#ANYWAY I LOVE YOU folks!!!!! i muted all my big posts only to find out theyre all doing the rounds so i know. there are a fair few new folk | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sanderssidesfanfiction · 5 years

Text

We’ll Carry On - Chapter Forty Two

We’ll Carry On Tag

General Content Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Substance Abuse, Abandonment, Minor Character Death, Transphobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dissociation, Bullying, Homophobia

July 21st, 2012

Roman hugged his mom tight as she laughed. “Roman, it’s not a big deal,” she said. “It’s a book of fairy tales. It’s a small birthday gift.”

That may have been true, but that didn’t mean that Roman didn’t love it any less. It was, by far, the highlight of his birthday. “Thank you!” he exclaimed. “Thank you so much!”

His mother laughed and pet his hair as she responded, “You’re welcome, my little knight. I’m glad you like it.”

Roman loved it. Especially with the dedication on the first page. To Roman - With your determination, my little knight, you can do anything.

January 10th, 2020

Roman sat in the den after dinner, which was from that new barbeque place on the edge of town that he had tried once and immediately loved. Everyone was just hanging out, the TV on in the background, playing Finding Nemo. Everyone came back to the moment, though, when Dad muted the TV. “Roman, Ami and I have a little something to give to you.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to!” Roman exclaimed.

“Yeah, but Ami saw this and he couldn’t resist,” Dad said, passing over a present wrapped in bright red holographic wrapping paper. “As you know, he occasionally goes to thrift shops looking for little treasures to bring home. Usually it’s a shirt or occasionally a decoration, but this time he found something among the books. He was in Scottsdale this time.”

“Okay...?” Roman said. He knew he had grown up around the Scottsdale area, which was maybe an hour away from home by car, but he hardly saw what that had to do with this.

“You’ll understand why that’s important when you open it,” Dad said. Ami grinned wide as Dad gestured for Roman to open it. “Go ahead.”

Roman gave them a confused look, before sliding his finger under the seam of the paper. He unwrapped it quickly and his eyes widened. “My mom got me this book when I was six,” he breathed. “It’s the same edition.”

“It’s more than the same edition,” Ami said, leaning back with his hands laced behind his head. “Open the first page.”

There was no way. Roman had lost the book as he was bounced from foster home to foster home until he found himself in the permanent one he had run away from. But there was just no way...he opened the cover, and he gasped at the familiar handwriting. “It’s...” his voice gave out, his mouth opened but no words could form. He hugged the book to his chest, starting to cry. “It’s my book! My mom...my mom wrote that dedication...! How did you find it?!”

“I noticed the fairy tale book and thought you might be interested in it, and I flipped it open, saw your name, and connected the dots. How many Romans could have grown up in Scottsdale with an affinity for fairy tales, and were called ‘my little knight’ affectionately?” Ami grinned. “I couldn’t believe it either when I first found it. I couldn’t buy it fast enough.”

Roman sobbed. He didn’t have anything to remind him of his mom when he was at the old foster home. He had lost the book and he grew out of the clothes she picked out with him quickly. But now...now he had something from her with him again. Through sheer dumb luck and Ami liking to go to out-of-the-way thrift stores. He had a piece of his mom with him again. “How long...how long have you had this lying in wait?” he asked with a laugh.

“Since December thirty-first. Emile let me go to that thrift shop as a birthday present to me, I saw it, and just knew.”

Roman wiped at his eyes and stared at the book adoringly. “I don’t believe it,” he said. “Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome,” Ami said. “Be careful with that book, okay? Because if you lose it again I can’t guarantee that I’ll find it afterwards.”

Roman nodded seriously. “I’ll keep a close eye on it,” he promised. “I definitely don’t want to lose it again.”

“Yeah, I imagine you wouldn’t,” Ami said with a kind smile. “Don’t worry, we won't touch it without your permission, either. Not even if we’re cleaning your room. Okay?”

“Okay,” Roman said, staring at the book in wonder. He still couldn’t believe it. He had his book back. He thought it was lost forever—he had cried for days when he thought he had lost it for good. He hugged it close and took a deep breath. “I feel like I’m gonna cry more. I don’t want to, though. I just got back from dinner, I don’t want to be a weepy mess.”

“If you need to cry, Roman, you can cry,” Dad pointed out. “Crying is healthy, especially if it’s happy tears.”

Roman shrugged. “I guess,” he said. “Honestly, I’m just in shock. I never thought that...that...I would ever get anything back that reminded me of Mom. It was just the two of us, and I wasn’t allowed a lot of time in our house to grab my things after CPS stepped in. This was the one thing that I took that would always remind me of her, and I lost it in one of my foster homes, before I wound up in the one I told you guys about. And now that I have it back...I genuinely don’t know how to feel. It hurts, but it also makes me unbelievably happy.”

“Conflicting emotions are natural when reminiscing about a loved one who has since passed,” Logan pointed out. “It can make you sad, but the memories will always have that touch of nostalgia and happiness.”

Dee looked at the cover of the book curiously. “Is that a knight?” he asked, before pointing to the man on the front of the book.

“Yeah,” Roman said. “My mom always called me ‘her little knight.’ I would always argue back that I was a prince, because I wanted to be noble and in charge but still go on adventures. Mom said that the knights were the ones who fought for honor and often went on the best adventures, though.” He smiled softly, staring at the cover. “She saw the book of fairy tales with the knight on the cover and she instantly thought of me. It was a little pricey, she told me. It was the only birthday present I got that year. But it was completely worth it. And it’s pretty sturdy. The cover still seems to be in good shape, and I know I read it front to back about a thousand times. The spine might be a little broken in, but...” he opened it and smelled the pages, smiling. “It still smells the same, even after being in that thrift shop for who-knows-how-long.”

Dee looked at it with interest. “Do you think you could read it sometime to me?” he signed. “Just because I don’t trust myself but I want to know the stories.”

“Oh! Sure,” Roman agreed. “But I’ll warn you these aren’t like Disney fairy tales. There’s not always a happily ever after. Plus, some of these stories are fairly obscure. I don’t know if that makes a difference to you or not.”

Dee shook his head. “No, I still want to know why you love them.”

“Okay,” Roman said, with a soft smile. “I’d love to read these to you sometime.”

“Me too, maybe?” Patton asked. “I mean, I’m more into folk tales and fables and stuff with a moral bottom line, but fairy tales are still pretty cool.”

“Sure,” Roman agreed. “Virgil? Logan? Want to join in on the fun?”

Logan scoffed. “I don’t need to be read to,” he said. “However, if you tell me the title of the story I’m sure I could find it online and read it without risking harm to the book.”

Virgil shrugged. “Honestly I’m just scared of damaging it.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “Guys, this isn’t like a museum piece, all right? It’s part of my past, and an important part of my past, but you better believe I’ll be using it. You can’t convince me otherwise. I’ll let you borrow it if you want. It’s not strictly a collectable. It’s biggest price point was how many stories it had rather than how fancy its design was.”

“You will, of course, have to ask for permission before taking it out of Roman’s room, though,” Dad said to everyone. “If for no one else’s peace of mind than mine. I don’t want to worry about Roman losing this again.”

Ami nodded. “That goes for any of your possessions that you boys have that you might not want touched. We try to ask your permission before cleaning your rooms, anyway, and we only do that if guests are coming over and we want the bedrooms to be presentable. And you boys do good jobs of regularly cleaning your rooms anyway. We don’t usually do much more than vacuum and maybe clean the windows.”

“I hate the smell of window cleaner,” Dee signed, wrinkling his nose.

“I know,” Ami sighed. “Unfortunately, it’s a necessary evil once every two months or so. Otherwise, the creepy-crawlies and germs get too cozy on it and might make you sick. We don’t want you getting sick from something in the house that could have been prevented.”

Dee pouted but nodded. “I know,” he signed. “Doesn’t mean I like it. At all.”

Ami rolled his eyes. “You’re so dramatic. You don’t complain this much when we actually clean it, and we crack the window open to get rid of the smell.”

“But being dramatic is fun!” Dee signed, hands slightly exaggerating the signs before he struck a pose. “I like being dramatic.”

“You’re definitely going to be a drama gay,” Roman said with a laugh. “Provided, you know, you’re gay. I forget sometimes that straight people exist.”

“I think I’m gay?” Dee signed. “I don’t know. I never had a crush on a girl. But I don’t think I’ve had a crush, period.”

“You’re six, Dee, give it time,” Roman laughed. “Crushes don’t always happen to people, either. Sometimes you just think, ‘Oh, I’d date them,’ without months of endless pining.”

“Yeah, crushes are nasty beasts, anyway,” Virgil said, wrinkling his nose. “Why would you want to pine after people for months? It’s not fun.”

Dee shrugged. “It might make me feel normal?” he signed, eyebrows raising at the end like a question.

“Normal is overrated,” Logan said, before promptly flipping how he was sitting on the couch so his head was closest to the floor. “Take it from your local transgender man. Normal isn’t always what you should want to be. And if you’re not normal, that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Yeah!” Patton exclaimed. “Like, I like skirts and I don’t feel like a boy, but that doesn’t get me down! I’m not ‘normal’ but I don’t want to be!”

“Is there even such a thing as ‘normal’?” Virgil contemplated.

“Okay, if we’re getting philosophical we’re stopping this conversation,” Dad said, raising his hands in surrender. “We don’t need any existential crises keeping you boys up half the night. You need a full night’s sleep, no matter what plans you have the next day.”

“I read that having a regular sleep schedule is key to feeling well rested,” Logan said, raising his arm and pointing to the ceiling. “That doesn’t mean sleeping at night and staying awake all day, it means more...going to bed at the same time every day and sleeping for the same amount of hours. And it takes a while to set up that schedule, but only a couple days to fff...fudge it up.”

Roman laughed. “Oh, you nearly got yourself in huge trouble, Logan.”

“Why?” Dee signed. “What was he gonna say?”

“He was going to say an adult word, I think,” Patton said.

Virgil had a mischievous glint in his eyes as he said, “I know which one!”

“What’s an adult word?” Dee asked.

“Oh...uh...words that adults use a lot?” Logan said. “Taxes, politics, financials. That sort of thing?”

“That’s not true,” Virgil sang. “Well, adults may use it a lot, but you would not get in trouble for saying ‘financials.’”

Roman was making a cut motion across his neck, but Virgil ignored him.

“What was he going to say, then?” Dee asked.

“Virgil, if you tell Dee what Logan was about to say, you will be having a very long talk with myself and Dad,” Ami warned.

Virgil considered that information, and Roman was surprised that Virgil would visibly show he might ignore that warning and say the word anyway. “Maybe I’ll tell you later, Dee,” Virgil said. “It’s something that shouldn’t be repeated. At least, not around adults.”

“Not at all,” Ami warned again. “You don’t want to wind up with a talk, do you?”

Virgil shrugged. “I don’t really give a—”

“Woah, goodnight everybody!” Emile exclaimed. “Virgil, you’re having that talk now anyway. Everybody else, get ready for bed, please.”

Roman was chuckling a little as he went upstairs. “Kid’s got guts,” he whispered to Logan.

“More than I do,” Logan said. “Would you have done that?”

“Not with my mom, for sure,” Roman said. “Here? I wouldn’t be punished, but I don’t like discipline either, so I’m not going to.”

Logan agreed. “Times may change, but some things never do. And that includes the rule about not swearing around kids or parents.”

“Yeah,” Roman said. He looked at the book in his hands. “I’m probably gonna read until light’s out, so night, Logan.”

“Night, Roman,” Logan said. “Congrats on one year of being in the family.”

Roman smiled. “Thanks.”

