#the sheer weight of the emotional wave the song carries was already getting to me

[ei-encora]

im so unwell from the new stam1na music video that this was the only screenshot i could get from it before i started sobbing my eyes out

more will follow once i can actually watch the video in its entirety without needing to pause it so i can cry for another 15 minutes

[tanoraqui]

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] Epilogue 

[now all on AO3!]

The real tragedy is that, while Nie Huaisang got to attend Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan’s wedding, and of course it was lovely and everything it could have been, he had to miss the subsequent banquet, which was the event of the century. A week later he’s already heard a song about it; two weeks and he’s heard four, and more rumors than usually circulate in a year, and even they mostly pale to the reality as reported from the horse’s mouth

“ - I was just going to run around dodging until some ghosts got through, but then Lan Zhan leapt to my defense, catching Sandu with Bichen!” Wei Wuxian grinned at Lan Wangji and Nie Huaisang with equal glee, though his smile for the former was much softer. “Jiang Cheng struck back, of course, and they were off - two of the greatest cultivators of our generation, leaping from table to table right there in Glamour Hall, fighting blade to blade - and whip to guqin!”

He gestured dramatically, recreating the moment and nearly smacking Lan Wangji, seated beside him, in the face. Lan Wangji simply ducked, expressionless except maybe for the faintest crinkle of his eyes. Nie Huaisang sipped his wine and watched in delight

they’d come under cover of darkness, sneaking up old side-stairs they’d all used during the Sunshot Campaign. Perhaps excessive, but a little caution never hurt anyone

drinking together in Nie Huaisang’s bedroom when everyone was supposed to be asleep felt ridiculously nostalgic, though

“But Jiang Cheng - don’t tell him I said this - is just the tiniest bit much less impressive than Lan Zhan, so I had to leap in in turn - Lan Zhan didn’t realize we were just play-acting, nobody had thought to bring him in on it, he just defended me because it was the honorable thing to do.”

The stars in his eyes put the clear night sky to shame.

“I will not allow harm to come to Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said calmly

holy shit. Holy shit. How had Nie Huaisang missed this one, when he prided himself on keeping up with all the juiciest gossip about his friends.

He refilled Wei Wuxian’s cup. “And that’s when you started the food fight? I heard there was a food fight.”

“Yes!” Wei Wuxian clapped. “I couldn’t exactly use my sword - I’d already boasted that I didn’t need it! But Lan Zhan was going to kick my shidi’s ass, and I had to step in - so I tipped a bowl of soup right in his face!” He ran a hand down Lan Wangji’s chest and frowned dramatically. “It ruined all his beautiful robes - I’m so sorry, Lan Zhan.” 

“Mn. It was no trouble.” 

Now that Nie Huaisang was looking for it, he recognized the slight stiffening of a man absolutely desperate to grab that hand and pull its bearer into his lap and then some. Holy fucking shit.

Wei Wuxian cackled. “It wasn’t! You just kept fighting with Jiang Cheng - so I kept throwing food! At both of you, because sometimes Jiang Cheng kept trying to hit me, too - until not just ghosts arrived but some corpses, too, coming up from the dungeons.” That broken-glass edge to his smile again. “It seems Jin Guangshan had been quite a bad boy, or at least one of his guest disciples had - a man named Xue Yang got called out, I heard? But he disappeared?” He turned to Lan Wangji. “We heard people talking on the road.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji confirmed

“I heard the same,” Nie Huaisang said. “Creepy weirdo. Jin Guangshan is saying the corpses were yours, of course, but it’s a little hard since Zewu-jun found all those notes on demonic cultivation in Xue Yang’s room - and some of them with Jin Guangyao’s handwriting on them.” 

“We heard about that - kind of,” said Wei Wuxian. “Is he really in the dungeon himself now?”

“Yes.” Nie Huaisang smiled, and topped off his own glass. “Between that and having reason to believe he’d just given all the Wen prisoners to Nie Sect on a whim,  Jin Guangshan is quite displeased with Lianfang-zun.”

he felt a little bad for Lan Xichen, but the man would get over it. He still had one respectable, far superior sworn brother

Wei Wuxian raised his glass in toast and Nie Huaisang met it gladly, and leaned forward again. “So what happened next?”

“Oh, you know.” Wei Wuxian leaned back and waved one hand. “Lots of shouting. The peacock got shijie out of there, so I guess maybe he’s okay for her. A lot more fighting - Jiang Cheng kept doing a really good impression of trying to kill me, Lan Zhan kept stopping him, and I kept stopping Lan Zhan from hitting Jiang Cheng too hard. Jiang Cheng shouted again about how I’d better destroy the Tiger Seal or leave YunmengJiang forever, just like we’d planned, so I threw half of it in the air and broke it with Suibian - and good thing I wasn’t holding it, because even just half of it exploded so hard it blew up half of Glamour Hall! I was nearly knocked out - Lan Zhan had to carry me out on Bichen!”

he spoke airily, except for the last part which he spoke with hearts in his eyes, but there was a weight like a brick to it. Nie Huaisang wondered how much of the supposedly pre-planned drama had come down to split-second decisions about what mattered most

though it was also hilarious to think that anyone believed it wasn’t choreographed, on the part of Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng at least. For one thing, Qinghe had strength; Lanling, appearance and secrets; and the spirit of Yunmeng, true to its motto, was sheer bloody-minded perseverance in the face of overwhelming odds, preferably with as much drama as possible. If Sandu Sengshou and the Yiling Patriarch truly fought to the death, even Huangang-jun wouldn’t be able to stop it, and a mere wedding banquet couldn’t contain the battle - it would be on the edge of a cliff before the entire cultivation world, possibly with the earth on fire around them

it was even more hilarious to think that even if emotions ran that furiously high, either of them would do a single thing to ruin their beloved sister’s wedding day, without her explicit permission and encouragement

“I can’t believe you destroyed a major sect hall without me” Nie Huaisang shook his head mournfully. “Remember when we set off firecrackers in the Cloud Recesses?”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji said firmly, while Wei Wuxian burst into laughter.

“Ah, Huaisang-gongzi,” he said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “I promise I’ll invite you next time.”

"You’d better!” Nie Huaisang cried. “I mean, you still have half the Tiger Seal to destroy...”

Wei Wuxian shot him a wink that said, that’s true, and you’re my friend, but I’m not biting that hook you’re using to fish for information. Nie Huaisang shrugged, can you blame me? and lifted the wine jug again

“More? You know, you’re welcome to stay more than one night. This is so fun, just catching up - and I know A-Yuan will be delighted to see you again!”

“He really is a cute kid, isn’t he?” Wei Wuxian smiled wistfully, then shook his head. “But no - maybe we’ll say hi to Wen Qing and Wen Ning, but we’ve given Jin Guangshan about four different things to worry about, when he used to have just one or two, but it’s still probably better not to consolidate them.”

Nie Huaisang had to nod to the wisdom of that. (It was a pity the whole tower hadn’t come down on the man’s head, really.) He savored the last few sips of his own glass. “So you’ll be gone in the morning - do you know where?”

“I’ve heard that there’s a shidi of my mother’s starting to make a name for himself as a rogue cultivator - another disciple of Baoshan Sanren. I thought I might find him and, you know, say hello at least.”

His smile was touched with mournful longing, but his eyes held the particular glint that said someone was about to be befriended, or possibly adopted into YunmengJiang on authority of the Head Disciple, whether they liked it or not. It was a very Wei Wuxian expression, and Nie Huaisang didn’t think he’d seen it since they were all young and stupid at the Cloud Recesses

“I am going with him,” stated Lan Wangji, Victim Example #1 of that expression

“Aw, Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian, for lack of a better word, snuggled up against him, before turning back to Nie Huaisang and saying with exaggerated disappointment. “He’s finally accepted that I’m not going to go back to Gusu to be cleansed within an inch of my life, so he’s following me around and keeping me out of trouble day by day instead. So righteous! So boring!”

good god, did he not know...?

Nie Huaisang met Lan Wangji’s eyes and found there a well a patience deeper than the sea, and affection just a great Well, he had to toast to that

He raised his last mouthful of wine, to clink against Wei Wuxian’s glass and the cup of tea Lan Wangji had been politely nursing. “Well, good luck to both of you!”

That’s all, folks! Thanks for reading!

[evoedbd]

What Could Have Been

Summery:   Cali refuses to let Onyx suffer in silence, which leads to her discovering one of the greatest tragedies of Onyx's life. Warnings: Mentions of death.  Miscarriage.  Hinted Domestic Violence.   I wrote this after listening to the song “Color of Your Eyes” by Smash into Pieces. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zhz1pqv5NM4.. it’s going to be heavier, even with the comforting factors. ************************** There were many things in the world that Cali never wanted to see again. The sheer amount of blood that spurted from a sliced artery, coming in waves that matched time with a dying heart. The contrast of plasma against a doctor’s gloves. The way that sterile white blankets turned different shades of red and pink as blood coagulated. The harshness of a digital green line, flat and blaring across the monitor. The sight of her front wheel over the edge of the cliff, supported only by her quick thinking and feet hooked into the guard rail. The way her bike bent as it bounced down the rock face, frame crumpling in on itself as if made of hollow paper and tape instead of alloy. Her father’s face, although it haunted her every dream and fantasy of childhood. The crinkle in the corner of his eye when he tried not to laugh at a young Cali’s antics. The daughter he had abandoned without even the kindness of a goodbye. The daughter he had given a number jotted down on the back of a torn receipt, as if it could make up for shattering a young girls heart and soul.

Now something else had made that list of things which had struck Cali to the core. That would scar her for life. Unlike the other points, this was not life changing. It was not the end of a life, or the cultivation of agony refined into a single trigger. It was not the low percentage circumstance, or even something that would shape Cali’s life. No, it was mundane in the grand scheme of things.

Onyx Wren was such a small woman. Light and lithe, barely brushing an even five foot. It was so easy to forget how small she was when she flew; when she flipped and smiled, taunting death as flames chasing her across a tightrope. She moved as if the meaning of fear was forgotten; as if mortality was a foreign concept. Now, it was all too easy to see. Adrenaline and amazement no longer provided the illusion of a goddess, leaving the trembling, ashen frame crumpled in the corner. Pale calves curled around the pinks of Onyx’s skirt, heels pressed to her rump, knees resting together to one side. Sequins twinkled on Onyx’s crookedly hanging shirt. Arms which seemed capable of carrying the weight of the world trembled, whereas the hands of an artist cradled what appeared to be a single photograph close to a pure heart. Clouds of agony held residence in the oceanic green eyes which usually held the warmth of spring. The glistening of rhinestone piercings beneath Onyx’s eye rivalled the gleam of silently falling tears, each taking the pigments of yellow, blue and lavender Onyx used to decorate her eyes. Occasionally, the darkness of eyeliner won out, laying paved lines of washed out greys against snowy skin.

“Onyx?” Cali called, unable to handle the stabbing in her own chest. Onyx was always so strong, the most cheerful of the troupe. She was always the one ensuring everyone ate; the one handing out hugs; the joy and endless optimism even when things became dire. She was the sweetheart of Sin, the one everyone adored for her endless optimism.

“Oh, Cali. I didn’t see you there, Sweetheart.” Onyx chirped; her voice nearly as flawless as her showstopper smile that could light up a room, could unite warring fans, and soothe the greed of Vegas gamblers.  The smile of Envy, the Sweetheart of the Sin Troupe. The entertainer tilted her head, attempting to conceal her flaws behind her hair. Not even the curtain of sunlight, dipped in meadow green could distract Cali from Onyx’s eyes. Gleaming now, as bright as ever to any who didn’t know better. To those who could ignore the spiderweb fractures in the happiness projected.

“Is there something you need?”

“Onyx. Why didn’t you tell me you were sad?” Cali tried to broach the topic gently. Sad did not cover the moment of unguarded sorrow she had stumbled upon. No, what Cali had seen was beyond sorrow, or sadness. It was depression. Something so dark and shadowy that she wondered how Onyx had enough light to gift the world.  How had she kept the illusion of carefree partying sunshine alive for so long?  How had the mask not fallen?

“How did yo-”

“Pet names and smiles can’t hide it forever, Onyx. I care too much to ignore it.” Cali cut in, unwilling to allow Onyx any traction to deny her own emotions. Surprise danced across Onyx’s face, parting her delicate lips in way that exposed the clean edges of pristinely kept teeth.

“Oh.” Aside from that one little sound, Onyx gave no reaction. The moments stretched into uncomfortable silence, suspended on an invisible rope that tightened every second Cali didn’t approach.

Every step felt wrong. Tense. As if she were having to creep through an enchanted forest to capture a fairy on a moonless night. She found herself continuing to look beneath her washed out sneakers, half expecting to find a branch or bone in her path. Each step was quiet. No branches cracked, alerting the forest to her intrusion, nor did bones scatter and alert the reaper she sought to flee. No. The walk itself, for all the build-up in her mind, was quiet and swift. No eggshells. No earthquake. Chancing a glance down, Cali’s eyes fixed on the photograph within Onyx’s hand. Black, with a cone of grainy greys. Numbers in one corner. A date? Oh. There was the crack. It wasn’t the walk, but the destination. Cali didn’t care anymore. She tore the forest down, threw her bones beyond the Reaper to Death itself. Fuck it all. If anything in existence had an issue, Cali would gladly clobber them to death with a wrench. Nothing was stopping her closing the distance, dropping to her knees and throwing her arms around the startled woman in front of her.

“Fuck. Onyx, when? Why didn’t- how long? Wh-” Cali was painfully aware how awkwardly her words were coming out. Again, her instincts screamed FUCK IT. If moods had limbs, hers would be giving the double fingers to any god or devil within sight. She didn’t need medical training to know what Onyx was holding, or had been. Quick hands had come up to grasp Cali’s forearm, preventing the Chinese woman from crushing a delicate windpipe.

“It isn’t! It’s not... not anymore.”

... Oh. Fuck. That was worse than anything Cali could have anticipated. What could she even say to that? Med School had exposed Cali to so much. To joy as much as grief. She’d listened to doctors speak about delivering the news that a child had not made it, and at the time it had seemed so trivial. Yes, Cali had been able to identify it would cause a lot of pain, but she’d been blinded by her own woes, drowning in course work and too much caffeine to function.  She’d never been able to conceive the magnitude, nor the vertigo of crushing reality. If only she’d listened, maybe those with more experience could kickstart her mind on the right path. Perhaps they’d travelled the right path to get through this. But, then again, she had never heard of ANY of them addressing their own personal loss.

“Onyx...” If a name could ever have expressed the storm of emotions, the way Cali uttered that name would be it. There were no words created to express her tone, yet it was one every doctor was familiar with. That hovering moment before everything came crashing down.

“Was it-“

“It was Dorren’s.” For the first time Onyx sounded as broken as she had appeared. No force in existence could have prevented Cali wrapping her arms around Onyx’s lithe waist, forearms protecting her exposed stomach as the Asian pulled the designer’s back into her chest. Onyx was so thin, even with her layers of defined muscle, not to mention cold. Cold enough to make Cali flinch at first contact, even with both their layers of clothing separating them. She didn’t dare speak again, no matter how many soothing words and half thought sentences danced across her tongue. Instead, Cali allowed her body to convey what words could not. The tightness of her embrace, arms protecting where a child would have grown, if not for tragedy. It was hollow, an echo of a gesture, but it was Cali’s. It was everything she could give to potential which was never given the chance to be realised.

“It was the same year he died. I was so scared. I mean, I was barely out of school, my career was ruined and... I was happy too. It was an accident, but they were ours. I loved them so much, even before I found out. But Dorren... he didn’t take it well.” Onyx eventually spoke.

“-Oh, I bet he didn’t.-” Cali silently raged. She had to bite down on her tongue to hold the words back. Everything she had heard and seen already suggested what kind of reaction Onyx’s dead lover would have had to a baby, and not a single one was the support and love Onyx deserved. Cali bit down on her tongue so hard she drew blood, yet only a small huff of pain escaped her. Onyx, distracted, seemed to take that as a sound of sympathy as she continued.

“He was so angry. Apparently, assassins can’t have children, so he thought I’d slept with someone else. Once we figured out because I wasn’t an assassin it was possible, he believed I hadn’t cheated. He was still distant for a while, then he upped my training. But that was ok, he loved me. He just wanted to make sure the baby would be safe.” Onyx continued, shrinking back into Cali’s chest a little. The Asian woman tightened her grip, grounding herself against every instinct. Her chest blazed, fuelled by her immediate suspicions.

“-Sure he fucking did. Because more blows to the body is exactly what a pregnant woman needs... prick!-” if her thoughts could have had teeth, Cali’s would have been bared. How... just how? Onyx was the most loyal sweetheart Cali had ever met in her life. To think that Onyx would cheat, that was like thinking every teacup would come to life and sing across the world. Actually, the teacup option was far more realistic.

