#so here he is in all his flat color glory

[bizawa-art]

not pictured: sakura absolutely showing naruto and sasuke up post chunin exams with her new big sword skills she learned from the big sword master himself

[minihotdog]

Locked Out On Valentine's (Choose Your Ending)

(Photo Cred: @chatskaja on twitter) <3

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: You get locked out on Valentine's Day and have to sleep over at a certain Lt.'s flat.

C/W: Reader is dressed a little inappropriately

A/N: Never tried something like this before so I hope it buffs out. Also, super late Valentine's fic whoops

Word Count: 1k

“What do you mean he’s not available?!” You stand with your forehead against your door.

“Barrack’s manager is out on leave, he’ll be back tomorrow. Recommend you stay with a friend for now.”

“Wait! Where’s the emergency ma-” *click*

What the fuck!

You huff, banging your head against the outside of your door. Today was one of the worst days of your life. You planned a date with your boyfriend of one year only to be dumped right before you were supposed to meet up. And after bawling your eyes out decide to run out to the fountain to get back the hydration you lost.

The redness around your eyes finally went away but they were so puffy you couldn’t even see your keychain still hanging on the wall.

You’re now stuck in the middle of the hall on Valentine’s Day in a short tank top and your bedtime booty shorts hoping a soul doesn’t appear and see you with all your goods hanging out.

The barracks manager - or whoever that was - told you to find a friend. You didn’t have any here. You’d been in the unit for all of five months and they weren’t all that accepting of new people. They oozed the “prove yourself worthy of our clan” mentality. You roll your eyes just at the thought.

Ughhh. I really don’t want to.

You whine internally as you pull up Cpt. Price’s contact on your phone hoping you’re not interrupting anything.

“Sergeant y/n, what’s the purpose of your call?” He sounds annoyed. You hear a feminine voice in the background and him softly shooshing it.

“Sir! I’ve been locked out of my room and the primary barracks manager won’t be in till tomorrow. I don’t have anywhere to stay.”

“That’s unfortunate, isn’t it?” His voice strains lightly. He’s quiet for a moment and you’re unsure if you’re supposed to say something or…

“I’ll see what I can do. I’ll message you soon.”

You sigh in relief. Maybe he’d contact the emergency manager and they’ll come unlock your door.

You stand with your arms crossed, back against the cold wall for what feels like forever until your phone finally buzzes.

Cpt. Price: Bld 920 Room 1208. Stay there tonight.

You’re about to flood him with questions, like: Where’s the key? Is there someone already there? Who’s room is this? But before you’re done typing he sends one last message.

Cpt. Price: I’m busy tonight with work so no need to thank me. Or call me again.

Work…? Yeah right!

The room was at least in the same building as you. Beats trekking in the snow in slippers and the ungodly attire you have on at the moment.

You make your way up the stairs cursing the base for not putting an elevator in your building. You peer at each door while wandering further down the hall.

1206… 1207… 1208!

You take a deep breath before knocking quietly.

God, I hope it’s at least a woman.

A few seconds go by before the door swings open. You stand wide-eyed. If you had less control your jaw would be on the floor too.

You stare back at your Lt. in all his glory. He stares back at you in nothing but low-hanging sweatpants. His blond hair is disheveled, the color matching the patch of hair on his bare sculpted chest. You’d seen him maskless before but from afar. He’s someone many avoided, his demeanor wasn’t exactly inviting and his wrath, from the rumors, was even worse.

The light flooding through the door frame illuminates his face enough to show the fine features up close. The scars running through his lips and cheeks only add to the stirring inside you that’s leaving you speechless. 

As you try to stop yourself from ogling him right here and now he notices your eyes popping out of your skull and softly blows air out of his nose.

Is he laughing at me?

He decides to finally break the staring contest.

“What d’you want, pet?”

You stutter a bit before getting the words out,

“I got locked out, the captain told me to come here. He didn’t tell me it was your place.”

It was his turn to let his eyes wander. His eyes rake over your tank top, your arm over your chest to conceal the fact you’re braless, your exposed stomach and shorts that barely did their job as clothes. You stand there waving your water bottle around as you speak, completely unaware of the look on his face.

A smirk pulls at one of his lips as he listens to you ramble about the barracks managers not doing their jobs. Your voice gradually gets higher the angrier you get.

“What the hell are you wearin’?” He interrupts.

“Why are you answering the door half-naked?” You shoot back.

He sneers, “You show up at my door wantin’ a place to stay and you have an attitude?” He pulls his phone from his pocket seeing a barely coherent message from Price.

“Fine. No point in arguin’, Price is probably with the missus, doesn’t want to be bothered.” He steps to the side allowing you to come in. You cautiously accept and step into the space.

His place was neat, and well-kept, more like an apartment rather than the prison they kept you in. You turn back to look at him and notice the tattoos covering the skin of his arm. He pretends not to notice you checking him out as he walks to the hallway closet and pulls out a pillow and blanket.

He hands them to you, “Is that enough or d’you need a bedtime story too?”

“Little Red Riding Hood’s my favorite, please.” You snark, as you drop the pillow and lean over to throw the blanket over the cushions. You swear you hear his breath catch in his throat but get quickly covered up by him clearing his throat.

“So… What are you up to on Valentine’s Day?” You prod hoping to learn something about the most feared individual of the unit.

“Just another day, means nothin’.” He leans against the wall behind him. You sit with your legs crossed on the almost comically large couch, probably custom-made for his giant ass. You lean on your hand and look up at him.

“Is that so?”

“What happened to that muppet you’re always moanin’ bout? Should be with him.” He tilts his head to the side.

“Nah, he’s no good. Decided he liked by friend better.” You laugh sadly. “Can’t seem to keep them this time of year. I’m too cool for it.” You try to joke but end up cringing on the inside. His chest rises with a soft chuckle.

“That right?”

“You know it.” You wink at him.

The two of you go quiet for a moment. 

He decides to break the silence.

”You want some tea, love?

*** Decision Time ***

Why not? I'm already here and he's being nice. Sure, I'll have some tea.

Or...

I don't wanna be a bother. He's already having to let me stay over. I'm gonna pass on tea.

[marlynnofmany]

The Good Perch

“You would think,” Captain Sunlight said drily, “That a spaceport organized enough to have a whole section for courier ships would have a more visible labeling system.”

“Yeah, really,” I agreed with a frown at the small sign marking our ship’s berth. The thing was barely ankle-height and a thin font. Not even a bright color; it hardly stood out from the pavement in its gray-and-black subtlety. With all the spacefarers parading past in a rainbow of body types and clothing styles, not to mention the equally wild spaceships everywhere, those signs were easy to miss. I asked the captain, “Have you been here before? Is this normal, or did the wrong person take charge of designing things?”

“It’s been a while,” said Captain Sunlight, crossing her scaly arms. “I don’t recall this being a problem before. But I suspect our wayward client is still wandering the walkways looking for us.”

“Normally I’d say our ship would stand out, but the visibility’s not great for that either.” Lemon-shaped spaceships with foldable solar sails were pretty uncommon. The one parked behind us would have been easy to spot from a distance if not for the larger ships looming close on either side. These berths were too close together.

Captain Sunlight pulled her phone out of a belt pouch. “Still says they’re on the way.”

“Maybe we need to scoot forward a bit?” I suggested. “Make the ship easier to see?” I stepped up to the walkway for a better look at the view from there.

This turned out to give someone else a better view of me.

“Hey, person who climbs things!” called a cheerful voice. “Come help me brace this.”

After a confused half-second, I located the speaker on top of the gray-brown ship next to ours. I realized with a start that this wasn’t the first time our ships had been parked side-by-side. “Hey, Acorn!” I called back. “Are you waiting for clients too?”

“We were,” the fellow courier called back, waving something that looked like a wrench. She herself still looked like a baboon crossed with a crocodile. “Now it’s time for errands and maintenance, and this needs fixing before we get back into space. Care to give me a hand? Everybody else is either busy or too much of a coward to get up this high.”

“Sure thing!” I said with a glance at Captain Sunlight, who was waving me on. “What’s the best way up?”

Acorn directed me to a row of handholds on the other side of the ship, which made for a nice easy climb. A pity her crewmates didn’t appreciate heights; the spaceport was a beautiful, chaotic sprawl of color from here. And the top of the ship was flat enough to feel plenty safe.

“Welcome to the good perch,” Acorn said, offering me a wrench. “It’s a very exclusive club. Can you hold this part in place so I can adjust that?”

“Absolutely,” I told her. “This end, right? Wait, got it.” I actually had no idea what this open panel was for, but I like to think I hid it well. The job was a simple one with two of us. I could see how it would have been awkward with just one, though. I wondered if she’d resorted to using her feet to hold things in place. I sure would have.

“Got it!” she said. “Now to close it all up. I knew that would be quick.”

I removed the wrench. “What’s the saying? More hands means less work?”

“Makes sense to me. Though by that logic, your friend there could get everything done by himself.”

I looked down to see that Mur had joined Captain Sunlight, in all his many-tentacled squidlike glory. “He probably could, actually. Though I don’t know how he is with heights.”

“Well, no need to share the good perch,” Acorn announced, snapping the panel shut. She spread her arms. “Look at this panorama!”

“It is a nice one! I was just thinking that. What kind of ship is that blobby green one over there? I haven’t seen it before.”

Acorn stood up for a better look. “I think it’s a Waterwill design?”

“That makes sense.” I got to my feet too, glad the ship we stood on wasn’t one of the shiny racer models. Those were much too slippery to make good sightseeing towers.

Not that Acorn seemed bothered either way. She probably would have found grippy shoes somewhere and run up the side just to prove she could. Her appreciation for climbing had been a nice change the first time I ran into her, and was no different now, given how much time I spent among alien crewmates who didn’t have tree-swinging monkeys in their family trees.

“That ship looks like it would make an excellent climbing structure,” she said, pointing at a pink model with grooves along the sides. “Pity it belongs to a security force who are likely to be uptight about such things.”

I laughed. “Isn’t that always the way of it? There’s a police station in my hometown with a roof that slopes down to meet a very climbable wall, and you have no idea how tempting it looked. Well. Maybe you know.”

She definitely understood, and we spent an enjoyable few minutes talking about which buildings and spaceships looked like the most fun to climb.

Then I spotted someone wandering from one berth marker to the next, looking both lost and a little nearsighted, and I had a suspicion that I’d found our missing client. This was a fellow human wearing the kind of drapey clothes that spoke of dignity and no little wealth. Her expression was exactly the kind I’d wear if I had to deal with those hard-to-read signs long enough to be late.

“Hey Captain!” I called down to Sunlight. “Is that her?” I pointed.

Captain Sunlight hurried forward with her phone out, matching the look of the person with an image there.

Yup. Called it.

Acorn chuckled while the pair of them exchanged greetings and complaints about the station layout. “Nice one. The wisdom of the heights strikes again. Do they need you down there now?”

“Probably,” I said. “Actually not yet, this package is a small one. Mur’s got it.” As I spoke, Mur pushed a hovercart forward with a box on it liberally covered in “fragile” stickers. It had a carrying handle on the top, which it had come with, and rubber bumpers on every corner, which Paint had added just to be safe. All precautions had been taken.

“Oh good,” Acorn said. “Then enjoy the view with me a little longer.” She bent to pull something from the toolbag’s side pocket. “Top-of-the-tree snack?”

“Are those the ones you’re named for?” I asked, remembering a conversation the last time I’d seen her. Translations being what they were, her name meant a similar nut from her homeworld. It had been an amusing conversation, since we were both named after things found in trees. She didn’t know what a robin was, but once I explained it, she claimed to have met a number of people back home with similar names.

“Yes, the salted version,” Acorn said, opening the bag. “I recall these were on the safe list for your species.”

“Safe and tasty,” I agreed. “Thank you.” I accepted a handful of alien acorns and marveled quietly at how universal salt was on snacks. Well, for some species. I don’t think Waterwills or Strongarms were that into overly salty food in general. Probably for slug-like reasons. Eggskin the medic would know. I should ask him later.

Acorn peered over the other side of the ship. “Ohh, Riverbrook’s wearing his goofy helmet. I owe him some acoustics since he played that loud music while I was working.” She crouched, peering down at a crewmate who had just emerged. With care, she selected a nut from the bag. “Think you can thwack him from here?” The grin she threw over her shoulder was full of teeth.

I joined her at the edge. “I like my odds.”

The crewmate was one of those people made of crystals instead of flesh. I forget the species name. Very interesting to look at, and unlikely to be hurt by a high velocity acorn no matter where it hit. The helmet was golden, shiny, and probably a fashion statement of some kind.

“First we throw, then we hide.”

“Got it.”

“One, two, throw!”

Ping! Ping!

“Ow, what was — Acorn, is this yours?!”

We both giggled in childlike glee, just out of sight.

“No thanks, you can have it!” Acorn called back.

“I’m going to put this in your fruit drink next mealtime.”

“Good luck with that!”

I nodded. “Ah, a prank war. A noble pursuit.”

“See, you get it.” Acorn offered me more nuts.

I took them and made myself more comfortable. “I don’t suppose you know what a rattlesnake is?”

“Nope.”

“Then let me tell you about the time I got Trrili — the big scary Mesmer on my ship — with a classic prank from Earth.”

“Oh, do tell!”

I didn’t have to get back to my ship for a few minutes yet, which left plenty of time for more anecdotes and snacks on the good perch.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

[dulcesiabits]

a sparrow in the storm.

summary: though many plucky suitors have tried unsuccessfully to vie for your hand, Jing Yuan has to be the most persistent of them all.

notes: 6.7k words, fic, fluff, lovers to exes to lovers, author's notes

You’ve had many arrogant suitors over the years, but this newest one might be the most arrogant yet. 

A row of sumptuous gifts line the entrance to your room, and when you properly step inside, you’re greeted by a spray of flowers: orchids, pink roses, and white lilies, the perfume of which makes you dizzy. You snort as you make your way to your desk, waving your hand to the various servants who are abuzz in your room. 

“Get rid of all of them,” you instruct.

“All of them? Are you sure?” one of them questions.

“Yes. I don’t want to see a single petal left in here. Make sure you return all of the gifts, too,” you snap, and they all bow as they rush to carry out your orders.

You sit in your plush desk chair, and it’s only now that you see the red-ribboned, cream-colored letter  sitting on your desk. You don’t open it before tossing it aside.

Many people have tried to win your hand over the years, as the sole heir to the alchemy commission. One of your mothers has a noble, storied family line, dating back to the very beginning of the country’s founding, and your other mom is praised as a genius in the alchemical field. It’s no wonder those who want a taste of wealth and power flock to you like flies. You’ve managed to successfully ward all of them off so far, either with flat rejections, threats, or, in the rare case, by matchmaking them with a different prospect. 

But your newest suitor, a general? A newly minted nobleman, granted a title for his contribution and victories in the recent war? It’s only been a few days since he’s arrived back in the capital, but he’s been sending you an endless stream of presents since his first day in the city, no matter how many times you return them or burn them in the yard for his slack-jawed couriers to watch. It isn’t just physical presents, like rare silks and flowers, either. It’s reserving your favorite restaurants for you to dine in, all expenses paid, and hiring the most famous musicians to woo you with sweet love songs outside your window.

It’s disgusting, frankly, and every rejection just seems to spur him to try a different approach.

You're no stranger to dalliances, courting your fair share of lovers over the years, starting with a snowy-haired soldier you met in your youth to traveling musicians and merchants. But you were clear to all of them: this would be a passing fling and nothing more, for you had no desire to bind yourself to someone as of yet.

Marriage, after all, is a political game, and you would only enter it once you had a hand that would ensure your success. You would have to marry eventually, but you plan to do so only on your own terms. You want someone who can bring glory and wealth to your house, who wouldn’t try to usurp your position or play games over power, who would be a prudent match, and who’s intelligent enough to keep up with you. Love is not a necessity, but a potential bonus, as you do not often have the habit of mixing business and pleasure.

When you dine with your mothers in the evening, you tell them as such. They are long used to your schemes and strategies, and only smile at you over glasses of wine and plates of tenderly steamed white fish.

“This general courting you should meet your expectations then, no?” your mother poses. “He’s recently been awarded a noble title, and he was clever enough to claim victory against our enemies with minimal loss.”

“And–” Your mom winks at you, nudging your mother. “--He’s handsome. I hear all the eligible girls and boys send him proposals, but he turns them all down. It seems he’s set on someone. I wonder who?”

“Hah.” You spear a piece of marinated cucumber with your chopsticks. “Well, I’ve refused his advances, and I will continue to refuse them.”

“A pity!” your mom groans. “Just when it seems like someone meets your exacting standards. What is it about him, then, my dear child, that you dislike so?”

“I dislike his attitude,” you say bluntly. “And, more to the point, I detest being pressured like this. He doesn’t even have the sincerity to meet me in person, and gives me favors I never asked for. If he is hoping for a love match, then he shall be sorely disappointed.”

“How cold,” your mother says. “But I understand your reasoning. But would it not be prudent to give him a chance? We have never pressured you to get married, as you know, but…”

“But?” You arch an eyebrow.

“What your mother means to say,” your mom interjects, “Is that we want you to be happy! And this could be a good opportunity for you. Your pool of suitors is dwindling, and if you wait too long, you may not have a partner at all.”

“Which is to really say,” your mother says, putting her utensils across her clean bowl, “I will force your hand if you do not make a choice soon, or at least make an effort to. This general meets all of your standards, and an union would be beneficial to all of us. So try to hear him out… or I will make you.”

“Mother, what you’re giving me is the illusion of choice. Will you force me into a marriage against my will? What if I do something drastic? What if he is a foul villain, and you doom me to unhappiness, in your haste to settle a match?”

“Well, that would be most unfortunate for you. But I am your mother, and mothers are allowed to be unfair, no matter how old you are,” your mother says, and your mom tries to hide a laugh as she leans into your mother’s side.

“What’s the name of the general, again?” you say sourly.

“Jing Yuan,” your mother says. “Now, why don’t you try to meet his courier tomorrow? You could stand to learn a little more about him before you cast such hasty judgment.”

—

The next morning, you rose early, pacing around the gardens until the general’s daily present was delivered. If nothing else, he is punctual, sending presents around noon, in between the breakfast and lunch hours. But what would it take to get him off your back? Insult him at the next commission meeting? Hire someone to place a curse upon him and his household? Or march over to his residence and start a commotion, burning something down in the process?

But, no. Your mother has all but threatened you to play nice, and, as loath as you are to admit it, she does make a certain sense about gathering information on him. It is prudent to have knowledge of your enemy if you wish success in battle.

At noon, one of your servants comes to find you. To your surprise, a young boy trails after her, wide-eyed and open-mouthed as his head whips around, taking in the sights of your garden, fresh and fully bloomed at this time of year. There’s a sword strapped to his back, and when he sees you, he waves.

Is this part of the general’s plans? Does he really think a cute child would be enough to make you throw yourself at his feet?

Still, you guide the boy to one of the garden’s open-air pavilions, shaded by rose bushes and intricate wooden carvings, pillows cushioning the hardness of the benches. You wave for refreshments to be brought over, chrysanthemum tea and sugar cubes and egg tarts and red bean buns, certain to tempt the appetite of a child. And you are right, for the boy immediately picks up a bun, munching without a care in the world.

“So, what brings you to the chief of the alchemy commission’s residence?” you say mildly.

“I’m Yanqing, and I’m here on behalf of the general. He’s worried because it doesn’t look like you’re happy with any of your presents, and he wants to know why.”

“Ah, I see.” You smile at the boy, whose cheeks are stuffed with pastries. “It’s quite simple. I do not like them.”

“Then what do you like? … is what he said to ask if you said you didn’t like any of your gifts.”

“Anything that doesn’t come from him,” you say bluntly. 

“Oh.” Yanqing tilts his head in confusion before his eyes light up, springing up in his seat as he leans forward. “Well, the general is pretty cool, you know! He’s the youngest person in years to be awarded a title! And he’s the reason we won all those battles in the war so quickly! His strategies are genius, and it’s like he knows what the enemy is thinking every time he makes a move… He even trained me! I’m the best with the sword, you know, but the general is stronger than me! So he’s pretty impressive!” 

You want to smile at the way Yanqing presents the general, clearly expecting you to be impressed with the general’s credentials. “And what is your relationship with the general? Are you his child?”

“What? No, no, no! Our relationship isn’t like that. I’m just his disciple!” Yanqing flails, waving his hands wildly. “He wouldn’t let relationships distract him on the battlefield! He never even left his tent when the other soldiers went out to town!” 

“So he wouldn’t love me if we were in a relationship together?” you ask dryly. “I would just be a distraction?” 

“No! He would definitely treat you well! He treats everyone well! That’s why everyone loves him! All the soldiers, and townspeople, and everything!” 

“Ah…” Yanqing perks up at your tone. “So he’s a philanderer.” The boy deflates.

“He wouldn’t! He wouldn’t do that! The general would be loyal to you!” Yanqing insists, slamming his fist down on the table for emphasis. 

“He sounds like a scoundrel,” you note. 

“I promise he’s not!” 

“I don’t know, Yanqing. It sounds like he would leave me alone to fight in battles all day, all the while flirting with all his soldiers, and then come home once in a while to assuage his guilt.” 

Have you teased the boy too much? He slumps morosely in his seat, poking idly at his egg tart. 

“Why don’t you go home for today?” you say gently. You’ve had your fun, and it wouldn’t do to prod at the boy anymore. 

“Before I do, is it okay if I give you one more present from the general?” he asks.

“Go ahead,” you say patiently, as Yanqing fumbles in his pocket and takes out a small wooden box. It’s unadorned, and you flip it open cautiously. Inside lies a single knotted tassel with small jade beads. The threads are in your favorite colors, instead of the traditional red.

“He made it himself,” Yanqing explains as you take the tassel in your hand. 

The general is skilled, if nothing else. The knot looks like a small, symmetrical flower in your hand, and you finger the clear jade beads. 

“I’ll accept it,” you say slowly. 

“Really?” Yanqing perks up. “That’s great. He’ll be honored to hear that.” 

“Does he have a matching one?” you inquire dryly. 

“I think he said he was hoping you would make one for him one day.”

“He might as well wait forever.”

Yanqing pouts, but still remembers to thank you for the food and the courtesy of hosting him before he dashes off. 

You end up placing the tassel in one of your desk drawers, hoping Jing Yuan doesn’t read your acceptance of his gift as some sort of positive sign. To you, it’s nothing more than an odd memento from a curious man, and there’s something amusing about the image of a bloodthirsty general painstakingly threading jade beads onto an elaborate tassel. 

But your courtship is going to stop at this, if you had any say in the matter.

— 

The best defense is a good offense, and the only way to win a battle is to gather knowledge on your enemy. With that reasoning, you send a letter to Yanqing (who doesn’t bother penning a reply before running to your house to inform you he’d be delighted to show you around) and prepare yourself to visit Jing Yuan’s residence. 

You go by foot, keeping your clothing plain and simple to dissuade unwanted attention. His residence– gifted to him for his achievements in war– is situated in the northern part of the city, a quiet residential district, away from the hustle and bustle of the city center. You’re not sure what you expect when you arrive: something ostentatious, or enemy heads hung on his gate to ward off visitors, perhaps.

