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creedslove · 6 months

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WHO KNEW? 💍💔 - PART TWO

No outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

"You took my hand, you showed me how

You promised me you'd be around (...)

I took your words and I believed in everything you said to me (...)

If someone said three years from now, you'd be long gone, I'd stand up and punch them out, 'cause they're all wrong

I know better, 'cause you said forever, and ever, who knew?"

Summary: even against your wishes, your bond with the Millers straightens and a series of events causes you and Joel to get closer, enough to spike the fear of falling again for him

• This is the second part of Who Knew? 💍💔 Which was also inspired by this amazing HEADCANON request

Warnings: angst, broken hearts, mentions of divorce, mentions of infidelity, fluff, age gap (Joel is four to five years older than reader and the time skip is 12 to 14 years (Sarah's age) but feel free to imagine whatever you want), house breaking, protective Joel, sexual tension

A/N: so besties, I've been obsessed with this idea, and I hope you enjoy it as well! I mean, I've been writing a little more than 1k words a day, there were some parts I thought were good and some were not so good, as a final result, I don't know, I really hope you all enjoy it my lovelies! It's so hard to resist Joel, isn't it?

10.4k words

If someone told you one day, after a decade of being divorced from Joel due to the huge heartbreak he put you through, your bond with the Millers would straighten once more, you would stand up and punch them out. It was so ridiculously absurd to think you would become closer to the man who chewed you up and spat you out and even if he had indeed changed and was a better person, wasn't enough to make you forget what happened. Yes, you had forgiven him, but not forgotten what went on between the two of you, and even if a part of you desperately begged you to stay away and never talk to Joel again, destiny was pretty ironic at its doings and made you and his daughter, Sarah, become friends. You didn't mean to, and you were sure that if it were up to him, he wouldn't have said yes either, but you never knew she was his daughter and he never knew his daughter's friend was… well, you.

After he did some working at your home, he had asked you out, which you actually considered, but then dismissed the idea completely, there was no way you would put yourself through that again, even if he was even more handsome than when he was young, even if he did make your heart race and pound like you were some inexperienced teenager and even if late at night before falling asleep you closed your eyes and replayed in your mind the last kiss you cherished. Even if you focused hard enough and could still feel his warmth, the heavy grip of his hand on your waist, the way his beard that now was sprinkled with grays here and there scratched your skin and how Joel Miller still had the best kiss you'd ever tried. For a moment it had felt so right, even if it was wrong, and a hidden part of you, the part that just maybe didn't despise Joel that much often allowed you to wonder what would actually happen if you had given him a chance to take you out, would it have been really that bad? You would've gone somewhere to drink or grab something to eat, hang out, perhaps even dance and of course you would end up in Joel's bed, hardly any woman would pass up this opportunity. For a moment you wish it could've been that way, but unfortunately, you and Joel were done. After you turned him down you still shared a last kiss and then you both went back to your own lives, the only thing that connected the two of you in the past was the failed marriage you had just as the only thing that connected the two of you in the present was Sarah.

She was the loveliest girl you'd ever met in your life, so smart and sweet, always kind to everyone, responsible and even if you had had problems with her dad, you couldn't help but feel sorry for her and the fact her own mother didn't want to be around; it sounded crazy to you that woman could give up her chance of being the mother of a wonderful little girl like Sarah, even if Joel had killed any kind of desire of getting involved with someone to the point of building up a family. Not to mention Joel himself, he was a handsome, hard-working man, and he had been a good husband before Angela ruined your life. You knew she wasn't the only one to blame, Joel was a real dick, but now you certainly had two reasons to hate her: the fact she ruined your marriage and that she abandoned her daughter.

After Joel took over the renovations in your home, Sarah continued coming over and even if you felt sort of guilty from keeping the truth from her, you also knew it wasn't your place to tell her, if anything, you and Joel needed to do it together. You couldn't ruin the perfect image she had of her dad, because he was a great father to her and no one could deny that. Overall, you really enjoyed her presence; it wasn't uncommon for her to tag along during lunch time or spend the afternoon reading on your couch. Sometimes you wondered if she didn't have enough friends to hang out with, after all, Joel was busy throughout the day and any teen would take the opportunity of freedom to do whatever shit they wanted with them without having to give their parents the time of the day, but that didn't make any sense, not with Sarah being a sociable girl like she was, so when the realization that she sort of envisioned you as a motherly figure at some level, you felt quite shocked. If life hadn't pulled some unfunny tricks along your way, she could've easily been yours and Joel's daughter. You tried to shake it off and pretend she didn't see you that way, but looking back at your interactions it was undeniable; Sarah opened up to you about things she certainly didn't with Joel, from the pain of periods, to problems with girl friends and boys. It was amusing until Sarah began questioning you about it, asking you about your love life, past relationships and why you were single. You felt bad about not telling her the whole truth, but it was a complicated situation. Especially when she came up with the idea she really considered it to be genius

"Why don't you date my dad?!"

She asked you one lazy afternoon, making you choke softly at the water you were drinking, looking at her shocked and speechless for a while, her sweet smile was impossible to make you get mad at her, and above all it was a genuine question, she wasn't just messing with you.

"What?! My dad looks good, he works hard and he would make you very happy!" She cheered innocently, which caused your heart to sink.

"No… I wouldn't date your dad, he's incompatible… I mean, we are incompatible, I'm sure we wouldn't get along"

"Why?! Is it because you have more money than us? Dad does say you are way out of his league"

And you were shocked and speechless once more. Joel had talked about you to Sarah? And he had told her you were out of his league? This information should have made you scoff and roll your eyes, and not make your cheeks heat up while you blushed.

"No Sarah, Jesus no! It's got nothing to do with money or anything… I mean, your dad works hard and he should earn more than he does, because he is very dedicated and well, an honest working man like Joel can be worth a lot more than a rich guy, trust me" you sighed as she stared at you intently "but the thing is… I've been married once, I was too young, it was disastrous, it didn't work obviously, I got hurt and well… your dad sort of reminds me of him, my ex-husband I mean… It's hard to explain, but no, I wouldn't date your father"

You hated that you lied to her, well, half lies at least, but you wished you could be honest, Sarah was an important part of your life and it would be a lot easier if you three would come clean about everything that happened; on the other hand, you couldn't even imagine the mess you would make in her poor little head, as it was pretty messy and fucked up for you as well whenever you stopped to think you were friends with your ex-husband's daughter, the one he had with the woman he cheated on you with and that simply walked out and abandoned him. It even sounded made up, so you offered her just the piece of information you could. Sarah reached out to you, taking your hand in hers and caressing your knuckles, she gave you a sympathetic look and nodded

"I'm so sorry… I can't even imagine how you must feel, he didn't deserve you anyway, you can be sure you are way better than him, and well, I am just glad dad isn't like that, he's a nice guy, he would never do such a thing to anyone. I just feel like he deserved more too, you know? That woman… my mom, even if she shouldn't be called that, just broke his heart and disappeared. Uncle Tommy told me she never really wanted to have me in the first place and if it weren't for dad, you know…" She looked down trying to hide the thick sadness that fogged her face and it was your turn to reach to her, taking her hand, but seeing it wasn't enough as you got up and walked to Sarah, giving her a hug.

"I don't know, I just wish dad would find a nice girl like yourself and then he could be happy, I mean, we all could…"

•••

Joel groaned at how annoying his brother really was, he didn't get why Tommy would always pry into his fucking business instead of handling his own life, Joel was a grown man and he didn't need anyone trying to set him up with women or just inviting him out out of pity. He could take care of himself; he didn't need to meet women or be in a relationship, he was fine the way he was, his life was already way too hectic the way it was, whenever he felt lonely he could just pick up some woman at a bar and get laid and then go back to his everyday routine. And yet both Tommy and Sarah kept on getting on his nerves, always suggesting him to one girl or another or trying to drag him on double dates. When Sarah had casually told him to ask you out, completely oblivious to the fact he had already done it and you shut him out, Joel was at a loss of words, he tried playing cool but he couldn't deny the mess his feelings had become. He wasn't sure how to suppress them, not after that one kiss. That must've meant something, you wouldn't just give him a speech of how uninterested you were and how you two would never work out again and then kiss him like that, you probably still had feelings for him, if not feelings, at least desire, and as much as he would love to act on it, he didn't want to force things up, to he pushy and make you uncomfortable. He'd hurt you too many times to learn that if you'd asked him to stay away, he should stay away. Not only that, Tommy was completely onboard with everything you had said, to him, the fact Joel was crushing on his ex-wife more than a decade after breaking her heart was a clear sign of madness. He figured Joel still had feelings for you, even if Tommy wasn't one to settle down, he couldn't understand how his brother went from madly in love with his pretty young wife to a terrible husband and finally the asshole who dumped her for another woman. He knew that the passion Joel felt for Angela was strong, but even more than just a burning passion, lay that undying love he'd felt for you, and he was sure it wouldn't simply go away, which didn't necessarily mean that Joel surrendering to that love was a smart move. Quite the opposite, it was probably the dumbest thing Tommy had ever heard in his entire life. How could Joel even keep any hopes of getting with you again?! It hadn't worked, too many people got hurt and all he wanted was that his brother could actually see that, so he simply discouraged Joel from getting anywhere near you, as if it wasn't bad enough Sarah had been dragged accidentally into this story, he didn't want his brother suffering around. So he set his brother up on a date, something that Joel hated with passion but since he was feeling particularly hopeless that night he ended up accepting it.

He was usually very against being set up on blind dates, but Joel had created a depressing ritual of always going out and grabbing a drink whenever he came across the date that would've marked his wedding anniversary with you. Joel often heard men were forgetful and didn't remember important dates, but he had never been like that, always keeping the important dates fresh in his mind was something common, ever since he was a child, especially when they brought him strong emotions, such as the ones he shared with you. He thought it was a little stupid at first, but he found out that it helped him cope with the guilt and the doubts that always clouded up his mind. He would sit at a bar and wonder where you could be, how your life would have been like and if you ever thought of him. It sort of became his thing, but this year, for the first time, he knew the exact answers to his questions, and it was so odd, he decided to take Tommy's suggestions to go out with a friend of his brother's girlfriend, he didn't really care nor paid attention, he just exchanged numbers with her, showered and got dressed after work and headed for the restaurant.

And just as he had predicted, it had been another disastrous date. Not that the girl wasn't pretty, she was, but she was just exhausting; her conversation was tiring, her subjects were boring and overall, she just wasn't you. Joel didn't understand why he was having it so bad for you, he knew he shouldn't, he should forget about it all and focus on something else, but as much as he tried not to think of you, more he thought of you. It was maddening. He couldn't help himself but compare the two of you: you were prettier, smarter, funnier, you dressed and smelled better than that random stranger he saw himself being forced to have dinner with. And he wished with all his heart you could be on that date with him; if only you gave him just one chance to show you he was a better man, he would never hurt you like he did before, give you a chance to redeem himself and make you happy exactly the way you deserved it, he would be the happiest man in the world. Life wasn't gonna make things easier for him, and deep down, he knew he didn't even deserve it in the first place, so he tried once more paying attention to his date, which didn't last very long and the moment he saw the opportunity to leave, he grabbed it like a life preserver in the middle of the ocean and headed to a bar - alone, and only after paying for the check, after all, Joel Miller was still a gentleman.

Your wedding anniversary had always been a tricky date for you; there were years you went completely unaffected by it and years you felt like dying. For the first time, however, you were closer to Joel than you'd always been in the years before, and because of that, you decided you deserved better than just stay home and have some bland dinner by yourself, you would go out and perhaps meet other people… And your plan went really smoothly for a while; you got to a nice bar, dressed nicely, dragging some male attention towards you and even got paid a drink by a handsome stranger who waved from afar. It felt like a promising night, until Joel Miller walked in and looked for a table, and he looked devilish handsome as he did so. You bit your lips feeling the alcohol rushing towards one direction at the same time you censored yourself: no matter how lonely and needy you were feeling nor how handsome he was, you couldn't simply feel the hots for him. As if he'd just read your mind, Joel turned around, his eyes falling right on you, his gaze softened up and you saw him running his tongue through his lips, deciding whether or not to walk towards you.

Of course he did it.

The moment he approached, Joel noticed the sadness in your eyes and he was sure you were the for the exact same reason he was, and it was just another motive to get closer to you; taking the chair next to you, he asked the bartender for a drink and as soon as he had it in hands, he stared at you.

"Happy wedding anniversary, darling" he tilted his glass against yours, as you just nodded and took a long sip.

"Happy wedding anniversary, handsome" you replied in a mockery tone using the old nickname you used for him. Handsome was a word that really described him, your Joel. He had always been a handsome man, but how well time treated him was impressive to say the least. He looked so good, he was bigger, broad and stronger. His dark hair had become a little grayer, just like a few patches all over his beard, and that suited him like a damn velvet glove. The way his shirt hung tight around his shoulders and down his arms, eyes lingering on him for way too long, as a warmth spread through your cheek and Joel chuckled

"Funny how you still blush when I'm around… Exactly like old times" he grinned and took another sip of his drink, which was enough to break you free from the spell you were under.

"What are you doing here? I thought I'd made myself pretty clear, Joel" you sighed and stared down into your glass.

"I'm doing the same as you are, darling… I'm thinking about all the bad decisions I made in life. You have been pretty clear, I ain't going to bother you, but I just missed you… it's so weird to see Sarah getting home everyday so excited over you, talking about how nice and awesome you are and I have to pretend not to know about it"

"Yeah? And you think it's easy for me to spend the whole afternoon listening to her talking about what an amazing dad you are? How you are awesome but very unlucky to have had your heartbroken by her mom?" You raised your eyebrow and chuckled

"She really say that?" Joel's expression showed a slight shock "she said I was an amazing dad?!"

You tilted your head at his surprise and bit your lips, perhaps it was just the drinks you had that softened you up a little, but when you saw it, you placed your hand on his arm and shook your head

"Yeah? Why are you so surprised? You are an amazing dad, Joel… that girl loves you more than anything in the world, she idolizes you, of course, she thinks you work too much and that you could both spend some more time together, but other than that, it's clear you are a great father. I was very surprised when we met again, to see your change, I never really thought you would become a better person, not after what happened, but it's nice to see Sarah changed that" you smiled softly at him, and that just melted Joel's rough heart, he immediately took your hand before you could move it away and caressed your knuckles softly, his gaze still making you pathetically shy, as he pursed his lips and you remembered how good they've always felt on your own and also all over your body.

"You know she also sees you as a mother figure, right?!"

"Yeah, I was reluctant to admit it at first, but she does… I guess she needed that, you know? A woman she could talk to about girl stuff, things she cannot talk to her dad or her uncle Tommy" you smiled "I really like Sarah and I'm very glad you allow us to be friends, I understand it is a really odd situation for you, as it is for me, but I like her a lot… you know, if things had been different, she could've been my daughter… our daughter" you sighed "things could've been different Joel… you know what made so hard for me to forgive you? It's not exactly you falling for Angela, of course, rejection hurts a lot, but sometimes it happens, sometimes you fall for someone you shouldn't have, but what still breaks my heart is that you lied to me, you played with me instead of coming clean. You just kept me around even if you didn't want me anymore, so just you would have a comfortable option in case it didn't work with her, and that was what made me feel worse… it made me feel unworthy, because you could still have been considerate of me and just break things up before it all happened" you shrugged

"Darling, I-" he squeezed your hand tighter but you pulled it away

"I'm not trying to make you upset or anything, all I am saying is that things could have been different between us, they should have been at least, if not staying married, having a child and building a family together, then at least having your honesty…"

"What can I do so you forgive me?" Joel asked, his voice breaking a little as he tried to hide the emotion growing at any minute.

"I've already forgiven you Joel, I already told you that… but I can't forget what happened, it will always haunt me" you sighed "too many things happened and as much as I had loved you, I think I would never be able to trust you"

"Please, I have changed, it kills me to know I've hurt you so much, I wish I could go back in time and undo everything that I did.. please, darling" Joel begged you with those brown soft eyes, his hand cupping your cheek in a warm caress and even if you closed your eyes and leaned into his touch for a while, you knew you couldn't let yourself fall into his touch, because if you did, there would be no turning back.

"If Angela returned today, Joel… imagine if she came back and tried claiming you and Sarah, would you still care about me? Because I don't see this happening, Joel. Honestly, what I think is that you want me because you feel bad about what happened and because you couldn't have who you really wanted…"

His expression was indecipherable and for a second you thought he would say something, but all he did was pull you closer, gluing your lips together in an urgent kiss, you could've fought it, but you didn't; instead, you kissed him back, taking your hands into his curls and tugging at them more and more each time Joel pulled you even closer.

Only when the two of you broke the kiss, he looked into your eyes, his thumb stroking your bottom lip gently

"There isn't anyone I want but you, I never stopped loving you, darling… even when Angela was around, she couldn't compare to you" his words shattered your heart, as much as you wanted to believe that, you still couldn't. You grabbed his hand and sighed

"Don't do this again, Joel, please. You've ruined too many things for me already…" you got up and said goodbye "we can't, you know it"

"What have I ruined for you, darling? Tell me and I'll fix it, please"

You chuckled sad and shrugged

"Joel, you even ruined Queen for me'

You walked away from him, leaving him there with his drink and his thoughts, a puzzled look out of confusion in his face trying to figure out exactly what the hell you meant by that. Just as he saw you disappear out of the door, he realized what meant as he paid attention to the lyrics of the song playing in background:

"Love of my life, you hurt me

You've broken my heart

And now you leave me

Love of my life, can't you see (...)"

And even if Joel wanted to be rational and convince himself he'd lost you for good, his heart still insisted on wanting what he couldn't have.

•••

Your car parked in Joel's driveway was the last thing he expected to see that night, after working excruciatingly and failing his promise of getting home earlier to have dinner with his daughter. He knew Sarah was probably waiting, disappointed but also used to it, full of having some sandwich or any other snack she could find. He cursed himself for getting so caught up at work, he didn't mean to, but he had done it again, after all, he had to attend an important meeting with a possible new client and then he would need to wait for the arrival of a bunch of materials that had been delayed for weeks, and even if he knew his daughter was safe with you, he still felt upset to have not given her the attention she needed. However, you had never been to his house before, that was something that you established from the very beginning and when he kissed you at the bar a couple of weeks ago, Joel was certain that was the end of seeing you, occasionally or not. He was sure you'd never shut Sarah out, you liked her for real, and she reciprocated the feelings; besides, you were a decent enough human being who knew you didn't have to mix things up. So, the fact you were indeed at his home, was concerning to him, who parked and immediately left, getting inside wanting to see what was going on. The moment the door opened in one hard swing, you got off the couch and walked to your ex-husband

“Hey Joel” you said, a little shy, suddenly, the fact you were standing in the middle of his home uninvited made you extremely embarrassed, as it felt you were somehow intruding on his intimacy. Since the divorce Joel had moved into a new house, bigger and cozier, a nice backyard with a decent swimming pool was something that drew your attention; you smiled at yourself, knowing how much Joel loved swimming, so it made your heart warm to see he had accomplished something that seemed quite small, but it meant a lot to you.

At first, when you saw the house, you couldn't help but be invaded by a furious jealousy of the possibility Joel had built that house for her, Angela, instead of you. Luckily, Sarah clarified he only started to build it when she was a toddler and that Tommy helped him, and that's why he often crashed there. You chuckled to yourself, that was typical of Tommy, but overall you felt proud of Joel and everything he achieved, you knew he had potential and it was great that he actually worked on it.

“Where's Sarah?!” He asked with worry and called her name once more, louder this time, frowning as you shushed him.

“I'm sorry I'm here, but she had a fever felt sick, I wanted to call you but she asked me not to an-” you were cut off by Joel simply climbing up the stairs and heading straight to Sarah's room, he felt a mix of guilt and worry weighing in his heart at the fact his baby daughter was sick and he couldn't be there for her. He barged into her room, normally, that would be enough to startle her, but instead, he found her peacefully asleep, clung tight to her pillow, dressed in her regular PJs. He touched her forehead wanting to check her temperature, but luckily her skin wasn't warm anymore. He looked at the door and found you there, arms folded and looking like you wanted to say something else, and then he just realized how rude he'd actually been to you by simply walking away and letting you talk to a brick wall. He placed a gentle kiss on his daughter's forehead and closed the door behind him.

“I'm sorry darling, I was worried and you should've called me…”

“It's okay, Joel… as I was saying, I wanted to call you, but Sarah asked me not to, she said you were having an important meeting and you would be home soon, anyway” you licked your lips as you realized he was extremely late and probably feeling so guilty about it all.

“You know, she was at my place and she was feeling a little down, at first I thought she was just upset because she wasn't invited to Melissa's party an-”

“That girl is a bitch” Joel said angrily and in such a defensive way that it was both cute he was so protective of his daughter at the same time it sounded hilarious to see him cursing another teenage girl. However, you had to agree with him, Melissa was indeed a bitch.

“Yeah, I know right?! Anyway, I noticed Sarah was burning up with fever and since she didn't want me to call you, I decided to bring her home and stay with her. So I asked her to take a cool shower, gave her some tylenol and made her some chicken soup with the things I found in your kitchen…” you both went downstairs and stopped in his living room. You tried not paying attention to how good your ex-husband looked after his long hour shift; his sweaty shirt so tight against his broad chest, his messy hair and that stressed attitude that would always melt away with a very intense orgasm.

“You made soup?!” Joel frowned a little shocked and interrupted your drifting thoughts.

“Y-yeah, why? Did I do bad?”

“No” Joel smiled softly and shook his head “not at all, it's just that… I haven't had your food in so long and you've always been a good cook, that's all” the nostalgia he felt was so big and it also warmed your heart, nodding at him “well, I made some more in case you wanted to have dinner too, it's in the kitchen, you can help yourself if you'd like…” you offered him and grabbed your purse “can you call me tomorrow and let me know if Sarah is better?”

Joel grabbed your arm gently and shook his head

“Don't go, not yet… just have dinner with me, talk to me for a while, I promise I won't try to kiss you or anything. Just keep me company, it's rare to have people over, it's usually Sarah and I and usually Tommy, but when they are out, it's just me” he looked at you with a sad expression, and you understood perfectly: loneliness.

Coming back home to an empty bed at night. Not having anyone to rely on, to hold, to give you support and affection, to make love. So you nodded and smiled at him, sitting down with him at the table and grabbed yourself a plate, giggling at how hungry he really was, eating as if he hadn't seen food in months. He raised his eyes at you and stopped chewing, blushing as you wouldn't stop staring.

“You know, you and Sarah have the same sad puppy eyes when you are sick?!” Joel raised his eyebrow at you and you laughed softly “same red teary eyes, sniffing as someone takes care of you, it's actually adorable”

“You think I'm adorable?!”

“Adorable isn't exactly what you are Joel…” you said letting your eyes wandering all over him and having your ex-husband to smirk at you

“Yeah? You think I'm attractive?”

“You know you are attractive, Joel, now shut up and eat” you frowned softly and had dinner with him; it was a pleasant moment, spending some time together, without any talks about the divorce or the past, just two old acquaintances who perhaps had some kind of feelings for each other and shared a meal together. There weren't accusations, apologies or tears, just mundane, regular conversations and laughter. It was nice to have that moment with Joel, as you both progressed in a conversation about your lives and how things had changed over the years, truly catching up instead of arguing. When the subjected revolved around Sarah again, your ex-husband couldn't contain his curiosity anymore:

“You never wanted kids, darling?”

You looked down at your empty plate, a glimmer of sadness crossing your eyes as you shook your head and stared at him

“Not after you, Joel… I used to want a kid, before, when we were together, but not anymore. I feel it's too late for me now, even if I'm still young, it just feels impossible, you know?”

Joel's hand rested on top of yours, he caressed it very gently and looked at you. He sighed knowing exactly what you meant, knowing you actually meant having a baby together and of course he blew it once more. He couldn't even describe the remorse he felt, even if you had spent the past half an hour having a rare moment of bliss tougher, he knew he would never be able to erase what had happened between the two of you. He wished he had a chance to do so, but deep inside, even if he did, he knew the damage had been done.

“It's alright, Joel…” you said shyly and got up as you picked the plates and piled them in the sink, he immediately walked to you,

“Let me handle the dishes, it's the least I can do, you know… after you took care of my daughter and cooked for us. I'm sure Sarah loved it, we aren't used to having homemade food” he chuckled as you nodded

“Yeah, I figured, that's why I decided to make something else…” you said as you walked to the oven and opened it, showing Joel the freshly baked batch of chocolate chips cookies. He widened his eyes like a child and smiled big.

“This is your favorite, I figured it was Sarah's as well” you said sweetly and got the tray out of the oven, although you mumbled something a couple of times, Joel hadn't replied to you, as he kept washing the plates without interruption. You didn't get why he ignored your question, it made no sense; just a few minutes ago you were both having a nice, sweet time together and suddenly he wasn't going to say anything? That was odd. You placed the cookies on the balcony and called him again, to which you got no reply so you just shook his arm a little calling him again.

He turned around and watched you

“What is it?” He asked with a sweet smile, making you even more confused

“I called you a couple of times and you didn't say anything… is everything alright with you?” And at that question his face fell and it was impossible for Joel to hide his sadness. He licked his lips and nodded

“Yeah… it's just that… I'm kinda deaf in my right ear” he blushed and looked down in shame “I had a work accident some years ago and something blew up when I stood too close to it and well…” he shrugged and you felt your heart sink. Your poor Joel, always such a hardworking man, despite everything between you both, you never wanted him to be that injured. It saddened you to see how ashamed he seemed of it, even if he had no reason to be ashamed of it at all, and suddenly it made all sense to you why he was always subtly tilting his head to the left or standing towards that direction when he talked to you.

“I can hear it just fine, got used to it by now, but if you mumble something on my right it's kinda hard to me” the simple and even innocent way he said that made you so sympathetic of him, but it was way more than just that. It made you want to hold him, to assure him it was fine and he was still nothing but perfect no matter what had happened.

“Oh Joel…” you whispered and held his head in both of your hands, gently, your fingers brushing against his thick beard as you got closer and rested your forehead against his “I'm so sorry honey” you whispered again and closed your eyes. He was determined to respect you and not get handsy with you, but the moment he saw you pulling him closer, he couldn't help doing the same; gripping your waist with large hands, just like he used to, exactly where they fit so well, he brought your bodies close together.

“Don't go, please… stay” he whispered back, his lips were almost on yours, everything felt so right at that moment even if it was wrong. You hated how it felt like playing with fire: it seemed beautiful and appealing but you would get burned no matter what.

“I'm sorry, you know I can't” you said, moving your lips just an inch further and connecting with his, earning a hungry kiss.

For someone who desperately wanted to keep away from their ex-husband, you were certainly doing a shitty job. He needed you as much as you needed him, you both wanted each other, but you broke the kiss. It couldn't happen, your relationship was as complicated as it was and you didn't want to deal with that responsibility later. His heavy breathing lingered on your skin, at the same time he placed a soft peck on your neck, knowing all your sweet spots, that devilish man Joel Miller was.

