#athena2

[artificialqueens]

Waking Up in Vegas (Anetra x Sasha Colby) - Athena2

Summary: Anetra wakes up in Vegas married to a beautiful stranger, and they try to piece together what happened the night before.

A/N: I’m so happy to finish this one, especially because I have a ton of works in progress at the moment. Thank you so much to Writ for encouraging me to do this, and for your amazing beta skills. Please leave feedback if you like, I really appreciate it!!!

Anetra wakes to something tickling her nose, and a blinding light shining in her face. She forces her eyes open and realizes the light is the sun, which is pouring through the window. Her head throbs like someone is hammering nails into it. Her chin is sore too, for some reason. She gently works along it and meets what she’s sure is a bruise on the right. She’s still dressed, even down to her boots. But no phone, and the only card on her is for the casino arcade.

What the hell happened?

As she keeps blinking and her senses slowly restore themselves, she makes the first discovery: there’s a woman in the hotel bed with her. She’s beautiful, from the side of her face that Anetra can see—even with mascara smeared under her eye—with thick brown waves tumbling over the pillow. That must have been what was tickling Anetra’s nose.

Red blackjack chips are scattered over the bed like rose petals, and a stuffed elephant sits at the foot of it. More confusion, and the glaring sun is doing nothing to help her focus. She’s almost positive she had closed the curtain in her room before she went out last night. Come to think of it, she’s almost positive her room wasn’t this high up, either; she can glimpse blue sky and the roofs of other hotels from her position. The second discovery occurs to her: this isn’t her room. It must be the sleeping woman’s.

Only after slowly removing her arm from the woman’s waist does she make the third discovery: a gold wedding band on her left hand, which certainly wasn’t there the day before.

She went back to Vegas and woke up married.

Anetra sits up and swears.

—-

Her head races with questions, her heart speeding along with them. Anetra danced in a club here for three years before she left, and has seen her share of chaos, from bachelor parties to fights. She used to stay away from all that mess—she showed up, did her job, kept her head down. Now she’s on the other side, and it’s like she fell over the wrong side of a fence, into a yard of dangerous dogs.

Despite seeing couples that got married in the chapel here, she doesn’t know much about how the process works. How legit is this? Loosey runs the chapel, and she has a marriage license, so it must be legit. But maybe she just has a ring on for the hell of it, and no actual wedding took place. The woman’s left hand is under her pillow, so maybe her ring finger is bare, and this isn’t what it looks like.

But if it is what it looks like, what does she do? Can this woman sue her or something? Does she need a lawyer for this? Maybe Anetra should just run away, pretend the whole thing never happened, and the woman will do the same.

She’s just planning to run for it when the woman stirs, and Anetra freezes. The woman rises from the pillow with a groan, and turns around when she must sense Anetra there. Her eyes are a bright hazel, and they distract Anetra for a second.

“Who the hell are you?” The woman demands.

“I’m—“

“What did you do? Did you drug me or something?” She stumbles out of the bed and grabs the first thing she sees, which is the alarm clock. As she raises it, Anetra finally sees a matching ring on her finger. So this really did happen, then.

Anetra holds her hands up in surrender. “No! I would never do that, I swear,” she says firmly. “I’m just as confused as you are.”

The woman calms down a little—she puts the clock back, at least. “Sorry. I have to be…more careful about things than most people.”

Anetra’s eyes go to the elephant, pink with blue and white polka dots. She vaguely remembers the woman picking that one because of the trans flag.

“I’m sorry,” Anetra says. “Sorry you have to…deal with that. But I wouldn’t do anything like that. I promise.”

“I trust you.” The woman nods, smoothing out her rumpled purple dress. “Okay, what do you remember? Anything at all.”

“I’m Anetra. I used to work here, so I came to stay and visit my friends for a few days.” She pauses, trying to break through the fog and headache. “I know I was at the poker table last night, and I’m pretty sure you were there.”

“I was there, I remember you.” Her eyes flicker up to Anetra’s, probably to her scar. “I remember your eyes. They were really prett—um, brown. I’m Sasha, by the way. I’m here for the week.”

Anetra nods.

“And then you asked me to get a drink,” Sasha continues, trying to gloss over her slip about Anetra’s eyes.

“Right. And then we got the drink, and then sometime after that we must have won at blackjack”—she points to the chips strewn across the bed—“gone to the arcade”—she points at the stuffed elephant—“got in a fight?”—she gently prods her chin—“and then got married and came to your room.”

Sasha nods along with it all, but stops when Anetra mentions the room. “Except this isn’t my room.”

“Are you sure?” Anetra asks weakly.

“Yes, I’m sure! Look out the window, we’re a mile in the air! This definitely isn’t mine.”

“Because you don’t like heights,” Anetra says. She’s not sure where it’s coming from, but it feels right. “I think you told me last night.”

“I think I did too.” Sasha smiles, but it quickly fades. “But if this isn’t my room, and it’s not your room, then whose is it?”

Anetra runs a hand over her face. “Shit, do you think we broke into someone’s room?”

“Oh my god, now I’m a criminal. I wasn’t a criminal until I married you!”

“I don’t even know you!” Anetra shoots back.

Sasha takes a deep breath and straightens up. Even with her wrinkled clothes and messy hair, something about her makes Anetra snap to attention, ready to listen. “Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do. I still have my room key. Let’s go there, eat something, take a fucking bottle of Tylenol, and go to the bar and see if anyone there knows anything. Try to retrace our steps.”

“That’s…a good idea.”

“I usually have good ideas.” She grins. “We’ll see how last night ranks after we investigate.”

Anetra smiles too, and she can’t help but feel that she picked a pretty good person to drunkenly marry.

—-

“Does the elevator have to be glass?” Sasha mumbles as they step inside. The walls of the elevator are clear glass all around, so you can see the glittering casino floor below, as golden and bright as the sun. Sasha stands backward, facing the door of the elevator.

Anetra steps in front of her. She wants to help, make this mess a little easier, but she isn’t sure how. “Uh, we can talk if you want. Then you don’t have to look down or think about it.”

Sasha’s eyes rise to meet hers. Anetra usually shies away from eye contact, and lets her gaze drift a little—to the curve of Sasha’s shoulder, the crease of a pillow on her cheek—before hesitantly returning to her eyes, taking in the hints of gold like treasure coins. Looking into those eyes, she wants to know about Sasha, wants to re-experience what drew them together that night.

“You said you worked here?” Sasha asks finally.

“Yeah, for three years. I danced in one of the clubs. It was good, I liked it, but after that long without much of a break I think I just…burned out.” The late nights and lack of sleep and body aches just piled up, until even the Tylenol she bought in bulk didn’t help much. On top of the meaner, more demanding clients, it just became too much. Eventually she couldn’t do it anymore, and even if it hurt to leave her friends, it was what she had to do.

“That makes sense.” Sasha nods. “And what do you do now? Sorry if you told me last night, I don’t remember.”

Anetra grins. “I don’t remember either, if I did. But I’m a mechanic.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah. It’s totally different from what I did, but it lets me work with my hands and have some quiet. I still dance a lot, though.”

“I’m glad you’re happy,“ Sasha says, genuine in a way Anetra doesn’t hear much.

“What do you do? Anetra asks.

“I work in fashion, in LA.”

“Yeah, I believe that.” Sasha could be a model if she wanted. Anetra can barely keep her eyes off her.

Sasha grins, and by the time the elevator dings, she’s calm. “Thank you,” she whispers on her way out the door.

“Of course.”

—-

After an hour, two Tylenol each, enough late afternoon breakfast for four people, and some time in the bathroom, Anetra emerges from Sasha’s room feeling like a human again. She’s still in her jeans and leather jacket, but Sasha loaned her a T-shirt after they reached for the hot sauce for their hash browns at the same time, and Anetra spilled it on her tank top.

They stride across the red-and-gold checkered carpet, past rows and rows of gleaming slot machines. Anetra doesn’t miss the long hours, doesn’t miss the pain and never-ending fatigue and sleazy customers. But she does miss how alive the place feels, in the middle of the day or in the middle of the night. The clinking of poker chips, the ringing of the slot machines, the spinning of the roulette wheel. A symphony of life unfolding beneath all the glitter, an energy bursting through the air.

It’s hard not to feel good with Sasha at her side. Like she was meant to be there, her stride in time with Anetra’s as they reach the bar where Salina works.

Salina waves frantically, and sighs in relief when they sit down. “Oh my god, I’m glad you’re alive. I was so worried.”

“Do you know something about last night?” Anetra asks. “Because Sasha and I don’t really remember anything.”

Salina nods. “I know part of it. You told me you were on a date so I gave you that new drink we were trying, but Amethyst made it wrong and loaded the damn thing with twice the tequila it should have had. It was basically blackout juice. That’s probably why you don’t remember much.”

Anetra turns to Sasha. “Well, that explains most of it.”

Sasha rolls her eyes. “That’s the last time I try a new drink.”

Anetra grins and turns back to Salina. “Do you know where we went from here?”

“The arcade,” Salina answers. “You wanted to win her a prize on that stupid punching game you always played to try and make girls notice how strong you are.”

“You didn’t need to share all those details, but thanks,” Anetra mumbles, while Sasha hides a laugh behind her hand. Her laugh is so warm and rich that Anetra almost doesn’t mind that it’s at her expense.

“Of course—wait a minute.” Salina’s eyes finally go to the ring on Anetra’s finger, and her neck nearly snaps as she turns to search for the same on Sasha’s. “What is this? What happened? Anetra! Your first time back here and you get married to some beautiful stranger?”

“Later,” Anetra says. “We’re on a mission right now.” She leads Sasha to the arcade, both of them laughing as Salina’s yelling echoes down the hall.

The arcade covers nearly an entire floor of the casino, with air hockey tables and racing games and claw machines and any other game you can think of, glowing and waiting for play.

Tucked into the corner, away from people and not as flashy as the others, is Anetra’s game of choice: a simple black stall with a punching bag the size of a boxing glove hanging from the top.

“I’ve never played one of these. How does it work?”

“Well, they’re rigged, but here’s how you do it. You want to hit the center of the bag, and you want to push through. In taekwondo, you’re supposed to imagine hitting something past the target, so your hit lands with all the force.”

“Can you show me?” Sasha asks, a hint of a smile on her face.

Anetra doesn’t even dare to breathe as she presses her chest to Sasha’s back, her hair once again tickling Anetra’s nose. She gently rests her hand under Sasha’s wrist. Her skin is soft and smooth, and Anetra can’t help but wonder if they had held hands last night, lost somewhere in the drunken memories.

“Okay. Bring your fist up to your shoulder height. Bend your elbow. Take a step with your left foot, and then carry your right one over with you when you punch.”

Sasha nods.

“We’ll do the first one together. One, two, three…” It’s hard to do with two people, but Anetra guides Sasha’s fist to the bag with a satisfying smack. Sasha races to reset herself and quickly throws the last two punches on her own, and Anetra pretends she’s just admiring Sasha’s form, rather than the curves of her arms or the way her hair whips around.

“Holy shit! That was fun!” Sasha breaks into the biggest grin Anetra’s seen from her, her tongue sticking out quickly, and it makes her heart skip a beat.

“And it’s useful. If you ever need to throw a punch, just do it the same way.”

“Good to know.” Sasha looks up shyly. “Can I watch you do it by yourself? You must be really good if you got enough points to win me an elephant. I don’t think I got enough to even win a whistle.”

“You’re in the sticker territory,” Anetra teases. “I’ll show you.” She shakes out her shoulders, trying to get rid of the nerves from a sudden audience—an audience of an extremely beautiful woman who happens by one small detail to be her wife.

Anetra squares up, centers herself, and delivers three quick punches, each one making the machine ring with the jackpot score. Sasha claps and cheers, and heat burns through Anetra. She could stay here all day, but there’s more to their investigation.

—-

Anetra lays her hands on the green velvet of Jax’s blackjack table. Sasha had suggested coming here next, figuring that after winning at the arcade, they probably felt lucky and decided to try their luck at blackjack.

“Yeah, you played a few rounds around ten last night,” Jax confirms. “With this woman who I’m assuming was your date?” They look at Sasha in question.

“Sasha,” Sasha introduces herself.

Jax nods. “Right. Well, you got twenty-one in the second round. Then you won two more times in a row, and I was wondering if I needed to get suspicious. Then Amethyst brought you more drinks because you liked them the first time.”

“Shit, I can’t believe we had more of that,” Sasha says, rolling her eyes and exchanging a hesitant smile with Anetra.

“Anetra drank half and then spilled the rest on the guy next to her,” Jax finishes.

“Did he punch me?” Anetra asks, pointing to her bruise.

“What? No. He was annoyed, but he was pretty drunk too.”

“Oh.”

“Why do you sound like you wanted to get punched?” Jax asks, then moves on. “No, you said you were gonna throw up and grabbed your chips and ran.”

“Oh,” Anetra says again, her vision of a thrilling fight at the blackjack table torn from her mind.

“So, did you throw up?” Jax asks with a little too much interest.

“Don’t remember. I don’t think so, anyway.”

“Do you know where we went after this?” Sasha asks Jax, saving the conversation from any further mentions of throwing up.

“Nope.”

Anetra sighs, but turns to Sasha hopefully. “Our mission continues.”

Sasha grins. “Yes it does, Agent Anetra.”

“I like that,” Anetra says quietly, heat clinging to her cheeks. In her black leather jacket, with Sasha in a gold dress that flows around her when she walks, they make great partners in crime, runaway agents in a spy movie.

“Can your mission continue away from my blackjack table?” Jax demands, and they run.

—–

Anetra leads Sasha through the gold slot machines, past rows of people pressing buttons and hoping for a jackpot. The machines are different in each section, with different themes and prize levels, but Anetra doesn’t think they’ll reveal much.

“Maybe we—”

“Anetra?” A voice calls. “Get over here.”

Anetra looks up to see Luxx, looking at her frantically. Luxx and Mistress run one of the more popular clubs in the casino, a glittering hideaway of its own little world, replacing the sound of gambling with music and dancing across a disco-lit floor. It was just as popular for its club scene as it was for its hidden inside diner, accessed through a mirrored hallway. Anetra spent almost every night there after her shows, eating and gratefully accepting the bags of ice Luxx brought for her knees, in exchange for listening to Luxx ramble about work.

Anetra and Sasha cross the casino hallway into the club, which is just getting ready for tonight. Normal lights are on, revealing plain tables stained from various drinks and sticky floors, all the night’s glamor and intrigue missing.

“I have your shit,” Luxx says, dumping a mini-backpack with a phone, credit card, roulette chips, and a room key into Anetra’s hands.

Her phone is dead, and of no help, but just having it makes Anetra feel normal again, like some of the world is returning to normalcy. “How do you have all this stuff?”

“Because you came here to dance and eat chicken tenders after playing roulette, and you left all that as payment. You disappeared before I could give it back.”

“Oh.” Anetra sheepishly slings the bag on her back. “I was pretty drunk.”

“Oh, I know. I don’t really even know your date’s name, it was just a bunch of s sounds.”

Sasha groans and rubs a hand over her face. “I’m Sasha.”

Luxx nods. “Good to officially meet you.”

“Did we do anything important while we were here?” Anetra asks.

“Oh, definitely.” Luxx breaks into a huge, possibly evil grin. “You two danced for a while. It was super hot, not gonna lie. Felt like a damn music video. Sasha whipped her hair around so fast I almost got whiplash…” They trail off, then regain their thought. “Then you went to the diner part. You ate chicken tenders and stared at each other like starving puppies. You talked for like two hours. I’ve never seen you so far gone for someone, Netra. Sasha even wiped hot sauce off your cheek at one point.”

Anetra tears her eyes away from Sasha. She doesn’t know if the embarrassment is from how hard she fell for Sasha, in love and ready to marry her after a few drinks and a few hours in her presence, or if it’s from not being able to remember any of it. She wishes she knew what they talked about, how much of themselves they had shared last night. She wants to know all of Sasha’s favorite things, what her life is like, what music she listens to. She wants all of those pieces, and after last night, she’s probably missed out on her chance. Playing secret agent in a casino has been fun, but after things are settled, they’ll probably both go their separate ways. Why on earth would Sasha stay in contact with some stranger she drunkenly married? Did any of what they felt last night really mean anything, especially if they don’t remember? Probably not, and any pieces of Sasha that Anetra had last night have slipped through her hands.

“Do you know where we went after this?” Sasha asks Luxx. She looks oddly wistful, almost like she was lost in thought too.

Luxx’s eyes light up brighter than the disco ball on the dance floor. “Well, that’s the best part. You didn’t let me get to it.” They pause, drawing it out as long as possible, until Anetra huffs. “You must have fallen deep over those chicken tenders, because you went to Loosey’s chapel.”

It makes Anetra’s heart skip a beat. This is it, then. The end is in sight. They’ll go to the chapel, see if Loosey can tell them anything besides you were drunk and got married, and then it’s done.

“I guess we’re heading to the chapel,” Sasha says softly.

“Yeah.”

—-

“You were drunk and got married,” Loosey says, her no-nonsense tone at odds with the sparkly pink walls of the chapel. The baby blue pews somehow look menacing, their empty seats staring at Anetra. “That’s about all I can tell you. Oh, I did bring you to a room.” She nods at Anetra. “You didn’t have your room key, and I wasn’t about to search your wife—Sasha, I think?—for hers. I thought it was easier to bring you to an empty one. I basically carried both of you, so you’re welcome.”

“Thank you,” Anetra says, and she means it. She wishes she didn’t act like a drunk idiot, but things could have gone worse if Loosey didn’t get them somewhere safe.

“I do have a phone that one of you left here. And a credit card with Sasha’s name on it.”

“The phone is mine too,” Sasha says, taking both from Loosey. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Loosey pauses, biting her lip, then turning to them earnestly. “I can tell you—I’ve done a lot of these weddings. Most of them are disasters and I know they won’t last ten minutes. But you two. I don’t know. You looked right together. You looked like you meant the vows and the kiss.” She shrugs a second later. “But you were drunk, what the hell do I know? Maybe I’m just in a less cynical mood today.”

With that, she directs them out of the chapel and into the casino hall, where the shouts and yells and rings crash into them.

“Can I show you something?” Anetra asks. She doesn’t want things to end yet, doesn’t want to have the conversation they need to have.

Sasha nods, and Anetra leads her down to the fourth floor service elevator. For all the glitter and gold and glamor, this was always her favorite spot in the casino. It’s only a cramped bench near the elevator, but it overlaps just enough with the fifth-floor aquarium that you can look up and see the bottom of the glass tank that the turtles swim around in.

“I love this.” Sasha’s eyes shine in awe, and it makes Anetra want to marry her all over again.

“No one knows about this spot except the workers. I used to come here when I wanted a little quiet.”

Sasha sighs. “I guess we solved our mystery of last night.”

“The only thing we didn’t figure out is how I got this bruise.” Anetra presses it while she thinks.

But Sasha has a hesitant smile on her face. “Oh, um, I remember what happened. I didn’t want to tell you, because I figured you were picturing some big heroic fight.”

“I wasn’t,” Anetra insists weakly, though her head still plays the scene of her punching the guy who fought her after she spilled her drink, or defending Sasha from a jealous blackjack player, or even an epic battle where she single-handedly took down a bunch of pit bosses who were watching their wins too closely.

“Sure.” Sasha’s smile is too knowing. “Anyway, when you were leaving the blackjack table, you stumbled and walked into a pillar. Kind of anti-climactic, I know.”

“Are you sure?” Anetra asks, a sly smile spreading across her face. “Maybe some other secret agents were after us, and we had to flee across the casino, and I took them down with nothing but my fists and some blackjack chips.”

Sasha’s smile widens. “Maybe that is what happened. But I helped you take them down too.”

“You absolutely did.”

They slip into silence, and Anetra could stay like this all day. Sasha at her side, the turtles passing overhead. The day wouldn’t have to end. They wouldn’t have to decide what to do about these rings. She wouldn’t have to say goodbye to Sasha and wonder what could have been if they just had a normal night.

Sasha finally speaks. “So, I think I’ve decided whether this was a good idea or a bad one.”

“Worst idea of your life, I’m guessing?”

Sasha laughs. “Oh, this was nowhere near the worst idea of my life. No, this was—somewhere in the middle. And I might not remember last night, but today was actually really fun.” The joking tone is gone, and she looks at Anetra like she means it.

“Yeah, it was.”

“I—I like hanging out with you. I like you.” Sasha tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, looking up at Anetra hesitantly.

“I like you too,” Anetra says. If today was a date of sorts, it’s one of the best she’s ever had. She loves Sasha’s laugh, and how well she bounces off what Anetra says. She loves her hair and her eyes and the way she sticks her tongue out when she’s excited. “I wish I remembered kissing you,” Anetra says before she can stop herself. “You deserve better than some drunk wedding kiss.”

“You deserve better too,” Sasha breathes, and then she’s leaning in. Anetra’s heart leaps when Sasha’s lips meet hers, soft and warm and sweet. It’s the kiss they should have had last night, the kiss they deserve to have, with Sasha’s arms on her back and Anetra’s hands resting on Sasha’s waist, feeling her warmth and having it grow in her own chest. Anetra doesn’t want to let go, because she knows this is their farewell kiss, but she forces herself to.

Anetra takes her hands off Sasha’s sides and steels herself. Maybe if she starts the goodbye, it won’t hurt so bad. Like ripping off a Band-Aid. “So, I guess we—”

“I’m really hungry,” Sasha cuts her off. “Are you hungry? I think we should go to dinner and have a real date. One we can remember.” She stands up, offering her hand to Anetra, the wedding ring glinting in the light.

“Do you…are you sure?” Anetra just blinks at her, worried that Sasha will disappear if she looks away, or will change her mind.

“I’m sure.” She takes a breath. “Look, we can worry about these rings and that marriage certificate after. I just know that I like you, and I want to spend this week with you before we do that.”

“I’d love that.” Anetra slips her hand into Sasha’s, and lets Sasha lead her into the casino.

#rpdr fanfiction #s15 #anetra #sasha colby #anetra x sasha #salina estitties #jax #luxx noir london #loosey laduca #lesbian au #athena2 #concrit welcome

[writethehousedown]

Here Comes the Sun 1/7 (Branjie) -- athena2

A/N: Hi, I was really excited to write this little fic! It’s literally all fluff because I’ve been self-isolating for weeks and I just wanted fluff. Thank you so much to Writ for beta-ing and supporting this whole idea. I hope you enjoy! Title from Here Comes the Sun by the Beatles.

Summary: Brooke and Vanessa are two kindergarten teachers crushing on each other when a shared umbrella might help love bloom.

Day 1: Storm

It’s the rainiest spring on record, and Brooke Lynn Hytes has had it.

There’s been all kinds of rain as March blurred into April: cold rain that plunked on her neck and drizzled down her back and left her teeth chattering all day; light sunshowers that distracted her kindergarteners and left them confused over the mix of sun and rain; a misting rain too light to justify an umbrella but enough to annoy her and ruin her hair. And today’s rain: a howling, window-rattling thunderstorm where rain hurled down from the sky and soaked you to the bone with or without an umbrella.

And Brooke just happened to be without hers, so busy stopping the cats from jumping across the living room like they were completing an obstacle course that she forgot to grab it.

Brooke flinches as thunder rumbles outside. She’s disliked thunderstorms since she was a kid. Sometimes they would knock out the power lines, and the darkness scared her even more. She’d hide under her covers with an army of stuffed animals to protect her from the storm she was sure would explode through the windows and pull her in.

But she’s a grown woman now, and she can’t very well hide in bed and call in sick over a thunderstorm.

With a deep breath, she emerges from the dry warmth of her car and runs for the back entrance of the school, holding her rain jacket closed as wind tugs at it, whipping her hair around and soaking her legs with chilly rain. The door feels farther with each step, each raindrop that pelts her face.

“Hey, Brooke!” a gruff voice calls, loud enough to be heard over the howling rain.

Oh no.

Of all the teachers who could see Brooke looking like a drowned rat, why did it have to be Vanessa? Vanessa, the most popular teacher in school, always happy and energetic and exciting—she once wore bunny ears and launched jelly beans into the teacher’s lounge before spring break—with a class of respectful and kind kids who showered her in holiday gifts each year, even after they graduated kindergarten. Vanessa, with her bright crafts lighting up the hallways and the kind smiles she gives Brooke every day at lunch and her rosy cheeks and warm brown eyes.

“Um, hi, Vanessa.” Brooke always feels special using Vanessa’s first name, like she has some secret power over everyone so used to calling her Ms. Mateo. She wonders if Vanessa likes when Brooke uses it, if it feels as special to her as it does when Vanessa calls her Brooke.

“I got an umbrella, if you wanna share,” Vanessa offers. “You’re soaked.”

“Oh, um, thank you.” Brooke’s not the best at asking for or accepting help, so used to her independence. But she’s already drenched, and Vanessa’s umbrella is just inches away, and Brooke nods.

“You’ll have to hold it, though,” Vanessa says with an adorable laugh that makes Brooke’s heart flutter. “I’m too short to make it cover both of us.” Vanessa is short, tiny enough for Brooke to scoop up and carry, something she’s thought about more than she cares to admit.

Brooke smiles, accepting the handle of the bright flowered umbrella and lifting it over them both, grateful for a respite from the rain pounding on her head.

They’re almost to the door when thunder booms through the sky, clapping in Brooke’s ears. She jumps at the noise, jostling the umbrella and bumping shoulders with Vanessa. “S-sorry,” Brooke grits out. “I’m just–”

“Not a fan of thunderstorms?” Vanessa guesses kindly.

“Not really,” Brooke admits. At least Vanessa can’t see her blushing in the rain, but Vanessa doesn’t seem to mind that Brooke is afraid of thunderstorms. It’s not surprising, really. Vanessa is always quick to discourage bullying of any kind, helping her class be empathetic to others. She’s too nice to ever think less of Brooke for that. They finally reach the door, plastered with posters for the school’s annual carnation sale next week, and she ushers Vanessa inside.

“Wanna warm up in my classroom? I got the best heat in the school,” Vanessa says.

The heat in Vanessa’s room is legendary. For whatever reason, her room has three heating vents instead of two, and teachers and students alike clambered inside to soak up some warmth during the frigid, finger-numbing winters. Aside from the heat, Vanessa always has crafts in all the colors of the rainbow hanging on her walls, plus a class guinea pig named Bertha who loved having people pet her.

Besides, Brooke has time before her class arrives, and her knees are shaking from the cold. A little warmth can’t hurt, not to mention some time with Vanessa. The idea alone makes her stomach flutter like a pack of butterflies let loose. Brooke just hopes she can think of something interesting to say, because even though she’s been working with Vanessa for two years and has wanted to say more, Brooke never had the nerve or the words for more than small talk.

Vanessa’s room is done up in an ‘April showers bring May flowers’ theme–Brooke hopes something good might at least come from all this rain–with dark blue raindrops covering half the wall and construction-paper flowers in bright reds, oranges, yellows, and pinks on the other half.

The heating vent in the corner is huge, and Brooke lets the warmth blast at her damp black skirt and cold legs while Vanessa dumps her bag at her desk.

Brooke can’t resist peeking at Vanessa’s desk. It’s much messier than Brooke’s, but it seems to be an organized chaos, markers and pens and papers strewn about almost intentionally. A tiny bi pride flag peeks out from Vanessa’s Pikachu mug, making Brooke wish for the courage to put a little lesbian flag on her own desk.

“How’s Bertha doing?” Brooke asks.

“She’s good. She’ll be having her babies any day now. I’ve been taking her home just in case she has them at night.”

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot she was pregnant.”

Vanessa nods. “I brought her to a shelter while I was away for winter break. She found herself a man that knocked her up and then went back to his family. Typical, if you ask me.”

Brooke snorts. Vanessa slides up next to her, red sweater brushing Brooke’s white button down. “You want to hold her?”

“You don’t mind?”

“Nah. I don’t have to worry about you holding her like I do with my kids. One of them tried to reenact The Lion King with her.” Vanessa leads her to the cage, where Bertha squeaks happily. Vanessa eases the ball of brown and white fluff into Brooke’s hands, their fingers brushing against each other, sending a jolt of heat through Brooke’s arm.

She pets Bertha’s head, Vanessa slipping in close to pet her back, so close Brooke can hardly breathe. She can see the gleam in Vanessa’s eyes and the precise edge of the eyeliner Vanessa expertly applied, can smell the coconut shampoo she uses permeating her hair, frizzy from rain water on the top.

The warning bell sounds, signaling that the teachers have 15 minutes before collecting their students from where they congregate in the gym.

“Guess I better get going,” Brooke says.

“Guess so.” It might be Brooke’s imagination, but Vanessa sounds equally sad to say goodbye to her.

Vanessa nestles Bertha back in her cage and Brooke starts to leave.

“Hey, Brooke?”

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you take my umbrella.” Vanessa extends it to her. “It’s supposed to rain all day. You’ll need it later.”

“Are you sure?”

Vanessa nods. “No big deal. I got an extra, and I’ll see you tomorrow anyway.”

“Thank you, Vanessa. Really.” Brooke’s whole body is warm at Vanessa offering her the umbrella, and though she wants to protest, tell Vanessa to keep it, Brooke accepts. Because that way, she has a reason to talk to Vanessa tomorrow.  

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #athena2 #here comes the sun #lesbian au #fluff #concrit welcome #spring fling 2020 #day 1: storm #submission

[sexydeathparty]

Just How Good Is Sex For Your Skin?

While having sex, you’re typically not thinking about how great your skin is going to look afterward. But like other good-for-you activities, the benefits of having sex extend far beyond whatever pleasure is derived in the moment. In fact, having sex has both physical and psychological effects that can benefit skin health for women, in particular, and can even make you look younger.

AlisaVitti, founder and CEO of Flo Living and a functional nutrition and women’s hormone expert, explains that it’s important to first define what “having sex” means, because not all sex is equal.

“For women, the sex that benefits us is clitoral stimulation and it turns out that achieving climax is not necessary to achieve all the health benefits,” Vitti explains. “Most people confuse the words orgasm and climax. They are two distinct things. Climax is the big finish. Orgasm is everything else, and the longer you stretch out orgasm, the more nitric oxide and oxytocin you will produce, which triggers all the other benefits,” Vitti says.

This so-called “orgasmic plateau” is beneficial for men, too – a time in which nitric oxide is produced to create an erection. For men, however, ejaculation can actually be depleting, says Vitti, leading some biohackers to practise refraining from climaxing in order to retain the benefits from erection alone. (This isn’t completely necessary to see skin health improvements – there are other ways in which sex benefits everyone regardless of whether climax occurs.)

The release of that nitric oxide and oxytocin can help balance hormones, flush out cortisol, boost collagen production and slow the ageing process. In women, it even helps regulate ovulation. “When your immune system, your stress response system and your reproductive system are performing optimally, the skin has a chance to perform optimally, too. When they are stressed and underperforming, you will see it on your face,” Vitti says.

That oxytocin boost can be calming and encourage better sleep. “A restful night sleep is associated with higher energy levels, improved memory, heightened immunity and boosted health – all of which can contribute to healthier skin,” shares Jess O’Reilly, a sexologist and host of the Sex With Dr. Jess podcast.

Notice that your skin breaks out before big work events or travel? Sex might be a good idea to calm stress-induced acne. Sex can lower cortisol, a stress hormone that can cause overactive sebum glands (i.e., cause oily and more breakout-prone skin) when raised. High cortisol can also aggravate existing skin conditions, like psoriasis and dermatitis. “One study found that those who had recently had intercourse responded better and had lower blood pressure when put into stressful situations,” O’Reilly says. 

And when sex is especially vigorous, it can act as exercise, boosting blood circulation that brings nutrients to the skin; it may even have anti-inflammatory effects. “This rush of oxygen and nutrients promotes the development of collagen to prevent skin sagging and regenerates new skin cells to keep the skin glowing and exfoliating properly,” said board-certified dermatologist Corey L. Hartman in a previous interview with HuffPost.

As for that post-please glow? It’s absolutely real. O’Reilly explains that sex can increase levels of DHEA, a hormone that not only can ward off depression but also has beauty benefits like promoting shiny hair, glowing skin and bright eyes.

Despite the myth that masturbation causes acne, it might actually be a key to clearing it up – all of these benefits can be reaped regardless of whether you have someone to sleep with (although Vitti recommends ditching the vibrator in order to spend more time in the beneficial orgasmic stage, rather than reaching climax too quickly).

“When it comes to pleasure, it doesn’t matter how you enjoy it ― alone or with a partner. Pleasure is pleasure,” O’Reilly says. “Having said that, if sex enhances your connection or feelings of trust, love and intimacy, that might offer a bonus: Happy relationships are associated with better health (mental and physical), which can positively affect your skin.”

But if you are coupled up, you might experience an extra benefit. “[A] study found that frequent sex is positively correlated with low blood pressure and resting heart rate in couples who live together,” O’Reilly says.

Of course, sex can lead to some skin mishaps, like skin irritation from stubble or rubbing skin. “Chafing is always a possibility with repetitive touch, rubbing and grinding,” O’Reilly says, but using lube and changing positions can mitigate a post-sex burn.

Excess sweat can seem like an issue, but Vitti sees it as a positive: “Sweat is SO good for your hormones!” she shared. “So many women are unknowingly oestrogen dominant, which leads to breakouts, so get your sexy sweat on! However, feel free to do a little scrub down in the shower after to further enhance lymphatic drainage and support the oestrogen detox,” Vitti says. Sweat, like movement, also improves blood circulation, and it can even help clear bacteria from skin, thereby curbing acne and skin infections.

So next time you want to give your skin health a boost, put down the moisturiser and head to bed instead – it’s your choice whether anyone joins you.

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[artificialqueens]

When We Begin Again (Sasha Colby x Anetra) - Athena2

Summary: After a loss, Sasha grows closer to her daughter’s taekwondo teacher, and deals with her feelings.

A/N: Thank you so so much to @slutnetra for suggesting this idea, and for being lovely enough to let me try my hand at writing it. I hope this is at least close to what you had in mind, and I really hope you like it. Please leave feedback if you like, I really appreciate it!! Thank you to Writ for betaing.

Sasha is grateful Kerri fills the silence on the drive to her taekwondo class. Driving makes her nervous lately, even though she wasn’t in the accident, and the talking helps. It’s Kerri’s first class back after the summer—after the funeral, Sasha tries not to think—and she’s bouncing in the backseat. Her hair is finally long enough to have the pigtails she wanted since a girl in her class had them and she cried because she didn’t think she could have hair that long, and she twirls both as she talks about school and her friends.