Instead, you’re greeted with a modest wooden building, surrounded by a stone gate, and Yanqing bouncing in front of the entrance.

“Welcome to General Jing Yuan’s home,” Yanqing says formally, though he’s rocking on his heels. “I’m glad you decided to come by today! Are you–”

“No, I’m not going to accept his proposal,” you interject.

“Oh. Well! I’m more than happy to show you around, still! The general was also really happy that you took an interest in him and your future– his home!”

“If an enemy took interest in him, would he also be happy?” you ask.

“Yes, because he’d undoubtedly draw the enemy’s attention on purpose as part of his plan,” Yanqing replies seriously.

“Lovely. What’s on the agenda, Yanqing?”

Yanqing leads you through the gates and into the courtyard, showing you the pond, rows of flowered bushes, the stone pathways, and then the open-air hallways which ring the courtyard. As Yanqing guides you through the building, you note that there are hardly any servants around. Each room is all polished wood and fresh sunlight, with minimum furnishings, save for a flower arrangement or a tasteful painting. 

The last stop on the tour is a bright, airy room clearly intended for guests, with a steaming teapot already prepared on the table. Yanqing courteously pulls out a seat for you to sit in, pouring you a cup of tea without any further prompting. 

“Let me give you some refreshments,” he says. “It’s not right to have a guest over without giving them something to eat.”

“No, you don’t need to bother. I–”

“Don’t even worry about it,” Yanqing says, and dashes out of the room before you can deter him further.

You sip your cup, a pleasant jasmine brew, leaning back as you contemplate the ink brush mountains scroll across from you. Did the general come home often? His home is far too neat and quiet to imply consistent use. You haven’t run into him, either, so it is possible Jing Yuan is out… though whether this is a blessing remains to be seen. Perhaps you could pry more information out of Yanqing in the meantime.

Footsteps spring down the hall, and without looking at the doorway, you remark, “You know, Yanqing, I’m starting to suspect this general of yours is scared to meet with me–”

“Am I? I didn’t realize.” You whip your head towards the sound of the deep voice. Where you expect Yanqing to stand is a man with snow-white hair and relaxed, golden eyes, an amused quirk to his mouth.

You exhale sharply, your thoughts, once so orderly, tangle together like a ball of yarn. It couldn’t be. Of course you’re expecting to run into the general at some point, have half-hoped for it, but what you haven’t expected is that the general is also your first lover, someone you’d courted  many years ago in your youth.

“Jing?” you say, blood roaring in your head.

“Surprised?” he says, lounging in a chair. “I told you I’d be back, didn’t I?”

At that moment, Yanqing bursts into the room, a plate of snacks balanced in his arms. “I’m back!” Heis gaze darts around the room, from your tense expression to Jing Yuan’s casual smile. “General! When did you get here?”

“Just now. Actually, Yanqing,” Jing Yuan says, “Why don’t you go out into the courtyard and practice your form? My guest and I have much to discuss.”

“... Okay, general.” Yanqing places the tray on the table, and hesitates; his eyebrows furrow quizzically as he glances from you to the general, but he only bows before darting out of the room, despite his obvious curiosity.

“I’m sure there’s much you’re curious about,” Jing Yuan says pleasantly. 

“I do. So perhaps you could humor me and explain what you’re trying to accomplish,” you say coolly.

You swear there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes even as he lowers his head deferentially. “As you wish, my liege.”

—

Your relationship with Jing Yuan started when you were young and, like all youth your age, felt the stirrings of rebellion– against who, or what, didn’t matter quite as much. Reckless, chafing against the loving restraints of your mothers, and eager to make something of yourself, you decided the best way to do so was to throw yourself into a relationship, hopefully one they didn’t approve of.

That’s when Jing Yuan caught your attention, though you only knew him as Jing back then. A soldier in training, with a shy smile and a quiet countenance, his hair short enough to stand in unruly, snowy tufts at the back of his head, you hadn’t thought much of him when he was first introduced to you. He was sent to guard your mom’s alchemical business, and would bow to you wordlessly whenever you visited. 

You were more practiced in matters of business, alchemy and politics, but even with your limited knowledge you could tell he was talented with a sword. When a thief tore through your mom’s shop, hunting for rare herbs to sell on the black market, he had unsheathed his lance with lightning-quick precision, and in a few swift, well-aimed strikes, the thief was on his back, Jing’s lance poised at his throat. 

You watched from the back of the shop, lurking around the storeroom, as Jing handed the herbs back to your mom, who thanked him profusely. 

He noticed your gaze, and smiled at you. “Are you okay, my liege? You weren’t hurt, were you?”

You tossed your head. “I’m fine. You handled him before anything could happen.”

Still, your interest in him was piqued after that day. So on a restless, cloudy afternoon, with the smell of a storm sharp in the air, you sought him out at your mother’s store, as dutifully guarding the entrance as ever.

“Do you have time for lunch?” you asked him. “I would be honored if you could join me for a bite to eat.”

Like an inquisitive cat, Jing tilted his head. “It wouldn’t be right for me to abandon my post in the middle of my shift.”

“You’d hardly be a good guard if you keeled over from hunger,” you pointed out, “And you don’t have to go too far, besides. We can just stay right here.”

“I could hardly refuse a request from you, my liege,” Jing said.

With his permission secured, you brought out the meal you had packed back home. It was simple, nothing more than a few meat buns and some tea, and the two of you sat and ate on one of the stone benches outside of your mom’s workshop. If you were to court someone, you had to dine them first, didn’t you?

“Why did you become a soldier, Jing?”

“Because it was the only path open to me,” he said easily. “My skills wouldn’t find much purchase elsewhere.”

“And what sort of skills are those?”

“The art of combat. I also dabble in chess, occasionally, though I couldn’t have made a living off of it.”

“Chess? Why don’t you play me in a round sometime? I’d love to see your skill,” you said keenly.

“If you find my skills desirable, then I would be honored to,” Jing said.

“Speaking of desirable… is there anyone you’re interested in?” you posed, watching his reaction from the corner of your eye.

Jing chewed his bun instead of responding, though the tips of his ears reddened. “No… Not in particular.”

“There’s someone I’m interested in,” you continued, taking note of the way he inhaled so sharply he started coughing. “I’m hoping I can grow closer to him.”

“Ah– Is… is that so…?”

“Yes. I think I’d be able to do so with your help,” you said, emboldened by his reaction. You smiled prettily at him, in a way you’d learned to do to charm the nobles at any social gatherings you intended. “So… Do you think we could see each other again?”

Jing’s eyes darted away, and he seemed for all the world like a small sparrow, pecking at the crumbs of affection you offered. “If… If you would be pleased by my presence, I would… be flattered to see you again.”

Like your first encounter, your relationship with Jing proceeded in much the same way. You meticulously planned every outing, reserving restaurants and reading up on festivals in advance, eavesdropping on gossiping maids to learn of the most popular spots for couples in the city. Jing was content to go along at your pace, never brooking a word of complaint even as you, looking back, realized how any other person might have been annoyed at your single-mindedness and desire to always get your way.

He was agreeable, and unerringly polite, and clumsily sweet in all the right ways. He offered his arm for you to hold as you strolled about, and tolerated all your badgering for chess games, even when you grew so competitive you could play for hours without stopping. Sometimes he brought you flowers, single stems of white lilies or sprigs of plum blossoms you would set proudly on your desk until the perfume faded and the petals wilted.

You liked him. You liked him, because he was endearing, and went along with all your antics, even the ones that could have gotten him in trouble if the two of you had been caught. Once you had asked him to meet you in the middle of night, when the fireflies were thick in the air like stars on earth. 

“My liege, are you sure about this?” he whispered as you waved to him from your window. 

“Of course! Do not back out on me now, Jing!” With your hands for purchase, you set yourself on the window ledge, experimentally lowering one leg over the other side.

“Please, let me help you,” Jing said quietly, and offered you one of his hands. You took it, swaying unsteadily, and Jing quickly reached for your hip to help you balance. His hands, you remembered, were calloused, with clever, slender fingers, his touch like sunlight. He flushed at the contact, though didn’t let go of you before he could guide you over the window and set you onto the grass below. Until you reached a small hill a good dozen minutes away from your home, he shadowed your steps, always just a pace behind, and always on guard for threats you couldn’t make out in the dark. With his warm gaze which never drifted from you, and the sea of fireflies, you couldn’t help but feel like no threats could touch you.

“Let’s catch some fireflies,” you suggested, once the two of you reached your destination. “Don’t you think that’s a romantic activity?”

At your words, Jing swiftly cupped his hands around a soft glow, and you crept closer. He slowly unfurled his fingers to reveal his captive, a firefly that pulsed with light like a heartbeat. “Is this to your satisfaction?” he asked.

The firefly spread its wings and flew off his palm. The two of you watched its path, an afterglow of light trailing through the sky. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is,” Jing said, but he wasn’t looking at the firefly anymore.

You cleared your throat. “So, Jing. In such a romantic, late-night setting like this… when two young people meet in a clandestine manner… What do you suppose would happen?”

“Any manner of things, I suppose.”

“True, but there’s one in particular that’s on my mind.”

“My liege…?”

“Jing, I want to kiss you,” you said plainly. His face shone in the light. 

“Y… You do?”

“I’ve been courting you for the past few weeks. Why wouldn’t I?” you said impatiently. “But before we go any further, I want you to understand that this is only for fun. Don’t worry; I don’t expect marriage talks to come out of this.”

“Marriage?” Jing repeated, tasting the word on his tongue.

“Yes, marriage. But we’re young. We’re allowed to have our fun, aren’t we? I have a business to inherit, and you have dreams of your own, surely. We need not get in each other’s way. But, for now…” You placed a hand flat against his chest. “Do you want to kiss me?”

Jing’s eyelashes fluttered as he looked down at your hand; slowly, he brought his own to press against yours, keeping your touch captive against his chest. 

“Yes,” he said quietly.

And on a midsummer’s night, with only fireflies as your witnesses, you shared your first kiss with Jing. He tasted like sweat and mint, and his lips were chapped, but you wouldn’t have traded that moment for anything else.

For the rest of your courtship, the two of you would act like the lovers you saw wandering the streets of the city. You spent all of your freetime with Jing: bought skewers at a vendor so you could feed him by hand and watch his face redden, convinced him to take you on a boat ride and glide through the canals, feed the wild sparrows nesting in the eaves of your house.

It was only once your studies in business management and alchemical laws increased, and Jing had to be called away for longer and longer stretches of time to train, that you decided your relationship was too much of a strain on your schedule to continue. Better to end the relationship here, when the two of you were still on good terms, than to watch it shrivel beyond repair.

You explained as much to him on the day you broke up with him. “We said we would keep it casual, didn’t we? I don’t want it to become too much of a burden in our lives. Besides that, I do not plan to take any of my relationships seriously unless it’s with the expectation of marriage, and I don’t plan to do that unless my lover meets all of my expectations.”

“What are those expectations?” Jing asked.

You tap your chin thoughtfully. “Well… they must have a title if not a lineage, and have enough fortune to be a boon to my house. They must be intelligent, thoughtful, cunning and ambitious, but not to the point they attempt to limit me or usurp my position as heir to the alchemy commission. And they must be able to keep up with me and assist me in my goals for my future business.”

You thought Jing would make a joke about your lofty expectations, but he only said simply, “And you would marry someone who met all those?”

“Well, yes. Though my mothers keep telling me to lower my expectations.”

What is he thinking? For once, Jing’s eyes are hooded, the perpetual sleepiness replaced by something you can’t place a finger on; the closest word you have for it is hunger. 

“Then, my liege…” Jing takes one of your hands, as reverentially as he would touch the emperor himself, and places a chaste kiss along your knuckles, his lips grazing against your fingers. “I’ll come back for you one day, but let us say goodbye for now.”

You didn’t think much of his words at the time; it was simply a parting from a soldier who had always done everything much too seriously. You did, however, entertain a brief fantasy that Jing would come back and elope with you, but that passed like the rain during the summer: sudden, intense, and gone more quickly than it arrived. You were busy, and though you flirted once or twice at social functions over the years, took on all manners of temporary lovers, your main focus was always on your duties towards your house. 

You lost track of Jing over the years, and you chalked it up to a natural consequence of time and distance. Jing became a memory you could look back fondly on, a foolish first relationship that you chased after with a youthful arrogance… until he showed up in front of you again.

—

“You really had no idea that I was the one courting you?” Jing Yuan’s voice is amused, sleepy, but each word possesses a certain gravity. He’s a careful speaker, you think. Someone who weighs the measure of everything he says. He sits across from you at the table, fingers steepled as you talk.

“I didn’t read any of your letters,” you say coolly. “Nor was I expecting an old fling to start pursuing me again, when none have in the past. We ended on clear terms.”

“Does it change things, now that you know who I am?”

“Not at all. In fact, it’s even more disappointing to realize it’s you courting me. I would have thought burning your presents was answer enough to your proposal.”

“I simply thought you were dissatisfied with what I bought you,” he says easily. “Material objects are easily replaceable.”

“And did I not spurn your disciple as well?”

“Yanqing is a child, though he dislikes being called such. He’s talented with a sword, but his conversational skills are lacking.”

“And,” you say pointedly, “You are an annoying, insufferable man.”

“Ah,” Jing Yuan says. “Also easily remediable. Shall I prepare an entirely separate estate for you to live in, and stay silent forever after in your presence, so you need not fear seeing or hearing me?”

“Have you no sense?” you snap. “Do you really see nothing wrong with my behavior? Do you not understand what rejection is? Must I send a tutor to your household?”

“Ah, but that’s because you’re doing everything on purpose, not out of ignorance,” he says smoothly. “I know you well enough; you only have eyes for your dreams and goals, and little attention to spare to anyone else. So playing these little games with you… this is the only way you will turn your gaze to me, is it not? My dear liege–” Jing leans closer to you, and you wonder why you never realized the boy you thought was a little bird is actually a lion– “whether you accept my proposal or not, whether you find me a detestable nuisance or a respectable ally, I am satisfied as long as you think of me, with fondness or with loathing. As long as I occupy your mind as much as you occupy mine, then I will be happy.”

“You are an insidious man, and I shudder to think of the state of the city if someone like you somehow managed to crawl up the ranks,” you say flatly.

“Then shall I give up all my wealth and all my titles for you? You only need to say the word.”

“Are you mad?”

“Only if love is a form of madness, my liege.”

“I should never have gotten involved with you.”

“You cannot change the past,” Jing Yuan says, and you want to flick him in the forehead.

“Which is a shame.” You gulp down the rest of your cooled tea, slamming the cup on the table. “At the very least, stop sending me things I don’t want. No flowers, no presents, no love songs. It’s distracting.”

“Of course.”

“Then…”

“Will you stop by again some time?” he says pleasantly. “I’ll be sure to inform the guards to let you in if you ever stop by, no matter the time or circumstance.”

“Confident, are you?”

“Have you given me any reason not to be?”

“... Hah. Never mind. I need time away from you to clear my head.”

Jing Yuan simply lets you go with a smile, and as you step outside his estate, you had a feeling it would not be your last time visiting.

—

After your visit to Jing Yuan, true to his word, he does not send you any presents, nor couriers or musicians to pester you. You would be relieved with the sudden peace if you didn’t suspect he had something else planned. The next few days pass with little fanfare, until an afternoon in which your mom requires your assistance managing her inventory.

“My darling child, did you hear?” your mom says conspiratorially, lowering her face next to yours as the two of you sort through dried herbs.

“Hear what, mom?” you ask. Your mom loves to gossip and chatter, and hears news from all corners of the city thanks to the customers filing through her alchemy shop. Though it is usually your mother who indulges her, you don’t mind listening occasionally as well. It’s always prudent to know what is going inside of the city, after all.

“The general… the one who’s been courting you… has been seen with a few lovers!”

“And why is this my business?” you say, expertly bundling a few dried stalks together. “Should I congratulate him on fooling multiple people to find him a viable partner?”

“Why… they say there’s talk of him marrying one of them soon.”

You crush the herbs in your hand, dried green flakes escaping through your closed fingers. “Is that so?”

Your mom watches you in amusement. “I thought you didn’t care for him.”

“I do not. I find myself loathing him even more now, in fact, as he seems to be a man who can’t keep his word.”

For the rest of your time with your mom, you fume and plan ways to curse Jing Yuan as you stack containers of herbs in the cool, dark storeroom. Ah, you see how it is. For all of his grand declarations, as soon as he gets tired of you, he has no problem finding someone else, does he not? But– and a sudden jolt of embarrassment shoots down your spine– that is all idle gossip. It is the height of foolishness to believe something without verifying it for yourself. Perhaps that man has made you lose your mind through sheer annoyance; certainly, your intelligence seems to have lowered after prolonged contact with him.

You should be rejoicing. It shouldn’t bother you to hear that he might have found someone else. It shouldn’t, but…

You take a breath. No, if you let yourself go down this path, then you would fall into a spiral of doubt. Perhaps you should seek the source of your frustration to quell your nerves. But, before that, you would need to prepare a few things.

—

You march into Jing Yuan’s residence like a soldier heading to battle, heedless of anything around you. No servants stop you, wide-eyed as they are, and even the occasional guard only bows at your presence (Yanqing once told you that Jing Yuan had hired more people after you complained about the lack of personnel). You stalk through the house, searching for the general; he can’t hide behind a forest of varnished wood and lacquered bowls forever.

It’s in his office that you find him, relaxed and poised at his desk as he pours over some documents, head in his hand like he’s liable to fall asleep at any moment. 

“General,” you say, all acidic politeness as you stride up to his desk, slamming your hands down so hard the corners of the page flutter. 

“My liege. If I knew you were coming, I would have prepared some snacks,” he says mildly, but you don’t miss how all his boneless relaxation melts away, replaced by an alert interest, though he doesn’t move a single inch.

“Don’t bother.”

“Are you okay, my liege? Though your harsh words and fiery wit are normally music to my ears, it seems as if something is bothering you.” Jing Yuan eases forward in his chair, face right in front of yours so you can count all of his eyelashes.

“You…” You bite your lip. What were you doing? You aren’t even engaged to him. You have no right to be jealous of who he chooses to spend his time with; it is not uncommon for eligible bachelors to test the waters with multiple partners, as you know from firsthand experience. But you couldn’t back down now. “You… are you planning on finally settling down?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I just wanted to know if I could count on you being out of my sight forever if you’ve found someone else.”

Jing Yuan cocks his head. “Ah, I see. You’re worried I no longer care for you. I find your lack of forthrightness charming as well.”

“You’re not answering the question.”

“What would you do if I said I had?” he remarks.

“I’d send you a thousand presents as thanks in return for all the ones you flooded my room with,” you reply tartly. 

“Well, I can’t have that, can I? Where would I put them all? To answer your question, my liege, you are the only one whom I will ever devote myself to. You are all I think about. All I do is for you. The idea someone could take your place would be as foolish as a candle becoming the sun,” he says simply.

You twist your hands. It is a grandiose declaration; from anyone else, you might have laughed. But Jing Yuan spoke each word with a measured sincerity. You think if you were to ask him to burn down the city and crown you as the ruler, he would do so with a smile. 

“There are rumors around the city about you and your lovers,” you venture.

“There are rumors about you, too, speculating that you have a hidden lover you jealously hide from the public view. People love to talk; I could not walk around with even a friend without gossip sparking.”

You let loose a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. So it is nothing more than idle tongues wagging… and the gossipers of the city would rejoice at the news they could share after today.

Jing Yuan doesn’t seem all that surprised when you take a pouch out of your pocket and slide it across the desk. He unveils a tassel with intricate knots vaguely in the shape of a lion head, made with strands of soft yellow and white, interspersed with small amber beads. Jing Yuan says nothing as he examines it, holding it as if it were an offering to the gods.

“Yanqing said it, didn’t he? That you hoped I would make you a matching tassel?” you say. “You can take this as an answer to your proposal. This should quell any rumors of potential lovers for either of us.”

“My liege, I may just kiss you,” he murmurs. 

“Then hurry up and do so.”

And Jing Yuan reaches for you across the desk, papers flying as you ungracefully prop yourself on top of all his important paperwork, ink smearing, pens clacking to the floor. His hands are on your face, cradling you like a promise, while he kisses you with an increasing hunger that leaves you breathless. You run your fingers through his hair, tugging the silky soft strands to pull him closer, and he surrenders to your touch.

This is a prudent match for your family, of course. Jing Yuan, as your mother once noted, has power. Money. Fame and glory. He is loyal. Devoted. He can keep up with you, does not quail under your words, and has no schemes of vying with you for power.

But more than that, more than his titles, you want him. You want the man in front of you and, this time, you would not let him go.

[sugar-petals]

The Canvas (m)⎮𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚖𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚕!𝚓𝚓𝚔

/ - CANVAS (n.) a tattoo client or professional ink model.

pairing. › dancer!jungkook + female tattoo artist!reader

❞ SUMMARY. jk serves as your canvas for a renowned LA tattoo competition. experienced in keeping it calm, you lift the trophy by giving him a full torso makeover. the prize money and glory is yours, plus his new tattoo couldn’t look any better. so, what are you gonna do with all that? 

MASTERLIST | [READ IT ON AO3]

↳ WARNINGS/TAGS. slow burn, femdom undertones, ponytail jk, friends to lovers energy 💕, smut + slice of life, jk is buff and shy (...and a sucka for pain 😛), warning for needles obviously, profanity, jk earns money as a camboy, riding, sub-ish koo {terminology note: `skin break´ ≠ injury, but blank skin space left between ink bits}

word count. 14k

↦ CARO’S NOTE. happy 5th year blog anniversary — gotta celebrate it with a story! you will find a lot of tattoo slang and the various schools of practice in this, but it will be explained along the way. enjoy, and thank you for all the support over the years 🐯

✪ PS. in the banner you see a famous tattoo artist, miss ryan ashley and her partner. it’s just for the aesthetic 😄 the reader insert doesn’t look like this, her description is vague as always :)

„Turns out we got actual money to blow!“

You overlook the six tied-up cash stacks on the makeshift plastic table, presented in a small iron case. In between, a massive champagne bottle: Unopened, because neither of you drinks. And, to be honest: It would not be necessary, nor pleasant in today’s oppressive heat.

The shaky nervousness from before the contest, far gone. Only adrenaline remains. And a jumping joy that makes Jungkook cover his face with both palms flat.

„I still can’t believe it!“

Since it’s his first time doing something like this, the whole event has left him increasingly weak in the knees. Jungkook really did look surprised when the results were announced in bright screen colors and the room was in absolute shambles. Standing ovations, even a couple cameras, big noise, everything.

„I know, man,“ you reply. „Wild day.“

„We did it.“

„Yeah. We can definitely be satisfied.“

You sitting down after all that maneuvering around on stage and behind it — it felt like a good way to cool off. Standing before an audience for two hours was something not to be underestimated.

Thank God there was an actual aircon back here. But still, there’s so much excess energy in your body. You can’t help but turn and turn the metal trophy in your hands, and kick your feet ever so lightly at the thought of really taking it home this time. Jungkook can’t settle on a chair at all. He’s just pacing around not knowing what to even do with his hands.

