#pain cannot keep me from drawing these two forever
Text
AUGH my stomach has been hurting sooo so much for days now so I haven’t been drawing as much but I REALLY WANNA
(First drawing is fr a screenshot redraw from LooneyTunesCartoons)
#looney tunes#looney tunes cartoons#porky pig#daffy duck#dafpork#pain cannot keep me from drawing these two forever
53 notes
·
View notes
Text
A/N: Finally! So happy I was able to get this up in time to celebrate Alexia's return!!! Similar to Just a Girl, this was a big challenge for me and I was determined to see it through. This is a story of how love can shine a light in the darkest of moments. btw this is a long one so settle in.
The Missing Piece (Alexia Putellas x Reader)
In the blink of an eye, everything changed.
A life once lived passionately and carefree, now overwhelmed with uncertainty and trepidation. How else are you supposed to feel when faced with the possibility of losing what you hold most dear? If you lose your guiding light, will you make it on your own or will you wander aimlessly through life?
These are the questions that have invaded your mind. It’s all you can think about. They keep you up at night and leave you exhausted the following morning. You feel their weight on your shoulders dragging you down. They leave you gasping for air as you struggle to just keep your head above water. And the one person who can help you and protect you from it all, is the very person you’re at risk of losing.
The only thing that can distract you, even if it’s for the briefest of moments, is art. It’s the only way you can convey what words simply cannot express. When you feel crippled with pain and see no hope in sight, art is your only escape. With your brush, you create a world filled with light and hope. Because unlike life, art is forgiving. When you make a mess, you can paint over it. You can try again.
Unlike life, art gives you second chances.
"Dios mio, that storeroom is a mess!" your coworker, Carla exclaims, appearing by your side. She drops a box of coffee beans on the floor and with the back of her hand, wipes a drop of sweat from her brow. “Took me 10 minutes just to find this.”
Behind the counter, your attention is on the sketchbook in your hands. When the crowd dies down and you get a little break from taking orders, the small sketchbook comes out from under the counter. Everything from the small details of the cafe to the faces of those who visit it, are you sources of inspiration.
“You mean the one we spent all night organizing last week?”
Annoyance radiates from Carla. “That can’t be us making all that mess, right?” she says, hands on her waist and her foot tapping repeatedly against the floor. “I’m convinced someone is sneaking in at night and trashing the place.”
The absurdity of the statement makes you laugh, and she finally gets your full attention. “So, they don’t sneak in to steal anything? All they want to do is make a mess?”
Carla nods with confidence. “It’s the only logical explanation.”
How she manages to keep a straight face, you do not know. But her eyes certainly give her away. Like you, Carla has no intention of being a barista forever. Put two people together who don’t take their job too seriously and what do you get? A messy storeroom.
“You’re ridiculous.” With a smile, you shake your head and return your focus back to the sketchbook.
Carla leans in to take a peek at what you’re drawing, and it doesn’t take long for her to pick out your subject: a young woman sitting by the window, completely immersed in a book. You picked her out because of her auburn hair and the way it shines so bright bathed by rays of sunlight.
"How's the exhibit coming along, by the way?" Carla asks.
It's a simple question that elicits a deep sigh from your lips. Just the mention of it forces you to close the sketchbook and tuck it away under the counter. "It's going...good."
Carla raises her eyebrow, catching on to your very obvious hesitation. "But…" she says, encouraging you to spill whatever it is that’s bothering you.
"I've gotten great feedback from everyone I've shown the pieces to, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is missing. It's like there's something else I need to say, but for the life of me I can’t figure out what that is."
It’s been nothing but sleepless nights staring at a blank canvas just waiting for inspiration to strike. All the other pieces came so naturally to you. Granted, all of them are dedicated to your mother. But still, you've never experienced something quite like this and with the exhibit only a few months away, you're getting a little restless.
You hope Carla might have some words of wisdom to break you out of the funk you’re in, but the door of the cafe creaks open, and a woman walks in.
Break time is over.
Like clockwork, Carla takes her position by your side at the brewing station, ready to prepare whatever order the customer might want.
"Hola! What can I get you?" You give the woman the same greeting and smile you give to them all.
The woman glances at Carla, and for a brief moment, it gives you the impression that there might actually be some meaning behind it. But you dismiss it — it's probably nothing.
"Just a cortado, please."
"And the name for the order?" you ask, busy staring at the screen.
"...Alexia."
It takes the woman a second too long to say her name, but again, you pay it no mind. You've taken thousands of orders by now, and they're all a little different from the last. Some customers are chatty and some straight to the point. Either way, you take their order and send them on their way. You don’t have the energy for anything else.
Carla, an expert by now, has the order done in a second and leaves it on the counter. She shares a look again with the woman, and this time it does spark your interest. You make a note to ask Carla about it later.
The door opens and closes, and now there's one less customer inside the cafe to worry about.
"You know," Carla says, swinging her arm over your shoulder, "that thing you're missing? It might just be standing right in front of you."
You scoff in response, "if only it were that easy."
Carla's expression hints that she wants to say something else, but instead, she gives you a comfortable squeeze on the shoulder.
You’re about to ask her about those looks she was sharing with the woman, but you’re interrupted by the phone vibrating inside your apron pocket.
It’s a simple message and it doesn’t deliver any bad news, but no matter how many times you receive it, your heart drops to your stomach.
"Todo bien?" Carla asks.
You nod, typing away your response. "Mama just finished her treatment. Tia is taking her home now." Tucking the phone back in your apron, a soft "merde" escapes from your lips.
Only a year ago, you were living in France with the world at your fingertips. Everything was absolutely perfect. It’s where you went to art school and poured your heart and soul into every sketch and painting with the ultimate goal of perfecting your talent. And when you graduated, all your hard work paid off when Cécile Guth — a painter you deeply admired — granted you the opportunity to be her apprentice. In France, life was art, and art was your life.
But that all changed when your mom got sick.
Leukemia.
That’s when everything came to a halt. The cloud you had been living on suddenly evaporated, and you came crashing down, face first into a harsh reality. You had no choice but to leave France. At first, you didn't miss the life and dreams you left behind. You were so focused on taking care of your mom that everything else was deemed irrelevant. But as the months have gone by, you wonder if you'll ever be able to return. And if you ever do, you fear you might not be the same person.
"How's Lídia doing?" Carla asks, bringing you back to reality.
"She's a fighter," you say with a sad smile. "She tries to be strong for my sake, but I can see she's suffering. Chemo is supposed to help but honestly, I feel like it's hurting her more than that damn cancer ever could."
Without a second to waste, Carla opens her arms and pulls you into a hug you so desperately need. You've only known each other for a year, but she's been by your side during the most difficult time of your life.
"On a happier note, the flyers for the class are done," you say, wiping away the single tear from your cheek.
Carla, sensing the need to lighten up the mood, claps her hands excitedly. "I'm telling you, you should have had them made a long time ago!"
It was Carla’s idea to have flyers made to promote your small art class, The First Brushstroke. Working at the cafe isn’t exactly making you rich — not that you need to be, but you definitely need an extra source of income with your mom obviously not able to work.
“I’m picking them up on my way home. If I can get just three more regulars, I’ll be good.”
Carla waves your doubts away, “trust me, I’m a genius. I bet that you’ll have to find a bigger studio in a few months.”
The door opens once again and it’s time to repeat the routine all over again. You’re not sure how much longer you can take this.
“I hope you’re right.”
__________________________
Once again, you find yourself sitting in front of a blank canvas, just staring at it intently with no hope in sight. All the colors and shapes that once flowed so naturally through your mind seem to have vanished. You’re left staring at nothing, feeling frustrated and helpless. Every time you dip your brush into the paint and make a few strokes on the canvas, it feels forced. Art isn’t supposed to feel forced. It’s meant to feel effortless and natural.
With a sigh you set down your brush and lean back on the chair. Looking around the room, you see a clutter of art supplies and splotches of paint decorating the floor. Very few traces are left of what was once your childhood bedroom. It was actually your mom’s idea to turn it into a little studio when you moved back home. Her way of helping you keep your passion alive, you suppose.
Admitting defeat, you stand up and walk away from the canvas. The missing piece yet to be found.
You find your mom in her room, tucked under the blankets with a book in her hands. Physically, she has changed so much. A strong woman capable of running mile after mile is now barely able to walk a few feet on her own. Thick, luscious hair is now thin and falls off at the slightest touch.
And yet, in her eyes, you see the same woman who used to run all over the house with you playing hide and seek. The same woman who held you on her hip as she made pancakes with chocolate syrup smiles. Inside, she still has that raw passion and intensity as when she danced flamenco. She’s still your mom but it’s like you lose a little more of her with each passing day.
“Hi, mama,” you greet her, peeking your head inside the room.
The moment she sees you, a big smile appears. “Hola, mi vida. Come in.”
The book is placed to the side, and her arms welcome you as you lay down next to her. She doesn’t want you to ask about today’s treatment or how she’s feeling. She’s tired of only giving you bad news. Even when you’re the one that is supposed to look after her, her priority is still looking after you.
So instead of asking, you let her gather her strength and run her fingers through your hair. She asks about your day, and you tell her everything to the smallest detail. She gets a nice chuckle out of Carla’s suspicions about who keeps messing up the storeroom.
“And that missing piece of yours?”
You shake your head. “Still missing and I’m just about ready to give it up. Honestly mama, I think it’s just me being a perfectionist.”
She hums but doesn’t say anything in response right away. “I think…” she says, “that if that heart of yours is telling you that something is missing, you should listen.”
Growing up, your mom would never allow frustration to consume you to the point of giving up. She would guide you through whatever you needed until you came out on the other side. She has always been your guiding light when you just can’t seem to find your way.
You look up at her and smile. “You’re so wise.”
A familiar mischievous glint that you rarely see nowadays appears in her eyes. “Well, one of us has to be.”
“Mama!”
But the two of you share a laugh, and it’s a sound you hope to hear forever and never forget.
__________________________
Tuesdays are slow. The early morning rush of customers has come and gone, and now the café is left with only a few scattered customers. On days like this, there’s only a need for one person behind the counter, and today that lucky person is you.
With Carla not around to keep you company, the only goal is to keep yourself busy. Occasionally, you’ll take out the sketchbook, but nothing seems to maintain your interest for long. You’re in a proper funk, and rather than fight it, you have decided to embrace it. Even though you still can’t shake the feeling that you’re missing a piece for the exhibit, at this point, you’re only driving yourself crazy.
If the missing piece wants to be found, it will make its way to you eventually.
The door of the coffee shop swings open, and it takes you a second, but you recognize her as the woman sharing those looks with Carla.
“¡Hola, bienvenida!”
The woman gives you a soft smile, “Hi,” she says, tapping her fingers on the counter, “A cortado, please.”
With a nod, you input her order on the screen, “name for the order?”
Once again, the woman takes just a second too long to respond. This time you glance up just in time to catch a glimpse of sadness in her eyes.
“Alexia,” she says with a breath.
As you prepare the order, you can see her taking a keen interest in one of the flyers for your art class. You left them up on the counter so that everyone could see, but as you expected, barely anyone has paid much attention.
Alexia, on the other hand, not only takes one from the stack, but she seems to be genuinely curious. If Carla was here, she would urge you to talk to her. But the truth is, you’ve never been good at selling yourself. You’ve always preferred to let your art speak for you, and for itself.
You place her cortado within Alexia’s reach and as casually as you can, ask, "Interested in taking an art class?"
Alexia shifts her weight nervously and chuckles, "I'm not very good."
Out of fear that you’ll come off too eager and scare her away, you grab a towel and start wiping the counter that clearly doesn’t need much cleaning. “More reason to sign up.”
“I’ll sign up if you ask me to.”
Your hand stills at her words. “Um…” Something about the way she said them makes you hesitant to look at her. “Yeah... you should sign up.”
But she doesn’t let you off the hook that easily.
“Look at me and ask.”
And when you do look at her, you’re left speechless by what you see. This is the first time you look at her — really look at her, and it makes you feel vulnerable, exposed. Alexia’s not just looking at you - she’s looking through you. All of your flaws, insecurities, and imperfections seem to be on full display.
You feel seen.
You struggle to speak, the words seemingly stuck in your throat. “Please, sign up for my class.”
“Finally.” Alexia says and she doesn’t say anything else for a few seconds, almost as if she’s relishing the moment. Eventually, the corners of her lips tug upwards in a smile, “I’ll think about it.”
You want to say something to convince her, but you’re left speechless. No one has looked at you like that in a very, very long time. It's a scary feeling, but at the same time, there's a sense of excitement brewing in the pit of your stomach.
With the flyer and coffee in her hands, Alexia gives you a little nod. “Nos vemos.”
You watch as she walks out of the cafe, leaving you to grapple with the unexpected feelings she sparked in you.
The rest of your shift goes unbearably slow. With barely any customers to keep your mind busy, it keeps wandering back to Alexia. The exchange was confusing, unexpected, and strange. And yet, you want to talk to her again.
It’s only when you get home that you’re distracted enough to not think about her, and it’s not for a great reason.
Your mom has good days and bad days and when you got home, your aunt’s expression told you all you needed to know. Today is a bad day.
On the bad days, there’s very little you can do besides make sure she is comfortable. These are the days that hurt the most. You feel powerless and the questions that keep you up at night gain power over you. You try so hard to put on a brave face for her. She can handle the cancer, but not the sadness in your eyes.
After dinner, you’re lying in bed with her watching a movie. It’s a bad day ritual. It’s the perfect way to embrace a new world — a new reality in which your mom is not sick and everything is as it should be.
Halfway through the movie, your phone buzzes softly beside you.
A notification lights up the display: Alexia Putellas has registered for The First Brushstroke class.
A warm, tingling sensation spreads through your body as you read her name. You can't help but whisper it out loud, "Alexia."
Your mom's voice, curious and gentle, interrupts your thoughts. "Did you say something, mija?"
Quickly you lock the screen and shake your head. "It's nothing, mama."
There's no point in explaining how one simple look from a stranger has shaken you to your core. How can you possibly explain something you, yourself don’t understand?
__________________________
There’s a vibrant energy that flows through the narrow, winding streets of La Vila de Gràcia district. Before moving away, Gràcia was where you would spend most of your time. You felt understood and encouraged by all of the artists displaying their artwork on the streets. So, when you moved back and needed to find an art studio to host your class, you knew exactly where to look.
The art studio itself is small but fulfills your needs and most importantly, it’s within your budget. The walls are decorated with various pieces of artwork, from sketches and charcoal drawings to oil paintings. At the bottom right corner each one are your initials, and the only hint of the paintings being created by your hand. At the front of the room is a large wooden easel, holding a blank canvas that in a few hours will be brought to life with vibrant strokes of color.
The class is for beginners, so you don’t put too much pressure on yourself. There’s no need for everything to be perfect. In fact, you encourage mistakes. Most often than not, mistakes have the potential to become something unexpectedly beautiful.
With the class set to begin shortly, those who signed up start trickling in. A couple takes a seat in the back of the room and right away you can tell it might be their first date. He hesitates to scoot his stool a little closer to her, and she tries to hide the blush in her cheeks when he finally does.
A few of your regulars have the confidence to immediately go and collect their paint brushes, tubes of paint, and containers of water without being told to do so. Their confidence spreads through the room, and eventually, everyone has what they need to start the class.
Only one easel stands alone.
You glance at the clock on the wall and feel your heart sink a bit. It seems Alexia changed her mind and won’t be coming after all. You try to pretend it doesn’t bother you, but disappointment is an unwanted visitor tonight. Still, you gather the supplies she might need and leave them for her by the easel. Just in case.
“Hello everyone, thank you all for being here” you offer a smile to the faces looking at you with anticipation, “tonight, we’ll be focusing on blending colors to create a gradient effect. If this is your first time —”
The door swings open and everyone's heads snap in its direction. Alexia steps inside the studio and you forget whatever it is you were about to say.
She stops at the entrance, her eyes locked on you.
Alexia’s presence sparks an excited chatter amongst the class but their voices are muffled in your ears. You’re entirely captivated by her.
“Hi,” you greet her.
“Hi,” she says with the softest of smiles.
Finally taking notice of the others in the studio, Alexia gives them all a quick nod before taking a seat.
Before, everyone’s eyes were on you. Now, you see them all taking not-so secretive glances at Alexia. You can only assume it’s because she made a late entrance, but deep down, you have a feeling there might be more to it than that.
You clear your throat and bring everyone's attention back to you. “Um… yeah, I as I was saying,” but it takes you a second to regain your train of thought, “right — if this is your first time, feel free to follow along to what I paint, it will be something really simple. But, if your mind or your heart calls out for something else, don’t hesitate.”
As promised, your painting is of a simple sunset with silhouettes of pine trees. You show the students how to mix the colors together with a blending brush, starting with a light shade and gradually adding darker tones for a seamless transition. A painting of this simplicity would normally take you a few minutes, but you take your time to explain the different techniques and all the possible color combinations.
With the painting done, it’s time for you to walk around the studio and give each student your individual attention. You encourage those who are hesitant to be bold and give praises to those that show improvement since the last time you saw them.
Eventually, you make your way to Alexia. When she notices you, she looks down somewhat embarrassed.
“It’s so bad,” she says softly, avoiding your gaze.
You take a closer look at her painting. It's a striking red and blue background with the silhouette of a young girl holding a ball against her hip. Despite the simple composition, there's something poignant and personal about it. From your experience, most beginner students choose something generic, easy. But It's clear that Alexia’s painting is anything but.
"It's not bad," you say gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. "It's personal, no? I think that’s what makes it beautiful."
Your words seem to give Alexia a little bit of confidence because she looks up at you, “gracias.” Her eyes drift down at your hand still on her shoulder, a soft sigh through parted lips.
Fearing you might have crossed an invisible line, you pull away swiftly and give her a little nod. “You’re welcome.”
The rest of the class goes by in a blur but all throughout you feel overwhelmed by Alexia. You feel her eyes on you the entire time. And while you certainly hope you didn’t make it too obvious, every time she flicked her hair, you noticed. When she scrunched her eyebrows in deep focus, you noticed.
The students stand up and get ready to leave, but before some walk out of the studio, they do something that surprises you. They walk up to Alexia with a glint in their eyes, and ask her for a picture. She complies with every request.
Clearly, Alexia is someone important and you feel embarrassed for not knowing why.
Only the couple and Alexia remain in the studio. You start cleaning up all the supplies scattered all while pretending not to listen. With what you do manage to catch of their conversation, your best guess is that it has something to do with a football club which is something you know very little about. Sports are not really your thing and it has nothing to do with being forced to play goalie once when you were six, and then proceeding to get a ball kicked at your face. Repeatedly.
Alexia and the couple exchange farewells and the conversation comes to an end. With your back turned, you only hear the sound of the door opening and closing and then, a brief silence.
“Do you usually stay and clean?”
Alexia’s voice startles you, causing you to jump and let out a shriek. You assumed she had left like everyone else. It’s not like she has a reason to stay.
“Oh!” she says, taking a step closer with a look of concern, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Slightly embarrassed at your reaction, you take a deep to calm your beating heart. “No, uh,” you say with a light chuckle, hand on your chest. “I stay and clean up. It’s part of the gig.”
Alexia looks around, noticing all the dirty brushes and containers that will surely keep you occupied for another hour. Without a word, she follows your lead and starts picking up as well.
“Wait, you really don’t have to.”
She stops and looks at you with the same intensity she did at the coffee shop. “I want to.”
Once again, you're left speechless by one simple look and unable to make any further protests. Alexia seems to have this power of you that you find both unsettling and strangely exhilarating.
With all the brushes and containers in the sink, you notice she has no intention of leaving until the task is complete.
“I wash, you dry?” you suggest, turning on the faucet to allow the water to remove the excess paint from the brushes.
