#* // AND ON MY SKIN LEFT THE SCENT OF INDIGNATION ( visage. )

[boneshine]

Close Call

Pairing: Benjamin Clawhauser / Chief Bogo

Rating: M

Summary: Bogo confiscates Clawhauser’s phone in order to make him more productive at work. Established relationship. Post-Movie.

Warning: NSFW! Details under the cut!

Part Four/Five

--

Warning: This is a NSFW story, although the adult content does not really begin until Part Five. That being said, this is still an M-rated story, so read at your own smut-loving risk.

--

The bed was warm, the blankets soft and plentiful as they wrapped around Clawhauser’s peacefully snoozing form. His paws kneaded at the air; a quiet purr nestled in the back of his throat. He was roused a bit at the sound of a door opening and shutting, but he drifted slowly back down into his dreams as the silky warmth and the scent of wheatgrass and his lover’s musky cologne kept his consciousness at bay—

EEGH EEGH EEGH!!!

The wailing, strangled beeps of Bogo’s alarm clock stabbed into the feline’s ear, his body jerked back and flailed, his world twisting around him as he fell off the bed.

“ACK!”

His heart pounding, head aching, Clawhauser could still hear the tell-tale chuckle wash over him.

“Works every time.”

Eyes squinted open in irritation, the cheetah’s frazzled form struggled to climb back into the bed, immediately deflating and flattening back into the sheets, his face slowly becoming more and more acquainted with the pillow as sleep tried to coax him back. “Vin-n-n-cenpphh…”

“Good morning, Ben.” He didn’t even need to look to know that Bogo was already up, showered, dressed in his uniform, fur groomed, and impeccably ready for the day before the cheetah had even opened both eyes. A hoof ran down his back, making the smaller’s round body instinctively raise itself in an arch at the welcoming touch, only to flop back down in exhaustion. “I said ‘good morning’, Ben. That means you need to actually get up.”

“Ugh…”

“On all fours, at least.”

Clawhauser’s ears perked. “Ooh.”

“Not like THAT.”

“Aw.”

The feline grumbled but heard something slosh in front of his face, the scent of berries filling his nose. His tail curled as his eyes open to spot a bowl of cereal in Bogo’s hoof, already poured and ready for him. “Lucky Chomps!”

“Indecipherably nutritious.”

He sat up and snuggled back into the pillows as he heaped spoonful after spoonful into his mouth with glee, stopping only to give his boyfriend a big milky kiss on his cheek. “Thaaanks, honey!” he chimed.

Bogo wiped his face. “Finish up and maybe we can get to work on time?”

“Three more bowls and I’m right behind you.”

--

The morning, while early and vastly unpleasant due to said earliness, had left Clawhauser in a considerably better mood. It wasn’t every day that he got to spend the night and the morning with his beloved Buffalo Buns, lounging with cereal and the occasional lingering touch from him as he stumbled around to get ready for work. However, as they drove in to the precinct, the cheetah recalled with a growing annoyance that he had another boring day without his phone ahead of him.

How did I forget that my boyfriend was such a jerk? I’m such a sucker for morning cuddles…

It didn’t help that Bogo seemed to recall it as well, and the expression on his face was a smug, amused contrast to the normally-bubbly feline’s pout.

“Don’t look so glum, Ben,” he spoke as they strolled to his desk, “It’s just one more day, you know.”

“It’ll be the worst day of my life,” he groused, climbing into his seat and already sulking.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. You’ll have much worse days than this.”

“… Gee, I really appreciate that!”

Bogo smirked. “Maybe this will help you change your outlook.” He leaned in, dangerously close considering it was a public space, and Clawhauser looked around uncertainly before he was drawn back to rich brown eyes and that handsome face. “I’ve decided to add something to our little bet.”

The feline sputtered. "More rules?! Wh—Vinc— Chief, I'm already chained to my desk! What more can you ask for?!"

"Nothing like that. It's a perk, really. And since you'll be tethered to your desk the rest of the day, I thought that perhaps some incentive will help keep you on track."

“Incentive?”

A warm hoof landed on his paw, trailing up his arm to graze the edge of a flickering ear. All the while, that salacious smirk only grew as he stared into wide eyes.

“Think about it. What motivates a Clawhauser?”

“… Doughnuts.”

Bogo’s smirk fell. “And… what else… ?”

It took only a second, and the cheetah’s mouth fell open in understanding. “Oh-h-h-h!” Another moment, and his eyes sparkled. “Ooo-o-o-o-o, I’m gonna get some--!” he squealed, muffled as his mouth was immediately covered with a hoof, the buffalo now glancing around suspiciously.

"Not outside of the office," he grit out.

Clawhauser couldn't stop a giggle, prying off his hoof from his grin. "Save the magic for the show, right?"

“There will be no show.”

“You’re such a prude at work, you know that?”

“I’m professional.”

The younger quirked a furry brow at him. “Mm-hmm… Okay, Mr. Shoulder-Touch-and-Ear-Grope-and-Sensual-Whispering-and--”

“Clawhauser.”

“… Sex-Promise.”

--

Of course, he took the incentive. Why wouldn’t he? It would be at least a decent reward for the hell that his boyfriend was making him go through.

Besides, it would only be six more hours, right?

The feline’s bored gaze was trained on his computer, holding back a sigh as he refreshed the page for the hundredth time to see if any new reports had popped up to deal with. Sadly, nothing. And he had five hours and 15 more minutes to go and he was literally going to go insane--

“Um, Ben?”

The cheetah jumped, blinking from the screen daze as he leaned over the desk to see the familiar face of a bunny staring up at him, gasping. "Judy!" Boy, was he glad to see her, obvious by his wide and excited smile. A distraction! And also, his dear friend! But mostly, right now, a distraction! "How's it going, my bunny from another mummy?"

"Fine, fine..." Judy seemed to hesitate, a rare expression on her velvety visage. "It's just that... I haven't gotten a text from you since the Molencia call." Her ears tilted back in worry. "Did I upset you somehow?"

Aww! Cute! Cute! Cute! "No, no! Of course not, cutie-- Judy," he corrected quickly at her narrowed look. "You're fabulous as always. It's something completely out of my control, believe me. I'm being punished. Bogo confiscated my phone to teach me a lesson."

"Oh." The bunny blinked and cracked a small smile. "Is it a... good lesson?"

"Huh?"

She wriggled her eyebrows. "You know... the kind that some couples do... I've heard..."

The implication in her tone was not lost on him, and his skin immediately burned under his fur. "Whaaat?! N-No! He's just trying to teach me to focus on my job! O-M-Goodness, Judes! Where did that come from?!"

Judy giggled. "Hey, I'm a bunny. I come from a family of over two-hundred siblings. I know this stuff."

"I thought that you didn't like to use those stereotypes!"

"... Nick MAY be influencing me more than I thought," she mumbled.

 Knew it! Clawhauser hid his own grin and covered it with an indignant huff. "Any-who, I'm stuck at my desk until the end of my shift..." He suddenly leaned over, startling the small rabbit. "So-o-o-o how's about you stay here and chat with me for a while? Maybe an hour or two? It's been a slow crime week, hasn't it? You can spare the time!"

His enthusiasm seemed to set her back. "Oh... Well, actually, I got a text from Nick about some 'former friends' that may be linked to that stolen car ring we've been working on." She grinned. "We get to be part of the stakeout! Six A.M. sharp!"

Bunnies were such morning creatures; it was almost nauseating. "Fan... tastic?"

"I know! So, I'm afraid that I'll have to cut our talk short. Like, right now," the bunny was already turned to begin leaving, her paw up in farewell. "Good luck, Ben!"

Panic filled the cheetah. "Wait! No! I can't leave my desk! Don't leave, Judy! I need to talk! Just stay a little longer, please!"

"Can't hear you, too pumped!"

"Judy, no! Judy, don't go through the door, no! I need contact from the outside world! No-o-o-o..." he moaned out and slumped against the desk as the doors slid shut behind her. "My bunny beacon of hope..."

"Clawhauser!" A voice boomed from above.

The cheetah jolted and gawked up in confusion. "What?!"

Bogo's expression seemed less stern, but he pointed to his door regardless. "In my office!"

The cheetah stared. Was he serious? "I haven't left!" he blurted out.

The chief rolled his eyes. "Just get up here!"

--

There was no hiding the irritated stomp the feline had and Clawhauser huffed as he walked into the office. "Let's get one thing clear, okay?" he started. "I want it on the record that this does NOT count as me losing the bet because YOU ordered me up here for who-knows-what reason and--"

As soon as the door shut behind him, he was pressed against it.

Soft lips covered his in a sudden kiss, a hoof grasping the back of his head like the shirtless hunk on his favorite romance novel cover.

Clawhauser's bewilderment immediately turned to joy, and his eyes sparkled before closing and returning the kiss with enthusiasm.

Surprise hanky-panky? Thanky!