“You know you can call me, right? Anything you need, anything at all, just call me and I'll come running to you, darling, don't forget that” he whispered into your ear and more than a seducing invitation, it was a plea, from a hopelessly man in love who didn't know what to do to prove his worth.

•••

Joel's offer to call him whenever you needed was so tempting, because you didn't actually need to call him, but you wanted to. It made no sense, you were the one who wanted to keep your distance from him, but due to the latest events you found yourself wanting to see Joel each time more, just the thought of his presence brought you an excitement you tried not reading too much into it; you didn't want to admit you were crushing on your ex-husband, but then, how could you call the fact your heart raced when you saw him? How you blushed and felt sparkles whenever you touched him briefly - accidentally or not? It was tricky, it was a mess but it seemed Joel made you lose that filter that always kept you emotionally distant from everyone. After learning Sarah was alright, you felt relieved for her, and when she stopped by your home and thanked you for taking care of her, you felt that familiar warmth in your heart. It seemed the more your rational part fought for you to stay away, that you had been severely hurt by Joel and you couldn't afford giving him a chance to do the same for the second time, but your irrational side? The one driven by your feelings and desires?! That one only made you dive deeper into the Millers household. Your feelings for Sarah just grew, you were attached to her and she was attached to you, she found in you the female influence it lacked for years and she represented something you never had but wished you could. And her dad was something else… ever since that evening you spent together, having dinner, chatting and enjoying each other's company, Joel had told you you could call him anytime for any reason. It didn't matter if you wanted to talk, hang out or have him fix something at your place, he was at your will.

And then you weren't certain if your faucet was really leaking, or if your door was actually warped or if all of that had to do with the fact you were looking for an excuse to call Joel and see him. You didn't want to hire him and you didn't want to discuss feelings, talk about the past or hear all sorts of apologies, you wanted to have a nice, pleasant moment with him, just like you had the last time. It felt so familiar and yet so new; it was about the two of you being acquaintances but at the same time meeting each other, your older, more mature versions finally getting together and hitting off. That was the kind of interaction you wanted from Joel.

You just didn't know exactly how to initiate it, not without giving him any kind of hope or leading him into it.

So you decided to focus on work, like you'd been doing for over a decade. You liked your job, it was stressful as any other job in the world and the money was great. However, you had got so comfortable and used to working from home, the days you were forced to actually go to the office felt excruciating, but it was part of the deal and you had to do it. So you got up, got ready - not without texting Sarah to let her know you wouldn't be home that day - and went to do your business. It was also when you noticed something was wrong. You didn't know the car that was parked across the street, it was a little odd, as you got used to all your neighbors and it was such a calm neighborhood you simply noticed when there was someone from outside. Still, you shrugged and got into your own car, driving to work.

On your way back, all you wanted was a cool shower and some relaxing hours scattered on the couch, but you tensed up a bit when you spotted the same car you did in the morning still there. It had nothing indicating trouble, and yet, you had a gut feeling telling you it simply wasn't right, however, there was nothing you could really do about it. You thought of calling Joel, but you didn't want to risk sounding paranoid and overall crazy. What could you tell him?! That there was a car parked across the street?!

You groaned when you checked your email and saw you would have to attend a meeting at work in person the next day. You were so sure you'd solved everything up, so why would you have to go? It was probably one of those meetings that could be just a work email and it annoyed you to no end, but still, you had no other option other than attending so the next morning you were there, getting ready when you spotted the same car. You had no idea if it had spent the whole night there or if it had gotten there before you woke up, nonetheless, you were taken by the same feeling you did the day before, no matter if they were irrational or not, it was just overwhelming. After another day at work, you returned home and sighed relieved to see the car wasn't there. Maybe it had been just a paranoid episode, perhaps you were just reading too much into things and all the stress from work combined with your situation with Joel made you lose your grip on reality a little bit.

The fact was that after doing your regular house things, you decided to take a relaxing bath and sink yourself into your tub. Selecting the perfect bath bomb and adjusting the temperature, you got inside, groaning at how the warm water made your tense muscles relax and you could feel the knots undoing themselves; as you closed your eyes and relaxed, there was nothing clouding up your mind but Joel.

His handsome face, his smile, his curly graying hair. He was your Joel, but older, mode handsome, if that was even a thing, because Joel was definitely the most handsome man you'd ever met. You couldn't help yourself but picture him wrapping his strong arms around your body, perhaps a relaxing bath with Joel would feel so good, you wouldn't be able to to turn it down. Just to imagine his naked body holding yours was enough to spike so many things all over you. You didn't know if you'd ended up dozing off in the tub, but it was hard to say if any time had passed or not the moment you heard some noises around your house. You couldn't remember if you'd forgotten your TV on or something like that, you were sure you hadn't turned on the radio, but it was enough to feel goosebumps all over your skin. You left the tub, drying yourself as quick as possible and wrapping a bathrobe around your body, exiting the room as silently as you could, hearing whispering and steps all over the lower floor. You went to your room and looked outside the window, your heart racing the moment you spotted the same car you'd seen before. You didn't know what to do, you could feel the suffocating wave of anxiety taking over completely. You could hear their voices, because apparently there was more than one guy. They were robbing your home, but what would happen if they reached you? You immediately locked your bedroom door, so relieved to see your phone was thrown onto the bed. Grabbing it, you dialed the number you'd never forgotten.

•••

“Come on, darling, open up” Joel's voice was the first thing you registered after you made the call, hugged yourself against a corner of your room and closed your eyes. You had heard footsteps climbing the stairs and how the thieves banged on your door, but you remained as quiet as you could. Just praying someone would show up to save you. You'd called Joel and he called the cops on his way over, he had dropped everything he was doing when he heard the raw fear in your voice. It was horrible you had your home broken into, but it made it even worse to think of what two criminals could do with such a beautiful woman like yourself. So he grabbed Tommy and they both rushed towards your place. Arriving there almost at the same time as the cops did, finding your front door busted open and a lot of valuable things such as your TV and your laptop gone. He had a baseball bat in hands, ready to attack whoever threatened your physical integrity and when he got questioning looks from the cop, he cleared his throat and explained he was your ex-husband - and friend.

“Is that really you, Joel?” You asked in a little more than a whisper, so glad to know he was there. You walked to the door and unlocked it, seeing Joel's worried eyes scanning you to make sure you were unharmed. Only then, you realized you hadn't gotten dressed, still wrapped in your bathrobe, but it didn't matter, all you could think of was looking for shelter into his strong, safe arms, sinking your face into his chest at the same time Joel caressed your back up and down, his lips planted a kiss on top of your head and another one on your forehead, wanting to soothe you and show you how safe you were from now on. He was there for you, it wouldn't absolve him from what he'd done in the past, but that didn't even matter to you or Joel, the important thing was that he was there, he came as fast as he could only for you and he would do it a thousand times more if necessary; you both knew that.

“I got you, baby girl, I got you” Joel cooed at you, tightening the hug around your body and keeping you closer. And you had missed that embrace, you just belonged in it, and you never wanted to let go.

Joel held you through the whole process of talking to the cops, informing them about the strange car that was seen around your home and also listing every item they stole: your TV, an iPad, your laptop and your car. Even if you were safe among them, you couldn't help but feel that nervous, anxious feeling at the very possibility of being alone at home once more. Nothing happened in the end, but it could have happened, and though it sucked to have been robbed of so much valuable stuff, you weren't harmed, and that was what mattered the most to you and above all, Joel.

As the cops talked to Joel and assured they'd get in touch if any of it was found, he walked them to the door and turned back to you, finding you all shy and scared, hugging yourself and looking at him with sad eyes. You didn't want to be alone and you didn't want to have to ask him for company, you didn't want to sound whiny or pathetic, especially not after it was just a break-in without any physical damage.

“Come on, pack your bags and I'll take you home with me” Joel's voice broke the silence and made you stare at him surprised “it can be for a few days, but if you aren't comfortable with that, then let me take you at least for the night, I ain't leaving you alone. Sarah's out at her friends in a slumber party or something, you can take her bed, or mine and I'll sleep on the couch, it doesn't matter, just come…” he extended his hand to you, which you gladly took it, and made his way upstairs, waiting patiently as you grabbed a backpack and shoved a few clothes and accessories you would need. You couldn't even describe how you felt at Joel's kindness. You were so comforted, so glad to see you weren't alone and that he was willing to take care and protect you. It didn't take very long to get your backpack ready, wrapping your arms around his neck in another tight hug, thanking him for being so gentle and earning only reassuring and affectionate words.

Once you got to the truck, you were welcomed by a whiff of his familiar scent, it smelled like Joel, your Joel and your heart warmed. He glanced at you while he drove, still seeing the tension all over you and his hand rested on your knee “you must be hungry…”

“I am” you said, a little anxious and watched as he turned the wheel and changed streets. Even before getting to the address, you already knew where Joel was taking you: your favorite Taco place. You chuckled as you remembered that was your favorite date spot when you were painfully young; when life seemed so promising and Joel Miller was the man who made you stutter and sweat through your hands. Whenever he glanced towards you, your cheeks would heat up and you would feel like bursting into flames. And after you both got married, when things were still good, that was the place where he would stop by eventually, pick up some takeout and take home, as a way of spoiling and thanking you for taking care of him. As he parked, he smiled and cleared his throat.

“You know, this is our spot, I never brought any girl here, with the exception of Sarah, of course, but much to my disappointment, she isn't really into tacos, which makes it exclusively our thing” he winked at you and you nodded, a small, petty side of you felt thankful for the confirmation of Angela never been there with Joel. It was just a taco shop and yet, it was still one thing that it was so yours and Joel's and she hadn't ruined it with her touch. You felt even hungrier at that moment, relaxing to know you could have a peaceful dinner with your good memories and the man who somehow still managed to make you blush, stammer a little and sweat through your hands.

As you both munched on the food sitting down in the back of his truck, just like you did every Friday night more than a decade ago, you chuckled at how things change but somehow remain the same. He tilted his head to the side, wiping a little bit of sauce you had over your cheek, exactly like when you both were younger.

“I know this probably tastes like shit, compared to the food you've had over the years when you traveled all over the world, you know Sarah told me all about it because she really admires you an-”

You took his hand and squeezed it, then placed your hand on his chin making him look into your eyes.

“Joel… this is the best taco I've ever had, the most delicious takeout I've ever tried because you are here with me..” she whispered and smiled, seeing how his face lit up. Neither of you said it, but you were finally having that date he asked you out several months ago, when destiny decided to put the two of you together. As he saw you shivering in the cold wind, he did the honorable thing and took off his jacket, placing it over your shoulder and rubbing both of your arms. You thanked him and looked all over his truck

“We spent quite a while in here…” you shrugged “and to think I lost my virginity here… you've always been a real gentleman” you scoffed and rolled your eyes. Joel laughed and sighed

“Yeah, well, I've come along nicely, give me a chance and I'll show you” he winked, flirting a little as you shook your head in disbelief.

“Are you serious?! Fuck off, Joel Miller! No guy will ever fuck me in the back of a truck, and especially not you!” You slapped his arm playfully, hugging it and resting your chin on his shoulder, feeling the wind against your face and looking up at him.

“Joel? Can you do us both a favor?” He nodded at you wanting to hear whatever question you had to ask him “please don't let Sarah marry the first asshole she falls in love with”

“I'm on it” he replied, laughing softly and pulling you closer. Closer than you'd ever been to him, he just wished that night wouldn't end too soon.

•••

Lying in Sarah's bed was odd, to say the least; especially when Joel's room was just there, a hallway distant from you. After the moment - better saying, the moments you both had shared in the past few days and even more so that night, you felt things would escalate to another level, a level in which it didn't matter to you if it was right or wrong, It was just bound to happen. But once you got to his home, he showed you his daughter's room, the bathroom, and asked if you needed anything else and simply let you be. Which was what you wanted, it was what you had asked him to do the last time you'd shared a kiss, but at the same time you felt disappointed because you wanted more of him, more of your Joel. The sweet moments you'd spent together were weighing so heavily in your heart, and even if you hadn't forgotten about what happened, the new proximity brought a new light in your relationship with Joel; it felt nice and different, a good different and as much as you closed your eyes and tried falling asleep, you were simply taken back to the moment he held you, soothed you, caressed your skin and assured you everything was alright. Tossing and turning in bed while you wished you were somewhere else instead, anywhere really, as long as he was just next to you. At first, when the gentle strumming from the guitar got to your ears, you imagined you had dozed off for a few minutes, perhaps you had even started to dream, but when your eyes were wide open and the beautiful, familiar sound wouldn't cease, you knew that only meant one thing: Joel was playing the guitar.

It couldn't come from his bedroom, the sound was too far to be coming from there, so you knew you would have to get up and explore. Suddenly, you felt a wave of excitement. Not only did you love watching Joel play the guitar, but now you had a pretty decent and reasonable excuse to go after him. You didn't want to make things weird and be that kind of person to leave the other confused, with your dubious signs, but you were just following your heart at that moment.

You tiptoed through his house, doing your best to move in the dark, as you didn't want to startle Joel or make him think you wanted the music to stop. And then your heart skipped a beat when you looked through the window and saw him playing the guitar on his porch. The cold wind that bothered you when you both were out eating tacos seemed to have stopped, and just then you realized it was indeed warm inside the house. He was so relaxed, strumming his guitar and humming a song softly, you've always loved his singing voice, even if he was a little shy about it, you could sit down and watch him play and sing for hours. You opened the door quietly and rested against the doorframe, admiring it quietly the way he looked focused at his guitar. He played calmly and it was the most beautiful sight you could ever think of. You wouldn't be able to tell exactly how long you stood there, but when Joel looked up at you, you were already walking towards him.

“That was beautiful, Joel…”

“Just like you are, darlin'”

You both knew exactly what you wanted at that moment, how you took another step closer, one after the other and you suddenly were hovering over him. Joel placed his guitar down, he wasn't going to be able to hold himself back, not at that moment. In one single motion, he pulled you to him by the hips, a tight grasp around your body and kissing you deeply. You straddled Joel, your hands making their familiar way towards his curls, loving how they always felt under your touch. Unlike the other times you'd kissed, you knew you would both go all the way down, you wanted it, craved it and even if you knew what to do and where to touch, it also felt new, you were both were the same young couple who'd been so in love, newly married and full of hopes and dreams, but you were also a couple who'd lived separately for more than a decade, you had both experienced heartbreaks, passions, you'd tried and touched other people, but eventually, just like home, it you were drawn to each other. There was no way out. When you were shamelessly humping and groaning on top of him, Joel knew it was time to take things inside, to hell with his neighbors, he didn't care if any of them witnessed it, if anything, he wanted people to see what a lucky bastard he was to have you in his arms, that he was going to take you and make you his at least once more. So he got up, lifting you up easily, so easily, and took you inside, climbing stairs with you in his arms, he longed for you, he was hungry for your body, your taste, your touch. He needed you and Joel Miller was about to take it all. He placed you over his mattress and got rid of his shirt - his dark blue one, that looked so good on him - and let your hands wander his body. He didn't take long to undress you, nibbling your thighs in the process, he knew your body like the palm of his hand, with the exception the last time he'd visited it, his palm wasn't as calloused as it was now, just as you weren't so painfully hot as you were at that moment. You'd always been gorgeous, but at that moment, naked in his bed, it was the most beautiful and erotic thing he'd ever seen and yet he wanted it to make it forever. As he got inside of you, he didn't know how long it would last, how long you both would last, you were being way nicer and more compassionate than he would ever deserve it, but at the same time, something within said you shared the same feelings for each other.

Once you both reached your bliss, love bites, kissings, caresses and so much affection between you both, you relaxed into his arms, your head resting comfortably in his chest, and you felt at home. You still didn't know what the next day would bring you both. Perhaps you would stay together, or you would part ways for good, there was still so much to be done, to spoken, you would have to handle the fact and the consequences of not using protection with Joel, maybe that was a good reason to worry about , or not, you didn't want to think of it, just as you didn't want to think of how you both could ever explain to Sarah what happened, or how Joel would explain Tommy and you would explain your family how you got together, maybe even one day Angela could return, you'd learned the hard way life wasn't a bed of roses and you feared that if you agreed to be happy with Joel once more you would get hurt, one way or another, but all that wasn't important, not at that moment. All it mattered was you and your Joel in bed, snuggled up and worrying about nothing but each other. He nuzzled your neck, making you giggle and in return you pecked his lips once more. He wanted to say those three little words, but decided not to, not yet, instead, he wanted to show you it, now he'd had a taste of you, and he vowed himself to make you happy for the rest of his life.

He knew he had broken your heart, it was the worst thing Joel Miller had ever done, but he was going to win you back, because he wasn't going to give up happiness with you, not again.

____

A/N: besties, how did I do? Did you like it? I hope you did! I honestly had planned on writing a sad ending, I was going to make reader move on from Joel once for all, but then, is it even possible to get over him? It's impossible not to fall for him and give him a second chance. A third part is possible but I have no idea when, and feedback is always welcome my lovelies ❤️💕

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paimonial-rage · 1 year

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i am completely fine without the one shot!! i am actually more interested in the analysis, haha! if you don’t mind, here i go! I’ll send another ask addressing the other topics. (sorry this is kinda long).

i think my strength lies in being self-aware. i’m always reflecting and doing after reviews of my actions, but sometimes i get overwhelmed by my imperfections and i laze around rather than act in ways to better myself. i’m working on this because i believe my destiny is determined by me. there are things i cannot control therefore i want to control the things i can (myself).

many of my friends have mentioned i’m an easy person to talk to, but i’m not good at replying or comforting, haha. they’re rather surprised i like dark humour and i can be mean as a form of tease despite first impressions of me commonly being “you look very innocent”.

send me a message and i’ll probably reply 2 weeks later — calls are for the Real emergencies. i try to be patient and understanding, and sometimes it unnecessarily bleeds to my inability to say “no” or put my foot down. i don’t really like gifts, but i love hanging out with friends. even if i didn’t get to say anything, i like being present and hearing them chatter.

lastly, i love animals and eating but i’m a picky eater, lol. it has gotten better as i trained myself to just eat whatever is presented, but i can be uncontrollable —watch me chug 1L of milk without hesitation but cringe at prawns even though i will eventually eat them. — @milkstore

Ooh, Milk (sorry I couldn’t find what you go by on your blogs), can I just say that I find the desire for self-awareness a very attractive trait. Some people tend to get frozen by their imperfections, preferring to stew in their weaknesses rather than change. They become overly negative and sensitive, complaining and venting because they don’t want to admit they’re addicted to their misery. You’re not like that. While there are times you do become overwhelmed and fall off track, it’s never a permanent thing. You always get back on your feet once more.

To me, you seem like the kind of person that, while you may feel you’re not necessarily “warm,” you actually care a bit too much. You have an inability to say no, which I’m wondering is the reason why you take a while to reply to messages. To reply means assigning yourself responsibility to a situation, to give emotionally when you do not have the energy reserves to fully do so. Going off on another limb here, I’m wondering if you’re the type that only wants to give your 100% to your friends, never anything less.

That’s why… okay, hear me out. I know he isn’t the most popular character, but he is definitely one of my top 5 favorite characters, but…

Gorou

I can’t exactly say how people feel about him in this community, but it doesn’t really feel they give him the credit he deserves. The reason why I feel he’d match you well is that, like you, the goal of continuously bettering himself is something he always keeps at the forefront. Not only that, I feel like he’d keep you accountable and you’d do the same for him. You both will never be stagnant in a relationship.

Unlike the kind of relationship I feel a lot of people want on this website, a relationship with Gorou wouldn’t be drowning amounts of soft times, fluff, and kisses the whole time. While you are similar in some ways, you are still both different. You’re introverted while he’s extroverted. You enjoy teasing while he’s incapable of it. You don’t seem as open to trying new things while he is. You have a hard time verbalizing your boundaries while he makes it a point to do so even if it’s hard. However, I don’t think these differences will hinder a relationship, but will cause you to grow as people.

That being said, Gorou is not a slave driver and neither are you. You both will not force each other to improve, nor harp on each other’s faults. You both understand the need to rest. You both understand that you will fail from time to time and that’s okay. I think the fact that he will do his best to be encouraging with you will drive you to do the same with him. At the same time, you both are not weak people, so I don’t think this would be a regular thing. You both will care for each other, but at the same time will not be caretakers.

I can see you feeling Gorou is a bit too much at times being that he’s quite active. He’d view you as someone not communicative enough (in the area of replying to messages). In the friendship/dating stage, I can see him completely bypassing the phone calls and visiting you at home to ask you if you want to go for a walk. That being said? I personally feel like everyone needs someone like that in their lives. We all need someone that breaks the monotony and brings us out of our own heads. At the same time, you’ll teach him moderation, that people also need time to themselves and also to relax.

Seeing that you both rate quality time highly as a love language, I imagine you both would have a very leisurely relationship. I imagine him dragging you out to go hiking and enjoying nature. He’ll chat about the letters he’s got for his That’s Life magazine job, you’ll tease him, he’ll get flustered, you’ll laugh because his reaction is cute, you’ll know you should go easy on him but that only makes you want to tease him more. Overall, the kind of relationship that will not weaken over time.

@milkstore

#genshin impact #gorou #gorou x reader #anon analyses #genshin x reader

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muffinlance · 3 years

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Hey I don’t mean to be rude or anything I just have a genuine question. What is your stance on Iroh like I know that you don’t like his treatment of Azula I don’t think anyone does. But in some fics like little zuko versus the world you write him like an uncle trying his best and in salvage he’s still kind of trying his best but the faults in his methods are more pronounced. But in fics like towards the sun he seems like a complete asshole. I don’t mean this to be rude in anyway shape or form and I’m sorry if it gives you that impression, I’m just really curious on your take on him, because there’s just been a lot of Iroh hate in recent times (like some of the call outs are definetly justified while others are not in my opinion) and I was just wondering your opinion on everything. Because while I like him as a character, I can recognize where he failed but the whole situation bugs me for whatever reason.

So sorry for this long as post and I’m sorry if this reads like a call out I really am just interested in your thoughts on the subject and mean no disrespect whatsoever. Please feel free to ignore this if you find it uncomfortable.

Thanks 😊

Okay, so I LOVE Iroh, but the man is demonstrably not perfect. Which is fine! No one is, and character growth is good! But I like writing nuanced characters, not putting people up on pedestals. He can be a caring Uncle and the best, most supportive family member Zuko has and still fill a whole bucket with issues that have a solid canon basis. Issues like:

Spending two and a half years treasoning out of Zuko's ship, because you don't get or maintain a high-ranking position in most societies by doing nothing. And you KNOW Ozai would have taken the excuse to execute both Iroh and Zuko if he'd had even an inkling that was happening.

Spending the first five decades (six? age unclear) of his life being down for world domination and an active participant in the war effort. That is a lot of land conquered and a lot of people dead because of him. Laughing at the thought of destroying one of the world's most populous cities, anyone?

Changing his mind on the war only when his own son dies. Relatable, but still not a good look.

Being raised from birth as Azulon's preferred heir, which is a whole ton of baggage to unpack.

Not telling Zuko when his nephew is doing things that can get himself killed. The entirety of the North Pole arc is a disaster from a parenting perspective. Letting your nephew sneak aboard the ship of the man who tried to kill him, go into an enemy stronghold with no plan or exit strategy, and for what? To catch the Avatar, and return to his abusive dad who would likely look for the next reason to get rid of him? Iroh, what--and I mean this most lovingly--the fuck.

Not being honest with Zuko. Okay, don't tell him about the White Lotus while he's still daddy's boy, that's fair. But after the hair-cutting in season two? Bring the boy up to speed, Iroh! You know he needs a mission!

And don't even get me started on Iroh never clearly stating "I'm on the side of the Avatar and world peace, why don't you join me". Iroh. Iroh why did we go into the Crossroads of Destiny with Zuko not knowing you would whole-heartedly support him if he wanted to change sides. IROH.

And more!

Honestly a lot of these probably just came from the writers not yet knowing the full arc of a plot element (White Lotus probably didn't exist in a fleshed out form until season two, based on the writing) or it being a kid's show and them not thinking too hard (North Pole and Crossroads: they wanted to maintain Zuko's character agency, but they did it at the expense of his parental figure being extremely hands off, which is a common trope in children and teen media that drives me BATTY, you can still run those character arcs with the adults having their own agency, give me five minutes alone with your storyboards guys--)

But anyway. That's the canon Iroh I have to work with, and I don't gloss over things just to make him look better no matter how much I love the man. It's more interesting to explore the implications, and have him and Zuko heal their relationship.

In conclusion: I always write Iroh as loving Zuko; it's the same relationship across all my fics. But the different fic premises can result in very different ways of expressing that.

#VERY different ways of expressing that #Iroh my man #your family SUCKS at communication #and you are no exception

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rebrandedbard · 3 years

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If you are still writing 14?

Okay so this one accidentally went from a drabble to an actual fic whoops. The cure is totally inspired by the Rapunzel fairy tale, spoiler alert, where the prince falls in the thorn bushes around the tower and Rapunzel’s tears fall into his eyes, curing him.

14. “Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always.”

wc: 4444 which is an awesome number I’m so happy lol

Robbed Blind

Someone botches a spell to steal Jaskier’s artistic vision and he’s cursed with blindness. Thankfully, he falls into the company of Ciri and Lambert. They journey safely to Kaer Morhen, but what could be the cure to his affliction?

She had found him, tripping over the strings of destiny, in Drakenborg. He’d been on his way to Oxenfurt when the curse took hold, and he had gone no further. Jaskier was haggard, gaunt, and looked quite worn. His hair lay flat from constant fussing. It was a habit Ciri remembered well from his visits, always combing a nervous hand through his hair before a performance. She had never seen it look so lifeless. He needed a mirror, she thought. She would soon realize that a mirror would serve him no purpose.

He was blind. He startled when she ran to him, throwing her arms around his waist. She’d been so relieved to see a friendly face that she’d run right into his arms, nearly knocking him from the stool in the corner of the tavern. Why should he not catch her as he’d always done? He’d been looking directly at her; she thought he’d merely not recognized her beneath the mud and hood.

“Let me go! Who are you? Stop—stop this now or I’ll give you such a wallop, I’ll—!”

“Jaskier!” Ciri cried, shocked. She flinched away from him as he elbowed her roughly against her temple. She rubbed the spot, standing out of reach.

Jaskier straightened up at once. “Is that—? Little cub, is that you?” he asked. He turned his head as if searching for her and reached out a hand, feeling the air. It was nowhere near.

Ciri took his hand. During their long weeks of travel, she refused to let it go again. She became his eyes, and together they started for Oxenfurt and the safety of its halls.

He’d woken up blind one day, he explained. No warning or explanation. The mage had told him what magic was at play. Someone had tried to steal his artistic vision and the enchantment had gone wrong, stealing from him his very sight.

