#and i STILL HAVE TO PITCH HER DOWN TO BE A SLIGHT LESS SQUEAKY THAN I AM.

[boneheadboner]

Tumblr won't let me upload my audio from my phone, so I'll have to upload another audio I have that's gonna be redone. For the same reason I gotta redo the Baggs one; made it near when I was just starting, and I've since perfected the impression and feel I didn't do the original justice.

This time, it's one with my dread beanlord, Dirge, and Red.

Voicing those two is so much fun, but good God is Dirge rough on my throat.

Between Dirge, Red, Edge, and Papyrus, it's like some of my most fun voices are like WOOF. GOTTA FLEX THAT THROAT COS DAMN I GOTTA GET DEEP OR LOUD (or both) in the intonation.

Thank frick voicing Baggs, Sans, Stretch, and Blue are ez pz for me.

[imaslutforremusandsirius]

Kiss me?

Greetings, here have this one with Lils. Love her. 

Warnings: 18+

---

I kissed a girl and I liked it, the taste of her cherry chapstick...

Lily took your hand, jumping up and down on the matress, as you screamed out the lyrics of Ketty Perry’s song. 

I kissed a girl just to try it, I hope my boyfriend don't mind it...

Mary and Marlene were grinding on the bed post, putting on what had to be the worlds most terrible strip performance, Dorcas on the floor, laughing so hard she sounded like a squeaky chair. Lily pulled you closer and flipped you to press your back against her chest. You felt her breath on your neck as you threw your head back on her shoulder, continuing to yell out the lyrics.

It felt so wrong, it felt so right, don't mean I'm in love tonight...

Lilys hands were on your waist now, slightly slipping under your pyjama shirt, hands cold against the warm skin of your hips. You enjoyed the obvious more than friendship touches and pushed your ass back against her, your arms coming behind you to mess up her hair, wrapping around her neck to keep her close. 

I kissed a girl and I liked it, I liked it...

Lily let you go as you all fell on the matress, out of breath, laughing until your sides hurt. 

“Merlin, I missed you girls”, Marlene said still giggling. 

“Yes!” “God, yes!” “So much!” “Merlin, me too!” 

Lily grabbed her wand, her hand brushing against the swell of your breasts as she reached out, her face only centimeters away from yours. She gave you a soft smile and shut off the radio. 

“Girls, I need sleep”, Dorcas yawned out. 

The other girls mumbled slight agreements and everybody dragged their exhausted bodies to their own beds. You were silent, thinking about Lily. ‘Am I overthinking? She probably didn’t mean it that way...’

Lily sat up in your bed, her bright green eyes dragging across your face. You focused on her, admiring her face, both of you in comfortable silence. She moved to draw your curtains closed, shuffling to lay down next to you, as you gave no reaction, still only watching her. You were facing each other, curled up, your hands playing with her red hair. She had her eyes closed, nearly falling asleep, when you decided to test the waters a bit. You pulled the blanket over your bodies, intertwined your hands with your forehead resting on hers. She let out a shaky breath, giving you a relieved smile and gripped your hand tight, kissing your wrist. You didn’t need more confirmation, Lily had your heart, just as you had hers.

---

When you woke up the next morning, Lily was already in the bathroom getting ready. You heard the shower and got up to to join her, grinning devilishly. You opened the door to the bathroom, steam rising from the drawn shower curtains and cleared your throat. Lily must have heard, because she immediately stuck out her head, smiling at you.

“Morning love, didn’t know you were awake.”

“Wasn’t until I heard the shower running. Thought maybe you’d help me wake up...”

Lily let out a flustered laugh and bit her lip. 

“Take off your clothes and join me, love.” 

God, that voice. She’s goinig to make you cum like that alone. 

You hastely took off your pyjamas and hurried to join Lily in the shower. Your breath hitched when you saw her. She was petite, subtle curves and milky white skin. Freckles adorned her naked body, highlighting the swell of her breasts, the skin of her stomach and hips. There was fine red hair on her private area, looking soft and glinting red in the light.

She was rinsing her hair, watching you with amusement in her eyes, knowing that you enjoyed what you saw. Slowly you moved towards her, pushing her backwards until her back was resting against the cold shower tiles. You pressed your body against hers, nipples rubbing against each other, hardening under the touch. You placed both of your hands next to her head, caging her in and pressed a hot, open mouthed kiss on her lips. She kissed you back equally as needy, panting and moaning into your mouth, her hands pulling you closer by your hips, on leg wrapping around your waist. Your grabbed her leg securing it around your hip and moved your leg up to press it against her pussy. She let out a high pitched moan, biting and sucking on your lower lip. 

“Fuck my thigh, Lily.”

“Oh, fuck, ah-”

Lily got even wetter through your words, hips sliding back and forth, coating your leg with her slick. Her clit dragged deliciously against your thigh and you took a hold of her hips to keep her upright and move her faster. Her nails were digging into to skin of your back, no daubt leaving scratches and drawing a little blood, but you couldn’t care less. You’d proudly put them on display, if that meant to see Lily fall apart like this.

Her cheeks were flushed deep red, even the tiles behind her heating up, as she let out loud whimpers, not holding back and fucked herself on your leg with all the power she had. You leaned down to lick and suck on her nipples, lips teasing the buds, pulling and biting at them until they were bruised and sensitive. Lily threw her head back, body tightening up, close to cumming.

“Mmmh, fuck m’gonna cum-”

“Go ahead darling, come on my thigh. C’mon give me your cum, there we go...”

She came hard, green eyes glassy, closing with sheer bliss as her mouth fell open to let out a long, high pitched whine. She trembled in your arms, holding on for dear life, as you shushed and praised her. Telling her what a good girl she is. 

You sucked her lower lip in your mouth licking softly, letting her ride out her orgasm. 

“Merlin, you are perfect”, Lily let out, laughing quietly into your mouth, kissing you back. You just gave her a sinful smile, full of promises.

---

“Fuck Lily, more please ah-” 

“Yeah, you like that hm? You like me fucking you with my cock him? Fucking you deep and hard? Look at you, so pretty. Such a pretty. Little. Pussy.” 

She pushed the vibrating dildo deeper with every word, fucking you so deep you felt the vibrations in your belly. 

“More please, want your cock, please”

You could only plead, pushing your ass further against her hand as she fucked and fucked and fucked you silly. You were a blabbering mess, barley keeping your eyes open, voice cracking with every word to let out a broken whine. Lily was relentless, she had already made you come twice, but said it wasn’t enough. Said her gorgeous girl deserves all the pleasure in the world. 

“Come on baby, one more”, she whispered against the shell of your ear, nearly purring with delight. “Don’t wanna disappoint me right? Wanna make me proud?”

“Yes, yes wanna be goo- fuck m’gonna be good”

“Mhm, you are my good girl. My precious love. Want you to come all over my cock, okay?” The fact that her voice was so unwavering, clearly not distracted by your moans made you even hotter. Knowing that she had so much control over you and was the reason for your pleasure.

Her hands went impossibly fast, mouth on your clit, other hand fucking your hole in brutal thrusts.

“Fuck Li- ahhh” You came hard, cum gushing out of your hole into Lilys mouth, as you fell forward, not able to hold yourself up anymore. 

“Thats my pretty slut, thats my filthy girl. You did so good, baby. So good f’me.” She kissed you deeply, breathing you in, only parting so you could smile at each other adoringly. Merlin, this woman.

[disgruntledspacedad]

Aftershocks (2/5)

The Better Love Series 

pairing: Javier Peña x Fem!Reader (Ears). Part of the Better Love ‘verse. 

summary: That bomb fucked you up a little more than you thought. h/c, fluff.

words: 2.5k 

warnings: 18+ - canon typical violence, lots of medical stuff in this one.

a/n: unbeta’d. I had a surprise day off, so enjoy the second installment of Aftershocks much sooner than I had anticipated. More notes to follow!

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five 

MASTERLIST

You’re escorted beyond the heavy double doors of the emergency department in a hurry. It probably has a lot to do with Javi busting into the waiting area with you in his arms, flashing his DEA badge and barking out orders in irate Spanish. 

Honestly, you wish he wouldn’t make such a scene. Sitting still in the car had allowed you to catch your breath a little. You feel like shit, sure, but you’re pretty sure you aren’t actively dying.

Try telling him that, though.

The triage room is little more than a curtain masking a dimly lit corner. You’re answering what questions you can in halting Spanish, but Javi can see that you’re overwhelmed. 

“Ella habla ingles.” His tone earns him a dirty look, but the nurse nods, placing an oxygen probe on your finger and frowning up at the monitor. Both of you follow her gaze, noticing that the number reads 87. 

“The doctor will see you soon,” she says carefully. Her English is heavily accented, and suddenly, you’re grateful beyond words that you have Javi here to translate. “Here. You’ll wear this.” She winds the oxygen tubing beneath your chin and around your ears. The oxygen is dry, burning your nose and making your face twitch in annoyance, but you can’t deny that you feel better with it on.

The nurse leaves you then, pulling the curtain closed behind her. Javi continues to stare at the monitor with his arms folded across his chest as the number on the screen climbs to 89, then to 92, the soft tone of the blips rising in pitch with each subtle improvement.

He’s thinking again, you can tell. 

“Javi?” You reach for his hand, tugging at his fingers. Instinctively, you know that leaving him alone to stew right now cannot be a good thing.

He glances down at you, all dark, glittering eyes and terse expression, and worry clinches in your gut. “You okay?”

Javi snorts. “Really, Ears.” You can just see him fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “That’s a hell of a question, coming from you.”

You decide to shoot for levity. “I’m great, thanks for asking.”

That earns you a pathetic, lopsided lip twitch. You count it as a win anyway.

The doctor never shows. Javi grumbles and broods. A little while later, somebody comes with a wheelchair to whisk you away for an x-ray, and no matter how much blustering and badge-flashing and protesting he does, Javi is told firmly to stay put. 

He’s pacing agitatedly in the hallway when return. Apparently, it had felt like an eternity for him. 

In reality, you’d been gone less than twenty minutes.

It seems that your x-ray has earned you some attention, because things start happening a little faster now. People are in and out, one nurse bustling in to wordlessly draw an entire fistful of little color coded tubes of your blood, another working on IV access in your opposite arm. You take it all stoically, caught between watching in fascination as the nurse tapes the catheter in place with practiced efficiency and wondering why all of this can’t just happen in one stick. 

A little while later, the same nurse returns with a bag of fluid. “Seca,” she informs you as she stretches to hang it on the hook in the wall. 

“She says you’re dehydrated,” Javi translates. His face is a stone wall, the subtle clench of his jaw the only hint of the emotion that churns beneath. You can just imagine him kicking himself for not making you eat or drink. 

You bite back a shiver. The saline is cold in your arm.

They move you to a real room not long after that. It’s only marginally bigger than your corner in the emergency department, crammed with two rickey, uncomfortable beds separated by another dingy curtain. Thankfully, you don’t have a roommate for the moment.

You let Javi handle the paperwork as you change out of his sweats and into the itchy, open-backed gown that you’ve been provided with. Even with the oxygen, moving around still requires that you pause to catch your breath, and you’re grateful for the opportunity to sit when you’re done, even if the hospital bed you’re on is squeaky and uncomfortable.

Once the documents are signed and the nurses are gone, silence settles thickly between you. Javi is standing with his fingers fisted into his hips, glaring daggers at the clock on the wall. He hasn’t spoken in a long time.

Again, you feel that burning need to pull him out of his head. “Not really set up for visitors, is it?” you ask wryly. It’s a stupid, pointless thing to say, but you’re just trying to fill the void.

Javi glances around the room, raising his brows at what he observes. There’s no chair and no free space, nowhere for him to sit. Sighing deeply, he yanks back the curtain that divides the room and eases carefully onto the bed opposite of you, leaning forward with his arms folded on his knees.

You grit your teeth. Really, you wouldn’t have minded him settling down on your bed, but the more time you spend with Javi, the more you’re starting to realize that he withdraws when he’s feeling wrong-footed. As annoying as it is, the distance he’s putting between you is just par for the course, and it’s just not worth addressing right now.

“How are you feeling?” he asks softly, pinning you with a sharp, assessing stare.

“Better,” you answer automatically, forcing some cheerfulness into your tone. Honestly, you’re far more worried about him than you are about you. 

Javi raises a skeptical brow, clearly doubting you.

“No, really!” 

Your protest makes him shake his head in dark amusement. “What am I gonna do with you, Ears?” he wonders aloud.

You’re ready to supply several very detailed answers to that question, all of them interrupted as your doctor finally breezes into the room. 

“About fucking time,” Javi mutters under his breath as he rises to his feet.

“Hola, hola. I’m Dr. Perez.” Dr. Perez says, actually managing to sound a tiny bit apologetic. “Forgive the delay, por favor. I know it must seem that emergencies are the most non-emergent situation in the hospital, but, I promise you, we are working hard behind the scenes.”

 You decide immediately that you like Dr. Perez. He’s not a big man, compact and clean cut, with just the faintest dusting of silver at his temples and a warm, genuine smile. 

Javi must be thinking along similar lines, because he comes to stand just at the edge of your shoulder, looming dark and foreboding at your side as Dr. Perez approaches your bedside. 

Oh, now you’ll stick close, you think fondly, trying to find a little amusement in Javi’s behavior. Everything about this situation is entirely new, totally incongruous with the cool, suave Javier Peña that you thought you’d known, and a malicious, possessive part of your brain is just eating up the implications.

“I understand you were involved in the bombing in downtown Bogotá, correct?” Dr. Perez’s grip is firm and cool as he shakes your hand. 

“Yes, that’s correct.” You’re acutely aware of Javi standing stiffly beside you, watching your every move.

“Most unfortunate,” Perez shakes his head in a show of sympathy, and you manage to believe him. “And the breathing problems, they began later, no?”

“Yes,” you answer, surprised that he would guess with such accuracy. “I was okay afterward. Maybe a little bit sore. But not hurt.”

“Ella ha estado tosiendo sangre,” Javi interjects quickly. You’re not sure what he’s saying, but Dr. Perez’s eyes flicker in his direction, a swift, meaningful look passing between them. 

“Veo.” Dr. Perez says smoothly. He frowns down at you. “And how for were you from the blast zone?”

You think back, willing yourself to relive the memory of the morning in clinical detail. “I was crossing the street,” you say slowly.  “Headed home.” You do some quick mental math in your head, analyzing the width of Circular against the image of Emilio, waving. You’d been close enough to shout a greeting. “Forty feet. Maybe a little less.”

Beside you, Javi sucks in a sharp breath. 

Perez purses his lips. “Sí, eso lo haría.” He crosses the room, flicking a switch to illuminate a bright white panel built into the wall that you hadn’t noticed before. He shuffles through your chart, pulling out a dark film and pinning it to the light. 

It’s your chest x-ray. You can clearly see the curve of your ribs, stark white against the darker background of your lungs. In the middle of the film lies the dusky outline of what you assume is your heart. To the lower left, a patch of hazy, white blur mars the image. 

“This is the problem.” Perez points to the blur. “Pulmones magullados. Your lungs are bruised, see? This is common in blast zone survivors. The change in air pressure when the bomb ignites causes an injury to the lung tissue. You are bleeding just a little bit internally.”

You can damn near feel Javi gritting his teeth at that.

“But I felt fine,” you protest weakly, looking assentingly at the blob on the x-ray. It’s a pretty good size.

“Sí, you were fine.” Perez is nodding along with you, like he’d expected the argument. “That’s normal with this type of injury. You felt good immediately afterward because the bruise was new, the bleeding slight. But the bruise has gotten bigger, and you have gotten worse.” He indicates the oxygen that you are wearing with a grim nod. “You are a very lucky, mi amiga, to have walked away from that. Muy afortunada. Had you been closer…” Perez trails off, shaking his head somberly. “It does not bear thinking.”

He claps his hands, startling you away from the grisly images stirring in your mind. “There is good news, though!” Perez gestures toward the x-ray as a whole, circling over it with his index finger. “I see no rib fractures, nothing collapsed. Your breathing might get worse before it gets better, but it will get better. We will keep you under close watch until then.”

“Keep me?”

“Sí, you will be here.” Perez pins you with a no-nonsense stare, as if to curtail any protests before they come. “There’s another matter. You have a small concussion as well. To this area, here.” He taps the back of his own head with his hand. “From falling down, yes?”

You nod. The area he’s pointing to is right where your head hurts most, where you’d fallen backward after the blast. “Yes. It did knock me off my feet.” Apparently a with a little more force than you’d initially assumed.

Perez hums. “We will monitor that as well. You do not take blood thinners?”

“No, sir. No medications.”

“Bueno.” Dr. Perez seems genuinely pleased by this. “You’ve made my job very easy.” He gathers the film and shuffles it back into your chart, flopping it shut with a flourish. “Rest for you, Orejas. Time and sleep will do the best healing.”

“Orejas?” you can’t help but ask. It’s the name that Emilio had used for you, but you’re shocked that Perez knows it. 

Perez smiles. “I listen to my nurses. That is what they call you.”

“How much time?” Javi interrupts before you can respond. You’d nearly forgotten about him, as quiet as he’s been. 

Perez turns to address him for the first time. “It depends largely on her body. The concussion is small, and won’t require anything in the way of treatment. Her lungs, though…” Perez frowns down at the closed chart with a furrowed brow. “The contusion is still developing. A few days, a week, perhaps? I can say more tomorrow.” He turns back to you, sighing in sympathy. “I’m afraid you’re in for a stay, mi amiga.”

Well, fuck.

With that, Perez disappears just as quickly as he’d arrived, soft, quick footsteps echoing down the hallway, and silence falls once again over the room.

Javi doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. He’s standing very still, arms folded tightly across his chest with his thumbs digging into his armpits. The expression on his face is downright chilling. 

Your blood turns to ice.

“What the fuck, Ears?” he says very slowly, enunciating each syllable with deadly precision.

You glance up, suddenly hesitant to speak. The little movement must be enough to spur him on, though, because Javi fucking explodes. 

“Forty fucking feet!” he bites out, clawing angrily at his hair. He paces the tiny room, whirling as he runs out of space and pointing an accusing finger at you. “You told me you were across the street, Ears, not crossing it. There’s a big fucking difference.”

You blink at him, recalling the conversation you’d had in the embassy parking lot. 

Shit, he’s right.

“Why the hell did you lie to me?” There’s a subtle warble in his tone, a flicker of devastation in his eyes that’s quickly masked. 

Discomfort that has nothing to do with your injured lungs twinges in your chest. “I don’t know,” you answer miserably. You hadn’t thought of it as lying. At the time, you’d been overwhelmed by the situation and thoroughly confused by Javi’s erratic behavior, just desperate to get home and sleep off the worst morning of your life. “I didn’t want to upset you, I guess.” 

Javi laughs sarcastically. “Well, you’ve done a fucking fantastic job of that, haven’t you?” He throws his hands in the air, like he’s had it up to here with your shit. “Coughing up blood all over my kitchen floor. Christ, I should have known.”

Okay, now he’s being a little dramatic - the only blood you’d coughed up had been into your fingers, after all, but the protest is lost on you as you look him in the face. Javi’s eyes are deeply shadowed, his expression pained, his hair standing wildly from where he’s run his fingers through it. 

He looks thoroughly exhausted.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, dropping your gaze to the floor.