“You wash, I dry.” Alexia stands next to you, her arm bushing ever so slightly against yours.
It’s a small studio, so it’s a small sink. You’re acutely aware of the warmth radiating from her and you feel it spreading through you.
"I know it's a little obvious since you're the teacher and all," Alexia says, meticulously cleaning the brushes with a level of care and precision most people wouldn't exhibit. "But you’re really talented."
Your laughter is warm and appreciative. "That's quite a compliment based on just that small painting I did."
Alexia shakes her head slightly and her gaze drifts up to the paintings and sketches adorning the walls of the studio. "These are all yours, right?"
You don't bother looking up at the paintings. You're well aware of the pieces she's referring to. Instead, you fix your eyes on her, astonishment subtly etched on your face.
"You noticed."
Alexia meets your gaze. "Hard not to."
For a brief moment, both of you remain silent, allowing the compliment to linger in the air. But you feel flustered, so you look away and try to think of something to change the subject.
"Do you mind if I ask what you do?"
Alexia straightens her posture with an unmistakable hint of pride. "I play for Barça."
And you feel like idiot for not knowing that. "No wonder everyone was so starstruck when you walked in."
Alexia's lips curve into a tight, shy smile. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that," she says, as she finishes drying the last of the brushes.
"Don't be," you say, shifting your weight against the sink. "I should apologize for being from here and not recognizing you. I feel like I'm committing some sort of crime."
Her laughter is light, and she leans in ever so slightly. "You know, I think there's a reward for turning in people like you," she teases.
Biting your bottom lip to stifle a grin, you reply, "And if I offer a better reward for keeping my secret?"
Alexia edges slightly closer, curiosity dancing in her eyes. "What do you have in mind?"
Her proximity sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach. "How about a private class next Friday? You'll have the teacher all to yourself."
Alexia pretends to ponder it for a moment, but eventually extends her hand, and you take it without hesitation.
"We have a deal."
__________________________
Over the next few days, you find yourself more attentive than ever at who enters the cafe. Every time the door swings open, your head instinctively turns in its direction. Not only that, you’re so lost in thought that you struggle to remember even the simplest of orders.
After you botch the third order of the day, Carla's curiosity gets the better of her. "Okay, I have to know," she says, her arms crossed over her chest, "what's got your head in the clouds?"
"Sorry... I just have something on my mind, that's all," you reply, trying to dismiss it. "It’s stupid."
She seems willing to let it go, but when you reach for the whole milk, she has to intervene. "He asked for oat milk," she points out, swapping the milk cartons for you. "Alright, spill it — and I don't mean the drink."
With the customer only a few feet away, you lower your voice so only Carla can hear. "I met someone…"
Carla's eyebrows rise in intrigue. "I like where this is going."
You quickly complete the order under Carla's watchful gaze and hand it to the customer with an apologetic smile.
Once he walks out of the cafe, Carla swivels back to you. "You were saying."
"She was at my class last week even stayed to help me clean up. You know I haven't exactly flirted with anyone in a while, but I'm pretty sure that's what happened. And now…" you take a deep breath, "I can't stop thinking about her,” you say rather quickly, almost embarrassed.
“It doesn't help that she's a regular here so I'm expecting her to walk through that door any second, and it has me on edge."
"Wait," Carla says, holding her hand up, "she's a regular?"
You nod. "Yeah, it’s Alexia. I think you know her actually."
You still haven't forgotten the glances her and Alexia have shared in the past. But with everything that has happened, you never had the chance to ask Carla what it all meant.
Upon hearing Alexia's name, the broadest grin spreads across Carla's face.
"What?" you ask, puzzled.
"It's about damn time!" She exclaims, a tad too loudly. The few customers in the cafe glance her way, and she quickly apologizes.
"What do you mean, it's about time?"
After releasing her excitement with a few soft claps, Carla places a hand on your shoulder. "Querida, Alexia has been coming here for like two months just to see you and you barely paid her any attention. La pobre, she would get so sad whenever you asked for her name."
It all starts to make sense. So much has been happening around you but you’ve been oblivious to it all.
You playfully slap Carla on her side. "Why didn't you say anything?!"
Carla shrugs, her smile beaming. "What can I say — I'm a romantic! I didn't want to force it." Her smile dims slightly. "Besides, I figured you had a lot on your mind with your mom and the exhibit. I didn't think you were all that interested in dating."
Carla's right: dating hasn't exactly been a priority. You haven’t gone on a date in a year and it’s a fact that hasn’t exactly kept you up at night. How can you seek out love when your heart is in danger of being broken in a million little pieces? If your worst fear becomes a reality, there might not be a heart left to give. But even so, you cannot deny that while it still remains in tack, it beats a little faster at the mention of Alexia.
"You're not wrong," you concede, "but a woman like that is worth moving up the priority list."
Carla snickers and wiggles her eyebrows. "She's gorgeous, isn't she?"
"Very."
__________________________
It's Friday night and you can’t stop staring at the clock in your art studio. Its hands seem to mock you. Each tick echoes through the empty space, driving you mad with anticipation. It's your fault for arriving an hour early, but you just couldn't bear waiting at home any longer. You haven't felt like this in so long, and you just don't know what to do with yourself.
Back in France, you only dated casually. Some relationships were more serious than others sure, but you never really saw a future in any of them. Your heart and mind were too committed to your art, so it was difficult for anyone to compete.
But this time it feels different. Your art, which used to consume you, now seems to be somewhat in the background, and thoughts of Alexia have taken center stage.
The art studio is still. The easels and art supplies waiting in anticipation for Alexia. You set two easels in the corner next to the large windows that reveal the night sky, dotted with stars.
And if you're not staring at the clock, you're staring at the blank canvas, trying to envision the scene you want to create. But of course, your thoughts drift to Alexia, and all you can see is the curve of her smile and the sparkle in her eyes.
The door to the studio opens and Alexia walks in. Immediately, you feel the heat rise in your cheeks.
"Hi," she greets you, choosing to remain standing by the door.
You fight the nerves threatening to consume you and take the necessary steps to reach her. "Hi," you reply, hands intertwined nervously behind you.
Alexia looks at you for a moment, a smirk teasing her lips. There's no doubt she can sense your nerves. "You know, I ran into some officers on the way here."
"Oh yeah?"
She hums and nods her head, "They were actually looking for someone that reminded me a lot of you."
You bite your bottom lip to suppress your laughter. You've missed being teased like this. "Well, either you led them right to me, or you kept your end of the deal."
Alexia takes a moment, a mischievous look in her eye. "She's right here, officers!"
This earns Alexia a playful nudge on her shoulder. "Alright, you got me," you admit, your laughter filling the studio.
“Are you ready to get started, captain?”
Alexia nods and follows you to the easels by the window. She doesn’t try to be slick when she scoots her stool closer you. She makes it very obvious and, you of course, make no protest.
In the beginning, you focus on giving her a few pointers on how to work with charcoal. It's all very professional, which does help calm the butterflies in your stomach.
But then Alexia glances over at your canvas and asks, "How do you do that shading thing you do?"
You give her a smile and lean in closer to her canvas. With the proximity, you can smell her perfume, her breath against your hair, her knee pressed up against yours.
When you finish explaining, you turn to Alexia, only to realize that she hasn't exactly been paying much attention to what you were doing.
"Did you listen to a word I said?" You ask teasingly.
Alexia blushes, a sheepish smile on her face. "Sorry, I got distracted," she admits, her eyes flickering to your lips for a moment. "Show me again."
And you do so, not just because you want her to learn, but because you like the feeling of having her close.
After a little while of working in peaceful silence, Alexia decides to speak up. "So, in the last class, you mentioned that you moved back here from France?"
You give her a nod, "Yeah, almost a year now."
"Why did you come back?"
Your hand stills and hovers above the canvas. It doesn't matter how much time has gone by or how many times you've had to talk about it, your mom's illness is and will always be difficult to put into words.
"You don't have to answer if you don't want to," Alexia says, sensing your hesitation.
But you shake your head and smile, your eyes glistening. "No, it's okay," you say, voice soft but steady.
"My mom was diagnosed with cancer, and of course I had moved back to be with her. I used to say that it would take something really big for me to move back here, and… it turns out I was right."
Alexia listens intently to your every word. "I'm really sorry."
You finally gather the courage to look at Alexia, and you see two things: a sense of understanding and a little smudge of charcoal on her cheek.
"Thank you," you tell her with a small smile, which only grows bigger the longer you look at her.
"What?" she asks, confused.
"You have a little charcoal…" you tell her, pointing to the smudge on her cheek.
"Oh," she says and immediately tries to clean it off herself but fails to actually reach the spot.
"Let me help." You lean in closer to her, and with a soft, careful touch, you reach out and gently wipe the smudge away with your thumb.
Time seems to stand still as you both sit there, faces close in a moment of pure, unspoken emotion.
Slowly, you pull away, your cheeks flushed and your heart pounding. The moment is broken, but the feelings remain palpable.
“Gracias,” she says, her hand on where she felt your touch.
Unlike the last class, this time there's no excuse for Alexia to stay and help you clean up. So, with the drawings done, you're both just standing a little awkwardly by the door, unsure of what to do next.
"Would you like to go for a drink? I know a bar nearby."
Your eyes widen in surprise, and then a smile lights up you face. "I'd love that."
And that’s how the two of you end up at Las Vermudas, a cozy bar tucked away in the Gràcia district.
You follow Alexia to a booth in a far corner of the bar. Once you both have settled in, the bartender comes over to take your orders. You can’t keep your eyes off her as she orders her drink and when she catches you looking, she smiles.
It’s like the two of you are in your own little world. The conversation flows effortlessly and eventually, it leads back to your return.
“I felt so settled back in France. Everything just made sense. I was making all the right connections through Cécile, my mentor. It’s actually thanks to her that my work will be featured in an exhibit in a few months. Now, I have no idea where or who I’ll be next year.”
Almost like she can read your mind, Alexia asks, “What are you afraid of?”
“When I go back — if I do ever go back, I m scared that I just won’t be the same. That nothing will be the same. And that maybe I lost my chance to be truly great. It’s not just talent to succeed in my world, it’s a lot introductions with right people.”
Once again, you see nothing but understanding in Alexia. Her finger trails the edge of her glass, eyebrows slightly furrowed in thought.
"You know, there was a time when I wasn't sure I'd ever play again," she admits, her voice wavering slightly.
Your eyes widen in concern, and you lean in, eager to hear more.
"Two years ago I suffered an ACL injury and I was out for almsot a year. No matter how many times I told myself that I would come back stronger, there was still that little bit of doubt that would keep me up at night. I was so scared that I would not be the same player and my career would just be a what if."
“And are you the same player?”
A smirk tugs on her lips. “No,” she reaches for her glass and takes a small sip. “I’m better.” she says, and her smirk transforms into a proud smile.
And so you raise your own glass to her in admiration. It’s one thing to overcome an injury, but it’s another thing entirely to overcome the doubt that so desperately wants to hold you back.
After a little more back and forth and occasional teasing, you feel comfortable to bring up something that’s been on your mind.
"So, I have to admit something," you say, hesitating slightly. "You know my coworker, Carla?”
Alexia shifts in her seat “Si, we’ve talked a little here and there.”
You have a pretty good idea of what they’ve talked about — particularly how blind and clueless you’ve been for months.
But even though Alexia is no longer a stranger and you know for a fact that she’s interested in you, it doesn’t make it any easier to take that leap forward and be vulnerable with someone.
“Well, I kept getting distracted at the cafe, like I couldn’t get an order right to save my life.” You look down at the glass in your hands, “and I’m not the best barista by any means, but Carla could tell my mind was somewhere else.”
Alexia remains silent, but you feel her scooting a little closer to you.
“What were you thinking about?”
Your finger taps the glass repeatedly as you prepare yourself to reply to a question Alexia probably already knows the answer to.
“I was thinking about you.”
She scoots again a little closer, but this time actually reaches for your hand. It gives you the confidence you need to look away from the glass, and into her eyes.
“And when I told her I was thinking about you she got really excited, because as it turns out… you’ve been thinking about me too.”
A light blush spreads across Alexia's cheeks. "I thought you’d never notice me,” she says with a light chuckle. “I wanted you from the moment I saw you.”
Your eyes drift down to your hand and you watch how delicately Alexia trails over your knuckles.
"Every time I saw you at the cafe, I would try to find the reason to talk to you, but you wouldn’t even look me in the eye. So, I just waited and hoped that maybe, just maybe, you'd just look up."
Unlike so many times before in the cafe, this time you do look up. The intensity in her eyes no longer scares you. You welcome it and embrace it as the urge to close the distance and taste her lips becomes irresistible.
Everything indicates that she feels it too. You don’t think about it too much. You just do it.
When your lips finally meet, it's as if a spark ignites, sending a wave of warmth and desire throughout your entire body. The kiss, tender and sweet, makes the world around you fade away, and all that exists is the sensation of her lips.
When you pull away, breathless and exhilarated, you rest your forehead against hers and whisper, “I don’t think I’ll ever notice anyone else ever again.”
__________________________
With Alexia by your side, life takes a pleasant turn. After months of nothing but stress and just expecting the worst, she has brought a little light to your darkness. Not because she showers with grand gestures of affection. No, it’s the little things she does that mean the most. Like waiting for you outside the cafe after your shift so you’re the first person she sees. And it doesn’t matter how tired you are, seeing her waiting for you is like a breath of fresh air.
Because she makes you feel like this, it’s easy for you to embrace her world and her passions even though they differ so greatly from your own. It took a little bit of convincing and a lot of kisses, but you eventually agreed to let her teach you how to play football. You stumble and fall more often than not but Alexia is patient and encouraging. However, it’s hard for her to suppress her laughter at how many times you miss the ball and just kick the air.
But what surprises you the most, is that other than at the First Brushstroke, you’ve had no interest in painting. No longer are you driving yourself crazy with the exhibit and the damned missing piece.
“Oye,” Carla calls out to you, “stop thinking about Alexia and help me stock up the pastry shelf.”
You roll your eyes with a smirk in response but don’t bother to defend yourself. She’s right after all. “Fine, fine.”
“By the way, the owner just texted me that he might stop by tomorrow,” Carla informs you and her expression shows that she’s not all that pleased.
You throw your head back and groan, “of course he is.”
Every once in a blue moon the owner of the cafe decides to show up and pretend like he actually cares about the place. Just the mention of his possible visit makes you want to take off your apron and quit.
What makes matters worse is that Alexia won’t be waiting for you outside today. She’s traveling back with the team and you expect her to go straight home and get some rest.
The two of you are just about done restocking the shelf when the door to the cafe opens.
“Ale?”
Her eyes immediately find you and she gives you a big, beaming smile. Your heart skips a beat as you return her smile, a tangible connection passing between you even from across the cafe.
“Hola, preciosa.”
Within a second you’re in her arms, face nestled in the crook of your neck. “You’re back,” you mumble against her skin, giving a quick peck on her cheek.
“I am,” she says with a little squeeze.
Behind you, Carla clears her throat to get your attention. "Hey, can you bring out the rest of the apple puff ones from the back? I'll cover the counter."
You glance at the shelf and see more than enough of the apple puff-pastries and you, of course, catch the hint. “Will do,” you reply with a grateful smile.
You take Alexia’s hand and guide her towards the storeroom. As you pass Carla, you faintly hear Alexia say “thank you,” to her.
The moment the two of you step into the room and the door closes, your hands reach up to cradle Alexia’s face and pull her in for a slow, passionate kiss.
It’s as if all the days you've spent apart melt away. "I missed you," you murmur repeatedly against each other's lips, the words barely audible.
Alexia with her arms around your waist, draws you even closer, and you lose yourself in the warmth of her embrace.
When you finally pull apart and catch your breath, you can't help but playfully reprimand her. "You had such a long flight. Why aren’t you at home and in bed right now?"
Alexia shakes her head as if that was the last thing in her mind. "I wanted to see my girlfriend,” she says as she trails gentle kisses down your neck.
Your eyes widen in surprise at her words. Gently, you grasp her face with your hands, "I'm your girlfriend?" This is the first time the title has been uttered, but it has certainly been swirling around in your mind.
She nods with an undeniable confidence because to her, it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Yes, and I am yours."
There’s a saying: actions speak louder than words. So, rather than proclaim how much her words mean to you, you capture her lips once more for a kiss. Hands find their way underneath her shirt, tracing the curves and lines you've come to know so well. And as the intensity continues to build, Alexia attempts to back you against a wall, but when you take a step back you end up tripping over a box, stumbling backward.
Alexia tries to catch you, but her foot gets caught up in something and she ends up losing her balance as well. You find yourself in a tangled mess of limbs and unable to control your laughter.
“You weren’t kidding,” she says, extending her hand to help you up. “This place is a mess.”
You nod in agreement, hands on your hips, "Someone keeps sneaking in at night and turning the place upside down."
"Really?"
“No,” you drop the facade and smirk, "Carla and I are just incapable of cleaning up after ourselves."
Alexia chuckles and shakes her head, a fond smile playing on her lips as she takes in the chaos that surrounds the two of you.
"I've got to go back” you wrap your arms around Alexia's neck, drawing her closer for a quick peck on her cheek. “Duty calls.”
Alexia nods in understanding. "Can’t leave our girl stranded.”
Walking out of the backroom, you’re relieved to not see Carla overwhelmed by a long line at the counter.
“We really need to get that place in order,” you tell Carla, pointing back to the stockroom.
Carla grimaces, “I know,” she says, “I hate to say it, but we might need to stay late today and clean up in case that idiot actually decides to show up.”
Alexia, who has been listening to the conversation, raises her hand. "I’m happy to help if you need an extra hand."
Carla looks at Alexia, then back at you with desperation in her eyes, “we definitely do.”
A part of you wants to say no because you know Alexia needs the rest, but you can already feel the muscles in your back start to tighten from all the heavy lifting that awaits you. With Alexia's help, the task of cleaning the backroom would be much more manageable.
So you give in, “Ok,” you point your finger at Alexia rather sternly, “go home, get some rest and we’ll see you here at closing.”
"So bossy,” Alexia playfully blows a kiss to you and says, "I’ll see you soon.”
Again, it’s the little things that make you fall more in love with her day by day.
__________________________
Tonight, your mom is teaching you how to cook her famous Fideuà which also happens to be one of Alexia’s favorite dishes. So, it’s only fitting that she’s by your side, helping you cook and correcting your many, many mistakes.
“Now, add the stock and wine and bring it to a simmer.”
Your mom, feeling a little too weak to stand, sits nearby at the counter, offering her guidance and expertise on the dish.
The atmosphere in the kitchen is light and filled with laughter as your mom and Alexia tease you mercilessly. The two hit it off right away, so much so that sometimes you feel like the third wheel. And while you may pout and complain, you love to see your mom regain that spark in her eyes that you love so much. All she’s ever wanted is for you to be happy. Your happiness is her happiness. So, when she sees you with Alexia, laughing and smiling, she’s satisfied.
“Oh, my beautiful daughter has always been a handful, Ale. I remember the day I found a nude magazine under her bed.”
Alexia chokes on the wine, a little bit spilling from the corners of her lips.
“Mama!”
Your mom brushes you off, a smirk on her lips. “She gave me this ridiculous excuse, saying it was to study the female form for a painting she was working on.”
“It was!”
“Mi amor, you’re a woman — all you had to do was look in a mirror. You didn’t need three magazines for that.”
You cover your face with your hands in embarrassment, “dios, please make it stop.”
Alexia shares a look with your mom, and they burst into laughter.
Thankfully, the teasing comes to end, and you can focus back on the dish that you so desperately don’t want to mess up again.
"I tried so many times to make this when I was in France, but wow, it tasted terrible," you confess, shaking your head.
Your mom speaks up, her voice gentle but firm. "You see, that’s why it's important that I teach you these things while I can."