“We’re here,” Sasha says as they pull into the parking lot.

Kerri quiets a little, and she holds Sasha’s hand on the way to the door even though she’s insisted she’s too old for that lately. Sasha squeezes her hand gently, rubbing her thumb along the back like she’s done since the day they adopted her.

Sasha’s only been inside the taekwondo studio—dojo, she’s pretty sure it’s called—a few times, when Kerri had a skills night. Jack always brought her to class. The reception area is bright and open, with awards and medals shining on the walls.

Anetra, Kerri’s teacher, is in the entrance, a little intimidating with her dark hair pulled back and a black belt around the waist of her white uniform. Sasha knows the uniform has a name, but can’t think of it once she sees the wings of a butterfly tattoo on Anetra’s chest peeking above the fabric. She hasn’t noticed anyone like that since Jack. It feels wrong, and she shakes her head to clear the thought.

Kerri runs up to her, and Anetra crouches down to Kerri’s height. The intimidating look on her face breaks into a smile, softening the scar running through her left eyebrow. “Hey, Kerri. Did you have a good summer?”

“Yeah!”

“I love the pigtails,” she says, and Kerri beams.

“Mommy did them for me!”

“She did a great job. Do you want to put your stuff away and get ready?”

“Okay!” Kerri runs back into the main room, and Anetra straightens up and turns to Sasha.

“Hi,” Sasha says.

She’s seen Anetra from time to time at the skills nights, but always from afar. She was at the funeral since she talked to Jack a lot when he dropped Kerri off, though Sasha’s memories of that day are too numb to remember any interactions with her. She does remember the reception after; Kerri had slipped away, and Sasha found her sitting next to Anetra, neither of them saying a word. When Sasha asked her about it later, Kerri said that she was tired of grown-ups talking to her, and Anetra just let her be quiet.

“Hi,” Anetra says.

“Kerri won’t be behind or anything, will she? I know she missed some classes after—“

“She’ll be fine,” Anetra says in reassurance. “It’s nothing too intense at this age group. I’ll be here to help her if she needs it.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” Anetra smiles sadly. “I know I talked to you at the funeral, but I wanted to tell you again how sorry I am.”

“Thank you,” Sasha says on autopilot. She’s heard it so many times since it happened, but Anetra sounds like she means it.

“How are you doing? I—I don’t know if it’s okay for me to ask that, or if you’re sick of talking about it.”

“I don’t mind. People don’t really ask anymore, now that it’s been six months.”

In the days right after it happened, people treated her like glass about to break. They were so kind, so helpful, and there was so much to focus on, that she had no time to break. But when the food people brought got eaten, when the texts to check in on her stopped, when the responsibilities of a funeral were gone and there was suddenly so much time with nothing to fill it, the more Sasha felt like she was going to break. Like there was nothing holding her together anymore. But she’s kept it together for Kerri, and deals with what she needs to in therapy. She’s not going to bother anyone else with it.

Anetra nods.

“Most days are okay,” Sasha continues, because something about Anetra makes talking easy. “They’re okay, and then I start to feel guilty that they’re okay. Like it’s too fast. Like I shouldn’t be okay this soon. Sorry, I didn’t mean to tell you all that,” she adds, running a hand through her hair.

“I don’t mind. And I understand. I think it’s normal to feel guilty that you’re doing better. But it doesn’t mean it’s wrong.” Her low voice is warm and steady, and as much as Sasha has kept things in, it’s good to talk to someone like this, no therapist’s desk in between them.

Two students and their parents file in, and Sasha snaps out of it. She’s just here to bring Kerri, and turns back to the door. “Thank you. I—I’ll be back to get Kerri.”

“See you.” Anetra smiles, and it lightens Sasha’s heart in a way that nothing’s done in six months.

—-

Time flows strangely for the next week. The days themselves go on for years of blankness, but put together, they happen in the blink of an eye. Her therapist says it’s normal, and Sasha listens to her. Before she knows it, she’s back in the car taking Kerri to class.

This time, there’s a puppy howling in the backseat too. Kerri’s been asking for one for years, but Sasha and Jack wanted to wait until she was a little older. She turned six over the summer, and Sasha decided that was old enough. Besides, lately it’s hard for her to refuse anything that brings Kerri a little joy, makes her feel excited. Kerri’s child therapist thought it might be good for her too. Hence the hyper dachshund in her backseat.

“Can we bring him inside?” Kerri asks once they reach the studio.

“Just to the door.”

Kerri runs to the door with the dog running beside her.

“Hi, Kerri. Hi, Sasha.” Anetra greets at the entrance. “And who’s this little guy?”

“Kerri somehow convinced me to get a dog last weekend.” Sasha sighs.

“His name is Stitch!” Kerri says proudly.

“He’s so cute. Can I pet him?”

Sasha nods, and Anetra bends down to pet Stitch. He sniffs her hand, and then jumps up, licking her face and wagging his tail a hundred miles an hour.

“Sorry.” Sasha pulls him away before he can completely slobber all over her. “He really likes you.”

“It’s no problem.” Anetra laughs. “Want to go get ready, Kerri?”

“Okay!” She gives Stitch one last squeeze, hugs Sasha goodbye, and runs inside.

“How’s everything going?” Anetra asks. It doesn’t have the hushed tone or hint of pity the question usually has when people ask her. It’s more like Anetra is just asking, like she would for anyone else.

“Okay, I guess.” Sasha shrugs. “Nothing exciting, really. Just work and getting things settled with the dog. Lots of laundry, for some reason. You’d think Kerri wears five outfits a day. That’s probably more boring than you wanted to hear,” she says with a laugh.

Anetra laughs too. “I mean, I spent the weekend cleaning my apartment. That’s even more boring.”

“That is more boring,” Sasha agrees.

“Yeah, and then I used too much bleach in the bathroom and almost got high. But not even in a good way.”

Suddenly Sasha’s laughing until her shoulders shake, laughing in a way she hasn’t in a while. It feels normal, and it’s nice to feel normal. “Sorry,” she gets out through her laughs. “I don’t know why I’m laughing this much.”

“Because of me and my horrible cleaning skills, that’s why,” Anetra says, the moment only ending when more students trickle in.

“I’ll see you later.”

“See you.”

—-

After a few weeks of their chats before class, Anetra surprises Sasha with a chocolate chip cookie when she reaches the entrance.

“This is kind of contraband,” Anetra whispers. “They’re for the kids and parents after class but I wanted to give you one before they swarm the dish. Just don’t tell.”

Sasha grins. “My lips are sealed,” she says, taking a bite. “Thank you, this is amazing. I have a headache from helping Kerri with her math homework. Did you know math is different now? Because it’s different.” Sasha’s great with history, but Jack was always better at math, making sense of numbers that made Sasha’s head spin. She tries not to think about that every time she has to watch a tutorial to make sure she’s showing Kerri the right thing.

“I could barely do math when it was normal,” Anetra laughs.

“Me too.” Sasha rolls her eyes. “But otherwise she’s been doing well. I think this class has been good for her.”

“It was good for me too, when I was a kid. I was quiet then. Even quieter than I am now.” Anetra smiles faintly. “But it helped a lot. It didn’t make me into some extravert, but I made a few friends, got more confident in myself. I think it was an outlet for those things I didn’t know how to say.”

It’s the most Anetra’s said at once, especially about herself. She seems to understand Kerri in some way, and Sasha thinks back to the two of them after the funeral, quiet and calm, Anetra able to give Kerri the peace that none of the other well-meaning adults could.

“Thank you,” Sasha says. She means it for a million things at once. For being such a good teacher to Kerri. For reassuring her own worries. For helping Kerri that day at the funeral. It’s not enough for everything, but Anetra nods solemnly, almost like she knows.

“You’re welcome.”

—-

It’s a hard week, one where the loss is big and dark enough to devour her. It comes to her in small things. Things she never would have thought of. Looking down at the rice she’s stirring and thinking that it’s not enough for three people, before remembering that it’s only for two. Wondering why she hasn’t seen any boxers or dress shirts in the laundry lately. Stretching her arm out in bed, and hurting like it’s the first time when she meets empty space.

The wind whips around as Sasha follows Kerri through the studio door, her head turning to see—

A tall man with blond hair, a polite smile on his face.

Sasha freezes like a wind-up toy that broke mid-motion. “Um, hi,” she says. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Sasha,” she adds smoothly, covering her confusion.

He nods. “I’m Steve, Anetra’s teaching assistant. I’m doing the class myself tonight because she’s not feeling well.”

“Oh.” Her mothering instinct kicks in, and she absurdly wishes she could bring Anetra soup, the way she would for Kerri. Or Jack. “I hope she feels better,” Sasha says, ignoring the tightness in her throat.

Lately she has to think about what she’s feeling, what emotion is making a home in that numb block of her chest. She’s disappointed, she realizes. Disappointed that she didn’t get to see Anetra, exchange their few minutes of conversation that make her feel normal. The disappointment cuts deep in her chest, heavy against her ribs, and she blames the intensity of it on sleep deprivation. Kerri had a bad dream last night, and Sasha was up half the night with her, holding her while she cried and reading to her until she fell asleep again.

She’s just tired, and disappointed, and that’s probably why Anetra appears in her dream that night.

—-

“Do you feel better?” Sasha asks Anetra next week, before she’s even fully in the door.

Anetra looks normal—no flush of a fever, no sniffling nose. “Much better, thanks. I had a cold, which wasn’t that bad, but then I got a migraine, and that was”—she glances around to make sure there are no kids nearby—“really shitty. I hate missing class, but I thought my head was gonna explode.”

“It’s good that you took care of yourself,” Sasha says, feeling like a hypocrite because her therapist reminds her of that all the time, that taking care of Kerri doesn’t mean she can’t take care of herself too. “I mean, you can’t break boards and stuff with a migraine.”

“Do you think I just casually break boards all day?” Anetra teases with a wry smile.

“No,” Sasha says, her cheeks warm. “Well, maybe a little. It would be cool if you did, though, wouldn’t it?”

Anetra laughs, that deep laugh that makes Sasha feel calm every time she hears it. “Yeah, it would. I’d be like some action hero.”

Just then, a kid comes barreling through, bumping Sasha just enough that she stumbles. She pitches forward into firm arms.

“You okay?” Anetra asks softly. She quickly pulls her hands off Sasha’s hips, and Sasha misses the touch. It’s been so long.

“Yeah, I’m good. Forget the boards,” she says before she can stop herself, “I think you’re already an action hero.”

—–

Time passes, slow and fast. They’re at the part of the year Sasha was dreading the most, like a monster lurking behind you in a nightmare: the holidays. As weird as it is, the holidays help, in a way. She lets the calendar dictate what she needs to do, and functions in that same autopilot mode she was in right after the accident. November means turkey and pie with her friends like always, because she doesn’t talk to her family, and Jack was never close with his. December means cookies and wrapping presents and carrying Kerri to bed after she falls asleep watching Christmas movies on the couch. January means a night watching Golden Girls reruns instead of the ball dropping, because for the first time in ten years, there’s no one to ring it in with.

They just happen, and that’s about all Sasha can say for them. They happen, and some moments she’s really enjoying everything, and some moments it’s like she’s in the room but there’s a sheet over her, and everything is hazy and faraway.

It also means no taekwondo classes, with all the holidays and days off school. When Sasha finally brings Kerri back in January, it’s like returning to a long-forgotten place. Especially when Anetra smiles in the doorway.

“Did you have a good holiday?” Sasha asks after Kerri has scampered away.

“It was nice. I did stuff with my friends. I don’t…my family and I…we don’t really talk,” Anetra finishes. Her head is down, and Sasha has learned that means she doesn’t want to talk about something anymore.

“I understand. Um, do you want to see a picture of Stitch dressed like an elf?”

Anetra’s head lifts, her face brightening with her smile. “Is that even a question? Of course I do!”

Sasha pulls out her phone and shows Anetra the dog, dressed in a dark green coat with a matching belt and little elf boots with bells on the tops, a pointed hat on his head.

“He was fine with it at first, but when I put the hat on he got so mad,” Sasha laughs. “I got one picture before he ran around to get it off. Then he chewed it up.”

“In his defense, the hat makes him look very undignified.”

“He’s a dog who tries to eat garbage, he has no dignity.”

Anetra laughs. “Yeah, that’s fair. The boots are my favorite.”

“He really likes the boots. He still wears them. Figures my dog would be a shoe lover like me.”

Anetra is still laughing. She’s still laughing, and Sasha is laughing with her, and that tingling in her chest is—it’s happiness. It rises like a wave, almost knocking her over in its strength and purity. Happiness wild and free, shining on her face and burning in her arms and legs because her body doesn’t know how to contain such a feeling anymore, doesn’t have the space for it.

Did the happiness just burst in her naturally, or was it made easier by Anetra? Anetra, with her kind eyes and deep laugh and listening ear. Anetra, who talks to her like she’s normal and doesn’t treat her like some tragedy. Anetra, who makes Sasha feel warm and happy, who makes her heart melt in that way it used to around…

The happiness, like her heart, turns to ice.

—-

The thought churns in her for weeks.

She likes Anetra.

Her wedding ring squeezes her finger, weighs her hand down, like it’s mad at her for even thinking such a thing. She and Jack were married for eight years, and together for two before that. Ten years, and now, he’s been gone for eleven months, and she likes someone. It feels like a betrayal.

Everyone tells her that Jack would want her to move on and do things, like go out with her friends instead of always declining. He wouldn’t want her to suffer and be sad for the rest of her life. Logically, she knows it’s true. He always wanted her to be happy, and if it can’t be with him, he’d want it to be with whoever made her happy. But it still feels wrong. Just like each good day where she has fun with Kerri and isn’t hit with a wave of sadness feels wrong. Like she’s moving on too quickly. If just having a good day feels wrong, how could liking Anetra not feel wrong? In some ways, it’s even worse, like she’s just throwing away the years of love she and Jack shared.

She talks it over with her therapist, who tells her that liking someone is natural, that it isn’t a betrayal. Her therapist suggests getting coffee with Anetra as friends. She doesn’t even need to think of it as a date. It can be something with a friend. Something for herself, since it’s been so long that she’s done something for herself.

It’s easier to think of it that way. She’s just asking Anetra for coffee as friends. Then she doesn’t have to think of how she leaves as early as acceptably possible to bring Kerri to class, so she can have a few more minutes talking to her.

She strides to the door behind Kerri, loosening the tension in her shoulders. Just coffee, just as friends. Asking is nothing, really.

“Anetra?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you like to get coffee with me this Saturday?”

“I would love to.”

—-

Sasha’s leg bounces into the coffee shop table, rattling her mug. She’d spent hours getting ready, trying to find something between sweatpant-casual and date-dressy, and settled for jeans and a sweater. She purposely came early to get a table in the cafe’s loft, private and secluded.

She waves to Anetra when she arrives, who waves back with a smile. She gets her coffee and makes her way to the loft, and Sasha can’t help staring, because it’s so different to see her anywhere but the studio entrance, in head-to-toe black rather than her uniform. Sasha can’t stop taking in all the pieces of Anetra she’s discovering. The black leather jacket that curves around her shoulders like a hug. The tiny lesbian flag pin on its collar. The silver ring in the right side of her nose.

“Hi,” Sasha says.

“Hi,” Anetra says, shyer than normal, like she’s not as sure of herself outside the studio. “How are you?”

“I’m good, but I…I was wondering if I could hear about you, if that’s okay?” Sasha asks. “I feel like I talk a lot.”

“Um, sure.” Anetra sips her coffee, and Sasha’s pretty sure she’s blushing.

She tells Sasha of nights sneaking out of bed to stay up and beat another level on one of her video games. Weekends spent at taekwondo tournaments, trying to do homework on the ride there, clutching a new medal or trophy on the ride home. She won major tournaments and world championships, and Sasha figures most of the awards in the studio are hers, not just the studio’s. She’s been on her own for a while, and opened the studio when the years of competing took their toll on her body, but she didn’t want to leave it behind. She likes ducks, and goes on walks in a park farther from where she lives just because it has a duck pond.

Sasha talks too, and they trade stories until they finish their first mugs, get refills, and finish those too. It’s not until her fingers absent-mindedly twist her ring around, like she’s done millions of times, that she realizes she hasn’t thought about him at all today. Her eyes burn with that familiar sting, and Anetra’s face softens with concern.

“Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Sasha says thickly, trying to get it out around the tears burning in her eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise. This whole thing has been perfect. It’s been perfect, and I…” And I didn’t think about Jack once, she thinks, but she doesn’t say it, because she’s breaking in that way she thought she would in the beginning, but never did.

“Hey, I got you.”

There are arms around her, soft and warm and strong, and Sasha lets herself melt into them, the leather of Anetra’s jacket soft against her cheek. She hates that she’s doing it here, that she’s ruining the day, but it’s almost a relief. To not worry about holding herself together anymore. To fall apart in someone’s arms, let them take some of the burden she carries. To just let that glass break, let it shatter into a million pieces, and not worry about cleaning the pieces up.

The tears flow and her shoulders heave, and Anetra doesn’t let go until Sasha pulls away, wiping the last of her tears. She takes in a deep breath that feels lighter, like she’s shed everything she’s been carrying for almost a year.

“Do you want water, or anything?” Anetra asks, still hovering at her side, like she wants to help but isn’t sure how.

“I’m okay.” She really is, calmer and lighter and relaxed.

Anetra sits back down, her eyes so kind and warm it nearly takes Sasha’s breath again.

Sasha breathes slowly. There’s more she needs to tell Anetra, and she wants to tell her while she has the chance. “I like you. I really do. And I don’t want to mess this up, or lose you.”

“You didn’t mess anything up. You’re not gonna lose me.”

“I–-I like you as more than a friend, if I’m being honest,” Sasha says, and Anetra’s eyes widen. “But I don’t think I can do anything about it yet. I need to take things slow. And I don’t want to forget Jack.”

“I would never want you to forget him,” Anetra says seriously. She bites her lip, and looks at Sasha, nothing but warmth in her gaze. “Sasha, I’m your friend, and I care about you. I–I want to be there for you. Whether that’s as friends, or if you ever want it to be something more. I’m here for you, no matter what. You don’t have to do this alone, you know? I know you’re used to doing everything yourself, but I’m here.”

The words are a hug just like Anetra’s arms. To know that Anetra’s seen her at her lowest, and it didn’t change her opinion of her. To know Anetra sees what she’s carrying on her shoulders, and simply wants to stand beside her and share it.

“Tell me about him,” Anetra says suddenly. Sasha hesitates, but Anetra nods in encouragement.

“Well, he never closed a drawer all the way a day in his life. Drove me nuts.” Sasha smiles a little, to bring up one of his flaws, instead of the endless positives everyone always mentions. “I really like oranges, but I couldn’t peel them when I had my nails done, so he’d do it for me. He’d take Kerri shopping and let her pick out his ties for work. She’d pick ones with flamingos and butterflies and flowers, and he’d wear them. ”

She could keep going, but she stops. The memories are warm and golden, but the sun hitting Anetra’s face is warm and golden too. Maybe she can live in the memories a little less and in the present a little more today, without it meaning she’s throwing the memories away.

“Anetra?” Sasha asks.

“Yeah?”

“Will you take me to that park you mentioned? I want to see the ducks.”

“I would love to.”

—-

Two Years Later

The wind rustles Sasha’s hair gently. She stands by the duck pond in the park, watching the little yellow ducklings paddle after their mother.

“Faster, faster!” The silence is broken by Kerri’s laughs and shouts as she urges Anetra to give her a faster piggyback ride. Stitch begins yipping along, and Kerri leaps off Anetra’s back and takes Stitch’s leash from Sasha, running around the duck pond with him.

Sasha lays the blanket on the soft grass, then stretches out on top of it. Anetra settles in at her side. They don’t talk yet; they don’t need to. Sasha just sits, and looks at the sun lighting up the pond in a golden glow, and breathes. Everyday gets a little better, a little easier. It doesn’t take away what happened, what she lost. It doesn’t erase the memories, but it makes them hurt a little less, until she can think of them and smile, rather than cry.

“Everything okay?” Anetra asks softly, stroking her hair.

Sasha rests her head on Anetra’s shoulder. She breathes in the spring air, breathes in Anetra. She loves Anetra, and Kerri, and their dog who barks too early in the morning, and she knows it’s okay to feel it. “Everything is perfect.”

#rpdr fanfiction #s15 #sasha colby #anetra #anetra x sasha #kerri colby #lesbian au #hurt/comfort #mild angst #athena2 #tw death #concrit welcome

[artificialqueens]

[WIP] Waking Up In Vegas (Sasha Colby x Anetra) - Athena2

Summary: Anetra and Sasha wake up married in Vegas, and have to piece together the previous night.

A/N: This is just an idea I had one day and have slowly been working on. Thank you Writ for encouraging me to do it! This is is some of the first scene.

Anetra wakes to something tickling her nose, and a blinding light shining in her face. She forces her eyes open and realizes the light is the sun, which is pouring through the window. Her head throbs like someone is hammering nails into it. Her chin hurts too, for some reason. She gently works along it and meets what she’s sure is a bruise on the right. She’s still dressed, even down to her boots. But no phone, and the only card on her is for the casino arcade.

What the hell happened?

As she keeps blinking and her senses slowly restore themselves, she makes the first discovery: there’s a woman in the hotel bed with her. She’s beautiful, from the side of her face that Anetra can see—even with mascara smeared under her eye—with thick brown waves tumbling over the pillow. That must have been what was tickling Anetra’s nose.

Red blackjack chips are scattered over the bed like rose petals, and a stuffed elephant sits at the foot of it. More confusion, and the glaring sun is doing nothing to help her focus. She’s almost positive she had closed the curtain in her room before she went out last night. Come to think of it, she’s almost positive her room wasn’t this high up, either; she can glimpse blue sky and the roofs of other hotels from her position. The second discovery occurs to her: this isn’t her room. It must be the sleeping woman’s.

Only after slowly removing her arm from the woman’s waist does she make the third discovery: a gold wedding band on her left hand, which certainly wasn’t there the day before.

She went back to Vegas and woke up married.

Anetra sits up and swears.

#wip wednesday #rpdr fanfiction #anetra x sasha #s15 #anetra #sasha colby #lesbian au #athena2 #concrit welcome

[artificialqueens]

Awake My Soul (Sasha Colby x Anetra) - Athena2

Summary: After Sasha walks into the coffee shop where Anetra works, Anetra makes some discoveries about herself.

A/N: So this was inspired by the Blame It on the Edit episode, where Anetra is just talking about how hot Sasha is. I thought it would be a fun idea for a fic. That said, thank you so much to Writ for all your help! Thank you for brainstorming ideas with me and helping develop this. Please leave feedback if you like!!

Anetra tightens her apron in preparation as Luxx unlocks the coffee shop door. A few minutes pass before the first customer, and she actually makes Anetra’s jaw hang open.

The woman is absolutely beautiful, even from afar. Dark brown hair falls over her shoulders in gentle waves, thick and glossy. Her skin is smooth and soft and actually seems to glow like in a commercial, despite the coffee shop’s dim lighting and windows that receive no sun. Looking at her instantly makes Anetra’s face burn, makes her stomach twist into knots, and it only grows worse when the woman reaches the counter, and is suddenly close enough to touch. Close enough for Anetra to see that her eyes are hazel, with flashes of green and gold, like sunlight shining through leaves. Eyes that are looking at her expectantly.

“I can help you?” she half-asks, half-shouts, the heat spreading from her face and into her stomach. “Sorry. I mean, can I help you?”

“Can I get a large coffee with caramel syrup and one cream?”

Anetra nods and begins typing it into the register, grateful for something to focus on besides staring at the woman. “Um, for here or to-go?”

“To-go.”

Anetra grabs a to-go cup and taps the marker against it. “I just need…” She makes the mistake of meeting the woman’s eyes again, and her train of thought flies off the track and into space. The seconds tick by, and Anetra is still tapping the marker against the cup as she scrambles for what she’s supposed to ask. She feels like a wind-up toy made solely for this purpose, and her face is on fire. “Um, your name. For the order?”

“Sasha.”

It’s a pretty name, a soft name, and Anetra writes it on the cup with the soft smoothness it deserves. The woman pays, and counting out change gives Anetra something else to focus on, before she grabs the cup and order ticket and flees from the register, sighing at the coffee station.

“What are you doing?” Luxx demands, because Anetra can’t even have a second’s peace today. “Are you lesbian panicking over that woman?”

Anetra’s heart skips a beat just at the thought. “I’m not lesbian panicking, I’m…I’m regular panicking. I’m not even—I don’t even like women.” She was too shy to even look at the other girls for most of high school.

Luxx blinks. “Okayyyyy,” they say, drawing it out for about ten syllables.

“I don’t. I’ve never liked a girl or anything, and I had this boyfriend in middle school.” Though come to think of it, Anetra was never really sure if she liked him the way boyfriends and girlfriends are supposed to. He had nice hair, and didn’t make fun of her for being quiet, or for being faster than the boys in gym, so that was something.

“Did you have a boyfriend, or did you have some boy who held your hand at lunch and said he was your boyfriend and then broke up with you twenty-four hours later?”

Anetra crosses her arms. “I’m not answering that.”

“Look, I’m not blaming you. She’s really hot.”

“She is,” Anetra breathes. “Oh my god. Am I lesbian panicking?”

“I think you need to sort that out yourself.”

And then Luxx abandons her, the first time today Anetra didn’t want to be alone. Her brain works in overdrive as she gets Sasha’s coffee ready.

Sasha’s pretty, yes, but anyone would objectively say she’s pretty. Luxx just did. Besides, Anetra’s found girls objectively pretty before, without it meaning anything; doesn’t everyone? But something about Sasha feels like more than that. Anetra physically has to stop herself from looking at her. Looking at her feels like what she always thought love was supposed to feel like—the animated hearts in cartoons, the endless staring in rom-coms. But since when were rom-coms realistic anyway?

Any further thinking is cut off by the hiss of an espresso maker as Luxx works, and Anetra takes it as a sign to forget this stupid panic and finish making her order. She sighs and returns to the counter, where Sasha is waiting. It sends a jolt through Anetra, one that grows when their fingers touch as Sasha takes the coffee.

“Have a good day,” Anetra says.

“You too.”

Then Sasha is gone, and Anetra bends over the counter and buries her still-burning face in her hands.

—–

“A little birdie told me someone was lesbian panicking yesterday.”

“Mistress, it’s too early to be this loud.” Anetra starts the morning with her head in her hands again, trying to block out the onslaught from Mistress on her right and Luxx on her left. “And it wasn’t lesbian panicking.”

“Bisexual panicking?” Mistress asks, undeterred.

Anetra sighs.

“She was so far gone,” Luxx announces gleefully. “I mean, the woman was gorgeous, so I don’t blame her, and—look, she’s back!”

Anetra’s head flies up so fast her ponytail whips around and smacks the back of her neck. Sasha is in the doorway, and the sight of her makes Anetra’s stomach twist again. Maybe it wasn’t a crush at all. Maybe it was just indigestion. Maybe she’s having some sort of internal issues and she’ll just collapse here because she can’t stop staring at Sasha and her brain is shutting down and—

“One of you should wait on her,” Anetra says quickly.

Mistress claps her hands to her chest. “Oh, but I just remembered I need to check on those scones.”

“And I…need to help her check the scones,” Luxx says, sprinting after her.

Anetra swears softly. “Can I help you?” she asks Sasha. It’s right on the first try, and it makes Anetra buy into the indigestion theory again. This isn’t a crush, and she’s not lesbian panicking.

“What do you have that has a lot of caffeine? I’ve been up since four, and it’s gonna be a long day.” She runs a hand through her hair. The collar of her shirt falls to the side, revealing the soft curve of her shoulder, dotted with freckles and beauty marks.

The entire coffee shop menu promptly flies out of Anetra’s brain.

“I, um, I…let me check with my coworker.” Anetra runs into the kitchen like she’s escaping a fire. The dumpster fire of her life, maybe.

She grabs the portable fan Mistress keeps for when she’s working near the ovens and aims it at her face on full-blast.

“This is so bad,” Luxx says to Mistress, in a whisper that’s not a whisper.

“What do we have with a lot of caffeine?” Anetra chokes out. “I need to tell her something, she’s out there waiting—”

“Okay, breathe first,” Mistress says, and Anetra does, her body starting to function again, like a rebooted computer. “Tell her to get a blonde roast or one of the cold brews.”

“Right.” Anetra nods desperately, then takes a breath and goes back to the counter. Sasha is waiting patiently, like the wait didn’t even bother her.

“Sorry,” Anetra says. “I just wanted to check. But we have a nitro cold brew you can get with different syrups. You like the caramel one, right?” Her brain remembers that much from yesterday, but she hopes it doesn’t look creepy to remember that.

“Right.” Sasha grins. “Okay, I’ll have that.”

Anetra manages to keep her brain working as she completes the order, and hands it off without a problem.

—–

Sasha is back the next day, and it should be easier for Anetra to get a hold of herself on the third try, but it gets harder, because Sasha is wearing a purple dress that fits like it was meant just for her.

“I think Anetra stopped functioning,” Luxx says to Mistress. Anetra barely hears it, because she did, in fact, stop functioning.

“Yeah,” Mistress agrees. “I’m gonna have to be the adult here, aren’t I?” She sighs and heads to the counter, taking Sasha’s order, then pressing the cup into Anetra’s hand. “Can you get the order done?”

Anetra nods, staring at the order slip until the letters make sense.

“So, what do you do?” Mistress asks Sasha, and Anetra listens in while she fills the cup.

“I own a dance studio,” Sasha says. “I teach and choreograph a lot of the classes.”

“Anetra, did you hear that?” Mistress calls, despite the fact that Anetra’s just a few feet away. “Sasha’s a dance teacher. I bet she’s really flexible.”

“Maybe not as much as when I was a kid, but yeah, I still got it,” Sasha says with a smile.

Anetra’s face could not be hotter if she dipped it into the espresso machine. That might actually be preferable to putting up with this.

“I heard,” she says.

“Anetra can dance too,” Luxx says loudly.

“I’m not trained or anything,” Anetra says, trying to deflect. She’s already thinking about Sasha dancing, about how graceful her arms and legs probably are. Her heart is pounding.

Sasha shrugs. “I’ve seen great dancers with no training.”

“She has no training at all, she’d need lots of practice,” Luxx begins, but that’s too much even for Mistress, who quickly starts talking over them.

“And Anetra teaches too. She does taekwondo lessons sometimes.”

“You do?” Sasha turns to Anetra, whose face burns once again at having Sasha’s eyes on her, with nowhere to hide.

“Yeah. Just part-time,” Anetra manages, passing Sasha her coffee.

“That’s really cool.” Sasha smiles shyly. “This is probably a stupid question, but do you know how to break boards? Or is that just something people do in movies?”

“No, it’s a real thing. I know how to do it.”

“That’s amazing. You must be really strong.” Sasha’s eyes sparkle, and Anetra is captivated at the thought of Sasha being impressed by her and her strength.

“I’m kinda strong,” Anetra says. “I usually lift all the flour and stuff in the back.”

Sasha’s smile grows. “I bet.” She finally takes her coffee, her fingers brushing against Anetra’s, and Anetra’s just grateful the cup is out of her hands, because she absolutely would have dropped it. She can still feel the lingering warmth and softness of Sasha’s fingers even after she leaves.

Luxx swarms Anetra, throwing an arm around her. “Look at you! You made it through a conversation with a gorgeous woman for like a whole minute! How do you feel?”

Her head is spinning, the lights floating in dizzying circles. “Like I just got off a roller coaster and want to throw up.”

“That’s the spirit!” Luxx cheers.

—–

Anetra is a few minutes early the next morning, and spends it hunched over a table in the kitchen, scrolling through search results on how to know if you’re gay and even delving into a few quizzes that ask her questions she doesn’t know how to answer, pointing to results she doesn’t know how to react to.

“What are you doing?”

Anetra jumps. “Nothing, just looking at stuff,” she says, trying to tilt her phone screen away from Luxx’s prying eyes.

It doesn’t work, and Luxx’s face shines with a mix of horror and adoration. “You are not taking an ‘Am I Gay’ quiz. You’re not.”

“I’m just…really confused about how to know for sure.” Anetra shrugs, closing the window on her phone. Her feelings for Sasha sure seem like a crush, but how does she know? Why does it feel so different?

It softens something in Luxx a little. “Anetra, I know we’ve been annoying you all week, but seriously. You’ve been trying to convince yourself this isn’t a crush, but don’t you think doing that kind of proves that it is?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…I don’t know, do you think straight people spend as much time as you have convincing themselves they’re straight? I know it’s scary to realize you’re not straight, and it’s really hard. Sometimes it takes a long time to realize it. But if it feels right…maybe you shouldn’t deny that? And you don’t have to go through some giant change or anything if you do. You can just acknowledge it and work on it slowly.”

“Since when did you get so smart?” Anetra asks, because it’s easier to say that than to describe the heavy feeling in her chest at Luxx’s words. The weird feeling she’s had all week, and doesn’t know how to put into words.

“I’ve always been smart,” Luxx says, and then they swing out of the kitchen.

Is Luxx right? Has Anetra spent the whole week trying to convince herself that she’s straight? How does she know for sure? Because the quizzes and other google tabs she had open weren’t helping much.

Anetra sighs. She guesses, if she really thinks about it, that her objective noticings of girls might not have been that objective. She suddenly remembers the smug smile of a taekwondo opponent when she was twelve, how it almost distracted her into losing the match. It causes a domino effect in her, and she thinks of how easy it was to say she was too focused on sports or school to date boys, because there were none she ever really wanted to date in the first place. Even now, when she had time for dating, no guys ever caught her eye. She deleted her dating app minutes after signing up, because scrolling through all those mens’ pictures just made her feel nothing. She’d always blamed it on guys not meeting her standards, but what if she’d just been looking in the wrong place? Or not letting herself look in the right one, really. There were times when she knew she noticed women more than what was probably normal, and just ignored it, not letting herself even consider that it could mean anything. Not wanting to admit that she could be anything besides what she was always told was normal.