#we'll carry on #sanders sides fanfiction #roman sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #our creations #danger gays

11 notes · View notes

oathkeeper-of-tarth · 6 years

Text

Swordsmithing For Beginners And Experts

First of all, a big shoutout to the many folks who encouraged this with long convos, brainstorming sessions, comfy headcanon exchanges, and the like. In particular @fatalcookies and nagginggargoyle (whose tumblr is sadly gone) for kickstarting most of this. Then the long-suffering @ajora, @dr-jekyl, @elexuscal, @jeejyboard, and @meskime, true champs. Parts of this were fun, easy fluff, and parts of it felt like some of the toughest stuff I’ve written (looking at you, anything post-ASPR). I hope I’ve done it all justice, because I adore these two and they deserve the best. I’d love to hear what you all think, as this has really been a long time coming.

A series of looks into that shared history Pearl values so much; some sweet, some bitter, but most somewhere in between, and featuring several swords. Or, in traditional terms: Five times Bismuth and Pearl kissed, and one time they didn’t. Bismuth/Pearl, with mentions of others, most prominently Rose and Garnet. ~9700 words, no special warnings.

---

Swordsmithing For Beginners And Experts

I. Smelt

“So, this is it, huh?”

Bismuth grunted as she came to lean against a half-wrecked pillar, legs weak and watery - a very far cry from what she’d seen lapis lazulis wield to carve up and shape the faces of entire worlds. Dust stung her eyes and filled the dim hallway, but she tried to catch a glimpse of her companion anyway.

“Could have… could have thought of worse ways to go, really. We gave as good as we got - better, even.” She squinted and tried to focus, but saw nothing but an outline, brief flashes fading in and out of clarity through the murky haze surrounding her - be it the debris, the crack in her gem, or both, it didn’t matter much anymore. “This entire base is definitely a loss, as is the mining operation. They’ll remember us yet.”

“Well, I’m not done just yet,” Pearl turned to face her and finally came close enough to be seen, glitching hand desperately clinging to her remaining unbroken sword, voice kept sharper than the blade. “And neither are you.”

“Oh yeah? How do you know that?” Bismuth gave a weak grin and cupped a hand protectively over her own cracked gem, fingers clenching painfully. Even the movement of sliding down to sit against the hewn stone behind her seemed to cause parts of her to grind achingly against one another.

It looked and felt like good, solid work, and it had been hard to bring down - not hers, but probably one of the bismuths she’d known before… Before. Who knew where any of them were now? Probably shipped off-planet, long gone, all construction suspended until the uprising was taken care of...

“Because,” Pearl breathed, but it was enough to bring Bismuth back to the present, aching yet real and as solid as the rock pressed against her, “I know you.”

“Look, Pearl, I’m flattered, but we’re both not doing too hot right now. Moss is… gone.” Bismuth swallowed painfully, trying not to think about the glint of dark green shards she’d only glimpsed. “A-and I don’t think reinforcements will know where to find us - not in time, anyway.”

Pearl harrumphed, free hand going to her forehead almost in reflex, brushing against her gem. “It’s just a little hairline crack. I’ve had far worse, and so have you, and it failed to stop us. Besides, what kind of defeatist talk is that? That’s not like you at all. And Moss... I-I didn’t get to know her very well, admittedly, but I’m certain she wouldn’t want the time she bought us to go to waste.”

Bismuth sighed. “I know! I know, okay. I’m just... tired.” She allowed her eyes to drift shut, and her head to fall back to rest against the cool stone. “It’s been a long while, you know? And we keep losing people, and Homeworld just keeps bringing more Gems in, and it all feels like it will never be over - well, except like this. And believe me, I don’t want this any more than you do, but I’m really having trouble seeing an out right now.”

“Listen to them!” Pearl hissed, making Bismuth jolt out of her increasingly gloomy reverie and back into full awareness once again. Despite her failing hold on her own physical form and the telling way the tip of her sword was drooping low enough to scrape against the ground, Pearl made an effort to encompass with one gesture the entire dusty ruin of the deliberately caved-in passage separating them from their pursuers and would-be captors - or executioners.

Bismuth frowned, and tried to pick out anything at all from among the muffled noises of Gems hard at work attempting to break through and finish off the last of the intruding rebels. Failed, with their ruckus melding painfully with the pounding in her head and the ache lodged as deep in her chest as was possible, almost rending her apart. But Pearl didn’t leave her waiting for too long. “They’re laughing at us! Well they’re wrong. They take one look at us and think they know everything there is to know about us, a pearl and a bismuth – how much could there possibly be to know, right? But they don’t know anything. And we can show them!”

Bismuth squinted up at her - hardly the angle she was used to viewing Pearl from, but she had to admit it was a flattering one. Pearl was a magnificent sight to behold when angry and so passionately defiant. A sight she wouldn’t mind calling inspirational, even. She’d made enough very fine swords while drawing from that particular well, after all. “You’re really working hard on the whole rousing speech thing, huh?”

Pearl blushed, the usually vibrant blue muted under the dust of the collapsed ceiling, and seemed to consider something for a few long moments.

Then she leaned down, and kissed Bismuth soundly.

“Woah,” Bismuth managed eloquently once they’d broken apart, dazed in a much more pleasant way than she’d been.

“You’re... always the one bolstering everyone else. I thought-” Pearl stammered to a pause, fingers splayed over her own lips. “Someone should be around to help when you need it. It’s only fair.”

“It’s only fair,” Bismuth agreed, focusing on the clarity and sharpness and focus Pearl’s form held, so close to her now.

“Yes. Well. And there’s more where that came from,” Pearl muttered, one hand alighting gently on Bismuth’s shoulder, the other still defiantly struggling to hold up her sword.

This time, Bismuth felt a smile pull at her, and let it crack through the tired layer of dust and grime. “Is that right?”

“Yes,” Pearl’s tone brooked no argument whatsoever. “And you’re going to get up, and we’re both walking right out of here. And once we’re back at the base-”

Another kiss, this one leaving them both grinning, pain and discomfort and encroaching, grasping hopelessness abandoned by the wayside in favour of a heady spark of determination.

“Well,” Bismuth had to quip, “that’s one way of offering encouragement.”

It wasn’t so hard, then, to get to her feet, and to stumble on out, together, leaning on each other.

II. Forge

The first thing Pearl felt when she reformed were two bulky arms wrapped around her tightly. This wasn’t exactly unprecedented, as she’d been the willing victim of a celebratory toss or two courtesy of the same set of wonderfully strong arms on several previous occasions. It was also far from what she’d term unpleasant, even if the hold was getting rather vise-like.

“You can let go now,” Pearl managed to squeak out, barely. “I can stand on my own, I promise.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want to,” Pearl felt Bismuth mumble where her face was buried into her neck, the slightest tickle of warm breath against her shoulder, and the arms around her squeezed a bit tighter. “Maybe I’m worried that the moment those quick little feet touch the ground, you’ll be off throwing yourself at a five-quartz fusion again. What were you thinking?”

The citrines had been cutting a swath through the Crystal Gem vanguard, and quickly making for the hilltop overlook - for Rose, who had been preoccupied with the right flank. The decision had been quite easy and clear in Pearl’s mind at the time. To muddle matters further, Bismuth often showed open appreciation for what she called Pearl’s “stunts”, so seeing her this upset was a bit odd - and really, there was hardly much reason for her to worry. Rose’s tears meant physical recovery, even after a thoroughly cracked gem, never took too long. The rest of it was, perhaps, a different matter, but Pearl, drained by the hasty regeneration and still getting her bearings, didn’t particularly feel like arguing. She breathed a relieved little sigh when Bismuth set her down and let go of her, seemingly giving up on demanding answers and justifications.

Pearl looked around properly for the first time since she’d reformed, taking in the tent they were in, peeking out at what little she could see of the camp through the opened flap - not much, as it was dark outside. “Is… is the battle still going on?”

“A bit of a lull at the moment, but yeah. We’re expecting them to hit us with fresh reinforcements soon. You’re just in time,” Bismuth sighed, then turned to grab something from behind her and present it to Pearl.

“Here, guess you’ll be needing this.” She held out a sword. Pearl’s sword - not in a state to qualify as good as new, perhaps, but a far cry from how Pearl had last seen it, snapped under a citrine’s boot - a boot which had then proceeded to come down, mercilessly, on the dazed, sprawled form of Pearl herself.

“Oh!” She rushed to take it, feel the familiar grip under her palm. It was one of her personal favourites, simple but sleek and delightfully well-balanced, and even briefly seeing it in pieces had been upsetting, to say the least. “You fixed it!”

There was an odd air that Pearl couldn’t quite parse around the look on Bismuth’s face again. “I patched it up as well as I could out here. Should do for another few battles, as long as you’re a bit careful and don’t go after any more armoured citrine fusions with it. After that, though, you’re gonna need a new one.”

Pearl gripped the sword to her chest with both hands, fidgeting in place. “Thank you. I should- I should go and catch up with Rose. See what the plans are, how everything is going...”

“And offer some of your suggestions and corrections, no doubt,” Bismuth chuckled, placing a hand on Pearl’s back. “There’s just no slowing you down, is there?”

“Never,” Pearl agreed, even as her legs still felt slightly wobbly and all the cocky, daring challenge wasn’t back in the tilt of her chin just yet.

The smile Bismuth gave her had an element to it that could almost be called resigned as they stepped outside together. The nearly full moon provided enough light for all to see the banner of the Crystal Gems flying above the encampment, fluttering in the light night breeze, showing a bit of wear but still unquestionably proud and defiant.

Sometimes, Pearl fancied she could feel a matching fluttering in her own chest at the sight. It was an odd conceit, perhaps, and rather human, but there was something profound about seeing the standard made real like that, crafted out of surprisingly sturdy Earth materials and so utterly and undeniably tangible, when it had started off as little more than a dream turned into a light blue flicker projected into the darkness of a moon base.

“The rebel flag is pink, of course - a light rose quartz pink with darker accents. The vines set in a cross- no, no, quartering diagonally might work better- yes, behind the petals, just like that. I’m not entirely sure I like the thorn distribution just yet. Symmetrical would look much better, wouldn’t you say, My Di-”

And there was Rose Quartz, of course, right underneath her banner, just as sturdy and Earth-made and battle-worn.

“Hey, Pearl,” Bismuth’s voice, warm and reverberating and grounding all at once, startled Pearl out of her reverie and stopped her in her tracks after a few steps she wasn’t entirely aware of having made. She seemed far more solemn all of a sudden, even as her smile was still there. “Stick around, okay?”

Pearl chuckled nervously. “What do you mean? I have no plans of going anywhere anytime soon, stars know-”

“No, I mean,” Bismuth allowed a bit of frustration to seep into her voice, and placed both her hands on Pearl’s shoulders, enveloping them completely. “I don’t want to have to fix that sword again in the next few days, you hear?”

She clearly caught Pearl’s quick little glance to the flag and its general, both overlooking the battlefield-to-be.

“Look at her over there: big, strong quartz, with a big, fancy shield and, not to sing my own praises, but a damn fancy sword - she’ll be fine. And I know you, and I know you’re a little daredevil at heart, and we all love seeing you pull off those amazing moves you have.” Pearl smiled at this, and Bismuth smiled back, just a bit more outwardly light-hearted. “But believe me, she needs you by her side more than she needs you in front of her, taking hits for her.”

She coaxed Pearl to look up at her. “And hey, I need you around too.”

Pearl squirmed, and choked out the beginnings of a nervous protest. “Bismuth, I… Why this concern all of a sudden?”

“Trust me, the concern is the furthest thing from sudden. I hate seeing you get hurt like that.”

She turned away for a moment, that bit of frustration showing once again as she ran a hand through her hair. Pearl’s eyes followed the always distracting colours, bright and buoying even at night, even in the murkiest fog of the most terrifying, overwhelming battlefield.

“Need some enticement? How about this - come find me after the battle. No rushed regenerations, no Rose crying over you, no being carried by Garnet. Just you on your own two feet. And I’ll make you the fanciest sword you’ve ever seen.” Bismuth held out a hand. “Deal?”

