclaiming that "He's tough as a brick!"

They'd also ask him for workout/gym advice for the people at home watching, but I don't think he'd have the most useful tips for us. He'd talk about the usual gym tips, but he can't really go into more detail and elaborate since he's a soldier, and none of his actual good tips would be helpful for (most of) the people watching him.

"Also, if you guys are wondering, he sounds exactly like you think he would." They wink to the camera. "S'that supposed to mean?"

Ghost would further talk about his routine, how many sets he does and how many reps there are.; what his favourite workout was; when his favourite time to workout was; if he liked working out with other people.

I workout everyday. I don't have designated days for the different parts of my body; I do workouts that I think I haven't done in a while. I like to do calisthenics, but I also lift weights and use machines. I prefer working out early in the morning, after waking up and before eating breakfast. I also prefer to workout alone but I sometimes can't help some of... my acquaintances from joining me. Er, if I had to choose, I'd pick brutal bench as my favourite workout. It took quite a while for me to learn and properly do.

Then he'd demonstrate what a brutal bench was and his shirt would 'accidentally' ride up his torso showing off his abs. Though they weren't defined, you could still tell that he trained them and that they're strong. He'd mention that he did (still does probably) a whole lot of them in his earlier days in the military, then shows off his calloused palms to the camera.

Lastly, lower body workouts. I can just imagine how mouthwatering Ghost would look in a hip abduction/adduction machine: His hands gripping the seat while he looked up, his thighs pushing in on the steel leather padded squares, each set to 80 kilos (~176lbs), holding in his groans.

really abrupt and weird ending to this one i know but what can i do.

Next video he'd appear on would be him demonstrating and putting an influencer through the training of the special forces. I think some of 141 might appear if they were coincidentally at base for the recording.

[ondynmael]

"Waves In The Sand" furry m/m Part 1 of 5

Check out the PDF on Fur Affinity https://www.furaffinity.net/user/ondynmael

Auxwald (Aux) - Harbor seal - 36

“The Try-Hards” band

Sand - Kangaroo - 28 (drummer)

Shredder - Fox - 26 (lead vocals and guitar)

Taylor - Red-tailed Hawk - 25 (base and backing vocals)

Paulo - salamander - 24 (keyboard and other stuff)

“Holy shit,” Shredder murmured. “Sand, you awake?” He leaned forward in the lounge chair, pointed red ears pricked forward. He slid his sunglasses down his long snout, staring at something across the hotel pool. 

“What is it?” I asked, struggling to sit up as well. I was reluctant to move. The late morning sun was brutal, sapping strength and tension from my muscles and converting into a glaze of sweat that slicked my chest and long kangaroo tail, and glued my back to the plastic slats of the chair. I tried to follow the fox’s gaze.

I spotted the guy he was looking at right away. There weren’t many people staying at the pool besides Shredder and I and the rest of the band. It was too early in the season for any ocean goers save the surfers. And this guy was definitely not a surfer, though he may have been once. He was wearing a speedo with a top that looked sort of like a kimono, silk, baggy short sleeves, no buttons, just a sash tying it underneath his ample gut. His body was smooth and grey mottled with white, like most seals, but he was chubby even for a marine animal.

Before I could stop myself, Iet out a low “woah.”

I was glad Shredder didn’t hear it.

“Check out his tattoos,” I said. 

“Yah, that’s how I recognized him,” said Shredder. “The crazy hand tats, like lightning bolts? It’s Auxwald, this writer I’m, like, obsessed with.”

The seal had his back to us as he set up a fluffy towel, a book, and a huge water bottle on the table beside his chair of choice. It was hard for me to take my eyes off the beefcake, taking in his round, powerful thighs. When he dropped a bottle of sunblock and bent to pick it up, At the sight of his butt cheeks, two round pink and cerulean bubbles barely squeezed into his XXL speedo, I crossed my legs. Just in case something between them got a little too excited.

Then what Shredder had said hit home.

“Bruh, you read books?”

Shredder licked his nose, a familiar gesture that meant he had a secret he was dying to tell. His golden eyes glittered in the shade of his umbrella. 

“Only the kind with a really good climax, you know what I’m saying?” he said quietly. When he saw my dumb expression, he snapped the waistband of his trunks to emphasis his point.

I laughed hesitantly. “Like… erotic literature?”

“M slash m, my guy.”

“Dude, that’s gay as fuck.”

“Yah, which is why I’m surprised you don’t know him, pretty boy,” Shredder laughed. “Biggest man slut in the world, over here.”

“Hey, woah,” I said. “Maybe in the band, not the world.”

“Nah, Taylor’s definitely stroked more dicks than you. You can tell by the way he holds his bass.”

I fell back onto my chair again. “He’d knock your teeth out if he heard that one.”

“Nah, I need those for singing.” Shredder pushed his sunglasses up. “Besides, I probably got more pull than all of you. That’s why I share a room with Paulo, I can kick the kid out when I bring a dude back after the show.”

“The frontman is the sexiest member, how basic.”

“Well, we all know it’s never the drummer.”

“Fuck off,” I said distractedly. I was trying to get a better look at this Auxwald guy -- was that really his name? Fucking writers. They were always weirdos. He was sitting away from anyone else, face partially hidden behind sleek aviators. His broad, silvery marine mammal body lay gleaming in the sun, the silk sash undone for his protruding belly to bask in the sun, rudder-like tail curled in the shade. His weight caused the elastic slats of the pool chair to sag low beneath his girth. He looked totally relaxed, thick arms behind his smooth head and legs spread wide, at ease in his body, like he was unconcerned with anyone passing by thinking “a guy that fat should be covered up”. I didn’t have confidence like that, despite my muscular arms and legs. This was a guy in his element. I felt the space between my own legs get hotter than even the sun could make it.

As I watched, a red and black snake in a polo and boating shorts approached him with a small tray. Auxwald took the icy drink off it and patted his chest with a fist. The server gave a thumbs up sign and walked away as Auxwald took out the paper umbrella and sipped his drink with no straw.

What was that? The heat made me feel stupid but confounded by the exchange. Neither had spoken a word, so they clearly were familiar with one another. Was Auxwald a regular at this hotel?

One of the sparse, fast-moving clouds darted briefly in front of the sun. Shredder rubbed his furry thighs anxiously. “I kinda want to say hello to him.”

“You should,” I nodded, and felt a little twinge of sympathetic anxiety.

“No, I don’t wanna bother him.”

“Do it, dude. I bet he loves guys with shredder-ed bodies like you.”

“Good one, dad,” he said, smiling patronizingly at my worn-out joke. 

But it was true. Shredder was six feet and cut as fuck, a dark, handsome fox with a body like a god of fire and shadow. Between his look, his lyrics, and his showmanship, he’d become an instant icon in the queer punk scene. When I’d joined The Try-Hards three years ago, he was already able to whip the packs at concerts into a frenzy, and his charisma had only grown since. Everyone loves foxes. 

I was more intimidating looking: eyebrow and septum piercings, husky, possessed of that classic brute-ish look most kangaroos have. I was the oldest member of the band and looked like it. I was also the newest, and with Shredder in the spotlight and Paulo and Taylor close behind, sometimes I felt like I was fading into the background, metaphorically and literally. 

But that suited me fine. Behind the drumset was where I belonged. Sometimes I wished I could get the same level of attention as Shred, but if I was feeling really horny before a show, there was usually someone working at the venue who wanted to suck the dick of a band member in a backroom. That was enough for me.

Shredder jumped off of his lounge chair. “Ok, I’ve got the perfect plan.”

“Plan?”

“To get Auxwald to sleep with me, dumbass.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Really? You’re gonna land the erotica fiction writer? How old is he anyway?”

“Mid-thirties, but whatever, that’ll just make it easier. Think about it: someone who has to write erotica probably isn’t getting any in real life, right?”

In fact, I figured it was probably the opposite, but I kept my mouth closed. Auxwald was pretty fat – maybe he did have trouble finding partners who were into.

Shredder tightened the drawstring of his trunks, baggy around his toned hips, and wagged his tail. He took off his sunglasses and put them on the side table. “Wish me luck.”

“No,” I said. I stood up too, grabbing the sunglasses and putting them on my own face.

I headed to the pool edge and sat down, watching through shaded lenses as Shredder strolled to the deep end. The cold water was magical on my feet, and I slumped forward with relief, curling my tail around so the end could dangle into the pool as well. 

And then I sat up again, arching my back as straight as possible. I had never had a six pack my whole life, and a few years ago I’d given up trying for them, dropping the stupid diets and quickly getting even softer around the middle. I did have rock-hard abs! They were just covered in several pounds of chub that bulged out when I sat down. My six pack insurance protection, Taylor called it. I tried to lean back, eliminate the paunch. Probably just made it worse. But there weren't many people sitting around the pool anyway.

Shredder was shaking his whole body and slapping his sides like a professional swimmer. Was he? I didn’t think so. He danced back and forth, tucked his ears back, did a few quick squats, the fucking drama queen. Finally, with an audible gasp, he did a fairly impressive dive into the eight foot depth of the pool.

I glanced at Auxwald, not turning my head, just using my eyes, concealed behind Shredder’s sunglasses. I wasn’t sure if he had seen the dive or not, but he did look when Shredder came up for air and started a powerful but splashy front crawl. I wasn’t sure if I should be impressed or amused. Maybe both. With a body like Shredder’s, all feats of athleticism, even those poorly executed, looked pretty sexy.

Auxwald was definitely looking now as Shredder clumsily pushed off the far wall and turned around for a second lap. He covered the distance twice more, but by this point, two older men were stepping into the shallow end, and Auxwald had picked up his book. 

You’re losing ‘em, bro, I thought.

Shredder finally stopped, panting heavily, flicking water off his ears. He paddled over to a ladder on Auxwald’s side of the pool and, in one swift motion, heaved himself out of the water. He shook himself vigorously, whipping his tail, and stood up to his full height. On land the fox cut a much more impressive figure. The red highlights in the closely-cropped fur on his head and broad shoulder shone brilliantly in the mid-afternoon sun, and his toned chest heaved as he caught his breath. His trunks clung to his thighs and groin, showing the silhouette of his impressive penis. I’d had a taste of it before, sucking each other off at orgies or when we got drunk and stoned and bored enough. Approached by a guy that looked like Shredder, nobody was going to say no. 

“Whatcha drinkin’?” Shredder’s powerful alto carried clear across the pool. I swung my big feet lazily in the water and watched Auxwald closely.

The chunky seal turned to check out the person blocking his sunlight. Shredder popped one hip out and wrapped his tail around to the front of his body to squeeze out the water.

“Mai tai,” Auxwald replied at last. I strained to hear his softer voice over the background noise of distant ocean waves. “The bartender makes a killer. Tell him Aux sent you and he’ll make it a double on the house.”

“Sounds good.”

“I was wondering when you were gonna come over,” Auxwald said suddenly. 

Shredder blinked in surprise, but that fucking player, he covered his shock instantly with a sheepish grin. 

“I made it that obvious, huh?”

“That clumsy dive sure wasn’t practice for the swim meet. Seems like you’re looking for something in particular.”

“You caught me,” Shredder said. “I actually recognized you.”

At last, Auxwald set down his book. “Is that so?”

Shredder wagged his tail. “Yah. You’re that writer of the ‘Bridge Boys’ series. I’m a… huge fan.” And on these last words, Shredder put hand on his waist, letting it pull down on his shorts to reveal the sharp V cut into his lower abs, as if pointing to his dick. I watched Auxwald closely to see if his eyes followed the gesture.

They did, and lingered there..

Maybe it didn’t mean much. This guy wrote erotic literature for a living: he probably spent half his free time studying people, research on his novels. And the other half he spent online, watching porn. But he probably conducted research offline, as well. 

“Happy to hear you’ve enjoyed my work. You should check out my more recent stuff.”

“I’d love to check out more than that. Maybe get a personal interview.” Shredder sideled a little closer, and I found myself wishing I was over there, standing by that powerhouse of a man. Sitting down next to him, my short fur touching his sleek marine animal skin, sweat mixing in the blazing heat of early summer.

Fuck. I was kinda down bad. Well, it wouldn't be the first time I was jealous of Shredder. 

And then I noticed Auxwald was looking at me. 

“Who’s your friend?” he asked nonchalantly. 

Shredder glanced at me. “That’s my bro Sand. He plays drums.”

I tried to look casual as I raised a three-fingered peace sign. “‘Sup?” Auxwald turned back to Shredder and I felt myself start breathing again. “You guys are in a band?” he said.

“Yah, I’m Shredder, guitars and vocals, and Sand, with two other guys. The Try-Hards.”

“Mm. Certainly looks like you do, gym rat.”

Shredder laughed. “Damn, ok. I totally deserved that. But hey, you should come see us perform tonight. We play punk pop, surf rock, a little hardcore, a LOT of gay shit. It’s the first night of this queer music festival going all weekend.”

“Oh, believe me, I’d love to watch you two performing.” The innocuous comment sounded dirty as fuck coming from him, and I felt the blood rush to my face. “But,” Auxwald went on, raising his drink for another sip, “I’ve got shooting tonight. Maybe another time, hot stuff.”

Shredder's ears pricked at the complement. He stepped even closer and placed a hand on the back of Auxwald’s chair. “Free tickets on me. And,” he added, practically pushing his groin in the writer’s face, “I can get you a private interview with the lead singer after the show.”

“Sounds like a fun time,” Auxwald said, and now I could hear a touch of impatience entering his voice. “But like I said, I’m busy. Break a leg, though.” He said this last thing while looking at me. Then picked up his book again.

Shredder was clearly being dismissed, but he wasn’t getting the message. He wasn’t used to being turned down so he never knew when to quit. I caught his eye and made a slashing gesture. Shredder heaved a deep breath, his muscular pecs rising and flexing as if in one final peacocking gesture to retain Auxwald’s attention. But then he just said, “could I get an autograph, at least?”

“You’ll be here tomorrow?” Auxwald said without looking up.

“For sure.”

“You can find me in the dining area around noon.”

“Absolutely, man. Maybe we can chat more then.”

“Maybe we can,” Auxwald replied. I couldn’t tell if he was teasing the poor guy or being genuine. 

As Shredder hopped back in the pool, I followed suit, and we play wrestled like dumb kids for the remaining half hour before our early dinner plans with the other band members and a few friend. In that time, the waiter brought Auxwald two more Mai Tais, though I never saw him actually order anything. He just sat there, quietly, the sun gleaming off his hefty forearms with those wild tattoos, and his big belly, and knocked back drinks like he owned the place.

[deniigi]

So @petrichordiam and I are menaces and giggled over our ideal dinluke flower shop AU for like 4 hrs and then I wrote this.

Title: murderer next door

Summary: Din works as a florist and Luke works as a bookseller and they’re both assassins trying to keep the other off their turf.

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

Two times now, Luke had crashed past that flower shop, and two times now, the fucker inside had taken out his mark. Now all Luke had to say about the whole thing was that it was too bad that he was going to have to kill the guy.

Han told him not to turn back. The mark was dead; the mark was gone. They weren’t fast enough this time, but there would be others.

Luke just couldn’t let it go, though. He had rent to pay, and McFloristApron over there was smashing through all his targets and making that nigh impossible—regardless of how many marks there were in the area.

Luke waited until Han had closed up shop for the night and remained there in the dark with his arm slung over the back of the chair in the backroom, surrounded by books. He rolled his shot of whiskey in its tumbler. The sound against the old wood table offered no comfort.

He stood up and left the glass to get his laptop.

He wasn’t losing to some florist, Han, sorry. Only one family could take innocuous cover on this street, and it was them.

 ---

McFlorist’s name wasn’t listed on the florist’s staff page, but then again, none of the people on that page had names. In fact, the website’s whole vibe was all wedding-chic until you clicked on the ‘staff and contacts’ tab. Then, it may as well have been a line of mugshots.

Luke squinted along the row of increasingly involved headgear until he got to someone with a reasonably-sized neck with no tats. The ladies on either side of him appeared to have sapped all the ink out of McFloristApron. He wore a mask over the lower half of his face and gave a stoic thumbs up to the camera.

Under his picture was the number fifteen.

Damn.

Luke was only making eight per pop. Who the hell was this guy eating up all the feeder fish, huh? Them lower division folks had to eat too, you know.

Well.

‘Lower division’ in a sense of the word. Being two times undercover wasn’t super glamorous, Luke had to say. But when your dad fucked it up for the first family, sometimes you had to take what you could get.

Luke pointed at Fifteen on the screen.

“You and me, pal,” he said. “You and me.”

 --

 Step one was to get paid first.

Luke chased down three marks on the other side of town to pay the rent and the medical bills for now. His hand’s new sleeve felt like a dream. It didn’t overheat like the nylon black one did, and the hand was far less shiny now as a bonus. That had certainly reduced the number of people catching something move out of the corner of their eye.

Was it worth fifty grand?

No.

Was it worth the last nine that Luke had left to pay on it?

Yeah. It was definitely worth the nine.

 ------

 Step two was to go make it clear to Fifteen McFlorist that he and his folks needed to back down in the face of the established guard.

Luke put on his biggest sweater and the thickest glasses he could find. He stole Chewie’s messenger bag with all the pins on it. He slung it over his shoulder and rolled the hems of his jeans up just a smidge too much, then scurried over to the florist’s across the way.

Fifteen was off to the side of the register, fucking around with something in the refrigerator. Luke busily and noisily looked through the wall of foliage on the side of the shop nearest the window. He hummed. He hawed. He made anxious nerd-sounds until a voice asked, “Hi, can I help you?”

Luke glanced out of the corner of his eye and found that Fifteen was standing facing his way now. His mask was gray this time. His apron was orange. His boots were too heavy-looking for florist work.

“I’d love that,” Luke gushed breathlessly. “See, my mom just got engaged and I’m on the way to her house.”

Fifteen lifted his chin slightly.

“What’re her favorites?” he asked tonelessly.

Terrible customer service skills, dude.

“Roses,” Luke said.

“Ours are shit today,” Fifteen said. “How about dahlias?”

Luke didn’t know what those were but sure.

“That sounds great,” he said. “You have any in pink?”

 --------

 He watched Fifteen brutalize some pink, orange, and white flowers into a bouquet wrapped with a silver bow and was sure to smile every time the guy looked up.

“That’ll be $37.59.”

Sir, these are dead flowers. There is no need for that price.

“Can I put it on card?” Luke asked. “How long have you worked here, if you don’t mind me asking? I work just across the way is all.”

Fifteen’s dark gaze flicked up. His hair was covered by a gray beanie two shades darker than the mask.

“At the club?” he asked.

“The bookshop,” Luke corrected him with a shy, but widening smile.

Please be gay. Please be gay. Please be gay. Leia wasn’t going to want to cooperate. She thought it was beneath her to establish boundaries like this.

“Blue paint,” Fifteen said. “Yeah, that place. How long have you been there?”

“My brother-in-law’s place, actually,” Luke said. “I started there last year after I finished college.”

Or, you know, maybe even eight years ago when he’d finished college. No one had to know. Baby faces don’t kiss and tell after all.

“Huh. You must like it there,” Fifteen said.

“It’s fine,” Luke hummed. “You like it here?”

“The kid does.”

“Oh, you’re a father?” Luke asked. “How old?”