“We were all exhausted. Yvette was close to finding the demon who hurt her. Wrath was seeing somebody. We all had our training upped. I’m not surprised nobody noticed-“

“The Troupe didn’t know!?” Cali couldn’t help but exclaim, her shout earning a flinch from Onyx. Almost immediately, Cali’s hand rubbed apologetically along Onyx’s side. It was unconscious, an effort to settle and sooth as Cali regained control of herself. She knew better than to react so volatile, but something about this felt so hideously wrong. She couldn’t help but picture Onyx. Young, pregnant, distanced from everyone as she was pushed to the brink by the man she was in love with. Not JUST the man she loved, but the father of her child. The man who was not only several years older, but magically chosen to lead the Sin Troupe. How? How could that man have thought any part of his behaviour was appropriate, let alone beneficial? How could anybody do something so punishing? It was so easy to forget Onyx was only 23. Now, that age was a red alert siren in Cali’s mind. 23 now. Then, she’d been even younger. Maybe too young to even legally drink. Fuck. That struck too close to the heart. Cali’s arms tightened once again; cradling Onyx close.

“Dorren didn’t want to distract them until we were sure it was viable. He didn’t even come when I went for my eight week check up. Then, with everything... it was too much for me to keep up with. I should have told him, but I wanted to make him proud. We were sparring -“ Onyx’s words continued registering somewhere in the distance, yet Cali’s active mind felt as if it imploded. She was consumed by white hot rage, something not even demons had ever truly drawn out of her before. Dorren had KICKED Onyx? A full on round house kick when he KNEW Onyx was exhausted AND pregnant! Cali was going to be sick. It churned in her gut, a thick strew that was burning through her stomach lining. Or was it her blood itself burning? Surely that would explain why her entire body was in literal pain for the rapid rise in temperature. Couldn’t Onyx feel it? Why wasn’t Onyx reacting? Surely, there was magic causing this. What else could be so potent that Cali felt she was about to feint, yet that she could sprints a marathon at the same time?

“He was so upset. He even rushed me to the hospital, but with the internal bleeding-”

Did Onyx not realise what she was saying? INTERNAL BLEEDING? From a single training accident? How hard had Dorren kicked her? How had he not realised she was exhausted? The following realisation actively made bile rise into Cali’s mouth. Bile she had to swallow, even as more came up into her nose. He had to have realised. He had to have known Onyx couldn’t block such a powerful kick at her prime, not without the Envy Assassin powers flooding her veins. He’d have seen she was exhausted; known she couldn’t have blocked... and he had struck her anyways.

“We agreed to just not tell the others, keep acting how we always did and address it when we had time. That was the same month everything went wrong. Wrath’s partner. The demon. Vinca murdering Dorren, becoming Pride.” Onyx had continued to speak, oblivious to what Cali was experiencing. The words didn’t stop, though they froze Cali’s entire world. So, he’d been fine to continue sleeping with Onyx after he practically murdered their child? Oh. No. Absolutely not. Fuck that. Fuck its cow. Fuck... just fuck it! What other words could Cali ever think to sum up just how WRONG this was? Suddenly, Vinca didn’t seem so outrageously evil.  Had she known that Dorren had hurt her sister so badly, that he’d killed her niece or nephew?  If Vinca had known any of this, then her murder of Dorren would make perfect sense.  Heck, Cali would have been there cheering Vinca on, complete with the #TeamVinca t-shirts and pompoms.

“Then Ripley died, and I became Envy.” Onyx’s voice wavered. Cali couldn’t help but suck a breath in, hoping the burn of air would distract her from the crushing in her chest. Assassins couldn’t have children. By 23, Onyx had lost the chance of ever having biological children. The Wren line ended with her and Vinca. Cali would never get to walk through the door and see a mini Onyx chasing Ripley around. She’d never get to watch Onyx cuddling her child close, nor watch them panic on the first day of school. The world would never see another generation of smiles like the Wren twins. Never get to see Onyx captured in genetic history. Onyx had been given a singular chance at that joy, a chance her partner had deliberately, oh yes Cali had no doubt about that, torn from her with a vicious roundhouse kick.

“I mean, it’s probably for the best. I’d make a terrible mother.” Onyx tried to reason.

“-Lies!-” Cali’s mind snarled in return.  She remained silent.

“Without Dorren, I’d never be able to keep up with a baby. Could you imagine a baby exposed to all this demon crap? With me as a mother? They’d stand no chance.” Onyx continued. Cali had never felt she could become the embodiment of disagreement until Onyx said that. She’d seem Onyx with Avi. The pint-sized goddess was practically born to interact with children and rescue puppies. Onyx had a glow about her when she played with Avi, or when she teamed up with him to flash the puppy dog eyes at Cal. Grumpy as that man was, he couldn’t combat that level of adorable. In Cali’s eyes, Onyx already played the role of a mother, a protector. Someone who not only nurtured but taught. Sunshine to the flowers. How could Onyx ever doubt herself? Just how far had Dorren dragged her down?

“Onyx... when did you take time to deal with this?” Cali voiced, keeping herself as outwardly calm as possible. Her rage was entirely justified, and it was going to come out in a tsunami the moment she was away from Onyx. Right now, though? Now, Onyx held more importance to her than her own anger.

“There wasn’t any time. Not wit-”

“Fuck that! Fuck it in all the wrong ways. Onyx, you lost six people in close succession! Nobody is expected to be fine after that, let alone continue saving the goddamn world! You deserve to have time to mourn. You need it. Forget everything else. If anyone says anything, they can fight me!” Cali declared, shaking her head to punctuate her denial.

“There she is. Our spunky bike mechanic.” Onyx laughed weakly. It was such a far cry from her usual birdsong laughter.

“I have killed a demon with a bike, a B-I-K-E, Onyx! I’m also a partially trained surgeon, close enough to a doctor.” Cali reminded Onyx in a faux enraged tone. Her legs came to wrap around Onyx’s waist, holding the small assassin down. If Cali’s body could have spoken, nobody could have doubted the message it was sending. Onyx, who time and time again gave so much of herself to protect others. Now, Cali silently begged for Onyx to take. Even if it was just once, she needed Onyx to take everything without putting others first. From the breath in her lungs to the warmth of her blood, every ounce of strength she had left in her own weary body. Most importantly, time. Precious time. Something not a single assassin seemed to have, or to value when applied to themselves. It was always full on intensity, chasing every threat down without ever pausing to consider themselves.

“And doctor’s orders are that you take time. Treatments include days of cuddles with friends, admitting you’re sad and crying if you need to. Exercise... carrying my fine ass around if you disagree with me!”

“I can flip a man almost double my body weight, Cali.” Onyx pointed out, allowing the photograph to flutter to the ground as her hands wrapped under Cali’s thighs. The chill of cold hands and the bite of bedazzled nails earned a loud, indignant squeal from Cali, yet the drop out surgeon fought to keep her composure.

“Fight me!” She boldly declared. When Onyx’s nails bit that little bit deeper, Cali’s brain caught up with her. She was practically challenging a superhero.

“Those aren’t doctor’s orders!” She yelped, barely restraining her laughter as Onyx found her feet.

“Fooled me, Sweetheart.” Onyx quipped, mask sliding into place. No, not quite a mask. Her tone wasn’t perfect, nor did she adopt the high energy she always presented the world. She was warm, but far from her usual definition of sunshine. Happier, but still burdened.

“Princess, get your ass to bed and let me snuggle! I will call Ripley!” Cali threatened, clinging to Onyx like a young Koala to its mother. The short assassin paused, looking over her shoulder with an expression of absolute betrayal.

“You wouldn’t...”

“I will call the literal bear! Don’t test me. I have an Asian mother! I am the mistress of guilting people into obedience and beating them with household objects!”

“Racist! Your mother is a sweetheart!”

“That’s what she wants you to believe!”

[the-regal-warrior]

18

This is an Elorcan oneshot that basically jumped me yesterday and demanded to be written, so here you go!

This was inspired by the song 18 by Anarbor, hence the title. I highly recommend listening to it, as it definitely sets the mood for this fic.

This fic is dedicated to @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty and @tacmc because I know how much they love Elorcan. Shelby and Tara, you are two of the most amazing people I’ve ever talked to, and I’m so grateful to both of you. You encourage all of my writing, and I wouldn’t be as confident in it if it wasn’t for you. I love both of you so much, and I hope this makes your days a little better! ❣️❣️

Warnings: I guess we’ll go with this: very slightly NSFW at the end.

.

Lorcan Salvaterre was well and truly fucked.

And not in the good way.

Because Elide Lochan, recently turned eighteen (as in not even eight hours ago), was standing at his front door, a duffel bag over her shoulder and a suitcase by her feet.

“I’m moving in with you,” she announced, pushing by him and into his apartment. “There’s more stuff out in my truck.”

“Erm, what?”

Elide huffed, setting her bags by the couch. “I’m eighteen now and that means my inheritance is finally freed up. So, I’m moving in with you.”

Lorcan just stared at her, failing to see how finally having access to the inheritance left to her by her parents correlated to her moving in with him.

“Lorcan,” she sighed, speaking slowly as though he was a small child. “I don’t want my uncle getting my money, so I’m moving in with you.”

“Oh, yeah, alright,” he mumbled, turning to go grab more of her stuff from her truck. He and Elide had been friends - well, perhaps friends wasn’t the most accurate term - for a while now.

She was close friends with his best friend’s girlfriend, and they’d gotten to know each other pretty well. Things were a bit rocky at first - Lorcan was six years older than her and not the most pleasant person to be around - but things had changed quickly enough.

Now they were sort of friends, although Lorcan found himself relaxing around her more than he did with any of his other friends.

Just as he went to open the door to the stairs, he heard her say “oh, and I told my uncle we’re dating because it’ll really piss him off” from behind him.

Oh, he was most definitely fucked.

~*^*~

Lorcan closed the tailgate on Elide’s truck, the last box of her stuff sitting on the ground beside him. Elide was just shutting the passenger door, her final bag of clothes in her arms.

“Isn’t this your uncle’s truck?” he asked, lifting the box and grunting at the weight of it. Looking down, he chuckled when he realized why it was so heavy - it was labeled “books,” and knowing Elide it was probably packed full.

“It was his truck,” she replied loftily, walking into the building in front of him. “Since he bought it with the money my parents left for him to help take care of me, it’s my truck now.”

Before Lorcan could respond, Elide was walking through the door to the stairwell, her hips swinging invitingly as she marched away from him.

‘Not the time,’ he chided himself. ‘So not the time to have thoughts about Elide’s hips.’

Once they reached the apartment, Lorcan carried the box into his second and, up until today, unused bedroom. At least he’d put a bed and a dresser in there when he’d moved into the place. “This is your room. It’s yours as long as you need it.”

Already busy sorting and hanging clothes in the closet, Elide only mumbled a quick “thanks” as she straightened a short black dress on a hanger.

“I’ll leave you to unpack, but I have to ask - why’d you tell your uncle we’re dating?”

She turned to face him then, her eyes flashing with an emotion he couldn’t trace. “Look, you know how my uncle’s an ass and the scum of the earth and all that? Well, he’s also completely threatened by you - I think it has something to do with being tall and the generally surly demeanor - and as such, he’s less likely to come after me here than he is if I go anywhere else.”

“And that - that’s the only reason?”

“Don’t worry, Lorcan,” she huffed, turning back to the closet, but not before he could see the look of hurt that flashed in her eyes. “I promise I won’t go falling for you - I know relationships aren’t your thing.”

He tried to say something then, but she dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

‘She’s right,’ Lorcan thought as he walked toward the kitchen. ‘I don’t do relationships. But then why does the idea of her not falling for me feel like a punch to the chest?’

~*^*~

A couple weeks after she’d moved in, Lorcan and Elide were sitting on the couch after a night of drinking with their friends. The alcohol had all been supplied by Elide.

When Lorcan had told her she didn’t need to do that, she’d simply responded that it would piss her uncle off even more to see her spending money he thought of as his on alcohol for her “boyfriend” and his friends.

Plus she was grateful to Lorcan for letting her live with him - she’d told him the morning after she’d moved in that she would be helping him pay rent, and she did, even though they argued about it at least once a week - not that she’d ever tell him that.

Elide chuckled at the sheer amount of empty bottles around them, propping her feet on the coffee table and taking a long swallow from her own bottle.

“Something funny over there?” Lorcan grumbled, his glass of whiskey almost empty in his hand.

“Just thinking that this would be even better if you smoked, too.”

“What would be even better?”

“Pretending you were my boyfriend to piss off my uncle. You’d be even more abhorrent in his eyes if you drank and smoked.” Elide snorted at the expression that crossed Lorcan’s face.

“You’re not actually trying to talk me into taking up smoking are you?”

Elide huffed, standing and heading toward her room. “Please, as if I’d ever encourage anyone to smoke. Besides, it’s not like you’d ever change for a girl - you told me that yourself.”

Lorcan’s eyes widened as she shut her door behind her, effectively ending the conversation.

‘Let it go,’ he told himself. ‘It’s just a phase - it’s just to piss off her uncle. She’s not actually into you. And you aren’t into her - no relationships, remember?’

Shaking his head, Lorcan sprawled out on the couch, too tired to move to his room.

‘But then why does the idea of being with her feel so right?’

~*^*~

It was about two months after Elide had moved in that Lorcan heard muffled sobs coming from her room in the middle of the night.

Throwing back the covers, he pulled on a pair of sweats and made his way to her room, knocking lightly on her door. “Elide? You okay?”

He heard her sniffle as she tried to catch her breath. “Uh, yeah,” she finally replied. “It was just a nightmare about my parents.”

Lorcan knew enough about that situation to know how bad her nightmares must be. Her parents had died in a car accident, and Elide had been in the car when it happened. She’d managed to escape the incident with only a broken leg, although the damage had been extensive and she still walked with a limp. “Oh, okay. Do you need anything?”

“No,” she responded. “No, I’m fine.”

“Okay.”

Lorcan had almost made it to his door when he heard her calling to him tentatively. “Lorcan? Could you actually come in here please?”

He was already through her door by the time she’d finished her request, any response he had dying on his lips at the pain on her face.

“Lorcan,” she sobbed, fresh tears rolling down her face, even as she lifted up the covers and patted the spot next to her. “Will you stay with me?”

He just nodded, climbing into bed next to her. He tensed for a moment when she buried her face in his chest, but he got over his shock quickly enough and wrapped his arms around her.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I know you don’t do the whole cuddling thing, but it’s easier to get through the nightmares when I’m not alone.”

Lorcan tried not to resent that statement, since it was true. He’d never been big on relationships, and he’d certainly never been one for cuddling.

But laying there with Elide in his arms, he realized that he wanted all of that with her. He wanted a relationship with her.

Lorcan was falling for Elide Lochan, and he was so screwed because she just needed him to make her uncle mad.

“Don’t worry about it,” he told her. “I’ll keep you safe.”

She hummed against the skin of his chest, already falling asleep in his arms.

He was so fucked.

~*^*~

When Elide woke up the following morning, she discovered two things. Well, three technically.

The first was that they’d somehow shifted positions during the night, and Lorcan was now spooning her, his arms wrapped around her waist and his chin resting on top of her head.

The second (and third, she guessed) was that he was hard against her, his apparently large cock nestled against her ass.

Before she had time to do anything with this newly discovered information, she felt Lorcan stirring behind her, his arms tightening around her before he realized what was going on.

“Shit, sorry Elide,” he groaned, rolling onto his back so she couldn’t feel his erection.

“For what?” Elide questioned him, rolling over so she was facing him.

“It’s just - I know you keep telling me this isn’t going to be a relationship, and up until you moved in I didn’t think I wanted one either. But now I’m holding you while you sleep and I can’t help but have feelings for you.”

Elide chuckled then, raising herself up on her elbow. “Is the great Lorcan Salvaterre admitting he might actually have feelings?”

Before he could react, Elide swung her leg over his hips, straddling him and wrapping her arms around his neck, one hand tangling in his hair.

“What, exactly, are you doing?”

“Lorcan,” she whispered, her fingers dancing along his neck. “Since you seem to be a little oblivious, I’ll help you out - I’ve had a thing for you since I met you.”

He blinked up at her in shock, although he did wrap his arms around her waist. “But you said this was just to piss off your uncle, and that you wouldn’t fall for me, and-”

She cut him off with a quick kiss to his lips. “I know what I said. I only said that because I thought you wouldn’t ever be into me.”

Lorcan rocked his hips up into hers, his impressive length creating the most delightful friction against her folds. “I think that proves otherwise.”

Elide moaned, her hips starting to move in his lap. “I think you should shut up and kiss me.”

Lorcan’s answering chuckle lasted for only a second before he kissed her hard, his tongue tangling with Elide’s as they slowly got lost in one another.