The hot, heavy weight of his lover was pressed into his body and he purred wildly, paws kneading strong shoulders as the feline clung to the older male. Yes! This was a fantastic way to kill a few hours (which was NOT an exaggeration as he recalled other, ahem, 'meetings' like this) and to keep his mind off that stupid bet! After all that teasing his chief had done, he could use some relief. He licked at his boyfriend's soft muzzle, urging him to continue--

But Bogo pulled his mouth back, and used it to smirk at the dazed form, still pressing him against the wall.

"You'll get the rest tomorrow."

The words were like a splash of cold water and Clawhauser's pants faded as he blinked. "Come again?"

"Sorry. Not yet."

"... What?" A hiss.

The mounting anger on his lover seemed to please the buffalo. "That was just a taste. You didn't think I'd let you get away with more than that today? The bet isn't over."

"Wh-- You just..." Clawhauser's body squirmed frantically, fangs bared. "You can't keep DOING this to me!"

His paws were held and restrained by one hoof; his struggles worthless.

“I haven’t done anything to you.” The humor in the chief’s voice was infuriating. “And I won’t until after the bet is over. That’s the point, Ben.”

"No!” he hissed again, “No, this—this is unacceptable! Absolutely not! You already took away one toy! And THEN you have the AUDACITY to dangle my favorite one in my face and take it away before I get to play with it!" the smaller snarled and struggled to reach his lover's trousers, claws ready to rip fabric open, but they barely wiggled in the buffalo’s iron grip. "Just a quickie! It’s the least you can do!"

“Actually,” his body was lifted and twirled around to face the door, with a fond pat on his sizable rump to end the contact as Bogo returned to his desk, “the least I can do is nothing. And that’s exactly what’s happening. Until. The bet. Is over,” the chief hummed.

Several things ran through the feline. Anger. Indignation. Incredible horniness.

Oh, he was going to PAY!

His eyes were almost slits as he managed out, "I have half a mind to deny you for a week!" He bit back a growl, already at the door. He tried to adjust certain things before he swung the entrance open.

"The other half seems to disagree, then," came his boyfriend’s sly response.

"Oh, no! Believe me, the rest will follow when blood flow returns to my brain, you big buff jerk!"

--

It was the first moment of the entire day that Clawhauser was glad he couldn't leave his desk. He shifted and grumbled as his arousal slowly faded into a dull throb. It had been difficult enough trying to ease back down the stairs without alerting anyone to his 'condition.'

He is going to make it up to me so hard... Oh, cripes, hard... He cursed at himself, only to sigh as the landline rang.

Five. More. Hours. Left.

Hello, sex life? Sorry, you've been canceled.

[swishandflickwit]

Shirbert — promise me (no promises) 1/1

Summary: Maybe love didn’t always mean the adventure was in far off places, but was found within the four walls of her classroom; where a rival, in actuality, was not the villain but a prince in disguise?

Maybe love wasn’t always the stuff of legends. What if it was the quiet things? The constance? Love was steady, she realized. It was study sessions and long walks, an ashen gaze and an encouraging smile in a sea of faces that expected her to fail.

It was standing up for what and who you believed in, going after them when they walked away and promising to want them for all time.

Words: 6.8k

Ratings: General Audiences

Also on: ff.net | AO3

Other writings

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert was in a rage.

How dare he, she seethed, that vile, repulsive, odious, witless pissant!

Oh, how Marilla would despair at her thoughts!

(Rather, Marilla would equally rage at her debasing introspection, as she would later realize once she had calmed herself)

However, in that moment, Anne thought no one in Canada—in all the world even—could neither rival nor temper her resentment. Fury rolled off her and stained her skin an angry red to match her hair. She imagined steam leaking from her pores as her blood curdled… boiled, and not even the pleasant coolness of the summer night air could ease her pique.

She stomped through the lane that would take her home to Green Gables, unmindful of the mud that tracked her boots and splattered across her pristine, white stockings. And they were new too!

I never should have come to this party, she continued her merciless tirade. I should have known better than to accept an invitation, from the Pyes no less! Nothing good ever came out of a gathering hosted by the Pyes. Never mind that it should be the last time we might all be gathered in such a fashion for a long while.

Indeed, for school had come to a close the previous day—at least for Miss Stacy’s pioneer class. A smattering of them would be staying in Avonlea but for the most part, a majority were resolved to pursue their higher education, including (though it hurt her to leave Diana behind) Anne.

Billy Andrews, however, had other… unsavory opinions about that.

“You got into Queen’s?” he scoffed, referring to the Academy in Charlottetown where those with a vocation in mind chose to pursue them. Anne had not only gotten accepted, but gained the highest marks out of all the applicants in Prince Edward Island.

(She was tied with Gilbert though she often, and with much convenience, forgot that fact)

Billy, the thick-headed oaf, elected to ignore this certitude. He had nothing of import or quality to say for Queen’s Academy, having not applied (and in his innermost musings, known that he was not smart enough to be accepted anyway), and therefore inwardly envied and outwardly ridiculed those who had passed.

Anne, through no provocation of hers, nevertheless received his special brand of scorn.

“You may have fooled the Cuthberts, and our classmates. You may have even fooled this entire island. But you’ll never fool me. I know who you are,” he said this in low tones, and lower still as he crept closer and whispered in her ear like she were his lover murmuring sweet nothings to warm her heart, “the Cuthberts didn’t want you in the first place. They were stuck with you, there was no one else. You may have gotten lucky with them, but you ought not to forget who you are and where your place is.” He grinned then, blinding and malicious. “I feel sorry for the Cuthberts. If I were them, I’d have treated my dog better than you. You’re lower than dirt. You’re an orphan, and who could ever truly want you?”

How she burned and burned, the nerve of this insolent and ill-mannered fool! And yet—she meant to say this out loud, make the most of her extensive vocabulary but, her body betrayed her. Her throat felt parched and her feet leaden. Where had her voice gone? The words that were otherwise ready for her to wield as weapons or shape as clay? Where was her indignation?

Her spirit?

Just as quickly, heat melted to cold, noise gave way to a ringing silence and she felt herself rooted to her spot, Billy’s awful, smug smirk frozen before her eyes until—

“ANDREWS!”

Gilbert’s voice pierced through the static that clouded her mind and Billy’s ugly visage was, at last, removed from her line of vision as he turned towards their schoolmate. Anne did not wait to see what would commence between the two boys, however. As soon as the feeling returned to her legs, she imagined she walked out of there with the poise and dignity befitting a nobility such as the Princess Cordelia.

(Bolted, would have been closer to reality)

With nothing but moonshine for light and the faint rustling of the poplar trees for conversation, Anne was her own company. She thought for sure Diana would have come to her side by now, but she supposed that no one had really seen her leave. Billy, for once, hadn’t made a spectacle of himself though somehow this was worse, for she shuddered at the intimate way he had pressed himself onto her as he purred his contempt.

She did not even deign to consider that one witness to that deplorable interaction and what it meant that he had not followed her so for the moment...

She was utterly alone.

Evenings were a curious thing. There was, after all, something quite romantical about the night—lovers meeting in secret to proclaim their forbidden romance, friends exchanging hushed yet excitable stories beneath blankets by candlelight, oh the adventures to be had under the dusky twilight!

But, it was not called the witching hour for nothing. Terrible things happened once the moon had come to siege the sky for every sin, if only for a moment, could be hidden beneath the cover of darkness—ghosts and wolves and brigands and villains abound, and demons too.

Anne’s demons were not of the horned and pointy-tailed kind. Though they too were born of baneful things, they were mostly made of shadows, wispy and seductive intimations that brushed softly against her mind, lulling and comforting and infinite, till it was a pervasive tumor that lay siege to her sense of reason before she ever realized it was a threat.

She looked at the mud tainting her legs, at the stark contrast between muck and cloth, and thought about how she was much like her stockings.

I am a stain. All I’ve ever given Marilla and Matthew and even Jerry since I got here was grief. And Diana... I dread to think how many times I’ve gotten my bosom friend in trouble! As for Cole, the only reason he is still my friend is because he’s miles away in Charlottetown and therefore spared from my importunate nature. Not to mention, I almost drove Miss Stacy to quit her first year here. I’m nothing but trouble! Though I have no love for it, it must love me, for why else would it follow me wherever I tread?

Anne sniffed, shame filling her gut as she fought back tears. I’m just a stupid, orphan girl. There’s no imagining my way around that. No one could ever want me. No one.

So immersed was she in her melancholy that she hadn’t noticed someone was calling her name till a hand descended on her shoulder.

She shrieked (a shrill, embarrassing, banshee of a sound), closing her eyes even as she whirled around to face her assailant.

“Whoa!” exclaimed a deep and resonant voice.

“Whatever riches you may think I possess I assure you sir I am as poor as the dirt beneath your feet, poorer even, than a cow that grazes a pasture for I am utterly incapable of producing anything of value and I—”

“Anne!”

She hadn’t realized she was without breath till she let out a long and heavy exhale. It occurred to her, then, that the tenor by which her name was said was uncannily familiar, the scent of her would-be attacker was that of sun and grass and clean sweat and deeper still, an aura redolent of quiet, fortitude and refuge.

