#i think this was reasonable for a sampling without going too overboard! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mypersonmyg · 4 years ago

Text

Tebori Tapioca | JJK

**beautiful banner made by @monvante <3

pairing: Jeongguk x reader

genre: fluff, strangers to lovers, love at first sight, tattoo au, tea shop au

wc: 15k

warnings: language, slow burn???

summary: a shining beacon in a sea of monotony OR you just might believe in love at first sight

a/n: hi friends, umm so yea this is a fic i’ve been cooking up for a while and as seems to happen with most of my fics there’s definitely room for more but i didn’t wanna go overboard because the last time i did no one read womp womp...

ANYWHO there’s still very much room for this universe to grow whether it be drabbles, smaller oneshots or whatever so if you have requests pls send them !! for this au or any others

honorary tag: @gukssunshine

masterlist

Sunlight filters through an open storefront, natural light shading the room in incandescent glow, the honk of horns just overstating the chirp of the birds perched in overarching trees that line the street. Lights are still lit, strung throughout branches despite the hour slowly inching toward noon.

Your pencil taps a worn pad, the hundredth rotation of the dormant rectangle of sheets providing no more inspiration than ninety-nine and below. You shove the contents along a desk littered in your crumpled defeat, legs kicking to the wooden surface with comforting intent.

It’s not unusual, the stray of your eyes to the shop just a few buildings from the florist decorating the opposing side of the street. A work in progress, a work almost in completion. It’s become a game, the guessing of its contents, the colorful display before it’s displayed intriguing to many passersby. You’re close to pondering a new theory when Jimin interrupts with his entrance from the back, reciting safety to Namjoon’s latest masterpiece.

He whistles an impressive tune following the departure of a satisfied client, rounding his occupied desk and knocking your feet from his cluttered surface. You don’t have time for the countered glare of offense before his words are zeroed in as if he’s been waiting to direct them long before now when your guard is readily disarmed. “You have an office for a reason, why do you always have to sit at my desk.”

“It’s a nice view.”

“I’ll admit that my delicate features leave nothing to the imagination, but I’m tired of cleaning up after you.” His words are emphasized by his hand’s routine swipe, piles of paper tumbling to the can beside him in rapid succession. Your eyes roll, Jimin’s fingers already beginning to type away on his desktop while your pupils track the delicate arch of his digits and your ears listen to the satisfying click of keys. The consideration of locking yourself away in your office trapezes along the wide expanse of your mind, but before it’s made up Jimin is speaking again, this time with an air of factual superiority. “A tea shop.”

“Hmm?”

“The shop down the street, it’s a tea shop.”

“You sound pretty confident,” You hum, eyes darting to the window, turquoise staring back in the fashion of awnings and fresh paint bordering a wooden frame. The sleeves of your sweater bite at your wrist in comforting fuzz, a slight itch along the skin to pull you from quaint interest. “What makes you so sure?”

“Just a feeling, it’s got that certain ambiance, you know?” Jimin’s hands wave with the impression of the ambiance so to speak, his eyes squinted in that way you so adore. The thought crosses your mind on many occasions, to compliment his subtle beauty, but the knowledge of his playfully arrogant counter always draws you from speech.

“Or because we ran into the owner on our way in this morning,” Namjoon chirps in kind, strolling to the lobby, his own pad in hand. He neatly tosses it to the desk, fingers skimming through unkempt hair. “Nice guy, said he might drop in for a consultation sometime.”

“Consultation? Sounds big,” You muse, hand finding your abandoned pencil to drag faint strokes along your page, though even the slight draw brings grimace to your features, dulled in the shadow of your palm pressed to your forehead, easily nudging wisps of loose hair. Namjoon shrugs, a non-committal range of motion, his neck craning over your shoulder to sneak a peek at your lack of a work of art.

He doesn’t speak on it, simply taking in the unfinished strokes, presumably in an attempt to reassure you in the midst of inspiration long lost. You're prepared to assure him that there’s no need for forced encouragement, but he moves on, collapsing onto near plush without a word.

“Says he’s been thinking about it for a while so I told him we could help him out. He also invited us to his opening, said he'd save some tea for us if we’re busy.” Lips pull back, dimples accenting Namjoon’s heavy cheeks.

You’re unsurprised by his amicable tale, recalling your fresh steps into this very shop just a few years prior. Your body was bare of ink and your arms bore only a flimsy book with hopeful sketches. He’d taken in your wide eyed glance and the disappearance of your bottom lip to the gnawing confines of your teeth. His towering height and newly trimmed hair taunting you within the daunting shadow that filled your frame through the doorway.

You chuckle at past memories, wondering how you could ever fear the gentle giant, his lips pulling into ready grin as he showed you to the very desk before you now.

“What’s so funny?” Namjoon calls to you, Jimin halting in his current endeavor to glance the smirk stretching your cheek.

“Nothing, just thinking. Was that your last client for the day?” You grab for the sign-in ledger, finger trailing the thick page, pinky tugging at the pulled edge of a worn corner. Your smirk flips to a frown poorly withheld, the page filled with Namjoon only reminding you that your own supplies need only be sanitized to prevent the collection of dust.

“Yeah, I figured we’d just close shop early today.” Jimin swipes the ledger with a tisk in your direction, not blind to silent thoughts.

“It’s noon, what if someone wants a walk-in?” Your gaze slides to the clock, hands ticking slowly along the round wall piece. It’s not unreasonable to assume someone will come in seeking art of the bodily variety, and your hands itch to prove your worth, even if it lies within an album long binded.

“Then I’m sure they’ll still want it tomorrow.” Namjoon shrugs, his hands folding over his chest forcing the bulge of recently buffed arms. You almost make a joke about the possible tear of the t-shirt hugging his frame, but refrain out of refusal to partake in the pursuance of sure to follow antics. “Besides, it’ll give you more time to work on that.”

You follow the tilt of Namjoon’s hair, long grown out from his routine refusal to take time from his day to get a trim. You often joke that he’ll be gallivanting with a tail soon enough, his thick locks nearly shoulder length as it stands. He often finds himself shaking it from his peripheral with the wrong angling of his head. He motions to your barely done sketch, the page glaring at you with a mocking disgust.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m gonna do.” You drip sarcasm, pad tossed to your bag and jacket jerked to waiting arms.

~*~

Off-white trim borders the wall of a shop nearly complete, Jeongguk checks and double checks a list stored in the confines of his mental. Aside from constant fear of the opening of doors without the steady flood of patrons he’s eager for business, hard work finally paying its due.

He’s only in for the morning, the steady tick of his wrist a reminder to snap from his obsessive habit, sure that he’ll receive word from Taehyung that he's on his way to drag him from the building. His grin rivals the glare of the sun as his eyes travel a building come together. His hand falls to his arm in dramatic pinch to ensure that his eyes aren’t filled with hopeful deceit.

It fits, he thinks, stepping out onto the walk, key slotting into the door to ensure security. His shop melds perfectly with the heavily lined street, animated tapioca unfinished in the window somehow making sense with the neighboring extravagance of bloom at the near florist and the samples of ink from the tattoo shop across the way. Even the simple thrift shop with it’s objects of interest decorating the window compliments his simple display.

Opportunity hasn’t struck to visit his new neighbors, though he did stumble into a chunk of the owners of one of the shops. He found surprise in the ease with which conversation flowed, his mouth like the babble of a brooke despite the nerves that skipped like pebbles in his stomach and his heart that beat a million miles a minute following their friendly departure.

In his stupor he nearly misses the float of voices a ways down the quietly milling street, but the recognition of a melodic tone draws his gaze.

“I’ll take you for ice cream.” Jeongguk recognizes the voice that seeks to entice as Jimin, though he doesn’t recognize you.

“I’m not a child you know.” Your statement is grumbled, the words echoing that of a childlike pout. Jeongguk can see the movement of your arms as they reach to a playful shove, the rhythmic shift of Jimin’s feet looking routine even from a distance. You choose not to acknowledge Jimin’s coo, his fingers poking at your protruding cheek as if to say Oh but aren’t you?

Jeongguk watches with interest and the initiative to work up the courage to bring acknowledgement to his presence and perhaps introduction to who he expects is the other third of the tattoo shop. You and Jimin are too caught in bickering to notice the figure just feet away, your fingers pinching Jimin’s nose with a countering taunt.

“Can’t I just treat you to a nice frozen treat? I don’t recall that being a crime, but please enlighten me.” You pinch the bridge of your own nose, the scent of freshly packed soil wafting from neatly situated pots.

You spot the poke of pink from one of the tall and timid plants, though you imagine the fragile nature is only by way of visual, Yoongi always diligent with his seedling evolved friends. You make note to beg him to allow the purchase of a precarious plant, an act of teasing to stem from your track record, the memory of shriveled begonias bringing even your shoulders to lift in cringe.

“Are you still talking?” Your gaze shifts back to Jimin, his flow not conscious to your unconscious senses.

“So rude, you should be thanking me for the extra time off.”

“As if I need more time off, but fine, I suppose I can let you treat me as an apology for your ratty transgressions.” You tut. Were your ears peaked and footing less strayed you would’ve noted the distant chuckle of Jeongguk, still standing dormant outside of a dimmed shop.

His thoughts of hurried introduction came to halt with his notice of you. Your voice held a playful jab when you spoke, Jimin’s reactions only animated enough to draw slight attention from your raised tone. Despite your fussing dialogue, your posture was slouched just a tad and your hands fisted into snug jacket sleeves to mimic paws. Jeongguk decides he’d be hard pressed not to be endeared by you in the slightest.

“Wow, I thought I was gonna have to come here and drag you out by the ears.” Hands clap Jeongguk’s shoulders, Taehyung rounding his frame, grin gentle as he regards with relief. “I swear you’d probably live here if I didn’t keep you at bay. What are you--oh she’s pretty.”

The two watch your retreat, your hand easily clasping Jimin's, the swing of connected wrists appearing natural with your stride through the afternoon chill. Jeongguk ignores the flare of his cheeks at the notion of exposure, thankful that Taehyung doesn’t make a show of his ogling.

“Yeah, looks like she’s taken though...you wanna get ice cream?” Taehyung scrunches his nose, wind kissed cheeks held between gloved palms. His scoff is inward, Jeongguk’s suggestion appearing nothing short of ridiculous as the two are swept by a wind that’s particularly biting. While Taehyung shivers, Jeongguk doesn’t appear to mind, hands shoved in his pockets, heels rocking along cracked concrete.

“Do I look like I want to get ice cream? It’s freezing out here and not everyone radiates the warmth of a furnace.”

“Well unlike you, not everyone is so dramatic.”

“Whatever, just get some when we get home.” Taehyung lightly shoves, legs turning in the direction of his car, parked on asphalt, freshly coated by summer’s end.

Jeongguk stares after the winded trail of a billowing pea, your bobbing figure rounding a corner and straying from widened eyes. He sucks through clenched teeth, opportunities knock having been missed at the hands of Taehyung. The clench of fists in pockets goes unnoticed as he rounds on planted heels and makes his way to the car, Taehyung happily staring from the passenger seat waiting with a grin dripping sincerity.

“You definitely owe me for this.”

~*~

You twitch along with the consistent drip of a leaky faucet, the tap of digits on worn ceramic offering a release to limbs without proper use. The biting chill in your toes is only minutely cured by the pilling of four blankets, barely thick enough to rival the wool knit socks Hoseok gifted you last christmas.

You find pause in the sun setting from the window, dim lighting pouring through weak curtains. Your tongue prods at the confines of your mouth, frosted by forced treat and abandoned with the recommendation of a mug of hot cocoa which now rests lukewarm in your clenching palms.

You force your mind to yield, racing in a direction opposite the self destructive course that usually remains dormant until you lay to rest for the evening. Hands numbed by the interference of a numbing chill met with the warmth of a mostly empty mug nearly spilling when your right palm jumps in the direction of your phone, perched on an end table composed of chipping wood and stains too set to resemble anything but a dark pool, a picture puddle fit for galoshes in adolescence.

You wonder if Yoongi’s taken his plants in, the set of cold not nearly the condition for any pending life surely. Though you quickly pull back, recalling a conversation following another mishap, your plant lying limp before the attentive florist, his cheeks rosy from the heat lamps and the temperature set to ensure maximum growth year round. It was with passion that he waxed about the difference between certain plants and the amazing circumstances of their survival.

It was with half amused grin, your head lopsided along the freshly painted door frame that he assured you that if a plant can survive the harsh conditions of the season of cool there was surely one meant to survive you.

You glance to the succulent placed on the sill overlooking your sink. You had been indignant at Yoongi’s insistence that you take it, almost begging that he give you one of the smiling pink numbers reflecting in the window rather than the less impressive green poking from the dirt of a tiny hand painted pot. Yoongi’s reaction was much the same, innocence painting his rose blushed cheeks as he explained the beauty of every plant, sure to continue on until you gently removed the pot from his fingers.

Now the once shy note of green was large enough to cover your palm, a bright spot in the dark of your apartment, falling apart at the hands of purposeful ignorance from an absent landlord.

A sharp tap against your front door draws your gaze, pointed as if to break the barrier of solid wood. You don’t notice the spill of your drink until warmth slips through your sweater, arm jerk sending the mug careening to shatter. The pieces decorate the floor with a colorful tap to pair with the running of dark liquid along the hardwood.

“Shit.” Words muttered in haste, one of many blankets piled in swaddle is heaved to the floor, your legs lifting you from the chair and gently to clothed knees. Cocooning the glass in the thick material you stand to full height when another tap draws you. Your hands tug at your sweater, the seep of the liquid already beginning to set in and your skin grows irritated from the unwanted intrusion. “Coming!”

You glance to the spot where chocolate dances along the edges of your braided rug, the centerpiece itching to soak up what it can manage of the chocolatey drink, already dreading the work of scrubbing to prevent permanent damage. Making your way to the door your feet stride in a half walk half slide along hardwood, tripping up due to the soiled bits of fabric sticking to your feet and resisting a usually easy trek along the hardwood. The pull of the door is a surprise, an unfamiliar face staring back at you with a geometrically flattering smile.

“Hello…” Your words are drawn and rasped, a mixture of the lack of dialogue and settling curiosity.

“Hi, I’m Taehyung.” There’s no deterrence from Taehyung at your lack of reciprocated enthusiasm, just the shake of locks, shaggy and shielding his eyes that appear to glisten in the flicker of the hall lights. His eyes brighten in recognition, though you can’t seem to separate his stare from the reflection of his shocking irises and simply accept his hand as it slowly extends.

“Y/n. Is there something I can help you with?” You attempt a glance around his ever present frame in hope for an explanation, but the notion is non-existent so you wait as he gathers his own. You don’t miss the wandering of his eyes to the open of your apartment but don’t call him on it, an entrance composed of nothing more than a table and a crooked portrait gifted by Jin. You can hear his distant cackles as he positioned it just perfectly before the door.

“Actually I was gonna ask you how to work the heat in this place, but you look about as warm as me so…” He shifts on his heels unsure, taking in your heavily bundled appearance.

You tug once more at your stained sweater, your face heating with recollection of the soiled garment still clinging to you, now with more fervor from the added moisture. Your thick socks are layered over a pair only slightly less so and your legs appear heavily padded under two pairs of dense sweats. “You must be new here.”

Taehyung shrugs, half a step taken in retreat. He tilts his head just so, gesturing to the vacant hall, a door half ajar allowing the flood of light to illuminate the peel of ancient wallpaper. Not for the first time you wish you’d taken Jimin up on his spare room. “Yeah, just officially moved in today. We’re down the hall, heard the apartment’s been vacant for a while and it seemed nice enough.”

“But no one told you that the heat only works correctly on a good day, sounds about right.”

“And our shower--”

“Leaks?” You finish, the distant drip from your kitchen just audible over your speech. Your thumb pushes against the bow of your pursed lips, teeth grabbing hold of roughened skin whilst you watch the turn of cogs tumbling before you.

“Yeah...should I call the landlord?” His brows knit at your nonchalance, thumb jerking to his apartment. You almost chuckle, covering your outburst with a quick tilt of your head. The simplicity of the suggestion seems only to add to the hilarity of the situation.

“Sure, but I’d recommend investing in a space heater and keeping a couple of tools handy. I’m not wearing four layers to make a fashion statement.” Your fingers drum along the frame of your door, the gentle tap carrying between you in soft silence. “Well...welcome to the building and sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

“Guess someone had to be,” His throat clears in chuckle, hand tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie, the strings hanging lopsided where his hood lay half scrunched at the base of his neck. His thumb lifts to trace the corner of his mouth, shifted in that same grin that greeted you minutes prior, though this time your return is swift and without the same haze that accompanied his unfamiliar presence. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”

Taehyung turns on his heel at the pace of the gears turning in his brain, swift stride carrying him back to his door, yours clicking shut along the shells of his ears. He pushes into his residence, door squeaking on hinges as it closes in his wake. Straight for the living room he makes haste with lengthy stride, spotting Jeongguk who swallows the couch with his body, spread as much as the lengthened cushion will allow. He peeks from his curtain of hair, dangling at the angle of his head, blinking with the poke of a follicle gently prodding his pupil.

“So?” He pushes up to a sit, nearly knocking his phone from the arm where it’s perched without care. His shoulders shake from the mix of cold and anticipation, mistaking the grin that Taehyung sports as a triumphant mission.

“Oh this place is spectacularly shitty, my friend. Looks like we’ll be snuggling like penguins if we wanna get warm tonight.” As if to punctuate his vivid explanation, Taehyung slides dangerously close to where Jeongguk remains sitting, legs brushing as he sinks into the already heated seat.

Jeongguk nudges to the sharp of Taehyung’s shoulder, encouraging him further inward with a defeated groan. He’s sure he catches the scent of something similar to carpet that’s been left to mildew, but he attributes it to imagination. Somehow this very apartment seemed a saving grace just a month ago. “I knew we should’ve splurged on that loft. Why are you smiling?”

“Hm, so that girl that you were staring at earlier, you know her?” Taehyung doesn’t shy from his urge to throw himself over Jeongguk’s lap, ignoring the squint scrutiny from above. He pokes at the underside of Jeongguk’s chin, teasing a reaction from him, grimace evident from the suction of his cheeks.

“Not exactly, I know the guy she was with though. They own the tattoo shop, why?” Taehyung braces his head with one hand, the other grabbing hold of the string dangling from his clothes, rolling the aglet between agile fingers. He ponders the thought of revealing that just beyond moth eaten wallpaper and the cracks of a concrete hall you await just a few doors down.

“Just a question. You didn’t think I would just leave it, did you?” Jeongguk’s nose scrunches because he did in fact find that avenue favorable among the chosen. Taehyung pats his muscled thigh with a patronizing shake of the head, hair already tangling with the push of his heavy skull to Jeongguk’s tough jeans.

“So what, she’s cute, not like I know anything about her. I’m more concerned with making it through the night without contracting pneumonia or risking the complete freeze of my limbs.”

The two seem to scoot closer at the thought, Taehyung now pushed against Jeongguk’s abdomen. They paint quite a picture on their second hand furniture, couch in need of stitching at the seams and the questionable stain that inhabited it upon arrival nipping at the press of Taehyung’s socked feet into the cushion.

Fatigue abandoned the task of unloading boxes that litter the expanse of open flooring and leftover furniture. Their energy fueled endeavor long forgotten along with the memory of comforting warmth. They both ponder the idea of retreating to respective rooms, but find it would be a miracle if they could manage to pull themselves from half comfort, abandoning the hope of body heat against the chill of the shared space.

Audible groan travels the four walls when a gentle fist beats against the door. Taehyung shoves at Jeongguk’s shoulder, a silent appeal to the younger to make sacrifice and leave their cocooned warmth. Jeongguk won’t be swayed, his arms easily finding the weight of Taehyung’s side and nudging enough to send him careening to the floor with a resounding thud.

Grumbles and groans of the incoherent leave Taehyung’s mouth, amused giggles falling from Jeongguk whose legs are now pulled to drink in the heat left behind. Taehyung stops for a moment, thinking that his timely trek was wasted, opposing party’s fist meeting wood no more. He gently opens the door, head ducking around the corner, foot stepping out only to stub into something surely placed for such an occasion as his physical reckoning.

He foregoes subtly, mouth unhinging and curses falling akin to rocks from a cliff side, the echo bouncing against concrete and soaking into the slips and edges of the silent walls. Jeongguk ambles around the corner with concern etched features, the draw of his eyes landing on his roommate, leg at an angle and clutched whilst he leans against the doorframe.

Jeongguk squeezes past, kneeling to pluck the sticky posted from the top of what appears to be a space heater. His eyes scan the crisp note, glancing down the hall with the knowledge that the perpetrator is surely long gone. “Dude, you good?”

“Stubbed my fucking toe,” Taehyung strains. Jeongguk let’s him sulk, hiding a purposeful grin from the dramatist leaning over him. “What is that anyways.”

“Space heater.” He passes the note, Taehyung scans it quickly with a hum. He doesn’t miss the look he’s receiving from Jeongguk, aware of the name scribbled along the tiny parchment. “Was nice of them. What did you say anyways?”

“Nothing really, guess I’m just a natural charmer.”

~*~

“Will you tell her that she should just move in with me like I suggested in the first place?” Jimin snags on the thick of Namjoon’s t-shirt, pulling him from his task, resituating his glasses along his face rather than the slide to the tip of his nose that seemed a regular occurance. You choose to ignore the commotion, back to sweeping dust and scattered leaves from the entrance of the shop.

Your living situation, less than ideal, often leads you to Jimin’s door, his spare room rather drenched in your deposited belongings. It’s his futile mission to persuade you to trade up from your desolate one bedroom with it’s desperate calling for tlc and take permanent residence in his humble abode just uptown.