“Is there not a cure?” Ciri asked.

Jaskier shook his head. “The mage said it was a botched spell. There’s no telling what will fix it, only that it must have something to do with artistic vision. The mage suggested it might be cured by the old methods: kisses and the like; gazing upon true beauty.”

He squinted and took her face between his hands. “I’m looking and looking at you as hard as I can, and I remember you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen when you were first born. So what do mages know? Have you become a pox-faced adolescent or scraggly Medusa? Ah,” he chuckled, “but you’d still be a fairytale princess in my eyes if you had the face of a basilisk.”

She laughed and squirmed out of his hands. “You were always very good at Blind Man’s Bluff. Do you remember when we used to play it? Back then, you were always stumbling; you aren’t stumbling as much anymore.”

“I’ve grown used to it, I suppose. But you are a princess—do you suppose a kiss from you might cure me? How are you with frogs? Ever wake a sleeping prince?”

“No, but we may try it. There’s magic in me of a sort, I know. Here, kneel a moment.”

Jaskier knelt on the dry road and closed his eyes, tapping the lid. “Right here. Give it a go,” he said encouragingly. “If it doesn’t work, we’ll practice on a frog and work our way up.”

Ciri kissed both eyes to be sure. “Alright. Open them. Do you see anything?”

She tried not to get her hopes up, watching Jaskier squeeze his eyes tight. He opened them, blinked several times, and gave her a sad smile.

“Not to worry, we’ll find a pond in no time,” he joked, trying to keep the mood light.

“Well! I go to find a cat and find a lioness instead. And a songbird. Must be my lucky day.”

Ciri put herself between the stranger and Jaskier, waving a large branch in warning. “Keep away,” she growled. “If you come any closer, I’ll scream.”

The scruffy man put his hands up and grinned. “I’ve heard what sort of screaming runs in your family. Trust me, I would rather not be around for one of them. Heard it knocked pretty boy flat on his back at your mother’s little Surprise party.”

Jaskier put a hand on Ciri’s shoulder. “Wait a moment,” he said. “I know that moniker. Geralt complained of it before.” He was quiet a moment, stirring up a memory. Then, he lit up, asking excitedly, “Did you say you were looking for a cat? A cat witcher, by chance?”

“Why? Find one up a tree?” the stranger pressed.

Jaskier patted Ciri’s shoulder and strode forward, extending a hand. “You must be Lambert! I’ve heard—” his hand buckled against Lambert’s chest, his stride clearing the distance too quickly “—oh, my apologies. I’ve heard about you before. I was hoping to see you under better circumstances if I ever got the chance. Or to see you at all, really. Damnable timing.”

Lambert looked at him, then took his hand. Ciri watched as the understanding settled in, for Jaskier was staring straight at the man’s forehead, a near lucky guess of his eye line. Lambert wore an expression of pity freely, knowing Jaskier could not see it, though his tone was light and cocky as before. “I always wondered what you saw in that sourpuss, following him as long as you did; now I know you didn’t see anything after all,” he joked.

Jaskier snorted. “It’s new.”

“Ah, so you’ve been blinded by love, have you?”

Jaskier flapped his hand until he felt the brush of Ciri’s sleeve at his side, then he tugged her forward and presented her. He cleared his throat, a tad flushed. “May I introduce Her Royal Highness, Princess Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, the Lion Cub of Cintra. Geralt’s child Surprise.”

Ciri tossed her branch aside. “You know Geralt,” she said.

“They’re brothers.”

Lambert sneered. “He got all the looks, Eskel got the talent, but I got the brains.”

“What little there were to be had,” Jaskier added.

“Oh, ho! You’ll fit right in at the keep, talking like that.”

There was a pregnant pause between the three of them. Jaskier nudged Ciri gently forward. “She’ll be safe there. And her wit is more cutting than mine.”

Ciri turned at once to protest. “But what about Ox—”

“And so would you,” Lambert cut in. “A dull knife and a dull wit can be sharpened, and I’d rather keep two knives in my belt than one, whatever their make. Don’t start that maudlin shit with me; you’re coming along.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to protest and Lambert raised a hand. Then, realizing how ineffective that was against one who could not see it, he recovered and smacked the side of Jaskier’s head to shut him up before he started.

“Come on; it’s a long and dull road we have ahead of us, and you’re my entertainment. I want to hear every embarrassing story you can supply. I’ve long run out of blackmail and I’m in need of fresh material. Besides, what better bait for a cat than a twittering bird? If you sing loud enough, we might pick him up along the way.”

They were all together in the great hall when at last he came. The figure stood in the doorway, a black dot against the stark white of winter outside. A pair of bags dropped with a thundering bang upon the floor, the sound echoing throughout the room, and the figure bundled up by the fire started awake in fright.

Jaskier patted the blanket beside him, made frantic by his sudden awakening. “Ciri? Ciri!” he called, for she had been asleep next to him what seemed only moments ago.

She paused only a moment to stare at the imposing figure in the light. Something in her shouted, compelling her to go to him. But Jaskier called for her in that voice wrought with panic once more. She flew from the circle of wolves to his side, abandoning her hand of cards, disregarding the man of destiny at the door.

“I’m here,” she said, taking his hands. “Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always. I’m not going anywhere.” She and the others looked at each other, looked at Geralt, and said not a word.

Jaskier settled and took a deep breath. “I heard something crash. I dreamed—but never mind that.” He sighed, pressing his head to their joined hands. “I’m sorry. I know it’s safe here. I’m just not used to you wandering off just yet.”

“I know.” She stroked his hair gently. It was soft again, though not as silky as before. Lambert and Eskel had drawn him a bath for the first time in a long while, but he had not his customary soaps and oils. He was … less bright, his appearance dulled with his mood.

Vesemir had examined him. Countless hours, the wolves had huddled together in the old library, trying to find a cure for Jaskier’s condition to no avail. As time went by, the reality of his situation weighed on Jaskier. He could no longer read his notebook, nor write his music to be remembered. Ciri read his notes aloud and studied the art so she might transcribe them for him, but it was obvious how he felt.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” he’d said.

And now he gave her that same false smile, the one that failed to meet his eyes. She missed the lines in the corners and wished they might come back. Perhaps they’d flown off with the crows, frightened of the winter snow.

“Go back to your game,” he whispered. “I’ll head up to bed.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” she offered.

He shook his head. “I know the way now. If someone will take me to the stairwell?” he prompted, raising a hand.

Ciri looked at Geralt. There was so little she knew of him—stories and songs … words spared in rumors and stolen from conversations where she lingered unnoticed to listen. What she knew of the wolf and bard she had pieced together with care. For all the tales Jaskier would tell, he would not disparage Geralt before her, and he would not tell the story of the dragon hunt. But dwarves talk. Stories travel and lesser bards would imitate the songs of greater. Witchers collect news of other witchers, and two adults would speak as adults when ale made easy speech. Jaskier had confided in Lambert those tearing words once flung at him upon the mountain. And thus she had put the final piece into place of the great mystery between them.

‘If life could give me one blessing…’

“Who will take him?” she asked. She kept Geralt’s eyes as she rose to her feet. “Who will take him into his hands?”

It was only the barest movement, but she swore she saw the wolf of legend flinch.

Jaskier sat up with a huff. “You make it sound so dramatic. Are we playing at a quest now? Very well, who is my knight errant? The princess has thus decreed a quest is in order: a quest up the perilous tower steps, my-my! Such a task!”

“I should think a white knight is the one suited best for the task,” Vesemir grunted. He shuffled his hand, eyes narrowed at Geralt.

The white knight in question let his cloak fall. He shook the snow from his arms and dusted them slowly, looking at each watching face in turn. His hesitation was clear. When none moved to claim Jaskier, he stepped forward cautiously. Without a word, he took Jaskier’s hand and lifted him to his feet.

Jaskier clapped an arm around his shoulder, hands patting the edge of his long hair. “Ah, thank you, Vesemir,” he said. His hand slipped from Geralt’s armour and he made a face, flicking his wet hand in the air. He prodded the armour curiously. “You’re soaked; I thought you said you’d sent Eskel for the firewood.” He prodded again and bumped against Geralt’s shoulder pad. He pinched it between his fingers, figuring out its shape. He hummed curiously. “What are you wearing? Did you go hunting?”

Geralt stared. Jaskier was not looking at him. Geralt looked at the circle of men by the fireside and there sat Vesemir in silence, watching. He was struck dumb. What … game was this?

“A knight needs a knight’s armour,” Lambert called.

Jaskier laughed. “Oh, of course. Such a soft touch; did you get all dressed up for Ciri? Have I woken in the middle of a game?”

Eskel tossed a card in the middle of the circle. “Yes,” he answered, “but we’ve just started on another, different game.”

“Very cold and calculated,” Ciri agreed.

“Cold and calculated. So a snowball fight has become a snowball war, no doubt born of the most complicated strategies. Shame on the lot of you. You ought to let your elders warm themselves before sending them on tasks. You’re young; you’ve got legs,” Jaskier scolded.

“It was his idea,” Eskel replied.

Vesemir nodded, keeping silent as the game unravelled.

Jaskier looped his arm through Geralt’s and stood straight and tall in an affected manner. “Come, my good knight,” he said, “and let us bid good night to these slacking youths.”

He started to walk in the general direction of the stair, Geralt turning them with truer aim. Geralt looked over his shoulder at the others, frowning. This was not the sort of confrontation he expected when next he saw Jaskier. If he ever saw him. And here was his child Surprise in their midst without a word of greeting or explanation, and the bard, the two of them together and settled within the walls of the keep.

It was too perplexing for him to puzzle out. And Jaskier was acting strangely. Where were his speeches? Geralt had expected him to argue on sight, or else to pretend all was right and greet him, “Geralt! How good to see you,” or, “Fancy meeting you here,” and play off the mountain like it never happened. Or at the very least to ignore him. But to call him Vesemir and take to his arm? What joke was he playing at?

The answer came as Jaskier dodged the first step and nearly fumbled upon the stair. He clung to Geralt’s arm with a cry and his other hand shot out to grope the wall. He flailed for it, feeling his way from the step outward, then sliding his hand up the side of it. He turned his head, looked at Geralt and laughed. “I’m still not used to these uneven steps,” he said. “Give me time and I’ll be able to find my way around unassisted. By next week, I’ll be able to navigate every pool in the hot springs, then you four will never see me fully dressed again!”

Geralt raised a hand to Jaskier’s face. He rested a thumb just beneath his eye. They were as blue as ever, nothing seemed amiss, and yet …

Jaskier’s smile weakened. He closed his eyes and pushed the hand away. “I know the three of you are working hard to find a cure. I know the jokes fall flat. But I must make them. If I don’t … Vesemir, if I can’t make light of it, the darkness I see will be all I have left.”

He turned toward the stair again, hand firm on Geralt’s arm, the other on the wall. “Right then. Up we go. Just one at a time,” he said. He stepped tentatively forwards, prodding his foot before him until he nudged the base of the first step. “Got it. First is always hardest, isn’t it?”

They carried on. Two steps, three, one after the other slowly. They were uneven by design: a final defense against those who would try to invade their stronghold. The spiral stair favored those who walked it every day, gave advantage to the men who would be at the top, swinging their swords to fight back those who would dare trespass unwitting. It was difficult enough for any stranger with sight. With Jaskier, it was a quest in itself.

Midway up, Geralt thought to carry him. They were going so slowly; it would have been easiest that way. He nearly offered, but stopped. If he spoke, Jaskier would know him. He began to reach an arm out to simply lift him, but Jaskier fumbled once more, his knee hitting the step with a mumbled curse. And Geralt heard him muttering through his teeth as he crouched upon the stair.

“I will learn,” he hissed. “This will not stop me. I refuse to be a burden to anyone. Never again.” He touched his forehead to the step and Geralt put a hand to his back. He was trembling.

When Jaskier rose again, he did not take Geralt’s arm. He reached out and took hold of the wall on either side, arms stretched wide to hold himself up. He proceeded to climb the stair alone. When Geralt reached out to help, Jaskier waved him away.

“No,” he whispered. “We’re nearly at the top. Just let me do this much. Please.”

And Geralt let his hand fall away.

Jaskier reached the landing with a powerful stomp, expecting a final step. He breathed a sigh of relief and sagged against the right wall. Geralt followed behind and patted his shoulder. Small congratulations. From there, Jaskier walked down the corridor, tapping when he came upon a wooden door. He passed three, tapped each with his knuckles, counting. When he reached the forth door, he opened it. In this space, he walked with ease away from the wall. He flopped confidently upon the bed and rested a moment as one does after a long journey.

He shucked off his doublet and loosened the laces of his boots. He set these aside at the very foot of the bed where they might easily be found again. He undid the back lace of his trousers, paused, and inclined his head toward the door.

“Are you still there, Vesemir?” he asked.

Geralt did not know how to respond. He stood fixed in the doorway, but dropped his eyes to his feet modestly. After a moment’s wait, Jaskier finished undressing and climbed beneath the heavy furs. A memory stirred—that was not the final task of the evening. What was the last of their routine each night? What was left undone that made this finality seem so abrupt? Geralt realized it in the darkness of the room. He had no candle to blow out.

The truth struck Geralt sharp as a blade to his gut. He stole through the door, walking quietly toward the bed. He sat on the edge, the furs rumpled beneath him, and listened to Jaskier’s breathing. He was not yet asleep—would never be, so soon—but he did not stir.

Geralt took his hand gently.

Jaskier squeezed it back.

“I only wish that had not been the last I’d seen of him,” Jaskier whispered. “I try to remember his smile now. For all my poetry, I can’t remember it clearly. His smiles were so rare, but I don’t suppose you need me to tell you. Or perhaps you do. I don’t know if he smiled here; I know nothing his life in this place. Were you so fortunate that they were commonplace?”

Silent footsteps creeped up the stair. Ciri had waited long enough to follow. Geralt heard no sign of her under the ringing words of Jaskier’s speech. Though he spoke no louder than the breath of the wind, every last syllable echoed like a clap of thunder in his ears.

Jaskier slipped his hand free and turned on his pillow, hugging it close. “I wish I might at least see Ciri now, know how she’s grown. They change so quickly at that age. Does she look like her mother? Does she look like him? Destiny makes strange things of those it touches. She was beginning to look like him, I once thought.”

She saw him well enough, looking through the open door. She crouched behind the wall, listening as she always did in secret, for the things he would not burden her with.

“I always did wonder what you looked like. Geralt spoke once to me of his brothers, his mentor. You’re still stories to me in ways. I know you have long hair, grey with age. I know Lambert is shorn, Eskel is shaggy. I know your voices, your height, and a hundred other things. But do you share his eyes? What color is the armour you wear? How does the sun set over the mountainside? The carpets before the hearth—what pattern is woven there? What thousands of stories do you keep in that library? What do the monsters look like illustrated in the great bestiary?”

He buried his face in his pillow. His voice was muffled, but both Geralt and Ciri could hear the husk in it. “I won’t feel sorry for myself. It doesn’t mean anything—just idle curiosity. It doesn’t matter how the carpet is woven or if you wear brown shirts or red. I’ve seen a lifetime of sunrises and sunsets and stars. I don’t want them!” he barked. He writhed on the bed, his face falling from the pillow, stained with tears. “I don’t! I never needed them, not one! I don’t care—I don’t! None of them are important!”

Geralt rushed forward and took Jaskier in his arms. Jaskier struggled, beating at his chest, and refused to be coddled. “No!” he wailed. “Don’t comfort me, I don’t need it! I don’t want it! I will not be pitied!” But for his hard words, he clung to Geralt’s armour, sobbing against his shoulder. “It’s unnecessary. It’s just a bunch of poetry. Useless poetry and songs.”

Jaskier pulled away, Geralt’s hands trailing from his back to his shoulders as he sat up. Geralt held him there before he could retreat more. Before he could think twice of it, Geralt leaned in, his hands cupping Jaskier’s face on either side.

“Vese—”

Something warm and wet fell onto Jaskier’s lashes. He heard a shaky breath, felt the warmth of it upon his face. Another hot tear fell into his other eye and he blinked in surprise, for it was not his own. He sat perfectly still in shock, blinking the falling tears away.

“They were never useless,” Geralt said. “They were always important—all of them.”

Jaskier twitched, raising his head by instinct up to look at the man who held him now. “You were—!”

“I’m sorry. For not speaking before. For … not speaking then. After. And for saying what I did that day.” He wiped the tears beneath Jaskier’s eyes away, an expression of pain twisting his hollowed features. “If I’d not sent you away—I don’t know what’s become of you, but I might have—I could have tried to prevent it. You would still have your sight.”

Jaskier covered Geralt’s hands. “No, Geralt. This is none of your doing. You can’t—”

A loud bump from the hall startled him. Jaskier turned at once to look.

“Ciri,” he breathed.

Ciri had a finger to her mouth and was glaring up at a tall man. They both cowed back, being caught. Jaskier looked between them as Geralt’s hands slipped away. He stood, walking toward them. He looked at Ciri, gaping, their eyes perfectly aligned. Jaskier fell to his knees before her and took her hands without fumbling.

“Ciri,” he said. “You’re so … my good gods, you’ve grown.”

All were still as he reached out, touching her face as though she were made of glass. He smoothed her hair away, taking all of her in. He laughed, new tears falling as he pulled her close and crushed her in his arms. “You’re so beautiful!” he cried. He stroked her hair, cradling her against him as tight as he dared. “And you!” He looked up at the witcher in the hall, reaching out to him and taking his hand. “Which one are you? Say something now, quickly. Let me hear your voice and know you.”

“Eskel,” he answered. And then Jaskier was up on his feet, pulling him into another embrace.

“Eskel!” Jaskier cheered. “Eskel, you look even more heroic than I ever imagined! Oh, let me look at you. Oh, oh! Lambert! Vesemir! Where are you, come forward!”

He dashed into the hall, only to turn on his heel for another look at Eskel, for just one more eyeful of Ciri. Over her shoulder, he saw Geralt sitting there on the bed, his yellow eyes wide, the tears still clinging to his chin.

“Oh,” Jaskier whispered. “Oh, I see. I see.”

He walked forward, gliding a hand beneath Geralt’s jaw. He touched his eyes with his other hand. Carefully, he wiped the last of Geralt’s tears away. It dangled, a little drop at the tip of his finger and he brought it close. He closed his hands around it, cradled them to his chest.

Geralt stood slowly before him. And he smiled.

Ciri tugged at Jaskier’s shirt, her head turned away politely. She cleared her throat and said, “Jaskier? Lambert and Vesemir are on their way up. And you’re … well, you’re not at your most presentable.”

Eskel averted his eyes, his back turned to the scene, however touching. “You might want to get a bit more dressed. And quickly,” he added, for Jaskier was standing in his smallclothes.

Jaskier snorted. “All of you, turn away for decency’s sake! We’re having a moment, here.”

“And what about me?” Geralt asked. “Shall I look away?”

It was nothing but empty jest and Jaskier smiled. “No,” he replied. “No, you’re looking where you’re needed. But I suppose to be fair …”

He clapped a hand over Geralt’s eyes. He leaned forward, whispering against Geralt’s lips. “There. Now no one can see. No one … but me.”

There were no witnesses to that first kiss. It was a secret Jaskier kept for himself.

However, the second, third, and forth had quite a startled audience, as Geralt and Jaskier both fell deaf to the clatter of footsteps in the hall. Ciri took it upon herself to usher the others from the room, explaining on the way. After all, with the curse lifted, she no longer needed to be Jaskier’s eyes. His mouth, however, was currently occupied.

Send me a drabble prompt!

#my fic #drabbles #witcher #the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #cirilla fiona elen riannon #lambert #eskel #vesemir #I'd tag aiden but he's really only mentioned in passing #ew I came back to look at this and the scene breaks did not transfer over #fixed it now

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 4 years

Text

Ink on his heart

Summary: Here’s how Bucky Barnes got a haircut and then decided it was about damn time he controlled his own destiny - starting with a bit of ink.

Star Spangled Bingo Square: “A thoughtful gift”

Characters: Bucky Barnes x TattooArtist!Reader

Words: 7,400 Warnings: Tattoo experiences, a couple stories about war. Some swearing. Mostly lots of feels and fluff.

A/N: This one has been in my head a long time, I love tattoos and I love the idea of Bucky getting them! While I desperately wish I could draw the designs in my head, hopefully you get enough of a word picture to imagine. And yes, it is kinda long (I know, I know), but I couldn’t stop myself!

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

Not that Bucky’s counting, but it’s been three days, 18 hours and 26 minutes and he can’t get over it.

In the damp, chilly hours before dawn, he sits on the floor of the tower living room, watching the marshmallows in his hot chocolate melt in white swirls. Now and then, he lifts his eyes to the windows, finds the faint edges of his reflection in the dark glass, and tilts his head. Tentative fingers scratch through close cropped hair and a slow smile appears. Even now, he expects long strands trailing through his fingers. Believes he can feel the phantom tug of a snarl.

It was just a haircut. What a simple, ordinary thing.

But Bucky Barnes has never been ordinary.

That small act triggered a startling transformation. Decades of heartbreak fell away with that dark hair, revealing the shape of a man he begins to remember, and it makes him think. About small things, about change. About simple acts making an extraordinary difference.

The last haircut Bucky remembers before the beginning of his first ending, was January 1945. The memory came back one evening, of a tent in Austria, the heavy silence of snow drifting down. He remembers Steve with a dull scissors, snipping carefully along his ear, remembers the catch of a knife gently shaving his neck. It was a ritual they shared for years. When pennies were tight and life was tough, they took care of each other.

And then? Then there was after.

After the fall, after capture, after the world went pear-shaped. Hydra wasn’t concerned with the formalities of self-care, a haircut was functional. Sharp scissors biting into his scalp, rough hands tearing his hair, a harsh slap if he considered resisting. Get it done and get it done fast. The Asset has work to do.

He despised those haircuts.

But now, here he is. No more handlers and horrors. No more running. No more hiding. No more ropes dragging him somewhere he doesn’t want to be.

Wresting back his independence was exhilarating.

When Steve had finished this haircut - because Bucky still preferred a Steve Rogers special to anything - he’d dusted off Bucky’s shoulders and waited. Sam stood behind him, and Bucky rolled his eyes, expecting a barrage of sassy comments.

But Sam just ruffled the freshly cut hair and laughed.

“Not bad old man. Still not as handsome as yours truly, but hey - maybe someday.”

Such a simple thing, a haircut.

It makes him wonder what else he might do, just for himself.

Fuzzy and disconnected, an old memory flickers to life. It buzzes in his brain, images and connections filtering through the cracks and Bucky lets out a breathless laugh.

“Yeah,” he murmurs to himself. “Okay.”

He closes his eyes and sips his hot chocolate.

*****

Steve yawns when he answers the door. Blond hair spikes in every direction and he rubs his eyes, looking for all the world like a sleepy, overgrown toddler.

“Hey, man. Everything okay?”

Bucky leans against the doorframe and chews his thumbnail while he gathers his thoughts.

“Sure, just - can I get a favor?”

Bemused, Steve ushers him inside and Bucky plops in the red bean bag chair Steve keeps tucked beside his dresser. Stretching out his legs, he waits for Steve to flop back into bed and snuggle his pillow, before he speaks.

“Remember back in ’37 when we were coming home from that shitty bar in Midtown, and we saw that sailor getting a tattoo?”

Whatever Steve expected, it wasn’t this. It takes him a moment to conjure the image, but when it comes he belts out a laugh.

“That terrified kid gettin’ a big heart on his arm? Looked ready to shit his pants?”

Bucky grins at the memory, a milk-faced kid with hair dark and shiny as an oil-slick.

“Thought he was gonna puke on the guy.”

“Yeah, and didn’t we stand outside that window arguing while you tried to convince me we both needed one? Something about good girls liking bad boys?”

“Hey, I stand by that statement!”

“Oh fuck off, you know exactly what your Ma would’ve said if we’d come home with tattoos.”

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckles. “God, she’d a skinned me alive.”

“Damn straight,” Steve agrees and they fall quiet, momentarily lost in shared memories of a woman with a voice of steel and a heart of gold.

Bucky leans forward and rests his chin on his knee.

“You know, all these years and I’ve never really - done anything like that,” he admits wistfully. “Gotten something done to me, I mean. Something I decided on my own. If that makes sense?”

Controlling his own destiny, choosing to do something by himself, instead of always accepting things done to him - the idea is intoxicating. He remembers the pained grimace on that sailor’s face and he relishes the prospect.

Pain you choose to feel holds a different meaning, than the torture he knows.

“S’never too late, Buck,” Steve says drowsily. “You can do anything you want.”

Bucky contemplates Steve’s words. He can do anything he wants. Heart beating fast, he takes a deep breath.

“So listen, I was thinking -”

*****

For two straight weeks, Steve works on ideas.

The floor of his bedroom is littered with sketches and concepts, crumpled sheets of paper dappled with flowing lines. Finally, after midnight on a dreary Thursday, he knocks on Bucky’s door. The moment it opens, he shoves his tattered leather portfolio in Bucky’s hands.

“So, I guess, uh - here.”

Steve crosses his arms, his toe tapping nervously, and Bucky chokes down a laugh. Some things about Steve Rogers remain comfortingly unchanged. No matter how incredible his work, all confidence seems to evaporate the moment Bucky lays eyes on anything.

—

“Give it back asshole!”

“God dammit Steve, YOU’RE the one who asked me to look!”

“Yeah well, I changed my mind, now give it back!”

—

Bucky remembers laughing while Steve chased him around their apartment. He remembers the neighbors banging on the wall, shouting at them to shut up, and he remembers the smell of their forgotten scrambled eggs burning. But most of all, he remembers that drawing - he tucked that portrait of his mother in his rucksack the day he shipped out and it stayed there, a good luck charm all through the war.

Steve had cried when Bucky told him.

Because Bucky’s opinion was always the one that mattered. Seventy years changes nothing.

Tonight, he opens the leather case, revealing three separate drawings. Outlines of black ink and a rainbow of colors paint over the curves and breaks of a human form and he pores over each page. Each drawing is utterly unique, telling the story of Bucky Barnes in metaphors and moments.

There are no words.

His throat feels suddenly thick, cotton lodged in his windpipe.

“I can redo them,” Steve blurts out. He snatches at the paper, but Bucky spins sideways, blocking the reach.

“The fuck you will. You ain’t touching these,” his voice cracks. Blinking back the flood of emotion, he looks up. “This is - they’re perfect, Steve. Thank you.”

Steve blushes petal pink and coughs to hide his delight. He fails miserably, of course, but that’s one more reason Bucky loves the little punk.

*****

One week later, Bucky stands before a demure brick storefront on a slow Brooklyn side street, the portfolio housing Steve’s three precious drawings clutched tight in a sweaty hand. Glancing at the address in his hand, he looks up to find stenciled letters curving across a glass window.