She opened her eyes and breathed.

“Gilbert.”

“Anne,” he chimed in equally, susurrous tones. When she let out another astonished gasp, the air before her crystallized in an algid cloud.

“Where’s your coat?”

She groaned. Of course! Of course, she forgot her coat and bonnet when she left in a huff. Why, walking out may be as dramatic an act as they came, but the books failed to mention just how inconvenient it was! How had the heroines in her favorite literatures managed their adversities with so much courage and grace? And such humor too! While she must have her exposé out in the cold, with (at this, she is gratified) no audience in sight (and at this, she is mortified) save for one, as she cowers and quakes in her boots?

The ardor that fueled the ire in her blood had by now dissipated, leaving an icy and hollow blitz in her veins. Humiliated to her core, she demanded of him, in squeaky volumes, “What are you doing here?”

So she cleared her throat and asked, more stately, again.

Gilbert shook his head. He did not answer. Instead, he looked at her with wide eyes—silver pupils darting back and forth, as if he couldn’t take in the image of her enough. She felt the fleshy, apple of her cheeks flush, a bit of heat returning to her body though a shiver continued to wrack her bones.

“You’re freezing,” he blurted, before an urgent concern (that made Anne rather uncomfortable, as she was wont to be whenever she found herself in Gilbert’s presence—alone or elseways) driving his motions had him divesting his own coat and, without evocation, wrapping it around her frame.

Encased as she was in his jacket and engulfed in the warmth from his body that had suffused itself onto the cloth, the sweet and opulent smell of him further intensified.

(As did the beat of her heart)

(Though this, if asked about, she would vehemently deny to her grave)

“I don’t need your pity,” she averred in what she hoped was a cold and unforgiving demeanor, even as her hold on the coat about her shoulders only tightened.

“It’s not—”

“Isn’t it?”

He sighed, his face scrunched up in exasperation and though a part of her felt abashed at her behavior, a larger part was content to drown in thorough defeat.

“We’re friends, aren’t we Anne?”

She licked her lips, something of a nervous habit. His eyes darted to track the movement and his throat bobbed. She felt her blush deepen.

“Are we?” She whispered.

He laughed though it was more tight than it was humorous.

“Must you always answer my questions with questions?”

She glared at him in the universal expression of, you’re asking for it.

He chuckled in genuine good-nature this time and she felt her irritation abate as she joined him. But their mirth abated all too soon and Gilbert was once more looking at her through hooded eyes that did nothing to lessen their intensity.

“I don’t know what Billy told you that made you react this way, but nothing good ever came out of his foul mouth anyway so, whatever it is he said—don’t believe it,” he shook his head. “It’s not true.”

At once, where she was bereft, the animosity welled within her at the reminder. The wrath that had been absent when she stood before Billy Andrews was now within her grasp and expelled itself onto the nearest presence—Gilbert.

She shoved him. It was a commiserable attempt since he hardly moved, but he let her anyway and she felt a little of her dauntless energy return.

“You can’t say that. You don’t know!”

“Then help me know,” he pleaded.

“I can’t,” she exclaimed, an unwanted sob building in her throat. “It’s too gruesome.”

“Then at least tell me that you don’t believe it,” he took her hand in his with utmost care, his palm coarse with calluses born from a life tending to a farm, his fingertips of ice. And yet, she had never felt so delicate, her hand cradled within his. “Tell me you know he’s wrong.”

“That’s the worse part,” she whispered as she pulled her hand away. “He’s absolutely right.”

A frightful silence had descended upon them. Even the wind had died and the poplar trees halted their rustling, as if Mother Nature herself wanted to be privy to their conversation.

“You can’t mean that, you don’t know what you’re saying—”

“And you do?” she sighed, running a hand—that same, still-tingling hand that Gilbert held what seemed like only a heartbeat ago—over her face.

He groaned. “Not this again.”

She scowled at him. “What do you care anyway? Why are you here? What I do or what I talk about with other people, worthless they may be, is none of your business.”

“And if I want to make it my business?” he countered, the muscle in his jaw ticking from restrained frustration.

She frowned. “What do you mean, Gilbert?”

“Tell me what Andrews said and I can prove to you, I can guarantee, that it’s not true.”

“But it is!”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes. It is! ”

They bickered in this fashion as if they were six instead of approaching sixteen. She insisted on her truth (or rather, Billy’s truth), though she hadn’t the faintest idea why. Is this not what she craved? Is this not the assurance and acceptance she sought her whole life? But still, she found herself scoffing.

“You don’t even know what I’m talking about!”

He rolled his eyes and in snide intonations, rebutted, “Because you won’t tell me!”

“FINE!” she relented and snarled, nay, practically spat the words at him.

“I’m an orphan! Is that what you wanted to hear? Maybe my parents loved me, once upon a time, but apparently not enough to live for me.” Her voice was guttural, her words laced with so much acrimony, it was unrecognizable to her. “I’m a burden to Matthew and Marilla, who wanted a boy in the first place and instead was saddled with me. I bring misfortune on anyone I touch. I’m nothing but a curse. No one could ever want me.”

There. She said it. And again, that insidious reticence, how she was beginning to abhor it. She closed her eyes, unsure of which she was dreading more: his resignation or condescension.

As it stood, she had neither to fear, for what she received was far worse.

He laughed. Laughed!

“How dare you, Gilbert Blythe!” She fumed. She punched him on the shoulder, though his chortles only grew in volume. She made to cuff him again, but he caught her fist in his and pulled her closer—closer than either of them had ever emboldened to be.

No one was laughing now.

“You are an idiot, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert,” he murmured, his whisper a hot hiss of breath against her cold and beggared lips. She had never been more aware of the weight of her hand in his, she had never been more aware of him. “A downright fool.”

She was mindful that she should have been peeved by this imputation, her common sense screaming at her to react and do so with equal and voracious impudence.

If only the rest of her faculties got the message.

For though his words were intended to wound, the effect was rather lost in translation. Not when there was an undercurrent of awe in his inflection, not when he said ‘idiot’ and ‘fool’ as if that was not what he meant at all; like they were terms of endearment rather than grave offenses.

As if Gilbert had his own personal meaning just for her, and it was the very opposite of its conventional connotations.

“Am I?” She returned in watery tones for she trembled under the weight of all that implied.

He smiled and it was slight in breadth but tremendous in affection. He stepped closer till she had to crane her neck just to be able to take all of him in, her face tilted towards the moonlight. He stopped his beaming then, for a silvery stream had caught his eye.

She hadn’t realized she was crying till he brushed away a droplet.

“I guarantee you,” he repeated, his eyes fervent and bright, “no one could have ever provided you a better home than the Cuthberts. And Diana—she’s positively radiant around you and she was never that way until you came along. Cole found the courage to be who he truly is and you helped him achieve that. And it was you who orchestrated the plan to keep Miss Stacy in school and believe me, she has never regretted the experience for a single moment. This whole island is alive because of you, you emit a gravity of your own and anyone who meets you can’t help but fall into your orbit. If that’s not enough to convince you…”

That same rough hand, from which he never relinquished her violent fist, now urged her to bloom her fingers so that he might place it on his chest. There she rested them and there he cupped her fingers, with a lambency that made her ache for she didn’t expect such a touch from one who lived most of his life as a laborer.

There she felt his heartbeat, strong and certain and—and racing.

How could it thud so hard and so fast when they hadn’t been running or walking since they began? Astonishment etched itself across her features.

“How—?”

“Do you really need me to spell it out for you?”

“For old time’s sake,” she strived to banter, afraid to reveal herself.

(Afraid to acknowledge the truth)

“How did you figure that no one could ever want you? I’m right here,” he avowed. “I’m here, and I want you. So much.” He shook his head and released a laugh that was riddled with disbelief. “I can’t even begin to explain just how so. I want you, plain as that. I wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you and I want you now and I’m—” he gulped. “I’m quite certain I’ll want you for as long as I live.”

She gaped, the flow of her tears halted from her stupor at such an exaltation. All this unbeknownst to Gilbert, her countenance spurred him to quip with a, “Well, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert, what say you about that?”

His lips stretched into a timid smile that betrayed his timorousness all the same.

“I’m at a loss for words,” she admitted freely. At that, his smile dimmed but did not diminish altogether.

He did, however, let her go.

(She hadn’t realized how much of him had seeped into her skin when at once, he stepped back, taking all the heat with him and leaving a resounding void in her chest)

“May I walk you home?”

And just like that, the conversation was dropped.

Anne, who was more confused leaving this exchange than she was when she entered it, acquiesced to this simple request for lack of a better reaction.

The true gentleman that he is, Gilbert indeed accompanied her the entire trek to Green Gables. Bubbles of conversation drifted between them before fizzling out due to the vapidity of their topics. It was only when they reached her porch did he speak to her with a solemnity that matched their earlier situation.

They stood facing each other, the space between them so corpulent it was its own presence. The camaraderie they had built (and sincerely enjoyed) in those final years at school seemed to have evaporated till their very atmosphere felt too hostile to breathe—they were that edgy. Still, he must have wanted to reclaim a bit of ease with a manoeuvre reminiscent of their first meeting.