„The competition… They were so strong,“ he puffs out — the tone loaded with genuine respect rather than the much stricter attitude of discernment shared among today’s attending pros, yourself included. „They really preferred yours and not the tiger. Or the guy with the Leonardo DiCaprio portrait. That’s incredible.“

„Maybe. I think we got a better rating because yours healed so well,“ you gaze over your work again. The masterpiece of ink on him. You’re carrying a certain admitted pride in your words, but also relief. This has been one of your most ambitious tattoos in all the 15 years you’ve been in the game. It’s seriously been a journey.

In fact, the preparation cost more time and effort than inking a month’s worth of regular clients. Yes, daily practice was one thing. Competing, another. Especially with a model like that: Jungkook, whose performance had been nothing short of electric and stellar. On the ink bed, and on stage alike.

Even your fiercest opponent trying to impress the judges with their wannabe surrealistic tiger didn’t stand a chance against the level of 3D shapes and shading you created on his body. But the decision of the jury seemed close regardless, maybe for dramatic effect, so you retired backstage overjoyed. Where, and you really feel like you did his body justice, his tattoo looks just as vibrant under more crisp and cool energy-saving lamps overhead.

„Yeah, it really did heal nicely, though,“ he pats his solar plexus, almost massaging it. „It feels good.“

You bet it does. Jungkook is the type of client you would describe as— well. Very healthy.

Your mind would add some more colorful adjectives to that. But that string of thought really does stay at the back of your brain where some of your naughtier tattoo ideas reside as well. Which, and you were fine with that anyway, was certainly not the topic of today’s contest. Which rather wanted artists to show off their clean lines and some pretty harmless motifs, mind you.

Sure, the process of contests was always a little different. You didn’t care much. Some tattoo awards had the artists ink their models literally a couple hours beforehand. Others did a speed challenge on-site. Mutually nerve-wracking, but it was doable. Artists with a tight schedule did the same in their personal studios, after all. Canvasses would walk on stage with red blotchy skin all around the tattoo. This show, however, placed emphasis on longevity, the final result. To be prepared until the last detail, Jungkook had walked up in your downtown studio ten times beforehand.

As of now, a highly stylized XL rendition of Jungkook’s Doberman graced his torso. An illusion of color, created by brush strokes in ink rather than an exact replica of the polaroid pictures he had given you. Bam was a pretty cute pet dog, but also a very lively sight to see. Since you had insisted to watch Bam in motion like a live study, Jungkook brought him to the parlor more than once, which added to the hours you had spent together.

He was quite a majestic, eye-catching, streamlined dog. You had often tattooed smaller portraits of pets. Their faces usually, but not the entire animal, on a whole upper body for that matter. People usually wanted other tattoos to take precedence, like a landscape design. It took you five hours to come up with a dynamic winding pose. One that showed Bam in a slightly right-twisted bird’s eye perspective. Not in actual brown that was true to the real-life dog, but black, adding to the feel of a severe-looking brushstroke painting. Which apparently left an impression with the judges.

„And, the jury wanted enough contrast,“ you cuff your shirt on either side. „Was a good idea we went just as dark as your hair. Wouldn’t have worked as well otherwise.“

„It all fits together really well, I think. It’s become a bit, how do you say. One with me.“

Although you wouldn’t blurt that out like a preschooler, you do think so, too. Jungkook stood out among your clients as one of the cutest, with a body that was nothing short of meticulously sculpted. A waist that shocking, you’d never seen it.  Even some of the bodybuilders you had tattooed didn’t have this kind of hourglass. Perfect to pick up on some carefully planned artistry, and easy on the eye anyway. However, nothing you’d say to his face.

Yet.

Who knows. You keep your expression neutral enough when he’s around. All day, you paid special attention to maintaining a stern composure in general, given how it was such a hasty crowded event to begin with. Not that competition would always favor the stern, but it sure helped with focus.

„To be honest,“ you put the trophy onto the table now, „The judges don’t splurge their points if it’s some muddy shit. The tiger paws looked pretty washed out from some angles. Your tattoo will fucking pop in any lighting. It has to.“

Bam was as eye-catching as a tattoo as he was in real life. You paid special attention to adding enough solid black. Contrast always needed a certain amount of courage. On your side, and a client’s.

Even now, in the solely artificial lighting of this shabby backroom, the heavy blocks of extra strong ink on his ribs, sternum and stomach create a nice interplay with the shape of his upper body. Unsurprisingly, Jungkook didn’t remember to put his top back on yet. And why would he bother. It’s been piping hot in the valley districts since 9:30 AM. So hot, a couple palm trees on your way to the contest site have been looking crispy.

„That’s one of the best parts,“ he nods, all while toweling down his neck from all the sweat. The stage had burning hot overhead lights and the audience number was breaking the four digits. Stressfully enough, in terms of decibels as well. Jungkook walked offstage with you saying his ears were reeling for a solid minute. It was more than necessary to get away from all the hustle and bustle after the supposed celebration was dispersing.

„Glad you like how it turned out, then. Took a lot of risks here.“

„I, uh. Really gotta thank you though,“ Jungkook proceeds to retie his little wavy ponytail, plucking the crown and baby hairs that went astray on stage back in.

He leaves some side bangs to the front, which is what you once remarked looks the best on him with his current hair length. Little did you know he’d take this so seriously, but you haven’t seen him without a hair tie since.

„You invested so much time,“ he continues. „You couldn’t take so many other clients because of me.“

„Time doesn’t bother me that much,“ you shovel some money bands into the bulky grey rucksack you drag out from underneath your chair, then take out some bottled sparkling water instead. This backpack has been both your lifeline throughout the day. „Those weren’t the easiest sessions, that’s what I mean. But you made it through.“

„Yeah,“ he smiles. You can tell he is a bit flustered by the money.

„The other clients can honestly wait. They know I do competitions from time to time. The regulars, at least.“

A dozen people sure said they missed you. Some newbies at the studio resented you for spending your „efforts and talent on one singular canvas“, but as today’s MC of the show had said: It’s for the greater good of a career to pursue contests, and helps a tattooist to be out there. „It’s an adventure!“ was the cheesy contest tagline. Not to mention that an artist who was good enough… would meet attractive people as a `pleasant byproduct‘ as one of your fellow West Coast contestants had joked backstage.

You had rejected that mentality beforehand. Craft came first. Ironically, it was you who simply searched for the right skin, motif, and proper frame who ended up with someone attractive indeed. Those things always happen if you don’t search for it. And it was an adventure, sort of.

Jungkook didn’t exactly pass out when you moved up to the rib with your tattoo gun, but damn. He was bleeding. In essence, the first appointment turned out to be a three hour groaning session. Since he already had a complete and partially reworked sleeve, it appeared like another tattoo following many. But the second visit was so intense, it had your canvas screaming out loud at some point — albeit he stubbornly refused to take a break. `Keep going… I can handle it.´

You usually did mid-range tattoos as your specialty, but his one was gigantic and painstaking. How he muscled through that psychologically, at his tender age, you’re not sure how. After the session was done, you would hang out eating pizza in the shaded backyard of the studio, listening to pop music and talking about tattoo shows as if nothing had happened.

„You mean, it was demanding?“

„Oh yeah,“ you screw the bottle open. „Demanding is the word. I mean, count the elements. That’s almost 150 sepearate parts to fill out.“

„Right.“

„If you want a tattoo to look like a real ink stroke, you need to consider how the separate hairs of a brush would behave. The color needs to be, sorta— like disconnected. I’ve freestyled a lot of it.“

That’s also a reason why you’re sure the tiger didn’t win, and Jungkook got full points. Which surprised you more than him, something that caught you off guard in a peculiar way, even if you were endlessly happy, of course. That Jungkook was sure that you had winning potential was definitely an emotional pat on the back.

Your New York-based opponent sure did ace the Old School American style. It had some pretty memorable turquoise highlights that made the other competitor’s trendy watercolor freestyles look boring, and his canvas was beautiful. But: In your eyes, the design didn’t have an elaborate sketch behind it, and tried too hard to be East Coast.

To their demise and Jungkook’s gentle content, the judges ruled that your tattoo had 99% razor-sharp edges and a smart construction of the design: „You’ve done your studio justice.“ Because Jungkook looked promising as a canvas and he was kind as a person, you were willing to sacrifice some things to approach that level of hard perfection, even if it was `just an edgy tattoo of a random guy’s pet´ as some of your rivals had criticized you arriving on stage.

It took you three days to draw it all beforehand, and one to make a stencil that could even remotely fit on a body as curved as that. You didn’t wing it. Got creative. Stayed up. Talked a lot. Played around with the dog. Filled in every blank, and calculated every skin break to make actual sense from a distance. Jungkook had an unbreakable patience, too. Making the tattoo a big deal and taking it this far was worth the extra eye-squinting hours.

„It was fine by me. I’ll have this masterpiece for life,“ Jungkook rubs his stomach, almost as if he could caress the motif. He really does genuinely like it.

„You will. Those colors won’t fade anytime soon.“

Three weeks of successful healing time proved the durability of the tattoo and the raw diligence of preparing all this. It all went by in a hurry. The whole competition was a sequence of travel, rehearsing, check-ins, and finding some suitable lotion to oil Jungkook up with since you quickly ran out of what you brought along. He was okay with you touching him like this. Jungkook said, since you had been under his skin, being simply on it was not the slightest inconvenience.

You did over a dozen contests before. You wanted your canvas to be shining bright in front of the discerning jury. Oil would add a gleaming touch to any tattoo, and helping Jungkook apply it was more than gratifying — not just artistically. You gotta drink a big sip on that.

„Amazing,“ he continues looking down on himself, his eyes really telling how exhausting the show was, but how rewarding. The 6’3 guy who got an entire sleeve and snake motif looked like an amateur canvas next to your model. Sure, the micro tats of some other competitors weren’t exactly precise and outstanding either so it had been easy to move to the Top 10, but when a tattoo artist was talking big game, big motif, big color, they better deliver.

„So— what do we fancy for the evening,“ you wave your backpack left and right, letting the cash tumble around. „Bowling? You’d be killin’ it. Buying some clothes? Or maybe we’ll go to an expensive club. You dance on the tables, I watch random people. You know, to judge their bad tats.“

He’s laughing at that. You’re sure you’D just be watching him move at best, he’s a dancer professionally — but anyway.

You continue listing ideas, but Jungkook sort of gapes at all the options without saying anything. He’s from a modest home like you were, the big city overwhelms him, as does the fact that you won 20,000$.

„You know what,“ the bottle wanders back into your rucksack, half empty. „We probably don’t have the energy to just straight up throw some big balls at a couple bowling pins, eh.“

Jungkook laughs again.

„Guess not. Would all just land in the gutter.“

„And shopping, that’s running a marathon. Maybe we can go to the club next week. What if we just sit on my terrace and watch some clouds? Back to the roots. I always do that to get inspiration.“

Jungkook perks up. You already invited him to your house before. It was a quicker, gentler recoloring session on a pretty dull rainy morning. To make sure he was competition ready, you carefully retouched some of his existing tattoos. His oldest, dearest ones. That’s how he got to see the Grey Room. Your art atelier, so to speak. Why grey? Because you don’t smudge — and the chair will prove it. Messy tattooists won’t go far, that was your opinion. Buying a black tattoo chair was an excuse.

„Hm, why not, I mean,“ he stumbles over his words, but you can tell he’s interested.

„Okay,“ you get up from your creaky chair, collecting the rest of your stuff, and he helps you with it. „It’s a done deal. You’ll see more of the house. The food is all prepared. Like, to perfection.“

During his recoloring session, Jungkook had to catch the bus right after, plus another client, Namjoon, came in for a lengthy consultation. It was all about whether you’d be sending Namjoon to an aesthetician for a laser treatment, or try to cover up the botched crooked rose on his pecs with a bigger design to one-up your precursor, this absolute idiot of a ‚line artist specialist‘. Your ass. It’s a crime to soil a person’s skin like that. Namjoon came in completely devastated and in need for help, so Jungkook quickly left. It ended up being the latter option, you tattoed a big fat 3D bonsai tree across the rose.

You only got back to Jungkook two days later, checking how his color was healing through video chat. He had stripped down enough for you to see the progress, and you tried your best to be professional, analyzing the next steps. Which had you excited, he always recovered exceedingly well, but you were both in a busy phase. Yet, you really couldn’t complain about not having him around. This tattoo and contest was a once-in-a-lifetime two-people project. It felt like being an Italian designer, taking your flagship testimonial to fashion week.

„Food?“

„I had Yoongi handle the ice cream maker this morning,“ you put on your shades, ready to go with your backpack filled to the brim. „But don’t tell anyone, lest my house gets robbed again. Banana flavor, by the way.“

Jungkook strangely doesn’t look as happy as you thought he’d be. But then again, not so strangely. Once the needle is inside and the first drop of ink settles in, you can read a canvas’ mind. It’s a connection that cannot be explained.

„Okay,“ is the lukewarm reply. He shoulders his own cross-body bag without really checking it once. Since he forgot his tank top, you hand it to him. It takes a couple seconds to register at all.

„Something not right?“

„It’s just, I wondered,“ he fumbles with the bag’s kinda tucked-in zipper. „You have— a boyfriend? Yoongi?“

„Ah, him,“ you chuckle. „No, Yoongi is my personal chef.“

„Oh, I see, the chef. I just, um.“

Jungkook looks wildly flustered at that realization, trying to find an excuse of looking away by fixing his ponytail, and rubbing his neck. Almost as if he got caught red-handed.

„And assistant. And the one who cleans my pool. And he schedules all my clients unless I do it myself. Yoongi handles everything on demand basically, so I can do this,“ you point at the surrounding hallway after opening the backroom’s lanky door.

A big red banner reading - LOS ANGELES ANNUAL TATTOO AWARDS - stretches well across the wall, and the area seems completely swept of people.

You did spend quite a lot of time talking backstage after you gave an interview for the local press while Jungkook posed for the camera — despite his first time doing this, like a natural.

„Seems like the competition headed home already,“ is your dry comment, but you’re not that surprised. It was too warm to linger in this building complex for any longer than the show lasted. You didn’t even register how stuffy the air was since you got so carried away together, talking. Although you would have loved to talk to some of the attending experienced masters, maybe it had been a good idea to dodge the hype.

„They really did hurry home.“

„That’s what we’ll do as well. Fifty scoops for each of us. Yoongi always makes a generous amount of ice.“

„Wow, it’s really all taken care of then,“ Jungkook finally manages to stuff the tanktop back into his bag, absent-minded. He hasn’t even considered putting it on, then. He’s too busy admiring that you have such a thing as a personal assistant and cook. The two of you tread down the hallway, causing a bit of an echo.

Jungkook looks at ease learning that Yoongi is more of a janitor. You give him the side eye, which he shamefully returns with a nervous laugh.

„I figure you like banana. And walking around like Abercrombie and Fitch.“

You point at the mauve-colored tank top that’s hanging out of his bag, caught by the zipper.

„Oh, oops!“ it finally clicks with a big flinch. He’s really been half-naked all the time, and only now makes an effort to pull the crumpled little piece of clothing back on. „I didn’t notice! I think the tattoo makes me feel dressed, um.“

„Car’s gonna be piping until the A/C runs full throttle,“ you head the way to the motor park, sandals randomly clacking onto the heated concrete. „Next thing you know, you’re gonna chuck your jeans into the Malibu beach waves and don’t  even notice.“

„No, no worries. I uh, I’m back to behind the scenes mode,“ Jungkook’s giggling to himself, trying not to make it too obvious that he was quick to react.

„Took you almost half an hour,“ you say through a big grin, getting out your dangly car keys with the miniature plush bunny attached to it. Flashback to last month, Jungkook bought it for you as a thank-you present after he heard you mope about always overlooking your keys.

„Dancer thing,“ he says, sounding wildly apologetic. „I usually don’t wear that much.“

„Talk about getting naked,“ you both settle in the car, a block of heat hitting you in the faces. „You can use my shower to scrape off all that oil. There must be some kind of special cleanser I got, the one with the light green stripe on it.“

„Yeah, it’s gotten so sticky—“ Jungkook turns to check his back. „My shoulder will smudge that oil on the backrest… sorry.“

„I’ll leave the seat cleaning to Yoongi, he likes looking after the car,“ is all you can comment, kick-starting your car. What follows is the deep humming noise that the engine typically emits when the LA heat is extra crazy. „You can turn on the radio over there. It’s kind of a one-hour ride from here. You said you sing pretty well?“

The now switched-on A/C blows his tanktop around the way it wants. Maybe L.A. is cooking today because Jungkook is out here.

Rolling into your garage, you realize you’ve brought home everything: Except the champagne bottle. Fuck it, the heat in the car would have done weird things to the oh-so sparkling content, and putting it in a flash freezer at home would have resulted in a fizzy explosion that would leave Yoongi with some high ceilings to scrub. Treating yourself to some cold juice sounds much better. You have no interest acting out drunk and passed out on the floor in Jungkook’s presence. And in case an impromptu tattoo happens, alcohol is the last thing you want in his blood. The same goes for everything more than just a tattoo.

The metal trophy, which is elegantly shaped like a stencil and lighter than you thought, is more important. After parking, that one goes straight to the Grey Room award wall. You’re chugging the rest of your bottled water in one whole go. Sitting next to him had your eyes averted from the street more often than not, which in and of itself was a bad idea — but who knew a traffic jam could be a nice thing, especially if it took two hours.

Jungkook is busy otherwise. Exhausted from the black seat’s stored warmth, he exits the car moaning out loud at the heat outside. And, from a later-day sun having grilled the right-hand side of his body. Through the car window, all the way. His body is chilled from the A/C, almost freezing down the sweat on his tanktop, at least that’s what it felt like, until you noticed he was shaky and dialed it down. Jungkook is actually a little hoarse from singing his heart out. That will fade in a minute, though, he says.

While he takes that so needed shower, you dig through an absent Yoongi’s clothing rack, built into his assistant wardrobe. Since Yoongi is on the smaller side, there aren’t too many options, but you guess he’ll survive.

Feeling much better now, Jungkook winds up dangling his legs into your garden pool fifteen minutes later. That is, with extremely tight tennis shorts and otherwise nothing on, yet again. The white of the fabric might be opaque, but his thighs are big enough to let either leg ride up. Yoongi can be glad he buys so much stretch material, otherwise, those shorts would be bursting at the seams.

Unlike during the way home from today’s show, the yellow-pinkish color of the sky is finally worthy of a tattoo artist’s eyes looking at it. The white pillars of your terrace frame the outlook effortlessly like a little arcade, and the pool water feels like it has been cooling down significantly around your calves. No smog, no direct sunlight, no skylines. You’d not allow Jungkook to step even one foot in your backyard topless as he is if the sun was still high up. His tattoo had to be carefully preserved.

„I do like banana. Anything banana.“

He licks up a drop of surplus ice cream from the back of his thumb. It’s all melting in record time despite the 9 PM cool approaching. You both have to be quick. Luxury problems — at the expense of your waiting lemonade. Which you told Jungkook to feel free to pour up for the both of you during your own bathroom break some minutes ago. You changed into something even looser, put your base cap on, and the ice was already getting a little too creamy under the poolside evening glow.

„Mmh. Self-made ice cream is a whole ’nother level,“ you twist your cone. Mainly, to take off the melting edge of your scoop with the right corner of your mouth. „Cools the vocal cords, does it.“

„Seriously didn’t sing that much in a while,“ he cracks a smile, and you can tell he missed having free time like this.

„You’re not out of the loop, though. I could have taken you to America’s Got Talent and we still would have won. Hell, the Masked Singer. Dressed as a Green Raccoon. Or a fencing man. Lord knows what. You got a beautiful voice.“

Jungkook almost chokes on his ice cream at the mental image of that.

„I guess I’d rather be dancing,“ he shakes his head, „and walking around at a tat con. I’m really nervous about that one.“

„We can chill, that’s four weeks from now,“ you sip on your lemonade eventually, swallowing an ice cube that has melted down to a peanut-sized chunk. „You’ll get used to your new look by then. And everyone is out there, it’s packed. They all wanna outdo each other. We’ll blend in somewhere. Even if it’s probably not gonna be much cooler and we’ll still look like glazed donuts. We might as well leave the oil at home.“

Which didn’t sound to unrealistic. You’ve had Yoongi book the two of you for a tattoo convention display down at Hacienda Heights. Body Art Expo — one of the biggest events in the area. You could finally showcase your latest craft and meet some of your role models. This year, an influx of famous contemporary Japanese masters was guaranteed.

The overarching theme was announced to be traditional horimono craft. You’ve been dying to set up a little booth and take Jungkook with you to see the best of the best, and also flaunt his own frontal tattoo.

„Yoongi might as well park an ice cream truck for us there,“ he jokes.

„You’ll definitely need ice indeed after I go buckwild and give you a whole beginner’s hand poking treatment.“

„Hand what?“

„Hand poking,“ you laugh. „Tebori artists don’t really use automatic needles with some exceptions. It’s all done manually. You prick the skin by hand. Even the tattoo needle you have make on your own.“

„Like DIY, completely yourself?“

He got you started on one of your favorite topics. Well, well.

„Yes. It’s like a small wooden or metal stick. It has a grouping of needles fastened to it by string.“

„Oh… so that’s why— by hand.“

„Yes. And it doesn’t stop there. A machine has say, nine to 35 needles. My favorite tattoo gun has 22. Japanese traditional can go as far as 42. That’s why outlines are so difficult to do in that technique. And the gradients. Those are fucking hard. Getting a tebori  tattoo is expensive with good reason.“

„42 needles!“

„Depends. It actually bleeds less. You feel relaxed after a session. The whole thing is like. Eleven inches long, bit more. The artist has ultimate control over how deep it locks in the coloring fluid.“

„Um, yes,“ is all he can say staring.

„The artist will use a sponge to pick up the ink, and drive the stick in by hand. Hence they call it hand poke. A full-body tattoo can take a year to complete. But the color has the best saturation. The needles are thicker, you can put lots and lots of ink under the skin that way.“

Which is why you’re so interested in it. Six years plus until you’d be able to fully practice that technique on someone. It’s your goal for your later career. To have your own tattoo family, apprentices, and letting the art live on through your canvases.

Maybe settling in Japan itself to learn from the best, or remaining overseas. As long as you’d be able to hand poke a clean line like a true master and sketch properly, artfully, just as the craft demanded. Time and place wouldn’t matter.

„You said that Japanese tattoos work with woodblocks, right?“

„It’s inspired by woodblock carving art,“ you nod, pulling out your phone. Plenty of pictures to show him, over 600, if not more. You shade the display with one hand and sit closer to Jungkook, swiping through the gallery.

„The actual design is painted with soot ink beforehand,“ you keep on explaining. „Like, a phoenix. A river, with flora. Some scenes of a kabuki theatre play. Or a goddess figure, that’s pretty common.“

Jungkook does look as hooked as you are. And— as a side note: He smells damn good from the cleanser you gave him. That shower must have been thorough. You sort of don’t smell it anymore when you use it, but when it mixes with his scent, that’s a whole different thing.