Feeling as though someone has punched you in the stomach, you turn your back to her, and you try to suppress the tears that threaten to spill. Her words serve as a painful reminder of the possibility of losing her.
Alexia quickly notices your distress and kisses your shoulder, providing you with that little bit of comfort you need to gather your emotions. To lighten the mood, she shares a few of her own cooking horror stories, making you laugh and successfully distracting you from the sadness that had momentarily gripped you.
After dinner, you take Alexia by the hand and lead her to your childhood bedroom turned art studio. Her eyes go wide with curiosity and admiration. "So, this is where the magic happens," she says. "I love it," Alexia breathes, her gaze darting around the room, taking in every detail.
You walk over to a corner where several canvases lean against the wall, each one partially covered with a cloth. Gently, you pull them away to reveal the paintings you've been working on for the upcoming exhibit.
Alexia gasps in awe, her eyes drinking in the vibrant colors and intricate details of each piece. "Incredible, mi amor.”
You feel your cheeks flush at the compliment. "When I got the news of my mom, I felt like I didn’t have anyone to talk to. I had so much built up and I needed to just let it all out. And this is what came out.”
It only takes Alexia a few seconds to understand the meanings behind every piece. She reaches her hand out to you, and you take it seeking the comfort you can only get from her touch. She wraps her arms around your waist and rests her chin on your shoulder, "I can’t tell you that everything will be ok, but I can promise that I will be here for you, no matter what."
You believe her.
__________________________
Your favorite nights are the ones spent with Alexia. In her arms you feel safe and at peace. Somehow, she keeps your anxieties and worst fears far, far away. As your fingers gently trace the contours of her face, you feel a warmth and happiness you never want to go a day without. It turns out this isn’t just a fleeting infatuation, after all. Your love for her is real.
"I love you," you murmur, voice warm and sincere.
Alexia eyes flutter open and she smiles, "I love you too.”
Her words ignite something in you that has laid dormant in you for far too long. Your mind begins to race with ideas, colors, and compositions. It's as if a dam within you has burst, releasing this desire to express your love for her through your art. It's a powerful sensation that you simply cannot ignore and it demands you to act on it immediately.
With a sense of urgency, you jump out of bed and run to grab the sketchbook you carry with you everywhere in your bag.
“What are you doing?” Alexia calls out, her voice full of curiosity and a hint of amusement.
With no attempt to explain yourself, you reach for her vanity stool and place it a few feet away from the bed. The pencil in your hand starts to glide across the paper capturing the lines and curves of her body. Carefully, you study the gentle curve of her neck and the way her hair cascades over the pillow.
Alexia, now catching on to the reason behind your outburst, remains still. A comforting silence takes over the room, broken only by the sound of the pencil dancing across the page.
But the more you look at her and take in every detail of her body, the more restless she becomes. Her hands grip the bed sheet, teeth tugging on her bottom lip. With one swift motion, the sheets that cover her body fall to the ground as she gets up from the bed and walks over to you.
Hovering above you, she takes the sketchbook from your hands and sets it aside. Looking up at her, she brushes a strand of hair from your face and tucks in behind your ear. “I love how you look at me,” she whispers.
Her touch is so tender, and her words so genuine that makes you feel like the luckiest woman in the world.
You feel compelled to drop down to your knees.
Hands run up and down the back of her thighs, nails digging in ever so slightly into her skin. You press your lips against her navel, and then trail down ever so slowly.
Alexia’s breath hitches with each kiss. She rests her hand on your head, her fingers threading through your hair as she gasps your name. The sound of her voice, breathy and filled with desire, sends a shiver down your spine.
When your tongue reaches her most sensitive spot, Alexia lifts her leg and rests it on the vanity stool, allowing you better access to her.
“Oh…”
With every gentle stroke and teasing touch, you proclaim your love. And in response, Alexia's holds you firmly in place, a clear indication she has no interest in ever letting you go.
And then her eyes lock onto yours, you see that same intensity that left you speechless when you first saw her — really saw her, but now you also see love in her gaze. Ever since that day in the coffee shop you have been at her mercy. But now as she trembles with pleasure by your hand and tongue, she’s the one begging for it.
Throughout the rest of the night, you take your time exploring and memorizing every curve and dip of Alexia's body with your lips. You're determined to commit every detail to memory to ensure that when it’s time, you’ll be able to capture her image her to perfection on the canvas.
__________________________
With a step back, you take a moment to appreciate the progress you've made on the painting. In a trance, the hours you've spent working on it have flown by. The creative block that has plagued you has lost its control over you.
And you have Alexia to thank.
The painting is inspired by the sketch you made that night. The sheet drapes over her body, revealing just enough of her silhouette to create a sense of mystery and allure. The image draws you in and entices you to want more, to see more. Although covered, you can see the toned contours of her body, from the definition in her arms to the powerful muscles in her legs.
Her knee peeks out from the bed sheets and a small yet very significant scar can be seen. The scar tells a story of overcoming obstacles and pushing through no matter. It’s a testament to her strength and her ability to rise above challenges and come out on top, stronger than before.
You continue working late into the night, each brushstroke bringing you closer to immortalizing Alexia. The painting still requires a lot of work to reach the level of perfection you desire, but you’re determined to have it done in time for the exhibit.
It’s the final, missing piece. They very piece that alluded you, and the very one you had given up on. But liked you hoped, it did make its way to you eventually. And it did so in the shape of the woman you fallen in love with.
__________________________
Waiting for the doctor always feels like an eternity. You hate everything about the room you’re in. The sterile environment, the faint smell of disinfectant, and the uncomfortable silence that only serves as a constant reminder of the pain and suffering your mom has had to endure.
Incapable of sitting down, you remain standing, hands wringing together as your heart beats rapidly in your chest. Each visit to this room has been a roller coaster of emotions, leaving you with a sense of dread every time you step foot inside. Even the ticking sound of the clock feels like a signal of impending heartache.
"Is Ale nervous for the game?"
Every time you've been in this room, all you've heard is bad news after bad news. The crushing weight of your mother's cancer hangs over you like a dark cloud, making it nearly impossible to focus. You long for the day when you can walk into this room without feeling like the world is collapsing around you.
"Mija?"
"Hmm?"
"The game against Real Madrid is later today, right?"
You manage a small smile, appreciating her attempt to ease your tension. "Yeah, it's today."
She smiles, her eyes sparkling with pride. Unlike you, she’s made her peace with it all. "I'm sure she'll do great."
Just as you're about to respond, the door opens, and the doctor walks in, a gentle smile on his face. Your heart races as you brace yourself for the news.
"I have good news for both of you," he begins, his tone warm and reassuring. "Lídia, the treatment has been effective. The latest blood tests show that you are in remission.”
As the doctor's words sink in, disbelief, relief, and an overwhelming sense of gratitude wash over you in waves. After so long of only getting bad news, it's hard to believe that this moment has finally come. You've spent countless nights lying awake, fearing the worst.
You glance over at your mom, searching her face for any sign that this is just another cruel dream and that you’ll wake up from. But her eyes, filled with tears of joy, tell you that this is real and for the first time in so long, you breathe a sigh of relief.
"Really? Are you sure?" Your mom asks, disbelief and hope mixed in her voice.
"Yes, Lídia, I'm certain," he confirms. "The next step is consolidation treatment help prevent a relapse, but as of now, you're in remission and that is very good news."
Unable to contain your emotions any longer, you rush to her side, enveloping her in a tight embrace. She holds you close, tears of joy and relief streaming down both of your faces.
"You’re going to be ok," you manage to choke out between sobs.
Amidst the whirlwind of emotions, you remember that Alexia had asked you to text her about the results. She wanted to know and be there for you, regardless of the outcome.
With trembling fingers, you pull out your phone and type a message to Alexia:
📲 – she’s in remission!!!!!!!!
📲 – we’re still shock but I’ll tell you everything later
📲 – good luck today!! I love you ♥️ ♥️ ♥️
The two of you make it back to the house in time to watch El Clásico. Even though you’re not there in person, you can tell the atmosphere in the stadium is electric. Every time Alexia appears on the screen, your heart swells up with pride.
The game is tense. Both teams are playing their hearts out, and while you try to pay attention to everything and every player, like Alexia has taught you, you're especially focused on her performance. Suddenly, she intercepts a pass from a Madrid player and makes a break for it.
Your heart races as you watch her weave through the defenders, getting closer and closer to the goal. Your eyes go wide when Alexia strikes the ball and sends it soaring into the net. The crowd goes wild, and you and your mom jump up from the couch, cheering and clapping.
Alexia's teammates swarm around her, congratulating her on the goal. Instead of walking away back to her position with the rest of the team, she points at the camera and then lifts up her jersey.
To your surprise, she reveals the words "Un pasito más, Lídia!" written on her undershirt. Just one more step.
Your eyes widen in surprise, and you glance at your mom, who is just as shocked as you are. Tears fill her eyes as she covers her mouth, touched by Alexia's dedication to her.
The little things matter, yes. But sometimes, the grand gestures sure do mean a lot too.
__________________________
Some time has passed since your mom went into remission and although there have been significant improvements in her health, there are still days when she doesn't feel her best. Today is one of those days, and unfortunately, it also happens to be the opening of the art exhibit.
As you gather your things to leave, you glance at your mom sitting on the couch, wrapped in a warm blanket, looking a little pale and weary. Disappointment is evident in her eyes.
"I'm so sorry, mi niña" she says, her voice heavy with regret. "I really wanted to be there for you tonight.”
You walk over and sit next to her, taking her hand in yours. "Mama, you’re not missing anything crazy. Besides, you’ll be there for the next exhibit, the one after that, and the one after that."
Your mother smiles weakly and nods. "I'm so proud of you,” she says, “tell Carla and Ale to take lots of pictures!”
“"I will, mama,” you say with a chuckle as lean down give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Tia should be here in a few minutes. Please, get some rest.”
When you step outside and close the door, you allow yourself to feel the disappointment you hid from her. Considering that all but one of the pieces are dedicated to her, of course you wanted her there. But still, you’re determined to make the most of this night to honor her and everything she has been through.
At the exhibit, you're accompanied by Carla. The gallery is buzzing with excitement, and your art has garnered a lot of attention and praise. However, you find it hard to take in the moment because Alexia is running late. Very late. The fact that she hasn't replied to any of your messages certainly doesn’t help.
Carla noticing your concern, rests a hand on your shoulder. "Hey, I'm sure she'll be here any minute.”
You nod, attempting to stay focused on the event, but it's difficult not to let your emotions show. “I’m just worried that’s all.”
“I know, but she’s probably stuck in traffic or can’t find parking. You know-” of the sudden, her gaze drifts past you and towards the entrance and her eyes go wide.
Confused, you turn around to see what caught Carla’s attention. By the entrance, you see Alexia walk in with your mom by her side, holding on to her hand. Your mom looks tired but determined.
You rush towards them, shocked and tears threatening to stream down your face. "Mama! You're here!”
Alexia grins sheepishly. "I was on my here when she called me to pick her up and wouldn’t take no for an answer. I see where you get it from."
Still holding on to Alexia, you mom smiles and reaches out for you. "I couldn't let you down, mija. I just had to be here with you."
You embrace them both, overwhelmed by their presence. “I’m so happy you’re both here.”
With them by your side, the night becomes even that more special. Nothing feels better than being able to introduce your mom to fellow artists and attendees.
Eventually, a reporter from a local arts magazine pulls you aside for a brief interview, asking about the various pieces you have displayed at the exhibit.
He’s particularly interested in one. "The Missing Piece is truly something special," the reporter says, his eyes locked on the painting. "What’s the significance of its title?”
You take a moment to gather your thoughts, your gaze lingering on the painting. "At first, it felt like there was a piece missing for the exhibit, but it turns out that it was something I was missing from my own life."
You glance over at Alexia, who is admiring your artwork with your mom and Carla. "And when, I finally found it, everything changed. My missing piece brought me a sense of completeness and balance that I desperately needed.”
The reporter smiles. "Your feelings are evident in this piece, and it's no wonder it's drawing so much attention tonight."
"My mentor used to say that wherever the eyes go, so does the heart. And wherever the heart goes, so do the hands. The piece will live forever, and a hundred years from now someone will look at it and they’ll feel exactly what feel.”
“And what’s that?”
You glance over at Alexia once again. Almost as if she senses your gaze, she turns to meet your eyes. With a knowing smile, she winks at you, acknowledging the connection between the two you and the inspiration behind The Missing Piece.
“Love.”
715 notes
·
View notes
Text
last twilight ep 7 thoughts, feelings, etc
ALRIGHT i ran my errands, caught up on pit babe and playboyy to relax, and now i'm doing my speedwatch. i took some notes while watching the first time and they're a fucking MESS but hopefully they help me remember everything i want to comment on because without fail i always forget something.
you'll all be glad to know this week's meta bullshit from me is far, far less romantic and wistful than last weeks. you've all been spared by my adhd brain not being able to piece together a single poetic thought.
i kind of knew from this moment the trajectory the episode would take. Day is clearly nervous but not defensive - this isn't out of the realm of something Mhok would do for him but with recent context it probably feels fairly intimate. i think this was a really good indicator of what we're in for.
there's a collection of sunflowers in Day's room, tucked away in the corner, not unlike Mhok tucking away his feelings for Day's comfort. the poor things are shrouded in shadow, away from the light. the pain is unending and forever.
Day's flashback to the kiss has me curious. his eyes are closed so he's not even thinking back to seeing what he can of Mhok up close. as he reminisces about this kiss is he simply remembering the sensation of Mhok's lips on his own? how his hands curled into Mhok's jacket? and i'm sure we've all seen the post but - was he thinking of the way Mhok tasted like cigarettes? this isn't to romanticize his disability, i'm just genuinely wondering what exactly he's drawing on here in this moment, because it's clearly something significant to him.
Porjai just keeps getting prettier every episode and it's making me insane. i just think i should be allowed to take care of her.
"I'm jealous of Day's ability to make you smile."
this makes me think Mhok's smiles have been few and far between, and maybe Porjai has been looking to bring out that smile for a long time. does she ever worry that maybe someday Mhok could end up like Rung? does she worry about finding him too?
oh i so very badly want the context for this, i want to know everything. but also, it's really not that surprising. not when we've seen the things Mhok has done for Day. Mhok lives his life in extremes; anger, kindness, protectiveness, his work, etc. everything Mhok does he puts his whole self into it and it's nice to see his love is no different, because why would it be?
i'm once again in awe of what P'Aof has done with Mhok and Porjai, though. they live together so easily and naturally. there's nothing strange or awkward about it, just two people surviving life together. it's such a breath of fresh air.
Day just cannot catch a break when it comes to August. this has to hurt so fucking badly, the pity has to feel amplified by 1000. not only was August trying to force himself to like Day back because he's blind, but also because he was thinking of leaving. Day is a stronger man than me because i would be frothing at the mouth pissed.
but once again, Mhok doesn't let Day stew in his fish tank. he encourages him to go out and resolve his feelings, even if that means screaming at August and letting out all his hurt and frustration. he's seen what happens when Day lets his hurt fester and he won't let it happen again, not while he's around.
"He's a lot stronger than I thought. It's me who's so weak that I let him down."
as much as August pisses me off, i do think this is him realizing his pity was misplaced, and he failed Day in that way, so he gets some redemption points here. (still think he's a stinky bastard man tho)
the immediate distance Mhok puts between himself and the group never fails to hurt my heart. i get it, he's there for a job, but their relationship has progressed past that - now even moreso, and i cant help but wonder if this is his attempt at keeping a distance, curbing his expectations, reminding himself that while his role is to be by Day's side it's only in a professional capacity.
i love that Gee acknowledges him with a little head nod, occasionally looks in Mhok's direction as if to include him, she's just - ugh - i love all the women in this show so fucking much. i just wish someone would invite Mhok over sometime, encourage him to join the conversation (like they did back at the party.)
sometimes Mhok really is the embodiment of a shadow - both of Day and of his former self (for good or bad.)
(he looks so fucking sexy leaning like that with his shirt tucked into his pants tho, whew.)
Gee also becomes one of my favorite people for asking Day to take the photo of all of them. she just gets it, she includes him, she doesn't act like he can't do things, she even insists he can, she's just !!! the women of all time in this show i swear!!! I LOVE WOMEN!!!!
also the "you don't drink coffee, girl spill the tea" from Gee is just so good. she knows a diversion tactic when she sees one.
i want this expression framed, she's so cute, HELP.
i wish i had the time and energy today to make gifs for this week but ugh. the journey Mhok's face went on here to end up at quiet resignation. because he did figure. someone like Day? with someone like him? because we know Mhok's opinion of himself isn't great, largely influenced by his incarceration and reintegration into society, i'm sure, along with his guilt. but there had been that little bud of hope, a little sunflower seed that had bloomed just a little too far, reached for the sun a little too much. it must feel like a weed in his chest.
the way Day says 'here' so softly, with so much vulnerability made me feel like screaming. he doesn't know what his feelings are for Mhok yet (you can't tell me he doesn't feel anything) but he knows he doesn't want to lose Mhok and the sudden idea of it is terrifying. Mhok is the only person that really understands him, one of the only people he's comfortable around anymore, and he can't lose that. he doesn't want to go back to the dirty fish tank.
i also think this was an indicator to Mhok that maybe Day doesn't know how he feels, and maybe he can get away with flirting in tiny, subtle ways because from here on his secret flirting game is in full effect and it's so fucking cute. he's careful not to completely push past Day boundaries, but to test them in gentle ways.
THE SHOES MY BELOVEDS. we all know what i feel about these shoes after last week and i'm so glad to see all of my stupid babbling confirmed here. i love that Mhok constantly mends things instead of throwing them away. the sentimentality of items means something to Mhok and we love him for that.
we also got a proper 'sweet dreams' this episode, finally!! thank you subbers!
so many shots of feet this ep tho and lemme tell you as someone that HATES feet, this was rough.
oh you are so smitten. Day realizing Mhok is warm, warm in his own way, warm in such a gentle and understated way. UGH. you would've thought he knew after everything they've been through but sometimes people need a reminder and maybe something to drive them to pay closer attention. our boy is BESOTTED. kicking his feet and giggling. i think this is the happiest we've ever seen him.
so here's where i'm probably going to wax poetic the most. Mhok is finally opening up to Day in such an incredible way. he brings Day to his home with no fear of pity or judgement. he brings him into this sanctuary created by him, his sister, and Porjai and he cooks for him and cares for him and in letting him in Day sees even more how impossibly warm Mhok is.
what's even greater is there isn't a single moment where Day is jealous or questions Porjai being there. Mhok has told him she's expecting and he's never weird about it, just kind and understanding and it's all so normalized, it's fucking beautiful. Day even takes the time to encourage Porjai, to share about his mom, and about the strength it takes to be a single mom. P'Aof i adore you.
Mhok has planted jasmine simply because he knows Day likes it, and maybe now he likes it too. and he brings Last Twilight home to practice reading (i'd always wondered how he managed to read without stumbling over himself lmao) and he's done it so much that now Porjai wants to name their child Mee, wants to create this connection to Day forever.
and once prompted, once Day knows enough to ask, Mhok opens up about Rung, talks about her more. Day comments on the warmth of the house, something started by Rung and cultivated by Mhok. it would be so easy for the house to feel cold and clinical, especially knowing what happened here, but Mhok has kept it a home - warm, inviting, comforting - all the things Mhok has been to Day.
the noises took me by fuckin' surprise tho, i genuinely looked around my house like who the fuck is making all that noise and then i was like OH THOSE ARE-- OKAY--
and I know people are like haha P'Aof has a scent kink but like. idk. maybe it's just me but scents are something i'm drawn to. i remember the way someone smelled more than i remember their face. i recently took a shirt out of my closet and immediately started crying. it smelled like face powder and perfume. it smelled like my grandma. the leather jacket pushed to the side smells like cigarettes and horses, like my dad always did.
scent is such an ingrained memory, something that is so hard for our brains to let go of. every time i get a familiar smell it knocks me on my ass, and i'm so glad to see some of this represented in these shows.
this absolutely warmed my heart. whatever is going on with Night and Day is clearly more on Day's side than anything else. Night clearly loves his brother and i'm just fucking DYING to know what is going on that is causing Day to drive a wedge between them. sure, Night hasn't been perfect, but there's love there and that counts for so much.
and what exactly are you doing here??? this is a charity run for blindness - does he know someone that is blind other than Day? did meeting Day inspire him to participate? has he spent time talking to Mhok about Day and maybe the difficulties of his blindness? i am filled with questions but i love this character so much, he's just so kind.