He tugged on one of her braids.

But the stark difference between then and now was the intent for there was nothing teasing about his touch. There was no mistaking the feeling in his caress when it was so careful.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

It was devotion.

She licked her lips and again, the muscle in his jaw strained as he clenched it.

“Um,” she stuttered. Answer? Answer? She wasn’t ready to answer. Nor did she think she ever would be ready to answer!

“Relax,” He laughed, no doubt reading the panic that pulled her face taut. He smirked.

“We are friends,” he said, a bit of anxiety leaking into his tone. “Right?”

She blew a relieved breath though she shouldn’t have been, the uncertainty in his voice consoled her all the same. In this, she could unfailingly put her faith. She nodded with the eagerness of a pupil first in her class.

“Always.”

At her affirmation, he gave her hair one last, fond tug and replied quietly, “Good,” before arranging it away from her face and tucking it behind her ear.

“Anyway…”

She felt her breath catch in her throat.

“Anyway,” she returned in an equally hushed voice.

His parting smile was a shot of radiance in the gloom. She returned it with a crooked one of her own, praying it concealed the jumble of her emotions. His smile… it—did things, to her insides. Strange things. Things that made her sick at the image of him walking away from her.

Things that made her want to stop him leaving.

“Gilbert!”

He whirled at the sound of her voice, hope a living flame on his countenance. She floundered.

“I… you…” her hand clenched around the jacket engulfing her frame, and she remembered. “Your coat!”

She moved to take it off but Gilbert stopped her.

“Keep it.”

“But won’t you be cold?”

He shook his head. “I’ll be fine.” he said. “Take care of yourself, Carrots.”

She pursed her lips. Where once the nickname would have incensed her, now it filled her with a breathless sort of glee, like a language only the two of them shared because they were the only ones in the world who understood it.

“I guess… I’ll be seeing you around?”

Why was she stalling?

“So much, it’ll be impossible to miss me,” he teased with a roguish smile.

She chuckled.

He was approaching the gate when she called to him once more, “Goodnight!”

He turned, walking backwards as he tipped his newsboy hat towards her and bowed. “And to you, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert!”

And though he couldn’t see, she bit her lip, trying with all her might to hide her grin.

Watching him leave, she found her ebullience ebbing. Something felt different within her... had her soul shifted somehow? She did not feel like she had been halved nor did she feel any less of herself. If anything, she felt bigger. She felt more. Like her essence had expanded, only to carve a mold shaped suspiciously to Gilbert’s silhouette. She felt forever changed, it was incomprehensible to her that he didn’t feel the same way. And yet—

How could it be so easy for him to walk away?

His frame was swallowed by the darkness before he disappeared altogether, the echoes of their confabulation fading with him until she was all alone.

And it was as if it never happened at all.

Sun chased moon and dusk gave way to dawn. Recounting the occurrence to Diana and Cole (who was visiting from Charlottetown for the weekend to celebrate the start of summer with his childhood chums) betwixt the orange orchard that bordered the Barrys’ property, the sun warm and effulgent on their skin, she deemed her revelation from the night before as ridiculous.

“Right?” she questioned the two, expecting their full agreement. “I was being ridiculous!”

“I suppose that’s one word for it,” Diana muttered.

“I’m sorry,” exclaimed Cole, not sounding apologetic at all, “But I’m still hung up on the part where Gilbert proposed to you.”

Anne was certain she blushed to the roots of her flaming hair.

“He did not!”

“You’re right,” he acceded and she felt it safe for her mind to enter a state of palliation when he followed with a biting, “you are an idiot.”

“Technically, Gilbert said that.” Diana smirked as she spoke. Anne turned to her with a glare.

“And what is your opinion on this, oh bosom friend o’mine?”

She demurred but Anne persisted with a whinge in her voice.

Diana was perfectly aware what Anne wanted her to say, which is why it hurt her to divulge her true opinion. It seemed her friend was in dire need of a wake up call—not that she would be the one to give it.

So she skirted for an answer.

“Well, ‘as long as I live’ seems an awful long commitment…”

Apparently she hadn’t skirted well enough for Anne bellowed with a disparaging, “Diana!”

She cringed. “But—”

Anne groaned. “No! I think I’ve had enough of this conversation.”

Diana bit her lip, looking rather miserable. “I’m sorry, Anne.”

“Don’t be!” Cole reproached her. “Tell her.”

“Whatever it is, I won’t hear it!”

Anne, in a fit of childish tantrum, put her hands over her ears. It prompted Cole to roll his eyes and march over to where she was seated, buried amongst the roots of a tree so that he could unhand her. He locked eyes with Diana and raised his eyebrows. He tipped his chin towards Anne, who was glaring viciously at him.

“She needs to hear it.”

Anne turned her head away, but it didn’t stop her from hearing what Diana made known.

“I saw you leave last night,” she started. “I was going to follow you, but then Gilbert punched Billy! And apparently, it wasn’t the first time for no one stopped him. Personally, I think Billy has the kind of face that’s just asking to be punched so truly, who could blame Gilbert?”

“Diana,” Cole chided, though his mouth twitched in barely suppressed laughter.

“Well, Gilbert didn’t wait for Billy to get up, he just dashed for the door and that’s where he bumped into me. He asked me if I saw you come out that way and I said yes. I told him I was just about to run after you but, he stopped me.

“‘I’ll go after her,’ he said. ‘There are… words I must say and I can no longer conceal myself.’”

Diana and Cole expected Anne to react in an explosive manner, or, at the very least, say something. When she did nothing but give them both a blank stare, Cole gave Diana an encouraging nod.

“There’s something else, Anne.”

“Oh, what is it now?” she wailed.

Diana shook her head. “It’s not about you. It’s… I’m—”

Her troubles forgotten, Anne jumped to her feet and was at Diana’s side in a blink.

“Are you all right?”

Tears sprung into her eyes and Anne’s alarm grew. “Diana?”

She shook her head.

“I couldn’t be better. I’m, well,” she took a deep breath.

“I’m engaged!”

Anne stared.

Diana deflated. “Oh, don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what,” she said, crossing her arms in defense.

“Like I’m a different person. Like everything's about to change.”

“Everything is about to change!”

Diana looked away.

“When was this?”

She paused, as if unsure whether she should answer.

“Last week.”

“Last week,” Anne repeated, rolling the words around her brain till it clicked. “Last week!”

Diana nodded haplessly. Anne turned to Cole and pointed at him an accusing finger. “You knew!”

“To be fair, she only told me today, as we both made our way here.”

Anne furrowed her brows and rubbed at her forehead. An ache was forming at her right temple.

“But… but we’re only sixteen.”

“Prissy was sixteen when she first walked down the aisle.”

“Look how well that turned out,” she rebutted in a tone heavy with sarcasm. “And what have your parents to say about this? I don’t need a wide ‘scope of imagination’ to figure that Jerry is hardly their first choice for you!”

Diana flinched.

“They… don’t know. I haven’t exactly told them.”

“Oh Lord,” Anne muttered. She was beginning to sound a lot like Marilla, and was just now understanding the spectrum of emotions she herself put the female Cuthbert through on a daily basis.

“When will you tell them?” Cole asked in a more gentle manner.

“If you tell them!” she called out. "Diana, this is Jerry. He’s a dear friend but—"

“Stop it, Anne!” Cole bursted before he shot her a glare. “For someone who prides herself on her tolerance, you sure have a narrow perspective on this. If you would listen to her, you would see that she’s in love.”

“What do you know about love? What do any of us know of love?” she shot back.

Cole sighed in frustration. “You and I may be limited in experience but you would have to be blind not to see it in Diana. And perhaps you are, if you go on in this fashion! Are you so lost in your flight of fancies that you’ve turned your head around on what it means to love? Just look at her, Anne.”

She frowned but for once, Anne forced the words that piled itself into her mouth, down her throat. She turned still wary eyes to her oldest friend and observed her with the kind of open mind she beseeched upon the world, and saw her, truly saw her, anew.

Despite her pallor, she stood straight, her shoulders back in a way that would make her mother proud save for her chin, jutted out in defiance. She had never looked taller. Her eyes held a certain shine—as though nothing, not even the threat of her parents or the prospect of leaving Jerry behind to go to finishing school in Paris, could ever banish their light.

“I know he’s not the Ideal Man we promised ourselves we would find in our youth, nor is his proposal the grand advent that we dreamed of nor is our love the epic we longed to command, but Anne, I don’t know how to explain it without sounding like a silly, lovestruck fool. He’s so much better, he’s so much more…”

(She felt more. Was this not a thought she conjured to herself last night?)

Diana trailed off, evidently lost in her thoughts. In that moment, Anne had never felt so far away from her friend. But this wasn’t about her feelings. Diana had a smile on her face and it was awash in excitement but more than anything, it was serene. As though she had found her rightful place in the world, and it was by Jerry’s side, her arm slightly outstretched and her body angled in a way like she was merely waiting to fit herself to him.

