I’ve lived for over two thousand years and not all of them were good.
There’s a woman with a smoky, timeless voice crooning out a smoldering rendition of ‘It Had to Be You’ when he finally deigns to acknowledge the fact that there’s karaoke going on at all.
He’d been completely avoiding it up until that point, talking about everything but the people standing only a few yards away, singing their little hearts out.
She thought she’d had him a little earlier, when she’d sung along with the bloke doing ‘Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick,’ but he’d only grinned for a second, and then changed the subject to the weather.
Now though, he’s watching the woman with rapt attention, slowly swaying his head along to the music with a dorky (endearing) little smile on his face.
“Dare you to sing,” she says, pitching her voice low and slow to match the song.
Here we are with our second post in the Nine/Rose tattoo shop AU! If you don’t want to get inked, savior “fic tennis”!
To catch up: Part 1
“What, you’re not a sushi kind of girl?” he ribs. She pulls out a fresh sheet of drawing paper. It’s translucent, and she lines it up atop the full sketch, preparing to trace an outline.
“Oh, I’ll try anything at least once,” Rose replies, sharpening her black drawing pencils with a crisp twisting motion and flicking the shavings onto the chipped linoleum floor. “I’ve just never been to a Japanese restaurant. Mum likes a curry now and then, but that’s about as exotic I ever got, growing up.”
allrightfine and I are at it again — another round of fic tennis, this one a Nine/Rose au of some sort tbd by Jamie. If you want to skip the fic-writing shenanigans, savior “fic tennis”! This post is the serve — i.e., the prompt that Jamie will work off of for this match:
It’s the third time the bloke’s been in front of the shop in as many days.
If it were later, she’d think he was a drunk, and if he were younger, she’d think he was a dealer, but it’s been the middle of the day every time, the line he paces is always straight as an arrow, and he seems to actively avoid other people, which is a terrible tactic for someone trying to sell drugs.
A couple of times he’s gotten close to the door, his hand lifting for the handle only to fall back down as he continues his circuit, wearing a groove in the pavement.
She’s seen hesitancy before, but not quite on this scale, and not on someone she can’t get a read on. She can’t even see his skin — he’s got on a thick leather jacket and trousers — so there’s no clues, no assumptions, nothing to do for it but ask.
The bell above the door tinkles when she opens it, and she squints at the sunlight that suddenly seems a lot brighter without the tinted windows of the shop in the way.
“Hey,” she says, and the man looks at her. “Do you want a tattoo or not?”
Whatever nightmares the future holds are dreams compared to what is behind me.
"always brave, always funny”
"more scared than she lets on”
You’re a time traveller now, Amy. It changes the way you see the universe - forever.
I Will Always Find You ~ Need a Hand, Love? ~ He Smells Like Forest
Once Upon a Time inspired paintings of the shippy ships I ship. The rest can be found here. I hope to get one more pair done at some stage, it’s already in my head :)