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vidalinav · 3 years

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A Kinder Sea: Chapter 1

Summary: After the IC give Nesta an ultimatum Nesta chooses instead to support herself, cutting herself off from them completely and so begins Nesta’s journey of finding a job and falling in love with everyday life (Slice of Life/Fix-it Fic)

Masterlist, Chapter List

Dedicated to you Noni!

Three flights of stairs later and Nesta could feel the muscles in her legs quake, and she wasn’t even on her floor. Even after all these months she was still not used to the stairs. They wound up the apartment building in a way that offered no shortcut.

To get to her apartment, she’d need to pass every door on each level, each apartment spiraling around the building like a dome. Nesta’s was at the end. At the very top and the last apartment on the fifth floor. It was the cheapest one she could find in Velaris, and when she’d moved in she understood why.

Never mind that the entire layout seemed impractical, Nesta often wondered what would happen if a fire broke out. She could only imagine jumping from the fifth floor like a flying squirrel, landing in that lone tree at the center of the complex. Then she’d really be lost to the wild, as her sisters probably thought now.

She could hear the pounding footsteps of the floor above and Nesta rolled her eyes. Two little boys came trampling down, running as if they were made of air. They did not so much as huff as they bounced the ball they carried and Nesta held her breath as they passed. No sense in showing them that she couldn’t make it to her floor without panting out a lung.

“Hi Ms. Nesta!” One yelled.

“Bye Ms. Nesta!” The other called.

Nesta didn’t get the chance to answer before they were gone. Matching red shirts disappearing to lower levels. Her eyes tried to follow them as she grasped the railing for the fourth set of stairs. She couldn’t catch the youngest’s dark curly hair or the oldest’s green shoes and Nesta lugged herself up, sighing in defeat.

She wondered if falling down four floors was enough to knock herself out--if the beautiful fae male on the first floor would perhaps carry her up, gods knew she’d survive the fall. But no... Nesta couldn’t chance it. With her luck, no one would even notice, and she’d have to pick herself up, shame and all, and climb them all over again.

She supposed she could always pretend to be napping. Lie under that tree and the beautiful azure sky like she hadn’t fallen four floors. The summer sun, Nesta would say to her neighbors if they asked. Such a beautiful day to be out here. Picnics and all.

Why are your legs broken then? They’d say.

None of your business, she’d answer in that haughty tone of hers.

Nesta laughed at her own thoughts... But as she looked back at all those steps, her smile dropped. Nesta could only tip her head back and groan.

She’d chosen the apartment because it was the cheapest, yes, and she’d regretted it every day since. Not enough to move, but perhaps she was just too stubborn. Even when her sister had asked with that tone of hers why she lived there, or when the silence between them was enough of a proclamation that Feyre did not approve, Nesta held onto the apartment. Nesta held onto it like it belonged to her. Like she owned it and Nesta knew she owned nothing. The city might as well have been signed under Feyre Archeron and her insufferable mate—property owned and sold by the Night Court’s finest and Nesta was not ashamed to say the thought made her bitter.

Nesta could not run far enough away to escape her sister, and now her sister thought she owned her too.

She began the trek up, breathing through the burn of her thighs, trying to focus on the movements of her body rather than the berating voice of her mind, but the anger was a tight first pulling at her skull.

Forget them. They mean nothing to you, Nesta told herself.

You mean nothing to them, a voice whispered back.

She could only agree, and Nesta couldn’t help but lean over the railing. Four floors and then five, contemplating that height.

The only time she hadn’t regretted this apartment was when spring came in a flurry of rainstorms. She’d watched from her balcony window the rain pour down on the city below, gloomy and perturbed that her night of drinking had been postponed indefinitely. But when days had passed and the sun at last began to peek out once more, and she unashamedly ran to the nearest tavern, Nesta had caught a glimpse of that lone tree at the bottom. It had bloomed in magenta and white, it’s flowers swaying to a soft breeze.

She’d gripped those rails and stood there, didn’t even know if she made it to the bar that day. Nesta had stayed there for hours looking at those colors—to each door, each floor thinking that the building itself bowed to that tree, protected it in its sacred embrace. Nesta, herself, had bowed to that tree that day as she leant over the railings.

She could imagine the petals still, the wind picking them up as if it might gift it to her. She’d wished for Elain then... hoped that she might come—forget what she said about her life being separate from theirs. But Elain never came... Elain never visited her once.

Now, Nesta thought, Elain didn’t deserve to see it at all.

The thought of her sister made her chest thrum with unsettled words—and Nesta chastised herself for her straying thoughts and that restless anger she didn’t know what to do with.

The summer had taken away the beauty of spring and there were no flowers left when the sun beat across the sweltering concrete and all Nesta knew for sure was that she was sweaty and exhausted, her chest heavy in a way that she usually only felt after a long night of drinking and getting nowhere. The stairs were usually a punishment then, a pain she’d only vaguely complain about the next day when she did it again, lugging herself up flight after flight.

She supposed this was a punishment, too.

Nesta could see her door as she managed the last step and she could have flopped down right then and there, but she raised her chin instead because the stairs would not best her today.

Neither would her snooty sisters. Neither would her mind that wouldn’t stop thinking of them.

The surest way to forget, Nesta learned, was wheat, barley, and hops or whatever the tavern made ale with. She could practically hear the tumbling drunken voices as she walked to her door. She’d drink the memories away, music filling the space where her thoughts had once gathered. Let them return in the morning with the headache and the dry throat that would surely accompany like loyal friends—old friends that Nesta had begun to miss.

She fumbled with the lock on her door with that thirst in her throat, her mouth parched for the taste of it. The key jammed as she twisted it and Nesta shoved it harder in its slot.

“Are you serious?” She asked the door. The dingy, brown-painted wood did not reply and Nesta groaned as she kicked it. Nesta fiddled with the lock, turning the key over and over, slamming the door with her body, and when the lock would still not budge, she pointed to the door as she had to the King of Hybern. “Open up you blasted thing!”

Meow.

Nesta turned to the black shadow that poked its head out of the wall, clenching her fists at the interruption.

"Shoo,” she said as she waved her hand.

Meow, the cat sounded, tilting its ghostly head.

Nesta could make out no mouth or eyes and she didn’t know how she could hear its cry, but she’d stopped asking questions about the logic of the fae world the first weeks of becoming fae. It did her no good when she was hungover or tired... which were most days, and it was not the first time the little shadow cat seemed to come out of the walls and greet her at her door.

She pointed to the shadow merely wagging its tail like the arrows of a metronome. “At least you can get inside,” Nesta grumbled.

The shadow cat tilted its head as if contemplating her statement then rolled onto its back, offering its belly. Nesta didn’t know what solution that might have wrought so she ignored its luring movements.

“I’m allergic to cats,” she haughtily replied.

Nesta pulled the key from its slot and slammed it in once more. She wiggled it back and forth, her face feeling hot with frustration. The cat meowed louder as it jumped up, coming to rub itself against her leg.

Nesta raised her hands in defeat, sighing as the door stubbornly stayed closed.

“Fine,” she said, looking to the little shadow. “You win.”

The cat bobbed into her outstretched hand, and Nesta crouched low, scratching behind its ears. The shadow’s fur felt as soft as silk, and she wondered why it didn’t feel like air like she thought it should. The cat meowed again, and Nesta huffed. Attention hog, she thought, but the cat merely rubbed against her, purring sweetly.

“You know, you’re far less judgmental than most people I know,” she said. The cat flopped on its back again and Nesta went for its belly. The cat swatted her away with its paws. She swatted back, feeling herself smile lightly at its antics.

At the unconscious raise of her lips, Nesta frowned, but before she could contemplate the distraction, the little cat’s head stood at attention, its body stilling its lazy movements. The cat looked to the stairs and so did Nesta. She could hear the echo of concrete as someone took heavy steps.

When Nesta turned to the cat again, it was gone.

“No music. No stomping. No parties. No recreational sports. No hobbies. No shouting!” The male shouted.

“What? No laughter?”

“Not if it’s loud,” Nesta’s landlord threatened. She could recognize the nasally tone, the footsteps when he went from apartment to apartment reminding them about rent, leaving notes on their door about policies. Why he frequently climbed those stairs on his own accord Nesta never knew.

But she took note of the feminine laughter, one she’d never heard before.

Nesta recognized all of her neighbors—knew what they looked like, how they talked, their routine on a regular basis. She watched them from her world above and occasionally they would say high, but mostly it was Nesta watching as they interacted in the world below. She didn’t care to know any of their names, she only wanted to know what level of bothersome they would be—what kind of threat.

This voice was new and they didn’t sound threatening, but Nesta knew that she would spend hours looking out of the little peep hole to see if she’d catch a glimpse of that unknown being who laughed as if her landlord was joking. He was not joking.

Nesta certainly wouldn’t stay outside to greet them. She didn't have it in herself to meet one more person who would just stare along with all the rest. As if she was some carnival attraction.

Come see the failure of Velaris. Some say she’s so hideous, she never comes down from that tower.

Nesta looked to her door, the key still stuck in its slot. She could hear them louder this time, their voices clear and ringing.

“No pets. No flags. No patio decorations. Nothing colorful...”

She twisted the key with reckless abandon, slamming herself quickly at the same time she pushed. The door opened easily and Nesta watched her landlord reach the top of the stairs as she shut it quickly.

The door clicked in place with a heavy thump.

Nesta didn’t look back out—didn’t move. She was almost afraid the stout male would be there breathing down the worn paint, some random fae trailing behind like death on her doorstep. She leaned against the door and tried to picture that tree again. The cat with silk-soft fur. The fizz of alcohol that floated to the top. The pop of a champagne bottle as if she had something to celebrate.

But when Nesta closed her eyes, she could only see a shadowy figure standing beyond that worn, thin door. Hovering over it as if it breathed on the back of her neck. Scythe in hand—the grim reaper yelling across its wood in sharp, distinct notes.

Nasal and high-pitched.

Where. Is. The. Rent?

Nesta left the windows open to air out the scent that Cassian had so graciously commented on the day before, and the room had become unbearable. The hot sticky sun of a mid-summer warmed her skin, and she kicked her blankets away, feeling as if she’d just bathed. Her hair stuck to her face, but she didn’t bother combing it away. It seemed that all Nesta could do was slouch back and stare at the ceiling.

She had stared at the ceiling all day, couldn’t stop staring at nothing until Nesta hoped it would just collapse on top of her. Popcorn ceiling constellation for wary, vindictive dreams. Not that she remembered many these days.

From her bedside window, she could see the sun had already begun to set on Velaris.

The window was another thing she liked about this place—that she could see the city without ever leaving her bed. She could see rooftops and the interweaving trees. Great twisting oak that she felt might come alive one day, grab her by one of its many branches and hoist her over the city to the sky above.

Nesta didn’t know what time it was. Most days she found herself having slept before realizing she’d ever laid down. She was always tired and just like yesterday and the day before, Nesta had slept to the buzz of cicadas, and she’d woken to crickets chirping. The sound so loud she thought they might be hidden in her cupboards.

But all Nesta could do was sigh...

Nothing much had changed. She was still in her apartment, could still see the endless amount of clothes strewn about, knew that there was nothing to eat in the pantry or the refrigerator.

The crickets chirped, and nothing changed.

Still, she felt different.

And she felt as if the world should look different, too. Rain, because something permanent had happened yesterday morning and the sky wanted to wash it away. The ground shaking instead of her body. The wind roaring instead of her words. But the sky was only dipped in peaches and purples, and the world was still.

The bed creaked as she tumbled out of it and Nesta kicked away the dress she’d worn that gathered at her feet. Maybe she’d burn it, too, because she didn’t want to remember what it felt like to be embarrassed... ashamed.

Maybe she’d keep it.

Because no person, thing, entity, or otherwise was going to take one more piece of her. She’d keep it like the memory of a risen middle finger. Like a power that hummed a furious tune.

For now, she’d throw the dress in the corner with the rest of the clothes and hope it took up space in a room that was mostly bare.

That was her apartment’s fault. It was too large, even without a bedroom. A studio Nesta couldn’t fill—didn't want to fill at the time. It was empty and it echoed as she walked. She didn't even have a dining room table. Only a bed that came with the place, a frame that was squeaky and rusted. Her dirty clothes and her shoes strewn about decorated the room, and she was okay with this...

Until he had wandered in.

Some part of her thought she ought to take a bath and wash the grime of the days away. Look somewhat decent. But the thought of him filled her with disgust. She would be decent for no one.

So Nesta went to the kitchen instead, tucked away in the far corner, where the cream-colored shelves sat studiously staring as if to say you haven’t opened us in a while. Nesta didn’t bother with them.

Nesta went to the refrigerator instead, reached above the tall contraption she’d found to be positively fae. Nothing existed quite like this where’d she lived most of her life. They’d had an icebox when it was winter, where they stored uncooked meat if Feyre had come home with excess. But that had rarely happened. In the fae world, it seemed, everything she found a luxury, was common and not worth speaking about.

Nesta reached for the cookie jar that sat at the top, its white hue dusty as she took it down. In it was her security and she couldn’t help but hold it to her chest.

In the beginning, when she’d first started frequenting taverns and hadn’t yet discovered the joys of sex and booze, Nesta was rather serious about cards. Mostly because she was good at playing and males were easy to fool. They’d stare at her breasts, try to make casual chit-chat, all the while Nesta was making bets. They were making their own bets too, of course, who’d go home with her, who’d she kiss in the back hall, feel her up where it was quieter, and the lights were dim. They didn't seem to mind losing money and Nesta certainly didn’t mind taking it.

She stored the bills and coins away in some random jar she’d found in the local grocery store. It was on sale, and it was the first thing she’d ever bought with money of her own.

Nesta didn’t want to think on what they would call this money, but it was her money. She splayed the bills on the counter, piled up the coins, and when she was done counting, Nesta found she had just enough for next month’s rent... and maybe a grocery run if she’d budgeted well enough. It would have to last her—the groceries. Unless she found a job soon. She’d start looking today...

Tomorrow, she decided.

Today she’d clean herself up. Because tomorrow, she’d have to look presentable whether she wanted to or not. It was not about pride. It was about survival and Nesta had survived worse things than this.

So, who cares about them? Nesta thought. The only person who lives here is me.

Something her sister didn’t seem to realize was that getting drunk was free.

Most nights Nesta didn’t even have to buy her own drinks, and the only reason she did was because she’d knew her family would see it. She liked imagining the red of their faces, the clenched fists in which they held the bill. Making them angry seemed to spark some thrill in her that nothing else could replicate.

Now as she sat at the bar, a glass of whiskey in her hands, she almost felt annoyed. Not just because she couldn’t get drunk today, but because even if she did who would see it? Who would care?

Not that they did, anyways.

But she supposed all of them had won in that sense... and the idea that they won, that they had an advantage even now made Nesta want another drink.

“Can I get you another round?” The male asked, sidling up to her, placing his hand on her back.

Nesta didn’t spare him a glance, as she rocked her drink in her hand, “No.”

"You’ve been sipping on that drink since you got here.”

“You've been paying attention, how nice.” Nesta held up the half-finished glass, “I’m fine with this one.”

The male didn’t seem to get the hint as he sat at the stool next to her. He could have been beautiful or a disgrace, Nesta didn’t care. He could have been him and she still wouldn’t have looked.

The whiskey told her that was a lie.

“Come on, just one drink.” He lured, leaning into her. When the male didn’t capture her attention, she heard the slam of his glass on the table. She gave it a sidelong glance, where the liquid spilled on the counter. “What? You’re too proud to drink with someone as lowly as me? Lady Archeron.”

He sang the words, and at the title, Nesta shot him a glare, letting her powers glow through, “if you want to keep your tongue, I suggest getting away from me.”

The fae stepped back at the look.

Good, she thought. Smart. Nesta had no interest in blowing up the bottles stacked behind the bar, and she had no means to pay if it happened. If it happened, he’d have bigger things to worry about then her eyes glowing silver.

Nesta looked to the puddle forming where he’d slammed his drink and gave him another glare.

Leaving this mess? Who raised you?

A waitress huffed a laugh, and Nesta turned towards her. She couldn’t help the scowl she gave the female behind the bar, who took out a rag and wiped the counter clear. “What are you looking at?”

The female only gave her a smirk, humor dancing in her eyes.

Nesta gulped down the last of her drink, slamming the finished glass on the table like the male had done before. She took out a few coins, pushing them forward.

Tonight, she did not feel like another.

Finding a job was harder than she expected and Nesta spent most of the morning going from shop to shop asking if they had any availability for work.

Most of the stores had barely begun to open, and only a few gave her concrete answers. The little book shop—Nesta's first choice—had told her that the owner was away and wouldn’t be back for two weeks. The pastry shop, where Nesta might have been happy smelling the sweet scent of bread for hours and sneaking the tarts they’d displayed in the windows, had inquired about skills in which she had few.

By the time she made it back to her apartment, she felt the heavy weight of the rising sun and little more than disappointment settling on her shoulders. She was hungry, too. It seemed that job hunting worked up an appetite that only a job could satisfy, and Nesta could think of nothing that sounded remotely good to fill her.

Nesta had been like that lately. Always hungry. Never hungry enough... or perhaps too hungry to move and search for food in her pantry. Not that she had much in there besides dust bunnies.

She’d taken money out of the jar that morning, though her heart hurt with every silver coin. The bills, in their array of colors, Nesta hadn’t touched—wouldn’t dare if she wanted her rent paid next month. She couldn’t stop thinking about it... the looming sense of dread that accompanied her and her dwindling jar. Her stomach ached with it.

Still, she had enough for a bag of groceries, Nesta told herself... minus the coin for the drink. She shouldn’t have bought it. She should have let the male pay for it.

Nesta didn’t want to dwell as the guilt roared up her chest.

She had enough for some bread and butter, cheese and some fruit. Tea to tide her over. She let that fact comfort her. She didn’t need much. Afterall, she’d starved half her life. There was no difference in doing it now. Nothing new, Nesta decided.

For now, even as her nausea demanded she go home and hide behind her door where she could pretend it was safe, she’d buy a sweet bun for her effort and she would try to enjoy it, too.

There was a grocery store a street down from her apartment and trees lined the sidewalk. Nesta could make out the pinwheels poking out from the ground, rainbow colors spinning so fast she might have gotten dizzy starring at them for too long. Windchimes rang as she approached, and its soft music drifted past as if it were made of dreams. It made her envious. The little shop that could hear music made by the wind.

“Good morning!” An elderly male greeted her as he set down a box of oranges lined in neat rows. Nesta recognized him as one half of the couple who owned the store. She raised a hand in greeting but didn’t say a word instead jumbling past him and the ramshackle array of boxes. Reds and vibrant yellows. Bright greens and dark greens and something shaped like a star.

“Can I help you find anything?” He called, though Nesta had lost him between the shelves. The fae always asked her that as many times as she dared to show her face, and just like the many times before Nesta did not reply. She merely looked to the corner, already knowing its place, where the clear display casings were filled with buns and bread.

Nesta eyed her favorite immediately.

She took the tongs out of the encasing and felt her mouth water, her stomach grumbling its get on with it roar. She picked up the toasted brown, the bun dusted with powdered sugar. She ignored the other sweets trapped inside. Nesta hadn’t wanted to try any of the others. As soon as she’d first bitten into this one, she hadn’t wanted anything else.

She wanted nothing else, as she went to the counter, carrying that little bun wrapped in paper.

The male sidled up the register, clearing his throat as he smiled. Nesta only moved to get her coins and tried not to stare at his face. She didn’t care for the warmth it held.

Liar, she thought. Everyone in Velaris is a liar.

“That will be two silvermarks,” He replied cheerfully.

Nesta pulled out the two coins from her bag and felt her mouth pull into a frown.

Was a bun worth it? She asked herself. Two silvermarks for one bun that would last her only a moment. Apprehension welled up and her stomach twisted in greedy knots. But she set the coins on the counter anyway, the money rattling a harsh ring.

The male dipped his head politely, sliding the silver towards him. Nesta watched as he entered a button on his register and the till opened with a sharp ding.

“We appreciate your business,” he said at last. She nearly grimaced at how chipper he sounded, but he once more smiled warmly and Nesta’s brows furrowed.

Liar times two.

She didn’t note her goodbye even as he called for her to have a nice day and only when she was out of the shop did Nesta unwrap the bun she’d carefully held. She nearly moaned her pleasure as she bit into it. Her favorite part was the yellow custard at the center, and as she took a few more bites, she licked at the cream. Before she knew it the bun was half eaten and Nesta wrapped it once more in paper.

She’d save it. Savor it because it would be the last of them for a while.

Nesta shuffled along as she walked back to her apartment, cradling the rest of the bun with care. She blew at her hair that fell into her face, escaping from her braid. It stuck to her sweaty skin. She didn’t like how hot it was, how bright the sun shone, and as she entered the dome of her apartment building, Nesta could only think of getting back into her room, sleeping until it was night again.

No disruptions. No busybodies knocking on her door.

As she looked to the steps, Nesta sighed heavily. She could hear the noise of two little boys.

Oh, right.

“Ms. Nesta! Ms. Nesta!” They called, out of breath.

Nesta waited for them at the bottom of the stairs, but they were not coming from the floors above, but rather the pavilion. They passed that large swaying tree at the center, and Nesta stood straighter as they ran towards her.

“There's a ghost!” The oldest yelled.

“Come quick!” The youngest one said, grabbing on to the skirt of her dress. He pulled her forward and Nesta followed casually, not at all bothered by the notion of ghosts.

They had on matching blue shirts today. Jerseys of some sport Nesta knew nothing about. There were many teams in Velaris, she found, and she never knew if they were from a specific organization or just friends who went out in the world proclaiming that they fit together somehow. Nesta would never do such a thing.

She knew of one group who certainly would.

The youngest let go as he ran towards the laundry room. That was another thing that Nesta thought was strange. To wash clothes by spinning water and dry them using magic. Gods forbid, they hang one piece of cloth.

The boys stopped at the door and waited, and Nesta crossed her arms. “What’s wrong with it?”

“They think it’s haunted,” a voice said from behind.

Nesta turned to find the female leaning up against the tree. She recognized the voice—the light tilt of an accent.

Nesta eyed the fae, taking in the pink fuzzy slippers first. Bunnies, she thought. But Nesta’s gaze caught on the wings tucked so keenly behind her back.

Illyrian.

Nesta almost sighed out her displeasure.

“I gathered, after they said there were ghosts,” she replied.