He decided that Elide showing up on his doorstep wasn’t so bad after all.

.

Tags: @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty @tacmc @highqueenofelfhame @city-of-fae @musicmaam @tangledraysofsunshine

I’d love to know what you all thought!

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Caramel Skin Under A Purple Rain prt 25 start

Distressed by Lance’s distress, and seizure, Keith went to great pains to make his husband comfortable. The pain Lance was suffering was written all over his face, from his bitten bottom lip to the tight lines near eyes. Lance had scared him half to death when the video on his comms started shaking, his heart in his throat until he caught sight of Lance’s blue eyes open in the top of corner of the transmission. As far as seizures went, it was one the lightest he’d seen his husband have, barely lasting 10 seconds before it was all over. Keith wasn’t sure it even counted as seizure given how quickly it passed, but with how drained Lance was, it most certainly had to be. Getting his husband into the shack and settled on the sofa was easier than expected. Lance reaching for him from the floor of the cargo bay, allowing him to lift him up to his chest with ease and carry him down and straight through to the sofa were he laid them both out, his husband’s head resting on his chest as Keith stoked his hair. He really should have expected a seizure. Trying on clothes had sent Lance into a panic attack. Keith was kicking himself for not considering online shopping. Not only was the variety larger, his husband didn’t have to feel like a freak for wearing women’s clothes, when he definitely wasn’t. People could wear whatever the hell they liked, the only one it really affected was them themselves. And, if he’d really been thinking, he knew Lance had self image problems dating back longer before they'd become a them. He’d unthinkly pushed Lance into a minefield of triggers and felt like a quiznakking douche for doing so. Still. He was proud. He was stupidly happy at the memory of the expression on Lance’s face as his eyes landed on the white cot. Sheer love radiated from him, as if he could see one of their children already sleeping. When Lance fell asleep, Keith went to work. His husband oblivious as he opened up a browser in his comms. Despite his love for Razzel-Dazzel, his husband had wanted plain clothes that would suit him as his body grew. He may be pregnant, but his whole sexual identity rested on him being very much male. Unsure where to start, he types in “pregnancy plain clothes”, because his brain had forgotten that “maternity” was a work. The ads along the top of the browser made him wrinkle his nose. All the blessing and plunging necklines wasn’t his husband. Lance had made it very clear that he wasn’t comfortable with showing cleavage, so Keith was going to do his best to respect his husband’s wishes. Not that Keith had a problem with Lance’s changing body. He adored his husband for him. The brain damage, missing fingered, scarred, scared, anxious and changing him. Yes, there were times when they drove each other crazy. When they didn’t talk for days, but even so, he loved Lance. When he was scared and acting like an idiot, he loved Lance. Seizures still scared the quiznak out of him, yet he was sure with a little time and fiddling around, they’d be able to find a successful way for his husband to be able to take his medication. The most important thing was getting Lance comfortable and feeling safe enough to attempt taking them again. * When Lance woke from his nap, his husband was starving. “Keeeeeith, my stomach is eating itself”, was his actual words, so Keith was sent food shopping semi-alone. Kosmo in a supermarket was asking for trouble. Lance couldn’t stomach crowds at the moment. The solution to the problem was to leave his husband with the remaining ration bars, and on video call, meaning Lance could boss him around while he did the leg work. Keith was sure that they didn’t need as much food as Lance had him fetching. Half the things he wasn’t sure of, nor was he sure of the various cuts of meat he was instructed to buy. It didn’t help that Lance kept changing his mind. Growing tired of it, he left the call connected and stopped listening to his husband’s ramblings, Lance noticing Keith had stopped listening, started singing broken up show tunes, jumping from song to song mid-sentence. Progressively the volume of Lance’s singing grew until Keith couldn’t ignore him further, raising the comms up to scold him, he found Lance grinning brightly as he held onto Kosmo. His idiot truly was one of a kind. Keith’s reward for shopping was to be promptly kicked out his own shack. With the two seater kitchen table sagging under the weight of the bags, Lance started shooing him, “la-laing” over his protests. He was hot, tired and annoyed at not being able to come home and kick back on the sofa with Kosmo. The server had recognised him from his stint as Black Paladin. All he wanted to do was buy goddamn food for him, his husband, and their wolf. Not pose for photos, sign signatures on whatever was available and be followed back to his ship. Voltron was old news. Really old news. He’d much rather be recognised for the humanitarian work, and the work of his team... mostly the work of his team... all the work of his team... He’d take the background character that edges his way out of public sight and mind. If he hadn’t been the Black Paladin, then he wouldn’t be forced to wait with Kosmo outside his own damn home. When Lance finally let him inside his shack, his husband’s hands were covering his eyes. Laughing against the shell of his ear, they nearly tripped as Lance guided him inside “Babe...” “We’re almost there... ok, take two steps to the left for me...” Keith’s stomach rumbled loudly, despite the fact he couldn’t actually see any food. The shack, however, smelt amazing. There was definitely some kind of herby scent in the air and meat... and... he didn’t actually know. He was starving and there was food. That was all he and his stomach were getting at the moment. Feeling his hands hit the wood of the dining chair, he came to a stop “Ta dah!” Dropping his hands, Keith was greeted by Lance’s work comms acting as a candle, a simple green salad, and some kind of stew like meat dish that looked amazing “Y-you made dinner?” Now that his hands were free, Lance wrapped his arms around Keith’s waist, digging his chin into his shoulder as he nodded “Today was hard. My head was all over the place and I not only scared you, but bossed you around, had a seizure, had a breakdown and forced you to have cuddly naps on the sofa. It’s all simple things. I’m still pretty drained, but I really wanted to do this for you. You’re my husband and I love you. I appreciate the things you do. Even when I can’t tell you I do. And now I’m crying... Baby hormones are a force to be reckoned with...” Turning in Lance’s arms, Keith was stunned “You cooked dinner... for me?” “You’re acting like it’s never happened before” There was dinner, and then there was dinner... with a table cloth that looked suspiciously like a sheet, an attempt at candles, and a meal that was actually somewhat adult “This... all of this... I should be the one cooking dinner for you” “I wanted to cook for you. I didn’t do dessert though. My stomach looked at ice cream and said no. Then when it looked at the cake boxes... it got worse. You can totally knock yourself out though. I think I put things away in the right position. I mean, I tried. I gave the fridge a wipe out while you were ignoring me. Kosmmmmn-“ Silencing his husband with a kiss, Lance’s mouth tasted of mint, his husband having found time to brush his teeth. Indulging himself, Lance broke the kiss as Keith grabbed a fist full of hair to deepen it “You’ll have to save that for after dinner” Though playfully toned in his reply, Lance’s scent had shifted to fear. Keith momentarily hurt, then reasoning his husband had had a long day. He’d hit his limit and though the touch wasn’t unwelcome, his anxieties weren’t in his control “I’m looking forward to. Especially if it’s as good as this meal looks” “It’s... uh... Let’s eat. Yeah. I don’t know what I was about to say, but I’m hungry” Dinner was amazing, but dessert was better. Splitting the washing up with Lance washing and Keith drying, they settled down on the sofa to watch a movie. Cuddling into his husband, Lance has his arm wrapped around Keith’s shoulders as the movie began. For the life of him, Keith couldn’t remember a single thing that happened. He was too focused on the way Lance was looking at him. The love in his eyes was on a whole other level. A level Keith felt he didn’t deserve, yet was grateful as quiznak to be receiving. This was the shack he was conceived in. This was the shack where his parents fell in love and he was born. This was the shack that was the last remaining solid remnants of his father. Willed to him, along with everything the man owned, then left to sit after death until Keith found himself with no where to go. Now he was living here with his husband, all be it temporarily, who was pregnant with their children. Normally he wasn’t one for nostalgia, if asked that is, but having his husband here. Having his family here... He was struck hard with waves of emotion. A life where he came home fo Lance everyday... that... he wanted that. He thought that was how things would be with the outpost, even if he couldn’t return every day, it’d be at least once a movement. Only. Before he knew it he’d left Lance struggling for phoebs. Lance was far from alright. Keith knew he wasn’t being completely honest over how many things he’d missed or how many ways he’d hurt him by accident. He knew because his husband was a decent and kind man. He’d take every ounce of another’s pain if he could. He was a selfless and reckless pain in the arse, that adored to point of possessiveness. He knew they wasn’t healthy, but when your husband has a habit of ”accidentally” getting himself into trouble, it was natural to want to be by their side to prevent something going wrong. “If you don’t like the film, I can change it” Brought back to reality by Lance kissing his cheek, Keith felt himself blushing for no reason “Sorry. What was that?” “The movie, if you don’t like it, I can change it” “It’s fine...” “Your head’s up in the clouds anyway?” Keith nodded, wriggling down lower to cuddle into Lance further “Wanna tell me what’s going on in that head of yours, Samurai?” Keith sighed softly “I was thinking about how lucky I am to have you” Kissing the top of his head, Lance echoed his sigh “I’m the lucky one. I’m so fucking lucky you haven’t got sick of me yet” “Like I’d get sick of you. I was thinking about how I was born in this shack and then about how nice it is to have my family here, with me...”

[otomeshistarlight-blog]

is there any chance that I could get a fic about a matsu with a s/o who's really into the way their matsu sounds? talking, singing, anything, just let 'em listen and swoon, get weak in the knees! (if you need just one, kara and ichi would be fantastic.)

I’m two days late but I decided to use this in a Valentine’s themed fic with Karamatsu and I hope you like it, mysterious anon. 

Pointedly ignoring Osomatsu’s bemusedexpression, I shuffled over to the open window he’d indicated just amoment ago. The warm spring air felt refreshing after the long monthsof frigid cold and my hair shifted on a gentle breeze when I poked myhead out. A simple melody filtered down on gently plucked guitarstrings, eliciting a smile even as I shimmied onto the ledge so Icould haul myself up. The eldest’s coddling voice helpfully remindedme that the stairwell was available even as my fingers fumbled alongthe cool shingles until I found a good grip. I was determined thoughand I carefully kicked off from the windowsill, crawling up onto theroof with a small grunt.

The notes abruptly cut off and not eventwo seconds later a pair of hands were grasping my wrists in adelicate, albeit firm, hold. My cheeks warmed slightly even as Ihurriedly tried to insist that I had it under control, I didn’t needany help, but Karamatsu wasn’t hearing a word of it. He shushed me inthat deeply concerned tone of his that made me a little weak in theknees as he cautiously helped me find my balance so I could stand. Irelented almost immediately, secretly appreciative of hischivalrous inclinations and the assistance he was so eager toprovide.

“Why do you insist on climbingthrough the window, mon cher?” Karamatsu asked, his steady hold onme not wavering for even a second.

I released a puff of air when I managedto find my footing before grinning up at him. “If you boys can doit, then so can I! It’s not like its hard or anything.”

He fixed me with a highly skepticallook, his thick brow raising in doubt. “It’s not that I’mquestioning your capabilities, far from that. But if you were to fallI’d never be able to forgive myself. You know that, right?”

Something in my chest imperceptiblytightened when Karamatsu gave my wrists an emphasizing squeeze. Icouldn’t deny that his obvious worry for my safety was flattering andI appreciated it more than I could ever put into words. But I alsoknew that he wouldn’t relent until I did, so I slowly nodded my headin understanding. Being treated like something fragile that needed tobe protected wasn’t exactly a feeling I was used to but the more timewe spent together, the more I was growing accustomed to it. He caredabout me, that was undeniable at this point, and the mere thought ofdistressing him filled me with guilt.

“I’ll use the stairs next time.” Isaid and leaned up to give the corner of his mouth a quick peck.“Promise.”

Karamatsu’s face lit up in joy, hissupple lips spreading into a wide grin. “Thank you, sweetheart! I’mso glad you understand.” Without warning he ducked down to presshis forehead against mine, nuzzling and tickling me with his babysoft hair as he hummed happily. “You never fail at making me thehappiest man in the world.”

His smile was contagious and I quicklyfound my own lips turning up in response to his doting affection.What an unrepentant love bug, this one was.

“I’m sorry I’m late by the way.” Iwhispered, giving him a loving nudge back. “What did you want toshow me?”

“Ahh!”

As if only just now recalling why he’dinvited me over, Karamatsu pulled away in favor of guiding me acrossthe rooftop by the hand. My heart gave a thump when I noticed acheckered picnic blanket mindfully laid out close to the highestpoint where the shingles piqued at the apex of the roof. Asuspiciously romantic looking box in the shape of a heart sat in themiddle of the cloth with his discarded acoustic nearby, looking forall the world like the most cliché cinematic date scene in humanhistory. But despite the B-movie rom-com vibes of the layout, Ialready knew from past experience alone that Karamatsu was a masterat going above and beyond. Where most men would accomplish in littleelse than creating a well intentioned although uninspired mood, healways managed to make it feel like I was being presented the wholeworld in a dazzling flourish. The lack of expendable money on hispart never seemed to deter him, but rather prompted him to come upwith increasingly creative ways to woo the object of his desire whichmeant that I had no idea what to expect from this moment.

My nerves fluttered in excitement. Icouldn’t wait to see what he had in store for me.

“Please help yourself to thechocolate,” Karamatsu murmured, sending me a devilishly sultry lookas he helped me down onto the blanket. “They’re all for you, mylove. And also …”

I watched in rapt interest as hereached into the pocket of his leather jacket, going down on one kneebefore brandishing a single Tiffany blue rose at me with anundeniable showmanship. My eyes widened slightly as I took in thedelicate shade which almost looked like it was painted onto thegently curling petals. Slowly I reached out to accept it and myfingers brushed against the white ribbon tied into a delicate bow onthe stem. It was quite possibly the most beautiful flower I’dever seen.

“K-Karamatsu,” I stammered, holdingthe rose close to my chest as I brought my gaze up to look at him insurprise. “You shouldn’t have … you really didn’t need to do allthis for me.”

He shook his head as he found hisfooting, roguishly drawing a hand through his hair when he moved tosit down on the blanket as well. “Non non, my angel. I won’t hear of it, especially since I’m not done yet.”

“What?” I blurted in disbelief.What else could he possibly have to give when this was already sobreathtakingly generous of him?    

Pulling the guitar onto his lap,Karamatsu fixed me with a charmingly bashful grin that suddenlybelied his disquiet. “It’s Valentine’s after all, so I wanted toserenade you from the very rooftops to declare my love for you. I’vebeen practicing but I’m afraid I still haven’t quite mastered thesong just yet … I’d still like to play it for you though, if that’salright?”

I immediately nodded despite feelingunexpectedly lightheaded. This felt like a dream and I could hardlybelieve it was really happening. “Of course you can, I’m sureyou’ll do a great job. I can’t wait to hear it.”

Karamatsu practically beamed at myencouragement and adjusted the instrument on his knee, flexing hisfingers into position over the freshly tuned strings. My excitementwas nearly palpable as I twisted around to face him head on with therose still clutched in my hand. There was no doubt in my mind thathe’d picked a love song for this romantic display but there were somany in existence that I couldn’t even begin to guess which one hewas going to perform. My mind was a whirlwind of possibilities,trying to guess which genre he’d chosen to tackle, but my thoughtsturned to static the moment he started strumming the chords withpracticed precision.

The notes were brash and bold, a hintto their origin, but yet so down tempo that I couldn’t quite placethe tune despite the sense of familiarity I got from them. I had afeeling that an electric guitar, rather than an acoustic, was thesource of my faint memory and I slowly panned up to take inKaramatsu’s face. His eyes were closed as he bobbed his head, boottapping on the shingles to keep the time, and the amount ofconcentration I saw in his expression made my chest swell withemotion. He was really putting his all into this, so much so that Ifelt incredibly overwhelmed within a matter of seconds, and I couldhardly breathe anymore.

How had I been so lucky to find thisman and, more importantly, how had every other girl before me been sostupid to pass him up?

Karamatsu slowly opened his eyes andturned to regard me with a smoldering look, his fingers dutifullyworking over the strings. I felt my cheeks warm under the intensityin his gaze but I refused to turn away from the passion he was soreadily offering me, even while my heart pounded wildly inside mychest. Seeing that he had my full attention, he darted his tongue outto wet his lips before taking a breath and I tensed in anticipation.What beautifully spun words would he wax poetic here on the rooftop?Would just hearing it come out of his mouth cause me to spontaneouslycombust?

I was such an anxious ball of energythat it felt like I would explode at any given moment. But he didn’tgive me anymore time to brace myself before the lyrics startedrolling off his tongue with such a confident ease that it was as ifhe’d known the words his whole life.

“Dig if you will the picture, ofyou and I engaged in a kiss.”

Karamatsu’s mouth curled up into anattractively seductive smirk and goosebumps erupted across my entirebody. The realization hit me like a sack of bricks but I could hardlybelieve it. I wasn’t blind to the unmistakable significance behindthis song choice and it felt like I was suffocating under its weight,my brain stuttering to comprehend.  