Chagrined, the pit of her gut flooded with the shame of her actions. That she drove Diana to have to explain herself! How could she have done this and ever called herself a bosom friend?

In the end, she only had one other question to ask.

“Are you happy?”

Both Cole and Diana turned surprise eyes, at her and her tone, soft and apologetic. Diana though, her lovely jet-black hair a blazing amber in the noon sunshine, looked perfectly brilliant and Anne had her answer.

“If you’re happy, then so am I.”

She went to her, a mist transforming her gaze into pools as she hugged the girl who had grown into a woman, seemingly before her very eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “you can’t know how much,”

“It’s all ready forgotten.”

Cole shortly joined their embrace and the three friends were laughing even as they wiped rivulets of tears from each other’s cheeks.

“Well,” Cole prompted. They were spread on the grass, their heads together in a triangle while they mooned onto the blue sky and painted pictures out of clouds. “How did he propose?”

Anne’s mouth twisted as she deduced that it must have been unromantical—though this sentiment, she kept to herself lest she again upset the comradeship that was so newly established amongst them.

But Diana’s tenor was sweet and dreamy as she recalled, “He wrote me a letter—a full-fledged letter! He gave it to me personally, of course, for fear of my parents finding it first but oh, it was in an envelope and stamped and everything, as if he had sent it to me through courier.”

She was all too relieved that she kept her opinions to herself, for though he hadn’t gone down on one knee, Anne supposed that an epistolary proposal sounded absolutely beauteous—especially once she considered just how far Jerry had come from, being illiterate as a child. He prided himself on his abilities now.

“If anything, I have you to thank Anne, for you began his tutelage.” Diana sighed. “I’d show you the letter, but I’d like to keep it to myself if you don’t mind.” She blushed as she said this and they all giggled, for they did not mind at all. “But truly, it was divine, it was himself in words. All his emotions on a page, and yet all he wrote of was me...”

Nestled within the grass, Diana was a rose in bloom with the way she blushed as she spoke of her betrothed. It was then Anne had an epiphany.

Perhaps love did not always come in the form of impassioned speeches or grandiose adventures. Perhaps it wasn’t always a princess who was locked up in a tower guarded by a fire-breathing dragon, her prince ready to brave the flames.

Maybe it was a low-burning ember, less hot than the blaze of a fire sure, but just as passionate. She thought of Diana and Jerry and wondered if it might be letters written in longhand, if the prince’s sword was actually a pen, the ink his weapon that illustrated his ardor—if the dragon wasn’t a dragon but the politics of society that told young lovers they must not marry below their station or, and she looked at Cole, their same sex.

Maybe love didn’t always mean the adventure was in far off places, but was found within the four walls of her classroom; where a rival, in actuality, was not the villain but a prince in disguise?

Maybe love wasn’t always the stuff of legends. What if it was the quiet things? The constance? Love was steady, she realized. It was study sessions and long walks, an ashen gaze and an encouraging smile in a sea of faces that expected her to fail.

It was standing up for what and who you believed in, going after them when they walked away and promising to want them for all time.

“Anne?”

Diana touched her shoulder but all she could say was, “I am a fool.”

Cole smiled knowingly.

But, fool that she was, it took her till twilight to empower herself to take any sort of action. With word to Marilla on where she would be, and Marilla raising an astute eyebrow at the very young male coat she left behind when she departed (honestly, was she the only one oblivious to her own feelings?), she went where her heart led.

And her heart led her at the boundary of the Blythe farm, where she paced back and forth, back and forth and back and forth until—

“Anne?”

She startled. “Gilbert!”

“Hello…?”

He looked bewildered at her being there, and rightfully so. Dusk was falling, and here they were again. She chuckled, though it was riddled with tension.

“You’re always catching me unawares,” she jested. “I wonder when I’ll ever return the favor.”

“Impossible,” he muttered.

Disconcerted, she inquired, “why?”

He gave her a modest smile, though he didn’t look away.

“I’m always aware of you.”

She was tempted to look away—so heated was his gaze. But her determination was even more ignited and so she compelled herself to hold his stare.

“Not that I’m displeased,” he continued, before the silence could prolong. “But what are you doing here? It’s nightfall. Is something wrong in Green Gables?”

“No, no,” she assured in quick tones. “The very opposite. I just—I need to tell you something.”

His brows furrowed as he tilted his head for her to go on. “Yeah?”

“It is rather important,” she began. “Could we… could we talk somewhere more privately? Preferably, not out in the cold.”

“Oh!” Gilbert laughed in abashment. “Of course, let’s go inside.”

“Where are Bash and Mary?” She asked when they entered the dark and empty house. Gilbert led her to the parlor where he offered her a seat and he lit candles as he spoke.

“They’re in Charlottetown, I just came from the train station where I dropped them off actually. They’re going to attend to Mary’s son. He’s fallen ill.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I offered to go with them, but it doesn’t sound so serious. Overfatigue, probably stress from work, and a fever. Mary wants to be with him, just to be sure and Bash, well,” he rolled his eyes though when he spoke, it was full of fondness. “He never wants to be far from Mary.”

Again, they shared a weighted look. Anne cleared her throat, but nothing came out. Should she make more small talk? Ease into it? Or should she just dive right in?

“So,” Gilbert smoothly urged. “You had something important to tell me?”

Right, she thought, diving into it, then.

“I needed to see you,” she started.

“In the middle of the night?”

He sounded amused. Was he mocking her? Here she was, laying her heart bare and he was ribbing her?

“Hardly!” she burst out, her temper rising. “The sun hasn’t even fully set!”

“Hasn’t it?”

He gestured towards the window where, surely enough, darkness had conquered the sky with a swiftness Anne had forgotten it was capable of. She frowned and when she looked back at him, that insufferable smirk was affixed to his lips.

Oh he means to rile me, she conjectured. He thinks he’s so clever!

His goading gave her an inexplicable boost of confidence so, abruptly, she declared, “I have objections.”

“Objections?” befuddled, he scratched at the side of his head—a habit of his, she knew. “To what?”

“To ‘as long as I live’.”

“As long as I—”

He broke himself off as all humor was swept from him and the light of realization settled upon his eyes.

“‘Forever’ sounds ever more romantical, don’t you agree?”

“Anne,” he whispered, hope lighting his face and forging her heart and soul anew. She hid a smile. How unfair it was that he should look so glorious under the candlelight, the shadows sharpening his all ready chiseled jaw and the strong slant of his nose.

How he glowed.

“I think I ought to school you on the proper techniques to proposing. I am, after all, to be a teacher.”

“Oh,” he queried, his voice wobbly and a suspiciously wet gleam in his cinereal look. “What exactly would you have me do differently, teacher?”

“Well, for one, I would have you down on your knee like… so.”

Gilbert’s eyes widened in genuine shock. In truth, Anne too was surprised at herself. She never thought she would be so happy, lowering herself to the ground. But she was, as she bent on one knee.

“And then?” he said, low and susurrous.

“Then, I would have you take my hand,” Anne’s fingers touched his, resting open on his lap like he was just waiting, waiting.

They entwined.

“We would look deeply into… each other’s… eyes…”

Her breathing began to quicken. From the rapid rise and fall of his chest, so had his. She was drowning, captured by the depth of his wonder—nothing could have made her look away from him.

“Then?”

“The most important part, of course.” she breathed. “A vow.”

She gulped.

“I love you.”

Gilbert exhaled shakily, his grip tightening on her hand.

“Would you have me, Gilbert? Would you do me the honor of being my partner… forever?”

Her breath hitched. For one horrid second, she was of the mind he would deny her.

He let go of her hand. He shoved the chair away and was leveled in front of her in a heartbeat. He cupped her face in his hands, his touch light and cool as a doctor’s should be. Anne closed her eyes.

Was there ever any doubt?

Gilbert kissed her.

In this, she could trust. This, she thought, is true.

She was happy to stay that way, ecstatic to be linked in the most universal language of devotion. But air was a necessity, and when they pulled but a hairsbreadth away she asked, “Is that a yes?”

Gilbert laughed, jubilant and boisterous, and oh how it outshined even the shadows.

“What now?” she breathed, her hands cupping his own around her face.

“I love you, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, more than anything. I’ll love you in this life and the next, you can be sure. Forever isn’t nearly long enough.”

“Now that’s a vow.”

He laughed again. She joined him. "Shut up and kiss me, Carrots."

"You shut up and kiss m—"

He did, and she didn't even mind that he cut her off.

For Diana was right. They were no Elaine and Lancelot, but how could she ever give this up? Give him up? A lifetime of his kisses, a lifetime of his touch, forever in his arms?

No... this was better.

This was more.

AN: Come say hi to me! ;)

[ehrinrae]

Stay

The day began like any other for the little pink-haired Miqo'te girl. Maybe 6 years of age, the young girl’s life was ruled by simple desires. Sleep, food, play. Well rested and well fed thanks to her mother, E'rin was ready to get to playing!

