#just like a pairing between 2 women that hardly anyone has ever considered but the writer develops it and fleshes it out and ur like woah…

[lesbianmarrow]

femslash rarepairs save me

[chocominnie]

Desperado — 09 (M) | JJK

Pairing: Badboy!Jungkook X Reader

Summary : A messy situationship at it’s finest. You don’t even know whats headed your way, just even engaging in the slightest within him. See, he has an assignment to complete. A mission granted by his father thats do or die. You just so happen to be a major pawn in that assignment. He didn’t mean to take an interest in you. Surely it was an accident right? Only except. you hold much value in this game that he’ll do anything to complete it. Oblivious is what you are. Poor thing. Poor.. Poor thing.

Genre: Mature/ Mafia!Jungkook

Trailer: xxxxx  preview 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08

Word Count : 7.3k

Warnings : This honestly isn’t for the light hearted and the weak…High angst, usage of drugs, drug mentions, mental illness, switch!jungkook, Brat reader, possible stockholm syndrom, kidnapping, assault, death of side characters, murder, weapons, usage of weapons, masturbation, physical violence, blood, alcohol, weed, unprotected and protected sex, spanking, honestly its a lot of aruging…

Copyright: please do NOT repost, translate, or modify my works in any way, shape or form, on any platform. If found doing so , it is considered as plagiarism and appropriate LEGAL action will be taken

TW : Suicide, Body Hanging for display.

Her hair moves so flawlessly and the her breasts spill over the mini triangle bra with each sensual move she makes. The way her waist and body whines against the pole could leave absolutely anyone in a trance.The rhythm of the music blasts in the air and she’s directly on beat to it, not missing anything through the song playing. 

The led lights are dimmed low enough in a red color, but enough for everyone to see. Shes uncaring at the men in the room sizing her up in her designer high waisted thong that hugs her hips very well, showing off her round, plump ass. That was what she wanted, the attention all on her while they throw hundred dollar bills for her. 

“ Who knew someone could get down and dirty like that.”

To no suprise, Jimin, the ladies man but heartbreaker for sure, enters the private room and closing the door beind him. He throws a stack of money towards her, as he was the seemingly late one to the meet-up. 

“ Jungkook is late, he’s never late. What’s taking him so long?” A grumpy Namjoon says, looking down at his apple-watch. It’s half past 10 pm and usually he’s the first one here.

“ He’s probably sucking up to yn-”

The girl turns her head sharply towards the boys, overhearing what they said. She furrows her eyebrows at them, “ Why would he be doing that..”

Taehyung lets out a small groan. “ Because Mr. Lover boy has gotten himself a crush. The worst part is, she’s his target for this mission.”

“ Shut the fuck up. I don’t have a crush on her, i’m just doing my job.” A semi-loud voice roars through the doors. Everyone stops to look at the sudden intruder and to relief it’s him, Jungkook. 

Of course he has to lie about that. He knew for sure he caught himself up with you and the feelings were strong. Though the big bad mafia boy catching feelings for his target is highly uncommon, and Jungkook doesn’t know the consequences.

“ Jungkook..” The girl says, frowning at him with her hand on her hips. He takes a seat on the couch and tilts his head at her to go on. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head at the young boy. “ You fell for her.. so what about us?”

It isn’t hard to say that he doesn’t have any more feelings left for the girl. She and him both knew what they agreed upon. The pair had history together, sexual to be exact. Romance was hardly there if he were to be honest. She’d began actually working for Won-Shik, under this club they’re in now which is owned by him, a year ago. Jungkook had entered the club once when he was considered a minor, but that was to pass a message along to the girl from his father. He was told to go straight in and straight out. Of course, he did the exact opposite. Sat around looking at all the half naked women that night as the music blared loud. 

It wasn’t until his phone rang and it was Casper telling him to hurry up and come back to the car, is when he finally decided to get up and look for the girl. When he did find her, it was over with for him. The girl was, and still is, stunning. One of the many foreign girls in the club but she’s the one that stood out of all. She wore nothing but a small outfit as she danced on the pole. Her beauty mesmorized Jungkook that night as he watched her dance in awe. Soon enough she came to him showing her her dimply smile and perfect teeth.

He was stunned alright. She knew he looked to be too young for the club so she asked him his age. He told her, and thats when she nearly called security on him until he told her who he was and affiliated with. The message was passed along accordingly to her, she got the memo. Jungkook though, kept coming back to that club and always going to where she was, following her around the club like a lost puppy. She enjoyed his time, as all she did was sit and talk with him and that turned out to not be enough for him. He wanted her, and she insisted that he was too young for her. 

So Jungkook did what any other person would do when feeling rejected, he started to present himself like a true man and mafia boy. The gym was his favorite place after that and he buffed up very well. That jawline of his got sharper and his personality gained more confidence and dominant by the time he turned nineteen. He of course kept going at her, shooting his shot anytime he could and yet kept getting denied. It wasn’t until his nineteenth birthday is when he begged her telling her how bad he wanted her, and that lap dance he kept suggesting months before. Since it was his birthday and he was legal, she gave him what he wanted but that still wasn’t enough for him. He wanted her underneath him bad. The slight age gap between them didn’t phase Jungkook at all. What he wants, is what he gets. 

And he did.

And kept getting it, and getting it, and getting it since then. 

“ Relax baby, I’ll still be coming around you know that.” His voice is smooth, smirking at her.  He wasn’t going to be coming around as much, but he knew that would disappoint her. 

She purses her lips and begins walking towards him and sits directly on his lap, straddling him. Jungkook can’t push her off the way he wants to because it would confirm the crush rumors from the boys about you. So he lets her sit there, uncomfortable as hell for him. 

Namjoon clears his throat to get the rest of the group attention. It’s nearly 11 pm and Crystal has been blowing up his phone ever since he stepped foot in the club. He told her beforehand about the meeting, but she wanted him at her apartment by at least 1 am. 

“ We all know you love yn, but remember who you are Jungkook.” Namjoon says, glaring at the boy who returns the glare back at him. “ Fuck you. Like I said, im just doing my job.”

“ If you were doing your job Jungkook, there’s no way in the hell that it should take you this long. “ Jin retaliates. He knows hes right.

By this time, Jimin had finished preparing seven perfectly rolled blunts filled with the most finest imported weed. He places them onto the tray, taking his own and then passing the tray to Yoongi. Each of the boys take their own until it reaches down to Jungkook who takes his and puts the tray back onto the table. 

“ Enough about her. I was summoned to go over the details for the next seven days. “ Jungkook groans, sparking his blunt and inhaling. He passes it Melanie, who takes it to inhale as well. 

A malicious smile comes upon Yoongi’s face as he exhales the smoke into the already fogged up air. One thing he loves to talk about is torture. One of bangtan’s best walking torture device to be known.

“ Tonight we are starting.. I say you let me go first.” Yoongi pauses, taking a long inhale of his blunt. “ I’m coming for their trade transaction place. Arson, let me burn the bitch down and then fuck around with their father.”

It’s a good idea. Sending a message after burning it down straight to it’s opponent. Fire is Yoongi’s thing, and that’s his signature marking in the Bangtan Boys. The father of the shooter was one of their dealers, until the shooter’s father fucked up by taking money out of bangtan’s cut little by little. The boys knew about it, they waited for the perfect time back then to take action. Of course, giving them a mission to complete.. or so he thought. The mission was a false one. Created by Jungkook to catch him off guard. Jungkook used some of the mafia men on Won-Shik’s side to set up a trade off of drugs, decieving the shooter’s father by thinking they were just setting up a regular mafia trade from another gang. The trade was complete, but their protection was no more. Needless to say, the men didn’t even make it back to their cars. It was a bloodshed war between Jungkook’s assigned men and their men. The point was to send a memo that the Bangtan Boys were coming for them, and coming hard. 

Everynight for two weeks unimaginable signs were sent to their family. Ranging all the way from several gunshot bullets going through their home, to severed heads of previous betrayers of the bangtan boys, sitting right on their porch. By now, all the other gangs in Korea knew not to have any business with them. 

“ Day 2 I want it. I’m going for the mother. That scamming bitch and her precious flower shop? I’m shooting it up. Whoever lives, lives. Whoever dies, dies.” Jimin shrugs, smirking as he leans back in his spot.

“ Day 3, for me I’m sending another message. One of their men is gonna die in my god damn hands. I’ll be sure to take a selfie and send it to the father. The body will lay hanging on that pretty little oak tree in their yard.” Taehyung says. The boys are roar with shock that he’s said that. Normally he doesn’t like touching a dead body, so it’s a change for him.

The boys continue listing off the days and assigned tasks for the rest of the night into the wee early morning. Namjoon left after his, of course going straight to his girls apartment. They don’t judge him, seeing as though the boy really is in love and knows when and how to handle it. He definately doesn’t mix business and his love life together, unlike his other hyung.  Soon enough the banter and socializing ends and it’s time for Yoongi first. 

Night 1

It doesn’t take long for Yoongi to find the place. The empty steets of Seoul have soon faded into just dirt roads with the city left behind. The humming of his porsche echos through the night time air. Yoongi takes one final turn, making sure to pull into the place slowly like a true hunter keeping it’s eye on its prey. It’s not a full house tonight, even better. 

Taking the jug of gasoline out his car, he carries it with ease up to the empty warehouse. The wildlife outside don’t make a noise. As if they know who’s approaching and just shut right up. Forty degrees fahrenheit outside and lastnight’s snowfall piled all around.The darkness outside is haunting, anything could pop out at any second to kill the man. That doesn’t scare him at all. Darkness is always what he crave. Inside and out. 

“ Sir.. do you want us to go in with you?” 

Yoongi stops dead in his tracks. He’d almost forgotten about the back-up men Jungkook ordered for him. It’s not like he needed them anyways, but since Jungkook can’t be there with Yoongi, that was the next best choice. 

Rolling his eyes without turning around,“ No. Wait in your cars. I’ll handle it on my own.”

Just like that. The boys are off like lightening. Yoongi takes one final step towards the two double doors, and begins to pour the gasoline at it’s starting point. Usually, he’d go from the inside out, but seeing as though he wanted them to scurry out fearing for their lives, this is the next option as well. Soon enough, the enire jug is empty and he’s now poured all of it around the outside of the warehouse. Leaves crunch with every step he makes back to the starting point. Part of him hopes they can’t hear him from the outside. It’ll ruin the plans. 

The lighter in his pocket feels so smoothe against his palms as he reaches for it. It’s one of his signature ones with his initials on it. An andrenaline rush runs through his veins as flicks the ignition with his thumb. The flame all bright and orange as he stands there infront of the building. It’s going to be a damn good night.

Without hesitating, Yoongi runs his fingers through his hair and throws the lighter right onto the gasoline puddles. The way the whole ring of fire lights up infront of his eyes makes him laugh hysterically while watching the whole building go into flames. The loud crackling sounds of the now decomposing warehouse jumps him back into reality. 

He heads right towards the big tree next to the right of the warehouse, leaning on it with one foot up against it with his hands crossed. That sinister smile doesn’t leave his face. He enjoys the view of the men from the inside running out as fast as they can. Some falling in the ring of fire in the process. The fire is no match for any human as they try to stop drop and roll. Ha, as if that would work with a 15 foot fire consuming the warehouse. The dead bodies pile up on their own, just burning in the fire over their simple mistakes of falling and thinking they would survive the fire.

Until the golden egg comes out. He’s furious as runs out perfectly, as if he’s been through this, without managing to catch on fire. Yoongi chuckles, leaning off the tree. “ Kang Dong-Woo.”

Usually Yoongi would use the honorfics to people who were much older than him. In this case though, he doesn’t deserve honorifics. 

“ Min Yoongi.” He says, harshness laced within his voice. Dongwoo frowns when nearing the man. He knows what Yoongi is capable of, and that’s what sets his fight for flight into action.

“ Let’s get straight to it. Your daughter is after our leader. She seems to be doing the dirty work for you yeah? Did you not train her enough? Of course you know she wont be able to live after this right?”

Dongwoo laughs right into Yoongi’s face as if he was joking. It angers Yoongi, so he grabs Dongwoo by the shirt and drags the man over to the fire where he kicks the back of his legs to where he’s kneeling inches away from it. 

“ I don’t think this is a laughing matter, Dongwoo.” He growls, tightening his grip around Dongwoo’s arms that are behind his back. “ You want to die?”

“ She’s gonna fuck you all over.” He growls.” You may think she’s not capable of finishing off you guys one by one, but she is. I raised and trained her since a kid. She’s stronger with more energy than me. She’ll kill you all when you least expect it.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes at him.” The dumb bitch can’t even shoot right. Going for someone else knowing Jungkook would save them is an ameteur move. Should’ve went straight for his damn head.”

“ I’ll make sure she’ll bring you guys hell Min Yoongi. All of you. Tell that shit to Jungkook and his daddy for me alright?” He mocks, laughing again at the boy to taunt him.

Yoongi doesn’t care for it. He’s had enough of this foolish talk. With one swift move he kicks the man’s back making him fall down to the left side, away from the fire. He’s lost it. He’s totally lost it at this point and there is no going back. Kick after kick after kick, he doesn’t stop. No. Not until the Dongwoo is sure to cough up blood. The crimson liquid poors from his mouth as he lays there. No remorse is felt.

Besides, the bastard bitch needed to get the message. Consider it message recieved. 

Night 2

The flower shop is full, but not full to its entirety. There's tons of different bouquets and arrangements set around the pretty shop, from what he can see from the outside. It’s almost closing time, an hour left. Jimin’s fingertips grip on the steering wheel, anxious but patient to make his move. He’s running off of pure adrenaline and 2 cans of monster that are crushed and sitting in the passenger seat. Waiting isn’t his forte and he’d honestly like to get this show on the road now.

The moon is out and shining bright tonight. A sigh escapes his lips when he glances again at the shop. The only reason he’s not done it yet is due to the fact that there is a child and his mother inside. Rule number 2 of Bangtan, injure no child. The price to pay if you were to break the rule? Simply it would cost you your own damn life.

As if time would of went any slower for the boy, the child and his mother finally made their transaction and made it out of the store, heading across the street to continue their journey of shopping. It’s go time.

He knew to come prepared with his bulletproof vest and full face ski mask, long Sleeve black shirt to cover all the markings he has and also the two tattoos on each of his arms. He knew that the little lady wouldn’t be so dumb to not carry, or at-least have someone inside that would be her undercover security. Considering who her husband is, there’s no way she won’t be protected.

Oh how innocent the people look to not know what’s coming next. Jimin loads his Glock 19 with golden bullets that have Bangtan Boys initials and symbols on it just before pulling his mask down and getting out the car. He makes sure to signal his back-up men to create a distraction so he could make his entrance. Sure enough, a loud boom in the near distance of what sounds like some type of construction falling, echos loudly. It turns heads from all around to look where the sound came from, making it easy for Jimin to slide into the flower-shop.

Not a sound made by him. He draws his gun and pulls the safety off the trigger, then cocks it. Eyes are all on him as his eyes shift around the room looking for his target. There she is, eyes wide in the middle of a transaction for two middle aged couple. His eyes set into hers, lowly smiling and pointing it at her. The way everyone frantically screams and cries out doesn’t phase Jimin, no. It just encourages him even more as he starts firing shots mid air, shooting any and every person in sight for the hell of it. Bodies drop to the ground, and the bloodbath begins.

Jimin doesn’t hesitate to step over everybody, eyes still set on his target. The middle aged couple’s shrieks were cut short by their bodies dropping to the ground with three shots each to their hearts.

“ Park J-” He cuts her crying off with a finger to his lips, daring her to say his name in public. She gets the memo. “ I wouldn’t if I were you.”

The barrel is pressed against her temple as she trembles with fear. He cocks his head to the side, smiling at her when he taps the gun against her head harshly, repeatedly. “ You know why I’m here.”

“ You kill me and she will murder you all.”

Jimin chuckles, “ That’s what you guys think. We don’t have time for your gimmicks. It was you guys who stole money from us. Why did you think you’d still be protected from the law from us? Getting your daughter to go for the leader first is dumb, like the rest of you.”

“ We almost went to prison for you guys, remember that? We needed that cut money from you guys to pay off our legal fees. Thats why we stole. We completed your dirty work while trying to pay off the fees, its the least you guys could of did as a reward.”

“ That’s not how it would’ve worked. You fucked up. All of you.”

With two shots to the leg, she falls into Jimins arms. He rolls his eyes and throws his body off of him and onto the floor. It’s going to be a headache trying to explain to the dry cleaners why there is blood stains on his designer ripped jeans.

Night 3

It was too easy, way too easy. It took nothing to lure that man right into Taehyung’s trap. Nothing but a simple few slick comments made to him for him to get a riled up at the wrong person. Taehyung had spotted the man prior heading into the park with a small duffle bag. He assumed it was for a night trade off for some other person who had delivered drugs for him. Nontheless, it was merely too easy to pose as the alleged person who completed the mission. 

A rookie. That guy must’ve been a rookie. 

When the money was handed off to Taehyung, he tossed it to the side and struck the man down. The two did fight on the concrete floor for a bit but the man was no match for Taehyung’s quick moves. Taehyung’s pocket knife dances around the man’s throat as his body is pinned to the ground. 

“ Rookie mistake not verifying if I’m the real one.” He chuckles, pressing the blade against the mans neck. The man pleads for his life but it’s no use. Message must be sent, that it’s no way you’ll fuck around with Bangtan and escape.

“ You know, I would’ve trained you more than Dongwoo. Letting the weakest link go run an errand? Ha. Your boss set you up for that one.” 

Although the man is merely innocent, it doesn’t stop Taehyung from slicing into the man’s neck. A blood curdling scream comes out, but soon hushed over as his will of breathing and screaming is cut. It’s music to Tae’s ears. 

The body is transfered per request of Taehyung to his back-up men. It’s not like him to touch a bloody dead body. So they take him into the back of their car and follow Taehyung to the residential house of the shooter. Nothing more than 10 minutes away. 

The lights are cut off in the neighborhood. Not a sound made other than the two cars coming down the street. Everyone seems to be at peace and quiet in their homes. Sleeping to say the least. Upon arrival, Taehyung parks his car right infront of the house. The back-up men drag the bloody body out the car and onto their lawn, placing it right under the oak tree. 

Taehyung takes the rope be brought along with him, and begins to tie multiple knots around a sturdy branch from the tree. When done, he wraps some of the rope around the dead boy’s neck, tying it into a slipknot and hoists him up high into the air. 

The body dangles from the tree like a flag waving in the sky proud and high. He signals for the boys that the assignment is done and that they’re free to leave. Taehyung though, he just sits back in admiration of his work. It’s been a while sinice he felt this way. So he stands there soaking it all in. 

Message recieved. 

Since it’s been three entire days of hell, Jungkook knew his day will be approaching faster than ever. If only it could get here faster though. Truth is, Won-Shik isn’t too happy about Jungkook’s plan still not being complete. At this point, the father is going against him any chance he gets to just get this over with. 

Luckily, tonight he’d be able to meet with his father again with some good news. It hasn’t been brought to his attention yet about your father being in Taiwan. With the technology of Won-Shik’s men, your father could be brought here within 12 hours tops. 

“ Father.” Jungkook says, entering his office doors. The boy fixes his leather jacket upon entering and places his hands back into his pockets. “ I have news.”

Won-Shik is one to not play around with. Interupting his office time is a big, big deal. One is to not enter without it being urgency. That rule still applies to the heir of the company. “ It better be damn good because your plan isn’t getting anywhere Jeon Jungkook.”

Won-Shik takes his glasses off and sets them to the side on his desk. Its full of papers and photos of himself and Jungkook when he was a child. His favorite one right in the middle, where Jungkook had just ate some cherry flavored ice cream and his lips were all red as he smiled for the camera showing his two front teeth. It reminded him of when Jungkook was easier to manage rather as to now where he’s a damn menace.

“ Taiwan. Her father is in Taiwan. I don’t think it’s Taipei though.. he’s hiding so a city wouldn’t be ideal. I say search the mountains first, then the city.”

Bringing this proposal to the table meant that Jungkook wanted to atleast gain his father’s trust back. Hell, he wanted all this to be over with by now because you were driving him crazy to the point where he’s beginning to actually forget who the hell he was and why he was assigned this mission. The plan was not to fall, but to complete. He’d be lying if he wasn’t knee deep in love with you right now. It all comes down to him protecting you from his father at this point. 

“ So your little plan is suddenly working huh.. still doesn’t mean she gets to run free Jungkook.” He says, smirking at the boy to challange him. Jungkook knew that. Once it’s proven that your father is the snitch, all of the family dies.

You’re innocent. Too innocent to know that or to be even tangled in that mafia mess of his. Part of him wishes he never met you and never had been assigned this mission. Then everything would be so damn different and emotions wouldn’t be caught up in this. From the moment he met you, he knew it would be hard. You have always held a special part in his heart. Only because you acted just like his mother. Sweet, but sassy and it hurt him a lot on how you remind him of her. You even word your words just like her, even when upset. Everything about you, is just like her. 

It was hard to not get attached to wanting to get to know you more. Somehow he thought that if he got to know you, he’d somehow fill that hole inside him of his mother’s disappearance. As if you were going to be his new replica as you would be the one to put a band-aid on that hole to patch it up. 

Here you are, not knowing you could die any moment and it will all be thanks to Jeon Jungkook, who couldn’t save you fast enough. 

“ I know. But she’s innocent. She doesn’t even know her dad worked with us. I swear she doesn’t.”  Jungkook bites his lip in hopes that there could be someway to save you by the hands of your father.

 “ I dont care!” He roars, jumping out his seat. Jungkook flinches, backing up a bit from the sudden outburst. “ You know not to mix business and pleasure. You reap what you sew. You get to pay the consequences.”

Jungkook knew that though. 

“ Father-”

“ Nothing more. I’ll have my team start the search right now. You on the other hand, get you god-damn shit together Jungkook. You’re the heir, not a damn lover-boy. Got it?”

It is no use of arguing with him. Jungkook looks down at the ground and nods his head yes just before Won-Shik dismisses him. It’s going to hurt. Seeing you dead. He hopes for a miracle can happen, that your father will not be the snitch. That you and him could live happily ever after. There will no be any happily ever after about this situation though. One will die. Just a matter of who it will be. 

The vibrating sensation in his pocket snaps him out of his trance. An incoming call from Namjoon. It’s alarming since today is Namjoon’s day of hell, and only one thing could be happening right now if he’s calling for Jungkook. 

There’s been a mistake.

“ What is it Namjoon.” 

“ She fucking outsmarted me. The bitch caught on to where my location would be for the next kill. I don’t know where the fuck she is Jungkook.. this is bad.”

Jungkook sighs heavily, closing his eyes while letting out strings of curses come from his mouth. Shit couldn’t get possibly worse than this right now. Namjoon said he’d wanted to go straight for the killer and bust her up a bit. Give her some words and a branding on her. He had wanted to do it with a knife, carving the initals of Bangtan Boys into her upper hip. Namjoon had zero problem tracking her next location down, as he had been keeping an eye on her all day. To him, it seemed as if she would be heading to an orchestra shop in the city. Every step she took, Namjoon took it too. 

Until she rounded the corner to go inside the shop and she wasn’t there. There wasn’t any outlet. The shop was on a dead end street surrounded by other shops that they both had passed. There was no way she didn’t go back, he would of saw it. He saw her go into the store, so she had to be there right?

Wrong. You see she knew all this time that Namjoon was followering her while in disguise. The orchestra shop where she led him to, she knew the owner. They were good friends. She had spoken to him asking if that she could use his upstairs office to read over some of the newest edition of music pieces for her to practice. He obliged, and she made up there in time before Namjoon came inside.

Up there, she’d be lying if she wasn’t scared to death. All this week the boys had definately given her hell. Each day with zero remorse. It was taking a toll on her for sure. Taking up this assignment by herself wasn’t something easy but she wanted to prove to him that she can be just like him. That she wanted to work with him too to take down Bangtan for decieving them and leaving them in the dust. 

She can’t do it. The boys are to expierenced for her. It’s a bad mistake that she cannot come back from. You see, she thought it would be easy to befriend you and become close to you after you’d laid eyes upon Jungkook your first day here. She knew you’d soon fall for him, like any other girl did, and that would be her easy acess to him from you. It was all planned beforehand. To be quiet and observe you and your moves with him. In her mind, Jungkook needed to die first. The boys can’t function all that well without him, so that would be the weak spot to take advantage of if he would’ve died when she knew he’d take the bullet for you. She coudn’t shoot him first, it’d be too straightforward and blunt. 

It was going all well. Deep in the inside she was jealous of you as well. Sungmin had been her crush for years, they even almost dated. Until you came along and he left her in the dust for you. Sungmin is everything she wanted in a boy, but you took that away from her. Her chances to date him ruined by you. It hurt everyday to see him head over heels in love with you, when that was just her at one point before you came along. Not only that, but she seen the way you play with Sungmin’s emotions. It made her upset that you do that. Sungmin’s love is a drug, whether it be friendship love or romantic, nobody can get enough of it. 

All this stressed her out to her max. Her family being hurt because of her, her mom unable to walk for the next few weeks is all because of her. Only cause she cannot complete this task she brought onto herself. As if being in danger because of Won-Shik and Bangtan wasn’t enough beforehand, she just made things worse all in all. There is no way out of this for her and her family. So it’s time to just accept it and say goodbye to it all and start a new life. 

“ I’ll find her. You wait at the base and I’ll report back to you guys after I find her. When I do, you will come and finish your damn task Namjoon. Do you hear me?” Jungkook’s beyond pissed at this point. If it wasn’t for him, the boys would be lost as fuck without him.

He shoots Casper a text, letting him know that he is to follow him closely as he searches for her. To his luck, Casper was already outside his apartment building in his car. Not long after he pops those contacts in and changes his outfit again, he’s cruising the streets of Seoul in his midnight purple lamborghini. 

The pain in his shoulder throbs with each turn he has to make with the wheel of his car. A little pain medicine would of helped beforehand, but rushing to get this shit over with was more important. This bitch definately has it coming. It’s been taking Jungkook these past few days to not just up and kill her. No that would just be too easy. Torture and marinating her to lose her shit at the last minute is something so satisfying to him. 