BROOKLYN INK ESTABLISHED 1973

“Here we go,” he mutters. Before he can lose his nerve, he shoves forward.

Three steps inside the tattoo parlor, he pulls up short.

Wow.

Black iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling, splashing sparkles across plush velvet chairs, rich violet and bright turquoise. The floor is an eclectic mix of reclaimed barn board, full of knots and whorls in every shade of brown. Artwork in black and white frames line the brick wall, tattoo designs, letters and fonts, photos of finished work. The entire space overflows with warmth, and Bucky feels instantly at ease.

The front desk is empty, but he hears someone rattling around back, so he takes a seat. Piled high on an end table are bundles of photo albums, full of work; he sinks into the cushions and starts flipping through.

Immersed in the images, he misses the sound of quiet footsteps.

“Are you James?”

The voice startles him and in one swift move, he manages to throw the album on the floor and tumble from the chair. Pages of photographs spill everywhere and he crawls over, hastily scooping them up and babbling one inappropriate apology after another.

“Shit! Sorry, I’m sorry! Shit, I mean I’m sorry for saying shit. Fuck, I didn’t - oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m not usually so - ”

Soft laughter greets him and he looks up in panic, a more refined apology on his lips, but the words evaporate.

Crouching beside him, graceful hands gather up the mess of photos, slipping them back into the album. Dropping it carelessly on the end table, she bounces back to her feet and offers him a hand.

“No worries,” she says with a breathtaking smile. “I shouldn’t have startled you.”

Although he has no need for the support, Bucky reaches mutely for her outstretched fingers because he can’t help but take them. When she tugs, he allows her to pull him up.

“I’m, um - Bucky. Please, call me Bucky.”

“Hello Bucky,” she says. She shares her name and he repeats it slowly. Clearing his throat, he takes a deep breath.

“Thanks for meeting me so late, I know it’s after hours.”

“Sure,” she says lightly. “So, what can I do for you?”

This is the tricky part.

“On the website, it mentioned you had experience with - with tattooing around scars,” he begins carefully. “Scar tissue I mean. Is that right?”

With his question, her expressions turns serious. She observes him for a long moment.

“Yes, I do. Can I ask how long you served?” she asks delicately and Bucky acknowledges her perception with a short nod. He toys with the zipper on Steve’s portfolio, debating his response.

“Seemed like forever,” he finally says, and it’s the most honest answer he has.

Nodding silently, she motions him behind the counter.

“Come on back, let’s see what you had in mind.”

Hugging the pictures to his chest, Bucky follows, eyes saucer wide as they weave through the work area to her space. The shop smells like the woodsy smoke from the candles sitting along her table, mixed with ink and latex and an odd sterile tang. He inhales and discovers he likes it, the strange scent lighting him up.

Dropping to her stool, she gestures for him to have a seat. Bucky sits gingerly, wide eyes still staring. When she catches his eye, he flushes.

“Sorry. First time I’ve been in a shop.”

“That’s okay, there’s lots to see,” she says easily. Looking at the portfolio still clutched against his chest, she grins. “Did you have some ideas already?”

He thrusts the portfolio at her. Propping it on her knees, she flips it open and he beams when he hears her astonished gasp.

“I like the colors there, if you think they’re possible?”

“Sure, might take some extra time, but I can do it,” she murmurs, pinching her lip. Turning the page sideways, she examines every minute detail, shaking her head in disbelief. “This is exquisite.”

“I’ll tell my artist. He’s a real diva sometimes.”

“I’d say he’s earned that right,” she laughs, tracing the paper with a light finger. She flips to the second picture and tilts her head. “The grays and silvers might look nice with midnight blue for contrast?”

Bucky nods eagerly. “Yeah, I love that idea.”

She looks again, examining the intricate design.

“Can you tell me about your pain tolerance? The designs are beautiful, but they’re complex. Each will take multiple sessions to finish.”

Bucky drops his eyes. He heaves a sigh at the obligatory question.

“It’s high,” he mutters. “Very - high.”

Silence follows his admission. When he dares to look up again, he feels a twinge in his chest at the compassion he finds. He offers a rueful smile and she slowly returns it.

“Would you like to come after hours? It can get noisy during the day, if you prefer things quieter. Most soldiers like that better.”

There is a sweep of relief at her casual acknowledgement. He huffs out a shaky breath.

“That would be great. If you don’t mind, I mean.”

“Not at all. I’m a night owl anyway.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. “Me too.”

She looks back to the portfolio, carefully shuffling the pages.

The third picture appears.

And Bucky sees it, that precise moment when realization sinks in. When she realizes exactly who is sitting in her chair tonight. There is no doubt the drawing gives that fact away. Heart pounding, he flinches, steeling himself for the inevitable.

But nothing happens.

She meets his nervous gaze head on and yet - that gentle smile remains.

“Bucky,” she repeats and this time she understands. “Oh. It’s nice to meet you, Bucky Barnes. Come back tomorrow night, 9pm. Don’t be late.”

He leaves the tattoo shop feeling lighter than he has in years.

*****

TATTOO 1: FOREARM

“Show me a man with a tattoo and I’ll show you a man with an interesting past.” - Jack London

*****

Perpetually early for everything, Bucky arrives at 8:45pm the next night.

The bell over the door tinkles when he enters, and she looks up from the front desk and waves. His stomach unexpectedly leaps and he thinks it must be nerves.

“Hey, Bucky,” her voice is soft.

“Evening,” he says shyly.

“You ready to do this?”

“Could hardly sleep last night,” he confesses with a grin.

Sliding timidly into her black leather chair, he watches her arrange tools on a shiny silver tray. An arm rest is attached to his right side, and he dries his sweaty palm on his jeans before easing his arm onto the cushion, palm up. When she drops onto her stool at his side, he offers a weak smile.

“You got the email I sent with all the information, right? Did you have any questions?”

He scrunches his nose, recalling the long, detailed summary she shared. For each of the three tattoos he requested, she gave him a detailed analysis of the process for creating each design; broke down how long each session would take; gave explicit instructions on the healing and care process; confirmed each individual color and how it would be applied; clarified the tools that would be used, including their brand names and how each one worked; she even provided floor plans of her shop - outlining entries and exits and bathrooms and locations of fire extinguishers.

It was a novel of information that must’ve taken her hours, and he was inexplicably grateful for the time she spent just to make him comfortable.

“No questions, I just, uh - thanks. For putting all that together. It was helpful to have all the information. Helps me keep my head on straight.”

“Of course,” she says. “So this first design should take probably 5-6 hours. Since you’re new, we’ll start with short blocks and see how it goes.”

Bucky gives a jerky nod and she pauses, pressing her fingertips against the smooth skin of his forearm.

“Here are the rules. You’re in charge, okay? We can go as fast or as slow as you need. This is not a race, and I have nowhere to be but here. Any time you want to stop, you say the word and I stop. We can take a breather, grab a cup of coffee and start again - or we can call it a night. This is your experience, Bucky. You’re in control. Understand?”

There is a fierce surge of gratitude at her words. Gratitude for her kindness, for her acceptance. Gratitude for her.

“Got it,” he whispers.

And with that, they begin.

Bucky follows each step, while she measures his arm, while she considers the contours and angles of his muscle, while she cleans and preps his skin. When she finally applies a stencil, his heart is hammering so hard his teeth are chattering.

The low buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears with a click.

When the needles touch his skin, sweat instantly beads his neck. Adrenaline drenches his tongue and for one wild moment, Bucky panics. Wonders if this was a terrible idea, because what idiot asks for pain, seriously Barnes, what the hell is wrong with you, why’re you so stupid all the -

And then - oh.

Huh.

Interesting.

Wide-eyed, Bucky follows her careful strokes, black lines appearing on his skin.

It does hurt - sort of. Obviously nothing he can’t handle; in the grand scheme of his life, this would register as a minor inconvenience, but there is a pinch.

But that spark of pain vanishes, when the raw symbolism behind Steve’s design hits him full force.

Holy shit.

How many times through the decades did Bucky Barnes die? And how many times did he rise, born again from the frozen ash of oblivion? It was simply what the Soldier did. But it was a shadow-life, nothing more. Bucky never knew how close he was to giving up, until that day above the Potomac, Steve’s bloody face beneath his furious fists. He was so far gone, so lost and forgotten, until those memories cracked the Soldier’s fierce veneer.

And suddenly he was Bucky again. Awake and alive. For the first time in 70 years he felt fire in his soul. For the first time in 70 years he could breathe.

Tears inexplicably fill his eyes.

“All okay?”

Through a tunnel, Bucky hears her voice. Hypnotized by the metaphor inking itself into his skin, his head feels waterlogged when blinks up at her.

“Sorry?”

She scans his face, her thumb rubbing the pulse thrumming at his wrist.

“Everything okay?” She asks again and Bucky feels a potent rush of euphoria.

“Yes,” he says slowly. The excitement bubbles over and he lets out an ecstatic laugh. “Yes! This is incredible. This is - fucking hell, this is amazing.”

Chuckling to herself, she bends back to her task.

“So I guess we’ll keep going?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”

Two hours later, the outline of the Phoenix is inked into his skin, crisp black lines like fresh paint. Long tail feathers are curled around his wrist, the lush feathered body splashed over his forearm, her wings spread open and curving around his arm, her head reaching toward the sky.

Born from ash. Alive again.

Bucky hates to cover it up, but she insists.

“Follow the cleaning instructions and it should be fine. We need to wait between the sessions, give you time to heal.”

At that comment, he fidgets.

“Actually, I heal pretty - fast.”

“I assumed you might. Usually I say 2-3 weeks between sessions, so how about you come back in 1 week and we can see. Let’s just make sure. Does that work?”

Bucky glances at the crisp white bandage on his arm.

“Okay, that works,” he says.

She squeezes his hand and he meets her eyes.

“You did great,” she tells him.

Bucky smiles in return. And he doesn’t stop for the next six days.

*****

When he walks into the shop for his next session, he carries a large coffee for himself and an extra large iced peach green tea for her. When he gets to the front desk, he thrusts the cup at her.

“Evening. Um, here. Saw you had one last time, so - anyway.”

“Bucky, thank you. I’ve been craving one all day.” She gives the straw an experimental bite, before taking a long drink and for some reason, the silly quirk makes his heart bounce.

After a quick check on how he’s healed, she declares him perfect and they get started, settling into a comfortable silence. After an hour of buzzing, Bucky clears his throat.

“Is it okay to talk while you work?”

“It is,” she affirms, dabbing at the ink. Glancing up, she sees hesitant blue eyes. “I’m good at listening too. Sometimes it’s nice just to listen.”

Bucky figures that’s a fair statement. He fiddles with a stray thread on his shirt.

“Do you read much?” He asks hopefully, picturing the teetering stack of books beside his bed. She perks at the question.

“I love to read. Have a pile of books on my nightstand waiting for me to find time. What about you? Are you reading anything good now? Any favorites I should know?”

Bucky swallows the happy surprise. If he could, he’d be content to spend the rest of his years with a comfortable chair, a cup of coffee, and an unending supply of stories. He could talk about books for days, he just normally keeps quiet, because most people aren’t interested in that facet of Bucky Barnes.

So he begins to talk.

He tells her how Natasha lent him all her Russian copies of Pushkin and Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, insisting that reading in the original language was infinitely better. He describes how he found a copy of Rumi’s poetry at a yard sale, and what an incredible treasure it was. He flusters recounting how much he cried reading ‘A Fault in our Stars’ and says he was scared shitless to even see a clown for a full year after reading Stephen King.

He talks and talks and talks, and when he finally stops to breathe, she glances up.

“It’s nice to hear a man who’s so well read,” she says and Bucky preens at the compliment. “Do you have an all time favorite? Something you never get tired of?”

A favorite? No question.

“Yeah, I do. Something I read during the war and kinda fell in love. It’s about here, I guess. About Brooklyn.”

At the description, her mouth quirks, but she keeps working.

“Did you ever think about a book quote for a tattoo?”

Now there’s an idea. He makes a mental note to think of a quote he could add as another tattoo. Or maybe another couple tattoos. Hell, one session in and he’s already addicted.

The comment tumbles free before he realizes he’s spoken out loud. He blushes at her laughter.

“It can be addicting,” she agrees. Bucky understands completely, seeing the vibrant crimson ink soak into his skin, painting the bird’s feathers. And then she pauses, meeting his eyes with a peculiar expression. “The right words can make you feel invincible.”

Setting the tattoo machine down, she rolls her chair back a bit and sits up straight. Lifting the hem of her shirt, Bucky sees a line of gold text inked below her ribs, his eyes following the flowing cursive.

“She was all of these things and of something more,” he reads aloud.

“‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’ is my favorite book too,” she says quietly. There is a long, unbroken moment where they stare into each others eyes. He should say something, he thinks. Something intelligent or witty or anything, but instead he just thinks about the fact that he found a woman in Brooklyn to permanently carve pictures into his skin and she has the same favorite book as him.

Bucky always was a sucker for fate.

“That’s - that’s really - I love that,” he finally says instead.

*****

A week later, Bucky arrives with a bundle of folders and an exasperated expression.

“This is really annoying, but do you mind if I finish some reports while you work? Got behind, someone’s gonna have my ass.” Bucky raises the papers apologetically.

“No problem,” she says easily. “Let’s keep your ass safe.”

Bending back to her task, Bucky snorts a laugh. They’re just a handful of mission reports, normally he types them soon as he returns, but lately he’s been slacking, because lately he has other things he finds more interesting.

Like the scene in front of him.

Together they work, each with their own pen. Bucky writes, she colors, and the clock on the wall ticks along. After awhile, she takes a break to stretch. Rolling her shoulders, she observes him.

“Are you left-handed?” she asks curiously and it takes Bucky a moment to think.

“Oh. Uh, not really,” he says. “But I can switch. Never been a problem.”

At the confession, she raises her eyebrows.

“That’s impressive. I wish I had a talent like that.”

He ducks his head at the praise. And he keeps writing, of course. Maybe adds a bit more flair. After all, the old Bucky Barnes did like to swagger.

*****

“Well, I think that’s it.”

It takes a beat before Bucky understands what she means. Confused, he peers up at her with a dopey expression and she gestures at his arm.

He feels his heart lurch.

It flames to life along his arm, painted in vibrant ruby red and rich crimson and deep plum, highlights edged in shining gold. Mesmerized, Bucky stares down at the lines of ink and he flexes, the tendons of his arm shifting, and the bird moves. For one wild moment, he believes if he stays still, it could leap from his skin and take flight.

It leaves him breathless.

“God, this is better - fuck, it’s so much better - than I ever imagined. How did you - wow. I don’t know how you did it, but - thank you. Thank you so much.”

Unanticipated emotion makes his voice tremble. Because this is the first time Bucky Barnes chose something permanent for himself. Serums and metal arms and bullets and blades, those were always forced upon him, his pleading refusals met with violence and sneering indifference.

But this?

This.

This is all his.

*****

TATTOO 2: BACK

“Wear your heart on your sleeve in this life.” - Sylvia Plath

*****

“So, uh, how exactly does this work?”

Standing beside the leather chair while she organizes her inks, Bucky wrinkles his nose. She looks up and motions for him to turn, straddling the chair with his chest pressed against the back.

“Are you comfortable completely removing your shirt? Or would you prefer to leave it part way on? I’ll just need it out of the way for the right side of your back.”

Bucky grimaces. Eventually she’s going to see his shoulder - he knows that - but he’s not in the mood to rip that band-aid off yet.

“Uh - let’s do part of the way if that’s okay?”

“That’s okay,” she confirms and he awkwardly tugs his right arm free, baring the broad expanse of his back. Tucking his arms in front of him, he slings a leg over the chair and rests his chin carefully on the headrest.

He says nothing, simply stays still while she absorbs the sight. Littered up and down his back are a litany of scars, puckers from the occasional bullet, thin lines from errant blades, and a few other marks he prefers not to define. His voice is muffled when he warily asks.

“Are you able to - work with it?“

“Absolutely,” she answers firmly and Bucky warms at the decisiveness in her tone. Her confidence makes him feel infinitely more positive.

This is the largest of his three tattoos, stretching from the tip of his shoulder blade and flowing down to his waist. It will also take the longest, but Bucky assures her he has no issue sitting perfectly still for hours.

It’ll be worth it. He can’t wait to show Sam - he’ll get a kick out of this one.

Once she applies the stencil over his skin, she goes to work, dropping into that headspace of deep focus. She works so quietly for so long, he falls into a trance, lulled by the melodic buzz.

When she speaks, it startles him.

“What made you decide you wanted a tattoo?”

He lays his cheek along the edge of the chair so he can see her from the corner of his eye when he answers.

“S’random, but back in ’37, me and Steve were out and I remember walking by this old tattoo shop over in Midtown. They had one of those big glass windows with the chair in front, so people could stand and watch. Anyway, we walk by and there was this kid sitting in the chair, and no fuckin’ joke, he was getting a big heart on his arm with ‘MOM’ written in the middle.”

“Ah yes, the ever popular ‘mom’ tribute. I’ve done a few of those,” she says and Bucky grins.

“Well anyway, I always kinda wanted something, you know? Thought about getting one before I shipped out, but I didn’t, and then it was - “ he pauses for a moment, but she encourages him with a questioning hmmm? and Bucky bravely pushes forward. “I had lots of years where I didn’t get to make my own decisions. And there was so much - bad shit that happened to me. Anyway, I guess I thought if someone’s gonna do something to me, I wanted it to be on my own terms. You know?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I think that makes perfect sense.”

Bucky sits quietly, contemplating. The question has been rattling around his brain for awhile and it spills free before he can stop himself.

“The whole process, it feels sort of - intimate, doesn’t it?”

He flushes at the insinuation, but intimate is the best way to describe it, he thinks, this practice of someone permanently carving their art into your skin.

“It is intimate,” she says softly, leaning closer. “It’s almost like you’re - leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin? I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s what it’s always felt like.”

Bucky nods, watching her capable, artistic, beautiful hands as they move, slowly transferring bits and pieces of herself to him.

What a gift. He holds on tight.

*****

It was bound to happen at one of the sessions.

It’s been dark and rainy for days, buckets dumped from the heavens, the perpetual grumble of thunder always near. When Bucky comes through the front door, he feels like a wet dog. He shakes out his jacket, stomps his boots. He feels off base tonight, the result of bad sleep, bad dreams, and one particularly bad mission. He’s frustrated with himself for bringing it with him, thinks maybe he should’ve cancelled, but the thought of skipping his session - both the ink and her - was too depressing.

So instead of holing up in his room and moping under the covers, he braved the storm.

The one inside and out.

Searching for calm, he licks chapped lips.

“Hey,” he says, cringing when his voice cracks.

“Hey, Buck,” she turns cheerfully, but when she sees him squinting at her through the droplets cascading down his face, his shoulders hunched and tense, she stops. Looks him up and down and her expression softens. Beckoning him back, she digs up a towel and a dry t-shirt with ‘BROOKLYN INK’ stamped across the front, ushering him to the bathroom.

“Take all the time you need. No rush.”

Bucky mumbles his thanks and shuts the door. Gripping the sink, he glares at the mirror, at the smudge of dark beneath his eyes, at the clench of his jaw. Closing his eyes, he breathes slow and deep.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He repeats the mantra, determined to settle. He’s been eager for this session all week, he’s sure as hell not ruining it because he can’t get his idiot brain to stop spinning.

When he finally emerges, he finds her arranging her work space. Halting in front of her, he keeps trembling hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes downcast.

“I’m afraid I’m poor company tonight,” he admits quietly.

“That’s okay. We can reschedule, Bucky,” she says softly and Bucky feels the disconcerting sting of tears. He rubs the heel of his hand against watery eyes.

“If it’s okay, I’d - I’d rather go ahead. Been looking forward to seeing you - uh, seeing you work, all week. It was just - “ he pauses and fights the temptation to spill his guts. No, he snarls internally, she doesn’t need to hear all your shit.

He clamps his mouth shut and shrugs instead.

She says nothing, but when she gives his hand a comforting squeeze, Bucky feels that familiar surge of gratitude. She guides him carefully toward the chair and he slumps into the seat, automatically tugging up his new shirt.

“Just close your eyes and breath. You’re okay.”

Bucky rests his chin on the edge of the chair. Troubled eyes flutter shut, and the comforting buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears, muting the sound of the storm raging outside. When he feels the prick of the needles, he lets out a weary breath. And when he feels the easy pressure of her fingers, he begins to relax.

For hours, she works. Firm strokes, painting the story across his skin.

The dark night begins to fade before she finally sets her tools aside. When he climbs to his feet, she pulls him into a gentle hug.

Bucky sinks into her arms.

That morning, the sun begins to shine.

*****

Bucky’s been sitting for a couple hours now, eyeing the brick wall behind the chair. A question pops into his head and he feels like a jerk for not asking sooner.

“Hey - all these hours together, and I never asked you - what made you want to draw on people for a living?”

She hums at the question, and he can hear the happiness in her reply.

“Well, I always wanted to be an artist. For my eleventh birthday, my best friend Mike gave me this set of gel pens, there were a million colors. When I told him I wanted to be a tattoo artist, he let me draw pictures all over him for practice. He insisted on being the first person I inked, once I got my license. Would always tell people he was the ‘original canvas’ for my brilliance.”

When she laughs, Bucky chuckles with her; it reminds him of Steve.

“Sounds like a good man,” he says.

“Yeah, he is - he was,” she quietly corrects herself. “He was an EOD specialist in Afghanistan. Right before he left for his last tour, I drew up plans for the arm sleeve he always wanted; he planned to get it when he finished. A month later, he was in a convoy that was moving through the Gereshk Valley in the Helmand Province, when an IED hit his vehicle. He didn’t make it home.”

The story hits home like a kick in the face.

Too many soldiers, too many lives. Bucky reaches back to still her hand. He slowly turns to face her, gently tugging the tattoo machine free and setting it aside. Wordlessly, he offers his hand and she accepts it gratefully, weaving her fingers through his. It takes a few attempts before she speaks again.

“It took me a long time to get through that. One day I met a friend working down at the VA, and I heard a vet talking about the scars on his legs. He sounded so - sad about them, you know? Kept saying he didn’t recognize himself anymore. And I just stood there thinking, maybe I couldn’t help Mike, but I could still do something.” Staring resolutely down, she considers her fingers still entangled with Bucky’s. “I did some research and took some classes and - learned how to tattoo on scar tissue.”

Bucky gazes at her. He feels a sweep of pride at the way she turned her tragedy into something beautiful.

“I’m so sorry that happened,” he says and she finally looks up, meeting blue eyes bright with compassion. “But you should know, what you’re doing for people, it’s incredible. And if you don’t mind me saying, I think he’d be real god damn proud of you.”

A tear slips down her cheek and she ducks her head, her whisper so low he nearly misses it.

“Thank you Bucky.”

*****

Hours later, Bucky hears a clatter of tools and her huff of relief.

“All done.”

Wiping her hands, she pops excitedly up from the stool and Bucky pushes back from the chair to follow. Without a thought, she grabs his metal hand, tugging him impatiently over to a set of floor length mirrors along the wall. Bucky grips tight and obediently follows, his pulse racing. When she positions him at the mirror, she adjusts the panels so he can see himself from all angles.

“There, have a look.”

Along his spine, the single metal wing bursts free, so intensely realistic, Bucky’s jaw drops. It arches gracefully up, curving over his shoulder blade and sweeping down his back, razor sharp feathers tickling his rib cage before billowing out above his waist. Made from silvers and grays and shaded hints of midnight blue, it glows in the light. When Bucky reaches toward the sky, the muscles shift beneath the ink and it creates the strangest sensation of feathers unfolding.

All the scars littering his back, a flesh and bone patchwork of memories left by vicious handlers and fights too close for comfort, have disappeared. Blending into the steel of his new wing, their only purpose is to strengthen the image.

After all this time, he’s come to terms with the metal arm so unwillingly gifted all those years ago. But it’s remained a relic of a past life, something heavy, to drag him down.

But now, he rolls his shoulder back and his new metal wing lifts him higher than he’s felt in a long, long time.

*****

TATTOO 3: SHOULDER

“I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.” - Haruki Murakami

*****

“So our last session.”

“Our last session,” he murmurs.

Bucky thinks for a moment that she seems glum, but maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“This is a tough one,” she warns, “but I think we can do it in one session. I won’t try and cover them up, it won’t work. The best solution is to incorporate your scars into the design. Make sense?”

Bucky pictures the pattern Steve drew, bright green leaves and vines tracing the seam of his arm, melding with the thick ribbons of raised tissue. It doesn’t matter, but he timidly asks anyway.

“Will it hurt?”

“No,” she says gently. Pressing her hand to his galloping heart, she shakes her head. “It won’t hurt much there, but you need to tell me if it hurts here. You need to tell me if I should stop. Remember, you’re in charge, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers.

Steeling himself, he whips off his shirt, balling it up in nervous hands. The cool air blowing through the shop is a relief for his overheated body.

“Do you mind if I feel the skin here? So I can make sure I approach it right?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Bucky mumbles. Staring at his hands, he waits.

Leaning close, her fingers brush over him, feeling the lines and ridges, assessing the canvas. For ten minutes, she tests his skin, lightly pushing and pressing, observing the scars and bumps where metal meets man.

“Does it still hurt?”

She doesn’t want to ask, but needs to know what she’s working with. With a grim smile, he shrugs.

“Not really. Aches sometimes, but doesn’t hurt. Can’t feel much there besides some pressure.”

Nodding, she pinches her lip. “I was thinking last night, um - would you want to add anything else into the design? Nothing big, but a few flowers? Some daisies maybe?”

“Sure, I’d like that. Any reason for daisies?” Bucky asks curiously.

Pulling out a few additional bottles of ink, she absently touches the necklace at her throat, and Bucky sees a silver daisy spinning.

“Daisies represent new beginnings. Thought it might be a nice way to end, if you like?”

Does he like it? The idea of having this small thing in common?

Hell yes he likes it.

Maybe - maybe he even more than likes it?

“Yeah. That sounds perfect,” he says softly. He swallows hard and she nods encouragingly.

“Okay. Remember - stop me if you need a break.”

This one, Bucky knows will be hard. It was the reason he left it to the end - the mental fortitude required here is much different.

As she begins, he contemplates the pink furrows gouged into his skin. The memory of how they got there flashes before him, a sick image of shredded skin raked bloody beneath his blunt fingernails. Faint screams of a past life echo in his ears, the smokey cry of his own voice desperate for relief from the pain.

Cold sweat slides down his face and he slams his eyes shut, but that seems to make it worse. The images glow technicolor bright, and he grunts a frustrated breath.

And then, through the thin latex of her glove, he feels her cool hand press against his pounding heart. Cracking an eye open, he finds her calm face and he focuses on her, until his breathing begins to ease. Blinking rapidly, he drinks in the curve of her nose, the shape of her mouth, the beauty of her eyes.