It’s foolish not to consider, but you always find the scrape of your teeth roughening the budded surface of your tongue when he turns to you with his grin of sweet saccharine nearly once a week. You don’t know what it is about the cracks that seem to shimmy further up the walls with each passing minute or the breaks in the tile that beg an earthquake decades off, but you aren’t quite ready to part with it.

“If you want me to stop coming over just say so,” You huff, fully aware that’s not the case but sure it’ll throw Jimin for a curve with enough distance to keep him at bay.

He sputters, releasing Namjoon with a gentle shove, “That’s not it and you know it! I just don’t see why you stay there, it’s so...broken.”

“I’ll have you know that I-”

“Have lived there since you came here blah blah blah, we know. Oh hey, a customer! Would you look at that,” Jimin’s over enthused response following a set of feet flooding through draws your next words to thin air, replaced with a well meaning grin. His perked posture slumps when he realizes that it is not in fact a patron looking to empty their wallet. “Oh, it’s just Hobi-hyung.”

“Thanks for the sunshine,” Hoseok counters, elbows covered with a patched overcoat resting along the edge of Jimin’s desk. Though his words hold a tinge of sarcasm, he’s all smiles as he regards you. Much like Namjoon he sports his frames today, wide and rectangular perched along the bridge of his nose. From the opening of his coat you smirk at the peak of a bright yellow sweater, an animation practically dancing along the expanse of his chest.

“Guess it’s a good thing that’s your job,” Namjoon pats him on his way to his office, returning with a box overflowing with garments and books. It’s not unusual that the two of them exchange goods, Hoseok’s thrift always looking for ways to fill the shelf.

It surprised you in the beginning, the flow of people who seemed to always leave his shop holding something to their chest like it was the world stuffed into a novelty bag. That was before Hoseok insisted that you visit yourself, sure you’d find something of interest. He wasn’t perturbed by skepticism, it only seemed to fuel the glint of a thousand galaxies that flared in his concentrated stare.

You’d ambled the lot for a good thirty minutes, fingers gliding along shelves so sturdy it came as a shock that he installed them himself, the wiggle of his elongated fingers when you recited the thought still fresh. It was the belief of Hoseok, in his own words, that there was a magic in places like his. A magnetic pull that would lead you to just the thing you need, often times things he himself didn’t even know he possessed.

“The rest is all in good fun,” He’d finished with that smile that rivaled the shine of the largest star glistening from above.

Your magic was nestled in the thick of it all, buried beneath someone else’s waiting fortune. It was the far corner that drew you, something about it just a shade darker than the rest of the large room. You’re unsure what possessed you, ignoring the insistence of magic cycling through the heavy air conditioning as you pillage through a pile of neatly folded quilts and the random placement of a busted stereo.

“Find something?” Hoseok appeared, head resting just over your shoulder. Your crouch betrayed you and were it not for quick reflexes and a helping hand the bust of your ass was sure to find the floor. Hoseok stood with a pool of change shaking in his palm and his neat smile waiting for you to putter around with your find.

“It’s just a necklace, nothing special.”

“Still, take it, you never know.” He was insistent that you leave with the silver chain, an onyx pendant dangling from the end and even more so that, rather than pay him, you admit that there’s something in the air. You agreed, but your reluctance was only truly squashed when you found yourself adorning the necklace more than your usual jewelry reserved for occasion.

“Hey, did you guys hear about the tea shop opening up?” Hoseok plants himself on Jimin’s desk, ignoring the playful glare burning a hole in his side. Namjoon rests the box on the ground next to him with a grunt, clear on Hoseok’s intention to linger as long as time will allow rather than collecting his treasure and hurrying back to his own place of work.

“Jimin and I met the owner yesterday, he seems like a really nice guy.” Namjoon fills before Jimin has the chance to allow his jaw to unhinge, no doubt planning to flaunt his basic knowledge like privileged information.

“That’s nice. Rumor has it he specializes in boba.” You would chuckle were it not for the wild look in Hoseok’s eyes, his hands painting imaginary rainbow before slotting through the pockets of his coat. His feet steadily tap tap against the tile, the gentle nod of his head not at all unusual but nonetheless intriguing. “It’ll be so nice not having to drive a town over just to have a nice tapioca pearl.”

“You know they sell those, you could make your own.” Your words are all but lost on the eccentric businessman, his tactic to avoid information displeasing to his interests taking full effect. His body angles, half hiding a chuckling Jimin from your view. Sliding the broom to the near closet, not unaware of leaves sadly crumpled against the tile from Hoseok’s timely entrance, but not bothered enough to scoop them into the waiting bin, you make haste to your office slipping between the door slightly ajar. “Right. Well I’m gonna go try to get some work done.”

You release a stuttered breath upon the gentle click of your door, mumbled dialogue just barely pushing through the thick wood. Air puffs your cheeks in half contemplation, silence stealing the inspiration that seemed to dance before you, brain now only half awake as time seems to dwindle at the speed of sound. Instead of the reach for a waiting pad and the scatter of ballpoint colors staring from your desk unused and impatient, you grab for a volume that seems to scream from the near bookshelf.

It begs the recollection of time well spent, a pang in your chest follows a rushing to the surface as if air tearing from lungs lacking capacity. Your full weight collapses to your chair, recently upgraded at Namjoon’s insistence that nursing the squeaky four wheeler that threatened to collapse with the wrong release of breath violated his own moral codes before the hushed mumble about legal repercussions. You aren’t complaining, the upgrade makes you feel like a permanent staple, especially when your mind is convinced that layoff is imminent.

Your fingers trace the smooth cover of hardback, reckoning with the ache to feel the crisp of unturned pages and avoid the buildup that follows suit. It’s the not knowing that tugs at the precipice of your flowing mind, wishing for diagnosis from a stagnant flow of a previous gold mine.

Your ears peak at the surge of voices layering the lobby, though your mind squashes the urge for a slip back into the throw of pleasant chatter. You draw a drawer, fishing for half tangled buds, slipping them into your heightened canals to drown with the sounds of your latest fix.

~*~

The lift of Jeongguk’s gaze as heavy feet carry him past the fluorescent sign of Uhgood Tattoo and through the ringing entrance is subtle enough as doe eyes scan the lengthy space for a feminine form. He’s met with null, but the snag of his pupils on a wall of intricacy almost distracts from the loiter of men staring straight for him and Taehyung who is decidedly less preoccupied.

“Jeongguk, nice to see you again!” Namjoon booms over every voice in the room. His arms are half open in eager acceptance and Jeongguk leads Taehyung to the settled group, one last sweep still leaving him wanting for an introduction or a glimpse at best. “We were actually just talking about you.”

“About me?” His tone toes between surprise and unease, lips puckering in the shape of ‘oh’ and steps stuttering against the crunch of leaves slipping along linoleum.

“Yeah, Hoseok here was just saying how excited he is that you moved in. He owns the thrift shop just across from you.”

Hoseok doesn’t need much introduction before he’s centered in front of Jeongguk, smile glinting and hands reaching for the younger man with much fervor. Jeongguk would find the proximity daunting were it not for the friendly face reflecting in his widened irises. His chest rumbles, glad to place a face to bright signs and eccentric displays.

“Nice to meet you, we’re all glad to have a new face on our little strip. I’m especially glad to have an excuse to save myself from Jin’s questionable experiments in the kitchen.” Hoseok’s hand has yet to stop its steady shake of Jeongguk’s, too caught in words, leaving his mind’s body on its own. “Feel free to drop by my shop anytime, I love seeing new faces. Plus-”

“Here we go…” Jimin cuts, feigned exasperation coating his pitched tone before he excuses himself to the back of the shop. His exit isn’t swift enough to hide the exasperation of the puff of air that gaps his lips.

“There’s a special kind of magic in a shop like mine and because you just moved in the first trinket is on the house!”

“Oh magic? Taehyung’s really into that stuff, we’ll stop in sometime.” He gestures to his friend whose hands are shoved to the thick of his sweatshirt, lips pushed inward with the suck of his cheeks. “This is him by the way, Taehyung, he’s my partner of sorts at the cafe and my roommate.”

“Yeah, though the last one is questionable at the moment. Nice to meet you guys, this place is sweet! Do you do piercings by any chance?” As if by pure luck Jimin’s stepping back into the room, his eyes set ablaze with passion by the innocent inquiry.

“Piercings are my specialty actually, I can pierce any and everything!” His hands clasp to Taehyung’s shoulder, glad for excitement out of the realm of files and spreadsheets. Taehyung, surprised by the eager response, can only seem to nod along to the spew that falls from Jimin’s lips that near miles per minute. “Are you interested? I’d be happy to show you our collection.”

“This could take a while,” Jeongguk is startled by the presence of Namjoon somehow closer than before. Jimin is still spouting about his work to his potential client, Jeongguk takes in Taehyung’s features in search of a signal for help, but only finds him painted with interest and intrigue at the bundle of knowledge that is Park Jimin. Namjoon gestures to a hall along the far wall, a couple of paintings half crooked beckoning them forth. “We can talk about those tattoos if you’re interested?”

The buzz that surges in the cavity of his chest is answer enough, companied with the vigorous nod of his head, curls bouncing against the frame of his cheeks. “That would be great!”

Namjoon easily falls into the roll of guide, leading the two down the hall and past a couple of doors tightly sealed. The walls are a dark shade, set aglow by the heat of fixtures hanging overhead. Even in the dim setting, Jeongguk finds his head swiveling in every direction, thirsting to take in every inch of the place. In his haste he nearly trips over a section of flooring slightly raised, likely the result of settled foundation over many years. He decides rather quickly in favor of the building, the character of the interior clashing rather nicely with the updated signage on the outside.

‘We’ve got a few different stations for working,” Namjoon speaks up, drawing Jeongguk’s attention back. “We do them in the section off the side of the lobby if the customer is comfortable and it’s nothing major, but we also have private rooms that we as the artists like to use depending on the project.”

“That’s what these rooms are?” Jeongguk reaches with a pointed finger, tracing the expanse of the wooden frame, chipped and roughened, to a closed door. Rather than plaquing to decipher between the various enclosures there are framed sketches posted outside of each, nothing a newcomer like himself could pick up on, clearly contributed by the owners.

“For the most part, there’s my office and Y/n’s, and a storage closet but this is where the magic happens.” Namjoon allows Jeongguk a path to his office, door shutting in their wake with a dull thud.

It’s less decorated than Jeongguk was expecting, the barely bare walls outside of the office building up the anticipation of the canvas that must be spread within. Instead there’s nothing put bright white, almost blinding compared to what he’s seen so far. There are a few framed photos of Jimin, himself, and you; all smiling in various scenarios of glee. Other than the placement of a decently sized shelf in the corner and the desk perched along the adjacent wall this office gives no indication of Namjoon’ s labyrinthine line of work.

Even so, Namjoon appears highly intimidating as he takes a seat at his desk, gesturing Jeongguk to the comfortable chair across. Jeongguk is well aware that he doesn’t mean to give the impression of a boss, straight backed and fingers laced over mahogany, but that doesn’t make it any less so.

“So!” Namjoon speaks with triumph, his gauntlet the toss of the pen that had previously dangled from the fold of pierced ears. “You have any idea what you’re looking for in the ink department? I figure we can start with graphics and then discuss placement to see who the best fit would be for you.”

“Best fit?” Jeongguk leans forward, boots squeaking obscenely on the tile beneath. His cheeks flush at lack of knowledge, feeling as if the words spewed were foreign when in reality it was a jolt sent to the creases of his spine and straight to the red soaked appendage in his upper chest. While he’s entered this room with the assumption that Namjoon would be his sole artist, there lay a chance that the two of you will come face to face.

“Yeah, Y/n and I are both good at what we do but of course we both have our specialties. So we like to decide our clients that way sometimes.” Namjoon’s explanation leaves him none the wiser to hidden meanings and the hopeful perk of Jeongguk’s shoulders.

“Oh. I haven’t met Y/n yet,” He wonders if you rest behind one of the many doors leading to this one, sketching away on what he’s sure can only be a masterpiece. “Is she around?”

“Yeah...I don’t wanna disturb her though. Maybe she’ll be in the lobby when we’re finished here.” Namjoon’s words are sincere though his eyes seem to drift far off, their target the window over Jeongguk’s shoulder, shadowed by the growth of a large tree, branches dwarfing the ground outside. His trance is but a moment, focusing once more on the man before him. “What did you have in mind for your tattoo?”

“Well, actually, I was wondering if you guys use the tebori method here? I know it’s more widely used in japan, but I don’t really see myself heading over there anytime soon.” This shop isn’t the first that Jeongguk has scoped in hope of an artist with an extra element of technique, the buildup for disappointment resting in a rehearsed expression. He watches the myriad of expressions that Namjoon cycles through, almost as if the answer rests against the tip of his tongue, but he’s unsure if it’s the correct one. “It’s totally fine if—”

“We do.” He speaks without much expression save for the way his spine seems to cave inward as he continues to think. Jeongguk isn’t sure whether he should continue speaking, choosing instead to study the tilt of a pen on the desk, threatening to roll to the floor if it dances any longer at the edge of the surface. His nerves itch to grab for the object for some form of reprieve, afraid that the pending clatter will disturb Namjoon’s steady concentration and perhaps the calm mask that he appears to be sporting.

His head tilts a tad, curls falling over one pupil, the other spying Namjoon as if zeroing in on a target, nearly scrutinizing the pensive thinking with his galaxy gaze. He can see that just past the roof of Namjoon’s head there lies a single divot in the wall, nearly tricking the bump of accidental furniture, but Jeongguk’s own fist clenches in recognition, thumb tracing the jag of his knuckles.

“Y/n is the only person here that can tattoo with that particular technique, she’s amazing at it really, I’m just not sure if she’ll be up for it right now.” Namjoon’s words seem to pain him to utter, a strained longing in his voice that’s indecipherable without context. Jeongguk only nods along, curiosity curbed by his unyielding sense of etiquette in a situation that doesn’t wholly concern him. His feet are already pressing against the flooring, prepared to push to his feet and exchange pleasantries and assurance of no hard feelings, but Namjoon doesn’t seem quite through, leaving Jeongguk’s position to an awkward one hanging from the edge of his seat. “I don’t wanna speak for her though, so maybe you two can talk.”

“Okay, should I set up an appointment?”

“No, I think I heard her leave her office, she’ll probably be in the lobby. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you now.” Namjoon’s mouth is once again split in dimpled grin, leaving Jeongguk’s head to a spinning akin to a child’s top. He’s led from the room, paying extra attention to the hall, ears itching to pick up a tone much higher than those in the lobby he left only a short time ago.

Contrary to Namjoon’s inference, the lobby is emptier than when they left, Jimin and Taehyung the only ones left milling about. Their speech mimics old friends, Jimin poking at Taehyung with the smile of someone who knows something that no one else does, Taehyung simply replying in kind with half grin.

“I thought I heard, Y/n.” Namjoon directs his voice at Jimin, fingers tapping the surface of his desk whilst his eyes take inventory of the shop. Jeongguk wonders if he thinks you’re hiding behind one of the plants situated in the corner, waiting for the perfect moment to catch them off guard.

“Mm, she left. But not before this one got his flirt on,” Jimin’s elbow catches Taehyung’s rib with a sharp jab coloring his words. Taehyung doesn’t allow this to phase him, standing to his feet with a shrug of nonchalance.

“Not flirting, we just happen to know each other. You done here?” He aims at Jeongguk stepping with purpose toward the door. Neither makes eye contact, the subject of interest not particularly left to the category of unmentionable, but leaving them both awkward and stiff.

“Uh, I think so.” Jeongguk slants so that Namjoon is well in his sights, already typing vigorously on his phone screen. “Should I schedule something or…?”

“Don’t worry about it, I have your number so I’ll just have Y/n give you a call to see when you guys meet.”

Jeongguk stands a moment longer, his toes tapping to the leather roof of boots so chunky they seem to swallow him from toe to ankle, the footwear attempting to take from his lengthy form and failing miserably. He turns mid-step when Taehyung slaps lightly at the sleeve of his jacket, urging him to step beyond the threshold. He lifts his arm to half wave, mumbling pleasantries, barely audible of the steps that echo in his ears with each pace onto the desolate sidewalk.

Jeongguk heads toward his own shop, missing the realization of the lack of paired steps with his own. Several paces behind him, a subtle guilt dressing the plains of his cheeks, Taehyung tugs at the wear of half chapped lips, wondering if the broach of a hazy subject is necessary. He catches Jeongguk easily with a jog, nearly stilling him mid-stride but saved from the extra physicality by the passing of a car.

“You know...Jimin was just joking.” Jeongguk’s brows lift, clearly only just catching sight of his constant companion, his own thoughts carrying him along the street without a wayward glance. His eyes widen, unsure of Taehyung’s intentions or the direction of the current topic. “About Y/n, I mean. I don’t really know her and we don’t flirt.”

“Wouldn’t matter if you did.”

“Yeah, sure. It’s just—look I know you saw her the other day and I’m willing to bet the only reason you haven’t mentioned that you’re intrigued is because you thought she was dating Jimin.” Taehyung treads, careful to avoid the gaze of reddened cheeks, Jeongguk’s hand raising to a nudge at his soft lobe, the other clenching and unclenching in denim blue, nails scratching the rough of fabric with each clasp. “Well clearly they’re not dating, so it wouldn’t be a bad thing if you did like her is all I’m saying.”

“Like I said, I don’t really know her. I think she’s cute, from a distance anyways, but I don’t think that’s any reason for a declaration.” The gentle tick of the crosswalk draws Jeongguk's attention on the present path to the opposing side of the street, ignoring the gentle tick of his chest.

A shining beacon in a sea of monotony. The words that filtered like a mantra, dressing the walls of his clogged brain, overflowing from files and dancing with the fires in tipped bins. Taehyung’s words extinguish the licking flames, if only momentarily, with meticulous reassurance.

A pocket of vibration, dark and clinging to his chilled skin, is notification for incoming correspondence. His steps skip, tripping along asphalt, saved only by the subtle grasp of a steady hand. His thanks are dropped without hesitation, hand slipping from fabric confines with the heavily encased lifeline pulsing with power.

From: Unknown [ 2:25pm]~is this jeongguk? namjoon gave me your number, said you need a consult?

From: Me[ 2:26pm]~yea...this is y/n im guessing?

His eyes pierce the screen, undressing the words with precision, ensuring he doesn’t make a fool in reply. He wasn’t prepared for the quick interception of the conversation he’s still processing, inner workings too focused on what’s straight ahead, not minutely prepared for Namjoon's speedy deliverance.

From: Unknown [ 2:30pm]~ding ding ding. im pretty much free whenever, so let me know what works with you and we can meet to discuss what you need and whether im the person for the job

From: Me[ 2:33pm]~ how about tomorrow around this time?

From: Unknown [ 2:34pm]~ cool. let’s meet at the park around the corner

And now, he waits.

~*~

The first thing you noticed was his approach, a confidence in his stride yet eyes that tried and failed to hide the glisten of steady orbs and the kiss of wind landing atop the surprising density of his cheeks like the piling of new snow. Your legs were crossed at the ankle, bare skin grazed by the cool of grass half dried by the desert chill, hands gripping the accumulation of sleeve inched to the open of your palm whilst your lips curved in mimic at the pout of his own, unintentional but perfectly protruding with the tracking of your steady tilt.

If one were to ask about the slight tremor in your hand or the subtle inch across inches between, you would fail to mention the metaphorical personality of your pulsing appendage and the ooz of liquid red abandoning the organ overflowed to trace the expanse of veins humming with the melodic string of laughter yet to abandon the space since he first spoke. You were immediately taken with soft speech and stolen glances, the professional tossed aside when you asked him to meet you, altogether forgotten when he said hello.

The pulsing was stunned only momentarily when he withdrew, hand disappearing into deep pockets to pose leather-bound pages and the hesitant stretch of muscles, the quick twitch of his neck the line of a rod, drawing you forward with each gentle reel of innocence. Now you sit, tangled in silent adoration, dripping admiration for the collaged pages, soaked in brilliance.

“These are yours?” You stroke the page with the ease of your pointer, his head tilting, hair framing, whilst he nods in a lopsided grin. You don’t notice the glue to your cheek, his eyes steady studying you while you study the glide of his hand with jet black against the white page.

He wonders if you catch the nerves, the steady vibration of his unsteady palms, gentle leap of muscled thigh and the brush of your leg with each accidental inch closer. The proximity did him in, your face from a distance only a picture on a page, face to face giving him the overwhelming sensation of the walk through a gallery filled with seven wonders, their spectacle meaningless without the promise of you.

He pretended for a moment, between laughter and brushes of innocence that he’s known you a lifetime, the thought only pulling at his metaphorical strings because he wishes he had. Your voices echo is sure to leave him wide eyed and ceiling bound for nights to come, imagining the galaxy as you, white expanse the only thing keeping from the grip he so wishes he could establish on the slip of your time here.

He knows it’s insanity, thoughts that won’t leave him be, the closeness driving him further to the edge. It’s the reason for his transition to the journal, the reason you’re perched in the grass with the whipping wind and dead leaves skirting around you.

“It’s just some ideas I have, I jot them down so I don’t forget. I was hoping we could work on them, flesh them a bit more…” Your gaze leaves the page, magic dwindling a sum, aghast at the audacity in his words. You withdraw, clenching fists to rationalize the wait for rejection on your behalf.

“Why me? I mean, you’ve seen Namjoon’s work, he’s great.”

“He said that you’re skilled in the tebori method. I’d like them to be done in that style and not many people can. Plus, I’ve seen your work too, it’s just as amazing.” Jeongguk notes the deflation, not unaware of Namjoon’s warning. He’s tempted to pry, but reverses hoping to stumble upon neutral territory, already missing the strain of your muscles in smile. “But obviously it’s only if you’re comfortable. I don’t mean to put you on the spot.”