The streets of Seoul soon end behind him and the Mappo Bridge comes into view. It had been an a whole hour searching around the areas of where she could’ve been, including where she was last seen. No sights of her at all. She’s good at this for sure. Text messages are sent back and forth between the boys and Jungkook. They’re all on edge, tired, and frustrated at this chasing game that they’re all playing.

He’d almost missed it. The body walking alongside the side-walk of the bridge with their head hanging low and hoodie on. It’s the hoodie of his school, but most importantly it has their class graduation year on it. It has to be her. Jungkook flashes his hazard lights on, letting Casper know to pull over with him. 

It’s now or never.

After sending the text to Namjoon, he’s out the car and jogging towards the suspect. Height, body type, and shoes match the alleged identity. It seems she’s too into something to notice the extra footsteps behind her. He can’t do anything to her though, it’s not his night. 

“ Kang Minlee.”

She stops dead in her tracks as if a ghost had called her name. Frozen, she stands there contemplating on running or staying. If she runs, she’s dead. If she stays, shes dead. 

“ You think..” He pauses, grabbing her arm and turning her around to face him. Her face is red from crying and her glasses all fogged up from underneath her mask. For a split second, Jungkook does feel regret. 

Killing a classmate of his wasn’t something he’d ideally let happen. But it’s far too late to not have her killed off. “ You think that running away is the best option?”

Minlee trembles underneath his grip, “ I made a mistake. Please just let me go. Let me and my family go and we’ll leave you alone forever.” She breaks down into tears, placing her hand over his in attempt to let her go. 

It didn’t hurt Jungkook to see her like this. All in all it just feels weird to him. Weird to have one of his classmates begging for her life to be spared from the gruesome events to come. 

“ You know I can’t do that.” It honestly can’t be an option at this point. It’d be better to just continue out her days of hell with her family. “ You came for me, that means you die.”

Finally she jerks her arm back from his still in tears as she starts to back away slowly. Jungkook knew that she wouldn’t run. Not in this case. Letting her cry it out was the best way, hell it’s the only way because Namjoon would be here any minute to brand her. It would mean she belonged to Bangtan after that, and she’d have to keep quiet as they planned out her death.

Her sudden movement from the ground to climbing up the railing of the bridge alarms Jungkook. She cries louder when Jungkook comes closer to getting her down so he stops. Suicide? Right now? What happened to being all big and bold? It confuses Jungkook as to why she would take her own life right now. Either way she’d still end up dead and unhappy if Bangtan would kill her or she’d kill herself. 

“ Jungkook!” She semi-yells, pointing to the direction behind him as another guy approaches them. Just in time, the sound of Namjoon’s car can be heard from afar. He’s getting close.

The guy she’s pointed to is Casper, who’s also alarmed at the fact that she’s close to the edge right now. Jungkook holds his hand up at Casper for him to stop right there and shakes his head, meaning that it’s too risky for Casper to step in right now. Casper nods and Jungkooks turns back to the scene. 

“ Don’t you think that I’ve suffered enough? Everyday you guys give me hell. My mom can’t walk because of you guys, and my dad has health issues. You left us in the dust when we needed your support the most! I was almost put up for adoption a year ago because of you!” She sobs, wiping her never ending tears with her hoodie sleeves. 

Jungkook doesn’t know what to say, or do. It’s not like him to have sympathy over a rival. It’s just not in him at this very moment. 

Minlee continues on, “ Yn? She took what’s mine. My Sungmin. She plays with his heart and it hurts him a lot. I wouldn’t have did that. But no, he’s head over heels in love with him. I got left in the dust when she came along and it looks like everyone loves her, including you Jungkook. My friendgroup does anything and everything she wants because she’s just oh so little miss perfect. That was supposed to be me!”

There it is. The jealousy. Jungkook would have never known it. It’s all news and shock to him. Sungmin and Minlee? Didn’t seem like a match to begin with. 

Her dramatic meltdown continues on, but Jungkook allows it. Namjoon will be here any minute to sneakily get her down. Where is he and why the hell is he taking so long?

As if on cue, Namjoon pulls up to the scene and immediately gets out his car running towards the girl. Jungkook waves his hands for him to stop, eyes wide with a finger to his lips. The last thing he wanted was for the girl to jump. A death from their school? Surely was to be put on him and his boys. 

Namjoon stops infront of Jungkook’s car, confused as to what’s going on. Jungkook mouthes to him the words suicide attempt. That’s when Namjoon gets it and decides to let him handle getting her down. 

“ Yeah it was meant to be you. But I plan to take Yn away anyways. Then you and Sungmin could come together again.” Jungkook’s convincing isn’t convincing enough, she doesn’t buy it at all.

“ If I get down I’m going to die. There is no escaping that within the next few days i’d be dead in your hands. I made a mistake and there is no going back. Spare my parents. Let them live. I’m the one that started this. I’ll be the one to finish it.”

The girl lifts one foot off the railing and leans backwards. Jungkook’s breath hitches along with Namjoons. No. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. 

“ Kang Minlee!” They both scream, running towards her. It’s too late though. Her body falls gracefully down as all three of them watch over the railing. She looks peaceful, a smile on her face while her body is sprawled out in the air.

Inches before she hits the water, the three of the boys look away with only the sound of dense water splashing to fill their ears. Namjoon sighs, putting his hands against his head. Jungkook stands there in complete shock. Casper, well Casper just shakes his head knowing the two boys weren’t prepared for that.

“ We fucked up Jungkook.”

“ I fucking know that Namjoon.” His voice cracks. It isn’t like Jungkook to cry. No not at all. Especially for a target like that. At the end of the day she was human and she did what any daughter would do for her family.

 She was also your friend.

You hadn’t heard about her death yet the next day. It’s a normal saturday morning for you. This time you’d decided to go to the cafe with your laptop and write your essay for your Psychology class. The cafe is nice, it’s cat themed and has some pretty kittens running around the outside of the kitchen and customer service area. 

As soon as you order and sit down with your Caramel frappe you spot a white kitten laying near you on the floor. A smile comes upon your face when it comes to you when you call for it. They don’t have these in Canada. Cat Cafes. The kitten lets out his purrs when you rub his back as he lays across your lap. The nametag says Mochi, a cute name for a cute kitten. 

Minutes seem to pass by without your knowledge. You’d been too into typing to hear the news on the tv being broadcasted live. It wasn’t until you heard suicide of a teenage student on Mappo Bridge. That got your attention.

You listen carefully as the news reporter goes into detail of how the body was found. It had gotten caught on a rock as the stream moved it around. A mother had found it with her kid as they walked across the bridge that early morning to look at beautiful water. It saddens you to know someone took their life. Maybe if that person had access to getting help, they’d live to see many more days. 

When they announce the name and show a school picture of the student, the look on your face drops. 

Minlee. It’s Minlee on the screen. Its all too much for you right now. Your stomach twists and turns along with your hands that begin fidgeting. She seemed so healthy and happy these past few days when you saw her. It didn’t add up. It wasn’t going to ever add up to you that you had just lost one of your new friends.

Packing your things up in a hurry, your phone begins to go off with a bunch of text messages at a time. You know it could be the groupchat. What you wanted to the most right now, is to go home to cry and calm down. You shove everything in your backpack and place the kitten back on the floor nicely before taking off towards the door. You bump into somebody on the way out, causing them to drop a picture in their hand. The two of you both reach to pick it up, but they pick it up first before you.

“ I’m sorr-”

You’ve seen her before. Long curled hair, big dimple on her left cheek, and bangs. 

There’s no fucking way. 

[blacklister214]

Illusions, Chapter 2: Summoned

L.A. 1982

A room of nothingness. Was this the Hell his mother had predicted when she'd caught him kissing the gardener's son? It wasn't quite the raging inferno he'd been told to expect. Still, after a few hours sitting here, he'd begun to fear that it was. His own personal torture, to be locked away with no audience. With nothing to do but ponder the mistake that got him here half a century early.

He'd known the trick was risky. His manager had begged him not to chance it. To wait until he was sure it was ready. Unfortunately it had been too late. Caleb had promised his fans something spectacular and losing their admiration frightened him far more than the prospect of his own death. And now here he was, stuck, potentially for eternity, in a pit of darkness.

Abruptly the universe split open and Caleb plunged downward. He landed in a heap on what seemed to be an extremely thick brown carpet.

"Behold, Cottonball has returned! Let's have a big hand for the birthday boy!"

Caleb raised his head and found himself staring up at a man wearing a black cape. A familiar looking black cape. It was in poorer condition than when he'd seen it last, but he'd recognize the embroidery anywhere. This man, whoever he was, was wearing one of Caleb's old costumes.

Glancing down, Caleb saw he was clad in the outfit he'd worn for his final performance. Black hat. White shirt with black vest. Black cape with silver buttons and a piper embroidered in gold with a shimmering purple lining. Silver ring and bracelet. All of it was in spectacular condition. There were no messy reminders of the trick that had gone awry, thank goodness. He may be dead, but at least he looked good.

Caleb leapt to his feet. He seemed to be in a modestly sized living room. Not a hovel, but certainly nothing like the mansion that had been Caleb's primary residence before his demise. Adults were scattered along the back of the room, in the strangest attire Caleb had ever seen.

Many of them, including the women, were wearing the kind of pants he'd only ever seen before on cowboys and miners. And their hair...good God. No sassy bobs, or even more formal buns for the women. No, these women wore it down, at shoulder length, and teased until it's volume was equal to their heads. And the men? Some of them didn't look like they even bothered with combing, let alone styling. One of them had his hair cut short in the front, but long in the back. What would possess anyone to do that to themselves?

Small children populated the space in front of adults, four or maybe five years old, and dressed just as strangely as their parents. Caleb shuddered as one of them shoved a finger into his nostril. Delightful. He squatted so he was directly in front of the offending child.

"BOO!" Nothing. Not a flicker of fear. Caleb raised himself from his crouch and dramatically gestured with his arms. "Abracadabra!" Not a single person in the room reacted. He was invisible. He wasn't sure if this new set of circumstances was much of an improvement on the old. Alive or dead, Caleb was a performer. Without that, without an audience, he was...nothing. Suddenly from behind him came a high pitched, surprisingly powerful scream.

Caleb whirled to find the source of the sound. A boy with a blue paper crown on head was pointing a wand directly at Caleb. Caleb could make out the dual Cs engraved into the rod's metal tip. The child's eyes were boring directly into his.

He barely had time to register this surprise before the other children began to contribute to the cacophony. The room seemed to split between the shriekers and the sobbers. Various parents rushed to comfort their offspring. A man picked his way through the chaos and physically carried the original crier out of the room.

Caleb decided to discreetly follow the pair. He hovered around corners, not wanting the boy to glimpse him again. Footsteps informed Caleb the child and the man were headed to the second story. Caleb slowly padded up the staircase after them. When he heard a door close he risked stepping into the upstairs hallway. He followed the sound of muffled voices until he was standing outside the bedroom door. He leaned to the keyhole, straining to hear the conversation.

"-hell's the matter with you?! Screaming your head off like that, so loud that whole neighborhood's going to be calling me? Well?" Caleb blinked in surprise. Not exactly the coddling he'd expected. Caleb couldn't say he was ever particularly fond of young children, but this seemed a bit harsh.

"It...it...wa-was a man. In a cape. He scared me." The boy's voice was much softer now. Caleb could barely make out his words. Certainly a contrast with the bellow the child had given when he'd seen Caleb.

"I'm paying a hundred bucks for that bozo to entertain you and your friends! And you scream in his face and embarrass yourself and me in front of everybody?" At the word "embarrass" Caleb felt a thrum of anger. An echo from a time when Caleb's father had used similar language on him. Well he'd shown the old bastard, hadn't he? Become one of the biggest names in Hollywood. Of course, after that he'd died gruesomely, predeceasing the miserable prick. You win some, you lose some.

"I'm sorry." The boy sounded so forlorn it even melted Caleb's heart. Just a bit. The father's snort indicated he was not equally moved.

"I'm sending everyone home. You're staying in here until you can act like a normal kid." The door opened and before Caleb had time to react the man walked right through him. A disconcerting experience to say the least.

Once the father's footsteps had faded, Caleb turned his attention to the open doorway. He could simply step through, but he didn't want to trigger more yelling. He attempted to knock on the doorframe but his knuckles moved through it. Damn. He wasn't a fool, he knew he was incorporeal. Still he also knew he wasn't sinking through the floor at the moment, despite being solely composed of...air? Light? Electricity?

He shook his head. That was a puzzle for another time. Right now his objective was to establish contact with this child. Figuring out how and why he'd been seen was of paramount importance. He focused on his hand thinking of nothing else. He made a fist and deliberately rapped twice on the wood. Success! Elation shot through him.

"Who's there?" The child sounded terrified, but Caleb could hardly blame him. As far as the boy was concerned a man had materialized out of nowhere right in front of him. A man no one else could see. In his position, Caleb would be frightened too.

"It's the man in the cape from downstairs. May I come in?" There was a long pause from inside the room. Caleb willed himself not to be impatient. He needed the boy's cooperation if he hoped to get any useful information out of him.

"Okay." Caleb put on his friendliest smile and stepped through the doorway. Examining his surroundings, he took in the yellowish-brown wood paneling covered by various baseball pennants. Dark blue carpet. Hideous.

As his eyes travelled around the room they were drawn to a calendar hanging on the wall. It wasn't the picture of the baseball player that his interest however, but the year. 1982. 1982?! Granted he'd assumed time had passed based off of the truly bizarre fashions he'd witnessed, but over fifty years?! He'd been sitting in that room over 50 years! How could that be possible?

A small sniff drew Caleb's focus to the boy sitting on a bed. He was squeezing a teddy bear to his chest, his large hazel eyes tracking Caleb as if he were a tiger that could attack at any moment. Caleb stopped five feet away, not wanting to overwhelm the child.

"I wanted to say that I'm sorry I frightened you." The boy bit his lip and then nodded once, accepting the apology.

"I'm sorry I yelled. My Daddy says I shouldn't have acted like a baby." Caleb was rapidly developing an intense dislike for that man. Perhaps it was because he was reminded too much of his own father. Caleb's dear papa had been a much more sophisticated specimen than the lout downstairs, but when it came making his son feel small, they were identical.

"I assure you that if your "Daddy" had seen what you did, he would have yelled much louder and for much longer." Caleb's smile widened as he considered all the things he'd like to do to the man, provided he mastered the skills ghosts were rumored to have. He'd demonstrate to the boy's bully of a father who the "baby" in the family really was.

"He didn't see you?" The boy seemed surprised by this statement, slightly relaxing his grip on his stuffed animal. Clearly he wasn't used to spotting individuals invisible to his family members.

"No one else saw me. Just you." Why might that be? Was the boy a medium, like so many charlatans in Hollywood had professed to be? Was it possible that Caleb was merely the first ghost that appeared in the boy's presence? How rare were ghosts? And why had Caleb appeared here and now after over fifty years in that limbo?

Had that two-bit dilettante downstairs summoned him somehow? The amateur conjurer did seem to possess any number of Caleb's personal effects, including his wand...which the boy had been holding when Caleb had appeared. That couldn't be coincidence. Somehow the child's holding the wand had pulled him here. With all the questions he had, of that he was certain.

"Are you a...a..." Caleb braced himself for the inevitable encore of screams, "Imaginary friend? Some of my friends got those." He released a breath he no longer needed. Imaginary friend? Caleb supposed that was better than "ghost." Less frightening. Less likely to make the boy's parents decide to send the child to an asylum. Still, Caleb took issue with being called "imaginary."

"Let's go with "invisible friend" for now. Let me introduce myself: Caleb Covington." He tipped his hat to the boy. "And who might you be?" The boy gave a small shy smile and brushed a lock of his ash blonde hair from his eyes.

"I'm Alex."

[thedistantstorm]

Dawning Delights 03: Secret Santa

Summary: Hawthorne invites her newfound family in the Tower to experience a City-Style Dawning with the family that took her in years ago. The holiday is not without it’s charm, or aggravation, and certainly has plenty of surprises in store. A season-inspired, trope-tastic story about a family forged by something greater than blood, finding reasons to enjoy the season - and cherish each other. Main Post

Pairings: Hawthorne/Zavala, Sloane/Amanda, Devrim/Marc

Updated every Tuesday/Friday & both holiday eve and days for Christmas and New Years.

-/

The bowl sits in the center of the table inconspicuously. The table itself is so large and round that it's impossible for any one of them to reach for it politely. Not that they would. In fact, what lay inside that bowl is far more heinous than any discussion or argument they'll have today on any of the items on the formal agenda.

But it is tradition. An old tradition. The Speaker's tradition. And this is a time of year in which they honor those traditions, even if the man himself is not around to coerce them into it. Besides, with Zavala fully leaning into the season, the Consensus has no choice but to follow along.

Rezoning the Arbor District is not met with nearly as much enthusiasm as whatever texted conversation between Arach Jalal and Lakshmi-2 is. Ikora watches them, almost amused but actually able to focus on what the Executor is saying.

She sees Zavala's pointed gaze and blinks demurely in an unspoken response. They'll never accomplish anything in this state.

"Executor, would you mind explaining that bit about the shipyard once more?" The Warlock Vanguard calls out, mellow and even, commanding the attention of all parties without trying. "I think some of our colleagues were... distracted."

"Shipyard?" Arach Jalaal turns to Hideo interested. "Where?"

"Did I say 'shipyard?'" Hideo clicks his tongue, pretending to sound innocent. "New Monarchy will be adding an addendum to-"

"Pettiness is unbecoming, Executor," Ikora chides, so Zavala doesn't have to. A gift, in its own way. She waves her hand. "Do go on."

Hideo does, resuming his lengthy explanation of his faction's plans. They're eventually drawn and quartered by the other two reps while the Vanguard and Clan Stewardess watch. It will likely be another two sessions before any tentative agreement is reached.

While this is happening, Hawthorne, to Ikora's left, slides her an envelope. Zavala clears his throat and narrows his gaze at Suraya, but she shrugs him off. He knows what she's just given the Warlock.

 Zavala takes his role as leader of the Consensus seriously; He does not appreciate outside distractions. Suraya just knows there's no sense in trying to interject while the children - she means Faction Reps - are squabbling amongst themselves. Been there, done that.

Ikora quietly peels open the envelope and scans the contents of the card inside. She tilts her head in surprise before closing it entirely and fixing Hawthorne with a gaze that doesn't seem quite sure how to react.

If Hawthorne knows this, she doesn't act like it. In fact, there's a sheepish pink tint to her cheeks. It's Zavala, to Ikora's right, who leans in and whispers that despite the stationary the event is entirely casual, but they'd like her to attend if she felt so inclined.

Ikora swings her gaze to Zavala. He does not look away.  She checks to ensure the conversation is still happening across the table, then looks back to Hawthorne, nodding graciously. "Thank you for thinking of me," She hums softly. “I’ll be there.” There is a lingering melancholy to her these days, but it's softened by her resolve to move forward instead of lingering on things they cannot change.

"Don't thank me yet," Suraya grumbles mildly. For two women who have little in common, they have similar feelings of discomfort when it comes to potentially emotional situations. "I can't promise my father - Marc,” She clarifies quietly, “Won't fawn over you. He's been trying to figure out what color that golden eyeshadow you wear is for ages." 

"Really?" It's clear Ikora can't remember the last time she'd done her makeup. Not that she needs it, her complexion has always been stunning. Still, it's food for thought.

The Clan Stewardess nods, a hint of a smile lighting her face. "I've already told him not to call you fierce a million times, but honestly, I don't think he’ll be able to help himself."

"I think I can handle some well-meaning flattery," Ikora supposes, her lips threatening to curl upward.

Her tablet makes a barely noticeable buzz against the tabletop with a message from Zavala.

She's not kidding. He was disappointed when I told him that my 'eyeliner' was just natural coloring.

The tiniest snicker escapes Ikora's usually impenetrable facade. She covers it with a cough, pressing a hand to her lips, and Suraya and Zavala meet each other's gazes around her. A lilting eyebrow responds to a soft pull of lips to the left.

"Are we missing something over there?" Arach Jalaal interrupts, suspicious. "I do hope you're not holding back on our account."

"Not at all," Zavala transitions easily, cool and somehow so guardedly open. "We were simply discussing another matter as you have yet to motion the council with a proposal you can mutually agree on."

"Right, because that's always been your way," Lakshmi imposes, voice crisp and sarcastic.

"There are other items on the agenda," Ikora reminds them, gesturing to the bowl in the middle. She doesn't look particularly enthused about it, though Jalaal and Lakshmi return to their previously animated states. If she were able, Lakshmi's mouth plates would be parted in a wide, cheshire grin.

"Remind me again," Hideo drawls, annoyed, "Why we are exchanging gifts? A dead holiday belonging to a made up religion inspires… what, exactly?"

Zavala ignores their sentiments, keeping to business as usual. It's his 'babysitting' tone. "This is a tradition, and I will expect all of you to keep things polite in your gift giving." He pauses. "And work appropriate." All eyes seem to find Arach Jalaal.

"I seem to recall that we are all adults here, and this event isn't exactly on the record."

"Yes, and while I'm sure the Executor loved your well illustrated guide to the ways of Kamasutra-" The group snickers and sputters but Zavala does not so much as waver around the subject matter, "I do not believe it is appropriate for a work function."

"It's harmless fun. I'm sure the Executor got good use out of it. His-"

"Enough," Zavala booms, not interested in presiding over the ensuing squabble. "Our gathering will be held in two weeks' time and I would expect you all to conduct yourselves appropriately."

"Next you'll be imposing a drink limit," Lakshmi drones to the group, who finds it amusing.

Zavala remains stoic, but his answer is indulgent enough. "As tempting as that sounds, I would imagine alcohol is the only item this group can agree on."

-/

“It’s hardly fair, you know,” Ikora chides, lips twisting into the subtlest of smirks.

Beside her, Zavala walks sedately. He turns his head to the right to regard her and she lifts one singular eyebrow. To that, both of his furrow. “What do you mean?”

“You obviously got Hawthorne,” She tells him, careful not to be too loud and alert  anyone who might be listening.

He looks away and back, as if to confirm her level of seriousness. She is. He shakes his head incredulously. “I didn’t,” He tells his partner in arms. “Why would you think that?”

“You looked smug when you picked.”

“How do you know I didn’t get you?”

Ikora almost smiles at him. “My friend, you have a terrible poker face.” She stops when he does. They'll both be returning to their posts for the afternoon. "If you picked me, you wouldn't be able to hold this conversation. You'd change the subject." 

Sighing, Zavala intends to see through her motives. "You don't know what to get for yours."

"I do," She assures him. "I just know you have about two hours before Suraya knows who you picked, as well." She crosses her arms. "I thought you could do without the extra scrutiny, considering..." She ends with a well-timed glance, a questioning eyebrow on the rise.

He fishes the folded scrap of paper out of a concealed pocket and hands it to her. In exchange, she extends to him a slip of paper that's flattened but creased. "Ikora," He chides, looking at it.

She grins. "I didn't go first. This is hardly my fault."

"You're supposed to draw again."

"No one ever does."

Zavala huffs. "What are you getting Hawthorne?"

Ikora tilts her head. "The gift of not being embarrassed when she receives a gift from you in front of our colleagues who will tease her mercilessly about you two being together."

"Ikora-"

"Relax. I have some ideas." She pats his forearm as she goes, leaning in to whisper, "Make sure you get me something nice."

-/

"I can't do this," Suraya groans into Amanda's workbench. "It'll be so obvious."

"It's already obvious," The Shipwright replies, waving a wrench. "Just get him something impersonal. He won't be upset or nothin', he knows how it is, and I'm sure he doesn't want some big gesture or anything like that, 'specially not in front of the peanut gallery." She leans over the engine of a sparrow, twisting off pieces like she's making art. "Go with liquor. Bottle ‘a wine is always classy."

“Yeah,” Hawthorne scoffs. "But we swore off exchanging gifts. We just want to spend time together."

"So? It’s not like you’re doing it because you want to, Suraya.”

"So," She rolls her eyes and Amanda sticks her tongue out in response, "I don't want things to get blown out of proportion. They already suspect-”

“Is that really so bad?”

“No!” She blurts, surprised at her own loud staccato outburst. “Us being public hurts him more than it hurts me. I don’t really care.”

Amanda’s eyebrows go up in a question that she doesn’t have to voice, reminiscent of the man in question. 

“You’re going to tell me that if he cared, he wouldn’t be in the relationship.”

“No. I’m not.” She wipes her hands on her coveralls and pushes herself up and onto the workbench Suraya is sulking on. “Zavala has always been careful. Taking me on wasn’t exactly his brightest idea, as thankful as I am for it, an’ seein’ you probably wasn’t, either at first.” Suraya turns her head to watch her. “You make him feel younger. A li’l more reckless. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that. He’s still the same Zavala, just… a little happier sharin’ his life with you. ‘Bout time the rest of the world learn there’s more to him than crochet hooks, poetry, fancy title ‘n responsibilities.” 

Despite her dirty hands, Suraya squeezes one of Amanda’s. She wipes a streak of grease onto her bare arm with a smirk after, and Amanda laughs.

“Sorry to eavesdrop-”

Amanda hops down from the bench with a loud clomp. “Ugh,” She grunts. “Yer not. Whatcha want, Jalaal?”

“I’m here to propose a trade.”

“A trade? I don’ want any of yer scrap unless you’ve somehow managed to find usable spinmetal.”

Dead Orbit’s leader pushes back a shiny black lock of hair that’s fallen into his eyes. “Not with you. I overheard your predicament.”

Both women roll their eyes. “What predicament?” Amanda asks, about ready to bully him back to his tent-like station on the other side of the hangar. 

“I’ll trade with you,” He offers Hawthorne, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket.

“Why?” Suraya asks, skeptical. “You’re constantly goading us about things.”

“I was there at the beginning,” Arach Jalaal says, wistful. It's true he'd been there, at the Farm, during the war. He'd seen their first interactions, if only from afar. “You have undeniable chemistry. No one needs to see you exchange gifts to know that.”