“He’s three,” Fifteen said. “Godson. His folks were in an accident; didn’t make it.”

“That’s terrible, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Luke said. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Fifteen handed him his card back. Luke’s hand didn’t close in time to catch it and it fell onto to the wooden counter.

“Sorry about that,” Luke said, reaching for it with the other hand. His knuckles bumped into Fifteen’s when he went for the card at the same time. They both paused and went for the card again with the same result. Luke laughed.

“Slippery, am I right?” he asked, flattening his fingers on top of the piece of plastic and snatching it away.

“Very,” Fifteen said. “I hope your mom likes them.”

“Me too,” Luke smiled. “I’ll see you around—What was your name?”

“You can call me Armando,” Fifteen said.

“Armando,” Luke sounded out. “It suits you.”

It was a falsie.

“And yours?”

“James.”

“It suits you.”

It didn’t.

“Bye now,” Luke said. “Thanks for your help.”

He let the door fall closed behind him with the tinkle of the bell.

 --------

 He informed Han that “Armando” had a toddler and received only a warning look and a scolding for all his effort. Han told him not to get jealous. If there was a kid in the balance, then Fifteen, for better or worse, was going to have to see each day after the next until there was no longer a kid in the balance.

Luke offered to call CPS and report “Armando” as an assassin.

“You do that and those folks across the street are gonna call the VA and tell them I’m an assassin,” Han said. “Lay low, Luke. Lay low.”

Never.

“Christ. At least until that thing’s yours then.”

Luke glared at his right hand.

“Gimme a double,” he told Han without looking away from it.

 ------------

 It was never easy to hunt in the daylight, but Luke wasn’t here to do easy things. He needed to get Mark No. 1 alone. The man took the train once a week to a gentleman’s club on his lunch break. Luke needed a change of clothes.

He had a rainbow windbreaker, white boots, and fishnets all ready to go.

He got on the same train as the mark and dropped his phone nearby. It clattered loudly and the case came off. Luke swore and squatted to drop it at the same time that two girls next to him decided to become good Samaritans. They crouched with him and one of them caught the phone first. They handed it back with a smile.

“I like your jacket,” she said.

Luke let his face struggle to find a smile at her kindness to him, a sweet little twink trying to find the pride parade that happened two weeks ago.

“Thanks,” he said. “I like your bracelet.”

He stood up. The girls were pleased with themselves. Luke glanced back to find Mark No. 1 turn his head abruptly away.

Come here, Markie.

Do you like what you see?

  Mark No. 1 didn’t make it out of his hotel room. A pity. Luke took the elevator down and huffed and puffed about a cheap date when he passed the front desk. He stopped abruptly and went back to ask the receptionist what the cross street was. She judged his go-go boots.

He told her she wasn’t his type. Her manager gave him the cross street.

Mark No. 2 had different parameters.

 ----------

 Mark No. 2’s parameters involved chasing him through a maze of boiler rooms and dumpsters. He was chump change towards a hand that Luke hadn’t wanted in the first place, but alas. The anger still roared.

Luke cornered him, still in go-go boots—no need to sacrifice style for speed—and watched those pale eyes look every which way as Mark No. 2 realized that there was no getting out of this.

“You got options, friend,” Luke said. “I can bring you in hot or I can bring you in—”

“—cold.”

His head snapped up and he lurched out of the way just as the crack of a bullet exploded in the alley. A car backfired around the corner in a sympathetic cough. Luke stared at the body then twisted around just in time for a thick glove to latch onto the back of his neck.

“Well, look who it is,” Fifteen drawled.

Luke glared out of the corner of his eye.

“Hands off, Armando,” he warned.

“I like your boots.”

“You’re gonna love ‘em when they’re on your dick,” Luke warned.

“Back off, Nayberry.”

Fucking hell, Han. This is why they should have set up boundaries weeks ago.

“I prefer ‘James,’” Luke said sweetly.

The glock levelled at his face didn’t care.

“You took my mark,” Fifteen said.

“Aw, poor baby,” Luke pouted. “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you took mine.”

Fifteen’s orange apron was gone. He’d swapped it for an old leather jacket—something he could more easily wipe clean. He should’ve gone for patent leather. The brown really wasn’t working with his grey mask-beanie situation.

“Stay in your lane,” Fifteen warned.

“Only if you stay in yours,” Luke beamed.

Fifteen huffed.

“Bookstore,” he scoffed. “Who’d you give the flowers to?”

Luke tsked.

“Myself, jackass,” he said.

“Do you even have a mom?”

“What the fuck business is that of yours? You even got a kid?”

Fifteen’s stare was deadly—the cooling body before them notwithstanding.

“Take one step near him and we won’t be talkin’ so friendly, yeah?”

Mm. Yeah.

“You owe me four grand,” Luke informed Fifteen as the glock went down and Fifteen left him to go take a pulse.

The man’s back stiffened.

“Four?” he asked. “You took this job for four?”

Luke rolled his eyes.

“I got bills, Armando,” he drawled.

“How do you keep that shed open? Have you sold even one book?”

Rude. Luke was a great sales associate. If he actually cared to put his mind to it, he’d be worthy of a promotion to manager.

He pulled the rising legs of his shorts down and adjusted the weapon in his windbreaker. He couldn’t leave the alley the way he’d gone into it. Someone might have seen. He was going to have to take a side street. Hmmm, which one? Choices, choices.

“I’ll give you a Dad’s discount. Gimme two grand, and you can have him,” Luke negotiated as he thought.

“Two.”

Hey, no need for that tone. This was a great deal.

“What’re you gonna do with two?” Fifteen asked, already knelling down to heft the body over his shoulder as proof for payment.

“Buy some more tights,” Luke deadpanned. “Two, final offer.”

Fifteen stood up all the way and gave him a weird look. A long look. His beanie was pulled down low, but Luke got the impression that he was frowning at him.

“Take the four,” he said out of nowhere. “I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

Luke recoiled a step at first, then recoiled another when the reality of the situation hit him full in the chest.

“Forget it,” he snapped.

He spun around and started to leave.

“Wh—hey. HEY. Where are you goin’?”

“I don’t need your fuckin’ pity,” Luke called ahead of him as he set to climbing the chainlink fence separating him from the adjacent dead-end alley.

“You what?”

“You heard me,” Luke said.

He jumped down. His left hand found his right wrist and squeezed as he walked.

 -------

 The phantom pains kept him up all night, and it was definitely that and not the humiliation that made him call in sick. Han told him to answer his therapist’s emails. Luke told him to go do something useful and hung up. He rolled onto his back on his bed and focused on letting his body relax, his jaw unclench, his joints go limp.

There was sunlight finally streaming through his apartment windows again. It had been months.

Spring was almost here. He just had to hold out a little longer.

 --------

 He came in to work the next day and found an envelope on his chair in the backroom. It was thick.

“McFlorist dropped it off,” he said between aggravated sounds at his spreadsheets.

“Is it tax season already?” Luke asked him as he tried to burn a whole in the center of the envelope with his mind.

“Sure fuckin’ is.”

He stepped forward and snatched up the envelope, then deposited it squarely in Han’s lap. He made an unattractive noise of confusion and alarm.

“For the taxes,” Luke called as he went out to grab his lanyard and name tag. “Gotta keep this place open for another six months at least.”

 ------------

 There were new books in. A new shipment to shelve. Two kids’ displays to set up. And Luke was actually good at this stuff, thanks; he started stacking.

He got peace until he nearly got to the end of the second display, and then what he had was a heart attack. Two liquid brown eyes surrounded by an ocean of ringlets stared up at him from between his knees. The child curled a hand in and out in hello.

Luke jerked himself up to locate the thing’s parents immediately, and promptly found himself in deadly eye-contact with Fifteen.

Armando.

“You were gone yesterday,” Fifteen said flatly.

Luke looked between him and the kid. He was pinned between two enemy parties. How to escape, how to escape.

“Are you sick?”

How to escape. How to escape. How to escape.

“Are you hurt?”

H—what?

“I’m fine, stalker,” Luke snapped with more heat than this present cover allowed. He caught himself and pulled it back. “I’m fine,” he repeated. “Thank you for asking. Is this…?”

Fifteen blinked once. The child blinked once as well. It was creepy.

“He’s mine,” Fifteen said. “And apparently the only thing that will get us through the next two hours is a book.”

Dude.

“Kids are kids,” Fifteen said. “You got any books?”

Luke stared at him, then checked the shelves to make sure he hadn’t teleported into another dimension.

You always had to check.

“We’re in a bookstore,” he said.

“He can’t read,” Fifteen said, pointing.

The kid grinned. His teeth were gapped in that toddler sort of way. He was kind of cute.

“You can’t read?” Luke asked him.

“Hi,” Baby said.

Oh no.

Luke loved him.

“How much?” he asked Fifteen.

“Touch him and you’ll be permanently comatose,” Fifteen said.

“Not if I died out of spite,” Luke said.

There was a long pause. Then Fifteen started laughing? Kind of hard?

“Oh my god, that was so unprofessional. I am so sorry,” Luke blurted out.

Fifteen collected himself and shook his head. His little one giggled and reached for Luke’s fingers.

“Boo,” he said.

Luke couldn’t feel the hand, but he could feel all the heart.

“Book?” he asked, crouching down. “Do you want a story?”

“Mmmm.”

“I have the perfect one,” Luke told him. “It’s about a caterpillar. Do you know what a caterpillar is?”

He got a slow, exaggerated head shake back and forth, back and forth. He stood up straight.

“I’m conducting a temporary kidnapping,” he informed Fifteen. “Do I have consent?”

Fifteen looked from him towards the front entrance and mulled over the merits of leaving his kid with his rival assassin. Then he shrugged.

“Consent granted,” he said. “Luke.”

Luke’s heart stopped.

“James,” he said.

“Your name tag says ‘Luke.’”

Well, fuck.

“Luke Nayberry. It suits you.”

Hhhhhhh. This was karma, wasn’t it.

“Thanks,” he gritted out. “And yourself, Armando?”

“Din.”

Woah, look out. Mr. One-Syllable-Cool-Man had entered the building.

“Din, what?” Luke asked as his arm registered tension. Din’s kid had latched onto his fingers and started pulling incessantly with a chubby hand gesturing in the direction of the wall of children’s books.

“Don’t you worry about it,” Din said.

“Fine, go trip then,” Luke said.

He swore that there was a smile under that mask.

 ----------

[written-beyond-the-grave]

Wonder

They say we live in the moment, that the past is always gone, and each day is something new, a stepping stone into a future we dream of even in the cold. For you, that was snow, those wintry days of bluster and ice. You see the earth of yesterday covered as white as any new page and the toddler in me rises as if armed with a rainbow of crayons, eager to set that right. Yet today, you were happy to simply walk in it, create a few footprints of your own. You watched them tumble, those feathered crystals, their chaotic flight to form a blanket that could not be more uniform, more orderly. Yet for some their destination is to come to your hand, to alight upon those ungloved fingers and let your warmth be their spring melt: and to also toss a snowball at the unsuspecting yeti.

You barked out a laugh as you caught an oblivious Phil in the face with the snow, it was all short run due to Phil making a large snowball that’d definitely cause some damage if it hit a human. Making a sprint to dodge, your snow boots crunched under the fresh now to behind a forgotten sled. The impact of the snowball caused the sled to push you first face into the snow, though muffled you could hear the chucking Phil and the other Yeti’s made. Pushing yourself up from the sled with your mitten protected hands you made a show to shake the snow from off your wool coat and black braids that cascaded down from under an aviator hat.

“Nice job Phil,” your frozen lips mumbled, “Now back into the Kremlin I go.” You made a short walk back to the entrance of the Pole, well, one of its many entrances. As per usual the Pole was covered in ice, but not as much due to it being mid July. The bottom half of the workshop that was commonly encased in a block of ice was now sporting a thin layer. That also meant that there was danger of falling icicles as one narrowly missed you by a hair. You froze and stared at it for a minor moment, “That’s nice,” before going in. 

The absurdly pulsing heat in the workshop was a rude awakening to your nearly frozen lungs and somehow turned your lips number the they already were. Leaving you winter gear at the door on their respective hooks and cubbies you made your way to your favorite place: the kitchen. Now matter how many times you’ve been in the workshop, it still amazed you. The various tall columns of sturdy wood, the signature red accents with hints of silver and cold. All questionably mixed in with architecture made of solid ice that did not melt in the sweltering heat of the Pole. A feat for the ages, you called it. Your feet in thick socks took a stroll to the kitchen, looking every which way of everyone's hard work. Since Christmas was a little more than halfway there the yetis and elves had cranked up their work ethic, you could tell by the madness going on. Fighter planes were taking test drives under the skylight, zooming past bubbles carrying nuts and bolts, and a few fairy dolls. The floor was littered with a toy army reenacting what could be the Siege of Yorktown, red coats versus blue.

Choooooooo. Choooooooo.

“Woah!” you yelped as a train almost tripped you up. It left an impressive cloud of steam as it went by. Madness indeed. Stopping in front of a worktable full of Rock ‘em Sock ‘em robots there were two elves that decided to micic the fight going on. You let out a small cackle as Steven got knocked off the table from a right hook by Susan, the nearby watching elves erupting in cheers and another half looking disappointed as they turned to Sal and started to pass him off coins. Gambling Christmas elves, also a regular off the books occurrence. 

Pushing past the kitchen door you greeted Gretchen, a yeti who was head honcho of fit for a Yeti, or North when he came in for a late night snack. The appliances were a bit too large for you to utilize without a stepping stool of some sort.

“What’s on the menu for today?” You quipped as you took a seat on a tall stool, it had extra foot rests so you could climb. Gretchen made a series of hand motions and grunts, then turned around and pulled out a bowl of soup with grilled cheese on the side.

“Ah, your famous three sister’s tomato soup and grilled cheese supreme, huh? You always know the way to my heart.”

Gretchen looked away abashed and shrugged.

You took a big spoonful of your soup and promptly started to puff out your cheeks and blow, it was hot. But then again you never did like waiting for food to cool down. Gretchen gave you a low look and shook her head in amusement letting you enjoy your lunch she went back to meal prepping. Dipping your grilled cheese into your soup you looked around the kitchen admiring its trimming. Black marble table tops with deep redwood cabinets that had white oval patterns on the edges and snowflake embellished wall edges gave a sort of shine to the atmosphere. That and the floating crystalline chandeliers, each piece was somehow connected to all the others and moves in a circular motion around the ceiling. 

Another bowl of soup and a tray was put beside you.

“Again?”

Gretchen gave a nod.

Of course.

You finished up your soup, “Guess I’m off for delivery.” You got off the stool and took the tray and went on your merry way. Although the Pole was incredibly large there was always a shortcut, out in the corridor was a large pulley system that could take a package out almost anywhere in the house. Pushing the tray into the box and climbing in you pressed a hammer symbol button on the wall and watched as the door closed and felt it surge. While on the short ride you pulled out your watch and checked the time, the north star was on the bottom right hand corner. Dinner would be soon.

The elevator staggered to a halt and slowly opened out to a blindingly lit floor from the direct sunlight. You cautiously stepped out, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen a fraction of the floor in this place. Taking the tray out into your hands you marvelled around. There were beakers, some empty, some filled with liquids and concoctions, bubbling or sparkling in the light. There were crystal balls, wands, staffs, wrenches, gears, tools of both magic and technological trades both jumbled together across the tables. Books were crammed nearly to the ceiling as space had ran out long ago on the floor to ceiling bookshelves. Row after row of neatly lined up books with their spines facing outward, colour coded with dots, advanced engineering section arranged in alphabetical order, mythos section, folk magic section with low shelves and floor cushions, comfortable leather arm chairs, tables for quiet study, muffled stillness.  Prototypes of planes, wooden cars, and train parts stood as if trophies on the ledges of the room. Even an old record player with a horn, a mini piano, matryoshka dolls, and a glass case of some floating shadow made an appearance 

And in the middle of it all, crouched over a desk in his signature red sweater, was North, looking completely in his element in this mix of science and magic. Where color-coded wires formed their own abstract meaning, mathematics meets craft, form meets function. Where technology erupts from the hands of artists and the minds of philosophers, the heart of the truest believer, or the eyes that saw wonder in everything. In his huge hand was a tiny bottle with a single black diamond, which he was frowning at thoughtfully.

You’d met North, or Nik, as you’d like to call him about a year ago in a small cafe in Paris. It wasn’t too hard to spot a 7’2” densely built man in a small coffee shop, nor ignore his French with a Russian accent. Meeting, well, being in the presence of father Christmas was a complete accident. But, what wasn’t was him taking notice of the river chapel you were beginning to sketch that was right next to the cafe. It was tall, spiky, and completely gothic. One of France’s oldest architectural structures you had heard. With a half eaten croissant by your side and a cup of cold espresso you had settled down. All until North looked around for a moment and took in your character. 

His first thoughts, you looked dainty: the white layered romper added to that effect and the sunlight on you directly made you look ethereal. Like liquid gold in the most conventional of places, or a sunflower bathing in the sunrays. Your hair was put into two puffs on your head with a braiding pattern in the back to keep your curls from going a stray. 

“Maybe try tilting pencil to the left, yes?” You paused for a second and put your hand on your chest looking up. There stood a tree of a many, an absurdly long white beard that was an accent to largely innocent looking deep blue eyes and bushy graying eyebrows. The mystery man’s hair was put into a bun and across his arms there were two things tatted as far as you could tell with his long sleeve rolled up.

Naughty.

And on the other arm: Nice.

“I’m sorry, what?” Who was this man, and what gave him the audacity to talk to you? Couldn’t you mind your business in peace?

“Your sketch.” He gestured with a large meaty hand, “Maybe it would do good to tilt pencil to get desired effect, no?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.” You picked up a Russian accent, what was a Kremlin doing this far near the equator? He pulled out a seat, but before he could sit he gave you the silent question. You nodded and North went ahead and sat down.

“May I?”

You wordlessly handed the pencil and watched the man go to work, he looked concentrated as he started back out the window and cobblestone walkway to the chapel. You watched his big hangs engulfing the pencil work, he made some quick strokes and shaded in some parts lightly as he went. 

“Like so.” Finished he pushed the sketchbook back to you. It was well timed since at that moment he was called up for his order. You should see what he meant by tilting the pencil, the slanted edge gave the sketch depth and made the lines bulky and gray enough to seem like bricks. You looked back outside to the warm light, he even got the gargoyle statue in the corners correct.

He came back with this beverage and sat down, “You like?”

“It’s alright.”

He almost spit out his, from what you could tell, a frappuccino with peppermint. Who does that?

“I’m sure you could do better.” He bit out in a laugh, “What brings you to Paris?”

“I got tired of the winter of the big apple.”

“Ah, a New Yorker I presume? Should be used to the cold?”

You leaned forward and grabbed your forgotten cup with your hand and took a long drink. “I could say the same for the Russian. What? Get tired of the frosty frosty?”

He shrugged. “Something of the sort.”

“Something of the sort,” you repeated, “You don’t strike me as sitting in a small cafe and enjoying the pending sunset type.”

He leaned forward and took the candy cane out of his drink and munched on it, “Then what do I strike you as?”