Javi huffs and looks away, clearly not ready to accept any apologies from you.

You don’t blame him. Throughout this entire screwed up relationship, you’ve done an absolutely piss poor job of putting yourself in Javi’s shoes, and it’s coming back to bite you in the ass.

You deserve his irritation, and more.

Javi’s pager beeps, the shrill sound of it slicing through the tension. He snatches it roughly off of his belt, frowning down at the display with squinted eyes.

You glance up at the clock on the wall. It’s pretty late, but given the day Javi’s had, it’s not outrageous to assume that somebody would need to be in touch with him at this hour.

 “I’ve got to take this,” Javi says tonelessly, hardly glancing up at you. If there’s any regret there, it’s buried very deeply. “I’ll see you later, Ears.”

He’s gone before you can get a word in edgewise.

♠

confessions/notes:

I speak one language poorly, and I’ve never extensively written a character who is not a primary English speaker (I’m not counting Javi here). Any critiques or corrections to my Spanish are very welcomed!

Up next: a look at things from Javi’s POV.

Spanish translations: 

She speaks English. 

Dry

She’s been coughing up blood.

I see. 

Yeah, that’ll do it.

ears

tags:@jedi-mando, @perropascal, @aerolanya, @pikemoreno, @bitchin-beskar, @mostly-megan, @huliabitch, @starsandmando, @starlight-starwrites​, @thirstworldproblemss, @knittingqueen13, @yespolkadotkitty​

Javier Peña tags: @magpie-to-the-morning, @tiffdawg, @danniburgh, @1800-fight-me​

To my taglist peeps, I’m sorry for tagging you guys three times in 24 hours. Again, chaotic jay cannot plan anything, like ever.

[ditttiii]

Dilectio ♡

▣ Summary: You run your hands across his lower lip as he caresses your cheeks, draws small repetitive circles over the skin, and you relish the moment, the quiet, the space between you two where your breaths mingle until they become one. “Let me buy us a house, somewhere outside the city, where it’s just you, me, Holly maybe a friend for her, a cat for you, and a pond full of fishes, our own little place.”

▣ Warnings: Nothing major except tooth rotting, sickeningly sweet fluff and a make-out session or two. Oh! & Yoongi is called lill meow-meow. Oh 2x! & Yoongi has bread-cheeks. (PG-13)

▣ Genre: fluff, humour, slice of life

▣ Pairing: Yoongi x Plus size Reader

▣ Word Count: 3.1k

This work was commissioned by the lovely @bucksvseverybody for the Changes with Luv  fundraiser project, hosted by @ficswithluv​. All proceedings from this project go to the BLM funds.Thank you so much for your help and kind donation! I hope you like it ❤

You let out a watery giggle as you see your boyfriend give his signature gummy smile to the camera and conclude his part of the commencement speech. 

Said boyfriend, hearing your laugh then proceeds to tighten his arms around you, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. 

"Oh, so my advice is funny to you now?" You hear Yoongi grumble, and a shiver runs down your spine at the feel of his lips forming the words on the sensitive skin of your neck. 

Snorting, you sniffle and wipe away the few stray tears that had slipped out, before you twist your torso and look your boyfriend in the eye. 

"If you think I don't see you fishing for compliments, you are dead wrong baby boo." You say as a cheeky grin spreads across your face. He acts like he hates that name, but you know better. The tip of Yoongi's ears turns red, proving you right before he again buries his head in your neck and mutters a quiet, "Smartass."

You burrow your head in the warmth of Yoongi’s sweater and let the soft cloth absorb the few stray tears that had slipped out. Your attention now away from your laptop screen, as you miss the rest of the boys and their speeches. You decide to look them up later as your body protests leaving the warmth of Yoongi’s body heat. 

"Do you really feel alone?" You voice out the question that had been bugging you for some time now. You don't want to assume anything but the thought that your boyfriend has been having a difficult time without you knowing about it doesn't quite sit well with you. 

You feel more than hear Yoongi let out a huff, as his warm breath hits the nape of your neck and you suppress a shudder. 

"Jagiya," He begins before suddenly the hands that were around your waist shift and wrap themselves around your shoulders, pulling you closer to the man in question and tilting your head up.

You hum and shift your gaze up-to meet his eyes, your hands finding their way to the nape of his neck, his soft black hair, tickling the skin of your fingers as you run your hands over his skin. 

"I didn't mean it how you might think I did. I don't feel alone in the sense that I feel like I have no one. It's more of a....creative feeling, where I feel like my inspiration sometimes runs dry and then I don't know which way I should go next." Yoongi says, and you nod in reply. 

He tilts his head as he tries to catch your gaze, but you shift your eyes away. You don't think Yoongi is lying to you, you know he never would. But you also wonder if he is telling you the full truth or not. You wouldn't put it past him to hold back and keep his feelings to himself if he thinks it might worry you. 

Yoongi might seem rough from the outside, but once he allows a person in, he treasures them more than most do. You know that better than anybody else. 

You see it in the way he brings home your favourite coffee from halfway across the city every time you pull an all-nighter, hear it in the way he whispers goodnight to you every night he comes home late and thinks you are asleep.

More than anything else, you feel it in the way his touch caresses your skin like you are a porcelain doll, glides over your curves leaving you feeling treasured and your heart bursting with love and affection for him. 

"Jagi, I love you." You hear your boyfriend's deep, slight gravely voice say and before you can reply, his hands are snaking from your shoulders to your neck and tipping your head up as his soft lips, dip down and interlock with yours. 

Your surprised squeak is muffled as his lips glide over yours, the feather-soft feel of them leaves you feeling warm as your toes curl and your hands' fist and tug the collar of Yoongi’s sweater, pulling him closer. 

His tongue slips between your lips as it licks a strip over your lower lip and you open your mouth, tongue reaching out and gliding over his in response. A breathy moan slipping out almost unconsciously when you feel his hands slide over your curves, caressing the skin under, and your blush rises, the skin from over your chest to the tip of your ears feeling flushed and warm.

You don't think you are needy, nor are you the jealous, insecure kind, but something about Yoongi’s touch has you aching, craving for more, and the thought of someone else being on the receiving end of it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. Huffing, you tug him closer, your nails softly skimming over the sensitive skin of the back of his ears, and he shudders, a grin of your own slipping onto your face when you realise for the billionth time the effect you have on him. 

"Stop grinning," Yoongi grumbles embarrassed, his pale skin, looking red as a sheen of oil gathers over his cheeks and nose, highlighting his soft, curvy features, and you bite your lip, humming back a response before you tilt your head up and drop a kiss on the tip of his nose. 

"I love you too babyboo," You whisper back, your lips ghosting over his as you keep them close, your words dripping with love and your eyes overflowing with affection as they gaze into his.

You watch as Yoongi’s eyes turn soft, their usual cat-like silhouette, melting into something curvier before he's closing the distance between you two and your eyes slip close.  

With Yoongi’s soft and sugar-sweet lips on yours, you lose yourself, until the feel of his silky hair twined around your fingers and his puffs of warm breaths on your face, are all that you are aware of anymore. 

"Dammit, I swear to god, if you do that one more time, I am kicking you where the sun doesn't shine." You playfully growl out loud, only to squeal when another spray of water hits the back of your neck. 

Huffing dramatically you advance towards your boyfriend, who's now trying to act innocent, his back turned away from you, neck slightly hunched as he looks down and continues to wash the vegetables for tonight's celebratory dinner. 

Coming to stand beside him, you lean your hip against the counter top behind you, and turn to look at your boyfriend. His bottom lip under the clutches of his pearly teeth, his gummy grin on full display despite his apparent attempt at trying to hold it in, Yoongi looked like the picture-perfect definition of the word adorable. 

"Mature, Real Mature." You remark wryly and roll your eyes fondly when the laugh he had been trying so hard to hold in, finally tumbles out. Body hunching over the counter, as his hands grip the edge, chuckle after chuckle flow out of him. His usual gravely, raspy, deep voice, raising slightly in pitch as his laugh starts to go squeaky and his cheeks bloom red due to lack of oxygen. 

Huffing you try to move away and go back to your cooking, but his hand snakes out, tugging you closer. 

The softness of your chest collides against the hard, coiled muscles of his torso, and your eyes drift over to his sparkly orbs. His bread cheeks on full display, eyes melted into two crescent moons, the wide gummy smile stretched wide. 

Even if you had been genuinely angry, you'd have melted immediately. 

"You're too cute for your own good little meow-meow." You tease and watch as Yoongi's blush darkens, a groan spilling out of his lips as he pulls you closer and nuzzles against your neck. 

Giggling, you run your hands through his hair, caressing the skin of his nape as Yoongi's hands tighten around your waist, the soft flesh under his grip feeling warmer. 

"For someone who's supposed to be the tough, scary one you're awfully affectionate," You remark when you feel him leaving soft pecks on your neck. 

"Well, little meow-meow is soft for you," Comes his reply, face rising and dropping a kiss on your forehead, his soft, full lips leaving their impression on your skin even after he's pulled away, and gotten back to his washing duty. 

Heart bursting with affection, you take in the man who in a span of a six-month relationship has somehow turned into your entire world. When you had first met Yoongi, you were still in college. 

Stressing over your impending finals and drowning in stress, you had more or less body slammed into him, drenching his coat with your coffee. Bloodshot eyes, a rats nest of hair, you had then proceeded to scold him for standing in the middle of the cafe, your sleep-deprived brain too shot to realise that you could get into a world of trouble for insulting the world-famous musician. 

Not all that unexpectedly, you had left quite an impression on the record-breaking idol, and thus began the wooing. 

Ridiculously expensive flower arrangements with lyrics and small poems written onto the cards, gifts from all over the world—little trinkets he would buy from wherever he was, would arrive at your doorstep; softening you inch by inch, day after day. 

Yoongi never one to a miss a chance, had swooped in like a prince charming, out of his Mercedes Benz with your favourite coffee from halfway across the city, and hook, line and sinker—

You were wooed. 

Six months later, here you are, fresh out of college, celebrating your graduation night with your boyfriend. 

Smiling dopily at your thoughts, you move past and get back to cooking, Yoongi's hand reaching out and gliding against your wrist as you pass by. 

As the fragrance and warmth of the still-hot Bulgogi and Samgyeopsal wafted up to your nose, you break your chopsticks apart, picking a piece of the meat and biting into it. Moaning, in pleasure and satisfaction, when the sweet and savoury flavour hits your taste buds. 

Lightly swinging your feet under the table, you nudge Yoongi's feet and grin, your hand rising up to cover your mouth when he raises his brows, his hand pausing mid-rise. 

"I kill at cooking, admit it, I am better than you baby," Winking, you tease, your feet under the table hooking under the edge of his PJs, sliding against his legs, and you watch amused as the tips of his ears go red, but he doesn't shift. 

"Who taught you to cook, you brat?" He quips back with a wink, and you just giggle, head tilting as you catch his gaze and receive a soft smile in return. 

Fondly you watch as Yoongi picks a piece before his hand extends towards you, and you rise a little from your seat, reaching out and biting into half of the meat piece and chewing. 

Too big for one single bite, you leave half of it in Yoongi's hold, but before you can reach out and eat it, your boyfriend already has it in his mouth. 

His cheeks bulge out with the still too big a piece, and you gape, a wounded whine deep from your chest coming out in response. 

"Hey! That was mine!" You playfully glare, as your hand reaches out to snatch his chopsticks away, but Yoongi leans back and out of your reach. 

Winking, he grins, "What's yours is mine, baby boo." 

Raising your brow, before your boyfriend can blink, your hand reaches out and clutches onto the last piece of meat from his plate. Inside your mouth not a second later, you let out an exaggerated moan, dramatically closing your eyes and throwing your hands over your heart. 

"Whaa! You brat!" He exclaims, his pout coming out in full force as he moans over the loss of his precious meat. 

Winking you reply, "What's mine is yours, meow-meow."

Seeing your boyfriend get up from his chair, you scramble to getaway. Squealing when you feel his hand graze your waist, you push yourself harder, your laughter ringing across the apartment. 

Breathless you fall onto your bed tired, and move to hastily roll over to your corner. 

Yoongi, however, can be fast when he wants to be, and before you can scoot all the way, his arms are caging you in and pulling you closer. 

Squealing you try to push him away, but his hand's sneak under your sweater, and then he's tickling the soft skin under, sending you into peals of laughter. 

You try to wriggle away, but he entangles his legs with yours and refuses to budge. Gasping for breath, you pat his shoulder and squeal out an apology for stealing his meat. 

Finally taking mercy on you, he stops, and you draw in a long breath. Your body feels hot under your sweater, even in Seoul's harsh winter and chest heaving, breathless you turn to your boyfriend. 

Yoongi's body, conditioned after years of dance practices and concerts, is doing a lot better than yours. The only indication that he had even chased you through the hallways of your apartment are his cheeks; tinged pink and glistening under a thin sheen of sweat. 

You drink in the sight of your boyfriend, from his narrow cat-like eyes to his curvy nose, to his fuller lower lip. His body heat seeps into you and warms you from where his legs are still twined around yours.  

Your appreciation of your boyfriend, however, is cut short when said boyfriend rises and snuggles into you. His face nestling over your chest, and between the creases of your soft sweater, cheeks squishing against your chest, and you just look on amused as your boyfriend makes himself comfortable over your chest. 

You want to call him out on how cat-like his behaviour actually is, but you refrain, content to bask in the familiar comfort that Yoongi brings for now.

"You're soft." He mumbles, his voice coming out soft, half-muffled, his nose and mouth still pressed against you, and you snort out a "You're not,"  when you feel his chin slightly dig against your ribs.  

Picking up on your slightly strained voice, he shifts down, until his face is squished against the curves of your stomach. Breathing no longer a stifled process, you just hum and run your hands through his hair, softly scratching the scalp under your tips every now and then. 

Yoongi melts under your touch, a pleased moan slipping out when your hand slides to the back of his ears and lower to his neck. Smiling, you feel him snuggle closer, his face finding purchase between the warmth and softness of your flesh. 

Maybe if it was anybody else you'd have felt a little self-conscious, might have felt the need to change yourself, lose some weight to be like one of those thin, barbie doll-like female idols. But somehow with Yoongi, you have never felt that. Not an iota of self-doubt ever arose when he caressed your skin, your curves, the hills and valleys over the canvas that was your body. 

It wasn't like you were unhealthy, and if you ever feel the need to lose even an inch, it would be on your own accord, and never because you felt like you had to change, to fit into any mould that the society had carved out for you. Your boyfriend had made sure of it, reassuring you early on in your relationship that he loved you in all of your entirety and you don't doubt him. Anybody else you might have, but Yoongi wasn't one to lie, he valued your trust and you as a person too much to do that.

"I love you," His voice flows up to you, deep and dripping with love for you, and you pull him up, hands curling around his neck as your eyes gaze into his before you let slip a smile. 

"I love you too," You say, your voice soft and small, as though you are afraid that if you speak any louder, this moment might shatter, the little bubble that you two are in might pop, and you'd be sent craning into reality. 

But this is your reality. A voice inside your head supplies and you have to stop yourself from tearing up. Even after six months, the surreality of the situation hadn't left, the reality hadn't quite fully sunk in. 

You think of you and Yoongi together, look at his face beside yours on the pillow every night, and it feels like a dream come true. You wonder what you did in your last life to deserve someone as patient, loving and mature as Yoongi, and while you don't know what your past-self did to deserve any of this, you are thankful to her. 

Looking into his dark, onyx eyes, the moonlight from your window brightening his pale face, something inside your chest, tightens. 

You run your hands across his lower lip as he caresses your cheeks, draws small repetitive circles over the skin, and you relish the moment, the quiet, the space between you two where your breaths mingle until they become one. 

"Let me buy us a house, somewhere outside the city, where it's just you, me, Holly maybe a friend for her, a cat for you, and a pond full of fishes, our own little place." Yoongi proposes, taking the chance and asking you the question he had first worded a week ago. You hadn't given him an answer then, a little hesitant to let him spend all that money on you. It wasn't like you two were married, you had only been dating for six months.

But would you ever marry anybody else anyway?

The same voice from before whispers and you already know the answer. Not anymore. Not after Yoongi. 

Looking into his starry eyes, the ones that hold an entire galaxy and all the love he has for you, you nod, say yes to your own little place away from the rest of the world, somewhere you'll one day build your own family. A garden for your plants, a studio for Yoongi's music, and a courtyard for where one day your children will play, run after Yoongi and you, as you all chase each other. 

You can already picture it and looking at the excited, bright grin on Yoongi’s face, you know he can too. 

Giggling, he pulls you closer, and your laughter spills from between sloppy kisses and half intake breaths. 

Ask me again 다시 나에게 되물어봐 Are you happy now 지금 행복한가 The answer has already been decided 그 답은 이미 정해졌어 I am happy 난 행복하다

—Min Yoongi  화양연화 || The Most Beautiful Moment In Life.

A/N: And so its out! I have loved writing soft Yoongi with every cell of my body, and I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you Grace for commissioning this and helping fund the BLM movement. Black lives did, do and will always matter. 

Leave me your feedback, I genuinely enjoy reading every single word. & Have a good day ahead ❤

[demirendil]

「 4AM, you finally came.. 」   (one-shot).

It was nearly 4AM when the rumbling of the thunder made the wooden floor against Serkan’s body shake. He had been lying there for a few hours, inert and eyes closed; his irregular breaths were the only proof that the man was still alive. The wide open curtains let some light inside the pitch-dark room, lightning flashing across the sky for a fifth time, revealing the state of the summer house’s master bedroom. It had been left untouched since the last time they’d both been here. Sheets that still held her scent, pillows against which her head rested were laying on the bed, a moment frozen in time that he hadn’t dared to disturb. The mirror in front of which she stood that morning, fixing her earrings, was covered by a small woollen blanket, hiding the glass debris from his last anger fit. He had stared at his haggard reflection for a few minutes before throwing the glass of water he was holding in hand, hoping to erase traces of his guilt from his eyes, to smooth the pain out of his forehead wrinkles.. alas. The cold seeping from the squeaky wooden floor helped calm him a little.. it was the only part of the house left that wasn’t mocking him with yet another memory of her.

She was everywhere, and traces of her made his heart race.

She was everywhere, and guilt ate him up until it was too painful to stand.

She was everywhere, yet her absence made his soul ache until he collapsed on his bedroom floor and let sadness consume his soul away.

Another booming sound made the windows violently shake, and a startled Serkan hissed as his right hand landed on a pile of glass shards. He plopped himself onto his elbow and absently looked at his bloody hand before turning to the door and staring into the darkness.

She won’t come, she doesn’t wanna see me ever again..

Three days prior, he watched her leave his parents house like a storm, holding her head in a panicked state. His mother had told her everything, and she was long gone before he could attempt to stop her. He had asked his mother to stay out of it less than an hour before, and yet there he stood in shock. She’d found out the truth and left without looking back. He had lost his chance to explain himself, to drop to his knees and beg for her forgiveness, to maybe catch a last glance of her face.. because Eda Yıldız was gone, and her broken eyes were the last thing he had laid eyes upon.