“I think I’m a lesbian,” she says quietly, just to herself, to see how it feels. It doesn’t feel like some grand revelation; there’s no sky opening up, no light shining down. But it feels right inside her somehow. Like maybe all those things she tried to ignore—the girl in taekwondo, how she was always mesmerized by the clinking of her classmates’ charm bracelets, why she could never feel excited about boys—are finally explained, finally adding up to something beyond confusion.

And maybe Luxx is right—again, Anetra thinks—that it doesn’t have to feel like some big change. Maybe it can be small right now, and she can work it out from there. She can admit she has a crush on Sasha, and talk to her. She can let herself look at other girls instead of turning her head away.

She heads outside. Sasha is at the counter, and even though Luxx could have taken her order, she’s waiting. Almost like she was waiting for Anetra. The thought makes her heart flutter, and that tingling in her stomach is still there, but it doesn’t make her feel sick this time.

“Hey, Sasha,” Anetra tries.

“Hi.”

“What would you like today?”

“I actually wanted to give you something.” Sasha slides her a piece of paper. “When you work out whatever’s been going on in that head of yours—and trust me, I’ve been there,” Sasha says kindly, “you might want this.”

She slips out the door as Anetra looks at the paper to see a phone number, one that steals her breath and has her counting down the minutes until her shift ends.

#rpdr fanfiction #anetra #sasha colby #anetra x sasha #luxx noir london #mistress isabelle brooks #lesbian au #fluff #athena2 #concrit welcome

[artificialqueens]

In Sight of Your Blinding Light (Sasha Colby x Anetra) - Athena2

Summary: Anetra is a knight for hire, and Sasha is the healer she goes to when she needs help.

A/N: Hi everyone! I’ve been very into this pairing lately, and it’s helped me get out of a very long writing slump. I hope you enjoy this! Also, thank you times 10,000 to Juno, for letting me talk about this with you, for helping with the ending, and for betaing. You are so awesome!! Please leave feedback if you’d like, I really appreciate hearing your thoughts!!

Title from Would That I by Hozier

The knock at the door is gentle, but Sasha’s a light sleeper. She pulls on a robe and heads to the door, wondering what it’ll be tonight. These late night calls are nothing new, not since she officially opened the back room of her cottage to help people with her creams and bandages and kindness. Women clutching babies, who were fussy and crying from their sickness. Adults with their own illnesses, or people who’d gotten in fights or had accidents.

The woman on her doorstep is beautiful, with dark eyes and dark hair. There’s a thin scar above her left eye that fills Sasha with intrigue. When Sasha can tear her gaze away from the face, she sees the woman is wearing arm and leg guards and a slim chest plate, a sword hanging off her hip, a knight without the full bulky suit of armor. There’s a cut on her left arm, her sleeve stained red.

“Do you need help?” Sasha asks.

The woman nods. “Um, hi. I’m sorry it’s late. Are you Sasha?”

“The one and only.”

“I was told that you’re the best healer for miles. Would you be able to help?”

“Of course.” Sasha ushers the woman inside and into the back room. She sits the woman in a chair, which looks like a doll chair next to the woman’s muscled arms, the sharp edges of her armor at odds with the rounded furniture. “Do you like tea? I have black, green, herbal…”

The woman clears her throat. “Anything is fine.”

Sasha nods and gets the kettle going. She’s been giving tea to her clients for years. It started as something she did for the kids, handing them small mugs of fruit tea with lots of honey. Having something warm to hold and sip on would take their mind off their fears or injuries or sickness, and Sasha found the same was mostly true of adults. She gave them a steaming mug of whatever kind they wanted, or a kind she thought might be a good fit—and she was very rarely wrong in her guess. For the jumpy clients, it helped them calm down, and for the shyer, quieter clients—like she has a feeling this one is—it usually helped them feel comforted.

She sorts through her teas. The woman’s shoulders were a little tense, and her sword-hilt had a carved fox—the symbol of Greenwood, where lemon was abundant. Sasha adds lemon-ginger tea to one of her stone mugs, then watches steam curl around it.

She pulls a table to the woman’s right and places her mug there, then takes her own chair in front of the woman. “Is it okay if I lift your sleeve up?”

The woman nods, extending her arm to Sasha. She’s already removed her arm guard, and she sips her tea with her free hand. “This is really good,” she says.

Sasha grins. “Thank you.” She carefully rolls up the woman’s sleeve, exposing the short red slash across her arm. It looks like a sword wound, but Sasha doesn’t need to know. It’s an easy fix, and she never asks more than she needs to.

“It looks worse than it is,” Sasha says soothingly. “I’ll get it cleaned and bandage it, then you’re good to go.”

The woman nods. She’s still as Sasha cleans the blood, still in a way that makes Sasha think she’s used to pain. It hurts to think about, and Sasha works gently, like it can make up for the pain of the past.

“It’s all set,” Sasha says, tying the bandage in place.

“Thank you.” The woman gets to her feet, her strong form even more impressive in the tiny room. “How much do you charge?”

“I don’t.” Sasha’s never charged anyone. She has enough from her old life that she doesn’t need to. That life feels like centuries ago sometimes.

“Thank you. Um, good night.”

“Good night.”

Be careful, she thinks, because even if she’d like to see the woman again, she doesn’t want her to be hurt for it to happen.

—-

In a perfect world, Anetra would sail through each assignment she’s hired for without a scratch. But she gave up on believing in perfection years ago, and being a knight for hire brings far more cuts and bruises than she imagined. Still, if she can’t be a real knight, she’ll take the jobs she can get, use the training she learned from other street knights. An extra guard outside a local lord’s manor on a party night. A night to kick the ass of a man harassing a woman and her son. A fight with an enemy of some noble, to send a warning. She doesn’t talk, doesn’t ask questions. She becomes a sword, sharp and ready for whoever wants to wield her, and their gold softens the blows.

Tonight she’s going after a thief. A woman hired her to get back a necklace belonging to her grandmother. It was stolen last night, and Anetra spends most of the day in a tree with cramping legs, searching for someone matching the description. It’s hours later when she gets lucky, hopping down and pulling the man into an alley. She doesn’t expect a fight, and she doesn’t get one—just a shove into the ground that scrapes her hip.

At least the necklace is okay.

She straightens up and stretches to see the scrape on her hip. It’s oozing blood, but it’s not bad. Still, there are bits of gravel in there, and while Anetra could try to get it out herself, it’s better left to a professional.

She heads into the village, delivers the necklace, collects her gold, and knocks on Sasha’s door. Anetra didn’t think she’d be back so soon, but Sasha’s her best option. She didn’t ask questions, didn’t try to make her talk, didn’t look at her with pity. Not to mention Sasha’s the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen.

Sasha’s hazel eyes light up in recognition, and Anetra’s heart lifts too. “Do you need help?” Sasha asks.

“It’s just a scrape,” Anetra says sheepishly, cheeks hot over coming here for a scratch. “There might be gravel in it but I’m fine, really.”

“No, it’s good you came,” Sasha says, voice so warm that Anetra wonders why she considered leaving.

It’s only the second time, but it feels routine as she heads down the hall, trying not to think about what room is Sasha’s. Sasha leads her to the chair in the back, brews tea, and returns with a mug, tweezers, and a bowl.

The tea is raspberry this time, and Anetra sips happily, thinking of the summers with fingertips stained red from picking raspberries.

“Would you feel okay showing me?” Sasha’s calm, professional, and while Anetra’s not embarrassed, she’d be comforted if she was.

“Sure.” She pulls her shirt up, wincing when the wound hits the air.

Sasha sits on the floor, tweezers in hand. “This might hurt a little.”

“It’s fine.” Anetra’s had worse.

Sasha nods and gets to work. It doesn’t hurt bad, just an occasional piece that tears her skin. When those happen, Anetra curls her left hand into a fist where Sasha can’t see. Anetra looks down at her side, seeing the top of Sasha’s soft brown hair. Her head is down, but Anetra sees her biting her lip in concentration as she works, and it’s hard to look away. She’s so close to her. If she reached down, she could feel if her hair is as soft as it looks—

“I’m Anetra, by the way. I never told you,” Anetra says, partly to fill the silence and partly to stop her own staring.

“That’s a pretty name,” Sasha says, and Anetra wonders when it got so hot in here. She stays still for the rest, turning the words over in her mind.

Sasha straightens up and brushes the hair off her face. “It’s all set. Not too bad, right?”

“Nope. Thank you.” She’s still too warm, and she quickly makes an exit, then spends most of the night wishing she had stayed longer.

—-

“I’m starting to think you’re doing this on purpose,” Sasha teases, when Anetra shows up for the third time in two weeks, painted with blood from nose to chin.

Anetra flashes a rare smile that Sasha treasures. “I swear I’m not.” Anetra sighs, dropping into the chair. She looks more at home in it now. “I really thought I’d get through this one without a scratch. But this cat came out of nowhere and distracted me, and I got punched.”

“Was it a cute cat?” Sasha asks. “I like the fluffy ones.” It’s a lighter side of herself, one she never really shows around clients, who expected her calm, professional persona. But something about Anetra is different, like Sasha doesn’t always have to be perfect around her.

“I didn’t notice. It looked fluffy, though.” Anetra smiles again. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I’m good at my job. I swear.”

“I believe you,” Sasha says, and she does. She doesn’t know what exactly Anetra does—she’s guessing some kind of fighter—but she knows she’s good at it, and she knows she cares about it, because she hangs in there no matter how many times she’s been hit.

“Um, how—how are you?” Anetra asks, while Sasha gently wipes the blood off her face. “I never ask. I just show up and bleed on your furniture.”

Sasha smiles to herself. Anetra’s more talkative now, like she’s grown used to Sasha, knows she’s safe with her. She’s a bit like Camden, Sasha’s neighbor. Quiet at first, but talkative once she knew you. A lake that was freezing at first dip, but quickly warmed around you.

“This furniture’s seen worse, believe me.” Sasha pauses, because none of her clients ever ask about her. “And I’m good. It’s been a slow day, I was mostly out in the garden.” She was never allowed to tend the huge garden in her old life, and the first thing she did when she got this cottage was spend a day outside, sweaty and smeared with dirt, planting seeds. The seeds of her new life.

“Did you plant it yourself?” Anetra asks, eyes on the window, where stalks of tomatoes flutter in the wind.

“I did.”

“Impressive,” Anetra says. “If I knew how to whistle, I would.”

“I can’t whistle either,” Sasha admits.

They laugh together, and Sasha leans in now that the blood is gone, gently feeling along her nose. She’s close enough to see flecks of gold in Anetra’s brown eyes, and the sight is so stunning she has to remind herself what she’s doing. “Luckily it’s not broken.”

“That’s—that’s good, then.” Anetra sounds dazed, like she also forgot what was going on. It’s a sound, and a look, she gets a lot around Sasha. “I’ll try not to be back so soon,” she teases.

“I’ll be here,” Sasha promises.

—-

Two weeks later things are going great, with a string of assignments that go well. Anetra’s body is grateful, but there’s a dull pain somewhere anyway, and it might be from missing Sasha.

Until the night she stops some poison supplier, one who signals to a friend behind Anetra, and there’s an arrow in her shoulder, just above her armor, before she can even turn around.

“Fuck.” She stares at it sticking out of her in disbelief, like she’s in a daze. It doesn’t look real. More like a toy arrow, sticking out of a shoulder that’s not real either. Even the trickles of blood seem too red to be hers.

She’s not supposed to take it out herself, she knows that much. Her training might not be from a royal guard, but others gave her tips on treating injuries to hold herself together until she can get actual help, and this was one of the first.

She swears again and gets moving.

“Ever removed an arrow?” Anetra asks Sasha by way of greeting. She’s gritting her teeth, breathing labored, but there’s relief beneath it all, because she knows she’ll be okay now.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Sasha pinches the bridge of her nose and swears under her breath. “Come in.”

Anetra eases into the chair while Sasha gets ready. She’s really focused today; there’s no tea, but she gives Anetra something else to drink, for the pain. She slowly removes Anetra’s armor, so she can be more comfortable. She gets bandages and cream, then comes back with scissors Anetra can’t help but pale at.

“Okay,” Sasha begins, calm as ever, despite what’s happening, “I’ll cut down the arrow first.”

Anetra sits as still as a statue while Sasha trims the arrow, trying to keep her breaths slow.

“You’re doing great,” Sasha says, and Anetra burns at the praise.

Sasha turns to the front. She braces her left arm across Anetra’s chest, holding her steady. Her heart is pounding so hard she has no doubt Sasha can feel it. She doesn’t know if it’s from the anticipation, or having Sasha so close. “I’ll pull it out on three.”

“No, wait,” Anetra says, hating the quiver in her voice. “Do it on a random number. A friend of mine said it’s better that way. That the anticipation of waiting for three makes it worse, or something.”

“Smart idea.” Sasha grins. “Okay. Seven. Twelve. Ninety-three. Five.”

On five, Sasha tugs the arrow out. It’s like being shot but in reverse, like part of her chest is being pulled out from the inside, and Anetra shudders out a gasping curse, curling in on herself and wincing as she pants for breath.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Sasha’s voice breaks through the cloud of pain. She hands Anetra a bowl in case she needs it, stroking the sweaty hair off her face. The touch is soft and cool, bringing her back to the world. “It’s out. Still with me?”

Anetra nods. Whatever Sasha gave her is kicking in. It’s not knock-out strong like the whiskey people in town swear by, but it dulls the worst. Her eyes slide closed while Sasha takes care of the rest, her light touches grounding Anetra.

“I’m done,” Sasha says softly. “I had to stitch the entry and exit wounds. I can take them out in a few days, just try to take it easy until then.”

Anetra nods.

“It’s almost three. Do you want to stay here until the morning?”

The words shock Anetra, sending her eyes flying open. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you up all night.”

“Don’t worry about it. So, do you want to stay?”

It’s a nice idea, and she wants to say yes so badly. Wants to watch the moon fade and the sun emerge, watch it light up Sasha’s face. But Anetra’s alert now, and the worries are springing up like enemies in the field. “But if I’m here long, what if that puts you in danger? That guy could have followed me here, I didn’t even think—” She won’t let anything happen to Sasha. Anetra’s hired to fight some people and protect others—it’s usually both at the same time, two sides of the same coin. A sword and shield in one, for whoever hires her. For Sasha, she would be both.

“I don’t think that’ll happen,” Sasha says, steadying the hand Anetra didn’t realize was shaking. “And if anyone comes here, I’m not worried. You’re here, and I’m tougher than I look. Just because I help people doesn’t mean I can’t fight.” Sasha’s expression is solemn, and Anetra realizes how true it is. Sasha is kind and caring, a shield for the people who need her. But it doesn’t mean she can’t fight, that she can’t be a sharp sword too. Just like Anetra.

“Okay,” Anetra agrees. She lets Sasha lead her into the kitchen, trying not to wonder why she would be so nice to her. Why she cares this much, when the people who hired Anetra never blinked at her injuries.

Sasha comes over with two mugs and a kettle.

“Let me.” Anetra grabs the kettle with her good arm. Sasha’s probably poured hundreds of cups of tea for people. Anetra’s betting it’s a long time since someone poured her one.

“My own personal knight.” Sasha smiles as she takes a seat across from her.

“Not a real one, anyway,” Anetra mutters.

Sasha frowns. “Do you want to tell me?”

Anetra sighs and sips her tea. Chamomile, with honey, she’s pretty sure. “Not much to tell. I’m not a noble, so I can’t get on the royal guard. I figured I’d help whoever I can around here. I’m a knight for hire, I guess.”

All she wanted was that life of gleaming armor, the weight of a sword at her hip, the tales of glory. But the Queen wouldn’t consider knighting someone without a title attached to their name. So Anetra made her own title. If no one would give her armor for protection, she’d protect herself. If no one would put the sword in her hand, she’d sharpen herself into one.

Sasha nods. “I’m sorry. If it helps, being a noble isn’t that great.”

The revelation doesn’t surprise Anetra, because as much as Sasha fits here, there was something different about her, something Anetra couldn’t figure out. Now it seems obvious. It’s in Sasha’s poise, the way she carries herself. Of course she was made for a life of gowns and balls and polite society.

“No?” Anetra asks finally.

“No. There’s a lot of rules and expectations. You have to act a certain way, look a certain way, all the time.” She sighs. “I couldn’t live that life anymore. So I left. Went to a few different places, learned a few different things, before I found somewhere I wanted to stay, where I could make my own life as a healer.”

Anetra pictures Sasha alone, with no one to take care of her the way she took care of everyone, running from the life she knew to create one she wanted. She saw it earlier, and she sees it again now: Sasha’s more of a fighter than Anetra gave her credit for.

“I’m glad you’re happy now.” Anetra smiles. Sasha draws them out of her easier than anyone, and she flashes several more as they talk, about Anetra’s best fights and Sasha’s time traveling. Anetra has never talked this much, but Sasha savors every word. The hours pass until the sun rises, and Sasha turns to gold before Anetra’s eyes.

—-

Anetra gets her stitches removed, and Sasha jokes that she barely recognizes her not covered in blood. She brings Sasha sunflowers, since she mentioned the garden was too small to grow them, and the flowers turn to Sasha rather than the sun.

She takes it easy for a week, just simple jobs. She doesn’t want to ruin the hard work Sasha did putting her back together. When she feels good again, she takes one a bit harder. The owner of a tavern has been cheating customers out of money, and she’s been hired to rough him up as a warning to return it. It’s a quick job, and she hardly gets bruised.

She’s heading out of the woods when she hears footsteps.

She instantly unsheathes her sword, heart picking up as she spins around to find the noise. One man emerges from the trees. A second follows, and then two more. They all have a tattoo on their arm, she notices. An eye. It matches the one on the man she’d beat up not long ago, the enemy of a local noble. Apparently he has friends.

They circle her, and her heart sinks. She’s taken on two at once, has scraped by against three. Four is just too many.

But she’s not going easily.

They don’t have swords or shields. This is bare fists. Personal.

She tosses her sword aside. She can get by without a weapon, has won plenty of fights with just her hands. She’s her own weapon—one that’s outnumbered, but still sharp.

She dodges punches and hurls her own, the world a mess of fists and grunts and blood. She breaks one’s nose with a kick, narrowing it to three against one. But then one pulls out a knife, and the trouble really begins.

It’s not about winning anymore. It never was, against four opponents. It’s about making them work for it–taking as many hits as she can, and giving as many back. Sweat runs into her eyes, her breaths more strained, the number of hits raining on her skin growing. The knife sinks into her side just as one kicks her leg so hard it gives out. She crashes to the ground, awash in the bitter smell of blood. There’s one last kick in her bleeding side, and then they leave, satisfied that they’ve paid her back.

She doesn’t know how long she stays there, the sweet grass smell poking through the cloud of blood and sweat making her face stiff. She rolls over and stares at the black sky, can’t tell the difference between the sky and just closing her eyes.

She needs help, and there’s only one place she can go. She hauls herself up with a groan, using her sword to support her weight. Her vision spins, throwing the world sideways. She keeps her eyes on her feet, stumbling over the cobblestones.

Just a few more steps…

She falls into the door, unable to lift her arm and knock. Her eyes flutter shut as she waits, hope slipping away like the blood pouring through her fingers.

The door opens, and then she collapses, choking out the only name her mind knows, the name her body brought her to. “Sasha.”

—-

Anetra slowly blinks awake, taking in the unfamiliar ceiling, unfamiliar bed, unfamiliar white shirt she’s wearing. There are bandages on her forehead, her arms, around her knuckles, a thick one around her side. Bruises paint her arms blue and purple. She feels like one giant bruise, really, sore and stiff all over. But she’s in one piece. Fragments flood Anetra’s mind, hazy and blurred like steam. She remembers the woods, the fight, then Sasha’s door—

To her right is a chair, and in that chair, sleeping softly, is Sasha. Her legs are tucked underneath her and her cheek rests on her hand. She’s softer and more vulnerable than Anetra’s seen her, and she feels like she’s intruding on something she’s not supposed to see. She wants to wrap her arms around Sasha and hold her close, keep her safe. And in this moment, it hits her harder than a punch, because she knows she loves Sasha. Knows it like she knows her own sword. They could have a life in this cottage, and she could help Sasha in the garden even though she’s never planted anything. They could plant new seeds, share quiet nights together, take care of each other.

Anetra sighs, because it will never work. Sasha comes from nobility, and Anetra’s just some street knight. The seed will never grow.

Sasha startles awake, adjusting her position and rubbing her eyes. “Sorry, I—I didn’t mean to fall asleep. How are you feeling?”

“Were you here all night?” Anetra asks with a pang in her chest.

Sasha nods. “I wanted to keep an eye on you. You…you were in bad shape.” It must have been bad, if that’s what Sasha is telling her. Sasha’s voice is oddly small, and her eyes are red, now that she’s closer. It could be from exhaustion, but Sasha’s never looked like this even when Anetra knew she was tired. She’s never disheveled or stressed like this. When someone showed up at her door, she always knew what to do, weaving help out of bandages and tea and gentle words.

It really scared her, Anetra realizes. Anetra really scared her, showing up here covered in blood and collapsing at her door. Red still clings to Sasha’s nails, blood she couldn’t scrub off or forgot about in her worry. Worry Anetra caused her.

It’s too much. It’s one thing to have Sasha bandage a cut. But for Sasha to stay awake all night to make sure she was okay, for Anetra to scare her and cause her so much worry, is too much. Too much to leave a trail of blood here and put in her potential danger. Too much to ask of her. Too much care for Sasha to give.

And it’s more than Sasha caring about her. She cares about Sasha. She cares too much, is too attached, and she hasn’t been attached to anyone in a while. If those men found her to get payback, there’s no saying someone couldn’t find Sasha one day, hurt her as revenge. Even if that didn’t happen, how could she ask someone as amazing as Sasha to love her, with her sword-sharp edges?

She needs to leave and it needs to be now. Tearing an arrow out without waiting for the number three. Taking the pain without dragging out the anticipation.

“I have to go.” Anetra swears as she gets to her feet, stumbling forward like a newborn giraffe. She holds her side, wincing at the touch.

“But you—”

“I’m sorry, I have to.” Anetra sighs, knowing she’ll never have the right words. “Thank you for helping me. Get some sleep. Please, okay?”

“Anetra, wait—”

But she leaves before Sasha can say anything else, and the blood staining the doorstep is just another ugly reminder that Anetra did the right thing.

—–

Anetra passes the days staring at her own ceiling. She’s still in the white shirt Sasha gave her, and it smells like Sasha. Like honey and earth and something that’s just her. Anetra keeps it on, because she’s no stranger to pain.

She did the right thing, didn’t she? Leaving to stop potential pain? Yet pain is all Anetra feels now, and it’s more than just her healing injuries. Maybe it was wrong to walk away from Sasha. To think Sasha couldn’t love her with the same care and love she put into patching Anetra up. Or maybe the patching up is the problem. Because maybe there would come a time when Sasha couldn’t put her back together.

After a week of this, there’s a knock on her door.

“Hello?” Anetra’s voice is gruffer than normal, hasn’t been used all week.

The redhead standing there doesn’t seem to mind. “I’m a friend of Sasha’s. She asked me to bring you this.” She holds out a bag, and Anetra realizes it’s her armor and sword, which she’d left behind in her haste. Of course Sasha wanted her to have it back.

Anetra swallows the lump in her throat. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” The redhead bites her lip. “I know it’s not my business, but you should talk to her. I’ve never seen her this upset.”

Anetra retreats to the bed again, running her fingers over the shirt until she falls asleep.

—-

Anetra survived four men at once, but nothing has been harder than knocking on Sasha’s door now.

After a few more days replaying their last interaction, thinking about what Sasha’s neighbor said, she finally forced herself out of bed. Anetra thought she could leave and spare Sasha from the pain, that she could shoulder it for the both of them. But leaving was what hurt Sasha in the first place, the last thing Anetra ever wanted to do to her. She needed to make it right.

Sasha answers, and Anetra doesn’t miss that quick smile dart across her face. She leads Anetra to the kitchen table, and the silence between them is heavy enough to crush a building.

“I know you’re not a big talker,” Sasha finally begins. “But if you want to, I’ll listen.”

“I…I don’t know where to start.”

“Well, let me say I’m glad you’re okay, at least,” Sasha says, and it fills Anetra with hope. “Leaving like that…do you know how dangerous that was? How worried I was?” She isn’t yelling. Anetra doesn’t think she has it in her to yell. Honestly, she’d prefer yelling to the hurt and worry in Sasha’s voice.

“I know. I’m sorry I did that.” Anetra takes a breath, because she needs to tell the truth. She owes Sasha that much. “I left because…because I was scared. I realized how much I cared for you. How much I’ve asked you to care for me. It was too much, and I thought it was safer to leave. Then I wouldn’t put you through that stress or hurt you anymore.”

Sasha’s quiet, her eyes intent, taking it in. “But what if I want to care for you?”

Anetra ignores the warmth in her chest, drawing her internal armor tighter. “I told you, it’s dangerous. Someone could follow me to you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“And I told you,” Sasha says firmly, “I’m tougher than I look. I can handle that. You won’t scare me off. And I know you wouldn’t let anything hurt me.”

She’s right, and Anetra knows it. Anetra will always protect her, but Sasha can handle the scary parts of Anetra’s life, and she can handle herself. Just because her strength and determination are wrapped in kindness doesn’t mean they aren’t there.

“There’s something else,” Sasha says. It’s not a question, because of course she knows.

Anetra nods, and she finally peels her armor away, showing Sasha what’s underneath. “I’m not good enough for you,” she breathes, blinking away tears, the confession an arrow through the chest.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…you’re from a noble family. You’re smart and kind and beautiful. You’ve probably always expected someone better—you deserve someone better.”

Anetra looks down, sure Sasha will agree. But when she looks up, Sasha is at her side.

“It’s not about what I deserve, it’s about what I want,” Sasha says seriously, her thumb brushing away Anetra’s tears. “Anetra, I love you. I can be myself around you. Everyone sees me as some perfect hero who always knows how to help, but you see me for me. You’re the first person who ever asked about me. You’re the first person I’ve ever talked about my past with.”

“I am?”

“Yes. That old me, that old life, is gone. I don’t want some noble. I want someone I love, someone I can be me with. That’s you.”

Anetra nods shakily.

“And who says you’re not good enough?” Sasha continues. “You’re the strongest, bravest person I know. You’re kind, and you do the right thing and protect people even when it’s hard.”

The words slam into Anetra, filling her with relief and a lightness she didn’t know she could have. She’s enough. She never realized how much she needed to hear it, how every swing of her sword was an attempt to do more, do enough, prove that she was worthy of being a knight, even if she couldn’t have the title.

“Thank you,” Anetra says finally, taking in the warmth of Sasha’s eyes. In trying to protect them from the hurt, she had taken away a chance at joy. That joy is rising in both of them, and she won’t lose it. “I’m sorry, again, for trying to leave. I–-I really care about you, and I’d like to be with you.”

Sasha smiles. “I’d love that.”

“Um, so how…how do we do this?” Anetra asks, rubbing her neck. She’s gone for drinks at a pub with people on what she guesses was a date, but never became much. She doesn’t know what a real one looks like, and she doesn’t want to mess things up like she almost did already.

It’s probably a stupid question, but Sasha doesn’t miss a beat. “Well,” Sasha begins, smiling faintly, “did you know you can knock on my door when you’re not gushing blood? You can come over anytime. We can eat, go for a walk, talk in the garden…whatever you want.”

Anetra nods. It seems so simple when she puts it that way. Anetra didn’t need to come up with something elaborate—Sasha just wants to be with her, like Anetra wants to be with Sasha.

“Give me one minute.”

Anetra gets up and runs outside, spinning around on the doorstep and knocking on the door. Sasha opens it a few seconds later, a wide smile on her face.

“Can we start this over, and I’ll take you for a walk?” Anetra asks.

“That would be lovely.”

Anetra holds out her hand, and when Sasha takes it, Anetra presses a kiss to the back of Sasha’s hand. Sasha smiles ever wider, lacing their fingers together as they step outside.

#rpdr fanfiction #sasha colby #anetra #anetra x sasha #s15 #lesbian au #knight au #athena2 #tw blood/injury #concrit welcome

[artificialqueens]

In the Painted Desert (Anetra x Sasha) - Athena2

Summary: Sasha rides into the town of Redemption seeking revenge in a shoot-out tournament. Anetra is also part of the tournament, and the two of them confront ugly truths together.

A/N: I had this idea a few months ago, but never attempted it. While having writer’s block on another fic, I started this and it somehow came together quickly. This is an au of the movie The Quick and the Dead. I did change some things, especially to make it a bit less dark. You also don’t need to know the movie to read this (I do recommend the movie, it’s really good, and also the main character’s wardrobe is amazing). Thank you so, so much to Writ for beta-ing this and encouraging me along the way, you’re incredible. Also thank you Mar for letting me talk about this with you and for gushing over Sasha in cowgirl outfits with me. I really hope you like this, and please comment if you like!!

Dust kicks up under Biscuit’s hooves as he carries Sasha through the Nevada desert. It’s settled on her long black coat, caked under her nails since her last wash just this morning. Everything is brown earth and steel-gray sky for miles, only an occasional cloud to break it up. Dry and desolate and desperate. Feelings she knows too well. It’s another world, and it’s proof of how far she’s come.

The town of Redemption rises out of nowhere, almost a mirage among the dirt. If she can even call it a town. One main street, a tall clock tower with strips of wood hanging from its frame, a chapel, fifteen shops and houses on each side of the street. And at the end of the street, a looming mansion, watching over everything.

The reason she came here.

The mansion is the reason she came, but she can’t just march in through its ornate door that costs more than the town’s houses. She has to be patient, wait for the right moment. She’s waited for 25 years. A few more days can’t hurt.

—-

Sasha’s throat burns from a day’s ride with just her canteen, and she ties her horse to a post outside the saloon. She washes up at the water pump, sighing in relief at the cool water. She gives her horse some, and he drinks greedily. She dabs some on the back of her neck, refills her canteen, adjusts her hat, and enters the saloon.

The scuffed doors swing open to announce Sasha’s arrival. The saloon is no different from others she’s visited: dark wood floors covered in scratches, wobbly chairs and rickety tables, gruff patrons playing cards yellowed with stains from years of beer. Whispers follow her, but that’s no different either.

“What’s a lady like that doing here?”

“That ain’t no lady,” another voice hisses.

“She’s beautiful,” a meek voice whispers, barely audible. Sasha’s eyes fly to the woman who she suspects said it, and the woman flushes and looks away, so she probably did.

Sasha strides past the voices to the bar, the gun at her hip grounding her. “A beer, please. And a room.”

“Forty cents.”

She slides over the money, and the bartender passes her a glass of amber beer and a rusty key. “First door on the left,” he says, motioning to the stairs.

Sasha retreats to a table in the corner, watching everyone’s eyes finally leave her and go back to their cards. She sips her drink and massages the cramps from her legs, sore and burning from days of riding. She waits, until the doors swing open, and John Herod enters.

She hasn’t forgotten his face in 25 years.

The saloon immediately quiets, every head turning to look at him in anticipation. He carries a chalkboard, which he sets up by the bar.

“It’s time to officially open the dueling tournament. Rules are as follows,” Herod continues over the crowd’s murmuring, “Anyone can enter. Anyone can challenge anyone, but challenges can only be made the day of the duel. Sixteen participants allowed. The duel ends when someone yields or dies. Winner gets five hundred dollars. My name is first, so who’s next?”

She knew he would enter. It’s an annoying way to get revenge, but it doesn’t matter how she gets it. Sasha sits back, still waiting, as men rush to enter, as other patrons insult their shooting skills. The woman who noticed Sasha earlier quietly gets her name put down. Anetra. Sasha notices her all the more now, because no other women are entering.

When the board is nearly full, Sasha stands. “Put my name down.”

“No ladies allowed!” One of the men yells.

“Twenty minutes ago you didn’t want to call me a lady at all,” Sasha says, crossing her arms. “Now I can’t enter your tournament because I am one? Which is it?”

“If I’m allowed to enter, she should be too,” Anetra says, that meek voice from before stronger now. Her dark eyes carry a hint of mischief as she shoots Sasha a small grin. “You said anyone can enter. We have to be fair.”

Herod stares at her, eyes narrowed. There’s no way he could recognize her, Sasha tells herself.

He finally sighs. “Fine. What’s the name?”

“Sasha.”

He scribbles it down and goes back to the rest of the crowd. Sasha takes a deep breath and decides to head to bed. She’s not in the mood to listen to drunken chatter all night, but she allows herself a stop at Anetra’s table.

“Thanks,” Sasha says, “for standing up for me.”

Anetra looks at her in awe, softening the scar running through her eyebrow. “Of course.” She grins, leaning in conspiratorially. “I’ll be the first to tell you my father’s an asshole.”

“Your father?” Sasha chokes out, staggering back. She can’t see any of Herod in Anetra’s face. His sharp cheeks don’t compare to her soft, rosy ones; his cold blue eyes pale in comparison to her warm brown ones. There’s not a single trace of him.

“Unfortunately,” Anetra whispers.

Anetra obviously doesn’t like her father, but Sasha can’t do this. She mumbles something about being tired and runs upstairs, collapsing onto the thin bed.

Anetra might hate Herod, but it’s nothing compared to the hate Sasha has for him.

Because Herod killed her father.

—-

Tiny beams of sun fight their way through the cracked window shutters. Sasha sleeps through them as long as possible, and the sun is high in the blue-gray sky when she finally wakes. She combs through her dark tangles in the bathroom’s dusty mirror. She’d fallen asleep in her clothes—which has been normal for this journey—and with her gun still at her hip, which has been normal for 25 years.

She braids her hair, changes into a clean white shirt, and goes downstairs for breakfast. The fights begin at ten, and the saloon is packed. Sasha picks at eggs and bacon in the corner, telling herself she’s not looking for Anetra. She does look at the chalkboard, though, and nearly chokes. Her duel is first, against someone named Gus. Apparently she wasn’t allowed to pick her challenger, and they gave her the first round to throw her off.

It won’t work.

Sasha’s gun is an extension of her hand, the trigger like one of her fingers. Just before ten, she and the mass of people head outside. The townspeople line the street, while Herod presides over them, instructing Gus and Sasha to take their ten paces.