You did a quick analysis, “You seem a little too jolly to be out here, you’re a little far from home, hmmm?” You mused, “You’re… big, I assume a worker of sorts. Maybe a factory? But then again you do a grandfather type fatherly vibe going on. But I think I’ll stick with the private manufacturer owner… What do I strike you as?”

North was surprised you deduced that much in such little time, you almost had the right idea. Almost. “Depends,” he huffed and pulled his arms across his chest and gave you a deep gaze, “Are you naughty, or nice?”

The air was thick and suffocating, you had only been there for a good forty minutes and a husky Russian was giving you quite a plight. You went through the checklist in your head: tattoos, a gold ring on his thumb that made him look like a pimp, man-bun, thick accent, eyes that looked too genuine, and a soft interior that didn’t match his exterior. An oddity that conflicted with your scheduled time in Paris before you hit Germany, an oddity that you had no time or desire for… However, when in Paris, do as the Parisians do. 

You stared at him for a moment, “Name’s (y/n).” You held out your hand.

He shook your hand, you could feel the warmth and the calcoususes that graced his hand. The greeting was surprisingly gentle for a man of his size.

“Nikolai.”

“Delivery from the polar express.” You walked up behind him and placed the tray far off from his papers and creative process going on his desk. You pushed up your tippy toes and kissed his cheek, you felt the hairs on his long white beard tickle your nose.

He leaned into your touch and you felt his cheek heat up slightly. “Sunflower!” North snaked an arm around you and pulled you into a hug, you giggled.

 “What’s on the schedule today Nik?”

“Djinn is stuck in diamond, may have been a few thousand years old.” He turned around fully to show you the tiny bottle, “Have yet to find place of storage.”

You stared at the bottle for a moment, “You cease to surprise me with you always bring in here. Last week a seemingly cursed puppet, and the week before that was an actual cursed clown doll that kept switching places around the shop.” You shuddered at the memory, never in your life had you felt violated by a clown doll barely two feet suddenly appearing behind you in a mirror. A bellowing laughter pulled you out from your thoughts, North slapped his belly.

“Clown is gone now,” he paused and wrinkled his eyebrows, “hopefully.” 

At that you tilted your head and narrowed your eyes questionably, how the hell did you end up here?

“Hilarious.”

Another chuckle erupted. You turned around and walked closely to the window formed by ice, actually, more than half the floor in North’s special experiment room was made of ice. Looking outside the yeti were still out there this time talking the reindeer for walks, hard to believe but Blitzen was giving them a hard time. 

“Almost forgot to mention, guardians will be over for dinner and game night. Been a while seen we last met.”

“Game night?” You turned around to face North and leaned against the cold ice. “You mean… Bunny will be there?”

You stifled a smile as you saw North’s shoulders freeze.

“Sunflower－”

“Say less!” With an enthusiastic voice you bounded up back to North’s desk, and this time slowly pushed the tray towards him that he ignored the first time around. “Eat… you’ll need energy for game night.”

His big blue eyes met your chocolate ones, in opposition for whatever your voice signalled for the night. He didn’t like it, game night was fine. However, you and the Easter Bunny were not a good mix. Last game night ended up with paint splattered everywhere at the Bob Ross themed night and a hopping mad Aussie. In your defence, color theory had no place in abstract design when art had no meaning but to be consumed by an audience… a philosophical approach of course. And this sparked a mini passive aggressive argument between you and the Pooka, one thing led to another and what was previously a nice community den turned into a colorbomb of curses, laughter, and acrylic. After that it became known not to leave you and Bunny alone on artistic matters. Civil was not a word in your vocabulary. 

Sighing, he dug into his soup not wanting to know what you had planned for this night. He’d hold Sandy on standby if anything occurred. Grinning in success you gave the hulking man a quick hug and bounced off.

North shook his head in, whatever fire you were prepping for, he didn’t want the smoke.

  Dinner had been a success, you had gotten Gretchen to whip up some Americanized Chinese food. Not the healthiest, but when working with ancient spirits it was important to introduce them to average human delicacies. Thus the table had a large bowl or lobster fried rice, egg rolls, sweet and sour lo mein with bourbon chicken. MSG had never tasted so good.

“So, how are Mr. and Mrs. Claus doing?” Jack teased conventionally sitting in a chair for once, slouching back he took a sip of his cider. “All is well in paradise? And the master bedroom?”

Tooth dug her elbow into Jack’s ribs.

North put his hands above his head and smiled with glee, “Jack, why would not all be well? Has new evil come? But, eh, why would something be wrong in bedroom?” He tossed a confused glance to you, while you were busy stuffing an egg roll in your already filled mouth. It was no surprise that the innuendo went over North’s head, he wasn’t very adept in sarcasm either. 

Swallowing down your food you answered. “Amazing, it’s like a white Christmas. Every. Night,” then gave Jack a wide toothy smile as Tooth choked on her drink and Sandman made a series of symbols summing up that Jack got owned. You’ve never seen a three hundred and some spirit go as red as a strawberry before. 

“Nice going show pony,” Bunny piped up after having a taste of the vegan egg rolls. “Now, dinner was amazing, but we came here for game night.”

North cleared his throat, “And you’re right Bunny.” North let you take it away.

You smirked and pulled out a larger than normal deck of cards, “I present to you all… Uno.”

“So, a card came?” Jack reasoned.

If your smile got a tad bit more malicious showing off your pearly whites. “Not just a card came. Total warfare. Us humans have been playing this for years, its broken up friendships, marriages, and sacred barber companionships. The true test of skill.” You seemed to have mistified Sandy, he was leaning over the table staring at the box in your hand with heightened curiosity. “So lets play!”

Was it just a game of Uno? Yes, but did you find some way to spice things up? Indeed. You had taken the liberty to write down a few options on the special cards in uno. With the help of a sharpie marker you marked down two options on every card, either do as the card said or do the dare. In your reasoning Uno was already too much of an easy game the guardians could figure out, so why not cause more calamity? During the dinner you watched Sandy and Jack go ham with the cider you accidentally spiked with North’s peach flavored Vodka.

“... And then, Man in Moon decided to replace my fear with wonder, and hope an－”

“Uno.”

“What? You were all playing without me!”

“Well, you looked pretty involved in that story,” you shuffled some cards around in your hand and glanced back up, “now draw four.” You got comfortable on the red velvet carpet and crossed your ankles. Everyone was spread out on the rug, Jack Frost sat himself criss-cross while Sandman lazily lounged on him. The tooth fairy, or Toothiana was more invested in the cup of steaming hot chocolate than the game before her while the Easter Bunny was slowly gaining a steady hand of cards. 

North grumbled into his beard and retrieved the additional cards. He glanced down at his hand and huffed, this game had been going on for about thirty minutes, it was time to put things into motion.

You put down a draw four card and it was Jack’s turn.

Draw the whole deck or streak down the hall naked.

“Wait… wait.” It was a minute before Jack could catch up. “I think this card is defective.” Wanting to see what Jack was going on about, Bunny took a look and his ears stood up at attention, already knowing why he turned to look at you all cozy.

“Shiela, what is this?”

“A draw four card.”

“But, what’s on it?”

“Options, I know you both can read.”

He gave you a flat look.

You rolled your eyes and sat up straight, “I took the liberty of making Uno interesting, besides spiking the punch, I may have redacted some of the rules of Uno for my own purposes.” You felt North shift beside you, “And I may have used Nik’s high grade bottle to do so, but that isn’t the point.” You shuffled around and pulled out a small stack of cards and passed five randomly to each player. Taking the rests and shuffling them to the deck in the middle, while doing do, “So Jack, you make your choice?”

He shared a look with everyone.

And ten seconds later he was down the corridor screaming. Huh, you really thought he would’ve taken the whole deck. Stunned into silence the group recounted what they just tried to not see. Everyone could only assume the horror the yeti and elves were witnessing as you heard echoing alarmed yells from the yeti and falling items. You’d have to apologize to North later.

“Bloody show pony.” Bunny sighed.

“So who’s next?” North questioned trying to move things along. “Sandy?”

Sandy glowed a lazy gold and pulled out a skip card that Toothiana could get herself skipped or prank call an ex. She chose to skip.

Up next was Bunny, considering you all were playing stacksies he got rid of more than half his cards and put down a draw four on top of a skip leading it to North.

“Take 34 cards or finish… the whole bottle of alcohol. Bloody hell, Sheila you’ve gone mad.”

North could only stare at the card intently and close his eyes in prayer, of course it had to be you. 

You nudged the bottle, or what was left of one of his favorite bottles. “Drink up big guy.” You know he needed it with what was left to come in the game.

Wordlessly he unscrewed the bottle and downed it.

Oh, it was going to be quite a game.

You know how people say ‘wow last night was totally a blur’ after a trip from Vegas, or one night from Miami? Or when people sing along to Katy Perry’s Last Friday Night as she recounts the questionable teenage acts she’s done before she hits her midlife crisis? Or possible a disaster remake of The Hangover. You never really got that sentiment until now because last night really was a blur. You tried to rock and bring my what happened last night but all you can come up with Jack stripping, Bunny’s explaining how breeding worked between two Pookas, Sandman projecting one of the most erotic dancing you seen to date via sand, tooth knocking out from a complete sugar rush, and North’s tribute to Rick Roll. You're so somehow got back into your bed and you can only assume North had something to do with that as he usually always does. 

Rolling over in the heavenly plush mattress you scooted over to your side of the nightstand. A cup of coffee, it was still steaming and an advil. Definitely North. You smiled at the thought and popped the pill then the coffee, he even remembered you loved vanilla bean. As you continued to drink your coffee you began to feel the pounding headache leave you, but the room was still somewhat spinning. Putting the empty cup back on the nightstand you stretched forward and felt your shoulders pop.

“Jesus Christ.” You yawned and pulled off your bonnet. You surveyed the room for any signs of north. His red robe laid on the armchair of his study desk, and his side of the bed was cold. Crawling over to check if his slippers were gone, there were still there. Huh. Knowing North, he could drink so a hangover wasn’t an actual thing for him.

What time was it? You hopped out of bed and shimmied to the curtains, preparing yourself for the sunlight to harass you. But that never came, either meaning that you slept into the night or it was some ungodly hour before dawn. “You’ve got to be kidding.” Trudging into the bathroom to brush your teeth and check the time, you noted that it was approximately six in the morning. This early, and North was already gone? You slipped a silk robe over your shoulders and headed out in search of the big man himself. After questioning a few yeti and stopping for a breakfast burrito you found North. All the way in one of the Pole’s lower compartments, the training room.

North was practicing with his sabers when you arrived. You had to stop for a moment to appreciate it. Every time you thought you’d seen everything the Pole had to offer, there was something new to find.

The room was large, probably so the guardians could all practice in it at once if they had to, to get used to fighting together. Something you’d seen them do from time to time. The walls could have been anything, under all the padding. The floor was covered in a thick layer of something that gave underfoot, and you weren't sure what it was beyond gentler on someone taking a tumble than wood or stone would have been.

One section of the wall near the doors was full of hanging weaponry. You pictured the fabled “ole Saint Nick”, a jolly man that was all about the children versus the reality of the man who owned all those weapons. 

At the moment, North was the only one in the room. He had his sabers in hand – blunted practice ones, you wondered if they were as heavy as the real thing, from where you were standing they seemed just as heavy. But North made it look easy – and he was going through a strenuous routine.

It was on North had been doing for awhile, if the sheen of sweat was anything to go by. After all, North was built more like a  bear or barbarian weightlifter than the 'bowl full of jelly' he was called; he was husky for sure, but was still muscle. There was strength under that layer of fat, stronger than people gave North credit for.

At some point North had taken off his shirt, full torso on view and honestly you did not mind. You got a nice view of his back muscles and a large intricate compass tattoo in the middle of his back. It was large, in the middle of the compass lay a crest of some sort with two sabers meeting in the middle. Outside of that harsh black ink spread into eight points, each facing north, south, east and west and everything in between. The main arrows were in the same thorn-like pattern as the rim of the inner compass. And above the north pointing arrow laid a phrase I am the master of my own fate, and under that were words written in perfect cursive calligraphy I am the captain of my soul. The true words of a bandit. Your eyes roamed farther up his back and saw a tiny almost ignorable detail, a small star to the right, well ,the second star to the right. The north star that always pointed to home. All of that shining by the sweat pouring down North, pulling your eyes back down you caught a small peak of the bandit tramp stamp he had gotten one drunken night. You stifled a laugh, you remembered the story behind that one. 

Watching as North continued his routine, this time going ballistic on a wooden dummy. You took an easy walk behind him and viewed him up close. 

“Hey big red,” you greeted.

 North staggered quickly and turned around in the same motion to point his wooden saber directly at your face almost touching you. If it was anyone else your face would have been bashed in but, looking into his startled eyes you probably should stop sneaking up on him. Last victim was a bowl of cereal. North was still breathing hard as he awaited for his mind to catch up to what just happened.

“Sunflower.” He heaved out as his chest dropped, “Did not see you!” He opened his arms wide and you got a good look at his chest. As broad as it was, it was equally covered in curly as white as his beard, there were some hints of black. Before you could veto his hug, you were already wrapped up in his arms. You listened to his heart race.

“Good to see you this morning.” You muffled, and tried to pry his hands away from you, man was this guy a space heater.

He let you go. “After game night, I send guardians home and take you to bed. You fell asleep after Jack’s 8 mile reenactment.” He looked at you closely and pushed a stray braid behind your ear, “Was an interesting game night.” The bottle of vodka North had gulped down earlier did not help erase his memories of what happened a couple hours before. 

“I could tell by the hangover, thank you for the bedside assist.”

North nodded and went to put his sabers back in the armory, you followed.

“So, I gotta ask you, big guy… Come ‘ere often?” Your eyes raked down his back, and you saw his muscles tense as he shuffled away from your view. This was new. You blinked for a few seconds in surprise. You would’ve never thought of North as being body shy or ashamed of anything for as long as you knew him. He was always fearless, impulsive, and more of a ‘think things later’ type of guy if the occasion called for it, but never… self conscious. If anybody was, you always figured it would be you, comparing yourself to North's friends. All completely exceptional people who keep the world safe, with seas sof stories and accomplishments to achieve, places they’ve been, or...the list was cut off abruptly as you realized how long North had been quiet.

“Hey,” You said moving closer to North, “You know I didn’t mean any harm.” You put a hand on his back to help alleviate some pain, but it only made the man a bit more tense. “Um...” you paused, searching for the words. The right ones were refusing to come to you, and you didn't want to make this worse, especially if he was reading things wrong.

Fuck it.

“You know I love you, right? All of you.” you said.

You were rewarded with a blush spreading across the parts of North's face you could see and the tops of his shoulders. 

He began to turn around. “Is very nice, what you say,” North said, one hand hovering over his belly. “But...” North wouldn’t meet your gaze, knowing better you dropped the subject and moved back to give him some space. Mumbling out an apology you took your leave. Making a few turns you found one of the dumbwaiters and crawled in. North would be in the training room for a while mulling off his thoughts, or his private study. Pushing the hammer symbol you were now back at his magic lab. You wouldn’t just skip over what happened with North just a minute ago. 

Taking a seat at his work desk you let out a deep sigh and leaned your face on your palms. Santa Clause, you were dating Santa Clause. Also known as Saint Nicholas, St. Nick, Kris Kringle, Pelznickel, St. Nikolai, and formerly known as the Bandit King. All multiple names for the same face, same body, and same soul. All affiliates to a man who brought joy to the world once a year, operated a toy making syndicate for hundreds of years, fought evil on a regular basis, and tinkered with magic and science on a borderline mad scientist type of way. A being who had a laugh as loud as lions and spread happiness everywhere, that never understood sarcasm, and was hard on himself and unsure at times if the toys that he did make were even worth while.

You closed your eyes in thought. Why haven’t you ever peaced together than North ever had issues himself? Sure you helped him out of toy slumps, but what you witnessed today was far beyond that. The jolly giant himself wouldn’t even look at you.

North was, and is, the Guardian of Wonder. By definition he literally saw wonder in everything around him and puts that into his toys and other creations. The lights in trees, the magic in the air, a diamond in the rough, and any tough situation he found something redeeming.

You didn’t know when you started to walk around, but your legs led you to a particular item. A snowglobe. You tentatively reached out and gave it a closer look, it was of Hunley’s Circus, one of your first official dates.

But, how does one see wonder in everything but themselves? Better yet, how do you make the guardian of wonder who's ever really cared and loved others, give a little love to himself? You rolled the snowglobe in your hands a little more, deep in thought. 

Lightbulb.

As quick as the idea came, it flashed away. But you knew exactly what it was. With one final look at the globe you put it back into its rightful place and headed out the room. What you had planned would take all day to execute correctly, but you knew it’d be worth it by tonight. But, all you had was time. And time was your new best friend.

 Twas the night to a long day, and as predicted North had been avoiding you. North couldn’t draw his eyes away from the mirror. His shirt tossed aside, he locked his eyes onto the expanse of skin splayed out in front of him. North bit his lip and focused in on the extra fat accumulated around his middle, his fingers deftly trying to flatten it out to no avail. Deciding to take a break from the self torture North put back in his white night shirt, he was sporting a reindeer themed onsie with the top half wrapped around his waist like a jacket. 

Making his way to your shared bedroom where he was sure you were asleep by this hour, he stepped in and immediately felt sus. There you were, braids down giving you an innocent look and one of his white shirts that contrasted nicely with your skin. The only source of light was from the lamp on your side of the bed. You closed the book and placed a bookmark to come back to it later.

“Hey, Sunflower.” You smiled brightly at his greeting and motioned for him to come to bed. The bed dipped under his weight as he pulled his legs over the bed to rest properly. You crawled over  to him and gave a quick peck on his cheek then went back to your side and slipped under the covers as North did, not forgetting to turn off the lights. In the dark you shifted around in bed to face North back, it was now or never.

“You never answered me,” you began as a whisper, “You know I love you, right?”

North didn’t bother to answer, but you continued.

“You wanna know how I knew? It was Germany, at the circus. Some kids couldn’t afford tickets to get into the circus and were sitting outside listening to what was going on inside. Their eyes were shut so tightly. We were on our way to that circus when you stopped for those kids, you were so concerned about why they were out there on their own…”

“Why long faces?”

“Sir, w- we don’t have enough to buy tickets so we’re doing the next best thing.” A young boy with fiery red hair supplied holding his sister by his side. They were twins.

North got up from his squat and looked around for a second and then spotted a balloon cart. “Wait here.” Leaving for a few minutes to purchase some balloons, North came back with a smile. “You’re just in luck,” he took out an orange balloon, “the real show has just started.” He began to inflate the balloon and when it was a decent size he molded it into a poodle, and handed it to the little girl who stared at him in awe.

He then took a green balloon and white balloon and molded it into a turtle for the young boy, “Here!” With a laugh he handed the boy his turtle. “Do you want to know what’s special about these creatures?”

“N-no,” the boy answered and his sister shook her head as well.

North eyed them both, “They fly for the heart’s of the truest believers.”

The boy gave him a skeptical look, “No way mister.”

“Ahhh, but am telling truth? See,” he pointed his head to the girl’s poodle and saw it begin to take flight around her and stop to nuzzle her nose. This elicted a gasp from the young boy and an inaudible ‘no way’.

“How do I make mine’s float?” Desperately looking to North for answers.