„That’s so cool… Would you do that on me?“

„Jungkook,“ you raise your brows at him. „That technique takes years to learn. With a mentor— And endless copying practice of their grand pieces.“

„You even need a teacher and copy what they do? That’s crazy.“

„When we go to the fair, I might get my hands on a bamboo needle to see how it’s like to hold. But I’ll probably just stand there and watch in awe just like you.“

„Wow. We’ll really be able to see a lot there.“

Jungkook’s posture appears significantly less tensed-up now, and you know you took his nervousness about the convention by directing his mind to a new idea. That he asked you to give him a traditional-style tattoo by hand without even hesitating has left an impression, but you try not to let your face show your respect. Most canvasses would be skeptical, frightened, or completely dismissive of the technique. Jungkook is nothing short of sexy, it’s literally right next to you — but it’s his open mind that makes him interesting.

„I know, right. But you still might be lucky getting a Japanese tat from me.“

„Really?“

He almost jolts up, which makes his left thigh rub against you by accident.

„Okay, I can’t just walk up and hand carve an entire body suit into your skin. Right. But you can actually do parts of horimono with, you know, automatic needles and stuff. Many traditional studios do outlines by machine these days, and only the coloring or shades by hand.“

„They do it both?“

„Pretty much. Hybrid tebori. The art of doing precise lines by stick is recently dying out. If we use the gun instead, for everything? You can still get a goddess tattoo like an original motif. It does take practice and immense research. But it’s doable with modern machines and an excellent design.“

If you think about it, Jungkook might just be the perfect canvas to dive deeper into Japanese tattooing, even more so than you already did. Not being able to do it the manual way would irk you, but you can work with what you have.

„Any suggestions where?“ he looks across his body, traces his hands, deliberating. „I mean, it could go anywhere for me. But, I mean you should choose where it fits the best.“

You do know a perfect spot, in fact.

The slimness of his hip makes it so that an ascending motif would widen up perfectly on the shoulder area. On the other hand, the extreme curve of his spine could easily warp the design when looked at from afar, so that had to be carefully considered. It’s all a matter of adaptation. You can already see details of this next project form before your inner eye, still.

„Your back is completely virginal, so. What about that.“

„Right, of course!“

„And that’s where you find a traditional placement anyway.“

Some proper skin breaks between the shoulder blades, maybe some more grey towards the waist level, putting in more contrast across the shoulders and neck… it all starts to form in your head. Fuck, Jungkook’s neck is actually your dream target area. Front and back. The underside of his jaw as well. Peak difficulty.

A pet peeve for many of your colleagues in the field because the skin is so delicate and hard to put a design on. Many people just say fuck this shit and freehand it completely. But to you: Sweetest spot you can think of. If he’s good to go, you’ll ink him with his neck hung from the edge of your tattoo furniture one day with an extra anesthetic. Maybe some kind of animal or interlocking pattern. It’s gonna look fucking awesome.

„Would you like, actually sketch something for me?“

„Sure. Or we’ll work together with a master who will design something with ink on paper to suit your body perfectly. We still need an entry piece for next year’s tat awards.“

„But I only want your stencil,“ he finishes biting off the lower half of his ice cream cone, looking pretty disgruntled at the idea of someone else being in charge of his back. You would rather consider an expert, but you can see his point. Everything on his body should look coherent, as in one singular handwriting. And you heard it. He only wants your stencil or nothing at all.

Of course the back has to match the abs and the pecs. Only a consistent style would ensure that Jungkook’s tattoos would come together as an aesthetic whole that carried your signature, which was not just something a show jury would appreciate. It was a just because thing.

„Fine by me, it’ll just take longer. And we do color.“

Which means, more time spent in the Grey Room, where you would keep all of your treasures. The inner city studio you share with your colleague, Taehyung, who was more of a Neo Traditional and portrait enthusiast. He also did blackwork just like you. That meant the present ink supply was either batshit crazy colors and dark shades only. Hence, you set up your own extra coloring studio at home to specialize.

„Love the idea!“

„So it’s a done deal, huh. We’ll do the project in the Grey Room by then, I’m thinking.“

It needs a different atmosphere and lighting to really get the most out of the hues. And: You created this area to make a canvas open up and relax. With your technique and shading style, coloring in the big areas was always a real pain in the ass for anyone with skin that wasn’t super thick.

Taehyung’s philosophy was always to ‚paint‘ his clients in a suave and fleeting way, whereas your approach was always go hard or go home. Jungkook could handle it, and his skin was rewarding to work on when it came to recovery. You can tell he’s more than excited.

„Really, thank you for this…“

„If a couple months work sounds like fun to you, we’re gonna walk up with another 20,000€ price money next year.“

You are starting to enjoy this idea of Jungkook being a tattoo muse, sort of like the faux Greek statues and busts that you had Yoongi put up around the garden when you moved in here. A lot of tattoo artists you were friends with were inspired by the renaissance, and you could see the appeal. That Jungkook was a walking Greek aesthetic with his curls and decadent body really does fit well into your home, now that you think about it.

„I have no problem hanging out here at all,“ he’s munching, tongue in cheek. „Your house is amazing. I bring along some groceries and such when you’re too busy. If, if you want.“

„Really?“

„Long as you can sketch in peace. I like doing laundry and those things.“

„Yoongi will appreciate it. More time for cooking his latest creations. You’re already renting out his clothing, we can cut him some slack there, huh. Doing a full landscape and figure will take us twice as long as with your ribs.“

And those were already insane to do. The skin was behaving almost like paper in some bits. Only the fact that he works out decently enough has probably saved Jungkook from losing his mind then and there. His back is going to be much easier to tattoo.

„A background landscape as well? “ he drops his jaw. „This is genius… Maybe we should do it later this year, September or so.“

„Good call,“ you blink. „Gonna be a bit colder. And you’re gonna be a birthday boy. A tat’s always a nice gift to yourself.“

The reality is: Most tattoo artists would kill to secure a canvas that was so patient. It was a biased view, but Jungkook would not just be a wanted man in his dating pool (which he already is, he’s told you about a lot of concerning things in his DMs) if he graced the cover of `Inked´ magazine.

The whole ink world would come running. You already brace yourself for the storm of showing him off at Body Art Expo. He would be noticed. Today’s experience showed his potential. People found him likable and sweet, and the muscles got them going. You worried if Jungkook would have to be protected from too much attention in the community. It wouldn’t be long until you wouldn’t be alone in a cool-down room. Today’s show wasn’t the busiest, but an Expo would be. People would absolutely bother him. Rather than asking you about your tattoo journey, or anything else constructive and useful.

„I’m really getting a back tattoo,“ Jungkook is buzzing with energy, splashing around water with his feet. His voice is just fine by now, only a hint of raspy at best. The energy low of the backstage room is pretty much forgotten.

„I’ll sit myself down with some books and I’ll get back to you next month with a first  rough draft, yeah?“

„Can’t wait!“

„And after that,“ you shoot him a warning gaze more jokingly, „I’m sketching for your legs, too. Maybe with a realistic thigh tattoo. Or with some big red highlights and otherwise black only.“

„Woah! Red and black?!“

„Anything’s possible. Though, you know. Only if you want to, of course. I’m just brainstorming.“

But those thighs basically scream for ink, oh my god. You can’t even hold yourself back. Was he actually okay with that? By the looks of it, Jungkook didn’t have a single problem with you planning out his whole body’s new design.

„I have nothing against being a BLACKWORKS gallery,“ pats his thighs the most innocent way you could imagine. „I know I’m in good hands.“

BLACKWORKS was the name of your tattoo parlor, carrying with it the color you had specialized in. Ironically, setting up the Grey Room was the exact opposite, making a space to dabble in color. It was sort of the bane of your existence. One or the other, both, or alternatingly? Your sentiment changed with every larger project or every other client.

„Well, thank you. Any further questions?“

„I um… I don’t want to sound rude, but.“

„You don’t sound like it’s anything offensive, though,“ you lower your shades to squint at him.

„What are you like planning,“ he kneads his palms against each other, „I mean, with the prize money? I was, you know, just, uh curious. You always create cool projects and stuff, that’s why.“

„Oh that? We need that money for all the fucking ink you’ll be wearing!“

„Help!“ he squeals out, just as joking now.

„Seriously though. You’re gonna be my most expensive canvas. Taehyung spent a fortune finding the right pigment for all the True Black that went here,“ you point at his chest. „Only the highest quality Acrylic components in there. No metals, no allergens. No nothing.“

„Is it organic? That’s so Los Angeles,“ Jungkook giggles into his hand, trying not to make some organic this, organic that joke most probably.

„Better than having that shit in your lymph system. We don’t want that.“

„Thanks, you’re looking out for me.“

No toxins for your canvasses. And nothing you don’t know the effects of. More clients gotta get some education about this.

„Just duty. And LA sucks, I don’t care. Cheers.“

For the last sip of lemonade, you toast, and Jungkook reiterates that he’s feeling very much in safe hands — especially now that you offered him a sofa place to sleep on.

It’s really too late to drive him home. The highway ride would take ages, the traffic is even more terrible at this hour. Returning at like 2 or 3 AM would set you up for a lackluster sleep routine. He’s living alone in his flat so there’s nobody to inform, he’s not urgently missed and needed for something. That there’s no one waiting for him always surprises you.

That Jungkook is his own best roommate and doesn’t cohabit with his parents, all in a decently well-off part of the city on top of that — not the most flashy one, cozier, but still — tells you that he must dance pretty damn well and knows how to live life. He probably thinks the same about you anyway, although he keeps on saying you work too much for your own good, which might have a grain of truth.

You do wish you lived a bit like him. Then again, you’re well aware he has a hard time sometimes. Going by pictures he showed you, the flat he has isn’t a bad one at all. You don’t charge him for the tattoos, obviously. They’re competitive entries based on your decisions, not commissioned pieces. He offered pay, but you rejected the eight hundred bucks.

On a day where he let his guard down after three hours of conversation, Jungkook told you he’s selling his pics and videos between otherwise casual sentences. That was about two month ago. He didn’t say what pics and what videos, but you were beginning to connect the dots.

All the signs, they were there. The way he undressed, the way he was aware of how he came across, the way he was so photogenic. You worked extra hard on getting the clarity of the tattoo right. It’s one thing to look at black ink pigments in daylight or below the artificial lighting of a studio, but on camera, it’s absolutely a different thing.

Why he opened up to you, you don’t know. It was inconsequential. He didn’t mention it again, and it didn’t look like he was observing your reaction to it.

There was no telling what his shy tone of voice was supposed to say, or his intent, and you guess it all had many meanings at once. Maybe he just said it to say it. To get something off his chest. Jungkook often hesitated to vent, but he was honest telling you that. If anything — he trusted you enough to do so.  

„I’ll just give you one of these at this point,“ you weed through your closet, pulling drawers, checking metal hangers. Eventually, Jungkook catches a white sporty tee that you’re tossing him, and lays down on the white king-size couch in the center of the living room. 11 PM. Sunday tomorrow. None of you caught a heat stroke. You’re both not that tired yet. There might as well be something left to do. So… Well.

„Have a good night’s sleep then,“ Jungkook smiles, already half settled— about to put on the shirt. You gotta stop him in this tracks somehow before he’s dressed again.

„Maybe it’s still time for a little treat,“ you say, wiggling your eyebrows at him, which he reciprocates with unbridled surprise.

„Did Yoongi put some other desert in the fridge, or—“

You shake your head.

„No, no. Something else. Actually, way else. Wait here, Jungkook.“

„O.k.?“

„Heading back in just a minute,“ you turn your head across your shoulder. „Look at my drawings on the wall or something.“

He does, gazing around the spacious room that is actually pretty bright and light at this hour. The team that did the electrics in here were absolute top tier in their field, although the house did not pass as 100% interior art. Rather, the tall walls were clad in big unfinished pen sketches and other blackwork ideas behind frames, mostly showing anatomical poses and various animals from all around the globe. Looking up, Jungkook got lost in a painting that showed a distorted self-portrait of you while drawing something on a table. Art of the artist doing art.

„You need to get yourself some of this,“ you interrupt, posturing yourself in the doorframe upon returning. Jungkook’s head twists in record time. His confusion is more than visible all across his face reacting to what you’re holding up with your right hand.

„Is that… Is that— Lubricant!“

Someone looks pretty damn flustered right now and it’s not you.

„Oh my god Jungkook,“ you shuffle closer to the sofa, thoroughly amused. „Actually read what’s on this tube. Here.“

You hand the mysterious black item to a very panicked mess of a weekend guest.

„Aftercare cream?!“

„Read on.“

„…for protecting tattoos.“

He just looks mighty exasperated now. Oh Jesus.

„Come on. It’s not some kind of after-bondage ointment,“ you laugh. „Just plain ole tattoo balm, okay. Nothing BDSM going on here.“

„Yeah… Yeah.“

„The whole thing’s pretty much a vibrancy serum, healing cream, moisturizing lotion, et cetera. All in one. That is considered a treat in my book. Treat as in skin treatment.“

„I uh, should have figured.“

Jungkook’s knee-jerk reaction has him crouching together in a gullible pose on the sofa, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. Broke a sweat for a minute there, did he.

„Your tattoo had a lot of stuff going on today. Oil and sun and sweat and chlorine, too. We’re not gonna let it rest unprotected tonight. There’s some regeneration it has to do.“

As per the contest rules, tattoos need to be fully healed to enter anyway, so today he’s not been freshly inked under the UV rays outside. But it’s still better to apply cream to support the tattoo as it is. And exposing Jungkook’s dirty mind for the sheer fun of it.

„Am a bit of a dummy,“ he hands the lotion back to you.

„The clean air around here has you wearing tennis shorts… and your mind in the gutter, does it,“ you snap the tube open, squeezing a generous double dime-size amount into your palm. It’s not like you didn’t check him out all day. Two minds in the gutter? That’s twice the fun.

„Sorry.“

„Don’t be. Now let me work it in, I’ll do that for you. The shirt needs to wait for another minute again. Fine by you?“

„Okay!“

„Then relax. It needs to be spread out properly.“

Running your hands across one’s favorite canvas should be considered a therapeutic method for any tattoo artist out there. You need to listen to a lot of shit, discuss a lot of shit, compete against a lot of shit, and draw a lot of even more shitty shit. It’s only fair you get to enjoy the silver lining as well. Savoring what you all do it for: Enjoying the aesthetic and the feel of the skin.

Jungkook is as pliant as ever accepting the treatment, and the balm does what it’s supposed to do. Seeping in, refreshing the skin, cooling it off. You knead his body in broad strokes of your palms, making sure the coverage is even. The tattoo again proves its bold winning ways shining bright even under the low ceiling lamp, and you again congratulate each other. No scabs at all, and the whole jury convinced. You beat a tiger, the watercolor dudes, tiny tat mania, Leonardo DiCaprio, and the tall snake bloke. The result was a memorable rendition of a pet dog that your client could not get enough of. What more could you really ask for.

 Jungkook visibly hums under your touch and seems to react with cozy noises having his sides massaged. You’re careful with the ribs, his sensitive area. You’re totally not lingering on the pecs for a little longer. Your mind revolves around the thought of sitting down on his thighs to unpack the real treat and finally ride out your craving.

„What if we,“ you start, „You know. Actually use some lubricant. Here on this sofa.“

„Huh—? Really? In a way that…“

Jungkook awakes from his half-slumber that your hands had so calmly induced. In fact, he goes from sleeping beauty to wide alert in two seconds, propping himself up from the sofa cushions. To meet you face to face — he’s incredulous. Well, you aren’t exactly feeling coherent either, which surprises you, too.

„Sure! I mean. If you want to. There’s some of it in the other room that I can fetch. I figured we might. Just for fun, and… We know each other for a while now. To me it would be nice. Nothing fancy, just. We just do our thing if we like it. I’m still your tattooist. I wished we could sleep with each other at some point. I didn’t say anything because we had to focus on competing. Sorry for that.“

„Please, please don’t.“

„I preferred to make it about work until we sat at the pool today. If we’re fucking… It should be a comfortable moment where we really got to know each other already. You were pretty shy. So I was careful, right, although I’ve been teasing you anyway, I don’t know what you thought about that, if that was funny or not. But you know, the heat of the moment.“

„Don’t worry, I liked it.“

„I also didn’t want to make it look like I was trying to get in your videos for money or just because you do them, or mess with your personal business. I know this is a separate thing. So I was more, uh, asking casually. With the conventions and our projects, I want nothing to change there.“

„No, of course.“

„If we make this a big deal, I thought it would be risky. When I ask you this, there’s always the chance that it gets weird, people are being particular and act different when getting intimate like that, no matter if the night is good or bad or boring. But to me, I thought, after all our sessions being the way they were we had a body feeling for each other that was more progressed than just having sex. And I was curious how it would be naked, how we’d be catching up. Because you’re really hot to me… I really want to be on top of you. I waited so long to say this. God, fuck, Jungkook.“

„Yes.“

„Hm?“

„Yes, I want to. I’ve… been thinking about it as well.“

It’s a bashful confession that comes with a lot of baggage off his shoulders, you can tell. This all has been simmering underneath the surface. At least you managed to spill it all out yourself. Drawing a 3D face was infinitely easier, tattooing an inner fucking lip was easier. But now he was in the know, if he wasn’t before.

„Makes two of us,“ you twirl at his curly bangs with one digit finger. „Should I get it? And some other stuff. So we’re safe.“

„I, I have some protection in my bag,“ Jungkook goes on stumbling over his words, clearly not prepared for you touching his hair so playfully. „Just a minute. It’s upstairs. In the shower.“

Standing up, you both separate ways with telling, loaded glances. Jungkook couldn’t climb the stairs any faster, his expression is so sheepish. You really fucking did it. You asked and he said yes. Damn, hell yeah.

Walking into your dark bedroom, you pick up a non-fragrant wet wipe to clean your hands from any tat cream residue, although you’ve really worked it into him. Every last corner of his torso. The sleeve as well.

You constantly taught him how to take care of his arm and the other tattoos, but this was a new one. Jungkook will keep the healing cream, you’ll gift it to him. It’s high-priced stuff, but why’d you care. Your home tresor now holds a whopping 20,000$ in cash, and you can topple into your bed happy and content after knowing you own the L.A. tattoo scene as of today.

Jeon Jungkook, he was truly a standout client. Picking up the bottle of lube from underneath your bed, you couldn’t believe you just make the step to breach the professional, invisible wall of being artist and canvas. The excitement gave you a nice gut feeling that was similar to walking up at the show’s venue this morning. You’d have him on the couch, you’d get some fucking dick tonight, no sketching, no planning, no phone calls, no nothing.

You bring a large towel that Jungkook puts under his back and legs, protecting the sofa. Two water bottles, too, there he goes. Although you don’t want this to be the most sweaty exercise of all time, you both have to stay hydrated. After such a stuffy long day, anyhow.

He looks hot chugging it down up to the half-a-litre mark, and you drink from your own bottle with one hand pulling down your pants to the knees. He helps you remove them across your ankles, and he leaves two little kisses on your lower shins. It’s the first time feeling his lips are on you, and it’s a peck just as unique as you thought it would be.

When you hook your index fingers at the top of his shorts, you notice that Jungkook already fitted a blue condom inside his pants.

He didn’t want to do it in front of you and make it awkward, or expect you to touch him just for practicality first rather than touching him for sensuality first. Obviously it could be hot rolling it down on a guy, feeling up what would be inside of you, the whole girth. But safe to say he knew what he was doing. Jungkook didn’t want to compromise you. With all your thoughts that you had, that was a subtle act of reassuring.

Since you brought along the lubricant, you could still get to enjoy having your hand wrapped around him, spreading the heavy liquid rather liberally, feeling it melt around him. You wiped your hand on the towel and climbed up to his lap while Jungkook was kicking off his pants with a hip-to-knee coordination that you haven’t seen yet.

It dawns on you. How could you forget what he usually does. He wasn’t just a dancer by profession, but at heart. Those things were hard to suppress or not do. Just like you couldn’t look at Jungkook without feeling inspired to create tattoos. Which, and you couldn’t lie to yourself, his bare skin was desperately begging for, it was so inviting. You already saw him more than scantily clad, but with his shorts down, his waist and hip showed themselves in their best light. You loved his body shape.

And damn, it felt so good to finally be naked in that summer evening heat, feeling the A/C lightly tickle up your spine and neck from behind. It cooled down your back just right, and you chucked away your underwear for it not to lay around on the sofa. Although the lube was more than enough to go by, you gathered some saliva in your mouth to spit on his dick. It made him twitch and moan, „Yes please.“

There was no need for any aperitif, you weren’t in the mood to go through any foreplay. Jungkook looked delicious enough to have you on edge, and the lubricant would do the rest to make him gliding inside even smoother. You squatted over him and aligned yourself, got comfortable in stabilizing your legs this way.

Jungkook closed his eyes and only looked when the tip was way in, approaching the mid-length of his cock squeezing inside of you. Of course you were still a little tight, but some positioning would change the angle for the better. Jungkook asked if he could use his hands and got green lights from you. Judging by how they were slightly dry on your skin and the scent they had, Jungkook soaped them down when he was picking up his cross-body bag from the bathroom some minutes ago. Everything by the book.

One on your hip, the other playing with your clit, you began to realize just how good he was with his beautiful fingers. It wasn’t just you having the manual skills in this relationship. He was remarkably cautious and had concentrated eyes. So far, you enjoyed that Jungkook was more observing rather than staring, and had such a nice ring to his moaning voice as if he was a singer.

From your perspective, seeing his tattoed fingers curl between your labia and his tight chest muscles moving right along made you crave more cock inside. It slid in almost naturally with the stimulation that came from his fingertips. Jungkook’s voice went right along with it, describing in sounds rather than words what the situation was like.

„That’s really good, stay in that spot,“ you told him, and added a slight up and down to your movement on his dick. Only a slight drag on his shaft made it harder to push him inside further, but that was likely because he had been growing in size a little more.

Learning how to tattoo meant studying some architecture as well to be able to pull it off, and in your case, you soaked up all historic Greek building styles there everywhere. If you were to describe Jungkook as a column, it would be Doric. Full in the middle, definitely not Corinthian in length, actually more Roman Tuscan which was full and convex with a slender, triangular tip that extended toward a nice curving girth the further down you went to the middle.

„So pretty. Your dick feels good.“

„I really hoped you’d like it.“

Meanwhile, he had less circumference at the base. Which you found pleasing to the eye, and pleasing when you sunk down on him fully. That meant squeezing down some lube which would squirt on his balls and made your labia extra slick and juicy, stretching on the sides of his shaft like soaked little lips.

A bit would splatter to the side and smear across the lower side of your ass. It pulled threads when you were reaching the lowest point of your bounce, which alerted Jungkook’s usually waist-bound hand. He had noticed that you felt discomfort with it and wiped it flat to the side in one go.

To your surprise, he gently licked across the sides of his fingers to clean it up. Jungkook licking his tattoos had to be something you didn’t know you needed and one of the top five things happening today. The innocence but quick efficiency with which he did it, priceless. He didn’t stick out his tongue that much, just a decent fourth of it. His calm and naughtiness spoke of low performance anxiety, which you attributed to him being camera-savvy, doing his solo videos.