Sasha takes her spot, boot heels digging into the dirt. She pulls her coat back and sticks her right leg forward, hand hovering over her gun in its holster. Silence falls in the seconds before the clock’s chime. She hears the clink of coins someone’s betting, hears the scrape of the dirt when someone moves. And then—

The clock chimes, and Sasha’s hand is around her gun before it stops. She aims and shoots in the same instant, getting Gus in the arm and sending him to his knees as the crowd screams. His hit toward her passes over her shoulder.

“Do you yield?” Sasha calls. She doesn’t want to fire again, doesn’t want to kill anyone she doesn’t have to.

“I yield.”

The crowd roars in surprise, and coins change hands. At least a few people bet on her; that’s something.

“Who’s the next fight?” Someone asks.

“Frank and Anetra.”

“Anetra’s not even here!”

Herod sighs. “Someone go get her, that good-for-nothing is probably still asleep in that stupid barn.”

Sasha’s feet head towards the barn behind the mansion, out of her control. She doesn’t know why she’s going, why she cares, but there’s something about Anetra. Something about her dark eyes.

Half of the barn is devoted to three horse stalls, while the other half is enclosed. Sasha knocks on the door.

“Come in.”

The door creaks open into a tiny room, with dressers on one wall and a bed against the other. Anetra’s in bed, also still in her clothes from last night, black shirt showing off a butterfly tattoo on her chest. She’s not asleep, but she’s curled on her side and staring at the wall with eyes so lifeless they barely qualify as awake either. They carry none of the fire and mischief they did last night, and Sasha misses it.

“Drink too much last night?” Sasha tries to joke, but those shadows under Anetra’s eyes—shadows of a sleepless night, not a hangover, Sasha knows the difference—make it hard.

“This happens sometimes,” Anetra says, like she’s used to it. “I feel too…heavy when I wake up. Doesn’t make sense. It’s easier to let my father think I’m sleeping. I always get up eventually.”

Sasha nods. Maybe it doesn’t make sense, but she does understand; she knows the weight that settles in her chest, knows how hard it is to pretend it’s not there. “Your fight’s next, you know?”

“Fuck.” Anetra pinches the bridge of her nose. She groans and sits herself up, movements slow and heavy like she’s raising a building.

“Have you eaten?” Sasha asks.

“No.”

Sasha digs in her bag and passes Anetra her canteen and an apple. Anetra’s collarbones are too sharp, Sasha notices with a twinge of worry.

“Why are you helping me?” Anetra asks around munches of apple. A little life returns to her eyes as she eats, though her body still sags.

“I should ask myself the same thing.” Sasha smiles wryly. And she could ask. She hasn’t had it in her to help anyone in a long while, and there are people she’d pick before her enemy’s daughter. But God, Anetra’s eyes are pleading for help. “I don’t know. You seem like a good shot. It’d be a shame for you to lose your first duel to a forfeit.”

“Did you fight already?”

“Yes.”

“Did you win?”

“Yes.”

“I knew you would,” Anetra grins, and though Sasha might hate her father, she doesn’t think she can hate Anetra.

—-

The gun is warm in Anetra’s hand, and she feels like herself for the first time today. There’s a moment, when the silver handle with its etched flower designs settles into her palm, that the world disappears. All the weight in her chest lifts, and all the thoughts in her head disappear. For one small moment, she can breathe, feel the air around her. She often finds herself chasing the peace of that one moment.

She slips her finger through the trigger and spins it around a few times, loosening up her hand—and maybe wanting to impress Sasha a little—before sliding the gun back into its holster. She adjusts her stance and looks down the street at her opponent. Frank is the town barber; his hands are steady, but not as fast as hers.

She nods as the clock hand twitches towards the 12. Years ago, Anetra discovered that the clock makes a ticking noise a split-second before the chime sounds. She can only hear it if she focuses as hard as she can, and shooting always brings out her focus. She stands still, ears alert, until that tick hits the air. Then she draws and fires, swiping Frank’s leg, because she doesn’t want to damage his arms or hands.

“Do you yield?” She asks.

Frank rises to one knee, takes in her gun, and nods.

The crowd cheers and argues over their bets, and the moment of peace is gone. She doesn’t enjoy the parts after, doesn’t enjoy the blood or destruction. But sometimes she can take a little destruction for that tiny moment of peace.

“I was right.” A voice is suddenly at her side, sweet and rich like the rare honey her father sometimes gets from the nearest city.

Anetra turns to see Sasha, and her heart leaps. A few strands have escaped her braid and frame her soft cheeks, and her light green eyes are as entrancing as the marbles Anetra used to play with. She watched them spin for hours, trying to see how long she could make them go.

“About what?” Anetra asks.

“You are a good shot,” Sasha says, and Anetra flushes at the praise no one’s ever given her.

“Thank you.”

Sasha nods, and heads toward the saloon.

“Wait.”

She turns back, eyes curious. “What is it?”

Anetra leans in. “For your next fight. The clock makes a tick noise before the chime. If you listen closely, you can hear it.” Sasha’s face gives away nothing. “I’m not trying to trick you. Think of it as a thank you for this morning.” It’s the only thank you she can think of for Sasha’s help. Help that’s never really been offered.

Sasha’s face still gives away nothing, but her hands loosen. She has nice hands, slim and fast, callused from a life of shooting yet still clean. “Thanks, kid,” she says.

Anetra tips her cowboy hat. “Of course.”

—-

The first round of duels continues all day, a mess of cheers and gunshots, and starts again early the next morning. After the morning’s second one, Anetra doesn’t think she can watch anymore, can’t take the noise. Besides, her father’s duel is next, and she doesn’t want him to catch her disappointment after he inevitably wins.

Sasha is tucked into the corner of the saloon again. It’s deserted inside, with everyone watching the duels, but she’s still drawn in tight, reminding Anetra of a coiled rattlesnake ready to strike if someone threatens her.

Only fools play with rattlesnakes, but then again, Anetra’s father always tells her what a fool she is.

“Hey.” Anetra approaches slowly. “If you want to get away from everything, I have a place I can show you.”

“I can’t,” Sasha says, though she looks like she wants to.

“Oh. That’s fine.” Anetra tries not to seem disappointed. What did she expect? Sasha’s just here to compete in the tournament and leave. She’s good with her gun, with enough mystery around her that Anetra imagines her living some life of adventure, going from town to town and winning duels. Anetra’s life is in the dust of Redemption. It’s not like she could offer anything to Sasha.

Anetra tips her hat and walks away, just in time to see her father raise his arm in victory.

There’s a frustrated sigh behind her, and Sasha is standing up, face as pale as a sack of flour, hat clenched in her fists. Anetra is wondering if she should help when Sasha darts up the stairs, her uneven steps creaking over the wood.

Anetra steps back outside, where her father’s opponent is on the ground, unmoving.

Her father always shoots to kill.

—-

Sasha collapses on the bed and turns her hat over in her shaking hands. Each breath burns, like her ribs are being squeezed between steel plates.

This isn’t going how she planned it.

In a perfect world, she would have rode into town, thrown open the mansion door, and delivered revenge in one sweet kiss of a bullet. But that would have carried questions and consequences, jail at the best and death at the worst.

The tournament was a way in, an excuse for putting a bullet between Herod’s eyes without anyone thinking twice. But the tournament rules are making it hard to get to him, and the waiting is making Sasha’s rage harder to contain. Her anger is a living, pulsing thing, and each minute of waiting, when he’s in reach, is straining at her skin, threatening to tear her apart.

And she hadn’t thought that seeing Herod, gun in hand, would stab her in the heart all over again. She hadn’t thought it would make her twelve again, trembling and crying and knowing she wasn’t supposed to do either of those things, she was supposed to be strong—

She gives up on the hat and holds her gun instead. It never fails to calm her. It’s her father’s gun, and she can settle her fingers over the handle and pretend she’s touching his hand, a ghost clinging to the metal. Weapon and comfort, past and present. A reminder of him, and what she lost. A reminder of what she’s been searching for since, a reason for existence hanging at her hip.

The air comes in easier as she squeezes the gun. Tomorrow morning, she’ll challenge him. By tomorrow night, this can all be over, and the thought thrills her as much as it terrifies her.

—–

Sasha doesn’t sleep that night, because every time she closes her eyes, it’s 25 years ago. She watches the moon instead, and runs downstairs as soon as the sun takes its place.

Herod is having a shot at the bar, and for a second, her hand twitches toward her gun. She could end it now. No tournament, ro rules, no waiting. Just a second and her father is avenged. But one last time, she’ll play by his rules.

“I challenge you,” she says, pointing at him like she’s marking out the target for later.

He doesn’t flinch. “Well, you already have a challenge waiting, I’m afraid.”

“What do you—”

“You’re mine,” a deep voice cuts her off. It’s one of the men from the saloon, with tattoos up both arms. He licks his lips. “No lady is beating me.”

Sasha’s hands clench into fists.

“It’d be cowardly to deny his challenge,” Herod says.

“Fine.” She stews in the corner while Herod stays at the bar. She watches the bartender bring him a jar of that week’s earnings, and Herod takes a handful of coins and bills from the top. His tax, probably; stealing money from each business is why he has a mansion and they don’t. It’s just another piece of coal on the fire of her hatred.

The rage calms slightly when she heads outside and sees Anetra spinning her gun to warm up. She’s up first; one of the local men challenged her, and she accepted. She takes her position, and the man takes his. Sasha joins the crowd, standing in silence while they talk. She really watches Anetra this time: her stance is solid, maybe a hair too wide. Her hands are quick, especially when she twirls her gun.

In the heartbeats it takes for the clock to chime the hour, Sasha has time to worry about Anetra losing, and to find that she doesn’t want her to. Just like she didn’t really want to tell Anetra no when she invited her riding yesterday, but also didn’t know how to say yes.

Then the clock chimes, and Sasha knows she was foolish to worry.

Anetra’s fast, with good control over her aim. Maybe a little too much control, too much thinking. You couldn’t think too much about the bullet’s path or try to control it in a duel. You had to just release it and trust that your instinct was right.

Anetra’s opponent yields after she shoots him twice, but his shot swipes her left arm. The tear in her black sleeve reveals muscular, tan skin, slashed by an oozing cut.

“You’re good. I’d hate to go against you,” Sasha says to her.

“Thank you.” Anetra blushes as red as she did last time.

Sasha motions to the blood trickling down her arm. “You should get that looked at,” she says, unsure where the concern is coming from. Why does it matter to her if Anetra bleeds all over the place?

“It’s just a graze.” Stoic and stubborn. Maybe she cares because Anetra reminds her of herself.

“Just trust me. Is there a doctor here?”

“Yeah, Loosey. I’ll go.” Anetra nods to Sasha before going over to a woman with blonde hair, who ushers her into a house.

Sasha shuts Anetra out after that. Her duel is next, and she needs to focus, since her opponent keeps yelling about how she’ll never beat him.

She takes her stance and prepares to prove him wrong. She remembers Anetra’s tip, and trains her ears to the clock’s gears. Now that she’s listening for it, high above the crowd, above the breeze, there’s a tick. Her hands darts toward her gun, firing at the man. It lands in his thigh but he won’t give up, running at her even though it’s against the rules. His bullets rain on her, and one tears the skin on her left arm. Sasha ignores it, just fires another shot that sends him down.

“I’d yield, if I were you,” she says calmly. “I still have four bullets.”

“Not yielding till I kill you, you bit—”

She fires a warning shot between his legs. “Yield.”

“I yield!” He howls, and the crowd cheers.

Sasha’s work is done. “Thanks for the tip about the clock, kid,” she says on the way by Anetra. She knows her a little, but Anetra is too much to say, somehow. Kid is easier, a little affectionate without the emotion of a first name. And Anetra blushes every time she uses it.

Anetra nods at her arm in concern. “You should have Loosey fix that.”

“I’ll bandage it myself. It’s just a graze.”

“I’ve heard that one before.” Anetra gives a shy grin as she nods to her own bandaged arm.

A smile cracks its way across Sasha’s face, and, against her better judgment, she agrees.

—-

Anetra’s father is fighting when Sasha returns. The duel reaches its inevitable conclusion, and Sasha is pale again, her shoulders moving frantically like she can’t get enough air.

“Everything all right?” Anetra asks.

Sasha nods. “Can we go to that place you mentioned? I need some air.”

Anetra doesn’t hesitate. They climb on their horses, and the town of Redemption disappears behind the dust they kick up. After fifteen minutes, they reach the clearing. It’s as close to a forest as you can have in the desert, with rows of cedar trees spread across the dirt. Sometimes birds fly overhead. Anetra’s been coming here since she could ride; she breathes in the desert stretching before her and lets herself believe there’s more than Redemption, more than her father’s harsh words or the Bible passages she has to hear every Sunday, more than the people who avoid her because they fear her father. It’s quiet here, and everything is easier. Breathing. Thinking. Being.

They settle at the base of a tree, and Anetra can’t stop marveling at how close Sasha is letting her get, a rattlesnake uncoiling. Hopefully it’s not a trick, but she doesn’t think Sasha would do that. She might be quiet, and there’s a cold fire in her eyes when she’s dueling, but Anetra doesn’t think she would harm anyone without cause. There’s kindness in her, even if it’s been damaged and buried like gold in dirt.

“Do you live around Redemption?” Anetra asks.

“Don’t really live anywhere.”

“Are you on the run? Do you go to places and win duels?”

“You ask a lot of questions, kid,” Sasha says, but she doesn’t seem mad; there’s a hint of a smile on her face, like she’s trying to remember how to do a full one. “I’m not some shootout hero, or anything. And I’m not on the run. But I am running, I guess.”

“Running from something, or to it?”

Sasha bites her lip. “Both, maybe.”

Another answer in as few words as she can manage. As efficient as winning duels with one bullet. But Anetra digs through her words, understands that she’s running from something in her past, and maybe trying to run to a new future, but is stuck somewhere in the middle.

Anetra nods. “Sometimes I feel like I’m running even though I’m not moving.”

Sasha sighs. She leans against the tree, knees still drawn to her chest. Anetra points out the desert flowers, a hawk that flies by, and her knees lower until they’re stretched out in front of her, just inches from Anetra’s.

Sasha may not be a big talker, but she listens, when no one really listens to Anetra, and soon she tells stories about the town. When she mentions the time a horse ran through the saloon, Sasha actually laughs, a low, rich laugh that seems to surprise her as much as it does Anetra.

A tumbleweed twists across the dirt. It barely makes a sound, doesn’t even kick up much dust. Anetra tries not to think of if they’re alike.

“Do you ever feel like that?” Anetra asks before she can stop herself.

“Like what?”

“Like you could just float away, and no one would notice you left, or remember you were ever there?”

Nothing lasts in the desert. Sun strips the color off wood, leaving nothing but faded white. Dirt devours the remnants of her bullets, the only thing she’s good at. Wind erases the footprints. Time passes through with the power of a sandstorm. Anetra can’t even remember her mother’s face anymore. If the town of Redemption disappeared, no one would notice, or remember. Just like no one would notice or remember her.

Sasha doesn’t answer. Maybe she’s sick of Anetra’s questions. She’d wanted to come here to get air and quiet, after all, and Anetra kept asking her things. They stay quiet until the sun begins to set, bathing the world in a deep orange, and they get on their horses in unison.

“Anetra?” It’s the first time Sasha’s said her name, and Anetra burns as fiery as the sun.

“Yes?”

“I would notice. I would remember,” she says, and it’s the answer to every question Anetra’s heart ever had.

—-

When Sasha gets back, a letter on her bed distracts her from the dizzying thoughts of Anetra, and how she makes Sasha lighter than she’s been in years. Thick paper, blood-red wax seal with the letter H. She tears it open.

Herod is inviting her to dinner, to celebrate her reaching the last four fighters.

It isn’t an invitation you refuse, not when Herod has two armed guards outside the mansion. Maybe it’ll be a chance to investigate, learn more about him in the hopes it exposes a weakness.

And Sasha would hate turning down a chance to wear her dress.

—-

She pulls on her dress like a suit of armor. Deep red, with a lacy corset and ruffled skirt. It was the first dress she ever bought, and even in the narrow mirror of the dress shop, it felt like she was truly looking at herself for the first time.

His guards pat her down before she enters. She holds herself rigid, squeezing her eyes shut at the memory of how his guards had grabbed her last time, hands digging into her arms as she yelled and kicked, but couldn’t escape.

The mansion’s dining room is just as opulent as the outside, with a tall fireplace and a long table bearing two gleaming white plates. A glass of wine sits at Sasha’s place, but she knows better than to drink it.

“Will Anetra be joining us?” Sasha asks, making the first move. She doesn’t know how to do fancy dinners, especially not with her enemy.

Herod shakes his head. “No, she prefers not to dine with me. I don’t mind. Less chance of her embarrassing me.”

“Your daughter’s a good shot.”

“Daughter.” It’s between a laugh and a scoff, filled with contempt, and Sasha waits. He’s a man who loves to talk, and if she waits, he’ll say more.

“You know, the year before her birth, my wife and I were sailing the Pacific. We met lots of men. Men who had a certain interest in my wife.” He sips his beer. “I don’t even think she’s mine. Makes her disappointments easier, I suppose.”

Sasha can only nod. She doesn’t think Anetra is his either—there’s simply too much good in her to have come from him. Sasha hopes that somewhere, at least, Anetra’s mother had been able to enjoy a moment with someone who cared for her.

Sasha pretends to take a sip of wine. “Is your wife still—”

“Oh, she passed from an illness. At least,” he adds, eyes glowing, “that’s what Anetra and everyone thinks. But the truth is I simply don’t hold for disloyalty.”

Sasha’s hand creeps down to her gun, hidden among the dress’s fluffy skirt. The bullets inside aren’t enough for Herod and what he’s done. He killed Sasha’s father, and casually admitted to killing his wife, because nothing will ever be done about it.

“Why are you here?” He asks suddenly. “I’ve never heard of you entering duels anywhere.”

Sasha forces her shoulders to unclench, taking a slow breath. “I was passing through another town and heard there’d be a tournament here, with big prize money. That’s all.”

“Right.” She can’t tell if he believes it or not. “You look…familiar. Your eyes do, anyway. They’re an unusual shade of green. I swear I’ve seen that shade before.”

She hides a shiver, and her hand shakes around the gun. He’s too close. He doesn’t have the truth, doesn’t have all her pieces yet, but he has enough to know they don’t fit. Enough to be suspicious. “Ex–excuse me. I’m sorry to leave so soon, but I–I’m not feeling well.”

She staggers out of the dining room, but he moves with her, hand clamping over the bandage on her arm. His cold eyes roam over her trembling body, a piece of meat he’s about to devour.

“Who are you?” He asks. His eyes look her over again, but he releases his grip and lets her go.

She shakes all the way to the saloon, then crawls into bed and curls into a ball. Her arm still burns with his handprint, a hand he’s been using to strangle her heart for 25 years. That grip will never leave unless she does what she came here for. If he won’t take her challenge tomorrow, she’ll just beat whoever she needs to, and take him in the championship duel. He isn’t escaping her. Never again. She falls asleep with the gun cradled to her chest.

—-

Anetra doesn’t sleep that night, the orange light of the sun filling her with energy. She spent the day with Sasha, and thoughts of her race around Anetra’s mind. Sasha had talked to her much more than she did to anyone else, as if she trusts her, knows they’re similar somehow. Anetra knows it’s stupid, but something about Sasha draws her in like a horse pulls a carriage. She wants to be around her, wants to do anything she can to get her beautiful face to soften and smile. Wants to feel that funny tingling in her stomach, somewhere between thinking she might be sick and the light-headed freedom she gets riding her horse. No one has ever made her feel that way except Sasha.

She heads to the saloon at first light. She needs to get there first to challenge Larry, because otherwise, she’ll be facing Sasha or her father. Larry is the only one she knows she can beat, but it’s more than just her tournament standing. If she loses now, then maybe she really is the failure her father says. But if she gets to the final, maybe it’ll be enough for her father to tell her she did good, for the others to stop avoiding her. It’s a stupid thing to want, a childish thing to want. But she can’t help it.

The saloon is bustling when she gets there, and her heart sinks.

Larry is at the bar, along with her father, and Sasha. Sasha. She’s in a loose white shirt and a cream vest embroidered with tiny blue flowers, like the red ones along the hem of her long black coat. Brown waves flow from her cowboy hat, and Anetra can’t look away.

“I challenge you.” Sasha tells Anetra’s father, eyes cold as steel.

“No, you don’t,” Anetra’s father says calmly. “I’m fighting Larry. You’ll be fighting Anetra. To the death. If you refuse, I’ll shoot you both myself.”

Anetra’s heart erupts in her chest. “But those aren’t the rules!”

“My tournament, my rules.” Her father looks at her with disgust. He’s faster than her, though she hates to admit it, and she doesn’t even see the hit coming until his palm collides with her cheek. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t stagger, doesn’t react to the burning red pain. “Don’t disrespect me again.”

Anetra nods.

“Fuck your rules.” Sasha is raising her gun, pointing it at Anetra’s father. “I’ll kill you here myself.”

Her father’s face holds firm, but he motions for his guards, who enter the saloon and point their guns just inches from Sasha’s face. Sasha doesn’t even flinch.

“Would you give your life to kill me now?” He asks Sasha coldly. “All you have to do is kill Anetra today, and you can kill me in the finals. If you can, of course. You won’t have to die for it.”

Veins pop out in Sasha’s hand as she squeezes her gun. Lines cut through her clenched jaw, and beads of sweat drip down her forehead. She finally lowers her gun, and the guards lower theirs. Anetra’s breath erupts in a painful gasp as her father leaves.

“Sasha?”

Sasha stares right at Anetra, but Anetra doesn’t think she’s seeing her. Her eyes seem like they’re somewhere else, their usual sharpness now a dark room with a dim candle.

“Sasha?”

Anetra wants to touch her, but she’d never touch an animal if they were in this state, and though it’s not a fair comparison, it’s better to be safe.

“Sasha?”

She finally nods, though Anetra doesn’t think it was to her question. After a few seconds, Sasha’s eyes settle, like the light returned.

“I want to kill him,” Sasha rasps, “but I don’t want to die for it.” She takes off her hat and runs a shaking hand through her hair, and Anetra thinks part of her is still trapped in that place her eyes went to.

“Maybe we should forfeit,” Anetra says weakly. “I don’t want to kill you.” Sasha has shown her kindness no one ever has, and Anetra didn’t feel so alone around her. She can’t kill her.

“I don’t want to kill you either,” Sasha says, voice soft. “But he’ll kill us if we don’t.”

“What are we gonna do? I don’t want to kill you. I don’t even think I could. But I don’t…I don’t…” I don’t want to die, she can’t say around the lump in her throat. But what’s the use in telling Sasha? She doesn’t want to die either, and the only way to live is killing Anetra. Sasha could just walk away, and put her bullet in Anetra tonight.

But Sasha stays.

“Kid, I have an idea. It’s not great, but it’ll do.” Sasha’s eyes flicker toward the sheets of steel behind the bar, ones the owner uses to cover windows in a storm. “How good is your aim?”

—-

The minute hand creeps so slowly the clock might be broken. Sweat tickles Anetra’s neck as she watches, eyes on the clock so she doesn’t have to see Sasha down the street.

If Anetra misses…

No, she won’t miss. She spent the morning practicing with Sasha, adjusting her stance and learning to trust her aim. She has to do this.

Sasha looks so small, so far away. Anetra’s fingers hover over her holster. The clock hand inches forward, and Anetra hears that tick first, her hand reaching her holster as the chime starts. She draws her gun, its warmth like an old friend in her palm, aims, and fires. Sasha’s shot whizzes by her shoulder—God, she’s fast—nearly a second before Anetra’s shot strikes.

Anetra watches the rest unfold numbly, like it’s happening in a dream and she’s powerless to move or stop it. Sometimes she feels that way even when she’s awake. Her bullet slamming into Sasha’s chest. Sasha collapsing to the ground, blood pouring between her fingers as she holds her chest. Loosey standing over Sasha and pronouncing her dead, then carrying her away while the crowd murmurs. Her father’s hand on her shoulder, saying he didn’t think she had it in her, and realizing that she never wants to do anything that will get his approval again.

After the crowd has dispersed, Anetra slips away and knocks at Loosey’s back door. She opens it and ushers Anetra in quickly.

Sasha lays on a cot in Loosey’s back room. Her shirt is stained with the red paint she’d used for blood, but the deep shades of purple on her chest, and her tiny winces, aren’t fake. The thin piece of steel Sasha hid under her shirt might have stopped the bullet from killing her, but it didn’t completely protect her like Anetra thought it would. She suspects Sasha left that out on purpose. Sasha tries to sit up when she sees Anetra, wincing again, but Loosey stops her and eases her back down.

“Are you hurt? Is she hurt?” Anetra frantically looks from Sasha to Loosey.

Loosey shakes her head, spreading the paste she uses for pain over Sasha’s chest, and Anetra looks at Sasha’s freckles instead of her bruises. “Bullet didn’t break the skin or any bones, but she’ll be sore as hell for a while.”

“I’m fine. I just hope this paint comes out of my shirt,” Sasha says, with a wry smile that finally makes Anetra believe she’s okay.

“Oh, I’ll get it out,” Loosey sighs, rubbing her forehead. “Faking deaths. Fixing bruises. Cleaning clothes. God, I don’t get paid enough for this.” She finishes with the paste and wordlessly passes it to Anetra, motioning to her cheek. The faint red print her father left there doesn’t sting anymore, and Anetra sets the jar by Sasha’s cot.

“Can I stay with her tonight?” Anetra asks Loosey.

Sasha had planned to stay here tonight, so there would be no chance of anyone seeing her. Anetra stayed here once, when Loosey stitched the cut on her eyebrow, making no mention when she wiped tears as well as blood from Anetra’s eyes, no mention when the glass she pulled from the cut matched the beer bottles her father drank. Loosey gave her a lot of whiskey for the pain, and all Anetra remembers after that is watching shadows dance along the ceiling, everything fragmented and scary with only one eye to see from. Even now, the room is still creepy; its only window is blocked by a gnarled old oak tree with branches that click on the glass. Besides, isn’t it better if she stays nearby for Sasha? She could get thirsty, or the pain could get worse, and she’d need someone. And going home means she might run into her father.

Loosey sighs yet again. “You can stay on the other cot, just don’t let anyone see you. Try and get that one”—she nods towards Sasha—“to take it easy, if that’s even possible. And don’t keep me up all night if you talk!” She retreats to her own room, mumbling, “I really don’t get paid enough for this.”

Anetra drags the cot closer to Sasha and settles on top of it.

“You don’t have to stay here.”

“I want to,” Anetra says firmly. Sasha’s used to being alone, but Anetra is too. She knows how the loneliness becomes familiar, all you’ve ever known. How pushing people away becomes second nature.

“Did it work?” Sasha asks.

“It worked. Everyone thinks you’re dead. The final match is tomorrow. Me versus my father.” Saying it out loud makes it real. It’s not just her name beneath his on the chalkboard. It’s his gun staring her down as coldly as his eyes do, and Anetra shivers. “He—he’s gonna kill me, Sasha.”

“Hey, he won’t, remember? That’s the plan. I won’t let him hurt you.” Sasha’s voice is soothing, but Anetra is still shaking.

“I think he planned it.” Anetra doesn’t realize how much she believes it until it’s out loud. “I think he organized the tournament so I’d face weaker opponents, and put us against each other so you would kill me. And if you didn’t, he would. Then he doesn’t have me ruining his name anymore.”

“I—”

“Do you think I’m right?” Anetra asks shakily. She doesn’t know what answer she wants. If she wants Sasha to disagree, say that her father is cruel, but couldn’t do something this horrible. Or if she wants her to agree, to see that her father is as horrible as Anetra thinks.

“Given what I know about your father, I’d believe it,” Sasha says cautiously.

Anetra nods. She doesn’t know if she would’ve preferred the other answer.

“But tomorrow it’ll be done. I’ll surprise your father in the duel, and take him out.”

Anetra nods again. She should feel something about planning her father’s death, but there’s nothing. Just a grim determination where her heart should be. Maybe she should kill her father herself, but she’s grateful Sasha is doing it for her. Grateful to have the gun in someone else’s hand, for once. Sasha doesn’t seem bothered by the planning, but she does feel something about Anetra’s father. Anetra remembers the rage in Sasha’s eyes, a fire that could burn down the desert as she challenged him. A fire of pure, personal hatred. But why does she hate him so much, when she doesn’t even know him?

“Sasha,” Anetra begins, “why is this the plan? I’m grateful you’re willing to fight my father, but you’ve wanted to fight him this whole time, haven’t you? Why?”

The light in Sasha’s eyes dims. “I…I can’t talk about it.”

“Sasha—”

“I can’t.” She sighs. “I’m gonna sleep. I’m really tired.”

Despite the dark shadow under Sasha’s eyes, Anetra knows it’s a lie; Sasha wouldn’t admit to pain or exhaustion even if she was passing out from them.

But if she doesn’t want to talk, if her shield is in place, there’s nothing Anetra can do except grab the blanket Loosey keeps in the cupboard and lay it over Sasha.

—-

The sun burns.

It speaks to a bright day, a happy one. Not the one happening in front of Sasha like a nightmare, while she cries and tries to pull herself from the grasps of four men.

The man named John Herod and his men had tore into town like a tornado, announcing that he had purchased the land and rounding up anyone who disagreed. Sasha’s father fought him, his marshal’s badge gleaming in the sun. Herod overpowered him, made him stand in the dirt with his badge raised.

Sasha doesn’t know what’s going to happen.

Herod strides over to his men. He nods, and Sasha is released, only for Herod to stand her ten paces from her father. He puts a gun in her hand. It’s too big, too heavy, and her arm sags under its weight.

“I’ll tell you what,” Herod says cheerfully. “If you can shoot the badge, your father lives. You have my honor. Three shots.” He’s already laughing, he’s expecting her to fail; she’s scrawny, small for her age, the victim of teasing from the other kids in town.

She hefts the gun and tries to aim the way her father taught her. She doesn’t want to look at him, and maybe it’s good she’s crying, because the tears conceal how small he seems, how far away. Like she’ll never reach him again.

“It’s all right, kid,” he tells her. Not even the nickname—the only one of his that she liked, that didn’t make her feel wrong somehow—is enough to calm her.

She takes the first shaky shot, and misses by a mile. The second is no closer. She aims the third—

“Sasha!”

Sasha shoots upward with the speed of a bullet. She gasps for air, ignoring the burning pain in her chest. She blinks until her father fades and is replaced with the tiny room around her, the worried face in front of her.

Anetra.

“You were having a nightmare,” Anetra says.

Sasha can only nod and wipe the sweat from her neck, willing her heart to slow. She finally sighs and leans back.

“Sasha, whatever you’re hiding, please tell me. You can trust me.”

“I can’t.” How can she tell Anetra what her father’s done, why Sasha wants to kill him?

“Everyone always lies to me. I know my father thinks I’m not his. I know people whisper about how my mother died. Please don’t lie to me too, Sasha. Please,” Anetra says, hastily wiping a tear.

Anetra didn’t cry when she got shot, or when her father slapped her. The only time Sasha’s seen her cry is now, when she wants Sasha to trust her. When she wants to understand Sasha, help her any way she can. If Sasha lies to her, she’s just as bad as the others.

So for the first time, Sasha lets the truth out.

“I’m sorry. Sasha, I’m so sorry.” Anetra’s hand fidgets, like she wants to hold Sasha’s but is stopping herself. Sasha takes a breath and reaches over, lets Anetra take it. Her hands are rough but warm, and Sasha relaxes.

“It’s fine.” Sasha steels herself. “I’ve spent twenty-five years trying to find your father. He—he took my life. He took my life, and I need to end this. I missed those shots that could’ve saved my father. I won’t miss this one.”

“Those weren’t your fault.”

Sasha shrugs. Sure, Herod might have taken back his word and killed her father anyway. But the gun was in Sasha’s hand. The bullets of freedom and life wasted, and it was her fault.

“It wasn’t your fault. None of it was. I don’t know if you believe me, but maybe someday you will.” Anetra is so calm, so kind. A cool wave of water after days in the desert.

“You aren’t going to talk me out of it?”

“No.” Anetra bites her lip. “He’s never been my father. He’s killing this town. He raises the taxes he takes every month. Everyone’s afraid of him. He’ll destroy it all if you don’t. And if you don’t, I think you’ll destroy yourself.”

Anetra looks at her deeply, and Sasha knows she understands. She understands the long nights hugging a whiskey bottle, chasing oblivion in every bitter drop. She understands the days that didn’t feel like days at all, because they were spent staring at a ceiling. She understands the ache in your legs from running, even if you never went anywhere, but running just the same, because you had to keep moving, clinging to life with everything you had.

Sasha rises from the cot, holding her chest. “Let’s go.”

—-

Anetra looks too small as Sasha watches her get in place for the duel. Her leg is trembling, and it awakens things in Sasha she thought had long gone. A warmth in her chest, reaching into her stomach. A burning desire to keep Anetra safe from anyone who would harm her. A lightness tugging in her heart at all the questions Anetra asks, the stories she tells.

Sasha’s doing this for her, and her father, but she’s doing it for Anetra too. To loosen some of the grasp Herod has on her heart too.

Time is passing; Sasha fires her gun into the air, and the crowd screams. The noise only grows as she steps into the street.

“Herod,” she calls, “you owe me a duel!”

He staggers backward, hand shaking as he lowers his gun. “Wh—You’re dead!” He screams, pale as the moon. “You’re dead!”

Sasha shrugs. “If I was, it didn’t stick.”

She meets Anetra, squeezing her arm lightly and sending her into the safety of the crowd while her father is distracted. It’s just Sasha and Herod now, and her body is on fire.

“Who are you?” He demands.

“You know who I am.” Sasha throws her father’s badge. It lands in the dirt, and she watches Herod’s eyes light up as he realizes.

“But you’re not—you were—”

“Name’s Sasha Colby,” she says. “You stole my father from me. You stole my life from me. And now I’m taking yours.”

He’s quick, she’ll give him that, and is reaching for his gun. But she’s faster this time. The gun caresses her hand, a hug from her father as she fires. Her aim is strong and true, whistling right between Herod’s eyes and sending him crumbling to the dirt.

People are gasping, talking, running, but everything melts into the background, like Sasha is hearing it all underwater. She doesn’t even know she’s falling until the pain of her knees slamming into the dirt pierces through the fog, but only for a bit.

She did it.

25 years of waiting. 25 years of running after Herod. Running for a place her father wouldn’t haunt her.

