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aisiedaisie · 12 hours ago

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hiiii ʚ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ɞ i just found your page this morning and read through your entire masterlist and i loveeee your writing! is it possible to get royal poly!marauders at a ball or something and they catch sight of the reader (can be whatever role you wanna give them) and they are like 'damn'

Hello hello~!!!

First of all, thank you so much for patiently waiting for me to get to your request. Life has been pretty hectic on my end, so writing had to take a back seat for a little while. But today, I finally had some time to sit down and write!

Now, let me just say— this idea is absolutely amazing! I’m completely in love with royal and historical AUs, so there’s a good chance I’ll revisit this concept and or turn it into a series of drabbles. (Not that I’m particularly skilled at keeping things short!!!)

I really hope you enjoy my take on your idea 💖

edit: I got a bit carried away-

Pairing: Poly!Marauders x Fem!Reader WC: 3.7k

The night after the neighboring kingdom’s delegation arrives, the Griffyn Kingdom buzzes with anticipation. To honor their esteemed guests— especially the visiting princess —the King and Queen have announced a grand ball. This celebration is more than an act of hospitality; it is a shining declaration of unity, a glittering prelude to alliances and promises that will shape their shared future.

You find yourself standing in Princess Lily’s chambers, the soft glow of candlelight casting flickering shadows against the ornate walls.

Before you, Lily examines herself in a floor-length mirror, her emerald-green gown a masterpiece of silk and embroidery. You and Mary fuss over the gathered fabric at her hips, smoothing it into place with careful precision.

“I can manage the rest,” Lily murmurs, her voice gentle but decisive. She steps away, gliding toward the gilded jewelry box on her dressing table. Its lid is open, revealing an array of jewels she brought for the journey— diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires glittering alongside an assortment of tiaras.

“You two should get ready as well,” she adds, her tone as light as the shimmering necklace she picks up, its facets catching the firelight.

You pause, caught off guard. “What?” The word escapes before you can stop yourself.

Normally, Marlene would stand guard in her knightly uniform, Mary would accompany Lily throughout the event, and you would remain behind— content to watch the festivities from a quiet corner of the castle, keeping a vigilant eye on the princess’s chambers.

“There’s no need for that tonight,” Mary says, her voice warm with reassurance. She steps forward, deftly fastening the diamond necklace around Lily’s neck. The glittering stones resting perfectly against the princess’s pale freckled skin. “We’re on excellent terms with the Potters. No one here will mean us harm.”

The words hang in the air, both an assurance and an invitation. Tonight is different, you realize.

A diamond tiara rests atop Lily’s head, its intricate design sparkling like a constellation of stars nestled in her fiery red locks. She adjusts it briefly, her reflection regal and resplendent. “You rarely get a chance to enjoy yourself during visits like this,” she says softly, her tone kind but firm. “Go on, get ready.”

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips, touched by Lily’s thoughtfulness. Her generosity warms you in a way words could never fully express.

With her gentle urging, you retreat to your own room to prepare. A quick bath washes away the lingering weariness of the day, and you do your best to ready yourself for the night ahead.

Despite your efforts, a sense of inadequacy lingers.

For such grand occasions, it’s expected that the lady's maids and companions are impeccably dressed, each carrying at least one formal gown for travels like these.

You do have such a dress— a blush colored piece gifted to you by your mother when you first joined the palace as Lily’s lady’s maid.

The fabric clings just a little too tightly at the waist, its once flawless seams now strained from years of careful reuse. The soft blush color, though elegant, has faded slightly with time, its original vibrancy dulled by repeated wear. The bodice is adorned with modest embroidery— delicate vines and blossoms stitched in pale gold thread that catches the light just enough to hint at refinement. The skirt, while gracefully cut, feels heavier than you remember, its weight pulling at your movements as if to remind you of the weight of high society.

It was the best your family could afford when you first came to the palace— a gift from your mother, its fabric chosen to honor both simplicity and a touch of nobility. Back then, it had been a symbol of hope, a token of pride for a baroness’s daughter stepping into the royal household.

Now, however, standing before the mirror, you can’t help but feel its inadequacy in the face of tonight’s grandeur.

Even so, you smooth the skirt with steady hands, letting your fingers trace the faint ridges of the embroidery. This night, you remind yourself, is not about the richness of your gown, but the confidence you bring and the memories you make.

Perfection may elude you, but presence—your presence—is more than enough.