Still, going balls deep had Jungkook whimpering through his teeth with his eyes closed again, an immense tension spread across his face. Even his left hand on your clit briefly stopped. He had to accommodate to being inside, so you wouldn’t go on moving until his features would relax a little more and he sighed out. It was all fully in the moment and you loved to continue moving up once he was okay again.

Jungkook and you were comfortable with one position for now. In your head, you have a thousand things just like a full-body tattoo would look like, but in reality, you can only ink one thing at a time. Perfecting his little quickie would pay off much more than bending each other around. He had been hectic enough going up the stairs, he had been nervous and confused all day. You had so many ups and downs of adrenaline yourself. This had to be deliberate.

Although you told him he didn’t have to if he couldn’t do it, you found yourself asking Jungkook to give you some understated hip work. Just to begin meeting you halfway, to press his balls against you softly, to create some more lewd noises — and to see his whole body go like clockwork so you would see his tattoos dance above his muscles.

Since he observed you well, Jungkook amped up the stimulation enough for you to feel your pleasure starting to build up fast like a coil waiting to be undone, at its very peak of feel-good. The thought of having a climax right on his dick was spurring you to move, chasing the high and needing the smack of your ass against the jerk of his desperate thighs.

„Keep going… I can handle it!“

Jungkook sounded like he was about to cry, which told you he must have cum inside the condom. Hell, he was moaning so passionately, it could have been at any point in time. Going by his usual policy, he didn’t want to put pressure on you or mess up your own timing. He left you to do your own thing, just like you said you wanted. Lord knows he might have popped a pill in the bathroom to keep his dick up for long enough.

All you knew was, the suction created by you riding him very roughly at a high pace kept him erect, leaving you space to cum on his sloppy dick before Jungkook would enter a post-sex delirium. It was sudden and left you clenching up, heart rate thumping and a huge wave of release making the round through your torso. You squeezed him tight, he reacted by slowing his waist down. That way, you could savor the orgasm without disturbance, and leave your eyes shut for a moment. Jungkook helped you go from squatting on the heels of your feet to the knees, coming much closer to him now and leaving him buried deep.

„Fuck, so good!“ you plant your hands on either of his shoulders, cooling down. The A/C continues to release a calm stream of air into the room, which is deeply needed. You can’t believe it’s already happened. Or, how fast it could happen once you asked this way. He gave himself away freely without expectations, Jungkook went along like a champ.

You stay seated this way for a long time. Relaxing. Up until you both have normal breaths, up until your sleep hormones are kicking in. You glide off his dick with Jungkook’s help, him kissing the inside of your thigh while you lift it across his face.

Jungkook insists to stay on the couch, he doesn’t want to move or just come along to the bedroom he’s never been in out of nowhere. He mumbles that he’ll somehow get himself to the bathroom in ten minutes, it’s okay, he doesn’t want aftercare just more to drink. And a little snack from the fridge, maybe.

He cleans you up with love and care, then discards the more than ruined condom that had to endure being soaked from either side, outside, inside. It didn’t rip, but it looks as mushy as it gets. You really fucked the shit out of him. Everything wet and full of lube. Although it looked messy, it didn’t feel like it. Jungkook was effortlessly good in bed and immediately grasped what you wanted. The fully wet condom was a mere testament.

Seeing just how drenched and mixed up everything was, though, Jungkook points to his bag, you pull out a flat paper box.

„Yeah, just to be sure,“ you nod and pop the contents on your tongue, downing the little pill with a bunch of water. Jungkook probably made the cutest babies ever, but your whole stomach was your former first teacher Boa freestyling the absolute madness of an impeccably scaled dragon in every available color that was your lucky charm, so that wasn’t happening.

Where stretch marks would mean a ruptured masterpiece, a whole C-section would give you a thousand years of bad luck for chopping off the dragon’s feet. It would be an aesthetic crime for someone aspiring to perfection, and you wouldn’t want to draw the wrath of Boa for the sake of a kid you had zero time for to begin with.

Come to think of it. Your conservative neighborhood would probably call the cops if they learned about how the eccentric tattoo artist raving about ‚hand poking‘ and homoerotic Greek culture all day had a lovechild with the Doberman chest guy whose main source of income was shaking his ass into a camera.

So — Jungkook himself was more than just prepared. Even if he didn’t look nor act like it, he had his sex life together. Hacks, contraception, technique, hitting perfect pitch on his moans, everything. This guy was a professional in a way that you would tattoo abstract art. You admit to yourself that you tasted blood despite 85% of California men not doing it for you, and that included the majority of model canvasses. Jungkook had something completely unoffensive and pleasing about him. Something intricately submissive that was worth exploring.

Even if he came too early, he didn’t complain about it or give himself a hard time, or get in your way with it. If anything, it let you know that Jungkook liked what you did. You felt complimented that he reached his climax so easily with you, though you have to ask why he wanted to remain in the living room when your bed was much less improvised than the couch.

„Not making it a big deal,“ he says, smiling a little at you. „Nothing much changes. You’re my tattooist.“

And he’s right. He would have slept here if you didn’t fuck. The couch is big and comfortable, anyway.

While you get dressed in the bedroom, you hear him sneak upstairs. Using the tap, and you hear the clothing dryer being switched off.

You’re already tucked in when a little „thank you for todays session 🐰“ text lights up on your phone screen, followed by „and congratulations 🎊“. You reply with a „right back at you“ and call it a day, recounting today’s events in your head with an excited feeling. Good one. You even forgot you actually had a phone. Today felt like the longest 24 hours of this year.

Jungkook gets comfortable with a cold drink on the living room table next to him. Even if he’s not getting the hang of this house yet, that’ll do. He’s closing his eyes at some point. Everything that’s happened feels like it’s locked into his body. Big show, big lights, photoshoots, karaoke, brainstorming for the future. The two of you need some well-deserved rest tonight. He’s not going anywhere, and you’re not going anywhere.

The heat of the summer nights in this part of the town is reliably stable. Still, you left him the shirt in case he still needs it. Yoongi will take care of breakfast before either of you wake up tomorrow, and the kitchen will be clean as day. A nice thought to hold onto, as well as the confetti raining down on stage. And that fact that you just hooked up.

„Rise and shine my queen,“ resounds the upbeat voice of Yoongi. You always twist around under the duvet for a solid minute, then realize every time that it’s just your phone alarm sounding off like that. On a grumpy day, you once told Yoongi to record something that will get you out of bed, and this was the result. By the time you’re waking up, though, your house is all prepared. Yoongi took off for errands already.

After handing Jungkook an illustrative traditional tattoo book from your little house library to get a feel for possible designs, you sit down together. At the kitchen counter-turned-bar-turned-breakfast-table, Jungkook is fresh out the shower in a bathing gown he found nearby. Again — a garment way too short for someone with tempting legs like that.

On him, it’s basically a mini wrap dress. Not to mention the cleavage, where his tattoo is boldly peeking. Crisp edges, deep color, the black consistent. Not to brag, but you want to pat yourself on the shoulder for that job. It looks just as scrumptious as the little buffet that awaits the two of you.

„How’d Yoongi react to the tennis pants on you?“

„No idea,“ Jungkook ruffles his hair, damp and strongly curling. „Probably didn’t even register that it was his clothing at first. I was sleeping anyway when he arrived.“

„Right, he comes in around 5:50,“ you pick up a brimming sandwich, stacked with lettuce, bell pepper, and extra-layered vegan cheese. „You just saw him leave or so, right.“

„We said hi for like ten minutes when I woke up,“ Jungkook gets busy putting cherry jam on a croissant, „and he congratulated us.“

„I sent him a link to the interview we did after the competition.“

Your group chat is just a cat picture, event info, and meme dump at this point, this was one of the more serious entries. You know Yoongi for too long.

„Then I asked if he also got tattoos from you,“ he stirs his tea, and a little smile rises. Of course he had to ask that. Yoongi was plastered in freestyle 3D tattoos and song lyrics. „Then he told the story about how he started working here. So that was hilarious.“

„Abbreviated, though.“

„Abbreviated?“

“Yoongi never tells the full version where he freeloaded getting a portrait of Holly on his underarm. He didn’t have the cash, but we were college friends. I almost fell for the trick when he wanted a matching one for his girlfriend. As an exchange, he was cooking here for a week. I ended up hiring him, he’s really good at those things.“

„I was still so tired, I think I didn’t quite pay attention to the story anyway,“ Jungkook laughs. „After he showed me his knuckle designs up close, I was thinking about how I got my own.“

„Hand tats are different gravy,“ you fill up an empty glass with extra orange juice, one eye still in Jungkook’s cleavage. „Probably ’cause you see ’em all day.“

You think he does notice your gaze tracing his body. But you never know when Jungkook is terribly shy or ready to flirt the house down when he does that one wide-eyed expression.

„And then Yoongi said, I should just put on his stretchy sweatpants from the lowest drawer? I didn’t really know where that was.“

„Oh right, he doesn’t use that drawer anymore. That chapter is closed.“

„Anymore?“

„Yoongi stopped playing golf. He had his shoulder messed up in an accident.“

„Oh no…“

„Five years ago, I think. He got hit by a delivery car a mile up the lane. Never fully recovered.“

„Ouch…“

„So all that golf stuff is unused. Might as well steal a polo shirt and socks from there as well. Down the hallway, last door to the left. I make sure nobody eats your croissant in the meantime.“

He’s giggling. Golf clothes, it is. The morning is significantly cooler, you can feel it in your bones. A welcome refresher.

„Sucks. Sorry about Yoongi’s injury,“ Jungkook gets up, which loosens his belt a little too much. The bathroom gown really is falling apart left and right. You can see his thigh exposed, all the way up to the right hip. Your dear guest tries to hold everything in place shamefully with two hands, then pulls the belt now twice as tight. „Down the hallway, last door, left, correct…?“

„Yup.“

Off he goes with bouncing hair. You browse through the tattoo book while obliterating your sandwich, shifting your brain back into business mode. Shit, why’d he pick that short fucking gown instead of a regular damn towel.

In the assorted picture part of the later chapters, you find some beautiful ornaments that would literally, and you can tell right away, work so well as a frame for his back tat. Some almost naturalistic shapes, and either clouds or wind on top. Maybe even both, most deity figures in the book had several elements surrounding them. A playground for anyone who knows what they’re doing. The sketch was going to be fun to make, and interesting once it came to application.

You already put in an extra hour for Namjoon’s bonsai cover-up. Jungkook’s September appointment would be twice as intricate and dynamic. Because of the sheer overwhelming size, anyway, and Jungkook’s body shape presenting the challenge of tweaking the design’s perspective. Now that you’ve seen him stripped down all the way — maybe you do have a better understanding of him even more so.

You shiver at the thought of an unskilled tattoo artist ruining a beautiful physique like that, especially across such a large area. Thank God Taehyung sent him to you after realizing that ‚suave and fleeting‘ was clearly not what Jungkook was looking and suited for. JK’s first tattoo had been a simple refresh of some letterings on his sleeve, and the heart on his hand. A month later, he was ringing you up again.

„I think you’re the one. I have a shoulder bit that needs a touch-up. And maybe… you have an idea for the right underarm.“

What surprised you, Jungkook has never been the one choosing the tattoos. He quite liberally had you picking it all— and even without his request, you’ve now been coming up with motives to add on.

Laid-back as he is, „you do you, all access“ is all he thinks about that. Jungkook does an impromptu trust fall into your tattooing chair every time. To be honest, you could never. Boa was the only one you’d confide in like that because she knew what your taste was like and had the best technique you knew. When she told you that she’ll be moving to San Francisco and you were ready to open up your own parlor, that your 5-year education was complete, you cried, it was the best and worst day of your life. Maybe, she’ll be hosting at the next convention.

The road to San Francisco was a 6-hour drive, you do see her every other month at least. Hanging out at her own gigantic studio was one of the best things to do on the weekends. But it sometimes feels like she’s missing in presence and advice, still. Hell, you text Boa almost every day. You like all her Instagram posts, she sends you almost every larger tattoo or notable smaller ones she did on clients, so you could study the way she did it.

Just when you ended a session contouring Bam’s ears and eyes and paws, Jungkook once met your former mentor when she dropped by on a Friday evening at BLACKWORKS. Boa was depositing some ink and needles that she didn’t need, and she said well, maybe you could those try out if they work for you. However, she refused to give you any counsel. Boa insisted you had to figure out Jungkook for yourself and own up to that. Knowing her, Boa was always 90% right about the things she said.

So, all else aside, she would be the only person you’d allow making a surprise design on you. But anyone else? You’d tell your tattooist when and how and why to fucking move the needle one split inch to the left and to the right, even if they were tattooing your back and you couldn’t see a thing. In your deepest sleep, you could feel and hear and smell an idiot not filling out a corner properly.

You’d tell them exactly when to switch colors, disinfect their tools on your own, and not allow a single deviation from the stencil. Or else you’d instigate a general lawsuit to shut down their studio, good riddance. And Jungkook was the precise opposite of that.

Switching colors? He didn’t even care about those things. It was all about lying down and letting it happen instead. Taehyung once remarked to you over a very strong coffee: „He’d still think you’re cool if you ruined him entirely“.

The vast majority of your clients would rather give you their idea and you execute it for them. Point blank. Modify it at best. Maybe correct it a lot or give a second choice of the same aesthetic. Say, you’ve had this lady Hyuna come over, she wanted a cute teddy bear, but the area on the leg was better suited for an elongated cotton candy motif, so you both went with that and put the teddy bear on her shoulder blade and her husband got the same one later.

But you never got someone begging for you to decide it all to the last millimeter. Not even the canvases that flirted with seasoned contestants at the show were ready to surrender their skin this way. If someone wanted to kiss their tattooists’ ass? They’d rather spill out the most dramatic speech of praise on their work. At this point, you’re sure Jungkook likes you in a way you don’t yet understand, or never experienced.

Even the most trusting veteran clients of yours wouldn’t act like he would, and even canvasses of absolute genius tattooists would come to the revered maestros with their own suggestions and some big no-gos. Jungkook’s `do what you want, and only you can touch my body´ attitude has almost made even Taehyung’s eyes fall out. And Taehyung’s seen a lot of unhinged clients over the span of his career.  

It was quite obvious to you that he’d be your award show canvas for more than just one gig. He had the kind of enthusiasm and an empty space on his legs and back. His dance background had also given him the gift of even subconsciously presenting himself well in front of crowds because of his posture and way of walking.

In a way, you were almost too happy that Jungkook came back for more now, and he was trusting. You’d reward him with poker straight edges and extra time for creativity. For some reason, you were biased, and that already happened way before you slept together. Jungkook would spend the birthday of his lifetime getting his back tattoo.

While you ponder, there’s some noise from the other side of the house, and he’s returning.

„Did he mean those?“ a little question poses from the entrance of the hallway, and it’s Jungkook standing in the frame all dressed up.

„Sporty!“

„Yeah—“

„Can you still feel your circulation or not?“

„I needed to try several socks until it felt comfortable,“ he giggles, in typical manner, and does a little spin for fun.

Even though you’ve seen Jungkook’s naked back a thousand times in your studio, in fact you know every hair of peach fuzz on it, you’re carefully surveying it now more than ever, painting a tattoo across the bones and muscles with your eyes. Maybe his ass was next in line after the thighs, by the way. You’d run out of conventional space anyway.

„And I always thought Yoongi’s feet were pretty large. Turns out yours are bigger than his?“

„I can’t really explain it either, maybe the socks ended up in the dryer somehow?“

Yoongi really is quite a bit smaller than Jungkook. Formerly just a normal fitting piece, the polo top is pretty much a muscle shirt now. Preppy fashion runway? No, he can make your house look like a gym outfitter. The light-colored pants — it’s obvious he’s not wearing anything underneath. That silly riffled waistband is holding on to dear life. He couldn’t even tie a ribbon with the strings.

„Turn this place into a laundrette, I don’t mind. I’ll leave you in charge of the washing machine next time. Yoongi bought enough fabric softener last Wednesday.“

„I saw! Cotton candy flavor.“

He might as well be a tailor, too. Most of the clothing construction threatens to fall apart at the widest point of his thighs, at least the slender calves fit in these pants. But: It stretches, and he’s got something on.

You drop your empty juice glass into the sink, alongside your plate and sandwich knife. Your wink is far from unsettling to him.

Jungkook doesn’t want to wait until Yoongi returns to take care of the dishes. He also hand-washes his clothing from yesterday in the sink. It’s funny seeing it hang and sway dry outside, but the approaching sunshine heat promises that he’ll be good to go soon enough: With proper underwear.

For the time being, you pour some water into the fridge’s icemaker and give Jungkook a house tour. There’s finally someone you can play table football with. On the first floor, where you arranged your luxury woman cave five thousand. Yoongi could only play the defense with one arm, so you had to rely on random color tattoo clients being down to square up against your national team after a consultation. It was more fun to play with a friend.

Powered by his now-tied ponytail, Jungkook is actually too good to play against, which you notice being five-nil behind. Regardless, you `magically´ recover at seven-nine, right after he whines how a stray lash keeps poking in his eye.

There is no stray lash to be found when you check up close, but you still enjoy looking in his eyes. Jungkook was definitely blessed with some of the most reassuring bambi-like eyes. That deep reflective hazel tone looks better than any pricey brown ink of yours ever could.

Nature, after all, is the best tattooist.

read it on ao3

[dom!reader MASTERLIST] 

note. thank you for reading to the end <3 i hope i got you dreaming of back/chest tattoos for jk now 😂 i love this topic, it was really intricate to write and i hope you enjoyed!

© 2017-2022 sugar-petals. all rights reserved. no reposts allowed. all depictions are fictional and for entertainment purposes only.

[femoso-seben]

Blind Love

Medusa Soap x Hero Ghost

Don’t hate me for OOC! I tried my best…

————

Off the coasts of Sparta, in a small island once the shrine to Athena, broken and litter with the horrifically grandiose tender status of blissful hubris of mortal woes, was the lair of the only mortal Gorgon. For those Greek heroes who fall onto this island they would think this is a old shrine to Hecate, statues made from Daedalus’ own hands, details etched with perfect precision.

The marbles were well warn down to it’s white base hollow flat color only seen in the crevasse of the folds of marbles. A lone figure lives there abandoned by the gods, by all the gods, by the very goddess he worshipped, left to rot on a lifeless hideous island. The beach were rocky and new, filled with old rotting ships bobbed up and down some lossly drifting around the island, the locals call it The Fool’s Grave.

Sun-kissed and specialed with iridescent scales, and built like Achilles himself walked a lone figure, in robes of blue and gold, did he walk, past the Forrest of stone he made. Those statues of men were his only comfort for normality, if only they weren’t staring in fear, fear of him. He was cursed for a life of loneliness and isolation, waiting for a Heracles to slice his head off. He was curse to stay on the island, for no boats will move pass the shore, as even Poseidon does not wish to offend Athena.

A low rumble, scrapping of rocks and he knew their was another hubris hero coming for him. He turns around to find, a tall almost Harclean man standing there, impressive and broad, cover in dark leather armor, dark almost black cape, with a spartina helmet plums of black horse hair. A spartan is here to kill him. As this giant of a man, maybe a child of a god, maybe a son of Zeus was here to kill him.

He was No coward for every statue was a signs to the gods, a sign that he still live that all their heroes all their oracles and quest meant nothing to his hate and vengeance. He knew all these heroes that come were sent by the gods to die. These heroes full of pride and glory will all turn to fearful stone. The low hisses of his snakes were the only sound besides the dull beat of his heart in his chest. The man looms closer, foot steps sinking into the sandy soil.

He let out a familiar sign and his gaze rised, his cool almost white eyes meet, a void. Darkness except for the intense gaze of the Spartan.

He waited. And waited. But nothing arises.

The hero was inches away, a head taller, head bent staring down at him. It was almost embarrassing.

“You… You can stare at me?” The gorgon asks.

The hero drew his sword.

‘So this is how it ends?’ That was the only thought in Johnny’s head as the sword cleave through his neck. The world went sideways, but the gaze of that hero never blinked, never waiver. Maybe… If only.

—————

Inspired by @astheriiiart

@imakepapertrees @sparklingsprinkles @secretlyasalmon427

[onskepa]

Can I get a Neteyam or Lo'ak x Human reader. Where he ends up spending an entire day at the lab with them. I just imagine them getting into a play fight and that messing us each other's hair and they end up doing different hairstyles on each other. 🥺Maybe you can also include a part where the reader shows Neteyam/Lo'ak her music playlist. Bruh- I just imagined Neteyam/Lo'ak hearing the lyrics of Kill bill and kinda staring at the reader wide eyed at the 'I just killed my ex part'. 😅

Hellooooooo darling! so I decided to do both, and, personally, I have never heard of the song kill bill, much less watching the movies. However, I do hope the songs I picked satisfy you. Enjoy!

Pamtseo Si

Neteyam Route!

It was a rainy day in the Omatikaya forest, Neteyam was grateful for it. That means no training for the whole day, and as a bonus, he gets to have a whole day with his small girlfriend! She told him the other day that she wants to share something with him. Excited, he quickly ate his breakfast and practically RAN to the lab base.

His relationship with the humans are ok, he isn't as close to them compared to his siblings. But he only cares for his one and only beloved.

Doing the needed procedures when entering the lab, he grabbed his needed mask, and made his way to his human girlfriend. The science guys made way for him. Didn't bother to talk to him as neteyam will mostly ignore them.

Entering the private room of his beloved, he sees her in her glory, laying on her massive bed, and holding something small on her hands. "Pam?" he calls to her, a little pet name for her. Pam turned and smiled, bright shine reflecting on her beautiful eyes. "nete! come come!" she pulls him into her room and shuts the door. Pam got the "special" treatment by getting one of the biggest rooms in the lab, it used to be for storage before being her bedroom.

Both hugged tightly, taking in the warm feeling and listening to each other's heart beat. Neteyam inhaled his beloved's scent, fresh grass, hint of Yovo fruit, and the nectar from the flowers.

Pam took in the earthly smell and rain from neteyam. She could never get enough of his scent. Pulling back a bit, she grabs his hand and takes him to the bed, where he gladly sits and places Pam on his lap.

"What did you wanted to show me?" neteyam asks, Pam giggles a bit and shows him a small tiny flat, black thing. "this is a music player, its kinda old, but it works well, it can play music!" she explains happily.

Neteyam tilts his head curiously, to play music, his people would play many types of musical instruments to make different noise. So he is confused how a small black thing can play music.

"how does it work?" he asks, to which Pam happily shows. With a simple touch, the black thing turned on, showing many odd symbols in various colors. "ah! here it is!" pam presses a green and black symbol, and it brings up so many words and more odd symbols. Demon technology sure is weird.

"this can hold thousands of songs! here, let me play my up most favorite!" she presses a word and it begins to play music from the thing. Pam looks at him and says "this one is called 'I want to stay at your house', whenever I play it...I think of you".

Blushing a bit, neteyam listens closely to the song, hearing a woman's voice singing out the words.

The sounds it made was oddly soothing, but the words the woman in the black thing speaks, but for some reason, the words speak to him. It also reminds him of his beloved Yawne.