After driving around town looking for her for the past two days, Serkan had decided to go back home -his summer house, the place where he last saw her smile and let himself get lost in her embrace. She’ll come back, he’d whispered to himself the prior night, before he let himself drop on the floor of his freezing cold room.

thump, thump, thump

Serkan blinked a few times, before laying on his back again.

thump, thump, thump

Serkan sighed as he opened his eyes again and turned his head towards the window. The rain was only slight pouring, a few cats might have infiltrated the property again.

thump, thump, thump

He let a frustrated grunt out before jumping to his feet and looking out the window. The lights in the garden were off, but he could discern a silhouette kneeling over the plants in the veranda. Hair flowing in the violent wind, the girl was actively shoveling the wet soil with a small wooden log. He chuckled at the sight before him and shook his head. She was throwing a fit even in his imagination. She was a dream, she would never show up after finding the truth out. She could only be a dream, not even his prayers would make her come back for him. She was definitely a dream, but he had to check for himself.. just in case.

Grabbing another throw blanket from the corner armchair, he quietly made his way to the hall, and out of the house. The lights were still off in every room, but he could see her clearly through the glass sliding doors. She was sitting on the lowest step leading to the gazebo, and was attempting to move the small petunias to dig more holes in the ground. The moon was casting a light all over her, and he wished he could catch a glimpse of her face, trace the lining of her soft jaw with his eyes, feel his heart melt at the sight of her plump lips. He was facing her back however, and her abrupt frustrated movements were a reflection of her state of mind. Cladded in a thin black shirt, she was shivering as the pouring rain continuously soaked her garment. That shirt.. his shirt. Serkan took a deep breath and slid the door open.

"Eda...”

He saw her jump in her spot and hold the wooden log up as a weapon, before she turned around to see him towering over her. Her eyes never met his, she quickly turned to her gardening like nothing had interrupted her labor. The rain soaking Serkan's hair wet made him snap out of his reverie. He grabbed the blanket that was slipping from his hand and put it on her silently, still watching her every move, unable to say a word. “How did you know I was here?”, she finally muttered. Serkan didn't reply and adjusted the blanket around her shoulder before stepping away and sitting on a cushion, facing her.  Her eyes were dark and focused, she looked like she hadn't slept for a few days. A permanent frown now adorning her forehead, she was biting the inside of her cheek as she continuously stabbed the soil.   "There's a few rocks under there, you might wanna try a different corner"" Her head snapped back up, her eyes shooting daggers at him "No, this is perfect". “It's 4AM, you’re going to freeze here” "Just go home” "I am home" He saw her roll her eyes, so he added "This is home. I live here now. I moved out of my parents’ house. " Eda dropped the log in her hand and finally looked at him. She tightened the blanket around her arms and shoulders and tilted her head, studying his face. He could see a million questions flash in her eyes, but she remained quiet and proceeded to grab a small tin box from her pocket. He recognized the little container where she kept her flower seeds, a gift from her mother she always held on so dearly. “I forgot to sow them here as well, I wanted to plant a few in this spot.” Serkan shuffled a little more towards her and watched her grab a few seeds and position them in the little holes she had formed. "Are .. are you sure you don't want to plant them a little further.. there's more space in the garden", he mumbled. He was trying to be as nonchalant as possible, but his shaky raspy voice had betrayed him. He had expected her to throw things at him, scream and shout, but Eda sat in front of him with unnerving composure, as if nothing had been wrong with the world. "No it has to be here. Right here." Here.. Right where time had stopped for them and all voices but theirs had been silenced. Right where he had kissed her like there was no tomorrow, and promised himself he would hold onto her until the end of time. Here where the two of them had confirmed their love for each other, and let happiness take over for a night. It was a little over a week ago, but it seemed like an eternity for Serkan Bolat. There they were again, sitting right where passion claimed their hearts, yet their souls had never felt so apart from each other. The rain had slowed down while Eda was busy covering the seeds in fresh wet soil with her bare hands. The uneasy silence was weighing on his chest, but Serkan found himself unable to say another word. His anxiety grew as he watched her shake the dirt off her hands and jump on her feet, ready to leave again. He trailed behind her, as she determinedly walked towards the house in her dirty wet clothes, when she abruptly turned to face him again.

"What about your mom?"

Serkan stopped in his tracks and lowered his gaze towards her. She was so close, he could feel her familiar scent engulfing him already, like a poison intoxicating every cell of his body. He gulped again, the lump in his throat thickening with every breath he took.

"My mom?"

His eyes found hers, confused, full of concern, sadness that buried the life that used to burn inside her. It tore his heart apart, it made him so angry. At his parents, at himself, at fate that had so long played with his own life and had decided to mess with her as well.

"Eda how can you be thinking of my mother right now?", he shook his head in disbelief.

"I know it pains you to leave your mother behind, after all she’s been through. I see it in your eyes, it’s killing you."

She was staring at him more intently and Serkan couldn't handle the proximity anymore. He stepped away, catching his breath, holding his head as the tension reached his temples.

"I can’t, I can’t do it. I can't do this anymore. I can’t stay there, I can't be under the same roof as them knowing what my dad has done Eda. What he's done to you Eda."

"And yet, you’re taking responsibility for it all Serkan".

Her calm and cold demeanor was driving him crazy. Serkan pushed inside the house and started pacing in the living room, unable to stay calm.

"How are you so calm Eda? How can you think of them right now, how are you not angry at them?"

She grabbed the blanket still hanging around her shoulders and threw it at him.

"I AM angry Serkan, I am so angry I want to scream my lungs out!"

"Then scream, shout, say something Eda, I can't handle seeing you like this."

"Stop telling me what to do Serkan, stop trying to control my feelings, STOP IT!" she yelled, throwing the one tin she was holding in her hand to the floor.

Hundreds of tiny seeds were already scattered on the floor before Serkan could even react. In a moment, Eda had collapsed on the floor, in panic..

"Oh no, no, no.. Mom.. no.."

Serkan hurried over to turn the lights on and ran towards Eda kneeling on the floor when a punch landed on his shoulder, and another, and another.

"I don't need your help! Stay away from me!"

Her cheeks were glistening with tears and he felt his hand reach her face, wiping away her sadness when another punch pushed him further away from her. She grabbed a pillow from the couch to her left and threw it at him, before she pushed his chest again, hit his arm, his shoulder again. Serkan just closed his eyes, taking it all in, the sound of her sobbing hurting his soul more than anything in that moment. A final slap to his face startled the both of them, and Eda finally gave in and dropped to her knees in front of him.

"Stop ignoring me Serkan Bolat! Fight back! Do something!"

Her disheveled hair was sticking to her face, patches of dirt tracing her jaw, his black shirt still clinging onto her skin. He moved forward, and grabbed her face with both his hands, desperately trying to calm her down. Eda finally closed her eyes and softened at his touch, bringing her own hands up to hold his own. Her icy cold hands melted his soul, and he felt the walls of his heart crumble down as an ocean of overwhelming emotions flooded every bit of his being.

Tears filling his eyes, blood gushing out of his palm, he couldn't hold it in any longer..

"Your hand.."

"It's nothing..", he whispered as he rested his forehead against hers.

"I hate you.."

"I know.."

"It wasn't your decision to make.."

"I had to.."

"I promised to be your breath for the rest of time, but you took my breath away and ran from me.."

"Eda.."

He felt her eyes on him, piercing through his soul, asking so many questions, so many whys he was not ready to answer yet.

"Look at me..Serkan look at me."

"I can’t look you in the eye Eda.."

"Serkan.."

She pushed herself away from him and he held her wrists in his hands, unwilling to let her go, yet unable to look at her hypnotizing chocolate orbs.

"They.. my parents..", he took a deep breath before carrying on. "My family is the reason you lost yours, the reason you lost your childhood"

"They stole your childhood too Serkan.", she retorted.

"This is not about me, Eda.."

"No, you’re right. It’s about us, the both of us."

He felt her finger on his chin, raising his face to meet his broken eyes.

"I don't think I can forgive them, any of them.. my grandmother, the people behind the accident, your dad, his company.. but you.."

"Eda, I'm the heir to that holding group, I'm my dad's son, I am just as responsible as-"

Unable to finish his sentence, Serkan dropped his head down, shivering as his chest tightened again in anger and frustration.

"You're not."

He sensed a tear drop on his cheek, and felt his heart dropping at the sight of her sudden tears mirroring his own.

"I don't blame you Serkan.."

She kissed his tear away and his chin trembled, before he collapsed in her arms, quiet sobs escaping his throat. He felt her hands slid around his shoulders and hold onto him, like a plea for him to stay. Tightening his grip on her, he felt her heart race against his chest, as his own slowed down to a regular pace.

"You're punishing the both of us Serkan..", she whispered in his neck.

"I've only brought pain and anger to your life, all I've managed to do is make you cry and break your heart. I'm just like my dad, I destroy everyone I get close to.."

"That's not true.."

"I love you..",

He felt her tears on his shirt and wiped his own, before planting a kiss on her shoulder.

"But I don't deserve you.."

"Yeah, you don't", she sniffed. He backed away to take a look at her face, and his eyes softened when he saw the small smile on his face.

"You're a coward"

"I was never the courageous one."

“You make me go mad, I wish I could stay away from you.. but I feel like my soul is being shredded when you’re not around..”

“I’m sorry..”

"I'm not leaving"

"I don't want you to."

She nodded and slid on the floor to rest her back against the leather couch. Serkan looked around him, screening the dirt and the seeds scattered all around the carpet.

"We should probably get them back in your tin box".

She shivered and hugged her own arms before shrugging "No, just let them grow in the middle of the living room, let them invade your house."

Serkan chuckled and settled next to her, his left arm warming up against hers. "Yes, tiny little laurel trees in every corner that will remind me of you at any moment".

Eda turned around to look at him credulously, and smiled as she remembered the night they had watched the stars in front of Apollo's Temple in Antalya.

Feeling her eyes on him, Serkan turned around and raised his eyebrows.

"What?"

"You're no Apollo".

"I'm not?", he smirked.

"You're not... And I'm not Daphne. I don't wanna run away from you."

She slid her hand in his and laid her head back against his shoulder. "I'm not a tree you can set on fire and leave behind you Serkan."

Burying his face in her hair, he whispered "No, you're not.. you survive every fire and spread your beauty all around .. just like a protea.."

Eda let go of his hand and turned around to look at him, big eyes, mouth slightly open in shock "How do you.."

He sighed and muttered under his breath "I may or may not have read your little flower book.. the one you were carrying in your bag on the first day we met".

Tears were pooling again in her eyes, so Serkan grabbed her wrist and softly ran his fingers on her forearm, visibly trying to change the topic.

"We should get out of these wet clothes"

"Serkan..

"You also need to sleep, it's nearly 5-".

Serkan stopped in his tracks as she gently cupped his cheek and ran her finger against his skin, resting her forehead against his.

“You may not believe in fate but I do.. they left me first, but I know they sent you to me.”

“Eda..”

“Serkan let me.. These scars have been slashed open and it’ll take time.. a really long time to let them close back up peacefully.. I know your scars are just as deep as mine, and I won’t let myself heal if you’re not healing with me.”

He let a sigh out he didn’t know he was holding and nudged his nose against hers.

“I still hate you, Serkan Bolat.”

“I love you, Eda Yıldız..”

[sweetwhumpandhellacomf]

Heart of Gold

Warnings: Ladywhump, slight dehumanization

---

Corinne’s always wanted to live like a princess, but living in a shack on the outskirts of the city is hardly a palace. But thanks to years of saving and working, and more than a few “side jobs,” she’s almost able to afford a house in the center of the market square. She’s got one all picked out, across the way from the bakery. She’s already looking forward to buying a fresh muffin every morning.

And this is why, when rumors start drifting through the slums, her ears always catch them. Rumors of wealth, of new acquisitions, of money. And if some of those new trinkets or excess earnings happen to go missing from the homes of the rich, well, plenty of her neighbors turn to thievery to survive.

More than a few of those missing trinkets turn up tucked away in her shack somewhere, decorating her tiny, temporary palace.

Today’s rumor seems especially juicy: the Langenberg family, owners of the most notoriously wealthy, luxuriant, opulent mansion in the city, have a secret to their wealth. A magic treasure locked deep in their home, something that brings them fortune, money, treasure, anything they could ever hope for. If Corinne got her hands on that, she wouldn’t just be able to buy her little house--she could buy the bakery across the way, hells, she could buy houses for all her neighbors in the slums. And she’s clearly not the only thief with the idea. Three of her neighbors have very recently been released from prison with missing fingers, the punishment for failed thievery.

Well, one missing finger won’t kill her, if she fails this. It’s worth a shot.

---

Corinne arrives out back of the mansion, bundled up in her dusty grey cloak and staring up at the formidable wall. A wall’s nothing--a wall’s less than baby steps for getting into a mansion, and she and the Langenbergs both know this. Some thoughtful soul had even gone ahead and chipped hand-holds into the brick beforehand, probably hoping they’d get in and out more easily.

She bets it was James. James is always so practical.

Grinning, tying her sack around her shoulder, Corinne starts to climb.

---

The mansion is heavily guarded, but thanks to a well-timed patrol and quick fingers, she makes it in through a locked window. From there, she drops down onto the floor, ducking under a table to avoid passing guards. Not even real guards, judging by the clothes and lazy laughter--mercenaries, ruthless and prone to excess violence. Best way to deter thieves, honestly, is to threaten them with a cut throat rather than a stint in prison.

Corinne doesn’t let that unsteady her. She takes a deep breath, waits for them to go around the corner, and makes her way down the hall. She peers through keyholes, listens where the walls seem thin, feels for hidden doors. Every time her sharp ears pick up on footsteps, she backtracks, finds somewhere safe to stay put for several minutes.

The wealth around her is tempting--art, statues, shelves full of gems and jewelry on display. Anything she took would net her a large profit on its own, but that profit would only go so far. She, and likely everyone else who’s tried so far, is in it for the big score. The magic treasure that is claimed to bring wealth and rarities.

It’s almost an hour of creeping through the mansion, taking winding passageways, dodging mercenaries and members of the household, before she reaches what might be the treasure room. One guard leans outside a door, ornate and bearing a heavy padlock but ajar, staring idly at some piece of moving artwork, shifting with colors produced by magic, and it’s an easy thing to crawl behind him and into the open door.

Inside is some kind of magical barrier, translucent and shimmering through the short corridor. She can’t see around the corner--it just splits off into a T-shaped junction, and she can’t hear anything either. This might be what’s gotten others caught, setting off an alarm when they cross the threshold. With a glance out the door at the still-distracted guard, she pulls a small bead out of her pocket and pitches it through the barrier.

Nothing happens, and after several minutes, she tentatively sticks a finger through. Still nothing, so she takes a deep breath and passes through.

Her ears pop, and she hears someone screaming, the sound of flesh striking flesh, and a sob.

“You stupid thing, you know screaming doesn’t do anything!”

Heart pounding in her chest, Corinne pads down the left-hand side of the corridor, until she reaches another corner and peeks around. A lavishly decorated room, full of jewels and gold, scattered statues and artifacts she can’t even identify--and in the center, a cowering figure, one arm held loosely in front of their chest, the other hand holding their cheek. Before them stands the lord of the house, Noach Langenberg himself, reaching out to grab their arm. Another weak scream, cut off with a choked noise as it’s pulled forward.

“Now, just find me something good, or I’ll break it worse,” Langenberg says, forcing his… his captive, or what, Corinne has no idea, to look up at him.

They nod, and she sees that it’s a woman, straight black hair and dark eyes full of terror. “I-I will, I will,” she babbles, and he lets her arm go, letting her stumble back again. “Please don’t.”

Corinne spots a large ornate shelf, and she hurries to climb atop it, tucking herself into a corner before Langenberg can spot her. She watches intently as the woman collapses to her knees, moving her hand from her cheek to cover her eyes, taking shaky, shuddery breaths. She starts mumbling--”Speak up, girl!”--flinches and speaks louder.

“A--a waterfall, cresting a canyon. An old twisted tree at the top. Behind the water, behind a rock.”

Langenberg’s frown shifts a bit. “Is that all you can give me?”

“It is, sir, please, it’s all I see.”

He sighs. “It’ll have to do. I do wish you’d cooperate, girl. You could live in comfort, instead of having to make your bed on these gold coins. Though it is a nice look on you.”

As he turns to leave, Corinne hears the woman mumble, “I just want to go home.”

The door shuts, and the lock clicks into place. She lets out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. This woman--she can see treasure. She can find hidden treasure. That’s the source of the Langenberg’s wealth, that’s how they only get richer and richer. Her mind races. She needs to get this woman out of here--she can get her to find money for her instead, and the others in the slum, and she’ll be nice, she won’t hit her or anything.

But the door’s locked, and she has no idea how long it’ll be til it’s opened again, and there are no windows in this inner chamber. It’s still early in the day, maybe they feed her around sunset? But gods bless, look at how much gold there is. Did she find all of this for the Langenbergs?

She ignores the softly crying woman and finds a more comfortable position on her perch, waiting for the door to unlock again.

---

It’s several hours, and the woman seems to have fallen asleep by the time Corinne hears the lock and door open again. She’s been planning her escape route--the wall’s going to be the hardest part this time, surprisingly, trying to carry a whole person with her. She doesn’t think a broken arm will let her climb.

But now, the door’s open, and she sits up, watching a mercenary enter with a plate of food. He stops in front of the woman’s sleeping form and delivers a sharp kick to her side, waking her with a yelp.

“Suppertime, little treasure. Eat up.” He drops the plate in front of her, sending some food splattering across the floor. As she sits up, miserable, Corinne realizes this is her chance. She jumps down from her perch, runs up behind the mercenary, and before he can turn, she’s tackled him into a pile of treasure, sending gold and jewels scattering every which way.

“Run!” Corinne shouts, and she doesn’t have to tell the woman twice. She gets up and bolts for the door, stumbling and poorly coordinated but desperate. Corinne takes off after her, reaching out to take her uninjured hand and lead the way. A small, soft hand squeezes tight around her fingers.

Plan’s already out the window--Corinne sees a group of guards just making their way past when they exit the treasure room. She darts past them with her prize, practically laughing in their faces as she goes. When the woman stumbles, she whirls around and catches her, hefting her up--too light, for someone her age. Probably didn’t eat sometimes, out of protest. She spots an open window, and it’s a bit of a leap to the wall, but she makes it, holding tight to her prize.

Arrows fly past, and she doesn’t even take a second to breathe, rushing along the wall to where she came in. “You gotta hold onto my back,” she says, setting the woman down and turning her back to her. “Hurry!”

She feels a shaky arm hook around her shoulder, and she reaches back to help her hop up, legs hooking around her hips. Prize secure, she starts climbing down the wall, using those oh so thoughtful handholds. She feels the woman’s heartbeat against her back, fast and free.

Once on the dirt, she doesn’t waste time adjusting her hold, she runs. Finds the nearest back-alley, darts into the shadows, and runs all the way home, not looking back.

The sound of her squeaky-hinged door shutting is the only confirmation she needs to tell her she’s safe. She practically hops over to her bed, easing the woman down onto it. “Gods, what a rush!” she exclaims, turning back to face her. “Nobody’s gonna believe I made off with Langenberg’s tre--”

She’s cut off as the woman lunges forward, wrapping her uninjured arm around her, crying into her shoulder. “Thank you, thank you,” she sobs, stilling Corinne’s voice. “Oh, gods, I was so lonely… But you came for me, you found me.”