Pearl took it, passingly fascinated by the way her hand completely disappeared in Bismuth’s own, and nodded. “Deal.”

Then Bismuth pulled her in and hugged her tight, and Pearl could think of no better way to seal the arrangement then to rise to tiptoe and give Bismuth a quick kiss, ducking back into the embrace before she could even hope to respond.

“You and your pep talks,” she murmured. “You’ve become far too good at those, you know.”

“What can I say? Gotta grow that skillset, right? We won’t always be at war, and not everyone is a collector like you, so I figure the demand for swords and such is going to be pretty low. And a Gem has to,” Bismuth grinned, and Pearl groaned, burying her face in her broad chest, knowing exactly what was coming, “stay in bismuth somehow, right?”

Pearl’s cheek felt warm where it was pressed against Bismuth, right next to her gem. The deceptively simple statement rang in the negligible space between them still. We won’t always be at war.

It stretched out before them all, the battlefield, seemingly endless and glittering with shards of friends and companions they’d already lost, and those they were yet to lose, and a rough, rushing sea of those desperate to put a stop to them and their cause. But the thought that there would be an end, that there was something else on the other side of it, something bright, and better, and for all of them to share - that, Pearl had to admit, felt like something one could fight for. Something to stay alive for.

The perimeter warnings rang out, and all around them the temporary encampment burst into rushed activity.

“See you on the other side, eh?” The hope in Bismuth’s voice was almost tangible.

Pearl nodded, determined as ever but promising nothing, then dashed off into the night.

III. Temper

On long nights like these, Pearl was the only Gem with her in the Forge. Mostly perched on a variety of surfaces she knew Bismuth wouldn’t need too soon, keeping her company and keeping herself out of the way. It was something she was disconcertingly good at, and Bismuth hated to think where and how she’d had to hone that particular skill.

But Pearl had proven herself to be the ideal companion during all the long, repetitive, slow, and sometimes frustrating processes that went into Bismuth’s craft. She seemed to understand better than near anyone Bismuth had come to know the devotion to perfecting an art, and the satisfaction of a job well done.

Bismuth, in turn, had spent long days and nights watching Pearl train, run sword drills, strive - and struggle - to perfect a single move over and over and over again. She felt immensely honoured to have been trusted with this, with the bitter bite of frustration at hitting a wall, at having to work against everything you had been made for, in order to be able to do what you wanted to and what you felt was right. They’d both had to learn so much - all of them had. And she’d wanted to curse and rail against her own limitations and mourn the knowledge and skills she’d been denied, just as much as she suspected Pearl did with her own imposed fragility and conditioned subservience.

But there was the other side of it, too: the dedication paying off and then some, the thrill of finally overcoming, the joy of progress that was hard to match. That click of things falling into place after refusing to for so long, and seeing, at long last, the wonderful end product.

(And then, sometimes much later, sometimes after mere hours, seeing how it truly fared on the battlefield.)

This particular project hadn’t been one of the more arduous ones she’d undertaken, but it did come with a certain weight and meaning attached. And a good, sharp edge on a sword was important, but hardening it too much into brittleness would be disastrous, both as a risk in battle, and as a painful and somewhat ironic reminder of the fate of Pearl’s last sword. She wanted nothing but the very best for Pearl - as was absolutely deserved.

And besides, she’d promised.

“One last quick dip, aaaaaand… done. Here you go,” Bismuth flipped the sword over in her hands after one final inspection, and offered it hilt-first through the rapidly dispersing steam. “Freshly cooled and ready.”

Pearl grasped it expertly (and, to Bismuth’s not-so-secret delight, eagerly), hopping down from her anvil perch. She gave it a few quick trial swings before settling the blade to see-saw on one outstretched finger. “Lovely balance. Exquisite as always, Bismuth.”

Bismuth felt warm, a warmth that had nothing to do with the surrounding lava, but a lot to do with the way Pearl’s eyes gleamed in the red-orange light, awe-widened and appreciative and appraising and critical and knowledgeable all at once.

“What are you doing?” She asked, reverie interrupted as Pearl held the sword back out to her, both arms outstretched, expectant.

Pearl seemed genuinely confused. “I’m… giving it back…?”

“What would you do that for?” To underline her point, Bismuth wrapped Pearl’s hands around the sword more firmly, and pushed it gently back towards her. “It’s yours!”

Pearl’s eyes grew larger still, reflecting the forgelight in a noticeably more watery fashion. “For me?”

“I made it just for you! I promised, didn’t I? I’m a Gem of my word.”

It took a moment for Pearl to look back up from the sword now held tight against her chest. “It’s beautiful, Bismuth, thank you so much, I-”

“Hey, hey come here,” Bismuth would never get tired of the way her hands engulfed Pearl’s narrow shoulders. Such a tiny thing, seeming so deceptively fragile, always ready to spring into action and all but thrumming with nervous and defiant energy. She’d called her Rose’s once, and never again. Not anyone’s, Pearl had said with more steel than it had taken to make both of her first swords, not anyone’s, Bismuth had agreed, and that was that.

It was beautiful and Bismuth loved everything about it.

Do you, now? What else do you love?

Bismuth cleared her suddenly oddly gummy throat, and quashed that distracting little voice. “Really nice job out there yesterday. They had no idea what hit ‘em.”

Pearl hummed an absent-minded agreement, still busy tracing careful fingers over the intricate, winding design of the quillons.

Bismuth scoffed, and tried for a different approach. “So it looks pretty, I agree - which is nice enough, I guess. But I was wondering more along the lines of… is it any good in a fight? I was trying out a few new things, went about making the crossguard a bit differently, shifted the balance just a tad, as you’ve noticed...” Pearl was nodding along, the living embodiment of interested, inspecting every inch of the sword as if she was seeing it for the first time. “So what do you say? Wanna give it a test run?”

Pearl’s delight was palpable, and her grin was absolutely infectious. “Oh, do I.”

So Bismuth grinned right back. It didn’t take a lot to have the anvil move just a bit to the right and out of their way. “Come on then, show me what you got - I’m not going easy on you today.”

The new sword flashed with all the reds and oranges of the forge as it arced through the hot air. “You wouldn’t dare to.”

And Bismuth absolutely wasn’t planning to, firmly planting her feet and shifting one hand into an axe. She swatted away the first few testing and probing strikes Pearl aimed at her, and refused to fall for any of her provocations and blatantly deliberate openings, no matter how fancy her footwork or how elaborate her cuts.

“Come on, Pearl, we don’t need warmups. I know you can do better than that!”

Oh, but that quick, sneaky, tricky little Pearl-

A mere second of distraction as Pearl seemed to so utterly convincingly dash to her left was somehow more than enough. Bismuth was off her feet and sprawled on the floor, left with nothing to do but stare down - up? - the blade she had so recently been working on, all the way up to Pearl’s eyes, playfully crinkled in a delightfully familiar smirk.

The next moment, the sword was gone, replaced with Pearl leaning down and pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to Bismuth’s lips.

“It’s wonderful,” she murmured. “Thank you.”

The warmth was definitely well past the point of a gentle forge-glow now. “Wonderful yourself. Fancy new moves, huh? Haven’t seen that one before.”

“Oh, hush, your charm won’t work on me.” The way Pearl adjusted to lie against Bismuth’s shoulder and trace a finger around her collarbone seemed to suggest otherwise, however, and Bismuth chuckled.

“But swords will?”

“What can I say? You know me too well.”

IV. Sharpen

It had been such a close call.

Sometimes it felt to Pearl like she was just waiting for the drop, for that one awful moment that would bring the entire thing down and send it tumbling into nothing. One misstep on her part, or on Rose’s - or on Pink’s - just one, just a tad too badly timed to recover from, and it could all be over so easily. And this whole incident with White Diamond - White Diamond! - sending over Gems from her court had come far, far too close.

The Crystal Gems had built up such an incredible, sprawling dream of a thing - but Bismuth would certainly have something to say about building on, well, not even shaky, but entirely non-existent foundations. If they could ever talk about it, that was. Maybe, once it was all over - over with them having won, of course - they could all sit down, perhaps in the comfortable warmth of the Forge when Bismuth wasn’t working, and Pearl could-

“Pearl!”

Speaking of.

“Hello, Bism- oof!”

The ground was gone from under her feet, and the sight of their current base camp was rotating around her fairly rapidly. But Pearl found herself in a familiar and reliable pair of arms, and relaxed, resigned to waiting until Bismuth was done celebrating.

“Pearl, you were amazing,” she enthused, somewhere in the vicinity of Pearl’s stomach after the latest joyful bounce. “That was the most spectacular thing I’ve ever seen.”

The arena duel and ensuing scuffle had been an absolutely harrowing experience for a multitude of reasons, but Bismuth didn’t need to know that - at least, not right now. Maybe one day in that promised bright future Pearl would be able to tell her all about how there had been moments during the fight when she’d been so sure the White Court Gems knew exactly who she was and what was going on, and were only toying with her before destroying both her and everything she’d ever fought for.

But they couldn’t have known, could they? It had to have been her nervous imagination in the face of an incredibly dangerous challenge, and juggling demands for Pink Diamond to make incredibly inconvenient appearances. After all, they hadn’t said anything outside of the by now expected jibes related to Pearl being, well, a pearl. And those she’d had more than enough practice with.

“You sure showed them!”

“Yes,” Pearl agreed weakly, but Bismuth’s joy was so contagious she couldn’t stay glum and worried and contemplative for too long. “Yes, I suppose I did.”

“Suppose? You beat White Diamond’s fearsome Milky Quartz champion! Single-handedly!”

And it was true, it really was. There had been no careful ruse or advantage gleaned from access to both sides of the conflict, or plain lies. Just her and her opponent, and all of her hard-won skill.

“I did, didn’t I?” Pearl acknowledged, the last of her hesitation melting away slowly but surely.

“I’m so proud of you. And hey, you did it using swords that I made, in an arena I built. I’ve gotta take at least some credit, right?”

Pearl laughed right along, and threw her arms around whatever part of Bismuth she could reach. After a few more exclamations of joy and twirls so exuberant Pearl felt for a moment they might end up fusing, Bismuth put her back down, but didn’t let go of her fully. Instead, she bent down as if in a courtly bow - she, who’d never gotten near even a whiff of any court - and gently took hold of one of Pearl’s hands.

“I have yet to meet someone I’m more honoured to equip. I do so love these hands, so strong - the way they wield a good sword, like none other!” She took the time to place a kiss on each tiny, pale fingertip, and Pearl felt her entire face burn. “My favourite patron, if I was one to play favourites.”

Pearl giggled, then took a knee and with a deliberately over-the-top flourish drew Bismuth’s hand into her own, and planted a kiss on its back.

“And I like these,” Pearl supplied, turning over the much larger hand between her palms. “So gentle and careful and skilled. I’m honoured I get to watch them craft the finest and most detailed of etching on the most elegant of blades.”

A truly flustered Bismuth was a beautiful rarity, and Pearl carefully committed to memory every second. “Sweet-talker,” Bismuth mumbled, with noticeably dusky cheeks.

Pearl smirked. “Maybe you shouldn’t test me.”

“Well, you know I like this too, this clever, clever head,” Bismuth shot back and playfully poked at Pearl’s forehead, just underneath her gem. “Even if you do get stuck in there a bit. You always come back to us.”

It seemed to be Pearl’s turn to be flustered once again. “Need- ahem. I do need a bit of a hand with that sometimes.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that!” Bismuth proclaimed, pulling Pearl back up to her feet and slinging a casual arm over her shoulders. “Oh, speaking of heads. You know, I’ve been wondering, thinking about some stuff…”

Pearl grinned up at her, comfortably ensconced between arm and chest and momentarily utterly without complaints. “Mm, dangerous.”