Day's hesitation to cross the finish line was also something i found so interesting. it felt long, possibly too drawn out, but Day needed to think, needed time to understand that if he crosses that finish line, if he accepts Mhok's request to be his boyfriend, their lives will never go back to how they were. things between them will change forever, whether the relationship is a success or otherwise. it's an incredibly mature thing of Day to do, even if it felt a little lengthy for us, the audience.
i strongly believe that in addition to Mhok Porjai is going to be a big driving force in Night and Day's reconciliation. i would love to see Porjai gain Night's side of the story, Mhok gain Day's side of the story, and the two of them working together to see how they can reunite these brothers.
also if i had a nickle for every time P'Aof paired Mark with a pregnant woman in his shows i'd have two nickles, which isn't a lot but it's interesting it has happened twice.
while i, like everyone else, hope the mock proposal is a parallel we get to see later i want to focus more on this moment.
i forget who said it, it's long gone to the depths of my dash by now, but someone commented that disabilities do not stop for love, and fuck is that so true. i love Mhok's concern, his immediate reaction to soothe, and the way he seems to feel Day's fear as his own. and poor Day, he can't even enjoy this moment of bliss with Mhok because of course, of course something like this had to happen. it's so fucking real in the way Last Twilight has been this entire time.
the constant excellent representation of disabled living has been incredible to see, i've seen so much of myself in this show (even though my disability is so very different) and it's been like a warm blanket put over very single comment: you're too young to be disabled, you aren't THAT disabled, you're being dramatic, etc.
from the bottom of my heart, thank you P'Aof and team.
tag loves: @benkaaoi @callipigio @infinitelyprecious
(as always tell me if you want to be added {for LT only or all meta} or removed!)
#bunn meta#last twilight#last twilight the series#mhokday#morkday#userjamiec#im soooo fuckin sleepy after making this but i still have to work#someone come make me tea and gimme a little kith
123 notes
·
View notes
Note
"You passed the first hurdle. Kaburamaru trusts you."
His words always echoed in the back of your mind. It was two long months of constantly being by his side before he removed the cloth he had around his mouth. Obanai had pulled you into a deep kiss that night and made sure to bite your neck hard enough to leave marks where your necklace would lie, the bruising reminding you who you belong to.
"You will forever be my beloved bride. These signify my heart being given to you."
Dinners together became regulated afterwards, and Obanai would always insist on sharing kisses between bites of your food and sips of his bloodied wine. Asking him why simply yielded an honest answer.
"I simply cannot get enough of the taste of your lips, my jewel."
Tonight, Obanai had told you he wished to finally bind you to him in the most intimate way possible. You felt your thighs squeeze together at the implications of your love's statement, making the man chuckle and tug down his mask, his smile and scarred skin being bared to your eyes. Taking your hand in his, Obanai tugged you closer to him, pressing a warm kiss to your lips.
"I can sense your excitement, but please, save it for later, my heart. I wish to have you when all is prepared." He cooed, his voice nearly hypnotic as you nodded, stealing another kiss from him, much to his surprise. With a soft laugh, Obanai quipped how he adored how unpredictable you were.
You later found yourself curled in your bed with a book in hand detailing the story of a pair of lovers from a tale as old as time itself, yet you couldn't keep your attention on it. You wanted Obanai with you, needed him now.
Your daydreams were shattered as you felt the bed dip beside you, drawing your eye from the inked pages of the novel. You smiled and carelessly threw it aside upon seeing Obanai, clad in just his undershirt and pants, mask nowhere to be seen alongside Kaburamaru.
"You're here." You uttered, throwing your arms around him. Obanai wound his arms around your middle, appreciating that you wore that pretty, thin lavender gown he had set out for you.
"I said I wanted you tonight, didn't I?" He asked, running his hand down your side and pressing a kiss to your lips.
"Yes, you did. I could hardly wait for you. I need you now, my beloved."
"My poor, little bride." Obanai crooned, cupping your cheek in his icy cold palm. He smiled lovingly seeing you lean into his touch. "I kept you waiting for far too long, haven't I? Fear not, I'm here now, and ready to begin preparing you to be mine entirely."
Your pretty gown was soon tossed aside with Obanai's shirt, your lips locked together, the vampire trailing wet kisses down your neck and shoulder. His hands were roaming all across your body, traveling lower and lower until they reached your clothed core, teasing your clit through your panties. Your whines felt like music to his ears, his heterochromatic eyes drinking in your flushed form.
"My jewel..." He groaned, his lips now lingering at your pulse point at your wrist. "Please, I wish to taste you, I promise no pain, please, let me taste you..."
"Have me, my heart, have me! All of me! My blood, my body, my soul are all yours, all yours!" You whined, bucking your hips into your love's touch. Obanai groaned softly, slipping his hand into your panties now to play with your folds, feeling your wetness and making you jolt at the temperature change. He soon sunk his teeth into your wrist, pointedly missing your pulse point, as he didn't want you to die from blood loss, not when he simply wanted to taste the delicacy that was your blood.
Obanai let out a moan as he drank your blood, the taste being sweeter than any infused wines he'd ever tasted, your blood being so delightful to his senses, all else would taste like grime or sand. He loved how you moaned so sweetly for him as he slipped his fingers inside you, curling them in a come hither motion that had you arching your back of the bed. He pulled his mouth away from your wrist, laving his tongue over the puncture wounds.
"My sweet bride, you're immaculate..." He moaned, lazily pressing his cheek to your wrist and looking at you, his gaze almost drunk. Obanai would swear that he felt drunk off of you in that moment.
"So perfect, so delectable. I'm so happy it's you that I have as my beloved, my everything." He confessed, leaning forward and silencing your cries and swallowing your moans.
GODS, GLITCH, YOU NEVER MISS-
#im dying of thirst#absolutely dehydrated#only KNY men can sate that thirst#gods damn it#vampires are hot#vampire obanai is such a charmer like#“my poor little bride” DID ME IN OKAY#fjndjdndkyjksnsnsns#fuck-#desi's moots time uwu#desi's ask box#demon slayer#kimetsu no yaiba#iguro obanai#obanai x reader#vampire obanai#iguro obanai x reader#kakushino
82 notes
·
View notes
Note
I ask for a prayer. I've been dealing with increased anger and anxiety recently. Certainly a symptom of neglecting my spiritual needs the past few months. If you will, pray that I get back on the right path. Please and thank you. God bless.
I'm sorry to hear that you've been struggling with anxiety and anger recently, and I pray that both of these things improve for you. Of course I will keep you in my prayers.
Some prayers you might find helpful are under the readmore
Prayer Against Fear
O Greatly-merciful Master, Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me and cleanse me from every sadness and disturbance and cowardice. Drive away from me every spiritual choking and demonic sorrow, that I sense in my body and my soul. For You are our Joy, and the hope of all the ends of the earth, and those far off at sea. Be merciful to me, O Master, upon my sins. Take from me the heavy burden of sin and despair. Drive far away from me every sadness and laziness. Confirm me in Your Love, and with unassailable hope and unshakable faith in You, through the intercessions of Your Spotless Mother, and all Your Saints. Amen.
Another Prayer Against Fear
O Master, Lord my God, in Whose hands is my destiny: Help me according to Thy mercy, and leave me not to perish in my transgressions, nor allow me to follow them who place desires of the flesh over those of the spirit.
I am Thy creation; disdain not the work of Thy hands. Turn not away; be compassionate and humiliate me not, neither scorn me, O Lord, as I am weak. I have fled unto Thee as my Protector and God. Heal my soul, for I have sinned against Thee. Save me for Thy mercy’s sake, for I have cleaved unto Thee from my youth; let me who seeks Thee not be put to shame by being rejected by Thee for mine unclean actions, unseemly thoughts, and unprofitable remembrances. Drive away from me every filthy thing and excess of evil.
For Thou alone art holy, alone mighty, and alone immortal, in all things having unexcelled might, which, through Thee, is given to all that strive against the devil and the might of his armies. For unto Thee is due all glory, honor and worship: To the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, now and ever, and unto ages of ages. Amen
Prayer Against Adversity
Dear heavenly Lord, It’s as if I take One step forward and Two steps back. Things go wrong In the most unexpected ways. It seems like the whole world Works against me sometimes. And my failure ties me up in knots. Yet I know one thing, For Your Word has told me, That I am not alone. So once again I call out to You, Rise up, oh Lord, rise up! Strike down the resistance and fear That seek to silence my faith. Give me strength and clarity To continue, no matter How hard the wind blows against me. I believe in Your promise. You will not abandon me. I trust in the resurrection That sets my soul free. You are my almighty God And I am Your beloved child. Christ won this for me Upon the cross. Only by Your grace, According to Your holy will, In Jesus name, Amen.
Prayer to Overcome Panic Attacks
Lord, I come to You and I thank You for drawing near to me when I draw near to You. To think that You are mindful of me — it overwhelms my soul. But Lord, today my spirit is heavy and my body is weak. I cannot bear the weight of this anxiety and panic any longer. I recognize I can’t get through this alone, and I pray against the very active enemy who is trying to shake my faith and tear us apart. Help me stand strong in You. Fortify these weary bones and remind me of the truth that this pain and panic will not last forever. It will pass.
Fill me with Your joy, peace and perseverance, Father. Restore my soul and break the chains of anxiety and panic that bind me. I trust You with my panic and I know that You have the power to take it all away. But even if You don’t, I know I don’t have to be a slave to my fear. I can rest in the shadow of Your wings and I will rise and overcome by Your unwavering strength. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.
Bless My Enemies, O Lord
Bless my enemies, O Lord. Even I bless them and do not curse them.
Enemies have driven me into your embrace more than friends have.
Friends have bound me to earth, enemies have loosed me from earth and have demolished all my aspirations in the world.
Enemies have made me a stranger in worldly realms and an extraneous inhabitant of the world. Just as a hunted animal finds safer shelter than an unhunted animal does, so have I, persecuted by enemies, found the safest sanctuary, having ensconced myself beneath your tabernacle, where neither friends nor enemies can slay my soul.
Bless my enemies, O Lord. Even I bless them and do not curse them.
They, rather than I, have confessed my sins before the world.
They have punished me, whenever I have hesitated to punish myself.
They have tormented me, whenever I have tried to flee torments.
They have scolded me, whenever I have flattered myself.
They have spat upon me, whenever I have filled myself with arrogance.
Bless my enemies, O Lord, Even I bless them and do not curse them.
Whenever I have made myself wise, they have called me foolish.
Whenever I have made myself mighty, they have mocked me as though I were a dwarf.
Whenever I have wanted to lead people, they have shoved me into the background.
Whenever I have rushed to enrich myself, they have prevented me with an iron hand.
Whenever I thought that I would sleep peacefully, they have wakened me from sleep.
Whenever I have tried to build a home for a long and tranquil life, they have demolished it and driven me out.
Truly, enemies have cut me loose from the world and have stretched out my hands to the hem of your garment.
Bless my enemies, O Lord. Even I bless them and do not curse them.
Bless them and multiply them; multiply them and make them even more bitter against me:
so that my fleeing to You may have no return;
so that all hope in men may be scattered like cobwebs;
so that absolute serenity may begin to reign in my soul;
so that my heart may become the grave of my two evil twins, arrogance and anger;
so that I might amass all my treasure in heaven;
ah, so that I may for once be freed from self-deception, which has entangled me in the dreadful web of illusory life.
Enemies have taught me to know what hardly anyone knows, that a person has no enemies in the world except himself.
One hates his enemies only when he fails to realize that they are not enemies, but cruel friends.
It is truly difficult for me to say who has done me more good and who has done me more evil in the world: friends or enemies.
Therefore bless, O Lord, both my friends and enemies.
A slave curses enemies, for he does not understand. But a son blesses them, for he understands.
For a son knows that his enemies cannot touch his life.
Therefore he freely steps among them and prays to God for them.
17 notes
·
View notes
Text
a painting on the refrigerator door
should i pack my bags now?
i know i can't have that world again
when i showed up in ripped jeans and
hand-me-down sweaters
a half-hearted painting in my hand
the one you pasted on the refrigerator door
a gentle reminder that i was young, i was fire
where are you now?
i am still pouring out the watercolours
the blood dries on the parchment skin
people watch horrified but i call it art
like you showed me how to draw
perfect circles without any stencil
so i'll hold up the masterpiece
and watch as the crowd passes by
they can see it all -- every stitch that's coming undone
every girl that's sitting alone on the last bench of high school
but they won't stop the river that's flowing
flowing eyes that scan over my face
do they remember my name?
a passing note, a forgotten myth
can i ever have the youth you saw in me
in my smile when you held me up so high
but i never grew wings
flying felt so ideal when i had a hand to hold
but the world is cruel and it wants me to stand
on two limbs, not four; what if i lose my balance?
the canvas is melting under the burning heat
the paint is being washed away in september rain
a momentary bliss forever hidden under the city of dreams
under the stars that shine just a little brighter
so what do i do if i cannot be that?
should i learn to pack my bags now?
that glory is not coming back anytime soon
when the whole world would see me paint the town yellow
and applaud, it's buried under the rubble and the rumours
stained with what never happened and what truly happened
my brain's in knots, i cannot sort it out
so how can they?
and i know, this is the isolation i chose
but god why is there not a single soul to witness
the way my heart falls apart?
if i leave without a note, can someone notice?
will someone put up "lost" banners with my face on them?
the garage is begging to be shut
and paintbrushes are washed clean
from the terror i put them through
the words keep tumbling out of me in waves
in shadows, in tears and i collect them all
afraid of running out of them but you used to admire
the repetition and mistakes unlike them
you saw the diamonds in the skies where i saw dead stars
constellations when i couldn't make sense of the mess of my art
and if this is what it's like to be a poor painter
on famous side-streets of france and italy
hoping someone will take my pain home
is this life worth living? is this art worth loving?
when no one puts me on their refrigerator door
am i the girl i claim to be?
-- dandelion.
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
It’s What You and I Do
Thanks to the lovely and amazingly talented @vordark for the inspiration and the motivation for this short fic. I am obsessed with the art, so everyone needs to go look at it here! Now onto the fic (under the cut and also on ao3) <3
"You told me you loved me."
“Yes.”
"While you thought I was dying in your arms."
“Yes.”
"Well, I'm still alive. Care to repeat that?"
She enjoys seeing the pink dust his cheeks, his flustered expression as he takes in her words. Her tone is teasing and light hearted, which is just like her after experiencing a life or death situation.
She watches as his reddening features creep to the tips of his ears, his nervous fidgets as he tries to stammer out a coherent response. She graciously decides to end his misery, taking a step back as is in her nature when it comes to him.
“I’m kidding, I know you didn’t mean it that way.”
She gives him an out as always, deflecting behind lies, taking back her advances. She’s a scientist at heart, testing her experiments then observing as they react. This is no different. At least, that’s what she keeps trying to remind herself.
She’s long gone by the time his brain catches up to him, the opportunity to double down on his confession slips out of his reach. He draws out a heavy sigh, his hand resting over his beating heart as he wills it to calm down.
He doesn't have the excuse of adrenaline pumping forcing him to acknowledge his feelings. The sheer panic rising within at the possibility of losing her. His shaking form as he holds her close in his arms, the words slipping out so organically as if he meant to say them all along.
But he didn’t. It wasn’t intentional. He wasn’t even sure she heard him. Evidently, she did.
He clenches his fist, looking towards the direction she disappeared to. He knows now, it wasn’t a fluke. An accidental slip of the tongue.
He was on the verge of spilling out those same three words again, when he saw her mischievous smile. The amusement behind her lively eyes, no doubt enjoying his struggles to appear unaffected by her taunts.
His breath leaves his body when he feels her draw near, backing him into a corner to face the consequences of his admission. One that will forever change their dynamic, all he needs to do is speak those damn words aloud.
He doesn’t get the chance, she backs out as she always does when they’re caught in the flames. Squashing away the barely lit fuse before they’re set ablaze, leading them back to safety.
It’s what she does best. One step forward, two steps back. It’s the only way to keep the peace, protecting them both from getting too close.
He’s tired of this routine, enough is enough. Next time, he’s determined to tell her next time.
.
.
.
She wants to wipe the smirk off his face, she has half a mind to punch his stupid face. If she could manage to hit him without damaging him more, she would absolutely send an uppercut his way.
“You told me you loved me.”
His grin grows wider, he knows he’s got her now. So much so, the only thing she can do is keep her mouth shut. Even though she was midway through reprimanding him, for his reckless behavior.
Maybe he’ll pass out from the pain of his injuries if she just ignores him. He presses forward, which only further irritates her.
“While you thought I was dying in your arms.”
She knows he’s enjoying the way the tables have turned. She needs to come up with a quick remark, lest he gets it into his head that she actually means it.
“Well, I’m still alive. Care to repeat that?”
“You must've hit your head too K-Kudo-kun... C-cause I would never said such thing... "
The way her words trail off does not help her case, especially when she cannot muster the courage to meet his eyes. Her heart is hammering in her chest, she feels her cheek getting hot.
She chances a glance in his direction, she expects to see his arrogant stare, instead she sees his softened expression. His tender gaze breaking down her walls.
Her breath catches when he dares to close their distance, his hand reaching up to hold her chin keeping her eyes locked on his.
“I know what I heard back then, Shiho. I just want you to say it again..."
Her head spins trying in vain to come up with a witty reply. Her arsenal of comebacks are empty, she can only try and convince him it was all but a prank.
“I don’t…”
“I love you too, Shiho.”
The weight of his words, spoken with such conviction, has her at a complete loss. She cannot believe her ears, did he really just? No, it can’t be.
“I love you. I’m alive and I’m repeating it. I love you, Miyano Shiho.”
Her body trembles as she struggles to keep herself together. She never thought she would ever hear those words directed at her, especially from Kudo Shinichi.
The first time he said them, she thought it was a figment of her imagination. Of course her dying wish would be hoping he reciprocates her feelings.
She was hopped up on too many painkillers, when she woke up in the hospital bed with him by her side. It wasn’t until she was discharged with a bill of health, that she’s able to reflect on what she thought were her final moments.
She was so embarrassed with herself over her silly hallucinations, she thought she made the whole interaction up. Until she starts to notice Kudo acting differently around her.
Piecing together her memories, she comes to the conclusion that maybe he did accidentally confess. The realization sends her heart soaring, but only for a second. She quickly reasons it as a blunder, he probably meant it in a platonic way. There’s no need to hold him to it.
Still, she can’t help blushing when she thinks back to that moment. This will only cause her trouble, if she keeps deluding herself into believing he could actually feel the same way.
In a bid to crush her hopes, she decides to casually bring it up in front of him and see how he reacts. He gets flustered as expected, all she needs now is for him to admit it was a mistake.
She takes the easy way out, stopping him from breaking her heart, running away before he gets the chance to clarify his intentions. She’s a coward, but at least now she knows he doesn’t feel the same.
Except he does, and he’s standing in front of her telling her as such. She knows he’s waiting for a response, looking at her expectedly.