Slowly, Corinne reaches out to hold onto the woman, feeling her shuddering shoulders tense, then relax. A pit forms in her stomach--this isn’t a treasure, a tool. This is a human, a person, who was held captive for who knows how long, tortured and forced to find treasure for a bastard of a man. And she was going to do the same thing.

“It’s okay,” she says, squeezing her rescue tighter, letting her cry and shake as much as she needs. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. What’s your name?”

The woman blinks up at her, dark eyes bright with tears. “They never asked me that. I’m Jae-su.”

“Okay.” There’s no going back now--she needs to keep this woman safe. “You’re gonna be okay, Jae-su. I promise.”

[cas-kingdom]

A submission by @thorin-is-a-cuddler --- The Secret

A/N: The Tommy Shelby sister!reader treasure horde that is your tumblr has been my shelter from the ongoing surreal storm disaster that is the year 2020. I love your fanfictions so much that I wish I could become one of them myself. Instead of tricking biology and the internet into making that wish come true, I’ve spent my evening writing something for you in return. :) 

word count: 2120

reader is the second youngest Shelby (age 17), setting is the first season bc I haven’t watched more than that :D

„Tommy?… Tommy!…“ You dropped the hand you had previously used to snap in front of your brother’s thoughtful expression, realizing it was useless. He was so deep in thought he didn’t even react to you gently pushing his arm. „Tommy, are you being serious right now?“ 

You raised a brow when you realized he hadn’t blinked just once during your attention-craving ordeal. He was seated at his table completely motionless, as if he were catatonic. The cigarette between his fingers was burning down all by itself. Drastic situations, drastic measures. You positioned your thumb underneath his fingers and flicked the cigarette out of his grip, sending it flying over the surface of his table. Ash was scattered over Tommy’s suit as he eventually blinked in confusion, looked down on his arm and started brushing off the dirt with a curse. „Fucking hell!!“ Still confused and sort of absent his gaze focused on you, a disapproving crease between his brows. „(Y/N), what the hell do you think you’re doing?“ 

„Me??“ You took a step back from the table, hands on hips. A feeling of worry about your brother mixed with the slight anger about his dismissive tone. „You’re one to talk big, sitting there like you’re sleeping with your eyes open. I could have stolen your books right out from underneath your nose.“

Tommy sighed and rubbed at his face with his hands, frustration evident on his features. Not with you, though, no, with himself. Frustration over you seeing him like that, over you being right about the stealing part. You tilted your head as the feelig of worry won over the anger you had felt riling up in your stomach. It appeared to you possible that you had accidentally said the truth. Tommy had been sleeping with his eyes wide open. 

You watched him as he tried to regain some kind of control over himself, grabbing for the crystal bottle at the end of the table and pouring himself a glass of Scotch. Your eyes flickered from his hand to his face, trying to see through his ever-tough, ever-inaccessible Peaky Blinder mode. Tommy hadn’t always been this way. 

Before the war, he had laughed more, had been more fun to fool around with. He had been more careless and less quiet than he was now. Day to day, he gave you more reason to worry about him now. Sometimes you caught yourself losing track of what he was saying during family meetings, because you were focusing too much on the tired, pale look on his face. 

„So,“ Tommy said in his deep voice, blue eyes the color of water locking with your own, „what have you come to me for?“

You took a deep breath and straightened your back. You were wearing a smiliar outfit as he was, your black tie one of Arthur’s, your grey vest one of Tommy’s old ones. Your hair was falling long over your shoulders. „It’s actually not that important. Arthur wanted to know if he should fetch you some cigarettes. He’ll be off buying a bunch later. I’m supposed to tell him before.“ You took a chair and settled down on it on the other side of Tommy’s table. 

It was hard to read in his face what he was thinking of that. His eyes stayed on your face intently. 

„Until then, tell me.“ You put your elbows on your knees, leaning over the table, a little closer to him.

He cocked his head to the side slightly, fumbling around with his pocket to get out a cigarette. There was the slightest twitch in the corners of his lips, as he tiredly leaned forward to light the thing. „Tell you,“ he repeated calmly, fire glinting in front his lips, „tell you what, (Y/N)?“ 

You raised your eye-brows expectantly, a soft look on your face. „How ’bout you tell me why you sittin’ here like a corpse, starin’ your cigarette to death and freaking me out?“ 

The tiredness on his features intensified. He sighed quietly and drew on his cigarette, eyes darting around the room. „Was I, eh?“ 

You bit your bottom-lip and leaned back in the chair, arms crossed in front your chest. „Tommy, you know I’m only asking this because I’m hella worried about you.“ 

At that, he actually frowned. Tommy Shelby fucking frowned. Rendered speechless, he slightly squinted his eyes at you. You rolled your eyes with a sigh and reached over the table to take a sip from his Scotch, before putting it back in front of him. „If this was your last glass of Scotch,“ you tried, wiping at your lips, „your last one ever. What would you say to me? What would you want to get off your chest?“ 

Tommy actually released a tiny smile at your antics, softness spreading on his face. He put out his cigarette and grabbed the glass, holding it high enough to let a few rays of late afternoon sunshine reflect in the brown liquid. „My last glass.“ He saluted to you and downed the contents in one go. You looked at him patiently, waiting for his next words. His smile got a tad bit wider. „I just finished my last glass and what I really want to tell you, (Y/N), is this.“ He folded his hands in front of him, elbows on the table, leaning in closer to you. He took a deep breath, locking his eyes on you. Then he waved his hand in a sign for you to come closer. „Come here. It’s a secret.“

Your first instinct was to scoff, show him the finger and leave, at best kick something on your way out. On a normal day you might have done it. Your brothers could be ruthless when it came to teasing you and you had grown pretty accustomed to it.

But this wasn’t a normal day. You had caught Tommy sleeping wide-eyed over his treasured books, looking like a ghost. And for once, you two were alone and could use the time, no interruptions to be feared since everyone else was busy. 

So instead of acting like the seventeen years old sister who was used to her brothers’ tricks, the ten year old girl from your past took over, a glow in your eyes as you got out of your chair to lean over the table and listen to Tommy whispering a secret into your ear. 

„Don’t hit me though.“ You couldn’t help but mumble warily as he waved for you to get closer and closer. You were delighted to see him shake his head with a huffed laugh at your words. 

„No. You’re too old for that, I fear.“ 

You were close enough for him to headbutt you now, which was also not a very nice experience, but since that was usually Arthur’s way to mess with you, you didn’t expect Tommy to do it. 

„No, I will tell you a secret.“ He added quietly and bent his body forward slightly, his face coming closer to your ear. You realized you were tensing up. Brothers would be brother. Was that a mischievous glint in his eyes? „The secret is,“ you instinctively moved your shoulder closer to your neck, as his breath went so close to your sensitive skin, „it’s that you’ll never be too old for this.“ 

Before you had the chance to realize what he was doing, his head shot forward and he blew a ticklish reaspberry on your neck, his left hand keeping your head close with gentle force. You squealed, literally squealed and tried to pull away immediately, hitting aimlessly in Tommy’s general direction. He held your head close well enough, making your neck explode with the tingly tune he was playing on it. „NONONO NOOHOHO!! TOMMY STOOOOP!!“ You screeched as he repeated the mean attack time and time again, only stopping to take a breath, before managing to hit an even more ticklish part of your neck. You couldn’t help the mad giggles that were pouring out of you and were very close to crumbling into a tiny ball on your side of the table, just out of his reach, so he changed tactics. „Oh no,“ he growled, „you stay right here.“ 

With what could be called a high-pitched squeal you were lifted off the ground as Tommy’s hands grabbed you under your arms which already set off all the ticklish alarms in that general area to pull you over the table right into his arms. He easily gained control over your flopping, hitting, flailing form with his strong hands, as you tried to twist out of his lap and escape your ticklish fate. With your back pressed against his chest, he wrapped his arms around your upperbody, one hand slipping into the space under your left arm as the other one was quick to meander down to your right side, squeezing ’til you were wheezing. You were laughing so hard, your cheeks were turning a dark shade of red. With your head thrown back against his shoulder you were cursing his name, barely able to spit out a coherent word. „T-TOMMY!! YOUHOU’LL GO TO HEHHEHHELL!!!“ 

His chuckles vibrated against your back, as he managed to lift your left arm a little, getting better access to the highly ticklish spot just underneath. 

„That is true.“ He sounded delighted, as if he were actually enjoyig himself. You tried to escape with a sudden bolt and he easily pulled you right back into the danger zone, even more of that low laughter flowing out of him - short and yet so effective. Honestly, you would have suffered through worse ordeals to hear just one of these short laughs he breathed out when he was happy. Helplessly you continued to shake in his embrace as his fingers scooted over your stomach, following your reactions to make out the spots that needed special attention. That was until you madly held on to his fingers and tried your best to keep them at a distance from your body. „Plehehhease!“ You cackled, the effort it cost you to keep his fingers where they were audible in your squeaky voice. „Stahahp, Tommy. No more tickling!“ 

„No?“ 

„NohohOHO!!“ Panicked laughter escaped you when he almost freed his hands from your grip - it wasn’t like he couldn’t do just that, but he was resisting the urge. „PleheASE Tommy! Pleeease!“ 

Another short laugh rumbled through his chest and down your back, making you feel safe and happy and comfortable, despite your nerve endings being on edge after that tickle attack. „Alright. Alright. I’m through with you. For now.“ 

You slumped against him, when he peacefully put his arms around you again, this time for holding you close on his leg, not for better access to your ticklish spots. Both of your were silently smiling for a while, you catching your breath, him rocking you back and forth. Then you bit your lip and pinched the skin on one of his arms, making him pull that arm back with a playful hiss. 

„Ow.“ He sounded almost reproachful there, making you bark out a laugh again. 

„You got nerve going ow after what you just put me through!“ He ducked his head with a grin when you tried to hit him over the back of it. You crossed your arms over your chest with a huff and he interpreted that as his cue to wrap his arms back around you comfortably, smoothing your temper with his warmth. „What was that for anyway?“ You comortably lay back, wrapping yourself up more in his hug.  

Tommy smiled gently, tiredly. You saw his eye-lids fluttering dangerously often. „You want to know the real secret, little sister?“ 

Intently you watched his face over your shoulder, trying not to move too much in Tommy’s lap to keep from jostling him out of his sleepy haze. Fondly you watched as he was slowly, but securely falling asleep on your shoulder. 

„Tell me the secret.“ You whispered, moving a hand up to caress his head. 

„Cheering you up is cheering me up.“ He answered as he closed his eyes and nuzzled your shoulder, head too heavy to hold up anymore. „And I can sleep best, when…“ 

You turned your head when he stopped speaking. His face was peaceful, his breath was going smoothly and his eyes were closed. He didn’t have to finish the sentence for you to know what he had meant to say. 

You, too, slept best when someone you loved was close and content. 

And if Arthur entered Tommy’s bureau an hour later to ask for you and found both his siblings entangled on the chair, peacefully sleeping, he never said so out loud to either of you.

-

CK’s notes: you are the sweetest. im so unbelievably happy my stories make you feel that way; i write them for the exact same feeling. thank you for this. <3

[missmeikakuna]

Lilies For You- F/F Angst story

I wrote this for a writing contest on Amino and thought I should put it here. Rated: T Fandom: Original story Relationship type: F/F Description: Ruth has had feelings for her childhood friend Elaine for decades. After a falling out between them years ago, she has come to ask for forgiveness and confess to her with a bouquet of her favourite flowers.

Ruth took a few deep breaths as she walked up the stairs on the hill, a bouquet of lilies in her sweaty palm. She looked up at the stone steps in front of her and considered turning around. It wasn’t like she had to make her feelings clear. Shaking her head, she reminded herself that this was important. The day had arrived.

She slowly moved her wispy body up the steps, frequently looking down to ensure she didn’t fall and break her back. The wrinkles on her forehead became more visible as she frowned. 

The day Ruth first met Elaine was perfectly ordinary. The air was at room temperature, with a light breeze and a few clouds in the sky. It was as if this meeting would not change their lives forever.

Next to Ruth’s neat blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, Elaine’s wild black pigtails stood out. A wide gap could be seen between Elaine’s teeth. Whereas Ruth had small, beady eyes, Elaine’s were wide with the spirit of adventure.

Elaine held out her muddy hand as she introduced herself. Ruth scrunched her nose at her but said her name as well.

‘Do you want to play with me in the sandpit?’ Elaine’s voice was squeaky.

‘Only if you wash your hands,’ Ruth said. Her voice was stronger and more authoritative but also had the high pitch of youth. Elaine laughed. Ruth built a sandcastle while Elaine splashed sand around like it was water at the beach. 

After a bit of silence, Elaine spoke. ‘My mum said the Russians are going to bomb the world soon.’

‘What’s ‘bomb’?’

Elaine shrugged and continued spraying the sand about.

It only took a minute for Ruth to need a break. She panted while resting her hands on her thighs, bent over until she resembled a hunchback. She closed her eyes and listened to the little symphony of bird calls. It would have been calming had it not been for the laughter of the kookaburra, which sounded as if it was mocking her tiredness. 

She waited for her breaths to return to a normal pace before continuing her journey.

Ruth leaned back in her chair with her feet on her desk. She brushed a stray hair back into her untidy ponytail and waited. And waited. And waited some more. 

She eventually gave up on waiting, twisting her body away from the door. She refused to sit up straight even after the teacher told her to, earning her a painful ruler on the wrist.

Her sulking ended when she heard the door open. There she was. Elaine’s pigtails, a lot neater than they were when she was in primary school, bounced as she ran up to Ruth.

‘We’re in the same class again!’ Elaine squealed. She spoke with a slight lisp as she tried to move her mouth around the gold braces surrounding her teeth.

The two jumped up and down until their teacher told them to go to their desks.

Off in the distance, Ruth could hear the trickle of a brook. It whispered to her that she was relatively close to her destination. Her legs ached but she carried on.

She kept scratching her arm, wishing she had brought insect repellent with her. She was going to look like a pockmarked mess in front of Elaine if she wasn’t careful.

Ruth mustered the restraint to no longer scratch her itches. She looked down at her flowers and gasped, swatting away the numerous bugs that had inhabited her bouquet.

She closed her puffy eyes for a moment. The previous night, she had slept for less than two hours.  

The pair of friends sat against an outside wall of the school. Smoke rose and joined the chimney as Elaine took puffs of her cigarette. Her hair was all over the place and one of her eyes had a big purple bruise.

‘Dad’s such an asshole,’ she muttered.

When a teacher spotted Elaine and Ruth and chased them, they giggled and ran around the grounds until she gave up. They sat down by the tree at the edge of the school grounds and Elaine put out her cigarette in the dirt.

‘I wish we could live together,’ Ruth said as she slid her hand onto Elaine’s. ‘Then you wouldn’t have to deal with him.’ 

Without even realising what was going on, Elaine pulled her hand away. ‘That would be nice.’

Ruth stared at her now cold hand. She eventually shifted her view towards Elaine, whose uniform was too small. This outfit, intended to be modest, showed curves it wasn’t supposed to show. Ruth wanted to touch those curves so badly she could die.

The thoughts that were by that point constant in her mind made her feel sick. She was unsure if the feeling in her stomach was butterflies or disgust at herself. Either way, she knew it was best to keep these thoughts to herself.

At night, she would often cry into her pillow after fantasising about her dearest friend. What would Elaine think if she knew her feelings? What would she do?

The sky became the colour of smoke and the wind sent a chill through Ruth’s body, blowing her long silver hair about. She had to take another break.

She sat on one of the steps and glanced down at the bouquet in her hands. The petals were already starting to droop. She knew this was going to be a terrible gesture. What would Elaine think?

As she stretched out her legs, she realised her knees were also aching. Her shoulders were tense and her heart felt as if it was stuck in a vice that tightened a tiny bit every second.

The bird calls were getting louder and with less synchronisation, creating a cacophony of squawks. Ruth could barely hear her thoughts, which were also out of sync with each other. She managed to calm down while focusing on the gentle stream in the distance.

She heaved her body up and resumed her journey.

The pot of lilies, Elaine’s favourite flower, looked beautiful in the window. Ruth gazed at them lovingly as she sat on the couch and kept that expression as her eyes moved towards Elaine. The woman with long and straight black locks was hanging their washing to dry. Ruth’s brown hair, darkened by years in the sun, was in a messy updo.

The walls of the apartment were covered in orange and yellow graphic floral wallpaper. They managed to get an old but inexpensive television, which stood in the corner of the apartment.

They had finally unpacked everything. At long last, they were in their new home together.

Elaine hung her last piece of clothing and turned to Ruth. ‘By the way, there’s someone I want you to meet. His name’s Blaine and I like him a lot.’

A shiver ran down Ruth’s spine as her heart dropped into the icy cold waters of her gut. ‘I… I see. That’s great.’

Ruth barely spoke when Blaine came over, looking down at her glass as she swirled the cheap wine around. Following the man’s departure, Elaine plopped down on the couch next to Ruth.

‘Are you doing okay? You seemed out of it.’

Ruth’s wine swirling sped up. ‘It’s fine. He seems lovely.’

‘I know, right?’ Elaine asked with large sparkling eyes that reminded the other woman of their childhood.

Ruth bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from saying something stupid.

Over the next few months, Ruth and Elaine would have a gay old time chatting away until Blaine came over and Ruth shrivelled on the couch. Elaine didn’t push it, thinking she was just not used to the new company. That is, until Ruth, drunk on wine, actually said something.

‘Blaine, do you worry about going over to our apartment at this hour?’

The man rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled. ‘Why would that be a problem?’

‘People talk. A man going to a woman’s home at night? Sounds suspicious.’

Elaine blushed. ‘Ruth!’

Ruth held out her glass and pointed at Blaine with the same hand. ‘I’d hate for Elly’s reputation to go downhill just for someone like you.’

‘Someone like me?’ Blaine asked with another nervous chuckle.

Elaine grabbed Ruth’s hand and pulled her to the kitchen. ‘What are you doing?’ she hissed.

‘Protecting you.’

‘From who? Blaine? Is that why you turn into a completely different person when he’s around? What’s wrong with Blaine?’

‘You don’t get it.’

Elaine put her hands on her hips. ‘Try me.’

The words rose up Ruth’s throat but something blocked them from coming out. Her hands shook as she grabbed Elaine’s sleeve.

‘I… I…’ When she couldn’t push the words out, she wrapped her hands around Elaine’s wrists and squeezed them. Elaine gasped in pain and tore her arms away. Ruth crossed her arms and aloofly looked away. ‘You know how men are. I’m surprised you can trust them after…’ her words trailed off.

Elaine’s eyes narrowed. ‘After what?’ Ruth gulped, still facing away from the other woman. ‘After what, Ruth?’

‘I just don’t get why you don’t have your guard up. I’m trying to keep you from getting your heart broken!’

‘You’re not my Dad! Stop trying to run my life for me!’

Ruth stepped back. She remembered the trail of bruises down Elaine’s body as a teenager. At first, she pictured Elaine’s father standing over the girl with a raised fist. He grabbed her by the collar and went to punch her when the father’s body transformed into Ruth’s. Upon seeing that image, Ruth covered her mouth, her face lily-white.

By the time Ruth awakened from her daymare, Elaine had already run out of the kitchen. Ruth followed her and saw her crying into Blaine’s chest. Ruth saw the soft judgement in Blaine’s eyes as he looked at her, the eyes of a parent who wasn’t angry but was disappointed. At that very moment, she knew she had lost.