She left her home and began to wander around the village. She loved taking in the sights, sounds, and myriad of other sensations. The warm morning air was like a pleasant embrace, welcoming her into the new day. Not too hot nor too cold thanks to the light breeze and the warm sunshine beaming down from the clear skies. The scent of smokey fish wafting across the village was a sign to all that the previous night’s fishing had been a success.

The noise of her people going about their business all around her offered her some comfort. She felt a part of something larger, even if she was typically consigned to the periphery of their little community. The people were conversing and laughing, enjoying life and readying for another day of sailing, fishing, hunting, net-weaving, and cooking. E'rin walked in her own little world, somewhat blissfully unaware of the things people were saying as she passed. While she knew they were talking, she couldn’t much make sense of the words. In those situations her disability was a blessing in disguise.

E'rin walked with a skip in her step. She loved the feel of the soft, warm dirt beneath her bare feet on these warm days. Pausing when she finally encountered some other girls her age, she kept her distance to figure out what they were playing. She quickly identified it as a game called Limsa Lominsa. Often played in the water, it worked similarly on land. One girl would have her eyes closed and call out “Limsa!” and the other girls would cry “Lominsa!” in response as they walked around as quietly as they could. The goal of the game was for the girl with her eyes shut to find and tag the girls moving around and replying. Running was strictly against the rules.

E'rin approached with a smile, waving to the other girls. It took a moment for them to even notice her, but when they did the game came to rapid a stop.

One girl stepped out in front of the others, crossing her arms and already looking irritated by the mute’s presence. “What do you want?” She asked impatiently.

E'rin squinted as she focused on making sense of the words. She bit her lip a moment, then smiled. She pointed to herself, then motioned to the rest of them.

“You want to play with us?” The girl asked, lofting a rather suspicious brow.

E'rin nodded in return happily, her wavy pink hair bouncing from the enthusiastic execution of the gesture.

The girl’s face scrunched up with disgust. “Ew, no. Why would we want to play with you? You can’t play with us. You’d be cheating.” She said sharply, turning her nose up at E'rin.

Another girl chimed in. “My momma says we aren’t supposed to talk to half-breeds. She says you’re bad for the tribe.”

E'rin’s ears wilted. ‘Bad?’ She thought to herself. She couldn’t understand what she’d done wrong. Being dismissed off-hand for her disability cut her deeper than she let on. She inhaled a sharp breath, trying to figure out how to communicate to the other girl. She whistled and pointed to her lips. She could respond like that! Surely they’d see she could play, right?

“Listen, weirdo, we don’t want you here. Leave us alone!” The final girl snapped. “We’re sick of you always interrupting our games. Just -go away- and disappear!”

The yelling got the attention of a nearby mother, who came rushing over. She asked something to her daughter, but E'rin couldn’t make it out from behind the woman.

There was a brief exchange between mother and daughter. The mother then turned, anger playing upon her visage, twisting it into a scary mask. She started yelling at E'rin, who began to tear up from the scolding.

E'rin couldn’t understand why this was happening. What had she done wrong? Why were they angry at her?

To make matters worse, another mother joined in. After a brief exchange with the already angry mother, she too began to speak loudly and angrily. E'rin couldn’t make out anything with her vision blurring from tears.

One of the women seemed to get even more frustrated by the frozen stare of E'rin. She grabbed E'rin’s wrist tight, still scolding her.

E'rin tried to pull away or pry the grip off her arm. Panic built as she was unable to free herself until finally she just bit the woman’s arm. The woman released her, bleeding from E'rin’s little fangs breaking the skin. She responded by smacking the girl across the face and yelling some more! E'rin’s little heart was pounding in her ears as she lay in the dirt, holding her reddening cheek.

Before the woman could cause any further harm, however, she was suddenly blocked by E'rin’s mother. The seeker woman put herself between the angered villagers and her daughter. She yelled back to the other woman, shoving her away. Angered pointing was leveled at E'rin by the other girl’s mother.

E'rin got to her feet, hiding behind her mother’s leg. Despite her tension and angered tone, E'rin’s mother gently ruffled E'rin’s hair. She then picked the girl up and carried her back home. A dirt clod smacked against E'rin’s mother’s back, but she ignored the indignity for the sake of E'rin and carried on. She headed straight for home, closing the door to their small house behind them.

E'rin was set down on her feet and her mother knelt down in front of her. E'rin’s mother held E'rin’s shoulders, looking her over. She then looked E'rin in the eyes, speaking slowly. “Are you okay, honey? Did she hurt you?”

E'rin nodded, showing her reddened wrist and cheek. Her mother hugged her close, rubbing her back. She held that embrace for a few moments before pulling back and speaking slowly again. “You’re okay, honey… you were very brave…” She said, looking a bit shaken herself. “How about we make you some sweet stickybuns? I know how much you love them, my little cherry blossom.”

E'rin nodded, sniffling and wiping away her tears with her sleeve. Her mother ruffled her hair again and headed to the kitchen to start preparing. She stopped at the sink when she thought E'rin wasn’t looking, hanging her head and sniffling. She quickly composed herself, wiping away her tears, putting on a brave face for her daughter.

The rest of E'rin’s day was spent indoors, drawing, playing with simplistic toys, listening to her mother tell her stories, and cooking their favourite dishes together. Eventually E'rin began to tire, curling up on the soft fur rug by the fireplace and drifting off to sleep. The day had been rough, and they had seemed to be getting progressively worse the older E'rin got. This concerning trend had not gone unnoticed by E'rin’s exasperated and stressed mother.

She’d been spurned and shunned because of her perceived “indiscretion” of loving someone from out of the tribe. Her daughter had been kept at arm’s length and viewed as an “other”. Many of the tribe’s members had little patience for her inability to speak, her difficulty understanding people, and most of all… her mixed blood. E'rin could do no right in their eyes.

No action is without its repercussions, and E'rin’s mother’s defense earlier was no exception to the rule. Her mother had been gently stroking the girl’s hair, humming softly to her daughter. E'rin had always found great solace in music. But all at once the soothing melody was shattered by the syncopated staccato of knuckles rapping on wood. Angry, sharp, and expectant, the knocking was not one of a friend.

Orange firelight flickered outside the window, casting sinister shadows across the inside of the home. The night’s mist scattered the light, causing the air outside of the home to glow as if the very world around them were burning. E'rin’s mother gently moved away from the pink-haired girl by the fireplace, telling her to stay put. She then grabbed a knife from the kitchen and made her way to the door. When it opened, E'rin could see a group of angry villagers outside the door. The smell of smoke and pitch crept through the house, reaching E'rin and causing a sudden tightness in her chest.

E'rin wasn’t sure why she felt so much fear in that moment, but she knew she didn’t like what was happening. With knife clutched behind her back, E'rin’s mother calmly spoke to the angry and armed people at the threshold of their sanctuary. It was a tense conversation, E'rin had never seen her mom’s features so distorted by worry and fear. The brandishing of her knife stopped one attempt at entry. No blood was drawn, but the implications were made clear. Enter and die. From that point on the situation seemed to steadily deescalate.

The villagers mercifully dispersed and E'rin’s mom closed the door once more, locking the latch. She put her back against the door and sank down into a sitting position, breaking down into tears. She looked to E'rin, the tears rolling down her cheeks. E'rin too was crying, though she knew not why. Her mother moved over to her and embraced her precious pink gift of a daughter. She rocked E'rin back and forth, softly and shakily singing between saying “I love you.”

Eventually she took E'rin into her bedroom, lighting a fire in there and curling up with her daughter. E'rin drifted off, but her mother remained awake… gently stroking E'rin’s hair and holding her so close it was as if she feared E'rin might be taken from her the moment she stopped. She did not sleep that night. Instead E'rin’s mother stared at her daughter as she slumbered, quietly sobbing. She knew what needed to be done… and she’d never dreaded anything more than she did in that moment.

When E'rin awoke again, she was vaguely aware that she was moving. She looked around with half-lidded eyes, scarcely awake. The light was scant and scattered, the sun itself hadn’t even woken yet. The most striking thing to her was the smoke of a nearly dead campfire mixing in with the white morning mist… as if the fire had brought the fog. She looked up at her mother, smiling up at her.

Her mother looked down at her, smiling in return. That smile was off, however. E'rin hadn’t seen such a melancholy smile before. “Hey there, my little cherry blossom… go back to sleep. Everything is okay… momma’s got you.” She said in a shaky and forlorn tone, leaning down to nuzzle her nose against E'rin’s. The young half-blood’s eyes drifted shut once more at her mother’s urging. She leaned her head against her mother’s chest and once more drifted into a peaceful slumber.

When E'rin woke again, she was immediately aware that something had changed. The soundscape that she’d grown accustomed to was far more chaotic. Voices all around her, like white noise. The seabirds made an abrasive din as they greedily fought over the scraps the fish markets threw out. The sounds of ships’ bells ringing, sails flapping, water gently lapping at stone, and the sound of music somewhere in the distance.