“The sweat of your body covers me.Can you, my darling? Can you picture this?” He continued,oblivious or perhaps undeterred by the raging emotions swellingwithin me like a tidal wave. “Dream if you can a courtyard, anocean of violets in bloom. Animals strike curious poses, they feelthe heat,”

An abrupt up rise in the tempo carriedwith it his voice, which grew louder with strengthening confidence.

“The heat between me and you!”

Rather than moving directly into thechorus, Karamatsu seamlessly dropped back down to the more subduedmelody of the bridge as my head started to spin and the sting oftears pricked my eyes. I was completely blown away – not only bysuch an unrepentant display of passion but also the sheer skill withwhich he executed it – and the deep treble of his voice resonatedinside my ears to leave me feeling shaken, weak. I was going to passout before the song was over, I was sure of that.

“Touch if you will my stomach,feel how it trembles inside. You’ve got the butterflies all tied up,”A well timed wink directed my way made me visibly swoon, the rumblingcadence in his tone shooting fire straight down my back at analarming rate and further disarming me. “Don’t make me chaseyou, even does have pride!”

The beat rose again and remained atthis energetic tempo while he proceeded to belt out the chorus withhis whole heart, fingers working double time to really drive thenotes home.

“How can you just leave mestanding, alone in a world that’s so cold? Maybe I’m just toodemanding, maybe I’m just like my father too bold.” Karamatsugave me a pointed look as if to say ‘I really am such a sinful guy’and I couldn’t help but smile in response. Even when he was showingoff his talent by covering one of the biggest all time classic hits,he still found a way to be a total goof about it. Unsurprising,really.

“Maybe you’re just like my mother,she’s never satisfied. Why do we scream at each other? This is whatit sounds like, when the doves cry!”

He trailed off into what would havebeen an impassioned guitar solo had that not already been the onlyinstrument at play, hunching forward and furiously plucking at thestrings. Droplets of sweat were beading along his brow even though itwas still relatively cool outside and he seemed so lost in wildabandon that it didn’t take long for me to start uncontrollablylaughing. He was just such a goober that I couldn’t help it asunequivocal joy spread throughout my chest like a wildfire, and whenhe shot me a surprised look I quickly swiped the budding tears frommy lashes.

“How can you just leave mestanding,” My voice wavered slightly, in both amusement andstraining emotion but he didn’t seem to mind. Karamatsu’s eyeswidened slightly with undisguised glee as he hastily reverted back tothe pounding beat of the chorus and when I took another breath, hefollowed suit.

“Alone in a world that’s so cold?Maybe I’m just too demanding, maybe I’m just like my father toobold!” We sang in tandem, his rumbling voice considerably moresteady than mine. “Maybe you’re just like my mother, she’s neversatisfied. Why do we scream at each other? This is what it soundslike, when the doves cry!”

The guitar screeched with the finalnote and in the absence of the music, I was acutely aware ofKaramatsu’s labored breathing. He’d held nothing back, that was clearas day, and when he brought his head up to look at me in hopefuladoration I couldn’t seem to find the strength to restrain myselfeither. With something akin to a blubbering sob, I leaned over tothrow my arms around his broad shoulders so I could bury my faceagainst the side of his neck.

“Thank you so much!” I said on atrembling voice, clutching at him. “T-that was amazing, Karamatsu!I don’t even know what to say …”

“Nothing makes me happier thanhearing that, pumpkin! I’m so glad you liked it.” He croaked, histone suddenly as heavy with emotion as mine was, as he wrapped hisarm tight around my back. “I was so nervous that you would hate it,especially when my voice cracked on that high note and -”

I hastily shoved myself away from him,balling my hands into the lapels of his leather jacket and using myhold to yank him into a kiss. A startled sound erupted against mylips but he immediately relaxed against me, returning the gesturewith undisguised fervor. Fisting the back of my shirt with one hand,Karamatsu brought his other up to tangle in my hair. I pawed at himin return and pushed myself right up against him so the guitar wassandwiched between our bodies but that didn’t stop us. We kissed forwhat felt like an eternity until I was forced to come up for air witha gasp, my lips tingling and swollen.

“I love you, Karamatsu.” I saidupon meeting his warm stare.

“Oh, my precious flower,” Hebreathed as he leaned in to kiss me again. “I love you too.”

“Eeeeeh!” A brash third voicesuddenly cut through the moment like a knife through butter,effectively startling both of us out of our heated embrace. “Get aroom you two! Onii-chan has some pachinko money left that you canborrow for a love hotel if you want!”

Flushing in embarrassment, I quicklydisentangled myself from Karamatsu and retreated back to my side ofthe blanket in flustered admonishment while he grumbled somethingunkind about Osomatsu. The distress on my boyfriends face waslaughably charming in its own right, his cheeks a blazing shade ofpink that surely matched my own. I carefully picked up the blue rosefrom where I’d dropped it on top of the box of chocolates and eyed itfor a moment before reaching out to gently touch Karamatsu’s elbow.

“It’s okay, don’t worry.” I assured him, smiling brightly when he turned that strickenexpression on me. “I’ve got enough money to pay for it myself.”

BONUS: 

I call this one “Brash and Bold”. I’m so sorry, everyone probably looked right over that line but as soon as I wrote it, this was all I could think of. Forgive me.

[eterneli]

Just a fun little character game. Fill in the below categories with 3-5 things that your character can be identified by. Repost & tag away.

† TAGGED BY :  @gumihc (thank you!) † TAGGING :  @vutriolic (u asked for it bitch) & whoever wishes to do it.

EMOTIONS / FEELINGS :

001. Deep passion;

002. Aching vengeance;

003. Occult wrath;

004. Loneliness;

005. Hidden yearning.

GREETINGS :

001. A mere inclination of a sculptured chin;

002. Brows ascending through the recognition of a presence;

003. The feigned shade of a smile cloaked by a theatrical act;

004. The nonchalant wave of a lazy, pale palm;

005. Hues drowning in blood pools & fangs extended from canines with a simper on his lips.

COLORS :

001. Red velvet;

002. Midnight black;

003. Ivory white;

004. Pastel blue;

005. Silver lining grey.

SCENTS :

001. Antique ambiance, the ancient of a dying tree and a sealed room;

002. Thick of fresh blood and lacerated entrails spread in thin air;

003. Alluring, enticing fragrance of egomania and confidence;

004. Intoxicating grains of caffeine brewing fresh out in the morning;

005. The calm and comfort of rain, a serene wreck left behind by delicate droplets.

CLOTHING :

001. Stylish clothing, black of choice, marked by a designer’s label;

002. Dead colors of CK trunks & boxers;

003. A set of varying piercings in rotation, as well as lengthy necklaces;

004. Casual & dress shoes of carrying a designer’s name;

005. Long hoodies dyed to monotone shades.

OBJECTS :

001. The masterpiece frame of a grand piano;

002. Handmade pieces of blades decorated by leather handles;

003. Metal-heavy guns baptized by a witch’s curse;

004. An ancient necklace belonging to a loving mother;

005. Ivory earphones attached to a phone’s hole into the reproducing of melodies.

VICES / BAD HABITS :

001. Interrupting a latter amidst a tedious speech;

002. Being drawn to sheer danger under the deadly inquisitiveness of a nature;

003. Drawing a latter away by the complete shutdown of brick walls built around his being;

004. Snapping a tongue in displeasure by the end of a phrase or previously to its voicing;

005. Questioning a latter viciously despite no answers being available.

BODY LANGUAGE :

001. Slender strings of fingers carding through silky locks of endless pigmentation;

002. Rough pads guided by the imaginary of keys against any and all surfaces;

003. A mischievous coiling of edges into smug display of triumph;

004. Elegance drawn through a straightened posture and lady-like crossed legs;

005. The coiling of a small frame within a broader hold.

AESTHETICS :

001. Sheets of musical nature spread across the wooden surface of an escritoire in chaotic clutter, melodic keys plastered by charcoal ink in contrast to ivory paper to birth an entire symphony; an old fashioned length of a plume quill caressing pale features and drawing harmonic beauty through varying notes.

002. A grand wood object decorated by dark pigmentation, thick strings of gold attached to delicate ends within & keys shaped by serine in delicate sculpting, a beauty brought to life through the rough pads of men and made into a treasure to the heart of passion; a deadly weight capable of crushing a skull in seconds and yet blossoming an engulfing melody through simple notes.

003. Aluminium alloy, chrome-moly steel & metal poured into a marvelous mixture to shape up the refinements of a gun, carbon fiber enveloping the winter cold of a frame and casing its deadly powder within; the ravenous of a shot echoing through vacant streets and disturbing a dormant city, blades of a knife accompanying the brutal slaughter of night creatures through the simple slice of frail flesh.

004. Fear and terror engraved into windows to one’s soul, the desperate cry of foreign screams aching and begging at his feet for an nonexistent shape of mercy, a downgrading of pride that shatters when death comes out to play; an intoxicating and addictive taste of victory that absorbs one into ecstasy through a latter’s demise.

005. The thick red of blood embracing pale features by the laying of a silhouette to a supposedly comforting mattress, the haunting ghosts of an eternal past biting as a doomed soul and ripping peace under the moonlight; translucent smoke consuming an entire enclosure and asphyxiating stringed lungs to death -- over and over again.

SONGS :

001. Skylar Grey — Wreak Havoc:  ❛ I dine with the blood on my hands, thrive when I’m beatin' the man. All I learned in the pen is never get caught just get out and hit it again. Straight outta context -- ain't see me come like it's phone sex, ain't hear me tick like a Rolex 'cause I’m keepin' a nuclear conscience. I fly like an atom bomb in a world riddled with conflict. Hate that you need me wanna destroy me but you can’t. You're gonna deploy me in the end. I can smell your fear, the only reason that I’m here is to wreak havoc. Everybody prayin' that I’ll change -- maybe one day but tomorrow I’ll be back at it. 'Cause bad habits they die hard, we live fast we die hard. Go against me you’ll die hard. ❜

002. Three Days Grace — Animal I Have Become: ❛ I can't escape this hell, so many times I've tried. But I'm still caged inside. Somebody get me through this nightmare I can't control myself. So what if you can see the darkest side of me? No one would ever change this animal I have become and help me believe it's not the real me. Somebody help me tame this animal. I can't escape myself -- so many times I've lied. But there's still rage inside. Somebody get me through this nightmare I can't control myself. ❜

003. Halsey — Castle: ❛ I'm headed straight for the castle. They wanna make me their queen king and there's an old man sitting on the throne that's saying that I probably shouldn't be so mean. I'm headed straight for the castle, they’ve got the kingdom locked up. And there's an old man sitting on the throne that's saying I should probably keep my pretty mouth shut. Straight for the castle. Oh, all these minutes passing, sick of feeling used. If you wanna break these walls down, you’re gonna get bruised. And now my neck is open wide, begging for a fist around it, already choking on my pride, so there's no use crying about it. ❜

004. First Aid Kit — Wolf: ❛ Holy light, oh, burn the night, oh keep the spirits strong. Watch it grow, child of wolf, keep holdin' on. When I run through the deep dark forest long after this begun, where the sun would set, the trees were dead and the rivers were none. And I hope for a trace to lead me back home from this place but there was no sound, there was only me and my disgrace. ❜

005. Jordan Max — Hell: ❛ Sending countries to war, just killing themselves. People trying to get higher, whilst living in hell. The devil keeps trying, to make us fail. You got to play with the fire, to save yourself. What you gonna do, watch the world fall down. Are you brave enough to play with fire, strong enough to put the pains behind you. Who can you trust to bin the world of liars. Wait a second, all the lie will guide you. Remember why we're here. Find love, hurry, disappear. Today, not tomorrow. Having trouble with the lord, why crucify me. What are we living life for, if no one is real. People burn by the fire, what else stings. Throughout the valley of the blind, only one is king. You might be asking the lord, save me. ❜

[holdfloofyfluff]

Unintended, Chapter 2

Summary: The best relationships aren’t those you go looking for, but those you fall into accidentally.

Characters: Sinbad, Ja’far, and company

Pairing: Sinja

Rating: Explicit

Chapter: 1

Read on Ao3

Ja’far returns from her lunch meeting to find a tiny pink orchid on her desk.  Much more tasteful than anything she’d normally chalk up to Sinbad -- not to mention it doesn’t block her work -- but Sinbad has always categorically disliked giving or receiving cut flowers.  Something about growing something beautiful only to slowly watch it die.  Ja’far always thought it a bit morbid, considering flowers were just an industry like any other crop, but everyone was allowed their hang-ups.  

As she rounds her desk, Ja’far sees a little note stuck below it reading “Dinner?” with a winky face.  Of course a winky face, Ja’far thinks.  Silly me, thinking Sinbad could ever do something entirely classy.  She then has a moment of panic that a stray assistant might have seen the note and gossip is already circulating.  It’s unlikely that someone has been in her office during the hour she has been away, but if they were, Sinbad’s handwriting is recognizable to most palace workers.  

Just then, Ja’far’s panicking is interrupted by the office door swinging open, and she rapidly shoves the note in a desk drawer.  

“Ja’faaaar,” Sinbad sing-songs as she spins through the doorway, looking far too pleased with herself.  

“Sin.” Ja’far drops her startled posture and sighs, then grabs the note back out of her drawer.  “What did you think you were doing?”  She holds the offending missive up for Sinbad to see.

“Giving you flowers?  You didn’t like them?”  Sinbad’s face falls.

“No, the flowers are very nice.  I mean the note.”  She waves it around for emphasis.

“Asking you to dinner?”  

“Sin, anyone could have seen this!”  Ja’far screeches.  

“And then they would have known you have a date.  It’s not that big a deal,” Sinbad puts her hands up in protest.  

“Everyone in this palace recognizes your handwriting, Sinbad.  They would have known I had a date with you!”  

“Oh.”  Sinbad looks sadly at the floor.  “I guess that would be bad.”  

Ja’far crumples the note up and shoves it back in her desk to be disposed of later.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to yell.  You were just trying to be cute, and it’s not that I wouldn’t tell people, it’s just....”   

“I know,” Sinbad sighs.  “Lord knows I’ve faced enough opposition for my gender already.  It’d be bad if rumors like that started circulating.”  She frowns in annoyance, then perks up.  “Anyway, dinner?”

Ja’far can’t help but smile a bit at how excited Sinbad looks.  “And where are we going to go, where no one can see us?”

Sinbad had not thought of this, as accustomed as she is to all her trysts just being public knowledge.  “Uh, we can’t just go somewhere and pretend it’s a normal dinner?”

“Definitely not; not without talk, at least.  We always go out in groups when we go.”  

“Damn.”  Sinbad rubs at her chin thoughtfully.  “I’ll make you dinner!  We can go to the beach or something.”  

“No.”  

“No?”  Sinbad had thought it was quite a good idea, plus there might be Ja’far and bikinis.

“I am not eating your atrocious cooking.  I’ll bring the food.”  

“But I’m the one who asked you!”  Sinbad is pretty sure making your date cook for you is bad form.  

Ja’far is more than a little entertained that after breaking every rule of dating etiquette since age sixteen, now Sinbad wants to do things by the book.  “I like cooking, Sin.  It’ll be fun.  I haven’t had a chance in a while.  Just… bring wine or something.”

Sinbad pouts and looks a little wistful.  “This is never going to be normal, is it?”  

“No,” Ja’far laughs.  “Even without professional repercussions, I don’t think we’d be capable of a ‘normal’ relationship.”  

Sinbad turns a bit self-conscious.  “Yeah, I know I’m not the easiest personality to live with.”  

“Don’t lose your bravado like that for me, it looks unnatural on you.”  Ja’far chides her.  “I’m not exactly a domestic goddess, either.  If we’ve survived each other’s company this long, I imagine we’re in the clear.”  

Sinbad straightens.  “I’m sorry.  This is just one of the few things I’m not good at.  And you’re right, we’ll be fine.”  

Ja’far pats her cheek.  “You’re good at a great many things, but definitely not at feelings.  Don’t worry about it with me.”  

“Funny, how everyone thinks I’m above such things, when really I just don’t know how.”

Ja’far smiles.  “Life hasn’t exactly given us time for normal emotional development.”  

“It’s too late for me now, I’m already stunted.”  Sinbad puts a hand to her forehead and feigns distress.  “I’ll come meet you at seven?”  

“Sure.”

“And leave all your stupid hats and scarves!  It’ll be dark by the time we get there.”

Ja’far just grumbles about how Sinbad has never known the true pain of a second degree sunburn, and returns to her work.   