His heart stutters, stunning him into a different kind of breathless.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, wide eyes locked on hers. “Yeah, I’m okay. You can keep going.”

When she bends back to her task, Bucky melts. It occurs to him, that perhaps if she might let him, he could be content watching her forever.

But for tonight, this forever lasts only a few hours before she’s done.

And there it is.

Shades of green line his shoulder, the vines curling and winding around his scars, blending them seamlessly into the foliage covering his skin. Spidering vines trail across his chest, and it seems incompatible in a way, something alive bursting from the stark metal, but the leaves look so real, he swears they flutter with each breath he takes. Strewn throughout the greenery, small splotches of yellow and white reveal her daisies and he sucks in a breath.

For the first time in his life, Bucky stares at his scars and a foreign word comes to mind, one he never, ever thought to use.

“Beautiful,” he breathes. “They’re beautiful.”

*****

And so, after 3 months and 30 hours together, they were done.

Hands in his pockets, Bucky gazes at her. Ink on her hands, ink on his heart. It hits him then, this is it. They shuffle, making small talk, neither ready to say goodbye.

“Promise you’ll come back if you decide on anything else. Tattoos, piercings, anything,” she teases and Bucky laughs.

“Told you, I might be a little addicted,” he admits, knowing full well he means to tattoos and to her. “Soon as I can think of a reason, I’ll be back.”

“I hope so,” she says. There is a brief moment where she seems to gather her courage and then she leans in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re a work of art, Bucky, but - you were before any of this. Remember that.”

Dazed, Bucky touches his cheek.

Indelible and perfect, the tattoo of her lips inks itself straight onto his heart.

*****

When she arrives at the shop the next day, there is a new sight sitting on the front desk.

Daisies, their white petals and yellow faces as fresh as the afternoon sunshine filtering through the window. Bemused, she looks around the bustling shop and spies the card propped beside the overflowing vase, her name scrawled across the front.

“When I got home, I stood in front of the mirror for hours, staring at your artwork. Every time I told myself to go to sleep, I found something new I loved. The tail feathers on my Phoenix or the petals of your daisies. What you’ve given me is more than I ever hoped - I can never thank you enough.

But anyway, I remembered what you said - how this kind of art is like leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin.

Well, I won’t lie - you must have done, because I miss you already.

So at the risk of being forward (although I did break into your shop and leave this, so maybe this won’t seem that forward), would you have dinner with me?

I think there’s another new beginning waiting out there, if you’d like to find it with me.

Yours,

Bucky”

At the bottom of the note, a phone number is printed.

Brushing her fingers over the delicate white petals, she pictures him, that dark haired man with eyes like blue ink, so heartbreakingly beautiful inside and out. She feels the unconscious pull of her heart, telling her all she needs to know.

A new beginning.

She says yes.

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #SSB2020 #bucky fic #bitsmasterlist #tattoos #tattoo trope

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nishisun · 3 years

Text

suna rintaro is NOT a genius.

summary: you loved the idea of soulmates. suna rintaro didn’t. it isn’t that hard to put two and two together to realize that maybe people with different opinions on things don’t belong together.

part 2

a/n: this was literally supposed to be a series, i gave up on it because i just didn’t like the way it turned out. it used to be called “out of my league” and this was the intro. i also renamed it. just emptying drafts!! please don’t get confused with the random timeskip, once again, this was a part of a series i never ended up posting😭

WARNING!!: suggestive themes, mentions of death, idk kinda angsty but tell me if i missed anything

Soulmates. Whatever the hell that means. The idea of soulmates is something I truly don’t understand. It’s bullshit, honestly. It’s all-pervasive.

My mother always told me I'd eventually find "the one.” I used to believe that when I was younger of course. But in my opinion? It’s all cliches. It's unhelpful, and it's certainly not true. Destiny is an excuse for the weak. Why do you think most marriages end in divorce? It's 'cause people who believe they are “destined to be" assume everything will fall into place without any effort. I don't appreciate people pontificating bullshit like that just to make me feel better, especially if they haven't found their "soulmate" themselves. My sister once told me, “People who believe in soulmates are more likely to break up and encounter more difficulty in their relationship, which will lead them to give up on one another eventually.”

I sure do believe that.

My mother is a prime example. Fumeiko Suna, my dear mother. Well, she clearly hasn’t found hers. I found out when I came home after a tedious day of school in 5th grade and found my dear mother on the floor crying, with bruises all over her face and a busted lip.

Initially, I thought a burglar had broken into our home once again, but if that were the case then there would’ve been missing furniture. But there wasn’t.

In fact, the place seemed cleaner than usual. When I ran up to her and asked her what had happened, there he was. The devil himself. My father. He reeked of alcohol, and I could detect his shadow towering over me. It’s funny how that I think of it. I used to fear that son of a bitch. Now, I’m way taller than him, and hate his guts. I turned around to see a faux-sympathetic smile plastered on his face.

He explained how my mother was being “clumsy” and had fell and busted her lip on one of the corners of the kitchen table and when I turned back around to face my mother, she smiled gently and nodded in agreement. She didn’t say anything after that.

It was then I realized my father had beat my mother to a pulp.

Long story short, when I found it was my father, sure, I was frightened. In fact, I remember going into my siblings’ rooms to inform them, they shrugged it off and told me that dad had been doing it for a while now.

Over time, when my dad had found out that I was aware, he didn't mind beating the absolute shit out of my mother in front of all three of us. This was when my burning hatred for that man started. Nobody in the house even attempted to stop him. I did a few times, though. He took all his anger out on me. At least my mom had a break for the day.

I almost pitied my mother. Almost. Maybe if she was strong enough to leave him, then yeah, I’d feel bad. But she still decides to stay with his sorry ass. It’s pathetic. It’s unrequited love or whatever you call it. How could she still love that asshole?

I mean, I’m not even going to lie, I’m an asshole too, but I’m definitely not my dad. I would never want to be him. He’s not someone I looked up to, he doesn’t do anything inspirational. He’s a businessman. He travels the majority of the time, and I’m pretty sure my mom invites men over when he’s gone. I don’t care enough to find out. But if I ever hear some guy rearranging my mom’s guts, I’ll kill him. I don’t even blame my mother. What she’s doing is wrong, she knows it and so do both of my older siblings. But they don't seem to care so why should I?

Who knows why she just won’t leave him. Maybe it’s cause they don’t want to ruin how people view our “picture perfect” family. I wonder what they’d say. “I thought the Suna’s were the ideal family? I guess not.”

My dad would probably lose it if he heard that.

Both my mother and my father are the cause of this broken family of mine. They never fed me or any of my siblings the love we always desired when we were younger. They never came to any of my volleyball games when I was younger. They never applauded me for the little recitals we’d have in class in primary school. They were never even here for most of my childhood. They always put money first and left us with the housekeepers. Hell, the housekeepers probably know me better than my own parents.They failed as parents. I despise them for it. They’re most likely the reason I am the way I am, but to be honest?

I don’t give a fuck.

In fact, I should thank them! Because of how they “raised” me, i’m extremely blunt, which is why people respect me. I use the hatred I have for my family and take it out on people and no, I’m not proud of that. I may be a heartless asshole, but I like that people fear me. The hell? Does that make me a sadist? Either way, people know to never fuck with me cause I’d fuck their shit up. I’ve overheard many people say it’s ‘cause of my privilege. It probably is. Money can’t buy happiness, but it sure can buy you many other things.

If my parents were broke, I’d probably be expelled from school by now. Abuse of alcohol and drugs are forbidden on school property. I don’t even take them at school, I somewhat care about my education and health, but sometimes I just need to blow some steam. Even if I did, nobody’s gonna say shit since my dad is the head of Japan’s board of education. How did his ass even get there?

Call me lonely or cynical. Maybe I am. But how is that a bad thing? Why do people need a significant other to rely on? What, a soulmate is just going to turn my life upside down then suddenly bring me happiness? Pfft, I’m gonna need actual proof that shit like that still happens. I’ve only seen shit like that in fairy tale movies. It’s whatever, though. I can live with being alone. I’ve basically been alone my whole life and it isn’t as bad as people make it.

You loved the idea of having a soulmate. The thought of meeting someone who just understood you, accepted you for who you were, and most importantly, loved you excited you. You couldn’t wait to meet your soulmate.

But recently, you weren’t sure soulmates existed.

When your older sister, Akira, came into your room and burst into tears, it frightened you. Your older sister, the one who’d always provide you advice on relationships and how to keep one was in your room sobbing hysterically because hers hadn’t worked out.

“I just can't believe it,” she sobbed.

You couldn’t believe it either. Your sister had recently gotten engaged to her boyfriend of 9 years. They started dating at the age of 15 and managed to make things work out even after high school, and out of all those years of dating, they never broke up. Not even once.

They’d go on romantic dates on Saturdays and they’d always write love letters to one another every day, just to remind one another of how grateful they were to have each other in their lives. On Halloween, they’d dress up as fictional characters from TV shows and books and take cute selfies and bake a bunch of sweets. They’d invite you to come bake with them, but you would politely deny. You knew they were only offering so you wouldn’t feel left out, which you appreciated.

Of course, they’d argue every now and then, but at the end of the day, they always managed to talk things out. Oh to have a relationship like theirs. They were everything you wanted to have in a relationship and more.

“I really thought he was the one for me, y’know?” No, you don’t know. But that doesn't matter. What mattered was cheering your sister up.

“Maybe he wasn’t ‘the one’ Akira, and that’s okay! People come and go all the time, soulmates come and go all the time as well-”

“You still believe soulmates are real, huh?” she let out a humorless laugh and sniffed her nose, “What If I missed my one shot at love, Y/N? What if I lost my soulmate?”

That’s some deep shit.

Now that you think about it, were soulmates real? Soulmates come and go, yes, you’re aware of that, but even though they leave, it’s always temporary. Soulmates always find a way back to their other half, the piece that completes them.

Your dad never made it back to your mother.

He died in a car crash 5 years ago. Your mother and father had been arguing because she claimed your father was cheating on her since he wouldn’t let her check his phone.

You were 13 at the time. Your sister Akira was accompanying you in your room, listening to them arguing back and forth with one another. There was furniture flying across the room, glass breaking, and both of them throwing curses at each other. You were scared. They never argued in front of you and your sister. They'd bicker sometimes, but it was never anything too deep.

Eventually, your father had enough of your mother’s false accusations, and out of anger, he packed his things and left home. For weeks. It wasn’t until one of your uncles called your mother and broke the news. She didn’t take it very well.

Late 2012-early 2013.

Not many people came to your father’s funeral, his family didn’t like the fact that he and your mother were together, they said your mother was trouble, but your dad still stayed with her, even if that meant it would completely destroy the bond he had with his family. Now that’s true love, you had thought. Only your mother, Akira, the Sunas, your uncle, and you, of course, attended the funeral.

It hurt a lot. It hurt when your mother informed both your grandparents on your mother and father’s side and all they could do is put the blame on her. It hurt how they had claimed you, Akira and your mother were a hindrance to your dear father’s well-being. How could they be so cruel at a time like this?

That was the first time you ever questioned if soulmates were real. Maybe they fell in love at the wrong time? Who knows.

After your father’s passing, Fumiko Suna, your mother’s best friend, was there to help your family out financially. Your mother couldn’t even find the motivating to go to work. Your mother and Fumiko have been best friends since junior high, they’ve literally been inseparable ever since. In fact, after they both got married, they decided to live right next to each other.

Your mom didn’t cope with your father’s death very well; none of you did. But your mom had it the worst.

She would cope with alcohol and clubbing which would always result in her bringing different men home almost every night. You didn’t say much about it, you thought it would be selfish to since that’s what seemed to make your mother feel better about herself, but your sister hated it. She was already 19 and in college at the time, but when she visited and found out that your mother had basically been neglecting you, she was furious.

“Seriously, mom? This is what you’re gonna do while your 13-year-old daughter is in her room having a literal mental breakdown because of your childish behavior?” Your sister had barged into your mother’s room when she thought you were asleep, she was screaming loud.

“You’re interrupting something important, Akira. You know better than to-”

“Oh, shut the hell up mom. You’re the last person on earth to be saying shit like that.”

“Well, if you’re done, you can leave my room now. You’re being disrespectful, and this behavior is not tolerated!” Your mother was screaming now. The man in the bed covering his body under the covers and looking back and forth between Akira and your mother.

“Sakiya, maybe you should hear your daughter out-”

“Not now.” your mother scarcely interrupted the man, eye contact never leaving Akira. “Y/N has never complained about this when you were in college. She knows this is my way of coping, why can’t you understand that too!”

Akira scoffed. “So what, getting fucked by random strangers you find on the filthy streets is your way of coping? Getting wasted every damn night to the point where Y/N has to drag you up to bed is okay with you? Do you even know how much this is affecting Y/N? Did you even bother asking her how she felt? I hate breaking it to you mom, but you need serious help.”

“You selfish child!” Your mother screamed, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around her body, getting up from the bed. “How dare you say that to your own mother?”

“I’m only telling the truth! If you’re the mother, then it’s your job to be taking care of Y/N, not neglecting her. When’s the last time you’ve engross in an actual conversation with her when you were fully sober?”

Your mother was silent. She quickly walked up to Akira and grabbed her by the hair and slammed her headfirst against the wall.

“You’ve got a big mouth! Maybe I should wash it with soap like I did back in the day, hm?” Akira was attempting to push her mother away, but she wouldn’t let go of her grip. The man that was still on your mother’s bed was in panic, yelling her name, which didn’t have any effect. He might as well stop.

"Look," Akira mumbled, struggling to get away from your mother's grip, "I know it's been hard ever since dad left-"

“Mom! Let go of her!” You cried from the door of her room.

All 3 adults froze and looked at your glassy eyes, mouths wide open.

“Hey, kiddo, I thought you were asleep?” Akira playfully said, your mother let go of Akira and crossed her arms then looked away from you.

“Well, I can't really go to sleep when there’s a bunch of adults yelling about my well-being,” you muttered incoherently. You quickly wiped the uncontrollable tears off your face and sighed.

“Honey,” your mom started, she walked slowly to you, carefully examined your face, and attempted to hug you, but you didn’t accept the offer which made your mother frown. She stopped walking until she was almost face to face with you and placed a hand on your shoulder gently. “Baby, your sister told me that you weren’t happy. Is this true?”

You looked away from her and stared dully at the floor, subtly shifting your feet, then you softly shook your head “no.”

“See Akira, Y/N is happy. So please stop stressing her out.” Your mother said through gritted teeth, then faced you once again. “Y/N honey, how about I go tuck you into bed, hm? I’m so sorry for the excessive noise that was caused.”

“Mom, how clueless can you be? Y/N looks miserable! It’s unhealthy for Y/N to be living-“

Slap.

Your mother just slapped Akira on the face.

“I know what’s best for my daughter! I am her mother! You are not the one who should be telling me how to take care of my own kid!”

“That’s enough, Sakiya.” a familiar voice said from the door.

“Fumeiko-“

“It’s fine. Sakiya, we need to talk.” It was Fumeiko Suna, your mother’s best friend, also known as your next door neighbor. She had been standing in the hallways the whole time, you didn’t even know she was there. Akira was the one who called her over.

That night your mother agreed to get help for her drinking problem. She was gone for 6 months. During those 6 months, the Suna’s took you in since Akira would be in college and you couldn’t have been more grateful.

You and Rintaro were the only kids in the house, being that you both were the same age and the others were in college. It was okay, they were all very polite, dinners were awkward, you could feel some sort of tension between the family but you didn’t pay any attention to it.

When your mom finally came back, it was awkward at first. She still seemed the same, loving and caring, just sober and free of alcohol. It was nice. You two spent the weekends bonding at the mall, watching a movie, or even getting your nails done. Eventually, she gained your trust back, and you couldn’t have been happier.

January 2017.

“Akira, don’t say that. You may not believe me now, but you are such an amazing person, don’t ever think you’ll never find love again. It’s all about having a positive mindset!” you said, thoughtfully stroking her hair as her head laid on your chest.

“I told you that.”

“You did,” you chuckled, “you should take your own advice.

“Oh, shut up!” you both laughed, and Akira let out a shaky sigh. “Thank you, Y/N.”

“Of course, you don't need to thank me. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

— so this is one of the writings that i wrote in January 😭 it’s been in my drafts and i re-read it once and instantly hated it right after. if there’s any typos please tell me!!

— also i wanna apologize again for putting gmds on hiatus,, i feel so bad 😭 i wanna make it up to you guys but idk how so if you have suggestions pls tell me

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patchodraws · 3 years

Note

oh we’re talking schneekos headcanons? let’s talk about how they definitely bonded over the stress of being the golden child,,,,,, pyrrha, who lived her entire teenage life being the best, wanting to be the best, being EXPECTED to be the best,,,,,,,, weiss, who had the weight of the schnee family thrust upon her shoulders after winter left and wanting, hoping, wishing for the ability to just be okay with all the pressure

but neither of them can handle the pressure, because what 17 year old COULD? so they spend nights on the roof of beacon just,,,,,, talking, being girls, being friends, being more, being,,,,, whatever the other needs in that moment

then pyrrha is gone and weiss finds out and she can’t handle it,,,,,,,,,, because what does it matter how lofty her dreams are when pyrrha’s were infinitely more fantastical and the world swallowed her up anyways?

and so when weiss finally stands up to her father in v7, there’s a moment where she thinks she can feel a hand on her shoulder, see a flash of red hair, hear a voice saying “i knew you could do it”

buddy. fam. pal. friend. how the heck do you expect me to answer this without my response just being fucking tears ???

no but here's the thing is that you're so fucking correct,,, they're both stuck being the golden children - pyrrha, the invincible girl, and weiss is a schnee - and i think what they'd find the most wonderful in each other is a chance to be imperfect with each other. pyrrha can snort when she laughs, or weiss can stumble over her words a bit. they can make dumb jokes completely unbecoming of them, and they can, more than anything, be vulnerable and imperfect and let down their images of perfection for just a bit,,,, god, i mean like weiss definitely fawns over pyrrha at first (and loudly, too, like she doesn't let her admiration of pyrrha be at all subtle, unlike pyrrha who watches weiss with a dizzied gaze and a gentle blush and thinks about how amazing she findsd her) but the crux of their relationship isn't how perfect they are, but how imperfect they get to be with each other, how they understand the toll of perfection and can allow that reprieve for the other.

i honestly love thinking about au's where pyrrha survived the fall of beacon,,, my gf and i were working on an au where that happened but she lost her leg in the battle with cinder and moved back home to argus, where she kinda wallowed for a bit because she'd been completely knocked off of that pedestal set so high, she'd failed in her destiny even though her destiny was never her own, but one decided by the world for her and when the group arrived in argus they helped her get back on her feet, told her that she could make her own destiny, that failure meant she could try again, that she didn't have to be invincible anymore - just pyrrha, and god the schneekos of that au fucking kills me so much i always think about it and always love it and always see the tender makeout sesh they have the night before they leave for atlas

n e ways lksjflkj sorry for going off about the pyrrha lives timeline because you made me fucking sob with the idea that weiss lost sight of her own dreams because the world took pyrrha, the brightest, strongest thing remnant had to offer, and that despite that weiss found her strength and courage again, found her own destiny again, and that pyrrha was proud of her,,,, sorry i'm going to curl up and sob now thank you,,,,, "i knew you could do it" plsSS

#schneekos #fam you literally have the brain of a wizard #all-seeing beyond the veil of human perception #i love how you see schneekos #thank you for getting me to ramble about them alskjf

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linearao3 · 2 years

Note

Hi Linear LA, ask game time! 3. incorporating romance, 4. plot bunny, 8. relationship w/constructive criticism, 19. writers who've influenced you, 25. revision process, 45. 3 fave fanfic writers, 80. lit elements. Thank you in advance <333

Thank you for playing the ask game; I appreciate it! I'm sorry if these answers are unhelpful or cantankerous-sounding -- I really do appreciate the asks!

#3 - On a scale from 1-10 how much do you enjoy incorporating romance into the average story?

Hmmm. I mean, in stories which have romance, I tend to regard the romance as fairly integral, and plot it out as part of the story, since it governs motivation, which is a chief driver of plot. If the question is, do I like writing stories of which romance is a part, the answer is hell yes, 9/10 at minimum.

#4 - What's the plot bunny you've been carrying longest? Do you wonder why you haven't written it yet?

I don't think I have any plot bunnies I haven't written, but I have lots I haven't finished. The ones I feel greatest existential dread over are original works, but the fanfic one I haven't got complete enough to publish is an omegaverse Reylo fic where they're both betas but they're trying to pass themselves off as an alpha and an omega for career reasons. I like this partly for the opportunities to torture them with the false assumption that they will disappoint the other if the truth comes out, and partly for the chance to deal with the way omegaverse fic often engages with the idea of betas as inherently dull or lesser.

#8 - What's your relationship with constructive criticism?

There are people from whom I will accept it and people from whom I won't. If someone is a stranger to me, or if their work or taste doesn't display interest in the kind of things I'm trying to work with (e.g., if they write or endorse exclusively three-act living room dramas while I'm doing contrapuntal hyper-anachronistic drama or whatever the fucking trip I'm on this year), I'm generally not going to be super-interested in their criticism of my work. I have a dramaturg that I work with as a playwright, and I trust that she knows me and gets what I'm going for and will tell me frankly if I'm not doing what I'm trying to do, or doing it badly. In fanfic I work with Bombastique a lot; frequently she is too nice to me but usually I feel I can rely on her to tell me if something is seriously wrong or if my intentions aren't coming through. There are lots of other people I can and will accept it from, though I don't always agree. It's a complicated question, but it comes down to trust, I think.

#19 - What are some books or authors that have influenced your style the most?

Oof, pal, I don't know. I typed up a long list of authors I love and then deleted it, because all I could imagine was someone staring incredulously at my prose and being like... "you want to blame them for this?"

#25 - What's your revision or rewriting process like?

Hack and debug? It varies a lot, honestly. I am lazy, so I often bring a lot over from previous drafts.

#45 - 3 favorite fanfic writers

Destinies, englishable, and Yahtzee (Ao3 account tragically deleted!), but many others besides! Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard, Whitherward, lucymonster, slipgoingunder, SaintHeretical, TourmalineGreen, whose reylo fic may someday come back from the wars...

#80 - Do you try to put themes, motifs, messages, morals, etc. in your writing? If so, how do you go about it?

Oof. Yes. I mean, to a certain degree I don't so much "go about it" as "fail to stop myself." I have some obsessions, and they show up, a lot, because I can't help it. If you've read my stuff you may recognize cross-cultural and multilingual communication and miscommunication, environmental disaster, intergenerational harm, and the question of how crimes can ever be paid for as shit I simply. Cannot. Let. Go. Of.

#asks #anonymous

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pawsitivelymiraculous · 3 years

Text

Le parfum de l'amour

This is the @maribat-secret-santa-2020 piece for @saltandfluff I am so sorry for being late!

Anyway, I will be using the quantic kids, but you don't necessary have to know them to understand this fic.

The only have to know that "Melodie" is Allegra's nickname.

Ao3

It was always a bad idea to try to mess with fate. Everyone knew this. Allegra knew this, but she didn't care. Not when it was taking a toll on her sanity.

There were only so many times a person could see two literal soulmates walk past each other before they decided to take matters into their own hands.

So that's what she did.

Or well, was going to do once she could convince her friends to help her out.

"I don't know, Mel." Allan rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "These things take time you know? You cannot rush it." He glanced at the corkboard that was behind Allegra and winced, it was going to be impossible to talk her out of the crazy plan.

On the corkboard, there were two pictures. One was a selfie of Marinette Dupain-cheng. A twenty-year-old who was a regular at the café where Allegra and Claude worked at. After chatting with her in the mornings, Allegra decided to adopt the girl, and she introduced her to the rest of the group. She quickly became friends with Allan and surprisingly enough, with Felix as well.

The second picture was a rather blurry photo that was clearly taken from afar. You could sort of make out the image of Timothy Drake. The sleep-deprived twenty-one-year-old who had started going to the café for about a month. All the employees loved him because he never failed to amuse everyone with his half-asleep antics.

The one thing that both pictures had in common was a coffee cup.

On Marinette's collarbone, there was a small tattoo-like mark that looked like a coffee cup. The same one that was on Tim's wrist. Soul marks . Granted, they looked a bit plain compared to most people's soul marks, but in Allegra's eyes, they were the excuse she needed to get them together.

Allegra had shipped her two favorite customers long before she noticed their soul marks. But now that she knew they were soulmates . Well, she was not going to rest until they finally met.

"I'm not trying to rush things!" Allegra insisted. "I just want to push them in the right direction."

Allan looked at her, doubtful. "That's basically the same thing. Plus do actually think that," he squinted to read the list of plans that was tacked on the corkboard. "'Locking them inside a room with no escape' is merely pushing them in the right direction? 'Cause I think that sounds more like a hostage situation."

Allegra glared at him. "You know what? I don't need your help. Claude will help me. Right, Claude?"

Claude looked at her with wide eyes. "Oh no no no. Sorry Melodie but I can't."

"Uh, I'm sorry what?" Allegra blinked. It was very out of character for Claude to turn down the opportunity to help her with one of her elaborate plans. Not to mention that in this case, they were doing it to help Marinette.

"Allegra," he said solemnly, "this is a destiny thing. We just can't interfere."

Allegra facepalmed. "You can't be serious."

Claude looked at her dead in the eye. "If we interfere we might end up," he leaned towards her and whispered " cursed"

"Oh give me a break." Allegra pushed Claude away. "Are you guys kidding me? This is Marinette we're talking about. You all can't possibly think that Marinette wouldn't want to meet her soulmate, and as her friends, we have to help her."

"I agree with Allegra."

Everyone spun around in surprise.

Felix rolled his eyes at his friends' incredulous expressions. "What? Marinette is my friend as well. Is it really that shocking that I want to see her happy?" The three of them nodded. He ignored them. "Besides, I've heard Marinette ramble about soulmates nonstop, so it's clear that meeting hers is what she would want."

Allegra was the first to react "See guys? Even Felix agrees with me!"

Felix huffed. "Yes, but I also think that your plans are ridiculous and ineffective."

"Ouch"

"I think the best thing we can do to help is to get them to interact and we-"

"That's literally what my plans are for!" Allegra interrupted.

Claude crossed his arms. "And what do you mean by 'we'? I haven't agreed to do anything."

Shooting both of them a glare, Felix continued. "- can do that without needing to kidnap them. We simply have to make it so that they have no other choice but to sit at the same table at the café. You all know how friendly Marinette is, it will only be a matter of time before they start talking."

There was a beat of silence.

"That… that might actually work," Allan admitted. "Soulmates are naturally drawn to each other so once they actually have a conversation we won't have to do anything else. They can figure out that they're soulmates by themselves." He paused and then chuckled. "We'll just have to push them in the right direction."

"But how are we going to get them in the café at the same time?" Allegra asked. "Tim always comes in right after Mari has left."