E'rin opened her deep ocean azure eyes to survey her surroundings. The weather was not improved. Instead of the warm air of home, the sea breeze and marine layer was thick. A rainy fog had taken hold. She became aware of the fact that she was still in her mother’s arms. Looking around she didn’t see her small village, but instead she was looking up at the towering spires of Limsa Lominsa. She blinked a few times in confusion, looking to her mother.

Her mother seemed to be focused on getting somewhere specific. She wove in through the back streets down to a lower part of the decks that took the place of streets in Limsa’s water level housing. One particular dwelling was revealed to be their destination. A home with two levels… fairly large and partially carved into the very stone foundations of Limsa. Its front porch and sidewalk were naught but planks of wood.  Stone alleyways wove around the buildings, transitioning from dock to stone and back again seemingly at random. There was a bell outside of the building and a sign that neither of the Miqo'te could read… a schoolhouse.

E'rin’s mother gently sets E'rin down, making sure the girl was standing steadily. E'rin’s mother knelt down, tears welling up in her eyes as she looked over the pink-haired girl. She pulled E'rin into a tight hug, kissing the top of her head. She broke the hug and looks E'rin in the eyes, gently moving the girl’s chin with her index finger to make sure she was seen.

E'rin’s mother spoke slowly and clearly as she could with a shaky voice. “I love you, E'rin. Always. Never let anyone tell you you’re less than them, okay? I know you’re a bright girl in there… and I hope some day I get to meet the real you.” She pulled E'rin into a tight hug, clinging to the girl as if she never wanted to let go. The rain fell right along with the tears of a grieving mother. E'rin didn’t yet grasp what was causing her mother such pain… but she felt anxiety once again gripping her chest.

E'rin’s mother released her. She turned and started walking away from E'rin and towards the crowd. E'rin started to follow, but slowed as her mother turned around. She spoke one word forcefully and sharply. “Stay.” E'rin stopped on the spot, hugging herself.

Her mother’s expression softened and she gave a reassuring smile, even as her tears rolled down her cheeks. “Wait for me here… okay?”

E'rin gave a timid nod in reply, chewing on the corner of her lip anxiously.

“That’s a good girl…” With that, her mother turned and walked off into the fog-obscured crowd. E'rin lost sight of her as she simply faded away into the white noise and haze. Tears fell down her cheeks now as she stood there. Scared, lost, and now totally alone. E'rin wanted to cry out for her mother, she wanted to bring her mother back, but she couldn’t. All she could do was wait for her mother to come back.. and wait she did.

E'rin waited for many bells, but no sign of her mother. She’d gotten frightened by thunder at one point and ducked into an alleyway. She remained there as the rains fell. Her first night was sheer terror. She cowered in a corner, shivering and cold. The break of day left her hungry and still alone.

Bells had turned into suns. E'rin began to scavenge for food and collect rainwater to drink. She’d made a basic shelter in her alleyway with scraps of sailcloth and discarded timber. Suns turned into weeks, and E'rin’s health had began to suffer. She was thin and pale. The warm weather had faded into a cold and rainy Autumn as weeks became moons.

Her decline had worsened by the time she was found by Evelyn, a midlander teacher for the school. It was the coughing that gave E'rin away. Evelyn decided to inspect the sound and discovered the sickly Miqo'te. She frowned and approached with a thermos of tea and a half of a sandwich. She offered up the sandwich to E'rin, who seemed to be less than friendly. She hissed at Evelyn as she neared. Evelyn decided to push the issue and got closer still. E'rin lashed out, biting the woman.

Evelyn let out a yelp and yanked back her hand. She exhaled a sigh and shook her head. She left for the time being, muttering to herself. “I need to find a way to build trust…”

Sure enough, the woman came back with food again. This time it was in a bag and set a distance away. E'rin very timidly moved out to get it, skittish as could be. This became commonplace over the next few suns. Set out a meal and let E'rin get it on her own terms. Evelyn got steadily closer each time until one time E'rin didn’t come out of her shelter. Instead of shuffling around, Evelyn heard only very severe coughing fits.

Evelyn pulled back the sailcloth to get a look at E'rin and gasped at the sorry state of the girl. She reached down scoop up the malnourished girl, cradling her carefully. E'rin made some small protest, but overall seemed far too weak to truly fight.

“Hello there, little one… I am Evelyn… don’t worry, you’re safe. What’s your name, hon? Where are your parents? Why are you all alone?” Evelyn asked, only half-expecting any answer at this point. She took E'rin inside and out of the rain. A quick warm bath to get E'rin’s temperature up and wash off the street grime, a change of clothes, a warm blanket, a cup of hot coco, and a fireplace with a fluffy rug. E'rin felt the first taste of home she’d had in moons. Evelyn then contacted a mender to come see to E'rin.

That sun marked a turning point for E'rin. The mender came and put E'rin on the path to recovery. Suns and weeks of getting E'rin fed, healthy, and much happier. They began to form a bond and the sense of trust deepened. Evelyn continued to ask questions throughout this time. Most of them E'rin couldn’t answer, but eventually she asked one of the few E'rin could.

A snap of the fingers heralded the arrival of another question. “I’ve asked so much about you, but never asked if you could speak… so… can you?” Evelyn asked in a cheerful tone.

E'rin shook her head, ears wilting.

Evelyn smiled. “Well… don’t worry about that. We’ll teach you other ways to talk. Now, I do have one more question for you though…”

E'rin perked up at that, clearly interested now.

Evelyn’s smile only grew as she took E'rin’s hands. “Will you stay?”

[lavenderbcnes-blog]

1st tag drop

[brooklynislandgirl]

❓

Reflections || Accepting

Nova Heart || Anikeni

~Does my muse trust yours~

Anakin sleeps. Fever-wet brow, deep hollows below closed eyes. Old scars and healing wounds. A sickness of the mind so deep that even she cannot reach him entirely. This rest is fitful and the nightmares are so real they threaten to choke everything in miles around his presence. She has been more than once in these few hours tempted to tie him down to the makeshift bed. To make a choice for him and course-correct. Never go to Mustafar and find some way to secret him back home where he can get the care and rest he needs. To maybe bring her Anakin back from the abyss he's fallen into, or at least some semblance of their former normalcy.

But to do so would be to admit that her trust, her absolute faith in him, had broken right along with his sanity. That there are, in fact, limitations appended to her promise that wherever he was, she would be too. That maybe loving each other just wasn't enough. And that she cannot do. She would sooner burn the galaxy down to the foundations, sacrifice everything that ever existed. She would give up the living Force before she would betray him.

So she mops his brow with a cool cloth and lets his hand curl in hers. She becomes an anchor, a beacon in the dark. Her trust remains inviolate.

~Does my muse dislike yours~

"I almost had you!"

She throws down the practice sabre, it's green blade disappearing after she lets go and it makes a defeated, metallic thunk when it lands. Her face is flushed green, dark strands of her hair stick to her cheeks and her neck having escaped the tight confines of its braid, and no one with olfactory senses in the room can miss the distinct but vague floral scent that rises from her skin.

"You did," Anakin says mildly, unbothered by her outburst, at least on surface level.

He did not tell her she let her guard drop, nor that she was distracted and thereby allowed her speed to be effected. He knows how much that stings coming from anyone but the masters, and from them it's murderous. Just like she doesn't dare utter the words 'I hate you'. Because even if he knew she was just frustrated, it would eat him alive. And she could never dislike Anakin. "We take five, and go again."

~Would my muse kill someone for yours~

Anakin is on Coruscant. She can only imagine the cruelty being imposed on him by the Emperor. Imagine because she is languishing in the Halla sector, currently locked in her quarters avoiding it's Moff. His crime is that he is both insufferably arrogant and mind-numbingly boring. His only real desire is to regale her with tales of his bravery and genius in the war, and in crushing the Jedi. He speaks of personally having a hand in dispatching General Skywalker, and claiming several of the young Jedi's victories as his own.

Clearly, he cannot read his audience.

To entertain herself in her solitude, she pulls out her datapad and keys in a specific encryption. She scans through faces, through condensed personnel records. Certain Moffs, admirals, courtiers...who thought they could replace Anakin as the Emperor's right hand. But what they fail to see when they look at her Za'lali is exactly what a man is capable of when that hand is cut off... And that he has two others, always. Kenobi escaped, much to her disappointment, though in no situation would she put him above Anakin. She has been gathering rumours as young women collect flowers and young men collect hearts. The strongest of the whispers point to either the Outer Rim or the wild-space beyond. It's only a matter of ti- The chime on her door breaks through her thoughts. Shouting, pounding on the door, demanding she come quickly. It would seem that the Moff had ingested something that did not agree with him and required emergency medical attention.

She smiles languidly, before deleting one of the records.

~Would my muse kill your muse~

"No, and do not ever think to ask that of me." She means it. The seriousness etched not only in voice but visage too is harder than any other thing she has ever said to him. A deep verdant blush creeps about her cheekbones though there is nothing romantic about it. It's spoken in the way she rises up where they'd been lounging seconds before, his hand that had been tucking strands of hair behind her ear left hanging in place until it falls out of sight in shame, discomfort. His Presence is as turbulent as her own though held in an infinite check. Emotions as hotly burning stars are dangerous things within the Temple walls.