“I know, right?” Bismuth gleefully grinned back. “So, what I wanted to know is… How’d you feel about armour? Think about it - something light but durable. Elegant while sturdy and protective. Flexible in all the right places.”

Pearl raised a thoughtful hand to her mouth. It was a tempting thought, but... “Oh, I don’t know. I rely on speed and mobility so much, it might be counterproductive...”

“Let me try? I think I have some really good ideas about how to make it work with your strengths. I’ve been itching for a project like that, a good challenge. You don’t need to do much, I’ll only need you for a few fittings. Besides… we’re fairly well-prepared at the moment, so nothing better to do during a lull in the fighting, right?”

A thousand replies crowded Pearl’s thoughts immediately upon hearing that, endless courtly and colony-to-be related duties required for keeping up appearances. At least the war being in full swing and the rebellion being at its apparent peak meant the lack of Pink Diamond’s signature balls and parties wasn’t as suspicious as it could have been.

But Bismuth was so earnestly excited and curious in that way Pearl knew and loved so well. And the images suddenly flooding her mind were extremely tempting, visions of herself gleaming and imposing on the battlefield - iridescent, perhaps - facing down Gems who thought less of her than the grit under their feet with a bit more of a fair chance, leading a valiant charge, banner in hand, Garnet and Bismuth by her side, rushing to Rose’s rescue-

“I’ve, uh, actually been working on some things already,” came Bismuth’s voice again, slightly bashful at her own eagerness. “Some early prototypes for articulated joints, nothing much. Was hoping you’d be down to try them out.”

Pearl beamed. “I’d be honoured.”

Homeworld, however, decided not to be so lenient as to allow them much downtime for experimentation and creativity. Worst of all, the current batch of attacks were mostly Yellow Diamond’s doing, meaning there was very little deliberate stalling or misdirection available to easily increase the Crystal Gems’ chances.

Pearl had managed to make it to only a few initial armour fittings, all during lovely and impressively productive but sadly rare hours in the Forge, and growing rarer still. Today was particularly subdued, and Pearl found herself listlessly sitting on the anvil as Bismuth rummaged around her workshop.

She seemed distracted so much of the time recently. But then, so was Pearl. Losses were mounting, Yellow and Blue Diamond were demanding another formal meeting with Pink, and excuses both she and Rose kept coming up with were wearing thin…

“I know we don’t have long today, but I thought you might want to see how I’ve started on the pauldrons.”

Pearl hummed in vague agreement, preoccupied with the looming upcoming battle and the ambush they were setting up. The ziggurat was a key strategic point on the main front of their current highly vexing conflict with Yellow Diamond’s forces. If they triumphed decisively enough, it just might prove sufficient to make her take at least a temporary step back, reconsider her insistence on interfering, and leave Pink Diamond to her own devices and colony-related fumbling. For educational purposes, if nothing else.

At least for a little while.

As she felt more than saw Bismuth fiddling around with bits of metal plate and straps around her left shoulder, Pearl sighed, and tried her best to focus on the here and now. One of her eternal weaknesses. “How have you been, Bismuth? I feel like I’ve seen less of you than usual lately.”

“Miss seeing me around, huh?” Bismuth grinned teasingly, though even that felt like a shadow of its former self.

Pearl’s expression and voice both softened. “You know I always do.”

“Aw, Pearl. I’ve just been busy around the Forge. And you know me, I’m perfectly fine - love tearing down Homeworld values. It’s an invigorating start to every morning. And sometimes they go down faster than toppling worn pillars in an outdated arena scheduled for demolition.”

Pearl cracked a small smile at that, but didn’t seem too convinced. “Well, if you’re sure.”

“You know I always am when it comes to that. Hm,” Bismuth jostled the pauldron-to-be hanging precariously off Pearl’s shoulder. “Yeah, this won’t work, I’ll need to space the buckles differently.”

As Bismuth moved away, Pearl caught a glimpse of the darkening sky outside and jerked upright, fully alert. “Oh, it’s so late! I need to go help with the final plans and preparation.”

Taking the ziggurat just might prove key to holding the entire hotly contested area, so Pearl wasn’t about to take any chances. And maybe… maybe that nice time After would creep just a bit closer after this victory.

Bismuth seemed deep in thought, and didn’t react or reply until Pearl hopped down from the anvil and stood right in front of her.

“Sorry,” she chuckled, jolting out of her own reverie. “Just… have a lot on my mind right now. And with the big battle any moment now and everything… it gets...”

Bismuth trailed off again, staring at the slowly bubbling lava. Pearl put a hand on her shoulder, rubbing what she thought might be soothing circles into it, trying very hard to think only of the upcoming battle and not of the last few calls they’d received on the diamond communicator, or of how Blue Diamond’s proclaimed disappointment might mean she was planning to make another personal visit.

“It gets to be a bit too much, doesn’t it just?” Pearl murmured.

As her hand traced down Bismuth’s back and felt her nod, Pearl marvelled, too, at the always eye-catching contrast between their builds. How different she and Bismuth were at first glance, but how similar they could be, and how well they fit together. How well they understood one another.

“So what’s troubling you?” Bismuth broke the brief silence. “Pre-battle jitters got you?”

...When circumstances allowed.

“Yes, that’s probably it.”

“Knowing you, you’ll be right as rain as soon as the fighting actually starts.” Bismuth was only partially teasing - Pearl knew her to be absolutely right. There was nothing quite like the very immediate danger of a battle to help one focus on the present, after all. “Hey, could you do me a favour? When you see her, let Rose know I need to talk to her as soon as she has time.”

“Of course.”

“Thanks,” Bismuth smiled, small and simple, but it did seem to reach her eyes. “And I’ll see you at the battlefield, I guess, if you come check in with the left flank.”

Something made Pearl stop before leaving with just a casual wave of her hand, drove her to turn her back to the steep exit out the slope of the volcano and dash back to Bismuth’s side.

“Here,” she leaned over and gave her a soft, restrained, but still heartfelt kiss, and wished she could give so much more. “For luck, as the humans say, just in case I don’t see you until after the fight.”

Bismuth happily pulled her back in before she could rush off again and held her close, as wonderfully warm and sturdy as ever. Pearl allowed herself several moments of surprisingly calm contentment. Bismuth’s hand cupped the back of her head gently but reassuringly, her large palm ruffling Pearl’s hair. “I’m hoping that maybe we won’t need luck anymore, soon.”

Pearl hummed in agreement. “I’d like that. Relying on ourselves, our own skills and wits and capabilities, not odd extraneous factors beyond anyone’s control.”

“That’s right,” Bismuth continued softly, still toying with the ends of Pearl’s hair. “And all of us, who we are, what we can do... we sure are impressive enough. They’ll see.”

Pearl tilted her head up to receive another kiss, and it felt so easy to forget, and believe.

V. Polish

To say the familiar form cresting the hill by the Temple was a welcome surprise would be the understatement of the past several millennia.

“Bismuth?” Pearl managed to breathe out somehow, already up on her feet and scrambling to cover the distance between them, not even pausing to shake off the sand she’d been sitting in. “How-? But everyone was- you were- where-?”

“I’ll explain everything, just- woah!” Bismuth’s attempt at a placating gesture was interrupted when Pearl collided with her full force, almost sending them both sprawling into the grass, or tumbling down the slope and into the sea.

There would be time for explanations later. For now, Pearl had to soak in the familiar feeling of her, gripping her apron, a hand, an arm, any part of her she could reach. When the fluttering in her chest got too much, she buried her head in Bismuth’s shoulder and promptly burst into tears.

“Aw, Pearl, come on, you know you’ll have me- aw, look, there I go,” Bismuth sniffled loudly in return, patting her trembling back clumsily.

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it… I can’t believe you’re here! I thought I’d never see you again. You missed so much…” Pearl’s grip around her arm tightened until she seemed to be determined to wrap her entire self around the limb.

“Hey,” Bismuth chuckled through the tears, “at least I’m lucky you like us big, sentimental types.”

“I think I’m the lucky one here,” Pearl shot back, a pale shade of their usual banter to her words. She squinted up through her tears, trying to take in everything about the Gem before her, feeling a growing determination to never let her out of her sight again.

Another thing suddenly felt incredibly important to let Bismuth know, even if words weren’t exactly cooperating with Pearl at the moment. “I’ve… I’ve taken good care of them. You’ll see. They’re in my room, the sabers, the matching rapiers, the kaskara, all of them… as sharp as the day you made them. Absolutely flawless, I made sure.”

“I knew you would, I knew they were in the best of hands,” came the reply, a soft rumble from just above, and Pearl felt her hand encased in a much larger one. “You know I trust you with way more than just swords, Pearl.”

You shouldn’t, you shouldn’t, oh, if you only knew...

Bismuth then cupped her face with her free hand, work-roughened as always, but, as always, so very gentle with everything that demanded it, be it delicate filigree work or wiping away tears. Just like Pearl remembered.

“Any of the others around? I should say hi.” That ever-charming grin was bright on Bismuth’s face. “Garnet and I should really go for a dip a bit later. Bet she’s missed having company, with only you cute little melty types around.”

“Uh, excuse me,” Pearl managed to sound indignant just fine, stray remnants of tears notwithstanding. “I am certainly not ‘melty’.”

Bismuth playfully poked her nose, then hugged her to her chest, where Pearl nestled in happily. And it didn’t seem to matter at all how she’d managed to suddenly and miraculously return after five thousand years, or where she’d been, or how she knew who was around to welcome her back.

“Dunno. Seemed pretty melty to me just now.”

To her endless consternation, Pearl started crying once again.

“Oh, Pearl, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“No, no, it’s not that! It’s...” Pearl wiped at her eyes, to very little effect. “You’re back. I thought I’d lost you a-and… we’ve just… lost so much. So much. It’s not fair.”

“Hey, now, none of that,” Bismuth carefully pulled Pearl’s hands away from her face and held them between hers lightly, the very embodiment of tenderness. “I’m right here, and I’m not leaving you again. Not if I can help it.”

Then she leaned down just a bit, just enough to seal the promise with a kiss.

Pearl jolted out of the reverie just as their lips met, and found herself just as alone, sand-dusted, and forgotten as when she’d first sunk into it. The stone of the Temple’s hand was cold and rough and unwelcoming against her back, and traces of sea spray made the diaphanous shawl hang forlornly around her shoulders. Nothing at all like… like...

It wasn’t the first fantastical daydream she’d conjured up tonight, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. She knew how she could get, when left to her own devices like this, and it had only gotten worse since Rose had announced her grand plan to... disappear. This particular instance just seemed to have more of a sting than Pearl had been prepared for.

Could you imagine?

Oh, she could. Could she ever! She had grown to be so very, very good at it. Hardly a surprise, though, when it so often seemed like she had so precious little left that was real, and so much she’d lost that she could never, ever get back - except like this, pale imitation or no.

What an unbearable feeling, to feel like she had lost everything, and yet was still somehow about to lose even more.

Pearl lowered her head back into her arms and burst into bitter tears.

VI. Wield

The night was a clear one, a gentle sea breeze driving away the last straggling wisps of cloud and putting the stars on full, glorious display. Bismuth let herself enjoy both the view and the sensation of the wind toying with her hair and the ends of her apron. It carried new, unfamiliar scents and sounds to her, reminding her of just how much she had to catch up on.

It both was and wasn’t the same sky she’d sat under and gazed up at before, the same stars she’d been ferried among from assignment to assignment. Being stuffed down in the holds of the cargo ships with the other bismuths hadn’t exactly given her the best view, but she’d managed to sneak a few quick observation deck visits here and there. Some of her earliest little rebellions: insisting she’d been sent to fix non-existent structural damage and stealing glimpses of asteroid fields and star systems and nebulae meant for more important and more valuable Gems than her.