He looks over to her as she leans onto him, closing her eyes and listening to the song. He copy's her, leaning a bit, closing his eyes and let his heart feel for the music.

And that is for neteyam! this will have a part 2, going to be Lo'ak's route! So look forward to that one! Hope you all liked it!

Pamtseo Si = play music, play an instrument (with fa for instrument played)

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Know No Evil | Chapter 22 Chapter 22 | race for glory⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

Present Mic's voice boomed across the stadium, his energetic commentary filling the air. "[And we're off to a racing start! How 'bout some color commentary, while we give folks the play-by-play, Mummy Man?]" he shouted, his enthusiasm palpable even from where you stood.

You glanced towards the commentator's booth, spotting Aizawa draped head to toe in bandages from the injuries he sustained during the USJ villain attack days ago. His presence here, despite his condition, is a testament to his dedication.

"[First, please don't call me that. Second, again, how did you manage to talk me into this?]" Aizawa responded, his tone flat and uninterested, clearly not sharing Present Mic's enthusiasm.

"[It's called: Keeping your job! So, Eraserhead, what should we be paying attention to in the early stages of the race? The lead? The stragglers?]" Present Mic pressed on, eager to get the audience engaged.

"[The doorway.]"

"[Whoa! Look at that! Ha! Good eye. Seems that Todoroki from Class 1-A takes the lead by using his ice-Quirk to trap the competition! Smart move, but brutal!]"

The noise of the stadium and Present Mic's booming voice fades into the background as you focus on the race. A few students began catching up to you—Aoyama, Kirishima, Yaoyorozu, and Bakugo.

Bakugo doesn't spare you a glance, his eyes narrowing and nose flaring as he shouts, "I won't let you get away that easily, you Icy-Hot, bastard! You froze me in place once before, it won't happen again." Using his quirk, he propels himself forward with explosive speed, flying towards Todoroki with a fierce determination.

Behind you was Mineta, using his purple balls and bouncing off the remaining ice. "Ha! I outwitted you all! How pathetic!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, two balls in each hand, bouncing towards you all to take the lead. "So long, suckers—!"

WHAM!

Before he could overrun you all, a giant robotic arm smashed into him, throwing him in another direction.

Suddenly, large, towering mechanical giants with glowing red eyes and metallic limbs trample towards you all in several directions. "Targets acquired…Terminate them."

Present Mic's voice boomed across the stadium, filled with excitement. "[Ooh! Enemies have shown up out of nowhere! I bet we're in for a treat here! A test of strength and cunning! It's the first obstacle of the race—a 'Robo Inferno'!]"

These were the same faux-robot villains from the U.A. Entrance Exam.

A general studies student nearby exclaimed, "Seriously?"

A support course student added, "This is what they meant by 'obstacles'? So this is what the other students faced in their entrance exams. Where does the school even get the funding for these things?"

The robots stood in a blockade; their movements are slow but powerful.

Todoroki looked over his shoulder at the approaching participants before muttering to himself, "The school obviously went through a lot of trouble, but I wish they'd prepared something a little more difficult. Especially since my old man's watching." With a sigh, he swiftly used his Quirk, freezing the robots in precarious positions.

Seeing this, you cursed under your breath, crouching low as you ran before smoothly and safely sliding through an open space between a few of the frozen robots; while other students cheered in happiness.

"Hey, he stopped the robots!" "Look! Between their legs! We can get through!"

"Hell yeah, this is gonna be a breeze!"

Todoroki, with a cold and blank look in his eyes, said ominously, "Careful, now. I froze them while they were off their balance…On purpose." Just as he finished this ominous line, the frozen robots began to topple like dominos, falling onto any unfortunate student left in their path.

Present Mic's voice rang out, "[Oh~ stone cold! That's Todoroki from 1-A's own Hero Course, keeping his lead with a devastating display! Amazing! He's one we should watch. It almost seems unfair! Thoughts?]"

Aizawa, his voice calm and measured, responded, "[His attack was both offensive and defensive. Something to always be sure to efficiently display.]"

Present Mic continued, "[I'll say! No wonder he was let in on recommendations! He'd never even fought those Robo Infernos before, but they didn't stand a chance against his chart-topping moves!]"

As you continued to push through the chaos, you heard a shout from a nearby student, "Hey! There's someone trapped under that robot!"

Another voice replied, "Do you think we should try and help 'em? Are people seriously gonna die here?"

Gasps erupted from the audience as Kirishima popped up from beneath the metal robot, his body hardened like a rock. "I'm alive!" he declared, a grin on his face.

Present Mic's commentary followed, "[Kirishima from Class 1-A! What a hardcore debut for this rookie!]"

Kirishima glanced around, his expression serious. "Todoroki, I can't believe you pulled something like that. Jeez. Anyone but me woulda been killed!"

"[Kirishima Eijiro. His Quirk: Hardening! This power makes his entire body hard as a rock! That means he can be the ultimate shield, or a devastating weapon!]"

Tetsutetsu burst up from beneath the metal debris as well, looking just as determined. "Class 1-A really is full a' jerks! I'll smash that ice guy when I get my hands on him," he growled.

"[Tetsutetsu from Class 1-B was also stuck underneath! What are the odds?]"

 "Ya' know, anyone other than me woulda been killed!" Tetsutetsu added with a scowl.

Present Mic's voice continued his lively narration, "[Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu! His Quirk: Steel! This makes his entire body hard as steel! So he can be the ultimate shield, or a devastating weapon!]"

Kirishima and Tetsutetsu locked eyes, realizing the similarity in their quirks. "Our Quirks are basically the same! How am I supposed to stand out now?" Kirishima shouted, pointing to his silver counterpart.

Tetsutetsu retorted, "You damn copycat!"

Present Mic chimed in, "[Man, how lucky are they? They don't have to worry about being crushed!]"

Kirishima, always the friendly one, suggested with a feral smile, "We're racing each other, but we can team up for now."

Tetsutetsu nodded in agreement. "Alright! Let's carve a path."

Gasps and murmurs spread among the student competitors. "We can do that?" one whispered to another, surprised by the unexpected alliance forming before their eyes.

The teamwork between Kirishima and Tetsutetsu created a ripple effect, inspiring others to strategize and cooperate.

Bakugo, scoffed, ignoring it all, muttering to himself, "No way am I letting Todoroki beat me." His determination was palpable as he used his Quirk to propel himself forward, explosions crackling around him. The blasts propelled him over the obstacles with ease, his focus laser-sharp on Todoroki ahead.

Present Mic's voice boomed across the stadium, filled with excitement. "[Class 1-A's Bakugo is rocketing over the obstacles! Clever!]"

Sero, not far behind, called out, "You seem like you'd be the type to plow straight through, but you can go around when you need to, huh? I'm going to hitch a ride! See ya!" He laughed as he used his Quirk to attach to Tokoyami, who was using his own Quirk to fly by. The tape from Sero's elbows shot out, latching onto Dark Shadow, allowing him to swing through the air with ease.

Present Mic provided the play-by-play, "[Sero Hanta. His Quirk: Tape! He can shoot tape-like material from his elbows, stick it to objects or wrap things up. You should see the traps he makes when he rips it off!]"

Tokoyami instructed Dark Shadow, "Let's land!" as he maneuvered through the air.

"Aye, aye!" The shadowy creature responded enthusiastically before shifting shape, helping Tokoyami to land smoothly on a piece of debris.

"[Tokoyami Fumikage. His Quirk: Dark Shadow! He's got a shadow-like monster inside him that can materialize and morph into any creation he wants.]"

As the competition heated up, Present Mic remarked, "[Looks like all the pack leaders are from Class 1-A. At least for now.]"

You were running at a steady pace, jumping over debris and parkouring until you gained a good bird’s eye view of the surrounding chaos. 

"[It’s not that Class 1-B and the other students are doing poorly,]" Aizawa commented, observing the race. "[It’s just… Class 1-A’s learned not to hesitate.]"

Students from all courses were trying their best to make it through this obstacle. Seeing a large robot attacking a sand-quirk user a few feet away, you raced over, landing on its shoulder. Using Control, you took control of the larger robot, manipulating its movements with precision and using it to carve a path for yourself through the obstacle.

"[They’ve seen what the real world is like. They’ve felt the fear of facing villains,]" Aizawa continued. "[Yet they fight on, trying to overcome that fear. They’ve grown. All of them. And they know that they have to act quickly if they want to stay alive.]"

You snorted, dodging a scrap piece of flying metal as the robot lumbered on. Such praises being sung about 1-A, yet you guarantee the world would crumble if it knew that you had the leader of the League of Villains at the mercy of your hands.

If anything, this entire festival should be scrapped and turned into a ceremony dedicated to you single-handedly deciding to keep the peace for now.

 Lost in your thoughts, you found yourself destroying a great deal more robots than you intended. The mechanical giants crumbled under your control, clearing a wide path and inadvertently aiding several other students who scrambled to follow in your wake.

"[Hold up, Eraser! We might have judged too quickly because it looks like Akuma from Class 1-B is coming to show the rest how it’s done!]"

You snap out of your thoughts, looking up, only to find your face plastered across the Jumbotron, another screen to the left replaying your previous maneuver. The footage showed you commanding a large robot to tear through a swath of its comrades, the mechanical giant ripping through others with a fierce efficiency. The robots crumbled under the force of your control, creating a dramatic display of power and precision.

"[Akuma Y/N. Her Quirk: Marionette! This allows her the ability to control the movement of anything—both animate and inanimate—with shadow-like strings, like a puppeteer!]"

Internally, you cursed yourself as the info about your ‘Quirk’ was revealed, giving you more screen time. You were supposed to stay under the radar.

Using your power, you crashed the robot you were riding into another one, the impact causing a chain reaction of destruction. You jumped off at the last moment, parkouring off the neighboring falling debris and landing into a rolling crouch, the movement smooth and controlled.

["And the landing Mwah! Straight out of retro Marvel films! Hey! Eraser, didn’t she save your life at the USJ incident?] Present Mic continued, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

"[Yes, Akuma-san played a vital role in my recovery. Now, can we please move on to other contestants?]" Aizawa replied, his tone annoyed.

"[Right, right, my fault. Anyways, for those of you who thought the first obstacle was easy, let’s see how ya feel about the second one.]"

Ahead of you loomed a large canyon, its depths obscured by shadows. Long tightropes stretched between large stone pillars, forming a precarious path to the other side.

["If they slip and fall, they’re out! If they wanna pass this test, they’ll have to get creative. It’s 'The Fall'!]"

You stood on the edge, looking down into the abyss. It was dark, the depth seemingly endless. A small current of air burst from below, making the challenge even more difficult. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw other students standing near the edge, contemplating their next move.

Asui, with her usual calm, assessed the situation. "Ribbit! Ribbit. This is my moment. Easy peasy," she said, her voice steady and confident before flicking her tongue out and flinging herself from wire to wire like a jungle gym.

Nearby, Hatsume chuckled, her excitement barely contained. "Yes. Finally. This is my chance to show off what I can do. My support items are gonna steal the spotlight from these wannabe heroes. Everyone! Observe what my brilliant gadgets can do! Wire arrows and hover soles!" She launched into action, her gadgets activating with a series of mechanical clicks and whirs.

Mina, caught off guard, shouted after her, "You're from Support! Hey! How come you got to bring all that stuff?"

Hatsume responded without breaking stride, "Students in the hero course get all kinds of combat training for their Quirks. In order to keep things fair and give us a fighting chance, we're allowed to bring whatever gadgets and costumes we want into the games, so long as we developed them ourselves. So, sit back and enjoy the show."

She continued, her voice filled with pride and determination, "For those of us in the support course, this is the perfect obstacle to show off our ingenious ideas and creations to any companies out there who might wanna recruit us!" Hatsume’s laugh echoed across the canyon. "I hope employers are watching! My super-cute little babies are sure to make a splash." She cackled with delight as her gadgets carried her effortlessly across the obstacle.

Mina, grumbling to herself, muttered, "Talk about annoying."

Present Mic's voice cut through the noise, adding his enthusiastic commentary. "[In the world of heroes, it can be hard to get popular without a flashy Quirk. Right, Eraser Head?]"

"[I don't know what you're talking about, idiot.]"

Present Mic continued, "[Ha, ha, ha. Good one, buddy. Anywho, looks like Todoroki is still skating by easily!]" Todoroki, looking determined, gracefully skated across a frozen wire, his focus unwavering.

Nearby, random audience members voiced their thoughts:

"The dude in first place is so far ahead."

"His Quirk is really powerful, but it's his natural athletic talent and keen judgment keeping him in first place."

"I'm not surprised. Don't you know who his father is? The Flame Hero, Endeavor!"

"Wait, for real? That guy's second only to All Might himself."

"Everyone'll be fighting to have him as a sidekick for sure."

"[The leader's putting distance between him and the students stuck at 'The Fall!' It hasn't been announced how many competitors will make it through to the next round, so there's no time to relax,]" Present Mic announced as many began throwing themselves onto the obstacle at hand, immediately failing.

Taking a focusing breath, you leapt onto the first tightrope without hesitation, your movements precise and balanced. You cartwheeled, swung, and flipped across the ropes with a gymnast’s grace, each move calculated to maintain your momentum and avoid the gusts of air that threatened to knock you off balance.

Each flip felt like a breath of fresh air—of dangerous thrills as everything spun into a blur.

Present Mic’s commentary followed your every move. "[Once again, Akuma from Class 1-B wows the stands as she makes this look as easy as breathing. Watch as she moves like a professional gymnast out there! Such agility and control! Absolutely stunning!]"

Aizawa watched with a critical eye. "[She’s not just moving forward. She’s analyzing each step, anticipating the challenges. It’s a smart approach.]"

You reached the midway point of the obstacle, where the ropes became thinner and the gusts stronger. Focusing on your breathing and maintaining your center of gravity, you continued forward.

The other students around you were struggling, some slipping and barely catching themselves, while others fell into the abyss below, their screams echoing in the darkness.

You glanced back momentarily, assessing the positions of your classmates and competitors. With a determined look, you pushed forward, swinging from one rope to another with a fluidity that seemed almost effortless.

Reaching the end of the tightrope challenge, you landed gracefully on the final stone pillar. The crowd erupted into cheers at your performance, impressed by your display of skill and composure.

Present Mic’s voice boomed again. "[And she makes it! Akuma from Class 1-B has conquered 'The Fall'! What an impressive performance!]"

You didn’t have time to bask in the applause. The next and final obstacle awaited: the minefield.

"[And now, we're finally approaching the last obstacle. Everyone had better tread carefully. You're stepping onto a minefield! If you look carefully, you can see where those little bombs are buried, so keep your eyes on the ground, folks. By the way, those land mines were designed for the games, so they might be loud and flashy, but they're not all that powerful. Just enough to make you wet your pants!]"

"[Get ahold of yourself, Present Mic.]"

Faint explosions began to echo around the course, and some students screamed as they triggered the mines. You saw Todoroki near the edge of the minefield, observing an unfortunate competitor get thrown back several feet in the opposite direction. "Very clever. Those in the lead are actually at a disadvantage here. Guess it makes for good entertainment," he remarked, his tone as cold as his ice.

Bakugo, using his Quirk to shoot over the minefield, shouted back at Todoroki, "Bastard! Your declaration of war was to the wrong person!" His eyes burned with fierce determination as he propelled himself forward, explosions blasting from his palms.

Present Mic’s voice rang out, "[Just like that, a new student takes the lead! The media here is going crazy! There's nothing they love more than an upset!]"

Seeing Bakugo's rapid advance, Todoroki immediately followed, using his ice Quirk to create a slick path over the mines, freezing the ground beneath him with precision. His face remained stoic as he glided smoothly, determined to reclaim the lead.

"[Hey, hey, hey! The rest of the competitors are catching up, too! And what's this? Can our two leaders fight each other and stay in front of the competition?]"

You quickly analyzed the situation, taking in the chaos around you before taking a moment to decide to strategize your approach.

"[Looks like Akuma from 1-B has run out of fabulous attention-grabbers and is stumped! Even the best can get caught up in the heat of the moment, huh?]"

It didn't take but a second for Present Mic's harmless comment to spark up a wave of conversation in the stands.

"Come on, Akuma! Do something already!"

"You're getting left behind!"

"Don't just stand there! Everyone else is beating you!"

Up in the commentators' stand, Aizawa found himself unconsciously leaning forward, eyes zoning in on your figure. As the echoes of the audience's complaints and critiques filled his ears, his eyes flashed a light yellow for a split second before he found himself speaking into the mic. "[A good hero knows when to take time and strategize. It's not all about being flashy and hotheaded.]"

His words cooled the critiques of the audience, immediately turning the wave with many now complimenting your strategy.

"Yeah, she's smart! Look at her thinking it through!"

"That's right, don't rush it, Akuma!"

"She's got a plan, you just wait!"

In reality, Present Mic's words didn’t cause you any issues—if anything, you didn’t hear them at all—but Aizawa's rebuttal is what shook you from the task at hand.

You hissed, "Hero?" before pausing.

You took a moment to look at your surroundings, at the audience cheering at you all racing through this obstacle course—something that wasn’t even the actual sports festival but just a preliminary to weed out the useless and weak... It's almost as if you become aware of your situation: here you were, basically putting on a show for these buffoons and pests in the crowd as if you were some show pony.

"[Todoroki and Bakugo are neck and neck for the lead and knocking on the finish line!]"

You feel your breathing pick up as everything suddenly felt amplified by 100%—the sounds, the smells, everything. Just as you feel your disgust reach an inferno and about to explode, a huge explosion happens yards down from you.

"[What's with that huge explosion in the back?! That was way more powerful than it should be!]"

"What the..." Your sentence trails off as you see Midoriya skyrocket over the minefield on top of a slab of metal. Following his trajectory, you see dozens of exploded and dug-up mines. "Huh," you murmured to yourself. "What a clever boy."

"[Huh? Incredible! Well, whatever just happened, Class 1-A's Izuku Midoriya is suddenly in hot pursuit of first place!]"

As you watched Midoriya soar through the air, you couldn't help but feel a mix of irritation and begrudging respect. His unorthodox strategy had turned the tide in his favor, propelling him past numerous competitors and straight into the spotlight.

"[In a stunning move, Midoriya has blasted past his classmates from Class 1-A! I don't believe it—he cleared that minefield in an instant! Eraser Head, your students are amazing! What the heck are you teaching them?]"

"[This has nothing to do with me. Each of them is powered by their own drive to succeed.]"

"[There ya' have it, folks. Eraser Head is a terrible teacher.]"

"[I'm what?]"

"Deku! What the hell do you think you're doing, huh!?" Bakugo had a feral look on his face as he and Todoroki found themselves a bit behind the greenette.

You shook your head, berating yourself for getting lost in the thrill, reminding yourself that you weren’t here to put on a show and get first place, but to get a bird's eye view of your pet's will and determination to achieve his goal.

With a scoff and renewed focus, you devised a quick strategy to navigate the minefield, balancing caution with speed. Mixing your early gymnastic and aerobic skills with a bit of inspiration from Midoriya, you purposefully stepped on a nearby mine, using the explosion to propel yourself forward.

Carefully timing your jumps, you use the debris as stepping stones.

Whenever you touched the ground or found someone in a better mine-placement, you subtly knocked them into neighboring mines' paths, causing distractions and clearing a path for yourself.

The students around you were caught off guard, some yelping in surprise as they are thrown into the air by the blasts.

"[Whoa! Did you see that? Akuma from Class 1-B is using the explosions to her advantage! What a risky yet effective strategy!]" Present Mic’s voice boomed across the stadium, capturing the audience's attention.

Aizawa, leaning forward slightly, added, "[A calculated risk. She's using her environment and competitors to her benefit. It's not the most heroic approach, but it's undeniably effective.]"

You smirked, satisfied with your progress. You continued to leap from one debris piece to another, your movements fluid and precise. Each explosion propelled you closer to the end, while your manipulation of the other students' movements created chaos behind you.

As you neared the end of the minefield, you saw Bakugo, Midoriya, and Todoroki ahead, their fierce competition driving them forward.

"[Who would have imagined at the beginning of this race that the climax would be a non-stop mega-mix of surprises? The first to make it back into the stadium is the first-place winner! And that winner is...Izuku Midoriya. Midoriya from Class 1-A is our champion!]"

The audience erupts in cheers, a thunderous wave of applause and excitement. You keep your pace steady, ignoring the noise and focusing on your final steps through the minefield. By the time you exited into the stadium, bright flashes of cameras greet you from all sides.

"[And ...19th place! Akuma Y/N!]"

Though you weren't exhausted, there's was a light sheen of sweat across your forehead. You took a deep breath, feeling the cool air of the stadium wash over you.

"[The contestants are pouring in one after the other! Let's hear some applause for all our competitors as we prepare the results.]"

You look around, eyes immediately zeroing in on Bakugo. He's standing off to the side, eyes narrowed and focused on Midoriya, who is currently surrounded by his friends, Iida and Uraraka, congratulating him.

The tension in Bakugo's stance is palpable, his fists clenched at his sides. You make your way over, saying nothing as you stand beside him, observing the scene with detached interest. Eventually, you turn your head to face him, saying, "2nd place."

Bakugo's jaw tightens, his eyes briefly flicking towards you before returning to Midoriya. "This was only the preliminaries," he grunts, his voice low and simmering with frustration.

You hum thoughtfully, "I suppose it is." Then, before leaving, you send him a callous smile. "Well, I must be off. I have to congratulate Izuku on his victory." Taking a few steps away, you pause and glance over your shoulder. "Good luck in the next trial," you add, a hint of mockery in your tone.

Bakugo's eyes follow you, his expression looking defeated before hardening once more. "I got this..." he murmurs to himself before moving on.

You continue towards Midoriya, weaving through the crowd of students and spectators. It wasn’t hard to get to him, seeing as the boy already gave you his undivided attention the moment he saw you.

"H-hi, Y/N," Midoriya stutters, his face already taking on a pink hue, his surprise and nervousness evident. For a millisecond, your eye twitches at his use of your name, but you push the annoyance down.

Pulling your lips up into a sweet smile, you respond, "Hi, Izuku," before turning to his two friends with polite bows. "Uraraka-san, Iida-kun."

Seeing as his friend went immobile outside being able to say hello, Iida takes the initiative to speak to you. "It's a pleasure seeing you, Akuma-san. Congratulations on passing the preliminary round. What brings you here?"

You give a gracious nod. "Thank you for the congrats, Iida-kun, and the same to you as well. I was actually over here to personally congratulate Izuku on reaching first place. This was a very tense and tough obstacle course, and his performance was truly impressive."

Midoriya's face turns an even deeper shade of red. "T-thank you, Y/N!" he exclaims, then quickly corrects himself. "I-I mean, thank you for the congrats..."

You smile warmly, turning to include Iida and Uraraka in the conversation. "You both did exceptionally well too. Iida-kun, your speed and precision were remarkable. Uraraka-san, your quick thinking and strategy were truly admirable. You all have amazing talents."

Iida adjusts his glasses, a hint of a blush creeping up his cheeks. "Thank you, Akuma-san. Your words are most kind."