“You’re not, I just...can I think about it? I know that’s so incredibly unprofessional of me but—”

“Take as long as you need.” Jeongguk decides immediately he doesn’t need an explanation, that your rumination is the promise of another rendezvous, high hopes lifting him over the horizon of the midday sun, skin aching for the glow of golden hour.

You already know you’ll say yes, outright rejection never an option, the flicker of expression alight in your left receptacle more than reason to feel him once more. The physical is through the page, but the metaphorical is the connection of souls, the cliché of one person and the hope of renewed ardor.

“I promise I won’t be long…” The words hang, heavy in the air between and with more meaning than your intent. You’re led away by the weight of obligation, required assistance from Jimin to cover the desk, legs like infant limbs after an hour unmoving.

Jeongguk follows suit, still chewing the words before spewing his own right back. The same weight and familiarity in his soft deliverance.

“I’ll be waiting.”

And now, you climb.

~*~

“How was your date?” Jimin is already setting up his station, eyes not sparing a glance, concentration wholly reserved. His vibration is palpable, though you don’t immediately notice, the feeling still finding stringed limbs when you reach your seat behind the desk.

“I was meeting a client,” You speak hollow and unconvincing, the magic coursing through your veins begging to differ. Wonder is silent, eyes latching to the single eye muraled to the wall, imagining it to glisten like Sirius reflecting in the night sky, musing how one day could build a coherency of such magnetism yet still be held at arm’s length.

“Oh really? It’s just that, I never meet my clients at the park...” His voice is a hum, settling an array of options for the post pierce browse. “—it’s certainly a bonus that said client is very handsome and already seems pretty interested.”

“You’ve never even seen us in the same room, I just met him today.”

“Whatever. I assume he’ll be coming around a lot more.”

Your fingers grasp the nearest instrument, ballpoint clicking in time with the tap of your toe against the leg of the chair. “I don’t know if I’m gonna agree. I don’t want him to be disappointed in the result.”

“I know you think you’re old news, but the fact that you didn’t say no is reason enough. There’s clearly a part of you that wants to, so why not take the plunge?”

“I can’t say yes just because I feel some strange attraction to him. That would be inappropriate,” Your mind barely registers the entrance of figure three, a client you presume, the sign-in ledger already halfway across the desk when Jimin speaks again.

“So you are attracted to him?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yes you did,” Your pen clatters, nimble fingers swooping it in your absence, Taehyung’s smirk a playful gleam to counter your startled posture. He greets Jimin as an old friend, the two waiting for you to catch up, the slouch of your spine and the configuration of the scene pulling you back into the current take.

“You’re the one getting a piercing?” Wheels push the foundation, abandoning the desk in favor of the plush leather Taehyung has already sunken into. You believe he feels at home, the decorative jewelry already hanging from his lobes the badge of a pierced veteran.

“Yeah, I figure it’s time to expand my collection.” His hand brushes the lengthy edges of his dark locks, leaving ample space for Jimin to reach his target, the depth of his gaze landing on your arch over the chair’s arm. “I’m assuming your meeting went well?”

“What do you know about my meeting?”

“Why do you think I was here yesterday? The piercing was just a bonus,” He pokes at the tray beside him, the light smack of Jimin’s hand drawing him back to the confines of his lounge. You try to connect dots lost in the fray of day to day. Taehyung is not entirely new to you though still unfamiliar, but you don’t recall the mention of Jeongguk during his earlier visits.

“So you guys know each other then?” Your disbelief finds Jimin, his hand’s busied with extra sanitation and his lips focusing hard to keep his face straight. “I’m assuming I’m simply the last to know, okay then.”

“It’s just circumstance really, I’m the one who came to your door, you were in your office when we came here yesterday and he was in Namjoon’s office when you came out. I promise he wasn’t avoiding you, quite the opposite actually.” You’re too intrigued for embarrassment, your attention handed tenfold to Taehyung, his head slightly tilted while Jimin readies to pierce him.

As of late the stench of disinfectant would trigger a memory you were fighting hard to shield from the surface, but the idea of not knowing more of Taehyung drives it from your mind, currently on one track and unwavered by anything that’s not Jeongguk. Even so, there’s a haze, or perhaps the attempt of common sense forcing you to look past the filter of brights to truly grasp reality.

“We’d never met before today, how could he possibly be looking for me?”

“We actually saw you a few days ago, before you and I officially met. You and Jimin were leaving the shop and he seemed pretty distracted by you, but he thought you two were dating.” Your laughter emits in breathy sighs, muddled by the fluttering in your abdomen, Jimin’s lips smug, shoulders rounded.

“Easy mistake, we’d make a cute couple.” It would be a fib to deny that it’s the first time it’s been thought that you and Jimin were more than friends. His neighbors foolishly believe your late nights are spent anywhere save for the couch, silver screen glaring back at your glued lids.

You watch Jimin work, ignoring the bore of Taehyung’s eyes, his focal point to ignore the sharp sting of the needle. He barely flinches, your own body lurching in slight when the needle meets puffed skin. His hand clasps your wrist, pulling you closer, examining the bare skin in earnest.

“You don’t have any tattoos...none that I can see at least.” He notices, jumping to your eyes and back to your arm. He leans forward when Jimin steps away, gathering his studded collection of earrings, reflecting with golds and silver. “That’s pretty interesting considering you give them to other people for a living.”

“Astute observation. I do not have any tattoos visible or otherwise.” Taehyung kisses his teeth, easily opting for a pair reminiscent of chains. You look for judgement, but there’s none in his study of the colorful space, just a curiosity he’s not sure he should breach. “I’ve always wanted one, but I was too scared. Ridiculous but true.”

“Scared of needles?”

“At first maybe. Scared of the permanence of it all. It feels like such a big responsibility, to me at least, to decide what to get tattooed and I’ve never gotten to a point where I could just do it.” You think back to pages bound by leather with frightening immediacy, the conviction with which the they screamed at you almost haunting if not for the beauty of it. Chilling in the details of sketches, moments in time grasped so eloquently. A part of you is certainly jealous, but the other part is so irrevocably drawn to depth and desire. “Hey, Taehyung, is Jeongguk still at his shop by chance?”

“Actually I’m supposed to be meeting him for ice cream after this so he might already be there.” He pulls his device from his jacket, squinting at the screen, thumb gliding in swiftness. “You guys should come!”

“Oh we don’t wanna—”

“I’m in, I’ve been craving a good scoop,” Jimin leaves no room for disagreement, his limbs already at full speed to hurry cleaning his station. “We don’t have any clients and Namjoon is out of town for the day, so I think we’re good to close up. Plus, you can tell Jeongguk you’ll take him on.”

“I never said I would,” You slide back into your jacket, tucking your limbs into the sleeves. The sky has darkened significantly since the dusting of rays that splashed your skin as you sprawled the grass barely an hour earlier.

“You never said you wouldn’t.” The two are like stooges, already mastering the collaborative effort to challenge you.

“Have fun with your ice cream, I’m, hopefully, going home to a heated apartment.”

~*~

Jin has been talking to Jeongguk since he entered, the recognition of the new young entrepreneur on the strip catching his attention without pause. He’s a nice guy, his energy something Jeongguk would appreciate on any given day, but he was hoping for a moment of collection before Taehyung arrived.

He’s stuck on a blur, the low heat of his skin and the canals of his ears, yearning for the vibration of laughter and soft words spoken beneath the breeze. It was easy and good, an hour lost, an hour found. He would’ve laid there in the grass for hours after your departure were in not for the chill that crept in so easily without you beside him.

He wonders if it was a mutual feeling or if your reaction was just polite, a business tactic. No. Not you, you’re not the type to pretend, he knows even if he doesn’t know. Your sincerity was like a sickness, spilling from your every crevice, pouring out with your every phrase. He’s sure even you don’t notice the significant way you carry yourself, impossible to turn away from.

“Hey, Jin, talking Jeongguk’s ear off I see.” Jeongguk breaks his stare from where it concentrated on the ink already eating his skin, Jimin standing over the booth with Taehyung chuckling beside him. “Maybe give him a break and take out order?”

“There’s a counter, Park Jimin, and—” Jin squints in the direction of the counter, a small line waiting for their treats of the frozen variety, though not many people are keen for the cold in the midst of winter. “—yup there’s definitely someone up there waiting just for you.”

“Ha ha, leave him alone, Jin, his mind is already occupied plenty.” Jin slides from the booth, Jimin immediately taking his place, Taehyung sliding in after him.

Jin feigns reluctance when Jimin recites his order, all around friendlier when Jeongguk and Taehyung do the same. Jimin turns his attention to the other side of the booth when Jin sidles off, already choosing his next target. “Where’s your head at?”

“Hm?”

“We just talked to Y/n, I hear your meeting went well, prospects are high. She seems interested,” Taehyung’s speech is backed with encouragement, Jeongguk’s lip quivering, but winning the fight against his impending smile, intent on not giving himself away too quickly.

“She said she’d think about it and I’m perfectly okay with that.” He thinks of your promise, the thoughts skirting past the surface for a sign, a signal that the more he feels is exactly the meaning behind your words. His rang true, he would wait and be content. He would be prepared to have you work as his artist and end things there, but the weight in his pocket and the recollection of your eyes doubled in size leaves room for the want of more.

“She seemed impressed with you,” Jimin adds, chin rested in his palm, reading for reaction. “The fact that she’s considering is a really good sign. For her and for you.”

“It all just felt really natural,” The two watch as Jeongguk’s eyes glaze over just thinking about the exchange. “Almost like we…”

He trails, face heating, his thoughts almost betraying him. He’s relieved when a server comes bearing dishes, thanking them aloud with pleasantry and inwardly for saving him from himself. The relief is short lived when two sets of eyes beam at him like he’s an amusement, waiting for him to continue.

“Almost like you…”

“Nothing, it’s really stupid. She’s really great, I’ll be lucky if she decides that I’m worth it.” He covers lamely, shoving his spoon past his lips, letting creamy vanilla coat his tongue and ease his mind.

“Trust me,” Jimin mumbles, swallowing his own hefty scoop. “She decided that the moment you sat down.”

~*~

It’s unclear what brought you to this stool some nights later, half buzzed and wondering if you’ll have to call Jimin to drag you home. Your mind hasn’t completely fogged, liquor light with mercy, heavy consequences no doubt pending for the morning to come. A break, you’d decided, hands and knees stained with product, trying in vain to work the stain from your carpet, the smudge faint but not enough to miss your eye.

The crowd is surprising, though you wouldn’t know as you don’t often go to the place with the metaphorical bad stuff, your own brand of lunacy dancing in boxes lacing your cabinetry. You recall the draw of drinks from mugs and Jimin off-key when you’re sliding more bills than you prefer across the counter. Moving is without appeal, head to the counter the way to go.

“Hey, you okay?” The voice is familiar, worth the work to lift your head. Jeongguk looks down at you, his hand placed to the bar, eyes wide with concern.

His own stumbling through the door of the room with the dim lighting and the absurd amount of sports playing in every corner was boredom. Taehyung had plans and he was left alone to the drone of the television, the shop in need of a break from him. The dishes already glistening from his tenth wash despite the lack of use. A spot of dust enough to send him into a frenzy. From Jimin the name of the dive was briefly mentioned, in relation to what he couldn’t say, the topic never picking his brain from the moment it was first spoken.

Now he’s glad he wasn’t a horrible companion, the sight of you hunched over reason enough for his half listen. He notes your solitude immediately, drawn to the side of the bar rather than the thick of it all, two glasses empty before you.

“Jeongguk!” Your tone is uneven, eyes looking watered under the lights, your smile brightening in his eyes. He can’t help but to return, lowering into the stool so your faces are level. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“I just got here actually and I saw you so…”

“You came for me?” If you were less influenced the words would have remained nothing more than a thought, passing in a sea of others you could never muster courage to speak. Though you’re not sure that a post buzz reflection will make you wish they were any less materialized, the way his features soften like a fertilization for the growth of your thudding heart.

“I—yeah, I came for you. Are you ready to head home?”

“You don’t know where I live,” You say the words, knowing you’ll go anywhere with him even if he doesn’t. You let him guide you from your stool, his touch soft, never too much.

“You know, I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

~*~

He lingers outside of your door, adoring the small struggle you have with lock and key, about to lend a hand when your triumph catches him, arms lifting over your head, turning to him with a smile. “Come on!”

“You want me to come in?” Taehyung will be home soon and he has no way of explaining that he’s at your place that doesn’t involve some teasing on his best friend’s end of it, though it doesn’t matter when you latch on to the sleeve of his jacket and pull him past the threshold.

The biggest difference between your place and theirs is the lived-in aspect. He would say that it’s cute, but it’s too simple a word. It seems you prefer mood lighting, the flip of a switch igniting fairies strung to the base of the ceiling. It suits you, who’s already stumbling toward the kitchen expecting that Jeongguk is hot on your trail. The décor is simple, a few paintings on the wall, rugs and cozy furniture.

“I’m sorry if it’s cold in here, it’s always kind of cold in here,” You mutter, grabbing two mugs and giving life to your kettle. Jeongguk recalls that you were no longer in possession of your space heater, taken by Taehyung and himself and still unreturned. He debates running over to grab it, but your hand once more on his wrist, drags him to the sofa erasing the thought of walking out of that door. “Thanks for bringing me home, I promise I’m not that wasted. You don’t have to be so nervous.”

“No, I’m not nervous! Not because you were drinking anyways…”

“So you are nervous...why?”

“You make me nervous...in a good way!” He’s quick to regroup, noting the fall of your features, hating that it’s because of him. “It’s completely insane, but from the moment I saw you I…”

“Me too.” Jeongguk’s previously averted gaze rushes to meet you, already staring back. He doesn’t need to ask what you mean, confident that what you feel is what he feels. Confident that it doesn’t matter how insane it may sound. “It’s so crazy, but when I saw you yesterday something just clicked and I thought maybe it’s because you’re ridiculously attractive but then we talked and it was so natural.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t just me,” He takes a chance, hand sliding to yours, resting against your thigh. Your fingers tangle without stutter, the position meant to be, so full of warmth and understanding. “I saw you with Jimin a few days ago, I couldn't stop staring."

So long is spent staring, enjoying each other and the mutual affection that's like an aura engulfing you.

"Where exactly do we go from here?” Jeongguk tugs at his bottom lip, another quality that fills you with warmth.

“Why are you opening a tea shop?”

“What?”

“We’re practically strangers, I don’t even know your last name actually. So, if there’s some weird predestined love at first sight phenomenon going on here, I’d like to know everything about you before we proceed.” You click, smile a contagious thing, one that Jeongguk would be remiss not to embrace wholeheartedly. “So why a tea shop?”

“Well first, my last name is Jeon—”

“Jeon Jeongguk…” He watches you test the words against your tongue. “Cute. You’re cute.”

“Anyways,” He blushes. “I’ve always loved making tea. I learned it at a young age and then I started experimenting and decided that this is what I wanna do. I figured focusing on boba would draw more people in, but I also wanna expand on what I already know.”

“Well if anything, Hoseok will be there at least twice a day.”

“What about you?”

“I think I can make time, though you are really out of the way I might not be able to swing it.”

“I’ll pick you up, or better yet I can just bring it right to you,” He offers, amused but truthful. “No, but I mean how did you get into tattooing, and how did you learn tebori?”

“Ah…” Your eyes find one of the frames hanging nearest the window, a landscape that Jeongguk can barely make out aside from the distance of neon. “Well, I was studying abroad actually, in Japan. I was an art history major and I didn’t really know what I wanted to do so I thought getting away would help me figure it out.”

You think often about the day when your current occupation seemed so foreign, your adolescence always filled with imaginings of galleries under curation, days filled with frames and packed schedules.

“One of my classmates convinced me to go out with her one night because she wanted a tattoo and I wanted one too, so I didn’t really see why I shouldn’t go. She got hers first, a flower I think, and while I was watching the artist I was just blown away by the technique.”

“Tebori?”

“Mmhm, of course I’d seen the regular ink and needle, but this just seemed to me something on a deeper level and I fell in love with it. It’s probably the most insane thing I’ve done to date, but I finished my degree abroad and stayed in Japan to learn and now I’m here.”

“Why’d you come back?”

“It just felt like it was time...sometimes I wish I hadn’t or that I could go back to visit. Like it’ll remind me what it felt like in the beginning, make me feel like less of a failure. I'd actually get my tattoo.”

“You’re not a failure, we just have patches sometimes. You’ll figure it out, we’ll figure it out.” The steam of the kettle startles from the moment you're quick to exit to the stove, mulling words and recovering from the embarrassment of exposure over the steaming water. “You know, I don’t have tea so I hope hot chocolate is okay?”

“It’s perfect,” Jeongguk accepts his mug and the packet of mix, stirring it in time with his breathing. He’s left to the obvious blushing of his cheeks, musing his circumstance, sharing a drink with the perfect anomaly. He’s ignored the constant stream of vibration from his pocket, no interest in removing himself from the cozy bubble. “So this place is pretty shitty, I would know and I’ve only lived here about a week. Why do you stay here?”

“You live here? Wait...you and Taehyung are roommates, duh sorry. I’m still trying to catch up.”

“Yeah, thanks for the space heater by the way. I’m pretty sure I would’ve given in the first night if I had to sleep in the cold.”

“Ha! No worries, sometimes I do give in and I stay over at Jimin’s place. But I’m just not ready to let this place go yet, I guess. It’s not great, but change is hard and I’ve been here for so long.”

You're close along the counter, space invaded without invitation, gravitation controlling your every step. The rest of the night follows suit, closeness and appeal. You enjoy words and laughter, ignoring the possibility of the responsibility the next day alludes.

Somehow you find yourselves in your bed, faces close and bodies tucked beneath the thick duvet. You're glad the heat isn’t working tonight, Jeongguk wrapped around you like a boa, slowly falling into the depths of unconsciousness, the conversation lulling with each random topic. Your throat is strained from laughter and your brain is filled with more than it thought possible.

Inches are now centimeters and you’re snails inching toward the finish, certain but uncertain if the light of day will change the result of your exchange.

The morning following you wake much the same as you slept, tangled, breaths mingling between. Jeongguk is still snoring, blissfully unaware of the authoritative knock echoing from your front door. Hands pushing at your eyes, feet tingling against the cold flooring, you swing the door with an annoyance you’re prepared to unleash before you’re met with Taehyung.

His eyes are half frantic, neck craning to see around you.

“Taehyung?”

“Hey, I’m sorry to bother you, but have you seen Jeongguk? I’ve been trying to reach him since last night and he’s not answering.”

“O-oh...um he’s here, let me get him,” You mumble, allowing Taehyung, his eyes softening and features squinted, to step inside. You leave him standing in the living room, ignoring the knowing smirk, head bowed as you step into your bedroom.

You regret the gentle shove of his shoulders, and the hushed “wake up” that slowly but surely draws Jeongguk from his sleep. He looked peaceful, full of youth with his eyes stapled and breath steady rising and falling. His eyes are puffy when he raises, confusion laced features recalling that he wasn’t in his own home.

His arm extends, patting your side of the bed, unaware that you were the reason for premature awakening. “Hey sleepy head.”

“What are you doing up?” He finds your hand, grabbing hold in an attempt to pull you back to bed. Though you would be more than willing, Taehyung is sure to have heaps to say already, no reason to add fuel to the fire already blazing in his pupils.

“Taehyung is here,” That catches his attention, eyes darting to the door half open. “He said he’s been trying to reach you. He’s waiting in the living room, I’m sorry if you didn’t want him to know you’re here, I panicked.”

“No it’s fine,” He assures, sliding from the bed, the same chill that ate you catching him with bare feet. You follow him back out to Taehyung, who’s taken it upon himself to peruse the space, currently examining the coffee table with it’s day old mugs. “Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you.”

Looking between the two of you, your hand finding habit at Jeongguk’s shoulder, he shrugs. “No biggie, just thought you might be in a ditch or something. Turns out I was very wrong, so I’ll leave you to it.”

“I’ll just come with you, I should probably shower and change. I’ve got some stuff to take care of before the opening. I can’t believe it’s only a couple months away.” You drop your hand, leaving him to it, an awkward and unsure feeling settling in your stomach. It’s clear that Jeongguk is a bit embarrassed, not that you’re own emotions haven’t caused the sting of a heat in your cheeks. You wait for him to follow Taehyung, who’s already waved goodbye, hands in his pockets as he stalks away.

Jeongguk isn’t so quick, turning to your ground bound pupils, fingers drifting to the trace of your jaw and nudging you to greet him. You’re taken by the lack of hesitation when his lips meet yours in kiss, short and sweet, altogether unexpected. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” You coo, fingers brushing his cheek gingerly, rewarded with one more peck before Taehyung is groaning in the hallway, effectively tearing Jeongguk from you to catch up.

~*~

You’re warm, for the first time in a long time you’re warm, from your chest to your veins, head and toes, and it’s all because of Jeon Jeongguk. His departure wasn’t the last of him, the next few months full of meetings planned and spontaneous, your phone alight with too many notifications, every one taken in with the same adoring smile and your own obsessed response.

You would stop by Hoseok’s blessing him with a coffee, happily listening to his rambling about the horrendous new flavor Jin had him and Yoongi test the other night. Across the street you could just see Jeongguk through the window, lips pulled in concentration, pen scribbling on the pad in front of him. Though it was cute, you couldn’t help but to attempt to cheer him up, his eyes immediately finding you after he’s read the little note sent to his phone.

You would be sick with yourself if you were the one to witness the affection radiating from your expanse, but you couldn’t care less how many times Jimin fake gags or the small lecture you endure when Yoongi delivers flowers later in the day. You hold on to the feeling and you hope that it feels like this all the time.

“What are you working on?” Namjoon steps into your office, no other reason than his own boredom swallowing him whole, much like the cushions when he collapses into your sofa.