When you step back into Lily’s chambers, it’s clear everyone is ready to go. Lily, as expected, looks effortlessly regal in her emerald green dress, the rich color complementing her fiery red hair that cascades down her back in elegant waves. Mary, ever composed, is radiant in a soft yellow gown that perfectly flatters her figure, her dark hair neatly arranged in a low bun at the nape of her neck.

“You look darling,” Lily murmurs, stepping forward to gently brush a stray lock of hair from your forehead. Her touch is as light as her tone, her emerald eyes warm with affection.

You roll your eyes playfully, unable to suppress a grin. “Says the actual goddess standing before me.”

“Truly,” Mary chimes in, her voice sweet as she adjusts the clasp of your necklace, ensuring it sits perfectly centered. “You’ll be the belle of the ball.”

Before you can protest their kind words, a knock at the door interrupts the moment. Marlene peeks her head in, her light blonde hair swept back into a tidy low ponytail. “Ladies,” she announces with a bright grin, “it’s time to head down.”

Excitement ripples through the room as the evening’s promise beckons.

_____

You weren’t quite sure what to do once you stepped onto the crowded ballroom floor. Back home, state balls were familiar territory, their routines and customs etched into your memory. But here, in a foreign kingdom, uncertainty clouded your thoughts.

Was the etiquette the same?

Would it be seen as rude to linger by the walls, content to watch the swirl of color and movement before you?

Must you be drawn into the heart of the celebration?

Apparently so.

You stand near one of the grand marble pillars circling the ballroom, the cool stone a comforting anchor amidst the overwhelming splendor. A glass of white wine rests in your hand, a half-hearted shield against your unease. From the corner of your eye, you notice movement—a man approaching with easy confidence. His dark hair is tied into a loose, messy bun, strands slipping free to frame his sharp features. His attire marks him as a knight of the Griffyn Kingdom, though the smirk curling at his lips carries a roguish charm and confidence uncommon in most knights you’ve met.

“You must be part of the delegation,” he says, his voice smooth, his smirk deepening as his gray eyes fix on yours.

You hesitate, biting back the urge to fidget. He’s handsome, undeniably so, but you can’t quite place why he’s chosen to speak to you. With a soft sigh, you nod. “I am.”

“I thought so,” he replies, a playful lilt to his tone. “I remember seeing you earlier, standing just behind the little princess. So, why aren’t you out there, dancing?” He gestures toward the center of the room, where couples spin and sway beneath glittering chandeliers.

“I’m not particularly fond of dancing,” you say, your voice quieter than intended. It’s not entirely true, but you hope the excuse is convincing enough to deter him.

“Nonsense,” he says with a laugh, his hand extending toward you. “Anyone can see you want to. Prove me wrong, if you’d like.”

The invitation lingers between you, daring yet strangely kind.

You hesitate for just a moment, glancing at the glass in your hand before setting it down on the corner of the nearest table. Then, with a small breath of resolve, you place your hand in his. “Don’t get mad if my heels end up on your toes,” you quip, a touch of nervousness slipping into your tone.

“Trust me, I’m quite nimble. Dodging danger is part of the job,” he replies with an easy smirk, already guiding you toward the dance floor with a confidence that leaves little room for argument.

Normally, you might have countered with a quick remark of your own, but your mind is too distracted. The pounding of your heart fills your ears, drowning out coherent thought.

The lull in the music amplifies every other sound—the clack of your heels against the polished marble, the low hum of whispered voices as heads turn to watch you pass. The weight of their gazes burns into your skin, and your hands tremble slightly as the knight clears a path through the crowd, his presence commanding in a way that both unsettles and reassures you.

Other couples filter onto the dance floor as the musicians shuffle their sheet music, preparing for the next song. The murmurs of the room settle, anticipation hanging in the air.

“Well,” you manage, your voice soft as you cling to anything that might distract you from the dozens of eyes still following your every move, “it seems you’re rather popular.”

“What can I say?” he responds, a teasing lilt in his voice. “I am rather handsome.” The smirk that accompanies his words is maddeningly self-assured.

Before you can respond, his hand presses gently against the middle of your back, drawing you closer. His other hand takes yours in a firm yet careful clasp, guiding you into the proper frame with a natural grace that makes it seem effortless. You barely notice the band striking the first notes of the song, your attention fixed on the storm gray eyes studying you with something close to intrigue.

You set your hand clumsily on his shoulder, your fingers brushing the smooth fabric of his maroon jacket. He doesn’t seem to mind your hesitation, his movements assured and steady as he begins to lead you through a simple waltz.