“I…”
They’re interrupted by a swarm of reporters who appeared out of nowhere, hounding them for answers, effectively ruining the moment. He lets out a frustrated groan, making her laugh.
He shoots her a glare, letting her know that she’s not off the hook yet. He intends on finishing this conversation when they’re alone again.
She smiles, giving him a nod as she works to keep the flashing cameras at bay.
Next time. Enough is enough. No more running away.
#CoAi#shinshi#it’s what you and I do#vordark collab <3#clearly I’ve still got everlark on the brain#prompt is from @creativepromptsforwriting which you can see from the link to the art!#again this would not have happened so quickly without @vordark thank you so much Love!#your art makes my day whenever I see it and I’m so so happy you sail the CoAi ship#we are so lucky to have you! I love you lots!
19 notes
·
View notes
Note
First off I wanna preface this by saying I haven’t been in the CP2077 fandom for very long and I’ve been following you for even less time but I absolutely adore your ocs, and seeing them cross my dash makes me smile every time I also love reading the tidbits of lore around them..I truly love them and everything you do and I cannot wait to see more 🖤 -ps do you think you could maybe do a up close of gabby’s tattoos? I’m real curious about them
Welcome to the fandom and thanks so much for your kind words! It means a lot to me!!!! 💜💜💜💜💜
And sure! I can do that, but keep in mind that I can't focus on modding more than like, an hour, so all their tattoos are rushed! Well, Gabby only has one technically, the other marks on their body are either supposed to be a birthmark or scars (I'll get around to make them into real scars eventually but... y'know...)
And hope you don't mind me rambling a little either! So here's a Keep Reading!
Oops, had to make Gabby bald for that one hehe 🤭
I'm gonna preface this by saying I can't draw, all these were taken from free vector sites. These are four different filigree images I put together, plus the sign of Venus (♀).
The thorns filigrees are a reference to Jesus' crown. Gabby got their tattoo after being fired from Militech for blowing their cover as a double agent and left for dead by Arasaka assassins. It's a symbol of their rebirth, but also a symbol they rejected their father's power (he's a descendant of the founder of Militech) to join the "mortals", the lower class.
The two other filigrees I used are inspired by rococco art, which is known to be a pastel and irregular artstyle with too many details. It suits Gabby's personnality.
The sign of Venus is both a nod at their gender (they partially identify as a woman) and their essence as a cambion (half-succubus). Lucifer is the former name of the planet Venus. Their stage name is Venere di Luce, Venus of Light.
Gabby has other markings on their body. Two scars and a birthmark.
Gabby's birthmark is a reference to the number of the Beast. I was inspired by The Omen. So, in some occult beliefs, the term "Antichrist" refers to all children born from a demon and a human, not just Satan. It's just another sign that Gabby isn't fully human.
Their scars are both branding marks made from hot iron and Holy Water. The one on their neck isn't as visible usually, I used Photoshop tools to make it clearer. It's the symbol for the Death's-Head Moth, a XBD "studio" who hired Gabby after they were fired from Militech since they cannot die, making them the "perfect doll" for them to play with.
It was applied to them shortly after they started hanging more and more with Maelstrom. Gabby had agreed for the scene, since they thought the mark would fade away pretty quickly. They didn't know the DHM's leader knew about their demonic nature. It's just there now. Forever. It'll always hurt a little bit.
The second branding scar is a symbol of Maelstrom. Gabby eventually broke their contract from the Death's-Head Moth to work with Maelstrom instead. They didn't want an initiation cause they like their face a little too much for that, so they chose a different approach to make themself an official associate of the gang.
They were publically branded by Royce, and yes, it was extremely painful. The scar looks right on some angles only. I'll make them into real scars eventually!
Also, I'm using your nice ask to say that I've changed Gabby's eyes to give them a more unnatural look! They're literally the goat now 🤭
#thank you thank you thank you#and sorry for all the rambling it needed to get out 🤣#welcome again!!!!#cyberpunk 2077#oc: gabby luccessi
9 notes
·
View notes
Note
writer asks... 🥺🛒🤡✨🎶🎨👀
🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?
I think that something that always gets me is when the interaction is nice and good and lovely, and it could continue to be nice and good and lovely, but there are underlying circumstances that will not let it be and even now the cracks are starting to show. I love it when you can see the painful dissolution of a relationship long before it actually comes to fruition. it's so hhhhh and I write it a fair bit with characters like arabella and j'zargo, torr and astrid, pax and martin, and so forth
🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.
the thing that draws me most to writing is the characters; I think most of my writing is in some form a character study. I'm perpetually fascinated by how people react to difficulty, how they relate to one another, how their experiences inform their actions. so I think most of the themes that crop up often relate to that. I like using a lot of images and motifs, as well, but I can't think of any that are ubiquitous, though most of my characters have one or two specifically assigned to them that I like to reference
🤡 What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?
hmm... I'll be honest almost anything with efri has at least one thing in it that is extremely funny to me. she just says things. I'm looking through her document to give an example and there's just so much in here. in her first meeting with savos she asks him how old he is and then raps her stick on the ground and says "you're dead," before he can finish answering. she announces to the group of vampires she's sitting around a campfire with that she isn't sure how she feels about her choice to free them, you know, ethically speaking. she refers to the eye of magnus exclusively as "the ball" and when mirabelle informs her what they've been calling it she says "huh. that's a weird name" (she does not know who magnus is)
✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉
I'm genuinely really happy with where my writing is right now. I'm proud of how much improvement I can see over the last few years in how I portray scenes, atmosphere and dialogue, and I see a lot of potential for growth which I find really exciting! since I was a little kid I've wanted to be a published author and I feel like that's actually in the cards for me at some point in the not-too-distant future (assuming, you know, I actually write a book)
🎶 Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on loop lately?
I cannot play music or listen to literally anything when I'm writing. I close the door and the windows and ask my siblings to turn down their youtube videos or else I Cannot Focus An Inch. however I do love to listen to music to help me think through my stories and characters... it helps me get into a Mood and I've gotten a lot of ideas that way. most recent song I've begun to associate with a character is the amazing devil's the calling. it's pax (ish) at a very specific story beat
🎨 How do you feel about fan art of your stories?
LOVE IT FOREVER. I still regularly look at art fight attacks and go AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. I want to give each of them a turn as my profile picture but I keep forgetting :(
👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!
the Ludicrously Big Project.... if I keep the other sections to a similar length it will end up over a hundred thousand words, which is ABSURD. if I don't, the first bit will feel like such an insane outlier. I guess we'll see... I don't want to go into too much detail since I am only about a quarter of the way in (ridiculous) and I might trim the section I've written down a Bunch, so I don't want to like. jinx it. or say anything that ends up not being true. I will say that each main part focuses on the same story from the perspective of a different character and it is an exercise in not writing in little scenes pieced together (the reasons it is SO STUPID LONG methinks... if it was just the one character in vignettes it would have ten thousand words cut out and it would be done already) and that none of the characters in it are mine. unless you count the ones I made up expressly for this story. also it is pretty dark... which isn't super uncommon for my longer stuff it seems. I guess the more intense topics demand more space to resolve themselves. but there are parts that might be hard to read (definitely will be hard to write). whenever I post it in fifty years I will be sure to include comprehensive content warnings
#thank you muchly for the ask! sorry it took me a while to reply I was busy putting slime on my head#and then I wrote way too much about it#ah I'm kind of nervous about the Long Thing tbh. I always get worried about writing sensitive topics Well#I really don't want to mishandle stuff#but I will do my research and my best. and I'll see how it goes!!!!#ask
4 notes
·
View notes
Note
Yoo your oil paintings look lovely!! 🥺 I've been wanting to start using oils myself but I haven't figured out where to start :,) There's just so many things to consider and get. Could you give me some advice, if it's not too much trouble?
Hi!! Thank you sm! I went to bed and suddenly the paining has OVER 700 NOTES. OH MY GOD. Thank you to any and everyone who has even THOUGHT about the painting in a positive light, I love you forever!!
Anyways, disclaimer bc I’m not formally trained in oils nor am I an art student. this is a hobby for me. I’ve taken a class or two but I’m using YouTube and willpower here.
I think to start, the most basic supplies list could probably be found on YT but I will say one thing; a lot of the videos I found said to get a much bigger range of colors than I think I need when I was starting out. I recommend going for a smaller color range and just focusing on using color theory from there on out to learn how to mix colors. However a supplies list is better to google imo! One thing I will say is that you might want to buy a bigger tube of white bc you go through that quickly. Also, keep in mind that the specific color and paint grade can affect how it works. For the most part it doesn’t matter but for techniques like “glazing” (AKA you create an underpainting and then use thin paint over it like a glaze) the kind of paint you get is important. Also, if you’re going to skimp monetarily on anything, don’t skimp on paint! Save money on brushes or other supplies bc oil painting is an expensive hobby (PSA CLEAN YOUR BRUSHES). All supplies I’ve bought have been from a basic Blick Art’s store.
Secondly, once you’ve got supplies and some practice canvas (I recommend some small sizes like iPad sized ones, and then once you’re more confident working big try something like 11x14. Atm don’t worry about the kind of canvas you get, a cheap cotton canvas is best for beginners). As for paint thinner, try to go for the eco friendly kind that’s made from natural stuff. It will still smell and release fumes but it’s not as toxic and it can usually be disposed of easier. Regular paint thinner like turpentine and mineral spirits CANNOT BE POURED DOWN THE DRAIN! Keep it in a tightly sealed glass jar, google disposal procedures and paint in a well ventilated area or outside to avoid fumes. Always stop painting if you get a headache!). There’s also other fancy supplies like quick glaze (brown goo added to make the paint dry quicker and apply smoother) or stand oil (kind of like roasted linseed oil that’s used to make paint dry slower and increase transparency) but I think you learn to use those later.
Also, for the actual painting part; most of the things I’ve painted have been through sheer willpower and a god awful amount of color theory. I used my basis in drawing for getting proportions right and such, but most of oil paint is color theory. Once again a YouTube vid may be more helpful here than me, but quick tips:
-study the color wheel, it’s important! Keep on one hand when painting.
-adding pure white or black to a paint color can dull it down. A lot of what looks like “black” in a painting is usually just opposing colors mixed to create a very dark color, ex) red and green mixed to create a deep brown.
-certain paints behave differently. Some are more liquidy, some are more potent, and some behave in ways that tbh you just gotta see for yourself. For ex: lots of earth tone colors like some yellows seem drier out of the tube. When mixing colors, sometimes red paint will more quickly overpower your yellow paints, so use less of that red instead! And some paints just behave weirdly, like cadmium red and most yellow paints in my experience. Cadmium red light looks like bright orange, not really red. Yet, when mixing colors and you think adding red will make a color warmer, it offend turns the color a little pink/has slight cool tones. However if you add cadmium red light instead, it tends to get warmer without leaving behind weird pinkish cool tones. This is semantics and will make more sense if you actually just paint but yk. Also, when mixing with yellow paint be aware that it changes colors in weird ways and if any yellow is anywhere on your brush or Pallette, it’s getting like. Everywhere. Fun Fact (in my experience)
-mix your colors with a palette knife if possible.
-Paint with bigger brushes first and paint areas with the biggest brush you can whenever possible. It help reduce streakiness and improve blending.
-sometimes you need to think out your paint with paint thinner but be aware that it will lift whatever paint you have on the bottom if you work it in too much.
-learn different painting techniques like Alla Prima to paint with confidence and to learn to loosen your hand. Lots of oil paintings looks so tight and detailed and nothing looks out of place, but the truth is that perfect blending is often achieved with roughy strokes of color first to establish shadows and highlights first. It’s scary and often seemingly impossible, but try to learn to pick out colors from photos/life and try to paint more loosely. Place the colors where you see them and blend a little later often works best.
-get an apron. It’s messy. Also, while you’re buying supplies get some oil paint cleaning soap (also the eco friendly kind!) and use that on yourself and your brushes to clean up. Oil paint is literally straight pigment and oil so it stains horribly, work accordingly.
-when you mix paint you have to “pull” the colors to be cooler, warmer, darker, or lighter. You usually don’t use out-of-the-tube colors and you have to change them a little. Most of the colors you use in the painting are going to be silently tweaked. This is just something you have to get used to because it’s hard to just tell your brain to see colors as anything but “light brown” instead of “burnt sienna mixed with white, a tinge of purple and some burnt umber”. And trust me, after my first oil painting class I was starting to see colors on the walls and thinking about what paint combos you had to use, it’s freaky
-as always, just try it! All knowledge is relative and in art especially there are a lot of interconnected things. Just try painting for the first time and experiment! My first oil painting was not perfect nor did I like it at first. It was really just a way for me to get used to how the paint worked. Give yourself some time to just learn how the medium behaves
-and if possible, take a class somewhere! Lots of art schools have them although they tend to be painting intensives. I took one as a summer class and although it was a crazy intense experience (and $$$) it was probably the best thing I ever did for myself as a painter. Disclaimer, it was at a well known art school so that def changed the quality, intensity and cost of the experience from most art classes. But still, classes anywhere can help you learn good technique and most of all raw experience. Also, I learned how to grind out paintings like no tomorrow, even if I was painting six or more hours a day. Worth it, but absolutely not necessary. Also, YouTube classes can be just as if not more beneficial sometimes!
I think that oil painting is a super great medium that presents infinite possibilities, despite being finicky and costly. I really love it and I don’t have formal training but I wanted to try it and here we are! I say just go for it if you have the means and the willpower. Also please try to google things and consult more academic resources bc my word isn’t gospel, especially in regards to safety hazards. Still, have fun with it + I’m sure more advice will pop into my head later so I’ll add to the post. For now, try it and have fun :)
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
fantasy inspired action prompts.
wand of flesh ; sender wounds the receiver to fuel their blood magic & heart of wolves ; sender intimately licks blood from the receiver's body — @sentinaels.
there is a moment where panic seizes her, & she almost cries out that she has changed her mind.
her skin is yet unbroken, & their deal has not yet been made. the fingers which curl around her upturned wrist, the thumb which traces over the same — all are unbearably cold, prickling the skin both exposed & otherwise on her arms, & she shivers fiercely beneath the witch’s touch, knowing that all she has felt up until now has been but a springtime breeze compared to the ice which runs in the creature’s veins, & seeps, now, into mei’s own. in the light of the cave, ethereal & otherworldly, her skin is translucent, & the network of veins beneath her skin pulse faintly in the glow, a buffet laid out on the other’s behalf. she recalls, dimly, ghost stories her brothers & sisters used to tell to scare her, of corpses which walked in the night, driven by hunger, sated only by the blood of the innocent, stories which often sent her wailing into her mother’s arms, & left her awake long into the night. what has gone so wrong that she now finds herself firmly within such a tale, offering herself up to this monster which, for all she knows, will find itself discontent with her blood, & move swiftly onto her heart ? the thumb traces a circle, two, where the skin is thinnest. the shout bubbles up in her throat, & her arm twitches, fist clenches, nails digging into the soft flesh of her palm as her teeth close over her tongue, & hold fast.
there are no other options. this is her last chance to save her father, her family, from ruin. to cross the water & come so far, to endure the biting cold & howling wind, to stand in clothes salt – stiff & still dripping, & falter now ? she swallows hard, & closes her eyes.
❛ the bargain is struck. take what you need from me, ❜
the pain is not immediate, but it is not far behind. she gasps, flinches, & this time, both fists curl as she resists the urge to pull away. the blood which wells from the wound, hot with vitality, burns against the slab of ice her arm has become, & if she opens her eyes, she is sure she would see it steaming in the cold air of the cave. something drags across her skin, & it crawls ; in her mind’s eye, she pictures one of the creature’s tentacles, creeping slowly across to catch the droplets as they fall, sticking fast in the attempt. an exhalation draws her curiosity, & when her eyes open, she sees she was entirely mistaken. the witch’s head is bent over the tender flesh of her arm, & it’s her tongue which drags across it, bone white, bone smooth, as she laps ( hungrily ? tenderly ? ) at the wound she made. she bit me, mei realizes, as she watches the witch drink from her, & she waits for a revulsion that never arrives. the witch twists her head, & she sees the flash of knife – sharp teeth, the red stain around her mouth, the ripple of her scarred flesh in silver light, but this time, mei makes no sound. she’s not beautiful, this witch, not in any sense of the word mei has ever known, but now, as when she first entered the cave, she cannot tear her eyes away from her. she is terrible, & magnificent, & mei wonders if the bite she received will scar, & leave her marked by the beast forever.
her fingers close over the wound, & immediately grow slick as she attempts to stop the last of the bleeding, but still, her eyes are upon the witch. any other might demand their prize immediately, or, if they had good sense, flee back to whatever ship had borne them to such a desolate place, but mei finds she’s not ready to move yet ; her body has not yet caught up to what her mind knows, that her ordeal is over, & she is free to go, & keeps her rooted to the spot.
❛ & this will bring our fortune back ? ❜ it’s a question that was asked a dozen times before she agreed to the creature’s demand, but she finds she cannot think of anything else to ask, & it’s reassurance, she realizes, that she wants, a promise from this sea – witch, this blood – drinker, this storm – salted beast. ❛ this will make things good again ? ❜
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
bulletproof kisses
prompt: taking the bullet
whumpee: sakari nurmi
fandom: karppi/deadwind
heya! this fic is for the wonderful @thecolourblood - sorry it took a minute but i hope you enjoy! it's set during 3x08 and is canon compliant :) (title from ginasfs by fall out boy)
He knows what’s coming. He’s been braced for it since he got out of the car, his body tense, though he’s trying to look relaxed. Like he doesn’t know what’s going to happen.
He turns to face her as she approaches. He knows how this needs to go, knows the part he needs to play. Most of all, he knows that this is all pretend. But the look on her face when she walks towards him - it scares him, a bit. He has never seen her look quite like this before.
“This is where he used to work,” he says to her, to break through the silence that feels like it is suffocating him. She says nothing in return, just keeps walking towards him.
“Can you hear me?”
She continues approaching, absolutely silent apart from her footsteps. And then she stops walking, maybe two meters away from him, and just like that she draws her gun and shoots him in the chest.
The bang of the shot echoes horribly off of the disused metal. Pain explodes from the point of impact, knocking the breath out of his lungs with the force of a sledgehammer being driven into his chest. He falls to the ground and the movement seems at once to take forever and no time at all.
“Don’t…”
He looks up at her, panting, not even sure what it is he’s saying. He tries to breathe. Tries to remind himself that everything will be fine. But fuck, it hurts.
She points the gun at him again, as if she is going to finish him off. She seems impossibly close, standing over him like this. And then she pulls the trigger.
A second round of pain explodes in his chest, worse than the first, so intense that for a second he cannot see or hear a thing.
He blacks out.
--
He wakes up with rocks digging into his back, which is far less painful than the feeling in his chest. It hurts just to breathe. For a long moment he lies there on the cold, uncomfortable ground, trying and failing to push the pain to the back of his mind.
He needs to move, though. They don’t have a lot of time. And so he steels himself as best as he can and forces himself to his feet.
This hurts horribly. For a second he feels like he might just collapse right back down to the ground, but he knows that he can’t.
He has to get to Sofia.
And so he breathes through the pain (though, of course, breathing itself hurts) and wills his eyes to focus. When he feels sufficiently in control of everything, he makes his way to the car and starts driving.
--
Everything that happens at the ruins is a bit of a blur, overridden with worry and with the searing pain in his chest that refuses to let up.
He shoots Paarma. Sofia asks him what the fuck took him so long. He jokes, asks whether she wants to try how it feels to get a bullet in her chest. Tries not to let on that it still hurts - they both know she’d done what she had to. He does not want her to feel guilty.
The van and the smoke. The trees blurring past him. Emil.
This is what matters, really. He’d let himself get shot again, as many times as necessary, to save the kid. The pain is worth it a thousand times.