“There are ghosts,” the eldest boy argued. He held up his hands. “Just wait.”

Nesta shrugged away the female and peered inside. White and dingy washers and dryers were stacked on top of one another. Dutiful soldiers all lined up on each wall. There was an old bubble gum machine at the farthest end that must have stopped working before she was born, because she saw no one ever use it when she came down. Granted Nesta didn’t do it often. But the number of gumballs didn’t seem any lower. It was rusted around the red base, and Nesta didn’t trust the age of the candy inside.

There was nothing odd about this place, though. She didn’t feel anything off.

“There is no such thing as ghosts,” Nesta said, looking to the boys peering back into the laundry room. She refused to look once more at the female. She squared her shoulders, raised her chin, averted her eyes as she so often did—the way she was good at. Nesta could feel her stare any way.

“You have to believe us!”

“There’s a ghost Ms. Nesta.”

“Did you see a ghost?” Nesta asked, turning to the female who only shrugged a shoulder.

“I might have seen a shadow move around.”

Nesta almost gave her a glare.

“Wait look!”

“See!”

Both boys pointed to the room that began to be overrun by darkness. It reminded her of a shadowed cloud. It filled up the room like water in a bathtub, and Nesta stepped toward it, her brows furrowing as she reached a hand out to feel exactly what the substance was made of.

It felt soft as if she were running her hands down the back of some giant cat.

As if summoned by her thoughts alone, the shadow stepped out of the cloud.

Meow.

Nesta rolled her eyes as it rubbed its body against her legs.

“It’s just the cat,” She mused.

The three of them merely looked at her as if she’d grown another arm.

Nesta crouched low; her hand held out scratch behind the little cat's ear. She’d forgotten she was holding the bun, and the cat seemed to smell it—to want it.

“Hey!” Nesta yelled, as the cat jumped on her shoulders. Nesta shifted the bun to the other hand, but it seemed to want to crawl down her arm, and she could feel the sharp claws sink into her skin.

“Stay away you mangy thing,” Nesta yelled in outrage. “Pay for your own!”

The boys laughed, coming closer, petting the menace as the shadow cat purred.

Nesta looked for the female, but the Illyrian seemed to not find them interesting enough. She went back to perch on her tree, or whatever those with wings could do. She could already feel the touch of irritation. Of course, she’d be okay living on the fifth floor. She could fly easily up there without wasting a breath.

“You have a cat!” A voice yelled.

Nesta closed her eyes at the nasally tone.

Just. Her. Luck.

“No,” the boys said in unison, but the landlord stormed towards them, all shrunken limbs and potted belly.

“I said no pets!” He raved.

“He’s not mine,” Nesta said even as she held it. The cat conveniently had not gotten off her shoulders. In fact, it seemed to want to lounge on them, and she hunched slightly at its claws on her back.

Her landlord sneered, “It sure looks like yours.”

“He’s been here since last fall.” Nesta tried for a haughtier tone, but she couldn’t very wall act arrogant when she couldn’t even stand straight. “He is not mine.”

The landlord wagged his finger, “Vagrant then. I’ll just ought to call the forest prowlers. They’ll tear right into him.”

Nesta blinked at that and she was sure the boys did, too.

“You can’t do that! He’s just a cat,” The oldest said.

“He’s not harming anyone,” The youngest argued. The child’s cheeks turned a bright shade of red and she watched as he clenched his fists while the oldest crossed his arms.

She had to admire them. When she was young, Nesta would have never been so bold. She learned to be bold after her mother had died, and it had done her no good in poverty. Nesta felt for them, felt for the cat—though she didn’t know what kind of creature could eat a shadow.

Nesta didn’t want to ask, but she held up her hand, feeling the regret already settle in her stomach.

“I lied. He is mine.”

Her landlord huffed as if he knew, but Nesta only gripped the cat as it came down her arms. She grasped it in the crook of her elbow. As its body dangled, its tail wagged lazily.

“Get rid of it, there are no pets allowed.”

“Unfortunately, it’s my brother-in-law's pet,” she said quickly, resisting the urge to gag at the phrase. “He told me to take care of it until he could take it back.”

The male paused at that. “Brother-in-law?”

Nesta hummed, “Brother-in-law. It was a gift for my sister, but... she’s allergic to cats. He’s looking to rehouse it. It seems he hasn’t found the right one yet.”

As the landlord sneered, opening and shutting his mouth, Nesta raised her chin. She felt the satisfaction thrum through her at the lie. She was good at making up stories. Perhaps she could find a job in lying through her teeth.

Nesta watched as he took a breath, his face dulling to a peach. She hoped that would be the end of it. She hoped that he’d never get the chance to ask her... brother-in-law... if the story was true. Nesta doubted he would do her any favors.

She didn’t want his favors.

In fact, she’d never mention him again.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to charge a pet deposit then. Nonrefundable. And of course, your rent is going to go up.”

Nesta dropped her custard bun.

“What?” She yelled. “Pets aren’t even allowed!"

“But as you have one, I’m going to have to change the terms of your lease. I’m sure your brother-in-law will have no problem fitting the bill as he’s done before.”

The little shadow cat meowed, wiggling in her arms. She set it down and Nesta watched as it disappeared back into the wall.

Good for nothing...

“You’ll have to keep it on a leash, too,” The male scowled, “I don’t want to break a leg going up the stairs because he’s running about.”

Nesta wanted to tell him that he could break more than just a leg.

“Oh, and make sure he isn't loud. I’d hate to have to terminate your lease early over a noise complaint.”

Her landlord smiled, dipping his head in a mocking bow as he went to yell at another neighbor coming down the stairs. The boys shirked away, looking to the laundry room again.

Nesta could only kick at the bun at her feet. Now dusted in dirt.

Tagged: I’m sorry if you wanted to me tagged and I didn’t tag you. I’m horrible at tagging and you should never consider be reliable for this. I think I tagged everyone who has ever asked to be tagged in any of my random posts of fics. But that’s probably a lie. If you want off/on let me know. I will not be offended nor enthused. I will have only one list from now on. No individual fics. If you asked to be tagged, it’s for all fics. Be forewarned. I’m tired. I hate tag lists.

@my-fan-side, @sophilightwood, @nestaarcher0n, @duskandstarlight, @soitsgorgeous, @ekaterinakostrova @swankii-art-teacher, @lordof-bloodshed, @arinbelle, @thewhelk, @daisy-in-danger, @highqueenevankhell, @valkyriae, @lovelynesta, @sirendeepity, @champanheandluxxury, @ladynestaarcheron, @moodymelanist, @teagoddess99, @spoilersteph,

Nesta’s... a little misanthropic. We’re going to beat that out of her through love and healing.

Personal Anecdote: I put a magnolia tree because at my university there was one in this random place on campus that you couldn’t find unless you knew where the post office was and I was obsessed with sending my mom cards to tell her I was still alive (She lived in a different state). No one ever went there, I never saw more than a few people or maybe they didn’t even know the post office was there. It was tucked in between buildings and it was the definition of serendipity. Little freshman me would go there and sit under it and sometimes eat a taco lol (fried avocado and barbacoa) when I was finished with classes. It bloomed every spring for about three weeks and I yearned for those weeks. I worked so many jobs, took so many classes, but during those weeks the only thing that existed was a tree of magenta and white. I sometimes really miss it.

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian fanfiction #ignore acosf fanfic #vidalinav fic

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sidespromptblog · 3 years

Text

Between the Mask: Part 2

One, Three, and End

Warning: Plenty of tears from all parties, angst, Janus has a momentary panic episode, and Logan has a mental break down.

Summary: Roman confronts Janus about how exactly Roman should act around him, after being told by the others that being both nice and mean to him is wrong. Only to discover that after everything he’s been through, Janus isn’t the person that he portrays in front of everyone else.

Word Count: 4303

AO3 LINK

A strange kind of vigor filled Roman’s chest as he moved towards Logan’s room, a mixture of anxiety and adrenaline danced around his heart the closer that he got. A part of him was nervous about possibly bumping into Patton or Virgil, and having to answer the inevitable questions that would eventually arise when they put two and two together about where exactly he was going and where he was coming from. With Janus’ face still fresh in his mind, Roman felt a sense of protective unease at the thought of Patton and Virgil forcing their way into the safety of his room. Because, the one thing that he certainly did not want to answer was that question and the secrets that it entailed, especially because, despite how Janus may have started to become accepted he wasn’t entirely sure if he was ready for everyone to know about the real Janus just yet.

Especially not without his consent.

And Roman would damned before he broke the fragile trust he had just now built between him and Janus, especially after everything he had initially done wrong between the two of them.

He would guard Janus’ secret like a lion.

“Logan?” Roman whispered as he stood before the simplistic blue door that lacked any distinguishing characteristics, “Logan, I… I know that you’re there.” He winced at his casual tone, given everything the last thing he should be is casual with Logan.

He couldn’t help but to cringe at the vivid memory of himself so carelessly pressing the ignorance button, when Logan had only wanted to do his best and educate Thomas, Patton, and him.

He’d been rather rude, even if he had only meant it jokingly.

A deep sigh rumbled his chest as he forced himself to take a step back from it all, moaning and whining would get him nowhere. Logan had always responded to clear and decisive wording, not emotional blithering and most certainly not sing-songy language.

He needed to speak Logan’s language rather than trying to get across with his own. “Logan, if you’re even listening to me… I want you to know that I.. I see you.” Roman softly began, so much for no emotional language. “I see how much you’ve had to sacrifice for the sake of my and Thomas’ dreams to be a reality. I see how much you’ve had to change while the rest of us gets to stay the same. And…” Here he took a deep breath, pushing down the pride that had always gotten in the way of these apologies. “I’m sorry that I didn’t see it sooner, and.. and I’m sorry for how much I’ve made you sacrifice and just how much you’ve suffered because of it. I’m sorry for hurting you, in every way that I ever have.”

Roman hadn’t even noticed it when he had started to spew out his apologies, but the moment they started the sight in front of him clouded over with tears that he refused to let fall. The knowledge that he’d been not only a bad friend, but also a bad protector, hit him like a punch to the chest. He had never wanted to hurt anyone, but in the end it always felt like no matter what he tried to do, he had always done the opposite. It was like that with Virgil, when he had tried to protect Thomas from the bad thoughts. It had happened with Patton, when he had constantly tried to keep him happy. It had happened with Janus, and now… now it was happening with Logan all over again.

“I’m sorry too…” Came a soft but equally hoarse voice from the other side of the door, “I’m not a very good logic… no matter how hard I try to be. If I was good, then maybe-”

“No!”

Roman’s hands slapped desperately against the door before he even had a chance to think about it, letting silence reign after his outburst. Shaking his head roughly to the point that his usually pristinely styled hard flopped onto his forehead in a mess of curls, Roman pressed the palms of his hands even harder against the door. The last thing that he wanted was for Logan to blame himself for any of this, it wasn’t anybody's fault for how things turned out.

It just happened, that’s why it was called an accident.

“Logan,” He sternly whispered, forcing himself to keep his voice down. “You don’t have to change, you don’t. Not for Thomas, not for the others, and most certainly not for me. Do you understand?” He felt like he was getting dangerously close to both crying, and digging his nails into the door in an effort to get through to Logan. “You don’t have to change for us, you never will. You can say that you don’t feel emotions, but I know you Logan. I’ve seen you smile, I’ve seen you address Thomas and the others as a class, and I’ve seen you happy Logan. Happy.” Roman’s head solidly thumped against the door. “You can still be happy… if you come with me.”

A long stretch of silence drifted between the two of them, before finally…

The blue door that Roman had been unleashing all of his feelings out onto, slowly eased open, almost making the creative side lose his footing before he swiftly regained it.

There stood Logan, huddled into himself wearing his unicorn onesie that Roman hadn’t seen since the day Logan had accidentally worn it during a video with Patton. The socks he was wearing clashed visibly with the pale blue of the onesie, with a garish orange that Roman didn’t dare to comment on. His tie was gone, and his glasses were neatly folded and tucked away into the collar of the onesie letting Roman see the logical side without his glasses for the first time.

He looked tired.

Especially with his eyes rimmed with red, evidence that Roman wasn’t the only one who had been close to crying. The alternative though… hurt Roman’s heart to much to even think about. The idea that all this time, while Roman had been wallowing in self angst, Logan had been crying with not a single soul to comfort him or tell him that it would be okay.

It hurt.

It hurt a lot.

Logan’s eyes darted away, the vulnerability of the prolonged eye contact already too much for him. “Why do you want me to come with you?” He finally muttered, his fingers twitching and fiddling where his tie would usually be. “That’s usually the opposite of what you want from me.”

That was true too, in the past Roman had been almost obsessed with making Logan go away so that he could continue with his fanciful daydreams about just what Thomas could accomplish. He had never even considered how it might make Logan feel to be on the receiving end of all of that.

Roman’s arms itched to drag Logan into a hug, a hug that would wipe away every careless action he had ever done in his life. “Someone wants to see you.” He instead said, moving his hand to rest on Logan’s back, small steps after all… small steps. “He knows exactly how you feel… he’s had to change a lot of himself just to be listened to. And I think…. I think that we could all use the company if I’m being honest.”

Logan almost unconsciously leaned into the warmth of Roman’s hand. It had been more than a week since the last video, and at least a week since he had allowed himself to be around the others. Which meant none of the Patton’s hugs, none of Virgil’s awkward leans that happened to brush against him sometimes, and… no touch, in general.

“Why?”

The question left Logan’s mouth well before he was ready, but even so, despite the question he found himself walking with Roman back to wherever he had come from. He wanted to go, deep down he knew that he wanted to go. He wanted.. he wanted to finally be understood, he wanted…

To be cared about, without being laughed at and made fun of.

Roman’s smile was almost too easy and too knowing. “Because you’re my friend, and I care about you.”

That was good enough for Logan… for now.

"What are you doing?" Logan asked as he stopped dead in his tracks almost immediately upon entering Janus' room, seeing the dishonest side surrounded by a mound of peach colored yarn. But not before turning to Roman a look of utter befuddlement and uncertainty on his face, emphasizing his question that had still gone unanswered. "What is he doing? What's going on?"

Roman had to fight to keep down the snicker that so badly wanted to burst out of him at the sight of Logan’s confusion, it was such a rare sight for the logical side to be confused by anything. So try as he may, he quickly turned his laugh into a polite cough before looking over to Janus with obviously raised eyebrows. He hadn’t thought it possible, but he looked even more comfy and cozy than when he had first seen him. The reading glasses had been pushed further up his nose, giving him a more dignified look that was utterly swept away by the strings of yarn he had all around his fingers and looped loosely around his neck.

Two needles sat firmly in his hands, waiting to be used.

“I am attempting to learn how to knit,” Janus began with a begrudgingly embarrassed look at the mess around him, “It’s a lot harder to get down than crocheting is, especially with the two needles instead of one. I might need to get a few books, or look up a few videos to learn some more about the different styles.”

The eagerness in Janus’ voice was practically palpable by now, to the point where Logan squirmed where he was standing. The urge to offload several papers worth of information building inside of him like a geyser.

The only thing stopping him was…

This wasn’t Janus.

It couldn’t be Janus.

Janus was a sly worded, silver tongued snake. Who delighted in getting his way, and would go to great lengths just to get it. So this had to some kind of trick, like when he had taken over Patton’s form just to get Thomas to consider lying to Joan. This was just a ploy to get both Roman and him to his side, and against the others just like he had done with Roman during the trial that he had been… neglected from joining. He was just showing them this to get them to trust him, there was nothing else about it. Just…

Just trickery.

The excitement on Janus’ face faltered. “You.. you didn’t tell him?” He uttered softly, his eyes quickly darting from Logan’s face to Roman’s. A look of what could only be considered fear darted over his eyes, although fear over what Logan didn’t know. “You brought him here and you didn’t even tell him what he was going to be walking into?!”

Janus’ heart thudded heavily in his chest, as a feeling being far too exposed washed over him in waves.

Logan had seen him relaxed.

Logan had seen him as he usually was.

Logan had seen him without the walls that he’d meticulously built up for years.

Logan had seen him… Logan had seen him.

What if he told the others? What if he told Thomas? Logan wasn’t exactly known for telling lies, if anything blunt honesty was usually the way that the logical side went about his business. He could tell the others, and it would be no skin off of his nose. He would tell them.

He would tell them if he got the chance to, he definitely would.

His fingers hooked into the blankets surrounding him, gathering them around his shoulders as if they were an invisibility cloak that would shield him from the others’ gaze. Scrunching it around his shoulders and over his head, Janus felt the fire in the fireplace sputtering out as the terror continued to thrum in his veins. They wouldn’t listen to him anymore, they’d laugh at him, and Thomas would go right back to the habits that he’d tried so hard to avoid before.

Everything would be useless.

Janus.. Janus would be useless.

“Janus? Janus?” Janus’ mind snapped back to the present as he felt Roman’s gentle hands rocking him where he sat. “I’m sorry for not telling him beforehand, I figured that it would be easier if I were to bring him here and we could both explain everything to him.” Roman’s heart had frozen at the sight of utter terror that had crossed Janus’ face, well before the dishonest side had tucked himself away like a terrified squirrel under his little burrow. “I’m sorry for not making that clear before, do you.. do you want us to leave?”

Roman hoped not, he desperately and dearly hoped not.

But seeing Janus’ careful ragged breaths moving the blankets, he had no idea of what the final verdict would be this time. He wasn’t the judge, and Janus’ face was hidden so he had no idea of just what he’d say. He didn’t want to have to go, he didn’t want to leave Janus after everything he’d figured out about him. After… after the future that he’d promised to try and make for him and Logan.

“Roman,” Logan’s voice softened to almost a whisper as the logical side laid his hand on the creative side’s arm. “Give him a little space, it is likely that he’s just having a panic episode. Crowding him wouldn’t be the best option for him right now. Why don’t we sit and give him some breathing room?”

Leading Roman away from the other side, Logan guided him to a comfortable looking sofa that had been pushed against the wall. Once he’d had Roman seated, Logan settled in next to him. Casting his gaze from the fireplace that was steadily retaining its light and warmth, to the bookshelves that held endless amounts of knowledge in them. It was a very nice looking place, a sort of mix between what would have been Roman’s and his room had they decided to collaborate and make one for the both of them. It was very quaint and homey, if Logan had to use words those would be the exact ones he’d use to describe it.

Warm was another one.

“You don’t have to leave,” Janus finally uttered from his place hidden under the blankets, “I was just… shocked that Roman hadn’t told you, and.. and scared that…” Movement came from his giant pile, and two mismatched eyes looked back at Logan with a fair amount of uncertainty. “I was scared that you’d tell the others, and once they’d know, they’d never take my act in front of Thomas seriously, and they’d just… laugh anytime I needed him to take care of himself. I didn’t know how you’d react and well… I still want to be taken seriously, even if I happen to like being comfortable and not sneaky or sly.Do you.. do you understand?” Janus finally asked, tugging the edge of the covers down just a little bit more, and letting his hair poke out just a little.

“Yes.”

There was no hesitation in Logan’s voice, not a single octave or syllable even hinted that he didn’t understand exactly what Janus was feeling.

He knew.

He knew all too well.

A deep sigh tinged with regret fell from Logan’s lips as he finally stood up, making his way over to Janus’ side before plopping down in front of him. “I know exactly what you mean.” He muttered, distaste coloring his voice. “But…” He added just as quickly. “I don’t understand why Roman wanted me here, I understand if he wanted to share a secret. I’ll gladly keep it, Thomas and the others won’t hear a single thing from me. But... that doesn’t appear to be the case. So what exactly is going on?”

A glance was shared between Janus and Roman, one as quick as a fish in a stream, but one that Logan caught onto nonetheless.

Janus’ fingers fiddled with the ends of his knitting needles, while Roman tapped his feet together focusing on the sensation of the carpet fibers between his toes.

“Logan…” Roman began softly, “When was the last time you smiled?”

And just like that, it felt as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped over Logan’s head. A seven worded question, that was all it had taken to send Logan’s mind to a screeching halt well before it had even started. His nails bit into the palms of his hands, and his lungs burned from the prolonged breath that he had forgotten to take as soon as Roman had prompted the question. Whatever he had been expecting from the both of them, this.. this was not it. The muscles in his legs itched to move, to take him far away from this feelingsy conversation and questions involved in it.

“I’m leaving.” Logan croaked after a minute of pure silence.

As soon as his legs moved to make him stand he almost wobbled, but weak or not his legs could at least carry him to the door.

But apparently not fast enough, as like a snake in the grass, Janus’ hand darted out wrapping around Logan’s wrist and preventing him from taking even a single step away from the other side.

The grip wasn’t strong, and if Logan’s had really and truly tried he could have broken away from it. “Logan, please.” Janus softly intoned, attempting to keep his gaze firmly on Logan, and not on Roman coming up behind the logical side to stop him from making a break for it. “When was the last time you felt happy enough to smile? Please Logan...”

Wordlessly Logan shook his head at the request, as he pathetically attempted to tug his hand out of Janus’ grip. Even with that though, he couldn’t make himself muster the force to break it. He knew what the answer was, but he also knew that he didn’t want to answer it because that would just be one more way that he had failed to keep emotions away from his logical fallacy. It would just be one more way that he had failed at his one and only job, just another tally. But even so…

Logan’s bottom lip trembled for a second, with a truth that burdened his body and mind. “I don’t know.” The whisper came out cracked and broken, just another way to make the side that it had come from.

And with that one little utterance, his knees finally caved sending him back onto the spot he had just risen from.

“I don’t know.” He repeated again, now feeling the frustrated tears prickling at his eyes like pollen in the spring. “Why can’t I remember?!” He angrily and yet wetly huffed, as he tried with all his might to scrape away the tears from his face before they could ever begin. “I must have! I know that I must have recently! But.. but I just can’t remember!” Logan’s entire body shuddered with the force of the sob that rolled through him a hurricane decimating the coast. His hands clasped at his hair, as his arms shielded his face from the only two sides that had ever seen him cry.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried either, and try as he may… right now he couldn’t seem to stop.

He didn’t want to stop.

Here there were no stupid songs forcing him to sing out whatever emotions he was having.

Here there were no Patton’s to make puns about his feelings.

Here he didn’t have to uphold the needlessly rough standards he had for himself in front of Thomas.

Here he didn’t just have to be logic.

Here… with Roman and Janus on both sides of him… he was safe.