To your relief, the steps come naturally, your body quickly attuning to the rhythm of the music and the gentle guidance of his lead.

“What’s your name?” he asks, his voice soft, nearly lost beneath the rising swell of the orchestra.

You glance up at him, your voice barely above a whisper as you give your name.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful lady,” he replies smoothly, his lips curving into a charming smile paired with a wink that, despite yourself, pulls a smile to your face.

“And you?” you counter, a touch of playfulness creeping into your tone. “Who might this oh-so-charming knight be standing before me?”

His eyes glint with amusement, their gray depths catching the light like polished steel. “Sirius,” he says simply, the name rolling off his tongue with a quiet confidence.

You nod thoughtfully, letting the music and his lead guide you effortlessly across the floor. “An attention grabbing star for an attention grabbing knight,” you muse aloud, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Seems fitting, I suppose.”

His laugh is low and warm, the sound wrapping around you like the melody. “Well, I do strive to live up to my name.”

“I doubt you have any trouble with that,” you say, a soft smile playing on your lips as you hold his gaze.

The music begins to fade, the elegant notes giving way to the quiet hum of conversations around you. As the dance slows to a stop, you take a small step back, though his presence still lingers like the warmth of the ballroom’s golden glow.

“So much for not being a dancer,” he teases, his smirk as effortless as the steps he led you through.

You turn to him, unable to suppress your grin. “Maybe you were just that good of a lead,” you say sweetly, your voice light with sincerity. But before he can respond, you catch sight of Mary and Lily across the room.

“I ought to check in on my lady,” you add, inclining your head slightly. “Thank you for the dance, Sir Sirius—”

“Sirius,” he interrupts gently, his tone almost playful. “Just Sirius is fine.”

You nod, your smile softening as you take a small step back. “Fine, then. Thank you for the dance, Sirius. It was... unexpected, but I truly enjoyed it.”

With a final glance, you turn and make your way toward Mary and Lily, weaving through the gathered crowd. The warmth of his hand on yours still lingers faintly, and his name echoes in your thoughts like the fading strains of the music— a memory you suspect will stay with you far longer than the evening itself.

_____

James and Remus stepped out of the nearest sitting room, the faint hum of ballroom music echoing down the corridor. Remus, ever meticulous, adjusted James’s slightly askew collar, his fingers deftly hiding the newly formed love bites that marked the prince’s neck—evidence of their brief but heated absence.

“We need to get back before anyone notices,” James murmured, his voice low but tinged with amusement as he fixed his tousled hair.

Remus smirked. “We’re already late. Let’s hope Sirius hasn’t set the place on fire in our absence.”

But as they approached the ballroom’s grand entrance, what they saw made both men falter. There, on the dancefloor, Sirius Black was leading a woman in a waltz.

The sight itself was striking. Her blush colored dress stood out in gentle contrast against the bold, jewel toned gowns of the others swirling around her. The simplicity of her attire only seemed to magnify her elegance, and for once, Sirius appeared utterly focused, his usual roguishness tempered by something softer.

“Sirius never asks a woman to dance,” a sharp voice cut through the hum of the crowd. James and Remus glanced toward a cluster of women, their faces half hidden behind delicate feathered fans. The speaker, a haughty looking noblewoman, tilted her head knowingly, her words drawing murmurs of agreement from those around her.

Remus’s brows knit together. Sirius was notorious for politely but firmly declining the endless stream of invitations to dance he received at events like these. Yet, watching him now, Remus found he could understand why Sirius had sought out this particular partner.

She was... radiant.

“Well, isn’t she a sight to see,” James murmured, his voice just low enough for Remus to hear.

Remus nodded, his hazel eyes tracking the woman’s graceful movements. “If I’m not mistaken, she’s one of Princess Lily’s lady’s maids,” he said, his tone thoughtful.

James’s eyes widened slightly in recognition, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Is that so?” he drawled, the spark of an idea lighting his gaze.

Remus sighed, already sensing trouble. “What are you thinking, James?”

The prince’s grin only grew. “I think,” he said, “we should pay a visit to the princess. Seems like her lady’s maid could use some... royal introductions.”

_____

After reuniting with a gushing Mary and Lily, a server approaches, bowing their head politely before handing you a fresh glass of wine. You thank them quietly, though you can’t help but find their deference a little peculiar. Still, you accept the drink, shifting your attention back to the princess as she launches into a spirited account of your performance on the dance floor.

“You looked absolutely stunning out there,” Lily exclaims, her cheeks slightly flushed from the excitement of the evening—or perhaps the wine.