“Believe.” It was a simple command, but the boy looked in distress as he tried. North slapped his belly and chuckled.

“Looks like you did it.” And he did, the turtle was swimming through the air and doing a figure eight. 

You smiled from the sidelines watching the interaction, this was far better than a circus. North stepped back and placed a hand on the small of your back ready to lead you to the circus, but you stopped him.

“I think we have a little time before the show actually starts.” You reasoned with him as you maneuvered yourself back to the kids. 

You never knew the look North was giving you that moment, but it turned to be one of his most treasured memories.

“No, please look at me.” You began to sit up straight in the sheets, “You know I love you. And I’m not talking about you when you’re happy, but when you’re sad, angry, and down right depressed… ya know?” At that he slowly shifted up, but facing away from you in bed, at that you slowly moved closer and sat behind him and leaned your head against his back, “but, I don’t think I ever showed you how much I love you.” 

With that you reached up and quietly took North’s shirt off you to reveal a mustard yellow lingerie set and slowly moved yourself up North’s back and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Let me show you,” you whispered in his ear and hoped he'd allow it. 

“Please.”

North slowly turned around to meet your gaze, slowly pulling him back onto the bed you moved to straddle his torso as you ran your hands slowly up his arms. 

“You know what I love the most about you?” You questioned while your focus was still on his arms, rubbing them gently. You could feel the muscle tense and jump at your ministrations. “Your hands,” you slip your hand into his and played with his, “it's created so many marvelous things.” You brought it up to your lips for a quick kiss and held it near your chest. “Its punched through who knows what, fought so many battles, and sustained so much damage, and yet it can still be gentle. Drying tears, or holding me tight when I need it.”

You were looking at him, taking your free hand you tilted his head to have your eyes meet. “They’re calcoused, but know passion when you trace my face when I’m asleep, or rub circles on my back when I can’t sleep.” You leaned in closer and got quieter, “They’re hands that love.”

And then kissed him, North’s lips were slightly chapped in contrast to your soft ones. He kissed you back and squeezed your hand, pulling back you put his hand next to your face and held it there. Pulling your hands down, you toyed with the bottom of his shirt and nonverbally asked permission. He didn’t make a move to stop you, so you slipped it off as he lifted his hands to aid you. Placing your hands back on his chest you raked your hands through his hair and kissed him once again.

Gradually you moved your kisses down his neck and past his stomach and over his thighs. As you made your journey, you gave his nipple a little suck and nip, and you took his onesie down too. You slowly spread his legs and got between them, without breaking eye contact you began to kiss between his thighs. You could feel him tense again.

The room was suddenly illuminated, North quickly looked up and saw that the usual wooden ceiling was temporarily changed to a night sky. Looking at you he searched your eyes for an answer. You gave no tells. It seemed as if the sky was truly in your joined presence, North stared a little more and noticed the one star shining brightly than the rest. The second star to the left.

“I love your thighs,” you gave his thick thighs a squeeze, “You're so sexy." you half moaned, half sighing you kissed a lazy, open mouthed trail along the curve of North’s thigh as your hands smoothed up and down his flesh. You stopped to grope gently at the supple skin of his thighs, quivering with tension as North struggled not to instinctively shy away.

“Trust me.”

You continued up and body and splayed yourself over his belly and laid a soft kiss on it. He was burning up and you could tell. 

“I-I trust you.” Came a breathy whisper. He couldn’t believe you were doing this just for him, North’s eyes moved up your body and slowly relaxed at the attention.

You took a point to admire his belly, as round as it was and decorated with stretch marks that were shades of pink and purple. 

“You talk down on yourself, and don’t even see the wonder of yourself.” You began and slowly traced a stray mark that curved onto his back. “You don’t even realize how you carry the autonomy of the universe within your skin. The holy bodies that made you the way you are decided to leave a mark, a reminder of where you come from.” You laid another kiss as you began to make your way back up, “A place of infinancy, a place of wonder, and place were the north star guides you home from way up above.” You wrapped both arms around him, “A plac- no, kingdom of beauty that I refuse to let you crumble.”

North’s eyes began to water, but you continued, “A perfectly constructed man, who has a heart purer than gold or the untouched waters of the amazons, with the spirit of unbridled fire, and voice as loud as thunder.” You slowly wiped his tears away as you felt his arms come to circle around you. 

“A man worthy of love.”

You stared directly into his eyes, even while crying he still looked heavenly.

“You’re beautiful.”

You breathlessly whispered and watched North crumble completely into cries and whimpers. Holding him close you ran your hands through his hair and massaged his scalp, you kissed his temple and let him let it out. You let him know what he was, not his body, but his hands, his mind, his own north star.

His own piece of wonder.

[momothegeckho]

24 Weeks...

HxH Kurapika (Continuation of 26 Weeks)

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　and then they started　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

24 weeks...

Was he keeping count now? It was a Saturday, the day after his first conversation with you. In all truth, he did not want to say goodbye to you, and unknowing if he would actually see you again, he stopped you and all in one breath, decided to ask you out. Although it is true he doesn’t have time to waste, he still didn’t know what to do. What do people even do on dates? 

He decided to meet you at the park, and so here he was, an hour early, fiddling with his sleeves. He was nervous yet excited to be with you the whole day, and wanted to impress you. Even though he had claimed it to be an outing between friendly strangers, he really wanted to impress you, because you looked so great to be around and he needed to see more of you. 

He checked the time and realized that he had in fact arrived an hour early and still had to wait at least 45 more minutes before you arrived. At least, that is what he thought. He was pleasantly surprised when you arrived with 40 minutes early, looking around for him. Everything was still for a moment. He just watched you as you walked. You always looked nice prior to this day, but today, it looked like you put in more care into what you were wearing.Your hair was neater than usual, and... were those new shoes? Maybe he was just seeing things, but you had probably rushed out the house because the tag to your shoes stuck out of the back of them. Had you bought new shoes just to wear for today??

Answer is: you did. You have never been out on a real date before (Other times it was creeps trying to date you once and rail you.) So you made sure you looked your best today. You hoped that you hadn’t over dressed for the outing as it was a bit more than you usually wear, but you did look cute and you felt even better. You tried a new shampoo and body wash set this morning and you couldn’t lie, it smelled wonderful. On one hand, you were hoping Kurapika would notice this, and on the other, you were wondering why you cared so much about what he thought. You decided to let it slide, however, and resume your search for your “date”.

Kurapika decided to approach you before you went too deep into the park without him, and he did, in fact, get a strong scent of the shampoo you were trying. Yes, it did make him lose all sense for a short second. since he had never smelled something so wonderful before. He placed a hand on your shoulder to alert you of his presence, and you smiled as you greeted him. You noticed that he looked very casual and calm, yet he managed to catch your eye so quickly. He was dashing.

The date had started.

You were a bit sad at first because out of nowhere, the air had become awkward as you two sat in the park watching the lake, and a group of ducks swimming around. No one had anything to say, and that was your biggest fear, because you did not know Kurapika, and the only way to figure him out was to find the right question to get him to open up.

“Would you like to go to a museum? I know of one nearby that is exhibiting a row of ancient paintings?”

Either he was reading your mind, or he was a lover of the arts as well, because once he had asked that, a conversation had managed to come up on the arts and you were obliged to keep the conversation open because this is the first time you have seen him smile so much and wait...

did you heart just speed up?

It felt as if it was about to burst... A feeling that you have never felt before, well, except for the usual crushes you get on people you didn’t have the courage to go up to. There was just something about Kurapika, however, that made you feel more of a connection to him, something deep inside of him was drawing you closer in, and you were already willing to take the plunge.

After you two had journeyed through the museum and witnessing the sights of many unique and well painted pieces, you both went back to the park and had ice cream, sitting in front of the lake once more to relish that moment once again. This time, however, there was no awkward feelings. This time, it felt natural, and comfortable . You enjoyed this friend date more than you thought you would. In a split decision, you went closer to the pond to get a closer look at some baby ducks you had seen enter the water with their momma. Kurapika went with you, being the gentleman that he is, and smiled as you watched the baby ducks with love in your eyes. You were clearly one to relish life and the beings within it. Unlike how he had been for years. 

Of course, with any date, one thing has to go off of plan, and the momma duck thought you were a little too close to her babies, and so, being a caring mother, she protected her kids by attacking you. Keep in mind, you ever dabbled in martial arts, and you weren’t the most aware of your surroundings at the moment. You got scared and began to fall forward into the water. Kurapika, trying to help you, grabbed your sweater, but you had already fallen so far, and so you took him with you. And so, there you two were, sitting in the shallow part of the lake, soaking wet and kind of cold, but somehow, that didn’t matter to the both of you, You just laughed at each other, and in that moment, Kurapika felt normal, and he couldn’t ask for anything more ganuine than this oment, because this date had gone perfectly, even though he was drenched in lake water. But the sight before him was wonderful. You looked so happy and so bubbly. He truly worried about nothing, because nothing could make this day any better.

“Hey I’m sorry about your clothes. Do you want to stop by my home to shower and wash them?”

Scratch that. You had just asked him the most wonderful question. He got to see where you, such an interesting and artsy person, lived. He inwardly kicked himself for how excited he was. Of course, he didn’t turn down your offer, but he also needed to remind himself that he should not be so willing to violate your private space. He picked you up out of the water, but before leaving, you stopped him to once again, look at the ducklings and their mom, even thought Kurapika had to slightly pull you away so a repeat wouldn’t happen. 

Both of you were freezing as you walked with Kurapika to your apartment. Even though the weather was decent for Spring, it was far from hot enough to walk around wet. Though you didn’t mind much because you two laughed and talked the whole way back. Who knew you two would hit it off so well? 

You were still hesitant, however. 

The date was wonderful and so far from perfect that is was perfect! But you couldn’t help but wonder about one important detail. You were willing to let Kurapika know about you,

But any time you asked Kurapika about himself, he became stoic. Always brushing off the question and redirecting it back to you. In this world you live in, you understand that some people are more closed off than others, and it seemed tat now, you had a crush on one of those people. It was okay, though! You were willing enough at this point to gain more of Kurapika’s trust, and if it took a while, then fine! You would wait. You decided that he was worth waiting for.

Kurapika couldn’t be more elated when you brought this up to him. He hadn’t noticed how secretive he was being and blamed it on habit, but hearing you say you would wait for him to open up was the highlight of his day.  Never had he heard such a declaration, and it was a new feeling to him. He would cherish those words far more than you knew.

You managed to impress him with whatever you did, and at this point, his head was in turmoil, because he has never felt like this for anyone. Yet, here he was, ready to open up to you once he was ready.

Could it be possible that he was already beginning to fall for you?

“Here we are! I have a washer and dryer, so I’ll just throw our clothes in together. Here. You shower first.”

You were definitely hospitable. By the time he had gotten out of the shower, you had already provided him with a rob for him to wear until his clothes were dried, and even made tea just in case he was too cold. You were like a saint. Your home was well kept. He noticed that you had a lot of paintings. Some on the walls, some on easels. You were a painter? He thought you were pretty talented, but he decided to keep to himself until you were ready to discuss it. Over the time you two spent together at your home, you talked more about common likes. The attraction to nature, and books, and Kurapika learned you were a writer. Admirable, yet so humble about your work. You had allowed him to read one of your works, and even though he wasn’t into poetry, your words were so deep hitting that he couldn’t put it down. You managed to learn some things about Kurapika as well. Not only his addiction to reading, and his physical training, but that he was also a Blacklist Hunter, and more sadly, the last remaining member of his Clan. You had cried for him, and he was happy that you had shared such empathy with him, even when he said you didn’t have to cry, you still remained with tears in your eyes, and even if it was a bit out of line for you, you hugged him, because not only had he managed to go on this long with no family, he had no place to truly call home with loved ones, and that was heart breaking for you.

Kurapika was overjoyed. His heart ached out of pure love for you, and your passion. He was truly attracted to you.

23 Weeks left...

This one looks so long winded ugh I hate that. I’m working to become better so I hope it improvess,,,

[angelic-holland]

tattoo!artist!tom giving the reader her first tat but she has a really low pain tolerance.

Tattoo artist!Tom really did something to me holy fuck... apologize in advanced for this...

***

Anyways you decided to get your first tattoo, it was your first tattoo of course you put a lot of thought into the concept. And when you walked into a shop that had great reviews and asked if any artist was free and interested in helping bring your vision to life on your skin, Tom came sauntering out from his tattooing station. He was hot, a backwards cap hiding what looked like a buzz cut, a tight black T-shirt and even tighter black jeans. You saw a snake tattoo curling down his left bicep. He had a half sleeve that was space themed on his other arm.

“Hiya love, heard you were looking for an artist, name’s Tom, did you want to take a look at some of my work?” He was chewing cinnamon gum and when he scratched his nose you saw the small silver stud. You were weak in the knees before even seeing a needle.

“Sure,” you follow him into his room, paintings and pictures hung up on the walls. He shows you an entire album of tattoos, talking animatedly about each one and their meaning. You tried your hardest to focus on that but each time he turned a page his bicep flexed and there was this one vein that ran up his forearm to-

“Love, I asked if you had any specific ideas in mind.”

“Right, well,” you go into detail about your idea, a card from a deck of cards. Queen of diamonds, the card for your birthday. Tom listened, sitting in a rolling chair right in front of you. You looked down at your lap as you talked, swinging your legs back and forth on the tattoo table.

“That sounds like a really cool idea, why don’t you get a drink of water, use the restroom, relax for a moment while I sketch up a design. Where were you thinking of putting it? Did you want it the same size as a normal deck of cards?”

“I think the same size as a regular deck of cards would be good. And I was hoping to get it on my thigh,” you poked the skin there, grateful you decided to wear shorts today.

“Excellent, now, the water fountain is down the hall, bathroom next to it, then you can come back and watch me work. This your first tattoo I’m guessing?” He raises an eyebrow at you and you nod.

“Great, when you’re back I’ll walk you through everything I’m going to do.”

You make your way to the water fountain, taking a few sips before going to the bathroom. You splash cool water in your face, patting it dry with a paper towel before walking back to Tom.

“Okay, so you wanted solid black outline, and maybe have the rest of the cards face down and slightly tilted underneath the Queen of Diamonds card? How does this outline look?”

“I love it,” you nod, sitting down on the table.

“Okay, so essentially, a tattoo machine is a set of tiny needles that pierce the skin over and over again. They inject the ink into the second layer of skin, that’s why they’re permanent. It’ll feel like a cat is scratching you, sort of over and over again. But everyone has different perceptions of the pain, so if it hurts too much at any point we can go ahead and take breaks, whatever you need to get the best tattoo you can get.”

You watch and sit in comfortable silence while Tom sketches your tattoo.

“How’s this?” He asks, holding up the completed sketch for you.

“Wow that’s amazing, it’s Uh better than anything I could imagine.”

“Ah, you flatter me love. This was all from your mind. Okay, so what I’ll do is take this sketch and put it on a transfer paper so a stencil can be applied to your skin. I’ll be right back alright?”

You nod and you totally don’t watch his cute butt when he walks away. When he comes back he puts on these black latex gloves and walks you through each thing he does.

He has you lay down on the tattoo table, and when he grips your thigh to start cleaning it you have to bite your lip and not groan. Then he shaves the area and lays the stencil down.

“Okay, so first I’ll do a short line just to start, and uh, love?”

You look down at Tom, one of his hands is holding your thigh, his fingers dangerously close to the inner portion, the other holding the tattoo machine.

“Yeah?” You manage to breathe out.

“Need to stay nice and still for me, and uh, keep breathing, nice deep breaths through the scratches okay?”

“Alright, yeah, okay,” you nod, taking a deep breath.

“Okay love, I’m going to do the first line now.”

You try your hardest not to move or make a sound but it hurts, like a lot. You whimper and Tom pulls the needle up, gently wiping the area.

“Not too bad love?” He looks up at you.

“It hurts,” you breathe out.

“Do you want to stop?”

“No, keep going,” you manage to get out.

“Alright, keep taking nice deep breaths, you know, sometimes focusing on pain in another part of your body can help. Maybe if you pinch the skin of your arm? Just a little distraction,” Tom gently rubs the skin of your thigh to try to calm you down slightly because he noticed your breath pick up. You do as he says, pinching your arm as he starts again.

You take deep breaths and he pauses every so often to make sure you’re doing okay, rubbing your thigh ever so gently.

The closer he gets to the outer thigh with the needle the more it hurts, and tears sting your eyes but you make it through it.

“Good, good girl,” Tom smiles at you and holy fuck, you definitely didn’t mean to moan when he said that, but you did and it’s out there now. The gentle buzz of the tattoo needle, the gloved hand rubbing your thigh, your tiny moan at his words. The way he smirked up at you before going back to work made you almost melt. You attempted to make small talk, asking if he had any other tattoos.

“Yeah, slowly working through a back piece, bit by bit. Would you ever get another tattoo?”

“We’ll see how this one goes.”

“Well love its all finished.”

“What?” You genuinely couldn’t believe it was done but low and behold when you looked down at your thigh, the piece was finished. You had no idea that the dampness between your thighs would totally distract you from the pain of the tattoo but it didn’t. Tom was grinning to himself as he cleaned it. You were sort of in a daze as he wrapped the piece and told you instructions on how to clean it.

“Thank you, this is gorgeous,” you smile as he helps you stand up.

“My pleasure love, here’s a sheet of paper with all of the instructions, I’ll take you out to the front where Addy can ring you up.”

He guided you back to the front desk area with a gentle hand on your lower back that has you practically shaking.

He leaves you to pay and you leave a hefty tip for embarrassing yourself so much. Right as you’re about to leave he comes jogging out, handing you a business cards

“In case you have any questions about taking care of the tattoo.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah thanks.”

You didn’t notice until you were halfway to his car the handwritten note on the other side.

‘For such a good girl, I’d love to work on your canvas again sometime,’ below he left his personal phone number.