She stormed into her room and started packing her things. Hearing the rapid opening and closing of drawers, Elaine rushed into the room.

‘Wait, I’m sorry! Please don’t leave!’

‘Get Blaine to live with you until the lease is up,’ Ruth suggested with bite in her voice, shoving clothing into a suitcase. ‘Since apparently our… your landlord is okay with him visiting the apartment at night so often.’ 

‘You don’t have to leave over a little fight like this,’ Elaine said, putting a tender hand on Ruth’s shoulder. ‘Surely we’ll get over it by tomorrow. Don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic?’

‘It’s not about the fight.’ Ruth rolled her shoulder away from Elaine’s hand.

‘Then what is it? What could possibly be so awful that it undoes years of our friendship?’

Ruth didn’t say. She simply continued packing her belongings. She looked back several times before leaving the apartment that night.

Finally, Ruth made it to the top of the hill. A tiny bit of sunlight pierced through the clouds to illuminate the rows of gravestones. She searched up and down the cemetery until she found the right one, the one with Elaine’s name on it. She carefully kneeled by the stone and laid her bouquet in front of it. There were already several flowers by the tombstone.

‘Hello.’ Her whisper created a roaring echo in the empty graveyard, this place devoid of life. ‘I heard you were buried here and I had to find you. Happy birthday, Elly.’

Her fingertips brushed against the photo of Elaine on the gravestone, her wrinkled visage nearly unrecognisable to her. The date of death was 2019. She had been buried alone. 

A lump formed in Ruth’s throat. Her cheeks began to smell like the sea as salty tears rolled down them. ‘I… I’m so sorry. You had nothing to apologise for. It was all my fault.’ She wiped her eyes with her arm but the tears kept coming. ‘You probably thought I hated you. I never did. In fact, I…’ The lump in her throat blocked her words until she swallowed it. ‘I loved you. No, love you. I came here to tell you that. You deserve to know.’

Ruth smiled softly. ‘There’s someone I want you to meet. Her name’s Bernice and I like her a lot.’ She listened to the brook as she waited.

After a few minutes, a stout old woman with short, curly grey hair reached the top with panting breaths. 

‘Who is this person you wanted to see?’ she asked as she held out her hand and helped Ruth up. 

Ruth rubbed her hand against the top of the tombstone. ‘An old friend.’ Bernice wrapped her arms around her and held her close as Ruth sobbed into her chest. 

A few more minutes passed. The two kissed as they always did but Ruth still felt bubbles of joy float up from her stomach. She took Bernice’s hand and together they made the cautious journey down the steps.

[completelypeccable]

Two for One Deal

Part 3

/Fear toxin and home

/Barbara knew she loved Dick Grayson, it was a fact of life. But suddenly it wasn’t just him, and that was better than expected./

...

Poison Ivy was just as annoying as the rash. She had grown unnoticed for over a week before the bats discovered her newest plant project, and intervened with all their usual luck. Which is to say, it was the same night that Scarecrow decided to blow his way out of Arkham.

All in all, the night wasn’t as much of a disaster as it could have been. Dick had minor stitches, Jason caused major stitches, and Tim had gotten out of bed for the fifth day in a row. Ivy and Scarecrow were secured and neither had managed to cause much damage, either in terms of structure or a body count.

Cass strong armed Dick out of the cave as soon as she patched him up, the rest following sooner rather than later.

She met Tim for an ambiguous night-morning cuppa, swapping information and enjoying each other’s presence. Barbara had a soft spot for the kid and was glad to see he was on his way to being okay.

“You should have been there,” he smiled. “Ivy was so annoyed to see us there, especially Damian.” He raised his pitch but still growled, in a poor approximation of the subject at hand. “I am an elite assassin and I will not hesitate to bite your ankles!”

Babs laughed and Tim smiled into his cup. “You know, I haven’t figured it out yet, what was Ivy even after?”

“Get this, she made some sort of plant that belched this absolutely nasty gas.”

“What?”

“I mean, Damian was the only one who was hit by it, but he said-“

“Wait, you’re telling me Damian got gassed by a fart flower?”

“Pretty much?”

“Was he okay, is he okay? I don’t think I’ve seen him since patrol.”

“I mean, when it happened we were a bit nervous, but Damian barely reacted at all. He looked more offended than anything. When we got Ivy down, she admitted that she was developing a fear toxin to get back at Scarecrow- which, honestly, fair- but that it was in its very early stages.”

Barbara set down her empty cup. She would make sure to check on the kid before bed, just in case. Tim seemed unconcerned, though, and he’s was there when it happened.

...

Damian had disappeared shortly after patrol, so Barbara assumed he went to sleep, or at least to his room. He wasn’t there when she checked, though. The kitchen was empty, as was the living room, the bathrooms, the other side of Dick’s bed, and every other location she could think to check.

Barbara was wheeling into the Batcave when she noticed the training simulator.

There he was, sweat flinging off his fingers as he fought simulation after simulation with robotic precision. He panted, face red and eyes unfocused. One figure knocked aside his arm and he took several blows to the sternum before delivering a sharp kick to the jaw, pivoting to block the next blow to the ribs. Nonstop movement, beautiful and brutal. The ratio was an absurd 15:1; the machine automatically made the odds unfair, then slowly increased the level of difficulty.

Barbara worked her way to the touch pad outside the simulator door, reviewing his current status and history. She swore silently and grabbed her comm.

She realized belatedly that while she had kept an eye on most family members for the past week or so, this name rarely made the priority list. He hadn’t seemed to care so much, being with them only a short while before the incident. With recent events considered, she wondered if maybe she had underestimated him.

Barbara worked her way to the touch pad outside the simulator door, reviewing his current status and history. She swore silently and grabbed her comm.

“Hey, Babs. Little early to be calling a nighttime vigilante.”

“Sorry Dick. I’m in the cave. It’s, well, it’s Damian.”

“What happened?” She could tell he was up and moving already. He was probably running his hand through his hair, frown crinkled at the corners.

The guilt gnawed slightly at her stomach.

“Tim said he got hit with some experimental gas Ivy was developing.”

“Yeah, the report stated it had no effect. Steph said pretty much the same.” A thunk, Dick leapt off the railing. Barbara pinched her nose and looked at the stats.

“I heard that too, but I think we missed something. He’s in the simulator, been here for a little over four hours. No sign of stopping anytime soon, either.”

“Did he even take a break after patrol?”

Babara shrugged, knowing Dick would just know despite not seeing it. Just like she knew how much he was beating himself up for heading straight to bed after the stitches. She hated to fuel the fire, but he would want to know.

“Looks like he was here for the past few nights, too.”

“Why the-“

“Today and most of the week, he started with an elevated heart rate and irregular breathing. Now it’s back to the same, but he’s probably well past exhausted at this point.”

Dick swore quietly, and she echoed the sentiment.

While they didn’t know exactly what was rubbing through his head, Barbara knew the kid likely wasn’t thinking rationally. He was new to it all, too, not knowing that this odd family understood and took care of each other. Neither nightmares nor panic attacks were a personal problem her and they could be self destructive when treated like they were.

And unreported fear toxin? That was no joke.

“Thanks for calling.”

“Anytime.”

Barbara went to the Batcomputer, already pulling up multiple files on gang activity from the past week. No one had gone out as Batman yet, and some criminals were starting to take notice. However, they always act a little less cocky when Red Hood or Black Bat shows up to the operation ready to beat their faces in.

And from here she could see the rest of the Batcave without being too in the way.

It took less than a minute for Dick to be stepping out of the elevator, slightly frazzled and bed-headed, still dressed only in flannel pajama pants. He sent a slight wave to Barbara. What a pretty goof. He was going to be cold down here.

She heard him shuffle toward the simulator, loud and lacking his usual grace and control. He was giving the kid plenty of warning.

Barbara knew she made the right call. Even though she was worried, she wasn’t the one the kid needed.

“Hey, Dami,” he called. “You’ve been at this for a while.”

’Dami’ didn’t answer, using his katanas to fight opponents from opposite sides.

“You need to take a break, Damian.”

Barbara felt the glare from across the room.

Dick sighed, typing in the override code and shutting down the simulation.

The door opened and Damian stood with his back to them, panting, swords dipping toward the floor. He sheathed his katanas and turned in one move, stalking toward where Dick waited with crossed arms.

“I do not need to be monitored like some child!”

Rage boy returns, Barbara thought sardonically. Dick looked relaxed, voice smooth and calm, but the lack of movement was the dead giveaway. He was really worried.

“If you go at a pace like this, you are going to hurt yourself. Those simulations don’t hold back.”

“My performance was more than adequate!”

“You need to rest.”

“Do not order me about!”

Dick watched him, stance wide and low, arms to the side.

“I’m not here to fight you, Damian,” he sighed.

Damian’s face softened slightly in confusion, enough so the fear in his round eyes flickered into view. Oh man, they should have been more concerned hours ago.

“You need to rest, just like all of us do. We don’t want you to get hurt.”

He stuttered back a step before tightening his fists.

“What do you care?” He asked, quiet and tight. “I am not your concern.”

This was the real problem, wasn’t it?

Dick‘s emotions were always easy to read. His care was clear, and the full force of his love could be disorienting in its strength. These words crushed him.

This was just a kid, Barbara thought. He stood there, hands shaking, breaths quickly heaving in and out of his nose. Not a demon, not an assassin. Just a scared kid.

Dick took a step forward, hunching his shoulders and becoming as small as a giant could be. He knelt down in front of Damian, who couldn’t decide how to feel, eyebrows twitching together and apart. Guarded and wounded, armed to the teeth. Melting, just like they all did.

“You have no reason to keep me here,” the uncertainty was in the softness, how he stood still, glancing from Dick’s eyes to his shoulders. He looked so tired, now that the anger faded.

Dick sat back on his knees, blue eyes level with green.

“You are going to send for Mother, are you not?”

“Do you want me to?”

Damian’s hands shook a little faster. Dick reached forward and he jerked his head to the floor.

“You don’t have to go. You can stay.”

“My father is dead, Grayson.” If the voice belonged to anyone else, Barbara would have sworn they were crying.

The dripping in the caves around them echoed, counting the stretching silence.

“Damian, bud, look at me.” Dick slowly brought a hand to his round cheek, tilting it to face him.

“I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, okay?”

Damian pressed into his hand, trembling head to toe.

“I do not want to go back,” he whispered, cracking. The words tumbled out. “I do not want to kill for them. Mother- she-“

“Sh, shh, come here,” Dick tugged gently and wrapped him tight against his chest. Barbara realized belatedly that he was crying, silent tears dripping down his face. No breathing or sound gave it away, just the anguish on Dick’s face, where he mirrored the action. He spoke softly, rubbing his hand in circles on the kid’s bony back.

“You don’t have to go back to the League. You can stay here-“

“Where?”

Barbara felt her heart pull. His voice was small, squeaky. A child’s.

Dick kissed his forehead. “With me, silly.”

“With you?”

“Of course,” he murmured, Damian’s nose pressed into his neck. He ran his thumb along the scruffy base of his head. “You’ll always have a place with me.”

Damian’s breath hitched once and Dick brought him fully onto his lap, squeezing him tight between his arms.

The drips continued and Dick held the boy in the echoes and the silence, alone and together.

Damian’s breathing slowly evened out, and Dick stood, shifting to cradle him securely.

He stood there a moment, eyes closed and feeling the solid weight of gravity center him in a new balance.

Barbara met him where the ledge jutted out and they were nearly eye to eye.

“You’re sure about this.” It wasn’t a question. She knew him well enough to know.

“Been for a while now,” he whispered, a crooked smile on his tear stained face.

She reached out, wiping the cold tracks with her knuckles. She kissed both their cheeks.

She smiled as Damian wriggled his face into Dick’s shoulder, deep in dreamless asleep.

“Alright,” Barbara whispered.

And it would be. Because this was her Richard Grayson. And he was good, overflowing with the steady love that built unbreakable things. She trusted him like no one else, and knew his judgement was sound if not always foolproof. She was the head, he was the heart, both know their own. He looked in her eyes, and she warmed at the strength of it.

As she closed her eyes and leaned against him, she could feel the thick of it all pooling at their feet and giving mass to this something. Always this something. An invisible binding, halfway a promise, halfway a vow. She saw Damian’s face twitch just slightly, fingers brushing her hair. Dick’s heartbeat matched her own, and he rested his head against their two.

“Alright.”

————————————————————

Comments are always appreciated, if you made it to the bottom :)

[mikotyzini]

The Quest for Fluffy - A Bumblebee Oneshot

Happy Valentine’s Day!  Enjoy some Bumblebee fluff :D

"Howwwww about this one?"

Springing herself onto the soft cushion, she sighed in relief at the pleasantly firm yet squishy material now supporting her weight.

This one - this one was perfect.

Watching Blake eye the object with an intensity usually reserved for strangers trying to pander goods in the park, Yang giggled at how absurdly long it was taking her partner to make the decision to even allow the questionable material to touch her.

"Well come on, it's not gonna bite you," Yang prodded, patting the space beside her invitingly.

Finally taking the bait, Blake decided to join her on the display mattress in the showroom they were currently browsing, but...no sooner had the girl's coattails touched the foamy surface did she pop right back up again.

"Nope - not that one."

Slack-jawed, Yang watched Blake walk away from her and the completely comfortable, if not heavenly, creation of high density foam and...whatever else mattresses were made of.

"What do you mean, that's not the one?" she shouted in disbelief, jumping down from her perch and jogging several paces to resume her place by Blake's side. "That one was super comfy!"

A distracted "hmm" was Yang's only response as Blake carefully read the display tag on the next contender - reading the entire description in full before delicately pressing a hand down on the mattress' surface, picking her spot as carefully as if there were invisible bear traps taped to the surface. Lifting her hand and dutifully watching the hand-shaped indentation disappear, Blake made a dejected noise before walking away without any further explanation.

Hopping onto the rejected mattress, Yang flopped backwards to soak in the full effect of the spine-hugging frame.

So cushiony...so cozy...so what was wrong with it?

"Blakeeeee-"

Whining the girl's name, she ran to catch up again - finding Blake already two more mattresses down the first row in the massive mattress warehouse.

Honestly, Yang had had a much different expectation for today than how it was currently playing out. She was going mattress shopping. With her extraordinarily attractive girlfriend. To complete the furnishing of the apartment they'd just moved into together. Seriously, did it get any better than that?

But apparently she was a complete pushover when it came to the slab of foam gracing her bed frame. The very first mattress, at the very entrance to the store, won her over the instant she'd thrown her Girmm-battered and bruised body upon it.

On the other hand...her tough-as-nails, ex-White Fang badass of a girlfriend was not so easy to impress.

"So, um, Blake?" Yang asked as yet another mattress was dismissed after failing the 'handprint' test. "What exactly are we looking for?"

"The perfect mattress…" Blake mused in response, studying yet another tag while seeming to pay little attention to the question.

"Yes, but what makes a mattress perfect?" Yang pressed more forcefully this time.

Blake finally turned towards Yang then - amber eyes and undivided attention being given without a second thought. At first, it seemed like the question was confusing to Blake - but then there was the slightest of twitches in one adorably fuzzy ear that gave away the faintest smidge of embarrassment.

"It needs to be extra...fluffy."

"Extra flu...wait, fluffy?"

While Yang was rooted to the floor in her current state of incredulity, Blake brushed past on her way to the next aisle of the showroom.

"Yes, fluffy."

"Fluffy like...like a -"

Cat-like eyes locked onto Yang again, only this time flashing very seriously in an unspoken sign of impending danger.

"Like a what, Yang? What do you associate fluffy with?"

"Uhhh….clouds?"

Had her voice not come out so high-pitched and squeaky, that would've been the perfect answer. Instead, Yang earned a playful glare from Blake before she continued with her shopping.

"I like fluffy things - is that a crime?"

"Of course not!" Yang immediately replied, before unwillingly letting out a few chuckles at the tiny amount of irony at that assertion. "But Blake, really! It's kinda funny, right? That you love fluffy things, and you're a - well, you know - a...uh, battle tested killing machine?"

For the love of all that was holy, she needed to never say the word 'cat' again. Or even think it. The murderous look she'd garnered towards the end of her rambling had nearly turned her into a giant, blonde chunk of immaculately sculpted stone.

With a sigh, Blake turned fully towards her, crossing those oh-so-lovely arms across that oh-so-lovely chest.

"Yang -"

"Ok, ok, I'm sorry!" Yang butted in preemptively, knowing an apology-type situation when she fell face first into one. "I'm just surprised, that's all. I didn't realize that your derrière was so tend-ère!"

As a few more chuckles escaped her, she caught the faintest of smiles flitting across Blake's lips - letting it slip that Blake wasn't in any way upset, but was actually silently enjoying Yang's continued bumbling way of speaking before thinking.

But that didn't mean Yang would escape without a talking to.

"Yang, have you ever slept on the ground?"

"Well, yeah, all the -"

"When it's not covered in grass?"

Images of warm nights spent on the plush, green grass in her backyard with her trusty yellow sleeping bag immediately disappeared from her mind - replaced by the sidewalk out front.

"Um…"

"Or on top of a moving train?"

"Well -"

"In a tree? And a treehouse doesn't count."

"Dammit. No…"

"Or on a rooftop - without blankets? In the middle of winter?"

"Jesus! Blake! When did you do that?"

The comment finally made Blake suck in a deep breath before flashing one of those ever-patient smiles Yang's way.

"I'll tell you about that later - what I'm trying to say now is that sleeping in those places taught me to appreciate a nice, fluffy bed whenever I was afforded the luxury of one. This is the first mattress we're buying together, for the first bed we'll share together. I want it to be perfect so that when we go to sleep, together, safe and sound after whatever the world has thrown our way, I can feel exactly how far we've come."

Blinking after Blake finished talking, Yang opened her mouth to respond only to close and open it once more. It felt like a hundred tiny little arrows had just lodged themselves through her heart, each one fired with deadly accuracy through the disarmingly honest words Blake had just shared.

There was nothing that pushed Yang to action more than one of Blake's mini-rants...and this was certainly no exception.

"Then we're going to find the fluffiest bed in the universe, dammit!" Yang proclaimed, quickly drawing Blake up into a tight hug before setting her feet carefully back on the ground and pulling her towards the next mattress.

"This one's gotta be more fluffy," Yang presumed, waiting as Blake tried out the top of the pad - only to again shake her head with a firm 'no.'

"Not fluffy enough…"

Trying out the mattress herself, Yang shook her head in disbelief. It made no sense what Blake was searching for, but if this one wasn't fluffy enough, then it wasn't fluffy enough!

Hand-in-hand, they continued to the next selection.

"Hey," Yang said, just as Blake was about to test it out, "Do you remember that time you cut down three Ursa with one swing of Gambol?"

The question brought a curious gaze her way.

"Yes...why?"

Shrugging her shoulders, Yang suppressed the urge to giggle at the juxtaposition between battlefield Blake and bedroom Blake. In a fight, Blake was a tiger - agile, fast, predatory, with claws that cut to the bone (if not through it). But at home, Blake was much more like a...well, a little kitten. She liked a quiet life, loved to snuggle, and was incredibly slow getting out of bed.