“She’s right,” Mary agrees with a hum, a bright smile lighting her face. “Everyone was watching. You two were the talk of the room.”

Both women had taken their turns dancing with high-ranking gentlemen throughout the night. Suitors vying for the honor of even a single waltz. Yet, they seemed convinced that your dance was the highlight.

“He’s quite a talented dancer for a knight,” Mary observes, taking a sip from her own glass.

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I figured he’d be good, considering how confident he seemed. But he led me effortlessly. I barely had to think about the steps.”

“Well,” Lily interjects with a soft laugh, her hand fluttering to her lips as though trying to stifle her amusement, “that’s hardly surprising. He’s a noble, after all.”

“What?” Both you and Mary turn to her in confusion, the notion catching you both off guard. Nobles rarely became knights, considering the station beneath them. Sirius hardly seemed the exception, yet here you were.

“He’s the son of Duchess Black,” Lily explains with a slight grimace, lowering her voice. “Her sons are far more tolerable than she ever will be.”

“Lily!” Mary scolds, her eyes darting around to ensure no one overheard the princess’s blunt critique. Fortunately, the surrounding hum of conversation seemed to swallow the comment whole.

“But...” you trail off, your brows furrowing as you ask. “Did you not just dance with the heir to the duchy?”

“That would be my younger brother,” a smooth, familiar voice cuts into the conversation, making you turn sharply.

Sirius stands behind you, his easy smirk firmly in place, though there’s a glimmer of amusement in his gray eyes. Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you instinctively dip your head in greeting, murmuring, “Sir Sirius.”

“Sirius,” he corrects lightly, his gaze softening as it lingers on you.

“Sirius,” you murmur, correcting yourself softly.

His smirk softens into something warmer. “You danced with Regulus, Your Highness?”

“Lily,” the princess corrects, her tone mirroring his own.

Sirius chuckles, his attention shifting to her. “Of course, Lily. So, you danced with Reg?”

“As I always do, Sirius,” she replies with a sigh, clearly anticipating where the conversation might lead. Her expression brightens, however, as her gaze lands beyond him. “Oh, James, Remus! A pleasure to see you.”

Both Mary and you instinctively bow your heads, mirroring Lily’s graceful greeting as two men approach.

“Leave the formalities for the elders,” James teases, waving his hand dismissively. “Raise your heads, ladies.”

James Potter is every bit the image of royalty, dressed in a pristine white suit adorned with a red sash. The high collar adds to his regal air, but it’s his confident posture and easy smile —so warm and almost boyish—that truly captivate.

Beside him stands a tall, broad shouldered man with tousled brown hair. The scars that trace his skin catch your eye briefly before you hastily return your attention to the prince, unwilling to appear rude. Yet, the man’s hazel gaze, calm and piercing, seems to notice everything.

“Are you all enjoying the ball?” James asks, his voice warm and smooth as his signature smile graces his lips.

Lily answers first, her response polite and poised as ever. Her agreement prompts Mary and you to nod along.

“Glad to hear it,” James replies, his smile widening. “I know Sirius was enjoying himself not too long ago,” he adds with a teasing lilt, his hand clapping Sirius on the shoulder and lingering there in a way that seems deliberate.

“It was one dance,” Sirius groans, tilting his head toward the prince in exasperation.

“One dance more than usual,” Remus chimes in, his deep, steady voice carrying a hint of humor. His hazel eyes flicker to Sirius, glinting with quiet amusement as he observes his discomfort.

James turns his gaze to you, his teasing grin softening into something gentler. “He didn’t step on your toes, did he, my lady?” he asks, the mock solemnity of his tone bringing a smile to your lips.

You shake your head, your amusement showing clearly. “Of course not.”

James bursts into laughter, the sound rich and full, drawing a few curious glances from those nearby.

“Having women cover for your clumsy footwork now— what a shame,” Remus adds, his tone dripping with mock disappointment as he shakes his head.

Sirius turns to you, lips curling into an exaggerated pout. “Now look what you’ve done. You’ve egged them on.”

You shrug, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Now, why would I do that, Sirius?”

“You’re killing me, doll,” he groans dramatically, prompting laughter to ripple through the small group.

The conversation shifts back to something closer to polite, though the teasing undercurrent remains. Mary moves subtly closer to you, her hand brushing comfortingly over your back. It’s then you notice the weight of the many gazes lingering on your group, a pressure you hadn’t fully realized until now.