And the sights had been impressive, certainly, but there was something to be said for the feeling of being grounded and solid and anchored that only the Earth had so far provided her. It felt natural, to dig deep into it, to stay close to its molten heart. It felt comfortable and familiar, even when she’d been a newcomer to the planet. It felt like the closest thing to home she could imagine for herself.

She buried her fingers in the sand for that extra little bit of grounding – it wasn’t much, but it would do for now.

The door of the beach house squeaked open, and she could hear the porch and stairs creak in response (wood!), followed by the soft padding of steps behind her. And there- there was the other part of home, far more important than merely the place. A home was no good empty, after all.

Bismuth turned as if to see who it was, even though she had more than a fairly good idea - she knew those quiet, ever-careful steps well. But Pearl was far too easily given to fretting and might have turned back and retreated amidst a chorus of second thoughts if she thought she’d gone unnoticed. Their eyes met, and Bismuth’s deliberate acknowledgement of her presence seemed to have done its job. Pearl very slowly walked over and sat down.

The silence was… strange. Nothing like the comfortable, companionable ones they’d gotten used to sharing during long working nights at the Forge. Small wonder - it was the first time they found themselves alone together after everything that had happened and everything that had finally come to light, and even the air felt heavy.

So they sat, a conspicuous and wrong-feeling distance between them. At least the ocean provided a nice backdrop, and Bismuth had to admit the regular rhythm of the waves lapping at the shore just loud enough to be heard was soothing.

“It’s been such a long time,” Pearl sighed at long last, after drawing her fifth perfect circle in the sand.

“Not for me.” It was more sad than anything, decidedly melancholy, but judging by the way Pearl winced some bitterness had still seeped through.

“I know. I didn’t mean… I just- I’m really glad you’re back! I’m so glad you and Steven worked things out and we can...” Pearl trailed off feebly, leaving just what it was they could all now do up in the air.

“It’s ok, Pearl, listen- I shouldn’t have fought the poor kid. I mean, didn’t exactly mean to, I thought…” Bismuth stumbled. “I didn’t believe him, and... well. I’m just glad I didn’t hurt him. He certainly doesn’t need more on his plate, or me adding to the… mess.”

Pearl made a little noise of frustration, and obliterated all her carefully drawn circles with one sweep of her hand. “It’s all so… complicated!”

“Not everything, maybe.” Bismuth tried for a grin, and a change of pace. “I heard about you and Peridot. Still striking fear into the hearts of new recruits who think they don’t need to respect you, huh? Just like old times.”

Pearl’s smile was grateful, so Bismuth pressed on. “And your most recent apprentice may be human, but she’s as impressive and dedicated as any Gem I’ve seen you train. The way she handles that sword is incredible.”

She was rewarded with a hum of acknowledgement this time, with Pearl preening just a little bit, and Bismuth tried, a bit too late, not to start thinking too deeply about the sword in question. About how apparently she and Rose had both felt the bite of the same blade, of the weapon she’d proudly called her finest work, yet to be topped (but she vowed, in the same breath, to try her utmost to grow beyond and surpass her own pink-hued best under Rose Quartz - and she would now have the time and chance to do so, hopefully).

And there it was, a subject she didn’t particularly want to broach, but that she knew would hang over them forever unless they dealt with it. Like a particularly stubborn pink cloud that insisted on throwing a pall over everything.

“You know,” Bismuth started off slow, tentative, and ginger in a way she wasn’t used to when approaching much of anything, “I’ve always admired Sapphire, the way she gave it all up, for Ruby, for Garnet, and then for all of us.”

Pearl had to have known what she was going for, but she didn’t say a word.

“And...” Well, here goes nothing. “What Rose did, it could have been just like that, right? She could have-”

Bismuth stopped herself, sighed, and dragged a weary hand over her face. “She could have done a lot of things. But she didn’t. And could have is the most useless couple of words in the galaxy, isn’t it?”

Pearl nodded, and looked up at her, surprisingly calm, and seemed to study her intently for a few moments. “You know, it’s a bit… ironic. You are so many things she so desperately wanted to be, and, well, never really could be. So many of the things I wanted her to be. Pretended she was. Hoped she would become...”

By the end, her eyes had dropped to the sand beside her, fingers once again tracing elaborate patterns in it. It could have been decorative lacework or the lines laying out a new circuit board - it was impossible to tell sometimes, with Pearl, the unlikely but wonderful meeting of both those worlds and a constant balancing act somewhere in between. Even more so than any of them had ever suspected, apparently - Bismuth had no idea how she felt about so much of it yet.

But there was one thing standing out to her that stung in a very particular, personal way. Bismuth’s smile was a sad, wry one. “Is that why it was always so easy for me to charm you? If you couldn’t exactly have your dream soldier girl from Earth turned glorious rebel leader, you could at least have the rough-and-tumble bismuth radical?”

Pearl’s face was aflame within seconds, and she sputtered. “I- no! It’s not like that! At all! I like you, I like who you are, and… and you’ve always been a charmer, and a terrible, terrible flirt.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t much like being the next best thing, or a consolation prize.”

“I don’t want you to be!” Pearl’s voice had risen in pitch a bit concerningly. “I just want you.”

Bismuth didn’t even have time to reel at the remarkably forward admission she wasn’t sure Pearl was fully aware of blurting out, or to ponder all the implications, because Pearl was forging ahead breathlessly.

“Just you. And you, you feel it all, and you let yourself feel it all, so very effortlessly. I know that was always a struggle for her. And the speeches, the encouragement, the banter. You just… do it, and get it, and there’s no other layer there, no possible ulterior motive, nothing separating you from everyone else. She never could manage that, no matter how much she wanted to.”

Bismuth harrumphed. “She could have lied a bit less, for starters. One burdensome layer gone, bam, just like that. And then we could all level the playing field on our terms, together.”

“It’s… not that simple.” Pearl was staring off into some vague mid-distance, with a look in her eyes that could only be described as lost. Bismuth decided very quickly that she hated it.

“Maybe not. But it could have been a lot simpler than it ended up being.”

Pearl sighed. “As a wise Gem recently told me, could haves won’t accomplish much.”

“Wise, am I now?” Despite the weak smile she tried to sustain, the mood was tangibly subdued. “I guess… I guess I didn’t know you too well after all, did I? All those hours together in the Forge, all those times you were upset about things it turns out I couldn’t have begun to understand, but thought I was getting absolutely right… I thought I was helping.”

“You were!” Pearl was so quick in her attempts to refute all doubts, she almost jumped up from her seat in the sand. “Oh, Bismuth, so much, you have no idea. I don’t know what I would have done without you so many of the times, I really don’t.”

“Well, you seem to have made it just fine after I… after I was gone. And don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you did. I’d never want you of all Gems to be...” She trailed off.

Pearl barked out an uncomfortably sharp, high bit of utterly unamused laughter. “Bismuth, quite honestly, I have been an absolute mess. There’s a part of me that’s almost glad you weren’t around to see.”

Bismuth’s brow furrowed deeply. “Hey, listen. It’s not your fault. You didn’t do any of those horrible things. It was…” Her? Them? Who were they, the Diamonds, the elites, Homeworld as a whole? Assigning blame had sure gone up in difficulty too.

“Maybe,” Pearl replied, obviously not believing that at all. “I’ve certainly done my fair share of awful blundering. Stars, just ask poor Garnet, she has not had an easy time thanks to me. And I could have handled so many things so much more gracefully, I-”

“Could haves,” Bismuth murmured again.

Pearl sighed, and her voice was small when she continued, slowly, as if she was picking out word by word. “It’s still so hard to believe that anything I do actually matters. That what I say means something to someone, that someone is actually listening and being affected - by me of all Gems. That my actions have weight, that they… really can make a difference. And that this can be both good and bad.”

She burst out in an unhappy laugh again, and Bismuth knew better than to interrupt, even as she hated seeing Pearl like this. “Oh, listen to me! All those centuries trying to assert myself, all that posturing and the sparring and showing off and arguing with Gems who thought themselves above me just to prove a point... and I never really proved the point to myself.”

Pearl rubbed a hand over her face. “Ahah, there I go, and you’ve only been back, what, a day? Clearly I’ve missed late night Forge confessions more than I thought.”

Bismuth gave her best sympathetic and not at all casual shrug. “Well, I bet being forced to keep those heavy, heavy secrets sure didn’t help.”

“I wasn’t even forced, at first. Sometimes I wish I’d taken the chance to tell someone, anyone. And afterwards, I should have tried harder. Should haves, yes, yes I know- but I’m so relieved! I’ve never felt lighter in my life, gravity constants be damned! But… but there’s a part of me that hates it, too, that’s so scared. Because… oh, you’ll all look at me differently now,” Pearl shook her head. “Hah, as if it matters. Stars, I’m such a coward.”

I don’t think you’re the coward, Bismuth wanted to say, but stopped. It felt a bit too much like picking a pointless fight just now. “She really did us dirty, huh.”

“You kept her secrets, too,” Pearl pointed out, sounding, to Bismuth’s ears, mildly accusing. “You never told us why you were in that bubble, or what you’d tried to do, or that you’d fought like that! That she- that she lied to us. That she lied to me.”

Pearl’s voice was so small and hurt by the end - really, all of her was - Bismuth felt herself getting choked up, while at the same time anger flared up in her chest. But there was a particular brand of overprotectiveness she knew Pearl despised, anything that made her feel like she was being treated as fragile, and so she squashed it all down the best she could.

“I guess I was trying to… I don’t know.” Besides, it wasn’t like she needed help making her answer a struggle. “I don’t even know what I was trying to do, or preserve. I believed in her so much, I-” Bismuth’s voice hitched, despite her best efforts. “I guess I shouldn’t have bothered, huh? But whatever she did to me, whoever she turned out to be, she still...”

“I know.”

There was a brief moment of hesitation, then Pearl reached over and laid a gentle hand over Bismuth’s. It was nothing like the exuberant tackle of their reunion, but it felt surprisingly solid in all its tenderness, and far more befitting the mood.

Pearl hummed. “I’ve been thinking, lately-”

Bismuth cocked an eyebrow. “Sounds dangerous.”

It got her the smile she’d been going for, a sincere one at the old, old exchange. Pearl affected her most scandalised tone. “I know, isn’t it just? Imagine that, a pearl, getting ideas.”

“The way I’ve been told the story, that’s exactly what got us all into this mess. And you know what?” Bismuth turned her hand over, grasping Pearl’s. “I’m glad it did.”

Pearl blushed bright blue, but made no move to shift her hand. “M-maybe. But... ahem, but back to the point. With everything that’s happened, and with all of it coming to light, I’ve had to think about things. And I think in the end, yes, her encouragement was certainly important, as was being given that chance, but… you did so much of it yourself. It was you who acted on that encouragement. I just think you shouldn’t sell yourself short.”

Bismuth had to let out a small chuckle at the way Pearl had quickly resorted to something very much resembling her favourite lecturing tone. “Hey, I’m not the one here who’s a pro at that.”

“Yes. Well. I’m...” Pearl looked down at where their hands lay entwined in the sand. “It’s a work in progress.”

More than five thousand years, and despite everything, and in the face of frankly overwhelming setbacks, Pearl adamantly refused to stop trying. There was a lot to love about that, was one of Bismuth’s firmest beliefs. “In that case, I’m honoured I get to be around to see it.”

“Yes! You’re here.” Pearl almost shouted, a very sudden vivacity to her, and Bismuth had to stop herself from falling over backwards in the sand. “We can… try something. Now. Properly. You’re back! It still feels like a real wonder, and a gift. And I can’t remember the last time I’ve been so happy!”

She took Bismuth’s hands between both of her own and held them to her chest, looking up at her with the most heartbreakingly hopeful and only slightly teary look. “We can… build?”

Bismuth smiled back. “My area of expertise, isn’t it? Might know a thing or two about going slowly, laying a good foundation, planning and looking to the future, and just what heights could be reached…”

Her reward was a near-tackle and a proper Pearl cling, with a head laid against her shoulder. “Oh, that’s new. I’ve known you to be many things, but poet isn’t one I recall.”