Maybe someday those missed shots won’t hurt anymore. Maybe someday her heart will lose the weight of that day. She’ll be light, no anger or rage or shame to hold her down. But there’s also the enormity of those things fading, leaving behind a space she doesn’t know how to fill. Without those to weigh her down, what if she simply floats away? Finding Herod has been her purpose for over half her life. A reason to get out of bed and keep fighting.

She’ll have to find a new reason.

“Sasha, it’s okay.”

It’s Anetra’s voice, and the warmth around her is from Anetra’s arms. She can’t remember the last time anyone hugged her, and she leans into it.

“You did it. You’re okay.”

Anetra’s words fade, but their comfort stays, and Sasha just stays in the dirt and lets Anetra hold her.

—-

Light is fading, but Redemption is still celebrating. It was small at first, grins from people who always seemed carved out of stone. Now beer is flowing, a guitar is strumming, and people are dancing in the street, celebrating a life with room to breathe. A life without Herod.

Sasha smiles at the celebration as she prepares her horse. She could stay, but leaving is the best thing. She needs to make her own way, find what’s next now that the weight is starting to lift.

She’d left a letter for Anetra, saying that she needed to go. They’d gone to the barn after the duel, falling asleep as exhaustion took over. Sasha woke first and took her time writing the letter, telling Anetra how much she means to her. How she’s made her think things can be good again, someday. But Sasha doesn’t know where she’s going, what she’s doing—doesn’t know if she knows how to stop running—and she can’t guarantee safety for Anetra. Leaving her here—leaving the note—is the only way Sasha can keep her safe, and not hurt her more than she’s already been hurt.

Sasha’s checking her saddle one more time when hooves clomp down the street.

There’s Anetra, bags packed, leading her horse by the reins.

A warmth rushes over Sasha—relief. Maybe some part of her hadn’t wanted to leave. The part that delayed leaving as long as she could, checking and re-checking her saddle in the hopes that Anetra would wake when the bed got cold.

“Did you get the letter?”

“I did,” Anetra says, “and I don’t want it.”

“What—”

“I want to come with you. Please,” Anetra’s voice is so sweet, so sincere.

“I can’t give you anything,” Sasha says.

“I don’t want anything.”

“I can’t give you a normal life, I mean. This isn’t some story, you know? We don’t ride off and have perfect lives. I’m not a hero, I don’t know where I’m going, and I’ve been alone for a long time.” What she said in the letter is true—she can’t guarantee Anetra’s safety, can’t give her a perfect life.

“I’m not asking for some perfect life,” Anetra says. “I’m just offering my friendship.”

Friendship. Someone to ride with, talk to, share things with. Friendship with someone who’s been through this with her, who knows her. Maybe being alone together is better than being alone apart. Maybe they could fight the loneliness.

“There’s something about me…I don’t belong here.” Anetra sighs, eyes intense with the feeling of being wrong that Sasha remembers from childhood. “If you say no, that’s fine, and I’ll stay. But if you say yes, I’ll ride with you as long as you’ll have me.”

Herod might have been destroying the town, but he was destroying Anetra too. Hurting her on the inside and the outside. He might be gone now, but Sasha knows how strong memories can be, and this is no place for Anetra to stay.

“I’d like you to come with me,” Sasha says, flooding with warmth at how true it is. “I’d like that very much.”

Anetra smiles, and she tips her hat again—if Sasha had a dollar for every time Anetra did it, she could buy the damn town, she thinks fondly—before kneeling and kissing the back of Sasha’s hand. The warmth travels into her face, until she’s as warm as the sunset.

They mount their horses, and the sun glows as they ride off into it.

#rpdr fanfiction #anetra #sasha colby #anetra x sasha #s15 #loosey laduca #western au #lesbian au #angst #hurt/comfort #athena2 #tw violence #tw death #tw mild implied transphobia #concrit welcome

[artificialqueens]

Luck Be A Lady, Chapter Two (Anetra x Sasha) - Athena2

Summary: Anetra is forced to make a dangerous decision about her job.

A/N: Thank you all so much for the amazing feedback on chapter one!! It’s really blown me away and I appreciate it so much. I hope you enjoy this one too!! Thank you to Writ for betaing!!

Anetra barely sleeps for the whole week. She rolls from one side to the other, the red numbers on her alarm clock following her with every toss and turn.

She’s been doing this job for five years. She’s brought three people into the basement herself, has seen the others bring more. She’s always known it’s not right, exactly. But it was easier when the gambler was a guaranteed cheater composed of an ego and money; unlike Sasha, who hasn’t done anything wrong. She’s never gotten close to any of them, never known anything beyond their name and cheating methods. If you don’t know, you don’t have to care. If you don’t care, you do the job and stay safe.

But she knows Sasha.

In three days, she’s become closer to Sasha than she’s been to anyone in five years. Maybe even longer. She knows Sasha. She knows that she’ll run to the dance floor the instant she hears a Beyoncé song, but that she favors slow, sad songs when she’s alone. She knows that her house in California will have a pool and a big yard where she can plant a garden. And she let Sasha know her too, even if the details were just the barest traces of what she can share.

It’s shitty, she knows. To only suddenly care about what she’s done when she cares about someone involved in it. But for better or worse, it’s the situation she’s in. Does she just put her walls up, bring Sasha to the basement, and safely continue like she’s been doing? Or does she dangerously help Sasha, and maybe help herself in the process—try and get out of this job?

She’s still awake when the sun rises.

—-

Anetra is still rubbing sleep from her eyes when she steps into the basement Thursday night.

“She just walked in,” Tom says.

Anetra’s heart nearly stops, because she knows who Tom means. She must have come early to spend time here before the tournament Saturday night.

“She’s a pretty thing,” Tom says, with all the sharpness of a hunter watching prey. It makes Anetra’s fist twitch, wanting to hit him for talking about Sasha that way. “I just hope you don’t get any…ideas. That won’t end well.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out one of his rings, pretending to polish it against the lapel of his suit. It’s meant to look casual, but it’s a warning as pointed as a sword.

She has to do it tonight, or she’ll lose everything.

—–

If it were any other day, Anetra would be running over the casino’s golden floors to meet Sasha. Instead, she shuffles her feet, delaying every second before she has to ruin Sasha’s world and destroy her.

Sasha’s face lights up with a smile when she sees Anetra, and for the first time, Anetra takes a while to return it. “Hey, Sasha.”

“Hey. I came early, hoping you’d be here,” she says, and there’s a hint of a blush in her cheeks. “I thought maybe we could get dinner?”

Anetra couldn’t have gotten a better opening for things herself. But Sasha is so sincere, so hopeful, that Anetra hesitates before taking it.

“Can I show you something first?” Anetra asks, the words straining her throat.

“What is it?”

“There’s this exclusive poker and blackjack lounge in the basement,” Anetra says, voice hushed. Like it’s some prized secret she’s letting Sasha in on. She hates herself for it. “It’s for top players only, it has all kinds of perks you can’t get in the regular casino. Might even be a chance to size up the competition before the tournament.”

“Can you go too?”

It nearly breaks Anetra’s resolve. Of all the things she expected, she never thought Sasha would be concerned about whether Anetra could come with her. That she’d want Anetra there with her in the first place.

Anetra nods.

“Then let’s go. Just for a bit.”

“Okay.”

Anetra leads Sasha to the nearest elevator, noticing one of the other team members watching from around the corner. Tom wanted to have extra eyes on her, make sure the job is carried out.

Anetra’s chest tightens as she flips up the access panel under the rows of elevator floor buttons. There’s one marked B, and it only works when Anetra presses her carved ring into its imprint.

“Why do you have that ring?” Sasha asks.

Anetra doesn’t answer.

The elevator descends.

“Where are you taking me?” Sasha isn’t a panicker. She’s gone through tense games and kept her cool the entire time. But there’s a hint of suspicion in her voice, and the fingers twirling through her ponytail are growing faster, more frantic. She’s not just some cheating client; she did nothing to deserve this beyond being too good at some stupid game. She’s Sasha, and Anetra knows her. And now that she knows, she’s started to care.

Anetra can’t do this.

Sasha trusts her, and likes her, and cares about her more than anyone has in a long time. She doesn’t deserve this. She’s just the breaking point, the final crack that shatters a glass at long last, and Anetra can’t do this anymore. She can’t keep handing people over to Tom and pretending she doesn’t care. She can’t stay trapped in this job, this life.

Anetra sighs. She’s in too deep now, in a stream with water reaching her head. Tom is waiting for her to throw Sasha at his feet, a lamb to the lion, and he has the entire team watching to make sure she does. There’s no time for an escape plan, and they’re probably guarding the exits. There’s only time to get Sasha somewhere safe, before Tom and his team can get her.

Anetra turns to Sasha, meeting her concerned eyes. “I don’t have time to explain, but you’re in danger.”

“What do you—”

“They’re gonna bring you to the basement. You’ve won too much money, the casino doesn’t—they don’t allow that.” Anetra’s rambling, and she yanks her ring away, instead typing in a code she’s only used once. Anetra only knows about it because another guard told her; the code leads to a secret floor from the casino’s old days, with no surveillance. It was just a small hallway with an old dumbwaiter, dusty and long out of service. It’s just as dusty now, as Anetra leads Sasha to it. It’s smaller than she remembered, but she’s seen Sasha dance, she knows how flexible she is.

“Get in here,” Anetra says, prying the doors open with a creak.

Sasha looks at it warily, but steels herself and climbs in.

“Look, if you wait here, you might be able to get out if you move fast. They’re probably guarding the exits, but they should be distracted soon.” Distracted beating the shit out of me, she thinks but doesn’t say.

But Sasha shakes her head. “I don’t know this place like you. I have no idea how to get out if the exits are blocked.” Her jaw tightens. “And I’m not leaving you. You’re gonna need a way out too.”

“But–”

“I’ll get us a ride,” Sasha says. She takes Anetra’s hand. “Do you trust me?”

Anetra hesitates. It’s been a long time since she’s trusted anyone. But she could do worse than Sasha, and there’s not really a choice now. She nods.

“Okay, I’ll get us a ride, and you…do whatever you need to do and come back, okay?”

It sounds good, but the truth is, Anetra doesn’t know what she needs to do. Bringing Sasha here was only the barest hint of a plan, a split-second plan that’s about to crash and burn even faster. Does Anetra hide with her and wait things out? But at least one of the security team knows about this floor, and Tom won’t rest until they’re both—because Anetra is surely a target now too—in his hands. He’ll have every exit guarded, every door watched for when they’re forced to show themselves. She can take down maybe half the security team, one-on-one, if she were to fight their way out. But if Tom sends the whole team at once, she won’t be able to.

Or she goes to the basement herself. Maybe she confesses to getting too close to Sasha, in the hopes Tom will take mercy on her for turning herself in. No, he probably won’t do that. But maybe if she turns herself in, he’ll let Sasha go. Anetra’s no stranger to pain, she’ll get through whatever beating he gives her. She won’t ever be able to come back, but at least she would be alive.

If he leaves her alive.

“Hey.” There’s a warm touch on the back of her hand, a thumb rubbing gentle circles. It calms the thoughts racing through Anetra’s head, and she takes her first breath in what seems like hours. “If this is the best plan we have, we’ll do this, okay? I’ll wait for you to come back.”

Anetra nods shakily. “On the seventh floor, behind the aquarium, there’s a staircase that leads to a private maintenance entrance. If I’m not back by midnight, you should be able to pick the lock and get out.”

“Okay,” Sasha says. She’s an expert at bluffing when it comes to poker; it’s rare, and usually pure luck, that someone catches her in it. But Anetra can’t shake the feeling that she’s bluffing here, that she’s secretly working on something else.

But Anetra can’t do anything about that now. She shakes the thought away, runs back to the elevator, and heads to the seventh floor. She wants to draw the guards away from there, so Sasha can get out later. The door opens, and two members of the team stare at her. Tom knew, then. He knew she was wavering. He probably has someone at every elevator.

“It’ll be better if you cooperate,” the first one tells her, almost sympathetic. They both know what’s about to happen.

It’s two against one, if she wants to take them on. And she’s tempted; she really is. But the odds are against her, and even if she does succeed, it’ll take a while. By that time, Tom will have gotten suspicious at what’s taken so long and send more people to get her, and she’ll have wasted a lot of energy. No, it’s better to go with them, and save her energy and strength for Tom.

She lets them lead her into the elevator. The number at the top grows lower and lower, counting down to her doom, her heart dropping with each floor. It finally opens into the basement, the mouth of the beast, and one of them shoves her into Tom’s private area.

The stone floor is cold and unforgiving, and she shivers when dress shoes click against it.

“Leave us,” Tom tells them, and it’s a bad sign. He wants to destroy her and he wants to do it privately, personally.

He doesn’t use guns—too noisy, too messy. But it’s not much of a mercy when she looks up to see a ring hanging from each finger.

He hauls her up by the shoulder, and being on this end of things makes her realize just how big he is. He completely blocks her view of anything beyond his massive shoulders. It’s like standing in front of a dragon, and her heart is pounding.

“I had one rule for you. And you broke it.”

“Let Sasha go and you can have me.”

“I already have you,” he says, and Anetra realizes how pointless the offer was. The most important rule of bargaining is to offer the person something they want and don’t have. She’s already in his hands.

His first punch comes in a blink, her head flying back. One of his rings slices above her left eye, cutting down to her eyebrow in a lightning-strike of pain. Blood pours from it, blurring her vision with red streaks.

She slams into the floor like a ragdoll, gasping for air. Before she can even get one breath in, something crashes into her ribs. She knows it’s a tire iron—it’s been used on others before. She draws her knees to her chest on instinct, searching through the pain for Tom’s weaknesses. He’ll use weapons, but he’s a fists-only guy, old school. And no one ever fights back.

The tire iron clatters to the ground, and she glimpses him adjusting his rings for another punch. This is her only chance, and she bites out a curse as she forces herself up. While he’s fiddling with a ring, she throws her first punch. She realizes, almost in slow-motion, that her own ring is missing. The thought flies away when her fist connects with Tom’s jaw.

It doesn’t draw blood, but it sends him staggering. His growl makes her shudder, and then Anetra’s world is just punch after punch, the noise of each hit lost to a cloud of blood and adrenaline. She jumps and kicks, catching Tom off-guard, taking advantage of the skills he hired her for.

Blood and sweat pour off her, stinging in her eyes and staining her face so much she barely notices the room tilting when he throws her onto her back. She pants, each breath bitter and coppery, thick like it’s passing through mud. His foot settles over her chest, nudging the ribs she hopes aren’t broken.

“You were good at your job,” he says, pressing a little harder, and she holds in a whimper. “But I think you might have been too good. You know too many things.”

He kicks her side. Her world erupts into white-hot pain, and if this is it, at least she put up a fight first.

Except there’s a smacking sound from somewhere, then a groan Anetra didn’t make. The weight is suddenly gone off her chest, followed by a distant thud.

Anetra shifts her head with a wince. Hovering over Tom, holding the tire iron, is Sasha.

Anetra blinks twice, wondering if she’s hallucinating. If the blood is messing with her vision that much.

But no, it’s Sasha, dropping the iron and helping Anetra to her feet. Resting one hand on her hip and the other on her arm, her touch so careful, so gentle, and yet the only thing keeping Anetra upright.

How did she even get here, how—Anetra’s missing ring. Sasha must have taken it when she grabbed Anetra’s hand, and bet it would lead her back to Anetra. A risky bet, but a calculated one. Sasha’s favorite kind.

“Oh my god, did I kill him? I didn’t kill him, did I?”

Anetra makes out his chest rising.

“Are you okay?” Sasha asks, breaking through Anetra’s fog. “Shit, you’re bleeding everywhere.”

“Sasha?” It’s slurred from the blood in her mouth, but it’s all she can ask, all she can focus on. Sasha came for her. Sasha is holding her even though she’s bleeding everywhere.

Sasha mumbles a fuck under her breath, but quickly regains her composure, cool and calm. “Okay, let’s get out of here. You’re gonna be okay.”

“I—I can’t really see out of my left eye,” Anetra says, too weak to be embarrassed about the crack in her voice. She hopes the blurriness is just from the blood and swelling, not something wrong. Sasha grabs her hand before she can even ask for help.

“It’s okay. You tell me where to go, and I’ll get us out.” Her voice is calm, guiding Anetra to take her first wobbly step.

“This back area is his,” Anetra says, blood dribbling down her lips. “Keep going until you see a black door.”

“Got it.”

Sasha gently leads her by the hand. The vision in Anetra’s left eye is blurry, like when she’d open her eyes underwater as a kid, and she stumbles even with Sasha’s guidance. She wipes the blood, but it makes things worse; it smears it across her face, gets even more into her eye. It doesn’t matter anyway, because the flow doesn’t stop. She just lets that eye slide shut, because having no vision is only slightly worse than the blood-tinged blur.

Sasha’s grip is still there, steady and slick with the blood Anetra’s getting all over her hand. But she doesn’t let go. She doesn’t let go, and it’s almost a relief. To have her hand in someone else’s, let them lead the way.

“We’re at the door,” Sasha says.

They’re in one of the employee entrance halls now. “Turn left. Go to…the brown door. Then another brown door. Then we’re in the alley.”

Her feet drag as Sasha leads her, her head drooping. A door creaks open, and the burst of cool night air, tinged with garbage from the alley, wakes Anetra up a little, though her head is still too heavy to lift.

“I’ll have my friend meet us here,” Sasha says. She shifts subtly, and it’s not until standing becomes easier that Anetra realizes Sasha adjusted her position to take on more of her weight. Anetra’s leaning on her almost fully now, her blood dripping onto Sasha’s dress like rose petals.

“Sorry…your dress,” Anetra mumbles.

“I have a whole bottle of stain remover at home,” Sasha says, and Anetra gets in one laugh before the pain stops her.

A silver car pulls up the mouth of the alley, literal light at the end of the tunnel. She doesn’t know what’ll happen next, can’t think with the ringing in her head, but they’re safe for now.

Sasha helps her into the backseat, and instead of taking the passenger seat, slides in beside her. Anetra can’t hold in her sigh of relief.

Sasha produces a towel from somewhere, but Anetra would need more than that—and more hands—to put pressure on all the places she’s bleeding from. The one above her eye is heaviest, and she presses the towel there with a wince.

She collapses against the seat, and things blur after that, a different fragment each time her eyes open. The neon lights fading into the distance. An arm around her waist helping her out of the car. A light shining into her eyes, making her hiss. The sweet smell of Sasha’s perfume, even more intoxicating when it’s not masked by smoke and liquor in the casino. And then Sasha’s voice, soft and gentle, telling her that she can sleep if she wants.

Anetra listens.

—-

Anetra wakes slowly, cautiously blinking until she realizes she can see out of both eyes. Her left one burns a little, but she can see. The ceiling above her is white, with a shadow from the sun. It’s daytime, then—though she doesn’t know which day. The bed she’s in is warm and soft, a cloud underneath her.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

Anetra turns to her side, and there’s Sasha, ginger hair aflame in the sun. She’s in leggings and a sweatshirt, soft yet still stunning.

“Wh–where am I?” Anetra asks, wincing at her scratchy throat.

“My spare bedroom.”

“I’m in your house?” Anetra’s face burns, and she wants to hide under the blanket, unsure what to do now that she’s in Sasha’s house.

“I didn’t think a hospital was safe,” Sasha says, and she’s probably right. “It’s Friday morning, by the way.”

Anetra nods.

“Take these.” Sasha hands her two painkillers and a glass of water. Anetra winces as she sits up, gratefully swallowing the pills and finally taking stock of her injuries. She feels like a truck hit her, which is better than she expected to feel, honestly. There’s a bandage around her right hand, covering knuckles that are surely bruised and swollen. Her ribs and back ache, and her face stings with bruises and cuts from Tom’s rings. She raises a tentative hand to her eyebrow, and meets a square of gauze.

“That one needed stitches,” Sasha says, apologetic. “The friend who picked us up—Loosey—is a nurse. She brought supplies with her. I had her do the stitches because I didn’t know how and was afraid I’d make it worse. I did the rest myself.”

“You did this?” Anetra gestures to the bandages.

Sasha nods. “Loosey didn’t think you had a concussion, but I’m supposed to watch for it just in case. You’re pretty bruised up, but nothing’s broken.”

Sasha did this. Sasha cleaned her up, bandaged her, changed her into the T-shirt and sweatpants she’s wearing. Even though her friend could have done it, she did some herself, with her own hands. It’s been a while since Anetra was around hands that aren’t dangerous. Hands that weren’t ready to hurt her. Like Anetra almost hurt Sasha.

She almost hurt Sasha, and a wave of guilt overpowers any lingering pain. Sasha rescued her and took care of her, even after Anetra almost turned her in. “You didn’t have to do this, I didn’t mean to trouble you, I…” I lied to you. I almost betrayed you. I almost got you hurt.

“Anetra,” Sasha says, quiet and firm at the same time, “I wanted to take care of you. I don’t know what happened back there, but I’m pretty sure you saved my life. So thank you,” she says, with more sincerity than Anetra can take, or deserve.

“But I…” Anetra doesn’t know how to say it, or where to begin.

Sasha rescues her. “I’m assuming that office job you told me about doesn’t exist.” She doesn’t sound mad. It must take a lot to make her mad, like in the basement. You can’t play a game like poker without having almost inhuman patience.

“No,” Anetra says quietly. “It doesn’t.”

“Whatever it is, you can trust me. I promise.”

Somehow, Anetra believes her. She starts at the beginning, the words big and strange, because she’s never told anyone. How she’d been scared and alone and desperate for the first job that would take her. How Tom hired her, got her out of the shady motel she’d been staying in and into an apartment that day. How she thought she’d be a bouncer at one of the clubs, or breaking up drunken fights. How she was thrust into the basement and instructed to do anything he told her, with the understanding that if she didn’t, she’d lose the job, her apartment, and probably her life. If she had anyone she cared about, she would have lost them too.

“I don’t know how to get out. I…I don’t think he’d let me leave,” Anetra finishes, head clear like poison has come out of her system. “But I’m really sorry I lied to you.”

Sasha is quiet, and the longer the silence grows, the more Anetra worries it’s too late, that the lies were too big. “I understand why you did it. That’s a shitty situation.” Sasha bites her lip. “I’m sorry too. I knew the risks of playing high stakes like that, maybe I should’ve stopped.”

“No,” Anetra says with the most strength she can manage. “This isn’t your fault, okay? Don’t apologize for being amazing.”

“Amazing, huh?” Sasha asks, smiling shyly.

Anetra blushes. “Well, yeah. You’re probably the best I’ve ever seen.” She pauses, wondering if she should ask. “I gotta ask though, do you cheat? At either game?”

“What do you think?” There’s a slight challenge in her question.

Anetra thinks. She’s seen every cheating method imaginable—palming cards and chips, counting cards, wearing a wire to communicate with a partner—and Sasha never showed a hint of any. Sasha’s good, but never mean or braggy. Good enough to stand on her own. “No. At blackjack, I think you’re lucky, and you know when to walk away. At poker, I think you’re good at reading people.”

Sasha leans back in her chair with a satisfied smile.

Anetra rests against the pillows and smiles too. It’s so peaceful here, so soft in this bed with Sasha at her side. They could just stay here all day, ignoring the world of trouble clawing at the door. A world Anetra has done her best to ignore until now. “What are we gonna do?” she asks.

“Well, you are gonna stay in this bed.”

“I mean—”

“I know,” Sasha says gently. “I’ve been trying to come up with ideas. He obviously knows where you live, so we can’t go there. We can stay here, but from what you’ve told me, he’ll find us eventually. He’ll probably find us if we run. Police won’t help, and I hate dealing with them.”

“Tom has most of the police in his pocket.” It hits Anetra again how much danger she’s put Sasha in, in the casino and now in her own home. Even if she ran to California, she’d constantly be looking over her shoulder, waiting for Tom to get her. “I’m sorry I got you involved in this.”

“We’re done with apologies,” Sasha says, not unkindly. “You didn’t cause this. He was after me anyway. We’re in this together, okay?”

“Okay.”

Things slip into silence, crumbling under the weight and danger in the room.

“This Tom,” Sasha says thoughtfully, “would he take a deal?”

“What kind of deal?” Anetra asks in confusion.

Sasha’s face morphs into the careful one Anetra recognizes from the casino. One where she’s thinking, weighing each option. Hit or stay, fold or play. “Let’s say we could get him a big-time gambler. One who’s taken lots of money. Would he take that person, in exchange for letting us go?”

“Maybe, but I don’t know who—”

“I can get him Ace.”

It takes Anetra a few seconds to process. Ace is an old gambler who’s notorious for counting cards and cheating casinos. He funds his winnings into organized crime rings and began running his own casino last year. He’s Tom’s nemesis, the man who won a million dollars in one night at the blackjack tournament. Tom’s been chasing him for six years.

“How do you…how…can you really get him Ace?” Anetra asks, her ribs aching with the breathless shock.

“He and I have…history,” Sasha sighs. “I was runner-up to him in a bunch of tournaments when I was starting out. In the last game we played, I beat him, and he’s wanted revenge since. If he hears I’m in the tournament, he’ll enter. He can’t resist the chance to beat me.”

Anetra considers it. Tom has spent six years chasing Ace. He might be the only person Tom hates more than Anetra and Sasha right now. Bringing him down would give Tom power over him, and make the Golden even more powerful.

For all its rules and varieties, poker really comes down to one thing: having a better hand than your opponent.

Sasha just might have given them a winning hand.

—-

The next hour is spent solidifying the plan.

Anetra will call Tom and tell him about the offer. If he takes it, Anetra and Sasha are guaranteed safe entry into the Golden Saturday night. Sasha will play in the tournament alongside Ace, who’ll be drawn in after it gets out to him that Sasha is playing. Tom will take him during the tournament, in exchange for leaving Anetra and Sasha alone for good.

It’s not as detailed as it should be, and it all hinges on Tom saying yes. If he doesn’t take the deal, they don’t have another option, and Anetra tries not to think about it.

She dials the phone, and Sasha takes her free hand while it rings. He has to answer, because if he doesn’t this is all for nothing, and—

He picks up, and Anetra takes a breath. “I want to make you a deal,” she says before he can speak, like she’s in some crime movie.

“And I want your blood all over my floor,” Tom growls. “When I find you—”

The most important rule of bargaining: to offer the person something they want and don’t have.

“The deal involves Ace.”

There’s a pause, one where Anetra’s heartbeat pounds in her ears. She squeezes Sasha’s hand, holding to her like an anchor.

“You have one minute to convince me.”

That’s all Anetra needs.

#rpdr fanfiction #s15 #anetra #sasha colby #anetra x sasha #lesbian au #casino au #angst #luck be a lady #athena2 #tw violence #tw blood/injury #concrit welcome

[artificialqueens]

🏳️‍🌈 Show Me All the Ways to Love You (Anetra x Sasha Colby) - Athena2

Summary: Sasha and Anetra show their love with the five love languages.

A/N: I’ve been trying to finish this for months now, and I finally did! I hope you enjoy, and please leave feedback if you like!! Thank you to Writ for betaing, and for Mar for talking about this with me and helping me with ideas.

Title from Lucky Strike by Troye Sivan.

Acts of Service

Dinner has long gone cold, and Anetra is packing it into the refrigerator when Sasha finally comes in the door. She’s over an hour late, with heavy steps and sagging shoulders bearing the weight of each minute.

“Everything okay?” Anetra asks.

“Long day,” Sasha says, and it must’ve been; normally she’d be talking about her day while sneaking tastes of the dinner Anetra started. Instead, she just hunches over the counter and rubs her temples.

“Are you hungry?”

Sasha shrugs.

“How about a bath?” Anetra asks. That’s what Sasha normally likes after stressful days, and if she’s not going to ask for it herself, Anetra will give it to her.

“Please,” Sasha sighs.

Sasha heads to the bathroom, but Anetra cuts her off, instructing her to wait while the water runs.

“I can get the bath ready, you don’t have to—”

“Hey,” Anetra says gently. “I know you’re tired, and I want to help. Everyone needs a break sometimes. Even you.”

Sasha bites her lip, ready to argue. Anetra knows that sometimes she takes care of everyone so much, she forgets other people want to take care of her too. Forgets that that’s even an option. But she meets Anetra’s eyes and nods.

Anetra’s quiet while she works. She sets a fluffy towel and pajamas on the bathroom counter so they’re ready. She grabs a bath bomb from Sasha’s overflowing stash under the sink, blue with green and pink swirls, that shimmers when she drops it in the water. She kisses the top of Sasha’s head and leaves her to her bath, grinning at Sasha’s sigh of relief when she hits the water.

While Sasha takes her bath, Anetra works in the kitchen, grabbing all the fruits they picked at the farmer’s market last weekend. She slices up pineapple, strawberries, and kiwi, arranging it in a spiral on the plate and packing leftovers into a container for Sasha to take to work tomorrow. She slides some crackers in the gaps on the plate and pours Sasha’s favorite red wine into a glass.

She hangs up Sasha’s coat and puts her bag away, folds the laundry, and makes sure to wash any silverware left out—anything that Sasha might do after her bath, that would defeat the goal of her resting tonight. Sometimes the only way to stop Sasha from doing everything is to do it first, forcing her to take a break by eliminating the tasks she would take on herself. Anetra’s always considered it something special, that she gets to help Sasha, when Sasha is always helping everyone. A gift both given and received.

Sasha’s damp hair falls in loose waves when she emerges, looking soft in her pajamas. Anetra scoops her up, smiling when Sasha laughs, and sets her on the couch. She gives her the plate and the glass, her smile widening when Sasha grins too.

“You did all this?” Sasha asks in wonder. “Pineapple is so annoying to cut.”

“It was no problem, I promise.”

“Thank you, Neech. I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

Physical Touch

Sasha frowns as she heads to bed, and Anetra stays behind in the living room, her glassy eyes barely taking in the cooking show she put on in the hopes that it would lull her to sleep. Anetra fell into these restless patches of insomnia sometimes. Her thoughts would move too fast and her body would be unable to stay still, tossing and turning all night. She’s been staying on the couch for two nights, and Sasha misses her warmth, her heart aching as the shadows under Anetra’s eyes deepen by the day.

“Why don’t you come to bed?” Sasha asks.

Anetra sighs. “I know I’m not gonna sleep. I’d rather just stay out here than lay in bed trying to fall asleep for hours. Plus I’ll probably keep you awake.”

It’s probably true, but Sasha still wants to try. This patch of sleeplessness has been going on for nearly a week, and Anetra is running on nothing but short naps, too exhausted to function. She’s been irritable and behind on work, and Sasha’s had to catch her more than once because of the dizziness when she moves. And really long sleep deprivation has caused her migraines in the past. She can’t keep going like this, and it renews Sasha’s determination.

“Do you want to try, though?” Sasha asks. “What if you just lay there for an hour? If you’re not asleep by then, you can do whatever you want.”

“Worth a shot, I guess,” Anetra says, voice thick and heavy with the sleep that won’t come to her.

She follows Sasha, collapsing onto the bed with a groan as she tries to get comfortable. They’re movements Sasha’s too familiar with—starting on her left side, switching to the right, tossing her hair, kicking off the sheet, flipping the pillow over. Anetra’s choreography of insomnia. Sasha’s eyes gaze over Anetra, and an idea forms. Nothing they’ve tried has worked—chamomile tea, deep breathing, melatonin, calming lavender spray, cooking shows—but Sasha’s too stubborn to give up.

Touch has always been special to Sasha, and she’s used it to help Anetra in the past. A grounding hand on her waist when she was nervous, a shoulder squeeze of encouragement. A way to say what she needed to without words, to carry love with nothing but a touch.

Gently, her hands cup Anetra’s shoulders, massaging the knots there.

“What are you—”

“Shh,” Sasha breathes. “Just relax.”

Anetra does, and Sasha’s hands travel down her back, love and safety pouring through her touch. Even with a shirt on, Sasha knows the body beneath her hands almost as well as her own. A landscape she’s traveled enough to know her way by touch alone. The strong shoulders, the curve of her spine, the slight dip of her hips. To touch Anetra, to feel her warmth beneath her palms, when Sasha sometimes doubted if she could ever touch anyone this way, fills her pure love.

It’s not until she’s done that she realizes Anetra hasn’t wriggled around in a while. Shifting carefully, she takes a peek and finds Anetra’s face peaceful, her breathing slow. Sasha smiles to herself, kissing Anetra’s shoulder before drifting off.

Words of Affirmation

Anetra hovers in the corner of the reception area, watching Sasha glide across the floor. Her dance students had their recital tonight, and they gave her so many flowers Anetra had to run out to the car and deposit them.

It’s almost magic to watch, really; how Sasha can take a hug from one of her students, shake hands with a parent, and talk with another dance teacher, without breaking stride or letting anyone feel they’ve lost her attention. Everyone—no matter who they are or what their age—looks at her the same way, adoring and in awe.

Sasha is radiant, smiling and making jokes, letting everyone know how special they are. And knowing that feels even more special coming from her.

Knots twist in Anetra’s stomach. It isn’t jealousy; she would never be jealous of Sasha, or of her getting the praise she deserves. No, the knots writhe with something else. Insecurity. After all, if Sasha is this amazing, this beloved by everyone, is Anetra really good enough for her? Do the people look at her and wonder how on earth she’s Sasha’s partner, when Sasha could have anyone?

“Ready to go, Neech?” Sasha’s voice snaps Anetra from her thoughts. She realizes everyone has cleared out, and it’s just the two of them and the other teachers.

Anetra nods, wordlessly taking the newest bouquets Sasha’s been given. Sasha laces their hands together, and Anetra tries to let it fight off her insecurities, shield her in love. But the setting sun hits Sasha just then, lighting her with a golden aura that just proves how amazing she is, and the fear returns.

“Is everything okay?” Sasha asks once they’re in the car. “You’re quieter than normal.”

“Just tired,” Anetra says.

“I know you’re lying,” Sasha says quietly. “You can tell me about it. If you want to.”

She shouldn’t say anything. Sasha’s been hard at work on this recital for months, and she doesn’t need to be stressed further. But Sasha runs a hand up Anetra’s arm, and it spills out. “Why are you with me?” Anetra asks. It’s abrupt, almost cold, though Anetra didn’t mean it that way, and her heart drops when Sasha flinches.

“What do you mean?” Sasha asks, patient as ever.

