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Its easy to fall in love with Ripley, even when she’s a bear.
The first moment you see her is when she comes thundering down the alley, spittle flying from her giant maw, silver eyes sharper than blades swallowed by the darkness of rage in her eyes. The strangers harassing you never stood a chance against a LITERAL bear… neither did you.
But the bear doesn’t attack. She trembles, frightened and fragile the moment that the scum got up and ran, screaming in fright. A beauty and the beast moment, where soulful silver eyes seemed to implore for sanctuary, pleading that you’d find your courage. Terrified that you may not. How can you do anything but rush to her aid? You’ve never studied bears, but you can recognize a panic attack. Somehow, this bear is having an utterly human panic attack right in front of you.
You stay with her, somehow you know it’s a her, and cradle her head. You simply hold her, stroking behind her ears, down her cheeks, as she sobs. You’d never experienced a moment of utter inexplicableness before, not until you can suddenly hear words to every expression across that Bear’s face. Words you can’t hear, could never repeat but they fill your entire being. Inexplicable understanding… followed by the inability to explain to a group of sexy strangers why you’re in an alleyway, cradling an unconscious Bear’s head in your lap, hoodie thrown over massive shoulders as if it might be worth more than a napkin.
The hoodie you stupidly forget. You’re too entranced by the beauty. Not of the fiery, sweet seeming blonde trading you a Backstage Pass to some Sin Circus, curtesy of Envy. No, it’s the bear who has you enraptured, concerned. It’s the bear who draws you to the show. A show you barely can barely wait to finish so that you can ask more about the bear.
Ripley. You learn the Bear, no, HER name was Ripley. Why a bear’s name tasted sweeter than blackcurrents to whisper should be more intimidating. Should raise more questions. You’re too lost in an interspecies communication, in soulful silver eyes that rended your heart open, left you rendered by a simple truth. You are playing Belle to a bear, yet you can’t shake the feeling you’re the Beast in this tale.
The fairytale becomes deeper. Men keep chasing you, feral and illogical, glimpses of rotten veins and horrors. They don’t want your money. They don’t want your belongings. They want YOU. In every sense of the word. They want what you’d never give. They try to take when you refuse… they always find themselves on the end of Ripley’s claws. Eventually, the troupe explain. Demons. They are demons. Demons exist, and the troupe kill them. Ripley used to, before she was hurt in the worst ways imaginable. Nobody explains that. They don’t need to. Memories of Ripley’s panic attacks, of her fearful, mournful expression paint the picture. The scar across her throat that you find when you dig your fingers into her fur only solidifies what you already suspect.
Demons had broken her. Had torn her life from her claws. You are thankful they didn’t finish the job. That Ripley is here with you.
You silently vow to fucking decimate the next demon to come near her… even if it is her own agony.
Sometimes, you sit there for hours, simply buffing Ripley’s claws, laughing over a movie. Or over Ripley’s dramatic acts. Slowly, Onyx seems to trust you, she ceases hovering, begins to tease and rib. The entire troupe do, between slaying demons and retrieving their “escaped circus animal.” You’re Rip’s special person. Somehow, that doesn’t sound so bad. There is a warmth in belonging, a warmth only surpassed by Ripley herself.
Nights and days blend together, surrounded by unimaginably perfect fur, warm muscles and snuggles with a beautiful soul who could never have torn you apart. A soul who becomes everything to you. Your best friend. Your companion. The one to chase the nightmare of demons away again and again. The one to comfort you when your father’s abandonment weighs too heavily. She’s entwined into your being, the knowledge with no reason for being, the inexplicable.
It’s all innocence and affection, a kiss to her snout or a little pleep of a tongue at the corner of your mouth. A little peep of a giant tongue, very conscious effort to be as human as possible… until its not. Until it’s a full-blown lick from chin, across your cheeks, right into your hair. Until its giant teeth delicately ruffling hair, or gently wrapped around your wrist. Until every person you might date suddenly has to match up to a goddamn bear.
Disgust. Fear. Confusion. How many lines did harboring a crush on a goddamn bear actually cross? Ripley was smart, somehow, but could she ever understand this? Was it a violation of her? Are you taking advantage of Ripley?
You want to run, but if that is towards Ripley or away from the taboo, you can’t tell. You’re frozen, left trying to reconcile a romantic love for a bear… your lust savored for dreams of a woman you could never describe, but gosh did she make your heart race… the way looking into Ripley’s eyes did.
Until a drunken Darius and cackling Onyx show you the photos.
Ripley. Not the bear, not the Beast, but a woman. THE woman. Reconciling the two should have been difficult, but how could it be? Your swallowed whole by the memory of smiles, one more familiar to you than your own, on a face you’ve never seen before. But you have, even the longer snout and rows of teeth can’t hide that soul defining smile. Fuck. That’s when you know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, you’re in love with a fucking bear. With a ghost.
You make no effort to conceal it. By this point, the taboo be damned. Your life has become dates with a bear, demons attacking your boo and a dose of fury. You may not be a bear, but you embrace every feral instinct to protect her. This is why you thought you were the beast. Because you damn well fight like one. You fight, and fight and fight. Battle after battle. War after war. You fight harder than anybody to bring Ripley home.
Binding your life to Ripley’s is a small sacrifice to make.
She’s naked. Falling into your arms. Trying desperately to make her unpracticed tongue form your name for the first time. How could you not kiss her?
She tastes like honey. Her voice, the words you’d never fully heard, drown you in the best ways possible. She’s soft and hard, unimaginable strength and the very essence of tenderness. A part of you thinks that you’d have thought she was beautiful no matter what… but the world seems to agree she is one of the most stunning women to grace the stage.
Her dances are dedicated to you. Every time her muscular thighs close around the pole, each gentle tease of fingers down her body. The way her palms caress the pole. You know those touches feel, they’re etched into your soul, braided into every strand of muscle. Every show is Ripley’s love, seductive and innocent both, put on display for everyone to watch. Ripley enjoys the show of you falling apart before her hands even touch her.
Touch for Ripley is ridiculously sweet. She’s chaste, yet somehow more sinful than sin itself. She doesn’t just touch with her hands. No, touch is a full-bodied experience for her. When she kisses you, it is never just with her lips. She has to have her lashes tickle your skin. Has to nuzzle, even if it is a gentle rub of her nose to yours between little gasps. Her forehead, somehow, always has to rest to yours. She gives her affection so freely, even when her cheeks flare brightly. Kisses and little bumps of her nose to your cheeks are common, even if she has to fold herself around objects, or down to your level. If she has the urge, she’s damn well nuzzling you.
She’s a simple romantic. Little gestures, just being in your presence, is more than enough for you. The large, extravagant dates are not your speed. Not when you could cuddle in a bed too small for you both, laptop between you, watching illegally downloaded, B grade movies.
Your mom loves her. Even walking in on one of her private performances for you as an introduction isn’t enough to harden her to Ripley’s shy smile.
Even as a human, she still occasionally licks you. Some quirks never truly fade. Not that you’d want them to. Afterall, you’d fallen in love with Ripley, even when she was a bear.