Your eyes lower to the polished marble floor as you focus on listening to James and Lily’s easy banter, their words melding with the hum of the ballroom.

“You alright?” Remus’s voice pulls your attention. He steps closer, his question soft, laced with genuine concern.

You nod lightly. “It seems all of a sudden I’ve run out of energy,” you say, a polite fib. The truth is, this entire night has been draining, though you don’t want him to think he’s dull company. “I’m not used to parties like this,” you add quickly to clarify.

Remus’s lips curve into a smile, his expression warm and understanding. “We have lounges on the top floor for guests who need a break. You’d be welcome to rest there if you’d like.”

You shake your head gently. “I really shouldn’t, but thank you for the suggestion–”

“That’s a great idea,” Lily interjects with an encouraging smile. “Let’s rest our feet for a while.”

“I’ll let Marlene know we’re heading upstairs,” Mary offers before slipping away, likely toward one of the food tables where Marlene is undoubtedly stationed.

“We’ll escort you,” Sirius says smoothly, but Lily raises a hand, declining the offer with a polite smile.

“We’ll be fine on our own, but thank you,” she assures him.

“Of course,” James replies, bowing his head slightly.

Mary returns soon after, accompanied by Marlene, who carries a golden plate piled high with delicate finger foods.

“Enjoy your rest,” James says with a gracious nod, his tone sincere though his smile holds a trace of teasing warmth.

The women dip their heads in thanks before retreating upstairs to find a quiet lounge.

_____

As soon as they’re out of earshot, James turns to Sirius with a mischievous smirk. “Well, wasn’t she a sweetheart?” he asks, his teasing tone unmistakable.

“She’s polite but knows how to hold her own. I’d say you’ve chosen well, Sirius,” Remus adds with an approving nod.

“If you two hadn’t left me—” Sirius starts, a hint of irritation coloring his words.

“We did say you could join us,” James cuts in, raising his hand as if to defend himself.

“And you know damn well if all three of us disappeared, people would notice,” Sirius counters, arching an eyebrow.

James shrugs, entirely unbothered. “Your loss.”

“Not entirely,” Sirius says with a wolfish grin. “It just means we can take our time later.”

“No visible marks,” Remus warns, his voice carrying the weight of experience. “We’ll have guests for a while.”

Sirius rolls his eyes, his grin unwavering. “It’ll be fine—it’s never stopped us before.”

Remus sighs, his lips twitching upward despite himself. “Fair enough.”

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teecupangel · 3 days ago

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Permission to be horny you say, then how about minotaur Desmond (y'know cuz horns)

Anyway best place to drop him would be as a "guardian" of some PoE

Like we could have him at Altaïr's apple and save that group from the templars (and have monsterfucker Altaïr to circle around to what you really nave in that post)

But also I have the thought of him guarding the anti-earthquake machine (that I can never remember if it had a Canon name). Because imagine being Achilles, you send one of your men to a suspected location of a PoE and he comes back with a huge half bull man and like is he the PoE!?!?

Giving me permission to indulge in my monsterfucker Altaïr agenda will always be accepted whole heartedly XD

We can even make this a whole ‘Minotaur in the Labyrinth’ kind of situation where Altaïr gets thrown into an undiscovered area and the ground collapsed under him, causing him to fall deeper beneath the mount.

Malik managed to get the ‘treasure’ but their escape is blocked. He noticed how Altaïr had fallen and Kadar getting stabbed on the stomach took his choice away from him. He grabbed Kadar and they both fell into the hole, hoping that it was a better choice than trying to charge the enemy lines.

They fell into the waters and gets dragged into some underground waterway that ends with them meeting with Altaïr, swimming upward to the nearest source of light.

Which turned out to be a dimly lit (lines of glowing gold all around the walls and ceiling) central plaza of sort with what may or may not be a fountain-sized lake.

And that’s how Desmond finds them in this fucking labyrinth that he’d been stuck in for god knows how long.

He died as Desmond Miles then, the next thing he knows, he was now a Minotaur stuck in this labyrinth.

And now he has to talk these two wet most probably suffering from hypothermia Assassins from killing him so he can try and help Kadar.

It’s really a good thing that he could write Arabic and the ground of the labyrinth was soft sand.

(This can end up as either Monsterfucker Altaïr OR Monsterfucker Altaïr and Kadar with ambiguous situation Malik)

As for a Shay situation. I kinda like the idea that Shay tries to take the device and Desmond beats the crap out of him, half because Desmond is larger and stronger as a minotaur and half because he had the element of surprise.