The cooks look at Ja’far a bit oddly as she grabs ingredients and then tucks herself into a corner out of the way to work, but enough of them remember her spending much more time in the kitchen in the earlier days of Sinbad’s rule, and let her be.  A few newer ones ask what she is doing, and Ja’far just makes the excuse that she’s missed a couple dishes from her childhood, and wanted to make them, which isn’t completely untrue.  

Once completed, Ja’far eyes her finished products with a bit of skepticism.  It’s not exactly the most cohesive meal, but she and Sinbad have never been anything resembling picky eaters, and she is quite pleased with each individual dish.  She packs it up into various bags and boxes, and totes it out of the kitchen and back to her quarters.  She’s not quite sure where Sinbad is taking her, but their island isn’t very big and it should all keep for long enough.  

It’s just past six in the evening when Ja’far returns to her room.  She putters mindlessly about for a few minutes, getting distracted by letters on her desk, and then remembers her original purpose.  Ja’far tugs a backpack out from beneath her bed, puts towels on the bottom, boxes of food above that, and a picnic blanket on top, so they will be accessible in the order she needs them.  The part of her brain forever stuck in her younger days of traveling and surviving also wants to tuck emergency rations and supplies into the space remaining, but she resists.  A few flasks of water are strapped onto the sides and she deems it complete.  

Ja’far tugs off her work clothes and goes to get into something more comfortable.  She decides to put a swimsuit on first; it’s really not much different than underwear, and will save her the sandy struggle of changing on the beach.  Ja’far wants to just tug on her most practical, single-piece garment, maybe a shirt over it to hide her skinny body, but knows that’s most likely not what Sinbad is after, and though this whole idea is new to Ja’far, she does find herself wanting to please Sinbad.  So instead, she pulls on the only two-pieced article she owns, and then puts a baggy t-shirt and billowy pants on after it.  Sindria is still warm this time of year, but she puts a jacket on top of her backpack, just in case.  Good enough.

Just as Ja’far is going back to scanning the letters on her desk, Sinbad knocks on her door.  Ja’far opens the door and Sinbad grins when she sees her, all but bouncing on her toes into her room.  She proudly holds out two bottles.  “Red wine for me, black spiced rum for you.”  

“Oh good.  I was worried you were going to make me choke down a romantic glass of wine with you.”  Ja’far takes both bottles and sticks them in her pack.  Sinbad isn’t a very good hiker and the extra weight will only make her worse.  

“You’ll drink hard liquor out of a bottle, but not good wine.  No class,” Sinbad teases.

“Definitely not,” Ja’far agrees.  

“And you agree just like that.  No fun to tease, either.”  

“That is a learned skill,” Ja’far mutters.  “If I made it ‘fun,’ you’d never stop doing it.”  She then hoists her pack up onto her shoulders.  “Are you ready to go?”  

“Yep, let’s go out the back and try not to get seen.”  Sinbad opens the door to Ja’far’s bedroom and waves her through it.  “I can carry some of that; it looks heavy.”  

“It’s fine.  You’re bad at carrying things, anyway.”  

“No, I’m not!  I’m stronger than you,” Sinbad protests.

“Maybe short term, but long term you really are bad at it.  You’ll run forever on a flat beach, but god forbid you encounter a hill,” Ja’far says.  

“Fine,”  Sinbad relents.  “We are going to have to hike a little bit, since where we’re going isn’t really publicly accessible.”  Sinbad leads Ja’far out of a maintenance corridor of the palace, and into the lightly wooded hills behind it.  

Ja’far eyes the sheer walls of the crater that surrounds Sindria with skepticism.  “This is going to be an awfully long hike if we have to zig-zag up that until we reach water.”  

“I’ve navigated half the world, Ja’far, give me some credit.  I certainly know how to avoid a mountain.”  

Tropical foliage thwacks against the pack on Ja’far’s back as they walk.  “If you say so, but as far as I know there’s really only one entrance and exit to this island.”  

“That’s because you’re always hiding in your office instead of exploring,” Sinbad says.  

“Maybe I’d spend less time in my office if someone else was doing her share of work instead of ‘exploring,’” Ja’far retaliates.

“I get it all done eventually!  I just can’t sit still for eight hours like you can.”  

“Yes, you have been getting it done on time lately, so I suppose I should laud the improvement,”  Ja’far says dryly.  “If only I’d known I just had to do something more than scold you.”  

Sinbad winks.  “Scold and punish me any time, babe.”  

Ja’far narrows her eyes in reply.  “‘Babe’ me in public and it’ll be a punishment you will not enjoy.”  

“But I can in private?”  

“We’ll see.”  

“Ja’babe,” Sinbad comments with a giggle.

“Definitely not,” Ja’far cuts that off before it can start.  “Or I’ll start calling you Sindaddy.”

Sinbad makes a fake gagging noise and they walk until they’re right next to the looming, natural walls surrounding Sindria.  Finally Sinbad stops, pushes aside some overgrown bushes, and reveals a small tunnel.  “See?  Told you there was a way though.  They’re old lava spouts, I think.”  

“It goes all the way to the other side?”  Ja’far asks.  It seems like a bit of a security risk from where she’s standing, but she supposes there isn’t a way to close up every hole, and it might be good to have a back door, anyway.  

“Yep.  Less than a quarter of a mile from the water.”  Sinbad grabs a stone out of her pocket and focuses on it hard until eventually it lights up.  “Aha!  I’ll have to tell Yamuraiha it works with magoi manipulation.”  

Ja’far grabs it out of Sinbad’s hand to examine it, and it immediately goes dark.  

“Ja’far!  You ruined it.”  Sinbad grabs the stone once more.  “Now I have to focus all over again.”  

“Sorry.  Yamu was showing me these the other day, and she was throwing them around without touching them.”  

“Well, we aren’t all special, magical snowflakes,” Sinbad grumps.  Her stone starts glowing again and she walks into the tunnel.  “Come on, it’s not actually that far through here.”  

Ja’far follows her into the darkness, their footsteps echoing loudly in the small space.  Sinbad decides to take advantage of the acoustics and makes an exaggerated farting noise with her mouth, shouting “excuse you, Ja’far!”

“Are you serious, Sin?”  Ja’far deadpans.

“Ja’fart.”  She just falls into a fit of giggles as a reply, and Ja’far sighs.  Sometimes she really thinks Sinbad should have been born a man; it would have made it much easier for everyone else to accept her personality.  

They emerge into quickly dimming light on the other side of the passage, and Sinbad pockets her stone again.  Even with the sun already behind the horizon, there are enough stars emerging to provide light to see by.  

Sinbad toddles over the rocky coastline for a few hundred yards, scrambling up and down rough stone, before finally dropping down to a small, sandy patch nestled between dark outcroppings of sea-worn stone.  She looks up at Ja’far still on the rocks above her and holds out her hands proudly.  “It’s hard to find sand outside the harbor, but here we are!”  

Ja’far hops down to join her, and sets her backpack down on the ground.  She drops bottles heavily into the sand, and digs out the blanket she brought.  Sinbad immediately flops down onto it, pushed up on her elbows and staring out at the water.  

“Not that I’d go back, but I do miss the days we could just lie on the deck of our ship and stare at nothing,” Sinbad says wistfully.

“Me too,” Ja’far agrees.  “It wasn’t any easier, really, but it was simpler.”  

“And I was so much skinnier as a teenager!”  Sinbad has a note of complaint in her voice.

“You’re still pretty fit, Sin.  No one stays that thin forever.  Stop worrying about your appearance so much when you know damn well everyone thinks you’re beautiful.”  

“You stayed skinny!”  She points accusingly at Ja’far.  “But as soon as I turned seventeen it was just like….”  She grabs her hips and her breasts, making a small exploding noise, gesturing outwards to demonstrate.  

Ja’far laughs at her explanation.  “I think that happens to a lot of women, Sin.”  

“Yeah, but most women don’t want to run around and swing swords like I do, so it doesn’t get in their way.”  

“That does seem inconvenient,” Ja’far sympathizes, considering herself in the same situation.  She sits herself down on Sinbad’s splayed thighs and grabs her hips, squeezing slightly.  “I mean, I like them, though.  Plus, wider hips give you better balance?”  she tries to offer.

“And breasts do nothing useful at all,” Sinbad huffs.  “Whatever, at least you’re happy.”    

Ja’far squeezes again.  “Very,” she confirms, and then lifts herself off of Sinbad to reach into her backpack.

The first thing she had decided to make was not something either of Sinbad or herself had encountered until an immigrant family had brought it to Sindria when they started a restaurant; Ja’far had begged the recipe off of them because Sinbad had loved it so much.  She still sent an attendant running to get it halfway across the city at least twice a week for her lunch.   

As soon as Sinbad sees the glass cup, she fist pumps.  “Yesss.  Gimme.”  

Ja’far passes her a cup and a spoon, along with some gingery flatbread.  

“You don’t even like ceviche, Ja’far,”  Sinbad says around a mouthful of food.

“Don’t speak while you eat,”  Ja’far admonishes.  “And I don’t like cilantro, it tastes like old soap.  The rest of it is good, so I made myself some without cilantro.”  She pulls out her own cup that is much less green than Sinbad’s, and starts eating in small bites.  

“It tastes nothing like soap.”

“It does!  It’s about the only thing Sharrkan and I regularly agree on.  It tastes like rancid soap.”  

“Whatever,”  Sinbad mutters, and continues eating quickly.  Somehow, Ja’far is already finished before Sinbad is even halfway done.  “You still eat so fast!  Maybe you really are tiny because you never chew your food; Vittel was right all along.”  

Ja’far throws a small piece of raw fish and it splats onto Sinbad’s face, slowly sliding down her cheek.  “It’s not my fault I’m small!”  

Sinbad laughs and puts her hands up in a placating gesture, waving her spoon around.  “I know, I know.  I was only teasing.”  

Ja’far huffs in reply and starts shuffling through her bag again.  She plops a bowl onto the blanket between herself and Sinbad, and pulls the covering off to serve herself some.  

“Polo!”  Sinbad shrieks, prompting Ja’far to nearly drop her spoon.  

“Yes, fava beans are good this time of the year.  There’s also dill, barberries, and lamb in it; and far too much saffron, of course.”  Ja’far spoons some into her empty cup, which is probably not the most tasteful flavor combination, but she doesn’t really care if it means another dish won’t have to be washed.

“You made this all for me,” Sinbad notes.  “You could have just made sandwiches or something.”  

“Well, you complain about missing basic Parthevian dishes, sometimes.  And they serve such complicated meals in the palace; I get tired of it too.”  She sticks a spoonful of rice in her mouth.  “And it’s not all for you; dessert is for me.”  

Sinbad starts eating the polo straight from the bowl, and moans happily.  “You did this perfectly, Ja’far.”  

“Saher’s recipe,”  Ja’far replies.  “Though Drakon was the one who suggested adding the berries.”  

“I need to have dinner with them more often,”  Sinbad muses.  “I swear I sometimes forget they’re from the same place as me, even if they had a bit more luxurious an upbringing.  Everyone here is all about spicy food, but no one else wants sour stuff!”  She purposefully picks out a sour berry and cracks it between her teeth.  

“That explains why you were so excited about the lime-y fish,”  Ja’far realizes.  

“Yeah!  Fish and sour and spicy all at once!  It’s the perfect food,”  Sinbad raptures.  

“I’ve definitely got to give that family a tax break or something, they keep trying to give you food for free when you send your errand boys for lunch.”  

“Really?  They shouldn’t do that, I’m just another customer, and I can certainly afford to pay.”  Sinbad sounds a bit upset.  

“Apparently you’re a great boost to their reputation and business, but I agree.  You should go tell them yourself.  Their little girl idolizes you, you know.  Runs around the shop with a toy sword and everything.”  Ja’far smiles briefly to herself.

“I’ll go get my own lunch then, next time.  Honestly any excuse to get out of my office is a good one.”   

“You’ve always been better with people than papers.”  

“And you better be glad of it, or I wouldn’t need to keep you around.”  Sinbad bumps playfully into Ja’far’s shoulder.  

“Between the two of us, we almost make an entire useful person,” Ja’far responds.  

“Not the feelings part, though.”

“No, definitely not.”  

They eat in comfortable silence for a while, the occasional clinking of silverware on glass the only thing interrupting the soft rumbling of waves.  

Ja’far finishes her own food quickly, and then waits for Sinbad to finish hers.  Only when they’re both done does she pull her last dish out of her pack, placing the box containing it into the empty polo bowl.  

As far as Sinbad can tell, it’s a box of folded leaves with a few pieces of fruit.  

Sinbad picks up a leaf-wrapped bundle.  “A leaf pyramid,” she declares.  “Do I eat it?”

“Not unless you are fond of eating banana leaves.  Unwrap it.”  

Sinbad does so, and still doesn’t know what she has in her hands.  It’s sticky, mostly clear, and has something orange in the middle of it.  “...An egg?”  

Ja’far laughs at her.  “No, not an egg, you loon.  Just eat it.”  

She bites into it and finds it tougher than expected, and strangely chewy.  It’s slightly sweet and the middle is spicier.  “Good,” she decides, “But weird.  What is it?”  Sinbad reaches to unwrap another one.  

“Tapioca dumplings.  Different stuff in the middle than what I remember, but it’s as close as I could get.”  

“Why’s this one black?”  Sinbad prods at it and bites a corner off.  

“Because we ran out of normal tapioca, so I used the black kind.  Eat it with a piece of watermelon, it’s good that way.”  Ja’far pokes a piece of fruit in the box towards her.  

Sinbad does so, and approves.  She watches Ja’far reach for a rolled up leaf and unwrap it.  Ja’far stretches the dumpling between her fingers and smiles.  “Where did you learn to make these?  I’ve never seen food like this.”  

“I didn’t really learn anywhere, but they were my favorite when I was a kid, not that you’d have caught me dead admitting it.”  She smiles a bit sadly.  “Mahad and Vittel used to make them when we were out and wouldn’t get caught.  I would have told them off, but I liked the dumplings, so I let them.  I learned by watching, and I don’t know where they learned.  Not sure they even remembered.”  

“Murderous child with a sweet tooth,”  Sinbad muses.

Ja’far runs a hand over her face.  “Don’t remind me, I was such a dramatic and horrid little thing.  I just wish I’d told them, back then.”  

“All children are dramatic and horrid occasionally,”  Sinbad laughs.  “Told who what?”

“Told them the dumplings were my favorite,”  Ja’far replies.

“I’m sure they knew, if your horrid little self let them be made,”  Sinbad reassures her.

“You’re probably right.”  Ja’far stops tugging at the thing in her hands and bites half of it off.  “Not quite the same, but close.”  

“Well I like them,”  Sinbad decides.  “And your little leaves.”  

“I can make boxes too; they’re pretty.”  

“Show me next time, then.”  Sinbad bounces to her feet.  “Now swimming!”  

Ja’far swears Sinbad must have been born with her feet already in the water, with the childish joy she still takes in swimming.  She’s quite good at it, too, though Ja’far imagines that is more a result of growing up on the ocean than any preference for it.  Ja’far herself hadn’t actually known how to swim when Sinbad found her, though she’d learned quickly, living on boats.  She wasn’t exactly an effective fighter when a push off the edge could kill her, after all.

Sinbad already has her shirt and pants off, and is scampering towards the water.  She’s in a pale blue suit that is surprisingly modest, considering some of the things Ja’far has seen her wear.  The slit sides on the bottoms are still flashing the skin of her hip, but actually looked fairly secure.  Her top was quite a contraption, two straps going over her shoulders to criss-cross in a myriad of ways before wrapping around and around under her bust and finally tying together, presumably to give some support.  She’s gone through the effort of making sure she can actually swim in her outfit, rather than just lie around and look nice as she occasionally does on public beaches, and for some reason that makes Ja’far smile.   

She’s up to her knees in the water before Sinbad realizes Ja’far isn’t with her.  She turns around to call Ja’far over and sees her in the middle of pulling a shirt over her head, her pants already neatly folded on the blanket.  

There are, of course, no frills with Ja’far.  She is in a fairly simple, black, sporty suit, straps woven together and crossed in an x across her back, but otherwise unadorned.  Her bottoms fit neatly to her hips in one smooth line, since she doesn’t have the flesh to dig into as Sinbad does.  Her arms stay wrapped in wire, and darts usually hidden in her sleeves are instead strapped to her thigh.  Sinbad barely notices any of that, however, too fascinated with how Ja’far’s paper-white skin fluoresces under the moonlight.  Lithe muscle is visible in blue shadows as Ja’far walks over to her, and Sinbad does her best to shake herself out of her momentary trance.  

Ja’far’s feet hit the water and she is pleasantly surprised.  “It’s warm.”  

“The air starts cooling at night, this time of year, but the currents won’t be colder for another two months, yet,”  Sinbad explains.  Then she points to Ja’far’s knives.  “Aren’t those going to be heavy to swim with?”  

“Not really.  And I’m not going off into the dark without them.”  