Uraraka beams, her cheeks rosy. "Thanks, Akuma-san! You were incredible out there too!"

Midoriya, still flustered, manages to stammer, "Y-yeah, you were amazing. I'm really looking forward to seeing how you do in the next round."

You give him a gracious nod, just as Midnight’s voice booms through the stadium.

"The first game for the first years is finally over, and what a game it was!" Midnight declares, her voice sultry and commanding, drawing everyone's attention to the center stage where she stands in her revealing costume. The bright lights of the stadium shine off her whip as she twirls it playfully. "Now, let's take a quick look at the standings, shall we?"

Aoyama lets out a small whimper, drawing a few chuckles from the crowd.

"Only the top 40 contestants will advance to the next round. But don't be too let down if you didn't make the cut!" Midnight continues, her tone teasing yet encouraging. "We've prepared other opportunities for you to shine."

You watch as the students around you react, some with visible relief and others with disappointment. The screen shows the rankings, and you note your position among the top 42 with a calm satisfaction.

"Now the real fun is about to begin. The chance to fully move yourselves into the limelight! Give it your best!" Midnight's eyes sparkle mischievously. "Let's see what we have in store for you next. Will your wildest fantasies come to life? Prepare yourselves... for this!"

The competitors shout out in unison, "Cavalry battle!?"

Complaints and murmurs spread through the crowd.

"I'm terrible at those."

"I should have gotten disqualified in the preliminary round."

"Ugh, it's not an individual event; we gotta work in groups?"

Mineta's eyes light up with a mischievous grin. "Oh, yes. I wonder how they'll split us up."

Midnight raises her whip, snapping it for dramatic effect. "Allow me to explain. The participants will form teams of two-to-four people as they see fit. In theory, it's basically the same as a regular playground game. But there is one difference. Each player has been assigned a point value based on the results from the obstacle course."

A random student chimes in, "I get it, a point-based system like the entrance exams. That seems pretty simple. So that means each team will have a different point value based on which students are on it."

Midnight smirks, clearly enjoying the suspense. "Uh-huh! Maybe you should shut up and let me explain things to you. Now, then. The point assignments go up by increments of five, starting from the bottom. For example, 42nd place is worth five points, and 41st is worth ten. And the point value assigned to the first place contestant is... ten million!"

The stadium erupts in shock.

"Ten million!?" the competitors exclaim, excluding you, who just raise an eyebrow.

Hatsume grins, gears already turning in her mind. "In other words, if you take down his team..."

The other students echo her sentiment. "...You'll win the Cavalry Game and take the lead yourself."

Midnight continues, "That's right. It's survival of the fittest, with a chance for those at the bottom to overthrow the top!"

You glance over at Midoriya, who looks absolutely terrified. His face pales, the only color left being his stark freckles standing out against his skin. The sheer weight of the ten million points visibly pressing down on him.

You couldn't wait to see how this play out.

The Cavalry Battle was sure to be a spectacle, and you were more than ready to observe—and manipulate—every moment.

***wheeeww, cant believe it took me from 7pm--to 2am to write a 5k worded chapter out 💀💀 curse me and my perfectionism 💔 anywho, hopem this was mildly interesting as we get this party started! next up: calvary battle (and if thats not too manywords, aslo the lil recreational activities/todoroki backstory bit, dont know how imma do it, but its gon get done 😤😤

[kovacs-of-courage]

Nesting Fears

I made this fic based off my dear friend @yys002's art! Check out her blog(the art below is hers)

He was walking in a dream, fading memories echoing around his lucid consciousness. 

There were voices around every corner, whispers of his loved ones, honeycomb promises behind unending walls. He was trapped in the manor, wandering up and down its lonely halls.

Dick tried to enjoy the experience, a sleep beyond nightmares was rare for him, if he remembered it at all. Life had thrown him too many dangers to rest softly, though he’d come to terms with that reality long ago. He was too proud of his life; what with the people he’d helped, the lives he’d saved, the friends met.

He missed his parents more than the world, but if they were forever doomed to die—-there was nowhere else Dick would rather be. Being Robin honored their memory in a way that doing circus tours for the rest of his life never could, to turn his tragedy into a force for good--Dick knew they’d approve.

So why did he feel so uncertain? Why was he so afraid?

Dick put his hand on the shadowed wall, his fingers flat against the ancient timber. A sigh of passive exasperation left his incorporeal form, the strain of his worries weighing harder on the young vigilante than any physical hardship. The manor had contorted a direction through his memories, winding corridors of past glories and future anxieties.

It’d taken him through miles of it, or so Dick assumed. Dreams tended to play fast and loose with reality, the forest infinitely more important than the trees. Dick just wished he’d wake up already, but it seemed that wasn’t what his subconscious had in mind.

The room shifted around him, a blurring mass of colors and whirring sounds that passed as soon as it arrived. Dick didn’t feel alerted by this special change like he would in the real world, staying in a plain state of confused discomfort.

He recognized the room he’d landed in immediately, foreboding sinking into his chest like poisonous worry. Cautious in his step, he approached the lone statue-head in the center of the rectangular room--more fit to be a windowed coffin than a place for the living.

The marble carved features of Thomas Wayne stared back at him, set on a similarly expensive pillar-- confirming Dick’s worst suspicions.

This was Bruce’s study.

There was history to the room, an importance that lent it a weight closer to crime alley than simply a place where the Wayne family liked to read. Bruce had told Dick close to everything there was to know about his mission, about Batman, including where he’d originally gotten the inspiration for it.

Dick looked back to the head of Thomas Wayne, the stone where his pupils should be staring daggers into his being. Righteous judgment radiated off it like smoke from an SOS flare, a wordless indignation towards Dick being in his presence.

“I don’t know what you want from me, I don’t even know why I’m here,” Dick said, disregarding the insanity of choosing to talk to a lifeless statue. He chose to not look it in the eyes, opening the curtains to observe the rolling greens of the Wayne estate.

Dick tried to enjoy the view, his mind’s admittedly imperfect recollection of his childhood home, as the imaginary sun slowly rose on the distant horizon. He closed his eyes, grasping at some sense of peace in the half nightmare around him.

“You know exactly why you’re here, boy.”

Gone as soon as it came, the silence overtaking the room shattered, the rumbling baritone of a voice unknown acting like a sledgehammer thrown across softened glass. It’d caught Dick off guard at first; as deep and guttural as trigon, the avalanche-like vibrations of each enunciated word a death sentence in its own right.

He looked to his left; at the only thing he could imagine as the source of the noise. 

The Statue spoke again, it’s stoic expression unmoving, it’s lips motionless: 

“Bruce should have never let you join his crusade, a child has no place in war.”

Dick gritted his teeth, aggravation flaring like hot fire within him, figment of his imagination or not--hearing the same tired spiel of Bruce’s boneheaded arguments made him want to scream.

“Oh put a sock in it, rock pile,” Dick said, looking the statue dead-on, “If you can’t even come up with your own points, then there’s nothing you can say that’ll change my mind.”

A laugh roared through the air, it’s intensity like an earthquake to a withered coffin; shaking the room so violently as to carve gaps in the floorboards and throw books from their shelves.

Dick struggled to stay afoot, his trained grace doing little in the fantasy of the dream. 

“And yet you argue with me still!” The Statue laughed, “I’m not here to convince you of anything, little bird--only to remind you of a truth you so pathetically avoid.”

The condescending tone clicked all the wrong buttons for Dick, draining his vast well of patience to an exceedingly shrinking pool of agitation. He wanted to be as far away from the manor as possible. He’d prefer the worst patrols in Gotham, the deadliest missions with the titans, at least then he’d be doing something productive.

Not this.

“And what truth is that, oh hallowed prophet?” Dick leered, sarcasm etching his sentence’s end, “Go on, what cold truth do I need repeated? What wise wisdom of the batman have I forgotten? Is the eighteen-year-old apprentice still too young to be taken seriously?

The Statue remained impassive at the surface, betraying the hostility it so flagrantly spoke with, “Quite the opposite in fact. You are an apprentice in name alone, what use does Bruce have for a student he cannot teach, nor listens to his orders?”

It pained Dick to admit, but the statue, whatever part of his mind it represented, was right. Bruce and him didn’t need one another anymore, and that was a knife to his heart that kept on twisting. He was quiet for a tense few seconds, his fists balled and breathing slow.

“Batman and Robin are partners, we’re a team...he knows that,” Dick muttered, his hot anger turned to frigid vulnerability.

He waited for a response, the risen moon beaming through the glass, shining bright his open fear.

“Nothing lasts forever, even the brightest stars fade,” The Statue said, “Bruce knows this more than anyone, as should you.”

Dick tilted his head, disbelief plastered across his face, “We don’t just lay down and accept it! Bruce calling us quits isn’t gonna stop me from helping people. I’m not a kid anymore, I can make my own decisions.”

“I find that hard to believe, boy wonder, when you spend so much of your time tracing his footsteps,” The Statue said, holding it’s views like a scalpel to Dick’s life, “Robin is no more his own hero then when you were eight years old, or leading a team of second-rate sidekicks that pales in comparison to what your mentor helped create.”

The insult at the Titans salted the already bleeding wound, Dick’s emotions bubbled to a chaotic boiling point--no one hit his friends without going through him first.

“Keep the Titans out of this, or I’ll kick you off that pillar myself! We’ve earned our place, time and time again,” Dick said, his volume nearing a yell.

The statue didn’t waver, if it was bothered by Dick’s threat--it hid that fact well.

“Your defensiveness merely emphasizes my point,” The Statue explained. 

Dick’s squinted his eyes, his stance tense and rigid. 

The Statue continued to elaborate, dispassionate as always, “What is the tale of a squire without their knight? What is a son who never surpasses the father? You must grow beyond these trappings of youth, not retreat within them.” 

“Robin is my creation though,” Dick stressed, motioning his palms to his chest, “It’s the last thing I have of my parents, of my history...Who am I without it?”

The question elicited a hum of laughter from the statue, baritone and rebounding, though without malice, for once. Dick’s cheeks flushed red, embarrassment at his open vulnerability like salt on a bleeding wound.

“Am I to hear that the Flying Grayson is afraid to take a leap of faith? Is it not defiance of fear that creates the heroics you so revel in?”

Dick sheepishly rubbed his arm, “Well when you say it like that, it sounds stupid.”

“The path you walk, you’ve known it’s course for far longer than your visit here,” The statue said, “The confusion you face in regards to the future is temporary, if you still have the bravery to persist.”

“Then what is this conversation supposed to be?” Dick asked. “My subconscious motivating me to keep going?”

The Statue said plainly it’s clarification, “Close, but no cigar. That moment will come in a short while; any moment now, actually.”

Dick shook his head, puzzled and uneased, “And what that’s supposed to be?”

“A taste of skies yet flown. You’ll see.”

Before Dick had the chance of questioning the statue’s cryptic answer, an invisible force had thrown him on his back; the shrill cry of a beast sounding life or death danger in his pained eardrums.

He struggled to regain his composure, his heart-rate jumping to his throat as he watched spider webbing cracks infect the floorboards; the noise of the unknown beast quickly reducing the room to literal splinters.

The dream was quickly becoming a nightmare, that much was plain to see. Dick swallowed the lump in his throat, the primal fear heightened by the reality around him coursing shivers from head to toe. He pushed past it, the courage of all his years dancing away from death’s grip reminding him of his true strength.

Dick pulled himself to his feet, gritting his teeth in concentration. Real or not; He’d never turn tail from danger, nor the future. The view from the window pane had brightened to an immeasurable degree, a near blinding wall of sunlight swallowing the space that the manor’s land had formerly occupied.

Another cry broke the air, just as earsplitting and hope-stopping as the last, but this time Dick could see the source...and it was flying right at him.

The creature was monstrous, an ever changing avian patchwork of leather-stitched sinew and brown and gray feathers. The details to its appearances were like a mirage, changing at the slightest glance, blending into a variety of patterns in the seconds of it’s current flight path.

Dick watched the bird in amazement, aware of the danger it presented and finding himself unable to move; completely mesmerized and terrified in equal measure. It molted it’s feathers to new patterns in ways that made Dick want to jump out the window and join it.

It roared again, it’s callous beak now a rallying cry for a cause that Dick felt deep in his heart. He blinked and it’s coat had darkened from the humble colors of the robin; the kiss of a midnight river drenching it’s dozen foot wide wingspan, adorning sleek slings of golden pride on it’s chest. 

There was beauty in the change, the transformations from one mode to another. For every reinvention there was horror lost, a terror thrown aside. Dick couldn’t help but admire that, envy it’s adaptation to something more.

Dick blinked again, the large talons of the bird mere inches away from the fragile glass. 

It’d changed once more, molting it’s dreamlike austerity to streamlined nobility. Darkness drenched it’s form, the touch of the space holding stars; yet it did not consume it. There was light in it’s eyes, grandness in it’s purpose, freedom in it’s flight--Dick looked into the brilliant sapphire streaking it’s breast and found hope, not despair.

He found a symbol he could believe in, a soul that longed to soar as much as his own.

Dick had found something more valuable than anything in the skies and wonders above.

As the glass shattered, and the bird’s mighty talons embraced him--Dick understood what it was.

And he was never letting go.

[crochetedblorbos]

"Look, she's well steep."

Character Name: Montgomery “Three-Card Monty” Barker

Fandom: Realms of Peril & Glory (@realmspod), Liminal London campaigns [Podcast]

Played By: Naomi Clarke (@naomithinksit)

Yarn Used: Hair: CraftSmart Value - Toasted Almond Skin: CraftSmart Value - Taupe Birthmark/Mouth: Caron Lava Cakes - Sour Cherry Tracksuit: Red Heart Super Saver - Spring Green Zipper: CraftSmart Value - Heather Grey Shoes: CraftSmart Value - Tomato Soles: CraftSmart Value - White

Basic pattern here.

Monty, our beloved chicken nugget wizard. I fell in love with this kid pretty much from the moment I heard him (him being Naomi’s creation helped with that) and he’s just…adorable. And after Episode 4 of Loose Change (the fourth mystery), Great Googly Mooglies, that boy needs all the hugs. I hauled ass to get him finished in time for Episode 5 (I am writing this paragraph prior to actually finishing him, so we’ll see if I manage since it’s, uh, Sunday night). [Crafter’s note: I did not. I finished him two weeks later, in time for Episode 7.] He differs from the base pattern as follows:

Shoes: I actually used a different color for his soles this time! Like with Joseph’s, I did the soles in white, then switched to red for the body of the shoes. However, I did use white for the decreases at the toes in the first round of decreasing the shoes to give that white toe cap that’s so distinctive on Converse and Converse knockoffs (per Naomi, everything Monty owns is a knockoff). I also added an extra round of decreases to make longer flat tops to the shoes and skinnier ankles. The shoes went up to R9 like that, and then: R10: Ch 1, sc in front loops of first 5 sc, sl st in next 2 sc, sc in next 5 sc, sl st in first sc (12 sc).

Tracksuit: I asked on the Light & Tragic Discord, and Naomi was kind enough to inform me that Monty wears high-tops and tucks the hem of his tracksuit into them. I also wanted the pants to have a kind of baggy effect. So once I joined the tracksuit yarn, I chained 2, then did 2dc in the back loop of the first sc in R9, then dc in the back loop of the next 10 sc in R9, then 2dc in the back loop of the final sc in R9, sl st in first dc (15dc). I then continued as normal. I used the same method for his shirt as I did for Joseph and Gerry, just a bit higher up when I started the hemline. I also formed his torso the same way as I did Gerry’s—square most of the way up and then starting the decreases at the very end. Neither of these decisions were intentional, I just wasn’t paying attention to how many rounds I’d done. For the zipper, I tied three knots on top of one another to make a zipper pull, then embroidered in straight lines up and down either side of the zipper track before doing a cross stitch up the middle.

Head: Naomi said in S4E5 that Monty “had one of those big birthmarks” and I knew I had to include it. I didn’t really plan the defined edges of the birthmark, just changed color back and forth as seemed appropriate. Came out a bit Ziggy Stardust, but you know, it’s Monty. I also used safety eyes for him again. Think I put them in too far up too soon, because stitching around them was a pain in the ass, but it worked out.

Hair: I, uh. Forgot to start adding his hair in as low as I usually do, so his hairline is a bit higher in the back than normal, which is one of the reasons there are no pictures from behind, the other being that for some reason the seam got really jagged up the back (I’m guessing I wasn’t counting carefully enough and my joins got off). I’d meant for him to have a textured stitch to his hair, but I got to that point while I was away from home and didn’t have my book with all the stitches in it with me, so I improvised. I gave him a fun little swoosh of hair at the front. Turns out I was overcomplicating things with Hux’s and Mini’s hair. There’s a legitimate stitch called the hair stitch or fur stitch that does exactly what I was trying for on them with significantly less stress, so I used that here for Monty. Gives him kind of a cheeky look and I love it.

Arms: I used the same method I used for Joseph. I only stuffed up to R20 so he would have a little more flexibility in the shoulders.

[evita-shelby]

Incantatrice

Chapter 18

Cw: some sex, death synbolism, minor infidelity🔞

Gif by @orpheusxx

Taglist:@thegreatdragonfruta @zablife @wandawiccan60

It was quite fun ruining his life.

Taking stock of the things that held him up and kicking each leg of the stool down, so he gets strangled by a noose of his own making.

Jessie Eden had been so horrified when she learned about Elizabeth Stark’s murder.

He needed the communist for his plans to become a politician and to get his companies back in order.

He would fuck her to get her under his spell like he did with the rest and then toss her out when he has no use for her.

Not that he needed to do much after Kitty Jurossi wove beautiful tales of the beautifully sad boy Tommy was.

Oh, it had been beautiful to see her idea of Tommy Shelby be torn to shreds when Eva gave her a strangely plausible lie.

He is not the man he appears to be, Miss Eden, the witch had said as she spun her web of half lies.

The witch shouldn’t have stayed, but she wanted to relish the destruction of Shelby a while longer.

It shouldn’t have surprised her for him to find her and demand to know why she was ruining his fucking life.

He and Polly are not so different, shoving her against a crumbling wall thinking they have what it takes to kill her and faltering in the last minute.

“You ruined mine. We had the perfect life and you just had to kill his father and brother the second we got it, Shelby.

Had you only used your reason, we wouldn’t be here.” She said as the man drunk on pain and whiskey keeps her there as if waiting for a man to shoot him for touching her.

“Yeah, well I had it too.” He said as if he hadn’t felt trapped every second he was with Grace after she told him she wasn’t leaving.

“Then why were you fucking Lizzie before your wife’s body was even cold?” she asks, tasting the alcohol and cigarettes in his breath.

Been a while since she smelled that on Luca, he’d quit smoking when Leonardo was born and their poor little lion would get coughing fits from the smell alone.

Eva remembers with fondness when she’d kiss her man and take the smoke from his mouth like she was stealing his soul kiss by kiss.

She shouldn’t be thinking this, she has a husband who is more than she ever wanted.

But here as the lamplight colors Shelby like a tragic hero and she the wicked witch, she knows in another life this man was hers.

And Shelby knew that too.

Why else would he lean in to kiss the poison on her lips instead of leaving?

Why else isn’t she stopping him?

“You could kill me right now and I would let you.” He said pulling back finding the poison sweet and addicting, just as she did.

“Isn’t it wonderful, in one life I am yours and in this one I am your enemy.” The witch said as he fights the urge to kiss her again and up the ante in this vendetta.

Luca is none the wiser when he returns home.

She feels some guilt over her kiss with Shelby. But not enough to tell him.

Not when he smells of alcohol and Polly Gray’s perfume. There was some lipstick in his collar from where he held his former flame close as he warned her about coming near her again.

“We should go dancing sometime, have the night off and enjoy our new kingdom.” He stripped as he joined her in the bath.

“We should, your poor wife has to settle for ruining a man’s love life for fun.” Eva said, enjoying the sight of her husband in all his nude and scarred glory lowering himself in her steaming hot bath.

“Where the fuck did you get this?” her husband asked as he took the cigarette in her hands and took a drag from it.

She had gotten the urge to smoke and had pilfered Tommy Shelby’s cigarette case when he had been kissing her.

“Shelby, picked it out of his pocket when I saw him leave the communist’s flat with balls as blue as his eyes.” She grinned, showing her the silver case with his initials: TMS, Thomas Michael Shelby. “He looked so pathetic; I just couldn’t help myself to take another of his comforts.”

A nice little trophy to add to her collection.

Luca laughed and gesturing for her to come join him and enjoy her spoils together. “The things you do, mia strega.”

The witch doesn’t hesitate to straddle him, to tease him and remind herself Luca is the only man she wants.

She strokes him and rubs against him as she aches for him to fuck her so hard she won’t even remember she kissed another man.

He rewarded her with a cigarette kiss while she lifted herself up slightly to let him guide his magnificent prick inside her.

The sex was always good, but it’s been a while since they were given the time and space to be as wild as they were before the children came along.

Even Paris hadn’t let them have this much fun.

“I bet Shelby wouldn’t kiss you like that.” He said as she exhaled for him and he kept his grip on her hips tight enough to keep her from moving.

So he knew.

“So you know, huh.” Eva should’ve expected that. Of course he’d have someone keep an eye on her. “Shelby’s got too much bad luck, he even tasted salty. Had to steal his cigarettes to get the taste out of my mouth.”

It is a half-truth, yes she could taste his bad luck in his tongue, but he was damnably good kisser.

No wonder Lizzie Stark had been such a doormat.

“If you see him again, maga,” Luca’s hand moved lower until he found just what he needed to drive his point home and have her forgetting entirely about this other man who stirred her desire like he did, “I’m going to kill him for putting his hands on my woman.”

“Can I watch, daddy? Can I watch you kill him?” she begs as he continued to drive her fucking insane with those pianist’s fingers of his.

“Only right for you to watch, Evuccia, you already gave Thomas Shelby the kiss of death. “ he answered as he dealt her the best punishment in her life.

Eva was out of breath and winded from the combination of her orgasm and seeing their victory as clear as crystal.

“February 5th. The day Thomas Shelby dies by your hand.” Been so long since he triggered a vision like that, she’d almost thought it had been a fluke last time. “Don’t forget to run out of bullets tomorrow. Polly won’t join us if you kill her son.”

Tomorrow wasn’t about killing anyone, all they needed was for Thomas Shelby to lose the person he trusts most and remind Elizabeth Gray, she and her son are either with them or dead.

It will have another purpose too, Linda Shelby will realize her baby son cannot grow up knowing one day someone will come and collect any outstanding debts his father and uncles have.

She will remember how he killed that boy and how he hurts her with those same hands.

Arthur Shelby will return home tomorrow evening and find her long gone.

Who knew karma wanted a piece of them too?

[nuagederose]

Dark Roots of Earth | Chapter Eleven: Where the Twain Shall Meet

ao3 link

Christine found herself in what appeared to be the backseat of a car somewhere, albeit underneath what appeared to be a tree somewhere. Despite the darkness outside, she could make out the shape of the silhouettes of the branches above the sunroof. Stars dotted the sky like the holes in a pitch-dark ceiling.

She caught the unmistakable smell of firewood burning outside, and her mind immediately jumped to the worst possible conclusion.