[positive-lesbian-vibes]

I recently found out that I'm a lesbian (I realized I don't like men at ALL) and I'm femme, but sometimes it bothers me that people might not know I'm a lesbian. Is there any way I can still be femme but dress in a way that Fellow Gays would be able to recognize me? (I realize that stereotypes don't matter- I'm just asking in case there's any advice you can give. If there's anything ignorant I said, please let me know, because I'm still pretty fresh to this. :) )

this is a thing! it’s called flagging, its dressing in a particular way in an attempt to signal to other wlw that you like women!

i can super relate, people never even entertain the idea that i might not be straight, and it can be hard to meet other women when you dont even come up on their radar

before i get any further, i should give a quick disclaimer: there is no one way to “look gay,” and you dont have to conform to any sort of fashion standard to be a part of the lesbian community. if you’re a lesbian, then congrats! you look like a lesbian! but sometimes other people don’t say it that way, which can be disappointing. so i get it. i’ve been there.

there is a lot of stuff online for flagging, but some basic things that a lot of women do to signal that they are into other women are very femme-friendly, although there are certainly ways to “look gayer” that might not suit your style

I have a “how to look gay” tag but knowing tumblr, i cant imagine any of my posts on it would come up with a search, so here are my hot tips!

some common (but sometimes used by straight girls) things would be:

 a flannel, i prefer mens because they are softer and warmer, but tying it around your waist can be a nice femme touch, although i will layer with flannels too.

you can double-denim/canadian suit it up. one way i like to do this is with like a black denim pant and a loose denim shirt or jacket over the top of a t-shirt. if double denim is too tacky for you, splitting it up into two separate-looking denims can help. but theres nothing wrong with a tacky denim get up!

things like undercuts or sidecuts, with one section of your hair buzzed short. may not be your style, but definitely gets the message across if youre into it

asymmetrical piercings. i have a double cartilage in my left ear but nothing special on my right. i hear industrial bars are a big thing, too. nose rings can be pretty hit or miss, i tend to believe they are gayer than other people do imo. but i have a nose stud so... i guess i cant really talk

in the same vein, tattoos. this one is also pretty hit or miss, because there are PLENTY of straight people who like tattoos (tats are cool, who can blame them) but i always think twice when i see a girl with a sleeve or a shoulder tat.

less conventional makeup. it doesnt even have to be too out there, but maybe like, you just dont wear foundation, or only do lipstick, or go really bold with your brows. my first term at college i saw a girl with really bold brows, a couple face piercings, and a flannel, and i just. Knew she was into women

boots. they dont have to be combat boots. but combat boots are pretty gay. people usually say wlw dont wear heels, but i know some who do.

accessories. this is a big one. i know a lot of lgbt people who are big on the rainbows, like rainbow bracelets, earrings, headbands, belts, pins, buttons, etc. generally i feel a little too loud with big rainbows all over my body, but there are other options! i like the interlocking venus symbols as a lesbian symbol, as its a bit more subtle but also relatively recognizable. i have two interlocking venus symbol necklaces, and a hat with a little rainbow on it. some lesbians like the labrys from the labrys flag, but it doesnt really seem as recognizably gay to me 

theres definitely a quirky kooky femme fashion niche that i (sadly) cant say im a part of, but a bunch of femmes like to dress kind of tacky. there’s a big joke about “tacky lesbian fashion” because lesbians can be known to wear some interesting combos, like crocs with a skirt, etc, but this can be dressed up, too. louder prints that might not be too appealing to the average straight man OR woman can be a subtle way to give off vibes

hats. the classic beanie. even in the year of our lord 2019, i know nary a straight girl who would dare don a beanie. its just so classically lesbian. but you can opt for a baseball cap or bandana, too. backwards hats? very gay. my belief is that this stems from the classic lesbian pastime, softball.

dyed hair. usually unconventional colors. this one can go both ways, too. pastels tend to be “less gay” but that doesnt mean there arent lesbians out there rocking some pastel pink hair. streaks or an ombre of a bright or non-natural hair color give off vibes. the ends of my hair have been purple on an off since i was a freshman in high school.

the way you carry yourself. this one isnt a way of dressing, yeah, but it can be just as effective. my gaydar tends to go more off behavior/body language than appearance. it obviously isnt 100% (none of flagging ever is) and takes some practice, but I’ve generally been pretty good at figuring out if someone is gay from interacting with them. it isnt instant, takes practice, and can easily be wrong, but its usually my method of choice. unfortunately, this method almost NEVER gets the point across the straight people, who tend to think if you have long hair then there’s no WAY you could be a lesbian. body language to look out for: not sitting in chairs properly (a meme that reflects reality) like “manspreading” but as a woman, generally more confidence/self-assuredness, focusing more on women, being less “meek” and more “aggressive” with taking up space, accommodating for women’s comfort but not for mens, disregard of the male gaze, that sort of thing.

lastly, all of these things are just suggestions of how to “look gayer” based off stereotypes, some of which were played up by the lesbian community in an attempt to find each other. you dont have to change how you dress, act, look, or anything else to be a real lesbian or to “look” like a lesbian, because there is no one “thing” that lesbians look like. some of us dress to stereotypes, and some of us dont, but we are all lesbians at the end of the day, dressing and looking the way you feel most comfortable should be the goal. if that includes some things on this list, great! if not, thats fine too! you don’t have to do everything. just the stuff you feel good about

[lovehugsandcandy]

Who Killed Jason Shaw? Chapter 7: Whodunnit (RoD, Colt x MC)

Summary: The truth is revealed.

Rating: R (discussions of death)

Pairing: Colt x MC, RoD

Length: ~1400 words

Ellie waited on pins and needles, pacing footsteps wearing a circular path in her carpet, until her dad was downstairs, busy with breakfast. Finally, she was able to move and she tiptoe into the study, closing the door behind her with the softest of clicks. She didn’t have to look hard, manila folder open on the desk, calling to her. She picked it up with trembling fingers and skimmed.

Jason Shaw (Deceased)

COD: Single-Occupant Motor Vehicle Fatality

She sank to the floor, releasing the breath she didn’t know she was holding. It was accidental. She continued reading.

Due to the speed with which he crashed, the car was completely destroyed, making a definitive cause-of-death determination next-to-impossible. When the police arrived, the car was fully ablaze and efforts to extract Shaw had to be halted until they were able to put out the fire.

The car had been speeding, traveling so fast that survival would have been impossible. The report suggested that it could have been a suicide since no indication of braking was found. However, it also noted that the brake lines had been severed, though potentially burned up on impact, scorch marks evident throughout the body and engine car. It would be impossible to know if they had been ruined before the accident. Without any further details, without any further proof, the police had to rule it an accident.

She put the folder back on the desk, careful to arrange it just how she found it, before sneaking out of the room with a massive sigh of relief. Her flight back to the East Coast left tomorrow and it was a weight off her shoulders. 