“Who did you get?”

He grins. It’s all teeth.

“Oh, hell naw,” Amanda says, seeing the trap for what it is. “Suraya, don’t you dare.”

The Clan Stewardess’ eyes narrow. Skeptically, she asks, “If I do this, are you going to gift him an inappropriate gift?”

“It's tempting, but I'll do my best to refrain.” The Arach admits, smile never faltering. “Though, can you blame me?”

“You don’t tell him this transaction took place.” Suraya swings to regard Amanda. “Both of you.”

“Yer gonna give Hideo a gift instead, then? You know that’s who he’s got.”

“Lakshmi got Hideo, I heard her whining about it after the meeting,” Suraya whispers to her.

Jalaal carries on. “I really just want to give the Commander a copy of the-”

“No.” Both women interrupt him immediately. It was no secret what he’d given the Executor the previous year, even outside of the Consensus hall.

He flicks more hair from his face. “What? Does he already own it?”

Amanda clamps both hands over her ears and makes a noise that’s not quite a screech. “Out. Get out. Both’a ya.”

Deadpan, Suraya responds to the Arach’s commentary, “I don’t think that nice girl at the bookshop down in the Bazaar sells erotic texts.”

“Wow, that escalated quickly.” He doesn’t react to Amanda pushing him out of her space, simply lets her guide him away. “I saw a new poetry compilation for winter. It’s been sold out for a few weeks and I overheard him speaking to the kiosk attendant. I thought I would-”

“Wow,” Amanda interjects, stopping in the middle of the hangar. “That’s surprisingly tame.”

“You’ll recall that I’m a fan of both of you. This City-” He turns around and gestures, “Droll. A deathtrap. This planet-”

“Ah, there’s that good old, trademark Dead Orbit nihilism,” Suraya says, with fake cheeriness.

“-Doomed.” He thrusts his secret santa tag at her. “Doesn’t mean I’m rooting for you any less.”

“Huh,” Amanda remarks, surprised, “That’s awful nice of you.”

Jalaal ignores her. His icy eyes regard Hawthorne. “So?”

She pulls out her drawing for the gift exchange and passes it to him. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Have fun shopping for the Executor.”

Suraya’s face falls, and she hastily uncrumples the paper in her hand. “No, you had-”

Arach Jalaal laughs. “You’re not the only person I traded with.”

The Shipwright thumps her hard on the back. “Told ya, girl.”

Back to Main Fic Post

[choicesatnight]

Quick

Title:  Quick

Pairing: James Ashton x Vivian (MC)

Rating: NSFW and stuff...

Word count:  1,466 words

My disclaimer:  This character is owned by PB, I just enjoy some elaboration. I really love James Ashton and I love Choices fanfics, especially nasty ass stuff but there isn’t much featuring my original bae, James Ashton from The Freshman series

So, I decided to put my amateur ass talent to work and write with James being the *star of the story*

A/N:  Use of Daddy

 “James…oh…. please…”

“hmmm?” his lips parting hers, allowing his tongue to swim in the ocean that has formed in anticipation  

“Never stop.” He isn't nearly finished with her, inserting two fingers to add to the sensation she feels.

“I want��your dick" she moans, and he uses his fingers to hold her lips open while strumming her clit like a guitar.

“Oh fuck…oh fuck…Daddy, I'm gonna…” he quickly puts his tongue on her clit, flicking than sucking, enjoying how wet she's become. Her legs start to shake as she feels every movement of his tongue.

He's never been so thorough before, his tongue licking every inch of her pussy, inside and out. Her moans are short and urgent, as though she's out of breath. He sucks on her clit again and while he tastes her completion, he flows down his shaft.

“Oh. My. Goodness. How did you get better at eating my pussy?”

“I became your husband. “

“Even you came!”

“I'm excited about how delicious my wife's pussy taste"

“Let's go to bed, my nasty hubby"

“Okay, let me clean my dick off"

“Babe...”

“Yes?”

Vivian gets on her knees in front of him and swallows his dick, feeling it go stiff in her mouth

“Yesss baby"

She immediately starts slurping, remembering the noise drives James wild. She loves the feel of his hard dick (anywhere) in her, giving her the juicy mouth for the kind of wet, messy blow job he loves to get.

Taking him in her throat each in and out repetition he closes his eyes, lost in the comfort that her mouth provides. Lost in the joy he feels from having his dick in her mouth. She starts to lick his balls and the underside of his shaft jacking him off while she does it. The bead of pre-cum glistening the head of his dick does not deter her from sucking on it, his most sensitive part, until she's deep throating him again. With the gentle glide of her nails down his chest to his waist as he rests in her mouth, he reaches his limit, grabbing her hair and she finally releases his dick from her mouth.

“There. You're clean now.”

He gently pulls her up from her knees to kiss her

“You're amazing. I’ma fuck you so hard, guarantee a baby will find their way to the womb"

She laughs, “Let's wait on that, Logan is still an infant. Newborn! We should call to check on him. I’m sure my parents are spoiling him, but we have to make sure they remember to alternate weeks with your parents while we're on trial.”

“So, no more nasty time? We're having parent talk now? Okay. We'll call in the morning before we leave for court. “

“Great!” she kisses his lips, throws on her nightgown and gets in the bed “I love my baby daddy!”

He searches for some PJ pants to put on and gets in bed after finding them “I love my wife.”

 **

THE PEOPLE V. BLACK MAMBA DAY 2

PROSECUTION

 “Your honor we'd like to present video evidence A" the prosecutor inserts a small disc to play on the television showing James walking into the café with Comfort and Vivian's seemingly empty car is parked across the street. It cuts off to show James with other women, each time Vivian's car is there. 

“People of the jury, this video shows the defendant in the vicinity of the café every time Mr. Ashton visited.”

The jury murmurs and some seem to be taking notes.

“Prosecution calls Comfort Greene to the stand.”

James' eyes go wide, he never even considered Comfort would testify against Vivian although it makes perfect sense. Comfort has always labeled Vivian as guilty.

Comfort walks to the stand, clearly dressed in hope of gaining James attention, while maintaining the professionalism that is expected in court.  James only feels annoyed that someone he knows dares to testify against his wife.

After being sworn in, the prosecutor asks

“Ms. Greene, how do you know Mr. Ashton?”

“He’s my ex-boyfriend.”

“And how long were you two together?”

“We dated a while before we became a couple. We dated for about three months. We were a couple for two.”

“During your relationship, did the defendant interfere at any time?”

“She was the reason he wouldn't commit to me and eventually the reason we broke up. She and James have a child together so that also kept her in our lives.”

“And you say you have evidence of her bad behavior?” Comfort hands the judge a picture, “After James left me for her, she did this.” The picture shows Vivian with her middle finger up hanging out the passenger side of her husband's ride.

“Your honor., I object. How do we know when this picture was taken?”

“Ms. Green, can you address that?”

“Yes, your honor. The picture is time-stamped in the lower right-hand corner and I have multiple copies on my phone with the date as well. It will match the day he came over.”

“Objection overruled"

“Thank you, Ms. Greene. No further questions” the prosecutor takes a seat, allowing the judge to speak to the defense lawyer.

“Does the defense wish to question the witness?”

“Yes, your honor” Michael walks to the stand

“Ms. Greene, did my client ever get involved in your relationship?”

“Objection your honor, asked and answered.” the prosecutor argues

“Sustained. Find another way to ask your question, Mr. Board.”

“Were you two friends?”

“No.”

“Enemies?”

“James never conducted an official meeting between us except the day Reyna died.”

“It is safe to say that you two don't know each other?”

“Umm. Yeah.” Comfort thinks for a moment but ultimately agrees.

“And yet you're convinced of her guilt.”

Comfort is silent as the jury scribbles and mumbles more.

“No further questions. You are dismissed, Ms. Greene.”

With barely a second of “empty air", the prosecutor calls attention to himself, 

“People of the jury, the defendant had an empty vial in the purse she used the day she and the victim went to the coffee shop which she scoped her supposed lover entertaining multiple women at. This was a revenge murder. Reyna Mercado was a friend to Mr. Ashton and she mistakenly thought she had a friend in the defendant as well. Don't let her murder be in vain. The prosecution rests.”

“We will reconvene tomorrow to hear the arguments of the defense. Court is adjourned.” The judge hits the gavel, and all begin to speak to one another. James and Vivian walk hand in hand alongside Michael.

Once outside the courtroom, Vivian is hardly able to control the fear flowing from her voice in urgency.

“They're building a case against me. Did you see that evidence? and James former failed replacement testified against me!”

“of all the things you've called her, replacement is the worst. She could never replace you.”

Vivian grabs James' cheeks, “That’s why I said FAILED replacement, honey.” She lets him but continues “They're making me look like a vengeful murderess. As though I'd harm anyone who poses a threat to my relationship.”

“To our marriage “James corrects her

“Why are you focused on the details? For goodness sake, they know we've only been married a few days. You said I'd be okay with you by my side. What happened!?”

Feelings just a little hurt, he ignores that and replies “I'm still here and you're still okay. Why are you so worried? There still isn't enough evidence for a conviction. Baby, you're innocent. That will prevail. I know it will. Michael? You're the lawyer. Tell her some legal stuff.”

James steps aside to reveal Michael cowering behind him. Michael stands straight, straightening his fie and blazer. He places a hand on Vivian's shoulder, “Mrs. Ashton, the only thing that prosecution did was paint a hazy image of you.” He clears his throat before continuing, “We have better witnesses. Better evidence, and better information in general to paint a much clearer image. We have what it takes to prove your innocence. Honestly, between you and me. I could get a guilty man off. I’m the best. Don't worry.” Vivian looks at Michael and visibly calms down.

“Okay, but can we talk about why you were hiding behind my husband? My lawyer needs to know how to handle confrontation. “

“I do. I just don't like it.

“Okaaaay… “Vivian walks over to James, placing a peck on his neck before grabbing his hand to hold.

Michael addresses them both “We're up tomorrow. You guys ready!?”

Catching Vivian and James ending a kiss only after hearing his question

“What? Yeah, of course “James speaks, unable to hide his smile

“I'm going to head to my office and let you lovebirds be. Call me if you need me.”

Teeny Tiny Tag List:

@zigortega4life

@littlecrookedheart 

[preppymayhem]

For the fandom asks: B, N, R, S, X!

LOL, we know each other through RNM, but very few of my answers have anything to do with RNM.

B - A pairing you initially didn’t consider but someone changed your mind

I am a really stubborn person, so people can’t usually sway me, and I am not a big fic reader in general, so I don’t know that this has ever happened. I do have cases where I still dislike a ship, but my dislike has softened to like mostly indifference (Here/Duo in GW is notable for this) or I have maybe been into something initially and then turned on it later, which would be like Zutara. Both of whose fandoms really turned me off the pairings, but I was also younger and less confident in my taste

N - Name three things you wish you saw more or in your main fandom (or a fandom of choice)

I don’t really have a singular main fandom at the moment, so just in general I would like to see more 1) focus on platonic relationships particularly when it comes to to friendships between women and cross gender friendships 2) clear tagging in general and being mindful of how tagging works so I don’t search a ship on Tumblr and get mostly posts about another fandom (looking at you IT fandom 3) Just more kindness and empathy in general. Not always assuming bad faith when dealing with other fans and even writers and creators.

R - A pairing you ship that you don’t think anyone else ships

Ok I am not the only one because I out and out did a rec list for fic. But it is hardly anyone’s main ship or fannish engagement and none of the others are in my purview, but I believe I have spent way too much time thinking about and writing and plotting about Adam Banks/Charlie Conway of Disney’s The Mighty Ducks. Which is something so completely against brand, but I love it/

S - Show us an example of your personal headcanon (prompts optional but encouraged)

My ‘head canons’ are so nebulous to me and they sort of form organically as opposed to a conscious idea around any of them. Also most of my headcanons are less about character’s personalities as much as it is my personal head canons of what they do after canon is over. It’s why I don’t really have them for ongoing series. But just because I never get the chance to talk about it, I am going to go with Adam/Charlie because LOL, I think TMD might be my main fandom at the moment?????

So my personal headcanon is that Charlie does not go the NHL, and goes into a legit education job and not just as a coach but as an actual teacher.

Also one more is in Gundam Wing, is Heero goes on for some technical or mechanical job (like space garbage man!)

X - top 5-10 characters who are yoUR PRECIOUS BABIES AND YOU WILL DIE DEFENDING THEM

I won’t die to defend them, but these are the ones I love most! (not in order of favoritism

The Losers as a Unit from Stephen King’s IT

Buffy Summers (BtVS)

Heero Yuy (Gundam Wing)

Pacey Witter (Dawson’s Creek)

Relena Darlin (Gundam Wing)

Leslie Knope (Parks and Recreation)

Alexis Rose (Schitt’s Creek)

The Elric Brothers (Fullmetal Alchemist)

Laura Hollis (Carmilla)

Hino Rei (Sailor Moon)

[imagines-hoarder]

My Husband’s Brother (Pt 2b)- Thomas Shelby/ John Shelby

Part 1 // Part 2a

*Here’s the other 3,000+ words of what was to be a short Part 2 for the original oneshot! xoxox*

Masterlist

It had been a year since you spoke to Tommy, but you had thought of him every day. Just as he said, he was gone three days later along with John and Arthur and just like that everything had changed. Women did their part for the country. They wrote to the men, raised the children, kept up the house, and made sure industry did crumble under the weight of war. You had stayed out of the Shelby business your entire life, but with most all the boys gone, you and Martha had helped Polly keep shop. Being so close to Tommy’s life that you were doing the same job he had before the war struck had to be some sort of cosmic joke. It was nearly impossible to get him out of your mind, but it was only after a year that you spoke him back into existence.

You and Martha had been sitting at the table, she feeding her third child while you went over the never-ending pile of paperwork, when Polly walked in.

“We’ve got mail,” she stated, already lost in one of the letters as she threw the other down.

“Good news?”

“As good as it can get.” As usual, Polly had a letter from each boy while you and Martha found yours from only John. “I’ve learned to expect nothing different.” Polly could be and had been friendly as long as you’d known her. An intimidating and deadly woman, but nonetheless friendly. She always got antsy on days when we got letters and you therefore paid little mind to her abrupt exit after she grabbed what was unclaimed of the letters, assuming they were hers.

The house was quiet for a while as the three of you were absorbed in your letters. The baby in Martha’s arms started to whimper as you finished you own, but Martha was still gone to the world. You picked him out of her arms easily and rocked him against your chest, whispering to him as you found your way back to your seat. She finished reading soon after.

“He say anything interesting this time?” You asked, rubbing the baby’s back gently.

“Not really. He said he loves me, misses the kids and home.”

“Receiving a lot of the same is better than getting nothing at all.” She nodded in agreement, watching in amusement as her youngest stared up in adoration at you. “That one just loves you, yeah?”

You hadn’t noticed until you looked down at him, but the infant did seem smitten with you, giving you the biggest toothless grin when you finally met his big green eyes. “I supposed so,” you chuckled out as you planted a kiss on his cheeky, which was met with shrill screams of approval.

“Some man is gonna snatch you up soon after this mess is over. Won’t be long after you have a babe of your own.”

You grunted back. “Maybe. Me and Tommy never talked about-” It came out before you could catch it, and Martha heard it soon.

“What did you just say?”

“I...I-”

“I knew it! By God, I knew it. You both seemed way to happy and disappeared far too often. I told John, but he said-”

“Martha it was nothing. You heard nothing.”

“Bullshit, I did! I can’t say I expected it, but it all makes sense now! Jesus, Y/N. Why didn’t you say anything?”

You stood up, the reemergence of buried feelings breaking you into a panic, although you were cautious with the baby in your hands. “It was over before it began,” your breath became shallow and you felt a lump rise in your throat.

“What does that mean?”

“I told him to leave, Martha. I’m so stupid! I wasn't even thinking when-” the baby began to mirror your emotions as he began to cry, prompting Martha to scoop him into her arms and calm him.

“Alright, alright. No need to upset yourself, sit down and just tell me what happened.”

So you did. You told her about the year after her wedding, the last time you spoke with Thomas, and the year of utter silence that followed. You told her everything except the parts involving John which had become irrelevant. You didn’t blame Tommy, you couldn’t. You had asked him to leave and he did. It took you far too long to consider what he wanted that evening. Only in the months that followed, where you still worried and cried over him being gone — just as you would’ve if you hadn’t smashed whatever the two of you had — did you really question, was burning the bridge really worth it?

“So you haven’t talked or heard from him since,” Martha assumed. By this time, the sun had fallen and the baby had fallen asleep. You assumed Polly had locked up shop and gone off somewhere but may just as well been listening in.

“Yes.”

“Well, why the hell not?”

“I just told you why not. It didn’t end on good terms.”

“I’d hardly call that an ending. Did you say you hated him?”

You ran the entire night through your mind for the billionth time. “No, but I kicked him out.”

“You’re a woman, you were upset, rightfully so in my opinion! Did he say he hated you?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Good.” She carefully stood up, rummaging around through some drawers for God knows what in one hand, the other kept the sleeping child close to her chest. When she came back to the table, she sat a pencil and piece of paper in front of you. “Write him.”

Your eyebrows knitted themselves together as you tried to find your words. “What?”

“If you really cared for him that much and the events are as you told me, then he has to be still think about you as well. Write to him.”

“This is crazy, Martha. I can’t just write to him out of nowhere-”

“But you can.”

“-and expect everything to be alright without me making a fool of myself.”

“But you won’t! Look Y/N, love makes us do crazy things. I know it, and now you do too. Maybe Tommy has forgotten about you, alright, and maybe he hasn’t, but as a woman who is openly in love with a man fighting overseas, I can tell you this: you never know when the last day you get to say ‘I love you’ will be, so why would you wait to find out, or at this rate, wonder if he would say it back at all?”

The room was still for a while, and for that while you hated Martha. Hated her because she was right and because even though you knew she was scared for what the war would destroy as well, she was still so brave. She had to be. You felt foolish for being so childish about your emotions, but knew that the only way you could make up for it was by facing the big ‘what if’ and once again coming to terms with emotions you though better off buried.

“Alright,” you replied. “I’ll write one letter.”

Two year and 84 sent letters later, you waited near the station with hundreds of screaming and cheering people being reunited with their loved ones. You hadn’t been able to calm the fire in your cheeks all morning and your hands were shaky as excitement bubbled in your stomach. Time apart can change people, and you knew through ever letter that Tommy had become a very different man, but nevertheless you still loved him, still read between every line of every letter to his amusement and annoyance. He had told you that he loved you as well, which was what had you pacing through what little room there was in the packed station. Ada held onto Finn while Polly and Martha laughed between themselves as the oldest of her children followed in your footsteps back and forth.

“If you don’t quit that, you’re going to wear down a perfectly good pair of shoes,” Polly teased. They were all quite aware of why you were so frazzled and had been since the first letter from Tommy addressed to you popped up in the pile.

“I haven’t seen him in three years. What if he hates my hair?”

“Your hair?” Martha questioned slightly amused.

“Yes my hair.”

“Your hair hasn’t changed in the last five years.”

“Yes, and what if he finds it plain, old, boring?” You stopped and looked at the three ladies with their eyes glued to you after two hours of pacing. “I shouldn’t have come. I’m just going to sit at the shop.”

Before you could turn to leave, Polly grabbed you and made you look at her stern face, something you’d failed to have seen since the news of the Great War being over. “Y/N, I can count of one hand the number of times you’ve worried about how your hair looks. What’s going through that head of yours?”

“He’s changed; I know he has.”

“Yes, war does that to a man.”

“But I haven’t. What if he can’t love me anymore?”

Polly’s gripped loosened around you. It had been years since she was an unsure, young woman, but it had all made sense now. “You’re one of the smartest women in this station at the moment. What will set you aside from all of them is that you know. You know that the man who left will not be the same as the one coming back, but that does not change how he feels about you. He’s told you he loves you. He wrote it in nearly every letter.”

“Yes but only in letters.”

“I’ve not know that boy to say those three words to anyone but his family, and now to you.” She ran her fingers once through your air and turned you towards the tracks, hearing the train whistle in the distance. “He’s going to need a strong woman to ground him when he gets back. If I didn’t think you were capable of keeping any of those boys in line, you wouldn’t still be around now would you?”

He’s going to need a strong woman to ground him when he gets back.

He’s told you he loves you. He wrote it in nearly every letter.

The words played over and over again in your head. As the train pulled into the station and as the cries, both literal and of excitement, echoed off every wall. You let it play over as he stood ten feet from you, coming closer with nothing but a decorated uniform and a sac over his shoulder. He looked so… Tommy. It didn’t take long before both John and Arthur were in view as well, relieved to be home but tense in the shoulders. John had first picked up and kissed his wife, followed my excited greetings for the children and the rest of the family. You soon got squeezed by Arthur who had definitely aged within the last several years. The family was laughing and talking and you could feel the electric in the air, but it was when Tommy was only inches in front of you, looking at you with an unrecognizable fogginess that became you numb to everything except him. He stared at your lips for a minute before you finally moved them.

“Uhh…Tommy. I-” You fumbled with your words as your eyes finally met.

He’s going to need a strong woman to ground him when he gets back.

He’s told you he loves you. He wrote it in nearly every letter.

You let out an exasperated huff, you needed to get yourself together. You've had more than three years to plan this moment. “Tommy...welcome home.”

At first you felt foolish. Welcome home? Was that all you had to say? Before you could get to caught up in your own thought, you felt his rough lips find yours, his arm wrapping itself around your waist while the other worked to tangle his fingers between your soft locks. You couldn’t hear anything except your racing heart or feel anything other than him against you, as close as you’d only had dreamed.

Only when he pulled away to look back in your eyes did you try to hide in his chest, aware of most of the family’s gawking and jeers. “It’s good to be home.”

Everyone became accustomed to life after the war rather quickly. The men put on their brave faces and went back to work. The women hurried back into their roles primarily at home. The good news was that you and Tommy had become something. He had gone from being ‘just Tommy’ to ‘your Tommy.’ In the first couple months he had tried. He had tried so hard to hide from you the hellish nightmares that startled him awake through the night, but it didn’t last long. He had been on edge since his arrival home, but it was only when you caught him hunched over in the middle of the night and provided what little comfort you could without speaking his nightmares back into existence that things seemed to get better. You knew he was never going to be that same half-mischievous, half-stern man he used to be, but you would never ask that of him. As long as he was genuine with you, you’d love him no matter what.

The bad news? John on the other hand had become nearly nonexistent in your life, not by your own doing either. Sure, you could understand that he did not owe you anything, but you were still his friend. You had written him and received a letter from him regularly, so was it so wrong to think that your friendship would alter very little upon his return? Martha knew very little about what was going through his head either, which frightened you. She said he’d be gone all night and cranky during the day. You did the best you could to reassure her that it was just a phase as he got reaccustomed to being home, but every word was for the sake of Martha. She was heavily pregnant with their fourth child; the stress wasn’t good for the baby.

You had asked Tommy to talk to him. He was your friend and his brother and he had a wife and three kids at home who needed him there. The event did not go as smoothly as you hoped. That night, Tommy came home, noisier than ever as he walked through the house. You were wide awake by the time he made it to your shared room.

“How drunk are you,” you asked as your rubbed away the sleep from your eyes, taking in his firm presence smoking at the end of the bed.

“Not at all,” he bit out.

“You seem on edge.”

“When do I not?” You hummed in agreeance as you took the cigarette from his lips and slipped it between yours.

“Did you talk to John?”

“Yes.” You waited but he said nothing, just clenched his jaw and ran his hand over his face.

“And...”

“And, my brother is a bastard.”

You wanted to be amused, but you were more curious at what caused such a reaction. “Well, I could have told you that. What did he do this time?”

“He’s mad at you, we’ll more me than anything.”

“Tommy, you’re speaking in riddles. Why is he mad? We haven’t done anything.”

“He feels as if I’m ‘stealing you from him.’” He scoffed after repeating his brother’s words, still furious at the fight they had in the Garrison. He wouldn’t tell you all of it — there was no sense in worrying you over details — but he wouldn’t hide anything either.

“He’s going mad, I tell you. I told Martha that he should go see the doctor if he can’t sleep, but he’s not even home to listen to her. I don’t know if he would even if he was home.” You breathed out the last of the cigarette.

After you put it out, you turned back around find Tommy right in front of you, hands resting on your hips and forehead pressed against yours. “I madly in love with you, Y/N. You know that by now.”

“Of course, I’m not stupid.” You smiled as his lips inched their way closer finally finding home against yours. You stayed in each other's’ embrace for what could have been minutes or hours before he pulled away.

“Then marry me.” Tommy could say very little since he announced his enlistment that would or could surprise you, but any woman would have been caught off guard.

“What?”

He chuckled quietly. With your smart mouth, very little had ever made you lost for words. “We’ve had this going for years now. I told you I wanted to make you proud, my family proud.”

“And you have.”

“Yes, but my family and you… they’re the same thing. They have been for quite a while. Pol told me the day I came back that if I didn't marry you and marry you soon, she’d find you someone that would.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a tiny box and you felt the tears begin to slip down your face, but they were welcomed this time around. “I told her I’d beat any man half to death that she sent this way.”

You both laughed loud and merrily before you pulled him back to you, kissing him with a joy so deep and so radiant you almost questioned if it’s real. “Yes.”

“Yeah?” He asked but he already knew, slipping the ring on your finger.

“Yes, Tommy, I’ll marry you. Yes, yes! A thousand times yes!”

Life happened fast, but in the heat of the moment, each part lasted for an eternity. You thought your grief and jealousy over Martha and John’s relationship would be your demise, but it wasn’t. You thought that you had ruined things forever with Thomas, but you hadn’t. But this, waiting for your wedding, even if it was less than an hour away, felt like its own eternity.

You had been planning this wedding for months, taking it off the accumulating plate of things that required Tommy’s attention, and while many of the details were how you imagined them as a child, you realized the wedding wasn’t really for you. It was for everyone else. You could have gotten married in a stable by Johnny Dogs himself, but as long as it was Tommy who you were with at the end of the ceremony, the material goods mattered very little.