So he cried, he cried until he felt like he couldn’t cry anymore. Until every emotion he’d ever felt came spilling out of him all at once, for what must have been hours upon hours. Until his head was resting on Janus’ knee while the other side gingerly ran his fingers through his hair, soothing the dry sobs right out of him. Until he felt Roman’s blisteringly warm hands resting firmly on his back, promising not to go anywhere. For the first time he felt safe enough to let out these emotions, as scary and unpredictable as they may be.

The hand on his back moved a little. “Logan,” Came Roman’s voice close to his back, “I don’t want any of us to have to hide like this again. Janus has been hiding and masking himself for years, so have you, and… I don’t want to do it. I never want to have to do it to feel like I have to survive. That’s why I brought you here, that why Janus let me show you his room. If.. if we want things to start changing for the better… we have to take the first step.”

Sniffling, Logan raised his head a little, looking back at Roman’s surprisingly serious face. He supposed that in a way that Roman was right, he hadn’t even been sure for how long he was going to keep his unfeeling and emotionless facade up or if it would just eventually become a part of himself if he let it go on for long enough. What would have happened if Roman had never gotten him out of his bedroom? If he’d just let Logan be there, unhappy and locked away from everyone who intentionally and unintentionally hurt him.

Nothing would change.

Just one cycle after another, with all of them suffering in silence unable to read the other.

“We’re not mind readers.” Logan mumbled, more to himself than anything. “We shouldn’t expect the other to be either…”

“What?” Janus asked, unable to hear Logan through the folds of fabric, and judging from the look on Roman’s face he certainly hadn’t heard him any better either.

A light dusting of pink made its way over the tops of Logan’s ears.

Giving a little cough though he repeated himself. “I said…” Logan scratched the back of his neck. “None of us are mind readers, and we shouldn’t expect the others to be if we’re not. Hiding and scurrying away when it comes to our true feelings, and acting passive aggressive helps nothing if it just keeps building and building when nobody notices it.” Fiddling with the fabric Logan went on, feeling as if he was digging his own grave at this point. “If.. if someone brings something up in front of the others… we need to have each others’ back, especially if it's something… precious to us.”

Almost immediately Logan felt a pair of hands come up behind him ruffling up his hair, making it stick straight up in the air as Roman grinned at him. Before he even knew it Roman had hooked his arms from behind Logan, giving him the biggest squeeze of a hug that he’d ever felt. And the pride bursting within Janus’ eyes spoke leagues, even if there was nothing else about Janus’ body language that said so.

“If you tell me something that you want to be seriously taken, I won’t laugh at you. And I’ll make sure that the others won’t either.” Roman promised, but not before crossing a giant X over his heart and pretending to jab out his eye. “Janus, if you ever want to show up as you are, and not who they expect… I will stand behind them one hundred percent, and I will stand against them if they have anything bad to say about it at all.” He promised, warmth flooding his chest as he looked down at his two best friends. “I want the both of you to be comfortable and safe. I want you to be able to smile without worry.”

Logan hadn’t thought it possible for his week to end up like this, since the most recent interaction with Janus he’d felt shoved to the side and forgotten. To the point where he was ready to just decide in his room and not make any kinds of comments unless called on by another. But having Roman come to him, and having Roman make his promises…

It felt a lot like hope.

“I hope you know that I will do the same for you,” Logan uttered softness filling his voice, “If they say anything about your ideas that you’re excited for, or have anything to say about how you treat either of us… I have your back, I’ll stand by you.” And turning his gaze to Janus, the one side that he’d thought he’s have to fight against his falsehoods forever. He saw him for who he really was, and who he wanted to be. “I promise you… I will not ever let them laugh at you, I will take you seriously even if they try not to.” A tiny smile quirked onto Logan’s lips, the first one in a long while. “I’ll yell with my teacher's voice.”

“You two will always have a place here.” Janus uttered with a fair amount of reverence. “Through good and bad, if you need me I will be here for you. Should the others turn their backs on you. I won’t. That is a promise.”

Maybe it was just the warmth of Janus’ room, blazing even brighter, but…

They all felt a little warmer that night, ready to take on whatever demons laid in wait for them the next morning.

#logan sanders #ts logan #ts logan sanders #roman sanders #ts roman #ts roman sanders #janus sanders #ts janus #ts janus sanders #logan angst #roman angst #janus angst #ts sides #ts sanders sides #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #ts sanders sides fanfic

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pastelsandpining · 3 years

Text

we’ll meet again

a rewriting to the ending of Ocarina of Time

words: 2347

warnings: angst. a lot of angst. read with caution

Masterlist

When the mangled body of the hog-like monster finally grows still, the sacred sword still hilt-deep in the crumpled corpse, Link knows then that it’s over. The years of sorrow, the loneliness of travel, everything that came with the heavy weight of pulling the world from the clutches of evil, is over. He withdraws the sword, but it takes an effort he didn’t think he had left. It’s heavier--or maybe it’s his limbs that are heavy, too exhausted to carry on any further. Adrenaline is a thing of the past and he takes two steps forward before his foot catches on a bit of loose debris. The Master Sword, his tool of time and of protection, slips to the soiled ground with a clang, and he’s following it. Part of him, the part too used to victories never meaning an end, expected the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

The only thing that wraps around him, catching him from hitting the rocky ground still levitating above the chasm of chaos, is a sea of gentle pink and purple tones. The touch is feather soft and strong enough to ground him all at once, and no longer is the world spinning, or burning in a sea of despair. It’s a comfort he hasn’t known since Saria—over seven years ago, but it feels like so much longer that he’s been craving it.

“Princess,” he greets in a hoarse, broken whisper. It’s swallowed by the fabric of her dress.

“Oh, Link,” she says, and it’s enough to make him lean his head against her chest. When her face finds his shoulder and he feels the warmth of her exhale on his neck, he chokes out a sob and digs his filthy, glove-covered fingers into the satin of the dress covering her back. He isn’t worthy of her touch or her comfort, but he’s too brokenly grateful to let her go.

Seven years of nothing and a mere two of shadow, of death and destruction and desolation, comes to an end, a result of nothing more than a man given too much power to handle, and Link does not feel the relief or the lifted weight that one would expect. All he feels is the suffocating fear that the body would move again, or that the crystal would encase her, and he would find himself stuck in a never ending cycle of heroic trauma.

But the arms of the princess are steady and she whispers another phrase, two of the simplest words that bear a heavy importance: “Thank you.”

He wonders what bit of her magic is responsible for how she still smells so good after running down several swirling cliffs and through burning, stuffy rooms. A vague realization hit him that he must smell awful, but he supposes it doesn’t matter when the world has been ending for the past nine years. His fingers are stiff when he tries to move them. He doesn't realize just how tightly he’s been holding onto her, or how hard they’re both shaking. He flattens his hands against her back, inhales her scent, loosens his arms, and relaxes his shoulders. His leg still stings from where Ganon’s blade had caught him, but it’s dull and doesn’t matter right now.

When he finds the strength to lift his head, everything around him is blue.

It’s a stark contrast to the dark skies that plagued Hyrule for months. It’s so different from the moody interior of blackstone walls and towering mirrors with grotesque mosaics of thirst and power. It’s too bright for his eyes, even if all he wants to look at is her. They’re still kneeling on the ground, except there’s nothing visible beneath them. Blue skies and cotton clouds stretch as far as he can see. The Master Sword is still there, telling him whatever’s holding them up is solid enough, and he reaches blindly for it when he finally retracts his arms. He drives the tip into the transparent (or maybe, reflective) ground and hauls himself up with a wince. It takes a minute for the spinning to stop. When he’s steady again, he extends a hand to her.

She takes it, gentle and promising, and Link helps Princess Zelda to her feet.

“Where…” he tries to ask, but her eyes soften and he no longer has a voice.

“Nowhere,” she replies. He feels her hold on his hand tighten. “We’re in a moment between time, a space away from Hyrule. I figured you, of all people, deserve an explanation.”

For all of his senseless meddling with time, he understood none of what she’d said. Thinking about it gave him a headache, so he didn’t. But why would he need an explanation?

“There’s no explanation worth saying,” he says, shaking his head.

“People go to great lengths when they have been wronged. You are one of them. I was so young, too naive to know what would happen. It was my plan that put you through so much and for that, I’m sorry.”

She looks so sad. It claws into his heart and tries to pull it out. Link shakes his head again, more desperately, and covers her hand with his.

“It’s an honor to help you, Princess,” he argues, as if he could make her forgive herself through the sheer force of will. “I would do it again and again.”

“Because you are kind and courageous. It’s in your blood, to be a hero.”

To be her hero, which was something he couldn’t say aloud.

“I feel empty,” he admits into the stretch of silence. “What happens now that it’s over?”

Because stories are not real. Stories that end with a suddenly happy life, like there was never any threat at all, never sit right with him. What’s a hero’s purpose once the villain is defeated? Princess Zelda, in all of her wisdom and power, is the only person who could answer that.

“What do you want to happen?” she asks.

Link frowns. If he’s honest, he’s never expected an ending. Logically, he knows he couldn’t go on forever. Either he would succeed or he would die trying, but it lasted for so long that the idea of a life after the war was nothing more than a fantasy. Now, with the prospect in front of him and just out of reach, he doesn’t know what he wants. He thinks of the forest, of Saria and of his friends, and knows that having it back is not an option. Even if it was, he knows it wouldn’t be the same.

He thinks about the contrast between the past and the present. He thinks about the lively people and colors and animals that once filled Castle Town to the brim, and the ghost town inhabited only by reanimated corpses that it’d become. He thinks of the civilizations he’s met—the Gorons, the Zora, and how devastated they were destined to be. He thinks of the woman in front of him, the princess with which this all started, and believes that she does not deserve to bear the burden of destruction alone.

He also doesn’t think he’s been asked that before. It’s always been, you must do this, and so he doesn’t know what it is that he wants.

“Is peace an option?” he asks, because he isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to quiet the chaos in his head.

“That’s a complicated question,” Princess Zelda replies. Her hands slip from his and he aches with the urge to take them again. “Can you have peace without conflict? Are they really so easy to seperate? Hyrule was peaceful because a civil war brought about chaos. This moment in time is peaceful because you’ve laid to rest a terrible evil. I wish I could grant you what you seek.”

He wants to shrug, brush off her words like there was nothing profound or truthful behind them, but for all his courage, not even he could disrespect the princess. She does not deserve that. Instead, he asks,

“What do you want, Princess?”

Her reply comes fast, with a small and pained smile, “I’m afraid what I want isn’t something you can give me, Hero.”

He doesn’t like that title, Hero. Why can’t he be Link, nothing more, nothing less? For the same reason she can’t simply be Zelda, he supposes, and leaves it there with a frown.

“Is it that bad?” he asks. She shakes her head.

“I want, more than anything, for my people to be spared the suffering that Ganondorf-- that I have put them through. I want to undo my mistake, take back my meddling in something I was too young to understand. I want to restore everything that was, before the world ended.”

It’s a bold desire. Link understands where she’s coming from, because it was easier before the world ended. Back when his only struggle was wondering why he didn’t have a fairy like the rest of the Kokiri children. With all the power that Princess Zelda had, surely it was not impossible.

“You could go back to before,” he suggests, gripping the sword a little tighter.

“I could,” she agrees, “but I would leave so much behind.”

Link furrows his brows and takes a look at their surroundings. What would she be leaving behind? Did she not lose her entire kingdom? There must’ve been something he was missing, something he couldn’t see.

“I don’t understand,” he admits at last, turning his gaze to the Master Sword. “What’s left to lose?”

When he looks back up, Princess Zelda’s eyes are wet. He frowns again, wishing there was any sort of comfort he could offer her.

“I would lose you,” she says, and he feels his heart stop in his chest, “and the friendship we’ve built, and the lessons I’ve learned. Neither are worth giving up. It’s a difficult decision I don’t know how to make.”

Link doesn’t know what to say, so he extends a hand to her in a gesture he can only hope will provide some sort of comfort. When she takes it, he averts his eyes and busies himself looking around at what he could see of the ruined kingdom. He can’t pretend to know how she feels. Right now, he has nothing but her to keep him going. He’s outgrown his friends, his purpose has been fulfilled, what more is there for him to do? He could support Princess Zelda in whatever decision she makes, but even so, what could he do for her, really? Perhaps if there was any remnant of the kingdom that wasn’t fractured, they could rebuild, but at what cost? The expense of exhaustion and of the resources they didn’t have was too great. He knows nothing about governing, or anything else he might be required to do if he stayed with her--and gods, did he want to stay.

For her, he doesn’t think it’s much of a sacrifice at all. A kingdom of thousands of people is worth more than one lowly man. He does not know how to read. It was a silly thing, to be as old as him and not know how to do one of the simplest things. Navi’s done it for him for as long as she’s been around, and he doesn’t think someone who can’t read or write would make for a good companion in a time of need. He can be taught, but the time it would take simply wasn’t worth it.

He brings her gloved hand to his mouth, offers a kiss to her knuckles, and before he knows it, he’s pressing the Ocarina of Time into her hands.

“Your kingdom,” he says, “it needs you.”

“Link,” and she shakes her head and sounds broken but he presses further.

“You’re brilliant and just, and you deserve your fair reign over your people. Please, Princess, you deserve something for yourself.”

“Is a lifelong companion not good enough?” she asks. He feels her grip on the instrument tighten beneath his fingers.

“No. You have the chance to undo it all. Why settle with the cards you’ve been given?”

“I..”

She doesn’t look sure. Link has to admit that the idea is scary. Resetting the timeline was… difficult. It would undo everything he’s done up until now, reducing it to nothing more than a few years of bad dreams, and that idea made him feel sick. The possibility of never knowing her scared him more.

“We can get back what we lost,” he tries to convince her anyway. “You didn’t get to be a child.”

“Neither did you,” she argues, stepping closer. “Why should I get what you never had?”

“Then make it so we both get it.”

Her blue eyes narrow as she looks up at him. He doesn’t back down. The silence is pregnant and her gaze is intense, but he knows what he wants and it’s for her to get the chance she deserves. Backing down is not an option, no matter how much he wants to tell her that she can have whatever she wants from him.

“Link,” she says at last, freeing her hands so she could hold the ocarina to her chest. He thinks she wants to say something else, but she settles for, “Are you sure?” and he nods quickly, despite the tears he can feel stinging in his eyes.

“Go home,” he insists, lifting a hand to gently hold her face, “and I promise I’ll come find you.”

She smiles up at him, mumbling something about keeping the promise, and all he can do is smile back. When she lifts the ocarina to her mouth, Link decides simply to watch her until the arms of time take him back, away from her again but not for long.

When he comes to, in the Temple of Time, with the sword in the pedestal and his hands too small to hold it properly, that’s when Navi takes her leave. Link, renewed with the vigor of youth, turns around and runs towards the castle, as fast as his little legs can carry him.

#zelink #oot zelink #ocarina of time #ocarina of time zelink #my writing

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bvccy · 3 years

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Tenderness and Ferocity | 4. The Third Night

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky Barnes x Hydra!Reader Fic Synopsis: The Winter Soldier is starting to make stupid mistakes in the field, which is Bucky's way of trying to wrest back control and sabotage his handlers. Hydra brings a new doctor to figure out what's wrong with him and fix it. As she spends time with him, she becomes fond of the Winter Soldier, and he becomes fond of her. Bucky has other ideas. Or, a fic in which the Winter Soldier is the good guy and Bucky is actually the bad guy. Warnings for this chapter: light Smut Word count: 1984 Read on AO3: [link] [Previous Chapter] [Fic Masterlist] [Next Chapter]

"This is a love that equals in its power the love of man for woman and reaches inwards as deeply. It is the love of a man or of a woman for their world. For the world of their centre where their lives burn genuinely and with a free flame." — Mervyn Peake

"See you tomorrow, Eeli!"

"Bye!"

"Night, Benji!"

"Good night!"

"Bye, Suzi!"

"Have a good night!"

She said her goodbyes to the evening staff, the duty officer, the cleaning lady, and made her way down the white corridor that led to the bus, which took all the day staff to their living quarters. She tried not to hurry too much, not to hold her purse too close, nor to smile too widely. She breathed a sigh of relief once she took her seat, her head leaning to cool against the window.

Although it was only evening, in the late winter it already looked like the dead of night, blackness stretching out forever starting fifteen feet from wherever you stood. The sparse trees looked like cardboard cut-outs under the stark nightlights, lifeless against a starless sky. There was a tranquillity in the effect: a feeling that, in a world where everything was fake, you too could be whatever you wanted.

The bus bumped along as usual, carrying its quiet cargo, but until she was off it she couldn't shake the nagging shame that was burning a hole in her purse. She surreptitiously squeezed it down, letting herself lean heavily against it while she looked out the window and tried not to think about getting shot.

The apartment complex was easily within driving distance but completely out of view of the Headquarters, even with the flat emptiness that lay between. It was built especially for the civilian workers, and named the Administrative, Medical, Economical, Research and Innovation Cadres Apartments. Or, as Hydra referred to it with great amusement, A.M.E.R.I.C.A..

Its outside inherited the bleakness that came with rushed work, cheap materials, and failed modernist concepts, but the inside had been renovated over the years into something that was at worst ergonomic, and at best managed to be cosy. It almost felt like home, and for a lot of the staff it had to be.

The ride squeaked to a halt, jolting its passengers awake. They waddled out in orderly fashion, saying their thank-yous to the driver, and their good-nights to each other as gradually they each went to their wing.

A few token trees, grown very tall over the decades, were spread around the park before the main entrance, their barren branches lit pale gold by the lamplights. The round fountain at the centre was finally unfrozen for the first time in months, its water sitting in a motionless reflection of the sable sky.

The night guardsman watched everyone amble in, nodding and smiling to whoever spared him a glance as he cradled a chipped mug of coffee in his chubby hands. She mouthed a "Hello" to him and kept on walking, her eyes going back down in what she knew was her usual 'tired' look and nobody spoke to her when they grouped up in the elevator, or when they spread out in their own directions, and then finally she was safely inside her little apartment — locked up and double-bolted.

She placed her purse very carefully on the hallway table. Put her coat up, tucked her shoes away, turned on the lights, turned on the heating, and went through the usual ritual of taking everything off and stuffing it in the laundry bin before taking a shower.

Dinner was, as usual, replaced by a cup of tea and biscuits in bed while her hair slowly dried, wrapped up in a thin old towel. She sipped her tea while scrolling through feeds of news articles, celebrity scandals, the occasional cat video, not really paying attention to anything. As soon as she could justify it to herself, she rolled out of bed and took her cup and plate to the kitchen. She brushed her teeth in a rush, brushed out her tangled hair, then finally approached the purse that was sitting innocuously in waiting.

It was stuffed full of notebooks, emergency cosmetics, obsolete post-its and little lozenge tins, so she had to dig a little until she found the one booklet where, as if by accident, a crisp white page had slipped in. There was hardly any way for someone to detect it, of course — "analog technology" is the safest way to smuggle information — but it didn't stop her from trembling all the way home.

She unfolded it, and smiled tenderly at the sight of the precisely drawn clock face. With the tip of a finger, she could just about feel the indent where the pen first went into the page, a phantom of the energy that passed through his arm for just one moment.

She put all her things away, turned off the lights, and crawled into bed with it. The lamp shining outside was enough for her to make out the page as it rested by her pillow. She had taken it without any particular idea of what to do with it, but she just knew she had to have it, had to have something from him.

The logical side knew that this was a normal emotional reaction for a woman, stuck somewhere without a palatable selection of men, however numerous. Her body recognised, before her head, that the Soldier would be quite a catch even if they weren't stuck in the middle of an industrialised nowhere, and in short order had reached the conclusions that he was: pretty nice, tempting, wasted on Hydra, stupidly beautiful, distractingly virile, before finally settling on him being utterly desirable.

Her head was still stuck at "wasted on Hydra".

But it would get there eventually. The more of him she brought out, the easier it was for her to see him as a person — and people can be admired, liked, and even wanted. For now, she would make do with this schoolyard token and allow herself to enjoy whatever she wanted in her mind.

She already couldn't remember what he felt like under her fingers, how exactly his voice sounded, even his face became blurred the longer she was away from him, but she could easily summon back the memory of what it felt like to be around him.

He was so pliant, especially that first day all strapped up and helpless. It was a heady combination — a dangerous killer rendered harmless. She liked dominance in the opposite sex, but there was just something about a big strong man being subdued like that while she had full control — made even more exciting, paradoxically, by his lack of interest in her.

She noticed him stare quite shamelessly, but blankly; that was just his programming assessing a threat, like all the other soldiers in the program... that's all it had to be. The Director's crass joke at her expense didn't make it any better, as if he wanted to remind her specifically that the Soldier didn't, and couldn't, find her nor any woman desirable.

Still, she could have done anything she wanted with him. The following days when he was free, he still obeyed her every word (mostly). But he also started speaking a little out of turn and telling tepid jokes; the progress, on a professional level, was considerable. When she had him eating out of her hand, it dawned on her how dangerously close she was to taking advantage of him — dangerous, of course, only if she got caught.

Fortunately she’d had the sense to ask for no surveillance, and had nurtured a reputation of being professional to a fault, unmoved by the raw masculinity of the Winter Soldier recruits that her other colleagues openly gushed over, and generally impervious to male charm — mainly to make it easier to turn down flirtations from the desperate men stuck there. "Don't bother with her. I already tried. You don't stand a chance."

She understood their loneliness, even sympathised with them, but she couldn't take the chance of opening herself to someone only to be used up, as it happened to so many others stuck there; especially not when none of them made her feel anything. Her Soldier though, he made her feel something...

He was more than just another big, dangerous man. In their efforts, Hydra had made him into an ideal. Unfortunately, they also misunderstood the nature of what they made. They thought they were creating a weapon — they did — but Hydra treated the masculinity inherent in her Soldier as just an excuse for brutality, deprecating what he really was and could be. Masculinity was about control and power — to be unleashed when necessary and otherwise reined in, a pack of wild dogs left unfed by their master and held back, held back, held back, to be all the more vicious when finally released.

By misusing her Soldier, they misused that which they channelled through him; the source of that ideal inherent to all men but which favoured so few; which expressed itself through tenderness, and ferocity.

Hydra unwittingly created a weakness, a crack for her to crawl into and bring out that which lay, waiting, underneath the mind. They had no patience for these abstractions, no way to deal with them, and so instead they brought him down and kept him there, ready to use when the brutality was needed.

