Luka Writes

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Privilege is what privilege was
For back in the day
Pale was power and masculine strength was key
And to this day, true does that ring
Those old boys in the government
Have money and looks, unlucky for me
Those feminists, they try
But still, they forget you and I
Them folks down south, ain’t they nice?
Treating ya all special like
Now, now- don’t lose your head when you finally see
You just took off your blinders and caught a glimpse of me
I’m that Muslim girl, getting cursed and spat on
Simply because they can’t see
I’m that black man in jail, for a drug charge
Simply because they can’t see
I’m the hispanic woman with daughters who get called aliens and illegals- words they don’t understand at their age
Simply because they can’t see
I’m the Asian woman at the market, talked down to like an imbecile when my English is perfect
Simply because they can’t see
I’m the young boy who knows she’s a girl and called slurs by strangers
Simply because they can’t see
I’m the girl holding hands with the person she loves, and mothers hide their children’s eyes at the sight
Simply because they can’t see
I’m the young black girl talks at higher levels than her peers and is deemed not black enough
Simply because they can’t see
I’m the young hispanic man who can’t get a job and doesn’t know why
Simply because they can’t see
I am those minorities, fetishized for pale viewing pleasure
I am those minorities, trampled on by the authority that’s supposed to help them
I am those minorities, who are beaten, cursed, spit on and killed
I am those minorities, clawing and clamoring for change
I am those minorities, crying out for the pain that goes unseen
I am those minorities who only get stereotypes on TV
I am those minorities and they are me
Here we are, fighting to be truly free
We will not stop
We will not rest
Not until the situations change
Because as of now
Privilege is what privilege was
For back in the day
Pale was power and masculine strength was key
And to this day, true does that ring

Her hair splayed all around her

A halo formed from the image

In the pool

Of thick liquid crimson

Her hand

Clutching the gun

The bullet

Lodged in her still heart

Misunderstood

Ridiculed

By messages left on her Facebook

Asking why she wasn’t dead

And telling her that everyone would be happier

If she was gone

So

She complied

Her death was violent

But her face was serene and

                                                                                  Angelic

Sometimes I wonder, what if I were gone?

Would anyone notice that I never logged on

That my name never popped up on screen

Liking your posts and playing a game

Would you miss me if you knew

Or am I too insignificant for you

Would my name cross your mind, pass your lips

Would I be the subject of one time, she -‘s

Would you bother to ask around

To text me or call

Or would you just assume I had moved on from it all

If we had been together face to face

Would you still have a lingering trace

Of the last hug I gave

With a secret smile

Because I never quite knew if that’d be my last for a while

Did you know my fears of sleeping, of dreaming

Or those of waking and living

You probably don’t even know my name

That’s okay though, many can say the same

You never knew how deeply I hurt

And how I would clutch myself, screaming too much!

How I would scar myself to combat the tears

And the nightmares that brought about my deepest fears

You never knew how many times I died

Plotting and planning but never tried

There are so many things you don’t know

Simply because I refuse to let them show

But deep in my heart

I’m pretty sure I can tell

That even after I leave, you’ll be well

You have others, better than me

And I won’t drag you down, you’ll be free

It’s the little things I do

Lying and smiling even when its hard

That way you won’t worry so much

But when I get low

And hope to never wake up

Sometimes I wonder, what if I were gone?

One of the many things I loved about Fenris was the noises he made. They were constantly present, an unconscious thing for him it seemed. For example, he yelled words of encouragement in battle, though it sometimes came out in Arcanum instead of English, much to my amusement when I mention it later. He would make short grunts when he disagreed with something but didn’t want to interrupt at that moment. When we lay in bed together, talking about our plans, he would hum to show his agreement. But Hawke’s favorite was when they had been apart for more than a couple weeks and as they kissed, he would whimper softly. It was just loud enough to catch the rogue’s attention and drive him mad, leaving Fenris sorer than before.

It took some convincing but I finally got him to lay face down on the bed, wearing only his underwear and the faintest of blushes.  He shifted as I moved to straddle his hips, rubbing a warmth balm on my palms. When I first made contact with the skin of his shoulder blades, he shuddered and sighed, gripping the pillow beneath him tightly. My hands made small circles, pressing down on the taut muscles, caressing every part of his skin as I made my way up to massage the back of his neck. It was rewarding to feel him start relax in small increments as I moved back down again, focusing on the stubborn knots that resided along his spine. He would let out breathy noises as I worked his back, placing chaste kisses at every chance. As I reached his lower back, his breath slowed and he stopped murmuring his thoughts on the process. Knowing that he was practically asleep by my ministrations was a good feeling and I couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at my lips as I carefully eased off his back. He started to get up but I placed a hand on his shoulder and lay next to him. “It’s not good to go running home right after you get amazing massages.” Fenris gave me a teasing smirk but did not move from my side for at least an hour, much to my delight.

He never complains about his tattoos hurting. I knew it hurt in the beginning but I never realized that it might still hurt now. An old dwarf friend of mine happened to mention that lyrium is in constant movement for a reason; it would harden otherwise and takes a lot of work to soften again. After hearing that, I watched the elf I had fallen in love with, more closely than before, and realized that he never stopped moving. That he was always up immediately after he caught his breath, always refusing to stay with me. I remembered that the one time I managed to catch him asleep, he was restless enough to put a child to shame. After several days of him giving me looks that clearly said how creeped out he was, I took him back to my estate and offered to give him a massage.

Like always, his actions are slightly hurried and rough, pressing against me hard. We snuck back into my house and now his mouth is upon mine, nibbling, sucking and licking until our tongues meet. He grips my shoulders with the strength that one might not expect from such a lithe body. I grip his hip with one hand, using my other to trace to the exposed skin on his back, from above his belt to the middle of his shoulders and resulting shiver tells me that the little trick still works. We somehow make it to the bed, our clothes being shed amongst near desperate kisses. It is here where he always falters, gasping slightly as his mouth moves to say no and I kiss him softly, to show that it’s me here. It’s just me and him in our moment and nothing else matters.

Although he is by nature quiet, his attitude changes after he has had his share of wine. Since he ran out a while back, we rely on the spirits Aveline gives to me as rewards. Sitting on the couch together, he never slurs but his volume increases just enough to be noticeable. And his eyes sear whatever they alight upon as he tells me of another one his escapes before he made to Kirkwall. It’s utterly fascinating to watch him speak, his lips moving as he motions with his hands; I will admit I don’t always listen to him in lieu of staring. The smirk I receive when he realizes that I missed the past few minutes is nice as well; I don’t mind him retelling things if I can see that look.

But one thing was quite different from I had expected. Even though his words are blunt and never softly spoken, he is very cautious when making advances toward me. If I had never said anything, I doubt he would have mentioned even the slightest hint of attraction to me. Even now, as we lay panting after a particularly long night, he says nothing until I do. I wonder if it’s a trait that was driven into him as a slave, to not speak unless spoken to, especially during times such as these. I would never ask him however, not from fear but simply because it does not need to be known.