The one thing you did miss though was Martha. She could only attend after being taken off bedrest only momentarily, but she wasn’t able to be your maid-of-honor like you had always planned. She had caught something shortly after your engagement and luckily, John had settled back at home to help take care of her. She had tried to remain strong. She so badly wanted to see this moment, your moment, but you were afraid for how long your best friend could hold on.

You were putting the last of the pins in your hair when a firm knock rattled the door. You quickly covered up and went to answer the door before the person could break it. “Tommy? I told you, no peeking allowed!” You laughed as you opened but contained yourself as confusion overtook you. “John?”

“Y/N, we need to talk.” He looked deadly serious, and the look alone unnerved you.    

“What is it? Is Martha alright?”

“Yeah, Martha and the kids are alright. Can I come in?” In all your life, you’d never felt so bizarre around one of your closest friends.

“Can’t this wait until after the ceremony? I’m not properly dressed.”

“No, we have to talk about this now. I can’t wait, not anymore.”

Before you could fight back, John had already barged into the room, slamming the door behind. You heart was beating in your throat and you were on edge as you questioned if he was having an episode.

“John, you shouldn’t be in her right now. I need to ask you to leave.”

“You can’t marry him, Y/N.”

“What on God’s green earth are you talking about?”

“Tommy. You can’t marry him; I won’t let you without a fight.”

You stood there for a second in complete silence as you realized what was happening. His eyes were crazed but you were no longer afraid because more than anything, they were filled with fear. And then you laughed. You laughed and you laughed, because if anyone told you this would happen as you sulked at John and Martha’s reception year ago, you’d tell them they’d reached their limit a long time ago, but in the back of your mind you would have hoped. Hoped that maybe five or more years later, John would see how much pain not returning your love brought you and that somewhere deep inside he had always loved you back, wanting to spend his life with you and build a family.

But that didn’t happen. Instead the best thing that could happened that night did: A man you had known your entire life sat next to you and you toasted to a new beginning, not knowing that he alone could make you both so unsure and confident in yourself within moments of one another. He had been a conundrum since you were a child but now you knew him better than yourself, and even though he had questioned you time and time again, you no longer held that childhood crush for your best friend. You would never betray Tommy like that.

So then you wept. You cried for being so stupid as to not see this before. You cried for not seeing that the worry that sparkled in Tommy’s eyes every time you brought up John was legitimate. You sobbed for Martha’s husband being so ready to betray her and that man happening to be the man you had once loved in more ways than one.

You supposed that you had been on the floor for quite some time because John tried to calm you and put you back together. “Y/N, love, listen. I’ve loved you since we were kids. I know it took me a long time, far too long, to realize, but I know that once you marry him, it’ll be too late. If you tell me you love me, you won’t have to see him again. I’ll make sure Tommy never finds us. We’ll go to America; he won’t chase us once we’re there.” You fought your way out of his grasp, his touch warming you skin, almost burning it. He let you go, knowing this was probably a lot to take in. “Just say those three words, Y/N. If you say them, \ I’ll make sure that it’s you and me for the rest of our days.”

You sat on the ground, John squatting across from you with a newfound look of anxiousness as he awaited your response. You voice was shaky and quiet, but it was firm enough so that he heard every. “John Shelby. I loved you since I was six years old. Whenever I pictured my wedding, I’d always wanted you to be the prince waiting for me at the end of the aisle.”

“I still can be.”

“But you can’t.” You picked yourself up and pulled your robe closed tightly. “I loved you for nealry12 years John, but I’m not a little girl anymore. I love Tommy with all of my heart, and I need to ask you to leave.” He let out a defeated sigh and then he clamped his eyes shut and his fist tighter. You saw tears fall from the corner of his eyes, but felt no sympathy for him. His wife was ill, his children needed him, you were engaged and about to marry another man. “You can stay for the ceremony. You’re my family, but if you try anything during my wedding, I won’t stop Tommy from killing you.”

Anger painted his face, but he didn’t fight you. He stormed out of the room just as aggressively as he stormed in. When the room had become silence one more, you found the will to cry silent tears, but there was no time. You were supposed to be walking down the aisle in 20 minutes, and you were surely a mess by now. I calm knock tapped on the door not soon after you finally put on your gown, still frazzled and unprepared.

“I’m not ready yet, I’m sorry!” The person didn’t care as they opened the door, and you were sure that the Lord was testing your strength as a woman today. “I said I’m not...” Your thought ran off as a set of firm arms wrapped themselves around you. You only sighed as Tommy held you close against him, having no energy left to cry (although you really wanted to). “Tommy,” you whispered. “I’ve been so stupid.”

“You must not be my Y/N then; she’d never admit to being stupid.” He joked although it did little to lighten the tension in the room. “I saw him flee down the hall. He didn’t coerce you into leaving me did he?”

You pulled at his arms and kissed the back of his hand. “Not in the slightest.”

When you turned to look at him, his amusement was visible and bright, something you’d hadn’t become accustomed to before or after the war, but maybe this act of loyalty and love struck something in him, something permanent.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead and then moved to leave the room, letting you go in the process. “I can get you 20 more minutes, but then I better see you walking down that aisle.”

You nodded towards him before calling him back to the doorway. “Tommy, you weren’t supposed to see me before the wedding! If anyone hears about this-”

His laugh had become music to your ears. “When have I ever given a fuck about pleasing other people?”

Peaky-Taggers: @ly--canthrope @helloandreabeth

[soy-em]

day 6: undercover models Part 2

Hello! Sorry for the late submission again, but I hope you enjoy it! I’ll be sending in the third part of the fic later for the last day of WLW :D

**************

​"I still can’t believe I got stuck with ‘Chad,“ Sam complains as they’re on their way to 

Armel’s

 modeling studio a couple of days later. 

The turnaround on them being hired by Armel’s for such an apparently competitive catalog shoot is a lot quicker than Dean initially assumed it would be and while he likes to think that it’s because the casting department took one look at him and decided he was the most handsome son of a bitch they’ve even had the privilege to look at (and Sam’s okay too, he generously allows), he knows that it’s most likely because Bobby’s modeling agency pal was  able to spin some kind of bullshit about their non-existent modeling experience when they contacted the studio. It probably didn’t hurt that they were left short handed and scrambling due to the fact that several of their models had either been hospitalized or, you know, died. Things weren’t exactly shaking out too well for them. 

"You’re the one who let me fill out the applications,” Dean points out with a smirk, ignoring the way Sam’s eyes narrow at him. “And technically, your full name is Chadwick Hilton. You just prefer to go by Chad.” Dean himself had gone for the name Theodore Vanderbilt, claiming that it’s just the right kind of name for a snooty model. Sam claims that it’s more like the kind of name that a rich guy who gets caught embezzling from his company so he can pay off the mothers of his many illegitimate children would have. There’s a reason why Dean occasionally likes to screw with his brother. 

“You couldn’t have picked literally anything else?" 

"Dude, with that mop of hair and your collection of polo shirts, you’re totally a Chad. Didn’t you even used to be in a fraternity?" 

"I have maybe fourpolos,” Sam corrects with a sour expression on his face. “…and I only pledged the fraternity for like two days. I seriously regret telling you about that." 

"You should.” Dean laughs at him and takes another bite of the breakfast burrito he’s trying to finish stuffing into his face before they arrive at the studio. He even decided to forgo ordering it with extra bacon this time; gotta stay model thin, after all. 

Sam continues to glare at him and quietly reaches over to hit the eject button on the Metallica tape that’s blaring in the car, just out of sheer pettiness and Dean berates him for it  through a mouthful of  scrambled eggs and tortilla. 

Just business as usual. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean never thought he could ever be this unhappy while in a studio filled with some of the hottest women that New York had to offer, but it turns out that being a catalog model is really fucking boring half of the time and just plain irritating the other half. He’s currently being shoved into a hair and makeup chair for the third time that day and forces himself to stay still as the stylist, a mousy woman named Sophie, fusses over him and chastises him because he apparently doesn’t use the right kind of shampoo for his hair type. He didn’t even know there was a wrong kind of shampoo for him to use.  Who does she think he is, Sam?

Speaking of which, if there’s one thing he can be grateful for, it’s the fact that Sam’s getting it even worse right now than he is. The guy has not one but two people surrounding him and putting various products in his hair and arguing over how it should be styled. Judging by the way that Sam is digging his fingers into the armrest of his chair, he’s clearly struggling not to jump out of it. Dean takes some comfort in the fact that they’re mutually suffering. 

Sophie is actually a fairly pleasant and chatty woman  when she isn’t berating him about his hair or trying to coerce him into adding some seventy dollar face moisturizer to his skin-care regimen (he can’t imagine she would take it well if he mentions the fact that he doesn’t even have one to begin with), and Dean feels like he’s had his first stroke of luck all day when he realizes that Sophie is also a huge gossip. On the occasions when they’re not impersonating law enforcement, it’s a bit more difficult for them to ask questions related to the case in a way that’s not overly invasive, so gossips are generally their bread and butter since it doesn’t take very much at all to grease the wheels. 

For the most part, Sophie spends the better part of half an hour giving Dean every salacious detail about the catalog shoot  so far, although it mostly has to do with which models are fucking each other (all of them) and which ones are doing drugs between photo sessions (a lot of them). When she leans down to whisper in a conspiratorial tone about the fact that she was sure that at least a couple of the recent hospitalizations were due to the said drug consumption, Dean jumps on the chance to try and wheedle some information out of her about Sophie before she breezes on to another topic. 

“That’s horrible. Didn’t a model even die a few days ago? I thought I heard people here talking about it earlier in the cafeteria,” Dean says, playing dumb. He isn’t actually sure what people in the cafeteria were doing earlier. It sure as Hell wasn’t eating, he knew that much. 

Sophie is standing behind him, but when Dean looks at the mirror, he can see her expression fall a little. “Oh,” she says sadly, “that was Laura. It’s hard to believe that she was sitting in my chair just a few days ago. They said that her heart just gave out suddenly, poor girl." 

"That’s so crazy,” Dean says, schooling his face in a disbelieving expression. “How does something like that even happen?”

Sophie glances around as if making sure that no one else is able to hear her. “If you ask me, Laura was practically worked to death,” she says lowly. “The director of the shoot insists on doing an insane number of pieces each day because he wants the catalog to be absolutely perfect. A lot of people have been looking a bit worn down because of it, but Laura didn’t seem like she was dealing with with the stress well. She was such a sweet girl…" 

*************

After a few more hours of being posed like a doll and getting yelled at whenever he fails to wear the right expression on his face for whatever product or clothing he’s supposed to be showing off (how the Hell is he supposed look "reserved and excited at the same time” about a pair of one thousand dollar cuff links? ) he’s beginning to understand how someone could be worked to death on a modeling shoot. Nothing ever seems to be quite good enough for the photographers, especially not to the director, Renaldo Toscani. With his dark, well groomed beard and immaculate clothing, he would probably be considered a handsome man to most but Dean can’t get past the smug look on his face and the fact that he doesn’t seem to have any sense of decency. To Dean’s best estimate, the man has caused at least three models to break down in tears on set so far that day due to how gruelingly he runs the shoot. Dean’s pretty sure he isn’t going to cry, but he’s definitely having a hard time not hauling off and punching the douchebag right in his face. 

Weirdly enough, for someone who can be so awkward, Sam actually appears to be thriving on the set pretty well and seems to be correctly interpreting whatever bizarre directives are yelled at him ​because he doesn’t get criticized nearly as much as Dean. Right now, they have Sam staring sultrily at the camera while wearing low slung jeans and a partly open button down shirt as a fan points at him and blows through his ridiculous hair. The scene should be goofy and mock-worthy but instead, Dean has to admit that Sam makes it work. Really work, in fact, and the thought is one that Dean tries desperately not to think too closely about. Apparently, Toscani agrees with him because it might be the first time that Dean’s heard the man actually praise someone on set, and he can hear him and that dumb (probably fake) Italian accent of his from across the room go on and on about how Sam’s apparently the only one on set that day who’s capable of properly executing his impeccable vision for the shoot and blah, blah, blah. 

Normally, he would be amused by the embarrassed expression on Sam’s face, but the way that Toscani stands a little too close and keeps his hand clasped on Sam’s shoulder the entire time raises Dean’s hackles, and he finds himself fighting the urge to to go over there and make the guy back the hell off. Instead, he lets himself get dragged away from his violent imaginings by another photographer so he can wear a pair of artfully torn, expensive as hell jeans while looking “bold, but also very mysterious." 

Fucking modeling. 

By the end of the day, all Dean wants to do is find Sam and go back to the motel so they can call it a night. He’s exhausted, hungry, and a little pissed off that he’s made hardly any progression in the case at all, aside from finding out that Toscani is an asshole. But at this point it’s impossible to tell whether he’s the one literally sucking the life out of people or if he’s just metaphorically doing so by treating all of the models like trash. 

Well, he thinks as he finally finds Sam standing in the lobby with a strained smile on his face as Toscani says something to him, maybe not all of the models. 

”–very nice of you to offer, but I actually have plans with someone tonight,“ he hears Sam say when he manages to get a little closer. To anyone else, the words would sound polite, but Dean knows Sam well enough to hear the tension beneath them. 

The sleazy grin on Toscani’s face falters for just a second before he plasters it back on and leans in more closely, nearly backing Sam into the wall they were standing in front of. "Are you sure?,” he needles, “I’d love the opportunity to take an exquisite and hard-working young man such as yourself out to dinner so I can give you some…suggestions about all the ways in which you can advance your career. Who could you have plans with that would be more important than that?”

Dean isn’t entirely sure what suggestions someone like Toscani wants to give Sam that would advance his (non-existent) modeling career, but he’s pretty sure he can take a wild guess, and the picture that his imagination paints has him seeing red. As he stomps towards the pair, Sam finally spots him and Dean can see relief flash across his face for a second as he realizes that he’s about to be extracted from his awkward encounter. 

“Me,” he says, answering the question for Sam. “And we’re nearly late, so we should probably be heading out soon, S– Chad.” He tries to aim for a tone that doesn’t sound as openly hostile as he feels (getting fired from the studio by the shoot’s director on the first day wouldn’t exactly be conducive towards solving their case). Judging by the sneer on Toscani’s face, he isn’t quite sure that he succeeds in doing so. 

“I see,” he says to Dean coldly before turning his attentions back towards Sam. “Well, if you ever change your mind, my offer remains. I’m sure we’ll be able to find time for it sooner or later." 

Not if Dean has anything to say about it. 

********************

"Christ, that guy really pisses me off,” Dean complains when they’re driving back to the motel. “He thinks he can just do whatever the hell he wants." 

Or whoever, apparently. 

"Yeah, he’s pretty…intense,” Sam admits. 

“Intense? He looked like he wanted to freakin’ devour you or something." 

"I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration." 

"Whatever you say, Sammy,” Dean says incredulously. “Look, I’m just saying that if this guy ever tries to lure you to a windowless van so he can conduct a 'private photo shoot,’ then you should walk the other way." 

Sam’s face turns an interesting shade of red and he suddenly finds picking lent off of his jeans to be particularly fascinating.  

"Did you make any headway on the case?” he asks, clearly trying to change the subject as quickly as possible, and Dean lets him. 

Dean grunts. “Not much. Mostly just things we already knew in the first place: Laura was well liked on set, didn’t seem to be caught up in drugs or anything like that like some of the other models, and she had been looking noticeably worn down before she died. What about you?" 

"I didn’t have much luck either. I managed to talk to a couple of models who were friends with some of the people who were hospitalized but, as far as I know, they don’t seem to have much of a connection with each other aside from the fact that they were all working for the same studio,” Sam explains, shaking his head ruefully. “As far as I could tell, they all seemed tended to mostly work with different photographers and weren’t even in any of the same shots. Maybe if we could just find a solid link between them…" 

"I guess we’ll just have to try even harder tomorrow then,” Dean says, not remotely looking forward to going back to the studio. 

“Right." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Things are still creeping along the next afternoon and Dean groans he sees a tall, blonde woman wearing a headset and carrying a clipboard making a beeline towards him. That’s never good. 

"You,” she says, pointing at him as if Dean doesn’t understand what the word 'you’ implies. “Are you between pieces right now?" 

"Uh…yeah?” He has the sinking feeling that whatever she’s about to ask him to do will involve him doing work that isn’t already on his schedule for that day and he’s pretty sure that she isn’t about to take 'no’ for an answer.

“Great,” she says, scribbling something on her clipboard. “We need someone to shoot a cologne ad and you look like you’ll complement the other actor we’ve already got on the set pretty well. Get to wardrobe and be at Stage C in twenty.” Before Dean can have a chance to respond, the woman turns on her heel and walks away, clearly not needing Dean’s input on the matter. 

He grumbles all the down to wardrobe and throws on the silver pinstriped black suit they give him with little gusto, although when he admires himself in the floor length mirror, he has to admit that he looks damn fine in it. He’s not looking forward to doing a shoot with another person in it though; he’s done several over the past two days and they always seem to be the most awkward. 

When he gets to the stage and sees his brother waiting on it (wearing a similar suit, except with an inverted color scheme, that makes his already ridiculous legs look even longer and hugs his body in all the right places), he realizes that the shoot is either going to be  a lot less awkward than he anticipated since it’s a familiar person or infinitely more, depending on the positions they’re about to be finagled into. Cologne ads are usually entire platonic, aren’t they?

“What’s the name of this cologne again?” He asks a nearby assistant before she can bustle past him to go to another stage.

“Let’s see,” she says, flipping through the pages on her clipboard. “Ah, right, this one’s called Forbidden Desire.”

Of course it is. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you sure we need to stand so close together?” Dean asks, looking imploringly at their photographer. For the shot, he’s supposed to be pressing Sam up against the wall with one hand grasping his suit jacket and pulling him forward slightly while the other hand is tangled in his hair, their faces tilted closely towards each other to suggest that they’re about to kiss. But for obvious reasons, Dean’s having some trouble actually doing it, and his movements are stiff as he makes only the barest physical contact with Sam. 

The photographer sighs dramatically. “Theodore, my dear, it’s important to me that you understand that we’re trying to sell a product called Forbidden Desire, not Awkward Encounter With a Former College Roommate Who Hasn’t Been Seen in Ten Years. We’re looking for something a bit…provocative. Are you saying that you can’t muster enough passion for poor Chad over there?" 

He might be starting to muster up too much of it is the problem. 

Knowing that there doesn’t seem to be a way out of it, he inches a bit closer to Sam but still stands at as much of distances that he thinks he could possibly get away with. He can tell that Sam is as uncomfortable as he is, and neither of them can meet each other’s eyes. 

"Oh God’s sake,” he hears off stage in an accented voice that he, unfortunately, immediately recognizes. “Are you truly so incompetent?”

When he gets on the stage, he moves Dean bodily away from Sam and takes the position he was in. “I would be happy to provide a demonstration that you can follow so that you can cease wasting the studio’s time with your dithering." 

Yeah, Dean’s completely sure that it isn’t at all because he wants to get up close and personal with Sam like a creep. Right. 

Toscani presses himself against Sam’s body, manhandling him into position as he does so, and Dean can see that Sam is biting his lip and clenching his fists at his side, probably trying to resist letting his temper get the best of him; Dean, for one, would love to see him deck Toscani. Hell, he would probably make Christmas cards out of it if the moment was caught on camera. 

He also knows that Sam wouldn’t jeopardize the case by doing such a thing and, sure enough, Sam forces himself to relax and let Toscani maneuver him. But when Sam visibly flinches  as the man’s fingers tangle in his hair and yank him downward, far too roughly by Dean’s estimate, Dean has enough. 

"I get the idea,” he growls out. Toscani smirks at him before stepping away, and Dean takes his place. Sam looks a little shaken up from having his personal space invaded, and Dean vows to just get it right the first time so Toscani has no reason to interfere again. He’s so close to Sam that he can feel the heat of his body against his own, and he’s pleased when Sam’s previously stiff body begins to relax against his own; when he gently grabs the front of his jacket, he can feel Sam’s heartbeat thump against  his palm and Dean can’t decide if the frantic beats are due to excitement or nervousness.  When he carefully weaves his fingers through Sam’s hair and tugs him down, Sam leans forward a little more until their mouths are almost touching and Dean nearly ruins the position when he hears the photographer speak, having almost forgotten that they have an audience. 

“Finally, we’re getting somewhere. Now just hold that exact position; don’t you move an inch." 

Dean hears the sound of a camera flashing and he should be relieved by the fact that the shoot is going to be over soon, but he isn’t sure that he wants it to be. In fact, even though he knows he he isn’t supposed to move, he finds himself wondering what would happen if he brought his lips forward just the barest amount of distance so that they touched Sam’s own. Would Sam kiss him back? Would– 

He’s jarred from his thoughts suddenly and flails away from his position as he hears the loud resounding thud of someone falling to the ground, followed by a woman’s startled scream. When someone calls out to the room demanding for an ambulance to be called, he shares a grim look with Sam. 

It looks like they need to step up their game.

This is amazing! I’m loving it so much and can’t wait for the finale! Poor Sammy getting stuck with Chad, but I bet he looks just wonderful as a model. No wonder Dean can’t cope...! Sorry for posting this late today, been a busy one, but I really love it!

[neonlaynes]

I was actually tagged on my main but I’ll just copy it here WAHAHA

get to know more meme under the cut! it was fun to do and maybe (definitely, tbh) offers more insight on me as a person rather than just another local art peddler....lol.......

1. What is the favourite item of clothing you own?

god I really.......it’s soooo hard to choose between my regular clothing and my lolita wardrobe but I’d have to say my daydream carnival tiered JSK in ivory....it’s got such a gorgeous pastel palette and I could stare at the print for days!!

2. Tell me about the first time you watched your favourite movie?

do....do I even have one?! I think I have many....but a super memorable experience was in high school junior? senior year? where we had to read the great gatsby for class and it was coincidentally the year that the baz luhrmann adaptation came out so I went and watched it together with my friends. breathtaking visuals that I absolutely will not forget, especially the scene with 9000 flowers and the silk rain scene. we watched it a second time too, but that time we sat in the Very Front Row so our necks hurt afterwards from looking up and seeing everything at an extreme angle HAHA

3. What was the last book you finished?

it is soooo awful (to myself, if anyone shares this sentiment then welcome to the club) that the only true reading I’ve done these years are textbooks and fanfiction. I cannot for the life of me recall when I’ve read an Actual Book and I hopefully can change that eventually!!

4. What is the next book you want to read?

I am Totally Open to recs but I’m probably going to finally get to reading the myriad of design and art books that I got last year ;;;

5. When is your birthday, and what do you want for it this year? (If your birthday has already happened this year, did you get what you had your heart set on?)

oct 12! I am sadly very materialistic and impulsive and I tend to get the things that I want myself, so. I’ll go abstract and say maybe a sense of direction or something along those lines haha!! feeling like I haven’t stagnated for the past few years and being able to feel in control of what may come would be lovely. please I am quite desperate!!!

6. If you were given one month and $10,000, where would you travel to?

either japan because although I’ve been there, I feel I didn’t fully enjoy the beauty of the culture and especially the nature of the area (I went to tokyo) so I’d love the chance to go again!

OR!! a europe exploration trip with focus on italy! getting my minor in italian and it’d be a shame to not experience the rich culture of italy at least once in my life, but also bc I hear that it’s pretty economical to travel around while in europe and I might as well visit the other lovely countries!!

7. Cake or pie?

Cake!! I adore cheesecake!! literally whenever I go someplace and they have cheesecake I HAVE to eat and taste it I love comparing them... I actually hardly ever eat desserts but also catch me eating fondant abominations and LIKING IT!!!!!!!

8. Name 3 things you think you’re really good at.

hyperfixation (on a MEANINGLESS task like searching for a post buried underneath several layers of Hell, on a fandom/pairing, etc.)

retail therapy!!! you feel bad??? don’t worry!!! ADD TO CART!! CHECKOUT!!!

Art (one of my Only Skills bc I kept building on it and ignoring everything else so I’m Kinda Decent)

9. Name 3 things you’d like to be better at.

Focusing on the Right Things. it’s ridiculously hard to get me excited/passionate on something especially if it’s to do w academics so I Always procrastinate and never put 100% effort into things and even though it’s my last quarter in uni I want to see Some Modicum of change

Making friends and being social.........it’s not good to compare myself to others but I’m still rly beat up over not being able to be charismatic enough to Attract people but I also spend most my time worrying about social cues anyways so uhm?? spend less time Thinking and more time Doing!!!!!!

Art. I’d really like to see where the next years will take me art-wise. still don’t know what I want to focus on like painting, or developing my style, or just.......revisiting the fundamentals but it’s gonna happen y’all!!

10. Name 3 far-fetched dreams you’d like to do someday.

be Completely Fluent in Mandarin Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Italian. I’m Chinese-American and I’m woefully inept in that I can speak like a native and pretty much comprehend most things but I’ve got the literacy and handwriting of an elementary school kid and BOYYY I am Truly Regret at this age, just like my mom said I would be, at not spending more time with my mother tongue. also ngl I fking love language and it’d be great to complete that East Asian Trifecta and be able to not have too much of a problem traveling in those countries. Italian I actually took because fresh out of high school I had a brief infatuation with assassin’s creed, namely II, and on a Damn Whim, I chose to take italian in college instead of japanese which was my high school language course that I took up til honors. REALLY ENJOY IT THOUGH, NO REGRETS HERE FOR ONCE!!!

Travel to the places that you see in nature documentaries...like what an EXPERIENCE that would be!! esp waterfalls?! beaches?! sightings of unique species?! okay actually now that I think about it this is going to involve a lot of camping stuff which I am painfully not ready for but would be willing to prepare for.....worth it though!! I just (clenches fist) really love nature

this isn’t so much a dream but like......Finding the One and not being in a loveless relationship/marriage. I don’t rly have any place to say this considering I haven’t dated Anyone ever at the ripe old age of 21 going on 22 but like a kid, I can still fantasize abt being with someone in a textbook romance,I hope. kind of Deathly Scared of becoming what they call in China “leftover women” who can’t find a partner and end up being single well into their late 30s ;; and since I’m gonna be out of college and graduated there’s even less chance to meet someone unless I Actively throw myself into shit which I am notoriously!! bad at!!! so that is a Saga for another time.......