She closed her eyes and tried to bring back the frissons she felt at the sound of his voice, rough and hanging heavy but so velvety sweet still, the shape of his body silhouetted in the shadows, his artist's-fingers resting obediently on the table, and that surprising mix of chocolate brown hair and grey eyes...

Maybe next time she could have him write something, she could analyse his handwriting; he should definitely still know how... Would he write in cursive or print? Would his letters be thin and sharp, or sensuously curved? Would they be large and take up a lot of space, or small and unassuming like he seemed to be sometimes...

She buried her nose in the pillow, feeling only her own perfume — would he like it? what would it smell like after he spent the night? — and wrapped a leg around the bulky duvet that wasn't nearly big enough to pretend...

Her fingers touched the page again as she squeezed her legs together, her other hand caressing her neck in lighter and lighter touches until she could almost imagine it being his breath, fanning over her skin from above.

She let go of the paper and turned on her back, shivering and sighing, and slipped her hand underneath, down the centre of her chest, stopping just at her lower stomach and pressed down — the way she thought he would if he caught her, if he wanted to hold her still. She bit her lip and teased her throat, content now that her imagination found what it wanted.

Maybe, he wouldn't catch her... Maybe he would break free and come to her, find her in bed, hold her against him, try to seduce her into running away with him. To make it more fun, she'd struggle. She allowed herself a half-bitten moan as she instinctively throbbed at the idea, and pressed harder, canting her hips more and more to an imaginary rhythm that he set.

The thought of his heavy shape pressing her down, his penetrating eyes above her, his uncertain smile, hopeful, desirous, and just that singular pressure... the feeling of being wanted, of being held, in the place where she most wanted him — not even between her legs, but deep, deep in her womb — was more dizzying than any sticky thing she had ever done on her own because she actually wanted him.

She let her imagination exhaust itself while in parallel her mind searched for ways he could break out, of how they could escape together — the mad dream of running away.

#Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes imagine #Bucky Barnes fanfiction #Bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky x you #Bucky Barnes x you #Bucky x OFC #Bucky Barnes x OFC #Winter Soldier fanfiction #Winter Soldier x reader #James Buchanan Barnes #The Winter Soldier #Winter Soldier #Tenderness and Ferocity #bv;fanfiction

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einprotagonist · 3 years

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The start to writing.

So, many people including old friends and family did not know that I write some stuff of my own (even though very rarely). And the question about when and how did I get into this always arises, so here I am (lyrics *this is me, there is nowhere else on earth I’d rather be*) telling this short little story.

Don’t mind the lyrics part which keeps occurring in my mind as I write some phrases. XD

Umm.. I was a young kid who was always philosophical about things happening around me. I was involved in a lot of grown-up’s issues even as a child, kind of the mature kid. Yep, eldest son indeed. This lead to me ending up as a more understanding human being than the average of my age group. I would always be knowing what kind of things are to really worry about and what is trivial issue which is only bothering as long as we are giving a shit to it.

So when my father got transferred to a city in the southern India and we all decided to move there with him, it was not an easy decision for me to leave all my friends and the city I grew up in. There logic I gave to myself was that after 2 years we all will get away from each other any ways as we will move onto college life, so I’m taking a leave just a few days earlier than the rest. This new city was a better developed city and had nice education as well as living standards than my old one. OR SO I THOUGHT.

Well, seeking admission into Intermediate schools, I was late to take admission as the sessions had already begun and I could not do an extensive research on which are the good ones in the given time of 2-3 days. It was not really a smartphone era yet. I joined into the most reputed school chain given it was very close to our apartment plus produced great results every year. It was an english medium school and they only had students who were doing intermediate studies, just the 11th and 12th class kids.

I’d always been a part of co-education system and to my surprise this one was a school where both girls and boys did study but not together. They had entirely different floor. What a troll! It was really funny to observe these boys who had never shared a classroom with girls, they talk all kinds of nasty shit only to be silent af when girls pass by. Hahaha.

Well, so I took admission into the school and they gave me choice of subjects which were all what I wanted but the secondary language was only Hindi/Telugu/Sanskrit/Arabic. I could not apprehend the fact that there is no Computer Science/Application! How could you not have one as a part of your education system in this age? IT IS 2013 FFS! I took Hindi for obvious reasons (I am a North Indian and Hindi is my mother tongue) and carried on. -__-

The biggest lie was that they teach in English Medium. They spoke in their regional language all the time and only the equations written on blackboard was in english. Text book questions were in english and the explanations given in classroom were all in Telugu. I did not understand shit. It was a nightmare, I am a guy who listens what is being taught in the classroom and lesser of someone who reads books on his own. I would sit there watching out the window all day long, slowly the teachers also got to know that I can not speak their language and they could not really help it. They could not speak mine either. A couple of teachers tried and their classes were helpful. So 2/5 classes were what I understood. Each class was approximately 2 hours long so I was a dead ass for 6 hours straight every day! LOL

It wouldn’t require a genius to guess that kids also spoke Telugu only, a few of them knew Hindi and a few knew English but it was really hard to have a conversation. The conversations basically lasted 1-5 minutes depending on how much of entertainment they needed from my situation. :P

Half a year passed away like that and I was doing bad on those three subjects. I often complained to principal but he wouldn’t change the teachers just for one guy, specially when the rest of the class is fine with it. So I just sat there, people came to know about a guy who was called U.P. in whole college. Bruh, I was famous. Teachers also called me U.P. now, since my name is a tough one for most people I meet anyways. I had no issues with a nickname.

Then I met a guy who could speak Hindi-English-Punjabi-Telugu. ALL FLUENT! I was so glad to have a conversation with someone for that long, we shared gaming interests and we both came from same kind of schooling before arriving at this school. It felt like a miracle, I’d never met someone there who could connect to me that way.

But before I met this guy, I was alone. And in these six or seven months of loneliness - I learned to write whatever happened in my diary. It was a great thing to do, it felt like I’m talking to someone/myself. It made my heart lighter, sometimes happier too. I was not always sadistic but yes I was awfully quiet and had none to talk.

This habit of mine didn’t leave me, I carried it on for a long time. From my point of view that 1-1.5 years of writing was long time. My parents also had to leave the city as the transfer failed after 8 months of hard work and he was offered a new position back in the same city we came from. I was living there on my own and it was good experience. I was doing things on my own that people my age do not generally have to do. It was a great time and all of it had to be written down.

My school days finished, I came back to the old city and I got busy with a lot of people and lost my writing habit. I always tried to pick my diary up and write something but I never got back to the consistency I had.

Almost 7 years have passed since then and I am now trying to write my heart out on this blog of mine.

This is how it began and this is why I write. :)

Let’s go! Target is 1 Heart/Note. LOL

#writers on tumblr #writerslife #Writerscommunity #life #dailyjournal #life update #philosophy #new place

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melforbes · 3 years

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seaglass blue annotations

hello! i just posted the last chapter and thought i’d put together some ~fun context~ for that fic. it got way way more attention than i ever expected and for something i feel i didn’t put that much effort into i think i did in the end put a lot of effort into it so i might as well talk about it and answer some potential questions.

my favorite book of all time is the sunlit night by rebecca dinerstein (yes, that one) and something i find really compelling about that book is how sparing the prose is, forcing the reader to fill in certain gaps, and i think having to fill in those gaps makes the book a really acquired taste with which either you love it or hate it and there’s not really an in-between

i also really adore how in that book the natural world backdrop comes to life, something i find really challenging to write. recently i even read into thin air, the book about the 1996 mount everest disaster, and even though the writing was superb, i still had to google what the hillary step was because i couldn’t picture it on my own. i don’t know how people write nature because to me it feels damn near impossible, but this sparing approach really worked, so i thought i might try it out. i tend to be longwinded (gestures vaguely at this post) and wanted to have certain parts of this be a lot smaller and more contained without negating impact. whether or not i made it work is anyone’s guess. definitely not my normal style, so to speak

based on the comments i’ve received i think this might be everyone’s favorite part. in my mind age of consent by new order was playing in the background. in pretty much every fic i have a scene like this one and all of them are based on the poem first base gold by rh*annon mcg*vin from her book branches (censored because she has a tumblr and i don’t want her seeing this haha)

i absolutely can’t do the poem justice by describing what it’s about, but the simplest, most basic interpretation of the poem is that there is no better place to kiss than right here, right now, because of the past. i really like that imagery and tend to use it a lot. she as a writer has been a big inspiration for me and if you’ve read my fic true minds i should add that the nonfiction inspiration for that was directly as a result of one of her youtube videos. i particularly love how the last paragraph (stanza? im not a poet) is one big run-on sentence that’s jovial and tongue-in-cheek and colloquial and straightforward. it feels triumphant in a quiet way to me and i love how it’s done. obviously my attempts at something similar are nowhere near as insightful, but still, the most basic image of this is that there is no better place to kiss, and that’s how i felt about the two of them finding pudding in the supermarket

this part is autobiographical; while writing this last year, i went through six months of intravenous drug treatment, a month and a half of which involved long days of doctor visits on every weekday. when you’re on stuff like that for a long time you end up with a central line for better access (potential plot hole in all of this: scully never had one) but for a month and a half i got poked almost every day and strangely enough it got harder over time. the first couple you never feel, but a week or two later you start flinching, and if the needle goes in the same vein each time, it hurts the more it gets prodded. i reached a point toward the end of the in-office visits in which i would bleed a lot every time i got poked, and i can’t watch anything like that happen to me so i was looking away each time, and when i felt that the nurse was done, i would look back over, and sometimes i would be looking down at a pool of blood that i hadn’t expected to see. it’s weird, you don’t actually feel yourself bleeding, i would’ve expected a hot bloody feeling but instead it felt like nothing. and when i say a pool i mean that it would drip down beneath my elbow, stain the sheet they’d put underneath, and i wouldn’t get all of it off until i showered. i didn’t necessarily find it scary, but it was surreal and kind of pulled me out of normalizing the experience i was having. for a very long time needing iv drugs was my greatest fear and i was surrounded by that then and fine, and then, there was blood all over my arm, and like, haha, this is actually not fine. you’d think something else would’ve been scarier, but it wasn’t. and now looking back at this paragraph i wish i’d edited it differently but hey that’s life

i’d never really understood the purpose of religion as a self-driven part of life until i took anatomy in college. i was raised catholic and though culturally i understand having a religion and being raised with one, i’ve never really reached for religion when i wanted answers, and i haven’t personally understood why that’s someone’s first option. and i know there’s been plenty of commentary on the hypocrisy of dana scully as a catholic who believes in science, yada yada yada, i think everyone has read all of that by now. but what struck me while learning anatomy is that there is a kind of neuron we don’t know the function of. there are four kinds of neurons, and one of them is still a mystery to us. and then, there’s all of these different parts of human bodies that exist in a certain perfect way, but why do they exist like that? to support life, yes, but why is it that we can make comparisons? why were irises not the same color? and we name valves of the heart after religious figures. we are so hell-bent on meaning that something literal will never be enough. and all of that made me think that dana scully has god to fill in what science won’t answer, at least not yet. and there’s definitely a bigger conversation about science as denial of indigenous cultures that i am nowhere near qualified to start. after taking those classes, i think i would be more shocked if she wasn’t religious. you can ignore pretty much all of the paragraph above but it was important to me that at some point in this fic she willingly conceded that she didn’t know what would happen and that she didn’t have answers. with illness, there is no logic, there’s no thinking your way out of it, and i think that would plague her for a long time. to me, she only would accept her death when she could say she had no idea what would happen, she has no answers, there’s nothing filling in her gaps anymore, and she’s comfortable with that. and i put all of that in a paragraph about my thoughts on god because it made sense to me. there are times that just feel like you’re in a movie and there’s no one else you can say caused them. it’s not enough to build belief on but it’s enough to bring a certain kind of wonder. also one time my parents insisted on watching stripes because it was so funny and when watching it none of us found it funny at all and my parents grimaced and were like what were we on that made that good back in the day so that’s in here now haha

and now, the biggest question: does she die at the end? when i came up with the idea for this fic, i knew the beginning and ending but not the middle, and i posted this as a smaller project (ie: chapters below 3,000 words) while illness made my bigger projects harder to work on and essentially flew by the seat of my pants the whole time. i wrote the last line a long long time ago and have always seen the ending as written as the concrete ending. when i started writing this, i never intended for there to be a definitive answer to whether or not she dies. i like premature endings (the ending of girls burn brighter comes to mind) and i think that this works better without saying whether or not she lives. and i also have a hard time with giving a definitive answer because this fic very much is about death and having her die would, of course, be traumatic, but showing her living instead i think ruins any takeaways people could have. i’ve never had cancer but as a chronically ill person i think i can speak to how you never actually win with illness; the best you can do is tie, and sometimes, no matter how much effort you put in, you “lose” anyway, you lose spectacularly, and all of your effort was for nothing. i wholeheartedly believe that humans can’t emotionally or logically process natural disasters or illness, hence why much of the talk about illness in this is from mulder’s perspective as he experiences her terminal illness secondhand; that way, he doesn’t need to (but still likely will) find logic or reason or meaning for death from a terminal illness, so his discoveries and his coping mechanisms aren’t as urgently needed. had i written a chapter that describes how she lives, i think that the discussion of death in this would be voided altogether. and i also don’t believe the ending would be much different whether she lives or dies; there’s still the need for death acceptance and talking about dying, whether or not she lives, and none of the story in this fic would have happened had the characters known she would live. the whole point is not knowing.

for a little while i toyed with writing an unofficial sequel of sorts in which i spelled out what i think happens after the ending, but after realizing that that would end up being longer than the original fic and would also have some massive plot holes, i decided against it. i do have my own version and i don’t want to share that version because i never really intended for my version to be some kind of genuine sequel in which every question gets answered and everything is wrapped up and happy ever after and whatnot. it was just where my brain wandered in the same way it wanders when i watch an open-ended movie. all of that to say, if you think she lives, then she lives. if you think she dies, then she dies. it’s your decision. i’d much rather you choose than me. i never marked this as “major character” death on ao3 because, well, she doesn’t die in this fic. whether or not she dies after the fic ends, that’s for you to decide.

thank you for taking the time to read my writing. i never expected this to blow up (it blew up for me at least, for a while it was my most popular fic ever, with i think thousands more hits than anything else i’d written) and the response has been mind-boggling and wonderful. i don’t respond to comments often because it makes me feel like a pompous jerk (”thank you for enjoying this! i, too, enjoy this thing i have written! oh ho ho!” is how it sounds to me in my head, whereas when other writers respond to comments to me it just looks like thanks man have a good day, feel free to call me a weenie) but i’ve appreciated all of them very much. THANK YOU! i hope your new year is a Whole Lot Less Shit than 2020. i don’t plan on writing more msr because i don’t really have any ideas for them. thank you for making my last time special <3

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rainbowwing251 · 3 years

Text

Silver Linings from Silver Eyes (Xenoblade Chronicles Tickle Fic)

A/N: This fic came out of nowhere, but I felt like writing something to help me relax after I almost had an emotional breakdown during my online class. This fic wasn’t inspired by any specific prompt from a prompt list, I just had a spontaneous idea. I apologize in advance if this fic isn’t that good.

As always, no romance, no NSFW.

With the explanation done, onto the fic.

P.S I am very sorry to all of the people who are getting tired of my lee!Shulk posts, but lee!Shulk is just too good in my eyes.

Update 07-10-22: This fic is now on AO3! Here’s the AO3 Link!

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Alvis had been waiting for Shulk for about an hour. He was hiding in the hallway of his home, invisible to the entire world, when Shulk opened the front door.

The visionary let out a heavy sigh, and Alvis could immediately tell that he was stressed out and/or frustrated by something that happened at the Weapons Development Lab.

He silently followed him to his room. As soon as Shulk closed the door to his room, he slowly stretched his arms up into the air, and he slowly laid down on his bed.

He had a long day at the lab today. He had struggled with the development of a new weapon for the Defense Force in Colony 6. The blueprints confused him several times, but he eventually understood what he had to do.

Unfortunately, he had to deal with multiple instances of the weapon falling apart as he tried to test it out on a test dummy. He thought he had it down the first time, and every time it broke, he became increasingly frustrated at himself for constantly making errors. He managed to get it to stay in one piece, and it turned out to be quite useful in battle, but the frustration did not leave his mind.

He hadn’t stopped beating himself up about it, not realizing that his perseverance made him stick through the struggles until he finally got the weapon’s design and durability right.

Alvis knew that Shulk’s willpower had made him the perfect candidate for the downfall of Zanza in the old world, but he also knew that he was a pessimist, especially when it came to his own talents and skills. He had trouble seeing the silver lining to any sort of issue.

The creation of the new world did not change his behavior at all.

He does catch on to silver linings eventually, but Alvis wished that he could see them from the start.

For now, Alvis was thinking about talking to him, but he was slightly concerned about the possibility of Shulk exploding at him in anger. He tended to do that when he was upset with himself.

He doesn’t mean any harm when he has these episodes, and he wants to stop them from happening, but for now, Shulk had a very high risk of getting angry at people for no logical reason when he felt like this.

Reading Shulk’s mind didn’t bring Alvis any comfort. He could see all of the negative thoughts that he was having. None of them were alarming in any sort of way, but he wanted to put a stop to those thoughts before they got any worse.

So Alvis made his move.

He made himself visible while standing in front of the door to Shulk’s room, before he lightly knocked on the door.

The sound made Shulk jump and grab the Monado Replica EX out of the corner of the room before calling out, “Who’s there? Show yourself!”

Alvis slowly opened the door until he could see the Homs standing in the middle of the room. Upon seeing the former divine seer, Shulk lowered the artificial Monado and put it back in the corner.

“Alvis?”

The silver-haired… something gave the other man a polite wave.

“Hello there, Shulk. Sorry for scaring you.”

“How did you get in here? I thought I locked the door!” he said, confused about how the other could have walked into the house when there was no one behind him.

“I was waiting here the whole time. I wanted to speak with you about your travels on the Bionis Shoulder, but I can see that something is bothering you.” Alvis explained.

“Huh, no wonder why I felt like someone was watching me when I stepped in from outside.” Shulk responded, relieved that no one had snuck up behind him.

“Indeed, that was why. Moving on from that, you are stressed. I can tell.”

Shulk wasn’t surprised by his words. He was pretty easy to read, and lying was not something that came to him naturally.

“Uh… Yeah, I am a little stressed.”

“No need to explain. I already know what’s been bothering you.”

Now that was surprising.

“What?! How do you know about what happened at the lab?!” Shulk said, shock audible in his voice.

“Have you forgotten? I am capable of reading the minds of those around me. Your mind has been full of negative thoughts and repeats of the mistakes you made.” Alvis answered him, relaxing as he realized that Shulk wasn’t going to verbally lash out against him and himself at the moment. The risk was still there, though.

Shulk stood there without saying anything for a second, then spoke.

“I don’t get it.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t understand how I could have made those mistakes. I’m supposed to be a weapons developer, and yet I couldn’t figure out the blueprints right away!”

And there it was. Alvis knew this was going to happen.

The heir continued, “I should have been able to get that weapon to stay together, but it kept falling apart! How did I let that happen?!”

Alvis tried to interject, “Shulk…”

“No, I don’t need your pity, Alvis! Do you not see the fact that I can’t do anything right?”

Alvis tried again, “Shulk.”

“You don’t see how I am a massive failure right now? How do you not see that?!”

Alvis nearly shouted, “Shulk!”

That managed to stop the boy in his tracks, though the seer did notice that he kind of shrunk into himself in response to the near-shout. Dickson’s shouting must have done some serious psychological damage if that was how Shulk responded to someone shouting or yelling at him.

“Apologizes, but I had to stop you in some way before your thoughts spiraled out of control. Now, I want you to listen to me.”

Shulk’s eyes showed that he was still waist-deep in self-hatred, but the rest of his body showed compliance towards Alvis’s request.

“You’re lying to yourself. You are not a failure at anything, and you are capable of doing things right, even if you can’t do it right the first time. If your words were in fact the truth, why would I have chosen you?”

Alvis could tell that the budding scientist was listening, but the self-hating look in his eyes did not fade, and the expression on his face didn’t change. At least, that was what it looked like from where Alvis was currently standing. However, he knew better.

Alvis slowly approached the young man. He appeared to be thinking about backing away, but his body did not move an inch.

“You couldn’t save the lives of everyone in the old world, and yet you managed to save everyone who survived Egil and Zanza. You didn’t understand those blueprints right off the bat, but in no time, you managed to figure them out.”

Shulk didn’t quite understand how those two things were connected, but Alvis quickly provided an explanation.

“Can you see? Can you see how you are incapable of being perfect, and yet you are capable of making a drastic, positive impact on the lives of others, and are capable of learning something new in mere minutes?”

The blonde nearly lost his angry expression, feeling a slight amount of heat in his cheeks. Nonetheless, his expression remained the same.

“You are not a perfect person. Becoming a perfect person is an impossible goal to fulfill. Of course, you can strive to better yourself, but you should not expect perfection.”

Alvis knew that saying this wasn’t going to make Shulk feel any better about his imperfections, but he could tell that his words were getting through to him.

“I…” Shulk tried to say something in response, but he couldn’t find the words.

“Your face appears to be relaxing. You are blushing. Am I correct in assuming that my words are helping?”

The weapons developer quickly turned around to hide his blushing face, and he thought about what to say. He almost wanted to say “no”, but he knew that at this point, it was futile to lie to the other Homs (?). However, he didn’t want to say “yes”. He could say that right now, but he knows that Alvis’s words will not change his attitude anytime soon.

Alvis’s voice startled him out of his thoughts.

“No answer? I see… then maybe-“

As soon as the word “maybe” left the silver-haired seer’s lips, the heir sprung back into action.

“Don’t.”

Now it was Alvis’s turn to be confused, except that the confusion was being faked by him.

“Hm? What do you mean ‘don’t’? You haven’t answered my question, so I believe I need to get an answer from you, regardless of how I get it.”

“Don’t!” Shulk said with a slight squeak in his voice.

“Why are you squeaking? I didn’t say anything off putting, did I?” Alvis asked as if he didn’t know the answer to his own questions.

Shulk could hear Alvis’s smirk from behind him.

“Alvis, no!”

He tried to run out of the room, but Alvis caught him before he could even make it halfway across the room.

“Where are you going? The answers do not reside outside of this room. They do not reside in this room, either. Only you have the answers that I am seeking, and I need to find them, no matter what.”