“Just some of Jeongguk’s sketches…” You noticed rather quickly the familiar book resting on your bedside table after your first night together, no doubt placed by Jeongguk before sleep could find him. You spent the morning getting to know his art better, so you could try to make it exactly what he wanted. You only just got around to transferring the sketches to your own notebook, hoping to have something to show him at his opening.

“He’s really good for you. I haven’t seen you this eager about sketching in a while.”

“You think so?”

“What, you don’t?”

“No, I just...I don’t want you to think I’m completely insane for jumping into this so suddenly. I mean, I think it’s insane that I could be so completely sure about someone so quickly and I think the world of you, so I don’t want you to be disappointed…”

He laughs, whole hearted laughter fills your office and you’re not positive how you should respond. Your hands are unsteady on your pen, ready for him to completely crush your soul, back to the same girl standing in his doorway all those years ago.

“Honestly, you give me way too much credit.”

“What do you mean?”

“The night that you showed up, I was wondering how I was even gonna keep this place open. The building wasn’t the most friendly looking, most people walked right past, the outside giving them the impression that the inside was just as decrepit,” He sighs, head supported by the arm of the chair, eyes holding the ceiling in place. “When you showed up I was seconds away from telling you to get lost, then you handed me your sketches and you looked so hopeful. You were my last chance, so really I should be thanking you for being so spontaneous, especially if it means you’re happy.”

“Wow, why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“I didn’t want to put more pressure than you already put on yourself. Plus, it doesn’t really matter now, does it? We’re doing pretty good, and that’s what’s important.”

The revelation is a motivation, your grip on the pencil tightening, strokes light and even on the page. Namjoon doesn’t say much more, silent inspiration while he falls into slumber, the only reason he ever finds himself meandering into your space.

“Knock knock,” Jeongguk peers around the corner, your finer flying to your lips, the other gesturing toward Namjoon, dozing peacefully. “Sorry, does he do that a lot?”

“Oh yeah, he pretends he wants to know what I’m up to then he’s out like a light before I’ve finished speaking.”

“I’ll have to try it sometime—”

“Watch it,” You warn playfully, sneakily closing your notebook so he can’t see. “What’s up? I figured you would be too busy filling orders for little ole me.”

“Never, and I want you to try this! I was thinking I could add it to the special menu. I know everyone is into the whole lemonade with boba thing which we do offer but I was trying to make a tea that’s more on the fruity side than the tea side because I know some people are put off by the tea taste, ya know?” He watches you uncomfortably closely, your face trained to be as neutral as possible while flavors explode, traveling to opposing ends of your mouth, battling it out, but ultimately left with no winner.

“You know, I appreciate the thought and I’m sure if you work on it some more it’ll be perfect but…”

“It’s disgusting.” He finishes for you sighing in defeat, collapsing in the chair across from you.

“No!” You round the desk, his arms ready to accept your slide into his lap. “It’s not disgusting, it’s just...not quite blended yet.”

He takes the to-go cup, sipping his own concoction. You wonder if he tried it at all before running over here, his habit of trusting your initial judgement extremely endearing, but unnecessary. It stems only from your admittance that you weren’t the biggest tea drinker and that you’re one of those lemonade with the boba people. His mission became clear, he couldn’t stand to see you walk into his shop knowing that you’ll be leaving with sugared lemons squeezed into juice. He has to make you the perfect tea if it’s the last thing he does.

He was set on making it for the opening, but to no avail, the sign flipped, his employees brewing away, his drop here only partially out of the necessity for his favorite taste tester. “It’s disgusting,” He decides immediately, fighting the urge to spit it back into the cup. “You have to stop being so nice to me, it’s cute, but I want you to yell at me like you yell at Jimin.”

“I don’t yell at Jimin!”

“You yell at Jimin all the time, lovingly, but there are voices raised.” Namjoon rubs at his eyes, tugging at the shirt riding at his abdomen. “We goin for tea or what? I swear people are gonna think we’re out of business with how often we close early.”

"Yeah, can you just give us a minute?" You try your best to be discrete, nodding toward the notebook on your desk.

"Yeah...Jimin and I will just meet you there." He leaves you, door clicking in his wake and you turn to Jeongguk with a ready grin, eyes wide with excitement.

"Is this one of those things where I should knock everything off of your desk? If so I'm down, but this is a weird time…"

"No! I have a surprise for you." You pull his journal from it's position beneath the stacks of paper on your desk. "You left this at my place your first night over."

"I've been looking for this! I was embarrassed to tell you I lost it, but it turns out you're a klepto." He teases, taking hold of the pages. "So you decided to hold it hostage?"

"I wasn't holding it hostage, I was working on…" You lift your sketchbook, flipping to the appropriate page. "These."

They aren't complete, but you want his first impression and suddenly you understand the tea thing. It's a radically different medium, your shared art actually pending ink on his body, but you don't want to go too far only to disappoint. He leans against the desk, not speaking, just staring, expressionless.

"If you don't like them we can talk about what you want changed, I just tried to make something I thought would fit what you've already got going."

He finally looks up, eyes glistening, your stomach doing flips. You're too afraid to ask what he's thinking, so you continue to wait, hoping he'll speak up soon and that you didn't insult him with your vision.

"I love them."

"Really? You don't have to worry about hurting my feelings, it's your body you know."

"Really, you're amazing. This is better than I could've hoped and I can't wait until it's permanent." His words are firm with sincerity, notebook laid to the side in favor of pulling you into his arms. "How am I supposed to compete? I can't even make tea for you."

"Relax, your tea is perfectly fine! I just enjoy the occasional lemonade. Come on, we'll go to the shop, you can make me whatever you want and I'll love it."

"Deal, but...I-we have a surprise for you as well."

"For me?"

"Yeah, I was talking with the guys the other day, we were talking about you..."

"You and the guys? This should be good."

"It is, I promise." He produces an envelope from his pocket, no scrawl on the outside, more mystery than you're ready for. “I was thinking about what you said that first night, about wanting to remember what it was like in the beginning.”

“What did you do?” You tear into the envelope, fingers moving so slowly you fear the skin will catch in the thin edges. What you pull is far from what you imagined, a ticket printed blue for a week’s time. Jeongguk stares at you expectantly, waiting for some form of reaction, but you’re not sure what to say. “This is a plane ticket…”

“Yeah, to Japan. We want you to go back and we knew you wouldn’t do it unless we planned it for you.”

“You guys didn’t have to.”

“We wanted to, I wanted to. The way your eyes lit up talking about that time in your life, I would do anything to give that to you again. So we want you to go to Japan, do something for you.” His lips land on your forehead, breathing you in while you process the unexpected gift. It’s more than you could ever imagine, but there’s a single string, dangling with uncertainty. You figure the only way to eliminate it is to pull full force, risk sounding ridiculous.

“What about you?” Jeongguk’s face scrunches in confusion, the inquiry the last thing he expected. His thoughts were far from himself, not naive enough to think his mind would be focused anywhere but you while you’re gone, but never thinking it would be a reason you’re unsure about going. “I don’t mean to sound stupid, but I’d miss you too much.”

“You can call me everyday, any time of day. I’ll be there, you don’t have to worry about me not being here waiting for you.”

“Or...you could come?”

“Oh, you want me to? I figured you’d want to do your own thing, not have me weighing you down.” Your arms find his waist, head resting against his chest, giggling at the prospect of Jeongguk being anything more than a comforting presence.

“Of course I want you to, I wanna show you everything.”

“I’ll have to figure things out with the shop, but—”

“Oh, wow I’m so selfish. Of course you can’t just drop everything to come with me, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” You shake your head, silently scolding your inconsideration. Jeongguk grabs hold of your shoulders, stopping you mid step, hand halfway to smack your forehead.

“I would love to come, I just have to talk to Taehyung about it. I’m sure he wouldn't mind taking on a little more responsibility. Actually he’ll probably pack my bags for me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. I’ll probably have to catch a later flight, just to get things taken care of.” He thinks aloud.

“I think I can manage a few days on my own.”

“I promise I won’t be long.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

And now, we smile.

#bangtanuniversity #bangtanidx #bangtanarmynet #thebtswritersclub #jungkook x reader #jjk x reader #jeongguk x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #bts fluff #jjk fluff #bts au #jungkook au #bts s2l #jungkook s2l

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angelsndragons · 4 years ago

Text

Part 2: Apathy is Death

Blanket trigger warning once again: discussions of Caduceus’ past, including depression, self-harm, self-neglect, potential suicide, and drug use.

To start this off, for a long time one particular quote from an old video game has stuck with me regarding Caduceus:

So you will do nothing? Apathy is death, no, worse than death, because at least a rotting corpse can feed the beasts and insects. -Star Wars, KOTOR: TSL

This statement, I feel, really sums up everything that has gone into Caduceus’ arc and growth thus far. We start with a young man who doesn’t speak up, who is content to just let things happen to him, who neglects his duty, who chooses to not make a decision and doesn’t seem to realize he has made a choice. And that it has consequences. Caduceus is left alone. His siblings leave one by one, his parents and aunt too. And he wilts. Time passes, he does his work at the shrine, and all the while he curls further into himself, sustained only by the notion that someone else, in this case the Wildmother, will a) tell him when to go, and b) tell him if there is something he needs to know regarding his family. Never mind that Caduceus could easily step out of the Grove whenever he wants, never mind that he (at least towards the end of that ten years) has the power and means to contact his family himself. The Wildmother has given him all the tools he needs; he just can’t bring himself to do anything with them. As ever with Caduceus’ arc, he must learn to take ownership and agency regarding his life. And he spends ten stubborn years, after losing what really mattered to him, not doing so. Until the Wildmother stops speaking to him. Losing this last fragile tether finally, finally moves him to action.

This is really the part I want to emphasize about what he revealed with the lilies: Caduceus was reaching out for the first time in years and looking for help the only way he could. On some level, buried deep under several layers of neglect, apathy, and depression, he realized that he needed to do something or everything would get worse. I know that a lot of people think he was poisoning himself intentionally but I disagree hard on that interpretation. First of all, that requires a level of effort that I don’t think he was capable of at that time. There is a reason that the first several weeks on an anti-depressant are the most dangerous; you finally have energy again but haven’t yet begun to feel better. If you were suicidal before the meds, going on them initially increases your risk of doing it. Secondly, while it seems crass to the audience, Constance’s comment about Caduceus micro-dosing indicates that he was well-known to have done drugs before everyone left and that they were okay with it. Caduceus knows what he is doing with them. We see him in 130 place a petal in his mouth, not actively eat a bunch of flowers. He’s stronger now than he was then, his ties to the Wildmother are nearly unbreakable at this point. But back then? If she had stopped speaking, if he had lost his connection to her like that, nine levels weaker than he is now, yeah, I can see him going overboard trying to reestablish that connection.

Now, at some point, the line between intentional self-harm and reckless self-neglect blurs quite a bit so if people read Caduceus as intentionally harming himself with the lilies, power to y’all. Personally, his lines about patience curdling to apathy and time stopped meaning anything read as neglect, not harm. Caduceus does not actively harm himself that we can see in the show; for example, in battle, he takes care to stay out of the line of fire and protect himself. However, he does actively neglect himself; again, often in battle when he is wounded, he will focus on a more injured teammate, say he is okay, and move on without healing himself.

That aside, as painful as the lily reveal is, that is the moment that Caduceus first makes an active choice. And Wildmom rewards him for it (I know there is debate whether he was tapping into the Somnovem in that vision but the timing combined with Wildmom personally vouching for the Nein with that breeze, I tend to lean towards her giving him that vision). He feels her presence once more, she readies him to leave, and sends him people with which to travel. He’s half out of it, has no idea what he doing, but now, at last, he is moving forward. It takes a lot of time to shake off that much neglect but we see him slowly wake up until the alarm blares in his ears with that panic attack. Caring for the Nein becomes his way of learning to care for himself again. Making group meals, for example, means he is much more likely to be eating regularly, even if it probably isn’t as much as people would like him to. Listening to their problems gives him focus while he isn’t ready to look at his own, and learning to unconditionally accept this group of fuckups with all their baggage gives him the space to accept his own. Allowing them to care for him in their own imperfect ways allows him to learn to extend that care to himself and the world around him.

That doesn’t mean he didn’t have his struggles. Right up until about episode 49, we see Caduceus deflect making choices. He is ‘learning to embrace the chaos’. He asks if any of the Nein have a plan and is content to just follow along with Fjord’s visions. He has Opinions on quite a lot of their encounters but keeps quiet and keeps his head down most of the time. While the others make plans, he sits by and watches. He has small successes, too. He buys a broken sword to fix and declares it a gift to Fjord. He seeks out information on Vandran for Fjord completely on his own. He gets to know the crew. He decides to get everything he can out of their little pirate venture, from sampling new food to learning to be okay with being uncomfortable and learning to swim. I would say his biggest early game step forward comes when Nott’s situation (and Caleb by extensions) crops up, a clear cut ‘we can help make this better, we are meant to make it better’ moment if ever there was one. Also, let’s not talk about Caduceus and his sad, almost understanding ‘I am so sorry’ to Nott when he detoxes her in light of 130 right now, okay. I don’t have the space here. This episode, we see Caduceus step up in a big way- keeping Caleb grounded in the basement, taking charge of driving the cart around, planning for Luc, figuring out what to do for Nott and Yeza, communing with the Wildmother for help, etc.

I want to go back to the title: Apathy is death. One cannot make changes in their life if they don’t care enough on some level to do so. Apathy is self-perpetuating because it requires no effort, it is so easy to slip into, and can feel like it will never end, regardless of actual mental health. Caduceus’ arc has been about breaking out of that mentality, recovering from it, and moving forward. And he is doing so well. This is why I refuse to treat that reveal with only angst and pity. The fact that he has broken through and come so far in less than a year is awe-inspiring.

Next up, we answer the question: what does manure do for a garden?

#caduceus clay #cr caduceus #cr spoilers #critical role #caduceus meta #my meta #mighty nein #tm9 #cr campaign 2

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thehouseoflamentation · 5 years ago

Note

What would MC's first Valentine's Day with the brothers and Diavolo be like?

MC’s First Valentine’s Day with the Boys + Diavolo

(I know I’m super late but just take it ><)

Lucifer

Lucifer isn’t one to wear his heart on his sleeve but Valentine’s Day is the perfect occasion for him to show you his romantic side because if you turn him down for whatever reason, he can use the holiday as an excuse for his affectionate behavior.

He wouldn’t make a huge deal out of the holiday. He isn’t really the most lovey-dovey person to begin with, however he would still put in a lot of effort to make your first Valentine’s Day with him special.

He would often try to save face by saying it's all part of the holiday but you can tell by the way he blushes lightly and turns his head when you make eye contact that he’s genuinely excited and a little nervous about spending Valentine’s Day with you.

When asking you to be his valentine he’ll gift you a bouquet of roses he grew himself. He’s rather proud with how his hard work paid off and hopes you appreciate all the effort he put in.

“You’ll be mine, won’t you?”

His words almost sound like an order but its only because he won’t really know what to do if you actually said “no.” His pride will take a pretty big hit and he’ll be sour and grumpy for a while if you turn him down.

If you do say yes though he’ll start the second part of his plan and take you out on a romantic candle lit dinner date. Depending on the mood after that he might invite you to continue the rest of night back at his room.

Mammon

He’s sweating bullets thinking about what he’ll do for your first Valentine’s Day together with him. Should he buy chocolates or would it be better to make them himself? Can he even do that? Maybe a card? No, no that’s too simple. How about flowers? What were your favorites again?

He wants everything to be perfect and ends up spending waaayyyyyy over his budget to make sure he has enough stuff to give you the best Valentine’s Day surprise. Well that is if he even decided to establish a budget in the first place.

Everyone can see him planning for Valentine’s Day from a mile away. He thinks he’s being real discreet despite having huge boxes from Akuzon delivered under his name in preparation for the holiday.

In the end it was actually a good thing that he bought lots of extra materials. His attempt at creating his own homemade chocolate only resulted in burned inedible bits and spilled chocolate mix. Once he got the hang of it he was barely able to make enough for one box.

He also ordered flowers but failed to order them at the right time. They ended up coming about a week earlier than he planned and most of them ended up wilting by the time Valentine’s Day came around. However in the end he was able to make a small bouquet from the flowers that were still good.

His last redeeming gift was the card he made for you. It was simple and his writing wasn’t the neatest considering he kept spacing out while writing it but every word came from his heart.

“Here! Just...just take it!!”

Once he handed you the chocolates, flowers, and card his heart felt like it would burst out of his chest from how nervous he was. If you agreed to be his valentine he wouldn’t be able to control his emotions and would probably start vibrating from sheer excitement.

Leviathan

You haven’t seen Levi leave his room for weeks up until Valentine’s Day. You were worried about him but in reality he had spent all that time binging dating sims and romcom animes in an attempt to plan the perfect Valentine’s Day with you.

In the end he decided to go with something simple, heartfelt, and foolproof. He pulled his hood over his head to hide his blush while he gave you the traditional box of chocolates and flowers however there was something else he saved for last.

“You don’t have to take it if you don’t want to but...here.”

His hands trembled as he handed you a small object covered in pink and red wrapping paper. It was a charm from an obscure anime he watched a couple weeks ago. In the show the protagonist gave his love interest a matching charm so they would always have a little something to remember each other by.

He didn’t expect you to understand the reference but the fact that he was able to convey his feelings for you was enough for him, even if it meant he was only one who knew the true meaning behind the charm….or so he thought.

Once you tore the wrapping covering the charm your eyes immediately lit up. Without skipping a beat you planted a kiss on his cheek and pulled him into a tight hug, thanking him for the charm. After you pulled away he was red from head to toe as he tried to process the fact that you knew exactly what the tiny key chain meant. Oh yeah and fact that YOU KISSED HIM.

It took awhile for Levi to regain his cool after that but he definitely wasn’t complaining. You ended up spending the rest of the day chilling in Levi’s room. Even though it was simple and laid back, you now knew without a doubt how Levi truy felt about you, and that charm hanging off your D.D.D was more than enough proof of that.

Satan

Satan had done some research on the human tradition once news got out that the holiday was just around the corner. He already knew what the celebration was about but he had trouble figuring out what he should do for the occasion. He wanted the day to be special for you but he also didn’t want to overwhelm you or make you uncomfortable. He couldn’t quite choose between two gifts he had in mind so he ultimately decided on giving you both.

His first gift was simple and just as sweet, a small box of chocolates covered in red wrapping paper. The adorable face you made as you happily sampled the candy was more than enough to convince him to continue with his plan.

Phase two! This was actually the most embarrassing gift he had planned for the day so instead of handing it to you he left it in front of your dorm room and sprinted around the corner before you could catch him.

“A kitten for my kitten <3”

Attached to the note was a small cat plush with heart patterns and a pink ribbon tied around its neck. You couldn’t help but giggle and smile at the adorable little thing in front of you. You held it close to your chest before placing it on your bed and moving back towards the doorway.

Satan had been going back and forth about adding the note but from your reaction it seemed he made the right choice. He turned and was about to head back to his room for a bit when he felt your lips suddenly press against the back of his neck.

He may have been the fourth strongest ruler of hell but that fact was rendered null under the tenderness of your surprise thank you kiss. Now he was beet red leaning against the wall for support while trying to comprehend what just happened, not quite how he pictured himself spending Valentines Day but still just as enjoyable.

Asmodeus

Asmo was all too familiar with the traditions of Valentine’s Day. The gifts, the decorations, the feeling of love in the air along with *ahem* less pure emotions made it one of Asmo’s favorite human holidays.

There was no doubt the demon would go overboard with preparations but what should he start with first? Chocolates and flowers were a main staple of Valentine’s Day but giving you something like that would be way too simple and predictable for someone like him. No, no, no. He had to do something special.

He contemplated what would make the perfect gift until he finally settled on something that he knew would be true to himself and also make you happy. In the end he took you on a couples spa day so the two of you could unwind and relax together.

Then after getting pampered for most of the afternoon, Asmo took you to a candle light dinner at Ristorante 6. The place was nearly packed with couples but he managed to pull a few strings to reserve a table away from the rest of the guests with a balcony view of the night sky. The two of you chatted the night away, enjoying the food and each other’s company until it was time to head back to the dorms. But Asmo still wasn’t done.

Inviting you to his room Asmo held out his final present to you much to your confusion. It was just...his wrist with a ribbon tied around it. It felt like some kind of joke but as you untied the ribbon you found that it actually trailed up his arm and wrapped around the rest of his body. An intricate bondage pattern sprawled over his torso leading down the rest of his body hiding just beneath the cover of his clothes. Had he been tied up like this all day? Well at that point you didn’t know and didn’t care. You were far too busy enjoying your last “present” for the day.

Beelzebub

Beel was in quite the predicament. He knew the kinds of gifts people gave each other on Valentine’s Day but he often found it difficult to resist eating what he was supposed to give you. The handmade chocolates he made first were delicious! Perhaps a bit too delicious though as the rest of the batch disappeared in the blink of an eye once Beel sampled a piece to see if it turned out alright.

Well at least now he knew the right measurements for all the ingredients to make a second batch….and a third….and a fourth. He was down to his last ingredients and it was too late to run back to the store and start the process over again so he knew he had to nail this next batch.

This time around he had a special foolproof safeguard to prevent him from eating the chocolates he was going to give you and his name was Belphie. Every time Beel looked like he was about to have another taste Belphie poked him in the side and reminded him that the chocolates were meant to be a gift. The plan almost worked until Belphie fell asleep on the kitchen counter.

Soon after, Beel’s eyes started to focus on the bowl of chocolate again. His hands subconsciously whisked the sweet mixture faster and faster as his train of thought drifted away. All he could do was continue stirring while fighting back his urge to sample the chocolate again. He was so consumed in what he was doing he didn’t even notice you slip through the kitchen doors.

“Hey Beel! Whatcha up to?”