With a rub of her eyes, she sat upright in the backseat and peered out the window right across from her. She was met with nothing more than darkness; she shifted around for a better look out there to the campsite that awaited her. The dark figure before the roaring campfire sat upon the flat surface of a log with something long and thin. She recognized the head of long shaggy hair down past the shoulders, but it was hard for her to tell if it was jet-black or a mere dark chocolate color. The figure lightly strummed at the thing on its lap, and it took her a moment to realize that it was a guitar.

“Chris?” Her voice echoed over the top of the car door as well as the dark ground out there. The figure shifted around on the surface of the log as if to see her. She spotted the bulbous tip of the nose as well as the full lips and prominent brow, the latter of accentuated by wire-framed glasses.

“Alex?”

The light of the flames washed over the side of his face, which in turn accentuated the full shape as well as the soft texture of his skin. Highlights danced about his gray streak to make it resemble to a plume of smoke and some little flames as well. The rim of his glasses shimmered under the light of fire; through the veil of the darkness, she recognized those eyes in all of their bright glory like the ocean upon a sunny day.

“I was wondering when you’d wake up,” he confessed to her, and he shifted to the side a bit and patted his hand on the flat surface of the log right next to him to coax her closer. His voice was low and smooth, like that of molasses; Christine opened the door and climbed out of the backseat. She ambled on over to him with the darkness at her back and all around her: nothing more than a clear path before her as she reached the edge of the clearing, and she could feel the heat from the fire right there, even at Alex’s side.

“Have a seat,” he beckoned her, and he shifted his weight to the side: Christine eyed the guitar, with its heavy dark mahogany body and pristine strings that shimmered in the flames, perched upon his lap, and she took her seat there next to him. She shivered as she looked in past the flames and into the darkness: she recognized the smooth glassy waters of the vast alpine lake.

She didn’t recognize the area but she knew where they had wound up in, however.

“It’s not often I get to play the blues for a girl right under the stars,” he said as he lightly strummed the metallic strings of the guitar with the edge of the pick as well as the pad of his index finger. He shifted his weight and extended his leg out before him as if to take in some warmth from the flames before him.

Christine shivered as she huddled closer to him and the warmth and safety of his body. She never believed that she could feel a sense of home with a human being, but she did right then and there with Alex. Even outside under the stars and by the edge of the lake, he was warm and soft, the way a home should feel.

“When did we even get up here?” she asked him in a broken voice.

“About two hours ago,” he replied as he tucked the pick inside the palm of his hand. “You were still sound asleep when I pulled in under the tree there. I didn’t want to wake you so I set up the tent solo.”

“Aw. You should’ve woken me, though. I would’ve helped you pitch it and everything.”

“You were pretty groggy, though,” he pointed out. “We left the house at such an early hour, so I let you sleep. I really didn’t wanna disturb you.”

A gentle breeze wafted up from the lake waters, which in turn sent a shiver down her spine, even in spite of the hot fire that burned before them. She thought about Chris and how he would have loved it up there with the two of them. Indeed, this reminded her of a time during one summer vacation in which she thought about inviting him out to the Poconos with her parents.

“I wish we had some marshmallows,” she confessed to him.

“We’ll go into town in the morning and fetch some,” he suggested, and then he turned his head for a better look at her. “Maybe we can get some chocolate bars and graham crackers, too?”

“Ooh, yeah! And some cocoa, maybe?”

“If you’d like,” he replied with a shrug of his shoulders. “I decided I’m gonna start watching my weight, but… anything for my Strawberry Girl, though.” He gently kissed her on the forehead, and she curled her toes inside of her shoes at the feeling of his soft lips. She shivered again, that time from the feeling of another wisp of breeze over her.

“I am so cold,” she breathed to him.

“Really? Even with this hot fire burning before us?”

“I’m getting a bit of a breeze from the lake,” she explained. “Like every so often, a little gust will come up and sweep over me, and it’ll make me shiver down to my bones.”

“Here—” He set his guitar down next to him, and he stood up a bit, and she noticed the folded heavy blanket that was underneath him.

“Keeping it warm,” he explained, and he picked it up and unfurled it over her. Christine clutched onto the edges of the blanket so she was completely wrapped from head to toe. Indeed, he kept the blanket warm and it was very quickly growing warmer with the heat from the fire.

“Better?”

“Yeah, quite a bit,” she answered, and he inched even closer to her.

“I should be warm, too…” He cleared his throat and plunked his guitar back upon his lap. Christine gazed down at the strings and the way they seemed to glow from the light of the flames. For a second, she truly believed that she had returned home, away from the rest of the world and to the tender feeling that resided within his body. She slithered her arm out from under the blanket and under the body of the guitar to around his waist; he smiled at the feeling of her arm there.

“I just love when you hold me like that,” he confessed in that low breathy voice that she loved so much. It seemed a bit difficult for him to strum his guitar with her arm around his soft belly, but he also seemed more than happy to have her hold him so close.

“You really wanna watch your weight from here on out?” she asked him.

“May as well. I wanna be here with you forever.”

She gently kissed him on the side of the neck at the sound of that.

“Even though you look really sexy all chubby, I love you no matter how big you are,” she told him.

“I guess it’s a little better to be a bit chubby, anyway,” he pointed out with a wink. “Be a little chubby and indulge every now and again.”

“Help yourself to a s’more and a few little kisses…” She kissed him again on the neck, and that time, he momentarily stopped strumming.

“I should probably tell you that Nelly should be up here by the morning, too,” he added as he nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Nelly’s gonna be up here, really?”

“Yeah, she called—right when I was pitching the tent, too—she said she’ll take us out to breakfast tomorrow morning.”

“You oughta just eat everything in sight during breakfast,” she suggested. “You know, just be bit of a pig for breakfast so you don’t eat as much during the day.”

“Just fill up my belly to as full as I can make it with the works and then cuddle up next to you so you can feel me,” he joked.

“I just… love the thought of you with a full tummy,” she confessed.

“Best feeling in the world,” he said; through the dim light and the protective shade of his glasses, she noticed another fire as well, one that burned within those deep eyes. She licked her lips as she could feel what he was feeling right then as well.

Without even looking at his guitar, Alex moved his right hand onto the neck for a little picking action.

“Nice li’l solo there,” she remarked.

“I can do it in my sleep,” he boasted.

“Can you now?”

“I could curl up and go to sleep in the tent with this thing on my body and I can be strumming something up right from my dreamland,” he said.

“I think I could curl up and go to sleep in the tent laying on your body and I can be strumming something up right from the heart of my dreamland,” she retorted, to which he chuckled.

“Wanna go in the tent and have a little fun before we go to sleep?” he offered her with a sly smirk on his face and a twinkle in his eye, a twinkle despite the shadows over his face.

Christine cupped her hands around the full shape of his face and kissed him on those soft lips: it was interesting given she had the warmth of the fire on the right side of her face and the cool, wet feeling of the breeze from the lake and the forest on the left side, which in turn was paired with the warmth of his body and the cold feeling at her back. A dance of fire and water under the stars, a feeling that she could never seem to find back in the city, or even in California when she was with Eric.

She was reluctant to release him, and when she did, Alex held still and shuddered a bit.

“God, you’re such a good kisser,” he whispered.

“Let’s go,” she whispered back to him, right as the fire let out a loud crack!, which shook them both. Christine gasped, while Alex hesitated for a moment, and then he burst out laughing. She silenced his laughter with yet another gentle kiss on the lips. He let his glasses slide down his nose a bit so she could see into his eyes, now hooded and darkened with a feeling that she wanted to know about once they were in the safety of the tent.

He scooped up his guitar while she kept the blanket wrapped around her body so she could remain warm on the walk over to the tent. He had pitched it up right behind a tree trunk and a ways away from the fire and the lake’s edge: they would be protected once the wind picked up some more over the course of the night.

He tucked his guitar in the far corner of the tent so it would be away from the door, and she lay down on the soft rollout mattress, still with the blanket wrapped around her, even with the sleeping bag there. By the light of the fire still out there, she watched him take off his shoes followed by his shirt. His skin was smooth and milky, kissed by that olive Levantine tone; the sprigs of hair on his chest were rich and dark, and she reached up to run her fingers through them.

“Hang on…” Alex slid his legs under the thick sleeping bag and he inched closer to her; it was a struggle for Christine to be under her own given the blanket but she somehow did it. Even in separate sleeping bags, she managed to be close to him, to touch him and feel him without any prying eyes or interruptions until the next morning when Nelly would show up.

“I’m in love with you.”

She swore that she had imagined herself saying that, and she had no idea if the words came from his cherry lips or from her own. But she heard the words anyway, and they echoed through her mind as if she wandered through the catacombs under the city in search of the one she loved.

“I’m in love with you.”

The second iteration jarred Christine awake, and that time she found herself back in her bed and her apartment: the morning sun filtered through the shades, and she only had one thing on her mind.

She hadn’t had a dream like that in a long time, either.

“Take me home,” she whispered to herself, and the sound of Eric and Chuck giggling amongst themselves in the next room was everything she needed to know about the day ahead of her.

She had to see Alex that day, and she hoped that he would keep his promise.

[mademoiselle-red]

TC chapter 7 reread thoughts

“A few more minutes cross-examination had involved him in factual accounts of Alec’s wife, Ralph’s girl friend, and his own partner […] Suddenly, for some reason, Reg dropped the subject in mid-air.” 🤣🤣🤣 Laurie, you are so bad at lying. Reg is like: ‘yup, definitely gay. No need to hear more about his made-up girls.’

When Laurie meets up with Andrew, he notices that Andrew is standing in “the same spot where Ralph had stopped the car last night”. Awwwww, I love how Laurie still has Ralph on his mind. And later, when Ralph calls, “Laurie was out of bed already, reaching for his dressing-gown. Although he hasn’t expected it before tomorrow, still the anticipation has subtly colored, and faintly disturbed the day.” Laurie’s been thinking about Ralph for the entire day 🥰, hoping, anticipating, eagerly waiting for him to call 😭😭😭

“Dimly he was aware that it wasn’t the loose talk at the party which was making him careless now; it was the dark confessional of the car on the empty road. […] Laurie was saying to himself that it would soon cease to seem so important, this discovery he had made that instead of accepting concealment as a permanent condition of his life, he had merely been enduring it.”

With Ralph, he has gotten a taste of what it’s like to simply he himself. And he is starting to realize that the relationship he has with Andrew is unsatisfying. Instead of complacently accepting that a chaste platonic relationship is the only acceptable form of love he can have, Laurie has realized that he can and do want more.

“It must be a bad time for him. A little sad, I expect, to meet someone who’d only known him in the days of his glory.” Laurie tried to keep before him the intrinsic kindness of this; but he was even more deeply aware than he wished to be of its unconscious cruelty. He said quickly, “[…] I’d found out that he saved my life.”

“How lucky you found out in time.” There was a helpless and painful silence.

First off, WHAT INTRINSIC KINDNESS???? It was an unkind, insensitive, and rude thing to say about a friend of your friend 😡

I’m glad Laurie immediately and instinctively responded to Andrew’s cruelty by telling him how Ralph saved his life 😤

But then Andrew guilts Laurie into feeling bad about the fact that Ralph saved his life. As if Ralph saving his life is somehow an affront to Andrew. Once again, like earlier with his mother’s marriage, Laurie is confiding in Andrew about someone important to him, and Andrew makes it all about himself and his own moral crisis over pacifism 🤦

And Laurie chooses to suppress his own feelings as to not upset Andrew: “We’ve had all this in principle. Let’s be sensible when something concrete turns up.” This pretty much sums up Laurie’s ostrich in the sand attitude towards Andrew. He keeps trying to dismiss the concrete evidence of their incompatibility and the concrete relationship he has built with Ralph in favor of the “principle” he is trying to follow with Andrew.

“It’s alright. About the only time you ever get to be alone is when you’re with me. I take it as a compliment.” Such a telling statement! Being with Andrew is the same as being alone! Poor Laurie 😢

“It hasn’t occurred to Laurie to have any conversation ready; one always imagined Ralph taking charge. Now, sensing at the other end a tentativeness at least equal to his own, he felt suddenly afraid of drying up. The thought of Ralph ringing off after a few perfunctory commonplaces came to him with a terrible sense of flatness, disappointment and failure. He hasn’t anticipated any of this. However, it was all right after all, and in the end they talked for nearly ten minutes.”

A few fan discussions I’ve read attribute the better quality of Ralph/Laurie phone conversations (and the success of their relationship in general) to Ralph’s skill. But what skill? Where is the skill? He’s just as awkward as Laurie here! Like I said in my post on the previous chapter, they manage to have a good time because Laurie makes an effort. He doesn’t just give up and wave a white flag across the distance like he does when on the phone with Andrew 😤

I think Laurie does not give himself enough credit, and has a tendency to attribute everything that goes well in their relationship to Ralph’s “skill”, and then resents Ralph for it. But so much of this “skill” is the result of them both making an effort to make each other comfortable.

“When he got back Reg said, “You look better, Spud. Coming in just now you looked properly cheesed.”

“I think a nice girl ring for you, Spoddi”

He was dismayed to feel that he had blushed violently.

You know, Laurie has been going on all these idyllic “dates” with Andrew all this time in the hospital, but he apparently has never walked in from one of those looking like he does now after a 10 minute phone call with Ralph, with such obvious love and happiness written all over his face that Reg and Charlot immediately take notice and think a girl called him up 😏. I love how Laurie is so incapable of hiding his love for Ralph 😍😍😍

“Suddenly, as if memory had been kept in storage especially for this, he saw […] Ralph’s face against the background of the dismantled study. Ralph had been nineteen. He would have had a good laugh, Laurie thought, […] at the thought of a grown man in wartime making such heavy weather of so little. And, for that matter, what would he think of it now?”

It’s very significant that the memory of Ralph’s courage and the desire to become a person Ralph would respect gives Laurie the courage to act on his feelings for Andrew. And it is then pretty unsurprising that in chapter 15, without this faith in Ralph to support him, Laurie losses the courage to meet Andrew in London.

“Earlier today, during one of the current invasion rumors, Laurie had pictured an English Thermopylae behind the Home Guard road-blocks; amid the last-ditch grimness of this vision there had intruded a vague exhilaration, and he realized that he had imagined Ralph beside him. So, but much more so, it was now, and with this sudden comfort he found he had got to the door.”

I find it very touching and poignant that in Laurie’s daydreams and fantasies, Ralph is the person he imagines beside him. I’m reminded of the observation from chapter 15 that in the days and nights he spent with Ralph in Bridstow, Laurie lived each day as if the world would end tomorrow. He may not have made up his mind to live with Ralph, but he is willing and ready to die with him. Being joined together in death is the easy part (as Romeo and Juliet discovered). Living is harder.

I love how in this chapter, Andrew has become an interlude, as we the readers (and Laurie) eagerly await and anticipate the next meeting with Ralph, and the further development of their relationship

[weirdlet]

Tuesday Game: Glory

A brief flashback/montage of when your character’s favorite sin was either first indulged, or in fact became their favorite.

I had initially said Vanity, before I really knew how wildly it was going to affect our characters, and before I’d really figured out that Glory was trans.  Now I figure, he jokes that his sin is Vanity as a cover to the fact that it’s really Wrath.

   A devil-child flaps up into the rigging, hair snarled around a comb, little fingers clinging to the spars so that even if Uncle or one of the aunties wanted to climb up after her, there’d be no pulling her from her hiding place without teasing her out like a burr.

“There’s no hiding what you are!” auntie Alys shouts- thin and sharp, a reed men like to break without knowing that her inner pith will have her standing true long after they are gone.

“An exotic around here would bring in the kind of money your mama could retire on- all of us could!”

Wicked child, devil-child, she puts out her forked tongue and hisses, then wraps her wings around herself like a dragon, tiny selfish thing.  There’s no hiding what she is.  No farmer looking for an extra pair of hands for her, no tanner’s apprenticeship or cabin-boy’s post.  Can’t waste looks like these on calluses and windburn when a gold-painted chain and fake runes make a concubus for the night- or they will when she’s a little older.

   The first man who puts a hand on her loses it.

Uncle finds him a position as cabin-boy after that- practically gives him away.

   “There’s no hiding what you are!”

Killer.

Worse, killer of someone just important enough that their body dumped in the canal got *attention* rather than just a shrug.  The guards have bitten hands and lashed faces, and that’s why he’s dumped into the Proving Ground- the one source of entertainment the people stuck on this rock, jailed and jailers alike, have.

The captain had sailed on without him the day of his arrest- no hiding what he was.  Too visible to risk sneaking him out, too known of a crime to be caught ameliorating with bribes and favors.  

Again.

The crowd roars, and his opposite grips a knife made of glass and rope.  Hell-kin that he is, his horns and nails and teeth are considered to be enough.

His wings, snapped open and taut like sails in a storm, carry him like a falcon diving despite the chain at his ankle.

Might as well give the people what they want.  No hiding what he is, after all.

   “There’s no hiding what you are,” the blessed man says, thumbing tears off his cellmate’s face.  The soft glow has faded, a king’s ransom of divine glory spent in a prison cell, by and on tattooed criminals.

The young man spits out leather, pierced through from biting during his trials, and breathes deep and easy with barely a stretch of new-healed skin.  A flat blank canvas awaits him when he looks down, his own to show off what *he* cares to display to the world.

“You’re perfect.”

He’ll get his first new scar there tomorrow.

   The lie comes easy after all this time.  Painted up in bright colors and jingling metal, swaggering up with an easy grin full of sharp teeth- people take it at face value when he says his favorite sin is Vanity.  When really, what throbs below the surface, what’s kept him alive all these years is 

Wrath.

[deputygonebye]

@depictedblue asked: Our muses reunite after receiver thought sender was dead.

Negan had got away. Scampered back into the hole that he crawled out of, wiggled like a rat trapped just before the cat could pounce. Scavengers betrayal still fresh in the mind, in the wounds that scattered across Shane's body, blood and glory spilled out, Alexandria would live to see another day. Bruised and battered but still alive in the end, when the dust settled and the gunfire ceased, the same was not said for all of those that called the community home. Sasha was dead. Unaware, eyes colored with a mist that none could break, another corpse to be added onto the list. Members lost from every place of home that meant something, Alexandria and the Kingdom and Hilltop, there was one person who Shane was desperate to find most. Ran from corner to corner, post to post in effort to find her, until his legs grew sore and his chest rose in fast pace. Lip swollen and busted open, one knee barely held on by a thread, face as pale as a ghost.

"Cassie!" Shane screamed across the way, gun dropped to the ground for strength was less and less with each moment that passed. "Cassie Howard!"

Stumbled across her, a little battle worn, cheeks a shade of pink, from the safety of a hidden position did Shane finally find Cassie. Flat on her back with gun still in grasp. Hazel eyes closed but fluttered still beneath the lids, fear that he had lost her forever was drowned out by fact. Proven, able to be touched and held, between his hands did Shane cradle Cassie's face. Brushed her skin with the pads of his thumbs, pulled her body to his so that they were as good as one. A whole lover from two joined pieces, meant to be.

Shane whispered, voice softer than it had ever been, tears in brown eyes. "Cassie? Cassie, it's me. It's me. I'm here now. I'm right here, baby. Open your eyes for me. Come on, baby, open your eyes. I have you. I won't ever let anythin' bad happen to you. Please, darlin'. Open your eyes. Don't leave me like this. I love you. I love you. Come back to me, baby. Please!"

[ofpsalms]

He knows that she's not one for fanfare, but he'd be hard pressed to allow the day to go unnoticed. Birthdays deserve acknowledgment, he'd always felt, even if that acknowledgement was quiet. A way to appreciate and celebrate the gifts of family and friends God had given them- that's what he'd always told the children on Crockett. And what a special gift it is indeed that after all this time, after everything that's happened, God still found room in his heart to grant Monsignor John Pruitt a friend. A begrudging start, yes, but a friend no less.

The gift was left on Nico's desk: something thin and flat, wrapped in the gold and white gift paper that caught his eye at the store ( celebration colors on a celebratory day ). Inside she'll find an autographed copy of both Pete Seeger's vinyl God Bless The Grass and a tour poster, along with a folded note:

" Got these autographed at his live Berkeley performance back in '68 - I was able to bring some vinyls with me off Crockett, but obviously not the record player. Figured someone should get to enjoy these properly. Buon compleanno, Nico! - Msgr. Succhiasangue. "

Two espressos and a cigarette had been her birthday gift to herself early this morning. So busy with her nose in her files and keeping her peers in order, Nico is content to forget this date’s significance after that. Simply another year closer to eternity, to her it’s not much to celebrate.

 Still she’s only human, she cannot help the curiosity that overtakes her at the sight of a nearly wrapped parcel on her desk.  Nor can she help the way her heart pounds with childlike excitement as her fingers gently tear through the metallic paper. Dark eyes widen and her breath catches in her throat at the sight of her idol’s signatures. She holds these small treasure up like sainted relics, and a disbelieving, ecstatic laugh escapes from her lips. 

His note is the next thing she finds. As her dark eyes scan it, she shakes her head with a smile on her face, snorts as she always does at the ease of which he’d adopted her once cutting nickname as his personal moniker. Pruitt. He’d remembered. Perhaps it had been hard to forget. She’d played one of Seeger’s disks on repeat in her car the first time she’d dragged him out on assignment.

Here is a land full of power and glory Beauty that words cannot recall Oh her power shall rest on the strength of her freedom Her glory shall rest on us all 

The previously neglected record player, nestled in the corner of her office, spins. Music of hope and struggle carries itself out of the crack in her door and down the halls. It seems to follow her footsteps as they carry themselves with purpose down the ornate halls to find him. 

❝ Monsignor? ❞ 

Nico appears at his office door, still clutching his message in her hand. She hadn’t meant to for this to carry so much weight, had meant this as a simple thank you, followed by a bit of their usual banter. Nico rolls her shoulders back, tries to keep a joking smile on her face, but whatever casual thanks or clever comment she had planned turns to dust in her hands. A series of half-formed thoughts tumble out from between her lips instead.

❝ I just wanted to thank you, for your gifts- I love them. I really love a lot. I mean, I know I talked your ear off about Seeger in those early days and I... thank you, for remembering and all. I mean, no one really... ❞ 

She looks at him, and a long, contemplative silence follows. Before she can stop it, her collected expression crumbles, followed by tears that sting and redden her eyes before falling down her cheeks.

❝ Father John. ❞

 His name comes out thickly and stripped of formalities. It’s the only thing that she can manage. In the next moment she’s stepped forward and has her arms around his tall frame, her features buried in his shoulder. For a time there is nothing else she needs to say, embracing him tightly, unapologetically, and praying her tears do not stain his black clerics.

What wonders in God’s plan. She’d hated this man half a year ago, then reluctantly turned to him when there was no one else left. Now he’s resurrected a feeling long buried, the fear that comes with having someone else to lose. The impenetrable walls of Babylon that previously incased her ribs have fallen, and she allows herself to feel it all, lets its flames scorch the inside of her chest in all of its triumphant agony. 

❝ Grazie. Grazie mille, Monsignore Succhiasangue. My brilliant friend. ❞