The blonde squirmed in the seer’s arms, but he failed to loosen Alvis’s grip, and he couldn’t break free from his clutches.

“What’s with the squirming? I’m just trying to find answers. Why are you resisting me and my words of encouragement?”

“I-I’m not trying to d-deny the impact o-of your w-words!”

The stammering had begun. Alvis smiled to himself in anticipation of what was about to happen.

“Is that so? Then why did you hide yourself from me? If you wanted to tell me that, then you shouldn’t be hiding your face from my eyes. I was able to detect the impact of my words before you could even turn your back on me, but you can’t hide your feelings. That isn’t a healthy thing to do, you know.”

Alvis pulled himself and Shulk onto the latter’s bed, his arms never losing their hold on the other boy’s body.

“W-what do y-you think you’re d-doing?” Shulk was slowly starting to lose it as anticipation tore his negative thoughts to shreds, replacing them with mental images of what was inevitably going to happen to him.

“Getting my answer. And maybe, I can also add in some additional compliments to cheer you up even more.”

Alvis moved his hands onto Shulk’s stomach and began to scribble his fingers all over the spot.

“WAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NOHOHOHOHOHOHO HEHEHESIHIHIHITAHAHATIHIHIHIHION, HUHUHUHUHUH?”

“No. This is what happens when you don’t give me the answers that I seek.” Alvis stated calmly.

“SAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAYS YOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOU!” Shulk laughed out.

“Pardon?” Alvis knew what he was talking about, but he decided to tease him by pretending he didn’t know.

“Y-YOHOHOHO- HEHEHEHEHEHEHEY!” Shulk was quickly cut off by Alvis as he felt the seer’s fingers creep up his rib cage, occasionally poking in between the bones.

“How unusual. I’ve never met someone whose ribs were easy to feel. You are rather thin, but thinness looks nice on you.” Alvis was almost as stunned as Shulk was about the words that just left his mouth, but the former was able to shake off the feeling.

The latter, however, had a brighter blush on his face than he did when Alvis was talking to him about his accomplishments.

“WHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAT?” Did he hear his correctly? Did Alvis really just say that?

“I said that thinness looks good on you. Is that an odd statement?”

The heir was about to reply, but Alvis quickly zipped his fingers back down to his belly.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! WHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIY THAHAHAHAHAHAT SPOHOHOHOT AGAHHAHAHAHAHAHAIGN?”

Alvis slowed his tickling down until he was lightly fluttering his fingers over the blonde’s tummy.

“Fascinating. It must have been difficult for you to get your abs. And yet you pressed on, and here you are today. This is proof that you are capable of making an impact on your own life that is just as positive as the impacts you have made on everyone else.” Alvis chuckled as he felt Shulk twitch under his hands.

“Ahahahahahahalvihihihihis… thihihihihis isn’t necesary… hehehehehe…” The boy’s laughter had died down to light, adorable giggles, but it didn’t take for him to start laughing again as his calves were suddenly under attack.

“Huhuhuhuhuh?” Shulk had never felt this before. No one had ever gone after that spot before, and truthfully, he didn’t mind what he was feeling right now.

“Your legs are rather strong as well. This was definitely caused by the amount of running that you have done over the years. And they haven’t gotten any weaker, either. You see? You want to keep yourself in good condition. Surely, a person who couldn’t do anything right wouldn’t be able to sustain these muscles.”

Alvis had a grin on his face. He could barely see the other male’s face, but he could still make out a bright red blush. A blush that was brighter than the glowing ball of ether that appeared in the light blue sky above their heads.

“Yohohohohohou dohohohohohon’t hahahahahahave tohohoho dohohoHOHOHO THIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIS!” Shulk’s laughter became heavy when Alvis used one finger on each of his hands to tickle both of his underarms. He squirmed once Alvis found that one spot between his underarm and the top of his rib cage.

“Easy there. If you break free, you might fall off of me and onto the floor. We don’t need to have an imperfectly perfect Homs get hurt now, do we?”

“IHIHIHIHIMPERFEHEHECTLY PERFEHEHEHEHECT?” The visionary questioned through his laughter.

“Yes, imperfectly perfect. Your imperfections make you one of the most loved Homs in this world. I did say that a perfect person can not exist, but what I meant was a person who is capable of doing everything perfectly on the first try. You seem to be one of the only Homs to anywhere close to being a perfect person in terms of who you are. You don’t need to do everything right to be loved by the world and the races residing within it. All you need to do is be yourself.”

Alvis moved up to Shulk’s neck, allowing his laughter to die down enough for him to breathe and speak semi-normally.

“Quihihihihit ihihihit, yohohou’re makihihihihihihing mehehehehehe bluhuhuhuhush…”

Alvis laughed, “Why do you think I’m doing this?”

“To tehehehehehell me to lohohohove myself? Shulk asked.

“That’s right. In addition to making you flustered, I want to convince you that you are worthy of love, including self-love.”

“Ihihihihi thought yohohohou wahahahahanted ahahahahnswers?” Shulk said as Alvis retracted his hands.

“I believe I have found my answer. My words did get through to you.” Alvis answered as he laid down on his right side and released the younger male from his hold. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah… I’m okay…” Shulk was breathing somewhat heavily as he felt Alvis stroke his hair. He accidentally let out a sound that sounded like a young Nopon who was dragging out his “meh,” his face returning to the bright shade of red from earlier as he realized what he did. Alvis had a look of surprise for a brief second before he regained his calm expression.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what that-“

“Cute.” Alvis cut him off.

“I-I’m sorry?” Shulk was still stammering, but it wasn’t as bad as it was prior to Alvis’s tickle attack.

“I said it was cute. I didn’t even know you could make that noise.” Alvis replied. “And I didn’t even know you could blush this much.” He followed up, noticing Shulk’s blush getting impossibly dark.

“Alvis… That’s enough.” he said.

“Understood.” Alvis responded.

The two of them said nothing as Shulk calmed himself down.

“Feeling better?” Alvis broke the silence.

“Yes… I’m feeling much better now.” Shulk said as he turned to face Alvis, unable to suppress the smile on his face. “Do you still want to know about the Bionis Shoulder?”

“I would love to know about it. I’ve never had the chance to see it after the Bionis fell.”

Shulk and Alvis spent around three hours discussing every little thing about the Bionis Shoulder, and the two of them began to cultivate a plan that would serve to protect the new world from a future attack from the Fog King.

#tickling #xenoblade chrontickles #lee!Shulk #ler!Alvis #jesus I really went overboard with the non-tickling aspect of this fic #just so you know Shulk calling himself a failure is actually a self-projection that I put onto him #he would probably beat himself down too if he kept making mistakes #I don’t know if I should try to find psychological help for that #I probably should #tickling.

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mimssides · 3 years

Text

07734: Chapter 4

Read on AO3

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___

“Are you scared?”

POV Virgil

Thomas didn't get out of bed. We couldn't motivate him to stand up and Roman was nowhere to be found when we tried to call him. He hadn't shown up in weeks I realised mortified and gaped at my own carelessness.

How could we have overlooked all of this? How had we been convinced that Roman and Remus were fine even though none of us saw them?

Then it hit me.

“Consus.”

I looked at Logan and said before he could ask: “He's responsible for this! He told us the twins were fine over and over again! He influenced Thomas from the shadows without us knowing!”

The realization dawned on Logan's face and we sunk down into the commons. Patton already awaited us and Janus came running to us down the stairs.

“How could he have planned this! Why would he do that!” I complained pacing around and looking to Janus.

The snake shook his head and fiddled with his layers of clothing. His left hand trembled and he was lightly shaking his head when he looked to me to give me an answer.

“I have no idea! This isn't so unlike him! He hates fighting and any sort of conflict makes him uncomfortable. I-”

Just like that Janus stopped as Consus rose up looking at us with a lazy smile and a tilted head. We stared at him wordlessly until he chuckled and looked to the side.

“I do appreciate peace and quiet, Janus, I really do,” he said so smoothly and stepped towards Janus with light steps. “And now we have silence, Janus. Silence because Creativity is shut up and passion has died down. And I would like to say it is just like I wanted it but honestly, it is not what I had imagined.”

Janus frowned and I found fear in his eyes. He wanted to speak up but Consus cut him off.

“I had imagined you would be ecstatic, seeing that Thomas couldn't move and get hurt in any possible way anymore. But you seem frightened? How does that add up? Do you feel responsible for the pain you inflicted on Creativity and Logic? Remorse for the fight you had with Anxiety over him wanting to leave? Are you afraid to lose a position you could only obtain through so much manipulation and one sincere discussion? What do you say, hm?”

Janus faltered. I had never seen him falter like that. He pulled his hands close to his chest and lowered his chin as if it could protect him from Consus’s look.

I snapped air and stepped towards him. He turned and looked, still smiling, still unwavering.

“What the fuck, Con? What the fuck?” I half yelled.

His eyes glinted in orange and I continued: "Where is Roman? What did you do to him? How, how did you do this to Thomas? And why? You- you aren't like that! You never were!"

“I am not like what? Like Janus? Trying to force my ways on Thomas? To control his life because of some misguided idea? But wait.”

He stopped, looked over to Janus and then to me and I felt the hairs on my neck stand up.

“Janus never tried to force Thomas to do everything he deemed right. He was simply scared to be overhead entirely. Which is valid considering how much shit you all gave him for a simple white lie, is it not? You on the other hand have influenced him to the point where he was only following your advice. While you have stopped doing that to this extent, you never fully apologized for your reign of fear. You never understood what you did to the others with your actions. But now you might, do you not? What is it like to be powerless and disregarded? Does it hurt you? Are you scared?”

Frankly, I was terrified. Terrified of the voice coming out of Consus and how it directly went into my chest. How it enraptured me and made me believe what he said so easily. I tried to talk back. Tried to revolt and tell him, I had apologized.

But it wasn’t worth it. No apology ever could undo what I did. I would never be innocent again and all I would do was pointless anyway.

___

POV Consus

Virgil was such an easy target. I never had been worried about getting him and Janus. I have spent too much time with them to not know how I had to manipulate them just enough so they would not notice me influencing them with my powers.

Logan would be a little harder and I made sure to not lose my smile as I turned towards him. He looked at me with so little emotion visible in his expression. It was hilarious how he believed that a blank face could save him from the effects of his own feelings.

“Consus, please, refrain from manipulating your fellow sides. Thomas’s motivation and drive are at an absolute low and we have to concentrate on that first,” he said to me and stood in front of Patton.

I looked from one to the other. Logan had learned a lot from dealing with us. He knew that Patton tended to be easily affected by our powers and thus often was a weak chain link when it came to a confrontation. But it also showed that he cared too about the dearest dad and I loved seeing Logan caring so much about us.

“We should concentrate on Thomas? But we are the embodiments of Thomas’s personality. Should we not also figure out what is wrong with us? Where our drive is? Where your drive is, Logan?” I started and walked a little closer, watching closely how Logan puffed out his chest attempting to seem more intimidating.

“My drive lies in the pursuit of knowledge, as everyone knows. And I do not see how that would be important at the situation at hand.”

“You do not? But Logan it is so very vital, since it is a lie, which you told me just now. At least if you do not care to list all the other reasons, which lead you to stand up every day. Because knowledge is not all you are after, Logan.”

Logan shook his head and I lifted my fingers in a warning manner.

“Ts, ts, ts! Stubborn, stubborn, my old friend. We called you Curiosity and you were the one to wonder about the world, about everything and anything. And you care about us and about Thomas, which is why you are standing quite protectively in front of dear Morality.”

He stiffened. I smiled wider.

“You care and that is what makes your reasoning faulty. You plead and say it would matter if Thomas would never get up again. But it would not. In the great perspective of everything, one human more or less, no matter which position in society they would withhold would not change anything. Certainly, his family, friends and likely fans too would grieve and be sad for some time but eventually they would move on. What we do is not essential and while it entertains our watchers, they will find other places to look for entertainment. And we both know that if we were working in a different field there would simply come someone else to take Thomas’s place. It makes no difference, Logan. We can do whatever and it won’t make a difference.”

I walked close up and put my hand under Logan’s chin. He shivered so wonderfully under my words and panic slowly slipped into his eyes. I made sure that my hand was warm before I touched his skin and gently let my powers fully seep into him. I made the frustration in him grow and grow, so it became heavier than anger and settled in simple but oh so effective apathy.

It was terrible to see his eyes glaze over and the ever so straight posture to drop. He was just as much of a drive as Roman and Remus were and with him in my hands, there was no hope left for Thomas to get up again.

Perfect.

“I know what you are doing. You’re hurting, Consus. But this is not going to help you.”

___

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boogiewrites · 5 years

Text

His Own Piece of Heaven By The Sea

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Ruth (OFC)

Summary: Ruth, a nurse at Margate, happens to be assigned to a man brought in off the beach with a gunshot wound to the head. With her kind nature and good heart he quickly sees she is exactly as she appears and becomes fond of her. Asking her to be his personal nurse in his seaside mansion in Margate, an unlikely friendship grows. With time, tenderness and patience they grow to become more. (Done to celebrate PB S5 being released in the US. I tagged those that are tagged in my other Alfie fics as well.)

Warnings/Tags: Sexual Content. Slow Burn. Nurse caring for injured Alfie after After season 4. Possible S5 Spoilers. Started as an AU so... Domestic fluff. Fluffy Smut.

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.) Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

Luckily for Alfie Solomons, the Margate hospital was only a few minutes from where he was shot and left for dead. Even if it had been carried out at his own insistence, after waking up sputtering to half a face and a high tide, it was now more trouble than it was worth, it seemed.

He lay in a sanitized room. The window was open, he could hear the seagulls and the breeze outside. He found it curious only half of the room appeared before him, but as a quick regretful touch of his face informed him, he no longer could see out of his left eye. He’d been stitched up and medicated, lots of thoughts swirling about his foggy brain. Some perfectly logical, some not. He stayed in that thin veil for some time at first while he healed. After the fact, he couldn’t recall much, only her. As she was the one constant through it all.

“He got shot in the face, left for dead and LIVED!” he hears whispers from the doorway. He was still a mess, scabs and swelling and a face that was half pieced together. He couldn’t blame anyone for looking but he wished in his lucid moments that they’d leave him the fuck alone.

“Go now. Mind your business. The man needs peace and quiet!” she hissed and the sound of tiny hands slapping against bodies could be heard. He smiles with the side of his mouth it doesn’t hurt to and grunts. “I’m sorry Mr. Solomons. Some people have no manners.” she speaks in a soft voice. This is his first memory of her.

----

He groaned in pain. Whoever was touching him, and whatever they were doing wasn’t right. They had him on enough drugs to keep him sedated but the loud roar of pain that rose from his tired chest made the girl trying to dress his wounds squeak in fear.

“He keeps fighting me! He’s under enough sedation to take down a horse!”

“Well, what are you doing to the poor man?”

“I’m trying to clean his wounds!”

“With this?”

“Yes!”

“You bloody idiot.” she sighs and moves over to Alfie’s side. “I’m sorry, forgive her for she knows not what he does.” she rolls her eyes and gingerly takes off his bandages. She barks orders, and in her familier voice, it felt good to hear. He focuses one eye on her as he sees her lips pursed and blowing to soothe his irritated skin. A kind hand rubbing and patting his chest to keep him still. “I know it hurts, I’m terribly sorry.” she tells and see’s him focusing on er. “Hurt enough to pull you awake, eh? Poor man.” she coos and pushes back his hair. “This will help.”

At first, he winces, the cold a surprise, but soon it numbs and dilutes the medication placed incorrectly. “Mmph.” he snorts in response.

“My, my what a chatterbox today.” she smiles and continues running ice over his face, blowing and cooing all the while. She takes her time, as she always has with him and cools his skin, then applies the correct medication to numb then another to fight infection. With a new dressing, she fluffs his pillow and gives his blanket a good shake before tucking him back in. ”Here you go, love.” she speaks, one hand behind his head, the other placing a bottle of liquid to his lips that he knows means another long rest is coming. “There we are. Soon you won’t need my help with that. I’ll check on you later Alfie. Not that you’ll know.” she chuckles. “But I’ll be there.” she pats his hand and gives him a smile as his eyes roll back and flutter shut.

----------

The longer he stayed and recovered, the closer they became. He quickly became her favorite patient and she, his favorite nurse.

“Ruth!”

“Yes, Alfie?” she asks carrying a tray on food into the room.

“The seagulls are being mighty peculiar today.” he answers with a shake of his head.

“What are they up to today?” she amuses him as she takes away his binoculars and sets them on the bedside table.

“Loud today. Storm coming in perhaps. The fuckers have been fightin’ like mad. They know something we don’t.”

“I wouldn’t doubt that in the least.” she smiles and places a napkin into his shirt collar, the tray in his lap. “Always up to something those birds.”

“You understand, Ruth. That’s why I like you.” he announces approvingly. He was rather entertaining when medicated. Although she hadn’t seen much of him sober yet.

“I managed to snag you another bowl of pudding and a sweet roll.” she distracts him.

“Always spoilin’ me Ruth.” he gives her a wag of his finger. “Have I ever told you about how I had a bakery? We made these rolls ourselves.”

“No, you haven’t. Tell me more.” she sits next to him, her shift over but having nowhere to go she cared about. She sits with a book in her lap and listens to the stories he tells over and over. Ones she could recite from memory if needed. But he sounded happy, was so lively when he told her stories she couldn’t bring herself to tell him no. She rather enjoyed seeing him smile.

-----------

Coming off the medicine, Ruth missed those stories and smiles. Alfie was coming down from his highs, pain, and withdrawal both plaguing him. Learning to function with one eye, the dizziness that came from the force trauma to his head and the depth perception problems. She understood his short temper, but he was still far nicer to her than any other person that helped him. After a particularly nasty day, him falling and being embarrassed, angry about being sick from the medicine and his head throbbing almost visibly, he surprised her.

“He’s asking for you again.”

“Right.” she tidies up and goes to the sounds of a groaning man. She could walk to the path in her sleep now. So many rounds and shifts, days and nights spent there with him. “You called for me?” she responds with the same polite tone.

“I did, yeah.” he nods then turn to look at her. “I’ll be out of here soon.”

“That’s what I’ve been told. I know you feel poorly but you are doing better,” she adds supportively. “It’s good that you’ll be leaving. Means you’re on the last stretch of recovery.”

“Do you want me to go, Ruth?”

The question catches her off guard. “I want you to get better.” she states plainly.

“Now I do want the fuck out of here, yeah? But I don’t wanna GO per se.”

“I’m afraid I'm not following.”

“I want to hire you. To come live with me. Be my personal nurse. You’re the only one worth a damn. The only one I trust. The only one that doesn’t look at me like…” he stops himself and sighs. “Would you be interested?”

“You flatter me as always Alfie,” she replies with a smile and her hand to her chest. “But I work here, I have rent I can’t just-”

“I’ll pay ya double what you make now. No rent, I’ve got plenty of rooms. You can help me, yeah? I don’t want to deal with this shit alone. I’ll only admit that to you. This fuckin’... the sight and vertigo and all 'is… shit that goes along with getting shot in the fuckin’ face. I can do it alone, but I don’t wanna, love. I’m finished with makin’ things harder on myself. And you help me, right? You have since I got here.”

“I have. I was the first assigned to you.”

“And the only one that’s stayed.” he lets out a little chuckle that turns into a cough.

“Yes.” she nods and smiles. “I’ve never done in home care.”

“You’re a good nurse. The best I’ve seen here. And you don’t annoy the shit out of me. You’re perfect for it.”

She shrugs, eyes not meeting his out of uncertainty.

“Ya gonna make me beg, love? Or is it more money you’d like?”

“Neither.” she laughs and gently pats his hand. “I accept. You’ve made me an offer I can’t refuse.”

“That’s what I was known for.” he grins.

“I can see why.”

“You go tell that boss of yours that don’t appreciate you enough to fuck off now. You’re gonna come with me.”

“I’ll tell them in my own way if you don’t mind.” she giggles.

“If you insist.”

---------

Ruth, in her simple cotton dress, walks closely behind Alfie as he slowly makes his way with his cane into his Margate home. She hadn’t known what to expect, but a mansion hadn’t been it. Aged and covered in ivy, the walls covered with specimens and art and each piece more interesting than the last, she had to focus on him to not become distracted. She’s careful to follow him on his side he can see on, ready to help him stay steady should he need her. He tromps his way into a cozy and lived-in room, plush chairs and a set of doors that overlooked the ocean. She gingerly helps him sit in the largest chair and doesn’t judge his pained sounds as he does so.

“Your place is lovely, Mr. Solomons.” she remarks, taking his hat and coat from him.

“Who the fuck is Mr. Solomons? Don’t call me ‘at. Call me Alfie.”

“My apologies. Since I was working I wanted to be formal.”

“No need for such. We’re old friends already, Ruth.” he grunts and resituates himself.

“Yes, sir.”

“None of that either.” he shakes his finger at her and she nods obediently.

“Yes...mate?” she suggests with a face that shows her rapid reaching for an alternative and it makes his laugh turn into a cough.

“We’ll work on it.” he chuckles.

“Where should I put your things?”

“There’s a closet by the door, hang ‘em there.” he nods in the direction of which he speaks.

With a quick bow, she leaves and returns promptly. “What would you like of me, Alfie? Some tea perhaps? I can get used to the kitchen.” she offers with hands clasped in front of her. So reserved, he thought to himself.

“Nah, you can go ahead and fetch ya things. Your room is the last on the left hallway, love. I’ll just be here.”

“Alfie, with all due respect let me at least make you comfortable before I go. That is my job afterall.”

“I’ll be fine, you don’t live that faraway. I did make it this far in life without you ya know.” he jokes.

“May I speak honestly?”

“It is what I prefer, yeah.” he turns his head and narrows his eyes at her.

“I do not want you falling or getting hurt while I'm here. I will feel personally responsible as it is my job to care for you and I take my job very seriously. You are... a bit stubborn and I don’t want your tenacity to give you a set back you will later regret and I will be left to mend something that could have been avoided.”

“Well that is...honest.” he shrugs.

“So as per my expertise, I would like to make you tea, perhaps a toastie or something to keep your energy up before tea. I’ll give you something to take the edge off, you’ve done a lot of traveling today and don’t need to exert yourself. I’ll settle you down with a book and some binoculars to watch the sea like you enjoy, eh?”

“A toastie?” he lets out a deep laugh that moves his stomach. “Haven’t had one of those since I was a lad. Sure. Tea does sound lovely after that char they serve in the hospital. Trust you can find the leaves on ya own?”