Your sudden voice and presence made the bowl slip right out of his grasp, flying forward as the chocolate covered the both of you. “I-I….umm….sorry. The chocolates were supposed to be a surprise gift but....” His eyes stared at the floor in embarrassment. This was definitely worse than getting you nothing for Valentine's Day. Beel reached for a small towel to wipe the mix off but ever the opportunist your hand stopped him.

“You know...it would be a shame to let all this go to waste. After all, I didn’t get a chance to taste any yet and I’m sure you haven’t had your fill either, right?”

Beel only nodded in response to your offer, effortlessly picking you up bridal style before heading back to his room.

Belphegor

Belphegor didn’t hate Valentine’s Day but he also wasn’t exactly fond of it. The pressure to buy your partner the perfect gift was often daunting and took some of the fun out of actually choosing a gift. Still that didn’t deter him from trying to find you something awesome for the occasion.

He ended up skipping his morning nap to search nearby stores for anything he thought you might like. Chocolates and flowers were standard but a classic so he ended up buying a box and bouquet for you.

He was just about to exit the store when something else caught his eye. It was something he knew HE would like but he wasn’t so sure what the extra details were for. Well it was cute enough and the two of you could use it together so why not?

After coming back from RAD that afternoon you made your way back to Belphie’s room. You usually stayed with him to nap and cuddle since he often missed you when you had to go to class. This time however, he had a surprise waiting for you.

Handing over the box of chocolates and flowers you immediately lit up and threw your hands around Belphie. He returned your embrace happily before handing you a gift bag with the final present inside. It was a heart shaped pillow with the words YES embroidered on the front and NO on the back.

“Wow Belphie this is.... really thoughtful!!! Thank you!!”

You tried to hide the blush that was spreading across your face. Belphie's innocent smile made you wonder if he truly understood the meaning of that pillow. Did he actually know what it meant and gave it to you as an invitation? Or did he genuinely think it was just a cute pillow? You will never know.

Diavolo

Diavolo gladly embraced human traditions and Valentine’s Day was no exception. He had events planned for the entire day, both for RAD and for you. Since you helped him plan some of the festivities the night before, you ended up staying at the demon lord’s castle for the night. The following morning you woke up to the smell of fresh pancakes, eggs, bacon, and all the fixings.

At first you figured Barbatos had made the food but as you turned to Diavolo and saw the glint of excitement in his eyes as you took your first bite you knew instantly that he was behind this. The food was delicious with most of it also being somehow heart shaped.

Once breakfast was finished the two of you got dressed and headed off to class. Attending RAD during Valentine’s Day was definitely surreal. The gothic halls and classrooms were decorated with pink and red hearts, flowers, and ribbons. You had to admit it was a rather cute homage to the human holiday.

After classes ended, you went back to the demon lord’s palace. Diavolo had requested you to meet him again but gave little to no detail as to why. You suspected it had something to do with Valentine’s Day and prepared yourself accordingly however nothing could prepare you for the surprise that was just behind the castle doors.

Once you entered the main hall you were greeted with hundreds upon hundreds of roses decorating the walls and an eager Diavolo barely able to hold in his excitement. You remember he said he had important plans for the day but you never expected something like this. Even though he already made you breakfast he didn’t want the day to end on a simple, unmemorable note so he made sure to give you something special to remember your first Valentine’s Day together with him.

#obey me!#obey me #shall we date #shall we date?#obey me! lucifer #obey me! mammon #obey me! leviathan #obey me! satan #obey me! asmodeus #obey me! beelzebub #obey me! belphegor #obey me! diavolo #obey me! headcanon #headcanon

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merryfortune · 4 years ago

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A Lunchbox Made with Love & Precision

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Sevens

Relationships: Ranze/Yuga, Ranze & Rinnosuke

Word Count: 1.4k

Tags: Canon Compliant, Out of Character, Coda, Pining, Developing Relationship

Ranze used to consider herself as being as a basic or mediocre cook. Now having discovered that Kirishima Romin is a truly terrible cook, Ranze now considered herself as having much prowess in the kitchen that she could take pride in. Or at least, that was the plan that she had taken to the kitchen two hours ago before deciding that no. This simply would not do.

The old adage appeared to still ring true. The way to a boy’s heart was through his stomach and Yuga devoured his rolled omelettes for lunch every day with much glee. So, Ranze thought that a good way to channel her feelings for him would be to fix him a up a lunch box to try and whilst she had the side dishes – fresh salad, baked honey carrot sticks, and apple slices– down to a fine art, it was the lunch box’s crowning glory that she feared would ruin it all for her. She simply had to make the greatest rolled omelettes for Yuga or else, she feared, that he would never requite Ranze’s feelings. Or at least that’s what she thought. And, in her own mind at least, rightfully feared.

Ranze had it all planned out.

She had sealed the vinaigrette, homemade, of course, into a little packet for Yuga to tear into to flavour his salad. She had washed the cherry tomatoes and lettuce leaves, tossing them through with olives and Spanish onion. That was all good and all ready. She had soaked the carrots in honey and assorted spices rather than serving the carrot sticks cold and plain. She also had selected the most perfectly red apples to cut into rabbit shapes tomorrow morning, so the fruit didn’t wilt overnight in the lunchbox. It was all prepared to her expert specifications save for one.

The rolled omelettes.

As of right now, Ranze was approximately three attempts deep in making the rolled omelettes but so far, these previous three were only basic. Just average. And rather mediocre overall. They simply would not do.

From her observations, the rolled omelettes that Yuga brought from the cafeteria to eat appeared to be only egg and cheese but Ranze wanted to impress him, so she was trying to put some garnish on them. Nothing too out of ordinary, just different measures of various herbs as well as bits of onion and bacon. But it just wasn’t going her way for some reason and she wasn’t sure why.

Looking over her creations, she poked and prodded them, unable to find the source of her dissatisfaction with them. The first one was the most average, and most basic of all. It was fluffy but not too fluffy; more yellow than gold, which was better than overly browned or worse, burnt and blackened. It had the least amount of toppings in it as well, examining the rolled omelette, Rane could hardly see any of the chives or similar that she had stirred into the batter to have made it. Still, it could be worse, but it also could be much, much better.

Looking at her second rolled omelette, she had perhaps gone too overboard with correcting what she saw as her previous mistake: not enough toppings. This one smelt delectable with all the bacon stuffed into it, same with the caramelised onions and garlic but as such, it was falling onto its side, unable to stand with its own weight. Not to mention, it had browned perhaps too much on the bottom, so it wasn’t quite up to Ranze’s immaculate standards.

The third of the rolled omelettes that she had made was, in her opinion, the worst of the lot. She had thought that she would have finally struck the right balance but alas. It had what she perceived as the following issues: a lacklustre texture, [etc].

Ranze could only sigh, staring at her finished rolled omelettes, now grown cold, and wonder if it was worth remaking the batter yet again until her brother had walked in.

“Is everything okay, Ranze-nee-chan?” he asked.

He had wanted to give her some space since hell had no fury like a woman scorned but a girl in love was even worse. But he would have thought that she would be done by now – and also because he was thirsty and wanted some cold water from the refrigerator. Coming down the stairs, he was disheartened to see that Ranze’s workspace was as messy as it ever got with things still in use.

Ranze deflated as Rinnosuke neared her. He put a hand on her shoulder and pet it as she had her sob to him.

“I just can’t live up to my own expectations.” She lamented. “Whilst none of my efforts have been disasters, none of them have been miracles either.

“Oh, sis…” Rinnosuke murmured. “I think Yuga will appreciate your hard efforts either way. Although, a strategy to consider would be to soften him up now and then wow him with the Valentine’s Day chocolate when it comes to turn.”

Ranze’s eyes lit up. “Yes, perhaps that is the way to do it.” she replied, almost breathless.

Rinnosuke was happy to see his older sister cheer up some. He licked his lips. “Why don’t I sample what you’ve made already? Perhaps your eye is too critical, and you need some outside perspective.”

“Th-That’s not a bad idea, either.” Ranze agreed.

“Then allow me to sample them and give back some constructive criticism.” Rinnosuke suggested.

“Alright, be my guest.” Ranze replied.

Rinnosuke went through, one by one, and as he ate, Ranze explained her own assessments of the rolled omelettes. When Rinnosuke finished, he padded a napkin on his mouth and Ranze anxiously waited to hear Rinnosuke’s opinions. She stood, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, afraid that her younger brother might think that they were worse than she thought.

But instead, he smiled blithely, “I liked them all, Ranze-nee-chan.” He told her. “But if I had to pick a favourite, I would choose the second. I think Yuga would enjoy them very much.”

Ranze gasped with elation, her shoulders lifting as she smiled. “Thank you, Rinnosuke. I’ll make more immediately, feel free to have the leftovers.” She spoke excitedly and Rinnosuke was gladdened to see it.

“That sounds nice, Ranze-nee-chan.” Rinnosuke replied.

He took the remainder of what he had eaten – and a glass of water – back upstairs so he could continue studying, and distracting himself, from how lonely he was without his older sister by his side. Still, he was heartened to know that Ranze was having fun in the kitchen making her rolled omelettes for Yuga.

The following morning, Ranze had packed her own lunchbox, a lunchbox for Rinnosuke, and of course one for Yuga. She couldn’t wait for lunchtime. She felt electric all day as she waited for the fateful chime of the electronic bell and for all of Goha Elementary to sit at their tables to eat.

Ranze slunk up the hallways to find Yuga’s classroom and she met him in the doorway. He was a little bit startled to see her and she smiled awkwardly behind the sheen of her glasses. She thrust her present forward at Yuga’s chest, his hands flailed as he tried to grab a hold of it.

“For you.” she said. “From me, not Gakuto-sama, for your information.”

Yuga laughed and he beamed, happy and wide for Ranze. “Thank you muchly.” He said as he examined the box and how it was covered in love heart themed cloth. “Ooh, a homemade lunchbox?”

“Correct.” Ranze was all but stuttering.

“I’ll look forward to it.” Yuga replied.

“Your welcome,” Ranze said, and then looked over her shoulder, both Rinnosuke and Gakuto were giving her the thumbs up from afar as she blushed, “but I must be going now. Duty calls.”

“Good luck – and thank you. Again.” Yuga said and he lifted up the box.

Ranze smiled and her heart was pounding maniacally in her chest. She nodded and she moved on, stilted at first in her embarrassment over her earnestness and then quick as a flash. Yuga watched, happy as a daisy, before strolling back into the classroom to enjoy his lunchbox from Ranze.

And although Ranze had disappeared, she had eagerly returned to watch Yuga eat the food that she had made him. She watched with awe, and flushed cheeks and a pounding heart, as Yuga unwrapped the lunchbox and looked upon its contents with wonder. He happily plucked out a rolled omelette first and ate with cheer, and Ranze could barely contain her happiness as she observed, with a pen in hand, writing down everything into her diary with a blissful grin of her own.

#yugioh sevens #sevens #yugioh #ohdo yuga #yuga ohdo #ranze (sevens)#rinnosuke (sevens)#ranze x yuga #yuga x ranze #writing tag #merry writes stuff #the devil works hard but i work harder #sevens spoilers

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the-melting-world · 4 years ago

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Kinktober | There is No Spoon 🍋

Kipling x Dante

Big thanks to @arcanecadenza for letting me borrow Dante! I am in love with this pairing. I CANNOT stop thinking about them. Expect many, many, many fics with these two. I might just fuck around and write a damn book because who’s gonna stop me?

For context of Kipling and Dante’s first meeting, check out this fic: Between the Pages

CW: begging, distracted sex, anal penetration, oral

~ 1.7k words

It’s been some time since Kipling Bronne last saw Dante Aleghieri . The humble gardener missed the shy, dark-haired alchemist she met in the library while he was away. They had only begun to get to know each other before his job required that he leave town. They promised to meet up again if he were ever to pass through Vesuvia.

Kipling’s POV:

Kipling remembered Dante telling her that he liked tomato soup. Well, that was nice. So did she, but she couldn’t just make him plain old tomato soup for dinner. That wouldn’t make her stand out in his mind. No, she had to prepare this soup a little differently.

Carrots. That would add depth to the flavor without going overboard. And herbs. Lots and lots of herbs. Also cream. To add some body and smooth out the taste.

Kipling was in the middle of reaching for her jar of thyme when there was a sudden knock at the door. Her gut tightened.

Relax, Kipling. It’s probably just a client.

Kipling set the stove fire down to a simmer and went to the front door to find that… it was definitely not a client waiting for her.

“Dante!” Kipling drew a sharp breath in the presence of her still very new, very awkward crush. Though he was much too early, she put on a welcoming smile for him.

“Dinner’s not ready yet, but come in. It’s good to see y–”

Dante stumbled right into her, his ungainly limbs gathering her up against his chest. Kipling had forgotten how broad and rough his hands were. His lankiness, his largeness. She had forgotten how tentative and at the same time how forward he was with his affection.

Kipling kissed him back, letting go of those annoying formalities that the time away had planted in her head. When they had both got some of that longing for each other out of their systems, Dante finally pulled back and apologized for arriving so early.

Standing so close, Kipling could only concentrate on the beauty mark in the center of his lower lip.

“It’s good to see you too.” He said so with the awareness of where her attention was fixed.

Kipling felt her smile become a bit warmer as she tugged him inside. She asked him to tell her about his travels after she pulled up a stool for him at her kitchen island and returned to the soup.

Dante only managed to summarize a few of his harrowing adventures before he kept stopping and sniffing the air. Kipling didn’t comment on it, but allowed herself a satisfied smile as she kept her back to him. She knew it would only be a matter of time before…

“Sorry, I keep getting distracted because this smell is just... incredible.”

Just as Kipling suspected, Dante drifted up behind her, close enough to embrace her if he wanted to. She steadied her nerves while she took her narrow, wooden spoon and scooped some of the opaque, sunny broth. Holding up the spoon and turning slightly, she offered it to her guest.

Kipling kept her grin in check as Dante eagerly sampled her work in progress.

“Oh.” His eyelids fluttered as he savored the taste and went back to the spoon to suck off the rest.

“Kipling, that’s really, really good.”

The humble gardener dipped the spoon in the pot and offered it up a second time.

“Do you want some more?”

Dante was nodding before Kip even finished the question. This time, as she brought the spoon close to his mouth, she angled her head towards his neck and walked her lips up to his jawline. Dante, unsurprisingly, could not contain any of his shy, breathless noises. There was something kind of irresistible about the particular way he became flustered. It managed to both excite and embolden Kipling.

Kip started to take down Dante’s hair just as he undid his pants.

“Um…”

Kipling withdrew, noticing that it wasn’t her Dante was looking at, but at the spoon. She too stared for a moment before she understood.

Dante finally fell out of his own trance, his sun-baked complexion broken by a dark band of blush as he met her gaze.

Kipling twirled the spoon between her fingers. “I have some salve in the bathroom. The soup needs someone to watch it. Think you can handle that?”

He gave another one of his enthusiastic nods. Kipling left to go rinse off the spoon and find that lemongrass salve that she knew was hiding somewhere…

When Kipling returned, she was relieved to see that Dante hadn’t ruined their dinner. Still, she turned the stove back down to a simmer so she could take care of her guest.

As soon as Dante recognized the smooth product coating the length of the spoon, he surprised Kipling with another round of hungry kisses. Kipling helped him get his pants down to his ankles. She remained standing and moved beside him, making it easier to work with both hands. After squeezing the precum from his cock and giving her thumb a swift suck, she met Dante’s gaze.

“You’re supposed to be watching the pot, remember?”

Dante’s features flashed with brief panic before he caught on to Kip’s little game.

“Right.” His low-lidded gaze gave him away. Playing along, he focused on the barely simmering soup and spread his legs a little wider. Meanwhile Kipling teased his rim with the fingers she coated in salve earlier. Then she pressed the head of the narrow spoon into his warm opening. With her other hand, she pumped his cock, pausing every so often to inch the spoon deeper.

Dante was not watching the pot.

He grunted a lot, and would turn to give Kipling a hot, flustered kiss before breaking away just to groan some more.

Trapping his bottom lip between his teeth, he hissed, “Oh gods. Kip, I-I don’t want to come yet.”

Kipling didn’t want that either, so she eased the spoon out and let go of his cock.

“That’s good,” she said as she went to the sink to wash off, “because no one’s coming tonight until we finish our dinner.”

Dante fumbled with his pants. “I beg your pardon?”

Kipling smiled cheerfully. “Bowls are on that shelf over there. Help yourself to as much as you want and meet me at the table.”

***

Dante’s POV:

I need her to eat my ass. I need her to eat my ass. I need her to eat my –

Dante’s mind raced, coming up with all the reasons why Kipling might say no. She had been such an accommodating host so far, but what if he was asking for too much?

He definitely could have shown better manners since he showed up. Up until he arrived at Kipling’s doorstep, he had no plans on kissing her. Yet somehow that happened before he even said a word of greeting. But how could he stand a chance? When Kipling opened that door, she unleashed a wave of delightful scents. Herbs and olive oil from the kitchen. And then there was the halo of seawater and coconut extract that no doubt lived in her hair and on her skin. Her light brown eyes had regarded him with surprise and then instant acceptance, perhaps even longing.

It might have been a mistake to kiss the gardener so soon, but he forgot about his regret when he felt her reaction. So sensitive to every touch, leaning into him with such intensity. As if her magic carried the weight of an entire ocean. Her walls disintegrated fast, revealing the Kipling that he had met in the library. Curious, observant, and intent on testing her knowledge in ways he least expected.

Kipling must have noticed that Dante wasn’t eating because she lifted her gaze and gestured to the soup that he barely touched.

“Are you going to finish that?”

Dante blinked away his reverie. Then he sighed and shook his head.

“I’m so sorry, Kipling. You went through all this trouble, but I don’t think I can enjoy this meal until...”

The ghost of a smirk graced the gardener’s freckled face as she arched a dark brow. None of which was helpful to Dante in that moment.

He started to ramble. “What you were doing earlier with the spoon was… generous, but I’m afraid I don’t deserve your hospitality –”

“Dante,” Kipling interrupted, “speak to me plainly. What are you trying to say?”

She knew damn well what he meant.

Still, Dante needed to be honest.

“I want you to be the spoon, Kip. The way you kissed me, I just thought if –”

Kipling got up from her side of the table and came over to where he was. He stood up too.

“When I’m finished,” she said, her voice low and husky, “that bowl of soup better be empty.”

Dante swallowed. “Oh gods, of course.” Then he whispered, “Thank you.”

Kipling’s eyes softened before she spared him one last slow kiss.

“You’re sweet, Dante. Enough that you don’t ever need to beg. Still,” she stole a glance, “I really like it when you do.”

If Kipling wanted him to beg, then Dante would beg all night if he had to.

“Kip, please… be the spoon.”

Dante moved in a little closer, brushing his erection against her leg so she could know how desperate he was. How much he needed her.

He didn’t know how many times he said please. Kipling impressed him with her ability to appear stoic. But finally, she relented and told him to pull down his pants. When he did, the smell of the lemongrass lubricant kissed the air, still clinging to his skin from before.

“Lie down,” Kipling instructed, bending him over the edge of the table while dropping down to her knees. Dante remembered his orders from earlier and focused on eating his soup. But once Kip warmed up his ass with her fingers and started exploring with her tongue, his mind blanked.

Dante was acutely aware of the flux of pressure as Kipling spread his cheeks apart and bobbed her head in a dreamy rhythm. He held onto the table like it was his only lifeline. He wished he had the fortitude to jerk himself off, but all he could manage to do was weep with fresh cum and pathetically hug the table.

“Uh, Dante? Are you all right?”

Dante shakily pried himself from the table and sort of melted in a heap on the floor next to Kip. Then he surprised her with a messy kiss, tasting remnants of the lemongrass salve and traces of his own sweat.

“I didn’t finish the soup. Sorry.”

He really was a rotten guest.

Kipling grinned. “Was I that good of a spoon?”

Dante looked down at his stiff length before reaching for Kipling’s wrist. Guiding her hand to where he needed her most, he said, “You were… more than good, Kip. Much more than that.”

#it's dante loving hours #plant babies come get your dante juice #the arcana kinktober #arcanakt #lemon #kipling the apprentice #kip of cups #oc dante #kipling x dante #the arcana #dapling

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themarchblessing · 4 years ago

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4 Blessings A Plenty

SABRINA

Following behind the florists I looked out at the garden spotting three arrangements that really caught my eye. The color coordination and presentation really made my eyes light up. It’s been hours of constant walking for me and I’m reaching my end point. Corey and I have finally gotten our affairs in order to celebrate our vow renewal. We’ve had to postpone this event for a year due to how hectic our life has been. This ceremony is extra special because we’ve been married for four years now, my mother’s cancer is in remission and Ellena is halfway through kindergarten. All in all this year has been so good for our family. We’ve received a platoon of blessings and I’m just grateful to be in such a happy space.

“What do you envision, Sabrina? This is yours and your husband’s special day and our job is to execute your ideas and visions.” Carmen and Paula opened the floor while I took a good look around.

“Corey and I both love calla lilies, freesias and orchids. Our daughter’s favorite flower is the orchid and both of our mothers love lilies and freesias. For the arrangements, we want to keep them all very uniform. I’m thinking that table one will have one arrangement of lilies, table two will be an arrangement of freesias, table three will be orchids and so on and so forth. Corey is huge on symmetry like no es gracioso.” I explained.

Paula jumped in with a great question, “perfect. We can do that. Now do you want a tall, medium or small centerpiece? Do you want the centerpieces to be the staple of the table or the cutlery, tablecloth and name cards?”

Nibbling on my bottom lip I thought about what would look best. “Damn, I don’t know. I kind of want an eye level, from seat arrangement but I think he may want something a bit larger. Can I take a rain check on that one?” Giggling nervously I threw my hair over my shoulder.