--
After, they go to the hospital. Normally Sofia would fight tooth and nail for her right not to go to the hospital, but this time it’s different. This time there’s Emil.
All three of them get checked out, though Sofia and Sakari try to wave off the doctors’ attention. It’s no use, though, and Sakari supposes they should probably set a good example for Emil in any case. They both give in. One doctor takes Emil and Sofia off down a hallway, and another leads Sakari in the opposite direction.
In the exam room, he sees the effects of his being shot for the first time. After a rather arduous and painful battle with his jacket, shirt, and vest, Sakari finds himself looking down at a livid bruise, more red than purple. It extends across his entire chest, with two darker circles indicating where the bullets had struck.
It makes him feel faintly sick to look at, and seeing the source of his pain only makes him more aware of how much everything still hurts. He looks away.
The doctor gently prods at his ribs. He knows she’s trying to be gentle, can sense that her touch is light, but he sucks in a gasp of pain anyway. This hurts, too, and he’s left clenching his hands into fists and closing his eyes to stop them from tearing up.
“Sorry,” she says, continuing to feel his chest. “I’d like to send you for x-rays. At least three of your ribs are fractured, if not broken, and my guess is that several are bruised as well.”
“What can you do about it?”
“Not much, unfortunately. The injuries will heal on their own in about six weeks, as long as you’re careful and monitor your breathing.”
Sakari nods, though he doubts that his definition of ‘careful’ will align with the doctor’s.
“We can give you medication for the pain, of course,” she continues, as they make their way to an x-ray room.
“No, thank you.” He won’t mess with that. Especially not now. He can’t.
“Okay,” the doctor agrees, as they arrive at the room. “Now, if you’ll wait here while I get a nurse…”
--
After the hospital, the three of them go to Sakari’s room at the Hotel St. George. While Sofia gets Emil to sleep in the bed, Sakari stands alone in the dark living room and stares out at the lights of the Helsinki night.
He tries not to think about anything. About the things he has lost. About everything that has happened in the past few hours. About the burning pain in his chest - two of his ribs are broken, two are fractured, three are bruised. He can’t decide if knowing this fact makes the pain better or worse.
“He fell asleep,” Sofia reports, joining him by the window. Sakari looks up from his phone, where he’s just received a message, and makes a report of his own.
“JP sent a message that Emil’s grandpa will recover. They performed an angioplasty.”
“Heart attack?”
“Yeah. He’d gone after Paarma.”
There’s a beat of silence. Sofia looks out of the window. Sakari feels compelled to say something else.
“Did you know Paarma worked at the lime mill for 20 years?”
“That place where I shot you?”
He huffs a laugh and refuses to wince at the pain it causes. He wants her to know that he understands. That he’d do it again, for Emil, for her, in a heartbeat. “Precisely.”
“I didn’t know that.”
A soft, comfortable silence falls between them. Sofia steps closer to him, very slowly. He watches her, doesn’t move at all. This feels so different to her earlier approach, before she’d shot him. He lets his eyes close. And she kisses him.
It’s wonderful. Unhurried and gentle. He reaches up and lightly touches her face, barely even registering the way that his chest burns at the change in his breathing.
And then Emil calls for his mom, and they break apart. Sakari opens his eyes again. They look at each other for a second that feels impossibly long.
“I’m coming,” Sofia calls. She looks at Sakari again, looks away, and goes to check on her son.
Sakari watches her leave. A ball of warmth is making itself felt in his chest, and it scarcely even hurts.
thanks for reading! i hope you liked it :)
#bad things happen bingo#taking the bullet#karppi#deadwind#sakari nurmi#shot in the vest#shot#self sacrifice#broken ribs#bruised#my writing#i say things#also beck if you want me to shoot him in a more bloody fashion i would be more than happy to oblige :)#but this was simply a compulsion to write. been thinking about it since i first saw the ep.#also on the title: that bad boy has been in my list of potential fic titles for like five years#finally it sees the light of day#but lets be honest ok that song still slaps. tho ok tbh fob in general still slaps. i said it.#also also. bingos number 6 and 7 let's goooo#only 2 more fics!!!!
7 notes
·
View notes
Note
Magnitt: Would you mind terribly keeping me company?
“Would you mind terribly keeping me company?” She avoids his eyes as she asks, keeps her gaze fixed firmly on the screen before her.
It cannot be easy for her to ask him this; to admit weakness to anyone is bitter poison for her, and to admit weakness to him must make her truly ill (but just at the moment, who else is there who could possibly understand what she’s going through?).
“Not at all.” He keeps his tone light, trying to draw her attention from the slowly-ticking timer on her computer. Staring will not make it generate results any faster, after all; it takes as long as it takes. “Perhaps you could regale me with a tale about a recent capture.”
She does not look at all to be in any condition to regale him; she’s utterly pale, bags under her eyes, hair tied back ruthlessly in a knot. (Still lovely, of course, but hardly herself.)
Still, she rises to the challenge, squaring her shoulders and meeting his eyes. “We acquired a three-headed Peruvian Tree Bear last week.” It’s not an Abnormal he’s ever heard of, but that matters little here. “It was easier said than done, of course.”
“Of course.”
“You see...”
The next six hours pass in a haze, Helen’s words blurring together in John’s mind. He responds when he can, gives little prompts to keep her talking, but mostly, he just listens. (His own stories are far less pleasant distractions, after all.)
At last, the computer beeps, and he waits for Helen to look back at it. Instead, she goes unsettlingly still, eyes dropping to a spot on his shirt.
“When I-” She swallows. “Decided the time was right to bring Ashley to term, I wasn’t certain it would work. No one had ever attempted anything like this before, and I was afraid...” Though she trails off, the implication is clear, and John’s caught off-guard by the pain in his chest at the thought of his daughter never being born. “Taking the pregnancy test, waiting for the results... It was one of the most diffiult times of my life. Waiting for something that would change my life forever, no matter if it was one line or two... I could hardly make myself look. And now...”
He will never tell her how much he wishes he could have been there for her. He couldn’t have, of course; not as he is. Neither she nor Ashley would have been safe.
But he cannot change the past. This, though, he can do.
“Let me.”
It’s a testament to exactly how afraid she is that she doesn’t refuse, just nods once, sharply, and closes her eyes.
He peers over her shoulder at the screen, taking in the information. It takes a few moments to sort out the different numbers and figures, to understand what it all means. But when he does, his world tilts on his head (he’d done this for her, but he hadn’t dared hope-).
“It’s a match.”
The sound that slips from her mouth, half-gasp, half-sob, lodges itself somewhere in his chest. The DNA found at a recent robbery is a match to one Ashley Magnus.
His daughter is alive. Their daughter is alive. And clearly, she isn’t okay.
#helen magnus#john druitt#magnitt#sanctuary#answered#thanks for the ask!#lattes of love#my fics#my writing#mine
5 notes
·
View notes
Note
... he was serious. Fuck, he was SERIOUS.
Alastor's expression still does well to MASK his reservations about this sudden twist of events, but his ears shift to lay flat, his tail wagging. Two different emotions reflected -- rare trepidation, but also, happiness.
" Dandelulu, you... you know I love you, You know I would do EVERYTHING for you, without question, and I cannot say that about very many people. " He's a selfish man, this Alastor, and he knows it. May try to convince others that he has their best interests at heart, but at the end of the day, everything he does is with some personal benefit, or gain, in mind. With Lucifer? It's all out of love for the king. Love that Alastor thought he would never, EVER experience, even before he got his just desserts and ended up here in hell.
Brushing a finger against the spot over Lucifer's heart, admittedly somewhat soothed by the way it thrummed 'neath his palm, Alastor sighs. " My beloved, I--- "
" Oh your MAJESTYYYYYYYYY~ "
A terrible, TAUNTING call bellows from the corridor, and once pinned back ears perk in alarm as he hears FIGHTING soon to follow. Shit, shit, shit, they're already here? Where is Charlie?!
" What did they do, deliver the note and then sit outside immediately thereafter, counting to 100!? " Growling, Alastor soon parts, brandishing his weapon and readying himself to seek out Charlie so they can make their escape, per the king's orders... but, first...
He sets a palm flat against Lucifer's chest, pushing him, aggressively, backwards and against the wall. Lips hungrily claim the other's, as Alastor drops his weapon momentarily to cup the king's cheeks, deepening the kiss. " Yes. I'll marry you, you idiotic man with... TERRIBLE taste. Use that as fuel to stay alive, will you? Because if I return and you have been harmed... well, all hell is going to break loose, and I DO mean that quite literally~ "
@radiodaemon
Oh, the wait for his answer was absolute torture. Would Alastor accept it? Would his beloved, ever-loyal knight agree to take the king's hand in marriage and choose to spend the rest of his afterlife with Lucifer? Or would he be denied...? Could it be possible that Lucifer was moving too fast? May have ruined all hope of having Alastor as his own forever? No doubt the timing was horrible, but he had to know!
Finally, it seemed he would get his answer. But, yet again, timing was not on his side. Just as Alastor was speaking to put the king's much painful wait to an end, a wretched voice calls out to him, interrupting what he'd been awaiting. Teeth gritted as he turned towards the door.
"Fuck—How are they here?!" He'd only received the note but minutes ago! There had to be a spy hidden within the palace. Someone had to have let them in, sheltering and hiding them until Lucifer had read the letter. But he would investigate this matter at a later time.
As his back hit the wall, he grunted, lifting his head to speak, only for his lips to be taken in a kiss. Not like any kiss he and Alastor shared in the past. No, he could feel more passion in this one, his cheeks almost ignited by the head of his demon lover's beautiful hands. His hands gripped Alastor's coat.
And he received his much anticipated answer.
He. Said. Yes. Oh, if he were in a position to cry, he would, but he struggled so hard to contain his emotions that were flowing from his heart. The smile that illuminated his face would shame the very sun itself. "Nothing is going to keep me from marrying you. So, you had best keep yourself alive as well, do you hear me?" And for added measure, Lucifer sank his teeth into his own tongue, drawing Alastor in for another desperate, loving kiss, slathering his blood across every corner of his lover's mouth.
Lucifer would have loved to spare more blood, but their time was up. A shadow was cast over them from the windows beside them and the blond pulled from the kiss to cast his gaze upon it. Beelzebub had returned, Charlie carefully held in her hands. Lucifer turned back to Alastor, stroking his face.
"Keep my daughter safe and come back to me alive." One last kiss. "Go." He pointed to the windows. He knew Bee would take them outside the kingdom and return to defend the king. His heart couldn't help but ache, having to watch the love of his life depart, but it was for their protection.
And he had more reason to live. He had his demon knight to marry.
#muse;;lucifer#radiodaemon#v; The King and His Knight [Royalty AU]#OH THIS BATTLE WILL GET BLOODY#STAY ALIVE ALASTOR#YOU MUST TO MARRY YOUR LOVING KING
1 note
·
View note
Text
@yeonban said: "just stay like that and let me admire how beautiful you are." It's half a teasing order, considering the hands that continue to roam all over Seiroku's body even after Soma's paused his previous endeavor, as well as half an unadulterated desire to take in everything Seiroku is presently gracing him with before continuing - from every insignificant detail of his body, to the pose he's holding, to the sounds and movements now forever ingrained in his memory.
A breathless laugh gently finds its way past his lips as lithe limbs lay amongst rich fabric. His skin glistens in the dim lantern light, reflecting in the dip of his collarbone. Stray strands of midnight hair stick to his cheeks, alongside his throat and shoulders while vibrant blue gaze up at Soma above him. He sucks in a sharp breath when he feels fingertips glide over his sides, coming to rest upon his hips when the order is granted to him.
" You say that as if I have a choice. " Seiroku teases back, lips drawing into a relaxed smile ( if a bit playfully scheming. ) In truth, he probably could change it if he so desired. He is a strategist after all, and should he wish to turn the tables, there is no doubt he could find a moment to enact a playful scheme. Though he also knows well that he need only voice such wants and Soma will grant them. But Seiroku is happy to let Soma have what he wants, to enjoy the teasing orders and power play even if it is for fun. It makes for an interesting dynamic ; to have two people who yearn for the other's enjoyment above their own.
Perhaps that is how it is meant to be. The desire to sate the other that in turn leave both pleased. But for his experience, he cannot say he's ever met someone so intent on his pleasure above their own. Some have cared, some haven't. But those who did was not to this degree. It makes his chest ache with a painful warmth like a welcoming fire after hours left in the cold. No matter how many times Seiroku is reminded of this, it never fails to flood him with warmth. He could almost cry from that alone, not to mention the looks and words that are granted to him too.
" Soma. " The name rolls from his tongue, euphonious and lovingly spoken to draw his beloved's attention towards him. He lifts his chin slightly in an unspoken wish for him to draw closer and give him a kiss. A kiss that he fully sinks into, where he can press his love into the slide of their lips together and his hands move to slide over Soma's shoulders and keep him closer. I love you. Each kiss, each breath, every movement so full of the overwhelming affection. When Seiroku does pull back, it's with a warm smile, lips pressing to his jawline. " You look like you're at a feast ~ " He murmurs playfully; but he enjoys seeing the open desire on Soma's face. He enjoys hearing what Soma craves and wants even if it is as simple as to be admired. ( Even if it causes shades of pink and red to paint over his skin. Such sweet words still never fair to fluster, especially behind closed doors in private intimacy of each other where they ring twice as powerful and true. )
One hand slides down from Soma's back, gently roaming down his shoulder and his arm. He can feel each muscle, trace their curve till he reaches Soma's hand, splayed against his own hip. He shifts one leg, baring himself a bit more to Soma's gaze even with the knowledge that Soma already knows every inch of his skin as it is. It takes nothing away from the playful tease and invitation of the moment, on the contrary, to know what is there might only make the yearning stronger with the promise of what is at hand.
" You can do whatever you'd like, admiring included. " Seiroku murmurs, smiling against Soma's throat. " Although if you choose to only admire the whole time, I might have words. " Sweet, clear laughter chimes in the air with a lighthearted cheeriness to it. Yet it is truth both in this scenario and any other, so great is his love for Soma.
He presses one more kiss to Soma's lips before he relaxes once more, lashes lowered halfway in invitation to the desires. " I'm yours. " A simple statement, a powerful promise.
#yeonban#they always have me in a chokehold#the love is so real#and letting them be playful in these private moments#them both wanting the other to enjoy#but god the genuine compliments always get to seiroku#always gonna have him blushing and shy#despite how he owns how pretty he is#its just DIFFERENT when soma says it !#᛭ — [IC] carcinoma being with a taste for death [SEIROKU INUKAWA]
0 notes
Text
Notes:
Happy holidays, guys. Cheers to the new years!
Chapter 19: Christmas Feast
Chapter Text
{Cielle's POV}
"Young mistress, it is time to wake up."
I didn't come out of my warm covers. It felt safe here, still. Like the quiet after a storm.
"Your tea," said Sebastian, his voice polite and curt.
"Why are you here?" I slunk deeper into the soft, eider-down quilt. "You're not supposed to be serving me as butler here. Don't you have a class or something?"
"Not on a weekend. Patience, and I will take my leave." A clink of china on the night stand. "If you prefer the dining hall's preparations, do help yourself, mistress. I shan't complain if there is one less task on my plate."
I sat upright, forcing myself to meet those inscrutable eyes. I didn't understand it. How effortlessly he could pretend that, that, never happened? Two could play at that.
"Draw me a bath."
"Certainly."
I narrowed my eyes as he strode to the armoire and selected my attire in seconds. Then he prepared the hip bath, scented the water with drops of lavender, and laid the clothing and towel on a stool. His movements were brisk. More precise than ever. After placing the tall oriental screen in the bathing nook, he gestured to the private corner. Oh, back to being the proper butler now, are we?
"Will that be all?" he inquired as I undressed behind the screen.
"No. Stay there."
Under the screen, the black toed heels didn't move, only stood by silently. Waiting.
I sunk into the water, unable to formulate a proper response. I couldn't let him just leave after what had occurred. Not without a punishment or reprimand.
Settling on my revenge, I rose from the bath and wrapped a towel around me. Inflicting pain or corporeal retribution would not work on the beast. No, the worst punishment was making his so called aesthetics crumble before his own eyes.
"Sebastian, come here."
"Young mistress, while it has been customary for Mey-Rin to assist during bathing, I should think it is entirely inappropriate for a lady's butler to resume those responsibilities."
Is that how you're going to play it? Through the dressing screen, I narrowed my eyes at the loathsome creature. "You need not keep up pretences, Sebastian. Especially with me. Come here already."
He did as told, long-lashed eyes not leaving my face.
"Hand me my shift."
The butler reached for the undergarment, gaze on the floor. He couldn't keep his eyes averted forever. The towel dropped where he had been staring. His mouth tightened. I slipped into the shift, making sure my bare ankles remained in his view.
"Stockings, Sebastian." He handed me the pair, but I didn't take them. "They won't put themselves on."
Carnelian eyes sharpened. With professional indifference, he cupped my calf as I rested my leg on his kneeling thigh. His warm fingers slid upwards, inch by inch. My leg tingled, sending a pleasant shiver down my spine and lower. His hands paused.
"What?" I asked.
"You are still menstruating."
My cheeks warmed as a pink drop rolled down my thigh. "I... thought it was over. Must be the damn stress."
"Allow me." His tone was light, but his eyes were dark, flickering. He made a motion to reach for a towel and stopped. Instead, came a gloved finger. Pressed against my trembling thighs. Heat rose to my face. "Don't—"
He traced a finger along my inner thigh, the drop staining the gloved tip pink. "There is another here." His hand wandered upward, under my shift.
"What the hell are you—"
"You know perfectly well, don't you?" His grip on my thigh tightened; sharp talon-like nails pressed against my damp skin.
"Young mistress," he rasped, "you cannot bait me with these games and expect me to not bite." The sinful mouth came between my legs. Stirring, searing. No, not that. He wouldn't dare.
He licked a droplet of blood, and a hungry shudder escaped him. His serpentine tongue lapped at my skin. A sinister sound reverberated from his throat. Primal, raw, obscene. The once prim butler was unraveling before me. Like Jekyll into Hyde. Day into night. Quickly transforming into someone—something else entirely. Fear flared in me along a stirring far from decent. That I could shake his composure... to affect him at his core, I shivered.
"Mm." Sebastian sucked a patch of skin, then harder. "To come for more, fully knowing the consequences... how I could break you like a china doll." The room quaked with the beast's voice. "You are far more twisted than I thought, mistress."
"I... didn't ask for, I didn't want—"
"I'm certain," came the mocking voice.
Fangs broke the skin, singeing every thought to oblivion. I drew in a gasp of pain. He ran his tongue along my inner thigh, licking the wound. Pushing up my shift. Travelling upwards.
"Sebas...ung—" I fisted his hair with both hands. If he did anything now, I wouldn't deny him. If he were to keep going, if he were to pin me underneath him, bare and spread wide—
"No." His voice rumbled like thunder. "This, this, cannot continue." Sebastian released me roughly, eyes burning liquid crimson. His mouth parted to reveal sharp, elongated canines. "To play with hell-fire is a dangerous game. A game you do not wish to be playing. For your own well-being."
I licked my lips, waiting in silence. For what, I didn't know. The air between us crackled with tension.
Sebastian dropped his hands to his sides, making an effort to slow his breathing. "I propose we keep a distance until this anomaly subsides," he said at last. "Any services relating to the carnal variety must cease temporarily." His voice dipped an octave. "Regrettably, until then you must take matters into your hand."
My cheeks burned at his insinuation. "Watch your insolence. Do whatever it takes to regain your control—that's an order."
"An order won't be necessary," the butler replied tersely as he shut the door behind him without my dismissal.
Once the footsteps had faded, I wrapped my arms around myself and shuddered out a breath. My eyes stung, betraying me, and I tasted hot, salty drops on my mouth. This wouldn't do.