Sinbad puts her hands on her hips.  “We’re plenty safe out here, Ja’far.”

“Famous last words,” Ja’far mutters.  The only way someone is getting her knives off of her is by prying them from her cold, dead hands.  

“Fine.”  Sinbad sees the determined look on her face and drops her hands in defeat.  “Come on, let’s go.”  

Ja’far is less hesitant to get in the water, now that she knows it won’t chill her for hours afterwards, and is quick to join Sinbad a bit farther out.  The swells are calm in the leeward waters around Sindria, and they don’t crash any higher than her waist.  She decides to do her part in this arrangement and grabs Sinbad’s hand, pulling her farther out.  “Didn’t you want to swim?”  

“Yes!  Out to that thing, ok?”  Sinbad points to an outcropping of rocks maybe one hundred fifty yards away.  Ja’far nods, and Sinbad takes a series of ungraceful, wooshing steps into deeper water, and once it has reached the tops of her thighs she dives in.  

Sinbad looks back to make sure Ja’far is following her, and then strokes out from the beach.  Part of the way she stops, waiting for Ja’far to catch up, her pale head bobbing along the surface.  The bottom is only thirty feet down, and Sinbad can see fairly well under the nearly-full moon.  She dives down to the bottom, carefully decompressing her ears, and searches for what she saw from above.  She grabs it, and kicks quickly to the surface.  

Just as Sinbad surfaces, Ja’far catches up.  “Look, Ja’far.  It’s you in the morning.”  

She is presented with a fairly large crab, flailing in agitation and pinched between Sinbad’s fingers.  She can’t help but laugh; Sinbad looks very proud of her joke.  “If it were even grumpier and naked from molting, it’d look a lot more like you.  Put the poor thing back, it’s going to pinch you eventually.”  

Sinbad releases the crab, and it floats down through the water much like a leaf through the air.  They both watch it, and then continue the brief remaining distance to the pile of rocks, though it’s become clear there is a small amount of vegetation growing on it, with their proximity.  Sinbad crawls up onto a dark rock and motions for Ja’far to join her.

“I can get in from underwater, but you might not want to try that.  We can climb over the top.”  

“Thanks,” Ja’far says as she climbs up to join her.  She’s never had the penchant for holding her breath that Sinbad does.  

They crawl up over the side and it isn’t twenty seconds before they are presented with a large hole in the ground.  Much to Ja’far’s surprise, Sinbad simply keeps striding forward, and suddenly disappears down it.  She hears a splash, and Ja’far peers over the edge to see what is down there.  Not much is visible, but she hears Sinbad’s voice echoing and telling her to jump down.  Never one to be afraid of heights, Ja’far follows, and after a quick drop lands back into warm water.  She kicks to the surface and puffs excess salt water from her lips, searching for Sinbad in the comparative dark.  

She finds her, eventually, and swims over to join her in the strange sort of watery cavern she finds herself in.  Ja’far would worry about tides in an enclosed space, but it’s clear Sinbad isn’t doing so, and she’s far more in tune with that sort of thing than Ja’far is.  

“Tide’s going out,”  Sinbad confirms, as if hearing her thoughts.  

Ja’far finally reaches her and finds Sinbad sitting on a stone shelf barely three inches below the surface of the water.  She joins her on the natural bench, and quickly finds lips pressed against hers.  Ja’far can’t see much, but she can taste the salt on Sinbad’s lips, and hear her breathing echoing in the cavern amidst the lapping of water.  She pulls back long enough to maneuver herself onto Sinbad’s lap, and then kisses her in return.  

It’s messy in the dark, with clicking teeth and misplaced swipes of tongues, but it’s fun anyway, and filled with a sort of directionless desire just to be closer.  

“Alright, fess up,” Ja’far finally breaks it off with a laugh.  “How many times have you pulled this stunt before?”  

Sinbad is a bit offended.  “Taken people here?  None!”  

“This seems far too planned out for ‘none,’”  Ja’far observes.

“Fine,”  Sinbad grabs Ja’far about the waist.  “I’ve thought about this, us, for a long time.  And I started just seeing everything that way, where I could take you, what I could show you.  So I found this and naturally that’s where my mind went.  But I’ve never taken anyone else.”   

Ja’far puts her hands against Sinbad’s face and feels her flushing.  “You really have thought about this.”  

“Yeah,”  Sinbad admits quietly.  “I tried not to, since I knew it wouldn’t actually happen, but I couldn’t help it.”  

Ja’far strokes her thumbs along Sinbad’s jaw, and then down her neck to knead softly at her shoulders.  “And you were never going to do anything about it?”  She asks.  “That’s unlike you, to not try and obtain what you want.”   

Sinbad relaxes into Ja’far’s hands on her tight shoulders, and wraps her hands around Ja’far’s narrow waist to rub her thumbs on either side of her spine.  It’s easier to admit these things in the dark.  “I hoped I’d have the courage one day, but I’m me, and you’re you, and it was never easy to just start it.  And then there were so many bigger problems and uggghhhhh,”  Sinbad trails off in a groan.  “I did have it planned out, how I’d try to get you to notice without making it weird, and tell you, but then you had to go and blow all my plans right out of the water!”   

Ja’far laughs through her nose and wraps her hands around Sinbad’s back, propping her chin on one strong shoulder and pushing her face into long hair that is starting to dry a bit crackly with the seawater.

“Oh well, at least I have you now,”  Sinbad continues.  “And for as long as you’ll let me, if that’s ok.  I planned a lot of dates in my head, so hopefully this one goes well enough that you’ll let me take you on another one.”  

Sinbad tucks Ja’far’s shoulder under her chin and tugs her close against her, content to just to sit there, think about nothing, and listen to the water and soft breaths.  Her meditation is interrupted when she hears a soft sniffle by her ear.  

“Ja’far?”  

No response.  

“Ja’far, are you crying?”  

“No!  ….Yes, a little,” is the slightly wavering reply.  

Sinbad immediately lets go of Ja’far, trying to lean back and see her face, but Ja’far resists the pull, keeping her arms locked tight and her chin over Sinbad’s shoulder.  “What happened?  Are you alright?  Oh, I knew I was going to get this all wrong and now you’re--”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Sin.”  Ja’far gives a watery chuckle.  “Stop wiggling and just hold me.”  

Sinbad complies, curling her arms gently back around Ja’far.  “But you’re crying,” she protests.

Ja’far lets out a shuddering sigh and tries to control her voice.  “Sorry; you know I’ve always been a bit teary about things like this.”

“You do always cry at weddings,”  Sinbad mutters.  “It’s kind of weird for someone I’ve never seen go on two dates with the same person.”  

Ja’far flicks Sinbad’s ear in response.  “At least I went on dates at all.”  She settles her hand back onto Sinbad’s shoulder blade.  “I just never thought I could have something like this.  I was always distracted doing other things, and I guess some part of me thought I wasn’t allowed, after what I’ve done.  I never let myself consider a relationship, because I’d never be able to explain what I’ve had to do in my life to anyone.

“But I don’t have to explain anything to you.  I hadn’t really thought about what that meant, until now.”

Sinbad tucks her arms under Ja’far’s and reaches up to stroke over matted hair and rub at her back in mindless circles.  “There are a lot of things I never knew you wanted.”  

“To be fair, I didn’t know I wanted this sort of thing either.”  

“Well we both should have guessed it, then.  You’re not so hyperactive and flighty like me, it would make sense that you would eventually want something more settled.”  Then Sinbad chuckles.  “In which case you’ve made a poor choice; I’m not a terribly stable person.”  

Ja’far finally relinquishes her tight hold to lean back and try to look at Sinbad through the darkness.  “Not in some things, and we do move around a lot, but you’ve been there since I was ten years old.  You’re one of the only constants I’ve had in my life, actually.  You’re stable where it counts.”  

“I haven’t actually slept with someone else in months,” Sinbad confesses.  “So I think I could be stable in more ways, if you want.”  

“I already know that, Sin.  And sex is complicated in our professional situations already, so I’m not…”  Ja’far fumbles.  “I appreciate it, but relationships are very strange in your particular position, so don’t worry overmuch about that part of it.”  

“It’s not like I couldn’t have,”  Sinbad defends.  “Maybe I even should have slept with them, at least the important ones.  I just didn’t want to sleep with anyone else.”  

“Cute,” Ja’far states.

“It’s not ‘cute,’ it’s…”

“It’s cute.”  

“Fine, whatever.  Leave me and my sappy self to die in humiliation,” Sinbad bemoans.  “Oh, to return to my careless youth.”  

Ja’far starts laughing and finds she can’t stop.  “For a fairly practical person when the need arises, you’re so dramatic sometimes.”  

“Only when I know I’m allowed to be.”  Sinbad lifts her chin to press a quick kiss to Ja’far’s lips.  “Let’s get back before I get all pruney.  Tide’s probably low enough that you can see the exit.”  

Ja’far whines at having to give up her comfy seat and go back into the water, but ultimately Sinbad pushes her back in, and she has no choice but to swim again.  Sinbad guides them around a few twists and turns, and then a bare sliver of moonlight is visible above the surface of the water.  Ja’far still has to hold her breath and swim underwater to get through the tunnel, but it doesn’t cause the usual anxiety, as she knows how far it is.  

Once on the other side, Sinbad starts stroking back to shore, until Ja’far grabs her ankle.  Sinbad looks back at her, trying to kick her ankle free.  

“I’m tired; carry me,” Ja’far complains.  

Sinbad regards her with amusement, as Ja’far rarely admits weakness to anyone.  “It’s not that far, carry yourself.”  

“I’ll just fall behind, and then you’ll have to wait.”  

“If I can’t hike, then you can’t swim,” Sinbad points out, and Ja’far frowns at her.  “Come on, just keep your head above water and kick.  I’ll do it too, so I won’t go fast.”  

Ja’far grumbles, but acquiesces, and it isn’t long before she can touch her feet down on the sandy bottom and walk the rest of the way to shore.  Her body cools quickly once she is out of the water and in the open air, so Ja’far shuffles towards her backpack to dig for a towel.

“I wasn’t going to comment originally, but that’s a rather big backpack for one evening,”  Sinbad observes.  “At least it’s not twice the size of your body, I guess,” she adds after, remembering Ja’far’s travel habits in her childhood.  

“Some of us like to go traipsing off into the woods without even a water bottle, and some of us like to plan properly so we have water for ourselves, and then we have extra water when we find the fool who forgot theirs.”  Ja’far emerges with her towel and wraps it snuggly around herself.  She looks up to find Sinbad is sitting on the stone, looking slightly shamefaced.

“You forgot a towel,”  Ja’far states blandly.  

Sinbad just purses her lips in reply.  

Ja’far digs back into her backpack and pulls out a second towel that she shoves towards Sinbad, who immediately tucks it over her head and shoulders so only her face is peeking out, but most of her lower torso and legs are left bared.  “I won’t make fun of your bags anymore, Ja’far.”  

“You look like a sad nun on top and a dancer on the bottom,”  Ja’far notes.  

Sinbad wraps the towel more normally around her torso.  “Happy now?”  

“I never said I was unhappy about the sad nun in bikini bottoms.”  

“What a terrible thing to say; I’d die being a nun, even if I got to wear bikini bottoms.”  

Ja’far snorts.  “You wouldn’t even last a day as a nun.”

“Probably not even an hour,” Sinbad confirms.  

Toweling her head off, Ja’far sits back down on the blanket, reaching for the bottles she had previously thrown in the sand.  Sinbad crawls off her rock and hurries to sit down next to Ja’far, grabbing for her bottle of wine.  

“I like this arrangement, because you let me drink without complaint when you can supervise me.”  

“You need supervision because it’s a problem, Sin.”  

“Hey, I keep it to night-time hours!” Sinbad protests.  “You might be able to somehow manage your stress through organization and overwork, but not all of us can.”  

“Doesn’t mean it isn’t a problem, with how much you need it.  Not to mention how you occasionally lose yourself in public, all your drunken affairs…” Ja’far trails off, not wanting to continue.  

“...I know,” Sinbad admits after a beat.  “But I’ve been better recently, haven’t I?  I just can’t keep it all in like you do, and sometimes my head won’t shut up, so it helps.  Obviously it’s a bit indecent, but I’ve learned to just go with it.”  

Ja’far wraps her ankle around Sinbad’s.  “You’ve never even said you knew it was a problem, before.”  

“That’s because I know it is, but I don’t have a better strategy,” Sinbad replies.  “And at this point everyone sort of accepts it, or at least tolerates it.”  

“It’s alright, I guess we all have our issues, even if I have to constantly fret over your behavior.”  Ja’far pokes at her ribs, and Sinbad twitches.  “And you have been better recently.  I think this might be good for us; I actually took a night off work, ate properly, and might go to bed on time.”  

“If I have to admit I’m an alcoholic, you have to admit you’re a workaholic,” Sinbad says.  

Ja’far pinches her lips.  “Fine.  I constantly deprive myself of basic bodily needs because I consider it necessary to prove my worth through labor, first.”  

Sinbad does not so much kiss her cheek as press her face into it.  “And tonight, I’m not drunk and you’re not deprived of food or sleep.”  

Ja’far tips down until she is lying flat on the blanket, and Sinbad joins her.  “No, we aren’t.  And there are pretty stars and no one demanding anything from either of us.”  

The last of the water dries from their skin as they lie on the blanket in silence, shoulder to shoulder, occasionally sipping from separate bottles.  

All of a sudden, Sinbad jumps as Ja’far rubs a thumb gently over her eyelid.

“You’re not wearing any make up tonight.”  

“Well I figured it would all just smear in the water.”  Sinbad is a bit self-conscious that Ja’far even noticed.  

“You never go out without makeup on,” Ja’far notes.

“Is it bad?”  

“No, I like you without it.  Though I like you with it on, too.  It just makes me happy you didn’t try to put it on for me.”  

“Oh.  Well, I thought about it.  But you’ve certainly seen me in far sorrier states, it’s not like I was trying to impress anyone.  Plus now I can rub my eyes as much as I please.”  And Sinbad does so enthusiastically while Ja’far giggles.  

Ja’far rolls over and half on top of her, biting at her chin, then kissing her lips.  “You’re pretty and you know it, but are still so worried about your appearance anyway.  Don’t ever think about that with me, because I care about much more than that.”  

Sinbad kisses her back briefly.  “And you don’t give a damn what you look like.”  She snaps the strap of Ja’far’s swimsuit.  “But still wore this for me.  I don’t really care either, but thanks.”  Sinbad tickles her hands up Ja’far’s bare sides.  

Ja’far wriggles uncomfortably and grabs Sinbad’s hands, planting them on either side of her head.  She pushes her mouth against Sinbad’s and can’t remember ever being so delighted by a mixture of food condiments, ocean, and fermented fruit.  

Sinbad hums happily and wraps her hands around Ja’far’s back, salt sticking their skin together.  She lifts her head from the blanket to return the kiss for a while, and then eventually separates and lays it back down.  

“We should probably pack up and go,” Sinbad suggests.  

Ja’far starts to get up, then flops back down, her face between Sinbad’s breasts.  “But I’m so nice and warm here.”  

Sinbad sits up anyway and catches Ja’far before she tips off.  “Maybe now, but you won’t be for long.  You don’t get to drink without measuring, next time.  We might get in trouble if you start just wanting to lie around half-naked.  That’s my job.”  

“Yeah, yeah,” Ja’far grouches, but rises up to her feet.  

Sinbad quite obviously pans up and down her form, admiring the view.

“You didn’t want to ravish me on the beach?”  Ja’far teases.

Sinbad makes a mildly horrified face.  “No, definitely not.  Sand everywhere.  Zero out of ten stars; do not recommend.”  

Ja’far laughs as she starts to gather their things.  “That sounds like a story I need to hear sometime.”  

Sinbad giggles nervously.  “Ah, it’s ok.  Don’t think it’s good form to… I mean now that we’re….”  She waves her hand between them.  

“Sin, I’m under no illusions about your sex life.”  Ja’far smiles.  “And I’m not the jealous type, anyway.  I still want you to tell me everything because you’re my best friend and I want to support you, if nothing else.  Plus, you’ve had some pretty hilarious mishaps that I’d hate to miss being told about.”  

“There is most definitely such a thing as too adventurous,” Sinbad grimaces.  “And thanks, Ja’far.  I mean, I know that, but it’s good to hear, even if you do laugh too much at my misfortune.”  

Ja’far finishes packing her bag, and starts scrambling back over the rocks enclosing them.  Once on top, Sinbad grabs her hand.  They walk in silence for a while, hands swinging between them, humid air finally starting to cool, and the sounds of various frogs and insects ringing in the air.  

“I’m glad I’ve always had you, Ja’far.”  

“Likewise.  I’d most likely be dead in a ditch without you.”   