11. If you had to dye your hair, what colour would you dye it?

PINK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I just wish dyeing hair didn’t mean signing off your hair quality to a death sentence (I am aware there’s methods/products you can use to make it better but... AAAAA) I’ve bleached my hair before and Already it was significantly.....Sadder

if you made it here I applaud you and appreciate you!!!! thanks for listening to meeeee

[kyloxfem]

Solo Travel As a Business and Lifestyle Phenomenon

In increasing numbers, people are traveling alone rather than simply waiting for others to join them. Solo travelers from the recent years have totaled 21 million in just the US and UK combined. According to a New York Times article in Nov. 2012, Internet searches for"solo travel packages" were up 60% over the previous year. The US Department of Commerce's Office of Travel & Tourism Industries ("OTTI") reported that a staggering 42 percent of U.S. citizens/residents that travelled overseas in 2011 traveled independently. 

Of these individual travelers, 38% traveled for leisure or to visit friends & relatives ("VFR") and 66 percent for business. Similarly, inbound solo travelers from overseas totaled 36.2%. Who are solo travelers? Solo travelers are a much wider group than just the single population. They may be: • Two-career couples on business travel or"DINK'S" (Double Income No Kids). • People who have relatives or friends overseas. • Family members pursuing different sports/hobbies overseas. 

Abercrombie & Kent's Jill Fawcett has clarified their solo travelers as:"frequently... married or have partners, but the spouses do not share the same interest... They wish to travel with like-minded individuals and the little group gives them some interaction. Then they return to the solitude of their room... 25 percent of individuals who opt for our Extreme Adventure series are (too ) solo travelers," she said. "People feel a bit more secure in a group if the destination is intimidating or there is a language barrier." Solo Travel Is Growing at a Rapid Rate | Phil Hoffman travel site, 10/25/11. 

Based on Grand Circle Corp chairman Alan Lewis,"Women are a growing force in the solo travel marketplace... in which the solo market has increased from approximately 20% to 25 percent of [Grand Circle's] total bookings during the previous five decades." Single travelers do continue to play an active part in solo travel. Their expansion is apparent in Europe and North America where people are marrying later and might be divorced, widowed or never married. 

According to a March 19, 2013 post entitled"The Growing Solo Travel Market", typical single families total as follows:

• 35% of households in developed countries • 40 percent in Finland and Norway (2011) 

• 37% in the Netherlands (2011)

 • 27 percent in the US (2010), 29% in the UK (2011) and 28 percent in Canada (2011). 

How can solos travel?

Solo travel might not necessarily imply traveling as a"group of one". Individuals may choose 

1. Escorted group tours 

2. Independent tours 

3. Traveling alone and choose their own hotels/tours 

What Matters Confront Those Traveling Alone? 

There are two key challenges for individual travelers. 

• Attractive prices: Lodging, tours and cruises are costly regularly on double occupancy. Although this isn't necessarily 2X, the cost differential can be significant. This is most pronounced in tour packages, especially cruises that have"2-for-the-price of 1" early booking promotionals. Because of this, those traveling alone may cover 3-4X couples/pairs. 

• Top excellent accessibility and service: At a busy vacation or tourist season, the unaccompanied traveler could be given less desired accommodations or tables . In actuality, even 5 star hotels may be unwilling to have a dinner reservation for you even if the individual traveler is a guest of this resort. The alternative might be sitting in the bar for dinner however the dining area has vacant tables. The outcome? 

These travelers are facing a"standup" buffet or participating in sleuthing to find an available seat. What's the Business Opportunity? This journey phenomenon is growing exponentially and represents an underserved market. The Chance for this industry is substantial, prioritized as follows: Leisure travelers: They're the biggest percentage of industry revenues. But a smaller percentage move alone for leisure trips. The beneficiaries: airlines, hotels, tours, car and concierge services. 

Business travelers: Even though a small part of revenues, a larger percentage are on business. Moreover, they could have a bigger budget than an individual on holiday. The identical industry segments would benefit with the exception of excursions except as possible additions to an international trip. VFR: People visiting friends and family might be met at the airport and also have access to local transport. While staying at a private house, meals might not be removed as often as resort guests. 

Thus, such travelers will continue to create new revenue primarily for airlines but are not likely to augment the present market for additional travel services. This business represents a largely untapped market. Given the sheer numbers of wealthy professionals and business executives, with the ideal mixture of well-priced, high quality supplies, both sides benefit. The travel industry will boost their present earnings while those traveling alone will reach more competitive pricing and access to high quality. It's a market whose time has come.

The Joys (and Sorrows) of Travelling Alone

There's not any one"right" way to travel, particularly in regards to the amount of partners you choose to travel with as you explore the world. Yes, if you travel with other people, you should only travel with those whose existence you like. And yes, I would argue you'll have far more fun by travelling with a few intimate and adventuresome friends as opposed to travelling through a foreign destination with a bunch of tourists that hardly need to leave the resort. However, assuming you make a few wise decisions concerning the company you keep, you will find unique benefits hidden within travelling with a single individual, with three individuals, or using a dozen individuals. 

Not that you really want to travel with anyone else. In actuality, the intensity of travelling often outclasses anything you will encounter travelling with others- extreme in its highs and its lows. Intense in its relations and its isolation. Intense in its chances for developing confidence, and extreme in its chances for dealing with uncertainty and fear. And it is this intensity of often-conflicting experience which produces travelling alone for a protracted period of time an absolute requirement for each and every one of us. 

Traveling is About Growth 

A quick aside. 

Some people might be put off with the ideal of intensity I have used to drum up travelling independently. I understand this. An intense experience could be embarrassing to consider. But in fact, an extreme experience is often more embarrassing to think about than it is to really live through. But our distress surrounding intensity lies in the core of every growth opportunity we encounter. We develop the most when we feel most alive and once we push vague anxieties to enlarge our sphere of comfortable actions.

In other words you should not avoid the extreme experiences and the distress they temporarily create - you need to run towards them. Sometimes travelling is all about just enjoying yourself, but at its center travelling the world is all about running towards intensity, adopting distress, and enlarging the world you inhabit.

 So yes, the notion of travelling alone can occasionally feel frightening. That is sort of the point. Do not use this fear as an excuse to live in a smaller world than you will need to. 

Others 

When you travel your adventures will swing wildly back and forth between being profoundly social and profoundly lonesome. Often the tone of your adventures changes instantly. 1 night you meet some new friends you spend hours and hours with as you speak, as you explore, as you bare your souls- as you get drunk together and dance together as you drift overseas streets late at night together, invincible in the present time. 

The next day they depart and so does the last person you know in your present location and you are alone again. In that moment you can be busy and reach out and meet others, but you will feel shocked how frequently, in that instant, you would rather spend your time entirely independently. Through expat pubs and hostels and other excursions, travelling supplies you with a never-ending chance to meet new men and women. 

When you travel by yourself you will only ever be as lonely as you need to be. You will have the ability to meet others without preconceptions, without strings attached, without checking in to see if everything's cool with your friends and without worry what others. If it comes down to it travelling by yourself supplies you with social liberty you could never experience back home or travelling with other people. And that has the freedom to really be on your own. 

The relief of sometimes spending a day on your own once you're back home doesn't, and can't, compare with the thickness of the solitude you may experience when you're alone for hours, days, or months at a time in cities, states and cultures far from your daily experience. These quiet, lonely moments will make you feel so many things, they will provide you the opportunity to process and to question and to reply, it is in those moments of complete separation from everything and everyone connected to home that you may acquire the maximum perspective in your life and make the difficult decisions about who you are, what you need, and how you are going to get there- decisions that you can't make when you are grasping on to even the smallest thread of connection to the life you used to know.  

Yourself 

I hope I do not sound like I am bearing down on others. So lots of your chances for some semblance of enlightenment will come to you in the business of others. We're intensely, and intrinsically, social animals. As E.E. Cummings stated,"We're for each other," and each nugget of insight you learn as you travel on your own is different for the sole purpose of helping you better serve the world and others who reside in it.

I am merely suggesting there are benefits and insights out there in the wild you can only gain when you disconnect entirely from the way you only can if you vacate regular life and search for something else by yourself. If you will need any greater sign that humans are really societal in nature think about the powerful feelings of uncertainty and fear you will feel when you cut yourself off from others. Even considering travelling alone you are probably thinking it isn't something that you could ever do. 

When you leave home on your own you may feel incredibly fearful of what you will find way out there and if you will have the ability to handle it. Travelling alone you may repeatedly question pretty much everything about yourself and if you can even survive, at a fundamental mental and psychological sense, without constant close contact with other individuals. And going through these cycles of fear and uncertainty you may learn something- which you can manage it. You can't just survive but you can flourish. 

You understand how tough you are, how small you really need, and with that knowledge of your own inherent indestructibility and with that understanding that life can be great even if you drop everything, you will get the confidence and courage to really act on the harmful insights you collect as you travel. Travelling alone not just enables you to view what difficult choices you will need to make when you return back home, travelling alone tells you you're strong enough to risk it all and act on them. Travelling alone makes you a wiser and a more powerful individual in ways travelling with others , ever could. Yes, travelling alone is harder than travelling with other people, but occasionally, especially during these times when you don't know what to do with yourself or your life, travelling alone becomes absolutely crucial.

[aiimaginesbts]

The Price to Rise: Part 1 [Jimin | Prince Eric]

Word count: 6,362 words

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: Disney AU, fluff, angst

Moodboard

Prologue | Jimin | Jungkook | Seokjin | Yoongi | Taehyung | Hoseok | Namjoon | Jimin (The choice: Part 2) | Epilogue

POLL (ended 22nd July)

Links for alternate endings are at the end of the post!

Disclaimer/Copyright

It only takes a blink of your eyes.

Just one second, and you are here. Although to be honest, you're not sure where here is. It looks nothing like the office building you were standing in just a few seconds ago. All you know is that you're sitting at a long dining table all by yourself, and your head is feeling heavy. Not quite a headache, but enough to make you feel a little lightheaded. Thankfully, the feeling soon disappears.

However, before you can regain your bearings, a melodious, female voice calls your name. Your head swivels around to the right to see a beautiful woman with dark brown hair peeking over a corner into the spacious room.

"What are you still doing here? Jason is waiting for you."

Rolling your eyes, you answer, "I'm coming, Adella."

You have no idea how you know her name, or why you rolled your eyes. It's like an involuntary reaction. The internal panic within you intensifies when Adella comes out of her corner, revealing herself from the top of her hair to the tips of her toes. Which is what you would have said normally, except she has no toes. Adella's top half is all gorgeous – if narrow-eyed from irritation – woman, but from the waist down, she is a fish, covered in shiny, murky yellow scales.

Before you can freak out, you look down to see that the only difference between you and Adella is that your own tail is green in colour. A tut-tut comes from her direction and forces you out of your shocked musings. Pushing yourself out of the chair, you follow her out of the dining room, still absorbed in the sudden revelation. With the realisation that you're a mermaid comes the fact that you're underwater, yet you're breathing with no difficulty. Swimming along the hallways feels as natural as breathing, although you're sure that the way you're breathing now is anything but normal.

Your sister enters one of the doorways but you keep on going; somehow you know that this Jason is waiting at the entrance of the palace, and Adella is heading to her bedroom. Gliding towards your direction in a trance, you slowly piece the situation together. This has to be the work of the man you met earlier; the one who claims to be your fairy godmother and promises you romantic adventures. Part of you thought it was a joke, but there are only three possibilities that can explain why you're in this state: you're either dreaming, or he was actually telling you the truth, or you've gone crazy. You have no recollection of going to sleep and the prospect of losing your marbles isn't exactly thrilling, so you're inclined to believe that some magic is at work.

Apparently this magic has turned you into a mythical creature, complete with a new identity and memories to go with it. You suppose that you should be thankful that you get to keep your name, at least. Then you wonder if your new sea-dwelling family and friends' memories have been altered to integrate you into their lives. If you are now inhabiting someone else's body, and if so, where has the owner gone. If this is going to be permanent. The man who landed you in this predicament is nowhere to be seen though, so you have no one to ask. Plus, he did promise you romantic adventures, so you decide to go with the flow.

A feeling of resignation mixed with frustration fills you when you exit the palace and spot a young merman waiting just outside. He is persistent, having begged you to give him a chance even after being turned down in the past as your new recollections tell you. Considering that he is a good guy, and someone your father, the King approves of, you have reluctantly decided to give him the opportunity to change your mind.

As you let him steer you around the city, you experience first hand the reason you're not enamoured with Jason, good-looking and nice as he is. There's just no spark between you and him, his conversation bores you and most of the date is very awkward. If someone had asked you before you're thrown into this life what you would do if you're experiencing an adventure surrounded by merpeople in a city underwater, you would have answered that you'd explore and enjoy the journey. Now, equipped with the identity of the mermaid you're embodying, you find that this life is something that you're tired of. The activities in the marketplace, the colourful fishes swimming all around you, the architectural structures that make up the city don't impress you. You long for something else.

The funny thing is, now that you're submerged deep inside the sea, all you want is to return to land. It isn't something that your mermaid body has ever experienced, which may be the reason the idea attracts and excites you so much. You don't see any sense in waiting, so right after the tedious date is over, instead of entering the palace where Jason has left you, you wait until he's out of sight before making a beeline for the surface.

As you rise higher and higher, you realise that it's nighttime. Even through the darkness of the night, you can make out a large shadow looming into the water, silhouetted by bursts of bright lights that sparkle and fade, then explode again. Breaking the surface of the water amplifies your hearing and sight of the happenings that are going on above the water. You realise that the glittering lights are actually fireworks being launched into the sky from a massive ship. Sounds of cheering and merry celebration drift from the vessel into your ears. Out of curiosity you swim towards the ship and haul yourself aboard, taking care to stay in the shadows so you won't be seen. You're dying to know what's going on but you're strangely wary of these humans as you have no idea how they will react if they see you.

From your dark corner you can see a crowd made of mostly men laughing with their tall, thin glasses raised in the air. The reason for their celebration becomes apparent to you when they break into a Happy Birthday song. No wonder the occasion is marked so extravagantly; the people on the ship are commemorating the Prince's birthday. You lean forwards from your perch, straining to see the subject of the celebration among the men and women. Then the crowd disperses, and your heart stops beating.

Standing in the middle of the throng is the most beautiful man you have ever seen. His midnight black hair is a stark contrast against his fair skin, his face adorning charming eyes that are squeezed into crescents from his smile. The smile that pulls your attention to his plump lips, breathtaking in itself yet contradictory from the sin that is his body. His white shirt is unbuttoned just enough to give a tantalising view of the top of his hard chest, and tucked into black pants that fits snugly around his thick thighs, ending with polished black shoes. There is no denying that you're instantly attracted to him, yet it's something else that causes your soul to call to him. It's not just a physical attribute, but something deeper, yet you can't quite put a finger on it.

Your musings are interrupted by an older man who is leaning against the railing as he addresses the subject of your infatuation. "I wish you'd invited the princess along."

"Really? I was glad to see her leave," the young man chuckles, but you notice that his eyes have lost some of their warmth. "I'd rather celebrate my birthday with the people that I actually enjoy having around."

His response causes the other man to sigh. "Everyone is anticipating you to take a bride, Prince Jimin."

So this is the prince. Prince Jimin, you mutter softly to yourself, testing his name on your tongue. You like it. The name suits him, and knowing it makes you feel a little closer to him.

"I'm not going to marry someone just because everyone is expecting me to do so," Jimin says. There's no mistaking the annoyance that fills his voice now. "I'm waiting for the right girl." Before his companion can interject, he continues, "When I find her, I'll know. And I don't care how long it takes for me to find her." His tired note of finality tells you that this is not the first time the topic has been discussed. You agree with his sentiments wholeheartedly. You've always thought that if you settle down, it will be with someone you love. Of course, given that you hardly go out to meet anyone new due to your dedication to your job, the chances of finding that someone is close to nil.

Suddenly, your elation dissolves into panic when loud barks accompany the entrance of a large sheepdog. The dog prances around, much to some of the guests' chagrin before bouncing on Jimin, who laughs and gets on his knees to give the dog a rub. The scene floods you with even more affection for him, your concern forgotten until the dog sniffs the air in curiosity. You shrink further into the shadows as the creature bounds towards you, ignoring Jimin's calls from behind him. Before he can follow your scent to your hiding place, you turn and jump back into the water, hoping that no one will take it upon themselves to investigate the sound of the resulting splash.

A series of loud barks follows your exit, but before anyone can pay much attention to it, it's cut off by the sound of ominous thunder in the distance. The moment you hit the water, you can feel the change in pressure and temperature of the current, but the humans on board are only warned by the loud shout of one of the sailors; "Hurricane a'comin'!" Fear strikes your heart, not for yourself but out of concern for the people on the ship, especially the prince. The next rumble of thunder is much closer to you, and none of them gets much time to prepare before the storm hits.

Violent waves lap against you, attempting to push you away but you are determined to remain near the vessel in case something happens. It's hard to tell what's going on when the only sense left to you is your hearing, and you strain to hear for any clues as to everything that is happening. The sudden lightning that strikes the boat is akin to a sword plunging through your chest. Your eyes widen as angry red flames erupt, shifting the activity from the ship to the ocean.

A strong, authoritative voice yells out orders amidst panicked shouts, and several smaller lifeboats hit the water, holding passengers while the fire continues to engulf the enormous ship. The hurricane is generating brutal waves, causing the boundary between the water and the air to become nebulous, obstructing your sight, but you swim around the smaller lifeboats, all thoughts of keeping yourself hidden forgotten as you try to determine if Jimin is among them.

Dread courses through you when you realise that the person giving orders to evacuate is none other than Jimin himself, as his commanding voice is still heard on the burning transportation. He has managed to get his people to safety, but is searching for the dog. A pitiful whine tears at your insides. The poor thing must be terrified, and you wish you can do something, anything, but you are powerless. The chaos escalate when an explosion blasts through the ship, hurling Jimin and the dog into the raging sea.

Immediately you spring into action, ignoring the ringing in your ears that resulted from the eruption, drowning the gasps and screams of the people safe on the lifeboats. Once again you are reminded of the being you have turned into when you dive into the water and find that your vision is better submerged in its depth than it is in the air. Through the wreckage sinking into the darkness, you can see the hind legs of Max the dog being hauled into one of the lifeboats, but Jimin has been flung away farther than his pet.

It's too dark for the humans to find the prince through the pandemonium, but you can clearly see him descending deeper and deeper into the sea. You propel yourself towards him, looping your arms under his shoulders so you can pull him upwards. Hoping that he's still breathing, you decide against returning him to the other guests; opting to bring him towards the shore instead. Quietly you thank your lucky stars that you're now a mermaid, because there is no way you could have managed to pull this mass of muscles to the beach if you're in your old body.

By the time you drag Jimin's prone form onto the damp sand, you're completely exhausted. Your lungs are crying for oxygen and your muscles are aching from exertion, but you put your needs aside, concentrating on him. Once you've confirmed that he's still breathing, you pull yourself back, leaning on your right forearm as you admire the man before you. Dawn is encroaching upon you, the rising sun illuminating his beauty. He looks even more handsome up close. As you tenderly brush a lock of wet hair away from his face, laughter threatens to escape your mouth.

For you have finally managed to put two and two together. You really are in some unbelievable version of The Little Mermaid, and it seems that you are the titular character. Even though you love watching Disney movies and are now in the little mermaid's body, you cannot remember the exact words she sang in the movie, and you like to think that it's out of your own volition that you let the words fall from your lips in a sweet melody.

"Thrown into this world, I was lost and confused,

Resigned to play out the adventure planned for me,

But when I laid eyes on you, I realise I've been obtuse,

To this opportunity to escape from the only life I've known to be,

How can it compare? How can I bear?

The thought of living without you there,

As I look at you, as I sing this song,

I know this is where I belong."

You're unsure if it's your singing or the voices accompanied by excited barks approaching you that causes Jimin to stir, but you know that you can't risk staying with him. With great regret you turn your back to him and make your way towards a cluster of rocks to hide behind so you can observe the scene unfolding in front of you. You manage to conceal yourself just in time before a small group of people, led by the man talking to Jimin last night turn around the corner, following an enthusiastic Max. Apparently they've been using the dog in the hopes of finding his owner, a tactic that has proven to be successful.

Despite being obviously dazed and unsteady as he's helped onto his feet, Jimin's eyes are searching the blue expanse of the sea, telling you that he had heard, possibly even seen you. The thought makes you excited and nervous at the same time. As you watch him being led away from the shore, your resolve hardens. You know what you must do. The next step you have to take.

Without hesitation, you plunge yourself back inside the water, made murky from the storm. The temperature gradually dips as you swim towards the ocean floor, so intent on getting to your destination that you're surprised when Adella suddenly appears in front of you, halting your movement.

"Where have you been?" She demands.

You ignore her question. "I have to go to see Father."

"You're not going to ask him to let you walk among the humans, are you?" She presses, dropping all pretense. "I know what you did last night."

Her correct assumption gives you pause, but you find yourself without words. Luckily, she addresses your fears without you having to voice them out.

"You know Father will never allow you to interact with them," she continues. "He won't allow contact with humans. You know that."

"I have to try," you say, trying to convince her and yourself as you pass her.

"You'll only make him mad," she warns. "Why don't you ask the Sea Witch instead?"

Again, her words make you stop and reconsider. You know deep inside that there is no way that the king will accede to your wish to become a human. He will probably say that you're too young to understand, but your feelings have nothing to do with age. There is no mistaking the connection that you feel between you and Jimin. Despite being born here, you don't belong in the ocean but on land. Meeting Jimin only solidifies your belief in that fact. However, you do not wish to get into a row with your father, especially when you know that it will not end in your favour.

Satisfied that she has made her point, Adella leaves you to sit and ponder your options. If you're really in the Little Mermaid's world, meeting the Sea Witch will result in nothing short of disastrous for you, but it's becoming apparent that you have no other choice. Moreover, although you may be in her body, you are not the little mermaid. Ultimately you are still yourself. You're still free to make your own decisions, and perhaps you can change the course of the story. With your mind decided, you turn around and head towards a different location.

You fancy yourself an adventurer, yet the outskirts of Atlantica is not somewhere you venture into often. In fact, you've never gotten this close to the Sea Witch's lair before. The atmosphere of this place seems different; foreboding. Even the water feels significantly colder the further away you get from the center of the city. It does not deter you in the slightest, even when you see her home, which has to be the remains of a giant sea creature. You gulp at the sight and the thought of what you're about to do, but the moment of weakness goes by unheard by anyone but you.

Part of you expect to find polyps to litter the floor of the Witch's home, but thankfully the place remains empty of growth. The long hallway opens to a cavernous room, dark and mysterious, the ends of the space not visible to you, making you wary of unsavoury beings lurking in the shadows. Then someone does make an appearance, nearly making you jump out of your skin, but she doesn't look scary at all. Far from it, actually. The Sea Witch is nothing like you imagine her to be. Her long, platinum white hair swirls about her fair face, lending her a delicate aura, and her slim body ends in a graceful tail that matches the blue hue of her eyes.

You find yourself mesmerised by her beauty until she clears her throat. "What brings you here, my dear?" Her voice does not quite match her appearance; it's raspy and breathy, giving you the impression that she has not had the chance to use it for a very long time.

"I... I..." At first you feel foolish, but you push past your embarrassment to explain to her your predicament, ending with your wish to become human so you can find your prince.

"Can you do that?" You ask tentatively after you've finished.

"Easily," she replies with a dismissive wave of her hand. "You have to pay for it though. I don't grant favours for nothing, you know." Her lips curl into a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes at that statement.

You nod your understanding. You suspect as much, and you're willing to pay the price to rise out of the ocean onto the land above. Jimin's land. That is your driving force, but it doesn't make this any easier.

"I can make you a potion that will turn you from a mermaid into a human for three days. Before the sun sets on the third day, this prince has to give you a kiss. A true love's kiss. If he does, you'll remain a human forever," she explains. "All I ask in return is your voice."

"Just three days?" Even though you've expected this, you still wish that she can cut you a better deal. "What happens if he doesn't kiss me within that time?"

"You'll just dissolve into sea foam," she answers almost cheerfully. "The payment is more than fair," she reasons. "Unless you can get what you want without me, in which case, be my guest," she gestures you to the door, a clear sign that you can take it or leave it. Now that it's time to make a decision, you find yourself having an internal battle of wills.

You're painfully aware that your voice is not the only thing you're potentially giving up. If Jimin doesn't kiss you within these three days, you will lose your life. It's not a pleasant thought, and not one that you would ever have considered before now.

Do you really want to put your life on the line for a guy you've just met, and never even talked to? The little voice in your head argues.

I've never felt that way about anyone before, you counter to yourself. Maybe this whole thing has driven me crazy, but this must be how true love feels like.

But are you willing to die?

What do I have to lose? Family and friends I've just met today? A life in the sea that suffocates me? My life back in the real world that is a monotonous nightmare that I've longed to escape from?

These questions make you realise that a chance at happiness is worth the possibility of dying. Seeing Jimin again, even for a few days seems like a more attractive prospect than going back to either your life now or your work-laden existence before this. Finally you agree, signing your name on a parchment produced by the Witch with a flourish. She gets to work immediately, pouring liquids from vials and minuscule creatures into a cauldron that hisses and smokes at random intervals. You watch her work in awed silence, remaining on your spot in the middle of the room until she produces a small bottle containing silver-coloured liquid.

"Now, the payment," she says, picking out a brown and white conch shell out of nowhere. You resist the urge to back away when she approaches you, forcing yourself to stay still as her long, spindly fingers gently massage your neck, coaxing your voice out of your throat. She releases it out of your open mouth, a wisp of golden smoke that drifts into the seashell, causing it to glow for a few moments before returning to its mute, unimpressive shades.