I wiped my face, straightened my shoulders, and headed to Jane's.
A warm breath stirred the nape of my neck, lingering.
“Kindly refrain from moving around, Miss Phantomhive. Things will go much smoother that way.”
"I-It's tight," I said breathily.
"Well, what would you expect?" Jane Greyling's voice danced with mischief.
"You're too slow." My muscles clenched under Jane's ministrations. "Why do I feel as though, ah... you're thoroughly enjoying this?"
"It looks like I've been caught," she whispered as her hands moved at an unbearable pace.
"Could you... go faster? Please."
"How polite of you, Cielle." A soft grunt slipped her. "If you would stop squirming, I may entertain your request."
"Fine, but hurry up—" I gasped when a sharp tug came around my waist. Trying my hardest not to flinch, I gripped the four poster's frame with both hands.
"Almost there," Jane murmured behind my shoulder, and a shiver crawled over me. "A bit more, and I'll finish soon."
I squeezed my eyes as her fingers, firm and warm, continued to work over me. My back arched, becoming more rigid by the second.
"There," Jane said at last, with one more forceful tug of the corset. "All done."
“I suppose this is what they mean when they say beauty is pain,” I mumbled as I gazed down at the tight fitting shape-wear over my petticoat.
"Do you need help with your gown or the rest of your toilette?"
"I think I can manage from here." I regarded Jane's ensemble. Her gown was fashioned of satin. A high-waisted chemise in a sea-green watered silk that matched her eyes; a beautiful amethyst necklace resembling Nyx's jewels graced her neck. Soft full lips reddened with—
"And the face?"
I cleared my throat. "Pardon?"
Jane pointed to her face, which as usual, contained an assortment of cosmetics. "You aren't going bare-faced, are you? Not that you need enhancers of course, but... I'd love to bring out the colour of your eyes even more." Her gaze lingered on them.
"Please feel free to add whatever finishing touches you see fit."
"Oh, lovely. Come here, won't you?" I seated myself at the dressing table. Jane reached for a silver brush and combed my tresses. I had to admit she played lady's maid well, artfully arranging locks of hair and pinning a glittering blue crystal into the side of my coiffure. Then she rummaged through a considerably sized bag of cosmetics and retrieved various glass jars. "Lavender lotion first. Then a light dusting of face powder and castor oil to darken the lashes."
"You seem rather versed in this, Jane...though I don't see why you ought to be."
Her lips twitched. "I appreciate the compliment, but the reason you think so is because I use such products daily."
"Agree to disagree." It was true, I had never seen Jane bare-faced, but I had little doubt she looked handsome with or without enhancers.
Jane laughed lightly, a tinkering cadence, and reached for the lotion. I closed my eyes, feeling her gentle, lingering touches on my skin. How long had it been since someone had touched me in that manner? Certainly, not like that beast of a butler. Not with hunger. Not with unbridled intensity. Not like how I wanted.
Or perhaps I spoke too soon. Jane reached for a golden tin with pink rosettes.
"For the lips." She dipped her finger into the rich colour until the tip looked covered in crushed berries. As she rubbed the pigment over my lips, I stared at Jane's own ruby stained ones. I wondered if they felt as soft as they looked. Like rose petals.
Her eyes, now dark and languid pools, latched on my mouth. Slowly, she trailed her finger along my lips. I parted them. An unsteady breath escaped me. Her gaze drifted up, locking with mine, a question burning in them. Perhaps my eyes conveyed the answer she needed because the girl leaned in. Heat simmered inside me. The girl kissed me with her eyes first; our noses touched. Her hot breath met my cupid's bow.
As I closed my eyes, glowing carnelian ones pierced my mind. I jerked, my eyes snapping open. Jane stilled. She regarded me with fervid expression, searching my face. Perhaps she sensed what I could not put into words for she withdrew, quiet.
Hooded eyes still locked on me, she placed her finger on her lips and stroked them with the remaining carmine stain. "Well, the night is still young," she murmured.
Her meaning, so unmistakeable, made my cheeks warm. "Indeed..." was all I could manage.
The corner's of her eyes crinkled. "Once you are changed, come to my quarters. It shall be my utmost pleasure to accompany such a pretty girl to the ball." She bowed exaggeratedly like a gentleman and though the gesture was meant to be playful, it hardly felt like a jest.
"There is no one else I'd rather be escorted by," I said through a tight smile. Those infuriating eyes flickered again. "However, I'm supposed to meet the headmaster briefly before. I am helping sign in names in the guestbook."
Her lips twitched with intrigue. "Are you now? How altruistic of you."
"Shall I meet you inside later, Jane?"
"I should like that very much, Cielle." A slow-blooming smile spread across her lips as she rose from her seat. "I can't wait to see you in your gown. I am sure all the dandies will wish to dance with a pretty thing like you."
"How lucky I must be."
Jane tittered. "Do not worry, I shall make sure they do not bother you. I'll write down my name on all the dance cards if I have to."
I smiled feebly as Jane closed the door behind her. Better a dance with her than—I clenched my fist. The mere thought of him made my stomach roil, yet I couldn't stop replaying the scene. I changed into the gown for the soiree. Scrambled against the headboard; tendrils slithering under my nightgown. I snatched the blue ring from under the rug. The beast licking its lips, eager to devour its prey.
My gaze fixated on the mirror, the same mirror which I had bared myself to him. Bared my inners demons. Bordel de merde, the irony.
I tried to wash the obscene image away. My legs splayed wide under the beast's terrible gaze, those sinful fingers inside—
I concentrated on my reflection instead. A silk gown the colour of peonies with gold embroidery, gossamer ribbons under a small bust, Japanese sea pearls at my neck, jewels pinned into my soft curls. I added the finishing touches. Delicate elbow length champagne gloves and then the star of the show—the Stone of Lethe. Only a few seconds of staring at it, and the familiar dizziness crept upon me. I shook myself.
Glancing at my image, I looked perfectly prim and proper. No one would suspect that the Lady Phantomhive had gasped like a fuckstress, pleasured by her servant. I tore my gaze from the mirror.
I was nearly about to leave my quarters when I stilled. A nagging feeling crept through me as though I had forgotten something important. My gaze swept over my room—ah, there. Kicking the empty bottle of pepper powder on the floor, I reached for the pink parasol under my desk. Now I was ready.
"There you are," said the headmaster.
"Delightful to see you as always, Commissioner."
Delacourt scowled. "The masks are inside, and only the faculty chaperones arrived so far."
"Excellent."
"I presume you'll take over the guest list from here," he said, handing me the guestbook. I glanced at the page, and my nerves caught. Professor Sinclair.
"You're certain the cad who abducted my daughter will show up?" said Delacourt.
"The demand for certainty is an intellectual vice. However," I replied quietly, "I have more evidence that he will make an appearance tonight, than not."
"And then what will you do?" Behind his glasses, his sapphire eyes glinted like flickering embers.
"I will handle it."
"Ah, Lord Randall Delacourt, what a charming masquerade," a nauseatingly familiar voice trilled behind us.
I blanched. No, no, no.
Viscount Druitt's gaze fell on me and he beamed. "And Lady Phantomhive, a delight to see you again! Why, I haven't seen you in ages."
Delacourt cleared his throat. "Well, I shall let you two get reacquainted. Don't want to be a bother. If you'll excuse me..."
The man managed his escape well from the viscount. I wished I could say the same.
Eyes heavy-lidded, a hand to his head, Viscount Druitt struck a ridiculous pose. "My little seraphim, how resplendent you look in that gown. A lovely creature without a hint of artifice—an angel fallen from the heavens."
I gave him my most charming smile and curtsied. "Let us not forget Satan fell from heaven."
Druitt blinked, then barked with laughter. "None of the young ladies I dance with tonight shall have an ounce of humour as you. I take it you'll save me a dance?" He looked at me in expectation.
"If I am not already claimed by the dance cards." Not a chance in hell.
"Even if you are," he said, suddenly leaning close, "I don't see why you can't break decorum and have a go with me. As we are both members of the peerage, I think you’ll find me an exceptional asset.” His fingers skittered down my waist.
“Off by two letters,” I said under my breath.
“Pardon?”
“It’s nothing.” Subtly, I freed myself from his grubby fingers.
The rake tried again. He pointed at the mistletoe above us.
I sweetly smiled and inwardly shuddered. “I'm afraid my kisses are not compelled by parasitic plants, my lord. Most mistletoe is spread through bird fecal matter. Hardly romantic I'm sure you will agree. If you’ll excuse me.” This time, the insufferable fool did not prevent me from leaving.
I sighed and positioned myself in front of the entrance to the ball. A small line started to form. It was still early. One by one, I forced a smile at the guests and wrote their names into the guestbook. Under the guise of demure smiles, cordial pleasantries, and small talk, I scrutinized each guest in line. Half an hour lapsed, and I had scribbled down thirty names. No sign of the cipherist. What if the message I'd decoded was all just a ruse?
"Cielle?"
I glanced up from the guestbook. "Edward."
The young man removed his top hat to reveal half-combed hair. Dark circles framed his eyes. It looked like he hadn't slept in ages, but sleep-deprived as he looked, he wore an expression of determination.
"Got your letter." His fingers dug into the top hat. "Wish I was meeting you under different circumstances."
"Likewise."
"She'll turn up, won't she?" Edward's voice cracked.
"I'll find Lizzie. I'll bring her back, I swear it."
Edward inhaled a deep breath. "I believe you... I have to, don't I?" A hollow laugh, and he turned away from me. "Better start patrolling the grounds outside."
"You recall the culprit's appearance from my letter?"
"Tall, green-eyed fellow with flaxen hair." He grimaced. "For a moment, I thought you might be insinuating I had kidnapped my own sister."
"You're not that tall."
Edward looked affronted. "I'll keep my eyes out. Tell me if you see anything." He threw me a resigned smile over his shoulder. "I regret I won't be able to escort my fiancée to the ball. You look lovely tonight, Cielle."
"Edward, perhaps later we can—"
"Doesn't she?" came a voice.
Jane Greyling made her way towards us. The girl looked like an iris in full bloom, her pearlescent skin glowing under the lights.
"Fashionably late, I know." Jane turned from me to Edward. "And you are?"
"This is my, er, fiancé. Lord Edward Midford. Edward, this is Miss Jane Greyling. She's helping with the case."
"A pleasure," Jane said after a moment. "I was not aware you were engaged, Cielle." The corners of her lips crinkled though the shadow of smile did not reach her eyes. "I assure you, your fiancée is in good company. Well, then, shall we go in together, Cielle?"
Side by side, we walked through the entrance of the music hall, and I found myself stepping into another world altogether. My eyes flooded with beauty. The interior was swathed in darkness. Floors and walls draped like the night sky, and lush midnight blue everywhere. Masks of all shapes and ethnic formal wear surrounded me. Intricately embroidered saris, kimonos the colors of koi fish, silken hajibs, and gowns of satin, velvet, moire, poplin and lace rustled all around. Sparkling lights glittered everywhere: on dusky canopies, lush drapes, tapestries.
"It's all rather beautiful," I said.
"Indeed." Jane's gaze settled on me. "It is the perfect setting for you."
"Your praise is too much." Suddenly self-conscious, I gestured to a table with the masks. "I hope the good ones aren't taken."
We joined a small gathering trying on and choosing their masks for the night. Angelica, a nightmare dressed in pretty bows and ribbons, gestured to a small mask with gray feathers. "It's a shame that she's not in attendance. The ugly duckling mask could not find a better wearer."
I sidled up beside her and picked a mask with dark lace, the edges like the wings of a midnight swan. "If Sullivan is the duckling-turned-swan, what storybook character are you? The evil hag from snow white or a hideous stepsister?"
Angelica glared. "Takes one to know one."
I lifted my chin. “You have the maturity of a fourteen-year-old boy.”
“And you have the chest of one.”
This time, I flinched. “At least I am considerate enough that no one has to witness a gelatinous buttocks sway when I dance."
"Why you—"
Joanna, dressed like a moon-like princess, ignored our sparring match. Absent-mindedly, she walked between us and reached for a dainty mask with white gauze matching her gown. Even the mask couldn't conceal her glossy, pink rimmed eyes.
"Please you two." Jane returned, wearing an exotic peacock mask. "I know you could care a fig for what I have to say, Angelica, but the less time you spend arguing, the more time you could spend catching the eye of an Eton chap—or better. Professor Sinclair."
A tinge of pink stained Angelica's cheeks, and she stormed past me. To where Sebastian was chaperoning.
The severe black and white suit stood out starkly against the colors of the ballroom, highlighting his dark hair and eyes. Even without his icy silver mask, I'd know those eyes anywhere.
Sebastian caught my gaze. His long-lashed eyes briefly traveled down the length of my gown before returning to my face.
Jane blocked my view and pointed to the refreshment table behind us. "Are you hungry?"
"Ravenous."
The girl took me by the hand, and I snuck her a side-long glance. "Did you just bribe me with sweets and Angelica with men?"
"It worked, didn't it?" Jane scooped a pastry onto a tiny plate and her eyes rolled into her head. "Petit four, my favorite."
I kept my eyes opened for any sign of the cipherist while making conversation with Jane. A choir of girls sang christmas carols in the background. Their voices, pretty and angelic, lifted high, then dipped low, sending notes flowing about the hall. Ave Maria, Carol of the Bells, and then, ironically, The Twelve Days of Christmas.
We sampled jellies, and Jane pointed out chaps who snuck peeks through young ladies' bodices, and bustles that emphasized certain derrieres in the most awful way. Midway of a laugh, Jane clutched her stomach. "Oh dear, I hope it wasn't the pastry." She forced a smile. "Will you excuse me?"
I nodded, and the girl made a beeline for the powder room. When the door behind her closed, I sighed. Well, that was opportune. At least now I could investigate more freely.
"If I may have everyone's attention," said Delacourt. "It is my great pleasure to host Imperial Academy's first ever Christmas ball. Once you are all watered and fed at our most exquisite banquet, we shall proceed to the masquerade ball. On behalf of the academy, I hope this shall be an unforgettable night."
A round of claps erupted. If only the man knew how unforgettable it might be...
I followed the crowd to the banquet table. It had an assortment of decadent entrees with cards next to them that listed the name of the dish along with the country of origin. The elaborate buffet looked vaguely familiar. White peaches soaked in rose-water syrup, stuffed mushrooms, a nice large Christmas turkey, mushroom wellington, chocolate yule log soaked in rum, Yorkshire pudding, milk punch. And more ethnic dishes I had never heard of before. I read the tags. Colombian natilla, Swedish lussekatter, St. Lucia Buns with saffron, pasteles de hojas, Finnish karelian pasty, German Christstollen, Allahabadi cake, kheer, ratatouille, Christmas pavlova with Chantilly cream... My hunger stirred.
"Well, well," said a woman that looked uncannily to Delacourt. She must've been the sister then—the headmistress of Eton. "I'm surprised you managed all this, Randall."
The headmaster cleared his throat. "I did have a little help from one of our new faculty members." He gestured to Sebastian who looked positively smug. The demon's ego was something else. I gazed at the line of food, and something inside me shrank. Suddenly, the exquisite dishes he prepared on my birthday no longer seemed special.
"Perhaps we can fashion the students into a line." Without waiting for Delacourt's affirmation, the headmistress clapped her hands. "Single file, everyone. Please take your meal and be seated at the dining tables. If you hold up the line, you shall be out of the line."
We did as told. Upon returning, I spied small cards on the table, neatly placed near the cutlery, along with milk punch at each seat. Alice bumped into the table, knocking the name cards. She quickly arranged them back and stole a glance to see if anyone had witnessed her ungainliness. She seemed to think not and took her seat. Sipping her milk punch with her pinky extended.
Rolling my eyes, I looked for my name. And froze. Oh, no.
As though universe had conspired against me, I found my name tag wedged between Alice and Sebastian's. My mood soured.
I caught Sebastian's gaze. He wrinkled his nose, one brow furrowed. I clenched my hand. Did the odious thing have to make a face about it?
"A hundred seats, and I'm seated beside you. This must be a joke." I took my seat and sipped the punch. The subordinate drink was not enough to dull my senses.
"My sentiments as well. Truthfully, this seating arrangement leaves much to be desired. If I didn't have to play by the rules of etiquette, I would likely request another seat."
I flinched at his words. The truth. He could not lie after all. The demon's bluntness sobered and enraged me all at once.
"I hate you," I said, with feeling. "I hate you so much, you thing."
"Oh?" he whispered back. "That wasn't your tune last night, young mistress."
My ears felt hot. I hissed through a smile, "Shut up, shut up, shut up—" A sharp force on my foot.
Sebastian smiled cheerfully. "My apologies. I was trying to reach the milk punch."
Without thinking, I reached for him under the table. A hard grip on his thigh.
His eyes flared at me. Dangerous, glinting.
I couldn't believe I was doing this, here. My fingers pressed harder. Travelling upwards. Finding the soft warmth tucked against his thigh. I cupped it.
Sharply, the demon raised a wine glass to his lips and took a deep sip. Was the gesture meant to conceal a steadying breath? The thought satisfied me.
When Sebastian lowered the glass, his elegant face looked unperturbed. An impressive feat—and absolutely infuriating.
My fingers kneaded the swell. Softly, roughly, alternating pressure. Beneath the woolen trousers, his sleepy protuberance came to life. It pressed against my palm, warm and stiff. I curled my fingernails around it.
"Mistress." One hand grasped my wrist under the table. I drew in a sharp breath. Sebastian's hold on me was strong, angry. He turned to me, and his demonic slitted pupils smoldered. "I would advise you cease these foolish games if you know what is best for you." Drawing in a slow breath, he closed his eyes and opened them. They were back to their warm muted colour again. Seemingly normal, politely indifferent. But his clutch on my wrist was anything but.
"Let go off me, " I hissed.
"Certainly." His hold around my wrist disappeared. And reappeared somewhere else.
"You-you..."
His fingers squeezed between my legs. I stifled a gasp. Layers of fabric did not hinder that wicked hand. He massaged my aching flesh, two fingers sliding to and fro. My breath grew uneven. Someone might notice—yet, that added to the thrill.
"Surely, you must be willing to take what you dish out." Sebastian crooked his fingers up through the fabric and I was practically riding them now. The utter mortification.
Involuntarily, my hips rotated, ever so subtly, and my insides twitched deliciously. I clutched the table, stifling a moan. I was getting close. But I couldn't... not here. Under those malevolent eyes, tormenting fingers, I implored him. The beast did not relent. My fingernails dug into my palms. I squeezed my thighs together, his hand in tow, and pushed into him. Thought failed me.
"S-Sebastian."
"Now, are you quite finished with this production?" Sebastian whispered in my ear. "Perhaps we might encounter the cipherist then—"
"Oh my word!"
Sebastian and I jerked around. His hand retreated. Crimeny, had someone seen us—?
Joanna had slumped face first into her pea soup. The guests around her stood, trying to wake her with camphor.
"There it is again." Sebastian's voice, a bare whisper. "I thought I had smelled something unusual earlier."
"What is it?"
"Laudanum, I believe." He crinkled his nose. "In her milk punch."
"Milk punch," I repeated and frowned. Milk—I froze. Realization snaked itself through me. "Maids-a-milking. The Twelve Days of Christmas song. Sebastian, it was the milk punch—"
"I know." His eyes swept over the hall. "The cipherist is likely here, young mistress."
"Impossible. I signed in every guest who entered, and all the exits are being watched. They couldn't have gotten in without encountering me."
"You may be right." A pensive look settled upon Sebastian's face. "Things have gotten rather interesting..."
"I don't understand why someone would tamper with Joanna's punch. It's not like they could abduct her in front of everyone."
"No. Perhaps they wanted the recipient out of their way." His voice dropped low and he looked at me with a strange expression. "That was not Miss Harcourt's punch, mistress.