Anetra just shrugs. “You’re…fucking incredible. You mean so much to everyone at that event. They look at you like you’re magical, and you are. You’re gorgeous, and smart, and kind, and just everything. And I’m…well, I’m me.” She gestures at herself, not daring to say more about herself. The image is enough.

“Don’t say that.”

“You could have anyone,” Anetra continues incredulously. “I–I don’t think I’m good enough for you.” She wipes her eyes, but warm fingers meet her cheek, wiping the tears for her.

“Anetra, I want you to listen, okay?” Sasha’s voice is firm, but not harsh, and Anetra meets her warm eyes. “You do not need to be good enough for me. You are enough for me. More than enough.”

Anetra nods shakily.

“I could have anyone,” Sasha continues. “And I have you, because you’re who I want. You’re who I love. You’re the one I want to be with me. You’re incredibly sweet, and kind, and brave, and I love you. Don’t ever let anything make you doubt that.”

Anetra isn’t crying anymore, and she reaches across the armrest to hug Sasha. It’s uncomfortable, and the arm rest is digging into her side, but she doesn’t care, because she’s with Sasha. Sasha loves her, and Anetra is never going to doubt that again.

Sasha kisses her cheek. “Now come on, let’s get ice cream.”

Quality Time

“Quiet Saturday this week?” Anetra asks Sasha on Monday.

“I’d love that,” Sasha says.

Anetra was the one who came up with the quiet day idea. She needed to have her alone time, away from work and the world. Sasha felt the same way at times—she was natural around people, and at home in her studio with all the students, but sometimes she needed to be away from all that. To just be Sasha, and not the teacher with the perfect answer to every question.

Anetra made it a point one Saturday for them to spend it together. They didn’t have to talk if they didn’t want to, and they didn’t much that day. But they were together, Sasha reading while watching Anetra play a video game, and they didn’t need more than that.

Since then, it’s something they do at least once a month if they can. One day, set aside for them to just be together. No phones, no work, no stress. Spending time together without the pressure or expectation of a date.

Sasha wakes slowly on Saturday, burrowing a little closer against Anetra. There’s nowhere to go and nothing to bother them today. She can spend the entire day in bed, curled against Anetra’s side if she wants, and it warms her like a fire. Anetra pulls her closer and hums a quiet greeting into Sasha’s hair.

Anetra has two different kinds of quiet, Sasha has learned now. There was the quiet of the unknown and the quiet of comfort. The quiet of the unknown is the quiet she grew up in. The quiet of holding back words around her parents, her classmates, the people at church, because it was better to say nothing than say the wrong thing. Better to swallow down words and let them scrape her throat on the way down, before settling with a constant ache in her stomach. Sasha can understand, in a way. There were times as a kid where she had to wrap herself in silence just to get by too.

The quiet of comfort is the quiet Anetra’s in right now. The kind of quiet she can have around Sasha, spending the day with her without having to talk if she didn’t want to. Sasha knows it’s Anetra showing her love, showing it without words. On days like these, Anetra is letting Sasha be near her, when she doesn’t want anyone else near her. Anetra is comfortable and trusting enough to be purposely quiet around Sasha, without worrying that Sasha would think she was weird for it.

Sasha keeps that warmth, that trust and love, deep within her chest, to warm her every day.

Sasha lifts her head up a little, trying to gauge if Anetra wants to do something else right now. But Anetra lightly tugs her back down, her meaning clear even without words.

She wants Sasha to stay, and Sasha rests her head on Anetra’s chest and does just that.

Gift Giving

Anetra runs her finger over the crystal, its cool, glassy surface making a good distraction as she waits for Sasha to get home. The dark emerald catches the kitchen light, each facet of the crystal shimmering. The woman in the store told her that it symbolizes strengthening love, and can also mean loyalty, compassion, and domestic bliss.

The door opens, and Anetra throws the crystal back in the box, folding her arms on the counter to hide it. The pose won’t fool Sasha for a second, but she just wants to hide the box a little longer.

“I have something for you,” Anetra says, smiling when Sasha’s eyes light up. Anetra loves buying her little gifts from time to time. Sasha deserves the world, and sometimes Anetra thinks she can give her that world in a little gift. Even if it’s just something tiny, like new lip gloss or a bath bomb, Sasha would smile and get so excited and give Anetra thank you hugs and kisses so tight and warm that Anetra felt all the love in them.

No matter how tiny, those gifts could say those things Anetra sometimes can’t get to come out. That she’s always thinking of Sasha. That she sees Sasha everywhere, in everything.

“Can I open it now?” Sasha asks.

Anetra nods, sliding her the box. She knows Sasha will like it, but her heart still patters as Sasha opens the box. Sasha has a lot of crystals, little rainbow stones that she clutches and pendants that hang from her neck, but this is the first one Anetra’s given her.

Sasha gasps when she opens it.

“Do you like it?” Anetra asks.

“I love it.” Sasha throws her arms around Anetra, a warm hug bursting with love. “The emerald, it’s for love, right?” she asks, though they both know she knows the answer. Crystals and their meanings was one of Sasha’s favorite topics, and Anetra will listen to her talk about it for hours.

“Yes, it’s for love,” Anetra says, warm with the delight of getting to say it. “I know you have a lot of crystals, but I thought you’d like this one.”

“I think it’s my new favorite,” Sasha says, and Anetra knows it is.

Pride Challenge Points: 2890

#rpdr fanfiction #s15 #anetra #sasha colby #anetra x sasha #fluff #hurt/comfort #lesbian au #athena2 #concrit welcome #fic challenge

[artificialqueens]

🏳️‍🌈 I Feed You My Love (Anetra x Sasha Colby) - Athena2

Summary: Sasha meets Anetra when she moves into the apartment next door. Anetra is going through a rough time, and Sasha starts making her dinner to help.

A/N: This idea came from a title ask that PetitMonde sent me, and I loved the idea too much not to write it. I really hope you like this, and please leave feedback if you do! Thank you to Writ for betaing and encouraging me, you’re the best<3

Sasha turns out of her apartment to get the mail and slams into something with a gasp. A woman, she sees as she catches her breath and steps back, shooting out apologies and hearing them echoed back. Sasha’s never seen her before. She heard a new tenant was renting the open apartment here suddenly, and this must be her.

She takes a better look at the woman. A faded blonde streak runs through her dark hair, which is thrown into a messy, unwashed ponytail. Her eyes are shot through with red, made more prominent by the dark circles underneath. She smells like sweat and motor oil; bits of it still stain her fingertips. There’s a backpack on her slumped shoulders and a bulging duffel bag with clothes sticking out of it in her hand. The apartment is move-in ready, with its own furniture and appliances, but still. She has the stuff of someone going on a weekend trip, not moving into an apartment. She’s in her mid-twenties, probably, but all Sasha sees is a scared kid trying to seem older. Like she was once.

“Sorry,” the woman says again, snapping Sasha from her thoughts. “I didn’t see where I was going.”

“No worries,” Sasha says calmly. “You’re new here, right?”

The woman nods. “Yeah. Just moving in.” Her voice is deep and quiet. Sasha gets the idea she might not talk a lot, but she wants her to, just to selfishly hear that voice again.

“I’m Sasha.”

“Anetra.”

“I live in 4E. If you need help or anything, let me know, okay? Or if you just want to say hi.”

Anetra’s dark eyes flicker to the floor. “I won’t need help. Thank you, though.”

Sasha isn’t surprised. She wouldn’t have taken the help either, back when she was that age. “Of course.”

Anetra steps inside her apartment, and Sasha goes back in hers, mail forgotten. Anetra is clearly going through something, but if she doesn’t want help, Sasha won’t force it. But she can do something, she realizes. Something that’s helpful, but not quite explicitly helping.

She can make her dinner.

Back in Hawai’i, it was second nature to ask people you met if they were hungry, to whip up an entire buffet if they were, to still offer them food even if they weren’t. She hasn’t called that place home in years, but the instinct to give Anetra some food and take care of her is still there.

She roots through the fridge. She has some teriyaki chicken marinating; she was planning to save the extras, but she’ll just bring them to Anetra instead.

It’s been a while since she’s cooked for anyone but herself and her close friends, and she puts a little more care into things. Making sure to get a crispy sear on the chicken, letting the sauce cook until it’s thick and glossy. She plates the chicken over fluffy rice, drizzling the sauce on top. She covers the bowl with foil and heads back down the hall, trying to ignore the jumping nerves in her stomach.

Anetra answers the door in confusion. Sasha can’t see much into the tiny apartment behind her, but it doesn’t seem like she’s added anything to what was already there.

Anetra’s still looking at her shyly, and Sasha explains quickly, “I made dinner and thought I’d bring you the extra.” It sounds a little better that way, like she didn’t deliberately plan to feed this woman she doesn’t know.

Anetra’s face flushes scarlet. “You didn’t have to do this, I—“

“Moving is a pain, you forget about dinner until it’s too late and you’re tired and everything is closed,” Sasha says casually. “Figured I’d save you the trouble.”

And Anetra looks like she hasn’t eaten a real meal in a while, but Sasha leaves that out.

“Thank you.” Anetra takes the bowl, and she smiles for the first time. It’s a nice smile, one that makes Sasha’s heart skip a beat. “I can bring you the bowl back tonight.”

“Don’t worry about it. Have a good night, okay?”

“You too.”

—-

Sasha waits a few days before bringing Anetra more food. She doesn’t want it to look obvious that she’s helping. Sasha hated taking help back when she was that young, when she was just striking out on her own. She made herself sharp, pushing away any offers of food or money, because she never wanted anyone to know she was struggling. It had seemed like something she needed to do alone, and some of it was. But it wasn’t until years later, when she was in a better place, that she realized she should’ve taken the help when it was offered, since it was offered so rarely. Her sharp edges have softened now, the sharp teeth she used to push everyone away from her and her struggle turned into a welcoming smile.

It’s not hard to look at Anetra and see a mirror, and Sasha wants to stop her from shattering.

She’s too tired for anything fancy tonight, so she tosses sauce over some frozen ravioli and adds the fresh basil she grows on her windowsill, crammed among other plants. She piles it into the same blue bowl she brought Anetra last time, and heads next door.

Her heart leaps when Anetra answers the door. There’s color in her cheeks, and though the bags are still under her eyes, they aren’t bloodshot anymore, fully revealing how big and brown they are. Her hair is fluffy at the top, and Sasha can smell her coconut shampoo if she strains.

“I made too much again,” Sasha says, handing her the bowl. “It didn’t look like a lot when I put them in the water, but it ended up way too much.”

Anetra takes it and smiles again. It makes her look even younger, and something protective curls in Sasha’s chest. “Thank you. I appreciate it. I, uh, I’m not much of a cook.”

Sasha smiles too. “I wasn’t either, when I was younger. I always liked watching my aunts cook, but I never got the hang of it until I was older.”

“I want to learn how to make some of the stuff I ate as a kid eventually, but I’ve been so busy.”

“What kind of food do you like?” Sasha asks, hoping it’s not too much to ask. “If there’s something special you want, I wouldn’t mind making it.”

Anetra blushes and shakes her head. “I don’t want to trouble you like that. I eat anything, really. You’ve already done too much.”

Sasha nods and lets the subject drop, but a few days later she decides to make some of her own childhood favorites. Anetra does seem to enjoy whatever Sasha brings her, and if she doesn’t want to request things, or think about them, maybe the food of Sasha’s home will comfort Anetra somehow.

It’s a Saturday, and it’s drizzling outside, and since she’s stuck inside with nothing better to do, she decides to mess around with yeast and make malasadas, breathing in the scent of the home she left. It’s a time-consuming process, one that occupies her so she doesn’t have to think of how she’s probably caring a little too much for Anetra. She knows she has a tendency to take care of other people; that’s just how she is. It’s been to her detriment more often than not, losing sleep to comfort someone, keeping her own issues in to please others. She wanted to be a bright light for the people she helped, but sometimes she burned too close to the wick.

But honestly, cooking for Anetra has been helpful. It’s pushed her into cooking a little more, instead of ordering takeout or getting so wrapped in something that she forgets about dinner entirely. There are no untouched containers of leftovers in the fridge, waiting for her to throw the food out and wash them days later. She gets to unwind after work, letting the sound of her knife hitting the cutting board or the smell of garlic and onions sizzling help release the day from her. And part of Sasha feels like helping Anetra is helping herself. The scared version of herself that existed years ago, at least.

She wraps up her stuff and heads next door. Anetra answers, and Sasha’s stomach jolts with nerves she didn’t expect. Maybe because tonight’s stuff is more personal; it’s like she’s giving Anetra a piece of herself in a bowl, and she wants Anetra to like that part. “I made saimin, it’s a Hawai’ian style of ramen. Figured it was good for a rainy day. These are malasadas. They’re basically like donuts, with cream filling inside.”

Anetra’s eyes light up in a way Sasha didn’t expect. There’s a kind of recognition in them, and they seem softer and brighter than ever.

“My dad’s family actually lived in Hawai’i for a while. They always talked about these, but I’ve never had one.”

“Really?” Sasha asks.

Anetra nods. “Yeah. I’m Japanese and Filipino on that side, the food was always really good. I kinda miss it,” she says wistfully, biting her lip right after like she said something she didn’t mean to. “Um, thank you for this. It smells amazing.”

“You’re welcome,” Sasha says, making a mental note of the family background.

The dish is on her doorstep the next morning, this time with a sticky note from Anetra. Thank you is scribbled on the top, with a beautiful red marker sketch of a hibiscus underneath. Sasha nestles it among the rings on her jewelry tray, and looks at it every morning.

—

Anetra’s admission of the food she’s missing gets Sasha’s head turning, and she hits the internet the next week, then plays around in the kitchen at night. Homemade lumpia, chicken adobo, crispy pork tonkatsu with soy sauce.

When Anetra opens the door, Sasha’s heart drops at the tears in her eyes.

Anetra immediately wipes the tears when she sees Sasha, clearing her throat. “Sorry. I’m just tired.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sasha asks, not even bothering to believe the lie.

Anetra shakes her head. “I’m fine. I don’t want to bother you.”

They’re words that came from Sasha’s mouth way too many times all those years ago. “You’re not bothering me, I promise. If you need someone to talk to, I’ll listen.”

Anetra gives a slight nod, gesturing for her to come in. The layout is the same as Sasha’s apartment, only it looks unlived in. Just the standard furniture and appliances it came with—a tiny couch, a tinier coffee table, stove and refrigerator. No trace of Anetra yet.

Anetra sets the dish on the coffee table, then sits on the couch with Sasha, picking at her jeans.

“You can talk to me,” Sasha says softly.

Anetra doesn’t look up, but she nods. “I had to move suddenly. I was stupid, I thought things would be okay if I came out, but they…weren’t.” Anetra sniffles, quickly starting again like she needs to get it out now, or she never will. “I got my motorcycle and just drove, didn’t really know where I was going. I finally heard back from an old friend I know around here. She helped me get this place, loaned me some money. She helped me get a job in one of the clubs here, and I’ve been doing that and some early convenience store shift, and I’ve been so worried about messing them up and getting fired, and I still want to pay her back, and I miss people that I shouldn’t miss, and I’m trying to switch my bank account and get my phone and everything set up in my own name, and I’m…tired.”

Anetra’s last words come out in a slump of exhaustion and defeat, and Sasha’s pulling her into a hug before she even realizes it, before she can stop herself.

“I’m sorry,” Anetra breathes, as her tears soak into Sasha’s neck.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. Just get it all out.”

Anetra’s body heaves with a shuddering sob. Sasha just holds her, rubbing her back and gently rocking her a little. She stays like that until Anetra pulls away herself, wiping the last of the tears from her red eyes.

“I’ve been where you’ve been,” Sasha says, wanting to comfort her more. “And I know how hard it is, but you’re not alone, okay?”

“Thank you.” Anetra nods shakily. “I’ve been getting better at it. I think for some reason today it just feels…” she trails off with a shrug.

“Raw,” Sasha answers for her. “Like it still hurts if you think about it.”

Anetra nods. “Does it ever not feel that way?”

Sasha thinks. “It gets easier,” she says finally. “I can’t promise that it’ll never hurt. But it will get better.”

“I think it will too. You should be, like, a motivational speaker or something.” Anetra surprises Sasha with a smile then, one that erases all the tears she shed. “Do you want to stay here and watch a movie?” she asks, cheeks turning red.

“I’d love to.”

—

It continues for a few months. Sasha watches as Anetra gets some weight back, as the blonde streak grows out of her hair, leaving dark waves. She listens as Anetra talks more and more, and talks when Anetra asks about her. The cloud over Anetra might not have lifted yet, but the worst of the storm has passed.

One night, there’s a knock at Sasha’s door, and she can’t hold back her surprised smile when Anetra is there, kitchen towel over her shoulder, hair disheveled, smelling like garlic.

“I want to make dinner for you tonight. In my apartment.” Anetra blushes, pausing at her directness. “If that’s okay, I mean. I realized I didn’t actually ask you—”

“Of course.”

She follows Anetra next door. The apartment is still mostly the same, but a few things catch her eye. The first is a tiny potted cactus on the windowsill. The second is a small art print of a galaxy hanging on the wall. They’re just little things, and could easily go unnoticed. But they’re little attempts at Anetra making this her home, at letting herself be visible to others, and Sasha’s heart warms with familiarity and affection.

Anetra’s eyes follow Sasha’s to the stuff. “Yeah, I started decorating a little, I guess. The person at the store told me I probably can’t kill a cactus. And I thought the print was cool.” She plays with her fingers and shrugs.

“It is cool,” Sasha says. “It took me forever to decorate my first apartment. It was…weird at first. Having the freedom to just do whatever you want, without anyone seeing it.” The sheer joy of leaving her heels by the door, because she didn’t have to hide them. Getting to organize her makeup in the vanity and not tuck it under her bed in a shoebox. Taking her hormones with the bathroom door open. Getting to have those things out in the open, and build a home and life the way she needed to.

Anetra nods immediately. “Yeah. I don’t think I’ve ever had freedom like this. It didn’t come from the best circumstances, but that part has been nice.”

Sasha smiles as Anetra leads her into the kitchen, where she’s making arroz con pollo. It’s the food she misses from her mom’s side of the family. It’s something she’s almost never talked about, and Sasha knows that this is a big step for her too.

Sasha watches from the kitchen table, banished there after she got up to help twice and Anetra ushered her back into the chair, insisting that she was a guest, and wasn’t allowed to help.

Anetra runs around like a chef in a food competition, testing the chicken and scrambling for her phone to see what temperature means it’s done, stirring the rice and sending some flying over the edge of the pan. There’s a tense focus around her, one Sasha hasn’t seen.

“You seem different.”

Anetra’s shoulders are sturdier, no longer slumped. Her eyes seem lighter, the bags underneath not as dark or big, and her smiles come a little easier as she talks. As she stirs the rice, less eagerly this time, there’s a confidence in the movement, her usual hesitance gone.

“I do?” Anetra asks.

“In a good way,” Sasha says quickly. “I think…I think you seem more like you.”

Anetra’s quiet for a few seconds, busying herself with loading up two plates. “I feel more like me,” she says finally, turning back to Sasha. She sets the plates down and sits across from Sasha. “Bone app the teeth, or whatever,” she says, her laughs only growing louder when Sasha swats at her.

“This is really good,” Sasha says, sighing around her first perfect bite of chicken and rice.

“You’re not just saying that?”

“I’m not,” Sasha says firmly, to get that light in Anetra’s eyes, make sure she knows what a good job she did. “It’s really good. Way better than the stuff I tried to put together when I was learning how to cook.”

“Really?”

“Really. I had to throw away the first pan I bought because I wanted my chicken really crispy, and I burnt the shit out of the thing. It was probably a good thing, because I just threw random seasonings on in those days too.”

Anetra snorts. “Glad I’m here for the amazing stuff you make now.”

“Me too.”

They slip into silence while they eat, a silence that lets them sit in the magic of the moment. The magic of getting to be here together, sharing something as special as food. As special as each other.

After Antera washes the dishes—she pushes Sasha back in her chair again when she tries to help, but finally agrees to let her dry them—she hovers awkwardly by the stove.

“Um, so I don’t have dessert. Baking makes me nervous, there are so many rules—”

“Let’s go to my apartment,” Sasha says, “and you can help me make cookies.”

Anetra cheers and follows Sasha, and when she leaves with a quick kiss on her cheek later that night, it’s as warm as the cookies.

Pride Challenge Points: 1231

#rpdr fanfiction #anetra #sasha colby #anetra x sasha #lesbian au #fluff #hurt/comfort #fic challenge #athena2 #tw mild implied homophobia #concrit welcome

[artificialqueens]

🏳️‍🌈 Flowers Bloom (Until They Rot) (Anetra x Sasha Colby) - Athena2

Summary: Anetra, god of the Underworld, meets Sasha, goddess of spring.

A/N: This was inspired by the Ancient Myth AU on the pride challenge here. I’ve wanted to do a Hades/Persephone-inspired fic for a while, and did this. It doesn’t follow the myth exactly, but it has the basic elements. I also added some details of Hawai’ian gods and goddesses, like the hibiscus and squid on Anetra’s belt (a squid is one of the forms of the Hawai’ian god of the Underworld). I really hope you like this, and please comment if you like! Thank you to Writ for looking this over and FaceTiming me with your full reaction, you’re the best.

Title from Flowers from Hadestown.

The king of the Underworld always remembers the day he saw the goddess.

Anetra always clings to the shadows on his visits to the world above. It’s an in-between world, above the souls and beneath the gods. Jewels of fruit swing from tree branches. Golden fields of wheat ripple in the wind. Bright laughter rings from people in the distance, in houses that form their own worlds. Their laughter is strange, but he likes it. He wants the humans to enjoy themselves before reaching his world.

He never knows what to do with his visit to this world, before taking to the sky. He takes it all in, but from a distance, because this world can never be his.

He notices the goddess because she lingers among the humans too. She gracefully plucks a ripe mango from a tree and hands it to a young boy, then coaxes a girl closer to the butterfly resting on her palm, like it mistook her for a flower. The goddess is beautiful enough that even Anetra could make the butterfly’s mistake.

In that moment, he feels for her what every poet has written about.

—

It’s months later when he sees her again. They’re celebrating a demigod’s quest. He’s normally not invited to such events, but he’s grateful he is.

He polishes his golden crown until its carved flames shine like real fire, carefully nestling it in his dark hair. His black cloak shadows him in protection, his thick black boots help him feel sturdy. He adjusts his golden belt, carved into a squid’s head, and begins his journey to the world of the gods, up in the clouds.

She’s the first person he sees in the cloud palace, tending to vines wrapped around a column.

She’s in a white dress with flowers woven into it, pinks and yellows and blues. Her hair is brown with delicate sweeps of gold like the sun had painted its rays into her hair. He’s heard whispers about the spring goddess. How she’s had affairs with gods and goddesses alike. How she adapted her own form into one she felt was truly hers, instead of the one she was given. None of those things change the quickening of his heart when she looks at him.

“Hi,” she says.

There’s no one to talk to in his realm, and it takes a few seconds to gather his voice. “Hi,” he answers finally. He bows to her, gently taking her hand when she offers it. Her touch is warm like the sun on his face, the rare times he’s gotten to feel it.

“I’m Sasha. Goddess of spring.”

“Anetra. God of the Underworld.”

She wanders back to the vine, and he fears that that’s it. Her realm is creation, rebirth, renewal. His is destruction, the dead, stagnancy. She watches over the newborn birds, he watches over the departed souls. Two sides of one coin.

She traces along the vine, nudging a bud into opening as a full red hibiscus. She plucks it and stretches upward to tuck it into his crown, where its red warmth travels down his body.

“I wish I had something to give you,” he says.

“You can give me your hand.” She offers hers again, and he takes it, leading her into the palace.

—

The wedding is a quiet affair, as far as gods are concerned.

It’s done in the cloud palace, as dictated by those with more power. He holds her hands and when he says his vows, his voice isn’t hoarse anymore. He’s been practicing for her.

Her lips bloom against his, and then he offers her a pomegranate seed. The ruby red fruit of life, allowing her to live safely in his realm.

She doesn’t let go of his hand on the journey down.

—

Love blossoms in a world of decay. A fire is always lit somewhere in his castle. Hours pass like nothing while they talk, and laughter fills the walls for the first time ever. Sasha gets green sprouts to grow out of the ancient dirt around the castle. He goes with her when she tends to the plants. It’s nice to watch something grow instead of decay. To see something in the start of its journey, instead of the end.

The blues and greens of the world above are exchanged for reds and blacks down here. The red of pomegranate seeds staining their fingertips. The red of wine clinging to their lips. The red of a hibiscus Sasha coaxes into blooming after weeks of work. The black stone of the walls around them. The black water of the rivers bubbling away in the quiet. The black cloud of the souls in distant lands.

She loves him, and makes this world her home. But he knows she still misses it up there, sometimes. The blue sky, the golden sun, the deep green of the ocean. He drapes a blue blanket over the posts on their bed, and they dream of the sky together.

—

Whispers of the world above reach his ears. Frost clings to the grass. The flowers can’t bear it, petals crumbling under the cold weight. The carefully-planted crops yield nothing but dirt, unable to grow. The fruit on the trees shrivels up and dies, sweet flesh rotted through before anyone can eat it.

Sasha is in bed. The only sound in the whole realm is her teeth chattering as she shivers.

—

Every day, more and more souls enter his realm, still shivering from the cold. Still hungry from the lack of food. He can scarcely keep up, barely maintain order.

Sasha is still in bed, in his arms as he desperately tries to warm her. Powerless to fix a world that was never meant to survive without her. Struggling to survive in a world not meant for her. Neither her, nor the world, will manage like this for much longer.

He’s ignored it for too long. How pale she’s gotten. How she’s drowning in the fabric of her dresses. How the flowers she grew are rotting. Maybe it’s from being away from nature for too long. Maybe it’s because this world truly isn’t meant for the living. He doesn’t care. All he cares about is helping her.

Even if it means he has to lose her.

She needs to go back, he knows.

He also knows he can’t go with her.

Just as this world isn’t for her, her world isn’t for him. He can’t leave this kingdom. He has to keep watch over the souls, keep them safe, keep the dangerous ones from escaping. The world above is no place for him.

But it’s a place for Sasha.

“You need to go back,” he says softly.

She immediately shakes her head. “I want to stay here. With you.”

“The world isn’t well without you. You’re not well.”

“But I love you.” Her hand squeezes tight around his.

“I love you too. Too much to see you suffer in the name of that love,” he says, and that wetness in his eye that he’s never felt before is a tear.

—

It takes a meeting with the other deities to arrange things, and it’s days before they reach a decision. Sasha will spend half the year on earth, tending to the spring and summer crops. Fall and winter will mark her return to the world below, with him.

The seasons never meant much to him. But now he awaits the fall like farmers await summer, like humans await lost sailors.

And every year, as the earth shifts and begins to grow colder, the goddess of spring journeys below, a smile on her face and a hibiscus in her hand, and the god of the Underworld has never known such warmth.

Pride Challenge Points: 1659

#rpdr fanfiction #anetra #sasha colby #anetra x sasha #mythology au #fic challenge #angst #athena2 #concrit welcome

[artificialqueens]

🏳️‍🌈 Moondance (Anetra x Sasha Colby) - Athena2

Summary: Anetra runs a bakery that Sasha often visits. They both have crushes on each other, but they’re also each hiding another secret.

A/N: I’ve been working on this for a while, and I’m so glad I finally finished! I had two amazing betas for this: Writ and Mar. Thank you both so, so much for all your help on this, for betaing, and for letting me ramble about this fic to you. Seriously, this fic would not be what it is without your thoughts, suggestions, and support, and I really appreciate it. Please comment if you’d like!

The full moon guides Sasha’s way to her cottage. The winding path through the woods has been worn down almost solely by her over the years; when it doesn’t rain, her footprints remain in the dirt for days.

She shouldn’t be out this late—and she wouldn’t be, except she got caught up talking to Luxx in the cafe—but something about the full moon is calming, watching over her with its pearly white strength.

Something rustles in the trees, and Sasha stops, instantly alert. Spending all this time in nature, developing her magic, has made her sensitive to the environment, to each rustling tree and chirping bird. This noise is heavy, too heavy for a bird.

A twig snaps, and Sasha’s blood turns cold when she sees the source of the noise: a massive gray wolf, baring its sharp teeth as it stalks over to her. The wolf growls, and every hair on Sasha’s body stands up. A protection field spell should be enough, but she needs to be calm first, she needs to breathe—

Another wolf emerges from the trees, this one with the black fur of a starless sky, and a thin mark over its left eye. Sasha’s heart pounds, so loud she’s positive both wolves can hear it. Her magic is strong, but a protection spell against two wolves is a lot, even for her. She raises her hands to begin the spell, but the gray snaps his jaw, sharp teeth clacking together and sending her scrambling against a tree, the rough bark scratching her back.

This is it, then. Her first encounter with a wolf and it’s going to kill her, tear her apart with its sharp teeth. She can smell the coppery scent of her own blood, feel its teeth cut through her chest and crunch on her ribs, but the actual pain never comes.

Because the black wolf steps in front of Sasha and growls right back at the gray wolf.

The black wolf is protecting her, she realizes.

It moves when the gray wolf moves, blocking Sasha from its view. The gray wolf moves a paw forward, teeth bared, like it’s testing things, and the black wolf mirrors its movements, daring it to do something.

Sasha creeps along the forest floor, slowly putting more distance between herself and the wolves. She wishes she could thank the wolf, or the human it’ll turn into. But Sasha’s made it through this run-in, and she can’t hang around to risk another. Once her feet reach the familiar dirt path, she runs, the growls fading behind her.

She slams her cottage door and the floor rises to meet her as she drops. Her hair sticks to her neck with sweat, and dried leaves cling to the bottom of her cloak. Her bag topples over on the floor, spilling out herbs and the hat she bought today, but not her book. It must have fallen out while she ran, but she’s too tired and her legs are too wobbly to care. She hauls herself up and collapses into bed, sheer exhaustion replacing the adrenaline and sending her to sleep.

When she leaves the next morning, the book is propped against the big sycamore tree near the village, with a trail of paw prints leading away from it.

—-

She puts the fear out of her mind as she heads into town. Almost every morning, before going to her apothecary, she stops in the bakery. It’s her favorite place in town, even more than her own shop, with a cheerfully golden outside and calming, deep blue walls inside. The little garden patch in the front doesn’t have flowers; instead, it’s filled with bowls of water and homemade dog treats, since peoples’ pet dogs and random strays are always drawn to the bakery, and to Anetra especially. He loves petting them, and they always jump on him in delight.

The smell of fresh bread and vanilla and butter hits her the second she opens the door. Any trace of leftover fear vanishes in the face of such sweetness; it’s impossible to be anything but happy here. Especially when she sees Anetra.

He’s at the counter, kneading dough. He does it up at the front of the shop sometimes to keep an eye on the bakery, and Sasha will never complain about watching how his arm muscles flex. But aside from that, he really is fun to watch. He bites his bottom lip and looks at the dough so intently, so focused, that it makes the moment when the dough becomes perfect and his eyes light up even better. She watches, pushes away the word crush that’s tugging at her heart. Even if it is a crush, she’s not going to do anything about it. She might own an apothecary, but he doesn’t know she’s a real witch, and that would surely turn him away. He’d think of her as some miserable witch in the woods, casting spells and putting curses on people, just like people in her home village thought. That’s if he even believes her, and doesn’t think she’s lying.

So Sasha just smiles as she watches, smiling even wider when Anetra looks up and finally realizes she’s there.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “Dough was being difficult today.”

She always loves when he talks about dough like it’s a living thing, and especially when he talks about it like it’s a tired toddler.

“Don’t worry, I’m in no rush.”

He nods, wiping his hands. As he comes closer, she sees that his normally rosy complexion is as pale as the dough he just finished, with dark circles under his eyes.

“Long night?” she asks.

“You could say that.”

She frowns. Lots of people have been in her shop for cold remedies, with the season changing. “You’ll tell me if you’re sick or need help sleeping, right? I’ll bring you something to help.”

“Yes, mom.” He rolls his eyes, but the gesture, and his smile, is fond. “What would you like today?”

“Um…” She doesn’t exactly need anything, but can’t resist coming here to see him. She names the first thing she sees. “A loaf of the bread with sesame seeds.”

He nods and slides it into a bag. Then he runs into the back and returns with a steaming roll on a napkin. “I just took them out before you came,” he says softly.

It’s her favorite sweet roll, soft and tender with a bit of honey in the dough. She buys them a lot, and every once in a while, he’ll sneak her one fresh from the oven. It started as a thank you; a few months ago, he’d gotten sick, and his friend had come to her to buy some herbal teas and aromatherapy oils. When he was better, Anetra had come over to thank her with two hot rolls. Ever since, he’s been sneaking them to her from time to time, even though she told him the first two were more than enough thanks. Besides, the rolls are really too good to turn down.

“Thank you,” she sighs as she takes a bite, the soft dough melting in her mouth. “I think this is the best one yet.”

“You say that every time.”

“And it’s true every time.” The village clock chimes, and Sasha needs to get to her shop. She devours the rest of the roll and pays for her loaf. “I’ll see you later, Neech.”

“See you.”

“And make sure you sleep tonight!” she calls over her shoulder, his laughter following her down to her shop.

—

Anetra sighs in relief as he closes the bakery for the day. Last night’s transformation hadn’t been any harder than normal, but there was the unwelcome arrival of the gray wolf. A wolf who had wanted to hurt Sasha.

Anetra’s grateful he was there to drive the wolf away, even if his leg got scratched up and he’d spent the entire night on tense alert. But Sasha is safe, and that’s what matters.

She doesn’t know he’s a wolf, and it’s safer that way. He’s not dangerous, but most wolves are. Sasha saw that herself last night. She would think of him as some snarling beast with sharp teeth, covered in blood and guts from devouring humans. Besides, there are a lot of things she doesn’t know. Things he can’t let her know.

She doesn’t know that he tries to time things so that the sweet rolls come out of the oven just before her usual arrival time; kneading the dough and willing the yeast to rise as fast as possible. Dough is temperamental, and sometimes it just isn’t ready, but when it is, her smile makes all the stress worth it.

She also doesn’t know that her laugh fills his head for hours, that he always gives her the prettiest of whatever dessert she asks for, hoping the magic of his baking can match the magic of her beauty.