"You're a really amazing huntress, you know that?" Yang concluded, flashing a big smile at a statement she wholeheartedly believed to be true.

Of course, Blake's 'uh huh…' response signified that she knew the compliment was meant to cover up for something else, but the subject was dropped in favor of testing the newest mattress before them.

"This one isn't fluffy at all."

After letting out a sigh of despair at their lack of success, Yang suddenly had an idea - a brilliant idea, if she said so herself.

"What if we stacked one on top of the other?" she suggested, pointing to the two recent mattresses in front of them.

"I don't think that will work…"

"But we won't know until we try, right? Come on, let's at least try it!"

Without waiting for an answer (she knew Blake would agree anyway, eventually…), Yang reached down and easily pulled one of the mattresses off of the standard bed frame it had been resting on and dropped it on top of the other.

"There!" she said, grinning in satisfaction while dusting off her hands as if that had actually been hard work. "Try it out now?"

It was only after a slight eye roll that Blake pressed down on the mattress before once again shaking her head.

"It's pretty much the same - still not fluffy," she replied, before giving Yang a smile brimming with appreciation.

Her ingenious idea had just been dashed to pieces, but she could care less as long as Blake was looking at her that way. Even when her ideas were dumb or pointless, Blake still appreciated the thought and effort. Blake appreciated Yang's attempt, no matter how useless it ended up being. Which meant Yang was always trying, in anyway possible, to give Blake everything she ever dreamed of or wished for.

That was the whole thought behind the rather exorbitant phrase Yang proclaimed on a daily basis.

'For you, Blake, anything.'

Even when it was said as a joke, or as a tease, Yang truly meant it - as much as she had when she'd first whispered the words into Blake's ear that one night at Beacon...when it had been just the two of them standing beneath the stars with nothing but cleared air between them.

For Blake, she would do absolutely anything. Even if that meant she had to turn what should have been a run-of-the-mill shopping trip into a quest of epic proportions.

It was only when she turned her attention back to that quest and away from Blake's mystical amber eyes that she noticed the myriad of curious glances being directed their way by the other shoppers lingering about.

"Jeez, you'd think they've never seen a double-stacked mattress before…" she joked as they walked to the next contender, reaching down to take Blake's hand in her own as they went.

"No, Yang, they've probably just never seen a girl pick up a full size mattress by herself," Blake responded with a laugh, giving Yang's hand a light squeeze at the same time.

Boy, did Blake ever know how to inflate Yang's ego…

Of course, after having been partners for years, Blake also knew exactly how to bring Yang crashing back down to earth if she ever got too cocky - most of the time in the form of several perfectly timed spin moves and shadow clones that disguised the impending roundhouse kick that would rock her world.

"This one - this one looks like a winner!"

Maybe the root of the problem was that she wasn't 'selling' these good enough. Maybe she needed to add some allure to the mattresses to make them appear fluffier.

Well, it was worth a shot. Nothing else seemed to be fluffy enough!

"The…"

Squinting briefly at the tag, Yang read some of the information before moving in front of it with a grand flourish of her free hand, beaming in response to the pleased smile Blake was giving her.

"The Emperor II, Moonlight Plus, all-season mattress!"

(It looked exactly the same as every other mattress they'd looked at, but it was all about the presentation, right?)

Gently drawing Blake to the side of the bed, Yang slowly waved one hand over the quilted surface - palm facing upward like she'd seen on commercials.

"Kindly take in the...uh…"

Craning her neck backwards, she read the next few bullet points from the tag before turning back to her still-grinning girlfriend.

"Take in the three padded layers of 'Cloud9' memory foam, the extra special 'Cooling Gel' technology, the waterproof stitching -"

With the last selling point, Yang gave Blake a wink, receiving her eye roll and smile in response before continuing with gusto.

"It's the best of the best - the highest of hi-tech - the fluffiest of the...uh, fluffy," she proclaimed, smiling when Blake laughed out loud - the sound still music to her ears. "It even has 'cloud' in the name - it must be the fluffy you're searching for!"

With that, Yang gestured for Blake to give it a try, same as she'd been doing all day.

"Quite the presentation," Blake commented while taking a single step closer to the bedframe, one hand still clasped firmly within Yang's. "You have a second career in the making, I can feel it."

"Please - you want me to sell beds to people all day long?" Yang replied with a laugh before continuing in her best 'fake salesman' voice. "I understand you're unsure about this mattress, ma'am, it is a big investment. Why don't you go home and sleep on it?"

Blake groaned at the pun, but Yang wasn't done yet.

"Oh, you suffer from insomnia? No worries! With one of our top-of-the-line mattresses, you'll be having bedder days in no time - or should I say, bedder nights!"

"I've changed my mind!" Blake cut in with another laugh (Blake always laughed at Yang's puns - why else would Yang keep making them?). "You can't work here anyway, because then who would be my partner?"

Licking her lips and leaning closer - close enough to watch the dark pupils in Blake's eyes widen ever so slightly - Yang lowered her voice to nothing more than a whisper.

"Well...I guess you'd have to follow me into the bed...selling business, wouldn't you?"

Grinning at her attempt at wit, Yang grew serious when she recognized the look in Blake's eyes, one full of love - love for her.

"Yang, I'd follow you anywhere."

If anyone knew how to leave her without words, it was Blake.

Never before had she been able to lose herself in someone else's eyes, but she still found herself doing so with Blake daily. It was as if those wonderful amber orbs erased the world around her, leaving nothing but the two of them in each other's embrace.

It was amazing, surreal...and broken as soon as Blake's eyes flitted to someone or something behind Yang's left shoulder.

"Hey, maybe we should ask that clerk for a suggestion?"

Without thinking, Yang reached out and snatched the store employee before he could pass - and when she said 'snatched,' she meant grabbing the guy by the shirt, lifting him off the ground, and setting him back down directly in front of them.

"We need the fluffiest mattress you have," she said, ignoring his widened eyes at what she'd just done. "Like, I mean, fluffier than everything."

"H-have you tried the...pillow top section?"

Following the direction he pointed in, Yang grinned when she saw the large sign that read simply 'pillowtop' on the other side of the store.

"That's it, Blake! That's gotta be it! The holy grail of fluffy!"

Her feet were already marching quickly that way - pulling a softly giggling Blake along by the hand. Before they'd moved too far away, she turned back and gestured for the store clerk to follow them, just as the young boy had been about to slip away.

As soon as they were underneath the sign advertising mattresses with pillows on top, Yang pulled Blake to the nearest one and gestured for her to try it out. Which Blake did - and this time she didn't immediately pull her hand away - opting instead to let it linger in the air above the mattress as if she might try it out one more time.

"So?" Yang pressed, not having the patience to wait much longer for Blake's answer.

"Well...that is actually somewhat fluffy…" Blake responded carefully, before pressing her hand into it one more time.

Excitement suddenly exploded through Yang's veins, the type of excitement she always felt before completing a mission, taking down a large enemy, or accomplishing something she'd thought was going to be impossible.

She could feel it now. They were on the cusp of something…

"Which one of these is the fluffiest?" she asked the clerk, drawing his full, somewhat nervous attention back to her.

"Like the...thickest pillow top? Uhh...well that'd be this one…"

She obediently followed the boy several spots over, drawing Blake closely along behind her.

This one actually looked a little bit fluffier than most - with the pillow top being several inches thick on top of a regular mattress.

"Try it out!" Yang said, prodding Blake forward as the clerk made room for her to move past.

It was on bated breath that Yang watched Blake press her hand into the mattress once...twice...three times to test the pressure. This was already further than any other mattress had made it thus far - putting them in completely uncharted territory. Yang had no way of knowing what to expect next, so used to the answer 'not fluffy enough' had she grown...

With a brow wrinkled in concentration, Blake painstakingly, almost cautiously, turned around and sat down on the edge of the mattress.

"Well?" Yang asked, praying that they'd finally found 'The One.'

"Hmm…" was all Blake said before scooting further back onto the mattress, her feet lifting off of the showroom floor and doing what had seemed to be the unthinkable just minutes earlier - laying down on the bed.

And then she sighed - one of those long sighs of relief that was almost exclusively reserved for the end of a particularly rough day of Grimm hunting, when they'd finally trekked their way back home, removed their stained combat gear and sunk into a steaming hot bath.

"This is perfect."

Letting out a loud 'whoop!' of satisfaction, Yang turned and gave the salesman an enthusiastic high five, moderately chuckling at the brief flicker of pain that crossed his face from the force she'd put behind it.

('Not so hard, you buffoon!' she could still remember Weiss screeching at her. 'Not all of us have bludgeons for hands!')

Taking two steps, she launched herself from her feet, flying through the air before landing on the mattress with a rather surprising amount of bounce. Normally when she jumped into bed (which, admittedly, she did a lot), the mattress would hold her body down on the initial landing, but this bed...well, she fully lifted off before settling down for good.

Once settled, she rolled onto her back and wiggled to test the resistance.

"Wow…"

Now she could see what Blake had been talking about. There was fluffy. And then there was fluffy.

"You like it?"

Turning onto her side so that she could look at Blake, she grinned at that question.

Man, did she ever like it…

"This is incredible," she freely admitted.

"You're incredible," Blake immediately sent back at her, leaning forward to place a quick kiss to her nose.

Taking only a second to bask in their most recent success, Yang quickly lifted her head to find the clerk who still hadn't managed to slip completely away.

"Can this be delivered?" she asked, halting the boy in his retreat.

"Um, yeah, yes it can be - is that the one you'd like?"

Glancing at Blake and receiving a nod, Yang smiled.

"Definitely," she answered before flopping back onto the bed beside her girlfriend, content to forget his existence for now.

"Can't believe they do same-day delivery for free!" she said, voice raised so that it would carry out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, where Blake was currently getting dressed for bed.

"Pretty sure he just didn't want you to come back," came the teasing response, making Yang laugh while running a brush carefully through her hair.

"Which I would have if they'd been late," she commented with a self-satisfied grin. "And then I could've given him the handshake of death!"

Holding one hand up in front of her, she curled her fingers into as tight of a fist as she possibly could, hearing a couple of joints and knuckles pop in the process.

Dropping her hand, she went back to her hair - running the brush through it in slow, methodical strokes that wouldn't snag or pull. It was only a few minutes later that she was content with how silky her hair felt, so she dropped the brush on the counter and moved towards the bathroom door, flipping off the lights as she walked back into their new, shared bedroom.

"Hey, think Weiss will be mad that we used her credit…"

The question trailed off at the sight in front of her - one very tired Blake Belladonna, curled up and very much passed out upon their new bed. It was the kind of sight that always made her go 'awwww….' Like seeing a kitten at the pet store sleeping in its little hammock bed…

Don't ever mention that comparison to Blake. She'd make Yang sleep on the roof in no time…

All the same, it was endearing to see - and marked the success of their day in one single sight.

Carefully climbing into bed beside the sleeping beauty, Yang laid down on her side and took in the rarest of views anyone would ever find.

This was Blake Belladonna - master of shadows, of escapes, of appearing out of nowhere with a kick to the face. The girl who was impossible to find, impossible to catch...

Slowly reaching out, Yang used one finger to carefully push a strand of stray raven-colored hair behind one delicate ear - grinning when her finger barely grazed the skin there, eliciting a small flick of one feline ear in subconscious acknowledgement.

"Goodnight, Fluffball," she whispered before leaning forward to place one last kiss to Blake's forehead, backing away quickly when Blake unexpectedly shifted position.

"I may be sleeping...but I'll still strangle you…" came the sleepy reply, making Yang let out an unexpected laugh of surprise.

Yang should've learned by now that even when Blake was sleeping, she was still awake.

Death threats or not, Blake nonetheless scooted closer, nuzzling into Yang's collarbone and allowing herself to be wrapped in Yang's arms. Rubbing her hands gently up and down Blake's back before finally settling into place, Yang held Blake tightly as they drifted off to sleep on a brand new mattress that was fluffier than air.

"Love you too, Blake...I love you too."

[crumpledsilkskin-blog]

Chapter 12: I’m Fine.

I know it probably seems like all I do is sit here and bitch about not having enough time cause I’m writing or I’m so busy, but I never post my writing. So here you go. What my CP’s have called, the saddest Chapter of my W.I.P.

2 YEARS EARLIER

It was a warm morning in March. I remember because Chamille always smelt like dead flowers in March, and today, she smelt like a mass grave. It was lunch time too, which meant if you stepped out from beneath Chamille, your chances of skin cancer elevated tenfold. I pulled my less than newfangled cell phone out of my pocket and delved into the ‘sounds’ menu.

That trademark ‘kick; ring these phones had, always made for good entertainment when bored. I raised both fists up and alternated between lowering and raising them, all in rhythm with the chimes of the ringtone. This gained me more than a few curious stares, but I didn’t care.Two hours of waiting with nothing to do, was enough to make anyone act slightly weird.

After a few minutes, I could sense something. Something…off. I stopped the music and turned around to see Nikki dancing to the music too. At the time, she still went by Zahira. Her eyes were closed and though she had books in her hand, she was doing the same dance I was.. I don’t think she even realized I’d stopped the sound.

“Z,” I said. No response. She kept dancing and began to slowly turn in a circle. “Z!” I shouted then laughed.

“Huh! What!?” she said as she pretended to jump.

“How long were you standing there?” I asked.

She smiled and readjusted the books in her hand, so she could get a better handle on them. “Not long. Long enough to see you start your little party.”  She set her books down beside me then slid her bag off her shoulder. After she readjusted her cardigan she opened her arms and asked. “Where’s my hug?”

“You’re sweaty,” I said.

“That’s what happens in the sun Nicolai.” She laughed.

“Yeah but like…you know one of my stipulations is you have to be clean”

She whined and stomped her feet. “Gimme my hug!”

I smiled and feigned complaint. “Alright, alright.” I smiled.

I rose from the bench and embraced her. Her arms wrapped around me and I could feel her head, snuggle into my chest. She cooed and giggled as she continued to press her body into mine. It had taken a long time for me to get comfortable with this. A long time for me to trust her enough, to let her hold me this intimately. The only women that’d held me like this since I was twelve, was my mother and Paratheia.

“You’re so tall,” She said. Her already high pitched voice, even more cutesy and squeaky. She looked up at me with a smile and asked. “How tall are you?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Five, eight six, one. As a black guy, no one really cares unless you play basketball or fuck petite white girls in front of a camera.”

A mischievous smile formed on her face as she asked. “What about petite asian girls?”

I bit my lip and tried to contain my blush as I said. “Ok you’re teasing me now. I’m revoking privilege.”

“Noooo. Nooo.” She whined. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I won’t tease you.” She placed her head on my chest again and snuggled in harder.

All of this. All her little nuances and quirks. It was hard not to adore her. Not to want to wrap her up and never let her go. What a shame it was. That my own damage prevented me from loving her the way I wanted to.

I tapped lightly on her back twice and said. “Alright enough now. Too much.”

She released me and apologized. Both of us took our seats on the bench. Zahira pushed her books in between to form a small barricade. I was always amazed at the lengths she went through, just to make me comfortable. She leant back on the bench and spread her arms out. She unbuttoned the top button on her blouse and fanned herself. “It’s sooo hot!” she complained.

“But it’s the Sun.” I replied in a mocking tone. She glared at me and threw one of her oversized textbooks at me. It hit me in the shoulder and fell to the ground. “Well, at least we know you still have the energy to throw phonebooks.” I laughed. “How was class by the way?” I asked.

She groaned and said. “Way too long. It was supposed to end like an hour ago, but then we had like this guy who talked for  an hour about the Curry used by Indians in the Caribbean; and the Curry used by Indians in India, and how it’s affected by our culture and it was all just…blegh.” The more she talked, the more exhausted she seemed to grow.

I laughed and picked up her textbook from the ground. “I thought you liked learning about cooking in culture?”

“Yeah but, only when it’s my mom singing in the kitchen and telling me about Japan. Not when it’s some overeducated douchebag in a suit that keeps me from you.”

I pouted and placed the book at the top of the stack. “Awwww did the poor man bore the pretty lady?” I reached over the pinch her cheeks, but the moment I touched her she screeched and pulled back. I jumped, out of fear. “Oh God I’m sorry! Did I hurt you?”

She held her face and winced. “No, no…I’m fine.”  She pulled out a pocket mirror and looked at her face. I could see her wincing and cringing a bit, till finally she fixed her hair and placed the mirror back in her bag. All the pain seemed to vanish from her face as she smiled and asked. “How are you though!? You haven’t spoken to me since our date.”

I laughed and shook my head. “It wasn’t a date. It was my way of making up for shitty life advice.” At that moment, there was polyphonic beeping that came from my phone. I’d received a message from my father. Without a second glance I tucked the phone into my pocket. “Did you enjoy it by the way? I mean I picked a restaurant I thought you’d like but, I can’t help feeling maybe, I should have just straight up asked, instead of just picking on my own.”

She blushed slightly and pulled the keychain I gave her that night, from her pocket. “I loved the restaurant. I loved that you geeked out about Dragon Trigger. I love that you bought me this keychain. I loved everything about it.” She slid the keychain ring onto her middle finger then twirled it around. When it stopped, she took a deep breath then asked. “Can…can I kiss you?”

My heart felt like it switched places with my adam’s apple. “Wha-what!?” I answered in a choked and raspy voice.

Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “Not, not! On the lips. Just, just a little one, on your cheek.” She smiled and tapped her right cheek.

I tried to calm myself as my face grew redder. “I-I don’t know. To me, kissing is an intimate thing you know? I-I just feel like it ventures too close to being, more than friends.”

I had never hated myself more, than that moment. The truth of it all was, I would have loved more than a cheek kiss. I would have loved to be more than friends. But when I thought about Alvin and Louis and how they would react. When I thought about the fact that I was only here for three weeks out of an entire year. When I thought about just how much she could get hurt if I was selfish, I couldn’t help but distance myself.

She had a disappointed expression on her face as she said, “Ok.”

My phone went off again. I didn’t need to check it. I knew it was my father. I clapped my hands and put on a bright smile. “Hey come on, don’t get all down. You are the pretty lady and I couldn’t forgive myself if I made the pretty lady sad.”

She covered her mouth and laughed. “Ok I’m jealous. How come you get to give me a nickname and I can’t give you one?”

I shrugged. “You never bothered to. Two years of friendship, I thought you would have by now.”

She got overly excited, reached into her bag and pulled out a magazine and a pen. “Ok, ok! I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

“Did you plan this?” I laughed.

She nodded and sifted through the magazine, until she found what she wanted. Once she was on the right page, she folded the cover of the magazine back, then got up and sat on the backrest. “Ok, ten cute nicknames to call your man in the bedroom.”

“What!?” I exclaimed.

She threw her head back and laughed. “It’s ok. Penny gave it to me.We can just ignore the in the bedroom part.” That mischievous smile returned again as she licked her lips and went. “Unless…”

“We’ll leave out the in the bedroom part.” I laughed.

“Your loss.” She shrugged. “Ok! First one. Honey.”

“Mmmmm too married, next one,” I said.

She nodded then drew a line through it with her pen. “Sweetheart!”

“Hmmm I like that one.” I nodded. “Put it on the backburner.”

She giggled then circled the name. “Darling!” She said with a faux English accent.

I followed in kind and replied. “No my dear.”

She laughed then put a line through that one too.When her eyes fell on the next one, I saw her face light up. “Oooooh I love this one.” She stuck her pen in her mouth and winked at me. “Daddy!”