"Of course, it was," I said. "I saw it beside her plate."
"What you assumed was her plate."
"What are you talking about?"
"Miss Brighton knocked over the name tags before taking her seat. The milk punch was for someone else."
"Then...who...?"
Sebastian's eyes flashed alarmingly bright, and a shiver crawled over me.
"Young mistress" he whispered, "the drink was meant for you."
Chapter 20: Masquerade Ball
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
I drew in an unsteady breath. "The laudanum was for me?"
Indeed," said Sebastian. "Of course, I would have intercepted if not for Miss Brighton's opportune clumsiness."
"But why target me? To prevent me from investigating further?"
"Perhaps that...or something else." Sebastian paused, a quiet glitter in his eyes.
One of the guests waved camphor aggressively under Joanna's nose. The girl's lashes fluttered. She gripped the sleeve of the nearby girl, trembling.
Delacourt breathed a sigh. "Looks like she's finally coming to. You girls, escort her to her quarters. She's in no state to partake in tonight's festivities."
Hesitantly, two girls flanked Joanna. One wearing a kimono the color of koi fish and the other a red and green sari embroidered with gold thread. The vibrant hues contrasted sharply against Joanna's colorless dress. Pale-faced, the girl put her arms around their shoulders and her jelly legs were practically dragged by the duo.
"With Violet's absence, it's probably best for her," Angelica whispered conspiratorially to Alice. "I wager the girl's prince charming is a princess."
While Angelica was quite stupid about many things, her observation wasn't off the mark. One might consider her almost... keen.
I turned away from her, disgusted.
The headmaster gestured everyone to be seated. "Let us not let one tightly laced corset deter a night of pleasantries."
Beside him, his sister scoffed into her wine glass.
Delacourt pretended not to notice. "Perhaps you'd like to host the next ball at Eton. Valentine’s day or so."
"You know I loathe that frivolous holiday and the days that surround it, Randall."
The man sighed. "You realize my birthday falls two days before Valentine’s day."
"I'm aware."
The headmaster glared through his spectacles.
From the sister's prickly demeanor, it was clear she still harbored a grudge against Delacourt for affecting her school’s enrollments. I fiddled with the ring on my gloved finger. How far would she go to restore that?
Hulda glanced at the siblings and as if to diffuse the tension between them, she rose from her seat. "Shall I make the announcement?" she asked the headmaster. He nodded.
The woman tapped her wine glass with a spoon, the loud clink drawing stares. "If you will all return to the music hall, we shall proceed with our masquerade ball."
The guests began to disperse, and I gestured to Sebastian.
He bent down, and I whispered into his ear, "If the maids-a-milking gag was to simply get me out of the picture, that only confirms the cipherist is planning something tonight."
"Agreed," replied Sebastian. "And I take it you will watch the guests on through a dance? It seems like the most discrete way to do so."
The demon's eyes positively glowed with humour.
"Tch. It's not like there's a better choice."
"Finally, all those dancing lessons with Madame Rodkins put to use."
I sniffed and reached for my parasol leaning against the table. An elegant ivory silk covered with black lace. I played with it, swinging it, then twirled it.
"Pray tell, mistress, are you part of the evening's entertainment?"
"No. I'm merely trying to stand out in this sea of masks. If I'm acting peculiar, the cipherist will locate me easier."
"I hardly see the need to act to have the desired effect."
I glared at him and raised the parasol. "The parasol's purpose is three-fold."
A young lady's deportment in social gatherings was expected to be gracious and respectable. Vocally rejecting a suitor violated etiquette while flirting with one was equally deplorable. Thank whoever devised such a discrete way of communication using gloves, handkerchiefs, fans—and parasols.
I raised the parasol in my right hand. "I desire your acquaintance." Struck it against my hand. "I am very much displeased." Folded up the parasol and caught his stare. "I wish to rid myself of your presence."
It was satisfying to watch the butler's fine mouth twitch.
Smiling, I rested the handle against my parted lips. Kiss me.
The demon's gaze sharpened. Dark as ink, fathomless.
"Three-fold." Sebastian cleared his throat. "May I inquire the parasol's other purpose?"
"That shall be a secret between the cipherist and I."
"Is that so." His eyes travelled across my gown, then settled on my face. "Well, I suppose if standing out is your main concern, I doubt you need to worry. You already do."
My nerves caught, I bite the parasol's handle.
"Have you not just suppered?" Sebastian tsked. "Sucking the head of your parasol. How unbecoming. That pretty mouth can be put to far better use."
Heat swiped my face. Just when I thought I had forgotten about it.
The memory of those digits in my warm mouth. Those feral eyes above me. The engorged head between my wet lips. Slipping in as far as I could take. Bitter salt.
"You utter dog—"
"Pray, do compose yourself," he said and took the parasol from me. He placed it back on the table. "I meant sweet-talking your partners for information, of course."
Of course.
The dull buzzing of the crowd faded, now replaced by a lively melody drifting from the orchestra.
"Well, then." Sebastian bowed and raised my knuckles to his lips. He kissed my hand lightly, like silk to skin. A contrast to his searing breath on my ring finger. "May I claim you for a dance?"
His eyes flicked up, and the intensity of his gaze made me tense.
"If you must." My hand rested on his shoulder, easily, as though it belonged there.
Sebastian placed one hand on my waist and threaded my hand with long, elegant fingers. Beneath the soft bristle of wool, I felt the movement of hard muscle.
His gaze swept over the masked faces. "It seems like Halloween, does it not, young mistress?"
"Everyday feels like Halloween with you."
Sebastian took a sudden step back, and I tripped over the hem of my dress. A flash of ankle, and I caught myself on his sturdy shoulder.
"How tragic, young mistress. Your waltzing skills aren't so much lacking as they are nonexistent."
"Be quiet, you. I cannot help that my feet refuse to cooperate because my dancing partner is being a gnawer.”
His hand around my waist tightened though he danced with fluid grace.
Streams of Black Swan Pas de Deux wrapped around us, and we fell into a steady waltz. I tried to concentrate on my feet, but the task grew increasingly difficult the longer we danced. Heat penetrated through his gloved fingers to my bare ones. Pleasant, stirring.
"You're wearing gloves," I said.
"Astute observation, young mistress." He spun me below his arm, then his hand return to my waist.
"I mean you don't need to be. Not here."
"It is improper for a butler to handle their mistress or master without them."
Back to propriety, is it?
I stared at the dancing guests, the glitter of masks, the marbled floor. Anywhere but his face.
"Only three days until the full moon," I said quietly. Our legs brushed against each other.
"I'm aware, young mistress."
"But... what happens after that?"
"After that? I'm afraid I do not follow—"
"If—when we find Lizzie, and thereby the cult's leader."
"Then we shall eliminate them swiftly, of course."
I dared to glance up. "And then...?"
"I trust you haven't forgotten our contract terms."
A soft, bitter laugh escaped me. "So it all ends? You'll take my soul then."
Sebastian's dancing feet stilled for a moment. "Yes, young mistress."
His words stung like a lash. "How will you take it? Does it hurt?"
"Goodness, aren't you full of questions." His thigh grazed mine. "A demon can extract a soul in numerous ways. Some methods are excruciating while others... are the complete opposite." The creature's mouth quirked for a second. As though he was privy to his own private joke.
"And which way do you consume souls, Sebastian?"
"I do not have one specific method. Each method depends on the contractor."
"How do you plan to take my soul?"
"Is my lady familiar with Hieros Gamos?"
I slowly nodded. "Doesn't it mean 'sacred marriage' in Greek?"
"Indeed," said the butler. "A play between a god and a goddess. Of course, it hardly means marriage in the conventional sense of the word, but rather a sacred sexual ritual between human beings and something divine. How the soul becomes whole through another."
"I would hardly think a demon would care for the sanctity of anything, especially that."
"You are quite right, young mistress." A poisonous smile touched the beast's eyes. "One method of soul extraction is the reversal of this. While Hieros Gamos unites two souls to become whole, in the unholy union of between a demon and prey, the demon consumes the soul."
An unholy union. My face burned at the implication. Of course, the creature would have perverse ideas.
I tried to speak evenly. "I presume you've collected many souls with this method before."
"No," he said and then paused, as though judging if he should say more. He didn't.
"How many, Sebastian?"
His lips pinched and eyes dimmed. "You shall be the first, mistress."
And there it was. The naked truth snatched out of the beast.
"Out of the different methods of soul collection...this is your preferred method for mine?"
"Well," said Sebastian, "if you prefer something less pleasant."
"Oh, forget it."
"Do you have any reservations?" he asked.
"Do you?" I countered.
"What a question to ask, young mistress." His tone stirred.
He dipped me suddenly, and I squeaked. My fingers grasped his lapels, clinging them for a few moments. I drew in his scent, the scent that plagued my dreams and lingered throughout the day. I quickly released the fabric.
His lips stretched into an amused smile. "Can you not handle this proximity?"
"Nothing of the sort."
But can you, demon?
Tchaikovsky's soft, tremulous Winter Dreams faded into Vivaldi's breathless Winter. Glissandos filled the air. The enticing sounds seduced my mind, and a strange intoxication crept into my veins. Maybe it was the biting, heady strings. Maybe it was the way the butler's smoldering eyes bore into mine. No longer did I control my restraint.
Like a dam unbarred, my unseemly thoughts flowed with vengeance, a trembling flood, and I purposely channeled them to him.
The beast's eyes sharpened. He held me as far apart as our arms would permit.
"What do you think you're doing?" he whispered dangerously.
"It's like you always say," I said. "The game becomes boring if it lacks thrill."
Sebastian's eyes glinted, a flicker of hell-fire. He promenaded in a circle and held my waist more firmly each time. His hand inched further and further behind my back until it rested on my tailbone. Slowly, he rubbed the erogenous spot. I could feel his sharp nails clawing through his glove. Digging into me.
Everything around us blurred into oblivion. A couple in pretty dresses stealing a kiss behind a statue. The masked faces, the dancing feet, the rustle of silk. The world around us fell apart, save for the music and him. The notes came faster, and we drifted further and further away from the crowd. My feet mirrored his or perhaps it was the other way around. They moved in a strange agitation, matching the whirlwind of notes, heady and turbulent. Despite the layers of crinolines between us, we danced together infused like two halves of a whole.
A swirl of a drape, and we found ourselves on the balcony. Swaying, shoulder to shoulder. Under the moonlight, our frenzied movements were lit by a backdrop of flickering stars. Despite the cold, Sebastian's breath curled around my neck like a summer zephyr. Our fingers entwined convulsively. Our breaths danced together. He held me so closely that we were practically one person. No longer did this feel like a waltz. It had become twisting and twining, a gyration orchestrated by Mephistopheles himself.
The overpowering music muted my shaky breaths and thundered to a crescendo, the notes conveying a desire too obscene to utter. The piece struck its climax, and Sebastian lifted me by the waist, spinning me into the air. A winter draft struck my face and undid my coiffure. I inhaled unevenly. Messy dark strands spilled upon his face, his eyes, his lips. They wrapped around us, flowing like a snare, curtaining us from the world for a fleeting moment. From the contract.
Slowly, Sebastian lowered me, and our lips almost touched.
"Sebastian," I breathed. I knew what I must've looked like. Cheeks flushed, boudoir hair, eyes pleading.
A soft hiss against my mouth. Like a serpent's kiss. "How human."
His hands, still on my waist, crooked and clawed into my sides. "Cease this foolishness and remember why you are here. Why I am here." He dipped me sharply.
Claps applauded inside the ballroom, and the music shifted to a slower tune. The claw-like hands left my sides.
"Mistress." Sebastian bowed slightly and excused himself only to return a minute later. He reappeared with the parasol and tilted my chin with its tip, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Do not forget the game is still in play."
"I-I know that."
"Good." He handed me the parasol and disappeared behind the curtain with a flourish.
Alone now, I gripped the balustrade and pressed my legs together as if that would alleviate the ache between them. The cold air chilled my stinging eyes. I turned around. Beside the curtain stood a Grecian bust. Penetrating eyes, angular nose, a shadow of smile along those sculptured lips. As if the thing had ensnared me in a spell, I trailed a finger along its jawline. Stone-cold, smooth, and sharp. I held its face with both hands and leaned in.
I kissed its lips. Imagining the mocking smile would move against mine. This must've been what the sculptor Pygmalion felt when he pressed his lips against his sculpture for the first time.
Mad. Hungry. Obsessive. Stupid, stupid, stupid—
A drop trailed along the cold ivory face. I wiped my eyes and slapped my cheeks with my fingertips.
When I rejoined the guests in the ballroom, a new song commenced. Dance partners lined up while Sebastian stood at the end of the music hall, far from me.
Ignoring him, I made my way to the refreshments and held a flute of wine by its stem. I swigged it down. A languid warmth filled my chest and teased my muscles to relax. I imagined the beast's eyes gleaming in disapproval. You are suppose to be investigating, not drowning your woes in brandy. I reached for another glass. Emptied it. And joined a circle of Eton bucks.
A demure nod, a soft touch on their arm, subtly pushing out my bustle, and they fawned over me like stupid neglected lap-dogs. I waltzed with them under Sebastian's quiet gaze. Promenading with them, tittering with them, smiling sweetly behind my parasol like a damask-rose. Switching partners every few minutes, I danced in a sea of golden and silver faces. A tigress, a crescent moon, swallowtail butterflies with black tracery. A harlequin one with dancing sea-green eyes—
I froze. The cipherist.
I grasped the parasol and waved it briefly in the boy's direction over my right shoulder. You can speak with me.
His eyes flicked to it. Then me. His lips quirked.
The boy peeled off his glove and smoothed it out gently. I wish I were with you.
I raised the parasol higher in my right hand. You are too willing.
His mouth settled in a crooked smile, and he twirled a glove. Be careful, we are being watched. Then he flicked the glove over his shoulder. Follow me.
He skirted around the dancing guests, blending in like a chameleon, until he stood in front of me. I set the parasol on a nearby table. The boy offered his hand, and I took it.
"If you would allow me to lead," he whispered, warm breath against my temple.
I shivered. My skirts swayed, rustling between us as we stepped into the rhythm of the waltz.
The boy smelled pleasant. Like spiced cedar, winter air, and a hint of sweet. Something floral. A familiar perfume.
From a distance, I caught Sebastian's gaze. His eyes followed my every step, burning behind me. I smiled at the boy and pressed closer, his solid form brushing against my bodice. The warmth of his body provided me a pleasant heat.
"It appears you are being watched too," said the boy.
"And who exactly is watching you?"
"Wouldn't you like to know, Miss Detective?"
Of course, he wouldn't say. "I suppose you won't disclose how you snuck into the ball without being checked either."
"Who said I didn't sign in like everyone else?" His grin widened. "I entered precisely the same way you did."
"But how—"
He pressed a finger to my lip. "Let us not bother over trivial details. I came tonight to dance only with you."
"Where's Lizzie?" I demanded. "You said she'd be here."
"She will soon enough." A rakish gleam tinged his eyes. "And I see you have my ring?"
"The Stone of Lethe," I said, staring at my gloved hand. "Isn't it? I read about it in the alchemical book in the library. The book you wanted me to find."
"Indeed."
"But why leave these crumbs?"
"Is it not more fun that way? Well, at least it is for me." He dipped me suddenly. "It's a shame. If we weren't in public, I might indulge you more tonight." Discretely, he fondled with my gloved hand, rubbing the tender space between two fingers. Another sensitive area stirred.
"May I fetch you a drink, Miss Phantomhive?"
"Depends," I said, snatching my hand away. "If it's another milk punch laced with laudanum, I'd rather not."
The boy sighed as he tugged my wrist to the refreshment table. "I had only hoped to spare you from a tiring night, but of course, sometimes even the best of plans get bungled. No matter, I suppose it is better this way. Dancing with you more than makes up for that."
I narrowed my eyes. "Maid's a milking. Lords a leaping—"
"Ladies dancing," he said, humming the tune. "Such a classic christmas song, no?"
"You only chose that song because it revolves around the number twelve. Like all of these other clues."
The boy's eyes glowed through his mask. "Well done."
"Why?"
"As I told you before." He picked up a flute with champagne and swirled it. "It is the key to solving this case."
"That's not what I mean. Why would you want me to solve the case?"
He sipped. "Because perhaps I am not the true villain here."
"And I'm the queen of England. Aren't you the one abducting these girls?"
He paused drinking. "Well, yes, but people are so very rarely black and white. Out of anyone, you would know."
His smile must have balanced out my scowl. "When are you planning your next abduction? I already know you intend to tonight. And where the hell is Lizzie?"
"So many questions." The boy raised the champagne glass above his head, and his eyes signaled to no one in particular. "To answer the first...now."
"What are you—"
The glass slipped from his hand. The shatter pierced the air, and darkness swept over the ballroom. Shouts and gasps sounded in every direction. A girl cried out—Angelica. And then another. Alice. A stampede of footsteps and pandemonium erupted. Someone collided into me, and I found myself sprawled on the cold floor.
"Bloody hell," I whispered.
I managed to pull myself to my feet and withdrew from the chaos. The liquor's effect made it easier. My mind drifted somewhere quiet. Somewhere still. An empty ballroom. Connected to a balcony and powder room. Then tables populated the empty space. Then guests. A concept in mathematics, spatial reasoning could manipulate spatial images in one's mind to create a map. Bit by bit, the layout of the ballroom formed in my head, and suddenly I knew exactly where I was in the darkness. And where I needed to go.
Carefully, I maneuvered through the trample, skirting around the table with the leftover masks. I felt around blindly until my fingers touched delicate lace. Parasol in hand, I felt the wall and edged toward the balcony until the I caught a sliver of moonlight. I pulled aside the drape and snuck a glance outside. My muscles tensed.
The cipherist held Angelica by the small of her back. His breath clouded her face, like vaporous aquamarine in the moonlight. His raised his other hand in front of her. In it, a glimmer of ocean blue.
"Blast," I hissed. The ring on my hand. It was gone. The cad must've swindled it during our waltz.
Like a mesmerist, the boy dangled the ring in front of Angelica. She stared blankly at the Stone of Lethe, face glazed with stupor. Bewitched by an enchanter's strange spell.
"That's it," the boy whispered, inches from her red lips. "Look how beautiful it gleams, just like your eyes."
"My eyes..." said Angelica, mirroring the faces from the alchemical book.
When she fell silent, the boy turned to his side. "Have you got the other one?"
He wasn't alone...?
I raised the drape further and peered at the corner of the balcony. Moonlight illuminated the silhouette of two other girls. Her back facing me, the boy's accomplice held Alice's wrists and nodded. Her twin tails bobbed, the golden tresses dulled in the night's darkling shine. I drew in a sharp breath. I'd recognize that profile anywhere.
Lizzie.
Notes:
Next up, tentacle smut. Yeah I know.
Phantom Night
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
I tensed like a drawn bow, eager to spring. No, I needed to wait. Observe.
Lizzie murmured an affirmative, clutching Alice's wrists. Her expression mirrored Angelica and Alice's. Quiet, unblinking. As if she had drunk from the river of Lethe, the Greek spirit of oblivion. But there was no magic drink here. Only a dubious ring.
"Don't let go," the boy ordered and he lowered the blue stone. "Follow behind me."
He waited for them to line up. Him, Angelica, Lizzie, and Alice, their hands linked together like paperclips. The boy advanced toward the dark ballroom and led the girls like the Pied Piper of Hamelin.
I squeezed the drape. He'd have to pass my hiding spot to gain entry into the hall. Carefully, I timed it and resorted to something clichédly simple. I stuck out my foot.
0 notes
Last Seen Blogs
ghostly-cabbage
I Just Think Danny Should Be Scary
fluffy-dragon-flame
Fluffy Tails and Flames Galore
scoatneyhall
Scoatney Hall
red-owlbttf
Sem título