Sometimes, he thinks she might feel the same way. She could be affectionate, praise his work or let their hands touch longer than necessary when he handed her things. Sometimes she got so wrapped up talking to him that she’d have to run to open her shop on time. But friends could do those things too, and maybe he was reading too deep into it, seeing what he wanted to see. Besides, if he’s wrong, and tries to be more than friends when Sasha doesn’t want that, he would ruin everything. If they did become more than friends, it would be harder to keep his secret, and if she ever found that out, she’d surely think he was a monster and run in fear. It’s safer for both of them to let things be.

He can control his feelings, push them down and pretend they’re not there. But even though he can barely keep his eyes open by the time he collapses into bed, it takes him longer than normal to fall asleep as thoughts of Sasha break free and fill every part of him.

—-

The wind whips around Anetra as he enters the bakery, grinning at the dogs that pass by before getting to work on bread dough and filling for cream puffs. Despite the warmth inside, his dough is rising a bit slowly. He won’t have a fresh roll ready, but he does have a new cookie for Sasha to try. He’s been perfecting the recipe over the past few weeks, waiting until he had it just right for her to try, and he thinks he finally has it.

His heart leaps when the bell rings, and Sasha walks in. No matter how many times she comes here, each time makes him as happy as the first, when she came in on opening day to wish him luck, pointing out her apothecary and telling him to visit her if he ever needed anything.

She’s in a flowy black cloak with a pink sweater underneath, its open neck showing off the freckles on her chest. There are matching ones on her shoulders, revealed whenever she wears her floral dresses in the summer. She’s beautiful, she always is, but it seems more so today.

And of course she would be so beautiful when he’s up to his elbows in flour and there’s a glob of chocolate on his chin that he couldn’t wipe with floury hands.

“Um, hi, Sasha,” he says.

“Hey there.”

“I’m gonna wash up quick.”

“Seems like a good idea, since there’s chocolate on you.” Her smile is light and a little teasing.

He flees to the safety of the oven area to hide his burning cheeks. He scrubs his hands and makes sure any bit of chocolate or dough or flour is entirely off him before running a hand through his hair and stepping back to the counter with a grin.

“Messy morning?” she guesses, still smiling.

“You have no idea. I got pastry cream everywhere and burned my arm too.” He shows her the light red line on his arm, and her eyebrows raise in concern. “Anyway, what would you like today?”

“A few of the wheat rolls.”

He nods and gets them into a bag. He bites his lip as he weighs the next question. “I played around with an old recipe and made some lemon-coconut cookies, if you want to try one?”

“Is that even a question?” she asks.

He smiles and passes her a cookie, doing his best not to drop it when their fingertips touch. The touch is pure warmth, a magical reaction like the kind that happens in the oven, weaving warmth and comfort out of sugar and butter.

Sasha grins as soon as she takes a bite. “They’re so good. Really lemon-y. And coconut-y. I think those are words.”

He smiles to himself. Coconut wasn’t in the original recipe, but he’d tweaked it to add some, since she loves it so much. But she doesn’t need to know that.

She pays for her bread and tries to pay for the cookie, but he won’t let her. She finally relents and leaves with a smile.

But that’s not the last he sees her, because she comes back ten minutes later with a tiny jar of cream for his burn.

—-

Sasha needs to stop making a habit of walking through the woods on full moon nights. Last month was a close call, so she hurries toward her cottage, hoping to make it through this one safely.

She doesn’t get far before heavy thuds erupt behind her, cracking branches along the way. There’s a heavy panting sound too, with distinctly human voices trailing it. The panting grows closer, and a wolf bursts into the clearing. It’s the one who protected her last month, and it tears past her with a whine, tucking itself behind a thick group of shrubs. With the darkness, and the thickness of the shrubs, it practically disappears.

It’s scared, she realizes. It’s scared and it’s behind the shrubs because it’s hiding, hiding from—

Two men run into the clearing, flashlights and big hunting rifles in hand. They’re carrying backpacks stuffed with what look like traps, sharp edges poking through. Her heart aches at the thought of someone wanting to hurt this wolf, and the human behind it.

“What are you doing?” She demands.

“We’re hunting the wolf,” the first one says, shining his flashlight right into her face. “There’s a whole group of us. Do you know how famous we’ll be if we get it?”

“You’re not hunting anything,” Sasha says firmly.

“What are you gonna do about it?” He steps closer to her, gun raised.

She does the first spell she can think of: a confusion spell, one whose blue strands hit into the men and send them walking right out of the forest, unsure why they’re here. Confusion spells don’t last long, and they had mentioned a whole group out there somewhere. She could do a protection field spell around her and the wolf, but it would have to cover a big area, and she’d have to stay here all night to hold it.

Or she could take the wolf home.

No one ever found her cottage if she didn’t want them to; she’d spent years laying herbs and casting spells to keep it that way. It’s the safest option for them both.

She takes a breath as she approaches the wolf, because even if it saved her, it’s still a giant animal with sharp teeth.

“Um, hey,” she says into the shrubs. “You can come out, it’s safe.”

The wolf emerges, looking up at her with dark eyes. Its scar is familiar, but she can’t place it.

“I’m gonna bring you home with me, okay? I’ll make sure those hunters don’t find you.”

The wolf seems to nod—it moves its head, anyway—and when she heads toward her cottage, it follows her.

It’s a tight squeeze to get the wolf through the door, twisting its body and legs. It finally settles on the floor of her living room, sitting on its hind legs and looking at her like an obedient dog waiting for a command.

“Are you hurt?” she asks.

The wolf’s head moves from side to side.

“Okay, well, you can sleep on my couch if you want.” She knows one of her spellbooks has something on getting dog hair off furniture.

The wolf tilts its head.

“You can get on the couch. It’s okay, I promise.”

The wolf leaps on the couch and curls up like a giant dog, scratching its side with a back paw and wagging its tail a little. It’s kind of adorable, and Sasha resists the urge to pet it.

“I’m going to bed. Good night.” She isn’t sure if wolves get cold, but on a whim, she grabs a blue blanket and tosses it over the wolf.

She climbs into bed and laughs into her pillow, because there’s a whole damn werewolf on her couch.

—

“Anetra?”

He blinks through the usual post-transformation fog and soreness, heart picking up speed when he doesn’t recognize his surroundings. There are no trees, no branches scratching at his skin, sore and sensitive from the transformation, no smell of earth in his nose. Instead, there are walls covered in bookshelves, and a plush couch underneath. And a soft voice nearby.

Sasha’s voice.

She found him last night, saved him from those hunters. But now he’s in her cottage, and she knows—

Anetra shoots off the couch, his legs smacking into the coffee table. He groans, and arms on his shoulders help him sit back down. He finally looks up to see Sasha, staring at him in concern. And as he realizes she has a robe over her pajamas, he also realizes that he’s wearing nothing but a blanket.

He burns from his feet to his forehead. “Can you, um…”

“I have an extra robe,” Sasha says, like she’s reading his mind. She seems to be blushing too, her eyes flying around the room rather than settling on him. She runs to her room and comes back with a robe, closing her eyes until he’s changed.

It’s not as much clothing as he’d like, and the hem of it falls above his knees, but it’ll have to do.

“You’re a wolf?” Sasha asks.

His stomach drops. There’s no way he can hide it. She let a wolf into her cottage last night, and now he’s here. There’s no story he can make up, no lie she would believe. He has to tell her.

“Yes,” he says finally, heart pounding. “I’m a wolf.”

She’s quiet, and he recognizes her thinking look, the one that makes her green eyes sharper.

“I should’ve realized it. How did I not realize it?” She runs a hand through her hair, almost like she’s upset. “All those times you were so tired and pale were after the full moon. Dogs are always drawn to you. The scar…” she trails off, motioning to the line through his eyebrow, so faded it’s barely noticeable. “I’m so sorry I didn’t figure it out.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for!” He actually laughs a little, because of course Sasha is kicking herself for not knowing, when she always notices the little things in her friends. “The scar is really small and faded, and I’ve had years of practice hiding the wolf thing.”

“I still wish I realized. I could’ve tried to help you feel better after.”

A lump forms in his throat. How could he have been scared to tell her, when she’s so kind and accepting, when her first reaction is that she wishes she could’ve helped? But he couldn’t shake the fear that she would see him as a monster. Someone not even entirely human, who turns into a vicious beast once a month.

“I didn’t tell you because I…I didn’t want you to think I was a monster.”

“You’re just a big dog,” she laughs, but her face turns serious when she sees his fear. “Honey, you’re not a monster,” she says, so soft he can barely stand it.

“But—”

“Being a wolf isn’t your fault, and I know you’d never hurt anyone. You saved me from that other wolf. You’re not a monster,” she repeats, and this time, he listens.

He’s not a monster, and he wipes the tears in his eyes before they can spill over and become noticeable. Sasha hands him a tissue and takes a seat next to him.

“While we’re confessing things,” Sasha begins, “There’s something I should probably tell you. I…I’m a witch.”

He blinks. “Like, a real one?”

“Yes.” She sighs, shoulders drawing in like she’s scared. “I didn’t know if you’d think I was bad or evil or something.”

“I would never think that of you,” he says, firmer than he expected. Her running the apothecary makes more sense now. Just like why the cream she gave him for the burn worked better than any other kind he tried, easing the pain in seconds and healing the wound in a few days.

“And I would never think you’re a monster,” she says, and a warm wave of understanding washes through Anetra.

After a few seconds, Sasha speaks again. “Actually, maybe there’s another thing I should tell you. I’ve had a crush on you for a while, but I didn’t know if you felt the same way, and didn’t want to ruin anything if you didn’t, or put that on you. And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way. But I wanted you to know.”

He pieces the words together as she talks, sure that he’s mishearing. She likes him. She likes him the way he likes her. She isn’t scared of him, and doesn’t mind that he’s too quiet sometimes.

“Neech? You’re really quiet, is everything okay?” Sasha asks.

It jolts him out of his thoughts. “Yes, I’m fine! I—I do feel the same way about you.”

“You do?” Sasha blushes, almost like she can’t believe it, and Anetra won’t let her doubt him.

“I’ve had a crush on you for a while. You…you’re magic. And not just because you’re a witch.” His face is burning, but he smiles. “I just wasn’t sure if you liked me.”

“I do like you,” Sasha says gently.

Relief and joy break through the faint pain lingering after the shift, filling him up with warmth. She knows his secret, and it didn’t change anything. She knows, and she still likes him.

“Do you want to go get breakfast?” he asks, rushing with his own bravery. “After I get clothes, I mean.”

“You’re sure you aren’t too tired?”

He shakes his head. “I’m good, really. I don’t normally sleep at all when I change. This was nice.”

Sasha smiles, even wider than when he gives her fresh rolls. “Let me get changed and we can go. And I have a bunch of wolf questions for you while we eat.”

He smiles too. “Only if you answer all my witch questions.”

“Deal.”

Pride Challenge Points: 504

#rpdr fanfiction #s15 #anetra #sasha colby #anetra x sasha #witch au #wolf au #bakery au #athena2 #concrit welcome #pride 2023 #fic challenge

[artificialqueens]

Between Two Lungs (It Was Released) (Sasha Colby x Anetra) - Athena2

Summary: Anetra weighs her options. She could try to find a doctor who will do an expensive surgery that her insurance likely won’t cover, that will remove her memories of Sasha. She could be cured if Sasha returns the feelings of love for her. Research tells her some cases have resolved by getting over the person, so she can just stop loving Sasha. The problem is, Sasha isn’t someone you can just stop loving. (Hanahaki au) A/N: So I’ve surprisingly never done a hanahaki au, though I’ve wanted to for a while. This idea popped into my head and wouldn’t leave until I wrote it. Thank you so much to Writ for encouraging me to do this when I just had one scene idea, for helping me with my mini-spiral, and for looking it over. You are truly amazing and I can never thank you enough. Please comment if you like, it means a lot!! Title from Between Two Lungs by Florence + the Machine (Also the flower info I got is from wikipedia so if anything is inaccurate please suspend your disbelief)

Anetra lays the flower on the florist’s counter. Five silky petals, dark pink with yellow at the centers. The intersection of the petals stares at her like an eye, questioning why she coughed it up last night.

“How did you get this?” The florist asks. She seems almost suspicious.

“You know what it is?” Anetra asks instead.

“Yes, it’s a plumeria. Really nice color combination, too. They don’t occur naturally here. You could try to plant one, but it’s difficult. The closest place you could get one is Hawaii.”

Anetra’s blood runs cold despite the sunny warmth of the flower. “Um, a friend brought it back for me,” she says, and then she runs out of the shop, her chest constricting with what she fears might be another flower.

A pretty pink flower that grows in Hawaii.

Well, Anetra thinks, shit.

—-

Anetra scrolls through internet entries on plumerias with shaky fingers. They’re native to Hawaii and other warm climates, and require lots of sun and warmth to thrive. Plumerias symbolize positivity, and are the flowers used in Hawaiian leis. She reads that in Hawaiian culture, they can also be worn in someone’s hair to indicate their relationship status. A plumeria over the right ear means someone is available, over the left ear means they’re in a relationship.

If Sasha had one in her hair, it would be over her left ear.

But not for Anetra.

—-

Anetra weighs her options.

She could try to find a doctor who will do an expensive surgery that her insurance likely won’t cover, that will remove her memories of Sasha. She could be cured if Sasha returns the feelings of love for her. Research tells her some cases have resolved by getting over the person, so she can just stop loving Sasha.

The problem is, Sasha isn’t someone you can just stop loving.

—-

There’s a fourth option, but she won’t think of that one.

—–

“Hey, Anetra,” Sasha greets when she gets in the door. She’s at the stove, and the scent of butter and blueberries hovers around her.

“Hi.” She clears her throat to hide the hoarseness in her voice. Just a few petals since the first flower, but her throat has been sore regardless.

“I passed this stand selling blueberries, and I really wanted pancakes, so I made breakfast for dinner. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not.” Anetra smiles despite everything. “You make the best pancakes.”

“They’re just pancakes,” Sasha says, but she can’t hide her smile.

“Yeah, and they’re the best.” Anetra joins her by the stove, holding up the plate so Sasha can add the last pancake to the steaming stack.

The pancakes go down easily, and seem to neutralize the worst of that aching weight in her chest.

——

She doesn’t know how to make herself stop loving Sasha. Honestly, she doesn’t know when she started loving her in the first place. In some ways, it seems like she’s always loved Sasha, like her heart has always known her.

They met when Marcia introduced them, and Anetra found that Sasha was every bit as beautiful as Marcia had promised. It would have been easy to hate her for that if she was anyone else. But Sasha also delivered on being just as sweet and kind as Marcia said she was. She spent hours volunteering at a trans youth center. She greeted all her friends’ problems with open arms and a listening ear, had seen countless shirts stained by tears. She would spend hours shopping with you to help you find the perfect outfit. When she went walking, peoples’ dogs ran up to her like she was some Disney princess.

When Anetra’s lease was up and the landlord was raising the rent for the renewal, Sasha said that she had an extra bedroom and would love a roommate, where Anetra learned that in addition to being beautiful and kind, Sasha could be goofy and ridiculous, would get so into her singing in the shower that she’d splash water everywhere. She made Anetra feel like they had a little family, just the two of them.

Maybe the night the first flower came up was when the love officially started. Nothing special happened that night. They made dinner together and folded clothes with the TV on in the background, and Sasha was so tired she accidentally put on one of Anetra’s sweatshirts, then went to bed early. Anetra intended to follow her, only to end up hunched over the garbage can with a weird tickle in her throat. She expected to throw up, only to cough, chest constricting in pain, until a flower tumbled on top of the tissues in the garbage, bright pink shining against the white.

Plumerias take a long time to grow. Maybe the seeds were planted from the moment they met, nourished by Anetra’s love, and that night was just the first bloom.

—–

The first day Anetra coughs up two flowers at once—gasping for breath, clutching to the sink with white knuckles—is the same day she gets home and finds Sasha wrapped in a blanket on the couch, wine glass in hand, eyes red even though she’s not crying anymore.

“What’s wrong?” Anetra is next to her in an instant, eyes searching for ways she could be hurt, any tell-tale signs of what’s wrong—

“Leah and I broke up,” Sasha says quietly. “It was mutual. We just—things just weren’t working. I don’t think we were right for each other, deep down.”

In some perfect fantasy rolling in Anetra’s head, Sasha would lean over and give her a kiss and confess the love that would save Anetra, take away the flowers killing her from the inside. Instead, Sasha stays where she is, her shoulders drawn tight, and Anetra aches, aches for the hurt Sasha is feeling. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

“I don’t think so. I usually know my feelings, but I don’t…I don’t know what I need or what I’m feeling right now. Everything just feels confused and messy.” Sasha sighs and begins playing with her hair, one of her only nervous habits.

“I think it’s normal to be confused about feelings sometimes. Especially after a breakup.” Anetra has never been as good with emotions or words as Sasha is. Sometimes she thinks too long about how exactly she wants to say something, and it grows too late. Sometimes she avoids her own emotions so long that she doesn’t know what to do when someone has them out on their sleeve. “How about a hug?” Anetra asks, because she knows her arms are always enough.

Sasha nods. Anetra opens her arms, and Sasha sinks into them. She pulls Sasha to her chest, her head settling right over the flowers burning in her lungs.

—–

All things considered, they aren’t the worst flowers she could be coughing up. They’re not anything huge like sunflowers; the petals grow to about four inches in length. They’re soft and rounded, no hard roots or vines, no thorns like roses would have. They’re often used in perfume and carry a sweet, fragrant scent, usually the first thing Anetra notices when her head stops spinning and she can breathe again. It figures that even in this sickness, Sasha is still making things as easy as she can for her.

Plumeria leaves are thick and leathery and can grow up to a foot long. Anetra is hoping the sickness applies only to flowers.

—–

Anetra had thought, in some desperate way, that it would get better now that Sasha was single. Now that there’s a chance of her returning Anetra’s love, however small it might be. It seemed like a blessing from the universe for her to magically become available. Instead, it gets worse. The dizziness, the constant shaking in her hands. The squeezing in her chest that takes longer to go away. It gets worse, because Sasha isn’t in a relationship that’s keeping her from loving Anetra. Now, Sasha’s out of her relationship, and she still doesn’t love Anetra. There’s no excuse any more, no rationale. Sasha just doesn’t love her, and that’s it. That plumeria shifted from Sasha’s left ear to her right, but it’s done nothing to ease the pain blooming inside Anetra.

Just being around her is starting to hurt, a fist squeezing around her chest. Just seeing her smile is starting to rob Anetra of more and more breath, like the flowers are growing in response to the sun that is Sasha.

She’s done her best to hide it around Sasha and her observation skills, smothering her coughs and hiding the pain. It’s tempting, sometimes, to tell her the truth, let Anetra’s feelings blossom like the flowers, and see if Sasha returns them. But it would be worse to know for sure. To be outright rejected, and have that option struck from the cure list.

One night they’re getting dinner ready and her throat is on fire, tingling with flowers ready to emerge. She runs to the bathroom and just has time to get the water running as a cover before she bends over and surrenders herself to the porcelain.

The flowers taste bitter on the way up, though still tinged with that sweet scent. Three flowers land in the sink; the most in one go so far. Red this time, a dark, angry red. She’s wondering if the flowers normally change colors when she realizes the red is dripping off the petals and turning pink in the water, that the bitter taste is still in her mouth.

Blood.

She waits for the spinning to stop and lifts her head. Blood drips down her lips to her chin, the red dark and scary against her face that’s about as pale as the sink. It makes her look like a vampire in some horror movie, and she would laugh if it didn’t hurt so bad.

“Everything okay?” Sasha asks when she gets back, throat raw and mouth still bitter even after rinsing.

“Yeah.” It doesn’t even sound like a lie. “Thought I had something stuck in my throat, you know? Figured you didn’t want to watch me hack up a lung in the kitchen.”

“Definitely not, thank you.”

Funnily enough, Sasha does always like to have flowers in the kitchen. The lack of oxygen must be getting to Anetra’s head, because part of her wonders if Sasha would want flowers that tore her insides apart, that would drip blood all over the counters.

—-

There’s no conclusive report on how long the disease lasts. An average seems to be about three months, but some people manage for a year. Anything longer is practically unheard of.

Anetra’s done taekwondo most of her life. If there’s one thing she has, it’s stamina and endurance. The ability to continue on through soul-deep rejection and bone-deep exhaustion and pain.

In other words, those flowers are going to have to work for it.

—–

One morning she wakes with the sheets kicked to the bottom of the bed, sweat soaking the collar of her T-shirt. Her whole body is on fire. Her cheek burns against the pillow, but the worst is the burning in her chest, unrelenting no matter which way she turns. There’s no way she can do anything but lay here today, and she texts Sasha to say that she’s sick.

There’s a knock on the door not a minute later, because of course Sasha is too good, too caring, to not at least check on her. “Anetra, can I come in?”

“Yeah.” It’s faint, scratching at her throat, but she doesn’t have the strength to be louder.

“I just wanted to see if you need anything before I go—shit, you’re really sick.” Sasha’s hand rests on her forehead, and the flowers twitch inside. Having Sasha this close is like being near a fireplace, and she’s already in flames. Anetra winces, and Sasha tears her hand away. “Your fever feels really high. Are you sure you’re okay? I can stay home if you want.”

“‘M’ fine.”

“Do you want Tylenol?”

“Please.”

A minute later, Sasha is back with two pills and a glass of water so cold it makes Anetra’s teeth chatter. The pills burn her throat, and it makes her cough violently into her arm. Sasha rubs her back through the coughing fit, and Anetra just prays that a flower doesn’t come up, because if Sasha sees her coughing up a flower, her concern might finish Anetra off right here.

“Text me if you need anything, okay?” Sasha lays a washcloth on her forehead. It’s cold, but it does nothing to tame the fire burning through her.

“I will.”

“Get some sleep. It’ll make you feel better.”

Anetra holds her breath as the burning worsens, waiting for the door to close—then the garbage can is in her hands as she spits blood and flowers into it. One of the flowers has a thin stem attached now, like it’s coming from deeper inside her.

The day passes in a haze. Pink flowers. Red blood. Brown hair. Hazel eyes. She can’t tell the difference between reality and dreaming, because even her sleep is just a blur of color like a watercolor painting. The scent of the plumerias follows her there too. Anetra stares at the ceiling and tries to breathe through the pain winding around her chest. She imagines the plumerias knotting themselves into a lei around her ribcage, squeezing her bones in a noose of sweet flowers.

In the heat pouring off her skin, the day melts around her. Finally, after what feels like both hours and years, there’s a knock at the door, and Sasha’s voice. “Are you hungry? I brought soup. It’s your favorite, from that Puerto Rican restaurant you told me about.”

Sasha comes in with a takeout container and a spoon. The restaurant is one Anetra mentioned maybe twice, half an hour out of the way of Sasha’s commute, and Anetra can no longer tell if the heat in her face is from the illness or her love. They’re one and the same, aren’t they? She manages to eat the soup, and when she coughs up three more flowers that night, the soup somehow stays down.

—–

“Do you think this is okay for a coffee date?” Sasha asks, smoothing her orange blazer.

“It’s perfect. You—you always look perfect,” Anetra manages around her dry throat, tingling with that feeling that’s become too familiar.

“Even in my pajamas with the french fries on them?” Sasha teases.

“Especially then.” Anetra forces a smile as Sasha leaves.

Anetra manages until she’s out the door, but then she can’t even get to the bathroom before she doubles over, squeezing her eyes shut against the gray spots darkening her vision. Sweat runs down her neck, a return of that fever from before. She coughs and coughs in the living room, the flowers fluttering down at her feet. But something feels wrong—wronger than the wrong that’s been plaguing her for seven months.

She tentatively reaches toward her mouth and feels something much thicker than the flowers, and her stomach drops as she pulls at it. She pulls until she feels completely raw and empty, like she ripped all her insides out, until she sinks to her knees in a shuddering heap.

In her trembling hand is a plumeria leaf the length of her forearm, spring green and streaked with violent red.

She has to be reaching the end, then. There’s simply no way her lungs can take that many more leaves sprouting inside, the love taking deeper and deeper root by the day. She imagines plumeria branches bursting through her skin, turning her into a tree that managed to survive where it shouldn’t have solely because of love.

Her movements are slow as she cleans up the flowers. She doesn’t count them, but there’s enough for a floral arrangement. She buries them in the kitchen garbage when the door suddenly opens, and it’s enough to jolt Anetra back into the world a bit.

“Sasha?” she asks in disbelief. “What are you doing back so soon?”

“I need to talk to you.” Her jaw is tight in that way it gets when she’s tense or nervous, and Anetra immediately ushers her to the couch.

Sasha takes a breath. “So, I left, and then I stood in the lobby for ten minutes, trying to talk myself into going on the date. But I couldn’t go through with it. I couldn’t go through with it because…because I realized I’d just be thinking of you the whole time. Because I love you.”

Tears flood Anetra’s eyes, and she loses what precious little breath she has left. When Sasha wipes the tears, she thinks her rib cage might be expanding to make room for the branches.

“I think that’s why it didn’t work with Leah. Why I felt so weird about it later. I think I’ve loved you all along, and it just…it took me a while to realize it. I think it took so long because in some ways, it feels like I’ve always loved you, you know?” Sasha takes another breath, rubbing her knee. “Anyway, maybe you don’t—”

“No,” Anetra says quickly. She needs to get her words right, and she needs to do it now, before she sprouts branches. “I understand what you mean. The truth is, I feel the same way. I love you too. I have for a long time.” Maybe it’s her imagination, but she swears the air in the room gets lighter, gets into her lungs easier. She hadn’t realized just how hard she’d been fighting for every breath lately, until she takes her first unobstructed one.

“You’re not just saying that?” Sasha asks softly.

Anetra takes her hand and squeezes with whatever strength she has. There’s no way she can let Sasha doubt her. Not when Anetra’s love for her nearly tore her apart. “I’m not just saying that. I love you, Sasha. I really do. I love you when you flood the bathroom dancing in the shower. I love your laugh and your smile and everything about you.”

“I love you too.” Sasha throws her arms around Anetra, and the tightness around Anetra’s chest isn’t painful anymore; now it’s coming from Sasha’s embrace, not the ring of plumerias. She can feel her chest lightening, like the flowers are dissolving, can feel that faint dizziness always hovering at the edges of her vision clearing itself up. It wasn’t too late. She’s still here. She’s still here, and she’s going to give Sasha the love that burned inside her for so long.

“Give me one second,” Anetra says. She runs to the kitchen and uncovers one of the plumerias. It’s the only one that somehow avoided her blood, and she carries it back to the living room.

“Anetra, how did you get that?”

“Please don’t ask.” Anetra takes the flower and gently slides it above Sasha’s left ear before pulling her into another embrace.

#rpdr fanfiction #s15 #anetra x sasha #anetra #sasha colby #lesbian au #hanahaki #hurt/comfort #angst #athena2 #tw blood #tw death mention #concrit welcome

[artificialqueens]

Luck Be A Lady, Chapter Three {FINAL} (Sasha x Anetra) - Athena2

Summary: Anetra and Sasha enjoy a bit of peace before they have to put their plan into action.

A/N: Thank you again for the love and amazing feedback on the last chapter! I really enjoyed writing this whole thing and am sad it’s over. Thank you so so much to Writ for encouraging me through this whole thing, and for beta-ing as well. You’re the best <3

Please leave feedback on this if you like, I really appreciate your comments!!

Sasha’s stubborn in her insistence that Anetra stays in bed, so Anetra rests with a bag of ice on her ribs as Sasha clangs around in the kitchen that night, even though she offered to help. Sasha returns with two bowls of mac and cheese, saying it would be something more exciting but she hasn’t been grocery shopping in a few days. It’s not the box kind—it’s real, with thick cheese sauce and breadcrumbs on top, and Anetra has to stop herself from tipping the whole bowl into her mouth. Add cooking to Sasha’s many talents.

Anetra pats the space next to her in bed, and Sasha takes it.

They eat in silence, and Anetra worries it will be awkward after all the talking. But it’s peaceful, a moment to breathe after the stress of the phone call and planning. It’s easy to have Sasha here, to have her understand the need for silence rather than trying to fill it.

After they eat, Sasha pulls a thermometer out of thin air and sticks it in Anetra’s ear. Anetra rolls her eyes and huffs. “What’s this for? I’m not sick.”

Sasha takes it out and nods in approval. “Loosey told me to watch for infection.” That’s not all, because then Sasha unleashes an avalanche of questions. “Have you had any nausea or dizziness?”

“No.”

“What year is it?”

“2023.”

“Where are we?”

“In your house. I don’t know exactly—“

“When’s your birthday?”

“Aren’t you supposed to ask questions you know the answer to?”

“Shit, you’re right,” Sasha says, and they burst out laughing. It’s so good to laugh, to feel this safety for just a bit longer, that Anetra doesn’t even mind how laughing makes her chest twinge.

At some point, the head-injury questions become real ones. Questions about when her birthday really is, which sends Sasha on an astrology tangent. Questions about what movies Anetra likes, what music she listens to. Her favorite childhood memories before things went bad, playing video games with her cousins while the adults droned in the background, tracing over her sports medals and trophies. This time, she lets herself be honest with Sasha. She tells Sasha things she hasn’t told anyone, about the restless nights convincing herself she didn’t like girls. The fight with her family and how she thinks part of her will always want to go back, like a missing body part you don’t need, but still notice, and Sasha nods in a way that Anetra knows she understands exactly how it feels.

“I haven’t talked this much in years,” Anetra says hoarsely. “Haven’t really had anyone to talk to.”

“No?” Sasha asks, and her smile isn’t one of pity, like Anetra expected, but one of care.

“No.” The concern on Sasha’s face is too much, and Anetra busies herself with drinking every last drop of water.

Sasha gets up and grabs the bowls, letting out a yawn, and it hits Anetra that she looks exhausted, the fading light making the shadows under her eyes more pronounced. How had she not noticed sooner? Maybe because Sasha carries herself with such poise, is so good at helping others that she never lets you notice she needs help too. Anetra doesn’t know when they got here, but Sasha spent a while fixing her up, and she was awake when Anetra was. She must have barely slept, and Anetra is split with guilt for keeping her up all night and the unfamiliar, probably undeserved affection of being cared for like that.

“Did you sleep last night?” Anetra asks.

Sasha shrugs. “A little.”

“Not enough, I bet. And I’m not even as good at betting as you.”

“I’m fine.”

Anetra shakes her head. “If I have to stay in bed, so do you. You can do the dishes later.”

“But—”

“Bed,” Anetra says, no room for arguing.

Sasha sighs, but she sets the dishes on the nightstand and slides back under the sheet.

Anetra freezes, her chest burning, because she wanted Sasha to rest for once, but didn’t think about what would happen after Sasha got in bed with her. It’s different, now that they’re under the sheet, instead of sitting up. No food as a distraction. Now they’re laying together, and Anetra knows Sasha liked her enough to kiss her cheek, but she doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what to say—

“Do you want to watch a movie?” Sasha asks.

“Sure,” Anetra says gratefully. “You can pick.” She’d watch damn near anything to avoid how close Sasha is to her, how fast her heart is racing.

Anetra’s learned that Sasha likes classic movies, especially for the fashion, and isn’t surprised when she picks Roman Holiday.

“You know,” Sasha begins about halfway through, eyes heavy with sleep, “The casino is nice and all, but I like this way better.”

“Really?”

She nods. “Quiet nights in are my favorite. A little wine. A little weed. Some TV.” She pauses, and adds, “You.”

“Too bad I had to get beat up for it to happen,” Anetra says, smiling a little. Deflecting more than a little, because she doesn’t know what to do with the enormity of that little word at the end of Sasha’s thought. It’s like trying to cup a waterfall in your hands, Sasha’s affection spilling over and threatening to flood the place.

“Too bad,” Sasha laughs too, and they stay quiet until the movie ends.

Though Sasha said she’d go to her room after the movie, she’s half-asleep when it ends, so peaceful that Anetra couldn’t possibly disturb her. Sasha spent hours taking care of Anetra, skipping over herself, and sleep is the least Anetra can give in return.

Anetra watches Sasha’s half-sleep become real sleep, her breaths slow and steady. And though Sasha is gorgeous all dressed up in the casino, there’s something about seeing her like this, sweatshirt sliding off her shoulder, hair flowing down her back like tendrils of flame. Something about seeing her calm and at rest, when she’s so often in motion. It’s seeing her without her armor, soft and vulnerable, and Anetra feels that desperate tug to care for her and protect her. The same tug that probably got her into this mess. But she takes one more look at Sasha, as she sighs and moves a little closer in her sleep, and if this is a mess, it’s the most beautiful mess Anetra’s ever been in.

—-

Anetra wakes first the next morning, hesitantly stretching her sore arms. She’s wondering if she should get up—and risk Sasha’s mom-scolding—to surprise her with breakfast, when Sasha’s nose scrunches up, making Anetra’s heart rush with affection. Her eyes flutter open soon after. It’s adorable to watch her eyes—a soft green that reminds Anetra of spring—narrow in confusion, before quickly piecing things together and relaxing.

“Morning,” Anetra says quietly.

“Morning.” Sasha props herself up on one arm, hair falling over her shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sleep here.”

“You were exhausted.” Anetra glances over her. Her skin is rosy in the light, even with a pillow crease on her cheek, and the bags under her eyes are gone.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Sasha frets.

“You didn’t, I promise,” Anetra says, touched again at the concern. She grins. “And hey, that was the best night of sleep I’ve had in years.”

Sasha rolls her eyes. “You’ve worked nights for the past five years! That’s probably the only night of sleep you’ve had.”

“Well, yeah, but it proves my point. I’m not even used to sleeping at night anymore, but I did with y—I did here, and it was great.”

Sasha sighs, but she’s smiling too. “I think you’re right, though. I swear I slept better last night than I would’ve in my own bed.”

It was probably just the exhaustion catching up with them, but Anetra can’t deny how safe she felt last night, even with the danger breathing down her neck.

“So,” Sasha begins seriously, “Scrambled eggs or fried?”

“Fried,” Anetra says, after drawing it out as long as she can. “Can I help this time?”

Sasha scans her over, surely assessing her injuries, but Anetra’s face is on fire just the same.

“As long as you don’t move around too much,” Sasha says.

“Deal.”

—-

“Okay, one more time.”