“What can I say?” Bismuth raised a hand to ruffle the always downy hair, and marvel at the softness. “I’m in inspiring company.”

Pearl reached over and thwacked her arm lightly. “Oh, you.”

They sat together for a while longer, and Bismuth quietly enjoyed the tender, tentative touches to her shoulders, slender fingers running up almost to her neck, and the slightly ticklish feeling of Pearl toying with the apron ribbon tied at her back, as if she still needed reassurance that Bismuth was truly there.

The moon was high in the sky by the time Pearl spoke up again. “I do realise that this is only the beginning, that we have, oh, so much to talk about. But we’ve made a start, haven’t we? And we have time now.”

There were cruel diamond-shaped shadows still hanging over them, looming and heavy enough that even in her brief time back Bismuth had become keenly aware of them. But, tiny in number or no, they were still here, weren’t they, fearsome rebels all? And they were anything but done.

The look on Pearl’s face was irresistible, the silvery shine in them only highlighting her wide, hopeful, and almost pleading eyes. We have time.

“Yeah,” Bismuth murmured back, deciding to trust it. “All the time in the world.”

#steven universe #pearl #bismuth #bispearl #fanfiction #my fic #oathkeeper writes things #let's get down to bismuth #I VALUE OUR HISTORY #or even #otp: our history #[icona pop voice] THEN WE KISS #long post #in a feeble attempt to help if the cut doesn't work on mobile #as it often does not #sorry #i'm so weirdly nervous about this pfff #someone please appreciate my themed section naming #GOOD NIGHT

131 notes · View notes

monstersandmaw · 6 years

Text

Female orc x buff female reader (sfw, mostly)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Anon suggested that there should be more buff/strong/muscular women readers, and I wholeheartedly agreed, and spent the rest of the day writing this story. It was posted on my Patreon on early release, and it’s time to put it up here now. If you want exclusive early access to all Tumblr stories (except paid commissions when they’re open), and a Patreon-only story once a month, then head on over to my page and subscribe if you can! There are monster aesthetics and polls to help me decide what to write next, as well as posts from my original fiction and little snippets that I’ve come up with along the way.

Anyway, here’s a modern orc lady and a buff female reader.

___

All gyms are essentially the same, no matter whether it’s a 24hr one or an exclusive city gym full of Instagrammers and fitness bloggers.

There’s the row of treadmills, filled with people puffing and panting, some just starting their fitness journey while others have steel-hard thighs and calves already; there are the bikes with the people texting and barely pedalling to the would-be Tour de France-ers going at it hell for leather; there’s the stupidly good-looking trainer walking around doing fuck-all and fist-bumping the regulars; and the shy folk working up the courage to use a machine in the main area: it’s the familiarity from which you draw comfort, even in a new place.

You adjust your thick ponytail and crick the tension out of your neck. You’ve done your warm up, and you’re ready to go to the hallowed weights section, enshrined in a far corner.

And sure enough, there’s the usual minotaur showing off how much she can bench, and there’s the orc doing bicep curls with a dumbbell as big at each end as your head, but it’s home to you. It’s only as you step closer that you notice the most beautiful orc you’ve ever seen, doing squats with a barbell.

Her ass is so perfect it makes you want to cry. She’s wearing tiny compression shorts that show every muscle of her gleaming, emerald green thighs, and a crop top that reveals washboard abs that actually make you a little dizzy. Her thick, red-dyed dreds are tied back in a low ponytail and they clack and clink with beads and shells. When she carefully sets it down and straightens, she glances over her shoulder, apparently looking around for her water bottle.

It’s sitting at your feet beside the racks. She catches sight of it, her liquid, dark brown eye seeing it, and then her gaze rakes up your body in a way that’s so much more than simply ‘appreciative’. Her lips part softly but before you can watch any more of her reaction to your tall, lean, hard body, you grin, stoop down and pick up the bottle.

“This yours?”

She nods mutely, and you toss it at her. She catches it flawlessly and drinks deeply from it before looking you straight in the eye and grinning her thanks.

“You free?” you ask, and she frowns, curious. You laugh at the crinkle in her brow. “If you fancy it, would you mind spotting for me when you get a minute?”

She eyes your biceps in the sleeveless top you tend to favour for weights days. “You look like you’d last longer than a minute,” she mutters. Her voice – a rich, rasping alto – sends a rush of blood straight down between your legs. She sets her bottle down and juts her chin at the bench.

As you set the weight and settle onto it, you toss her a cheeky grin. “Oh I can go for hours.”

“Careful,” she smiles, hands hovering momentarily as you adjust your grip on the bar. “Don’t distract me too much. You need me to count for you?”

“Sure.”

By now your little encounter has attracted the attention of the big male orc and his buddy, a massive centaur with the body of a draft horse. Even the minotaur has stopped her routine for a moment. They’re watching with unveiled interest and curiosity as you begin, and you feel that familiar, gritty determination sink into your muscles, into your bones, suffusing your whole being with the fervour to push yourself to your limit and then half a step beyond.

Your orc’s sculpted eyebrows, both pierced, rise a little higher as you keep going, until finally you nod and she helps you guide it back onto the rest. You’re panting hard, lactic acid burning your shoulders, setting the sinews aflame, but she’s just standing there as you sit up, one hand on her hip, the other flicking her towel over her shoulder. “Damn,” she finally chuckles, clearly at a loss for something more eloquent.

“I’d love to see what you can lift,” you say as you lever yourself to your feet and stretch your shoulders and arms out.

“I could always bench press you,” she grins.

“I usually save the acrobatics for at least the second date,” you reply instantly, and laugh as her eyes go wide.

It’s odd to see a shy expression on such a tough beauty. “You… You want to?” she falters.

“What, have you bench press me, or go on a date?” you chuckle, heading to the water fountain to refill your bottle, not looking back at her.

You know the shorts your wearing look good on you. You know she’s looking at your shoulders and arm muscles. It’s also the first time she’s seen the slogan on the back of your shirt, and she snorts with laughter as she reads it.

It reads: worth the weight.

You fill up your bottle and then stoop somewhat provocatively over the fountain, comfortable with the way your body moves, with the looks your hard muscles garner. It’s not to everyone’s taste, but you’re proud of your hard work, and you know you look good. Wiping the sweat and water off your chin with the bottom of your loose tank, you reveal your stomach to her before letting it fall to cover you again. “Coz I’d be open to either, preferably the latter then the former, but whatever works for you.”

“You free after your session?” she asks as you nod. “I’m Lily, by the way.”

Somehow the name really suits her. You tell her your name, and she repeats it softly, grinning around her big tusks.

She hangs around in the gym longer while you finish up, and you head down to the changing rooms and showers together. She comes out of her cubicle a while later with her hair piled out of the way on top of her head, her back is still wet, and she’s utterly, unabashedly naked.

“Warn a girl,” you mutter as you step out into the air-conditioned room, your own towel wrapped around under your armpits still.

She has the physique of an Amazon, and the gentlest looking hands. She turns over her shoulder and flashes you a grin. She’s got two dimples at the base of her spine and the curve of her ass was just so perfect you wanted to lay your hand on it. You can just see her rounded breast and dark nipple, pebbled against the chill of the room.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Lily replies with a grin. “You got me off-guard upstairs. It’s only fair I try to return the favour…”

She reminds you of the best kind of sparring partner and you grin openly at her. “I like you,” is all you have to say.

Your lockers are on opposite sides of the changing room, and when you’re done, you turn to find her sitting cross-legged on the bench in the middle of the room, watching you. She’s wearing a loose-fitting tank top, small, denim shorts, and baby-pink Converses. You��re surprised by the amount of jewellery on, particularly rings on her hands. It’s not overdone, but you’d not imagined she would be a jewellery type. Despite the rock solid muscles in her arms and thighs, her style suits her perfectly, just like her name.

She walks with you out of the gym, asking you about where you live and what you do. You tell her that you recently moved to the area for a new and better job, and she smiles. Lily works at the university, and rolls her eyes at your ‘brains and brawn’ comment. “You must get that a lot, I’m sorry,” you say, blushing.

“Coming from you?” she chuckles, shooting a sideways glance that rakes up your body again in a way that makes you shiver and your mouth go dry. “Come on, there’s this great ice cream place just round the corner from here. You’re gonna love it, and you earned it today!”

“You bet I did!” you laugh.

You both end up having chocolate and sitting on a park bench to enjoy it.

As you finish yours, you look up and see her watching you. Her tongue flits to the corner of her mouth, just catching her tusk.

“What, did I miss a bit?” you ask playfully.

“Yeah,” she says, eyes locked on your lips.

You smile and tilt your head in clear, if not overly-ostentatious invitation.

Her big, gentle hands come down on either side of your jaw and she leans down, kissing you so tenderly it’s almost hesitant.

“You’re not going to break me,” you whisper, and she inhales deeply.

“You want to come back to mine?” she asks, voice thick and rasping.

You nod. “Sure.”

Grinning, she stands, her denim shorts showing her legs off to incredible advantage, and she takes your hand and leads you back to her apartment.

___________________________

#female orc #modern orc #orc #female reader #strong female reader #strong female character #sfw #sfw monster story #modern orc story #sapphic terato

335 notes · View notes

mariposalass · 5 years

Text

Cafe AU Main Post (The Cozy Place Cafe)

Okay, this is probably a big silly long post of nonsense, but I’m really serious about making this Cafe/Coffee Shop AU a thing big time. Having been to my fair share of hanging out in Starbucks, Coffee Bean, and smaller cafes (including my time in college), I can safely say that I would love to imagine an AU where me and many of the fam bunch run a cafe in the awkward love child of FRIENDS, The Office, and Parks and Recreation.

So if you don’t mind the madness that will ensue here, then click and read this thing:

So, Mari’s family runs this cozy cafe for quite a long time in the heart of (insert name of whatever city in the godforsaken world). Harry and Kairi are obviously still adopted into the family, at just ages 9 and 5 respectively here. The cafe’s name is The Cozy Place, lame name based off the Good Place TV show (might change it someday).

The Space Grumps himself, 12th Doc, is the main manager of the joint; sure, he’s a grumpy old Scottish fart who always feels that he’s surrounded by idiots (customers and employees alike whenever they give him a hard time), but he’s quite a lovable goofball once you get to know him more. Loves to listening to rock music (although he wouldn’t let you in on it), wears shades occasionally, awful in being not socially awkward, carries a fob watch at all times, and doesn’t do hugs. He’s basically the kids’ mentor to teach them the ropes and one of the oldest members in the staff.

Kirby is a loyal new employee in charge of cooking food along with Michiru & Ron and taking orders in the afternoon shift, but since he’s new to the job and a little baby, he’s pretty slow on doing his assigned task. And he has a tendency to occasionally eat what food he makes, still, he’ll try to resist the temptation for the most part and is always happy to see customers new and old.

Michiru and Ron handle much of the food preparations like pastries (with the head baker Jacob Kowalski), salads, sandwiches, pastas, soups, and more. Michiru is the Lesbian Team Mom who is kind, friendly, and always there to talk to, though she can be sneaky in speculating the everyday madness within the team, holds shipping guessing games during off hours, and she can handle such madness so much before she could snap back in sharp anger. Her girlfriend Haruka, their friend Setsuna, their foster daughter Hotaru, and the Inner Senshi are regulars to the cafe; sometimes Michiru would give the Outer Senshi something to eat for the day ahead before the next shift starts. Meanwhile, Ron is the witty sarcastic joker who never fails to multitasking the stuff he’s given, although he does have insecurity issues being mostly underappreciated by his own family and he does have concerns over his siblings being more off-kilter than he is (mostly with his older twin brothers Fred and George). It got a little worse when his sister Ginny tried to flirt with Harry and Ron had to reprimand her in front of the public out of concern; since the incident, she has moved from trying to get Harry’s attention to dating an unknown person instead.