"Pft that's easy!" Claude exclaimed. "Just tell her that you need help with something and that you'll need for her to stay a while longer at the café. Since Mari doesn't have early classes on Wednesday she'll agree and- oh!" Claude suddenly slapped his hand over his mouth as his eyes widened with horror. "This does not mean that I'm helping." He mumbled from underneath his hand.

Allan laughed. "I think you just did."

"Looks like someone's going to end up cursed." Allegra singed songed. "Not even ladybug is going to be able to help you with that bad luck that's to come." She teased.

Claude pouted. "Haha, laugh all you want." He then looked up at the corkboard and grimaced. "But you're right, there's no turning back now. What do you need me to do?"

Allegra clapped her hands in glee.

"Okay so here's the plan."

~♡~♡~♡~

Just like Claude had predicted, it was incredibly easy to convince Marinette to stay at the café. All that was left to do was orchestrate everything just so that the two soulmates had to sit at the same table.

It was easier said than done but after enlisting more people to help out, they were able to make sure that the café was full for that morning.

Everything was going according to plan…

Until…

"WHERE. IS. TIM?"

Claude looked around. "He hasn't arrived yet?"

"No!" Allegra cried. She glanced down at her watch and winced. They were running out of time.

Claude frowned. "And you know, it would have been nice if Marinette hadn't chosen today to wear a turtleneck."

Allegra couldn't help but agree. Sure, Marinette looked amazing with the turtleneck and skirt outfit but did she really have to wear it today? When they needed for her to show off her soul mark?

It was like the universe was against them.

But finally, Allegra heard a tinkling sound at the door. She spun around praying that it was Tim.

And it was!

He looked more tired than usual as he stumbled around trying to find a seat.

Allegra watched as Tim danced around the tables that were being occupied just as he was about to take a seat.

One after the other until finally, a good push later, he ended up at Marinette's table.

~♡~♡~♡~

Tim was too tired to deal with this.

All he wanted was to sit down, have a couple of cups of coffee at his favorite coffee shop and finally be awake enough to continue investigating the moth guy.

But apparently, that was too much to ask because almost all the tables were full.

"Sorry man," Claude whispered as he guided a couple and motioned them to sit at the table that Tim had beelined for.

"Oh, actually I'm waiting for Adam." Felix had said when Tim asked if he could sit with him. Which was strange since Adam had said that he was waiting for Felix when he asked him.

But he could barely comprehend what they were saying, so he was not conscious enough to complain.

Tim continued on his journey when he felt someone push him from behind. In his half-asleep haze, Tim lunged at the chair that was in front of him hoping that it would break his fall.

It took him a few seconds to recover. He wanted nothing more than to pass out right then and there, splayed out on a coffee shop chair as everyone stared at him wondering if he was drunk.

He too wondered if he was drunk, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept so if he was drunk, he was not going to figure it out on his own.

When he finally looked up, his eyes met with a pair of beautiful bluebell eyes.

~♡~♡~♡~

Marinette watched as a guy stumbled around the café until finally flopping onto the other chair at her table.

It was clear that he was sleep-deprived. She had seen enough videos that her evil friends had taken when she was in a similar state to know the poor guy probably hadn't slept at all for the last week or so.

Marinette wanted nothing more than to drag the guy to the nearest bed or couch and wrap him up in a bunch of blankets. Just because she didn't comprehend the term "self-care" for herself didn't make Marinette any less of a "mom friend"

But she had to remind herself that she didn't know the guy, so it might be considered kidnapping to drag someone somewhere against their will.

Too bad.

The best she could do was offer him her own coffee.

"Hey, I think you need this more than I do at the moment." She said, pushing the drink his way as he stood up.

He mumbled something that could be interpreted as a "thank you" and eagerly took the drink. His eyes lit up when the heavenly liquid touched his tongue.

It was almost miraculous how quickly the caffeine took effect.

Actually, it was Marinette may or may not have mixed a little concoction she made with Tikki that helped her when she stayed up late with her regular coffee.

The guy blinked. "This. Is. Incredible."

Marinette laughed "Yeah, it's what I always get. Though you still look like you need to sleep."

"Yeah, yeah whatever." He waved her off. "But seriously, what is this called? I need a gallon of this."

"Sorry," Marinette said sheepishly "but I'm afraid that's a secret, you know, I'm kind of everyone's favorite, so I get the miracle coffee." Okay so that was a lie but what else could she say?

The guy pouted. Marinette had to admit that he looked adorable.

"Well, then I'm sure you can get me some then... um"

"Marinette."

"Ah, nice to meet you, coffee goddess, I'm Tim."

Marinette's cheeks heated up. "Uh, coffee goddess? Shouldn't they be the coffee gods and goddesses?" She pointed at Allegra, Claude, and the others.

"Nah, you have blessed me with this amazing coffee. Claude didn't even help me in my time of need."

"You know Claude?" Marinette asked, surprised.

"Yep, I've been coming here since I arrived in Paris, so I've gotten to know Allegra and Claude a bit."

"That's funny, I've never seen you. And I come here every day." Marinette said.

"Huh, that's weird. I've never seen you either. "

And from there they kept talking. Like they were old friends and not just acquaintances. Marinette found out that Tim had come from Gotham city. That he was in Paris because of business. Meanwhile, Tim learned that Marinette was an aspiring fashion designer and a college student who was close friends with almost everyone from the café.

Hours passed and the two were still deep in conversation completely oblivious to the crowd that had gathered behind the cafe's counter to watch the soulmates.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me about this before." Adrien, who had arrived after Tim, whispered to his cousin.

"I was under the impression that your father needed your assistance for the upcoming fashion show. I was not about to ask my dear uncle Gabe if I could steal you so that we could set up our friend and his future competitor, Marinette Dupain-cheng, with her soulmate."

Adrien hated to admit that he had a point. "Fine, but can you at least catch me up to date? Who is he?"

"He's a rich guy from Gotham city. He's pretty cool though he's basically Marinette when it comes to coffee which is honestly kinda scary now that I'm seeing them interact." Allegra whispered.

Adrien looked down to look at her. "Alright, I guess I'm going to have to do my own research since you guys are useless. What's his job? Why is he rich? If his from Gotham then who knows, maybe this guy is actually dangerous and wants to take Marinette as ransom for-"

"Oh please Adrien, stop with your theatrics. Do you honestly think that I would allow this if he was dangerous?" Felix interrupted.

"I mean-"

Felix glared at him.

"No?"

Felix sighed. "Timothy Drake is Marinette's soulmate, and I can assure you that he's clean. So don't worry about Marinette."

Allegra shushed the cousins. "Guys, I'm trying to listen here you know?"

"Um, you could probably hear better from up here" Felix nodded in agreement.

"Thanks, Adrien, but I don't want to risk Marinette seeing me and then remembering about time and stuff."

"Ah"

"Speaking of time, it's been years since I last ate, I'm hungry." Claude cut in.

"Claude! You're supposed to be with the customers!" Allegra whisper-shouted.

"Whoops."

~♡~♡~♡~

Unfortunately, all good things come to an end. Marinette eventually remembered the reason she had stayed in the cafe. Not only that but when she looked at her watch she realized that she was running late for class.

After Marinette's rushed exit, Tim went back to investigating Hawkmoth. But while they were trying to concentrate on their own thing. Marinette with her class and Tim with his research they found themselves zoning out and thinking about each other.

It was strange, they had quite literally just met.

Why had they made such an impact on each other?

~♡~♡~♡~

It wasn't until Marinette was getting ready to go to bed that she found the answer.

"Tikki is… is that what I think it is." Marinette's voice trembled as she stared at her reflection on the mirror.

Tikki gasped. "Oh Marinette, I think it is!"

Staring back at her was her soul mark, which no longer was a regular coffee cup but rather a gorgeous cup with beautiful red flowers that surrounded a somewhat familiar symbol.

"But, how? I mean they're not supposed to change… right? And why?" Marinette's eyes widened. "Does this mean that I met my soulmate? Who is it?"

Tikki giggled, "You seriously don't know?"

"Umm no? Should I?" Tikki continued to giggle as her holder looked at her confused. "Who is it Tikki?"

"Oh Marinette, how many new people did you meet today?"

"Uh, I don't know? I mean surely I must've passed by lots of strangers in the street." Marinette panicked. "Oh no Tikki! What if one of them is my soulmate? I'll never find out who they are!"

"So you don't remember meeting anyone else?"

"I don't think so, well other than ohhh- "

"Exactly"

~♡~♡~♡~

Tim could not believe what he was seeing. Gone was the plain coffee cup he was used to seeing, the daily reminder of the fact that he was still painfully single, it now had an intricate flower pattern that surrounded a symbol.

He recognized that symbol.

After weeks of researching and tailing the red Parisian heroine, he knew that it was the Ladybug symbol.

But why was it on his soul mark?

Unless…

No, the heroine couldn't be his soulmate, Tim hasn't even officially met her. Nor had he even seen her today.

The only blue-eyed girl he had met was Marinette.

Marinette

No, it was impossible. Except it wasn't. Tim had only known the girl for a couple of hours, but he knew that Marinette would make a great heroine or vigilante.

But, he… he was probably hallucinating, right? Tim hadn't slept for weeks, so surely he was just seeing things and his soul mark was still a plain coffee cup and the Marinette conclusion was just wishful thinking.

Right?

Because otherwise, his first meeting with his soulmate was him acting like a sleep-deprived zombie and Tim could not allow that.

Well, one thing was for sure, he really needed to get some sleep.

~♡~♡~♡~

Three days.

It took three days for Marinette to find Tim.

She looked everywhere. The coffee shop, Le Grand Paris Hotel, the tourist areas, and when she was ladybug she looked down from all the rooftops trying to find him.

But he had vanished, leaving Marinette worried sick that he had either A. Gone back to Gotham B. Died or C. Been so horrified that she was his soulmate that he decided to move to a remote island and changed his name in hopes of never seeing her again.

Gosh, she was starting to sound like her fourteen-year-old self.

But finally, she saw him, sitting on a bench, not far from her own home, looking down at his wrist.

He looked at his wrist like it was some puzzle he needed to solve. Marinette also noticed that he looked a lot more refreshed, so he must've finally gotten some sleep.

Marinette cleared her throat. "Well, you've been a very hard person to find Mr. Drake."

Tim looked up. "Ma- Marinette!"

"We need to talk."

Tim nodded his mouth hanging wide open as he stared at her soul mark.

"How do you feel about coffee? There's a coffee shop that's not very far from here, I hear their coffee is divine.

~♡~♡~♡~

Bonus:

(this was going to be a scene on the fic but I didn't know how to add it but it has important info sooo)

*They are at the coffee shop*

Marinette: So you're red robin.

Tim: And you're Ladybug

Marinette: Should I be worried? Like doesn't this compromise our secret identities?

*Claude and Allegra appear with some pastries*

Claude: Yooo Marinette! So you found your soulmate! Crazy right? We totally didn't have anything to do with it!

*Allegra elbows him*

Claude: So uh, congratulations! I um feel happy for you.

*looks nervously at Allegra who is glaring at him*

Claude: Bummer about the soul mark though…

*Allegra keeps glaring*

~♡~♡~♡~ Permanent tag list ~♡~♡~♡~

Claude: What? It's just a plain white cup!

Bonus bonus:

(here's a bad doodle and my crappy handwriting)

(If you want to be added or removed please let me know!)

@charme-de-malchan, @theatreandcomicfreak, @m3owww, @elliebelliegirl, @genevieve-the-demonologist, @vixen-uchiha, @t1dwarrior-of-earth, @waffleyunsure, @technicallyburninggarden, @azuremayscarlet, @vroomtaka, @emimar7, @ichigorose, @maskedpainter, @art-is-hard-to-do-sorry

#maribat #timari #tim x marinette #maribat secret santa #ml x dc #mlb x dc #quantic kids #My writing #my trash writing #my art #my trash art

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fusrodie · 3 years

Photo

ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him.

chapter 1 - grisly reunions

SFW, canon-typical violence, blood, mention of death. 2K words.

link to ao3 (or read down below)

Nothing ever happened in this boring old village. Every day he would wake up to the same dull sky, the biting cold on his skin, the smell of blood in the air. And the chanting, for fuck’s sake, the goddamn chanting. In the silence of night, you could hear them if you listened close enough. Even cooped up in his factory, trying to focus on bringing his latest creation to life, through the humming of engines and rattling of pistons, he could hear their voices pleading forgiveness and salvation.

It paints a perfect picture in his mind: a bunch of old farts holding hands in a circle, standing over a creepy-ass painted crest of an unborn baby, pouring their heart and soul into their prayer, accepting death and giving glory to their murderer. The prayer itself never made sense to him, not really, but he had to admit it was a damn good way of justifying their atrocities. Nobody batted an eyelash when someone was taken away, went poof overnight to never return. Something about the sacrifice having been made, fate had led them to the light at the end or some shit. It used to fascinate him back in the day, when he was just a child watching everything unfold hidden behind his mother’s skirt. But he was no longer a child, and after almost a century of bullshit, it was hard not to impale every single fucker who talked about devotion and destiny.

Not that anyone would care about it, of course - sister dearest routinely kidnapped girls from the village and no one seemed to notice the Castle was a death trap. Boxes and boxes of wine would make their way into the village and out into the world, the truth right there in the label, and no one seemed to put two and two together. Dimitrescu had offered him more than a few bottles as a courtesy, an attempt to bridge the gap between them - even he had limits, however, lines that he would not cross. The very thought of bringing a goblet of blood-infused wine to his lips made his stomach turn; he had never been one to experiment much with food. He drew the line on frozen pizza and energy drinks.

It’s a wonder the village still had people in it, really; between Alcina’s obsession with maidens, the poor sods taken to Moreau for Cadou experiments and the failed vessels Miranda would discard like common garbage, he figured at this point there were more lycans than people around. More for him to experiment on, he figured, though digging up corpses in the dead of night had done a number on his back. Haulers could only do so much, and more often than not he would have to get his hands dirty. Not having a proper bed, sleeping on a bare metal cot and decades of living on borrowed time had nothing to do with it, of course.

The Castle drawbridge lowered as he approached, hammer thrown over his shoulder, one last peaceful drag of his cigar before he was thrown into yet another boring council meeting. The vineyard greeted him with the bleak vibrancy of a cemetery, scarecrows drained of color, barely recognizable but eerily preserved in chunks of ice. A waste of perfectly good specimens, really.

The halls were quiet for a change, no tormented screams and blood-curling wails, no giggling sisters running around in the hallways. It all smelled of death and old people, expensive perfume and a good dose of arrogance.

He flashed a charming smile at one of the Castle’s servants, laughing when the girl turned a bright shade of red and scrambled away from him. Heisenberg could hear the bickering as he pushed the doors open, Angie’s joints clicking incessantly as the doll moved about. Moreau’s breathing sounded as loud and disgusting as ever, yellow teeth and the smell of a polluted riverbed with a hint of fish. There they were, his beloved little family, waiting patiently for him, staring at him like he had fucked every single one of their mothers.

“You are late, Heisenberg.” Alcina began, as she always did, eyebrow raised in contempt. “As always. Mother,” she turned to Miranda, gesturing towards him with her hoity-toity, stupid cigarette.

“You are obnoxious, Dimitrescu.” He replied without sparing her a glance. “As always.”

He could practically hear her seething as she finally placed her humongous backside on her chair, having given up on chastising him when Miranda paid both of them no mind. Mother sat at the end of the golden-trimmed table, looking awkward in her great black gown and modly crow wings. Dimitrescu’s finest china was laid perfectly for their little afternoon tea party, cup handles that were too big to fit his fingers, minuscule spoons that were fit for Angie’s creepy hands. The servant that had scurried away at the sight of him had come back with a tray of hot tea, biscuits and blood - the house’s specialty. Miranda began speaking as the girl poured her drink, some small chitchat about the state of the village, the influx of foreigners and progress on her grand resuscitation project.

“Thank you darling, but I brought my own.” He started as the girl circled around the table to serve him, pointing down towards his belt buckle to the whiskey flask he always carried around. She couldn’t help but look down, and then up at his sly smile, the blush returning to her cheeks in full force. Dimitrescu’s reaction was swift, a well placed slap with the back of her hand square on the girl’s cheek. He felt sorry for her for a moment, but it was good training - if she wanted to survive the Castle, she would have to learn that it was better to be blind and deaf, and that she had much more provocation coming her way than his harmless flirting.

Heisenberg tuned out of the conversation as he poured his whiskey, pinching the teaspoon between his index and middle fingers, swirling it slowly, scraping the sides of the porcelain. Alcina’s displeasure at his use of her china for such vile beverages made it all the better. He slurped it loudly to add insult to injury, savoring the drink for a second, sloshing it around his mouth before swallowing, a satisfied “ah” escaping him when the liquor burned down his throat. If Alcina didn’t already look like a corpse, he felt like she would have turned purple. When he unceremoniously shoved an entire biscuit in his mouth, crumbs falling all over the tablecloth, he thought she would vomit.

“The latest vessel, unfortunately, has been a failure.” Miranda announced with sadness in her voice, which prompted all of his other siblings to sigh collectively in sympathy. What a bunch of morons. “However, we have made some progress. It seems my theories were correct - younger subjects are far more receptive to the Cadou.” Kidnap babies, got it. There was no limit to how low Miranda would get to fuel her quest for a daughter that had been dead for longer than she was alive. “I regret to say there are no suitable infants at the moment,” she stopped to sip at her tea. “We can only hope the harvest fares better in the coming months.” Had she seen them as nothing but guinea pigs back then, too? No doubt in his mind she did. The only reason she kept them around is because she might not be able to kill all of the monsters she created - better to keep them close than risking losing it all.

“There is but one more matter I would like to discuss, Mother Miranda,” Dimitrescu began, a lilt in her voice, the telltale sign that whatever would come out of her mouth next would be positively foul. “My girls have brought me troubling news.” Troubling, he repeated to himself, but she had a smile on her face as she said it. Miranda gestured at her to continue, which she gladly did, excitement rising with every new word. “It would seem a monster prowls near our blessed haven. There is talk among the villagers of bodies being found drained of blood, organs harvested, but without a single cut left behind.” She stood up to pace the room, one of her favorite displays of grandiose that made her look like the world’s biggest buffoon. It suited her. “At first I believed this to be a mere rumor, a lycan attacking the livestock, a corpse refusing to rest. But then,” she clapped her hands, the doors to the room promptly opening to give way to Crazy, Dumb and Ugly, giggling in their flowing black dresses, dragging a corpse along like it was a treasure they had found in the forest. Angie tagged along with their excitement, pushing Moreau away to get a better look at the stinking body thrown onto the hardwood.

There was no mistaking the lycan, all teeth, claws and complexion of the finest of silver poisonings. It smelled just as bad dead than it did alive; bruises and injuries and gums that stuck out of its mouth. How, pray tell, was this thing still in one piece? Heisenberg rose to take a closer look, pushed its stringy hair away from its face to reveal glassy eyes poking weirdly out of their sockets. He tested its consistency with a slight kick, stabbed it with the butter spreader, shoved a gloved hand in the cut to pull it apart and open. It looked fresh enough, but nothing but a foul vapor oozed out of the body. Crystal dust lined its insides, shards poking out of muscles. He pushes his arm deeper, feels around the chest cavity to find nothing.

“No cuts, no holes,” he begins as he pokes and prods. “No bites, either. Heart’s missing. This your handiwork, Alcina?” Heisenberg quips, suspicion seeping through his stoic facade. For a moment, he swears he can see the lycan’s flesh pulse, the smallest contraction of a muscle. This whole situation got weirder by the second.

“The technique is truly admirable, is it not?” She offers with a gleeful smile, picks up her cigarette and places a hand on her hip. Here we go again. “I simply must have it. Besides, we must know if it poses any threat to us.” She was right, this time. After decades of experimentation, none of them had ever managed to keep an infected subject whole after death.

His shoulders slumped as she spoke, head bowing to hide his discontentment behind the brim of his hat. He knew what this meant: being sent on a stupid adventure in the ass-end of the woods, because he was the only one out of this freak show with the brain and brawn to venture out into the world in broad daylight, without dying to the cold or stopping every five seconds to infect and pet wild animals. Some of these missions he did enjoy, like being sent to nearby towns for special supplies - or special victims. He was never gone long, nor would he stray far, but those escapades never failed to serve as a reminder that he had a reason to keep going, that maybe one day he would be free and the world would be his to explore.

The four of them eyed Miranda quietly, waiting for the verdict that was certain to come. Moreau cut the silence by volunteering to investigate, the pathetic pitter-pat of his feet filling the room when Mother smiled at him.

“I would not risk you in such a way, my son,” she patted his head without a hint of affection. “Not when we are so close to answers. You must continue your research - Heisenberg will look into this… Whatever it is. You are dismissed.” Her tone was nonchalant, her confidence rock solid. This was merely an obstacle, not real danger. At least, that is what she wanted them all to see; if one looked close enough, they would notice the slight furrow in her brow through the slits of the golden mask.

“As you wish, mother.” He tipped his hat before taking his leave, chewing on his unlit cigar, feet pressing hard against the gravel underneath.

Heisenberg never thought he would come to regret having a proper spine and a functional pair of legs.

#resident evil village #re8 #karl heisenberg #lady dimitrescu #technically #virgil writes #blood tw #death tw

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4aloysius-porteu · 3 years

Text

i really wish i hated you || tsukishima kei

masterlist | 1 | 2 | chapter 3

pairing: tsukishima kei x f! reader

sypnosis: It was an accident that (Y/N) met a certain tall, blonde male; a memory she isn't fond of remembering, but it is where it all started. And ever since, she magically makes her to his path. The image of the bespectacled man dwelled in her mind more than she thought. Tsukishima pushed away his softer emotions and denied their existence, or at least that's what he told himself. But then, he couldn't believe that this girl he labeled as a clumsy, unlucky creature who smashed his glasses is slowly bringing these strange emotions back to him. She might be irritating and dumb sometimes, but he couldn't get himself to completely hate her. Either that destiny was stupid, or he was blessed or cursed.

genre: fanfiction, fluff

wc: 2.6k

She has met the tall, blonde, and bespectacled male yet again.

"Oh, the midget stalker is here."

"You again?! Seriously, I think it's you who's following me!"

"Hah, what do I get from following an extremely short person like you?" He said, borrowing her words from yesterday.

(Y/N)'s eyebrows creased further in irritation. "Why do you keep mentioning my height?!"

"It was you who started it. Anyways, can you shut up? Do you know that you're in a library?"

She didn't retort back and simply sat on the chair with her arms crossed. It was a fine day then —BOOM— this giant decided to appear out of nowhere. She was trying to forget this person who's associated with some of her embarrassing moments but those just got smashed back to her mind. (Y/N) sighed and pulled a book at the bottom of the stack to start reading, but noticed that the blondie is still standing near the edge of the table, hesitating to sit down while glancing somewhere and back to her.

"What?" (Y/N) frowned.

"Why am I unnecessarily stuck with you on this table?" He sighed, pulling out the chair.

"Because all of the tables here are taken? If you're worried about your glasses being knocked off, don't worry, I won't do anything reckless anymore."

"That's a nice reassurance," He settled down and brought out his studying materials.

Both of them shared the table in the crowded library. Ignoring the people, between them was a silent atmosphere. No one was talking as they both minded their own studies; he was reading quietly and turning pages of a huge book while (Y/N) wrote key points from the printed work and highlighting her notes. Sometimes, the other would leave to return books to their shelves and came back with new stacks. This went on for a few hours until her pen ran out of ink. She scribbled at the back of her notebook in hopes that the ink just got stuck, to no avail. She sighed, resting her head on the notebook. But she really needed to take down notes for her upcoming entrance exam.

"Hey." (Y/N) reluctantly said.

The blonde male looked at her, confirming if he's being called, "What?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt your business but... do you have a spare pen?"

He stared at her with a straight face and placed his chin on the top of his knuckles, implying his refusal to lend one.

(Y/N)'s mentally gritted her teeth. I'm just going to borrow a pen and he's making it hard for me?!

Swallowing her pride, she said, "Look, I need to finish my notes. I'll return it to you right away when I'm done. I promise. Please?"

He scoffed as brought out a pen, "An inkless pen is all it takes for you to become a less lively puppy? You better keep your promise."

A puppy?! "You didn't need to compare me to a puppy but, thanks."

She continued her work but her focus was a bit shaken. This happens whenever she's interrupted or took a break away from writing. Soon, her focus vanished and boredom took over. She tried to read a book to review ideas but her brain won't cooperate. She groaned, her head and arms fell to the table again. The blonde saw but chose to ignore her.

She closed her eyes for a second, however, her gaze fell to the blank paper in front of her face. Her hands are itching to do something other than reviewing and writing, so she put down the pen she borrowed and took a pencil out of her pocket. She placed a pile of books near her notebook so that the male won't notice what she's doing. There, she started to sketch the base of the figure.

She would observe the four-eyed guy who's busy reading some sort of article while taking notes. He has a calm expression on his face rather than an irritated scowl or a mocking grin he usually has. He wears a long blazer and probably a long-sleeved shirt inside. His blonde hair is short yet the edges are a bit curly and his upper eyelashes are prominently long. This was the first time she stared at the jerk's face who she kept bumping into random places that irked the hell out of her, but for some reason, she felt that she had seen this person before the accident in the park, albeit she doesn't know where. (Y/N) came to a conclusion; he was a little good-looking.

The girl looked back to her drawing and shook her head at her own ideas. I can't believe I actually thought that this guy is handsome. How can such a mean creature be blessed with such looks?! Ugh, don't mind, (Y/N). I'm only drawing him because he seems like a great canvas subject, it's not like I haven't done this to other people before...

She went on drawing and drew details to the sketch similar to the boy in front of her. To make the drawing more accurate, she stole small glances at him. She kept things low key because it'll be another embarrassing event if he found out what she's doing. She made the lines smoother in one swift move. The hair and clothes' folds are already well-drawn while she focuses on the detail of his eyes and glasses. She was about to shade when the male finally caught her.

"What is it?" He questioned, closing his book with a low voice and creased eyebrows.

(Y/N) froze on the spot. As much as she doesn't like it, she maintained eye contact with him, thinking of the best alibi that he couldn't argue with. Then, she remembered that she doesn't know his name.

"Uhm... nothing. I was just wondering if you have a name." While talking, her finger subtly moved to grab the nearest object it could get to cover her drawing.

"I have, but why would I mention it to you?" He cooly replied.

"It's alright. I'm not asking you to. Unless you want to be referred to as he/him or the tall, blonde glasses guy all the time?" (Y/N) countered.

He silently turned a page before answering, "Well, it's not like we'll meet every day."

"Oh," was her only reply. Looks like he will stay a nameless guy in her head for a long time. She was about to get back to her business when he spoke.

"Tsukishima Kei."