“Certainly so.” she nods with that same polite smile. “Here’s your binoculars...and a pillow in case you require it.” She moves about the space as if she knows it already. He notices what an observant person she must be. “Be back in just a moment, sir-Alfie.”

“Now SIR Alfie does have a good ring to it.” he teases and laughs, reaching for the binoculars as she opens the doors before leaving to familiarize herself.

“Don’t poke fun of me Alfie. I’m adjusting to this informality.” he hears the laughter in her voice covering the offense taken.

“I’d never, love.” he says with dramatic offense taken. “What sort of man do you think I am?”

“The kind that gets his tea poisoned for being an arse.” she snaps back with a playful smile he hadn’t seen before.

“HA!” he throws his head back, forgetting for a moment in the exchange that he was injured before cursing and mumbling, “Bloody room needs to be still.”

“And THAT is why you need me, Alfie. Behave yourself.” she sighs with a shake of her head as his brow furrowed hard in concentration.

“Yeah, yeah. Make me feel worse about it why don’t ya?”

He hears the sounds of another person in the house. Something he wasn’t entirely accustomed to. The tinks and shuffles of water and china go unnoticed as he focuses on steadying his head.

“Has the room stopped spinning for you to enjoy this?” she asks, standing with a steaming cup of tea and a saucer in her hands.

“Ya quiet as a mouse there.” he gruffs with one eye opening and giving her a once over.

“Not my intention,” she says with her trademark polite delivery. “Here you go. Still hot.”

“Mmph.” a grunt as he sits up straight and sees the swirls escaping the liquid. She stands patient and still as he puckers his lips and blows. He gives her a moment of eye contact before taking a noisy sip. He waits a minute, a slow head nod then a noisy smack of his lips. “Made the right choice hirin’ you dinnit I?” he states with a turn of his good eye her way. “That’s a good brew there, love.”

“Thank you. I pride myself on it. Been making tea since I could pour it myself.”

“You can tell. Good, that.” he adds with another slow sip. “What else are ya good at Ruth?” his tone sounded more like a challenge than a casual question.

“I suppose you’ll find out, won't you?” she answers back quickly and curtly. A small almost bend his way before moving back to the kitchen to impress him with a snack.

------------- He awakes with a twitching nose and the pain that the motion sends immediately through his head. The pain is ugly but the smell that caused it is lovely. The sun was already moving up into the sky and he groans and manages to sit up in his bed without too much nauseated feeling. He’d overslept which normally would be very much unlike him but his sleep schedule since being shot was erratic at best.

“Oh, you’re up already!” he hears the familiar voice chirp. “I’ve brought you breakfast.” she proudly declares, carrying a tray and sitting it on a table away from the bed. “How are we this afternoon?”

“What bloody time is it?” he grumbles as she approaches and checks his forehead with the back of her hand.

“Half past eleven.”

“Fuckin’ ‘ell.”

“The medicine makes you sleep, Alfie. Nothing out of the ordinary. I’d rather you be resting than unable to.” her voice remains instructive but polite. “Here’s your tray.” she places the shelf to eat off of over his lap and begins to arrange the food. “We have porridge and honey. Tea with the same. Good healing properties in it, yeah?” she keeps her polite smile and watches him flinch as he moves his face. “Doesn’t require chewing. And I’d like you to start having food in you before you take your pain medication from now on. So we’ll start here and see how this goes.”

“Ya gonna do the dressin'?” he asks with a tired eye exposed.

“After your medicine has had time to dull the pain. No use in making you suffer more than you already have to.”

He watches her move about with light fingers and a pleasant face. “Why ya wearin’ that?” he asks with now focused eyes. He was referring to the new uniform she was wearing.

“My old uniform was the property of the hospital. I thought since I was still working it would be proper to get myself one.”

"Ya didn’t have to.” he offers.

“It’s no problem.” she lied. She’d had to buy the uniform second hand because she couldn’t afford a new one of her own. Of course with the new pay and lack of rent she’d be able to afford one soon. “The black will help hide any stains and the apron is always useful.” she offers and sits on the edge of the bed. “Now stop fussing and eat.” she directs with a gentle pat to his foot as she holds the paper in her hands.

“What’s that?” he motions with a spoon full of porridge.

“This morning’s paper. I thought you might like to read it.”

“If I wanted a fuckin’ headache, yeah.”

“That’s why I’m still here.” he retorts. “I can read it for you while you eat. Save your eyes.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“But would you like me to?”

“Mmmph.” he nods and begins to nibble away at the flavorful lumps in the bowl.

He was glad she could read so well, he’d had maids that couldn’t before but she was a nurse putting on the hat of a maid as well. He had to remind himself that. He uses his one good eye to look her over while she’s distracted. It was still in his nature to use anything available to his advantage. He’d already been able to surmise that she grew up poor, if she wasn’t still, from the food she served. This new uniform, clearly worn was another sign of this theory. It was a touch too short, clearly tailored for a shorter and smaller woman. The sleeves rolled up and the petticoat fluffing out at the edges that hit at her knees, the undone top button that wouldn’t clasp were all signs of support for his growing back story about her he was concocting in his head.

After he’d eaten his fill, an amount that was approved of by her and a good sign of returning health, she’d proclaimed, he takes his various tonics and medications that begin to make the edges of his vision a bit blurry. He pays attention to her now, his hands clasped in front of him, staring at her as she reads to him. “Would you like me to skip the arrests?” she asks.

“No, it’s a favorite part.” he gives her a smile.

“Very well…” she begins, posture straight and head moving animatedly as she read off the charges.

It was the drugs that made him feel so comfortable with her. But it didn’t stop it from feeling good nonetheless, no matter the official cause. “You have a lovely speaking voice, yeah?”

She blinks with surprise and turns her head his way.

“Bet children love it when you read to them, eh?”

“They usually fall asleep.” she replies with eyes that moved around in thought.

“You ever read poetry? Shakespeare and the like?”

“I am familiar with the works. Never thought it much use to read it to children in the hospital.”

“Mmmph.” he nods. “Perhaps one afternoon we’ll do that. I think your voice would lend a certain lyrical lilt to it.”

“Thank you.” she says politely as she closes the paper. “I do believe it’s time to change that dressing and clean you up. Officially start the day, yeah? The seagulls are probably lonesome without you looking at them.” she jokes.

“I’m a very busy man.” he nods in agreement. “Someones gotta keep an eye out on those bloody birds. Can’t trust em.” he hears her soft chuckle and keeps his hardened face in place, as is his way. Especially when his reactions tended to make her laugh.

-------

“Alfie?” He hears Ruth enter the room, announcing herself as his blind side was facing the doorway.

“Ello. Look at this ship that’s come in today. Never seen one so big.” He motions with his hand to approach him as he holds one eye of the binoculars up to his face. “Lots of cargo ships today.” He muses while Ruth peers out to the sea to entertain him. She couldn’t care less about ships. “Must be for the turning of the season coming. Needin' supplies and that.”

“Yes, I felt the chill incoming this morning.” She agrees with a nod and hands the spectacles back. “I have a question… or rather a concern I need to discuss with you.”

“Alright, go on.” He pats the seat next to him and she obediently sits.

“Tomorrow is Friday.”

“Mmm that it is.” He nods.

“That means Shabbat.” She states obviously as he seemed to not be following.

“Can ya make Challah?” He inquires.

“Yes, no problem at all. But there is the issue of me working.”

“Ah. I see. Yes.”

“I had been considering ways to still observe but not be away.”

“I could be fine for a day on me own, love. Ya don’t have to worry like ya do.”

She didn’t want to argue even though she disagreed.

“You can go off and do whatever it is you like.” After a pause and silence on her end, he turns to look at her. “What?”

She lets out a small frustrated noise. “I don’t really… have anywhere else to go.” She gives a small shrug. “I’d rather stay here.”

“Oh.” He blurts out, surprised at the answer. “Well, that’s also fine, innit?”

“I thought perhaps I skip cleaning on Shabbat. I can not wear the uniform you know? We can work together for tea and I can lounge a bit instead of keeping busy.”

“You know… some company would be nice.” He wouldn’t dig into her lack of social life today. The poor thing seemed embarassed. “I can help with the bread or at least supervise. Be useful somehow.”

“That would be wonderful. We could listen to one of the radio programs perhaps? Or I could read something besides the paper to you as you suggested?”

“Full of good ideas you are Ruth, dear. We can be a couple of mates bein' lazy. Have our wine and leisure as God requests.” He speaks with his hands, an animated delivery that told her he was adjusting well to the less intense medication.

“That sounds lovely. I’d like that very much.”

“Then that is precisely what we shall do, love.” He declares with a pointed finger.

And it was.

A lovely indulgent afternoon to close out their first week together. Wine and conversation. His snoozing through the afternoon as she prepared dinner. He told her stories and she read poetry about the sea to him. She continued to care for him but in her simple cotton dress this time. Her usual conservative hairstyle replaced with a loose fall of hair around her shoulders. A total opposite to the severe bun she had sported. He sees Ruth for the first time and not Nurse Ruth. She shares stories of patients and they laugh. She tells him of past Shabbats with her mum, and he shares some of his own. A mutual bonding on the loss of their mothers. They talk well into the night and only end the revelry when his medication renders him useless. It would be a special time for both of them to share and an instigator for their budding romance.

——————————

“The rest of you needs seeing to Alfie.” She insists. Knowing of his skin condition and back pain. “If you just let me assist you I can get it all in one go and it would be so much easier on me.” She stands with a hand on her hip as he stands with an undone shirt in the doorway of his bathroom.

“It’s a man’s business all his own in the bath. I don’t need your help to wash. Just on the ol face. I don’t want you all...exposed to this.” He motions to his body.

“You act like I’ve never seen a naked man before Alfie. I’m a NURSE. This is what I DO.” She maintains with open hands that chop down to the beat of her words.

“Ya tryin to get at me bits is what ya doin!” He replies dramatically and she sighs and puts her hand to her face.

“Alfie I swear-“

“Ehh. Only teasin bout that don’t get ya knickers in a bunch.” He groans and moves slowly toward the tub.

“You can use one of the wash cloths to cover up if it makes you feel better. But you never came off as shy before.”

“I’ll take ya up on that.” He makes his usual sounds of discomfort as he takes off his shirt. “Now turn and I’ll get in. Having an audience makes me bashful.” He jokes as she rolls her eyes and lets out a chuckle.

“I can’t have you getting dizzy and cracking your head open. I won’t apologize for watching out for you.”

“So you keep saying.” his voice shows his mild annoyance with her caring nature. But he was healing well he had to admit. She hears his clothes hitting the floor and water sloshing about. “Hotter than hell but fuck me that feels good on the ol joints” he grunts. “Come on in then ya stubborn bird.” He sighs out as she’s at the ready with her case of medicines for him.

“This makes this a lot easier on me. I appreciate your cooperation, truly.” She states with no sarcasm as she lines the bottles up and rolls up her sleeves.

“Only reason I’m agreeing to it.” He answers with lips planted together and readying for the bandage to be removed for what could be the last time.

“You have healed up so nicely.” She remarks softly as she studies the now stitchless face, only scabs left to fall off. Some already have done so with dark lines now showing the marks left from the open wound.

“Tell that to me fuckin eye.” He responds defensively.

She suppressed a sigh of frustration. He truly had come so far. He could’ve died of infection or any number of things by this point. “The sight left but the healing it’s done is remarkable all the same. The pigments gone but being able to keep at the eye at all is a teatmabe to your bodies ability to heal.” She uses a cloth to wipe gently at his face.

“You’ll say it’s a miracle I’m here at all next.” He complains.

“I won’t.” She snaps back. “Even though it is.”

He hums sarcastically.

“I feel comfortable not covering it anymore. Get some air and sun on it. Do you good.”

“Can’t wait to unleash this on the world.”

“You’ll be even more intimidating than you already are. With your personality, I’d think you’d find that more useful than a negative.”

“Got a point there.”

“Besides, the integrity of your face is still intact. All symmetrical and that. Your beard is almost grown back in on this side. Just scar and an eye that could pass for an opal. Adds character. And you are a character for certain.” She chuckles. “You aren’t disfigured. In my humble opinion still pleasant to look at. Most that get shot in the face can’t say they still kept their looks.”

“Looks?” He turns with a brow raised. “Are you complimentin' me?”

Her eyes blink fast and she looks away. In her attempts to cheer him up perhaps she’d been TOO honest. “I am.” She nods and begins rubbing oil between her hands. “Now give us this mop of hair.” She changes the subject and leans over to get her fingers into his scalp.

He’s rendered useless. As her nails rake away and wake up his scalp with a tingle. “Fuck that is good, innit?”

She smiles contently as his eyes roll back and he shuts them. “Get your blood flow going and heal up any spots. Very good for you” She says softly as he grunts. She washes his hair, an intimate thing she makes comfortable, the medicine she’d poured onto his face and hair washing into the bath water. “You can give yourself a wash while I put these away and then I’ll cover the spots on your trunk.”

“Trunk? The fuck you on about?”

She chuckles again and shakes her head. “That’s nurse for torso.” She explains.

“I was wondering if you’d sewed me up wrong for a minute there.” His response draws another laugh as she turns her back and closes bottles and wipes them down. “‘Spose you could’ve been takin bout my nethers.”

This brings a further laugh from her. “Nethers.” She chuckles. “That Alfie for genitals?”

“Since you’re a lady I wasn’t gonna say cock.”

She lets out a snorting laugh, shoulders shaking with it as he gives her a smile she doesn’t see. “But alas, here we are.” A happy sort of tone that shows her amusement and lack of offense pleases him in many ways. “Since when do you watch your language?” She sass’s.

“Since I got me arse and bollocks out I suppose.” She covers her face for another round of laughter and he joins in.

“You’re a character, Alfie Solomons. Never met a man like you before.”

“I’ll take what back handed compliments I can love.” He genuinely agrees.

“Not back handed. You are interesting. Unique. That’s what character means.”

“Quit bein’ so sweet and get over here, you’ll make it hard for me to be a grouchy bastard.” He grunts and stands, hand still holding the wash cloth over himself as she turns to get an eye full of dripping wet man in the tub. She was going to ask him to rise up a bit to get to the spots but… this worked too. See gulps and he catches it, a flush of confidence he couldn't help comes over him.

She works in silence, focusing with a furrowed brow she rarely had. She was fighting to not look anywhere she didn’t have to. Her fingers worked into his scaly spots, soaking up the good mixture of healing ointments and losing their redness already. He was dotteda long his shoulders and back, some on his chest and she was thankful there weren't any on his legs to be seen. She remained professional in action but her thoughts were moving in a wholly different direction.

“There you are. Finished.” she declares with a nod, not meeting his eyes and speaking curtly. She looks him over, not being very skilled at being subtle or sneaky as he stands and stares at her. A bit of flex of power as he saw her jaw tighten and lashes flutter.

“You gonna oogle me or hand me towel, pet?” he coos out and she is visible bothered. A quick jump and rush to grab what he asked.

“I wasn’t- I didn’t-”

“Hush, love I'm only teasin’.” he grins, draping the towel around his hips. “But I do believe I can handle the rest meself.” a smirk that gave away his delight at getting flustered is plain on his face but she dare not meet it.

“Course, course.” she mutters out and quickly turns and hurriedly gathers her things.

She goes to her room and finishes putting the bottles into her bag for later. She rubs the back of her neck and looks around at nothing in particular as her eyes remain nonblinking and wide. She was a professional, what was wrong with her? She shakes her head and the image of his broad body remains. Wide shoulders and strong, stocky legs that were made for… well, things she hadn’t experienced in a long while. The time without the intimacy of a man being felt hot in her face and elsewhere. She had heard him referred to as Captain, he was a military man, which would explain the strength there. She looks at herself, suddenly self-conscious with hands to her soft stomach and hips. She supposes it’s a good sign he looked so… healthy. It was in part to her good care and support and she took pride in that. But another feeling that was called sin was bubbling up beneath the surface for his recovery was becoming more and more apparent. ----------------

Time passes and the true nature of themselves reveals itself. Alfie being stubborn and grumpy, although she couldn’t entirely blame him. And her proving hard working and insistent. The banter between them became easy, the routines in place and their roles clear. It was a relationship that both of them felt they didn’t have to work too hard at. Over the weeks they’d grown comfortable with one another, and it was starting to show.

It was one of the last warm days of fall, the cool air getting chillier by the degree every night and feeling it into every morning. Alfie was very aware of winters coming in his bones. An ache in his joints he dreaded every year with the changing of the seasons. But at least he now had someone with soft hands and warm heart to rub oil into the hurting bits. He wasn’t sure what helped more at this point, the oil and massage or the woman who was doing it.

They walked side by side, Ruth dutifully holding his arm out of habit by this point. But he didn’t mind it all that much. She had a little blue dress, one of the many shades of the sea they walked alongside. Both barefoot and Alfie with his pants rolled up his calves, his typical white shirt and waist-coat loose on the breezy and pleasantly cool day. When the sun would peek through the clouds a warmth would spread across their skin, sparkles on the water shone as they walked, their footprints disappearing behind them in the tide.

“Come in a little further, get the cold water lapping about your legs! Get the blood going!” she requests with a hand laced into his, giving it a timid tug in her direction.

“It’s bloody cold, love.”

“It’s not THAT bad Alfie. It wakes up the senses. Keeps you on your feet!” she gleefully announces as she lets his hand go and lets her dress get wet in the waves.

“Last time that water touched me I woke up with a hole in me fuckin face so forgive me for not being as enthusiastic as you.”

“You love the sea Alfie.” she scolds. “You sit up there on that balcony all day every day and watch it and everything in it. You hold no ill will towards it. Don’t make excuses. You can always just say no politely and I’ll listen.” she lectures as she splashes about, the tips of her hair getting damp and a sheen across her face from the splash the sea was waving against her. She looked happy. An innocent at play he thought.

“You’re welcome to it, love.” he contributes with a nod, watching her intently as the waves lapped around his calves.

“Fine, have it your way.” she submits as a wave almost knocks her over, a laugh arising from her shaking chest. “The doctors say this is good for the heart.” she informs without an inkling as to the soft look on his face, eye barely squinting in the dim sunlight.

“Yeah. I’d agree it’s that, innit?” he replies quietly, watching this lovely little siren spin and splash about. He wondered if it was old age making him soft, or if it was, in fact, just her. Perhaps a bit of both. How was a hardened man like him supposed to withstand a persistent assault at his heart by a woman so wholesome? She saw the world so differently, then he did. He couldn’t help but find her mind intriguing. He was already looking forward to wine and conversation with her that evening. Wine was the only way he’d found to open her up a bit, and each week he chipped away at her professionalism. One day he hoped to find something to give him some indication as to whether her kind and caring nature was just that, or if it was a sign of something more when it came to him.

——-

“Alfie, are you awake? I could use some assistance!” Ruth calls out, arms full of packages from the market. As she made her way through the house and into the kitchen.

“Do you think all I bloody do is sleep?”

“I can only work with what my own observations tell me.” she smarts back and he smiles.

“Don’t like it when ya get smart on me like that.”

“Then don’t ask silly questions, dear.” she ties back her hair as she moves past him to go fetch another set of bags from the car.

-----

They work well together in the kitchen. Both their upbringings working in tandem to create meals that both liked. He was a much better cook than she’d expected. She wasn’t used to men taking such interest in it, especially the baking. But she’d never had a better Challah than one that was kneaded by him.

“Did ya get the kosher eggs, love?”

“Of course I did.” she replies placing them next to him as he did a check of the ingredients needed.

“And the candles?”

“They’re crucial, of course, I remembered them you worrywart. I bought the fruit yesterday and the fall compote is in the icebox. The chicken is marinating, I have your favorite vegetables as requested and the broth is beginning to simmer. So onto the matzo balls.” she claps her hands together and readjusts her sleeves up her arm.

“You got the good schmaltz for it?”

“Yes, Alfie. Only the best for such a meal.”

“Good girl.” he praises as he moves about the kitchen with her, a slight hug from the side and a kiss to the head that made her blush at the approval. “These meals are so much easier with you here Ruth. Barely gotta do a thing.”

“Just keep making the best bread I’ve ever eaten and I’ll be more than happy to oblige you with the rest of the meal.” she says with a broad and happy smile.

“You flatter me.” he speaks softly as he dumps out the dough. He places his rings into a small dish she’d brought into the kitchen for that singular purpose. The kneading brought him back to his early days in the kitchen with his mum, the days he instructed the bakers at the shop. All happy memories that were being cast in shadow by the new ones he was forming with Ruth. But all she really could pay attention to the was the strength and endurance of his experienced hands plying the flesh-like dough. She put on records and lit candles, set the table with the last of the flowers from the garden. She had given the home a soft touch, a feminine one it lacked. It was still entirely his own, his things, how he wanted them, she never forced herself in. But her presence did seem to make things a bit more palatable. Especially on the bad days.

— They’d drank their wine, a bit over indulgent but no harm done. Sitting on opposite ends of a fainting couch and listening to the sea beat onto the shore outside the window. The fire roared away, Ruth shivered despite being under a blanket. She despised the cold, she always froze in the winter and without a fireplace in her bedroom she was already getting a bit chilled at night.

But in the shadow of the fire, warm and fuzzy on wine and seeing a snoozing Alfie it was far from her mind. She watched him with his harmless exterior, sat back and snoring lightly in his chair. He looked peaceful and rather adorable she would admit to herself. Lips pooched out with a chin pushed back into his neck, all snuggled into his beard on his chest. She sat with her elbow on the arm of the chair, chin in her hand and stared, took all of him in without judgement. She barely noticed the scars anymore honestly. She hadn’t known him without them. They seemed to suit him almost. A grumpy bear of a man she mused. The bear's nose twitched and awoke with a grunt.

“Mmph. What time is it?” he mutters.

“You’ve only been out for a little while.” she answers with a sweet voice that calls his attention. He sees her propped up and comfortable, a content smile not hidden on her face as she continued to observe him.

“Ya watchin’ me sleep?” he blurts out without any grace.

“Suppose I was. You look so peaceful.”

“Was dreamin’ ‘bout you.” he admits.

“Really? What about?”

“We were on a balcony. ‘Spose that one outside my room. It was cold and dark.”

“Least it wasn’t a nightmare.” she adds supportively.

“Far from it.” he grumbles, not giving away the other details of the dream of a warmth between them and their affections shown physically.