“Hell, no!” I shouted.

Zahira laughed so hard, she almost fell off the bench. She had to brace herself on Chamille to stop her fall. “Oh shit!” She exclaimed.

“That’s what you get.” I laughed. All enjoyment was stopped, when I saw her cradle her face and rock back and forth. “Z? You ok?”

She nodded and said. “I’m...I’m fine.” But I knew she wasn’t. There was pain in her voice and I could see tears start to stream from her closed eyes.

I got up and ran to her side of the bench so fast, I almost fell over.. “Hey, hey…what’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

I caressed her face. “It’s not nothing. You’ve been babying your face all morning.” She gritted her teeth and looked up at me. I’d never seen so much pain and sadness on her face. Gentler than a baby with a nurse. I tucked her hair behind her ears. What I saw, almost made me burst into tears too. The entire left side of her face, was black and blue. There was some slight swelling under her lower eyelid and the eye itself was red. “Oh my God! Z what happened!?”

She broke down and started crying, while she buried her face in my chest. “I-I…I didn’t want you to see it.”

As light as I could I embrace her stroked her head to soothe her. “It’s ok.” I said.  I waited for her to stop crying before I asked. “What was it for this time?”

She sniffled and said. “It doesn’t matter. It might as well have been anything. ”

“It does matter. A loving father wouldn’t do this,” I said. “Do you have any ointment? I’ll go to Shurrie’s see if I can get some ice.”

Before I could leave she grabbed my hand and said. “No. I’m fine ok? I don’t want to be the abused girl who has a breakdown every time her father gets rough. I’m better than this.” She pulled out a handkerchief and carefully dried her eyes. When she was done she put on a big smile, and started seductively walking her fingers up my chest. “Have I told you how cute you are when you worry about me?” She said with a grin.

I blushed and tried not to make eye contact with her. “D-don’t…Don’t think you can tease me and I’ll forget about it.”

She giggled and pulled her hand back. “I’m not trying to make you forget about it. I just don’t want you to worry about something you can’t help.” She leant her head against Chamille and sighed. “Until I can do better, this is just the everyday life, of the middle Ward daughter.”

I looked at her, in all her helplessness and frustration. In all her inner strength and I couldn’t help but see myself. I couldn’t help but see a child, struggling against the weight of an insecure parent. At that moment, the hardest thing to do in the world, was resist kissing her.

“I’ve got an idea,” I said. “Gimme your student I.D.” She reached into her pocket then handed it to me. I sifted through her pile of books until I found a notebook. “Can I have a page from this?” I asked.

“What are you doing?” She asked.

I tore off a piece from a blank page, just big enough to cover the part of her I.D. that had her name. I licked my thumb and pasted the saliva on the back of the paper, for it to act as a type of adhesive. “Can I borrow your pen?” I asked.

She laughed. “Are you ever going to tell me what all of this is for?”

Once the paper was properly covering her name I asked. “Your middle name is Nikhita right?” She nodded. “Annnnnd your mom’s maiden name?”

“Sagiri.”

In one fluid motion I wrote out a name I thought she would appreciate. “There we are,” I said as I handed it back to her.

She blushed and smiled as she looked it over. “Nikki Sagiri...I love it.”

“You’re not just his daughter pretty lady.” I smiled.

Her blushing and smiling transformed more into a look of yearning. She pulled me in so fast, we both almost fell over.We were so close I could feel her warm breath on my lips. Her pretty pink glasses had begun to fog up from my breath.  I was frozen. I knew exactly what she wanted. The closer her lips got to mine, the more I felt my will fail. I would hurt her. My emotions would get the better of me. Nothing good would come of us kissing.

It would be impossible to clarify, whether I was upset or thankful, that my phone rung just in time to disrupt the atmosphere.

I smiled and slipped away from her grasp, walking a little distance away to take the call. “Hello?” I answered.

“Ey! You know how long I callin you!? Where yuh is?” It was my father. He sounded furious, although, he never spoke to me in a gentler tone so, it was hard for me to tell angry from calm.

“I’m, busy,” I said.

“Orrr horrr. So you too busy for my wok now?”

“No, no. I worked my full hours and by four o’clock today, you’ll see that you’ve been paid back every—”

“I don’t care about that!” He screamed into the phone. I had to pull it away from my ear to save my hearing. “You and I had an agreement! And you have reneged on that agreement!”

“No I have not! I’ve more than filled—.”

“Where you is? Yuh on campus?” He asked.

My words froze in my throat. For him to ask it like that…meant only one thing. “W-Why…Why would you ask a question like that?”

He laughed. “Because yuh need to learn to stop tellin Otis yuh business.” There was an eery confidence in his voice. Like he’d found out my greatest secret. Truth is, I’d never hid that this is where I spent my time when I came home, It was just his invasion of my space that got me. His presence within my serenity, that made things go shitfaced. “Meet me by the coffee shop in fifteen minutes. And don’t play smart, because I have yuh passport.”

The moment he hung up, a mixture of fear and rage filled me. It’s a good thing this was an older phone. I might have done more damage to a smartphone. I pushed the phone in my pocket and ran back to Nikki. She was packing her bag book by book.

“Hey pretty lady…I gotta go.”

She seemed confused and slightly disappointed. “What!? Why? Where are you going?”

I took a deep breath and said, “There’s this hooker named Big Booty Suzy, been beggin’ me to suck my dick for about a month. She just called me and told me her boyfriend’s out. So I gotta hurry if I want this blowjob.”

She squinted at me while her brain processed what I was saying. When she caught on she burst out laughing. “What the hell was that?”

“Yeah I realized that one was too much after I said it.” I laughed. “The truth is I have some high level adulting to do, and I’m not sure I’ll be done with it before you have to go do other things.”

“Ohhh adulting,” She said. “How come you always adult by yourself? Maybe sometimes you could adult with me.” She giggled..

I laughed and shook my head. “You’re too much sometimes pretty lady.”  I waved her goodbye and took off.

◊◊◊

My father was always a man of flair. At least as long as I knew him. When I was younger, my mom told me he was just a construction worker when they first met. She said she loved the smell of a hard working man. Which as I grew older I realized was just a sweat fetish.To get to the coffee shop, you had to cross the library courtyard on the western side of campus. Even from there I could see his jewelry.

Massive golden rings with imagery of Norse mythology and freemasonry. An expensive Onyx suit, with a tie to match. Attire that said, I own the most successful construction firm in this country…fear me.

As I got closer he folded his arms and wore an angered expression. His already grisled and intimidating aura, transformed into a menacing one.

“Hello sir,” I said. I made sure to keep good distance between him and me. He had a tendency to get physical during discussions.

With a face like a bull he shrugged and asked. “Where my money?”

I sighed, took a deep breath, and then responded. “I already sold my phone, my favourite sneakers and my laptop. All of that money was deposited this morning at ten a.m. Deposits are processed at twelve a.m. everyday and new balances are reflected in your account, by four p.m.”

“Not that money!” He shouted. “The money that I have to pay you! For missing days on my wok!”

“I didn’t miss any days! You made me your own son sign a contract that stated I had to work a minimum of fifty five hours total while I paid you back.  I worked a ten hour shift on Sunday at time and a half and I’ve worked ten hour shifts all week. As of nine thirty this morning, I have officially worked fifty five hours, and not only have I paid you back, but you owe me thirty six dollars and thirty seven cents.”

I was so caught up in proving him wrong, that I couldn’t react fast enough. He ran up to me and punched me square in the jaw. My glasses fell off my face and slid away from me. Much good they’d do. Even with them I was still dizzy and seeing spots. The second punch was what flung me to the ground. That one hurt so bad, the left side of my face went numb from pain. I tried to stand up, but he kicked me in my stomach and I fell down again.

“You think because you get to go away, that yuh smarter than everybody ent!?” My father said. “Ent!” He shouted again.

I decided it wasn’t in my best interest to move. He’d see it as me trying to fight back. I held my stomach and curled into the fetal position. Any other blows would be cushioned this way. A crowd had started to gather and I could see phone flashes from pictures being taken.

He knelt beside me, grabbed my hair and yanked my head back. “Smarter don’t mean stronger eh boy! Next time yuh want to take your little bitch out to dinner, use yuh own money.”

He pushed my head away so hard, it grazed on the concrete. He left after that. He’d already proven his dominance. My father was always a man like that. He was right, and if he wasn’t right, he could always beat you until you said he was right.

That’s what all this was about. He was angry I found a way to cheat his system. A system he thought would beat me, because of my heart. When I found a way to subvert his plans, he had to show me he was still powerful.

Several people came up and offered to help. I heard a security guard running after him but I knew he wouldn’t catch him. Or if he did, there was no way he was to be brought to justice. Someone was kind enough to hand me glasses and I thanked them. Yet, I couldn't get up from the floor.

When I left, I thought this was behind me. I thought the weight of being outside child would have been lifted. The sadness and loneliness that comes with being the hidden son would vanish. But it didn’t. Instead, every time I came home to visit. I was reminded that my existence was a planned accident.

I buried my face in the concrete and wept. Tears, dusted and snot covered my face. I could hear people walk past me. Some even made derogatory comments. All offers of help stopped at this point. Why would they continue? No one wanted or needed to be caught up in the whirlpool that was my family drama.

◊◊◊

After a few minutes of crying, I sat up and wiped my face with the sleeve of my hoodie. Some dirt got in my eyes and it caused problems, but eventually resolved itself. I got up, cleaned my glasses and made my way to a nearby water fountain. Almost on cue, as soon as I finished cleaning my face, my phone rang.

“Hey Za-I mean…Nikki! What’s up?” I said cheerfully, not wanting her to know what I’d just been through.

“Hey umm, I was just wondering, are you done with what you were doing yet?” She asked. I was a tad skeptical about her timing, but for the most part it seemed harmless.

“Ummm, yeah I am, why?”

Her tone got softer, as if she was begging. “I was just wondering could-could you meet me in the lower lounge at S.R.C?” She asked.

I sighed. “Umm, you know I would love to pretty lady, I really would but, I’m just…I’m really tired and, I’m not sure I can.”

“Please?”  She asked. Her please sounded desperate and concerned and though at the time I wouldn’t admit it, I could never say no to her twice.

“Ok um, sure. Sure, just, just give me like fifteen minutes.”

◊◊◊

When I arrived, the lounge was uncharacteristically empty. Far at the back sat Nikki, at a table all by herself. She had a giant box of pizza on the table, and kept looking around impatiently. When she saw me her face lit up. She opened the box, tore off a slice of pizza and put it on a napkin.

“Come, come, sit, sit.” She said with cheer. Almost as if to imitate a doting wife.

“Nikki,what is this?” I laughed.

“I just thought I’d treat you is all,” she said with a smile. “I know you’re always worrying about your heart so I got chicken, olive and corn.” Some stray sauce had gotten on her finger and she quickly licked it off. “Not the healthiest options I know but, the best I could do.”

She set the slice of pizza down and pulled out a seat for me on the opposite side of the desk. Nikki was being so adorable, I couldn’t resist. After she’d fed me two slices of pizza and ate one herself, I asked.

“Ok you never answered my question. Pizza? A secluded lounge just you and me? Am I being solicited? Is there sexy times in my future?”

“If you ask nicely.” She licked her fingers clean, seductively licked her top lip then laughed.

I shook my head and laughed too. “But seriously though, why go through all this trouble? A pizza this size isn’t cheap.”

She set her slice of pizza down and finished chewing before she answered. “I never have you for lengthy periods of time, I just thought I’d treat you this time. Make sure you left happy ok?”

“Happy?” I laughed. “You don’t have to buy pizza for that, I’m fine.”

Her attitude changed from happy and cheerful, to sad and downtrodden. The laughter and joy had now changed to a frown and looks of concern. She scooted her chair closer to mine and pulled out her handkerchief. I had never felt a softer touch on my face as she caressed my cheek with one hand and dried the blood from my bleeding lip with the other. I was so busy trying to stay calm, that I didn’t notice my lip was damaged.

“I know,” she said softly. She folded the handkerchief and placed it back in her pocket. With the same hand, she tucked her hair behind her ear to reveal her face. It was night and day to what it was before. The swelling had gone down and all signs of injury were expertly covered up by cosmetics. “I’m fine too.”  She leant in and placed a gentle kiss on my left cheek. Its warmth seemed to heal all of my pain. When she pulled back, she looked me in the eyes and smiled. “But I still want you to be happy.”

[withthebreezesblown]

Too Dark to Read, Part One

Or read it on AO3.

Despite all Eamon’s warnings, despite the righteous anger Alistair has already endured from the man and the verbal thrashing (well, let’s be honest, thrashings) he will surely endure when the Chancellor returns, the Satinalia feast that he was told was suicide turns out to be the least unpleasant thing he thinks that he has had to endure since the weight of that damned crown settled on his head.

All along the row of mismatched tables dragged from nearby houses out into the cold under the leafless vhenadahl, people are smiling at him. And not those blasted, Blighted, flaming, fucking simpering leers that would have been directed at him by the mass of arls, arlessas, and banns if this feast had been held in the customary way, with the customary company.

Sure, there are a few open glares, and there are plenty of appraising eyes still tinged with suspicion, but there are also happy mothers feeding the children in their laps and whispering in their ears as they point toward him at the end of the table, glancing at him with eyes full of an appreciation that hits him far harder than all of the not inconsiderable venom directed at him combined.

When the food dwindles, five elves bring instruments and begin playing music that isn’t quite like anything he thinks he’s ever heard before. The redheaded elf who had sat on his right hand side during the meal, conversing as freely with him as with the elves on her other side, the one who still treats him much the same as she treated him when he was just a Warden rumored to be a King’s bastard during the Blight (well, the same as she treated him once she had determined the Grey Wardens weren’t exactly the kind of shem she was used to), sidles up to him with a decidedly wayward grin. “So, do you think you’ve given the proper gentlefolk of Ferelden enough fodder for one lifetime, or would you like to dig your hole a little deeper?” she asks, holding a hand out to him.

The slight smile that has been on his face for a while now fades as he gives her a look of earnest regret. “Unfortunately that will require you to make a choice of rather dire importance. Either we can jab at the hornet’s nest, unwise and satisfying as it will surely be, or you can keep your toes in tact and functional. It wouldn’t be right not to give you fair warning.”

He can’t help the laugh of relief when she rolls her eyes and pulls him toward the growing crowd of dancers. The irony does not escape him that here, among only servants, guards, and elves, is the first time he’s felt human in months.

The verbal thrashings he expects don’t come. He isn’t even aware that Eamon has returned to the Palace until a servant informs him that the Chancellor has already taken his dinner in his rooms and will not be joining the King.

For days the only conversations between them are the ones that can’t be avoided, and the cold, clipped nature of them makes Eamon’s point as clearly his silence. He isn’t sure he truly realized the extent to which, most days, Eamon is the only person who speaks to him without the entire exchange being framed as master to servant, king to subject. He is the only one who reacts to Alistair’s quips and sarcasm, and while his displeasure doesn’t exactly give the satisfaction that appreciation does, there’s a gratification in it, far more so than in the stoic silence of the servants, who seem to view his humor as some sort of test in which any reaction at all is failure, or in the forced chuckles of the nobles before they quickly change the subject without comment.

Eamon even forgoes their nightly chess match, started because he thought his King ought to get some practice strategizing. That first time, he’d even offered a wager to tempt Alistair–the King’s presence at the following day’s session of court: if Eamon won, he would attend as usual. If Alistair won, Eamon would judge in his place. Alistair had allowed the man to explain all the rules in detail, had questioned how every piece should move, had deliberated during each turn before taking it with a blithe uncertainty. And when, to Eamon’s stunned disbelief, he’d won, he’d raised his brows high. “No! Did I really? Beginner’s luck, I suppose. Well, do enjoy your day in court.”

The look of disbelief on Eamon’s face cleared with comprehension, and when he swallowed the last of his whiskey and set the glass back down, the expression left behind was either vaguely amused irritation or irritated amusement. In it there had been a touch of pride. “You little shit; you didn’t mention they’d taught you chess in the Chantry.”

Without the chess, without anyone who ever speaks to Alistair and not just the King, he feels like he’s disappearing. He feels more invisible than he felt in the dark and silent cell they locked him in for screaming in the Chantry’s halls. If he could find someone to enchant his clothes to walk around without him, he wonders if anyone would even notice he wasn’t inside.

After two weeks of this, a note comes from Teagan, requesting his presence in Redcliffe. He’s riding out of Denerim less than an hour after its receipt, well before the note he’s left for Eamon is delivered.

There’s a kitchen boy with hair tolerably like mine. I’ve left my usual outfit laid out. Give the boy a wash, and tell him not to speak. If he just smiles like a bit of an idiot and nods, I’m sure no one will notice he isn’t me.

“Alistair!”

When his sort-of uncle claps his arms around him in an embrace full of sincere enthusiasm, there’s a moment where he wants to cry. Being back here, in this stable, reminds him how as a child he’d thought there could surely be no fate lonelier  than being a bastard, disdained by the gentle-born, avoided or mocked by everyone else.  He couldn’t have guessed then how much more isolating it would be if the only people who dared to look at him at all saw nothing but the title and trappings and power of a King.

Beside them, a horse twitches its tail and drops a pile of excrement, and Maker is he grateful for it. Instead of dropping his head on Teagan’s shoulder and crying, he snorts as he steps away. “Ah, the fresh, sweet smell of my childhood home!”

Though Teagan is one of the only people he can rely on to be entertained by his always irreverent–and these days, more often than not, rather bitter–humor, the man’s smile is marred by a wince, and it’s only after that Alistair thinks perhaps it was a sensitive topic to joke about, given what the man had told him shortly after his coronation: “I should not have let my brother send you–either to the stables or the Chantry. He kept Maric’s secret well. I thought you were his. I thought it not my place.”

The arl shakes it off quickly, gesturing welcomingly toward the castle. “You arrived before I’d even expected Eamon to have let you make your evasion.”

“Ah. Well…” Rubbing at the back of his neck, an unpenitent yet vaguely guilty grin is all the explanation he offers, and it says enough.

Teagan’s smile is bemused. “He’ll blame me, you know. Not to say he won’t still blame you. But he’ll blame me too.”

Inside, he directs their steps toward the upper floor where the bed chambers are. “I have a bit of a dilemma, you see, that I was rather hoping you might be able to help me out with.”

When they pause outside the largest chamber, the one that had been Eamon’s, Alistair can’t help a cheeky smirk. “You know, fond of you though I am, I’m not sure I’m the person to help you out with a bedroom dilemma…”

Teagan just chuckles quietly before dropping his hand to the doorknob. “It sounds like they’re sleeping, but you’d likely still do well to brace yourself.”

The door has hardly moved a fraction of an inch before the first squeaky, high pitched bark rings out, and before it dies, there is a cacophony of yips, barks, growls, and scrabbling feet and claws against the stone floor. As soon as the door is out of the way, it’s like being rushed by a knee-high tempest. The writhing, wriggling brown bodies are so crushed together in their enthusiastic attempt to shove each other out of the way and get to the two men in the door that it takes a moment for Alistair to determine just how many mabari puppies make up the mob. Seven. Or possibly eight; there may be one underneath that one. Then again, that one there may have just swallowed the one beside it whole, so it could be seven.