The ladies agreed jokingly. I wrapped up my meeting with them and began my third appointment with the wedding planner. Corey sent me a text to inform me that he will meet me at the next location for our appointment with the caterers. As I reached the exit I needed to take I felt my head become light and airy. My insides began to rotate and my chest broke out in a serious sweat! I pulled over on the side of the road, pushed the truck in park mode and safely hopped out of my seat. I bolted for the railing throwing up my breakfast while simultaneously clipping my hair back.

“What the fuck!?” I gasped. “Mm..” My throat feels engulfed in flames, my breasts are aching and I feel like crap. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I stood on the side of the road just staring at the aftermath of what came out of me. “I’m so confused right now.” I groaned. I allowed myself to settle for another five minutes and resumed my drive.

My phone rang, leaving me to believe Corey is freaking out about where I am. “Hello?” I answered.

“What happened? I left you like six voicemails Lori, are you okay?” He shot off.

“Umm..now I am. You won’t believe what just happened to me.” I put my signal on, fighting with the car in front of me to get into the far right lane.

“Tell me please! You have me over here worried that something happened to you.” He panicked.

“I threw up on the side of the road. That must have been when you called. I’m sorry.” Taking a deep breath I counted the minutes left until I can rinse my mouth out.

“You got sick? From what? What did you eat this morning?” He quizzed me.

Shrugging as if he could see, I turned the air conditioning down a little bit. “I have no clue from what but it’s not from oatmeal and bread. I feel like mierda and now we have to sit through at least a two hour meeting to discuss food. Food is the furthest thing from my mind.”

“Damn okay. I’m here now so I’ll see you when you get here. I love you and please be safe.” He wished upon me.

“Always. I love you too.” We ended our call and after another ten minutes of silence I pulled up to the venue. Corey is standing outside looking like he just left a meeting. Parking next to him I pulled out my roadside hygiene kit to take inside with me. Stepping out with my things I met him by the trunk of his car. I can’t kiss him with this taste in my mouth so opted to receive affection instead.

“How are you feeling? Are you alright?” He inspected me from head to toe knowing I’m just going to laugh at him going overboard. It’s like come on man, I threw up not got into a physical altercation. Still, I appreciate his concern.

Nodding I slipped my car keys into my purse. “Yeah, I’ll be alright. After I rinse my mouth out and get some water, I should be good until we get home. Ready?” We walked inside hand in hand heading straight for the dining hall. “At least it smells good.” I joked.

“Right. I’m hungry now. I want samples since Ellena demolished my breakfast with her own. Shit.” He complained. Rubbing his lower back, I walked in first to see the caterers ready to get this meeting started. “You did say noon right?” Corey spoke to them first.

Our laughter filled the room as we all greeted one another and sat down. “You guys are early which is perfect. How are you both doing?” Max flipped to a new page in his notebook while Vince and Jen handed us three menus. Time to get this meeting tackled so we can get home!

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

“I have a question to ask you about the centerpieces for the reception.” Brushing through Ellena’s hair I set her brush aside to run the conditioner through her damp curls before it dries.

Looking up from his laptop Corey returned Izaiah’s notebook and workbook to him. “About the size or the decor altogether?”

“The latter. The girls asked me what we wanted but I told them I would get back with them after we talked about it. I don’t want to make any final decisions without you..” focusing back on Elle I caught her from falling to the side. Leaning forward to see if she’s asleep I smiled brightly seeing her struggling to keep her eyes open. I turned her around so she could lay on my chest comfortably. My sweet girl is so tired after her event filled day at school.

“Sleepy mama..” she mumbled softly. She wrapped her arms around my neck, pressing her cheek into my bosom.

Smiling I cupped one arm under her butt and laid my free palm on her back. “I know babe. You can rest now. The day is over.” Kissing the crown of her hair I outstretched my legs.

“Let’s go with the medium, eye-level length. Do you want any glass on the table other than the drinking glasses?” I flipped through my pictures going back to my original decor ideas. I shared my ideas with him while Elle fell into a deep slumber, snoring her heart out. We talked about our recent meeting to switch the planners until Corey left the room to put Zay to bed.

I remained snuggled up with my love bug flipping through my wedding plans album. As soon as Corey re-emerges I need to haul ass to the bathroom. I feel sick again! I had to wait for him to get comfortable before placing Elle in his lap. Racing to the toilet I clutched the countertop, emptying myself clean.

“Mama is okay, baby.” I heard Corey soothe Elle who clearly woke up because her position was shifted.

“Where’s mommy?” Ellena cried. “Does she not feel good?” She cried again.

“No mamá doesn’t feel good but she’s alright. It’s okay baby, tranquila por favor..” Corey distracted her some kind of way leaving me alone to get this bile out of my system.

Wiping my tears I stared at the clock on the wall having flashbacks of when I was in denial about being pregnant with Elle. I think we are about to be pregnant with baby number three. It wouldn’t be much of a shock since we have raw sex on a healthy, consistent basis. I haven’t been on birth control since my sophomore year in college and condoms are annoying. Corey’s pull out game is great but with me, that technique is nonexistent. I have no complaints with our reckless sex life or our lack of contraceptive use but facts are facts.

“Baby..you okay in there?” Corey called on me.

“Yeah, just a minute.” Standing up I flushed and cleaned the toilet. I brushed my teeth and drank some water until I felt the urge to urinate hit me. Ripping the packaging open I took a pregnancy test wanting answers ASAP. Once I finished up I cleaned my hands and set the test aside, heading to set a timer on my phone. “I took a pregnancy test.” I blurred out.

Corey locked eyes with me in surprise, smiling brighter and brighter as the seconds passed. “Bull..” he grinned.

“It’s on the sink right now, I swear. I’ve gotten sick twice in one day so I think I made the right move. Why are you smiling so big? Are you happy about this?” I couldn’t resist matching his expression.

“I am. I don’t have any reason to be scared. Are you?” Corey stretched out, reaching for his phone.

Pacing the room I dabbled in my feelings, not sure what I feel about possibly being pregnant again. I’m not mad but I will be a little surprised. “I wouldn’t say scared but more so in disbelief. If the test is positive then I know I’ll be happy eventually. It took me a while to accept being pregnant the second time around and I’ll be alright this time.” My timer went off and I froze. “Okay I'm scared now.” Cupping my mouth I stared at him only to blush and grow nervous just seeing him smile.

“I’ll sit here and wait for you to come out so I don’t make you even more nervous.” He suggested coolly.

“No, please come with me. I might faint if I go in there alone.” I urged him to check the results with me and he happily complied. With our little girl sound asleep in his arms I have to control myself and not scream. “Ready?” I looked up to find him watching me.

“Always.” His secure, proud smile eased my nerves about the moment to come. This is another major blessing that is seconds away from being real. He stood by the door while I walked over to the sink. Taking a cautious breather I turned the test over feeling my legs weaken. My eyes filled with tears on cue not able to look him in the eye. “Let me see.” He chuckled. Picking up the test I turned around and showed him up close. “No way..baby number three? This is amazing. We’re gonna have a whole team before we know it.” He teased.

As much as I’m crying from joy I burst into laughter because he’s so damn silly. “I’m too old for this..” I gasped. “Ay Dios mío this is crazy.” Throwing my arms around him and Elle I kissed her chubby cheek. My gut filled itself with butterflies and my skin broke out in goosebumps over this beautiful news we just received.

“You’re in great health, the baby will be just fine. I love you and I thank you for being the best mother to our children. Look at me..” he insisted. “You got this, we’ve got this. Everything will be alright. Right?” Nodding in agreement I rubbed his back in circles. “So is this the last one?”

“Absolutamente. If we were ten years younger then maybe we could try for a fourth but no papa this will be our last. Are you really happy or are you just claiming to be so I don’t freak out right now?” Searching his eyes for the answers I captured his lips needing a little more intimacy.

“Over the moon. Let me put her to bed, I’ll be right back.” Corey’s exit granted me the space and freedom to let this baby news marinate a little longer.

Lifting my shirt I squealed at the sight before me. This baby bump is the same size and shape that I had with Elle in the beginning. “Oh wow, deja vu! Welcome home bebecito, we are so happy and blessed to have you.” Clearly just like the last time I’m further along than I expected. Our lives are really about to change for the better yet again. Selfishly I do wish we were ten years younger so we can keep making such beautiful babies. But our life setup is special and near and dear to my heart so I don’t need to complain. Corey returned to join me in the bathroom and just like that a light bulb came on. “Corey..” I said with a deep frown.

“What is it? Why do you look so sad?” He panicked.

“We’re going to be sixty years old when this baby turns eighteen! Sixty and eighteen! What the hell are we doing? We’re setting our kids up for failure. I feel selfish now.” This knee jerk reaction to sob washed over me as I envisioned us being legally classified as senior citizens when our youngest child will be graduating from high school. “Corey, this is not fair!” I wept taking a seat on the floor. “This is not fair..” my heart is breaking right now over the reality we’re facing.

Corey knelt in front of me, seeming to match my sadness to a small degree. “Baby, I understand where you’re coming from. I have been aware of the age gaps between us and the kids this entire time. Does it get to me? Yeah sometimes it does but they’re here and we have to enjoy them while we’re still here.” He preached.

“Yo se pero..” sniffling and wiping under my eyes I tried pulling myself back together. “Just thinking about our babies being fresh into adulthood and us being at the age where we most older people are grandparents..is crazy. I don’t want the kids to wake up one day and realize we may miss some of the biggest moments of their lives.”

“Come on Lori, you know this is the tough part of being a human. Yes, the reality of our age and having a third baby right now is not ideal but I’m okay with it. For the record, I am not just saying that just because I don’t have to carry this baby either. I’m telling you because you know I’m always here to support you and take on all the stress so you don’t have to. Tell me now if you don’t want to go through with this again. I’m happy with the two babies we have now, truly but I want to know where you stand. This is your body and you have the final say so.” He advised sharply.

Breaking my moment of wallowing I disagreed to the unspoken offer on the table. “No. I’m not getting rid of our baby. Absolutely not. I’m saddened by my deepest fears but not enough to make such a decision that I have no right to. Not to mention that would drive a wedge between us and I would never want that. God granted us with the ability to reproduce easily, I will not take advantage of it.” Shaking away all thoughts of an abortion I dried my tears and accepted Corey’s assistance in standing. Turning

around to face the mirror I composed myself entirely to study my body again.

Corey also set his sights on my torso. As I turned, twisted, flexed and relaxed my core I mentally instructed myself not to lose it again.

“Last chance Mrs. Howard, do you really want this? Are you okay with being pregnant again for the last time?” Corey stood behind me, reaching for my hands.

“Yes, I am. I’m sorry for overreacting.” Blending our fingers together I studied his shoulders, feeling my spirit lighten as he shed the tension in his stance.

“It’s okay, you have every right to express how you feel. I just hope that after today you don’t travel back down this road. This being our last I want you to enjoy this experience to the full extent if possible.” I know Corey is just coming from a good place with his concerns and I feel bad now for how I reacted.

Throwing myself into him with a warm hug I laid my head upon his chest. I wandered my hands up to his neck, meddling in his hair. Caressing the area I met his eyes in the mirror. “I want this baby as much as I wanted Izaiah and Elle. The worries about our age gap will forever be a thought in the back of my mind, honey. I’ve spoken on it so it’s not going anywhere. That doesn’t mean I am any less excited. This baby is a blessing and I’m content with it. I promise you have nothing to fear.” I assured him.

We traveled to bed with our conversation, setting up our schedule for the rest of the week. Secretly I do worry if this pregnancy will be safe for me and for this baby. I’m forty-two years old pregnant with my third child, already a mom to a six and eleven year old. Tomorrow I plan on making an appointment to see my doctor to discuss with her the pros and cons of carrying a baby at my age. There’s no doubt that each child is a gift from God but at what expense?

#themarchblessing #short story

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spiritsdw · 5 years ago

Text

{Letters} - Sent at Stroneth Port

The Right Honorable The Earl of Carneath, Clarence Temple

Dear Lord Temple,

I have never been a man prone to drinking, but right now I think I could definitely lock my cabin door and spend the rest of the day nursing a few stiff drinks.

We are still in Nibiru. I aim to post this before we leave tomorrow morning.

I fear today is going to be a long one, and it is only half done. I pray to the winds to give me strength, even as I write this. I am so tired, and I wish

Did you know, every time I set sail from the Yielden Docks, I tell myself this will be the last time. Don’t laugh. It is hard to leave for so long. It is hard to leave you behind. There’s nothing for me at home -- except, perhaps, to be a glorified clerk to Illiam. Gone are the days where I could serve as Sebastian’s aide without trouble.

Now he has court-appointed ones to do it for him.

Each time we set sail, I wonder if I shouldn’t retire. But I am too young, and I will get too bored. Even if I find some quiet cabin where I can be alone to work on my inventions. I wouldn’t dare to ask you to cut yourself off from everyone else, just because I am stodgy like that. So the thought passes quickly from my mind, because there are too few rewards for so high a cost as to give this all up.

But even so, I wonder each time.

I did not write to you to complain. I am here to follow up in regards to the troubling letter I sent last.

I tried to distract myself with the repairs to the ship instead of thinking about the drow twins, or the possibilities of what would happen to those I (unknowingly) let go with them. It only worked in as much as I did not have the energy to dwell on them.

They have started to return -- Natalya and Ulutka have made their way back to the ship first, while they mentioned that the others were going to return a map (not the one of the fort, though at this point, I have little need for it).

There was some half-hearted explanation, as the pair of them both seemed very distracted in their conversation with me. There were yellow flowers that had some connection to the undead, there had been some violence, and in the end, there had been no real answers.

Natalya handed me a vial of clear yellow liquid -- bright enough to make citrine look like amber. She said it was from the woman’s desk, the color similar to the flowers that they found across the fort. “It might be worth pursuing,” she added

Now, I will confess, the scientist part of me is fascinated by this. I have no notes at the time of writing this, but still I thought ‘What if I were to investigate this further?’ To keep a sample of it for myself to experiment with, and send the rest back to Noah and her team. What is the nature of this liquid? What could I do with it -- indeed, what would I be able to do with this woman’s notes, should I ever get them?

It is a line of thought I am now ashamed to have considered.

Ulutka mentioned hesitations that reflected my own when it comes to violence. I am glad to know that the crew does not question my actions -- “As representatives of this ship,” he had said, “we should know better than to leave corpses wherever we go.”

He is a young man with a soft heart. His place aboard this ship is a strange one, but I am constantly thankful for his calm, level-headed approach to situations such as these.

It is Natalya who worried me though.

“I did try to diffuse the situation,” she said to me, and I knew immediately what that entailed.

I did not know how to ask her what she meant by that -- what had she done, to whom had she made the attempt on. All I could think of was Pasha’s rage, boiling beneath a schooled expression.

All I could think of was Tazyrr and Trielae, and what they are capable of when pushed.

You understand now why I worry, don’t you?

Conflict not just among outside forces -- perhaps my non-action stance has made them too passive when it comes to situations. Perhaps it is because I am trying to reconcile my memories of the war, of what it meant to serve on the front line, with what I am being asked to do now. I present them a disjointed front, telling them one thing and then asking of them another, that this conflict comes in from between their ranks.

Of course, the twins did not help the matter. They are a completely unstable element in the structure of my crew. They do not know how to handle these sorts of situations, and I thought they would do well enough together without my guidance, or that of Arculf or Grissa.

Again, again, again -- Natalya. What must be going through her mind? What sort of process did she follow to ask this of me?

She acknowledges that the woman they confronted had control of the undead, though I could tell from this conversation alone it was not through necromancy, but through science. Arcane magic is a thing of the past, and those who wish to follow old traditions must find new means. However Natalya asked to be involved in further research of this substance. “It seems like the sort of science that could improve the function of Albion’s military, prevent the loss of soldiers.”

I cannot… Clarence, even now, my hand shakes with the anger and the frustration at that naive question. And I realized how foolish I was to think that I could keep a sample of this substance on my boat to investigate in my own way. I cannot tell you the anger I felt at her line of inquiry, the revulsion I felt towards myself for my own failings at keeping an eye on her.

Why would she even suggest this? A girl so young, who lost her father to the war of politicking -- why would she even want to think of the eventuality of another war so close to the end of the first?

I remember our fallen comrades, I remember standing there and seeing His Majesty Rupert struck down. Would I have wanted a way to save them? More than anything -- to save Sebastian the grief of trying to save his uncle, blood on his hands. More than anything -- to have them here with us again, that we could look back on this and remember those situations with a detached fondness.

What this woman could do, I have no doubt, is not bring a person back to life. It is the science of Necromancy. It is the science of thralldom, it is nothing more than a puppet on a string and she would dare to ask if we could use it.

That would make us no better than those who would force their subjects into service of a master who did not care for them -- of blind devotion to a higher power.

What I do know of Nibiran culture, those who serve the sister goddesses do so willingly. They are not raised from the dead because she requires a warrior. They are a part of a ritual, and they do so because their goddess speaks to them in a way that I cannot understand.

I retreated at that moment -- I would not say I ran from the conversation, as I had the presence of mind to dismiss them first, but it did feel a little as if I was running. I don’t know how to approach this.

Again, she seems unconcerned with her ability to ‘diffuse’ situations (by creating new ones, it seems), and in this situation, Ulutka did not seem overly concerned about this. Indeed, his focus was on the overall tension of their group, of which there are undoubtedly many factors.

I plan on penning a letter to Her Majesty and posting once it is safe to do so. It is not that I think those in Nibiru will read my mail, it is that I do not think they understand the haste with which this needs to be delivered.

I have found a spare lockbox in a quick search of my cabin, and I plan on locking the vial away in it with the letter to Noah.

For a moment, I considered pitching it overboard. Let the ocean take the damned thing. But I couldn’t risk some other hapless individual finding it once it washed up. I shall have to hide it, I think, because a part of me fears that if anyone who is interested in this knows of where I have stored it, they will come looking for it.

I want to trust the crew, I do. I have no reason not to. But I have not survived through five years of war, despite throwing my caution to the wind and hiding from family, to simply ignore my instincts.

Perhaps Grissa will be fit for the job. He has a favor with Ydir, and anything that has to do with undead (even in a scientific vein), I would prefer in the hands of a cleric. That he is a half-orc and larger than anyone on the crew certainly helps. I do plan on sending it as soon as we dock in Aelem. Yes, I think he will be best.

I have yet to talk to the others. I have a long day ahead of me, I fear.

~*~

Spirits of the air, I wish I had you here beside me. I need someone to talk some sense into me, before I start to think that something is beyond my control. I need your steady hand and your calm, level head. I do not know how I do this. It is going to be a very long rotation.

I spoke to the twins. I passed the box to Grissa. I do not know... No, that is a lie. I know my next course of action. I must speak to Pasha.

But first, the twins. Tazyrr and Trielae.

They returned to the ship, practically arm in arm with Adi and Pasha. I do not know how I feel to know that these are the four that have bonded, but I know that they are both very dependent pairs of people. I suppose it is only natural for them to know how the other feels in this sort of situation.

Surprisingly, the twins came when I told them I needed to speak to them. I showed them the letter--

Ah, shit, I never mentioned the letter, did I?

See, this is how my train of thought has been lately.

You remember the child I mentioned in my previous letter who was looking for her elder siblings? How Pasha, in his lingering anger, scared the child, how I found the twins on my ship clearly hiding, holding a stolen map of a fort?

Not but three days after this (or two days ago, at the time of the writing of this letter), Arculf found some miscreant tacking a letter to the side of my ship using an ornate dagger. They were scared off, but the letter and dagger were left behind.

In a scrawling hand, jagged letters forming a script that I can barely speak much less alone read, I could only stare at the letter which must have been a threat. I took it to the dock master, who translated it for me with something between a laugh and a prayer for my well being.

Surprisingly enough, not a threat to myself, or to my crew. Well, not strictly speaking my crew.

It was a request from a crew of local bandits, indicating that they were not too pleased with the actions of a pair of drow twins, who they know stole a map. It continues by demanding that I hand them over to their leader -- who graciously returned the female twin's dagger as a sign of good faith. (To me? To Trielae? I am uncertain.)

I have no reason to decide either way, truth be told. Like I mentioned, I do not feel for them one way or another, but I did promise them that they would be a part of my crew so long as they acted in service of my request -- which, at the time of sending them to Fort Ptallo, involved ensuring none of the signed crew came to any harm.

Now.

I revealed the letter and the dagger to them, asked for a good reason why I should not hand them over, and Tazyrr had the gall to say that I would be acting predictably as 'the right hand man of the empire'. Perhaps he grossly overestimates my role in all of this. Perhaps he thinks I have Sebastian in my pocket, as opposed to my posting aboard the Titan being a favor repaid from Sebastian. Who knows.

I also do not think I presented myself in the best possible light at that moment. I did not have the energy to get truly angry, because I knew the task that lay ahead of me. I confessed that I was surprised they even returned to the ship at all, and that I valued the fact that my crew was able to return on their own two feet (well, Pasha relied heavily on the support of Trielae's shoulder, but I suspect that was because he was drunk, not injured).

So I tried again: "What happened in Agartha, and tell me why I should let you remain on my ship knowing your history?"

My words sound vicious in retrospect, a tired man who desperately wants a reason to be rid of a potential liability. In truth, I wanted a valid reason to know that I could trust them. I have history with them, I know better than to give them free run of the ship, of my crew.

But I wanted to put that behind us. I so desperately want to put the war behind me, but it seems at every turn I am reminded of my actions during that time -- of the consequences of those actions.

The twins dance around the subject like professionals in a theater. It is tiring talking to them, without feeling like you are talking yourself in circles. And they desire the upper hand in every situation, knowing exactly how to game it so they know (or at least they think) they are getting the better end of the conversation -- that they are the smartest ones in the room.

I asked again why they were on my ship, now that they knew I remembered who they were -- now that I knew they remembered who I was. Out of any ship, why mine? (The irony is that they truly picked mine at random.)