(Y/N) looked at him in surprise. "I'm not going to repeat it." He added.

She smiled, having clearly heard it right away. "Can you tell me how it is written?"

He looked at her to check for ill intentions but found nothing in her eyes. He hesitantly wrote the characters of his name on a piece of paper.

"I'm (L/N) (Y/N), nice to meet you again, Tsukishima-san." She'd like to initiate a handshake for peacemaking, but she knows how he'd only decline it. She wrote her name for him to see as well.

Tsukishima Kei. She repeated in her mind. What a nice name.

With a notebook covering the upper portion of the paper where she had drawn his portrait, she wrote his name at the bottom. She proceeded to the shading and background features. Backgrounds are one of the things she hates in art because it takes too long to draw one compared to the subject itself. Luckily it's only a sketch so she won't have to suffer. Although she doesn't know if Tsukishima had seen whatever she's doing so she's still cautious. She peered at him for the nth time so she could distract his peripheral vision. Maybe to test the social initiative skills she hasn't used for a long time too.

"Uhh, can I ask something?" She started.

"Hm?" He responded without taking his eyes off the page.

"What school are you from?"

"Amemaru Middle School."

(Y/N) hummed, thinking of another question, "Then, what school are you enrolling to? It must be an upper class one since you had to read those large books and all."

"Not really," Tsukishima closed the book, "I plan to go to Karasuno High School. They may not have a difficult entrance exam, but these readings are for decent grades and some stock knowledge."

"Decent grades, huh... you look like you could achieve more though. I'm pretty sure you'll ace it." She answered, "I was from Kitagawa Dai Ichi. I'm taking an exam in Shiratorizawa soon."

"You're going to that high-class academy? I see, I failed to notice that because you don't look like one. Have fun clashing with other elites there."

"Elites? What are you talking about, you still believe there's such a hierarchy?" (Y/N) chuckled.

"There is though. A gap between them and mere humans in terms of skills and power."

"In the end, they're still humans though. Be it numbers, hard work, or some unique strategy, those 'mere humans' you say will always struggle to step on equal levels with those on the highest rank."

Tsukishima only hummed and stared down at her, "Perhaps I was wrong on assuming you're an elite. You're clearly not."

"Are you underestimating me?" She challenged.

"No, I was just saying. Can I ask something though?"

"What?"

"Why are you suddenly talkative?"

She was caught off guard but tried not to stutter, "Me? Talkative? I'm always like this."

"Really?" He raised his brows, totally not buying it.

"Ugh, fine! I'm tired of studying!" She sighed, "I was scribbling some doodles on my notebook because I'm bored so I thought it wouldn't hurt to talk to Mr. Beanpole in front of me. Forgive me and my awkward social skills."

"Your social skills are not bad. I'm just thankful you aren't using the precious ink of my pen for drawing." He said, stacking the books he used.

She gasped, panicked inside, "You aren't looking at my drawing, are you?"

He got up to return the books,"Don't worry, it's none of my business."

She exhaled in relief, spared from another memory of embarrassment. Her eyes followed his walking figure and watched his movements. She looked at her drawing to compare and used her fingers to define lighting. When Tsukishima got back and placed new reviewers on the table, (Y/N) asked him once more.

"Do you ever get tired of studying?"

"Sometimes I take a break, but I can only do that if I have finished everything."

"What a diligent student you are."

"I hardly see any benefit in being dumb and slacking off all the time."

"Eh, I hardly see any benefit in studying Algebra and Calculus. I have a lot of questions. Do you use derivatives in counting money or salary? Do you use trigonometry in dividing pizzas or corn chips? Why do I need to find the limit of a function if numbers are infinite? Why do I need to get the formula of a certain point in each line or curve I draw on the graphing paper? What is the correct answer for?" (Y/N) complained.

Tsukishima looked at her blankly, doubting her chances of passing the Shiratorizawa's board exam. "I couldn't argue with that, I'd rather read a book composed of words than formulas, but you don't have a choice. Although, if you plan to be an engineer or something, that'll be a different perspective."

"No, thanks, I won't eat math books for breakfast. Other subjects are interesting enough to keep me awake in class, but numbers don't really entertain me."

"Then, what do you do?" He asked, writing on his notes.

"Not much. I just draw, paint, listen to music, and watch anime."

He let out an amused hum, "How about you? What do you do other than to study?" (Y/N) asked.

"I play volleyball, listen to music, and read narrative books."

"Volleyball? So that's what your height is for! I thought it's just for cleaning and reaching high places."

"That's rude."

"If I am, what do you call yourself? Besides, I don't want to make wrong assumptions."

"You just did."

"...right. I'm sorry."

The sense of familiarity took over (Y/N)'s brain, telling her that she definitely had met this Tsukishima guy before. Her face scrunched a little, trying to search her memories and connect the dots. Her eyes found his face again.

"Why do you keep looking at me?" His eyes narrowed, his annoyance towards the girl slowly rising.

"I HAD met you somewhere... before that accident, where did I see you?"

He was about to say something when (Y/N) stopped him, "Shh, I'm thinking."

He crossed his arms and frowned at her. Volleyball, Amemaru MS... She was about to say it but Tsukishima spoke first.

"Were you one of the audience who watched the middle school volleyball inter-high a year ago?"

"I was! Wait, you remember?"

"That was the only place where I could find someone from Kitagawa Dai Ichi." He confirmed.

"Correct. I was a part of the school paper where I was assigned in the sports category. I took a picture of you when my senior was interviewing you! You were the tallest middle blocker in the games! How could I forget that! So that's why whenever you irk me, it was familiar!"

"How am I annoying you? Aren't you the one who kept on talking right now?"

"I've figured out that there's no kind bone in you. And the way you keep on stuffing the spikes from the opposite team. It was never-ending that they didn't have a chance to score properly." She pouted.

"What do you expect from a middle blocker? It was my job to block spikes."

"You could've gone easy on them."

"The game would lose it's sense if that's the case."

"Fine. You're not wrong." Their conversation was cut short after she ceased talking. At least she found out where she first met Tsukishima. She finished the portrait sketch. Grinning, she believed that she captured his features accurately in her drawing. She'd like to hold it near him and compare to make sure though. Satisfied with her work, she went back on turning pages.

"So, you've finally decided to continue to study?" Tsukishima prodded.

She smiled, "I guess. Thank you for talking to me. That was a great stop."

Both of them worked quietly, but now, the irritation they felt towards each other lessened. After some time, a person in the speaker announced that the library will be closing before 6 pm. Tsukishima returned all the books he borrowed and packed his things.

"You're going home?"

"I don't want to come home late. You aren't finished with your notes yet?"

"Yeah, maybe I'll leave five minutes before six."

"Alright. I'll get going now." He swung his bag over his shoulder.

"Hey, wait! Your pen!" (Y/N) abruptly remembered seconds after.

"I don't need it anymore. It was useful, apart from its close on running out of ink."

"But it's yours and you told me to keep my promise!"

"Whatever. Keep it or throw it." He walked out and wore his headphones, having no intention to listen to anyone.

She sighed and checked the ink. More than half of it is gone, but she can use it again if she wishes. (Y/N) placed her fist to her cheek while writing.

Random Tsukishima Kei facts:

In the second prototype chapter (unserialized, one shot, the first idea of the author on how haikyuu will go) Tsukishima was a second-year, which was changed in the serialized version where he's a first-year. His initial height in the prototype chapter is 184cm, a little shorter than his official height (190.1cm). In an extra sketch, Furudate commented, "Tsukki and Tanaka being in the same year would spell chaos!

#haikyuu!!#tsukishima kei #haikyuu tsukishima #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu angst #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fluff #kei tsukishima #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #haikyuu headcannons #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #tsukishima imagine #tsukishima scenarios #tsukki

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azure-firecracker · 3 years

Note

For your prompt list, can you do #36- "I never wanted to hurt you' for Azutara.

I'm gonna set this one up a bit if that's ok. This prompt reminds me of a scene from the soulmate au I'm working on (hopefully will one day finish lol)

If you don't wanna use this then that's absolutely fine. With that being said, here's the relevant info.

-Soulmarks are rare to appear. Everyone has a soulmate, but the only thing that's guaranteed is that you'll be in the general vicinity of them at some point in your life. The mark won't appear until you directly speak to each other, in this case it was the throne room scene from the show. When you are both aware of the mark, you become spiritually connected. This connection is different for every person. In thier case, the mark worked two ways 1) during moments of high stress, the non-stressed one's spirit is pulled to the other (think astral projection but they can't be seen) to provide support/comfort. 2) they see various memories of the other through dreams. I plan on using this aspect to build a connection between them since they hardly directly interacted during the show. Katara's memories and some of the actions Azula witnesses from Katara both inspire her to want to be a better ruler and show her that Katara is her equal. Katara sees a lot of the more negative memories of Azula, like when her mother implied there was something wrong with her, harsh training from Ozai, her mother disappearing, Zuko's Agni Kai. Azula also has anxiety from her past traumas so, needless to say, Katara's been providing quite a bit of comfort (Azula has a mark mirroring Katara's necklace and Katara has one of a Blue Dragon going down her spine)

Next point - the Crossroads of Destiny never happened. Azula freed Katara after seeing the soulmark. She didn't tell her about it and instead offered a deal. Her freedom in exchange for information on Zuko's location. Azula had the Dai lee lower the walls before trying to capture Zuko, so he had already fled when she goes to capture him.

Azula gets called back to the fire nation by Ozai, leaving War Minister Qin in charge of the city. When she gives her report to Ozai, she left out the info about Katara, which Ozai knew about thanks to Qin's report sent via messenger hawk. He accuses her of trying to hide her failure and also brings up her inability to capture Zuko. He decides to overlook the slight in lieu of her victory but threatens her to never fail him again. Katara saw all of this and her spirit is pulled behind the princess as she returned to her room and proceeded to lose her public composure, falling into a panic attack. That was the first time Katara provided comfort but the relevant part is Ozai's threat.

Later, on the Day of Black Sun, Azula had decided she was going to leave the capital, planning to teach Aang firebending. Her plan was to safely slip into the night after the invasion (she didn't leave during it because she needed to make sure her people were protected). She set up a plan to stall Aang using far more Dai lee than she did in the show. She gave them orders not to capture him however. With the invasion thwarted, she went to give her report to Ozai. She didn't get a chance to speak as he started laying into her about allowing the Avatar to escape. (Katara astral projects in. At this point her body is on Appa as they prepare to flee) When she tried to speak Ozai back handed her yelling/asking when she became so weak. The sudden movement shifted her shirt enough for Ozai the see a hint of blue in her neck. He pulls down her collar revealing the soulmark. The last thing Katara sees is Ozai throw Azula back, causing her to stumble as he calls he a born traitor throwing lightning in the process.

This is a spoiler point. I have Ty lee rescuing Azula with airbending. As the lightning kept from Ozai's fingers, she slammed him with a gust of wind, sending him flying. The lightning, with it's trajectory changed, strikes Azula in the shoulder. When Ozai looks back, the room is empty.

Ty lee, following the spiritual connection through Azula's aura, brings her to the Western Air Temple.

I'm curious to see your take on what happens next and this prompt seemed to fit it quite well. Perhaps you'll have Katara speaking to an unconscious Azula. Or maybe you'll have a couple scenes, one when Azula arrives and another when combustion man attacks, having Azula wake up, stumble out and strike him with lightning leading to Katara freaking out about her condition. There are really a lot of different ways this could go. If you decide to do it, I admit I'm very interested to see what you come up with. 🙂

Sorry this took so long but I really wanted to make sure I got this right, especially after you left all of those wonderful comments on my fic! This AU is absolutely incredible, and I hope I did it justice.

***

Katara awoke with a gasp and found herself lying on a flat stone ledge. Around her were her friends, each looking dejected after their recent failure. But Katara had other things on her mind.

She hadn’t told her friends about the blue dragon that had appeared on her back in Ba Sing Se, or where she really found herself when she “fell asleep.” She wasn’t exactly sure why she hadn’t told them. It was partially because they had so much going on already, but partially because she was afraid they wouldn’t trust Azula.

Azula...the girl had turned out to be so much more than Katara had ever imagined. Far from pure evil, she was a broken teenager with fierce protectiveness deep inside her, and Katara had found that they weren’t as different as she’d once thought. She was her soulmate, as strange as that was. Katara never would have expected it, but she had come to care deeply about her.

She paced the Air Temple in worry, wishing she could do more than just move her spirit into Azula’s mind, that she could help in some way. The last thing she remembered was seeing the girl at the mercy of her father. Katara thought she would know if Azula had died, but her heart still ached with fear.

« Help! » came a cry from far above. Katara leaped to her feet and glanced up into the sky. There was a Fire Nation airship zigzagging towards them. Sokka raised his sword, but Katara held out her hand to stop him. This ship was clearly being flown by someone who didn’t know what they were doing. Something wasn’t right.

The ship suddenly tipped forward, pointing straight down and hurtling towards the bottom of the canyon. At the last moment, Katara saw a strange form leap from the front window towards them, falling just short of the edge of the cliff. Katara raced towards them, but Aang was faster, leaping off the edge with his glider, falling into a dive. A moment later, he was back, and he wasn’t alone. Ty Lee was hanging on to his feet with one hand, and somehow she was helping propel them through the air. Was she...was she airbending? In her other arm was the limp body of Azula. Katara felt her heart leap.

Katara raced towards them as they landed on the side of the ledge. Aang and Ty Lee began a conversation, but Katara barely registered it. She ran straight to Azula and dropped to her knees, instinctively scooping the girl up in her arms. Thank the spirits, she thought. Azula was alive, if weak.

Quickly, Katara drew her water out of her pouch, her hands moving over Azula’s shoulder, feeling the electricity coursing through her. Healing Azula was, in some ways, the easiest thing she’d ever done, because the pattern of her heart and her spirit was so similar to her own.

Azula stirred in Katara’s lap and slowly opened her eyes. As her vision cleared, she groaned, and tears instantly filled her eyes.

« I’m sorry, Katara. »

Katara blinked. « What for? »

Azula sighed, tears still spilling down her cheeks. « I’m sorry that you’ve got me for whatever this soulmate thing is. You’ve done everything for me. You showed me compassion when no one else would, you calmed me down, you were open with me when you never had to be. You made me a better person. And me? All I did was hurt you. I tried to kill your friends, and now my father won’t stop until he kills me too. I’m a failure and a monster. » She looked up, right into Katara’s eyes. « I never meant to hurt you. »

Katara suspected that the girl’s weak physical state was part of what was making her so vulnerable. She’d never seen Azula be so honest, even with herself. It made her heart swell, with sadness for the girl who’d been made to believe she was a monster, when Katara knew that that couldn’t be further from the truth.

She pulled Azula up into a tight hug. She’d never hugged her before, but it felt right. Like they’d been made to put their arms around each other just like that. « Azula, you’re my soulmate. I...I love you. I love you because you’re a person, because you’re passionate and strong and human. You could never be a monster. »

Azula didn’t speak, maybe because she was still too injured, maybe because she had nothing to say. She just wrapped her arms tighter around Katara, and held onto her like she was the most important thing in the world.

A voice came from behind them.

« Wait a second. She’s your WHAT?! »

***

This was a super fun prompt! You’re amazing so I hope it made you happy! This is an amazing idea and I can’t wait to see where you go with it!!!

#ask the theater nerd #mini fics #avatar the last airbender #atla #atla azula #azula atla #azula avatar #azula #katara atla #atla katara #katara avatar #katara #azutara #kazula

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fakeloveaskblog · 3 years

Note

Okay Remy, I am going to resend that previous message I sent you, just so you have it so you can reread it if you perchance wanted to do that. Don't worry, you didn't accidentally delete it, someone else purposefully did. Also, no… you weren't left with the true things, that's just learned cognitive distortions speaking; I'm sure if you asked Jan or Rem if they thought those things about you, they would set you straight right away. I'll also put a silent alarm on your phone that'll go off the next time Remus is near you, though only if you let me. Would that help?

(Tw: Vague implications of past abuse)

Remy: "Set me straight? dfhjd who are you? my dad? Jk jk. I know what you mean. I don't know what cognition distractions or whatever mean 'cause I'm tots an idiot. Like girl the only reason I didn't fail all of highschool was 'cause Virge did just enough of my work for me. You don't gotta tell me what it means btw. I can like look it up. I may not have a brain but I do have google. and uh yeah that helps. thanks. I'm gonna go reread the message now"

A few days later, in the middle of the day, the Rems were sitting on the sidewalk behind a starbucks. There were so many people inside the cafe Remus had nearly gotten a sensory overload while ordering the 4 cupcakes and 2 sandwiches he was smashing down into his slippery gullet. Remy had just taken a black coffee.

The alarm had gone off a while ago but they didn't know how to ask him about it. He looked tense. He sat in an unnatural pose that made it easy to get up and run away. His shoulders were raised and brows just a bit furrowed. Maybe they could-

"Oh!!! Bean bitch do you wanna see what I've been drawing lately???" Remus suddenly exclaimed, crumbs of sandwich flew out of his mouth.

"Sure babe"

He had a big grin on his lips as he took out his sketchbook and flipped through it "Alright so you remember how I did some anatomy practice of you when we watched lesbian vampire movies yes? Well I kinda continued with those"

The first few drawings were realistic sketches of Remy's face from a few different angles but on the next page he'd used his cartoony style to make them into a supernatural being. One drawing showed them with 8 eyes. One with nothing but gorey eye sockets left. One with spiders crawling out of their eyes and mouth.

Remus rocked back and forth slightly "Sorry. Is it weird? I just thought it would be cool if there were some character who looked nromal but was hiding something under their sunglasses. I dunno. Maybe it's stu-"

"No. No. Babe I think it's like tots cool! You made me look like super chic. Blood is totally in right now!!"

He shone up into a bright smile "Thanks!" There was slight blushing on his cheeks.

"I think I would look cool with some teeth in my eyes just saying"

"OOOOh!! Maybe even fangs?!"

"You got it babe!"

He took out a pen and immediately started to sketch it out. Remy was just happy getting to watch him draw.

Until a notification sound came from Remus' phone. He flinched before quickly checking it and immediately setting it down again. He somehow tensed up more.

Remy took a deep breathe. They could do this. They could talk about emotional stuff.

"You good babe? I mean like at any time? 'Cause you look tense like a lot- I uh I'm not like asking why. You don't gotta tell me shit. just like wondering if you're like okay"

"You're one to talk. you walk around looking like you got a stick up your butt 24/7........Do you??....kinky"

"Not yet"

"Me neither"

They both went quiet. Remus fiddled with the ring he still had on his finger. Remy scratched at their neck.

"I...I just feel paranoid....all the time...My intrusive thoughts never shut up about how every interaction I have with other peple could end in the worst ways. Even right now" Remus muttered out after a while.

"I get that. I mean I" They forced a chuckle "Every single time my boyfriend raises his hand, just to like take a plate or something, my thoughts still scream at me that he's gonna hit me. He never does. I know he won't. But my body and thoughts still act like he will. It happens with every person. I've been sure Janus was going to slap me"

Remus looked up at them. His eyes suddenly looked so so desperate "I dosen't get better?" He asked, his voice sounded like it was close to breaking "The paranoia will Always be there?"

"What? No! No no no. of course not babe. I'm just completely fucked up y'know. Like all of my argument with my boyfriend ends with either me having like a panic attack or us fucking" They laughed "Like an overemotional crybaby y'know. But you're- You'll be fine- I'm sure- You're not- I'm just-"

Remus pulled his knees up to his chest and leaned his chin against his knees. "I think you can be fine too" He mumbled out.

"I don't- I- I dunno- It's like it's so clear I was like supposed to die at specific moments...and then I just....didn't....and now I'm just like still here even though I'm not supposed to...I'm just like a rotting corpse dragging everyone else down. I-I don't know how to be fine if my thoughts are still sure I'm going to die every single day"

Remus shrugged "I think rotting corpses are pretty cool"

It was so out of left field Remy let up into a laugh. "Jesus fuck you stupid necrophile" They hid their face in their hands "Babe I'm sorry. I'm tots rambling. I was asking if you were okay, not if you wanted to like hear me be a stupid bitch"

"It's okay. I think being able to be a stupid bitch is kinda cool too. I can't even try to vent without shutting down...I feel kind of like I'm rotting as well"

(It felt like he'd left his skin in his old apartement. To be honest it felt like his entire being had been scrapped out of him just to be left behind)

"Wow babe. Is there something you don't think is cool?"

He thought for a moment "Soap. It's icky and gets everywhere"

"Sound argument"

Remus slowly moved his head to lean it against their shoulder. He could feel their chest rise to take a shuddering breathe and lower again.

"Have you ever thought I would?" Remus quietly asked.

"Yeah" They admitted "I know you wouldn't"

"I know. I've been paranoid about you too"

"It's okay"

"I've willingly been to your apartment. That's a lot" Remus pointed out "I haven't been to Jan's apartement"

"We should break into his place in the middle of the night" Remy replied in a fake serious tone.

"Oh yeah. It's a must. How else do you know you're friends? We should bring matching friendship knives as well!"

Remy chuckled "You can design them. And my teeth eye design! That's like tots important! My true destiny is to be a monster milf y'know. The lesbians would love me"

"Ayyay captain! I'll get right on that! Remus: milf maker"

They let out an audible keysmash "Babe that's my porn name now. Milf maker! Cougar collector! Homewrecker hoobyist!!"

"Yay grammar!!"

Remy got up and held out their hand to help him up. "Aight babe, I better head home. And you better get yourself a hot bath. You sure are smelling like a rotten corpse"

"Oh don't worry. I have a demon who sends me gifts, including bathing gifts"

Remy blinked at him "Huh" They moved their arm around his shoulders and started to walk towards the busstop "Tell me all about it. Is it a hot demon?"

#this got longer than it was supposed to #its close to 4 am #thanks for the ask tho #ask #remy sanders #remus sanders #sanders sides #resleep #rem^2

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effymaybe · 4 years

Text

Even when the seasons change (I don’t)

Jenlisa AU -

Jennie doesn’t like nightclubs. She goes, anyway. Maybe there’s something there for her.

Electropop music is blasting against her eardrums, vibrant neon lights are blinding her narrowed stare, her feet are hurting due to the high heels she chose -much to Jisoo’s amusement- to go to the club she was going to have oh so much fun at, and Jennie is wondering for the fifth time in the night what the hell she was thinking about.

She enjoys going out with her friends, truly, but sweaty people sliding against her body in an attempt to keep up with their friends – and sometimes with not so innocent purposes – is not exactly her favorite scenario. She prefers slightly expensive bars, with dark wooden furniture and elaborated drinks she can actually take her time choosing. And definitely places that are not so overpopulated that it’s hard to find your way to the exit and then a taxi to go back home when your best friend meets the love of her life. Which is kind of her situation right now. She doesn’t actually know if the angelical-looking blonde Jisoo spotted leaning over the bar asking for a drink is the brunette’s soulmate, but judging for the expression of astonishment her friend wore for ten long minutes before growing the guts to approach the girl, Jennie guesses it might as well be the case. Leave it to Jisoo to find love in a club.

Jennie sighs as she stares down to the orange-y substance in her plastic glass. She sips it carefully, not as disgusted by the cheap drink as she thought she would be, and her mood almost lifts up a bit until she catches the sight of a guy that might as well double her age staring at her with a lascivious expression. She’s about to turn around and actually kind of run, but somebody grasps her arm tightly, making Jennie gasp.

“Don’t go. Meet Chaeyoung!”, Jisoo half-screams over the music.

Jennie doesn’t even think about it. She’d rather be a third wheel than a disgusting man’s next pray.

She doesn’t have much choice, anyway, because her friend is already dragging her to where the beautiful blonde is sitting, a pinkish drink in her hand.

The girl has the grace to smile at Jennie actually, without seeming annoyed at all, and the brunette has the flash thought that if Jisoo were to actually date this girl, she would approve without major questioning.

“Chae”, Jisoo begins, her mouth curling upwards in a whipped smile, “this is Jennie, my best friend. Jennie, this is Chae”.

“I don’t have any titles”, the blonde comments humorously, gifting Jennie a grin as she holds her hand for the brunette to shake, “for now, at least”.

Jennie smiles back, turning to see her friend blushing deeply with sparkly hope shinning in her coffee eyes.

“You better not be going for the ‘best friend’ one because that’d be awkward…probably for all of us”.

Chaeyoung laughs openly now, and she stops only to smirk at Jisoo.

“Yeah… not the title I had in mind”.

“That’s a relief”, the shortest brunette flirts back, and Jennie is torn between having a bit of fun at expenses of Jisoo’s blush or leaving the girls at their thing so she can fight for a taxi and wrap herself in favorite blankets.

When Jisoo and her not-best-friend-to-be stare at each other suggestively for a long, tense moment, Jennie makes her decision.

“Hey, I’m gonna leave you to-”

“No!”, her friend interrupts, snapping out of her spell, “Chaeyoung is not alone”.

Jennie looks at her friend with an eyebrow dangerously raised.

“What?”

“She means that I came with my friend, Lisa”.

The tallest brunette parts her lips in mid-surprise before shaking her head.

Come on, there is no way…

“I think it’s Lisa, Lisa, you know?”

“What? There is no way”.

“Lisa, my best friend Lisa, went to Kyungnam”.

“Our high school”, Jisoo states proudly.

“There were, like, at least other fifty Lisas at our school”.

“Yeah? How many were ridiculously tall, had Barbie eyes and an annoying laugh?”

Jennie frowns unconsciously at the vague insult and crosses her arms with the hint of a stubborn pout drawing on her lips.

“Also, she has mentioned you”, Chaeyoung comments, her voice careless, but her eyes boring into Jennie’s.

“What?”

“I mean; she has mentioned a Jennie… a few times. Maybe more. The way she described you was… extravagant to me, but now that I see you I definitely get it”.

Jisoo is full smirking right now, her eyes singing a loud ‘Itoldyou’ tune that Jennie despises, but she’s too busy trying to keep her thoughts at bay to search for a creative insult.

“Look, I just don’t think… It’s much of a casua-”

“Jennie?”

Jennie shuts her mouth as her eyes widen in sincere surprise. Her spine tenses and it actually takes her a few moments to get over her skepticism because it can’t be.

She turns around hesitatingly, slowly, taking the time to compose herself before facing the girl that broke her heart seven years ago.

And there she is.

Lisa. High school beauty, Barbie-eyes, model-tall Lisa, looking as young as ever, now with her chocolate hair caressing past her mid-back. She’s wearing skinny jeans and a crop top that allows her to show off her still prominent abs, framed in a leather jacket that makes her look just the right amount of dangerous.

She looks so alluring, so Lisa, that Jennie can almost hear her whispering sweet things in a bathroom stall. Sweet lies. All that time ago.

“Lisa?”, Jennie tries, as if she doesn’t know, but the tallest girl does not answer for a moment, her mouth still open, her eyes running up and down staring at her figure as if desperately trying to look for something.