“Must’ve been nice. You looked happy.”

“Mmph.” he didn't want to give away any more than he already had. “Why didn’t you wake me? Or go to bed yaself?”

“You looked happy. Like I said. Didn’t want to bother you.”

He nods in acknowledgement. “That why ya lookin’ at me like that then?”

“I was just thinking.” she sighs out.

“‘Bout?”

“You.”

“Are you inclined to share your observations?”

“When you sleep you remind me of a bear.” she answers with a smile, her head tilted against the back of the chair.

“Ah.” he thumbs his nose. “A fierce beast indeed.”

“I should clarify I meant a stuffed bear.” she grins.

“What sort of stuffy would look like ‘is eh?” he retorts. Not exactly defensive, but not entirely not either.

“A well loved one.”

The smile she gives him makes him stop adjusting his posture and give her a gaze back. He looks her over for a moment, the wine leaving her relaxed with no sign of embarrassment in her body language.

“You look soft, comfortable. Your head down like your stuffing has been hugged about the neck so many times it’s lost its support. You’re worn and well-loved, threadbare in places. Some seams have split and you’ve lost an eye from your adventures but you’re still the same bear.”

He doesn’t know what to say. He hadn’t heard her speak in such a way before. He knew her for her positive outlook but she sounded so… soft and dare he imagines loving with her poetic observations.

“But we’ve given you a good scrub, cleaned you up. Sewed up the seams and given you a lovely new pearl button for an eye. You’ll be good for years to come.” she practically coos, her head shaking backing and forth in support of her statement.

“You… are drunk.” he states.

“Oh pish posh Alfie, what if I am?” she raspberries her lips.

“Would explain this monologue you’re on about.”

“You are though. Drunk or not I’d mean it. I didn’t mean to offend you. I only meant it as a compliment.”

“Didn’t say I was offended did I? Far from it.”

“Good.” she states and snuggles into the blanket around her shoulders. “Because you should see yourself that way.”

“Might take a bit more than kind words to change me own mind, love.”

“I’ve got them. I’ll keep trying.” she tires.

“Pearl button.” he chuckles.

“It shines in the firelight like an opal. Colors.” she yawns with smacking lips and closed eyes. “Or the moon in a cloudy sky.” she begins to murmur, sleep beginning to find her by force. “Lovely, really.” she barely whispers.

“Oh, darlin’.” he breathes out, watching the little mouse lose her fight with wine and sleep. “You’re too good to a man like me,” he declares before sitting up and moving her way. He doesn't have the heart to disturb her, only closing up the doors and placing the blanket he had over him onto her as well, giving an extra pillow for her to snuggle up to when she inevitable made the descent to laying horizontal. “Sweet little thing,” he murmurs, pushing back her hair from her face. “Don't take more than one eye to see how lovely you are Ruth.” he smiles softly and adjusts the cover around her. “Night, love.” he places a kiss to her head and she gently stirs, a little muffled hum from the touch. That’s what he’d go to bed tonight thinking about, that soft face spilling out honest words about how she truly saw him. He hoped his dream from before would return, he had lots of ideas for how to finish it now. ——

The cold had set in for the season, a crisp wind against the panes as the fire inside roared away. He supposes his compromised body, busy healing him from the shot was too preoccupied and hadn’t managed to keep up with its usual form of defense against the illness that made its way around this time of year. Ruth held herself responsible even though Alfie told her not to be ridiculous. He hadn’t left the house, he shouldn’t have had any way to get sick. She must’ve brought it in from the market she guesses. With her guilt heavy, and even if she wasn’t, her care of him always went above and beyond what was expected.

“We have just broth this time. Don’t want to upset your tummy further.”

“Tummy the medical term?” he still gives a sarcastic response despite his head hanging over the bed and the remnants of breakfast in the bucket below him.

“I’ll call it what I like.” she speaks with confidence as she wipes down his face with a cloth to clear his beard. “You need to stop being so mouthy and relax.”

“All the times I’ve been told that in my life...”

“You’d think you would’ve learned to listen by now.” she gives his cheek a gentle pat as she tucks the blankets in around him. “Take a few sips and wait. Then if you keep it down within the hour we’ll try some tea.

“Ugh.” he groans, his head spinning and for the first time not from the injury. He was just plain sick. Some stomach something that made him hot and cold and sleep like the dead. “I don’t want to eat a 'fing.”

“That means you’re still sick and you need the energy. So do as I say, please.”

She was stern but kind, reminded him of his mum a bit. She never shied away from the gross bits, whisking the tray away as soon as she saw his face turn and she knew he was going to be sick. She cleaned him up and bathed him to sweat out the sickness. He was so exhausted he didn’t have it in him to even tease her about seeing him naked. This told her he was especially sick. So when the hour got late and he was nowhere near where she’d like him to be in recovery, she stoked the fire and changed into her pajamas, setting everything he could possibly need by the bed.

“You’re burning up, love.” she whispered with a hand to his forehead. He only nods in agreement. “I’m going to stay with you tonight. Is that okay?”

“MMph?” a questioning glance shot her way.

“I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“You 'fink I’m gonna die?”

“No, I don’t think you’re going to die.” she chuckles and smoothes back his hair. “But I want to keep an eye on you nonetheless. You poor thing. I know you feel miserable.”

“Aye.” he moans.

“Do you mind me asking something personal?”

“What?” he gruffs out, sat back into the stacked pillows with a frown.

“When you were little... what did your mum do when you were sick?”

“Have me sleep with her. Do that lovely fing you women do with the fingers in the hair.” he grunts at the exhaustion he feels trying to reach his hand up to ruffle his own.

“Then I’ll do that then, yeah?” she suggests.

“Not a baby.”

“Tonight you are.” she smiles, crawling into the bed next to him. She makes herself a little nest and situates. “Would you like laying on my lap? A lot of people prefer it. That or on the chest, heartbeat is soothing, but I’m afraid I don’t want you that close to my face.”

“Don’t blame you.” he groans and moves slowly, to roll onto her legs.

“Curl up a bit, sometimes that helps with the stomach cramps.” she rubs his back, damp from sweat soaked through his pajamas as she lets him nestle up against her. Another sign he was very sick was his lack of defense of the idea. Men did love to be comforted in a maternal way when they were ill. She’d learned that quickly in her years as a nurse. This man wasn’t any different, it seemed. “That’s a good boy, now.” she feels a yawn coming on, fingers carding through the damp strands as she feels him rest his weight on her. “You aren’t accustomed to getting so ill are you?”

“No.” he laments.

“Your system has been through it as of late, hasn’t it? Healing you up so well it forgot to man the gates.” she lets out a soft laugh and his eyes are already shut. “Poor darling.” She whispers with a sweet lilt that gives him a moment of strength to wrap his arm over her legs. “Rest now, love, you’ve earned it. I’ll be here.” She continues to stroke through his hair as a snore quickly rises from his full lips.

He awoke without the usual ache in his body he’d grown accustomed to. Tiredness that was very much there, but the pain was dull and far away. He feels his head move with a soft rise and fall, realizing he was on Ruth’s stomach and he was feeling her breathing. He knew she was asleep by the steady rhythm it kept and it made him want to rejoin her. He felt the weight of her hand on his back and the other with an open book against the bed. By the small amount of light in the sky, he could determine she’d tried to stay awake and failed, but he had succeeded in getting an almost full night's rest for the first time that week. It must’ve been the fever breaking his rational mind thought, but he also concluded that the affection surely didn’t hurt his chances of recuperation either. —-

With frost heavy on the windowpane that night, Ruth kept adding more wood to the fire in the lounge to try to combat the freezing temperatures.

“Gonna have to move back inland to chop me own trees if ya keep feedin' it in such a way.”

“I’m sorry I’m just... freezing.” She whines with a sigh, pulling up her socks and tucking her feet beneath her on the chair that had been designated as hers unofficially over the weeks she’d been living there.

He looks to see her jumper layered over an undershirt, long johns and her big socks pulled up to her knees with her boots still on. “You’ve got more on than I do, ya still cold?”

“I’m always cold.” She mumbles. “Nights are worse.”

“Ya have a proper coat? A wool jumper instead of that knit one?”

“No.” A voice that was small and clearly embarrassed.

“Do I not pay ya enough to buy the things you need?” His tone wasn’t one of judgment which she was relieved by, but she still felt suddenly inadequate under his gaze.

“You do, you’re very gracious I just... I've been saving it.”

“Ah.” He nods, still looking her over. He wanted to ask her for what, but he supposed it wasn’t any of his business. But his curiosity and her silence got the better of him. “May I ask for what?”

“Just... life.” She shrugs. “For a place of my own one day. Being an unmarried woman I need to be able to support myself at any given moment if need be. Things happen. I like to be prepared.” She sheepishly answers.

“Well, that’s smart of ya innit.” He approves. “How about we go out tomorrow and I buy you a new coat? Get ya some good winter protection since you’re such a small thing. Won’t have ya freezin' in my house.”

“That’s very kind of you but it’s not necessary. I’d considered taking up knitting. I could make some things for myself.”

“You need something better quality than you could pull together. Not to be rude, love. It’s a good hobby to have but the weather by the sea demands more.”

“It is so much colder than it is inland. The wind bites to your bones.”

“That it does. So we’ll go. You aren’t spendin' your money on something like... fuckin gamblin' or what not, ya bein smart, so I don’t mind to step in. Consider it a gift for your excellent work.”

“You don’t have to-“

“Hush now Ruth. You don’t reject gifts now do ya. I know you were raised better than that.” He teases.

“Thank you. It’s very generous.” She finally accepts and pulls a duvet over her shoulders.

Her chattering begins to be noticeable to him. His injured side still hearing her sniffling and shifting as the night carried on even if he could not see it. “How have you been makin' it through the night without a fire if you’re already so cold?” He inquires without looking her way.

“I haven’t been really. I’ve had a hot water bottle and a warmed iron in my bed, sleeping in my clothes and that.”

“Unacceptable.” He grumbles. “You should’ve said something, pet.”

“I didn’t want to be a bother.”

“You have never been a bother and you could never be, Ruth. Anything you need you just ask. Promise me.”

“Yes, Alfie” she agrees hesitantly.

“Good girl, now c’mere” he instructs, raising the blanket thrown over his lap. “Use the 'ol sharin' body heat in the meantime.”

“Are you su-“

“Get over here Ruth. Your teeth will grind down to nothing with the chattering they’re doing over there by the window.” He orders with more conviction, another motion of his hand to beckon her closer.

She sighs but begins to move, a nod of agreement, because he was right.

“Won’t have you catchin' a cold when a simple intervention of body heat will help remedy the situation.”

She brings her blanket around her shoulders, dragging behind her on the carpet as she shuffled towards him. Wordlessly she sits next to him as he pats the cushion, direction to sit close.

With only the crackle of the fire, he puts an arm over her shoulders, tucking the blanket now shared as he pulls her legs into his lap.

“Get these feet warmed up, eh?” He mutters, unlacing her boots as she watches him with curious eyes. The delicate movements of his fingers catch her off guard by the attention they demand of the firelight shining off his rings. “Beneath the legs. Toes under here, there ya are.” He mumbles while tucking her feet under his thigh to warm her. “Don’t be shy, we’ve had a cuddle before.” He chuckles as he pays her back. Her little body, in comparison to his, curls up against him. “Lookit is nose, red as a beet yeah? Can’t have that.” He takes her nose and places his palm over it and makes her laugh. “You are freezin' love, my goodness.” He remarks softly, rhetorically. “There now. Better?” He asks with genuine concern as he runs her back over the blanket.

“Yes actually.” She admits quietly. “You’re very warm.”

“Aye. Good it’s going to use then, yeah?” He looks back to the book he’d been reading. She feels a bit limited, being in such a confined space with him. She was on his blind side but that didn’t stop him noticing she was staring. “ You’ve seen me every day, love, what could there possibly be to look at you haven’t seen before?”

She gives him a grin. “I haven’t had to be so close in some time now. You’re still doing very well. Swelling is gone.” Her fingers trace over his scars that run from the line of his beard to his temples. “Healed up nicely. Hardly any displacement. Scars will always be there but a small price for what you’ve been through.”

“Thanks to you.” His way of accepting the compliment.

“I think you had a bit to do with it.” She lets out a soft chuckle. “I think you wear it well. Not just anyone could make this sort of look work for them.”

“Not that I’ve had a choice.”

“You certainly do.”

“How so? Can’t exactly choose what I look like.”

“No, but you have a very strong face, Alfie.”

“That’s a way to say ugly and still be polite.”

She laughs and her forehead pressed into his collar bone for a moment. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’d never say such a thing as it would be a lie.”

“Backtracking now are we?” He turns to show his good eye and an amused but teasing face.

“No!” She laughs and snuggles a bit closer to get his warmth.

“Hush and snuggle up ya little ice lolli.”

“Strong means exactly that. Strong.” She rests her head on his shoulder with his permission. Hair nuzzling against the scars they spoke of. “Masculine, you know. Hard brow, pronounced nose and jaw. And all symmetrical.” She yawns. “ Most can’t say that without getting shot.” She lets out a soft laugh.

“What did you break? You’re being too nice again.”

She lets out another giggle and it makes him smile.

“You know I would’ve come running and crying if I had.”

“True.” He agrees.

“You have an intense air about you. Suits the whole… look. That’s all.”

“Then thank you, Ruth, love.”

“Welcome.” She sighs with a smack of her lips.

She falls quiet, gentle breathing against his chest he doesn’t mind in the least. As much of a surprise to him as anyone else.

“Ya asleep?”

“Mmmph. Warm. Comfy.” She mumbles.

“Then let's go to bed, yeah? At least until we can fix the cold in your room.”

“Together?”

“Yeah, love, I’ll keep ya warm. Let me be of use to ya somehow. For what all you’ve done for me.”

“No use in arguing with you. Won’t win.” She answers with a sly smile that makes him laugh.

“Kind and smart. Gonna have to hold onto you aren’t I?”

His response causes a warm happy hum in her throat that makes him lean in to kiss her head before he wraps her up and takes her in his arms to carry her.

“Don’t strain yourself.” She tells him, waking up and wrapping her arms around his neck instinctually.

“I know me limits.” He grumbles back defensively. “Don’t worry, you just keep warm.” He adds more softly as he carries her down the hall.

With a well-fed fire and a comfortable position found in his bed, Alfie and his little mouse burrow up, her without her usual wall of hesitation as she hungrily pulls herself towards him, so relieved at the promise of a night not freezing alone.

As she had done before, watching over and being of service to him, he returns the favor night after night. Watching over her and the total abandon on her face as she slept. She looked so innocent in his arms, dark hair and lashes that lay stark against her skin. Besides their buzzed conversations, these nights were a close second in his favorite way to spend his time. He felt useful to her. Like he could entertain he could ever repay her for the help she’d given him. Laying with the strong but fragile-looking woman in his arms gave him something carnal he missed. He felt like a man for the first time in a long while. He hadn’t known if he’d ever feel such a way after being shot. He thought women may run in fear of him, left to pay for any kindness or intimacy with them. But one had appeared that made his chest warm, his belly full and his mind occupied. She’d been a comfort from the beginning, but he was suspecting he was becoming one for her as well.

--------

Alfie hadn’t had very many visitors since coming home and it’d been months. Very few people seemed to know he was even alive from what Ruth gathered. The only people that visited him seemed to be Jewish businessmen she’d never seen before. Most were Orthodox and very polite but they spoke suspiciously quietly while they met with Alfie.

She greeted them all enthusiastically making tea or bringing biscuits as Alfie suggested and this time was no different. She’d even put on her maid uniform even though she was more than a bit cold in it. But unlike times before, they spoke louder, as did Alfie, sounding a bit distressed. She was doing her work, scrubbing at the entryway where they had tracked in mud from their trip to the market.

She didn’t mean to eavesdrop, it just happened she was in proximity with her work. She hadn’t meant to listen and hear things she shouldn’t have, but she did. Now she knew who Alfie Solomons was, and him being shot now made sense.

That evening Alfie, as is in his way, already knows she’s heard him. He could tell from the moment she took away the tray from tea. The lack of eye contact, the almost sad but cautious expression. None of it was lost on him.

After supper, he knows there’s a conversation that needs to be had. He knew no better way to approach it than head-on.

“I know you heard what me 'n those men were talkin' 'bout today.” She says nothing and keeps knitting. “I’m not angry, you can look at me, Ruth.”

“It wasn’t intentional.”

“I didn’t assume as much but thank you for clarifying.” He answers calmly.

“I was working on the floor. The mess from going to the market and the wet and that.”

“Mmm.” He nods. He says nothing having learned it is better to let people talk themselves instead of probing in most cases.

“I’m not… in trouble am I?” She asks with big eyes.

“Not if you can keep a secret.”

“I’ve not told anyone that you’re here either.” she adds quickly.

“Good. Then no problem, yeah?”

She gives a sharp nod.

“But I would like to know. For my own selfish reasons, what you think now. Because you aren’t lookin' at me the same.

“It was a shock at first. But upon reflection it made sense. The big house, money, the guns” she recognizes. “You’re very well-spoken and read. Clearly a man of intelligence. You can be very intimidating at times and it seems natural. I thought perhaps it was just your turn but it seems it’s learned for… work purposes.”

“You’re very observant, Ruth. Very clever.”

“Thank you.”

“All those things are true. I won’t deny them to you because you deserve the truth. But I am retired now. I don’t do that sort of work now. I put in my time and it’s given me the means to have this sort of life. Now I can sit back and use the reputation, yeah, the power that comes with such a name and life lived.”

She nods bashfully again.

“Will this be a problem?” He questions after a moment of silence between them.

“Am I… I’m not in danger am I?” She asks with the same honest eyes as earlier.

“Oh pet.” He sighs out, reaching out and taking her down turned chin into his hand. “ I would never put you in danger. Do you understand? You’re far too important.”

“Okay.” A soft solution that cues him to move his hand to hold hers.

“Do you think less of me now?” An upfront inquiry she hadn't expected.

She takes a moment to consider her answer. She didn’t feel threatened or scared of him. He admires her ability to slow down and consider her words before speaking. It was a skill many lacked. “No.” She shakes her head. “You have been nothing but kind to me. Grumpy sure but that’s a personality trait and not the core of a persons being. You’ve been generous and thoughtful. As I see it you’ve done no wrong to me, and that is all I can base my judgments on. Who youwere before doesn’t seem to be who you are now. I believe people can change. You’re a good man to me. One of the best I’ve known and I suppose it makes no difference how you made your life.”

“That is a relief. And so thoughtfully spoken.” He gives her hand a squeeze.

“I know some think me naive. As my kind nature can be mistaken."

“You are not naive. You’re very smart. Have a lovely, clever wit about you. You’re a good woman. You have a good heart. I admire that about you.” He lets go of her hand and sits to look at her, meeting her eyes intensely. “What I want to know now, is do you want to continue to live here with me? Now that you know?”

She doesn’t consider it as long as he expected which makes him let out a relieved sigh. “I do. I trust you. And trust your word. I feel safe here... with you. Safer now still than I did living alone.”

“It does make me happy to hear such news.”

“But Alfie…” She begins. “You know, and I only bring it up because you did first. But you are aware you no longer... need me, right? Save the housework I haven’t had to be your nurse in a few weeks now. I’m no longer needed for the purpose I was hired for.”

“You are not needed for that purpose, no.” He shakes his head. “But you do not wish to go?”

“I do like it here. And you. But, I hate to put my foot in my mouth to ruin a good thing but I’m still being paid for things I’m no longer doing.”

“Mmph. That would seem to be the case yeah.” He nods, looking into the fire. “Perhaps I hadn’t brought it up because I don’t want you to leave.”

“You don’t?”

“No. I don’t.” He shakes his head. “I like you, Ruth. And I can count on one hand the people I’ve liked in my life. I’d choose you to stay here. With me. I wouldn't charge you rent. And I do like how you keep a house. And cook. And… many other things about you.” He pauses. “But I would like to know. Do you like me? Would you want to stay?”

“Am I… reading too much into this being a loaded question?”

“I’m not proposing anything indecent. Not asking anything of you. I genuinely enjoy you. You as a person. And I don’t want you to leave. Your company would be missed. Greatly.”

“You want me to live with you? Not as an employee? Am I… understanding you?”

“Yes.”

“If not as an employee then...as what?”

“You’re a good woman Ruth and I don’t want to insinuate or offend. I do enjoy our friendship. But I believe there is the possibility of more there. And I would be willing to help you out, as we could help each other out, by living together and giving that a chance. No professional lines crossed, and if you find you do not want to stay I would never keep you against your will. But I believe you might feel the same way. If I am so bold to suggest.”

“You are bold.” He can’t get a solid read on her expression as it holds many things. “But you are… also correct.”

“Would you like to take a chance then, Ruth love?” He takes her hand again. “I know a man like me has no business asking this of a woman like you. One as lovely and smart with so much to offer but if I didn’t I know I’d spend the rest of my life alone and regretting it.”

“A man like you has every right to ask such a thing of me.” She lets out a soft huff of a laugh to being flattered.

“Nothing has to change. Business as usual and no funny business on my behalf. I can behave. Despite rumors.”

She gives him a smile. One that reassured him of her answer. “I would like that. We remove the confines of professionalism. No taboos just, two very good friends… exploring the possibility of more. Organically.”

“You put it in such an easily understood way, dear.”

“I can agree to that.” She nods with a nod of confidence.

“Then it’s settled.”

“So it is.” She beams back. A moment of silence hangs between them. “How about a cuppa before bed? Special brew to celebrate?”

“Always full of good ideas, you are. I’d love that.”

——————-

That night when it's time to go to bed Ruth has regained that same nervous smile she had in the beginning.

“It feels a bit different now, yeah?” She states with a nervous laugh.

“A bit. But it won’t be. Everything moves at your own pace, love. Do you still want to sleep in here?”

“Oh, yes” she very quickly answers much to his relief. “I can admit now it’s far too pleasant sleeping with you to go back to that freezing room. I mean, sharing a bed with you… you know what I mean. Why am I being so particular?” She laughs at herself.

“S’all right.” He speaks comfortingly and as always lifts his arm to accomodate her against him. “You’re rather endearing when you’re nervous.”

“Lucky me.” She snickers. “ I would like... some minor adjustments?” She asks sitting up to meet his face on her elbow.

“Anything you want, darlin'.”