No one was wanted for murder.

~~~~~

When she left her house that evening, she needed to think, so she headed to the one place where her head was clearest. It had only been an hour before she heard the footsteps and sighed, not moving her gaze from the lapping water below her. She didn’t turn, even when he sat beside her, sleeve of his jacket brushing against her arm, didn’t turn until he spoke.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

Colt sat in silence, looking over the horizon, until the silence got to be too much for him. “Did they rule it was an accident?”

“Yeah.”

Colt huffed. “It wasn’t though, was it.”

The sun was slipping behind the water, last rays of the day glinting off the surf. She sighed.

“You figured out who did it.” Colt glanced at her, waiting.

It wasn’t a question so she didn’t respond.

“Ellie. You knew all along, didn’t you?”

She finally turned to him, his brow knitting in a question unasked. His eyes were reflecting the last light of day back at her, a ray of light in the darkening night.

He watched her, unflinching, taking her silence as agreement. “Congratulations. You solved your case. I think I owe you a drink.” 

“It was determined to be an accident. He lost control on the 405 and slammed into the barrier at the median. Investigation’s closed.” She looked at her hands.

“You know it wasn’t an accident.”

She shrugged. “That’s what the report said.” He held her gaze until she lowered her eyes, peering back at the water. Her shoulders dropped. He knew. “When’d you figure it out?”

“Honestly? It took a while.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close, a welcome warmth warding off the cool breeze. “But someone killed him and it was well-planned. A damn good plan. And there��s only a few people in LA who could come up with a plan to off a disgraced former detective and make it look like an accident, only a few people who could do it and get away with it. And I knew it wasn’t me so….” He trailed off.

She looked up at the stars starting to poke through the dark of the sky, feeling the prick of tears starting behind her eyelids.

He continued, “Things started to add up. Mona’s car. The timing. I mean, he’s been on parole for months. Why would someone kill him now? And then when you said you knew he threatened Logan, things just clicked.” When she kept silent, he just kept going. “What did you say to him in Denver? You guys spoke for over ten minutes during your stopover.”

“I thought-” She took a reflexive breath in, sea air cold in her lungs. “Logan called me a few weeks ago, told me Shaw found him. He was threatening him, trying to find where Mona was.” She gnawed at a thumbnail, blood welling to the surface again, before she continued. “I thought if I talked to him, I could convince him to leave it alone, leave her alone. I thought the threat of my dad would be enough.”

Her eyes were filling with tears; she tried blinking them away but couldn’t. Colt only watched her, gaze unreadable. She continued, lost in the memory of Jason, screaming at her over the phone. “He was irate. He wouldn’t listen, kept threatening.” Her breaths were shaky, inhale and exhale shuddering. “He knew it was my Spring Break. He said he would use me. Use me to get to Logan. Use me to get to Mona.” She swallowed, hard, leaning further against Colt. “He said he would use me to get to you.”

“You don’t need to protect me, Ellie.” He brushed a tear from her face. “I can take care of myself.”

She shook her head, vehemently. “We protect each other, Colt. Us against the world, remember?”

“So you told him that you would give him Mona if he left me alone.” She could see the gears turning as he watched the tears running down her face. “You said you could arrange something, get her out of the house for a few drinks. And you pretended to be her. You set up a meeting at the dive bar, made sure it was a straight shot to the highway.”

She sniffed. “No street lights. No stop signs.”

“Important because, when he was at the bar, you killed his brake lines.”

“I had to practice on my dad’s car for hours to figure it out.” She shook her head ruefully.

“And you nailed it; he couldn’t have stopped if he wanted to. Then, you played Mona, with the car, the tats-”

“A wig…”

“And you took him on a merry chase down the highway.”

Colt waited for her to deny it. She couldn’t. She could barely speak through her closed throat, through the tears. “And then I watched him burn.” The confession hung in the wind and Ellie looked out at the water, far below them. Her mind was far away and, when she finally spoke, her voice was distant, barely a whisper. “….I cried.”

“What?” Colt looked at her in shock. “Because he died?”

She was starting to cry now, thinking back on that night. “The fire. It reminded me of your dad.”

“Ellie…”

“I did it for me.” She kept swiping the tears from her cheeks with an angry hand but she couldn’t keep up, water flowing from her eyes faster than she could wipe it away. “I did it because he would never stop haunting my nightmares. I did it because he wanted to hurt Mona. I did it because he threatened Logan, he threatened you. Hell, I did it for you, for everything he took from you. I did it for all of us……Colt, I’m a murderer. ” Her voice caught on the last word.

“Hey.” He took off his jacket to drape it around her shoulders before pulling her close again. “Hey. He would have killed you in a heartbeat. He almost did, in your high school parking lot, if it weren’t for Mona.”

“I know…” She looked down. “I know.”

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the water lapping against the cliff, watching the stars appear, shining with hope and promise above them. Finally, Colt spoke again. “You could have told me.”

“I know.” She dropped her head to his shoulder. “ I knew you would be the prime suspect so I didn’t want to say anything until I knew they ruled it as an accident. I wanted him dead but I needed you free more.”

“Ellie, come on.” He kissed her forehead. “It’s us against the world.”

“One less person in the world against us now,” she sighed.

“Only about a million more to go. And we’ll take every single one of them.”

“Yeah. We will.” She gave him a small smile before looking back out at the waves. “Us against the world.”

[chenoehi]

But are the knuckle tats real or not is what I really wanna know bc I really hope they’re not *sweats*

*sigh* Anon, before I say anything else I want to clarify that I'm not 'bashing' Jungkook for his taste in tattoos unlike what some have accused me of. If I say something isn't my preference than that's just it: it's not my preference. So it's a good thing we're all individuals and can make our own decisions.

About the hand tattoos, if I think some are real and some aren't that has nothing to do with my preference and everything to do with the tattoos themselves and what we know about Jungkook. I see everyone using Jungkook's sentimental nature to prove they're real but I don't see anyone commenting on the actual quality of the work which has nothing to do with content. I see people using the extreme fadability (not a real word but work with me) of the hand tattoos as proof that they are real because they fade and then they appear touched up. I argue against that point because frankly the only one I see fading is the smiley face and then maybe the heart, so if they all fade that easily (and they were done just over a month ago) then how come only some of them appear faded but not all? Shouldn't they all be equally faded or somewhat equally faded? I agree fading on hands is a thing, and I already knew that, but it's questionable to me because they're not all fading. Why that is can be anyone's guess, either some are real and some aren't and that's why or they're not getting touched up at the same time.

I've said this before, but the actual quality of the V/ARMY and +++ tattoos is not good. I look at photos of them and they just look sloppy. All people want to talk about is the message and say that 'well, Jungkook is sentimental so it makes sense'. OK, but how about Jungkook's nature as a perfectionist, his artistic ability (which is ridiculous), and his mildly OCD tendencies (I'll say mildly because we don't know what goes on but it's obvious he's very particular about his shit, so, just drawing conclusions). I cannot for the life of me fathom that kind of a person getting tattoos that look like that, and I'm not talking about the content. The knuckle tattoos do not have clean lines and both V/ARMY and the +++ literally look like they were drawn on; you know how when you draw on yourself you don't get full dark, straight lines and the ink bleeds into the lines in your skin. The V/ARMY lines look shaky and the +++ have always looked smudged. I've also noticed in photos that the lines of his ARMY-Wings tattoo are not perfectly straight in the middle. That tattoo could be real just as much as the others, but again, these are observations that make me question these tattoos. I don't think Jungkook would just get tattoos for the hell of it without thinking deeply about what he wants to be on his body forever and most likely having a say in the design, and the V/ARMY/J and +++ tattoos look like the result of a spur of the moment decision. They themselves don't reflect the care and attention Jungkook has for these kinds of things.

What tattoos do I think are real then? and,

Why do I think the arm tattoos are real?

On his hand, I fully believe the 0613 tattoo is real. Look at closely and you can definitely tell that when he first got it the skin was a little raised and he didn't really show it off clearly; in fact, most early pictures only show the sides of it and we just recently figured out what the whole thing looks like. Then look at the style, it's a nice, clean design, it looks like quality work, and it may have even been something he drew. It's an objectively quality tattoo and it's sentimental. That's my distinction.

I think the crown might be real. I don't believe it's faded and it has an intricate design. It looks like a quality tattoo it's just smaller. I don't know what the significance is, the only thing I've ever seen that resembles it is the crown design Jimin had on some custom in ears he and the others made. There's a picture of them that floated around before. I'm not saying that's what it is, only that I haven't seen any other instance of a crown being used for any reason.

The smiley face is based on the Apple emoji. I've seen some say it's the Nirvana smiley face, but I'm afraid it's not and you only have to look at the emoji, the Nirvana symbol, and Jungkook's tattoo to see the difference. It's the emoji. The Nirvana smiley has two Xs for eyes and a tongue sticking out and the squiggles are not an exact replica. So please don't tell me they're the same because they're not. The smiley face emoji may be derivative of the Nirvana smiley face, I really don't know, but what's on Jungkook's finger is the emoji and in and of itself it has nothing to do with Nirvana. I don't know if it's real but this tattoo has faded so many times unlike the others so again I question why some are fading and not all. I'm gonna go on a limb and say, no, I don't think it's real.

The ARMY-Wings tattoo is iffy for me. It looks like it could be real but again, it lacks the intricacy and the detail of his arm, 0613, and the crown. It has simple lines like V/ARMY/J but it's cleaner than those and it's not smudged like +++. But the lines in the middle are not straight. I can't imagine him getting a tattoo on his body and the design turning out like that; remember that this kid is a perfectionist and an artist. I'm gonna go on a limb and say, no, I don't think that one is real.

Now the arm tattoos. Huge difference between arm tattoos, 0613, the crown, and the rest of them. The former suggest care and attention to the design and the latter are just 'cute' because ARMY and isn't that adorable, awww he loves us. OK, that's fine.

In full disclosure I'm 100% the arm tattoos are real. I knew it was him when the picture went up and when the picture was removed from Instagram it made me believe they were real. When I see how he tried to hide his arm in Riyadh with bandaids and leaving his sleeve buttoned up it made me believe they were real. When it became obvious that we were not going to see the tattoos as part of any performance it made me believe they were real. When I saw his arm tattoos peek out from his shirt in the Making of VCR for the Speak Yourself tour I knew in my hair follicles that they were real. We see idols get temp tattoos all the time for a concert or a performance but like Jimin's Nevermind tattoo these arm tattoos are being covered up and exposure of them ignored by the owners. The hand tattoos on the other hand (you're welcome) were on display from day 1. I believe it's possible that he has all of those to distract from the tattoos that are real. And if that's the case, then it worked very well because everyone was talking about V/ARMY/J and making theories and no one was talking about 0613 at all (partly because he didn't let us see it) or the crown in detail. That's why the only tattoos I personally believe in my gut are real are the 0613 and arm tattoos; I'm convinced of this 100% while the crown I'm more on the fence about.

The arm tattoos are a perfect example of his artistic spirit, his perfectionist personality, and his sentimental soul. They're unique to him, they look good from a quality standpoint, and the text reflects his motto for life and potentially a reference to BTS lyrics (we have to see more detail first, but he has the word SHINE, potentially a reference to Mikrokosmos, but who knows).

That is what I think a person like Jungkook would put on his body permanently. Those are my reasons for why I do or don't think something is real. These are my opinions, subject to being proven wrong. Take them or leave them.

No matter what he gets as a permanent tattoo nothing will change the fact that he is a sentimental person who would only make those decisions if he was sure of it, so if and when he confirms the tattoos (whether we like them or not) we should do nothing but love him and not project our opinions onto him. Until then, we can still theorize whether they're real. If he still has all the hand tattoos say, a year from now I'll have no choice but to accept they're real; and I won't discuss the quality anymore because if they're permanent than discussing that doesn't change anything. I'm merely saying why I personally think some are fake and others are real, right now.

Anon, thanks for your ask. But I don't want my blog to just be a place people can come to just say 'I think his tattoos suck'. That's been stated in different words twice now and if the asks continue in that vein I won't answer them.

[burneyanddefoe]

Could you maybe explain what is inaccurate with those two dresses? I know a little bit about 18th century fashion and they look fine to me, (except that the blue-green dress doesn’t have a stomacher for some reason) but you seem to know a lot about it and they do look a bit "off".

Thanks for the question! This reply ended up being really long and I feel like it’s really nitpicky…but also, it shows that a little bit of research can go a long way for those Outlander costume designers. I’m not an expert, this isn’t an area I’ve studied heavily (yet) but I know where to find resources so that gives me an edge. If anyone has corrections for this post, please let me know!!!

This analysis is based on 18th century fashion and doesn’t account for the modern influences that Brianna and Claire might bring to the table. It also doesn’t take into account the rare exceptions to some of these points.

EDIT: I recently discovered Frock Flicks so if you want to hear more about the fashion choices on Outlander, the good and the bad, check their Outlander tag out! And here is the group absolutely destroying Gellis’s hair choice.

Brianna’s Wedding Dress

In some cases, an 18th century woman’s wedding gown would simply be the nicest one she had in her wardrobe. If she had a special gown made, it wasn’t a one-and-done thing like it is today. It would have been worn again and again for special occasions because it would likely be her nicest gown. That being said, it wasn’t always white.

Sleeves usually had some sort of decorative feature such as ruffles of lace or fabric. With lace or white fabric ruffles, they can be sewn on then taken off at a later date to wash or sew different ones on.

Not related to the outfit, but the hairstyle is a tad bit inaccurate but I’ll let that slide.

Most fichus are not that long, they would typically end either at or above the waist. I think there’s something else a bit off with the fichu but I can’t put my finger on it.

I feel like there’s something off with the fabric choices, but I can’t pinpoint it.

Here are some examples of 1700s wedding outfits. In most cases, they were identified as wedding outfits by family lore.

Gown from 1763 - worn in Maine, USA. - The MFA, accession number: 52.558

Gown from 1742 - made in England but worn in Massachusetts, USA - The MFA, accession number: 42.210a-c

Gown from 1760 - French or British - The MET, accession number: 40.136.1a, b

Gown from 1776 - American - The MET, accession number: 2009.300.731

Gown from 1747, altered in the 1770s - British - The MET, accession number: 2014.138a, b

Gown from the 1770s-80s - British textile, worn in Rhode Island - Colonial Williamsburg, accession number: 1951-150,1

Petticoat from 1775 - American - Colonial Williamsburg, accession number: 2016-123

Petticoat fragment from the 1750s-80 - Philadelphia, USA - Colonial Williamsburg, accession number: 2009-43,2

Claire’s Wedding Guest Dress

Again, the hair is inaccurate. I can let it pass for Brianna, but not for Claire. There shouldn’t be that big chunk of hair hanging down her back. For a special event, fashionable women wore a pouf. To create a small pouf, all you need is a hair cushion and a bunch of pins. This photo of Abby from American Duchess shows a simple hairstyle.

So Claire’s gown doesn’t actually fit a definition of any of the types of gowns that I’ve come across? It’s not a robe a l’anglaise but it’s slightly closer to a round gown. The issue is that Claire’s gown appears to be ONE entire piece, as if it was put on over the head. There are no ties, pins, hooks and eyes, or way to close it. The buttons of this gown are decorative.

A round gown as a back bodice similar to the anglaise but the round gown is one piece. The gown and petticoat are attached.

Describing a round gown is complicated but basically, the gown and petticoat are sewn together in the back while the front petticoat is brought up with the ties being wrapped around the waist. The front of the round gown will then be pinned closed or use a hook and eye closure. This creates the illusion of it gown and petticoat being separate.

This post shows the construction of a round gown!

I don’t have a clue what’s going on that zig-zag. Zig-zags are seen later in the 1780s and 1790s with contrasting trim in fashion plates but that’s not what’s going on here.

I’m not an expert on lace, so lace-experts feel free feel free to correct me! The green portion of the gown looks like cheap, modern tatted lace. In the eighteenth century, lace was handmade and very expensive. Here are some beautiful examples of handmade, 18th century lace. Obviously I don’t expect the designers to be buying yards of expensive, handmade lace but seeing as they have a very large budget and unlimited resources, it shouldn’t be too hard to find decent lace at a decent price.

THE END!!

[artificialqueens]

And All That Jazz - Chapter 2: When You're Good To Mama (Ninex/Branjie) - Gab

Summary: Last chapter, we got a taste of the merry murderesses of Cook County Jail and it’s new addition: the Dancing Duo of the R.A.C. lounge. This chapter we meet the ladies of the west block and their lawyer extraordinaire.

a/n: Sorry I’ve been MIA for so long! This chapter is way way way overdue, but it’s here finally! Thought I’d try my hand at some Ninex. Also disclaimer, we’re not going for roaring 20’s realism at all if I want my lesbians to thrive!!!! So yes, women can be lawyers even though the general public won’t believe they would murder anyone. That’s fanfiction for ya folks. Also murderess row is in the west block of cook county jail in this instead of the east block… for obvious reasons. Shoutout to barbiehytes for checking up on this fic! It’s still alive, although I’m not so sure about what to do with it quite yet. If you have any comments, feedback, or suggestions for where this should go, let me know either on AO3 or on my sideblog @gabby-writes ! Enjoy!

Chapter 2: When You’re Good To Mama

Word count: 2128

Ask any other chickies in my pen

They’ll tell you I’m the biggest mother hen

I love them all and all of them love me

‘Cause the system works

The system called

Reciprocity

The west block wasn’t the nicest place, it had the same layer of rust and grime that covered the entire prison, but not even the leaking pipes and smell of smoke could stop the reporters from snapping away at the gates, nor could it stop the stream of flowers from coming through the door.

Each of the other inmates wore the same gray jumpsuit and had the same cold bunk, but not the west block. With all the attention these girls were getting, management seemed to let some rules go a bit lax. A mix of glamour and perfume hung in the air above Chicago’s most infamous celebrity-making machine—cook county’s very own stars in captivity—and entering the holding area was like walking into a circus act, wondering when the next show was about to start.

These girls were relentless, always pining for the spotlight, but there was one thing that kept them together. One woman that is.

Miss Nina West herself.

On the outside, Nina was completely delightful, with a smile that could melt even the toughest officer. Nina wasn’t a fool however, and she knew it took a whole lot more to get people to work in her favor. She had tricks up her sleeve and in her bra after all.

It took a hell of a lot of work to keep diva murderesses in line, but Nina had more grit than a sheet of sandpaper, and more connections than a telephone wire for good measure.

She knew every girl in murderess row by name, crime, and whatever else in between. She knew every intimate detail of their lives, coaxed out of them through kindness, cigarettes, alcohol, or a careful combination of all three. Every girl knew that if there was any chance for them to make it out as stars, Nina was it.

Got a little motto

Always sees me through

When you’re good to mama

Mama’s good to you

She was making her way around the block, each holding area buzzing with life as the poor officers tried to quiet the girls down. They stood up in front of their cells to greet her, lines of outstretched hands and strategically placed dollar bills adorning the side of the hall.

“Miss Nina I can’t find my favorite Nightie, would you be an absolute doll and order me a new one?” a flirtatious and stunning redhead peered through her cell doors, a beautiful smile on her lips as she knelt on her bed, leaning on her cell bars. She was draped in a silk robe and lazily peered up at the older woman.

Nina never fell for Scarlet’s attempts at charm, but it was always a delight to watch her try. Besides, there was nothing that flattered her more than the starlet’s unabashed flirting. She stopped for a moment, leaning into the bars across her cell.

“If you stopped letting miss Oddly rip them apart, maybe they’d last longer.” Nina’s teasing tone was rewarded by the blush on the other woman’s face, the redhead’s smile never faltering.

“Oh come on mama, you know she’s got all these… frustrations,” Scarlet said suggestively, leaning in further to tease fingers over Nina’s chest.

“Besides, I can’t go without my nightie for the press tomorrow.” She leaned in closer, a wickedly sexy smile on her face. It was a known fact that Scarlet would never show up to her press conferences without a sheer slip dress under her loosely tied robe. Nina couldn’t deny her however, after all, she was the one who suggested it in the first place.

Besides, from the standpoint of the press, asking particularly hard-hitting questions was a tad more difficult when you were faced with Scarlet’s breasts nearly spilling out of her dress.

Nina rolled her eyes, reaching through the bars and down the front of Scarlet’s robe, pulling out a 50 dollar bill from her brassiere.

“I’ll give them a call in the morning.” “You’re a gem, mama.” Scarlet blew her a quick kiss before rolling over on her bed.

There’s a lot of favors

I’m prepared to do

You do one for mama

She’ll do one for you

Nina walked up to the girl who was cooly resting against the bars of her cell down the hall, the older woman snatching the cigarette from the inmate’s lips and placing it between her own.

“Hey! I paid for that.”

“Then maybe you’d work harder to hide it,” Nina said with a wink. “Now tell me, when is your trial date again?”

Yvie gave a small shrug along with a wide grin.

“It doesn’t really matter, you know how much I like it here.”

This is Yvie’s third time in the west block for allegedly killing another husband. Well this time it was her fiancé. And this time he mysteriously wrote off his fortune to her before he mysteriously…got murdered.

“You know, you don’t have to kill men to meet girls in prison.”

“Okay first of all, allegedly, secondly they were all assholes, and third, prison has all the fun girls mama,” Yvie said, pouting for a second before letting out a laugh in Nina’s direction.

“Oh right, I forgot crazy is your type.”  Nina muttered, putting out the cigarette and handing Yvie a fresh pack. Yvie laughed again, accepting the contraband and retreating back into her cell.

They say that life is tit for tat

And that’s the way i live

So i deserve a lot of tat

For what i’ve got to give

Nina would worry more about her girls—death penalty was a real threat after all—if she wasn’t so confident in their lawyer. And maybe she was a sight for sore eyes after dealing with hot messes all day, but she wasn’t going to be the first to admit it. She saw her often enough, but a new case to whet her appetite was always welcome. She smiled to herself, remembering the two new girls that were about to be brought up from administration, definitely in need of a lawyer.

Don’t you know that this hand

Washes that one too

When you’re good to mama

Mama’s good to you

She finished her rounds, tucked the wad of cash she collected into her pocket, and strolled into her office to note down the next few favors she had to call in. Of course, there was one more very important call she had to make.

—

“Miss X Change? The phone’s for you.”

A voice chimed into the room as soft classical radio played in the background. The radio gave a click before going quiet as a woman with short, platinum hair rose from her seat and headed towards the door, her bright red heels matching the red of her smile perfectly. It was late afternoon and the sun colored the smoky office in gold light, touching everything in the room from the gramophone in the corner to today’s headline, left on the desk.

“Speaking.”

“Have you seen today’s paper? It’s been a madhouse here since morning.”

A smile broke out across Monet’s face the minute she heard the voice on the other line. She let her hand linger over the buttons on her blazer, fiddling with the top button as she listened to the other woman.

“‘Dancing Duo Murders Club Owner in a Deadly Double Act’? Nina, baby, I’ll have the press printing their names all over the city before the week is up.”

“So you’ll take their case then?” The voice on the other side of the line sounded hopeful.

“Maybe you should invite me over first.” Monet smirked, already reaching for her hat, “To meet them, of course.”

—

“You know, you’re much better at flirting with my girls than actually getting them out of my block.”

“But if I got them all out, I’d miss you too much,” Monet strode straight towards Nina, arms outstretched as she went in for a hug. “Now tell me about the two new babes.”

—

“You good baby?”

Brooke watched as Vanessa dressed herself in the tiny cell they had been put in for the time being. They had just taken their mug shots, some medical exams, and various measurements. The two were completely exhausted.

“Didn’t think there’d be that much pokin’ and proddin’, apart from you,” She replied, giving Brooke a wink before pulling up her trousers. She walked closer to the blonde, putting her arms around her neck, savoring the bit of privacy they got before they had to go to their cells.

“You nervous?”