Taking the bottle that the Witch offers you, you convey your gratitude with a nod before racing towards the surface. In your hurry, you miss the figure hiding in the corner of the room, watching the entire deal being made with intense interest. As soon as you exit the chamber, she makes her way towards the Witch.

"So if the prince doesn't kiss her within three days, she dies?" Adella's shriek of worry would have touched you if she is not in cohorts with the Witch in the first place.

The Witch avoids her gaze, busying herself with putting all her potion-making ingredients away. "Don't worry. We mermaids turn into foam when we die, so what's the difference really? Either way, you'll get what you want, won't you?"

It's hardly reassuring, but there is nothing Adella can do to rectify the situation, so she too departs, leaving the Witch to muse the situation by her lonesome.

"It's never a bad idea to have one or two members of the royal family under your thumb," she cackles to herself.

You're blissfully unaware of the intentions of the two mermaids you have just left in the depths of the sea, only one thing in your mind as you break the surface of the water just shy of the seashore. The sun is blazing almost directly above your head, causing the potion in your hand to glitter like tiny diamonds. Taking a deep breath, you uncork the vial and drink all of the concoction in one gulp.

The mixture may look magical, but its effects feel extremely unpleasant. Torturing, actually. Pain shoots through your tail as it splits into two, turning into legs, but your screams are muted by your lack of voice, which is fortunate. The transformation can't have taken more than a few seconds but the agony it puts you through gives you the impression that you're being tormented for hours. Thankfully once the change is complete, the pain fades away so that when your newly-formed feet hits the shallow sand beneath the water, all you can feel is the coarse grains underneath them.

It's not just the recent transformation that leaves you feeling vulnerable and unprotected, prompting you to wrap your arms around your body, but the fact that you're now completely naked. You lower yourself into the water to hide your exposed body, your eyes scanning the beach for something, anything to cover yourself with. The only option available to you is a bundle of sails bunched up against the beach, washed ashore by the waves.

You rush out of the water to wrap the fabric around you and not a second too soon, for just as you cover yourself, a volley of deep yaps greets you just before Max appears from the side of the cliff and knocks you off your feet. The sail is large enough that the tussle between you and the dog doesn't expose your nude form, which is a blessing because his yelps are soon followed by a rush of apologies. Tilting your head sideways to get away from Max's lapping tongue, you lay your eyes upon the person you've been dying to meet – Prince Jimin.

His own eyes narrow as he tries to place your face. "You look familiar. Have we met?"

Nodding eagerly, you push Max off of you with Jimin's help, opening your mouth to explain yourself. The full force of the price you have paid hits home when not a syllable comes out, no matter how much strain you put on your throat. Heart sinking into your stomach but unwilling to give up, you quickly locate a stick so you can write your story down. Jimin's face falls when he realises you can't speak, but he indulgently follows your every move, full of anticipation. However, when the end of the stick touches the sand, you pause.

Alarm bells ring in your head when you realise that you don't know how to write. Unbeknownst to you, with the form and capabilities that you have inherited from your new body, you have also gotten her illiteracy. You look up at Jimin's confused face, dismay etched on your own as your plan crashes before you can even act on it. As he cannot understand your plight without an explanation, his only source of information is your expressions. Luckily, he takes pity on your obvious distress.

"You must have gone through something horrible," he concludes. "Come on, let's get you back to the castle."

Although your scheme has been cut short, you can't help but let yourself lean against his side as he leads you up the narrow staircase from the beach into the castle's keep. The castle rests on the edge of a cliff that cuts off sharply into the open sea below. Normally you would look around the building with a lot more interest than you're showing now, but Jimin's warmth radiating directly by your side keeps your attention focused solely on him. Every moment that passes sets your belief even more firmly that he is meant for you. There's an innate bond connecting you and him, a link that is ineffable, too complicated to describe with words. You make your way through the castle in silence, and from the intense way he's looking at you it's obvious that he feels it, too.

Jimin is reluctant to let you go to the maids, but he's forced to do so as it would be inappropriate for him to do their job. After Jimin leaves, they set about their work to help you get out of your makeshift clothing, bathe and dress you in proper clothes. Their whispers and gossip regarding your sudden appearance do not go by unnoticed by you, but you ignore them. Their words do have some truth in them, after all. You are not a princess in your real life, and even though you're the daughter of the sea king now, who would believe you, even if you can explain it?

So you spend most of the time letting your mind wander where it wants to, and of course it goes to the only person you can think about since you've been here – Jimin. The thoughts of him and worrying about the next few days keep you occupied until you're done, by which time the sun is already setting. A maid directs you to join Jimin and the older man you've seen in his company before, and you learn that his name is Grimsby.

There are only the three of you at a long table meant to hold more guests, and the two men have decided to utilise only one end of the table, with Jimin sitting at the head and Grimsby on his right. Jimin gestures for you to take a seat on his left with a sweet smile, and you oblige with a grin of your own. Although the looks that Grimsby is shooting you are far from hostile, awkward silence fills the air as the three of you stare at one another. You're not saying anything because of obvious reasons, but it seems they are at a loss as to what to say as well.

Then the absurdity of the situation dawns on you, and amusement wells up inside. Figuring you have nothing to lose, you allow the mirth to bubble over the surface, resulting in a mute giggle. Even though you cover your mouth, your chortles are obvious and it causes Jimin and Grimsby to burst into laughter themselves, breaking the tension.

"Where do you hail from, dear?" Grimsby asks, wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of his eye.

Your laughter dies upon hearing the question. Where do you even begin? Essentially you are a visitor from a completely different world, in a different time. Perhaps you should introduce yourself with your current identity as a mermaid, which is laughable in itself, since humans have no idea of their existence. It doesn't matter either way, because you can't voice out anything. Maybe I can try mining it?

Before you can attempt to mime your answer and possibly make a fool of yourself, Jimin comes to your rescue. "Are you from around here?"

You shake your head, grateful to him for giving you a way out. Grimsby suggests that Jimin take you out to show you the town, and Jimin perks up at the idea. "It sounds like fun. Don't you agree?"

Your enthusiastic nod is all that is needed for Jimin to decide that he will bring you with him the very next day. The conversation picks up naturally after that. Jimin effortlessly makes you feel included in the conversation, despite your inability to contribute to it, and tactfully asks you yes or no questions that you can easily answer, and Grimsby follows suit. Weirdly enough, you feel welcome, not out of place at all, and you thoroughly enjoy yourself as the chat goes on for hours. The food has come and gone, and it's already time for bed when Jimin calls it a night.

To your delight, Jimin walks you all the way to your room. He sometimes breaks the silence to comment on paintings that hang on the walls or the random vase and trinkets, but most of the time both of you remain quiet. Neither of you feel uncomfortable or unnerved by the lack of words though; Jimin's presence calms you like a person you've known forever. It's only upon reaching your door that you start getting nervous, wondering if you should chance kissing him, or if such a move is too soon.

Just as Jimin is about to turn away, you reach out for his hand, but ultimately your nerve fails you and you start to pull away. You're sure that he doesn't see your movement, yet out of his own volition, he whirls back to face you, grabbing your outstretched hand. Before you can register what has just happened, Jimin kisses your cheek quickly, as if trying to overcome his own anxiety so he can pull it off.

"Good night," he wishes you in the softest of whispers before pulling away, his cheeks pink with embarrassment. You're not much better off yourself. You can't remember when was the last time such a chaste peck on the cheek has left you blushing to the roots of your hair and so excited you can hardly wait to enter your room so you can jump in happiness. His wish comes true; as your dreams are filled with happy endings with him.

After breakfast the next day, Jimin spends the morning giving you a tour of the castle. Compared to your merman father's sprawling palace in Atlantica, it is quite cramped. Other than the staircase that leads to the castle keep that Jimin and you entered through the day before, another one opens to a dock on the eastern side of the castle. Even with your limited knowledge, you can appreciate the design that makes it difficult for the castle to be breached. Near the dock is a hall, where Jimin says most of the public activities are held. He then shows you an area north of the hall, impressing you with lines of cherry trees that decorate the walkway. It may be your second favourite part of the castle, the first being Jimin's private garden that he made for himself. He invites you to sit at the gazebo so you can admire the garden while he talks about the work he has put into it. You're touched by the fact that he's sharing something so personal with you, a space that is only used by himself and Max. The other parts of the castle are not as impressive, but you cherish the look on Jimin's face as he happily shows you around every part of his home.

After the bizarre date in the underwater city, the town Jimin takes you to in the afternoon isn't impressive by any means, but it's still peaceful and lovely. Most of all, you enjoy being by his side, a date you'd never dream of having in your drab, work-oriented previous life. Your voice is a small price to pay for the joy that comes with Jimin but it saddens you that he doesn't even know your name. As if he read your mind, he comments with a sigh, "I wish I knew your name. I don't even know what to call you."

In a stroke of brilliance, you clap your hands in excitement as an idea strikes you, capturing Jimin's attention. You look around the town square, then points at an object that shares the same first syllable of your name. It takes some time for Jimin to figure out what you're up to and for you to find suitable items around you to use, finally ending with him persuading you to sit as the two of you play this impromptu game, but in the end he manages to learn your name.

"Y/n," he confirms. "I love your name."

You beam, metaphorical flowers blooming inside every time your name rolls off Jimin's tongue in his sweet, melodious voice. He repeats your name several times just so he can see your smile grow wider and wider until you both dissolve into laughter and he leads you through his castle to get to his private shoreline.

Jimin laces his fingers with yours as you stroll along the beach, his face reddening as he does so, but when you squeeze his palm in encouragement, he slowly relaxes and keeps his hold on you. The breeze pulls your hair out of the style one of the maids has tugged it into this morning but you don't mind, especially when Jimin wordlessly uses his other hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. He sits you down on the sand next to him facing the open sea, so the wind blows gently against your face and gives you the courage to rest your head against his shoulder. His thumb rubs against your hand idly as you enjoy each other's company.

Nothing has ever felt so right, so natural, as being with Jimin. Nothing has to be done, no words have to be said, just his presence gives you a sense of completion. Suddenly he breaks the silence by murmuring your name. You lift your head up to look at him already staring at you with his dreamy eyes, but he doesn't say anything. Instead he leans closer, his grip on your hand getting tighter as his full lips hover mere millimetres away from yours, and you let your eyes close. The sounds of the waves lapping the shore are drowned by the beat of your heart thumping loudly in your ears as you await his kiss, but it never comes.

Confused and disappointed, you open your eyes. Once again you feel as if you've hurtled into another dimension. Jimin is no longer in front of you. In fact, you're quite alone.

Where am I?

The poll has ended! Thank you for choosing Jimin as the reader’s choice!

Prologue | Jimin | Jungkook | Seokjin | Yoongi | Taehyung | Hoseok | Namjoon | Jimin (The choice: Part 2) | Epilogue

Alternate Endings: Jungkook | Seokjin | Yoongi | Taehyung | Hoseok | Namjoon

[stupidfatpenguin]

Title: First Night

Victor Nikiforov x Yuuri Katsuki

I just updated this fic! Read it here or on Ao3! (Link above or in my profile)

Part 2

This can’t be happening.

The mantra has echoed in Yuuri’s head ever since he mounted the horse that would take him to the Palace, head bowed to avoid meeting anyone’s gaze, afraid of what he might find there. (Pity. Sympathy. Anger, disappointment. Nothing he wanted to see.) They ride for well over the hour before the spires of the Capitol comes into view in the distance, gleaming in the light of the sun where it hangs low in the sky, beams reflecting like silver sparks across the vast West Sea.

Yuuri revels in none of it, for every step his horse takes through the gilded city is a step closer to the Keiser—and whatever he has planned for him.

They pass many citizens on their ride to the Summer Palace, hardly interested in yet another set of guards in a citadel full of them. Yuuri wonders briefly if anyone who does look at him could know of his predicament, if they can tell who he is and what has befallen him just from a glance at his face.

This whole affair isn’t just humiliating. This changes everything.

Instead of it being in his family’s power to annul the marriage, this decision now rests in the hands of his father-in-law. If the Lord sees it fit, he will cut Yuuri loose for infidelity and a failed consummation, and his family’s business will go down with him. He will never be able to marry again with the reputation of a failed marriage already on his shoulders. Additionally, after the Keiser has…had his way with him tonight, he could assuredly crush the reputation of Yuuri’s entire family for generations to come, if he were to make this affair public knowledge.

Which it very well soon might be, considering the amount of people who had been present to hear the envoy’s announcement—unless the Lord had seen it fit to keep them quiet, in some way. Which is impossible.

Yuuri shudders with the weight of this failure on his shoulders. His in-laws’ gain from this marriage had really only been one thing: to entwine noble blood into their family.

The name Katsuki had been highly regarded for generations. While theirs was, really, only a branch family of the old Noble House Okukawa, Yuuri was still regarded as low-ranking nobility, in spite of his family’s economic struggles. But even so, the Katsukis were a highly respected family, especially in their region, and a representative of their household was traditionally invited to every Royal gathering that had taken place since the rule of the Third Keiserina.

If he so wished, the Keiser could sever these ties to the Royal House, rendering Yuuri’s family name of no more import than a commoner’s. If this occurred, his father-in-law would have no incentive at all to have his daughter married to someone of such a tarnished reputation. There would be nothing to gain, and he would look for better prospects elsewhere.

He wondered, miserably, what would bring the Keiser more pleasure: the ruining of his family’s life and name, or defiling his chastity.

Once they arrive at the Palace Gates, no less grand than the last time he had seen them, Yuuri is hardly given the time to right himself after unmounting his horse before two bony, manicured hands do it for him, and he is met with a sharp, calculating face. It belongs to an older lady, made younger by her expertly painted face, her real age betrayed only by the wrinkles of her hands life-hardened eyes. She wears a long, elegant robe with golden birds stitched into the fabric, fit for a duchess or someone of similar rank.

He finds himself straightening under her scrutinising green eyes, his years of training and etiquette lessons from living with Lady Okukawa quickly reasserting themselves.

“Good posture. And a pretty face,” the lady murmurs in approval, snapping her fingers and moving them back and forth in front of his face. “But blind as an old bat. Do you not carry spectacles, boy?”

“I-I wasn’t wearing them when I left, milady,” Yuuri stutters, the question catching him off guard.

The lady hums, considering. “I am Madam Lilia. You shall address me as such.”

“Y-Yes, Madam.”

Madam Lilia seems pleased, and turns to Sir Georgi who has just dismounted his steed. Yuuri notices even the knight seems to stand straighter under the gaze of the madam.

“He will do,” she says. “But he will not see his High Majesty resembling a windswept stable hand.”

The envoy stiffens. “B-But Madam! It is but an hour until evening falls, and the Keiser specifically asked us to bring mister Katsuki before—”

“Then tell him he shall have to wait,” the madam quiets his protests. “It should suit our liege very well, I should think, to wallow in his own impatience for a bit, for interrupting all our schedules with his whims and wishes. It is, after all, mister Katsuki’s wedding night. I should think he would rather not be reminded of a horse every time he catches a whiff of himself.”

With this, she turns to a group of men and women, some even young boys and girls, who’ve gathered behind her—servants, judging by their uniforms, waiting for the word of their madam.

“Take the boy to the baths, and have him scrubbed properly. Trim his nails and push his hair back. I want his clothes aired and the horsehair removed—scent them if you must, but nothing overwhelming. Now, get to it!”

With this said he is ushered inside by the stern madam and her little horde or helping hands, unsure whether or not he should be grateful that his fate has been postponed for a little while.

They quickly walk several stairs and hallways, leaving no time to admire any décor or artwork, before he is pushed inside a steam-filled room and divested of his wedding garb, which is taken away. He squirms a little as the many hands strip him of his stockings and even his smallclothes, but voices no protests as they guide his bared form further into the room.

While Yuuri is no stranger to bathing in public, as is custom in the various bathing houses in his region, being the only fully naked person in a bathing-room is a daunting experience. He is drenched and sprayed, and put in a warm pool to soak. There he is scrubbed clean from the grime of his journey, one pair of hands washing his back while another kneads his scalp with refreshing, floral oils. His arms and legs are given the same attention, all the way down to the spaces between his fingers and toes. He has to bite his tongue not to resist when the cloths travel up his inner thighs, but cannot supress a flinch when they make to clean his private parts very thoroughly.

His eyes and cheeks burn with the humiliation, even long after he is dried and put in fresh underwear, seated on a plush chair in another chamber while the servants continue refreshing him like he was some…some concubine, made ready for the honour to serve his Keiser for the night.

With every passing minute, it’s all becoming more real, yet so much removed from his reality. It’s like a divinity has taken him from his life as an inn owner’s son and put him in place of a royal servant, a scenario that hadn’t occurred to him in his wildest dreams. Yet here he is: pampered and aired, nails trimmed and hair brushed, and every inch of his skin moisturised with balms and creams. He has been undressed and bathed under the scrutiny of several strangers and, finally, redressed in his own wedding garb, which now smells faintly of newly bloomed roses.

Soon, once the servants deem themselves finished, he is escorted out of the little chamber and to a different room. Two guards, wearing the Blue Rose on their chests, open the doors for Yuuri and his escorts who gently usher him inside.

It is a large bedroom, possibly larger than the dining room in his family’s inn—or perhaps that’s simply an illusion of the ceiling, which is easily twice Yuuri’s own height. Every wall feature extravagant tapestries, showing both familiar and exotic art forms from far away countries. The doors to the balcony are splayed open, welcoming a soft breeze and granting a spectacular view of the setting sun. The rest of the room is filled with all luxuries he could fantasise of, and then some—vases and bookshelves, and mirrors and hand painted dressing screens. Against the wall stands a massive bed, fit for a king.

He is, without a doubt, standing in the Keiser’s bedchambers.

While the servants putter around doing last-minute preparations, making sure his hair lies where they’ve combed it, that not a single fold of his garb lies incorrectly, the door opens again behind them. Yuuri’s heart jumps in his chest, but it is only madam Lilia.

With a stern gesture, she dismisses her little helpers and sends them out of the room. They all bow and leave quietly; soon, there is only the two of them, Yuuri standing rigidly as Lilia appraises him once more, cleaned and dolled up as per her instructions, bathed in the soft light of the sunset.

“Beautiful.”

The approval does nothing to ease the tension in his spine, but he has a feeling that nothing short of the Keiser never showing up will, at this point.

She steps closer to him and reaches into the folds of her robes. From them she pulls out an unmarked jar, which she presses into his clammy hands.

“What is…” he begins, but quickly shuts his mouth when he realises exactly what she has given him and what it is for. His cheeks burn harder than they have all day, the tips of his ears smouldering with heat.

“I trust you have an idea what to do with this,” the madam says, unhelpfully. Then, she sighs, a tired look overcoming her face. “I do not pretend to know how the Keiser thinks or his reason for having you brought, if there is any. You can ask anyone in the palace, but they will all tell you the same. What I do know is that his highly unpredictable behaviour should not be underestimated. You will have to decide yourself how ready you will be when you take the brunt of it.”

He swallows around the stone that has settled in his throat, finding that it feels even heavier once it reaches his belly. He mutters a soft ‘thank you’, grateful for the warning, yet feeling even worse off for it.

“I shall leave you be,” the madam says, and then, finally, he is left in the Keiser’s chambers, completely and utterly alone.

In the sudden silence, he can hear the waves beating against the shoreline. The cries of the seagulls are but background murmurs while his mind rushes, the jar burning white hot in his hands.

He can imagine it then, what will happen next. Any moment now, the Keiser will walk through those door. He will stand tall and haughty; simply survey him with a guise of mockery, let Yuuri’s nerves soak in the anxious anticipation. His eyes on him are all it will take—a knowing smirk across his lips will quietly taunt him for their last meeting reminding him just how he has ended up there, what is at stake, completely at the Keiser’s mercies.

When the man finally speaks, it will be to tell him to remove his clothes. He’ll expect Yuuri to do it by himself, be the one responsible for his own humiliation. Resisting isn’t an option—they both know who holds all the leverage. When he is finally bared before him, the Keiser, still in his full garb, will ask him to go to the bed and spread himself out there. He will liken him to the many others who have probably been requested to do the same, ask him how it feels to be no better than a common whore.

And regardless of whether Yuuri has prepared for it or not, the Keiser will spread his thighs and sink between them.

Madam Lilia’s words come back to him, completing this image he has painted in his mind. You will have to decide yourself how ready you will be when you take the brunt of it.

With shaking hands, he opens the little jar with a little trouble as it slides around in his sweaty palms. He succeeds, but hesitates as he is about to dip his fingers into the clear oil.

What if he is not fast enough? What if, when he has just pushed a finger inside himself, the Keiser will come in and see him in such a shameful state. Will he perhaps be asked to continue his own defilement for his viewing pleasure? He thinks that chances are he will not survive such an embarrassment! Or, his chest constricts, what if the Keiser has no plans to spare him the discomfort of their carnal affairs? He could become absolutely livid that Yuuri has gone ahead and touched himself without his explicitly saying so. He has heard that lying with a man in such a way could be extremely painful for the receiving party if percussions are not taken. Perhaps he is such a man, who would revel in causing such physical pain.

Shaking and confused by his own conflicting thoughts, Yuuri wants nothing more than to sink to the floor then and there and sob into his sleeves. Perhaps if he is found like so, a hulking pitiful mess, the Keiser will take mercy on him and take him gently.

So lost is he to the accumulating thoughts of his Keiser’s plans to besmirch him that he nearly jumps out of his own skin when the doors are slammed open, stopping his heart as it leaps up into his throat; not a moment later, a large figure rams into him and tangles with his limbs as they stumble onto the floor.

[cestmoipenelope]

*:･ﾟ✧ - A Walt Questionnaire

1. Describe the character’s height and build. Is she heavyset, thin, short, rangy?

Penelope’s a bit tall for a girl at 5′7″.  She is on the thinner side, obviously, but with a very pronounced hourglass figure, her bust and hip measurements being exactly the same.

2. How old is she?

Twenty years old.

3. Describe her posture. Does she carry herself well or does she slouch?  

Penelope used to have quite a slope in her back, but better posture came with the weight loss.  Nine times out of ten, she holds herself very regally, with her chin tipped up, but when she gets angry she begins to hunch.

4. How is her health? Is she fit or out of shape? Any illnesses or conditions? Any physical disabilities?

She tries as best she can to keep her weight in check.  She’s never had any serious medical conditions - not even so much as a broken bone.  And she can bench press a hefty amount for a girl her size.

5. How does she move? Is she clumsy, graceful, tense, fluid?

Penelope has two forms of movement: either graceful and flighty or jerky and forceful, and it all depends on her mood.

6. How attractive is this character physically? How does she perceive herself in the mirror?

Well, Penelope will tell you that she’s one of the most attractive people on the planet and anyone who doesn’t agree is out of their minds.  In reality, though, it’s neither here nor there.  She has a very symmetrical face, if you want to get technical about it.

7. Describe her complexion. Dark, light, clear, scarred?

Penelope doesn’t have to resort to the very lightest shade on the makeup shelf, but she is still on the pale side.  She has been known to use self tanner during the warmer months, particularly on her legs.  Her acne has calmed down considerably since her pubescent days, thank her lucky stars, but her skin does tend to dry out.  She carries sun lotion with her everywhere, just in case.

8. Describe her hair: color, texture, style.

Here’s something Penelope will absolutely murder you for if you ever repeat it: she’s not really a blonde.  Her natural hair is a mousy, in between blonde/brown color.  She’s been having it professionally dyed ever since she was eleven, first to a lighter golden blonde, and most recently to platinum blonde.  Her hair is very full, but still naturally straight.  Sometimes she’ll leave it as is, other times she’ll spend hours in the morning curling it to perfection, or anywhere in between. 

9. What color are her eyes?

Cornflower blue, according to her.

10. Does the character have any other noteworthy features?

She has just the slightest ski-slope nose, which she’s very proud of.

11. What are her chief tension centers?

She has been known to get migraines in her left temple when she gets particularly overemotional.

12. What is the character’s wardrobe like? Casual, dressy, utilitarian? Bright colors, pastels, neutrals? Is it varied, or does she have six of the same suit?

One of Penelope’s many mottos is “better to be overdressed than underdressed!”  She prefers to wear skirts and dresses, but isn’t afraid to whip out a pair of well tailored trousers if the need calls for it.  She owns exactly one pair of jeans.  And if it’s less than sixty-two degrees outside, she won’t leave the house without a pair of gloves.

13. Do her clothes fit well? Does she seem comfortable in them?

Penelope isn’t afraid to suffer a little bit for great fashion...as long as she doesn’t have to stay in such an outfit for too long.  That being said, most of Penelope’s clothes are tailored for her and sit on her quite comfortably.

14. Does she dress the same on the job as she does in his free time? If not, what are the differences?

No matter what the occasion, Penelope manages to squeeze her own style into the recommended fashion.

15. You knew it was coming: Boxers, briefs or commando?

Well...let’s just say Penelope takes her underwear very seriously, and has a pair for just about every occasion.

Speech

1. What does this character’s voice sound like? High-pitched, deep, hoarse?

She always sounds like she’s talking in her head voice.  The pitch is definitely on the higher side, with just the slightest grate to it that, naturally, gets more noticeable when she gets angry.

2. How does she normally speak? Loud, soft, fast, evenly? Does she talk easily, or does she hesitate?

Penelope doesn’t make a habit of using her “inside voice,” and her mouth gets ahead of her brain very easily.  If she does need to collect her thoughts, she uses a lot of dramatic sighs to take her time.

3. Does the character have a distinct accent or dialect? Any individual quirks of pronunciation? Any, like, you know, verbal tics?

In case it hasn’t been made clear, Penelope has a very mild obsession with the French language, despite the fact that she can’t actually speak it, and likes to sprinkle her sentences with the few French words she actually knows.  She starts to sound a bit like Zsa Zsa Gabor if she’s not careful.  Otherwise, she just has a standard New England accent.

4. What language/s does she speak, and with how much fluency?

English, about twelve words in French, about ten in Spanish, and about six in Italian.

5. Does she switch languages or dialects in certain situations?

See above.

6. Is she a good impromptu speaker, or does she have to think about his words?

Use your imagination.