“Just… here.” She scoots closer to move her feet under lhis eg, taking his hand that lay next to him on the bed and resting it on his chest. “And one more thing.” She asks with batting lashes, “Nothing indecent about a goodnight kiss to the cheek right?” She asks before planting one on the scarred side of his face.

“Nothin' a ‘tall. Spoilin’ a man.”

“This is a good start.” She coos with tired eyes, already putting her head to his chest to listen to his breathing and heart. She takes his hand into hers and laces their fingers together. “Goodnight Alfie.” She sighs out. A content and pleased sound.

“That it is, Ruth. That it is.” He closes the night with a kiss to her hair. A new nightly ritual begins.

————-

Their courtship began and despite the fluttering in her stomach she was distinctly aware of now, it didn’t feel like much had changed. There was a certain closeness, an intimacy and tenderness that hadn’t been so blatant before. There were kisses to cheeks as they cooked, holding hands as they sat side by side on the chair in front of the fire at night. Quick strolls around the estate, hand in hand to knock the dust off Alfie's shoes as he put it. He’d started venturing out more as well. Returning home with trinkets and sweets to gift Ruth to show his fondness. She’d never had a man give her gifts, and even the simplest purchase of something she’d needed such as socks or soap, made her blush and feel pampered. They were moving closer to something increasingly serious between one another each day, and they were both waiting for the other to cut the tension.

Their Shabbat is spent together as always, days spent cooking and nights spent leisurely enjoying each other’s company after blessings in the confinement of their home. Ruth had an air of ease about her now that she was being courted and the barrier of being in Alfie's employ was gone. This led to her being over indulgent in wine for the Friday evening, but Alfie didn’t particularly mind.

She went to bed when he had, a late night with a bright moon and stars. She woke up shortly after a brief rest, feeling hot in his embrace. She peels herself from the bed, feet hitting the cold floor and her still buzzed state becoming acutely aware to her. She shuts the door, Alfie grumbling as she left after a kiss to his cheek and a whisper of “I'll be back darling, sleep”.

She made her way with the fog of rest and wine in her eyes as she lit a candle in the hallway. She took a sweet from the glass dome they were housed in and proceeded to stand in front of the glass double doors that outlook the beach. The ocean was still awake, a sparkling blue and gray as it lapped at the sand. There wasn’t a soul out to feel the salt air except for Ruth. Her face was flushed, the breeze welcome and fluttering her dressing gown to ease the side effect of the wine. After many content sighs, lazy blinks that turned the glimmer of moonlight on the water into small seemingly touchable stars she retreats to the confines of the dark and quiet house. She turns on the record player, something she enjoyed when she was drunk, and on occasion when she wasn’t and Alfie wasn’t home. With one door open, a tinkling of the chandelier above her as she spun and sashayed about the room with the bell sleeves of her gown adding a decorative flair to her lonely waltz.

Alfie had slept through plenty of things Ruth had done in the house, including playing music. But perhaps the lack of another body in the bed for too long made him restless, his mind refusing to tune it out.

Ruth was swaying with eyes closed and a content smile as she moved around the dark collection of Alfie's things. Light filtered through the gems on the chandelier and gave the room a smattering of bright spots that moved with the breeze and her raised arms as she felt the music move about her.

She was none the wiser to Alfie standing in the archway watching her. He moved as quiet as a mouse down the hall, suspecting no foul play at the music in the night. He smiled at the swirling woman, being happily surprised by what he found waiting for him. He had grown to enjoy having music on during waking hours, a pleasant distraction and a chosen aesthetic to the day to set whichever mood he fancied. But it seemed Ruth was the one setting the tone that filled the room tonight.

In her light-colored gown, a blue gray in the moonlight, she moved in and out of the beam coming from the open door. Her hair was down and free, waves moving with the fabrics with her small hands orchestrating along. She takes a swift spin to follow the string section, opening her eyes as she stumbles slightly. A happy laugh escapes her before she notices Alfie watching. A small gasp leaves shortly after with wide eyes that admitted guilt to being caught.

“Did the music wake you? I’m so sorry Alfie, my love, I thought I had it low enough that it wouldn’t.” She rushes over apologetically to the machine but a gentle and assertive hand stops her before she can hurriedly remove the needle and most likely scratch the record in the process.

“It did but no apologies needed, love. Your absence was what caused me to venture out more than the noise.” He explains.

“I woke up in a heat and needed some air.” She elaborates.

“That what happens when you drink too much.” He chuckles before giving her chin an affectionate pinch.

“You’re right. As always.” She gives a bashful smile as she tucks her hair behind her ear. “Shall I shut this off and return to bed?” She asks with eager eyes and he finds himself sighing at the sight.

“No, no, love. Best not waste this lovely little scene you’ve set, eh?” He suggests as he straightens his posture and moves away from the wall. The candle in the hall was losing its fight against the darkness around it. It made no progress past the corridor and with a lack of fire in the room it was a peaceful display bathed in moonlight.

She looks at him curiously, not sure of the meaning of his words.

“Do you like to dance, Ruth?” He asks with an outstretched hand it takes her a moment to register its purpose.

“Oh yes. I do.” She nods.

“Would you like to now? With me?”

“I’d love that.” She smiles and takes his offered hand, small feet light as they were pulled along into the open space of the room among the rug and parted chairs.

“You’d never mentioned you liked it.” He observes.

“I’ve only done it alone before.”

“Ah. A shy one.” He grins and pulls her to his chest.

“Historically yes.” She laughs and happily takes her place against him. “You know better than anyone I am mostly hesitant to express myself and my wants.”

“Aye.” He nods, chin against her hair as a simple back and forth between them falls in naturally. A slow movement of feet, a swaying of shoulders as they leisurely made their way around the room. “But there is no need to be with me, pet. You’ll never get what you want if you don’t ask.”

“So wise.” She praises softly. “And so handsome. Really not fair.” She begins to giggle and hides her face in his chest.

“You’re still drunk.” He laughs and kisses her head.

“Only a touch. Enough to follow your advice. The wine helps you see. Helps me talk.”

“It can do that, yes.” He watches her face flushed and happy, lift to look at his.

“Sometimes I feel there’s so much in my head I want to say that I can’t choose where to even begin. So I don’t. But I want to.”

“Like what?” He inquires, giving her a chance to share her thoughts.

“Things… about you… and myself.”

“I have to admit I’m more than curious about your thoughts on the subject.” He teases and makes her smile with a dip of his head her way.

“I don’t even mind your teasing when I get to see you smile like that.” She catches him off guard with her softness as she always does. “You don’t smile often, so it’s like a little treat when you do. And when it’s directed at me…” she lets out a happy hum with a smile that warmed him against the wind whipping against his skin from the outside. “It just… makes a woman melt.” She admits with a soft laugh.

“Then I must admit yours makes me feel the same, love.” He kisses her forehead.

“You make me feel so… warm.” She sighs. “Like a constant hug. Or a big meal. It… feels so good.” She brings a hand up from his chest to rest it against his cheek. “I’ve never…” She stops and her eyes narrow just slightly in thought. “I’ve grown so fond of you, Alfie.” She finally verbalizes.

“And I you.” He keeps his voice soft as to not distract her.

“And you’re so… much. Smart and funny and lovely and so very good to me. And despite your insistence to the contrary, I do find you terribly handsome.”

“This what you’ve wanted to say to me love?” He nuzzles his nose against her head with an almost patronizing smile. As is his way. “Because it seems you’re only speaking my mind, as I feel about you. You kind and beautiful little woman. Clever and hard working. And bless you, finding me easy to look at.” He presses a long kiss to her cheek that makes her stomach flip and a smile that carries across her entire face bloom.

“I do. Because you are. And for that and so many reasons I really do very much care for you. Beyond friendship. Beyond platonic now.”

“Will you stay with me then darlin'? Ease my worries for losin' a treasure like you?”

“Of course. I don’t want to lose you either.” Is her honest and heartfelt response.

“So if I did what I truly wanted… and kissed you you wouldn’t be offended and run?”

“A man like you asking permission lets me know I am in fact exactly where I’m supposed to be. With you. So carry on with what we both want.” Her lips are still smiling as they finally close the space between them.

He was gentle with her. His hand moving from hers and to her head. It was short and chaste, as he didn’t want to offend her with more. She was by nature delicate and easily overwhelmed at times. The kiss’s purpose wasn’t to convince her for more but seal their courtship as official.

Small affectionate pecks follow. As they stand in the chilled room with nothing other than a warm feeling between them.

“I do believe it’s you and not the wine making me dizzy at this point.” She admits with a giggle against his lips.

“Then how about we get you to bed? There are always more kisses to be had whenever you want them. I’d never rush you, my love.”

“I do believe you’re right. I’m feeling a bit tired. And the promise of cozying up to you is more alluring than the breeze and music at this point in the night.”

“Then let’s do just that.”

—————————

Alfie had been put down for a nap as Ruth likes to affectionately tease him. He still suffered from the odd headache from time to time from the injury but a simple low dose of medicine and rest could always take the edge off he needed to function. If that didn’t solve it then Ruth’s humming and oiled fingers massaging his face and scalp could do the trick.

With a sweet kiss and words to leave him to drift into sleep, Ruth takes the time alone to see to the things she had on her to-do list.

Alfie wakes, just slightly groggy and becoming quickly aware of the silence in the house. There was usually some noise with Ruth around, the clinking of dishes or music floating about but his shuffling feet carrying him into the hall led to nothing. Perhaps she’d gone to town, she did say she needed some things for tea. With a shrug he helps himself to water and makes his way back with more open eyes than before. This time he sees the residing place of Ruth, and it was a bit of a shock on the old man.

Ruth had always taken her baths while Alfie napped. With medicine assuring he’d be down for a while she always left the door cracked to hear him call for her if needed. This time was no different.

Alfie heard the plinking of water first, his feet stopping in their tracks as the reflection in the mirror leaves him with a slack jaw after taking in the view. Ruth was exiting the bath, a reflection of soft curves bare to him for the first time. A lump in his throat grows, her toweling off and then turning with falling tendrils of hair wet and springing against the nape of her neck. Ruth was a modest woman, in her beliefs and her dress. Seeing her, and unexpectedly made Alfie behave like any man would, which surprised him. He didn’t consider himself just any man, and here he was with a storky, frozen like a teen seeing a naked woman for the first time. Admittedly it had been some time since he’d been with one. His life before didn’t really lean to him having any romance. He was busy, he was dangerous and he couldn’t risk any distractions. But he was no longer that man. A softness that had grown from wear and Ruth’s influence made him stop and take note of what was being blessed to him with his good eye.

As he sees her weighted breasts and soft stomach and hips disappear behind a towel he comes out of his trance and rubs his face, grunting as he makes his way back to his bed.

Ruth, none the wiser comes and kisses him goodbye. The grumpy and pursed-lip bear that was still in recline. She said she would only be gone a short while, as she needed plenty of time to prep dinner. She had said it many times and come home at almost dusk, so he hadn’t expected today to be any different.

Except she had. She’d wanted to celebrate their future together and attempt the bread he usually makes. Bread took time as he was certain to teach her and she wasn’t about to risk under proving it. Most of the time when she’d medicated him, Alfie would sleep through the afternoon. She would usually go in and check on him, a quick kiss before leaving to prepare for the evening. This was her plan as she moved light-footed down the hallway, but a new sound makes her stop and her eyes search for the source before she reaches his door. Now Ruth wouldn’t call herself nosey as much as cautiously curious, and at first, the sound worried her, heavy breathing, groaning, perhaps her poor darling was having a nightmare. But before she could turn the knob of the door she hears her name. And not called in any sort of way she’d heard before. It was needful, but not in a way that demanded her aid. This breathy call was asking for something different.

She gulps and a flush rises to her cheeks. With a flutter of lash she feels as if she’s been naughty and will be caught in the act of misbehavior. The longer she stays and listens, the less she becomes worried and the more… intrigued she becomes.

Alfie was no stranger to swearing, even in the company of Ruth who hadn’t ever minded as it’s never been directed maliciously at her. But she could hear the push of his stomach muscles, the strain in his neck as he said her name, soft words of encouragement for what she was sure were scandalous acts happening behind his lids in his mind. “Take it, pet.” he moans through gritted teeth, her hand moving to her chest to steady herself. “Fuck me, that’s it, love.” She knew what was happening behind the door, as he was only a man, it didn’t surprise her exactly but what did was her reaction to it. A heat in her face that sent a tingle down her spine that landed right between her legs. Her mind hurriedly imagined what he looked like, legs splayed and hand slowly gripping himself, those soft lips panting and begging things of her. She felt oddly powerful and the way her body reacted so quickly, so thoroughly was the real surprise to her. He wanted her, and in the biblical sense. It was a natural progression of their relationship, and one she had admittedly been considering more as of recent with the late-night snogs and roaming hands. It was a relief for her, she realized. Knowing he wanted her, and badly. It was a thought that followed her around all afternoon and into the evening. All the way to her bed.

With a pause in the cooking, now only waiting for timers to alarm, Ruth in her state of distraction excuses herself. Saying she was going to freshen up before the meal as she’d been out. Alfie doesn’t think much of it, a normal thing for a woman to do.

He waits and decides to peruse in his office, a room beside Ruth’s old bedroom. He was looking for a particular contract he’d been working on, the beginnings of a Ketubah. The sounds that tickle his ears are not as holy as the intention the document represents but they are indeed heavenly.

Ruth, hiding away in her bedroom under the guise of being in the bathroom is tucked away letting her body lead the way her hands move against herself. She’d been distracted and wet all afternoon. Every touch of Alfie's hands to her skin had ran red hot through her. She couldn’t hear a breathy chuckle and not think of her name leaving his wet mouth in much the same sound. She had to give in to what her body was calling out for, but she wasn’t exactly quite ready to reach the final step with Alfie.

In her throws she doesn’t notice the opening of the door through the wall that his study shared with her bedroom, her back resting against it as she sat on her bed with her face in tense concentration. Waves move her body and her voice, growing moans as her fingers circle and stroke. She imagined Alfie and his full lips on her breast as her fingers teased it through her dress. She imagined those firm thighs against hers and he moved in rhythm above her. A breathy and light call of his name escapes her as, in her mind, his lips find her neck.

On the other side of the wall, Alfie was feeling tortured. What a little minx she was. Seeing her naked and now hearing her touching herself proved too much on the man. His blood surged forward like a much younger man, even after sinfully meeting his needs earlier in the day, his cock was gaining more and more attention as her sounds continued.

He pressed his ear to the wall, a hand rubbing himself over his trousers and another in a fist. “Fuck, love.” He sighs out, hearing her whimper out his name.

She continues with her melodic moans until his body aches and can no longer be ignored. As hard a diamond he strokes himself, hearing her just on the other side of the wall, almost feeling her panting breaths.

“Oh my… Alfie yes, please.” She whines and tenses her thighs.

In his mind he gives over, his hand firm and fast and already nearing an end at the rather unorthodox means he was hearing a woman get off. She was a tease and didn’t know it. Trying to contain herself and be decent, take care of herself in private. But it made it even more delicious for him. He knew now she wanted him, and it gave him control. He knew he’d have her now. A proper woman like her didn’t want to fuck just anyone. She wanted to fuck someone she loved and the revelation of it all, between the two of them as they crested with moans and open mouths, was as intense as their orgasms. It was only a matter of time now that the known could remain a secret.

———————

Another Shabbat, another day spent close together. There was food and drink and sweets, an intimate dinner by candlelight that left them both feeling closer than ever.

Their evening is spent snuggled up on the couch. Ruth sat in his lap and read to him as his head rested against her chest, her fingers rubbing through his hair. He loved the sound of her voice. He also loved the feel of it. Something he hadn’t noticed before. The way her chest rose and fell and vibrated his head as she comforted him. She reads poetry he’d heard so many times before, making them both feel sentimental and appreciative of the other. Especially when they were nestled so closely in each other’s arms.

“I’ve never enjoyed anything with another person as much as I love simply being here and reading with you.” She reflects as she kisses his fussed hair.

“And your company is unrivaled.” He gives a smile and a kiss to her chest in agreement.

“You’re my favorite person you know.” She whispers and nuzzles her nose against him.

“And you mine. No one else has ever made me see the world as you have. A spotlight of optimism, a softness that endured against my most hard and stubborn parts. You’ve made me better. More human and somehow more powerful for it. Parts of me long lost were touched by you, love. I do hope you know how special you are to me.”

“I do when you work your silver tongue like that.” She kisses the end of his nose before dipping down to share a lingering slow kiss. His hands were gentle against her, warm as they ran up and down over the blankets. As was her way she pecked away, keeping a certain distance to not lose herself in him with a hand braces to his cheek in his beard lightly.

“It’s only natural to speak of a woman like you in such a way.”

“Charmer.” Her giggles turn into happy sighs against him. “I would never wish for anything bad to happen to you, but being here because of something bad that happened I can’t help but be selfishly grateful for such a thing. I wouldn’t have come to know you this way without it. And I don’t want to be without knowing you now.”

“Having you here now gave it purpose. In a different life, before all this, I couldn’t have been with you. Not with the life I led, the man I was. Not a peaceful sort of existence like we have now. Together.”

“A good reminder of fate knowing better than we do.” She huffs out a laugh as her fingers move over his textured face. “Knowing what we both needed… how to get us there.”

“Don’t sell yourself and your own actions short, love. I wouldn’t be in such a good state without you. Without your mind, body and soul to help heal me.”

“Take your own words and don’t give me all the credit, Alfie. You’ve fought to be here. And I’m thankful for such a stubborn man.” She kisses his forehead and holds him close for a moment. “I have been thinking...”

“Yeah, love?” He takes her hand, seeing the bashful nature return. Making her look at him as she spoke.

“These last weeks, months have been so lovely. With us being together as we are now.”

“Couldn’t agree more.”

“It’s made me consider a lot of things I hadn’t before. Living with you like this, feeling how I do about you. I want to stay here. With you. Like this. It’s too pleasant a life to pass up. And I… over these past weeks I’ve… Alfie, I do believe that I have fallen in love with you.” She manages to say with a sweet conviction.

She sees softness in his eyes take over. A dark hooded peek into his soul and a light cloudy one move over her face and take her cheek. “I am certain that I love you my little Ruth. And it pleases me beyond those silver-tongued words you admire to hear that you feel the same.”

“Alfie I do love you. It’s a fearsome thing to feel such a way. But it is such lovely torture to be blessed to have.”

“That it is.” He nods and the shine of tears in her eyes touches him, making his chest ache.

She leans in to kiss him, and one without the hesitation of them all before. A full connection, a sharing of breath and hands that held tight to him to match. After rounds of soft lips and teases of tongue she parts to breathe, feeling light-headed. Her closed eyes, forehead pressed to his face give away the emotions building inside her.

“Tell me Ruth my love, would you like to stay forever with me?”

“With you, Yes, always.” She exhales happily.

“Forever can start tonight if you want it love.”

“Yes. We’ve both waited so long already haven’t we?”

“That we have. A lifetime it seems.”

“Then… let us start our new life together, tonight.” Her fingers trace his skin along the inside of his collar. A clear indication of the meaning of her words.

“Is this what you want? Whatever it is I’ll give it to you Ruth. My world is yours now.”

“Yes. I want you. Every bit of you.” She whispers with her nose to his. “Make me yours in every way tonight.”

“You’re asking a lot of an old man there, love.” He smiles and makes her laugh into his cheek.

“Oh, Alfie.” She laughs and sighs, kissing his cheek. “I’ll take whatever you can give me you silly man.”

“That’s my girl.” He grins and kisses her cheek. “That laugh would keep me warm in the dead of winter I believe.” His voice soothing and deep as his nose grazed her jaw.

“You’ve already won me, seduced me. Let me do the same. I can show with actions more than tell with words. Let me tell you how much I love you in my own way.”

“Then no more words, only show.” He promises with a seal of a kiss that presses hard against her, beginning their melting into each other for the night. Tight hands around heads and backs give way to more need than their position allows.

A trail of clothes down the hall, a musical staff’s worth of varying laughs and sighs and moans follow them into the bedroom leaving them bare against the other. The journey to this destination might’ve been slow, but their hands and mouth give away the need they feel with the speed in which they move.

He knew he wasn’t a young man anymore, but she was neither a young woman. He made love to her the best way he knew how, first with his words, now with his body. Arching her back in the soft nest of bed they shared he kisses every point of her he’d dreamed of. Ears and neck to chest and hips. Her whimpering for him the entire way.

She needs him close. Her hands pulling him back up to her as she holds his face, a gasping kiss as she feels the heat of him presses against her stomach, her own hips giving away at how much she wanted to be one with him.

With soft lips attached to her neck, her own panting, he stroked her to a mewling mess. With small hands tense on his back, she begged for him, and he was happy to oblige. With her own wetness, he spreads it along himself between her hot and sensitive lips and over her clit to male her jump with every touch. She held her legs apart, welcoming him in eagerly.

With a tense push and a loud moan, they finally feel the chemistry between them realized. He swears into her shoulder, a hard brow concentrating as he felt her pulse around him, hips already asking more of him.

She moans out for him and God and in those moments moving inside her he felt they were one in the same. If he’d thought himself more than a man before, making this woman who was made of everything entirely good curse as she peaked only solidified the fact. As she shook he held her close, hips grinding together in a friction-filled union that took them both where they’d longed to go together. She was overwhelmed by the fill, the pressure, stretch and push of him. He was overcome by the squeeze, the pulse and the raw need he felt from the heavenly sounds escaping her mouth. They were only for him, and they’d only ever be for him again.

Not a care was given to the aftermath, the wet and mess that comes with lovemaking. They stayed together in it, lips connected and hearts in the same rhythm as they beat together chest to chest. Brief sweet praise, and exchanging of vows to belong to one another before the intensity caught up with them. The slowing of breathing and pulses died down to a whisper, the only heavy breathing that of sighs in their sleep as they held one another through the night. Each other was all that was needed in that big house by the sea. A place Alfie had called a slice of heaven in its picturesque existence.

Alfie had been given a second chance and he knew this. He knew this piece of heaven he’d carved for himself wouldn’t last forever. The day would come when he had to return to the world of mortal men and face his consequences, take a stand. However it played out as history saw fit. But for now, he would relish in this heaven he’d built with this woman. For he had convinced himself long ago he would go to hell. But the future would never again keep him from enjoying the present. His life was in the now, with her, and he planned on living this way as long as he could; in his own earthly heaven he’d built with Ruth, the most angelic woman he’d ever know.

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