“Nah. Nicky’s gone ain’t he? Ain’t nobody can hurt me now,” Vanessa said sweetly, placing a kiss on Brooke’s lips. “Are you?”

“Nope, I think I can swing something good for us here.”

—

Nina knew exactly who she was dealing with from the moment she got the call about the murder at the R.A.C. lounge.  She was no criminal, that much was clear, but after dealing with so many you get pretty good idea of the next person to slip.

Brooke was a performer at R.A.C., a regular show girl that practically ran the establishment. Nina met her while calling in a favor, something that club owner Nicky Pike owed her plenty of. They were fast friends ever since, trading stories over dinner and whatever show came with it.

It was a few years later that Nina met Vanessa. She was a young performer from the countryside, much too eager, and far too pretty. Unsurprisingly, Vanessa quickly became Nicky’s favorite, his arm constantly draped low on her hip and his eyes wandering every which way. Vanessa never looked particularly keen, but Nina could tell from the way that Brooke clenched her fists and straightened her back around them that she did not like it. Not at all.

Nina could tell when people were about to slip, and she was sure Brooke wasn’t far off.

“Brooke Lynn!”

Nina’s voice carried across the detention center until it hit the blonde on the other side of the room. She was lazily running her fingers through Vanessa’s hair as the brunette practically purred on her lap. Brooke smiled as she saw Nina stride towards her.

“Long time no see?”

“I told you she was gonna get you in trouble one of these days,” Nina said, gesturing to Vanessa, who pouted playfully.

“Hey! It was a team effort,” Vanessa said, pausing for a moment, “if we did it.”

“You don’t know the half of it Nina.” Brooke smirked as she took the handcuffs from Nina’s belt and fastened it onto Vanessa’s wrists as the younger girl giggled. She then took another pair and placed it on herself, looking over at Nina’s raised eyebrows.

“I know how things work here.”

“I know you do. You should also know to not get drunk before getting caught, and definitely not to get caught between your girl’s legs.”

“I hear this lawyer of yours is real good.”

“You wanted to test it?” Nina could feel a headache creep up on her as she regarded the pair. They didn’t seem sorry at all, although knowing Nicky, she wouldn’t feel too sorry either.

“I always liked a good challenge anyway.” Monet walked up beside Nina, looking over the pair and giving a low whistle.

It was going to be a long day.

—

The evening wasn’t any quieter than the daytime, the noises of the street carrying through Nina’s office window and bouncing off the walls. She had sat down, kicking off her shoes and screwed the top of her flask open. Monet walked through the door as she took a swig, offering the smuggled drink to the lawyer.

“Those girls of yours are something else.” Monet handed back the drink, sitting on the other side of Nina’s desk. “Oh they’re mine are they? I thought we shared custody with all of them being your clients,” Nina emphasized, putting her feet up for a moment.

“Touché.”

“So, what do you think of Brooke and Vanessa?” Nina looked at the lawyer, trying to read her face.

“It’s not gonna be easy Neens, the evidence is everywhere,” Monet sighed, putting her hat back on, making a move to leave.

“Hey hang on, we both know that asshole club owner has been harassing Vanessa for months now,” Nina said, quickly putting her feet down and standing beside Monet.

The lawyer’s face suddenly shifted at the proximity, her tired expression turning into a smile.

“I know, I’m just messing with you,” Nina blushed at the words as she took a step back.

“I’ll take it.”

[mysticandskepticmuses]

some random thoughts / things i’ve learned about rori in the last couple days:

her sexual orientation is basically ‘yes’  ie… she doesn’t give a flying fuck about what gender her partner’s sleeve is, what gender they identify as, whether they’re asexual or aromantic, whatever.  this is something that would be part of her regardless of what era / verse she was in but this is extremely amplified in the atlered carbon verse just out of the stack vs. sleeve contrast / debate that is literally inundated into their society especially having been ‘raised’ (i say raised in quotation marks because by meth standards she’s still a kid) in Meth society where they literally treat sleeves with the same indifference as tissues.  use, throw away, replace. this made it very easy for her, from an early age, to learn that attachments to the stack are way more important than attachments to the sleeve it’s in.  

this is not to say that she does not experience attraction based solely on sleeve and appearance.

this is also not to say that she isn’t emotionally attached to certain sleeves and equates them with certain people – Claire, for example, has maintained the same sleeve for the entirety of rori’s existence [unless I’m wrong in which case correct me @theblueeyedvampire / @magicandsciencemuses] and it is the one that rori clearly associates with claire.  the same goes w/ Elias ( w/ Liz’s anyway ) – people that are in the habit of sticking to one sleeve for long periods of time will receive a funny look or asked what’s up if they show up in a different sleeve but her feelings, obviously, wouldn’t change.  some things are just comfortable / familiar.  

she has stayed in the same sleeve; she has had to switch to a replacement sleeve twice after extensive organic damage, once in her teens, and once about eight years ago.   she is in her forties, her sleeve age could be guessed at mid 20s - somewhere in her 30s depending on attire, makeup, general health etc.  

she is not obsessed with maintaining a youthful glow or keeping up with the kardashians type lifestyle, she doesn’t care if she looks her age, at least for now, she’s comfortable in her own skin though, she will probably end up continuing to re-sleeve within her current age range – she already has a small number of backup sleeves in the family vault, though she’d probably have to jump through hoops to get access to them, since she’s kind of the black sheep of the family – or just bug claire, since claire maintains the family vaults at psychasec.  

she has a lot of tattoos.  most of the major pieces can be found HERE.  other smaller pieces tend to come and go, as tattoos / tattoo removal is much less hassle in general in the ac verse but she usually doesn’t get ink unless she knows what she wants / plans on keeping it.

she has a lot of piercings too, though less than she could. that list is HERE.

rori isn’t against long term relationships, she just doesn’t usually have them.  she is very vivacious and active, she’s a wild child and the idea of settling down with one person is something that she has a hard time wrapping her brain around, at least at this point in her life.  she would have to have really real feelings for someone to contemplate a monogamous relationship.  

she is definitely more likely to commit to a relationship that is emotionally monogamous, but open for other physical & sexual encounters or a poly amorous relationship with two (or more) people that were all committed relatively equally to each other and the relationship status as a whole.

that isn’t saying she wouldn’t ever be strictly monogamous if that was what her partner wanted but it’d have to be a Very Special person.  

it is possible that even while attempting to maintain a monogamous relationship she might cheat on her partner – this is not something that I usually plot & wouldn’t ever just throw out there at random, if this happens it will be plotted / discussed before hand.

rori is sexually active and sexually adventurous.  she’ll try anything once.  maybe twice to see if it was a fluke (good or bad) the first time.  there are some squicks she avoids and she strongly believes in the necessity of consent, implied or overt - she doesn’t mind playing rough, and if her partner wants to go to extremes with that, she won’t necessarily complain, but she will not participate in anything that is not agreed upon ahead of time in those regards.  

she’s also highly likely to kick the living shit out of somebody if she catches them trying to roofie or use any kind of mind altering substance to get someone to sleep with them etc.  and if she can’t kick their ass she has no problem calling in favors or calling the cops to do it for her, if it comes to that.  she does not mess around with that shit.

when it comes to general mannerisms, typically what you see is what you get.  she’s very open about who she is, what she’s passionate about.  she’s smart, but tends to swear like a sailor and prefers blunt honesty to anything else so she can come off more abrasive or less intelligent than she actually is / means to.  

she can clean up nicely, she does know her table manners and which fork to use for the escargo and how to do the tango and the waltz but those are generally very distances from her day to day life.

she’s an artist.  she’s always drawing, sketching, usually w/ her oni & holo arts, most of her work is digital until it’s time to put it to skin.  

her specialty in tats are three-dimensional and/or holo interactive pieces.  for example, the tattoo on her side that looks like her skin has been cut away and that shows a busted ribcage, muscles, cybernetic and steampunk era materials making up all of the parts you can see on the inside?  that’s her design - only because of the blend of technology and physical art, it appears black and white 3-d to the naked eye but with an Oni or other holographic viewing device, the piece literally seems to come to life – the gears move, the muscles shift and ‘breathe’, veins pulse in time with her heartbeat, the cybernetic pieces will light up or shift position from time to time, etc.  her work does not come cheap.

[spartanguard]

you belong among the wildflowers

Summary: Emma Swan's life has been far from easy. Neither has Killian Jones'. Through a handful of meetings, a couple tattoos, and some fantastic music, maybe they'll find a happy ending. (CS Modern AU heavily inspired by the music of Tom Petty) | Rated GA, 7k | tw: minor mentions of alcoholism

a/n: HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY, HOLLI!!! aka @mryddinwilt​ I started planning this AU quite a while ago, in honor of our shared love of “Wildflowers”, but then it kind of spiraled when I sat down to write last Monday only to learn of Tom Petty’s passing. So this is kind of double duty as your bday present and an ode to one of my all-time favorite musicians.

thank you to @shipsxahoy and @optomisticgirl for looking at this!

Hope your day was amazing, Holli, and hope you enjoy this! Thank you for always being an encouraging, awesome person!! <3

“You belong among the wildflowers...you belong somewhere you feel free.”

She wasn’t sure when she first heard the song. It must have been on the radio when Emma was a kid, in one foster home or another. The memory was fuzzy, but the sentiment was clear: that she deserved to be happy one day, and to have love and peace.

Those all seemed like things well out of reach for a 16-year-old runaway orphan, but it was a nice thought. And a wildflower was as good as anything else to get a tattoo of, especially when the main goal in getting a tattoo was more just getting one out of rebellion than wanting it to carry any specific symbolism. Who knew, though? Maybe she’d eventually get that.

At least, that was what she told herself as the needle stung the skin inside her wrist. She liked to think she was tough, and she’d certainly been hit harder, but—ow. Oh well, it was probably due punishment for using a fake ID to get it in the first place.

On the other side of the dingy parlor was a guy who couldn’t be more than couple years older than her—fresh out of high school, probably, since it was early summer—also wincing through the work being done on his forearm. But when he realized she was staring, he sent a sly grin and a wink her way, making her blush. What? He was cute, even if his “beard” was patchy stubble at best and doing nothing to mature his babyish features.

He left halfway through hers being done, but was smoking against the building outside once she finished, with a guitar case propped against the wall next to him.

“Want one?” he offered, holding the pack out to her; she didn’t realize she’d been staring again. She also had never smoked before, but—eh, what the hell? She strode forward and, as expertly as she could manage, slid one out of the box and held it between her fingers like she’d seen done so many times. He deftly flicked his lighter and she lit the cigarette, then brought it to her lips and inhaled...and then sputtered and coughed once the smoke hit her lungs, which was received with a deep chuckle.

“First one?” he teased, blue eyes laughing. Her response was continued coughing. “Well, you never forget your first.” She glared. “Don’t breathe so deep,” he offered, his accented voice turning gentle.

Once she’d regained her faculties, she tried it again, doing as he said. She wasn’t a fan but it was definitely better.

“There you go, love,” he cheered, sounding almost proud.

“Not your love,” she threw back.

“Fair enough.” She joined him against the wall and they settled into an easy silence. He didn’t have to say anything for her to get the sense that they had more in common than being freshly tatted; the fact that he was alone, too, spoke volumes.

But then she nearly jumped when he introduced himself. “Name’s Killian; Killian Jones.”

“Emma Swan.”

“Suits you.”

“What does?”

“Swan.”

“What does that mean?” Maybe things were better when he was quiet; this boy had no idea how to talk to girls, did he?

“It means you’re feisty and I’d rather not piss you off.” Well, okay; actually, that was probably the best complement she’d ever received. “Is that your tattoo? A swan?”

Oh, right—people asked what tattoos meant. Better get used to that. “Uh, no—it’s a flower,” she blurted out, shoving her wrist toward him and showing off the fresh ink. “It’s...well, it’s pretty, and it’s...a reminder, I guess.”

“Of what?” He was genuinely curious.

“That even though I’ve had a rough start, I can still have a happy life.”

He smiled at her, cutting dimples into his round, boyish cheeks. “That’s awfully brave, lass.”

She just shrugged; maybe it was, but if she gave up hope, what kind of life would she have? Unused to such praise, she turned the attention back to him. “What’s yours?”

He held out his arm, showing off the intricate heart design, deep red against his lightly tanned skin.

“That’s gorgeous,” she muttered, suddenly feeling self-conscious of her colorless outline. “What's it mean? Are you in lo-ove?” she sing-songed—a well-used defense mechanism that she had a feeling he’d see right through.

“No, not yet,” he brushed off with a laugh. “But someday. Just like you, I have hope.”

She scoffed. “You really think anyone will love people like us?”

“Even the losers get lucky sometimes.”

They spent the rest of the night burning through the pack of cigarettes and wandering the backstreets of Boston, chatting under the light of the full moon. He was from England, originally, but he and his brother ended up in the states with a distant relative after their parents were gone. He’d just graduated high school and was headed west, just like her, but he was chasing a dream, just he and his acoustic. She just wanted to be anywhere but here.

“Let me know if you end up in Portland,” she told him once they’d found their way to the bus terminal. Funny that her last night in Boston was when she’d make her first real friend.

“Will do. Take care, Swan,” he goodbyed with a salute, boarding his L.A.-bound coach.

She waved him off, watching as his bus faded into the dark and silently promising to try.

“The last three days the rain was unstoppable. It was always cold, no sunshine.”

“Sounds about right,” Emma muttered to herself as she putted around the record store. More like last year, for her. As good as it was to finally be out of jail, she was quickly learning that not many places were eager to hire an 18-year-old ex-con with barely even a GED. Thank goodness there was a homeless shelter nearby, but the beds there sucked even worse than her prison cot and what she wouldn’t give for something just a little plush to sink her still-aching body into. Though, she supposed, that ranked pretty low on her current list of problems.

She’d just come back from yet another unsuccessful interview—who knew McDonald’s was so picky?—and had a stack of even more applications in her backpack to fill out and return. But her spirit was just a little bit more shattered after her shit morning, so she popped into the music shop to see if that could perk her up a bit. Plus, it was air conditioned, which automatically made it better than the Arizona oven outside.

She browsed the used vinyl, skimming titles both familiar and unfamiliar as someone sang and played somewhere in the store. Honestly, that was the main reason she’d stuck around; she certainly couldn’t afford to buy anything, but the free show was already helping her mood. And it was hard to feel unmotivated when that song was playing.

“There's something good waitin' down this road. I'm pickin' up whatever is mine. Yeah runnin' down a dream…”

She was halfway ready to pull out a pen and start filling out all those forms right there in the middle of the store, but then she realized that there was something oddly familiar about that voice. Cautiously, she followed the power cords toward the back of the shop, where a makeshift performance venue was set up.

And there he was, after all this time. Killian Jones.

He looked a little bit more worn, just like she probably did; the scraggly beard had filled in some; his dark hair was just as much a mess as it had been a couple years ago, and that tattoo was teasing her from under the rolled-up sleeve of a plaid shirt while he played his guitar. More than a few times, she’d wondered if he’d had any success. Phoenix was a far cry from Los Angeles, but hey, he was performing—and performing well.

She hung out near the back of the small crowd, just watching him pour his heart into his instrument and the microphone. The audience was bobbing along and tapping their feet to the familiar tune, and his acoustic rendition and soulful voice made it all the more endearing.

And then the song ended, he thanked the crowd, and they dispersed as he packed up his things. A few people slipped him some tips, and he flashed that dimpled smile that made her own mouth tick up at the corner. It was good seeing him happy, even if the odds were high he’d long forgotten her. Out of curiosity, she wondered if he had.

She carefully made her way to him. “Hey.”

He stood straight up at her voice, then slowly turned toward her, a grin forming on his face. “Swan?”

That answered that question. “Killian,” she answered with a small smile.

“Bloody hell.” To her surprise, he engulfed her in a hug, but quickly, she returned it. “How’ve you been, love? I’m sorry I never made it to Portland, but here you are and...wow. Do you want to get coffee?”

She was nearly whiplashed from the warm reception; she hadn’t been expecting that. “Uh,” she stammered, not sure how to approach the money thing.

“My treat,” he quickly added enthusiastically.

“Okay.”

They settled into a corner table of a quiet little cafe, and before he could ask her about the last two years, she quickly focused on him: “So, are you a rock star yet?”

He snorted. “Hardly. Only had enough bus fare to get me to Oklahoma, so I’ve been picking my way across the country ever since. But I’ve been playing bars and shops all the time, saving up. Actually, I’m catching a train to L.A. tomorrow. Care to join?” he offered with a wink.

“I wish,” she answered, laughing. “Looks like I’m stuck here for a bit.”

“Oh?” He seeemed genuinely disappointed. “Fancy job here?”

“I’d take any job, actually. I...I just got out of prison.”

“Oh. I see.” To his credit, he didn’t try to put any distance between them, like most people would. Actually, he was almost annoyingly in her space; if it was anyone else, she’d be the one backing away, but Killian’s presence was unusually calming. And, for some reason, she felt compelled to spill the whole thing.

“Yeah, I, uh, met a guy in Portland, and he got me in trouble. Set me up for the stuff he did. He ran off, I got caught. Ended up in jail for a year. Had a kid. So, here I am, a year later. Just giving it another go, I guess.”

“Wait—back up; you had a kid?”

Oh. She curled in on herself a bit; she hadn’t meant to say that part. “Yeah. Found out while I was in there. He’s...I put him up for adoption. No one wants a teenage jailbird for a mom.”

He reached out and grabbed her hand, turning it over to find her tattoo. As he rubbed it with his thumb, he said, “A couple of years ago, I met a fiery young lass who told me that even though she had a rough start, she still had hope for a happy life.” She averted her eyes, studying the floor instead; it had been a long time since she’d given that tattoo thought, going so far as to cover it with marker while in jail. Things had been pretty bleak then and weren’t looking much better. “Hope is a powerful thing, Emma; don’t tell me you’ve lost yours.”

“Hard not to.”

“Don’t, Emma. You deserve it.” She finally glanced up, and the resolve in his blue eyes was nearly intimidating. Slowly, she nodded, though she still wasn’t sure she believed it.

She nodded at his forearm. “What about you? Found your true love yet?”

He chuckled. “Not yet. But I’m sure they’re out there.”

“I hope you find them, Killian.”

“I hope you find your happy ending, too, Swan.”

Again, they spent the night together, wandering around Phoenix, him smoking and her not (she’d learned her lesson there), until they ended up outside the train station.

“Look me up if you ever end up in L.A., alright? I’ll be the one playing the Viper Room.”

She wanted to laugh, but he was so confident. “I will. Good luck, Killian.”

“You too, Emma.”

They embraced before he boarded the train, and she waved until it was a speck in the distance, before heading back to the shelter with a bit more determination than she’d had the night before.

“Well, the moon sank as the wind blew and the street lights slowly died…”

Man, what a night. It was 11 o’clock, but she was too keyed up to hit the sack, despite everything that had happened already. And the thought of heading back to the just-slightly-nicer-than-a-fleabag motel she was staying in quickly made her decide that if she was stuck in Nashville, she may as well enjoy it.

The nice thing about the town was that there was music and life everywhere, with no signs of dying anytime soon. She had her pick of the bars, and it only mattered what kind of music she was in the mood for.

The more famous venues were all packed, but there were plenty of holes-in-the-wall and dives to grab a drink and a show. A cozy little place stood out to her, and pleasing, upbeat, classic-sounding rock was escaping the open door. She gave her skintight dress a quick tug down (ugh, this thing loved to ride up); flashed her legal, 22-year-old ID at the bouncer (not that he was looking at it); and headed into the smoky, hazy bar.

The band onstage was good, and so was the whiskey. It was nice to just be able to chill for a moment; she hadn’t been able to do much of that with her new job. Not at night, especially. Spying a few plush couches toward the back of the place, she got a refill and headed back, hoping to put her feet up for a bit and maybe even kick off these impractical heels.

The eyes of just about every man in the bar landed on her as she passed through, but she’d gotten pretty used to ignoring that by now. Until one pair did a double take and called out for her.

“Emma?”

She stopped—no way it was him. His Facebook page hadn’t said anything about Nashville—did it?

“Swan, is that you?”

But clearly, her memory was unreliable, because she turned and there he was: Killian Jones, rockstar. Well, almost rockstar, but he certainly looked the part in his skinny jeans, black t-shirt, and—“Are you wearing eyeliner?”

“Good to see you, too,” he teased before wrapping her up in a hug, then stepping back and giving her a once over. “I’m going to guess you didn’t just get out of jail this time.”

“Nope,” she answered, laughing. “Just enjoying a night on the town. Are you performing here?”

“Yeah, I’m the next set.”

“I had no idea!”

“You say that as if you should have had one.”

“I mean, you do have a Facebook page.”

“Did you ‘like’ me, Swan?”

“Of course I ‘like’ you.” It was amazing to her how she could so easily slip into the same old banter with someone she’d only spent hours with, but it felt like so much longer. “I’ve gotta be able to tell everyone that I once had coffee with a rockstar.”

He ducked his head and laughed, cheeks growing adorably rosy. “I’m not there yet, but,” he jerked his thumb toward a professional-looking woman with dark curly hair, “my manager thinks I will be soon.”

“You will.” Emma had never been more sure of anything. Her own life was still in flux, but she’d always known that teenage boy from what felt like a lifetime ago would go on to big things, even if his face had lost some of that youthful softness now. “Do you have time for a drink?”

“Of course.”

They settled on a sofa and caught each other up on the last four years: he did finally make it to L.A., and worked as a bouncer a bit before finally catching a break—and the eye—of a talent scout, and then a record label. And now he was on tour, trying to drum up enough attention to be able to put together an album.

“I tried to catch you in Tallahassee, but it didn’t work out. Got too busy that night.”

His eyes narrowed with uncertainty. “And what are you up to now?”

“Using my good looks to trap guys,” she answered, only semi-sarcastically.

“Swan, beg your pardon if this is rude, but…” His eyes drifted over her outfit again, and he seemed oddly concerned. “Are...are you a hooker?” he asked quietly.

She was taken aback at first, but then could only laugh. “No, but I can see why you’d think that. I’m in bail bonds. This is honestly the best way to nab a skip.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “I was near ready to offer you a job on my road crew,” he replied with a wink.

“You couldn’t afford me,” she threw back, smirking.

They kept chatting, and she had another drink, letting the warm buzz of liquor settle in her veins and relax her. Unconsciously, she found herself moving closer and closer to him, until her bare arm was lined up with his. If he cared, he didn’t say, or maybe his rum was having a similar effect.

He traced her tattoo with his index finger. “How’s this going?” he asked; he was still the only person who knew what it meant.

“Slowly. But things don’t suck anymore.”

“Sounds like progress.”

She followed suit, drawing her thumb around the edge of the heart on his arm. “And you? Found your love yet?” Her lips nearly brushed the pointed tip of his ear, they were so close now.

“No. Still waiting.”

“You’re a patient man, Killian Jones.”

“Aye, that I am.”

His voice dropped on that, with a seriousness she wasn’t used to hearing from him. She shifted away just enough to get a good look at his face, and his eyes were boring into hers, practically neon in contrast to the low lights of the bar. The words of the singer on stage swam into her consciousness; it was nearly comical how perfectly they fit the moment.

“But then somethin' I saw in your eyes told me right away that you were gonna have to be mine…”

The air between them grew heated very fast, raising goosebumps on her arm. And before she knew it, she was surging forward, crashing her lips into his.

Her hands found the nape of neck and his settled on her waist as she kissed him with everything she had. There was something just so perfect, so soul-satisfying about it as she nipped at his lower lip, that she didn’t know why she’d waited so long.

Their mouths and tongues fought for dominance as he held her tight, until finally they had to break apart for air. And then she realized what she’d just done, and who she kissed, and whose arms were holding her tight, and instantly backed away.

Hope was one thing, but the reality of a love—of a relationship—was still too daunting.

He rasped, “That was…”

“...A one-time thing,” she finished for him, not giving him another answer. She couldn’t; not with him. It was Killian. Their meeting was a fluke and the odds of it happening again were so slim; what was she thinking? Even if he was the one person who understood her; just—no. They couldn’t.

She hastily grabbed her purse and stood, a little too fast judging by the way the room spun. “Emma, wait—” Killian started, hopping up to stabilize her.