Hermione is the dutiful by the books barista who wouldn’t dare to break the rules in everyday life and in work but does do it anyway in mild amounts. One of the well-read of the staff (outside Mari, Philip, the Doctor, and Michiru), has an adorable awkward relationship with Ron, manager of the library in the cafe, and knows nearly all drink recipes by heart and mind.

Harry is the kitchen manager of the cafe: responsible for checking & ordering ingredient supplies and running the kitchen, Team Dad, knows how the business works, normally chill guy to talk to, but man this guy has a temper! He’ll crush you with brutal honesty if you’re being a jerk. Has a crush on Issa (who’s a regular frequenting the place as a journalist working nearby, to which he responds through shy blushing and ducking under the register), best (overprotective) brother to Mari and Kairi, and bad customers & employees’ worst nightmare. Harry never lets them to get away with it and will make bad customers to leave and bad employees to do kitchen chores as a punishment should they get out of line.

Kairi is the resident latte art maker: people never forget the creative doodles she makes on their drinks (thanks to her art degree) & her calligraphy-like way of writing their names in the cups, up and about in fulfilling orders, and always there to give you a smile. Dates Sora the barista, and can be too much of a chatterbox at times.

Sora and Riku also work as baristas: Sora is the adorkable excitable bean and Riku is the calm & collected dude. The kids’ childhood friends, and since Sora & Kairi are dating, Riku will tease the two out of fun and Mari & Harry often join him as well for the same reasons. Sora finds it really awkward to deal with that they’re working altogether under one roof, although Kairi doesn’t seem to mind it in ever.

Marina may only work in the cafe part-time on weekends and holidays and being mute can be an obstacle for her when it comes to getting orders, but she’s a dedicated employee willing to help out, has a patience of a saint, and is quick in taking orders on paper like a soldier at war, although her usual self-sacrificing habit can be taxing on her mental health and it does worry Mari, the cafe staff, and her adopted folks a couple of times. It doesn’t even help that Ventus also works as a part-time employee in the cafe too, which leads to tons of adorable crush moments between the two as they help out the business. Mari’s family wants to make sure that the cafe is safe for everyone to come over and to work in regardless of religion, race, sexuality, disabilities, etc., and especially with Mari being autistic and Harry being a survivor of child abuse. The cafe taking in Marina and a few others further strengthens this belief even more and they are hoping to find and train more employees with disabilities in the near future, as well as treating them right as they do with Marina.

Mari is the assistant manager to the Doctor and the actual heiress to the business, but she’s basically the heart of the group: ensuring that the whole place doesn’t burn and running efficiently as heck. Will mince you with harsh brutally honest words if you dare to cross her, the customers, her family and friends, and everyone else. Quite smart for her age, though her Asperger-induced social awkwardness can be a weak point and it frustrates her a lot.

Philip is another new hire to the cafe and is low key having a noticeable crush on Mari, but he couldn’t spill it out. He and Mari don’t usually see each other often due to him working in a different shift, but there are multiple times when the cafe is understaffed and needs more back up during the more intense rush hours, and he is assigned to the same shift as Mari’s schedule: that’s when sparks do fly between them and it gets adorable and awkward at the same time. Their mutual friend, Theodosia Burr, is a regular taking up Law and she highly suspects that Philip is hiding his feelings towards Mari, hence her constant nagging on him to go on a date with Mari (which is not happening, yet).

Issa, as said above in Harry’s section, is a rising star journalist whose work place is near to the cafe, and that fact is helpful for her whenever she needs to get something to eat or get her coffee fix. Her frequent visits has become more awkward on Harry’s part as he began to develop romantic feelings for her as she does, but he’s such as nervous wreck that he would duck and hide whenever he sees her face to face for longer than he wanted to. Ahk’s her co-worker in the news agency in this AU: not too crazy for coffee but enjoys the ambiance of the place and does like other food & drink offerings as well.

As for everyone else? They’re all cafe regulars, the same applies to nearly all the self shippers and other f/os I know of. Sure, some of them can be rowdy at times, but they’re not that terrible compared to the ruder customers the cafe rarely gets. It’s because the cafe won’t tolerate any crap from the nasty customers and they simply avoided the cafe anyway.

#coffee shop and cafe au #coffee shops and cafes #aus #au #self shipping #self ship #self insert #my f/os #familial f/os #platonic f/os #romantic f/o

0 notes

thereluctantinquisitor · 8 years

Note

May I request a Redbull (legit the best ship name ever) fic prompt: It's a five hour plane ride and you're deathly afraid of flying" from the au post? I love your fics so much!

One Redbull for nonny, hot off the press! Modern AU… because planes.

In which Bull really hates flying. (Approx 1000 words, some under the cut

“Ah… shit…”

Delton glanced across at the huge man beside him, a smilequirking up the corner of his mouth. “Not much of a flyer, huh?” he asked,trying to lighten the mood. The man just gave a low, uncomfortable grunt.

“Up ten thousand feet in an oversized tin can?” he grumbled,already sweating despite the fact that they were still on the ground. “Sure. Soundsgreat. Oh, I’m going to kill Krem…” Hemuttered the last part under his breath, so Delton let it slide with little morethan a snort of amusement.

“Ah, it’s not so bad once you’re up,” he offered, then noddedtowards the window. “View’s pretty good too, if you want to swap places. Some folk say it helps.”

The man eyed him skeptically. “Yeah, I don’t think seeing just how far I’ve got to fall isgoing to take the edge off, Red.” He turned away again and let out the deep, full-chested sigh of someone slowlycoming to terms with his fate. “Thanks, though. Appreciate the offer.”

Delton flashed the man a smile then leaned back in his seat.Well, as far as he could lean back –there really wasn’t a lot of room. Glancing across as his new companion, Delton decided he really had no right to complain. It would be nothingshort of a miracle if he could even get the food tray down with his knees pressed right against it like that…

“You fly a lot, huh?” the man asked suddenly, turning his head again andcocking his brow. “You seem pretty comfortable. Well, to me.”

“Aye, a fair bit. Part of the job.” Delton shrugged. “Statistically, it’s prettyunlikely that I’ll die on a plane. Probably the safest place I’ve ever been,come to think of it. It’s nice, y’know? Relaxing.”

The man snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, all right. So you’rea special sort of crazy, huh?”

Delton grinned, teeth flashing. “So I’ve been told.” He sighed, still smilingas he turned his gaze out the window. The plane had just finished taxiing andwas waiting for the signal to take-off down the runway. “What’s your name, anyway? Consideringwe’re stuck with each other for the next five hours, I might as well call you something a little more flattering than big guy.”

“Ha. Just call me Bull,” the man replied. However, Delton detected a thread of tension in his voice so he turned back, angling himself to block thewindow. Well, the least I can do is tryto distract him a bit. Poor bastard looks terrified…

“Bull, huh?” He cast a discerning eye up and down the man’sform, taking in his massive chest and heavily muscled arms. “Yeah… I can see how you ended up with a name like that. You couldprobably pick me up with one arm and hang me off a coat rack no problem.”

“Probably,” Bull agreed tightly, but his mouth did twitch upslightly at the corner. “Shouldn’t come to that, though. Don’t think you’d fitin one of these overheads.” He gestured up to where they had spent a good fiveminutes trying to cram their carry-on luggage into the small compartments, cursing and sweating through the entire ordeal.

“Yeah…” Delton chuckled and ran a hand through his mess of red hair. “Gettingour stuff in there was like trying to shove a mattress through a doggy door.”

Bull laughed at that, seeming to relax a little with themotion. “Dunno - pretty sure that would have been a hell of a lot easier.”

They shared a smile at that. It was a brief moment of calm,easy companionship as flight attendants moved like the curling wind through theaisles of the plane, bringing pillows and blankets and refreshing towelettes. Bull took two of everything, handing oneacross to Delton with an amicable half-smile.

“Thanks,” Delton said, tucking them into the mesh pouch onthe back of the seat in front of him. As he did, he noticed the flightattendants cease their rounds and find their seats, their seat-belts clicking into place. Despite himself, Deltonglanced across at Bull, concerned. Well… heregoes…

The plane started to move, wheels whirring to life beneaththem with a high, metallic hum. The floor began to vibrate and something was mumbled over the PA in a deep, grainy voice. Delton couldonly assume it was someone informing them of the take-off that was rather obviously occurring. Besidehim, Bull let out a low, incredibly uncomfortablegroan, his back rigid, hands clenching the arm-rests in the death-grip of a man dangling from a building. Strangely, Delton felt rather guilty. Take-off was his favouritepart of flying, after all. It meant getting away from it all, even if only for a few short hours. In the sky he was a free man, out of everyone’s reach. His worldlyresponsibilities? The phone calls, the meetings, the friends who never visit anymore? Well, they would all just have to wait for him to touch back down.

“You all right there, Bull?” Delton asked, mostly out ofpoliteness as the answer was pretty damn obvious. Bull was sweating enough foran entire sports team in the final quarter, and that was being generous to thesports team.

“Great,” he replied through gritted teeth, barely daring to move his mouth as though the slightest gesturewould throw the plane off-balance and send them all careening to their fiery deaths.“Damn… don’t suppose you’d hit me or something?Take my mind off all this shit?”

Delton stared in mute shock for a few beats, then blinked back tofull consciousness. “I, ah… no. Besides, don’t think you’d even feel it if Idid. My self-esteem couldn’t take that kind of blow. It’s very fragile.”

Another grunt followed, almost amused, but far too tense toreally sell Delton on the fact. As the plane increased speed and Delton felthimself being pushed back in his seat, he reached across to the window, hisfingertips catching the edge of the shade. He was about to pull it down for thebenefit of his new friend when he felt a sudden weight on his arm; a grip. Nottoo tight, but enough to get his attention. Delton turned to see Bull lookingright at him with that pale eye, the other hidden behind a dark leather patch.

“Leave it up,” he instructed, still sweating,every muscle in his body tight with painful, dread-fueled anticipation. Delton frowned.

“But I just thought—”

“You wanted that seat,” Bull continued, cutting him off witha series of tightly delivered words, “to see out the window, right? To watch. Saw you doing it before.Waiting.” To Delton’s surprise, the man actually managed a smile. A tense one, tobe sure, but its presence alone spoke more than any words ever could. “Don’twant to be the reason you miss it, Red.”

For a moment, Delton was speechless. He opened his mouth toreply, but found he had nothing to offer. Mercifully, Bull just gave him a nodthe turned away, closing his eyes, releasing yet another long, wretched moan asthe plane started to angle upwards. His lips moved, almost like he was praying. Delton scrapped that idea when he caught some far more colourful language rolling off the man’stongue, consisting mostly of creative epithets for a man named Krem. Slowly, watching the sweaty, rigidfigure beside him, Delton felt his lips curve into a smile. Well, if nothing else, it was going to be an interesting trip.

Outside the plane, the ground peeled away, fading behind a veil of misty-white.

Inside the plane, Delton forgot to look out the window.

#dragon age fanfiction #iron bull #delton #modern au #dai #reluctant writes #reluctant replies #redbull #<3 #thanks for the prompt!#meet ugly AU #poor Bull likes the sky about as much as he likes the Fade haha #Anonymous

22 notes · View notes

ziggykazenzakis · 8 years

Text

i heard medium is a dyieng website so imma drop here all i had there just to have it somewhere

Schedule

12:02 — Get up slowly, smoke the first cigarette. Find out you’re out of toothpaste.

12:10 — Watch the new episode of Men Are Important, a show about the world where Men Are Important.

12:32 — Fall asleep in the middle of Men Are Important.

13:11 — Wake up nervously, smoke the second cigarette. Eat something.

13:17 — Download a collection of short stories by someone incredibly obscure, some comic books, bit of contemporary french cinema. Never open downloads.