Sinbad takes a nervous misstep.  “I don’t mean just for what you can do.  You’re right, about what you said earlier.  I don’t worry with you, you know?  You know where I come from, every problem I’ve ever caused, every failure I’m culpable for, but you’re still here.  I think that’s why I want this, when I’ve never felt safe with anyone else.”  

Ja’far bumps her hip with Sinbad’s.  “Don’t sound so apologetic about it.  You’ve turned out a sight better than most kids who had to care for their parents years before puberty.  You founded a damn country before you’d even reached proper adulthood; and that’s somehow superseded by your failures?  You’re human, Sin.  It’s what makes you a good ruler, and it’s something I like about you.”  

Sinbad stops and tugs Ja’far to a stop with her.  “Can I kiss you?”  

“Knock yourself out,” Ja’far chuckles.  “And for future reference, you don’t have to ask, if we’re having a moment in private.”  

Sinbad grins and brings their lips together, and it is nothing like their previous kisses.  There is only affection and gratitude, barely a trace of the want that had spurred them before.  Ja’far’s lips are slightly chapped and stinging at the edges, where Sinbad’s are pliable and slightly tacky with the remnants of lipstick from earlier in the day.  Neither of them even open their teeth far enough for any sort of tongue contact, content simply to meet and then and separate, softly tugging each other’s lips between their own.  Eventually, they come apart, then come together again for a scarce dozen seconds, breathing slightly escalated.  Ja’far feels a strange sensation welling in her, and tears wanting to tug at her eyes again.  

“No one’s ever kissed me like that.”  Sinbad is also a bit overcome, some sort of visceral attraction that has nothing to do with sex consuming her, body and soul.  

“Me neither,” Ja’far tries not to sniffle.  She twists their hands until their wrists are nearly intertwined, wanting to wrap around Sinbad and never let go.  “Let’s get back, before we make it even easier to miss us.”  

Sinbad pushes one last, quick kiss to her lips, and then turns to start walking again.  

Ja’far squeezes her hand, sweating slightly and gripping a bit too tight, and doesn’t let go until they’re under the first public streetlight, and all the eyes to see them.

The ocean water necessitates bathing, but they stick to Sinbad’s rooms.  She has a large enough bath for the two of them, and they both want to continue their rather isolated moments out of the public eye, even if that only means the vague chance of palace staff in larger baths.  

Sinbad is quick to latch onto Ja’far, wrapping as many limbs around her as she can, and Ja’far lets her.  They don’t wash so much as soak, just breathing and clinging.  There is little lust in the equation, but it’s uniquely intimate anyway, so close together and so much quietude.  

Eventually the water starts cooling and they are forced to get out.  Ja’far dries herself and pulls on an oversized nightshirt, and Sinbad doesn’t put anything on at all.  Ja’far pushes a brush through her long, wet hair, and folds it into a damp plait, rolling it into a ball and tying it at the base of Sinbad’s neck.  

“Now you won’t strangle me, and it will be cute and curly in the morning.”  

Sinbad could melt into a pile of sleepy goo, right then, but instead shuffles herself under blankets, and tucks Ja’far in with her.  

“Do you want… um…” Ja’far is tired, but wriggles closer to Sinbad anyway, trying to get her meaning across.  She’d already resigned herself to Sinbad having a much higher sex drive than herself, and she’s willing to compromise.  

“Sex on the first date, Ja’far?  How scandalous.  And I actually kind of just want to sleep,” Sinbad replies, sounding surprised.  “Unless you want to?”

“No, sleep is definitely at the top of my list of priorities.”  Ja’far relaxes, now that the awkward and inevitable question has been resolved.  She rolls onto her back and lays her head against Sinbad’s chest and shoulder.  “Just try not to kill me overnight.”  

Sinbad wraps an arm around her.  “I’ll try, you blanket stealer.”  

“I do not!”  Ja’far protests.

“You do too.  It’s a good thing I run like a furnace and kick them off half the time, anyway.”  

Ja’far just grumbles and snuggles into Sinbad.  She certainly is warm.  At this rate, she may even stop wearing socks to bed.

[chasingthecosmos]

By Any Other Name

Fandom: Doctor Who Rating: G Pairing: The Doctor/Rose Tyler, Eleventh Doctor/Rose Tyler (The Doctor/Clara Oswald, Eleventh Doctor/Clara Oswald) Chapters: 8/26 Read on AO3 here.

“Rose Tyler was dying - or, at least, she was relatively certain that that’s what was happening …” A Season 7 AU where Rose returns to her home universe only to find that 100 years have passed and nothing is quite the way that she remembers it. She wakes up with a new body, a new life, and a new Doctor. What has the Bad Wolf gotten her into this time? Rating may go up as the story continues

But no trip with the Doctor (however seemingly-innocent it may be) ever really went according to plan, did it? Rose realized that she had forgotten, during the decades spent living her normal, human life - she had forgotten the lives that were sometimes lost in the disasters that the Doctor jumped into. She wondered if he was ever truly able to make himself forget the many names and faces that were lost while he fought so hard to put the universe back in order. She wondered if he ever went back and counted them.

Rose had been beside herself when she had been forced to sit back and watch as Merry Gejelh, the Queen of Years, had been carried away screaming - but the Doctor had quickly taken on a familiar look of determination, so Rose followed him without question as he immediately started carrying out a plan for her rescue.

"I need something precious!" the Doctor cried out as he ran up to a stand in the bazaar that seemed to be renting some sort of alien mopeds.

"Well, you must have something!" Rose called back, gesturing lamely to his coat pockets and barely biting back the urge to dig into his bigger-on-the-inside pockets herself. "All the places you've seen, there must be something!"

"This," the Doctor admitted, sheepishly waving his new sonic screwdriver between them before returning it to his breast pocket once more, "and I don't want to give it away, because it comes in handy."

Rose gritted her teeth in silence for a moment as she stared deep into his eyes, desperately trying to puzzle out a better option. The Doctor simply stared back at her, his nervous energy making her feel as fidgety as he was. She knew that he was testing her, waiting for her to come to the same conclusion that he had already made before he had even turned to ask her.

Finally, without breaking eye contact with him, Rose bit the inside of her cheek and wrenched the thin, brass-colored ring from her third finger. She shoved it into the Doctor's hand without a word and turned away before she could convince herself otherwise.

It's not even real, she silently scolded herself. It's just a fake - a stupid, useless imitation. But no amount of assurances could ease the deep, bitter sensation of loss that Rose could feel deep in her gut as she crossed her arms tight over her chest and determinedly stared at her own boots. She felt as though she were somehow betraying her husband by throwing away the last memento of his that she had left. She hated the Doctor for asking her to do it, and she hated herself even more for going along with it.

She could see the Doctor out of the corner of her eye slowly twisting the small ring about in his fingers before he finally stepped forward and handed it to the female alien renting out mopeds. The two of them didn't speak again until they got to the pyramid and they fell back into their usual routine of teamwork in an attempt to save the young, innocent Merry Gejelh.

However, neither of them had quite been prepared for that rescue to include facing off against a giant, soul-eating sun.

"You're going to fight it, aren't you?" Rose asked as she stood at the Doctor's side and squared off against the impending alien threat before them.

"Regrettably, yes. I think I may be about to do that," he murmured sardonically.

"It's really big," she commented idly.

"I've seen bigger."

"Really?" she asked, finally breaking her gaze away from the deadly sun and whirling to look at him with a doubtful expression.

"Are you joking? It's massive!" he hissed, turning to meet her eye as well.

"I'm staying with you," she informed him simply.

"No you're not."

"Yes I am. I can ... assist," she insisted stubbornly.

"No you can't!"

"I'm not leaving you, Doctor." Rose locked her jaw as she stared up at him, but his expression was completely unwavering - just as it always was when he was determined to play the martyr.

"Listen, you've got something precious, there," he murmured, his tone low and serious as he glanced sideways at Merry. "And when you're holding onto something precious, you run - always, always run."

He was looking deep into her eyes now and Rose felt as though her knees might buckle with the sheer weight of emotion that she could see lurking behind his green gaze. "You run and run as fast as you can and you don't stop running until you're out from under the shadow. Now," the Doctor paused to flash Merry a small, encouraging smile as he continued, "off you pop. Take the moped. I'll walk."

He turned away without a backwards glance and the familiar routine of their adventures quickly came rushing back to Rose, reminding her that there was always an order to things. Make sure that the civilians were safe, first - save as many as you could - and then go back and save the Doctor.

"Isn't he frightened?" Merry asked nervously as Rose set her back down in the amphitheater a safe distance away form the glowing golden pyramid.

"I think he is," Rose admitted, already preparing the moped so that she could retrace her steps and get back to him. "I think he's very frightened."

"I want to help," the young girl insisted.

"So do I," Rose agreed, giving her an encouraging nod before punching the accelerator on her borrowed vehicle and racing back to the Doctor's side.

She found him hunched over before the massive sun, his limbs shaking weakly and his head hung in defeat. The image sent a shock of pain straight to Rose's heart, but before she could move any closer to comfort him or assess his injuries, she blinked and a familiar flash of gold caught and drew her attention away.

The Bad Wolf appeared this time as nothing more than a humanoid shape with long, glowing hair and bright golden eyes. She stood over the Doctor like a sentinel, keeping herself between him and the imminent threat before him, but her eyes were trained on Rose.

"He has sacrificed his own memories to sate the hunger of the beast," the otherworldly creature informed her. "But it is still not enough."

"What do we do?" Rose asked breathlessly, glancing in terror between the glowing woman and the ravenous star.

"The only thing that will satisfy that being's hunger is the infinity of time," the Bad Wolf explained simply. "I am the sun and the moon, the day and the night. I can out-burn the monster."

"So do it, then!" Rose demanded impatiently.

The Bad Wolf didn't say another word, she simply raised her hand towards Rose, silently beckoning her forward. Rose felt ice cold fear clutching at her heart, but the Doctor was still bent down in the dirt at her feet and she couldn't turn down the offer to end all of this and save his life. Rose Tyler would always be there to protect her Doctor, no matter what the consequences.

The second that her fingertips touched the glowing gold light of the Wolf's, Rose gasped as the energy of time quickly flooded her veins. It wasn't the raw, unrestrained power of the time vortex this time - the energy was focused and had a dangerous intent. Rose could feel the Bad Wolf in her head as a separate entity, channeling through her as the soul-eating star greedily tried to drain the life out of her.

She was distantly aware of the Doctor shifting near her feet once more, but Rose shut her eyes tight as the eternal song of time rang through her head and forced herself to focus on feeding as much energy into the hungry alien sun as possible.

Keep him safe, a feminine voice whispered as the golden light pulsed brighter and brighter. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, the Bad Wolf was gone as though she never was.

Rose gasped as she instantly returned to her own mind and her eyes snapped open to watch in fascination as the sun before her imploded in on itself until its light completely dissipated into darkness.

"What ... did you do ...?" The Doctor's weak voice drifted up to her and immediately demanded all of Rose's attention. She fell to her knees at his side and put her arms around him in an attempt to steady him.

"Are you alright?" she asked breathlessly.

"Right as rain," he murmured wearily. "Never better. A-okay, that's me." He turned to glance at her out of the corner of his eye as he asked again, "What just happened?"

"You did it," Rose lied, smiling as confidently as she could and squeezing his shoulders reassuringly. "Great big carnivorous sun - easy. The people of this star system won't have to worry about sacrificing innocent souls ever again."

"No, but ... you ... there was a light ..." he insisted haltingly, his brows screwing together in confusion as the Doctor stared at her with hazy, unfocused eyes.

"Yes, there was," Rose agreed quietly. "But now it's gone. All sorted, thanks to you, Doctor."

He was muttering more questions, but his words were slurred together so Rose wasn't quite able to catch them.

"How about we get you back to the TARDIS, eh?" she asked encouragingly, pulling at his arms in an attempt to get him to stand once more.

Rose was half-bent over him when he suddenly grabbed her left hand and pressed something small and warm against her palm. Once he released his hold on her, she slowly drew back her fingers to reveal the small, brass-colored ring that she had been certain that she would never see again. She gasped out loud in shock and couldn't even bring herself to feel the slightest bit of annoyance at the smug grin that the Doctor was leveling at her.

"But how did you ...?" she asked breathlessly.

"Nicked it after we got the moped," the Doctor replied matter-of-factly. He narrowed his eyes on her in a mildly indignant look as he added, "You didn't really think I'd ask you to give up your wedding ring, did you?"

It certainly wasn't outside of the realm of possibilities that Rose could imagine concerning the Doctor - he had never really been overly-sentimental about material objects, after all (even the sonic had been burned and left behind before in pursuit of bigger and better things). But she decided not to mention that fact as she rewarded him instead with a winning smile and thanked him profusely for thinking of her.

She slipped the ring quickly back onto her finger and helped the Doctor to his feet, where he wobbled unevenly for a few moments and stared out into the vacuum of space where the soul-eating sun had been just a few minutes ago. Finally, he turned his hard, assessing look back on her.

"Clara, that light ..." he murmured quietly.

"It was just the sun, Doctor," she lied again, making her face as flat and unreadable as possible. Rose could see his jaw tense as he narrowed his eyes on her in thought. "Why do you keep looking at me like that, Doctor?" she asked, already knowing full well, but wanting to see what information he was willing to reveal on his end before she opened her mouth and said something irreversibly foolish.

"I don't know," he replied slowly. "You remind me of someone."

"Who?"

"Someone who died."

That didn't really answer her question - Rose knew that the Doctor had been forced to watch many of his past companions come and go over the years. So the question was - which one was he referring to now? Was he talking about the Clara that the Bad Wolf had set on his path twice already? Or was he talking about her?

The Doctor was watching her intently as Rose looped her arm under his shoulders and let him lean his weight on her as they stumbled unsteadily back to the moped that she had driven to his rescue.

Finally, she murmured quietly under her breath, "Yeah, I think I know the feeling ..."

"Eh?" the Doctor asked, his focused interest dulled somewhat by his exhaustion.

"You remind me of someone, too," Rose admitted, smiling and glancing up at him quickly out of the corner of her eye. "Someone I lost a while ago."

The Doctor furrowed his brows at her as he asked again, "You're sure we've never met before?"

Rose chuckled and patted his side reassuringly from where she kept her grip on him, making sure that he didn't stumble or sway too far away from her. "I don't know," she muttered teasingly, "maybe we did, once - in another life."