Tazyrr says words that I feared: Asks if the type of people the empire hires now are those who would negotiate with people who treat other people like forms of currency. If he would not obey my command (as Captain? As the 'right hand of the empire'?) would I have that, and I quote "high-society girl force us near helplessly into submission again?"

Again.

"I tried to diffuse the situation," she had said, and I had reason to fear.

"Would you have that girl force us into submission again?" he said, and I knew my fears were valid.

It was a tremendous effort to keep my expression under control (and honestly, I do not think I did a very good job), but I could not hide the exhaustion.

"If you decide to throw us to the wolves, will she eviscerate our autonomy and leave us like raw meat to hungry mouths a second time?"

The twins made themselves clear on what would happen should it happen again -- I know the voracity of their threats holds real and dangerous weight. They would not hesitate. And, as Tazyrr put it, they would act with finality.

So no, Trielae, this is not something I allow among my crew. The fact that it has happened three times, twice on allies, is unforgivable. I would have let it slide if it was merely towards the gnome pirate captain, or towards this woman they are calling a necromancer (she is a scientist first, I’m sure, and a magician second, if at all). I might have shown leniency if she showed remorse.

But she has not, and so I cannot.

I will arrange to speak to her. Possibly once we reach Aelem, so that I can ensure the others are off the ship. I do not wish to have to take drastic measures, but…

She has deliberately placed charms and manipulations upon my crew, and by extent, the citizens of Albion and Antilla. I will give her a warning, as a sign of respect to her late father. But I do not want to have to have my worries compounded -- the mental and physical safety of my crew, both at Natalya’s whims and those of the twins, hinges on her ceasing this behavior.

I have offered the twins a place on the ship, their payment to Aelem being their recounting of what happened the last five days. I might regret this -- no, I am certain I do regret this. They wanted to be dead. They will not be able to hide while on the Titan, so I am surprised that they remain on board.

Tazyrr attempted to taunt me several times, but I have seen the way that a frightened hunter approaches those he thinks of as prey. “They’ve seen enough imperialism and don’t wish you well,” he said about my presence here in Nibiru, as if I have not made this rotation for nearly ten years. As if I do not know the history of Nibiru, or the weight that our flag carries.

They have a limit to their patience, yes, and I know the extent of it. Soon, even the kingdom’s gold will lose its worth in their minds if I continue to berth here much longer, but again, I plan on being off in the morning. Do not take me for a fool, Tazyrr. I have seen much -- not nearly as much as you, I am sure, not nearly as much. But I have learned. And I understand.

The twins did not seem to hear my words when I offered them an ultimatum, stay and work for me, or get off here or in Aelem. They went on with an explanation in that confounding, rapid way of theirs. Confirmed what I had suspected. They at least seem fond of Pasha, and for that I am glad. Well, only of the fact that Pasha can open up to more people, though I regret that it would have to be either of them. Of those he has been consorting with, however, the choice is the twins (who do not hide how they feel about you) or Natalya (who has now manipulated him, or attempted so, twice).

They have made their dislike and distrust of both Natalya and, surprisingly, Ulutka quite clear. They did not like the way Ulutka tried to reason with the group of bandits -- though I suppose if they had just let him do as was his wont, I would not have found a dagger pinning a threat to my ship.

I cannot cave to them, and let them do as they are wont to do, because that often entails violence for the sake of it being the quickest route to an answer.

When finally they finished their explanation (the important facts about the woman at the fort and the flowers lining up with what Natalya and Ulutka told me), I asked if they found what they wanted to look for.

In answer, Tazyrr handed me a worn leather journal. “Not really. It’s all nonsensical to me, a lot of big words. We don’t want it.”

Now, admittedly, it has been over twenty years since we first met these two. And I have not interacted with them much since they found their way onto my ship. But I do not see him as the type to grab something that does not seem interesting to him, and make the effort of carrying it back.

He would have left it for one of the others to grab if they thought that I needed it.

I have not spent much time reading the journal -- just glancing through it before setting it aside. I will be revising my letter to Noah shortly, probably before I go to talk to Pasha and Adi.

I do not trust his disinterest in the item.

What’s more, he…

Well, I have nothing to prove it. But I have been working on that alarm enchantment. I thought, perhaps, I could modify the alarm. A change in my surroundings that I do not authorize, as opposed to an interloper I do not permit.

It went off as they were leaving. A small jolt in my mind.

I have locked the door after them, and scoured for what might have changed in my glyph. I had thought to use it originally to warn me if anyone was coming while I worked (it would have been fairly handy in Agartha, before I joined Sebastian -- would have saved me many close calls).

I do not know what it is, but it is the size of a small pearl. It is enchanted. How, I do not know. It is not the same sort of energies that I use, so it will take me awhile to undo this.

He takes me for a fool.

So I shall continue to play one, until I know what exactly he is up to.

It is a dangerous game that I will be forced to play, and the board is my ship, and the other pieces are my crew.

What am I doing, Clarence? Is it the right thing?

I wonder.

And I doubt.

And I worry.

~*~

I have spoken to Pasha and Adi and… it is mostly as I feared. I tried to apologize on behalf of Natalya, but I’m afraid it felt too shallow for the truth of the matter.

Even though Pasha is aware, to an extent, of what I am able to do, Adi does not. And Pasha would not completely understand where my concerns and confusion come from, because Buyan is a place of technology. It always has been, and it was never steeped in arcane tradition the way other places have been.

Where other continents have recovered and managed this past century, Buyan has thrived for it.

Adi said that the twins showed more loyalty and concern for the crew than their own mechanic, but she doesn’t know. How fleeting that loyalty is, and how it only runs deep for each other. These are things I cannot say.

I don’t wish to color their opinion, not so soon after Adi and Pasha have found solace. Perhaps, spirits willing, they will be a good influence on the twins in some way.

But I apologized, for what it was worth, because I knew I had to. I knew I took a responsibility for her actions both as her guardian (of a sorts) and as her captain. It did, at least, mollify Pasha.

To the point where he presented to me a gem, wrapped in cloth.

At first, I did not know why he was handing this to me. Except for when he unwrapped it, holding it in the palm of his hand, I could recognize it instantly. That yellow -- it was unmistakably the source of the liquid in the vial that Grissa now keeps.

I had not thought… That someone would bring the actual catalyst back with them. Were there others? Did, perhaps, the twins get their hands on one of their own, and should I continue to fear? They have no reason to trust me, nor to pass over their finds, as I did not ask them when I let them go (not that I think they would have obeyed that request anyway). This is also why I am hesitant to accept the gift of the doctor’s notes without questioning them.

Pasha does not know about the notebook that Tazyrr passed off to me. But again I was asked if someone on my crew could use this to reverse engineer its effects. His request, while of a different bend than Natalya��s, still reeked of the same fear. His is a request born out of vengeance, I am certain, and that is just as dangerous. More, perhaps.

I cannot deny that investigating the liquid or the crystal further was a line of inquiry I wish I could indulge. I myself had the same thought without even knowing what it could truly do, and now that I know…

There would be no way to test it safely, not without asking someone to be a test subject. That is not something I can allow in such a setting.

How I wanted to take that stone and destroy it in that moment.

Science be damned, I thought. I would not allow this to exist, had I an iron fist that would resolve to do so. But I am lenient when it comes to Pasha, because I see a bit of myself in him -- that brilliant spark, the knowledge that he could be something great if only given the proper chance.

I left the crystal on his desk. I told him no. I think, perhaps, both Pasha and Adi are dissatisfied with my answer, but I cannot figure out why.

That I denied them? Or that I would not allow this pursuit of vengeance?

Clarence, did I do the right thing?

What’s more, Adi seemed convinced that the group of bandits who had the map stolen from them, and knifed an ultimatum to the side of my ship, would pursue us if we left. I did not know how to console her beyond stating the obvious: They would not follow us.

This seemed to annoy her as well, I think. Again, perhaps because I gave a firm ‘no’ when it came to an unasked question of how to finish what they had apparently started.

Pasha had to kill one of their number, and I regret that he had to have been put in that position. Adi insisted that we would “pay the price sooner rather than later.''

That we would create “an unnecessary enemy”.

I think these bandits thought they could scare a small number of my crew into handing over what they wanted. I think the threat they delivered was empty once they saw the flag we flew, but had to follow through for show.

I have been through these waters many times. I have begun to understand the way of port-side bandits and small-time criminals. We will not be followed. It is something, perhaps, she will learn through experience.

What I would give, though, to keep them from having to learn such truths.

What I would give to keep them safe.

All my love, Ean

~*~

May it please Your Majesty,

I am writing of an occurrence that I believe deserves the attention of Your Majesty.

I have recently come into possession of some disturbing information, and I will do my best to convey it to His and Her Majesty as truthfully as possible.

As part of The Arcadian Titan’s quest across Assalia, we had reason to make berth in Stroneth Port in Nibiru. Please refer to the letter sent earlier for the details on how this came to be.

One of the situations that has arisen, as I mentioned previously, is the return of the drow twins Tazyrr and Trielae, whom we have made a brief and tumultuous acquaintance with some twenty-odd years ago in Agartha when they made an attempt on His Majesty’s life. I did not think they recognized me at the time, and they have since claimed ignorance of the banner that the Titan flies, so please take that information with a grain of salt.

They left with members of my crew to investigate rumours of undead at the abandoned Fort Ptallo, two or so day’s journey to the west. All six have recently returned, and they have brought with them troubling news.

In the box that this letter was sent in there is a vial of bright yellow liquid, which I have come to learn is distilled from a yellow musk flower. It is not common here in Nibiru, but it seems to have flourished in Fort Ptallo.

Also included is a journal belonging to the late Myrranda Segus, a scientist investigating the properties of the yellow musk flower and its mind control abilities.

I have learned all of this second-hand, but I trust those who conveyed the information to me. I thought it best to send both vial and journal to Your Majesty with all due haste, so that you may investigate it with those far more qualified than I, and with far better resources than what I have aboard the Titan.

Take heed, however: I was given the journal by Tazyrr. He passed it over with an air of indifference, but I think, perhaps, there is something untoward about the journal. I have reason to believe that he would not willingly carry something that he thought useless all the way back to hand to me, when he has vocally admitted to his distrust of both crown and general authority.

I could not see immediately what was off with the journal, more than what I feel on instinct and my own knowledge of scientific and alchemical formulae. Please, when investigating the contents of the vial and journal, take heed. I would not normally ask this of you, but I do not know who else is more qualified than you and your team.

With luck (and Ydir’s blessing, courtesy of Grissa), we will reach Carneath on schedule, and any updates may be posted there as planned. I will write immediately to inform the court should anything change.

I have the honour to remain, Madam, Your Majesty's most humble and obedient servant.

Yours in Service, ever and always, Lord Ean de Gillis Captain of The Arcadian Titan

#logs & letters #mutiny confirmed #ch: ean de gillis

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angrylizardjacket · 6 years ago

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like flying [1] {Brian May}

A/N: Stardust AU!!! Mainly a set-up chapter. they/them, fallen star!reader, please please please let me know what you think!!

When one spends their life with their eyes trained on the sky, they tend to miss what’s right in front of them.

Freddie says that a lot, usually when he’s up by the helm of the ship, and has just witnessed Brian, who is running across the deck trying to get the best vantage point of the sky through the clouds, run straight into John, who in fairness, is equally distracted by the impending storm.

“Could you at least warn us next time?” Brian calls over a crack of thunder.

“Being your guide dog isn’t my job.” Freddie’s glaring into the storm, a white-knuckled grip on the wheel as he prepared to whether it. John doesn’t seem too bothered by it, just picks up his scattered tools, straightens his googles, and heads towards the bow of the ship.

“What about you, ya jackal?” Brian levels a glare at where their resident Warlock had taken up residence on the banister of the quarterdeck, laughing as he watches the events unfold from his vantage point by the Captain. Roger sits with his ankles crossed, balancing with an unnatural ease, and for good reason; his favourite thing was using his magic to make it look like himself appear just that little bit better than the humans around him, irritating git.

“You should watch where you’re going.” Is all he offers, eyes shining as he watches a crack of lightning streak across the sky.

“I’m trying to watch where we’re all going.” Brian huffs, rolling up his map and putting it in it’s holder for safekeeping. “Anyways, the storms dead ahead, you don’t need me to guide you. I’ll be down by the barrels until this is all over.” And with that he descends further into the ship to keep an eye on, and switch out the lightning barrels as they’re being filled.

From his vantage point on the gun deck, which had initially been for show, and had now been converted into the main collection point that all the lightning funnelled into, Brian could catch glimpses of the storm raging outside, and feel as it knocked the ship about. He had absolute faith in Deaky’s designs, they’d been through far worse and come out singing before, and for now he just contented himself with making sure that none of the lightning barrels overflowed, and occasionally catching a glimpse of stars through the clouds.

There was no denying he was rather enamoured with them, at least as a concept; spending thousands of years bringing light to the world in it’s darkest hours, holding their constellations for hundred, even thousands of years, watching silently as the universe passes them by, all without complaint. There was something beautiful, artistic about the way they arranged themselves, something that made Brian feel so unbelievably small, and occasionally futile, in comparison. But their constant nature was often the only things that kept him sane aboard this ship, and so he wouldn’t begrudge the stars their shining constance, he’d just be thankful they shone at all, and kept him in a job, and ironically, kept him grounded.

Roger joins him almost immediately after the storm passes. Brian’s carefully distilling a little of the freshest lightning into a little sample size if the buyer’s unconvinced of it’s quality, which is a tricky process involving heat-proof mittens and a weird metal hose, and Roger pulls off the lid of the barrel without a second thought. By now, Brian doesn’t even flinch; Roger’s adept at keeping the lightning contained with his magic and a flick of his wrist, and looks into the crackling metal barrel without any hesitation.

“Seems like we’ve got a good batch on our hands.” Roger tries to sound like he knows what he’s talking about, like he doesn’t say that every time because he’s a little in awe at the sight of what’s essentially bottled lightning. Brian doesn’t comment. “Well I appreciate your candor, I did do an excellent job.” Roger fills in the blanks with exactly what he wants to hear, and he steps back, stretching out his hand, and there’s a panic that rises in Brian’s chest as what appears to be an electrified serpent rises from the barrel.

“Do you have to show off like that?” Brian asks, deadpan, trying his hardest to hide the fear that the loud, electric snaps bring out in him. After a moment, he caps the sample and shuts off the little vent that he distills the lightning from before taking away the piping, while Roger rolls his eyes but obligingly shoves the lightning back into the barrel.

As he’s capping it, his hold on the lightning slips for just a moment, and there’s a sudden burst as the not yet secured cap is torn through from his grip, rocketing faster than the eye can see up through the roof of the deck, and into the sky. Electricity bursts forth, fire blooming where the lighting hits the walls and floor in an instant, the very power of it sending both Roger and Brian to opposite ends of the room; it’s deafening, overwhelming, and it takes all of Roger’s focus to wrangle the electricity back under control.

“Spare lid!” He shouts, which Brian parrots back mockingly, looking around.

“We’ve never needed a spare lid why would we have one?!” He cries, and can hear, in the now still night air outside, Freddie cursing up a blue streak as he and Deaky come over to the newly formed hole in the floor of the deck to investigate.

“Because it’s better to be safe than sorry!” Roger retorts, and suddenly there’s a pair of goggles looking down at them, Deaky, alongside their incredibly annoyed Captain.

“What the blood hell has happened?”

“Roger-” Brian tried to explain as he was putting out fires across the room, but he was cut off.

“We need a spare lid for this batch, okay? I’ll explain after.” Roger insisted, much to both Freddie and Brian’s chagrin.

“We don’t have a spare lid.” Deaky responded, and his face disappeared from the hole where they had been looking in. Freddie’s gaze turns skyward, as if trying to see if the lid was falling back to Earth, though he seemed transfixed.

“Ha! I told you!” Brian cried, and Roger rolled his eyes, as Deaky showed up at the door a few moments later, pulling various items from his tool belt as he set about making a make-shift lid.

“It won’t hold forever.” Deaky explained, “and we can’t sell this batch, I’ve basically just welded a metal plate to the top, and added some insulator. We need to get a new lid.” Roger relaxed, the sudden exertion and overuse of his powers hitting him all at once, though they all jumped when he let go of his hold of the electricity and it crashed threateningly at the new lid.

“How long do we have?” Roger asks, arms crossed as he puts out an on-fire chair with a wave of his hand before collapsing into it. Brian wants to make a snarky remark, but he’s too busy putting out fires of his own, and even at a glance Roger looks like he’s death standing, or sitting as the case may be; either way he’s at his limit.

“A few days, maybe? I did the best I could given,” and he waves his hand around the ashy room and scattered supplies, “but those lids are specially designed.” And after stamping out a fire by the door, he takes off his goggles. “Worst comes to worst, I can crack the lid and we can chuck it overboard; it’ll come loose in the air and won’t be our problem.”

“And waste a perfectly good barrel? I don’t think so, dear; we’re going to get our lid.” Freddie sounds so confident that it’s a little unnerving, and he’s still looking at the sky. Brian peers up through the hole and tries to follow his gaze.

“How do you even know where it is?” He asked, and Freddie turned with a bright smile, pointing at light in the sky growing steadily brighter at an alarming rate.

“Because it hit a star, and we can watch where it falls.”

The thing about you is that you adored humanity, you just never understood them. You’d always been so caught up in their day-to-day intricacies that you’d never been bored watching empires come and go, or see history repeat itself over and over again. Each little era brought something new, something to shake up the routine, and everyone’s personal lives, and sometimes you were even able to catch a glimpse of love. That was your favourite thing to watch, the way people would fall in love time and time again, and there’s little patterns, people drawn to one another, sometimes you feel as if you’re watching the same souls come back to each other over and over again. If you liked to fantasize about being one of those souls, you would never say anything to the others who shine beside you, bored with the ebb and flow with time that seemed to change little with each passing eon.

You knew, objectively, that there were people who looked up at you, who even perhaps loved you, but it wasn’t the same, you couldn’t tell them you loved them in the same way, and after all, you liked it where you were, free from the fear of having your heart eaten like you’d seen happen to your brothers and sisters before, free from the fear of rejection; humans tend to like humans, and you knew if given half a chance you’d want to act out your little fantasy. But it wouldn’t come true; even people who looked up at the stars learned to love something on the ground, you’d seen it happen too many times.

You were secure where you were, one of the brightest shining stars in the sky, glowing as you delighted in the antics of the people below you, and you never thought that would have to change.

Until what seems to be a metal plate smacks you in the chest, winding you and knocking you from your perch in the sky. You weren’t even able to cry for help as you crash through the atmosphere. Fear has a stranglehold on your whole body, all you can do is clutch the metal to your chest as the ground approaches, and part of you, in hindsight, will be glad that you passed out before you hit the ground.

deadly viper assassination squad: @strangeandwonderfulconcepts @thatgeekspeak @some-back-ground-noise @ma-ntequilla @d-r-e-a-m-catchme @legendsaresooftenwarnings @phantom-fangirl-stuff @obsessedwithrogertaylor @cosmicsskies @sam-writes @queen-mischief-fanfiction

(i just tagged everyone who expressed interest; tag list is always open, feel free to message me or comment on the fic and i’ll add you xx)

#brian may #brian may imagine #brian may x reader #freddie mercury #roger taylor #john deacon #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #bo rhap #borhap imagine #bohemian rhapsody imagine #stardust #au #queen #queen imagine #the angry lizard writes

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rosedalemike · 6 years ago

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The Mood: Blog #11 “WTF is next, ROSEDALE?!”

I've had so many random ideas for what this next blog should be about. I wanna try to stay on track with the story of Rosedale's farewell/next chapter as that seems to be the most common topic with the lovely Rosedaliens that have been coming out to shows. But the truth is that I'm just as unsure as everyone else. I don't even have a clear vision of what I picture September looking like. I guess my plan in September is to plan what 2019 is going to look like. 2019 seems so much further than it actually is, I'm sure. The only things I'm sure of are that I would like to: 1: be a helpful contribution to music scenes (artists, venues, promoters, fans etc.) using more than just my own voice. 2: keep making new music under a different name (using my voice ...maybe some features...maybe a band? Who knows. I'd love for someone else to decide that.) 3: continue to work with other artists on their art and ideas. I know those are all vague ideas. And regarding the name delema; I have a giant draft email to myself (the most common email address in my inbox is [email protected]) that has a bunch of artist names and band names. Some are pretty good, some are not.

Self-Lyric Party:

" 'cause I live entirely for the self-satisfaction that I made this- I turn Whiter than a song in C as I watch the room empty No! Just press on, believe. My numbers are truly sad Tell me again; can I beat Quicksand? Yes I Can! " - Quicksand

As I check back to my last blog (to see how I quote/credit a lyric party...to keep continuity) I noticed that google placed a Chipotle add on the right side of the blog page! This is likely because I searched Chipotle at least 10 times in this past week. And that is because there is new company in the new Rosedale crew already and Chipotle sometimes hooks up traveling musicians with free food.

Her name is Siena. We all know Bryan, right? (cousin, hockey guy, #1 merch dude/email address collector...) Siena is the female Bryan. But luckily, she's not my cousin. I mean it'd be awesome to have known her all my life (like I've known Bryan all my life,) but for "heart-crush" reasons, I'm really glad she's most definitely not my cousin.

I met Siena at our San Diego show in November 2017. I say "our" because she's in a band called Going Postal, and they played that Soma show too. Like many bands today, they'll admit that their future is a giant question mark. But unlike many bands today, they sound awesome!

Check them out

.https://goingpostalca.bandcamp.com/releases

I call Siena "S Money" because one of her friends she was facetiming called her that and I, too, wanted to sound gangsta- "DJ $ Money" to be exact. Siena is finishing her final online college classes while traveling around America with me and selling my merch. When she's not selling merch she's helping me move my insane amounts of gear. When she's not selling merch and moving my insane amounts of gear she's teaching me how to promote in a more professional manner by helping me post enticing social media posts/stories/streams more regularly/organically.