Sasha’s bathroom has been their war room for the past hour. Anetra took her first shower in days, eyes avoiding the mess of blue and purple dotting her ribs and back. She couldn’t scrub her body as hard as she wanted to, so she settled for scrubbing her hair instead, washing out sweat and forgotten traces of blood, trying to erase the past few days. She even let Sasha sit her down and dry it for her after, and she keeps running her hands through it to feel the softness.

Sasha finishes wrapping the new bandage around Anetra’s hand. “We go in the casino and right to the tournament room. I play like normal, don’t give anything away. And then we wait for security to get Ace for cheating.”

“And don’t drink anything they give you,” Anetra adds. She wouldn’t put anything past Tom at this point.

“Right.” Sasha nods, and if she’s worried, she gives no sign. “I really like your tattoos, by the way,” she adds, pointing to the ones on Anetra’s arm, poking out from her rolled-up sleeve.

“Thanks.” Anetra’s burning from her chin to the tips of her ears, and she reviews the plan again while Sasha gets dressed. For all its darker parts, working at the casino was methodical, structured, and Anetra clings to that structure now, to block out the worries. And the thoughts of Sasha.

Sasha comes back in a red dress that clings to her hips and shows off the freckles dusting her shoulders, pulling in Anetra’s thoughts like a magnet. The red reminds Anetra of the roulette squares at the casino, the red of destiny and fortune while you await your fate.

“You look beautiful,” Anetra says, forcing her mouth not to drop. There’s no time to have these thoughts about Sasha. Not when their lives are on the line.

“Thank you.” Sasha smiles and takes her place in front of the mirror to do her makeup. Like just about everything Sasha does, Anetra can’t look away. She savors the light flicks Sasha does for her eyeliner, the delicate movements of her wrist as she spreads on red lipstick. It makes her fearsome and gorgeous at the same time, a warrior preparing for battle and a diamond preparing to shine.

Anetra takes a spot next to her in the mirror. She’s in her black clothes Sasha washed for her, lightly gloating about her stain remover that got all the blood out. Her eyes drift to the purple bruises painted around the edges of her eyes, on her chin. The thin cuts littering her face, looking more like scratches now that the blood and swelling have stopped. She self-consciously runs a finger along the gauze above her eyebrow. The stitches aren’t out yet, but Sasha admitted that Loosey told her it would scar. There’s a scar on her knee from a fall off her bike as a kid, but that’s small and faded and out of the way. This one is on her face, and she doesn’t know how big it will be, or if it will make her look weird, or make people stare at her funny.

“It’ll be pretty thin,” Sasha says, reading her mind. “Loosey said the cut wasn’t that big, facial wounds just bleed a lot.”

Anetra nods. She knows she should be grateful it wasn’t that bad, that it didn’t damage her eyesight. She should be grateful she got through everything Tom did with such little damage, and she is. She doesn’t regret it, and would do it all over again to escape with her life, and Sasha’s. But—

“It probably still feels weird, huh?” Sasha says gently, and Anetra wonders if she really can read minds, if that’s why she’s so good at poker. “It’s okay to be upset about it.”

Anetra shrugs. “I mean, it’s nothing, considering how bad it could have been. I just…I don’t know. I guess I do feel weird about it.” She doesn’t know exactly how to put it into words, the anger over him doing it, the strange pride in surviving it, the tiny fears about how it’ll look. How all those things are somehow stored in a few stitches, tearing at the seams of the gauze.

“Anetra?”

“Yeah?”

Sasha bites her lip, and Anetra doesn’t breathe. “I like you. I really, really like you. And I want you to know I like you with or without the scar.”

It hits Anetra harder than one of Tom’s punches. She knew Sasha liked her; she danced with her and kissed her cheek in the casino. But it’s different to hear it so clearly, crushing Anetra’s doubts that Sasha was just caring for her and letting her stay here because of the danger they’re in, no actual feelings attached. And it would be easier, surely, for Anetra to keep her feelings inside, especially tonight, but holding back would only hurt them both.

“I like you too,” Anetra says. “A lot, actually.”

“I liked you from when I saw you a few months ago,” Sasha admits, playing with her hair. “I thought you were too shy to talk to me, and was thinking of how I would talk to you. But you always disappeared.” She smiles sadly. “I know why now.”

“I’m sorry,” Anetra says, even though they’re done with apologies. “But I want you to know I liked you from the start too. I would’ve talked to you way sooner if I could’ve.”

Sasha nods. She leans in a little, so little it wouldn’t be noticeable to anyone else, but it is to Anetra. She leans in too, pulled into Sasha’s orbit, taking in the galaxies of her eyes. Sasha’s lips are just inches away when an alarm blares, and Anetra jumps. Sasha’s phone buzzes from the bathroom counter, the alarm she set to remind them to leave on time.

“Right,” Anetra says, trying to catch her breath, “let’s go.”

It’s time to roll the dice.

—-

The ride to the casino is silent. Sasha wanted to drive, and Anetra stares out the window, watching hotels and casinos rise out of the desert to meet the sky. Neither wants to put on the radio and risk an upbeat song that will clash with the tension, or a depressing song that will make it more apparent. They stay in the little bubble of silence, and it’s easy to think that as long as they keep driving, they’re safe. The dice don’t have to land; they can spin forever and forever, fates unknown. But the car’s tires spin and spin, and they come to a stop in the parking garage. You can’t delay the inevitable in gambling. You have to win or lose sometime.

It’s usually lose, but Anetra isn’t thinking that.

Anetra’s heart patters against her chest like desert rain on a tin roof as they get out of the car. Her hands fidget at her sides, wanting to crack her knuckles or something, but unable to with the bruises and the bandage.

“Will you hold my hand?” Sasha asks, like Anetra is doing her a favor and not the other way around. Anetra immediately wraps her good hand around Sasha’s, her heart calming. “You have really nice hands,” Sasha says, threading their fingers together.

“I do?”

“Yeah.”

They hold their breath as they near the door, Anetra half-anticipating a sniper to get them just from being this close to the place. But they step inside without anything happening. Tom’s holding his end of the deal so far.

Their hands stay intertwined through the casino, until they reach the tournament room on the second floor. Sasha lets go to sign in at the check-in table, but immediately grabs Anetra’s hand again. They hover in the corner of the hallway, watching other players file in.

Anetra takes a look at Sasha, trying to gauge how she’s doing. Just like when she’s playing, Sasha is calm and composed, her expression giving nothing away. But maybe her mouth is just a little tighter than normal.

“Are you nervous?” Anetra asks.

“A little,” Sasha admits, and Anetra knows Sasha must trust her to share that much. She’d never let an opponent see her weakness; you won games by keeping your cards close to your chest, literally and figuratively. “Not about the tournament, really. Just…this is more dangerous than I would have liked, but I don’t think we have another option.”

Anetra nods. “It’ll be okay. You just play.”

Sasha nods, but suddenly tenses beside her. “That’s him.” She nods towards a man in his sixties with short gray hair.

She thinks Ace will ignore them, be so focused on the game that he’ll go right inside. But that’s not his style, Anetra sees immediately. She’s seen many styles of players, and he’s the predator type. The type who stalks the area, marks his territory, and plays with his prey before the game.

He makes his way toward them, and Anetra squeezes her hand, straightening up and putting herself in front of Sasha a little. Making sure he doesn’t even think of messing with her.

“I want to see you before I beat you,” Ace says as a greeting, voice barbed-wire sharp. “Memorize that pretty face before it loses to me.”

Anetra doesn’t even realize she’s launching herself at him until Sasha tugs her back, resting a steadying hand on her hip.

“And you’ve got a guard dog now,” he adds with a sneer.

“The only thing you’ll be seeing is my name left on the tournament board,” Sasha says calmly, but the coldest Anetra’s ever heard her. “And I’ll be seeing your face lose to me, except yours isn’t even pretty.”

“We’ll see.” His eyes flash the cold gray of steel, of a knife in your stomach, but he leaves.

“Are you okay?” Anetra asks, hands rubbing Sasha’s shoulders.

“I’m fine.”

“Can I tell you…that was so bad-ass,” Anetra says. “You’re so bad-ass.” Anetra still wants to punch him, but Sasha’s response was better—cool and unbothered, a calm ocean when he was trying to get a typhoon out of her.

Sasha lets out a breathy laugh. “I’m not the one who almost got in her second fistfight in forty-eight hours.”

Anetra smiles sheepishly.

“When this is over,” Sasha says quietly, “you can come with me, if you want.”

“To California?” Anetra asks in disbelief. She’s been so focused on getting through tonight, she hasn’t spared a thought for what happens after. When, win or lose, she’s left walking through the wreckage of her life. The deal was for her and Sasha’s lives, but Anetra’s still going to lose everything she’s called her life here.

Sasha nods. “I have two extra bedrooms in the new house. You can stay until you find your own place. If you want,” she repeats.

“I—”

A hush falls over the hallway, and everyone shuffles through the doors.

It’s time.

Sasha’s shoulders are squared and steady as she turns toward the players’ entrance, despite the offer she just gave Anetra. “It’ll be okay,” she says. “I’ll be okay.” She leans over and kisses Anetra’s cheek, feather-light over the cuts and bruises, just like she did that first night.

Anetra watches her go, a coach watching their boxer enter the ring, a woman sending her lover off to battle.

Now there’s just the waiting.

—-

The tournament is in a small room, with gold carpet and gold accents on the scarlet walls. Four security members prowl the floor. Only a few approved guests are allowed, and they sit by the table they’re watching. It’s too far to see up-close, so most of the viewing relies on a screen, like sitting in the rafters at a concert and watching on a Jumbotron. Anetra knows the same video feed is also going to the basement, to catch cheating. There’s no photography, no contact, and no talking allowed.

It’s an elimination tournament. Six tables of six players each, trying to rack up as many chips as they can, in as many rounds as the time limit allows. The top two from each table move on to the second round, four tables of three players each. Only one winner from each table this time; making it two tables of two. And then one last table, with the top two players.

Four rounds of this.

Four rounds of sitting and waiting and sweating, eyes half on Sasha and half on the door, wondering if Tom will emerge.

The watching is the worst part. Anetra would almost prefer another fistfight, because at least she could do something. Instead, she has to watch Sasha up there, all alone in a sea of harsh players. This isn’t some casual game; it’s a real tournament with millions on the line. It’s not like Sasha needs help, but Anetra still wishes she could be with her, to rub her shoulders or make her laugh. At least then she wouldn’t feel so powerless.

But maybe she’s been powerless all along.

Sure, she had the job and her fighting skills, the power to bring people down. But every part of that was in Tom’s hand, flowing from his orders. She’s ignored a lot over the years because of how he saved her. She had traded her power for his protection, but maybe she doesn’t need his protection anymore.

Anetra shakes the thoughts away as round one starts. Sasha is on the end at her table, posture straight, hands still. Each player makes a bet to start. The dealer—each one hand-picked from the best of the casino’s staff—shuffles the cards and deals one face-up to each player, then himself, the white cards stark against green velvet. Each player gets another card, face-up, and the dealer gets another, face-down. Anetra knows the rules by heart, but watches the game like it’s brand new.

Sasha’s cards add up to eleven. She motions for a hit, and the dealer passes her the eight of hearts. She stays.

The dealer moves to the next player without skipping a beat. The numbers on the timer above each table melt away, and the faster things go, the more chips players can win.

After each player has a turn, the dealer flips over his second card. If the total of his cards is over sixteen, he stays; if the total is under sixteen, he has to take another card. The result is the same: anyone with a higher score than the dealer’s final one wins double their bet. The dealer’s total is eighteen, and Anetra breathes a sigh of relief as Sasha stacks her chips in a neat pile.

And then the next hand begins, the seconds ticking by with each beat of Anetra’s heart.

After twenty minutes, an employee erases names on the tournament board.

Sasha’s is still there, and that’s all that matters.

—-

Table placement is supposed to be random, but when Sasha and Ace aren’t together by round two, Anetra knows Tom rigged things to keep them apart in the hopes they’ll be in the final game. It makes sense, from an entertainment perspective—two of the best players hand-to-hand.

If Sasha gets through this next hand.

She’s unlucky in her first one, taking a hit on top of her thirteen, and getting a ten, which sends her to bust.

The chips dwindle.

Anetra doesn’t breathe as Sasha’s pile grows smaller, then stands back up, until the timer stops.

After each round, the guests head to the betting table in the corner, altering their bets or adding more to their original ones.

Anetra doesn’t bet, but if she did, her money would always be on Sasha.

—-

Only four players now, spread between two tables, but despite the extra space, the room feels smaller than ever. The air presses on Anetra, thick and heavy and making her sweat. Everything seems to happen in slow motion; the lights glaring off the cards as the dealer flips them, the chips scratching against the velvet tabletop as they’re pushed around.

How much longer is Tom going to wait, make Anetra sweat it out? What if he doesn’t get Ace? What if this is all some set-up, and he’s going to burst through those doors and take Sasha away instead?

Sweat runs down Anetra’s neck, and she doesn’t even realize the third round is over until the alarm sounds.

Final round.

Two names on the tournament board.

Sasha vs. Ace.

—-

In the set-up period, her mind wanders, not to the game, but to Sasha’s offer.

You can come with me.

Can Anetra really go with Sasha? Sure, they haven’t known each other long, but they’ve bonded so deeply in the time they’ve shared. She knows Sasha, even trusts her. Sasha clearly returns the feelings, feels that same trust and connection that Anetra doesn’t know how to explain. And she wouldn’t have to stay with Sasha if she didn’t want to; she could get her own place, have the freedom and space she’s never had, even as a kid. But the past two days living with Sasha were the most fun she’s had in a while, so she might not mind staying.

She’d be leaving everything she’s ever known, everything she’s ever had. But really, what does she have here? A job that almost killed her, which she’s being dismissed from after tonight. An apartment that never felt like a home so much as a holding pen, which she’s also losing tonight. An old home she hasn’t been able to return to in five years. A few acquaintances, but no friends, because there was no point making friends with this job. Without the job, there’s nothing keeping her here besides painful old memories that sometimes intrude on her dreams.

Sasha is giving her a second chance. The chance of a home. The chance of a new life, with new memories to make. Maybe Anetra can let herself make them.

—-

The final round starts, and if there were a time for Tom to emerge, this has to be it. The two greatest blackjack players the casino’s ever seen, side by side at a table. Now that Ace is playing Sasha, Anetra takes time to watch him, alert for the little gestures she’s learned to recognize. He switches between rubbing his ear and rubbing his chin. The chin leads to success more often than not; Anetra figures this is his tell for counting cards, and the ear is meant to mislead. If she can see it, surely the security team can. Surely Tom won’t let his nemesis slip through his fingers again.

The timer blinks at her with red eyes.

“Hit.” Sasha’s soft voice calms her down, and Anetra watches the dealer flip over the six of clubs; on top of Sasha’s previous two cards, she has 21.

Anetra allows herself a tiny smile, pretending she could be there to hug Sasha. Trying to telepathically send her support when Ace snarls at her.

Even with the counting, Ace’s anger at Sasha is pushing him into dangerous risks, while she keeps her calm. Still, Anetra can’t tell how close things are; Sasha stacks her chips in neat towers, while Ace lets his spill over the table, making you cower at his sprawling pile.

It goes on and on; in the last five minutes, not even the players speak, instead motioning for hits or stays to save every second. There’s nothing but cards thwacking against the table and chips clinking, nothing but the sweat on Anetra’s neck and the pounding of her heart, until the alarm sounds.

Her chest aches with the air she can’t let out as the dealer counts the cards, and her breath flies out in one gasp when he announces Sasha the winner. The door bursts open an instant later, crashing into the wall.

Standing in the doorway is Tom, lips turned into the only smile Anetra’s ever seen on his face. His face also carries the marks of that night, splotched blue and purple, and Anetra grins. He strides to the table like a commander, instructing the guests to leave for a security matter; they rush out in a flood, brushing past the security team. Anetra should run with them, should stay far away from Tom after she barely escaped the first time. But Sasha saved her in the basement when she could have just escaped and saved herself.

There’s no way Anetra’s leaving her.

Tom reaches the table, his beefy hands clamping down on Ace’s shoulders, and Anetra can’t help smiling at the shocked look on Ace’s face.

Anetra runs to the table, and she relaxes for the first time all night when Sasha crashes into her arms. Anetra forgets where they are, forgets the stream of curses Tom and Ace are shooting at each other, and kisses Sasha. Her lips are as soft and warm and sweet as she is, and Anetra knows she’ll follow her to California, follow her anywhere.

Anetra pulls away to gasp for air. “That was,” she says breathlessly, “the best you’ve ever played.”

“Maybe.” Sasha grins slyly, and then puts her lips back on Anetra’s, kissing her like her lips are air.

They only break apart again when something slams on the table, and Anetra finally pays attention to her surroundings again. Ace, blood dripping from his lip, is in the hands of the security team. Tom is at the table, eyes staring into Anetra’s soul. She’s never been able to read him, and she still can’t, but tries. Anger, maybe, at her getting away once, and having to let her go again. Temptation to forget the bargain. Reluctant happiness at her giving him the man he’s been chasing.

“Are we good?” Anetra asks, making sure her voice doesn’t shake. She stands in front of Sasha, shielding her from his gaze. “You have Ace. Me and Sasha walk, and you never bother us again.”

He hesitates.

“Are. We. Good?” Anetra asks, demanding this time, her voice stern the way his always was.

Tom lays a palm over Sasha’s pile of chips. “I want her winnings.”

“That’s not part of the deal!”

Tom shrugs. “Take it or leave it. I have the whole team here to bring you back into this basement. You won’t walk out this time.”

“Anetra,” Sasha says, in that mix of firm and gentle she’s perfected, “give him the chips. Please. They’re not worth your life.”

Anetra is trembling, but she turns to look at Sasha. Sasha’s gazing at her desperately, hand stroking Anetra’s arm. Sasha’s won plenty before this tournament, Anetra knows. But it’s the principle of it. The fact that he’s stealing from them again, when he’s already taken so much from them.

From Anetra.

Except these aren’t her chips being taken; they’re Sasha’s. And Sasha wants her to live. Anetra wants to live too. She wants to live, take the weight of this place off her chest. Take its hooks out of her sore shoulders. She wants to go to California and build a new life, one she can love.

Anetra’s shoulders unclench. “Take them. As long as you never bother us again. I’d hate for the other casino bosses to hear about your dishonesty. Or who really gave you Ace.” It’s a cold threat, a reminder of the things she knows. Things she’ll let slip if he betrays her again.

“Deal.”

Anetra takes Sasha’s hand. “Let’s go.”

There’s more screaming and swearing as they leave, but it’s just a buzz in Anetra’s ears. Her hand is in Sasha’s. They’re walking out of here alive, with a new future on the horizon.

They keep holding hands until they reach the car, and Sasha pulls out of the parking garage like she’s aiding a criminal. She tears down the strip until the Golden is out of sight, and pulls into a diner, shoulders heaving. Maybe she needed the extra distance to breathe, to believe that they’re truly safe. Anetra doesn’t blame her; her own heart is only just beginning to slow.

Sasha turns to Anetra in disbelief. “Did we really just do that?”

Anetra smiles. “We really did.”

“Holy shit. I won a blackjack tournament. We handed over a criminal. You bargained with a casino boss. And you kissed me.”

“That one’s not as exciting as the others,” Anetra teases.

Sasha shakes her head. “It was to me.” Her eyes are warm and sincere, and Anetra melts.

“Sasha, I want to go to California with you. If you’ll still have me.” It’s not an I love you, and for all the bonding, Anetra doesn’t think she’s ready for that yet. But it’s as close as she can manage, and maybe better in some ways. I want to start a new life with you. You give me hope for the future.

“Of course I will!” Sasha’s smile is brighter than the sun. “You know,” Sasha begins, “I came here early on Thursday to have dinner with you. We never got to have it. On account of, you know, everything.” She nods at the red-and-white diner in front of them, and Anetra knows that turning in here wasn’t as random as she thought. Sasha’s always loved a well-calculated move.

Anetra doesn’t say anything. Instead, she gets out of the car and sprints to the driver’s side, opening Sasha’s door. “I’d love to have dinner with you.”

Sasha grins. “And a milkshake.”

“And a milkshake,” Anetra agrees.

Sasha’s hand slides into Anetra’s, and becomes a winning one.

#rpdr fanfiction #anetra #sasha colby #anetra x sasha #lesbian au #casino au #luck be a lady #athena2 #concrit welcome

[artificialqueens]

Luck Be A Lady, Chapter One (Anetra x Sasha Colby) - Athena2

Summary: Anetra works as part of the security team at a casino, and is assigned to keep an eye on Sasha, who’s a big poker and blackjack player–but her feelings complicate things.

A/N: This is a little different for me, but I’ve had a lot of fun writing it so far! Thank you so much to Writ for betaing and encouraging me to do this! This fic has some inspiration from movies like 21 and Casino, but you don’t need to be familiar with either to read it. I really hope you enjoy, and please leave a comment if you’d like!

Anetra surveys the kingdom before her. Table after table after table, with dark oak legs and forest-green velvet tops. Poker chips stacked in mountains across the tables. The flick of the cards, the ringing of the slot machines. A glittering world of too much and somehow not enough for most of the people down there.

The voice in her earpiece tells her where to go. She goes from poker tables to blackjack tables to roulette tables to slot machines, eyes watching over the players. Making sure no one is counting cards, or getting a little too lucky. Suspiciously lucky. The kind of lucky the voice needs to do something about.

If the casino is a kingdom, the voice is the king, watching over the realm and telling her where to go to keep order. Maybe she could call herself a knight, but knights are brave, honorable, good. She probably only meets one of the criteria, and it just depends on if you prefer brave or stupid for what she does.

The voice wants her at one of the deluxe poker suites tonight, because she will be there.

Her name is Sasha; that’s all Anetra knows. She comes in a few times a month, favors poker and blackjack. Anetra’s watched countless people play poker. Sasha is good. She has no tell at all, from what Anetra sees. She plays with her coppery red hair sometimes, but it never reliably signals anything, never gives anything away. It’s almost like she does it to throw the others off.

Poker honestly isn’t a fun game to watch; it’s just a lot of staring and talking. But Sasha makes it mesmerizing, from the graceful way she flicks her cards over to the easy slide of her chips across the velvet tablecloth. Or maybe it’s just her that’s mesmerizing. It’s hard to watch anyone else while she’s there, and watching everyone is Anetra’s job.

Sasha’s been on a hot streak lately, a luck bordering on suspicious. No massive wins, but enough large wins that an eye needs to be kept on her tonight. There are cameras everywhere, and a team in the basement watching them. But some areas, and some people, need a little more attention.

Sasha’s in silver tonight, a dress that flows like liquid as she settles in at her usual seat at the poker table. A bright pink drink is in her hand, and Anetra heads to the bar.

“The woman in silver. What drink did you give her?” she asks the bartender.

“Virgin daiquiri.”

Anetra nods. She gets mocktails. It means she wants to look like she’s drinking, wants people to think she is, without sacrificing her clarity. An old tactic, but a good one. Even the pink drink with the little umbrella in it makes her seem less threatening.

Anetra sips on soda and hovers in the corners of the room with the other guards and pit bosses, watching the game unfold through the clinking of chips and the thwack of cards being dealt. Sasha’s also nicer than poker players usually are, buying a round of drinks for everyone and handing the guy next to her a tissue when he keeps sneezing. Sasha walks away with the big prize pot of twenty-five grand. From there, Anetra follows her to the blackjack table, where she rakes in another $10,000. They’re not massive amounts, but they’re nearing the hundred-grand stage in just a few hours. Paired with her winnings for the past few months, and it gets worse.

Anetra loves seeing her almost-goofy smile after she wins, but part of her wishes Sasha lost. Because now Anetra needs to go to the basement.

—-

The basement of the Golden Casino is where things really happen. Beneath the gold and glitz is an expanse of cold cinder-block walls, with rooms and rooms of people watching tapes and keeping tabs on the place upstairs.

Anetra used to shiver down here, but she doesn’t anymore.

“So?” Tom asks. He’s the head of the casino, the voice in her ear, and he’s even more threatening in person, no distance to protect her from his cold voice. They’re in the empty corner of the basement that’s his office of sorts. Where he does his real work.

“She won twenty-five thousand at poker. Another ten at blackjack. It’s less than what she won last week. I don’t think she’s counting cards.”

“Maybe she is, maybe she isn’t. But I want to scare her. Let her know we’re watching.”

“You’re not gonna hurt her, are you?” Anetra knows she shouldn’t have asked that. She’s not supposed to care or get involved, ever. And she doesn’t even know Sasha.

Tom cracks his knuckles. “Are you losing your nerve?”

“No, sir.” Anetra keeps her voice steady and her face blank.

He nods. “I won’t hurt her. Yet. But I’ll send Rick. I want her to know we’re watching.”

Tom wants Sasha to know that he could hurt her if he wants to. That’s always his intention with the first warning.

“Are we understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

—-

Anetra never meant for any of this to happen.

Just days after her 21st birthday, she found herself alone, with nowhere to go and no one she could ask for help, ears still ringing with shouts from the fight that drove her here. She wandered into the Golden, figuring she could get a job bartending or dancing in one of the clubs, despite having no professional experience in either. She was rejected by them all, and headed into the casino next door when she got a call from Tom. Her skills were of interest to him, and he promised she’d be taken care of. As long as she did everything he told her to.

She didn’t know what she was getting herself into. But it’s been five years, and just as she didn’t know the way in, she doesn’t know the way out.

—-

It’s two weeks before Sasha comes back—Rick must have spooked her enough. He’s on the security team, but he reviews tapes. Tom uses him to go up to winners and act official, saying they need to check tapes and confirm their winnings before their chips are redeemed. It’s a threat wrapped in a suit and red tape, but it usually works. Now the winner knows they’re being watched.

If she’s rattled, she doesn’t let it show too much. Her actions still give nothing away, but she bets much lower at the blackjack table. The kind of bets a beginner would make, designed to get the attention off her. Though Anetra’s attention couldn’t leave her if she tried. Everything about Sasha just draws her in and fascinates her; even the flashing casino lights are dim around her.

The next week, she’s back in top form. First place in poker and three good rounds of blackjack. Anetra watches every graceful movement, entranced by how she moves her hair, the way her eyes sparkle under the casino lights. Her feet drag on the way to the basement.

“So,” Tom says, “is she cheating?”

“Not that I could see from where I was.”

Tom rubs his hands together. “The big blackjack tournament is coming up. She could take millions from us. I want you on her. We need to bring her down before then.”

“What do you need me to do, sir?” Anetra asks around her dry throat.

“I want you to play with her.”

—-

It’s rare, but not unheard of, for one of the security team to play a round with a target, to get a close view of things, closer than even a camera can pick up. Anetra spent the first two months on the job training with Tom while he drilled her on the rules to all the games. She knows the big casino games inside and out, but this is her first time in a chair at the table. She sits on it gingerly, her breathing steady when Sasha sits next to her.

“You’re playing tonight, instead of watching?”

Anetra has to work to keep her face neutral, her heart skipping a beat.

This isn’t supposed to happen. She has dark hair and eyes, average height, average build. She’s unsuspecting, unassuming. With her tattoos covered, she has no majorly identifiable features. She’s meant to blend into the background. To be unnoticed, unmemorable.

But Sasha noticed her.

Sasha remembered her.

She probably doesn’t know Anetra is part of the security team, but she knows her, would be able to identify her.

“Yes,” Anetra says finally, knowing that it’s been too long for her to respond.

Still, Sasha nods. “Well, good luck,” she says, a genuine smile on her face.

“You’re gonna need it against her,” one of the regulars calls to Anetra from across the table, but he doesn’t sound mad.

Sasha just grins and waves him off humbly.

Anetra plays her best in the round, but most of her attention is stolen by Sasha. It’s one thing to watch her from far away, but it’s another thing entirely to be right next to her. Like seeing something in person when you’ve had to make do with pictures. She can see the hot pink of Sasha’s nail polish catch the lights as she holds her cards. The way her eyebrows knit together while she thinks. The tiny smiles when she wins, how she praises all her opponents. It’s more intoxicating than the forty dollar drinks the bar serves.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Sasha asks after the first round.

“Um…” Anetra’s not supposed to drink on the job, and she won’t break that rule. But she also doesn’t want to refuse, and let her rudeness make her even more suspicious. “Just a Coke, please. Thank you.”

Sasha flags down a waiter, and the drink is in her hand a minute later, cool against her palm.

Sasha keeps chatting with her through the second game, just bits of small talk. It’s completely out of the realm of Anetra’s job, but it’s not hard, or unenjoyable. It’s actually—fun. Anetra’s never thought of her job as fun before. It isn’t supposed to be. But talking with Sasha, eating the fries she orders for the table, laughing at the comments and jokes she makes, loud enough for only Anetra to hear, is the most fun she’s had in a while. The most normal she’s felt in a while, really.

Sasha looks at her after the second round. “Would you like to play a round of blackjack with me? I think you might be bringing me luck tonight.” Her eyes shine, and though Anetra’s never been one for gambling, she understands it in this moment. Sasha asking her this, looking at her so sweetly, makes Anetra want to risk everything she has. She wants to be that luck for Sasha, wants to be there for her as she tries her luck against the entire universe.

Anetra should say no. She should’ve found a way out of this the second Sasha recognized her, because that compromised her. But if she’s already compromised, what’s the harm in a few rounds of blackjack? She’s still doing her job, still investigating Sasha. This is her only assignment for the night—for the entire weekend, with the freedom of no earpiece so she can focus—and she’ll have something to tell Tom at the end of it.

She might as well go all in.

—-

The next three days pass in a blur of playing cards and poker chips. Anetra is the ball on a roulette wheel, taking in the world as it spins around her. She plays at Sasha’s side, cheering for her every time she wins. They go to the bowling alley and the indoor botanical garden, visit the aquarium and eat mountains of fries. They play pool, and Anetra lightly brushes her hand against Sasha’s as she shows her how to hold the cue. When Sasha asks her to one of the clubs for a drink, she says yes.

All in.

Nestled into a corner booth, she lets Sasha talk. She lives in the city but is in the process of getting a house in California. She wants to open her own dance studio where all the classes are free and inclusive, and she can help people like taking dance classes helped her in high school. She’s had relationships with men and women but nothing has stuck; no one has ever been quite who she was looking for. Even though she had to leave Hawai’i to live her life as herself, she misses it from time to time, and tells Anetra stories of her childhood there that replace the club’s smell of liquor and sweat with that of the ocean.

“Tell me about you,” Sasha says, nails tapping against her glass.

“Not a lot to tell,” Anetra lies, stalling while she gathers her courage—or stupidity—and comes up with something to say. She’s going on the assumption that Sasha doesn’t know she works here, and she keeps it that way. She sticks to the bare minimum, because though she might like Sasha, it would be stupid—even more stupid than what Anetra’s already done—to trust her that much. She spins a tale of working some boring office job, coming here on weekends to get a break from it. She says that she’d like to get away from the noise someday, figure out what she really wants to do. It’s a hint of honesty in the lie, a dream she really did have once, when she first started the job and thought it was one she could leave easily.

The more she talks to Sasha, tucked away in this little table, the more she believes it, the fantasy and glitz of the casino overtaking her rationality and reality. She believes that she’s not working a dangerous job with dangerous people. She’s just a normal person, on a normal date. She believes she could really live this life, a life beyond work and sleep. A life beyond the danger and desperation oozing through the walls of this casino. A life with Sasha.

Sasha takes her hand and leads her to the dance floor, and she never wants to let go.

Sasha dancing is just one more piece to her, on top of the pieces Anetra’s gotten to know from watching her. She knows Sasha’s taken classes, and has way more training than Anetra. But there’s something intuitive, instinctual, in her dancing too—something that can’t really be taught. The way her body twists in unnatural ways one second, then becomes as smooth and natural as flowing water the next. It’s mesmerizing. She’s mesmerizing, and Anetra is happy for every second under her spell, every skipped beat of her heart.

“Can I kiss your cheek?” Sasha asks, looking at her hopefully.

“Please,” Anetra manages.

The kiss is warm and feather-light yet still grounding, holding Anetra to the spot like she’s glued to the floor. It’s somehow sweeter and more tender than a kiss on the lips, the warmth spreading from her cheek to her entire body.

Sasha leaves with one last smile, and says she hopes to see Anetra next weekend, for the blackjack tournament.

Descending to the basement after saying goodbye to Sasha is dropping into the pits of a nightmare that morphed out of a perfect dream. The cold freezes every trace of warmth Sasha left on her, even the searing warmth of her kiss. It doesn’t take the scent of her perfume, though, and Anetra lets it cling to her like armor.

“Had a good weekend?” Tom asks. It’s stern and rhetorical, and he looks at her in something that’s as close to disgust as his stoic face gets.

Anetra stands up straight and doesn’t answer.

“I hope you have something to tell me after all this.”

He wants her to speak now, and Anetra clears her throat. “There’s no proof of her cheating in either game. No tells, no secret signals, no communication with a partner.” Tom likes to wait for proof to proceed, but sometimes he gets angry enough and goes on the assumption of it. He’s especially tense about the blackjack tournament; someone stole a million from the casino in one night by counting cards in that tournament before Anetra started working here. Anetra prays he favors hard proof this time.

“I don’t care. She won two hundred grand on casual games this weekend. No one gets that lucky. No one cheats us like that. We need to bring her to the basement.”

They’re the worst words he can say. When someone has won too much, has cheated Tom and the Golden, even after the warnings, then they’re brought to the basement. There, Tom puts on his rings, one by one, and delivers his punishment. After he’s beaten the person within an inch of their life, he instructs them to never return, or it will be the last thing they ever do.

Anetra has seen it happen a few times. Frozen in place, wanting to help, but knowing it will just be her on the receiving end of those fists if she does.

Now it’s going to happen to Sasha. Tom’s rings will tear her face open, stain her smooth skin with blood. He’ll leave her on the cold floor in a bloody heap, and Anetra or one of the others will dump her in the alley behind the casino. She might recover physically, but who knows what mental and emotional damage it will do to her? That smile will be taken away, and it might never come back.

“Anetra?”

“Yes, sir?”

“When she comes back, you’re bringing her down here.”

“Yes, sir.”

#rpdr fanfiction #s15 #anetra #sasha colby #anetra x sasha #casino au #lesbian au #angst #luck be a lady #athena2 #tw violence #concrit welcome