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Caramel Skin Under A Purple Rain prt 25 full

Distressed by Lance’s distress, and seizure, Keith went to great pains to make his husband comfortable. The pain Lance was suffering was written all over his face, from his bitten bottom lip to the tight lines near eyes. Lance had scared him half to death when the video on his comms started shaking, his heart in his throat until he caught sight of Lance’s blue eyes open in the top of corner of the transmission. As far as seizures went, it was one the lightest he’d seen his husband have, barely lasting 10 seconds before it was all over. Keith wasn’t sure it even counted as seizure given how quickly it passed, but with how drained Lance was, it most certainly had to be. Getting his husband into the shack and settled on the sofa was easier than expected. Lance reaching for him from the floor of the cargo bay, allowing him to lift him up to his chest with ease and carry him down and straight through to the sofa were he laid them both out, his husband’s head resting on his chest as Keith stoked his hair. He really should have expected a seizure. Trying on clothes had sent Lance into a panic attack. Keith was kicking himself for not considering online shopping. Not only was the variety larger, his husband didn’t have to feel like a freak for wearing women’s clothes, when he definitely wasn’t. People could wear whatever the hell they liked, the only one it really affected was them themselves. And, if he’d really been thinking, he knew Lance had self image problems dating back longer before they'd become a them. He’d unthinkly pushed Lance into a minefield of triggers and felt like a quiznakking douche for doing so. Still. He was proud. He was stupidly happy at the memory of the expression on Lance’s face as his eyes landed on the white cot. Sheer love radiated from him, as if he could see one of their children already sleeping. When Lance fell asleep, Keith went to work. His husband oblivious as he opened up a browser in his comms. Despite his love for Razzel-Dazzel, his husband had wanted plain clothes that would suit him as his body grew. He may be pregnant, but his whole sexual identity rested on him being very much male. Unsure where to start, he types in “pregnancy plain clothes”, because his brain had forgotten that “maternity” was a work. The ads along the top of the browser made him wrinkle his nose. All the blessing and plunging necklines wasn’t his husband. Lance had made it very clear that he wasn’t comfortable with showing cleavage, so Keith was going to do his best to respect his husband’s wishes. Not that Keith had a problem with Lance’s changing body. He adored his husband for him. The brain damage, missing fingered, scarred, scared, anxious and changing him. Yes, there were times when they drove each other crazy. When they didn’t talk for days, but even so, he loved Lance. When he was scared and acting like an idiot, he loved Lance. Seizures still scared the quiznak out of him, yet he was sure with a little time and fiddling around, they’d be able to find a successful way for his husband to be able to take his medication. The most important thing was getting Lance comfortable and feeling safe enough to attempt taking them again. * When Lance woke from his nap, his husband was starving. “Keeeeeith, my stomach is eating itself”, was his actual words, so Keith was sent food shopping semi-alone. Kosmo in a supermarket was asking for trouble. Lance couldn’t stomach crowds at the moment. The solution to the problem was to leave his husband with the remaining ration bars, and on video call, meaning Lance could boss him around while he did the leg work. Keith was sure that they didn’t need as much food as Lance had him fetching. Half the things he wasn’t sure of, nor was he sure of the various cuts of meat he was instructed to buy. It didn’t help that Lance kept changing his mind. Growing tired of it, he left the call connected and stopped listening to his husband’s ramblings, Lance noticing Keith had stopped listening, started singing broken up show tunes, jumping from song to song mid-sentence. Progressively the volume of Lance’s singing grew until Keith couldn’t ignore him further, raising the comms up to scold him, he found Lance grinning brightly as he held onto Kosmo. His idiot truly was one of a kind. Keith’s reward for shopping was to be promptly kicked out his own shack. With the two seater kitchen table sagging under the weight of the bags, Lance started shooing him, “la-laing” over his protests. He was hot, tired and annoyed at not being able to come home and kick back on the sofa with Kosmo. The server had recognised him from his stint as Black Paladin. All he wanted to do was buy goddamn food for him, his husband, and their wolf. Not pose for photos, sign signatures on whatever was available and be followed back to his ship. Voltron was old news. Really old news. He’d much rather be recognised for the humanitarian work, and the work of his team... mostly the work of his team... all the work of his team... He’d take the background character that edges his way out of public sight and mind. If he hadn’t been the Black Paladin, then he wouldn’t be forced to wait with Kosmo outside his own damn home. When Lance finally let him inside his shack, his husband’s hands were covering his eyes. Laughing against the shell of his ear, they nearly tripped as Lance guided him inside “Babe...” “We’re almost there... ok, take two steps to the left for me...” Keith’s stomach rumbled loudly, despite the fact he couldn’t actually see any food. The shack, however, smelt amazing. There was definitely some kind of herby scent in the air and meat... and... he didn’t actually know. He was starving and there was food. That was all he and his stomach were getting at the moment. Feeling his hands hit the wood of the dining chair, he came to a stop “Ta dah!” Dropping his hands, Keith was greeted by Lance’s work comms acting as a candle, a simple green salad, and some kind of stew like meat dish that looked amazing “Y-you made dinner?” Now that his hands were free, Lance wrapped his arms around Keith’s waist, digging his chin into his shoulder as he nodded “Today was hard. My head was all over the place and I not only scared you, but bossed you around, had a seizure, had a breakdown and forced you to have cuddly naps on the sofa. It’s all simple things. I’m still pretty drained, but I really wanted to do this for you. You’re my husband and I love you. I appreciate the things you do. Even when I can’t tell you I do. And now I’m crying... Baby hormones are a force to be reckoned with...” Turning in Lance’s arms, Keith was stunned “You cooked dinner... for me?” “You’re acting like it’s never happened before” There was dinner, and then there was dinner... with a table cloth that looked suspiciously like a sheet, an attempt at candles, and a meal that was actually somewhat adult “This... all of this... I should be the one cooking dinner for you” “I wanted to cook for you. I didn’t do dessert though. My stomach looked at ice cream and said no. Then when it looked at the cake boxes... it got worse. You can totally knock yourself out though. I think I put things away in the right position. I mean, I tried. I gave the fridge a wipe out while you were ignoring me. Kosmmmmn-“ Silencing his husband with a kiss, Lance’s mouth tasted of mint, his husband having found time to brush his teeth. Indulging himself, Lance broke the kiss as Keith grabbed a fist full of hair to deepen it “You’ll have to save that for after dinner” Though playfully toned in his reply, Lance’s scent had shifted to fear. Keith momentarily hurt, then reasoning his husband had had a long day. He’d hit his limit and though the touch wasn’t unwelcome, his anxieties weren’t in his control “I’m looking forward to. Especially if it’s as good as this meal looks” “It’s... uh... Let’s eat. Yeah. I don’t know what I was about to say, but I’m hungry” Dinner was amazing, but dessert was better. Splitting the washing up with Lance washing and Keith drying, they settled down on the sofa to watch a movie. Cuddling into his husband, Lance has his arm wrapped around Keith’s shoulders as the movie began. For the life of him, Keith couldn’t remember a single thing that happened. He was too focused on the way Lance was looking at him. The love in his eyes was on a whole other level. A level Keith felt he didn’t deserve, yet was grateful as quiznak to be receiving. This was the shack he was conceived in. This was the shack where his parents fell in love and he was born. This was the shack that was the last remaining solid remnants of his father. Willed to him, along with everything the man owned, then left to sit after death until Keith found himself with no where to go. Now he was living here with his husband, all be it temporarily, who was pregnant with their children. Normally he wasn’t one for nostalgia, if asked that is, but having his husband here. Having his family here... He was struck hard with waves of emotion. A life where he came home fo Lance everyday... that... he wanted that. He thought that was how things would be with the outpost, even if he couldn’t return every day, it’d be at least once a movement. Only. Before he knew it he’d left Lance struggling for phoebs. Lance was far from alright. Keith knew he wasn’t being completely honest over how many things he’d missed or how many ways he’d hurt him by accident. He knew because his husband was a decent and kind man. He’d take every ounce of another’s pain if he could. He was a selfless and reckless pain in the arse, that adored to point of possessiveness. He knew they wasn’t healthy, but when your husband has a habit of ”accidentally” getting himself into trouble, it was natural to want to be by their side to prevent something going wrong. “If you don’t like the film, I can change it” Brought back to reality by Lance kissing his cheek, Keith felt himself blushing for no reason “Sorry. What was that?” “The movie, if you don’t like it, I can change it” “It’s fine...” “Your head’s up in the clouds anyway?” Keith nodded, wriggling down lower to cuddle into Lance further “Wanna tell me what’s going on in that head of yours, Samurai?” Keith sighed softly “I was thinking about how lucky I am to have you” Kissing the top of his head, Lance echoed his sigh “I’m the lucky one. I’m so fucking lucky you haven’t got sick of me yet” “Like I’d get sick of you. I was thinking about how I was born in this shack, then about how nice it is to have my family here, with me... I wonder what my father would have thought of it all” With a soft sigh, Lance nuzzled into his hair, speaking between the kisses he peppered on his hair “He would be proud of you. So proud of the man you’ve become” Shoving his husband playfully, Keith hoped Lance was right. That somewhere out there, his father wasn’t being forced to watch Krolia fall in love with someone else. Would they have stayed together? Or fought? Would he have stayed with his mother if she’d stayed on Earth? Would his father still have died? Would he even have attended the Galaxy Garrison? Would he have approved of Lance? Or that he was gay? There were so many things he wanted to be able to tell his father... all the things that fire had taken away from them. “Babe, you want to go bed?” Leaning back slightly to look up at his husband, Lance had a soft smile upon his lips “I thought you wanted to watch this movie?” “I did, but there’s something on your mind. You don’t have to tell me, but I thought maybe you’d like an early night?” “It’s nothing... I’m...” He was what? Longing for a different reality with the chance of seeing his father again? “You’re still thinking about your father. It’s ok. It’s ok to miss him. To wonder about what might have been. It wasn’t fair that he was taken so young... and it’s ok to be angry about that too” “I hate it when you look at me and read my mind. Have I ever told you that?” Feeling slightly embarrassed, Keith dropped his head back to resting against Lance’s chest “I don’t remember. Probably. It sounds like something you’d say. Just don’t go forgetting you can talk to me. I’m not great at a lot of things, but I’ll listen when you talk” He could never let go of the pull he still felt towards his father, yet Lance calmly reminded him that he didn’t have to choose. He didn’t have to choose between the family he’d had and the one they were building, and that was ok “Yeah. Yeah. I know you will babe. Bed sounds good. Want a hand up?” Lance groaned as he stretched “God, yes. I think your sofa is trying to eat my pregnant arse” “I’ll fight it for the right. That arse is mine” Letting out a brilliant laugh, Keith’s heart skipped at the sound of Lance’s happiness “I don’t mean literally. Sheesh. Now help me up. I’m beached” “You’re not beached, you’ve been eaten” “Ahhhh. I see. That’s why I love you. For that amazing intellect of yours... it’s definitely not for this sofa” Keith scoffed was he dragged himself to his feet “This coming from you? The man who broke the spring... My sofa is fine, thank you” “It’s vicious attacked me. Tried to eat me, and you say it’s fine?” Holding his hand out, Keith nodded “Yep. Now come on you big baby. I need my cuddles” “And you call me the baby...” * After Lance cooked him dinner, Keith wanted to return the favour by making his husband breakfast in bed. Soft sweet nuzzling and gently kisses had turned into slow sex. Lance riding him and Keith falling in love with his husband’s changing body all over again. He marvelled in the way Lance’s stomach seemed to have grown a little more since that morning. The tiny jiggle in Lance’s breasts, and the way his hands wandered over his belly... Keith wasn’t one for random fits of crying during sex, yet his pride and love for Lance nearly reduced to him to just that. Things were so much better when it was the two of them. Lance didn’t hide nearly as much shit as he did when he feared it’d affect the way they acted around their friends. When he’d tried to wake Lance earlier, his husband had told him he couldn’t get out of bed. Suffering from a nightmare after they’d fallen asleep spooned up together. Being asleep, and Lance not waking in a fit of screaming, Keith felt guilty for missing it. Lance had waved it off, giving him a small kiss before moving to cuddle into Kosmo. Having spent the last varga in the kitchen, all that had happened was Keith learned he was a way worse cook than Lance. Having found an old box from the back of the shack, he’d cut it down to make a breakfast tray... that was a little wonky around the edges, but the main point to take away was that he’d tried. He wanted to do the kind of setup one sees in movies and adverts... but he hadn’t had any flowers, so he’d butchered some paper cutting the out and then being embarrassed over the job they’d promptly been scrunched up and discarded. He’d poured a glass of juice for his husband... then looked to the fridge for inspiration. If his husband wasn’t feeling great, he wouldn’t want a heavy or big meal. This all resulted in him making scrambled eggs on toast... which he somehow butchered. The toast was slightly burnt on the edges, so that was scraped off. The bread bag melted to the side of the toaster... worsening his mood. When it came to tipping the eggs on, they were... a mess. They were big and fluffy... no. They were washed out granules of egg. That was the final straw. All the emotions of everything he’d been holding onto breaking, as he clutched the edge of the kitchen sink and cried. In his head, this was all going to be perfect. Perfect like Lance was... His husband had a fault or ten, so things like the edge of the toast being burnt wasn’t a major deal. He just... he didn’t understand how he’d butchered the eggs. Had he put too much milk in? You’re supposed to use a lot...? Why hadn’t he looked this up? Why was he being so inept when... “Keith?” Quiznak... “Go back to bed, Lance” “You’re crying” Lance’s voice was soft and full of concern “It’s nothing. Go back to bed” Lance said he wasn’t having a good day, so why was he up? Padding softly through the kitchen, his husband drew him into his hold “I’m here... you’re ok” “I’m sorry...” Clutching Lance, Keith couldn’t stop his tears “I tried to make you breakfast and I ruined it. I can’t even make scrambled eggs. How am I supposed to look after you? How am I supposed to be a good dad if I c-can’t make breakfast” Lance hushed him, kissing his cheek “You tried to make me breakfast?” Nodding, Keith was ashamed of himself “You made dinner and you weren’t having a good morning and what are you even doing out of bed?” “I had to pee... then I heard thudding out here” Reduced to mumbles of shame, he wanted the world to open up and swallow him “I fucked up” “I’m sure it’s not that bad” “It’s worse than bad. All I wanted to do was make you breakfast” “What were you making?” “Scrambled eggs on toast... but everything went wrong. I couldn’t cut the s-stupid flowers and the bag melted and...” Lance laughed at him. He was crying his eyes and his husband was laughing “Get off me!” “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing because you’re so fucking special to me. Can I try the eggs?” Lance wasn’t quite off the hook for laughing... but Keith had laughed at how adorable Lance was before, so didn’t have the right to argue “They don’t even look like eggs” “I don’t mind... We could make them again together, if you want?” Moving out of Lance’s arms, Keith wiped at his face, before casting a glance at the pathetic cardboard tray on the counter “That’s probably safer” Sidestepping around him, Lance picked up the fork on the tray and started poking at the eggs “I know what went wrong here. I’ve done it a hundred times before. You made the eggs too wet and started mixing them too soon” How did one make “eggs too wet”? Eggs were naturally wet... “Eggs are supposed to be wet” Stabbing at a few eggy fragments, Lance brought the fork to his lips and Keith once again wished the Earth would swallow him. Chewing, Lance hummed thoughtfully “Yeah. Too much milk and too much salt” “I didn’t even add salt!” He hadn’t... because he wasn’t entirely sure where the salt was. Piling the fork up again, Lance moved it to Keith’s lip, Keith not exactly willing as he opened his mouth... The moment the eggs hit his tongue, he was wrinkling his nose. Maybe the heavens above were looking out for his husband by preventing him from poisoning him with this meal “Why’s it salty?” “I have no idea... I don’t know where the salt is...” Lance snorted, placing the fork back down “That’s somewhat worrying. It’s ok. I’ll talk you through how to make scrambled eggs like a professional. Mami never needs to know about this murder” “But your... you said... you said you weren’t having a good day” “It’s not uncommon for me to have a bad day, babe. And yeah, I wanna go back to bed, but how could I possible leave you when you look so sad? Why don’t we make breakfast together, then go back to bed? I mean, I’m probably going to go back to sleep, but that’s alright once in a while, isn’t it?” This vacation was supposed to be about sleeping and healing. Lance shouldn’t have to worry about sleeping too much “Yeah. I’m sorry I killed breakfast” Casting a glance to the washed out eggs, Lance started laughing again “It is pretty dead... I don’t think a healing pod could save it” Instead of being insulted, Keith felt warmth in his chest. He was falling in love with his husband all over again, laughing falling from his lips as he nodded “I think it could give Coran’s cooking a run for its money” “Oh god! Don’t make me remember. You rinse the fry pan, and I’ll be back” Hold up. What? “Be back?” “Laughing while pregnant apparently makes you need to pee again. I think your twins are messing with me” “I’ve noticed they’re my twins when they’re giving you trouble” “As you should have... I think I’m fatter again” Keith suppressed his smile. The clothes he’d ordered would be available for collection the following day from the city backing the garrison. It used to be a trek from the Garrison into town, but with all the refugees the population had tripled in size. Until then, he just needed to keep quiet over his surprise “You’re pregnant, not fat. I think I’ve still got a few of dad’s things if you want something looser and comfier” Lance’s whole face lit up “That would be awesome... but only if you’re ok with it. I don’t want you doing something that you’re not ok with, because of me” “I’m choosing to believe he’d be happy that his things are helping. Besides, Shiro used to knock around in his clothes” “You , are the best husband I could ask for” “Just go pee already” Stealing a kiss, Lance limped off towards the bathroom. They were really going to have to pick positions that weren’t going to cause further strain on his husband’s knee... and the little shit needed to use his damn crutches. Talking him through remaking scrambled eggs, Lance had far more patience than him as his husband sipped at his juice. He’d been wrong about the milk. In scrambled eggs, he wasn’t supposed to have a near equal ratio, and letting them half solidify in the pan before starting to stir made for way fluffier eggs. Adjusting the knob on the toaster, the toast came out without being burnt. The successful completion of their meal gave him a ridiculous confidence boost. It was just scrambled eggs. He didn’t need to be so damn happy, yet as he loaded the cardboard tray, he couldn’t stop smiling. He’d made his husband breakfast... an edible breakfast that didn’t involve roasting meat or heating up goop... Telling him to wait a few ticks before following, Lance headed into the bedroom first, going through the motions of “waking up”, and “acting surprised”. Calling his husband a dick, Keith was more than happy to climb in beside him. Feeding each other bites, Keith could smell Lance’s dropping mood. Knowing husband didn’t mean it and that his depression wasn’t under his control, he tried extra hard to make Lance laugh and smile, “accidentally” poking him in the nose with the fork, and stealing bits of egg before Lance could, only to feed them to him. His husband’s appetite ran out halfway through the meal, so Keith cleaned the tray up and carried it back out to the kitchen where he finished off his share and left the rest for Kosmo. By the time he came back, Lance was sleeping again, Kosmo skipping out on food in favour of being curled in Lance’s arms... where Keith should be. Leaving Lance sleeping, the half-Galra was left with little to do other than pulling his father’s remaining clothes out of storage and more quiznakking cleaning.