So she waits until Lisa’s eyes meet hers, and the girl seems to finally snap out of her stupor.

“I- wow, Jennie, you are… here”.

The brunette smiles softly, finding Lisa’s amazement a bit puzzling.

“Yeah… not my scenario, I guess?”

The tallest girl denies with her head quickly as she takes a step forward.

“No, no, I mean, you look amazing, perfectly here, but”, she stumbles with her words, “I’m surprised. It’s been many years”, she finishes, and Jennie shifts in her place.

“Yeah, you are right. I’m quite surprised as well”.

Lisa doesn’t say anything else, just stares at her with burning gaze that looked as if it wanted to tell a whole story by itself. They just stay like that for a moment before the sound of fake coughs make her turn around, slowly enough to catch the tallest girl’s face transform from amazement, to annoyance, to renewed surprise.

“What? Chae?”, Lisa asks, her eyes falling into her best friend’s figure and then moving to look at Jisoo, both sitting at the bar with twin amused expressions.

Jennie doesn’t fail to notice the way Chaeyoung’s hand caresses Jisoo’s thigh absentmindedly.

“Jisoo and I just met”, the pinkish-blonde explains, “and she happens to be Jennie’s best friend”.

“Yeah… I remember”, Lisa murmurs, her brain clearly still trying to catch up with all the information.

“It’s all kind of crazy, right?”, Jisoo adds now, a smirk adorning her expression.

“Destiny”, Chaeyoung agrees, and her hand inches closer to Jisoo’s upper thigh, now less casually and more purposefully.

The shortest brunette coughs, bushing deeply, but Lisa and Jennie are too occupied taking into each other to realize.

The tallest blonde stands up from her booth suddenly, taking Jisoo’s hand and prompting her to follow her.

“We are going to the bathroom”, she announces, and the other two girls stare at them with surprise.

“Really, the bathroom?”, Lisa asks, her head tilted to look at her best friend with slight disapproval.

Chaeyoung merely shrugs, smiling almost predatory, “You do what you have to do”.

Jisoo is still blushing, probably more prominently than before, but she’s visibly excited as she follows the blonde in a rush to the bathroom stalls.

Jennie and Lisa are left alone, surrounded by a sea of people, hyperaware of their situation.

“Uh, so-”

“Want a drink?”, Lisa asks suddenly.

Jennie stares at her with hesitance plain in her face.

“I mean I can buy you a drink and we can talk – catch up… If you want”.

The brunette finds herself nodding. She really hopes her chat with Lisa will be worth the five hours she spent choosing for her outfit.

“What do you want?”

“Whatever you are having is fine”, she answers, and offers a grateful smile, putting her now empty cup on top of the bar.

Lisa smiles back, clearly relieved, the tension of her shoulders almost gone completely.

Jennie is left then, with some minutes to think.

She kind of feels that she should leave.

Her thing with Lisa didn’t las for that long, really, and it happened many years ago. It shouldn’t have been an irreplaceable, unforgettable event of her life.

But it was.

It was because she loved. She loved truly for the first time, with passion, and dizziness, and heart clenches, and tears, and whispered words. She loved deeply, from the bottom of her heart to the extension of her body. She opened herself, body, mind, and soul, wrapped herself up in the prettiest smiles she could muster and handed herself to Lisa, to her deep voice, to her delicate hands.

And she was hurt just as strongly as she loved.

“Jen?”

“Oh, sorry, thanks”.

The brunette takes the glass the tallest girl is offering and sips on the red liquid inside of the cup. It tastes good, and Jennie grins slightly.

Lisa seems extremely pleased with her reaction, a big smile extending on her face.

“You haven’t changed much. Just managed to get even prettier”, the youngest states, and Jennie tries not to think about the compliment too much.

“You look the same as well. Maybe even taller”.

Lisa laughs openly, and Jennie smiles into her glass.

“It’s the heels. So, how is it going for you?”

“Well. I’m an interior designer”.

“One of the best in the city, I’ve been told”.

Jennie raises her eyebrows in sincere surprise.

“You’ve been asking?”

Lisa swallows.

“Everywhere”.

Jennie takes a deep breath and a big sip of her drink.

Come on, she must be doing… her thing.

“I’m sure they are exaggerating. How about you? How are you doing?”

“I opened my own dance studio like two months ago”.

The brunette is struck with sincere happiness, her face breaking out in an excited smile.

“Really? Lisa, that’s great! I thought you were studying to become a lawyer, though”.

“I was”, Lisa explains, her eyes softening in a way Jennie is surprised to realize she has never seen before, “but I decided to follow my heart”.

“I so happy for you, then”.

“I am happy too… It’s something I should have been done a lot of time ago.”

“Choosing dancing?” Jennie asks.

“Following my heart”.

Lisa’s coffee eyes burn on Jennie’s, her expression tinted with longing. The brunette becomes a bit restless, but she tries to shake off the warmth that threatens with filling her chest.

It’s not like that.

“Well, I’m glad you did. My humble opinion is; you were born to dance”.

Lisa chuckles a bit, her cheeks slightly flushed.

“You’ve always been supportive. Thank you for that. You should pass by some day! Your own dancing skills are impressive as well”.

“Ah, you are just saying it”, the brunette teases, “I haven’t danced since high school”.

“What? Seriously?”

Lisa looks genuinely surprised, and Jennie can’t help but to duck her head a bit to hide a slight blush.

“Well, it’s not like I had a lot of time to do so… also, where I am supposed to dance?”

“I don’t know… it would be great if you’d known someone who… you know… owns a dance studio”.

The brunette chuckles airily and takes a sip of her drink.

“You would have to work very hard with me”.

Lisa gasps.

“That’s totally not true! You are a great dancer!”

The brunette raises her eyebrows playfully.

“Really”.

“Yeah! Besides, you would immediately be my favorite student”.

“And what’s the benefit of being your favorite?”.

Lisa pauses for a second.

“Uh…golden star stickers?”

Jennie laughs again, this time more freely, and Lisa can’t help but to join in, the feeling of achievement spreading through her body. She drinks a bit of the content of her plastic glass but immediately ditches it. She wants to be fully aware of the moment.

“I guess I have to start polishing apples, then”.

The brunette is almost startled when she looks at Lisa, the tallest girl’s eyes exuding a warmth that she can almost feel wrapping up her soul. The softness of her features reflect a fondness that can’t be there, just can’t be there.

“Just bring yourself”.

Jennie stares at the tallest girl as her eyes drift to her side briefly, a somewhat somber expression making itself apparent in her doe eyes, only to set her gaze in the brunette once again.

She shifts, trying to anchor herself, looking for any topic to deflect her mind from the feeling that is blooming in her chest.

“So… how-”

“I miss you, Jennie”.

Jennie stares back at Lisa, her eyes wide.

“What?”

“I’m sorry. I won’t interrupt again. I just wanted you to know. It was driving me crazy”.

And Jennie sees with astonishment the way the other girl’s eyes begin to become watery.

“Lisa…”

The girl stares at her side once again, somewhat annoyed, but turns to Jennie once again.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you this for years. I just want you to know, Jen”, she moves closer, their faces just some inches apart, “you are the best thing that ever happened to me and I miss you. I miss you so much”.

“Lisa, I… don’t know what to say”.

“You don’t have to say anything. I know I fucked up in ways… Oh, just-”.

And Lisa leaves her like that, rushing past her, her heartbeat hammering against her chest, a blush spreading from her cheeks to her neck, and Jennie has no idea what could possibly had made the tallest girl disappear from her personal space in such a touching moment, so she turns her head to follow the brunette’s figure. She sees Lisa’s back facing her, the girl talking to a mildly-good-looking guy that reminds Jennie of the jocks Lisa dated in high school - the jocks she chose to cheat on her with in high school – and feels tears rushing to her eyes.

Again.

Fucking again.

Jock guy smiles at Lisa crookedly, leans in, and Jennie can’t see it anymore. She runs out of the bar, sliding through heated bodies, her cheeks wet with hot tears as her body burns with shame and regret.

She makes it out of the place quite quickly, but doesn’t stop until she reaches a half-illuminated alley, not fond of the idea of tons of people watching her cry for her high school girlfriend. Once again.

She covers her face with her hands as she thinks how could she have been so stupid, so naïve to think that the girl who had broken her heart so many times would even think about-

“Jennie, please!”

The brunette hugs herself as Lisa’s voice reaches her ears.

“Jen, where are you? Please, talk to me”, the tallest girl’s voice sounds completely shattered, but Jennie remains quiet.

Steps sound closer, and the dark brunette knows that Lisa is about to find her.

“Jen- oh, you are here”.

Lisa rushes to her as if she just found something invaluable that she had lost many years ago.

“Leave”.

“Jennie, let me explain”.

“What do you have to explain? That you were telling me oh how much you missed me, but decided to ditch me for some half-decent-looking guy?”

“No! I…”

“I can’t believe I was so fucking stupid, honestly, it’s clear that you don’t care”.

“Jennie, it’s not like that!”

“But you never did, did you? I knew this, I know this and yet you manage to-”

“He wasn’t trying to get me; he was trying to get you!”

The wind blows between the girls as a beat of silence makes itself present.

“What?”

“He was staring at you, and then… gesturing, and then he called his friends and I was trying to tell you everything I never told you, and he was there being a fucking prick. And I felt this rush… this need to protect you like I never did, and take you home, and cuddle watching all those Disney movies you love, and attempt to cook all the waffles you can eat, and just do anything on my hands and beyond to show you that I love you so fucking much. I’ve been in love with you for so many years and I never could… I never had the damn guts to show you how much whipped for you I am, how easily you can destroy my heart. Fuck! Fuck that fucking guy. I love you so much”.

Lisa is painting now, each of the words she uttered echoing in Jennie’s mind almost as if foreign.

When the tallest girl beings to cry - to sob loudly between her hands – shattered in a way that nobody has witnessed before, Jennie snaps out of it. She takes a step closer and lets her right hand press against a wet cheek.

Lisa doesn’t hesitate to put her own hand over Jennie’s, desperately trying to anchor herself.

“It has always been you, Jen. I know I fucked up many times, and I understand if you can’t forgive me, but”, Lisa’s voice breaks, “I want you to know. All those boys meant nothing. I cried every time I kissed somebody that wasn’t you. Back when we were together… and also after we broke up. I just wanted you. And they weren’t you.”.

Jennie feels her own tears running down her cheeks.

“Then why, Lisa?”

“Because of my parents. I wanted to make them proud, keep the whole ‘Manoban’ name squeaky clean and all. And they wanted me to get straight As, to be popular, to marry a rich man, to become a lawyer…fuck, they even thought about what kind of dog I should have… a damn poodle”.

Jennie lets out a watery snort.

“I don’t think that you look like the poodle type”.

Lisa smiles brokenly, and Jennie’s heart aches.

Back to the time when they were together, Lisa always wanted her parents to be proud. It is true. Jennie saw her spending days and days studying for tests, late at night, early in the morning, the dark spots under her eyes becoming darker and darker each passing day. She saw her befriending all that trashy people not even Lisa herself could stand for more than ten minutes. She saw her giving up dancing. She saw her losing the stars in her eyes, losing her bright smile, losing her cheerful aura. She saw her crying, sobbing, breaking herself again and again just to earn a pat on her back.

“What do you want, Lisa?”

Jennie caresses the tallest girl’s cheek softly.

“I want the two things I’ve ever loved. Dancing…and you”.

The shortest brunette stares at Lisa for a moment.

“It’s fine if I can’t have you. I know what I did is not worth forgiving. I just… want you in my life. As a friend. Or anything you’d like. I just want to know if you could…at least tolerate me”.

“Lisa, you broke my heart, almost beyond repair”.

Trusting is hard.

The tallest girl lets her head hang low in shame.

“I know”.

Jennie takes a step closer, now both girls’ bodies almost touching.

“So you better do a great job fixing it”.

But I can do it again… just one more time.

Lisa’s head snaps quickly, her eyes widening as she reaches out with her hand to grasp Jennie’s arms gently.

“Jen?”

“I love you back, Lis. I… this is not rational. I’m terrified, but I don’t know what else to do. I just can’t help it. I love you back. So much, I think we can move on. I think we can work it out”.

Lisa gasps, and lets her arms wrap themselves around Jennie’s waist, unsure about the shortest girl’s reaction. When she simply smiles and puts her hands on her shoulders, Lisa launches her body forward to hug her lover tightly.

“I’ll make it worth it, Jen. I promise. I love you so, so much. Thank you. Thank you”.

Jennie simply hums in content against the girl’s collarbone, her thoughts a bit dizzy due half to the contact and half to the sweet memories triggered by Lisa’s perfume.

When Lisa pulls slightly away, their faces are left some inches away.

“We would have to… get to know each other again”, Jennie whispers, and the tallest girl is shedding tears once again, staring at her with the heat of absolute devotion.

“Go on a date with me?”, she blurts unsure, and the vulnerable look in her eyes almost makes Jennie melt.

“Mmh… I don’t know”, the shortest girl plays.

“We can do anything you want”.

Jennie laughs.

“I want you to have fun as well”.

“We’ve always had fun together. I’m sure now won’t be different”.

“You know how to charm a girl. It’s a deal”.

Lisa smiles beamingly and squeezes Jennie’s waist a bit.

“Thank you”.

“Thank you? So I don’t get a kiss?”

The tallest girl looks surprised, but not less excited.

“You want one?”

“A few, actually.”.

Lisa inches closer, not keen on losing an opportunity as such.

“To make up for the time lost?”, she asks.

“Yes. And to take profit from the time we have now”.

And Lisa lets her lips melt against Jennie. They dance in a way they’ve learnt out of practice, they’ve always gotten out of pure chemistry. Both girls feel their breaths leaving their lungs as their minds try to catch up with the feeling of finally, finally being where they wanted to be. When Lisa tilts her head a bit to find another blissful angle, Jennie lets out a soft mewl, and the tallest girl has the faint thought that she would do absolutely anything for her lover’s happiness.

No more fear.

“I’ve been looking for you for years. Everywhere. I searched for you at the better spots to watch the sunsets. I visited all the dog cafés with dark wooden furniture in town. I went out every hill around the city to see if I could find you gazing at the stars”.

Lisa’s confession is murmured against Jennie’s lips.

“Out of all the places possible, I didn’t expect to find you here”.

Jennie pulls slightly away to stare at Lisa’s eyes, her own hands entangling in long, chocolate hair.

“And yet, you found me”.

“I found you”.

Lisa lets her lips press against Jennie’s mouth, the bridge of her nose, her forehead, her left cheek.

“And I’m not letting you go. Never”, a pause, “unless you want me to”.

Jennie smiles as she hugs Lisa again, entertaining again her thought of going home and wrapping herself in her softest blankets.

This time, with somebody just by her side.

She does not want Lisa to let her go.

#blackpink #blackpink scenarios #blackpink imagines #jenlisa #jenlisa scenarios

105 notes · View notes

thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

For the mermay fills: 10 & 22 with indruck? 👁️👁️ (nsfw or sfw)

I went with ten (tattoos/piercings) first, since 22 will be part of another fill. I went with NSFW, and wrote this as a follow-up to my “Heat” fill from last year.

Indrid swims up and down the hall outside the palace infirmary. He’s far from the only one doing so; the reef serpent wreaked havoc through the city before the Chosen mers defeated it. He’s not even the only person waiting to see if Duck is alright.

“Have courage, Prince Indrid Cold!” Minerva, sporting a new gash on her face, clamps her hand down on his shoulder in what he knows is her version of a comforting gesture, “Duck Newton is the strongest Chosen after myself. He will pull through.” The blue of her tentacles flashes with pride.

“Besides” Ned, the castle mer who has, against all odds, become Indrid’s closest advisor, flicks his orange and silver tail “you informed us yourself there were no futures where our friend passed away.”

“I know.” Indrid takes a breath, intending to explain the tangled net of anxiety in his chest. All that comes out is another, “I know.”

Behind him, he hears two nurses murmuring that they’d better bump the prince’s consort up in the line, but before he can turn and order them not to, they’re gone.

It happened like this: Duck kept his word, began courting Indrid properly once the seer's heat passed, and Indrid reciprocated without hesitation. This caused a near scandal; yes, Duck was a Chosen and thus noble to a degree, but Indrid was a prince, and a prized one. Indrid pointed out that he rather liked someone who cared about his welfare, not just his happiness, and if they had an issue with that, that was their problem not his. And so the comments about Duck moved from to his face to behind his back, which he counted as good enough.

Duck found the whole consort business stressful, given that he’d forgone his Chosen destiny in favor of tending the kelp forests specifically to avoid that kind of fanfare and politics. Thus, they steered clear of the castle when they could, spending their time with their friends in town or in the sunken ship Duck called home.

When the serpent attacked their town, Duck discovered the limits of his rejecting his destiny, and joined the fight to save his home. Indrid is proud of him, even if his stomach churns whenever the futures shift and he has to see whether the strings of fate weave a grimmer outcome for the man he loves.

It’s well after moonrise when he’s allowed to see Duck. The other mer is half-asleep in his infirmary bed, a massive bandage on his side and one of his tentacles bitten down to a nub

“Hey darlin” The sleepy drawl is accompanied by the mer opening his arms.

Indrid carefully settles against the non-bandaged side of him, rests his head on his chest with a relieved sigh, “I’m so glad you’re alright. Or, well, mostly alright. You’re in one piece. Sort of. I, I’m not conveying this well.”

“I ain’t dead, given how today went I’m callin that a win. Besides, this’ll grow back in no time.” He wiggles the stub of his tentacle.

“Mmm” Indrid cuddles closer, purring softly as intact tentacles pet his tail and back.

“When’d you last sleep?” Duck murmurs, kissing the top of his head.

“Not since the attack started.”

“Seems to me we’re both due for some shut eye.”

Indrid nods, right before falling asleep and dreaming of strong tentacles and stronger arms.

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

“Guess I gotta get a tattoo now.” Duck studies the scar on his side, his bandages having permanently come off this morning.

“I suppose so. Though, if you’ve avoided so many other parts of Chosen protocol, I fail to see how skipping this one will make things worse.”

“I dunno, I kinda like this one. Used to strike me as macho bullshit, showin off how many battle scars you got. But now...makes me think of how when the forest gets trashed by a storm, or a huge-ass monster tearin through it, there’s a certain kind of pleasure that comes from watchin it heal, watchin it go from desolated and scarred to somethin beautiful.”

Indrid loves when he talks like this, smiles dreamily as Duck adds, “you could even design it for me. I’d like that.”

“I could do you one better; I could apply it as well. And since I foresee you asking yes, I do have the training to do so. Royal mers learn to tattoo themselves, due to rules about being touched by lower ranking mers that I judiciously ignored.”

“No kiddin” Duck grins, two tentacles coiling around Indrid’s tail, teasing the red stripe, “now that I’m healed up, gonna do all kinds of things to you to remind you why you ignored those rules in the first place.”

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

“Are you nervous?” Indrid finishes setting out his tools on the pristine table in his pristine chambers. He tends towards messiness in his habits, but when it comes to Duck’s health he’s cleaned the whole place by hand and with magic. Twice.

“Nah, I know I’m in good hands.” Even as he says this, a burst of anxious yellow moves up his tentacles.

“All the same, if you need a break at any point, let me know. And if the scar starts stinging or throbbing, tell me at once.”

“You got it, darlin.”

Indrid takes his time using a spell to transfer his design to Duck’s skin, double checking the placement before picking up the charm-powered tattoo gun. When finished, the tattoo will be a small forest of kelp, with the scar making up most of the body of the serpent swimming between the leaves. Six shades of green ink, three shades of brown, one shade of copper, and black for outlining, lay on the table, Indrid dipping into each of them in turn as he brings the image to life.

“Love watchin you draw” Duck sighs, then shudders, “sorry, gettin a hell of an adrenaline rush from the pain.”

“Just try to stay still. If you twitch or fidget too much, it will cause mistakes on my end.”

“Do my best.”

“If you don’t, I’ll just have to tie you down.” Indrid says breezily. The tentacle near him pulses purple. Desire. Interesting.

He’s most of the way through when Duck’s arms shake, his tentacles following suit, occasionally bumping Indrid’s tail or sides.. They’re small movements, all things considered, but in most futures they mean he has to re-do the entire last third of the tattoo.

“Nono, this won’t do at all.” He set’s the gun down, flitting across to the closet near his bed. A sea-grass rope waits, right where he left. There hasn’t been much call for it, Duck capable of restraining Indrid in a variety of ways all on his own.

“Now” Indrid bites off several lengths of rope, “since you cannot be still, I am going to tie your tentacles down. You’re to keep your hands where I put them, or I will tie them as well.”

Ducks tentacles are now deep, unflinching purple, “Holy fuck, ‘drid.”

“Just because I am generally submissive around you does not mean I’m not capable of giving orders.” Indrid smirks, tying the first two tentacles down.

“I, I know, it’s just you, uh, you, you never talk like this.” Duck’s eyes are wide, excited even, as they track Indrid’s circular path.

“I suppose you don’t hear me during advisory meetings, so this is a new experience for you.”

“Maybe I oughta start sittin in on ‘em.” Duck whines when Indrid kisses his cheek but refuses to stick around long enough for Duck to kiss him back.

“Perhaps. Right now, however, you are to sit still until I’m done with you. Understood?”

“Uh huh.” Duck smiles, docile and sweet, and Indrid wonders why they never thought to try this before.

He returns to his work, inking colors into Duck’s skin, enjoying the intimacy of learning the familiar curves of his ribs and belly in new ways. At one point he notices Duck tensing and almost moving his hand, but the other mer catches it in time.

“Good boy.” Indrid purrs.

“Fuck.” Duck tips his head back, “how much longer?”

“About ten minutes more, I’d say. You can manage it my sweet, you’re doing so well already.”

Duck whimpers low in his throat as Indrid goes back to his work. Exactly ten minutes later, he puts a protective covering atop the tattoo and pushes his supply table aside.

“There, all done. You did wonderfully.”

“Great, now untie me.” Duck wriggles hopefully.

Indrid raises an eyebrow, “In a hurry, sweet one?”

“Yes” Duck holds out a hand, trying to coax him closer.

“Whatever for?” He replies airly, as if can’t sense the arousal pouring off his boyfriend in waves, “and stop moving so much, you’ll aggravate the tattoo.”

“‘Drid please” The folds between his front-most tentacles ripple as his cock starts emerging.

“Oh I see.” Indrid swims so they’re face to face, pinning Duck’s hands to the back of the chair as he leans into his space, “you want me to fuck you, is that it? You’re willing to risk pain to new scar tissue, even marring my lovingly done work, just to have your cock played with?”

“Holyfuckinshit, why is this the first time you’re talkin like this?” Duck bites his lip with a little moan as Indrid rubs their cheeks together.

“I don’t know. In hindsight, it seems so obvious; you’re my powerful, competent mate, you always take such wonderful care of me, but you want someone to take away that power from time to time, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” Duck tips his chin up, hoping for a kiss, but Indrid floats backwards out of reach,

“What shall we do about that, hmm?” He swims a slow, tight circle around the other mer, staying just out of arms reach, “shall I keep you bound until the urge passes? No, that’s far too cruel for my beloved. Perhaps I should make you see to it yourself? But no, you might accidentally hurt yourself. Hmmm, what to do, what to do….” He taps his chin as Duck growls and whines, tentacles now straining against their bonds. Indrid knows Duck could snap them easily if he needed or wanted to. Which means he wants to remain at Indrid’s mercy for the time being.

“You do look wonderful like this. I didn’t even plan it this way, but how I tied you shows off most of your assets.” Indrid rubs the upper front of his tail, “now you’re getting me all wound up.”

“Good” Duck growls, tentacles swirling purple and pink.

“Yes it, ahnnn, it is rather good, isn’t it. After all, I have the perfect solution to the situation sitting right in front of me.”

Duck’s cock is fully out, it and the slit beneath it tempting Indrid to abandon his plan. He swims in front of the other mer, eyeing his cock approvingly, “yes, you’ll do quite nicely.”

“Thank fuckOHfummmhp” Duck’s surprised moan turns to a laugh as Indrid, having zipped upwards in a flash, finishes shoving his cock into Duck’s mouth.”

“Yesss, ohyes, goodness I love doing this, you look so charming with your lips around my cock. Ah, ah, don’t you dare move your hands from the chair. This” he gives a sharper thrust, “is all I need to be satisfied.”

Duck moans louder, which Indrid takes as his cue to hold his head in place and fuck into his mouth with abandon.

“That’s it love, that’s it, oh I ought to have done this months ago, tied my big strong hero down and reminded him of hisAHAnnn, his duties as consort.”

“‘M ot a ero.”

Indrid looks imperiously down his nose at him, “It’s rude to contradict someone when they’re giving you what you want, my sweet. I guess I’ll need to render you further incapable of speech” He concentrates and extends his cock, a mechanism meant to ensure he can reproduce with mers of any size or genital configuration but that he uses only to make Duck groan with pleasure.

His orgasm is already racing towards him, as it always does when Duck lets him (or orders him to) fuck his throat, and he shuts his eyes, concentrating on tight heat and the happy, muffled grunts floating up to his ears.

“Just a little, nnnn, little more my sweet, let your prince ravish your throat a little longerOH, ohgods, Duck, sweetheart, yes.” He cums, a shudder rippling down his tail, and doesn’t pull out until Duck struggles to swallow the rest down. The other mer is still collecting his breath when Indrid wiggles down and pushes his tongue into his slit.

“Fuck!” Duck jerks hard enough to move the chair an inch to the right.

Indrid snickers, wraps both hands around Duck’s cock, stroking it hurriedly as he raises his head, “What do you say, beloved?”

“Th-thank you?” Duck cracks an eye open. Indrid nods, then dips his head back down to to suck and tongue at the senstive skin.

“Fuckme, ohfuck, ‘Drid, darlin’, this is fuckin incredible, gonna, gonna be such a good consort, do whatever you say, fuck you five fuckin times a day, just, FUCK, just promise we can do this again.”

“Muv ourse.” Indrid thrusts his tongue deeper, twisting his hands on his upstrokes. The fourth time he does, he pops up to suck on the head just in time to catch Duck’s cum in his mouth. He takes his time, sucking him clean with happy trills and moans while his boyfriend utters curses that would make sailors blush.

He pulls away to wipe his mouth, intending to start untying Duck. The futures show that won’t be necessary,

Snapsnapsnapsnap

The ropes break in pairs, rapid fire, and then Duck is on him, enveloping him in arms, tentacles, and love. He tries to press closer, then winces back, “owfuck, you’re right, the tattoo is real sore.”

“It’ll be that way for a few days. Your Chosen strength will help, but you should still rest when possible.”

“I dunno” Duck kisses him sweetly, then nips his lower lip, “you know how stubborn I can be. Might have to uh, tie me to the bed.”

“That, my love, can be arranged.”

#indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #mermay fills #mermay

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