7. Is she eloquent or inarticulate? Under what circumstances might this change?

Penelope can be extremely eloquent around people she’s trying to impress, but around everyone else - even people she likes - she can be...oh, how shall I put it...a bit abrasive?  

Mental and Emotional

1. How intelligent is this character? Is she book-smart or street-smart?

Penelope is far smarter than she looks, or even than she lets on most times.  Some of that is book smarts, but most of it from the fact that once Penelope dedicates herself to something, she won’t let go until she’s become an expert.

2. Does she think on his feet, or does she need time to deliberate?

Penelope’s idea of “thinking on her feet” usually ends up with somebody getting punched or karate chopped, so...you tell me.

3. Describe the character’s thought process. Is she more logical, or more intuitive? Idealistic or practical?

Penelope is very dreamy and very passionate.  She often has very little trouble making up her mind about things based on her (very shallow) priorities and it can be more trouble than it’s worth to sway her to the other side using pure logic.

4. What kind of education has the character had?

Penelope’s been a private school girl up until college.

5. What are her areas of expertise? What, if anything, is she interested in learning more about?

Ask her anything about fashion, and Penelope will tell you the designer, year, season, cut, style, fabric, who influenced it, who modeled it, and how the journalists reported about it the next morning.

6. Is he/she an introvert or an extrovert?

Penelope is what we would call an “outgoing introvert.”  She loves being in the company of others, but it can be extremely taxing on her at the same time.  She dedicates certain time out of her week to spend just with herself, and if you manage to interrupt it, so help you God.

7. Describe the character’s temperament. Is she even-tempered or does she have mood swings? Cheerful or melancholy? Laid-back or driven?

Penelope can be cool as a cucumber one minute and white hot with rage the next.  But her mood does not change without provocation, I will tell you that.

8. How does she respond to new people or situations? Is she suspicious, relaxed, timid, enthusiastic?

It depends on the situation, really.  I can tell you that Penelope is particularly territorial with the people she cares about *cough Kaiden cough* and that can lead her to interpret even the most innocent of conversations in the worst ways.

9. Is she more likely to act, or to react?

Oh, Penelope’s a reactor.  Definitely.  She’ll hardly move a muscle without something to prompt her, but just that one shove and off she goes.

10. Which is her default: fight or flight?

Um.  Fight.  Always.

11. Describe the character’s sense of humor. Does she appreciate jokes? Puns? Gallows humor? Bathroom humor? Pranks?

It really takes a lot to get a good, hearty laugh out of her.  Something between intelligent humor and just being plain silly is usually the sweet spot for her.  It can’t lean too much one way or the other.  Toilet humor is her least favorite, and jokes at other people’s expense...well, that usually depends on whose expense its at.

12. Does the character have any diagnosable mental disorders? If yes, how does she deal with them?

Not at the moment.

13. What moments in this character’s life have defined her as a person?

The two biggest ones are the death of her father and that night of the homecoming dance where she finally decided she was up to here with her bullying.

14. What does she fear?

Not being considered important, be it by her loved ones, her colleagues...honestly, being ignored or forgotten is one hundred times worse than being bad at something.

15. What are her hopes or aspirations?

Fame, in a nutshell.  She loves fashion and she does want to help women feel comfortable and beautiful in their bodies, but she knows that she can do so much more than that and turn herself into a triple, quadruple, or even quintuple threat if she put her mind to it.

16. What is something she doesn’t want anyone to find out about her?

In this new environment, she will do whatever she can to keep the history of her “pudgy days” six feet under.  Or the fact that she can’t really speak French.

Relationships

1. Describe this character’s relationship with her parents.

OH BOY WHERE TO START.  Penelope has a rough history with her parents, to say the least.  Her mother conceived her long before she was emotionally ready to have a child, and made it particularly clear that she didn’t want Penelope when she wasn’t avoiding her like the plague or drowning herself in alcohol.  Her father, on the other hand, was kind and funny.  Always gave the best advice, and always protected her from her mother’s terrible influence.  He only wanted the best for her.  After he died, everything just went absolutely downhill.  Unfortunately, though, her father had a long history of infidelity, and that Penelope could never approve of.

2. Does the character have any siblings? What is/was their relationship like?

Funny you should mention that.  Penelope just found out that she has a half sister she never knew about, and is currently trying to cope with that fact.

3. Are there other blood relatives to whom she is close? Are there ones she can’t stand?

She barely knows any of her grandparents.  She knows she has cousins on her mother’s side running amok somewhere, but would honestly prefer not to meet them.

4. Are there other, unrelated people whom she considers part of her family? What are her relationships with them?

Not at such a point in time.

5. Who is/was the character’s best friend? How did they meet?

Aurora Capulet and Kiara Santucci.  It was really just fate in both instances.  Once Penelope found out that they were nothing like those snooty girls she went to high school with, she adored them each almost instantly and refused to let them out of her life.  They are the friends she always wanted back in grade school, but never actually got.

6. Does she have other close friends?

She considers Daphne Blake a kindred spirit.  The two are so similar and just get each other.  And Sally Finklestein is more like an adopted daughter in her eyes than just a regular friend.  She would do anything to protect her.

7. Does she make friends easily, or does she have trouble getting along with people?

To put it kindly, Penelope is an...acquired taste.  It’s a small miracle if she doesn’t find something wrong with you on your first meeting.

8. Which does she consider more important: family or friends?

In spite of her strained history with her own, Penelope will choose family over friends every time.  There’s a great deal more responsibility to be held there.  Fortunately, if you manage to become close enough friends with her, she will consider you part of her family.

9. Is the character single, married, divorced, widowed? Has she been married more than once?

She is currently in a relationship with Kaiden Russell and she has never been happier as a human being.

10. Is she currently in a romantic relationship with someone other than a spouse?

Don’t make me laugh.

11. Who was his/her first crush? Who is his/her latest?

Kaiden Russell is her forever and always.

12. What does she look for in a romantic partner?

Penelope wants someone to treat her like a princess, plain and simple.  She wants all that cheesy romantic stuff: candlelit dinners, carriage rides under a full moon, long walks on the beach...all of it.  He has to be handsome, gentlemanly...and never look at another woman ever.  The end.

13. Does the character have children? Grandchildren? If yes, how does she relate to them? If no, does she want any?

Jumping to the Next Gen timeline for a hot minute, Penelope has four beautiful children whom she would die for, and would most definitely murder for.  Having four kids within five years isn’t easy on anybody, especially through in vitro.  But as she can’t remind them enough, none of them are for decoration.  She sees something of herself in each of them: Norma’s dedication, Paul’s cleverness, Francis’ self-preservation, and Kathleen’s sharp tongue.  As well as, bittersweetly, a little bit of her parents.

14. Does she have any rivals or enemies?

Um, Alec Moon, so jot that down.

15. What is the character’s sexual orientation? Where does she fall on the Kinsey scale?

Penelope is a solid 2 in Kinsey terms.  Under very special circumstances, she is capable of falling for a woman, but otherwise she is all men all the time.

16. How does she feel about sex? How important is it to her?

Penelope doesn’t see any shame in it.  She knows that she herself is a highly sexual person, but doesn’t think less of anybody else for lacking a sex drive.  And honestly, Penelope gets more out of foreplay than the actual deed itself.

17. What are her turn-ons? Turn-offs? Weird bedroom habits?

Honestly, her idea of a perfect time is just sitting in a low lit room, feeding each other chocolates and necking.  Like, a lot of necking.  She’s a huge necker.  A well-cut man in a well-cut suit will leave her weak in the knees.  And if you can play an instrument, major points right there.

Beliefs

1. Do you know your character’s astrological (zodiac of choice) sign? How well does she fit type?

Penelope is an Aries, typically observed as feisty, competitive individuals, and on the surface that fits her very well, but dig a little deeper and the less Aries-like she becomes.

2. Is this character religious, spiritual, both, or neither? How important are these elements in her life?

Penelope has never been religious.  She does, however, a habit of going through “bursts” of spirituality.  Such as meditating with crystals to realign her chakras for a week straight, and then she won’t do it again for maybe five or six months.

3. Does this character have a personal code of morals or ethics? If so, how did that begin? What would it take to compromise it?

Well, Penelope has a very “eye for an eye” way of looking at the world, so her landscape of morals is really rather gray.  She does have a few things she considers just pure evil and won’t do under any circumstances, but those are few and far between.

4. How does she regard beliefs that differ from hers? Is she tolerant, intolerant, curious, indifferent?

She tries her best to be indifferent, particularly with people she doesn’t know very well, but more often than not she fails miserably.

5. What prejudices does she hold? Are they irrational or does she have a good reason for them?

Most “prejudices” Penelope has are very surface level and usually disintegrate in anywhere from a few minutes to a week.  But as far as real, deep assumptions about a person’s character, she doesn’t even bother.

Daily Life

1. What is the character’s financial situation? Is she rich, poor, comfortable, in debt?

She’s far from the top one percent, but Penelope is still very well off, as exemplified by the labels in her closet.  And she uses this luxury to her absolute advantage.

2. What is her social status? Has this changed over time, and if so, how has the change affected her?

Penelope used to be pretty low on the totem pole thanks to all the bullying she dealt with in school, but she climbed herself up by her fingernails by God.  And it wasn’t a pretty climb, either, but that’s what happens when you’ve finally reached your limit.  She’s always wanted to be at the top, so she only feels like she’s finally where she’s meant to be...even if some might disagree.

3. Where does she live? House, apartment, trailer? Is her home her castle or just a place to crash? What condition is it in? Does she share it with others?

There’s her dorm room which, despite its cramped parameters, she has grown quite accustomed to.  It’s far and away from feeling like home; more like a long-term hotel room.  And then there’s the Hainline loft back in New York, which is beautiful in its decor, but hopelessly hollow ever since her father passed and she and her mother...came to terms, as it were.  At one point in time, the loft felt like home.  Now it just feels like an empty shell.

4. Besides the basic necessities, what does she spend her money on?

A better question would be what doesn’t she spend her money on?

5. What does she do for a living? Is she good at it? Does she enjoy it, or would she rather be doing something else?

Well, currently she’s still in school, and she wouldn’t be caught dead having a job and going to school at the same time.

6. What are her interests or hobbies? How does she spend her free time?

Fashion design, being pampered at the salon, reenacting her favorite movie scenes alone in her bedroom, practicing karate, and silently judging you from across the room.

7. What are her eating habits? Does she skip meals, eat out, drink alcohol, avoid certain foods?

Penelope’s system is very straightforward: very filling meals with very little snacking in between.  Obviously, she does cheat now and then.  She’s only human.  Give her a break.  But for the most part she sticks to it.  She’ll allow herself champagne or a nice wine on festive occasions, but no hard liquor of any kind.  She also refuses to eat pork.  Don’t ask her why.  She just won’t do it.

Associations

Which of the following do you associate with the character, or which is his/her favorite:

1. Color?  Lilac 2. Smell?  Floral perfume 3. Time of day?  Late night 4. Season?  Winter 5. Book?  Emma by Jane Austen 6. Music?  Piano jazz 7. Place?  On stage 8. Substance?  Um, love and adoration...? 9. Plant?  Tulip 10. Animal?  Pig, obvs

[killingkueen]

Irish Twins part 8

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Also on AO3

Summary: Aaron Gold always knew, in his own way. Belle Kingston, on the other hand, had no idea. In the end, there really isn’t that much difference between water and wine.

Note: This chapter kicked my ass. I promise things are going to start happening soon.

The diner looked like most diners did on the inside: a large room with cushy booths lining the walls, a smattering of tables in between, and a bar with eight swivel stools. The floor was a shiny, white-tiled linoleum, and the smell of grease from the fryers in the kitchen hung heavy in the air. Belle looked around, checking to see if Gold and Bae were already sitting at a table.

“Fucking genetics, man,” she heard.

Belle looked up at the startlingly striking face of a women by the register. Her white shirt was tight and seemed to be missing the first three buttons, a white name tag, which read Ruby, was pinned to chest. Her red shorts were most definitely a health code violation. The woman, who towered over Belle in bright red heels, had her eyes currently glued to Neal’s face.

“Excuse me?”

At the sound of her voice, her eyes snapped to Belle. “Holy hell,” she muttered, her round eyes going back and forth from Belle to Neal. “I mean, look at your face! Look at his, for fuck’s sake. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you took part in some sort of cloning experiment.”

“What are you prattling on about now?” an old woman asked, emerging from the back. She had sharp eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. A single, pointed eyebrow raised at the sight of Belle.

“Have you ever seen a greater feat of human copy-paste?” Ruby asked, turning towards the woman.

“The rumors are true,” the old woman said, looking from Neal to Belle like the waitress had (she did not have a convenient name tag, but Belle had a feeling she was the one and only Grannie). “Who could have guessed.”

Ruby snorted. “Please, Bae’s been telling anyone who would listen about finding his new mom. Rumor my ass.”

“Watch your language,” Granny snapped with a pointed look towards Neal.

“Mom, she’s scaring me for life,” Neal said tugging on Belle’s hand.

By now they had the attention of most of the diner, the quiet din of conversation coming to a halt as everyone took notice of what was happening at the front. Belle could feel a blush creeping up her neck as she felt herself scrutinized.

“He’s not so young or innocent,” she assured the waitress.

Considering the smirk on her face, Belle need not have bothered. “Probably for the best, that.” Ruby flashed a rather large set of canines.

“Do we seat ourselves, or...?”

Ruby cocked her hip. “A table for four, I take it? Is it okay to assume you’ve come to meet the Beast?”

“The Beast?” Neal said, catching on immediately. “Is that his mob name?”

“Neal, Mr. Gold is not a gangster,” Belle sighed. She just wanted to sit down.

“He never denied it,” Neal muttered.

Ruby gave the boy a sideways look. “Trust your instincts, kid.”

Belle opened her mouth to say something along the lines of “don’t encourage him,” but was interrupted by something colliding into her side and nearly knocking you to the polished floor.

“Hi, Miss Belle!” Bae said, arms tight around her waist in a vice. When she looked down into his bright blue eyes, she felt every trace of annoyance with the waitress vanish.

“Hello, Bae,” she said with a smile that rivaled his. “I was almost afraid you had gotten lost.”

“Nah,” he said, shrugging as best he could with his arms wrapped around her middle, “No one ever gets lost in Storybrooke.”

“No?” Belle asked, making a show of looking around. “You seemed to have lost your father.”

Bae seemed immune to the teasing, such was his delight. “I’m just faster than he is.” He turned his head, spotting Neal on the other side of Belle. “Hey,” he said.

Neal’s lip twitched. “Hello.”

Bae turned to Ruby, who had made no new move to direct them to a table. “This is Miss Belle,” he said, finally lowering his arms. He stayed close to her side, though.

“Belle,” Ruby smiled, flashing her canines again. “How nice to officially meet you. And you must be Neal.” She hummed, looking him up and down. “Yeah, Bae said you were cool.”

Neal shrugged and looked down at his shoes, but Belle smiled fondly when she saw his ears go pink.

A throat clearing pulled all their attention to the door, and there stood Mr. Gold, who looked impeccable in another suit—a dark pin-stripe complete with waistcoat, purple shirt with matching tie. His eyes looked from Belle to Neal, nodding his hello.

“I trust the drive was fine?” he asked.

“The drive was great,” Belle answered with a smile, running her hand through Bae’s hair just because she could.

“There has to be a dozen sociologists with their ears burning right now,” Ruby said, though whether to them or to Granny was unclear.

“Quit gabbing and point them to a table, would you?” Grannie said with a roll of her eyes before turning back into the kitchen.

“We should at least call Archie,” Ruby called after her.

“Are you quite done, Miss Lucas?” Gold asked, his lips flattening into a line.

“I suppose for now,” she sighed dramatically, finally reaching for the menus. “A booth okay?”

“Please,” Gold said, gesturing for the rest of them to follow after the waitress as she flounced to a booth as far away from the other patrons as possible. To be fair, it wasn’t that far at all, but Belle could appreciate the gesture. She was less appreciative of the eyes she felt as they walked to the table

As if reading her mind, Gold said, “You’re the one that suggested we go to lunch first.” He seemed hardly bothered by the attention.

It was true, it had been her idea, but only because they had gotten a later start than she had anticipated. It just made more sense to give him a call on their way out of Boston and ask to meet at the diner, what with lunch being inevitable anyway. Belle should have realized that newcomers tended to attract attention in small towns, even if they weren’t in Belle’s unique position. There was nothing for it now, and as it became clear that neither her nor Neal were about to start dancing on the tables, most everyone turned back to their own meals and conversations.

Neal and Bae slid into opposite sides of the booth, with Belle and Gold following them. Ruby took their drink order quickly, then disappeared back to the kitchen.

“You should try the lasagna,” Bae said before Belle could even reach for a menu. “It’s Grannie’s specialty.”

“Really?” Belle asked. She was leaning towards a hamburger herself, but she could be convinced. Especially when Bae looked at her with his blue eyes, wide and hoping.

“She is known for it,” Gold agreed, but didn’t say anything else, which Belle was tempted to find suspicious.

“I’ll get the lasagna if you do,” Belle said to Bae, who happily agreed.

“Do you know what you would like?” Gold asked Neal, who was currently reading through the list of lunch specials carefully.

“You should get the lasagna, too,” Bae piped up. Neither he nor Gold had bothered opening their own menus.

Neal looked up at him. “Is it good here?” he asked flatly.

“Yeah, it’s the best.”

“So you think that’s what I should get? The lasagna?”

“Yeah, of course,” Bae nodded, his curls bouncing.

“Neal,” Belle started, but was interrupted by Ruby.

“Here we are,” the waitress said brightly, placing the drinks on the table. “You guys all set to order?”

“Me and Miss Belle want the lasagna,” Bae said.

“Miss Belle and I,” Gold corrected as Ruby wrote it down. “Neal are you ready?”

He shrugged. “I’ll get it too, I guess.”

“Right-O,” Ruby said. “And you, Mr. Gold?”

“I think I’ll have a hamb—”

“You don’t want lasagna?” Bae interrupted.

Ruby smirked, her hip cocked. “Yeah, Mr. Gold, you don’t want lasagna?”

Belle was rather glad she wasn’t on the receiving end of Gold’s glare right then, but the waitress didn’t even bat an eye.

“I thought you were going to get it too,” Neal said.

Gold looked between Neal and Bae. He seemed a little lost, and a lot out of his depth.

“Very well,” he sighed, not quite being able to hide his grimace.

Belle smiled into her glass of iced tea. “And licorice ice cream for dessert?” she asked. Honestly she couldn’t blame Gold in the slightest—she had crumbled herself, after all, and she’d only had one pair of puppy-dog eyes to contend with.

Gold gave her a look, but refrained from commenting. Just as well, because Bae was more than happy to do it for him: “Licorice? Yuck.”

“It’s good,” Neal defended.

“Is not. Licorice tastes like dirt and nightmares.”

Neal bristled. “Scooper Hero is just vanilla that’s been dyed a bunch of colors.”

“Oh, right for the jugular,” Ruby said, snapping her order book closed before she took the menus off of the table. “I’m telling you guys, you could get some major press if you share this story. Think of the fighting about Nature versus Nurture! I can’t be the only one to see it.”

Belle watched Bae shoot Neal a confused look. Neal shrugged in response.

“Yes, Miss Lucas, thank you,” Gold said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Ruby!” Grannie called from across the diner, cutting off any response the waitress had. “Order up!”

“Duty calls,” she said walking away. “Your lasagna will be out soon.”

There was a moment of silence at the table. And then: “I guess if you eat licorice it means I don’t have to,” Bae said, calling truce.

“Scooper Hero doesn’t taste like vanilla anyway,” Neal conceded.

Belle was rather proud that the boys were able to come to an understanding so quickly. Not that she expected it to come to blows of course.

“So Neal.” Gold cleared his throat. “How is school going?”

“Fine.”

“Tell him about your field trip Thursday,” Belle prompted.

Gold raised his eyebrows, lips forming an O. “A field trip? Where’d you go?”

She admired the open expression on his face, how he leaned forward in anticipation of Neal’s answer. It was so sweet, how eager Gold looked.

Belle frowned, the warm feeling gone as abruptly as it had come. She shouldn’t be so impressed that Gold’s interest was genuine. It should be standard, the bare minimum, that a father be interested in his son’s life.

“We went to the Science Museum. We saw the whale exhibit.”

“Oh!” Bae said, sitting up in his seat. “We went there, too! They had a life-size whale hanging from the ceiling! It didn’t even look like plastic. Did you see the airplanes?”

“We only saw the whales. We’ve been studying ocean stuff in school, so that’s why we went.” Neal said shrugging.

Bae leaned back. “Oh. I liked the planes.”

“Did you go last weekend?” Belle asked. “When you were visiting us?”

“Uh-huh. I wanted to go to an art museum, but Papa said it’d be boring, so we went there instead.”

“Better choice,” Gold said, one side of his mouth pulled up in a crooked smile. Belle saw a flash of a gold cap on one of his bottom teeth. “What did you learn about whales?”

“They’re big,” Neal said, reaching for his glass of lemonade.

“That’s all?”

Neal took a swallow from his straw. “They sing to each other. It’s pretty. And sad.”

“Their hearts are not as a big as a car,” Bae added. “Which is lame.”

“It would be cooler if they were bigger,” Neal agreed.

Bae started talking about all the different models of old planes he had seen, and it stretched until Ruby came back with their lunch. Gold didn’t try to prompt Neal again, but he seemed to take what he had gotten out of him as a small victory.

Bae was right: the lasagna was good. Belle was worried Gold would go hungry, what with his odd aversion, but he ate his portion without complaint.

Soon enough, she excused herself to the bathroom, sliding out of the booth. She had finished and was washing her hands when the door swung open, revealing Ruby. She slipped in with a smile that looked slightly manic and closed the door behind her. Instead of heading for a stall, she stood still, watching as Belle reached for paper towels.

“Hey, sorry to just ambush you, but this is, uh, important? Maybe? I just need a moment.”

“Should I worry about reporters or, heaven forbid, rabid scientists showing up on my doorstep?” Belle asked, her eyebrow raising.

“Oh god, of course not. That’s all just a joke, honestly. I’ve discovered it’s safer to tease Goldie when Bae’s around—there’s far less chance of retaliation,” She smiled, a little smug. “Besides, Bae thinks it’s hilarious. Either that or he can’t tell I’m doing it.” Her eyebrows drew down, her smile softening. “He is such a bright kid, but sarcasm goes right over his head. It is so goddamn cute.”

“I’ve noticed that, yes.” Belle threw the used towels in the trash. “Alright. Shoot.”

Ruby took a deep breath. “Look, I know nothing of your situation or...arrangement with Mr. Gold, but, uh, so.“ Ruby shifted from foot to foot. He eyes wandered around the bathroom, looking at everything but Belle. “You’re going to hear a lot of things about him if you’re in town long enough. Hell, I can say a lot about Mr. Gold, and god only knows that I do rather cheerfully,” she said with a nervous laugh, “but he’s a good father. And you especially should appreciate that since it’s coming from someone who loathes the very core of him.”

Belle couldn’t help but laugh. Ruby didn’t come off as a woman who would merely tease someone she loathed. Go after them with a crossbow, more like, but not tease.

“I’m telling you, it speaks to my impeccable character,” Ruby insisted.

“These things I’ll hear, they don’t happen to be about how Gold is too clever for his own good, only out for his own self-interests, and is a right bastard?”

“Oh, well, yeah.” She nodded once, then shrugged. “I just want to make it clear that he’s not a danger to your child, I guess? Like, he’s not heartless; there’s just no way Bae could have turned out like he has if Gold were everything the town makes him out to be. Like, I don’t care how much of your personality he might have gotten.”

Belle nodded. “You might be right about that. As much of an ass I find him sometimes, I believe him when he says the boys come first.”

“Well, then, good.” She chewed her lip, weight shifting back and forth on her feet awkwardly, which drew Belle’s eyes to her heels again. They were cute, but she wondered how Ruby was able to waitress in them. “So you guys staying a while?”

“Just for the weekend,” Belle said. “We’re going back to Boston tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh,” Ruby said. She deliberated for a moment. “You should totally hit me up when you’re back in town. You know, if you come back. I could show you the truly stellar night life that Storybrooke has to offer, and I’m totally not above decking it out with your kids for your time.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Belle said, as Ruby finally moved so she could open the door.

Gold watched them approach the table together and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. From the corner of her eye, Belle saw Ruby’s smile grow into a smirk.

“Enjoy your lunch, Mr. Gold?” Ruby asked as Belle slid back into her seat.

“It was adequate.”

“I see you were able to clear your plate,” she said as she picked up all their empty dishes. “I’ll be right back with the check,” she called over her shoulder as she turned towards the kitchen.

“So,” Belle said, “What’s the plan?”

“There is so much to do,” Bae said, leaning forward.

“We had a few ideas,” Gold chuckled before Bae could elaborate. “It mostly depends on you.”

“Like if we don’t want to do something?” Neal asked.

“Of course, but also if you were going to stay with us and what time you were planning on leaving tomorrow.”

“We have your rooms picked out. Yours is right next to mine, Neal, and you have a dresser and a desk and Papa bought—“

Gold coughed. “Or you can stay at the inn. I’m sure Miss Lucas would be more than happy to book a room for you.”

“No,” Bae snapped, “they’re staying with us. We have their rooms,” he repeated.

“Baden,” Gold said.

Bae sighed and slid down in his seat so all Belle could see was his forehead and mop of hair. “Sorry, Papa.”

“You don’t have to decide now, but you have options,” he continued smoothly.

“Papa said he’d make eggs in a basket for breakfast,” Bae said to the floor.

“Eggs in a basket?” Neal said, puzzled, and Belle wondered if he was picturing an Easter basket with colored eggs. Not that she was, or anything.

Bae shot up again, his knee hitting the underside of the table in his hurry, rattling the glasses. “You’ve never had eggs in a basket? You have to stay with us then!”

“What say you, Neal?” Belle laughed, even as Gold’s arm shot out to keep anything from spilling. “Do you want to stay in a room with a dresser and a desk tonight?” Belle asked.