It has never been easy for her to be angry with him, and isn't so now. She only has indignation to stand on. But for him to ask if she would do such a thing is so utterly galling she can't even begin to unpack the flicker-flash of temper. She would willingly die for him. She would think it a gift to slaughter half the galaxy in his name. But that he would even think to ask if she would ever hurt him, much less... It's...it's... "I could not do it, Za'lali. Not really. And...you must forgive me for that."

~Would my muse save yours~

If Melakeni had a heart it would be in her throat. Choking her slowly until black spots danced before her eyes. It is lucky that she does not, she's hyperventilating as it is, having run from the final push of the assault. She'd known something was wrong long before they'd reached the breach. She'd heard his scream through the Force and had nearly staggered under the weight and the pain from it.

By the time she'd found him the scene before her felt almost serene, which was wholly incongruous to the reality of it. Two others were fawning over Master Kenobi, but she only saw Anakin. And the Senator wrapped around him. Consoling him, holding his long and lithe frame...missing one of his limbs. His face is so pale, his body in such shock, she's surprised he's still upright. Her eyes narrow, murderously so, as she surveys the two of them. The jealousy is bitter in her throat. But the Senator is...just that. She has no place here and even if Keni herself had to participate in battle, she is still a Consular knight, a healer and Anakin falls under her care.

She strides like small thunder to present herself to them both, and with great care she gingerly wraps an arm around him, pulling him from the other woman's embrace. "You should report to one of the other healers, Senator. You wouldn't want your wounds to fester. Skywalker is in good hands now."

~Does my muse find your muse attractive~

When he was a child Keni's affection was entirely based on the fact that he seemed so lost and so lonely, so very out of place. She always hated the cruelty of the other children who thought themselves superior to him simply because they'd had the misfortune of being snatched away from their families sooner. It grew as they did. It became something no less protective but infinitely more attentive when they started maturing, and Keni began to notice exactly how he was growing into the man he would become. And then even that slowly began to change to, though she couldn't say when. But standing here in her quarters, turning her head over her shoulder to see him leaning in the doorway? Everything inside of her seizes up. She can drown in his eyes. There are entire other worlds that linger in those depths that she has never seen before. She wants to run her fingers through the burnished gold curls now lingering close to his shoulders like strangler vine. She wants to kiss the lips slowly drawing into a smile meant only for her. She swallows hard as her mouth has gone suddenly dry, sets down her brush. IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou.

"Anakin. I wasn't expecting to..."

She rises like a rogue wave and perhaps with as much grace spills across his chest when she finds herself beside him. Breathing him down into her lungs, every cell in her body joyful that he has returned, whole and with only a week long need to sleep. But even haggard, exhausted, utterly spent in every possible way, he is still beautiful. He is still Anakin. "Welcome home." ~Is my muse disgusted by yours~

"Incredibly, utterly, totally inedible." Her whisper is a breath, the words meant to impart the height of displeasure, though they carry none of it in their seductive tone. A specific sort of tease meant for no one else to hear. Arms wound up behind his neck, legs wrapped around his hips. Every thing soft about her body is gently pressed into his as though with enough desire they can transcend physical limitations and become literally one body with two souls. A moment later she gives lie to the feigned disgust by sealing her lips to his throat, a long leisurely lick of his skin, indulging in the texture, the warmth, and absolutely the taste of him. It has nothing to do with feigned cannibalism, not that she's sure it counts considering they are different species, but the little sounds the restrained affection draws out of him is worth every bit of the game.

~Would my muse go on a date with your muse~

If she were to be honest, Coruscant is an eyesore. More than that it is the thing from deepest nightmare, thousands of layers of ever increasing scar-tissue atop the body of a dead or dying world. There is no sun here. No real wind to speak of, no life giving waters. The only greenery that exists are the cultivated kind set aside only for the incredibly fortunate wealthy, and the Temple gardens which are necessary to help provide food. The light is as loud as the people, and since the day she stepped foot on this world, it has caused her a perpetually low-key anxiety that she cannot shake. She still has the occasional nightmare of her own world becoming like this if they let outsiders in.

The only soothing thing about it is being up here on the roof. Laying back and staring up at the skies, watching ships break atmosphere in one direction or another. Fingers laced in the small space between them. Listening to him spin stories of the places they will one day go see together that are nothing like this monstrosity. This is the only time they seem to have to be together unimpeded by things like Masters and politicians, ever increasing missions of importance. And she wouldn't trade it for anything, not even a glimpse of trees.

~Would my muse kiss yours~

They pass one another in the halls, and fingers brush accidentally against the other's before they continue one, each as silent as barren worlds. Contemplative hours give each of them the meaning of patience. During a mission briefing from Master Yoda, they sit opposite of one another in the semi-circle. A shared gaze perhaps no more than seconds before their field of vision is full of holo star maps and battalion formations. A meal taken in the dining hall together. A cup is lifted and sipped from. Set down. The other takes it up and has their own drink. They eat in silence. The water pouring down over them both, the small confines filled with breath-stealing steam. Her forearms brace against the wall. His lips find a particularly tender spot at the name of her neck and he whispers a term of endearment across her skin. He sits on the edge of the exam table, anxiety fluttering the tips of his fingers inside the sleeves of his robes. There's a thousand different things he could be doing. That he thinks he ought to be doing. That this isn't a necessity, and that is why she insists. Better to loose an hour for a thorough neurological scan than the alternative. And at least this way, he has a touch of privacy. She steps into the small space between his parted knees. She presses her mouth to the outside corner of his lips. There are a hundred ways to kiss someone that you aren't allowed to. There's a hundred intimacies that go unnoticed. Anakin and Melakeni know them all.

~Would my muse betray yours~ "You are distracted, my little apprentice." She raises her eyes to her Master's, and is once again reminded of darkest Nekotrig. Of the dozen superstitions, the most compelling being the tale of how having it's lack of light falling on a person would kill them. The same could be said of his glittering black gaze. "I am sorry, Master." He raises an infinitely sharp and deceptively delicate looking quadranium stiletto, tests it's heft then balances it perfectly on the tip of one long and elegant finger. The keenness of the double edge could slice a whisper in half, it's strength allowing for deeply penetrating injuries. A sentient could bleed out in a matter of seconds. "Is it the Skywalker boy? You two are very close...friends." She doesn't hesitate to lie. "I do not know what you mean, Master. He is merely my clan brother. And is often injured. Careless of him, I know." She is only grateful to the Living Force that she has no heartbeat to escalate and prove her falsehood, and it pains her to reduce Anakin to nothing more than someone inept at taking care of himself. But she knows better. One wrong word, one moment of her Master's displeasure and... Accidents happen, or so they say.

"Next time allow Offee to see to him. You cannot play nursemaid forever." She lowers her gaze so that she can squeeze her eyes shut without him noticing, the hood of her cloak offers what scant privacy that it can. She licks her lower lip. "Yes, master."

~My muse's favourite thing about yours is~

Everyone else could make an argument were it common knowledge of just how much Melakeni loves Anakin that it is because he is young, he is handsome, he is the Hero With No Fear. They could say it comes down to the brilliant blue of his eyes, or the way his smile lights up entire sectors. They could say it is because he is the perfect Jedi...strong, courageous, compassionate to a fault. And she would not be able to say any of these things are a lie. But that isn't why she does. She loves that he is a quiet spirit, sometimes too nervous inside of his own skin, sometimes too thoughtful by half. But it is because he is gentle and puts so much of himself aside for the good of others. He believes very much in what the Order was supposed to stand for that he'd risk life and limb at any moment to uphold that ideal. He is perfect because he isn't at all. He has very real emotions, strong and grounded in love. That kind of selflessness is not something the Order ever taught him. If anything that was something they'd hoped he'd grow out of, given time. But then again, the Order never quite understood him. They are gone now, shattered and broken as they tried to make him. What few of them who have survived now hide like animals, which is something Keni cannot bring herself to be upset about. She crosses the catwalk of the Executor soft as snowfall until she comes to rest at his side. Though her arms remain at her side, her Presence envelopes him with every ounce of love she possesses.

Come to bed, Za'lali. We have hours still before we arrive. ~The thing my muse dislikes about yours is~ She watches him agree to what Palpatine wheezes about and lowers her eyes demurely, not for a moment allowing the sneer to curve her lips and bare her teeth. Flesh crawls at the mere idea of rending him apart fang and claw. Everything inside of her seethes that the ancient Sith lord still draws breath, still holds his invisible chains around Anakin. Who accepts the snide comments made with a grace that even in the courts at home she could never hope to duplicate. The not-so-veiled threats, the constant goading of hands that belong nowhere near him much less stroking his arm, his back, wherever they like with impunity. She can see now that it is better that she be sent away for these kind of affairs. She wants to create a new ocean for Coruscant out of the blood she wishes to spill. She doesn't only because she does not wish to make things worse for him. And just maybe she cannot help but to be angry with him. It seems Anakin has finally learned patience.