Teagan sighs. “The servants have threatened to quit if I don’t either get rid of them or move them out to the stables.” The mother steps lazily over the little hoard to rub herself against Teagan’s side, and he squats down, scratching her ears and pulling her face close to his.

Alistair can’t help an amused acknowledgement of the fact that any Orlesian would be horrified that not only does this man, one of the most powerful in the country, let his dog sleep in his bed, he keeps her puppies in his room. It’s so very Fereldan, he can’t help finding it strangely touching. If he must be King, there are certainly worse peoples to be King of.

“But they’re Neve’s puppies. I can’t put Neve’s puppies in the stable.” He glances up at Alistair, then, and there it is again, that hint of guilt, before he continues. “So I am left either finding suitable homes for them or finding new servants. And I’ve been politely informed that if they all quit because of the dogs, I’m going to be blacklisted, and I’ll end up having to deal with all the chewed up rugs and broken porcelain myself. So I’ve had to come up with a list of those I would trust with my Neve’s pups. You are at the top, so I thought I’d give you first pick.”

Alistair can’t keep the surprise from his face. It’s not that he’s never been trusted–well, if he hadn’t been trusted entirely too damn much to do things he isn’t even capable of, then he’d never have ended up King to begin with, but she was raised in the Circle, and who could blame her for being half mad and, at least on the subject of himself, wholly foolish? Even now, even as King, no one but her has ever given trust to him so freely, and it catches him off guard. All he can manage is, “You want me to take one of these monsters?” but he’s sure Teagan must hear the thing he can’t keep out of his voice. It’s something like wonder.

If he hadn’t been squatting to get a better look at the puppies, all of them excited to the point of quivering like sausages in a frying pan, he would not have caught the words Teagan murmurs so quietly against the grown mabari’s ear, but he is, and he does. “He is a good and kind and lonely man. You tell them that.”

If he wasn’t positive before, he is certain then. He isn’t the one doing Teagan a favor. This is Teagan looking out for him, as he has so often tried to do since Alistair found himself being thrust down onto a throne he’d never wanted.

He ends up sitting on the floor with puppies crawling all over him, and for a while they are just soft, warm, and indistinguishable, until they begin to make their personalities known. There’s one that keeps biting the puppies beside her whenever they get between her and Alistair’s petting fingers, and occasionally biting his fingers if he seems to occupied with the puppy his other hand is petting. There’s one that, despite the nips from his sister, rather insistently keeps stepping on her head with his oversized paws in an attempt to get his turn with Alistair, though he tends to topple over as soon as his head is stroked. And there’s one that’s gone to sleep, despite the furious commotion all around it, with it’s head on his thigh, positioned just so that the patch of drool trickling slowly from its mouth is going to leave a spot that looks like he’s peed himself when he stands.

Eventually Teagan beckons him, and he rises, moving the sleeping puppy gently so as not to wake him, uncertain what he’s expected to do and a little reluctant to leave off being licked and cuddled against, which he was enjoying more than he should admit. “I’m… not sure how this works? Do you… do you think one of them imprinted?”

He just smiles and waves Alistair through the door. “Come on and we’ll see.” The moment he takes a step, the nippy one latches onto his pants and plants her feet. One day, this will be an effective method of stopping a grown man. For now, Alistair just chuckles as he carefully tugs, dragging the puppy across the floor rather than freeing himself.

“Well, then, it would appear–” Before Teagan can finish his sentence, one of the puppies launches itself toward the one attached to his pants, goes tumbling past both her and Alistair, and then scrambles to correct the overshoot, finally closing his jaw on Alistair’s other pant leg with a stubborn whimper.

Teagan’s expression is genuinely pleased. “It looks like you’ll be taking two puppies back to Denerim with you.”

He’s surprised by just how relieved he is as he bends to scoop them both up, one in each arm (Maker, he won’t be able to do this for long; they are already heavy). He supposes there is a part of him that will always be the boy who, before Duncan, was never chosen for anything. He can’t help grinning at Teagan. “Well, on the bright side, I’ve weeded out the defective ones for you. There’s obviously something wrong with them if they’ve imprinted on me.”

Teagan just shakes his head seriously. “Oh, no. That one there, she’s the brains of the litter, clever even for a mabari. Bossy, too. You’ll have your hands full with that one.”

They’re halfway down the hall when there’s a shriek from Teagan’s bedroom and frantic scratching at the door accompanied by increasingly distraught yips.

Teagan’s expression is amused. “Perhaps not two.”

He heads back down the hall and hardly has the door cracked when one of the puppies comes bounding out of it, making a beeline for Alistair and jumping up to put his front paws on his knee as he whimpers accusingly. He's certain it's the one that was sleeping on him.

It’s a struggle to get all three in his arms at once, but he’s determined if only on principle. After all, he’s already hurt the sleepy one’s feelings by nearly leaving him behind. The least he can do is carry them all downstairs despite the fact that they are entirely capable of doing it themselves.

Read Part Two here.

Full disclaimer, for purposes of fairness: @celeritassagittae​ came up with pretty much the entire plot of this. She also had to title it for me because I am Bad At Titling Things. If it wasn’t set in my universe, I really wouldn’t have had enough claim to write it at all, and I am incredibly grateful for her generosity.

[theinsouciantscribbler]

Not Another Vampire Romance: Chapter 2: “Latin isn’t easy to pronounce.”

I sat waiting, staring at her as she laid gingerly on the bed I had set her upon. I couldn’t help but gloss over every inch of her face, measuring the smallest movements of her breathing. I wanted to talk to her, ask just a few questions. I knew I shouldn’t indulge myself, that as soon as she would eventually wake, I ought to send her off to were she belonged. Yet I couldn’t help but imagine all the things she might say. I wondered about her life, if it was fulfilling and if she was living her dream; whatever that might have been.

I couldn’t garner from what she wore, or how she held herself, or even the few words we exchanged, anything about her. Normally I could sense these things, pick up what kind of person they were, find the littlest thing and figure them out. Perhaps I was losing my touch, or perhaps it was because she wore the face of another.

When she finally began to stir, the first light of day started streaming through the blinds. The golden light landed on her hair and made it shimmer like fairy dust. I couldn’t help myself and found that by the time her eyes started to flicker open, I was on my knees by her side.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, hoping the salve from the Swamp Witch had worked.

“I’ve gotten quite the headache, and I am a bit parched… but nothing that a glass of water and Asprin couldn’t fix.” She groaned with a tried smile. 

“That’s good… And what do you remember?” I asked as she started to push herself up and look around the drab apartment I lived in. I wasn’t sure what I hoped she remembered.

“More than I ought to,” She grimaced at what I suspected a thumping headache that must have gotten worse with the flood of blood. “I remember that… creature. I remember you basically refusing to tell me what it was, quite the cryptic and secretive fellow aren’t you.”

“I remember you.” She added, looking straight at me. I felt my heart stutter when she told me that. 

‘Certainly she didn’t know who I was, how could she?’ I asked myself rapidly, ‘She wasn’t the same girl I knew, just a carbon copy. A very good one, but not the same.’

“You remember me?” I asked, trying to hold my excitement back. I knew it was misplaced and would feel the crash.

“From the ‘Blue Goose’.” She recounted, and as I suspected, that hope fell, crashing down and shattering into a thousand foolish pieces. “You were sitting there, all alone, drowning your sorrow.”

“Why are you so sad?” She asked me. 

“I’m not sad.” I lied.

‘Damn, is it that obvious?’ I asked myself, trying to push it down deeper, lock it away and lose the key.

“Is there another reason someone sits at a bar alone, drinking an entire fifth to himself?” She asked. I found I had a slight irritation for her astute recollection and ability to figure me out with just one look. 

‘Why can’t I figure you out then?’ I asked myself, trying to search her for a tell, a sign, anything that could make her any less interesting so I could forget her and let this delusion of the past die and stay dead.

“I like the taste of Scotch.” I shrugged. 

“I’m sorry,” She apologized, “I shouldn’t have just assumed anything about you. Especially after everything you’ve done for me.”

“You don’t need to apologize-”

“I do,” She pressed, “I thought I saw something in you, but I suppose it was just my own feelings reflected back. Tends to happen to me a lot, thinking there is something there when there just… isn’t.”

I watched as she rose to her feet, I rose with her but froze in my tracks as she moved across the apartment to the kitchen. I was still processing what she had just told me. 

Without invitation, which make me smirk from her candor and lack of formality, for it was clear she was raised as a hellion, she flung the fridge door open and rummaged through its continents. 

“If you are looking for something a little less… Strong, you won’t find it there.” I informed her, and I could almost hear her pout when she snapped erect and closed the door.

“How’s the tap?” She asked, twisting slightly, watching me. I found myself wishing I had turned the lights on, because most of her was draped in shadows.

“Don’t know. Haven’t tried it.” I shrugged.

I watched as she twisted the squeaky nozzle to the sink. It began to sing in an off pitch F, reminding me of a squealing pig right before the slaughter. The water shot out the water spigot in short bursts like an impact sprinkler until it finally sputtered into a constant stream.

“Glasses?” She asked, already rummaging through the cabinets.

“To the left.” I muttered. She pulled out the first glass closest to her and filled it. Cautiously, as to not startle her, I moved over to the light switch to flick it on. The light flickered for a moment before it sustained constant light. For the first time, I finally began to notice how downtrodden this tiny apartment was. Sure, the rent was hardly noticeable, but the living conditions were squaller at best.

I watched as she took a sip before pulling it away from her lips with a scowl.

“Not sure if it’s the pipes or the water, but the distinct taste of iron and sulfur has made this water foul.” She sneered, pouring the glass out and slumping against the tan countertop. 

“You don’t have anything?” She asked, looking disappointed.

“Nothing you would want.” I silently chided myself for having a strict diet of alcohol.

“Is there a corner store near by, or…?” She asked, licking her lips. My eyes followed it. Unintentionally, I found myself biting my own. 

“Come on,” I snapped out of my daze, “Let’s get you taken care of.” 

I reached for my jacket that hung besides the door and slung it on. She was right besides me, ready to go. 

Walking down the street this early in the morning was oddly refreshing.

‘I ought to do this more often.’ I thought to myself, ‘Would have to stop drinking till four in the morning… So maybe not.’

“I suppose we should introduce ourselves.” She began, filling in the silence that had lingered in the air up till that point. 

“Should we?” I questioned, knowing that against my better judgement, I desperately wanted to know everything about her.

“Perhaps not, a bit of ambiguity in ones life could do some good.” She smiled, looking down at her feet as she spoke. “Just two strangers, walking together down to the corner shop.”

“You’d prefer that, would you?” I smirked, finding her… I wouldn’t say odd, just different. Everything she said seemed to contradict what I thought I was forming about her in my mind. One moment she was nosey and intruding into my very personal life and home, and the next she was giving us a full arm width apart.  

“Oh, I don’t know…” She muttered, “Just a thought, a musing really.”

“Truthfully,” She continued, her voice stronger, the color of her cheeks turning peach. “I would like to know the name of my hero.”

“I am no hero.” I said firmly.

“A Dark Knight, then, but if it is all the same…”

“You shouldn’t try to think that I am something good, just because I spared you from that creature, treated your wound.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” She rebuffed, “I know so, and you are avoiding my question. A bit of them actually. Don’t like letting down your guard?” 

“Which questions?” I didn’t remember a single one.

“Where should I start…” She rolled her eyes at me. 

“Well, you wouldn’t tell me what that thing even was, and you didn’t exactly tell me what that black ooze was that you used to completely heal my wound; don’t think I’ve forgotten what it was like before hand. Oh, and I asked you what your name was and you’ve refused to give me that.” She recounted.

“That’s all?” 

“Exactly.” She sighed, sounding more amused than how she acted. 

“Perhaps,” She continued, “I could tempt you to loosen your lips…”

I watched as she nearly danced on her tip toes, teasing me. We had come to the store front of the corner shop, and she was blocking the way. With slender, tiny hands, she gripped the collar of my leather jacket and yanked me close. It was too close for comfort, too close and I could smell her. Her hair wafted of honey and sunflowers, but the sweet and fruity scent of plums came from someplace more daring to think about. My eyes met her lips, slightly pink; tempting. She was too close, and I was weak. So close I could drink her in like a fresh cool glass of water.

“I’m Lyra, by the way.” She whispered, her lips tickling mine as they moved. Jerking back with a teasing smile, she pushed back into the door of the store and went in. I followed behind numbly, daring to not think of what was dangerously close to happening.

‘I need to get as far away from her as possible. She is dangerous.’ I decided, knowing that she would cause me too much trouble if I lingered.

It wasn’t until I stepped into the store, and the cool stream of air that hit my face, that I realized she had told me her name. I wasn’t sure if I was thankful that she didn’t share my memories name, or saddened that I couldn’t use that name with that face. It would certainly ache, to call it by another.

“Lyra, huh?” I whispered, walking closely behind her as she browsed the drinks in the clear faced fridge. “Just Lyra?”

“You want more, you have to give more.” She muttered, biting her nails. She wasn’t paying me much mind, reaching in for a bottle of water.

“Esheton Grey.” I caved. It didn’t matter anyways, if she knew or not. I wasn’t in any directory, I didn’t use that social media that was taking over the world. I was, what I heard some people call ‘Off the Grid’. “Though, I prefer Grey.”

“You prefer being referred to by your surname?” She asked, raising a brow as if she didn’t believe me.

“Esheton was my father, and endeared by my mother. Though he was known more for his ‘connections’ than either his given christian name or surname. So it suited me better, to be called Grey.” I explained, though I doubted she could understand the complexities of why I would rather not be associated with my father.

“I can understand not wanting to use your given name, though perhaps not for the same reason as you.” She nodded. “Lyra is just a nickname, really. A good friend called me that once, almost twenty years ago now; and it stuck like honey. My real name is Alyra-Mae Henderson.”

“I think I prefer Alyra-Mae.”

“Thanks, uh,” Her cheeks started to glow red, “Sorry about my rambling. I tend to do that, go off on my own tangents. I’m in my own little world it seems, always woolgathering or over-explaining… Like I am now.”

She tucked a wild lock of hair behind her ear, but it didn’t want to stay put. I found myself much liking that hair. It wanted to be free, be itself, refusing to apologize for going against the grain. 

The moment after purchase, a couple dollars from my own wallet as I found it terribly tedious for her to pull out her plastic card just to buy water, she uncapped the bottle and drained it whole.

“You’ll make yourself sick.” I whined, but she didn’t seem to hear me. Or simply didn’t care.

“So, mind telling me something about yourself?” She said the moment we turned the block to head back to my apartment. I was almost shocked to hear her ask permission first. I wanted to laugh at how she flip-flopped but didn’t have time. She was waiting for an answer and I didn’t want to keep her waiting.

“What do you want to know?” I was curious, at the very least, what she thought she needed to know about me. There wasn’t much, not that I could tell her anyways, that was interesting or worth sharing.

“Well, first of all, where do you procure yourself a bad-ass cane sword?” She asked, eyeing the cane that I walked with. 

“Would you like to take a look?” I offered it to her, not needing the crutch for any physical limitation.

She took it gently, observing the carved silver bulb handle. It was ornate, an intricate design. In a similar fashion was the fiberglass casing. Watching her pull out the blade from it reflected a thin stream of light upon her face, making her eyes dazzle like jewels. This was the first time I had gotten a truly good look at them, not distracted by anything else, and this was the first time I saw the difference between the past and present; the reality was so much greater than the dream.

Her eyes were decorated with what seemed like copper and gold flakes upon steely blue eyes. Within them, I felt like I could finally see in through those windows, take a glimpse of what was there. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sword was nothing magnificent by any standards as far as design were concerned. It wasn’t ornate like the casing, and was for a practical usage; which made sense. The only thing that could be said about the blade that separated it from others, were an inscription upon it which I could not read. It was in a different language, and although I was no linguist, I took a guess at which one based solely on a gut feeling.

“Latin inscription?” I asked, looking up at Grey to see he was staring right back at me. 

“Uh,” He furrowed his brows as if to think for a moment. I must have broken his train of thought. “Yeah, I think so.”

“What does it mean?” I asked, pointing to the words and speaking them the best I could. “Mortem ut Saecula Saeculorum Animarum Comedenti.”

He let out a long sigh before slowly taking the sword away and sheathing it back into its casing. He looked at me hard, silently, for a long time before he gently jerked his head to the side to indicate for us to keep walking. I followed at his side, twiddling my fingers together.

“It means,” He began, surprising me. “Death to Saecula Saeculorum Animarum Comedenti.”

“Okay, but what does-“

“Saecula, Saecula Saeculorum,” He interrupted. “Or for abbreviations I like to simply say ‘Sae’, means simply in an age of ages, forever and ever.” 

“So, immortal.” I suggested.

“Not exactly,” He shook his head, “Immortal suggests that there is no end, no death. Which is not what the meaning is trying to convey.”

I didn’t quite understand, but I stayed silent and let him continue.

“Animarum Comedenti, is the eater of souls. Though,” He paused, almost as if he was scoffing at what he had just said. “It doesn’t really explain everything that it entails.” 

“Death to an age of ages, to the eater of souls?”I asked, and suddenly, I pieced it together. “It means to bring death to that creature you slain last night.”

“Yeah.” He didn’t seem to have much more to say about it, but now I was more intrigued than ever.

“So, you call them Sae?” 

“Saecula is universally known as their name, at least in the sect that knows about them. Sae is just something I call them. You, and most of America might call them ‘Vampyre’.”

“He didn’t look like he wanted to drink my blood.” I argued.

“The romanticized version is nothing like what is really out there.” He explained, “Perhaps one Saecula chose to only drink blood, and somehow it caught traction that all Saecula only drink blood, and because of the vampire bat in Africa that drinks blood from small animals, legend began calling them vampyre, and it morphed into a dangerous fantasy where people actually think they want to be one.”

“They only see the perks of living forever, not what it takes to get there.” I added, understanding, or more like not understanding the desire to want to live so long. I already thought life had dragged on for far too long, certainly I didn’t need to elongate it further.

“Precisely.” He nodded, seemingly pleased that I understood his seemingly disgusted attitude towards such fools. Then his smile fell when he looked back at me. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

“No.” I could answer that quick without thought. “The thought, to live forever, seems unbearable.”

“Miserable, even.” I continued, just rambling on since he didn’t speak up. “What more could life have to offer beyond the normal scope provided; since it already offers so little already?”

“Nothing really.” He agreed.

“Tell me,” He said when we reached the door to his apartment complex. It rose high into the sky, was just as drab as the inside, and cast a shadow that brought the entire block down in its misery. “Are you happy?”

For once I felt afraid with him there besides me. No longer protected and guarded, he meant to dive right in and ask the things I wanted to keep buried away. I suppose it was my fault, speaking so openly as I did. 

‘I really ought to quit being so candid.’ I chided myself, knowing I would work on that in the future.

“Why…” I stuttered, trying to find a way around answering his question. “Why would you think otherwise?”

“Well, because I think you should be. Happy, that is.” He opened the door to his building, offering for me to go first, but my feet were planted firm on the sidewalk.

“What do you mean by that?” I asked, feeling a wild temper flaring in the pits of my stomach.

“I only meant that you deserve to be.” He replied.

“Oh.” I didn’t know what to say, since the last time I had heard someone tell me that, was the night my parents died.