14:00 — Go to the store to get groceries and toothpaste, come back with cigarettes, white wine and frozen pizza.

14:23 — Write post for Community Buzzfeed, titled “28 reasons my God is better than yours”.

16:00 — Go outside.

17:00 — Point fingers at journalism majors.

19:27 — Tell strangers at a bar how comic books and radio are close as mediums.

20:52 — Get hit in the face.

22:12 — Come home, write an essay on cultural significance of 400 Blows (never watch 400 Blows). Smoke fourteenth cigarette.

23:49 — Look in the mirror.

00:28 — Read Batman comics, open another pack of cigarettes.

01:02 — Read Batman comics, but ironically.

02:37 — Think of your own grandeur for prolonged periods of time, do absolutely nothing.

03:58 — Find the strangest porno possible.

04:49 — Try to fall asleep, cry silently.

12:02 — Get up slowly, smoke the first cigarette. Find out you’re out of toothpaste.

bad joke from 2014

a man walks into a bar man drinks and drinks as he tries to drown his sorrow in cheap yet over-priced liquor which is probably watered down too he comes to a realization epiphany, perhaps not even that though because he spent the most of his adulthood trying to shrug off that idea deep back into the ether he comes to a realization that whatever he does is meaningless meaningless beyond the point of comprehension he doesn’t care for dead philosophers mind masturbation nor for the idea of time and space being the same intertwined thing all he knows is that his actions have no impact on the world around him none

after that setup you might expect a cheerful twist or an absurd one nihilism is intensely boring you might think, “it’s not about the journey it’s about the destination, honey” well first of all, don’t patronize me secondly, we can still get back to the base of this anecdote some slapstick comedy, maybe? or salvage the entire thing with some pop-cultural references that y’all hate but pretend to love it’s actually quite an art, to be pretentious whilst talking about Batman of all things

man keeps on drinking he looks up at the tiny TV atop the bar it’s a rerun of some sports game is that what they called? sports games? the whole thing is ridiculous and way past my control over it commentator says, “stop wallowing in self-pity” man is confused he looks to his left he looks to his right he looks right at the screen and gulps a shot of whiskey “that is what you’re doing with your life? little cry-baby anyway, back to you Johnson” “the game is quite a race today, folks…” and the voice trails off barkeep already saw the game he doesn’t care it’s not like there was much to care about in the first place man pays the bill leaves a tip not too much, not too little he goes home he’ll try to forget and he’ll inevitably fail

the bar was called “Huge Sweaty Balls” are you happy now that’s the punchline that’s the joke you’ve been waiting for everything is fucking great

Banned Names

Amir left the subway, avoiding stranger’s gaze, awkwardly tapping into it ever so often, apologizing as much as he can for snow-covered ten gallon hat using only his eyes. Through side streets and backstreets, which lead to crooked steps, which lead to a heavy door, which leads to basement. Hit aperture with his hat, bowed a bit, came in. Through hallway, and must shake hands with everyone, came. “Sorry guys, slept through”, Amir said. “What’s with the hat, did Haggard die?”, said Jim. “I’ve decided, that the band is called Astral Cowboys”.

“No”, said Thrasy. “Why?”, said Amir. “Cause that’s some fucking bullshit. I disagree”, said Thrasy. Thrasy was sure that the might one is the right one. Not many people agreed with him on things but less have tried to argue.

“Your will and we would have been called Wacky Eugenics”, said Amir. “I like it”, said Jim, not expecting spited glances from both sides. “And what would that be, in your idea? Delta Witchhouse?”, said Thrasy. “Nah, pretty casual psychedelics”, said Amir. “Why not just post-punk”, said Jim, fully expecting spited glances from both sides.

“Alright”, said Amir, “Astral Cowboys, gimme something better”. “Heinous Crime”, said Thrasy. “Circumstances”, said Jim. “No, Complications”. “Upvotes From The Underground”, said Jim. “If you won’t take it seriously then shut the fuck up”, said Thrasy. “A Kilo Of Potatoes”, said Jim.

“You got some bad ideas, Astral Cowboys”, said Amir. “Where does this preconception comes from, that you got the final word?”, said Thrasy. “Main vocals, lead guitar, lyrics — who else?”, said Amir. “Richards rules the Stones”, said Thrasy.

“Imma smoke”, said Jim, and left. “And one who dares to think that Astral Cowboys is a good title for anything should not write anything let alone songs”, said Thrasy. “It’s a good title! Intentionally kitsch but comfortable, relaxed, some chick shit, in a good way”, said Amir. “Here’s what’s going to happen”, said Thrasy. “Justice will be accomplished. Great, strong people been showered in mud by the weak, time and time again. Because they were allowed to. We’re going to punk. And it won’t be a riot. It will be anger. My holy mission is to continue what the Ramones started, convinced conservatives and a bunch of beautiful, rare bastards. I’m going to hit you, and you are going to hit the ground, and the band shall be called Circumstances. Or whatever the hell, Jim had some good ideas, but not Astral Cowboys, chief”.

Jim looked at the falling snow under the light of the street lamp. As he was lighting up a cigarette, he thought that he should learn to draw. He opened up a two years old text file on his three years old phone which was titled “bandnames.txt” and contained such as “Damn, A Burger? Don’t Mind If I Do”, “The Whatnots”, “No Weekends” and so on. He added “Ciet Vong”, which put up the file at the top of the list, threw the cig into a snowdrift, and walked back.

Jim walked in on a couple of grown children, trying to wrestle somewhat, and to hit, and not to damage all the appliance around. “How about Homoerotic Subtext? For a band name”, said Jim.

The band was standing and smoking. “We wasted three paid hours without touching the instruments”, said Amir. “Next week, same time?”

et in arcadia ego

looked barely dead and the cats started chewing on my thigh. They are sure that I’m dead, that I have no need for it, and that the still warm flesh is much more enjoyable than dry feed. The screens around blink with bright imagery of sin. Pick up the phone, look at the list of recent calls, which consists of the same number. After a click, beeps, before someone could reply, say “large pepperoni”, tell address, say, that I won’t need the change. Full cats fell asleep under the warm screens. After an hour to the dot, knock on the door. A kid paler than me holds a large white box the content of which is covered in sand round-shaped bread. He left without saying anything with his ten percent tip (cause death isn’t a reason to be uncorteous). Someone vaguely familiar comes in, full of energy, greets, tells how someone somewhere robbed a bank and uploaded the video of it on one of those sites. Says that if you take a city map and connect all the banks and their subsidiaries you’ll see a pentagram made of pentagrams which are made of pentagrams. “Dude, the main problem with you-know-who is that he didn’t transform hell into heaven but just sits there being a cog”, he says. After a brief pause, I say “we gotta call some five acquaintances and play some basketball”. “Good thinking, dude, good thinking. If all’s well we gotta smash some ATM afterwards. I don’t know why people don’t do it all the time, those things don’t look that hardy”, he says. We leave, the weather is perfect.

untitled

Sportscaster screams “verbiage” when I’m on a stroll Decribing empty vistas filled with horny patrols My dead self is my best self mind not in Malcolm’s way Beware of feedback loops every step of the way Give me a reason to leave my poorly assembled set To this very day les tricoteuses make content

Well you have ears and you have eyes Don’t listen to me look at some other guy There’s some courage to be had Writing down history of victorious empty heads It must be side effect of broken sleep patterns Finding rhythm and beauty in fecal matter

Stinging bland colors exorting a laugh Soundbites of worst to offer, what a fun life I’m asking others how to feel Plateauted yet again it’s no big deal When there’s light again over parks and backdoors I’ll try to mute proclivities towards bromide and havenots

My Dear Friends

The only thing here separating a lion and a man is a lousy moat. Jack Drowsey stands alone in Miami Zoo and stares at the animal. The sun is high on this weekday, Jack ignores a text from his boss, the lion looks back at Jack serenely, Jack puts phone on silent when boss calls, the lion yawns and stretches, Jacks turns the phone off when his wife calls. Jack leaves the zoo and gets in a car for which he has a key. Turns the ignition on, rips off BMW Dealership sticker off the glass and drives. He spent four years in Florida and never seen an alligator, but plenty of idiots. When Castro died, he saw a miami cuban and a skinhead hug. He drives among palm trees and potholes and thinks of his childhood in rural California. He had two friends, Barney and Billy. Barney now lives in San Francisco doing “some gay bullshit”, as Jack calls it. Billy died a few years back, OD’d on Xanax. It gets dark as he crosses the state line. Back in Bakersfield, Jack, Barney and Billy had a game. There was this guy everyone called just Dirty who had a real oxy problem. He was about twenty, but no one knew for sure, while Jack and the gang were all thirteen at the time. The goal of the game was as follows: get Dirty in a cage. They had a cage. The game was usually lost, except for that one time, when Billy told Dirty that if he stayed in the cage for an hour, they’d give him twelve dollars. Dirty walked into the cage, the boys locked it and left. From then on, Dirty was the wiser. Jack has been driving for three days straight now. Once, Barney had a Problem, he wanted to enlist. This curly pudgy kid, the kind who listens to Talking Heads, seventeen at the time, decided he had enough. He shaved his head, started running in the morning, talking about some evils from abroad gathering upon our doorstep, with nothing but vile intentions under their brown skins. Jack didn’t really care, he was happy for his friend to lose some weight and get a better chance at getting laid, but Billy was fuming. For three weeks there were constant arguing, until the two stopped talking and shaking hands altogether. Two months later, Jack’s birthday, which he saw as an opportunity to reconcile his buddies. They spent most of the night at the opposite ends of the room until they were drunk enough to get into some altercations. The previously routine arguing quickly turned when Billy yelled “Bash the fash!”. He must’ve forgotten that previously an artsy cunt spent time working on his body, while Billy was smoking weed and telling young women that they should all look more like Suicide Girls. Barney broke Billy’s nose, who was then smiling and coughing blood laying on the ground. Barney cried a bit. Everything returned to normal. Jack is approaching LA. He hadn’t slept, he hadn’t eaten, he stopped at a gas station once and got a bottle of water. He shuts his eyes for a second at an intersection and a truck is swift and merciless. Now he’s in LA, of sorts. It’s snowing. Dirty approaches him, but he’s clean, and he’s dressed up as Elvis. “Hi, Jack, remember me?”, says clean Dirty. “It’s me, Bruce”, he says. “You’re dead, buddy. Billy is here too, you wanna meet him? Or maybe someone famous first, how does a date with Rita Hayworth sounds to ya, huh, old pal?”, says Dirty. Jack keeps walking, Dirty follows. There’s no sunshine, only snow. There are no cars and Dirty is the only person around. Where would be banners and posters and billboards that advertise a multibillion industry of boredom is nothing; all of them show nothing. “Where are you going, you little shit?”, says Dirty, and Jack finds himself to be thirteen. He keeps walking. “You think I don’t remember? Here it’s hard to forget. All you do is remember”, says Dirty to the kid. “Where the fuck did you even find a cage?”, says Dirty, stops walking, mumbles something, pulls out a cigarette. Jack stops walking too. “We were just kids”, Jack says. “Whatever, asshole. I don’t care. There isn’t some lesson to be had here. Just go”, Dirty says, puffing on a newport. Jack is adult again, and he keeps walking. Until he sees Billy, whose skin is whiter than the snow around. “Why did you leave them?”, he says. Jack punches Billy in the shoulder. “Why did you leave us?”, he says. Billy can’t handle the punch and falls on his ass. “You and Barney seemed to have it figured out, somewhat. He with his art, you with your wife and a job. Not a great job, but a real job, doing something, being able to afford shit and all. I had absolutely nothing. I had no one. I did not leave you two, you did that before. I had bills, I had no fun, I had an easy way out. I took it. What’s your excuse?”, says Billy. And Jack has none.

6 notes · View notes