“What’s eggs in a basket?” he asked again, eyes narrowing as he looked across from Gold to Bae.

“Stay and you’ll find out.”

“Bae,” Gold said again, exasperated.

“We don’t make them here,” Ruby said, having returned with the check. “We only serve a breakfast of hard tack and lukewarm coffee,” she said, waggling her eyebrows at him.

Neal frowned at her, unamused. “Fine,” he huffed, but the corner of his mouth lifted a little in answer to Bae’s wide excited smile.

“I would have thought you’d mourn the business,” Gold said, waving away Belle’s protests of paying for her and Neal as he pulled out his wallet.

“On the contrary. I’m starting a betting pool on how long it’ll take these boys to tear your house down about your ears. Then you’ll all be stuck at the inn.”

“Don’t you have other customers?” Gold asked, but he looked so pleased it was hard to take the bite of his words seriously.

“Excuse you, Ruby. We are perfect gentlemen.” Squaring his shoulders, Bae once more straightened up in his seat.

“I don’t know,” Ruby said, shoving the cash Gold handed her in her apron without even glancing at it. “Something tells me you two shouldn’t be left alone together.”

“Trust your instincts,” Neal said.

Ruby gave a surprised bark of laughter. “Well said. Christ, it’ll be something having you here.” Grannie called her from the kitchen, another order ready in the window, but she hesitated at their table. “It was good to meet you two,” Ruby said, with one last parting smile. “Don’t be strangers, all right?” She turned, heels clicking as she walked away.

“Can we go to the park first?” Bae asked.

The park was modern and of a modest size, an almost oasis of plastic and metal built atop soft wood chips and erected on the outskirts of a forest. Despite the open space and the parking lot, the surrounding trees gave the illusion of privacy and safety. Maybe that’s why it was comfortable to sit on one of the benches with Gold and watch as Neal and Bae ran around. Despite it being a Saturday, there was no one else around so it was easy to think they were alone in the world for just a little while.

It was a cold, breezy day and the sun was hiding behind the clouds, but Belle felt nothing but warmth swirling in her chest as she watched the boys chase each other up the equipment and down the slide.

Belle took a sideways glance at Gold, unsurprised to see his eyes also trained on the boys, drinking in their every movement. A part of her wondered if he could somehow hear what they were saying as well, despite the bench they were seated at being too far away to possibly catch anything.

She nudged him with her shoulder. “Penny for your thoughts?”

He startled, his his head swiveling to her. “Sorry?”

“You were looking kind of intense there.”

The corner of his mouth drew up, even as he averted his eyes. “I was just, hm. Thinking.”

“Clearly. About what?”

Gold shrugged, turning back to where Bae was now pointing at something in the woods, Neal an avid listener beside him.

“How is your husband doing?” Gold asked.

Belle would bet all the money in her bank account that had been the last thing on his mind. She leaned back on the bench, turning so she faced him.“You care about Gaston,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

“Not in the slightest.”

“Why don’t you ask me what you really want to ask me.”

He tapped the handle of his cane, held securely between his legs. “Why didn’t he come with you?”

Belle paused. That still wasn’t what he wanted to ask. She wondered what he was avoiding.

“He opted to make this a bachelor’s weekend,” Belle finally said, which was the truth. “Catch up with friends and maybe some work. Things like that.”

Turning slightly towards her, he frowned. “I admit my relief at only hosting you and Neal, but surely he has some interest in his children?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say only the child he shares biology with, but it would no doubt only make Gold angry and she certainly didn’t need to fuel that fire.

“I didn’t really invite him,” she said instead. “I got the impression that he wouldn’t be welcomed.” She had felt a little bad about that, but Gaston hadn’t pushed to be included, which spoke volumes about his real interest. “On some level, we both knew that him coming with us would ruin the trip for everyone involved.”

“Indeed it would have,” Gold murmured. His eyes were drawn back to the playground. “Have you thought about my offer?” he asked in the same quiet voice.

Belle swallowed. “Some,” she admitted.

For the past week, Belle had been avoiding Gaston when she could. It was depressingly easy, since he hadn’t come home for after work, which most nights extended to not making it to dinner. Belle would go to bed alone, then find he’d have already left by the time she got up to make Neal breakfast. The only way she’d known he’d been home at all was a pile of his dirty clothes in the hamper.

She just wasn’t ready to have such a heavy conversation with him yet—Belle knew that Gaston just needed time to think about their future. He’d accept that Neal fit into it.

“I still need to talk with my husband,” she said, looking down into her lap.

“Avoiding you, is he? Maybe he’s having an affair.”

“You don’t have to sound so optimistic.”

“Forgive me. It’s just I know a truly exceptional divorce lawyer. I’ve heard he works locally.”

Belle gave him a thoroughly unamused look. “I’m pretty sure there’d be a conflict of interest.”

“Who said I was talk about myself? I did tell you there were two of us in town.”

“Alright, what about this other lawyer then?”

“George is a prick and I wouldn’t trust him as far as my car could drag him,” Gold said cheerfully.

“What a ringing endorsement.”

“Maybe you should go with the other guy, after all. I could get you a great rate.”

Belle rolled her eyes, more amused then she was willing to admit. “Right, and what would that be? Signing away my literal first born? What a bargain.”

He smiled at her, lips turning upward in a crooked smile. “If I have my way, there won’t be a need for lawyers. All he’ll have to do is sign the paperwork.”

“You seem pretty sure it’s going to happen, considering I haven’t decided if I want to get divorced in the first place. I’ll remind you he’s my husband”

That wiped the smile from his face. Belle would have felt almost smug, except for what he said next.

“He said your son is useless, Belle. A man who’d say such a cruel thing to a child has no business being a father.”

Belle looked away, finding Neal on the playground. She watched as he slid down the highest slide, then turned to shout back at Bae, still high off the ground.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice sounding hollow even to her own ears.

“If money is the issue, I would be more than happy to support you financially—”

Belle cleared her throat. “I’m feeling a little cold. Are you cold?” Belle stood up, stretching her arms. “Odd, how hard it is to stay warm just sitting on a park bench.”

When Belle turned back, Gold was staring down at his cane, a small frown on his face. “Yes, quite the phenomenon,” he said.

“Mama!”

Belle’s head whipped around to the shout, not knowing whose voice it was. When she saw Bae running towards her she spread her arms wide, ready for him as he barreled into her. Behind him was Neal, further back and trotting at a more sedate pace.

“Can we go to the old well?” Bae asked, panting, his cheeks and nose flushed a healthy red. “The trail is really close and the path shouldn’t be soggy anymore.”

“Soggy?”

“It rained most of last week, which tends to lead to mud,” Gold said helpfully. “As dry as I’m sure it’ll be, Bae, Belle mentioned she was feeling a little chilly,” Gold said, using his cane to stand.

“And the sun will have set by the time we make it back I bet,” Belle said, brushing Bae’s hair back from his forehead. “We can see it some other time.”

“Oh. Like tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” Belle allowed, smiling as Neal reached them, face also red from the cold. “I would think you two would be popsicles by now.”

“Popsicles?” Neal said, eyebrows raising in interest.

“Oh, are we going to Any Given Sundae?”

“You cannot possibly want ice cream now,” Gold said.

“Why not?” Bae looked over to Neal. “We have a good ice cream place. Excellent flavors.”

“No more ice cream,” Gold said firmly, but Belle could hear the laugh he was fighting back. “How about we go home and I’ll make some hot chocolate instead?” Both boys agreed readily, to Belle’s relief.

She sighed as she entered her car, waiting to turn the ignition until she heard the click of Neal’s seatbelt. As she watched for Gold to pull his cadillac out in front of her, she thought back to that conversation on the bench.

The future was coming up quickly, and Belle wondered how ready she was to face it.

[susan-gampre]

Meeting a Lady Ashmore; 2

“You and I think a lot alike in that regard. My trade works strictly on the same principle of scared men and women with blank checks to write. One whisper misplaced can bring a whole kingdom to it’s knee’s, after all...”

The silence to follow this remark would be drawn so thin it may as well have suffocated both women-- Alteast that was how it felt for Susan, as though her oxygen was lacking. To be fair she was holding her breath, anticipating further light, witty banter of their personal, inner thoughts.

Alas, rather than further deprive her failing lungs, Susan would suckle in a much needed breath whilst taking but a moment to draw the rim of the cup close to her lips, hesitating a moment in what she would pass off to be an acknowledging glance to the pretty little woman opposing her, as though she were absorbed and willing to listen to all Quillys had to say.

In reality she was sniffing the tea for any odd smells or glance for any lingering suds or possible evidence of tampering.

“Well,” the whore had begun, “You have the advantage of carrying all that juicy information, while your own remains concealed - your cards played close to your chest. Women of my profession are none too lucky, our dirty deeds are out in the open-- but in that same instance... We have nothing to hide? Perhaps we are equally, if not more deadly, than women such as you-- Modest, reserved.”

This is the final part to the long, utterly amazing collaboration between @quellys​ and myself.

I look forward to what is in store for us, truly. You are an utter delight to know!

A sly, coy grin would curl around Quilly’s lips in what Susan found to be mocking, her tone none too insulting, but the way she regards the Madam has left the said woman considering new, extraordinary ways to slaughter her and make it look like an accident.

“ My dear lady...”

Susan sneers against the rim of her cup, the varying, colorful obscenities rolling around in her head capable to make the dead blush.

Condescending, Quillys leers on with what is thought to be, through Susan’s eyes, a belittling manner, as if she were a mother talking down to her pouting babe, scolding her. “I may dabble in the darker side of things but I would never ever waste poison on someone, let alone by ruining a cup of perfectly good tea."

Further, as if to make her point, the opposing woman tips her head backward thus to sip at her own tea cup. Susan’s eyes were narrowed, glaring almost, all the while.

Fuck. You.

Save face. Polite is key...

Doing her damnedest to prevent from rolling her eyes, Susan offers the faintest of grins, silencing herself long enough to press her lips to the rim of her cup and sip at the warming liquids. Her eyes would fall to the ground, a hum on her tone. "It is quite delicious," she acknowledges-- while meanwhile her soul seems to light aflame with life, the tea stirring her tired, aching bones with rejuvenation.

Quillys, in return, would wear a knowing smile and continued to take another sip, acknowledging then after with a sure tone, "I will have to introduce you to Lady Sparrow at some point...she is a delight to work with and sells the very best of teas."

Flickering her gaze to rest over the tea cup and back unto the little woman, Susan acknowledges her with a curt, “Is that so?”

Further, to try and press that veil of calmness that was Quill’s visage, Susan regards in a none too subtle haughty tone, a wry smile to adorn her lips, “Well, I certainly would hate to pass up the opportunity of tasitng -the very best- of teas.”

Once finished with her cup, Susan hums against the rim of the quaint tea cup, her free hand's palm used as a plate to rest her cup atop of, smiling still as the warmth of the liquids causes her skin beneath the cloths to tingle with life.

Clearly undettered by the Madam’s harshness, Quillys would... Literally beam with happiness, her tone excitable, “"I'll be sure to get you a few samples. She makes a white chocolate and rose tea that will put a blush on anyone's cheeks.”

Visibly... Susan was just uncomfortable now, her inflated pride prestablished before she so blatantly aimed to rile the woman nullified and... well, her balloon was fucking popped. There went all the fun!

“Well,” the whore huffs, lips puckering, “"It is only appropriate to pair with a brothel, in which-a case. Two things in the world which could easily bring any to blush and grin with relief or exhilaration?"

It was an awful joke, but surely something.

Quillys seemed to like it, given she would giggle slightly into her tea. "Very well said my dear Madam Susan."

Soon the whore was to lift and wave a hand about in some gesture of dismissal, a grimace twisting and contorting her features whilst grumbling out, “Is that what you wished to speak of? A possible business venture in tea? I could assuredly find plenty use beyond just beverage, out of you, miss Quillys. If I am not so bold.“

Susan was so bold, she didn’t give any fucks.

“Forgive me, tea is a good way to test the waters of a person, Mr. Lancaster was bold enough--”

That’s what you call testing the fucking waters?

“--to offer me a job on the spot after meeting me once...though the way I behaved with him is hardly appropriate for such an open aired venue." She would finish off her tea. "I honestly just wanted to meet you, to learn about someone that a man holds in such high regard and to satisfy my own curiosity."

Learn about me?

Susan scoffs.

What was there to know that so many were so suddenly fucking interested in?

“.. You flatter me darling, and I am sore to admit that flattery assuredly gets you everywhere. And while this has been a waste of opportunity, I imagine it to not be the last time we shall cross paths. I certainly hope not, atleast. I do wish to one day speak of business, or make use of your... Talents, should I ever have need of juicy tidbits surrounding competitors-... Now in regards to Dantalian--...”

The whore would heave a sigh, fighting back the impending smile at the very thought of the man. That... Careless man.

“I must apologize in advance for him. Sweet fellow, but easily made to succumb to most pretty faces. ... But damned if the man can't make business look easy...”

Quick was the woman to wave a hand, reassuring the Madam, "He is charming and wears a suit like a man wears a glove...but...I fear he is not as charming as he tries to be...but that is another problem with working as an information broker, you learn to see past peoples flattery for what they want...as for what you could ask of me? I am at your mercy my dear lady, boredom is something that plagues me and I'm eager to be put to use."

Hesitation is visible in Susan’s eyes, her brow knitting, her lips puckering...

Is she serious?

“Huh-,” the whore grunts, caring to test the woman, indulging her with a task dubbed easy... Something to give Quillys credibility in Susan’s eyes:   “If you have any information surrounding the possiblity of men or women seeking jobs as a guardian or.. A more docile, domestic career... Sisters in Sin is always hunting. I have no one specific target in mind, competitors are hardly that, as most are all looking to cater to the elite of the social class, whereas I have all of the lower and middle class at my advantage.”

Quillys would nod and look about for a moment. She’d suddenly smile, musing, "I happened to visit the brothel a couple night ago, it was a lovely place and have no worries, I've already sworn to Mr. Lancaster that I leave my ears at the door as it were."

You fucking liar. Do not insult me--.

Suckling in a steadying breath thus to keep composure, Susan would smirk, an impish little display, “Which, even still, I shall watch you closely should you ever enter my establishment again, dear Quillys. It was just you whom spoke that honesty is something rarely offered to those you first meet?”

Quill soon gathered a rather playful expression upon her face, noted by Susan how quick she was to change the topic, "I dare say, that's an honor, to have such a lovely set of eyes staring at me." She grinned and spinned the cup in her hand a few times, never dropping it once. "Mr. Lancaster mentioned something about finances, simply from the business perspective, I can help with that."

Damn you Dantalian...

Gnawing the inside of her cheek, the whore would do her very best to maintain a outwardly stoic appearance. “ And just how might you be able to, miss Quillys?”

The opposing woman would move and finally took a seat beside Susan, minding her Tigress who, as faithful as ever, remained lazily splayed out across the top of the planter wall, just hovering above Susan like a looming guardian. "I know my way around the game of coins my dear, though I have no need to showcase that talent within the city, I understand how to balance book and business."

“And thus... you'd desire unlimited access to such precious information? Or shall you simply offer a hand in teaching my whores the delicate process?” Susan sounded reasonably doubtful, an unknown woman desiring to take up such a position that would put her, almost, directly is Susan’s ear. It did not bode well with the whore, such talk.

“Believe it or not my dear lady, I would ask for nothing in return...I like having something to keep me busy and the most admirable thing I've heard about you is your passion to keep those who work for you safe and well looked after, I would be happy to aid in anyway I can. I unfortunately find myself working already within a house that needs me dearly, but even with their contracts I find myself incredibly free to explore other avenues of business."

Genuine? Or just a good liar...

There was this inner battle raging within Susan’s thin bode, her heart leaping for the woman while her brain attempted to tie that pounding, annoying organ down with logic and reasonable doubt. It was a lot to consider, a supposed information broker just casually willing to get into bed with a brothel-- Out of the goodness of her heart? Out of boredom?

How long until she got bored with the Sisters, and decided to stir shit up by leaking information to competitors?

With a softer, more professional tone, Susan indulges the opposing female: “I assure you, while I have a part of me that believes you mean no harm, and are genuine... I will await to see how honest you hold true, trials and tribulations into ensure you to be no danger to the business I've created - As there are unsavory attributes that far exceeds it being -simply- just a little tiny brothel.”

Quillys would bow her head. "I wouldn't ask you to trust me right off the bat, if you did than I would have known that this was a bad pairing. I would much rather earn your trust than have it simply handed over."

A far more comfortable silence would ensue between the two women, a mutual understanding..

Broken by a playful quip from a grinning Quill, "And I do so enjoy a good challenge."

A deceitful grin claims Susan’s painted lips, her brows arched, her tone equal in jest, “Well, dear...”

She pauses, soon to regard in a taunting, daring voice:

“Game on.”

[saranel]

Do you think UraYoru has lil parallelism with IchiRuki bond and chemistry ???? 😊😆🐕🎩 🐇🍓✨

Tagging @cocosy who asked the same question

I think they have some big differences in terms of dynamic, seeing as how the personalities and combinations involved are quite dissimilar, but I can definitely see ways in which they are alike.

Fights against Yammy are pretty romantic, I guess?

(more under the cut)

1. Chemistry

Okay, let’s start with the obvious one! There’s a reason both are such popular pairings (the most popular for each character by far), and chemistry has a lot to do with it.

Anyone who’s ever done any creative writing can attest to this, but certain characters simply take over and do the work for you, so to speak, once you become familiar enough with them.  I’ve only ever written the one IchiRuki fic, but when I tried to write dialogue for them, it just… flowed.  Same with Kisuke and Yoruichi.  I may have to tweak and polish to get the final result feeling as IC as I can make it, but the way they interact with each other feels natural and easy to replicate on paper.

And it’s all due to the fact that these two pairs have been set up in canon to work so well together.  Both Ichigo and Kisuke interact with plenty of other characters in the story with fun results, but when they interact with Rukia and Yoruichi respectively?  That’s when we get sparks. 

2. Bond

As a pair with such a long history, Kisuke and Yoruichi have an understandably deep connection.  There’s little doubt in my mind that they ‘clicked’ from the start, whenever that may have been, but there’s no denying that their centuries-spanning relationship contributes to their intimacy (both platonic and romantic).

For earlier adopters of the manga, I imagine the wait from the moment Yoruichi first gave the audience a glimpse of her shared past with Kisuke, to seeing them share panel time again must’ve built a lot of hype.  Kubo went on to be a tease for years concerning those two.  The nature of their relationship was even brought up in Kisuke’s Radio Kon interview, so this was obviously something the readers were wondering about from early on.  

And I think that one of the earliest events of the Arrancar arc was basically Kubo’s response to the audience’s rising curiosity:

Kisuke and Yoruichi were a big mystery to us at that point (NOT TO MENTION ELEVEN YEARS LATER), and Kubo displays some tremendous, economical storytelling here by giving us a succinct, yet rich answer as to what exactly Kisuke and Yoruichi are to each other:

Partners.

In every sense of the word.

I’ve often seen fans talk about the shadier aspects of Kisuke’s character and exclaim, aghast, “Does Yoruichi even know about this?!!!” and it always makes me laugh.  Because honestly, does anyone truly believe there is a single thing Yoruichi doesn’t know about him by this point?

Yoruichi knows exactly who this man is and she accepts him, warts and all. And vice versa. 

They know each other well enough that words are hardly ever needed:

And this is why it astounds me that Ichigo and Rukia reach such a level of understanding in only a few short months.  

Like I said, I firmly believe that Kisuke and Yoruichi were also a pair that developed a deep bond very fast, but given their long-standing relationship, they serve as an example of an unbreakable bond in the manga.  No one in their right mind is going to dispute those two are close, so when it becomes easy to draw a comparison between them and other pairs in the manga, that’s when you know it’s real:

^^^ What she actually says is more along the lines of: “Well I thought I might as well use this piece of crap you made so you wouldn’t whine, but without it, I would’ve dodged just fine!”  which is a tsundere’s way of saying ‘I love you’

And now you know why Kisuke wears that little half-smile in that panel ;)

3. Personalities

A few months ago, I made this super long post about the bond between mentor and student, and in writing it, I was surprised to discover ways in which Kisuke and Ichigo are alike that I hadn’t considered before. 

I like to think that this is one of the reasons Kisuke chose to mentor Ichigo: because he sees everything good about himself in his student, but none of his worse qualities. He sees a version of himself that was once more optimistic and a little less pragmatic, fiercely protective in a way that bordered on carelessness. 

Kisuke was a lot like Ichigo before the events of TBTP and his exile, and though he learned to trust in his subordinates and colleagues, his more sentimental side always shines through when someone he loves is in danger, façade and common sense be damned.  He couldn’t stop himself from following Hiyori, and he couldn’t stop himself from rushing to Yoruichi’s aid, either, instead of joining Ichigo against Yhwach.  

Similarly, Ichigo is the ‘softie’ of the pair to contrast Rukia’s stricter, more militaristic personality.  It’s Ichigo who found a little ‘sister’ to protect in the middle of the damn Hueco Mundo desert, Ichigo who will fiercely defend and show concern for people who were once his enemies:

It’s Kisuke and Ichigo who will drive away even the people they love in order to protect them (it’s worth noting that Rukia also does this at a certain point, but the circumstances are different and I’ll get to why shortly):

And it’s a similarity Kisuke himself remarks upon:

That’s not to say that Rukia and Yoruichi are cold in comparison, or not just as protective; not by a long shot.  But perhaps because they were both raised as nobility, they often fight a visible war with their own feelings:

In Yoruichi’s case, this is far more pronounced, to the point that she appears borderline emotionally stunted at times (see: tsundere).  Yoruichi was most likely taught that emotions are a weakness since she was a child (see: Byakuya, too).  I have this headcanon (last section) that Yoruichi must’ve been a very lonely child before she met Kisuke, carrying the immense weight of a legacy on her shoulders from a very young age.  And if, as I suspect, she had to compete with other candidates to earn the title of Clan Head, she was forced to sacrifice many things about herself in the altar of duty.    

Rukia’s upbringing for the first few years of her life was radically different, but we know for a fact that she was forced to grow up fast, in order to survive on her own in the Rukongai.  When she lost every single friend but Renji, she was the one who kept on pressing forward, the one who suggested entering the Academy.  And in a perfect storm of terrible events, her own feelings of inadequacy were only exacerbated when she was adopted by the Kuchiki Clan and treated so abysmally by Byakuya.  Rukia has been swallowing her own feelings since she could crawl: she swallowed the pain of being alone for a big part of her childhood so she could toughen up and survive, she swallowed the pain of losing her friends, the pain of under-performing in the academy, of being so blatantly ignored by Byakuya, the tremendous guilt over what happened with Kaien. 

What’s fascinating to me is that despite all this pressure, despite their loyalty and recorded sense of duty to the Gotei, both these women are in possession of a heart that always steers them in the right direction when it matters:

At this point, even Rukia has resigned herself to the fact that Ichigo is going to die.  She doesn’t think there’s any chance of survival, and yet instead of begging and pleading for forgiveness, for mercy, she doesn’t hesitate to make matters even worse for herself. She is literally throwing her life away just so she can be there for him in his final moments.

And then, of course, there’s this:

Do I even need to say anything here?

Yoruichi was a woman who had everything: beauty, wealth, status, respect, power, a family, friends, apprentices, and she left it all behind without a moment’s hesitation, when she didn’t even have to.

Both these women seem to struggle with expressing affection at times, but their actions always speak louder than words.  And when it comes to giving their men a swift kick up the ass when they desperately need it, they don’t hesitate even for a second:

4. Bonus: Design

It’s a well-known fact that Kubo’s original concept art for Bleach (then ‘Snipe’) had Ichigo in glasses, with black hair, but he famously changed the design specifically so it would match Rukia’s:

“Before the story was decided a Shingami uniform popped up into my mind. Unlike the design we have now it was like a uniform from Catholic school where they wore a black jacket over a white blouse with a black bowtie… and they carried a huge scissors. I thought that was what Shinigami was like. After that, to match Rukia’s design I changed Ichigo’s character design. Like Rukia had black hair so it’s best if Ichigo didn’t have black hair.”  

– Tite Kubo

And I just… I live for this kind of crap in fiction, because when it’s applied to a pair that already works well on so many different levels, it becomes the icing on the cake:

THEY LOOK SO DAMN GOOD TOGETHER.  

I love that they’re opposites in many ways, but still similar in plenty of others.  There’s always a great deal of love for pairs that are completely opposite, but from personal experience, these kinds of relationships aren’t built to last.  Give me pairs that complement each other, not pairs that are always in disagreement.  Pairs that challenge each other, but can still coexist harmoniously.  Ichigo and Rukia have their moments of tension, there’s spark, there’s passion, but they’re on the same wavelength where it counts.

And I can’t help but feel this also applies to Kisuke and Yoruichi to a T.

Kubo never made a similar declaration about Kisuke and Yoruichi’s design, but looking at this panel*** makes me think that he applied the same design philosophy here as well.

Black hair, fair hair; dark skin, pale skin; black uniform with white obi, white uniform with black obi; black turtleneck, white undershirt.

Even in their color versions, they are created to look harmonious: the pale yellow of Kisuke’s hair is complementary (i.e. opposite on the color wheel) to the purple undertones in Yoruichi’s; her golden eyes are similarly complementary to his bluish grey eyes; green, purple and orange form a color triad:

Yoruichi shows up early enough in the manga (albeit in her cat form) to make me think that Kubo conceived of Kisuke and Yoruichi as a pair from the beginning.  They were designed to look good together, and they do.  

*** Not to mention that in the manga, this panel is framed in black, making it a memory.  And since it’s Yoruichi speaking, this is her memory.  Notice how Kisuke looks on ahead, looking happy and lively, while Yoruichi is the one who’s looking at him, showcasing a gentle, affectionate smile we’ve never seen before or since in the manga.  

She’s always been a happy, laid-back person, but expressions of open, genuine affection are extremely rare from her, and the fact that she looks at him with such pride, smiles at him so softly, is really all the proof I need, tbh.