Siena is a very kind-hearted, helpful champion that is way too chill to be so attractive. I just may be the luckiest Tall Canadian with Way Too Much Gear to have her on tour with me. After this tour she's moving to LA to become a world famous movie star so I only have about a month more of her awesomeness. She likes animals a lot, especially animal memes/vines. Mostly cats and dogs. So share/send any good ones and I'll make sure she sees them. (I'm also currently tethering off her wifi hotspot because all of Ohio's wifi is down right now.)

Now that I've made you feel warm with paragraphs of cute kittens and puppies and rock n' roll princesses and awesome music and free Chipotle and sharing wifi; I must reveal some bad news; MY BACK IS F**KED!!! I somehow slowly injured my lower back while walking down some rusty stairs at the wrestling ring venue in Benwood, WV last Tuesday. I was getting ready to catch a little light-up-with-movement Nerf football, moving no different than any human casually walking down a set of stairs- then all of a sudden I felt my back juice trickling into the lower center of my back. Don't be alarmed, this is not a career ending injury or anything. This actually happens to me every two years or so. And this time is not nearly as bad as the last time (when I was filling in for my Dad in his Canadian Tire men's hockey league and I casually skated behind my net to find out how 3 weeks of near paralyzing lower back pain felt.) It's funny; when people ask if I have tall people back problems and I'm not dealing with back problems at that given moment, I usually reply "nope". But as soon as I do experience my dual-annually (I made up that word...) back pain, I remember the last time I had severe back pain. So anyway, I had to cancel two shows and I'm not happy about it. It's getting better. I'm three days without pain relief meds. Stretching a lot. Rubbing Tiger Balm and Icey Hot every few hours. Just taking it easy in Cincinnati until Atlanta's show on Tuesday. That show is gonna be really awesome and there’s no way I’m missing it. I played drums for a band on Warped tour in Dallas too. That was pretty fun. I learned their songs in three days. They have a lot of air horns in their music so I went kind of overboard with the Roland Pad's air horn sample. (Maybe that's why they found a replacement drummer for Pittsburgh Warped.) It was fun seeing the Warped Tour for the last year and getting to play on stage again. We also went to the Cincinnati Warped Tour and learned what heat stroke felt like.

Enough updates on my odd summer. I'll wrap it up with some insightful life/music stuff as I'm hanging out with the infamous Alex Baker. https://alexanderbaker.bandcamp.com/ First though, his dad told us one of the greatest dad joke of all time:

DAD JOKE PARTY:

"I was trying to think of a good reason to go to Switzerland and then I realized the flag was a big plus."

But for real; we were talking about how things would be so different if we had just been understanding with our ex-bandmates in the golden years. We were all young and surrounded by the odd discovery of egos driven by art/success. Alex was in a band called Dewey Decibel https://alexanderbaker.bandcamp.com/album/the-dusting-dewey-decibel They had a fun indie style with a really organic, interesting production. Dewey Decibel recorded their album in their house in Nashville. From the sounds of it, once they started getting attention from NPR and local radio stations things started getting to everyone's heads.

It's not uncommon for a band to get along really well when things are on the up then fall apart when the going gets tough. The more I see it the more I understand the damage it did to Rosedale. But on the other end of that unfortunate reality is the fact that I never would have met Alex Baker if the Rockstar ego-turmoil didn't happen to Dewey Decibel and Rosedale. I probably wouldn't have met Siana (AKA DJ $ Money) either. I'm not preaching that everything happens for a reason. I'm just kinda preaching that if you take the inevitable destructive events in life and turn them into fuel to move on and stay positive, better relationships grow. And those relationships are better because you've grown and learned how to be a better person. So, like I keep driving home in all of these "Farewell Blogs", I'm looking forward to where things go. I'm happy I've experienced all the curveballs along the way to teach me how to eventually hit some home runs. I feel like I'm on the right track with these new friends that I've only met through grinding past the hard times and pressing on for what I had my heart set on. Do you ever think of how you came to know some of your best friends? Like what events led them/you there that day and how grateful you are for those events and the transparent friendships they created? I know facebook gives us the ol "5 years of friendship" tag or whatever. But sometimes I see those and think "ohhh if you only knew, facebook...me and Casey Phillips go WAY BACK!" Anyway that's all for now. If you've been thinking of meeting me or Siena or Alex Baker the best way/time to do it is to come out to an event we're at and experience some in person hangouts. This will be the last few weeks of touring for quite some time for me so really try to highlight these dates and make a solid effort to come catch a show. I promise you will not regret it.

UPCOMING SHOWS: 7/24 - Atlanta,GA @ The Masquerade 7/27 - Jacksonville, FL @ Jackrabbits 7/29 - St. Augustine, FL @ Sarbez 8/3 - Pittsburgh, PA @ Black Forge Coffee 8/4 - Niagara, NY @ Evening Star 8/7 - Brampton, ON @ Spot 1 8/10 - Charleston, WV @ The Empty Glass 8/11 - Myrtle Beach, SC @ TBA Then a bunch of East Coast tour dates.

#Rosedale #farewell #chipotle #touring #warped tour #blog #themood #dadjokes #backjuice #brokebackmike #atlanta #music #allages #shows #newmusic #hashtag #warpedtour #alexbaker

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notthemaincharacter · 7 years ago

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I'll take a really fluffy request about Atsushi and his significant other. Giving you free range to do whatever you want!

I’m here! I haven’t forgotten you guys, I swear! I started writing this on Christmas Eve, but wasn’t able to finish it. Then Christmas and all those gatherings happened, so yeah. Please excuse the lateness of this scenario!

To dear anon who requested this, I didn’t realize how much I appreciate you letting me do what I want with this ask until I started writing it. This is my first ever request, so it lessened some pressure on my part. I took liberty with this piece, although I might have gone overboard a bit too much. I got carried away and might have dragged it, and I’m not sure if this comes off as more of a fluffball than a cheeseball, but I hope you still like it!

Also, I might have intentionally made Murasakibara OOC, that or I just suck at characterization XD But consider this as college setting, so he and the reader are in their early 20′s, maybe 21 :)

Under the cut because of the length~

Christmas is definitely one of your favorite time of the year, if not the most. You just love the festive cheer that fills the air and your eyes everywhere you go — the decorations and illuminations in the town square, the streets littered with romantic couples, and the excitement buzz of the crowd that resonates in the air and into people’s souls that for this one, blissfully peaceful day, a person can just forget his own troubles for once and just be merry. It’s one of the reasons you love Christmas — you want to go out there and experience all these couple love vibes often associated with the holiday.

Right now, though, you are inside the confinements of the apartment you share with your boyfriend, Murasakibara, idly watching him bake some confectionery which you don’t know the name of, like a professional pâtissier. You’re not complaining because, after all, you’re still spending the day with him. But based from previous experiences, you’re certain that making sweets and eating them afterwards are all he’d be interested in doing tonight, and an ultra romantic date involving strolling along the brightly lit city while holding hands, eating strawberry sponge cake, and buying couple things and souvenirs isn’t part of the activities he’ll likely be engaging in. Of course you’d never resent him for this, you already know the type of person your boyfriend is and you unconditionally love all two-hundred-and-eight centimeters of this man, it’s just that you’ve been looking forward to the holidays so you may be feeling a little lonely.

Well, it’s not like the two of you have spent the entire day in the kitchen. Around late afternoon, Murasakibara dragged you around town because he needed to buy ingredients for tonight’s dessert. The shopping took quite a while because he didn’t seem to find what he was looking for, or rather, he seemed to be looking especially for ingredients that will pass his preferences. But it’s not only that, you two somehow lost each other in the market. You left him for a moment to go to the bathroom, and on your way back you stumbled upon a store that was selling a very cute, fluffy pink sweater, and to your delight, it was paired with an equally fluffy black one. You wanted to buy them but soon realized that you had left your purse with Murasakibara and he wasn’t anywhere near where you’d left him. By the time you tracked him down, panting and exhaling visible puffs of breath into the air — he was distracted by a vendor giving free food samples — you both sprinted back to the shop, only to catch sight of another young couple walking away with smiling faces and your sweaters.

You sigh in regret at the memory. You didn’t even get to sightsee Akita in all its white Christmas glory, and now your sweaters had to be taken by someone else, too.

“Hm? Why are you pouting so hard, _____-chin?”

And indeed, you are. But damn, those are my sweaters!

You look at the innocent face of Murasakibara, who has momentarily stopped his work to gaze at you with those lilac eyes that seem more awake than usual, unaware of your inner musings. “It’s nothing, Atsushi. I’m just feeling a little cold, that’s all.”

Murasakibara silently takes in your lithe form sitting comfortably on a stool by the counter, while hugging a soft pillow you got from the living room sofa to your chest and legs that don’t quite reach the floor swaying back and forth alternately.

“Do you want a jacket? I’ll get one for you if you like.”

You smile at him and shake your head. “It’s okay, Atsushi, I’m really fine. Besides it’s not that cold anyway. Don’t worry about me and continue baking, okay?”

He considers you for a moment before complying. “Okay, if you say so~” To your slight surprise, however, he removes the gloves in his hands before walking over to you, placing a huge hand on top of your head and gently ruffling your hair. “_____-chin is so tiny. If I’m not with you you’re going to be knocked down so easily.”

“Wha—!” You try to duck to stop him from messing up your hair, but his hand feels good and warm to the touch, so you just make a pouty face again, but otherwise you let him. “I’m not tiny. You’re the one who’s so tall and huge like a giant that’s why you don’t feel the cold too much.”

“Hm? Doesn’t matter. You’re still tiny to me, _____-chin.”

You scowl at him, although your irritation is only skin deep. Even though for Murasakibara, he is only telling what he thinks is true, you can sense the underlying teasing in his tone. It’s very rarely shown, but you love this side of him.

“But I like it.”

Then he turns and walks back to the kitchen table to resume his baking, leaving you with a slightly open mouth that can only mutter a quiet “eh?” Still, your confusion at his unexpected words doesn’t stop the heat from rushing to your face, and spreading pleasant warmth throughout your system.

Face breaking into a wide grin, you jump down from your seat and follow Murasakibara to the table. He doesn’t make any comment as you position yourself beside him, watching him continue doing his wonders. And wonders, they are, miracles even. You’ve watched him cook and bake several times before, tasted the results of his exceptional talent and prowess in the kitchen. But now, up-close, you realize you’ve never really fully noticed or appreciated every single detail about this aspect of Murasakibara, until now.

For someone so huge and menacing-looking, the way his fingers move to roll or mold a piece of dough is so gentle and precise. His hands are very deft as they move between mixtures and ingredients to do exactly as he wants. And he does know what he wants. Your eyes travel to your boyfriend’s face, concentrating on the eyes that look so alive with passion. He’s pouring out all his knowledge about and love for baking to create something that he’ll also love. It makes sense since it’s him. He may not be interested in many things, but after all, when Murasakibara likes something — whether he admits it or not — he always gives it his very best shot.

Seeing the absolute dedication on Murasakibara’s face, you’re suddenly struck with inspiration — or you just want to have an outlet for the increasing fluffy feeling in your chest. One moment you’re watching how he intricately adds chocolate or other sugary stuff in the mixtures before they will be put in the oven, and the next you’re already washing your hands in the sink and wearing a pair of clean gloves before inching tentatively towards him and joining the mess on the table.

Murasakibara doesn’t protest when you start copying his actions and trying it on one of the mixtures that he has laid out for later. At first, you merely imitate everything he does down to the last detail, but once you get the hang of it a few moments later you start to deviate little by little, adding a quarter of a teaspoon more of syrup which then turns to half until it becomes one whole teaspoon-full of syrup more than necessary.

“_____-chin, you’re putting too much cream.”

You look up from squeezing almost half the contents of the container into your own unique and thoroughly loaded mixture to Murasakibara’s face. He is frowning slightly, eyebrows scrunched together in disapproval as he looks at your grinning face. You’re clearly enjoying this.

You wave your hand as if to dismiss his worry. “It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s only a bit more of this and that. That can’t possibly hurt, right?”

“But it’s already hurting my eye,” he grumbles.

You laugh. “It’s-o-kay~!” Turning back, you hum a tune and resume whatever it is you’ve been doing for the past ten minutes with unwavering enthusiasm and energy much like Murasakibara when he’s on the court.

This goes on for a few more moments before Murasakibara decides you’re going crazy and picks you up without warning, ignoring your giggles and protests, and plops you back down on the seat you’ve been occupying earlier.

“Aw, so mean, Atsushi. I was still having fun, you know.” You put on a mock-offended look, but are quite unable to wipe the smirk off your lips.

“For a midget like you, you’re quite loud and a handful,” he says, earning a “hey!” and an arm slap from you, but he only smiles and pats your head shortly. “Don’t worry, you won’t be missing out since I’m almost done anyway. All that’s left is to put them in the oven. Until then, _____-chin should wait and behave, okay?”

Now he is enjoying this. “Fine.”

It takes another half-hour for everything to bake and for Murasakibara to add the finishing touches. The heavenly aroma of baked goods filling the entire kitchen space for a while now makes your mouth water in anticipation for the delight you’re about to taste later on. But you know your excitement is nothing compared to your boyfriend’s. You chuckle softly at the thought that he must me mentally drooling right now, and would literally be if his face isn’t so close to the last piece he’s decorating.

And finally, he stands up to his full height, eyes alight with pride and happiness as they gaze over the trays and trays of absolute perfection that is the confectioneries. He’s really outdone himself this time, you think with equal pride and happiness as you gaze at him.

Then he carries one of the trays over to where you are, placing it down on top of the counter.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Atsushi,” you say fondly, voicing out the thought you had earlier. “They’re made especially today.”

“They are special today.”

He picks up one of the treats, but instead of eating it himself, he directs it to your lips. You stare up at him in mild surprise, seeing the rare knowing and gentleness in his eyes and smile that you have come to correctly interpret the meaning of over the years you two have been together: he wants to take care of you.

“As a ‘thank you’ for accompanying me earlier,” he says by way of explanation.

He made these for me? Dumbstruck, you slowly open your mouth as he feeds you the treat, gently pushing it inside with the pad of his index finger. It tastes wonderful. It’s everything you ever expected and so much more. The treat melts easily and pleasantly on your tongue, you want to devour it at once but you also want to make it last.

Murasakibara looks at you expectantly. You honestly feel nothing he doesn’t already know will suffice to judge how amazing this is. How amazing he is. It’s nothing short of exquisite. So you just settle for a simple, nevertheless the highest praise you could ever give him.

“I love it very much.”

And you are awarded with the fondest smile you’ve ever seen in his face so far, far sweeter and more heart-fluttering than anything you’ve ever tasted or experienced in the world.

By the time the two of you have had your fill — you finished two trays with Murasakibara eating three-fourths of the share, leaving three more trays for tomorrow — it is already eleven pm. You let out a squeal of panic and excitement as you hop down from your stool, dragging a surprised and reluctant Murasakibara from his seat all the way to the brightly lit living room, thanks to the adorning Christmas lights you somehow coerced your boyfriend into putting up together with you yesterday.

“What’s with the rush, _____-chin? I’m still not done eating.” And indeed, he’s still holding on to a last piece of treat which he barely managed to snatch before you abruptly took him away. It immediately disappears, though, as he’s currently stuffing said treat into his mouth.

You look over your shoulder at him, positively beaming. “But Atsushi, presents!”

“Eh~” He grumbles silently but otherwise follows suit without any more complaint as you sit in front of the huge Christmas tree, underneath of which is surrounded by many parcels wrapped in colorful and festive wrappers.

Inspite of himself, Murasakibara sifts through the gifts, reading the names. “Then should I give _____-chin her present now?”

“Let’s wait until it’s midnight. In the meantime, let’s see what our friends and families got for us.”

“Okay~”

And so, the rest of Christmas Day is spent opening presents. Just when you think things couldn’t possibly get chaotic like it was in the kitchen, your purple-haired giant proves you wrong. Some of his old teammates from both middle and high school feel affection for their friend enough to give him something. Most of them, apparently, were thinking the same thing, that Murasakibara’s predictable, and that it’s easy enough to find and send him something he’ll surely love. And they are right. Murasakibara is distracted by the variety of sweets ranging from candies to cookies to cakes, and spends half the time re-stuffing his face, while you spend half of yours chiding him, while occasionally sucking on some lollipops as well.

At last, it’s time for you to give your own presents. You pick up the parcel with elegant, glittering purple wrapper and hand it over to Murasakibara, who, in turn, gives you a long, rectangular box covered in plain red paper.

“Open mine first, Atsushi,” you tell him, wanting to see his reaction.

He tears the purple wrappings, and you’re pleased to see that he exhibits more eagerness right now than he has shown all evening, even when he received the mountain of sweets. You can’t help but grin widely when you see how his eyes widen for a fraction, having just unwrapped the toque now being held almost reverently in his hand. You know that someday Murasakibara will pursue his dream of becoming a professional pastry chef. Even if the topic hasn’t been brought up in discussions yet — if only for the reason that Murasakibara has yet to decide — going to a culinary school in France is not a far-fetched idea. And if he’s aiming to go that far in his dream, you want to assure him, to make him feel that no matter how far he gets, he’ll always have his home with you — you who tried his cooking when he was just learning, and for whom he can prepare the simplest or most extravagant foods and know that you will always be the first and the greatest to appreciate everything he brings to the table.

It is a very thoughtful gift, and even without words, you know Murasakibara understands; the expression on his face is being curtained by the fall of his hair, but through the gap in the soft lilac strands, there’s definitely no mistaking the small smile that graces his lips.

He turns to you with undeniable happiness and affection in his indigo-colored eyes. “Thank you, _____-chin.”

You offer him a smile before you turn to his gift for you. After carefully tearing through the package, you let out a gasp when you see the logo on the box. “Oh, Atsushi, you didn't—” You look at him in awe and disbelief, but he only tilts his head and smiles in that lazy, vague way of his that means he knows more than he lets on. You lift off the lid, revealing a scarf inside. And it’s not just any scarf, it’s from a famous fashion brand in, well, France.

“You didn’t have to, but thank you. It’s beautiful,” you can only whisper, feeling the overwhelming rush of emotions in your chest.

Murasakibara can’t help but turn a light shade of red at the intense sincerity that radiates off you and bores right into his heart. He averts his gaze, embarrassed and suddenly feeling vulnerable. “It’s just because you’re so bad at handling the cold~”

You have to chuckle at his tsundere-ness. “Yes, yes, I’m grateful for your consideration.”

A few moments later, you suggest the two of you start clearing up the mess, with you asking that he cleans the ones in the kitchen while you take care of the living room, to which he refuses point-blank, saying how troublesome it is. He grabs your wrist when you attempt to pick up another discarded wrapper, before his other hand takes the gathered pieces of torn papers from you and sets them aside, making you look at him questioningly. In one swift, fluid movement, and without him offering any kind of verbal answer, you’re being pulled forward. In a mesh of blurred colors and racing heartbeats, you find yourself sitting on the floor between Murasakibara’s legs, his arms caging you in as he embraces you tightly yet delicately from behind. His head comes to rest on the top side of yours, so that your own head is tilted to the right ever so slightly.

You would’ve blushed so hard or frantically sputtered incoherent words, as you normally do in every other situation, only, there’s something in the moment that makes exaggerated acts not fitting, unforgivably insufficient. Because moments in life flow with the river of time. They happen and then they get carried away with the current in mere seconds. Indeed, the echoes will stay forever — or for as long as you don’t let them go — as memories. But the real thing is ephemeral, beginning and ending as quickly and as easily as sand slipping through the gaps in your fingers. In the silence, there sounds the merciless ticking of the clock. No matter how much you want to, there’s nothing you can do to make this moment last, the only thing you can do is hold on to it while it stays.

So you do.

You raise your arms and wrap them around the ones circling your waist, holding on to Murasakibara and savouring the moment for all it’s worth.

“I like that you’re tiny, with this you fit just right in my arms.” He says quietly as if he, like you, is not very willing to break the comfortable silence. “This is better, right? If you get cold again, just come to me. I’ll warm you up right away~”

You feel a smile tug at the corners of your lips, can almost hear him thinking, I’m much better and warmer than that sweater you were pouting and pining for earlier! “Yes, certainly, you’re way better than any piece of clothing I could buy from a store, Atsushi.”

And so time passes, with only a few minutes left of Christmas. The apartment is a mess; you don’t want to think about the state of the kitchen, the living room alone is quite the sight already. Neither of you cares as you continue to snuggle against each other, surrounded by an array of colorful candy and gift wrappers strewn all over the floor. When the clock strikes 11:59, you feel Murasakibara shift behind you.

“I wish it’s Christmas everyday.”

“So you’ll get plenty of snacks for presents?”

There is a pregnant pause. “…That, too.”

You place your hand on top of his and squeeze gently. “We’ll do it again next year.”

“Mm.” He turns the hand that you’re holding upside down so your hand now rests on his palm. Even with your fingers intertwined, his much larger hand is still able to completely engulf your own. “Every year.”

Engrossed in staring at your joined hands and marveling at how they complement each other, it takes a second longer for the words to register. When they do, you force your head backwards to be able to see his face. “What?”

His eyes slide down to meet yours, and you are stunned by the sheer depth and intensity of the promise being held in those purple orbs. “I want to spend every Christmas with _____-chin, just like this. Let’s do this every year.”

This is a lifetime’s worth of choice, but there’s not an ounce of hesitation in your heart. And he knows it, too, when your answering smile is loving, one that is equally full of promises you mirror from him. That which you are determined to fulfill together with him.

“Yes. Let’s do that.”

#murasakibara atsushi #murasakibara x reader #kuroko no basket #knb #kuroko no basuke #knb scenario #knb imagine #kuroko no basket scenario #kuroko no basket imagine #takaru's stuff

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