“No, Killian, I—I can’t.” She shrugged him off, not daring to look in his eyes. “Good luck.”

His plea fell on deaf ears as she raced out of the bar into the night, but one last line of lyrics caught her attention.

I'll never get over how good it felt when you finally held me; I’ll never regret…

But she would regret it, she knew. So it was better to run now.

“I'm so tired of being tired. Sure as night will follow day...”

It was raining—storming, really, and the power had gone out. So when someone started banging on her townhouse door from out in the dark night, louder than the battery-operated radio she had on, Emma was as terrified of an intruder as she was concerned it was someone seeking shelter.

Should have known it would be both.

The pounding grew quiet and a muffled voice was singing something unintelligible, which was then followed by a soft thud against the door and the hollow sound of a dropped glass that should have broken but somehow didn’t.

Baseball bat in hand, she cautiously tiptoed down the hall and peered through the peephole. Whoever it was was slumped against the door, soaked to the bone, and was dramatically raising their arm to knock again. As the sleeve of their leather jacket rode up thanks to gravity, she got a glimpse of a tattoo she’d recognize anywhere—though it was a bit different now. Just like him, she supposed.

“Killian, I’m opening the door; stand back,” she called, not wanting him to collapse in her entryway. Something told her he was going to regardless, but she heard a groan and the sounds of movement as she undid the locks and chains.

And then she swung open the door, and there he was. “Swan.” A tired smile deepend the lines around his eyes; she responded with a tentative one of her own. She honestly thought she’d never see him again after that night three years ago in Nashville—that he wouldn’t want anything to do with her, especially once he had hit it big.

But now a one-hit wonder was standing on her front porch, dripping wet and reeking of rum. Unable to come up with anything to say, she just stepped aside and gestured for him to come in.

“’M sorry to barge in on you like this,” he stammered, staring at the wood floor. “I...jus’ didn’ know where else t’go.”

“How did you even find me?”

“Same as you found me. Facebook. The internet.” It was her turn to cast her eyes down; she still ‘liked’ all his social media posts, but figured he’d never notice.

As a result of said stalking, she knew everything that had happened to him in the last few years, especially with his manager-turned-girlfriend. The celeb magazines loved him and Milah, going so far as to call them “Millian,” especially when his debut album was tearing up the charts. She’d seen the excess, the wild living, and the absolute love in his eyes when he was with her. She’d been happy for him, truly. And damn if that album wasn’t a rocker.

But then, in true rockstar fashion, he partied too much, lived too hard, and then the two of them got in a wreck. They weren’t at fault, thankfully, but Milah was killed instantly. He dropped out of the spotlight, was dropped from his label, and had seemingly disappeared.

Only to show up on her doorstep, on the other side of the country, clearly heartbroken and drunk as a skunk. Lucky her.

“Come on; you need a shower.”

“I keep crawling back to you...I keep crawling back to you.”

After getting him clean and dry—a feat in itself, given the lack of lights—and into the too-big clothes some one-night stand had forgotten, she had him wrapped in a blanket on the other end of her couch, where she sat watching him sip hot cocoa while the radio made background noise. Where he’d at least been a bit happy at seeing her when he arrived, now he just seemed like a kicked puppy, albeit a wasted one.

“So, how you’ve been?” he asked, in a tone that was too forced to be casual.

“Seriously?”

“What?” he threw back, glaring at her. “I’m sure you know all about me; isn’t it fair that I get caught up, too?”

“There’s nothing to catch up on.” There wasn’t, really; she just continued to catch skips and move around; it was pure luck that he caught her here in New York. “And I’m not the one abusing their liver here.”

“Be glad you don’t have a reason to.” He set his empty mug on the coffee table with a thunk and slumped against the cushions.

She scooted closer to him and gently took hold of his arm, running a thumb along his tattoo. He’d added to it since she saw him last: now, it had a jagged dagger down the middle, and a ribbon bearing Milah’s name. It looked fresh. “She seemed like an awesome woman,” Emma commented, hoping that might get him to open up.

“She is. She was. Bloody hell, I’ll never get used to that.”

Emma kept studying the tattoo, knowing that if she looked at him, she might lose her composure. “You got your wish, though: you had love.”

He just grunted. “Fat lot of good it did me. The high was better than any drug, and the crash is far worse.”

“The rum probably doesn’t help.”

“Doesn’t hurt.”

He fell silent after that, and she continued to massage his arm. The fist he’d been holding tight eventually slackened, and his breathing evened out. Finally, she dared to look at his face; he was asleep, but didn’t seem to be at peace. Dark circles nearly matched his thick eyelashes; his beard was scraggly again, but due to it being unkempt rather than juvenile; and hair was an uneven mess. How did someone who seemed to have everything going for them suddenly end up like this?

She stared down at her own tattoo. It seemed to be mocking her now. If things had gone so terribly for Killian once his dream was reached, then surely hers had no better chance of coming true. What a waste.

Killian spent the night on her couch and she made him breakfast the next morning, forcing food and water into him to help him detox. He was sober, it seemed, but she recognized the shaky hands that were gripping his fork with all he had.

“I can’t thank you enough for taking me in, Swan,” he finally said after the arduous process of eating was done. “You had no reason to; I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me,” she assured him. “But if you do feel like making it up to me: get help.”

He nodded solemnly. “I will.”

They both sensed the goodbye that was coming, but she had one more question. “Killian, why did you come to me?”

He just shrugged and smiled sadly. “You understand.”

She did.

The TMZ headline about his rehab stint lifted a weight off her, knowing he’d be okay—and making it that much easier to continue with her next move. It had been a minor blessing he’d been too far gone to notice all the boxes.

And then she made sure her address wasn’t listed online. For security—or so she told herself.

This place was certainly out of range of a Starbucks, but at least Storybrooke had some sort of coffee shop. It was one of those quaint, hipstery cafes that she generally made a point to avoid on account of being too homey—but, if Henry got his wish, that's what this little seaside town would become.

God, Henry—she was still pinching herself. Obviously, she'd thought about him a lot in the past ten years, but she never imagined he'd show up at her door the way he did, dragging her back here. He was a fantastic kid, better than she could ever hope for, and certainly better than she could have done.

His adoptive mother was obviously (rightly) uneasy with the situation, given that Henry basically blackmailed Emma into bringing him back and then into staying longer to get to know each other. It seemed he was a bit of a loner, and a generally curious kid, so it kind of made sense to her why he’d want to have her around. Assuming Regina allowed it, of course.

And hey, Emma could use a vacation. Two weeks away from the hustle and bustle of city life? She could do that, even if meant changing up her means of sating her caffeine addiction.

Thankfully, it was hard to mess up her coffee order, so she found a comfy corner of the shop and settled in with a book, killing time until Henry got out of school. The window she was seated by gave a stunning view of the Atlantic, and for a while, she got lost in the morning lights dancing on the waves.

“Well I started out down a dirty road…”

Emma stilled. She should have known this would be the type of place to have a guitar player. But that in itself wasn’t what froze her blood—it was that voice.

“Started out all alone…”

Impossible. Granted, he’d fallen off the radar since he went to rehab, so she just assumed he was back on the road somewhere. She’d never imagine he’d be here, though.

“I’m learning to fly, but I ain’t got wings. Coming down is the hardest thing.”

She was almost scared to look; she hadn’t taken her eyes off the ocean since hearing that first line. But she knew she had to.

And there he was: perfectly at home behind the mic with an acoustic guitar, perched on a stool in jeans and plaid, getting lost in the music like he did all those years ago in Arizona.

And he looked good. It was hard to look worse than he had when they’d last been together, but Killian appeared not just healthy, but happy. His ginger beard was neatly trimmed, hair was intentionally disheveled, and there was a brightness in his eyes again that sparkled like the sun on the water she’d just been staring at.

“Well some say life will beat you down. Break your heart, steal your crown.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” she muttered. Unconsciously, she started rubbing her tattoo with her thumb, like she'd taken to whenever he crossed her thoughts. It was great to see him like this, but it also made her realize just how far she was from anything resembling the peace that showed in the relaxed set of his shoulders and gentle smile as he sang.

“I’m learning to fly around the clouds. What goes up must come down.”

Thankfully, the cafe had a side door. Calmly, she gathered her things and slipped out. At some point, she knew she’d probably run into him—this town was only so big—but she didn’t want to face that today.

Fate had other plans, though, when she wasn’t paying attention to her path while she and Henry headed to the diner for an after-school hot cocoa. While listening to Henry tell her about that day’s ornithology lesson, she collided with something warm, solid, and familiar that instantly braced its arms around her.

“Oh, I’m sorry, lass—Emma?” His mouth hung open in disbelief when he realized it was her, eyes growing wide as he studied her, then crinkling at the corners with a grin.

“Hey,” she answered meekly, with a shy smile of her own.

“Bloody hell, I’ve missed you,” he exclaimed, pulling her in for an actual hug that she couldn’t help but reciprocate. It was Killian, after all—he was still right when he’d said they understood each other. His arms felt just as good as they had that night in Nashville. And no one had ever missed her before. “Where did you go?”

“I moved right after—”

“Mom, you know Killian?” Henry asked, interrupting their reunion.

Killian pulled back with a quizzical expression on his raised brow. “‘Mom’?”

“Emma’s my birth mother!” Henry shouted before Emma had a chance to reply, so she just nodded. Recognition sparked in Killian’s eyes, likely thinking back to that conversation years ago. Henry continued, “How do you guys know each other?”

“We go way back, lad,” Killian answered. “Your mum’s me oldest friend.” She blushed, but he was probably hers, too.

“Oy, what about me?” a similarly accented voice protested. Killian finally let Emma go and stepped away, and a slightly taller man was standing behind him. (She refused to admit that she immediately missed Killian’s presence around her.)

“Emma, this is my brother, Liam. He’s my—I’ve been with him for the last couple years, since...since I last saw you.”

She could fill in the blanks. “It’s nice to meet you,” she started, extending her hand, but then was shocked to be pulled into another hug.

“Thank you, Emma,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. She was stunned, but nodded a response.

How was it she’d only been in this town a matter of days and already felt more wanted, more a part of things than anywhere else she’d been in the last 28 years?

Liam pulled back and cleared his throat; she pretended not to see the watery look in his eyes. “I’d love to stay and chat, but Killian and I have an appointment.”

“Can we get coffee sometime?” Killian asked quietly. “I’d love to catch up.”

“Yeah, me too,” she replied, unable to deny it anymore. She at least owed it to him.

Two days later, she arrived at the shop a couple hours before the time they’d decided on so she could catch him playing again. This time, she didn’t hide in the corner, and she didn’t run off before they could chat. He’d seen her, anyway, and knowing him, would just track her down if she’d tried to flee. She was tempted to, though, when he sang the last song of his set.

“I dreamed you; I saw your face. Caught my lifeline when drifting through space.

I saw an angel; I saw my faith. I can only thank God it was not too late.”

His eyes drifted to her more than once and she could feel her cheeks burning red. Add that to the list of firsts on this whirlwind trip: first time someone sang a song to her. And, of course, it was something super deep and heartfelt and she wasn’t tearing up, not at all, because how did this random friendship with a guy she’s barely spent 24 total hours with become so damn important?

“Now I'm walking this street on my own. But she's with me everywhere I go.

Yeah, I found an angel; I found my place. I can only thank God it was not too late.”

“How’d I do?” he asked seriously, once he was packed away and they were settled into plush chairs and fresh drinks. His sincerity took her by surprise—this was the guy who’d headlined some pretty major venues (including the Viper Room), and he was concerned over his performance in a coffee shop?

“You were fantastic; why would you be anything else?”

He blushed and ducked his head down in that sweetly embarrassed move she’d seen so many times. “I’m just getting back into it. Couldn’t while I was in rehab, and just...didn’t want to once I got here.”

“How could you not? It’s such a huge part of your life.”

He shrugged. “It was also a reminder of everything I’d lost.”

She knew that all too well, and couldn’t really blame him. That was why she’d been so transient in the last decade, and why she never got too close to people. They always left and let her down. Save for Killian, she supposed, despite his erratic presence in her life.

“So what have you been doing?” she asked. It was easy to fill a life with working and moving, like she did; it was hard for her to imagine what someone did staying in one place for as long as he’d been here.

“Helping Liam with his business—he runs the marina. Done a lot of sailing, a lot of reading. And I’ve been seeing a therapist.”

“Good.”

“Aye,” he agreed, nodding. “It’s been good, but it wasn’t quite...fulfilling, I guess would be the right word. So both Liam and my doc both encouraged me to pick up playing again, to see if that would help.”

“And?”

“So far, so good,” he concluded with a smile. “I was denying myself my own happiness by avoiding it, despite all the bad memories.”

“Even though you got your heart broken?”

“If it can be broken, that means it still works.”

His revelation hit her like a sword in the gut. Again, she started rubbing her tattoo, thinking of that far-off dream she’d once had. Had she been denying herself the chance at it?

Was she too scared of getting hurt again to go after her happy ending? Was it even worth it?

Or, more accurately, was it worth it not to?

“Swan?” His worried voice made her realize she’d zoned out, and the furrow in his brow when she looked up was a bit more concern than she could handle in the wake of massive personal epiphany.

“I...I’ve gotta go, Killian, I’m sorry,” she sputtered as she stood. “I’ll call you, or find you, or something,” she added on, babbling. “Just...I need to...go.”

She didn’t turn around to see the fallen, distressed look on his face; she just went. She needed to think. Her trusty yellow Bug was waiting outside and she just drove for a while, finally stopping at a scenic overlook with a panoramic view of the harbor. She didn’t even leave her car; the sight was impressive enough from where she was seated. And she let Killian’s words sink in.

She’d once dreamed of a life where she’d feel happy and secure. Not one where she’d want for nothing—just one where she had what she needed. And maybe even one where someone chose her.

But life had thus far proven that it was just a dream and she was better on her own, scraping by and making do. Had she just gotten so used to it that it was her norm? Or was she scared that by opening herself to that possibility of a happy life again, she’d inevitably get her ass kicked by the world and would never recover?

The last time she’d seen Killian, he was utterly defeated. Thankfully, she’d never gotten that low, but he managed to overcome it. He had hope—she could see it shining in those blue eyes. If he could do it, why couldn’t she?

The sun slowly fell and it grew dark around her as she sat with her thoughts. An ancient streetlight eventually flickered to life above her, rousing her from her thought-filled trance, and she knew what she had to do.

Because there was one person who had never left her. One who always had faith in her and understood her. And if she was going to go after that mythical happy ending, she wanted him at her side.

The next day found her at the coffee shop yet again. She was a bit late after having breakfast with Henry, but she arrived just in time for the last couple songs of Killian’s set.

“Had to find some higher ground. Had some fear to get around.”

There he was again, reading her like a book. She’d wonder how he did that, but again—they just got each other. And she was ready to turn to the next page.

“Square one, my slate is clear. Rest your head on me my dear. It took a world of trouble, took a world of tears—it took a long time to get back here.”

Once he was packed up, he cautiously approached her. “You alright, love?”

“Will you go out with me?”

If her straightforwardness caught her by surprise, it nearly knocked him off his feet. He practically fell in the chair next to her. “Beg your pardon?”

“Go out with me. On a date.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking?”

“Don’t tell me you’re that old-fashioned, Jones.”

He chuckled. “I heartily accept, Swan.”

The date was perfect: good food, good wine, and a stroll under the stars—so many more in Storybooke than Boston, and the nerd pointed out some of the constellations to her.

The gentle kiss outside her rented room was even better. There was none of the awkwardness of Nashville, or the altered inhibitions. It just felt good and right and somehow perfect, like she’d been waiting for it forever, but hadn’t been ready yet.

She got a job in Storybrooke. She grew closer with Henry. She made more friends in town—Mary Margaret, the teacher; David, the vet; Belle, the librarian (and Liam’s wife). Once she gave in, once she let herself go after it, her happy ending settled around her—or maybe she was the one who settled into it.

Whichever it was didn’t matter; it was hers and it was real and she was never letting it go.

The cool wind whipped against her face from where she stood on the prow of the boat, but Killian’s strong arms held her close and kept her warm, and she leaned into his solid, sure presence that hadn’t wavered...well, ever, even when they were apart. His sweet voice sang in her ear and she knew—she finally had made it.

“You belong among the wildflowers.

You belong in a boat out at sea.

You belong with your love on your arm.

You belong somewhere you feel free.”

If you’d like to hear all the songs referenced in this, check out this playlist: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AldoDm2bV04&list=PL7YAlVeSin3Kq_1xtetAI0rovPvp-6Wdk

tagging some others who might enjoy this: @kat2609 @thesschesthair @fergus80 @xpumpkindumplingx @its-like-a-story-of-love @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @fairytalesandtimetravel @disastergirl @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @jscoutfinch @nfbagelperson @stubble-sandwich @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose

[lolbtsaus]

School (Bad Boy!Jungkook)

Plot: Falling in love with bad boy!Jungkook

Word Count: 1455

A/N: so this is a really old scenario that I wrote (the original version is here) and after writing the father!kook post I did yesterday, it reminded me of this, I made a post explaining more about it here but basically this could be considered the prequel to my most recent post (it’s called Eyes, it was about bad boy!kook and his newborn twins) it’s a trilogy so I will be post part two and three at some point but I really loved writing this way back when so this was really cool to rewrite and have it fit bad boy!kook, the link for this will of course be bad boy!kook (here)

You’d always had a love for eyes. You didn’t know why but ever since you were a child, the first thing you’d do when you met someone was look at their eyes. You found you could tell a lot from such a simple yet complex feature. You could tell when someone was happy, when they were angry, when they were sad or anything in between.

So when you met the boy with the puppy dog brown eyes, you had to get to know him better. You weren’t able to read them as easily as you’d read others. Some people were open books, some were closed and locked tight with the strongest padlock. You worried the boy was the latter but the more you got to know him, the more you realized he was shut but he wasn’t locked.

He was an amazing example of the definition of charming, witty, funny, adventurous, he had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the room whenever he was with you. He could easily sweep someone off of their feet, either with his personality or his looks but you had a bit of a soft spot for both. (FINISH) You remembered how you met but you’d never know why you chose him out the seven boys who’d helped you find your way around your new school. Maybe it was the fact that his eyes held a story to them, a story you wanted to hear.

You had just moved to Busan and you were set to start attending a local high school. It was your first day of school there, your first day in an entirely new city with new people and so far, it wasn’t going as planned. You had pulled up directions to your school but you still found yourself getting lost while your navigation struggled to keep up and re-route with every wrong turn. You had left the house earlier than you would normally leave because you’d known this would happen, you weren’t used to the street names, you didn’t have your car yet so you had to walk and you had dressed for much warmer weather. Clouds began to roll in, bringing rain with them. It started as a light drizzle, a few drops here and there before it began to pour.

You ran for the first cover you could, trying to keep your backpack from getting any wetter than it already had. You sighed, looking around at the street signs that weren’t much of a help yet as you shivered and tried to think of another plan.

“Are you okay?” you heard a voice ask, causing you to look up at soft, welcoming brown eyes.

You had briefly seen him when you’d been moving into your home, he had been the one to offer up his help with moving in. He’d said his best friend lived across the street and he’d told you and your family his name but you were struggling to remember it at the moment. His bottom lip was pierced, as well as his brow, a hint of black ink hidden by the sleeve of his shirt suggesting he had a couple of tattoos.

"Not really, I’m kinda lost.”

“Are you heading to school? Because you should know, it’s in the opposite direction.”

“Then why are you here?”

“We’re not going?”

“Did you graduate?”

“No, we’re just not feeling up to it.”

You laughed, unsure if he was joking or not. “Well, would you feel up to walking me there and maybe coming in with me to show me around since you’re the only person I know here?”

“You gotta ask them.” he teased, nodding his head at the group of boys waiting at the corner for him, all of them huddled under their umbrellas. “Besides, there’s six more people for you to know here if you do.”

“Seven for the price of one?” You smiled at him as he offered his umbrella, having you stand next to him so he could shield you from the rain as you walked over to his group of friends, who were all equally pierced up and tatted, a couple of them with dyed hair.

“Who’s this?” one of the other boys asked as you approached the group, looking over at you.

“This is the kid who moved into Jungkook’s neighborhood, the one I helped out the other day.”

“I’m Taehyung.” the other boy greeted, sending you a wide smile, his bright orange hair covered by a snapback worn backwards.

“I’m Jimin.” the first boy added, allowing you to avoid the awkward conversation of trying to figure out his name without admitting you’d forgotten it.

One by one, the boys introduced themselves until only one boy was left, clearly oblivious to the actions happening around him. He had his earphones in, his eyes watching the cars passing as he mouthed along to the lyrics. One of the boys, Namjoon, elbowed his side, getting him to turn around with a glare. He gestured over to you, pulling out of the other boy’s earphones. The boy then turned to you, his eyes meeting yours. You immediately lost the friendly smile you’d given the others, his eyes reminding you of something. You couldn’t figure out what that something was but you knew you wanted to find out. He mumbled out that his name was Jungkook before rubbing the back of his neck, almost nervously.

You began the walk to your new school, accompanied by the boys, who were quick to fill you in on them. Jin was the oldest, he’d graduated but he, Yoongi, Namjoon and Hoseok were attending a local college while the remaining three were in their final year of high school. They weren’t known for their perfect reputations and they most likely never would be but they weren’t as bad as some would say. You couldn’t help but look over at the seemingly shy boy, Jungkook, a few times during the walk. You were caught nearly every time, Jungkook looking over at you almost instantly.

By the end of the walk, you’d gotten brave and began sending him smiles from across the table. And after a couple of smiles, he started sending them back. It didn’t go unnoticed by the others, though they didn’t say anything about it, only exchanging knowing looks.

“Thank you all so much. I don’t know if I’d ever been able to find this place without you.” you thanked them as the school came into view, a sense of relief washing over you when you realized you weren’t late to class.

The rain was still pouring, if anything even harder that it had been when you’d first found them. You were still sharing an umbrella with Jimin, promising you’d bring your own tomorrow or buy him lunch to make up for it.

“Don’t even worry about it. But, why don’t you take Kookie’s number, just in case you ever need anything else?” Jimin suggested, patting the younger boy’s shoulder, earning a slightly flustered glare. "I’m sure you’ve noticed he’s attached to his phone so he’s most likely to notice.“

He pushed Jungkook forward, over towards you. You pulled your phone out, stepping under the new umbrella as Jungkook handed you his phone. You gave him yours, typing your number into a new contact as he did the same.

“If you ever need anything, even just some company, we’d be glad to help.” Jin offered, sending you a warm smile.

You began to take off the jacket the boys had given you earlier, the process being stopped by the boy in front of you.

“Keep it.” Jungkook said, his first time speaking to you throughout the entire walk besides the brief introduction.

“Are you sure? I have plenty of jackets, I don’t mind.”

“No, it looks better on you anyway.”

You paused for a moment at the small smile on his face, his eyes lighting up in  a way that made you want to retort with every last drop of wit you had but at the same time made you want to laugh it off and continue joking around with him. You decided to be polite, for now, and keep your comebacks to yourself, figuring you’d have plenty of time to out-wit the boy later on. You knew you’d be seeing him again and he knew it too.

“I should get to class before I’m late.”

“I’ll see you there. Turns out you and I are neighbors.” He gave you another playful smile, his lip piercing drawing more attention to it. “And if you were able that lost coming here, you may need some help getting home.”

“Then I’ll see you in class, Jungkook.”