And instead of killing Shay, he manages to talk to him by writing and showing the paper to Shay while Shay is in the ground, his entire body screaming in pain.

‘If you take that, the ground will split open and kill countless.’

And Shay can’t exactly agree to not take it because he was ordered to and also because he didn’t necessarily believe the minotaur so the minotaur just sighed and ordered Shay to take him to his mentor and he’ll explain it (Desmond doesn’t know it’s Achilles)

Cue the crew of Morrigan thinking Shay Cormac has brought the devil onto their ship, an awkward journey and…

Desmond realizing that Achilles during this time period is a stubborn jerk.

So Desmond stays in the homestead because he has the key to open the place where the device is kept and now he’s arguing with Achilles using papers.

When he realized that Achilles could just stop talking to him by not reading what he wrote, he goes and grab Shay to read out loud his writing.

Shay doesn’t know when he became the minotaur’s assistant but, really, he’s just worried if he doesn’t do this, Desmond and Achilles might start trading blows.

#desmond is turned into a creature subgenre #no usual tags because #altdes

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sasheemo · 19 hours ago

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When we collide

Chapter 11

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Fic masterlist

Chapter Summary: Agatha sneaks into your house, and an already risky plan takes an unexpected, and even riskier, turn.

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: I know this update took forever and I am so sorry, work and life in general have been crazy lately. Writing has been such a slow process, and finding the time to sit down and focus has been hella hard.

That said, I’m so grateful for your patience and support—it truly means the world to me. Every comment, like, and bit of encouragement keeps me motivated to push through, even when things feel overwhelming. I hope this chapter was worth the wait and that you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed crafting it.

Thank you for sticking with me through this journey. Your love for this story keeps me going 💜

It feels like you’ve been hiding in the shadows of your garden for hours. You have no idea how much time has passed or how long Agatha has been inside.

Seconds stretch into minutes, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve been waiting an eternity.

The night grows colder and heavier with each passing second, the chill creeps through your dress, your eyes fixed on the darkened windows above. The faint glow of the kitchen light spills onto the ground, a subtle but constant reminder of your mother’s presence inside.

You clench your hands into fists at your sides, trying to still the growing unease coiling in your chest. The plan had seemed straightforward at the time: get Agatha inside, have her pretend to be you, and wait for her to open the window. But now, as you stand in the biting cold, the enormity of the risks begins to gnaw at you.

Agatha doesn’t know your mother. Not the way you do.

She doesn’t know the sharp edge to her voice, the way her words cut deeper than her glares. She doesn’t know the little tells, the moments when her mood shifts and it’s better to stay quiet than risk provoking her. And most importantly, Agatha doesn’t know the intricate, tense dance you’ve perfected over years of enduring her.

The weight of it all suddenly feels crushing. You shift uneasily, your breathing shallow as your thoughts spiral. What if your mother notices something’s off? What if Agatha hesitates or says the wrong thing? What if she tries to talk her way out of something and slips up?

You bite down on your lip, forcing yourself to breathe slower, deeper. But the thoughts don’t stop.

What if your mother catches her before she even reaches your room? What if she figures out the truth? What would she do - to Agatha, to you - if she realized the extent of this betrayal? Your mind conjures up a dozen worst-case scenarios, each one more terrifying than the last.

A sharp gust of wind pulls you from your spiraling thoughts, and you glance down instinctively at the small bundle of fur near your feet. The rabbit, Agatha’s rabbit, sits quietly in the shadows beside you, its nose twitching as it sniffs the night air. Its presence is steady, calm, almost indifferent to the storm raging in your head.

You crouch down slightly, your fingers brushing against the creature’s soft fur. It doesn’t flinch, simply shifts closer as if it senses your unease. There’s something grounding about the animal, something simple and reassuring. Agatha had brought it here with her, and for some reason, the thought that something she clearly cares for is by your side soothes the sharp edges of your panic.

You take another breath, steadier this time. The faint glow from the kitchen is still there, unchanging, and the stillness of the house seems both unnerving and hopeful.

She’s inside. She’ll make it.

And then, finally, you hear the faint creak of the window above.

Your head snaps up, your pulse quickening as you watch it ease open. Your own face peers out from the shadowed wooden frame, tense and searching the garden below. It takes you a second to remember that it’s actually Agatha.

The sight pulls at something strange in your chest. You know the spell you cast has served its purpose, that she’s safe now. That realization settles over you like a wave, and you exhale slowly, steadying yourself.

Closing your eyes, you draw on the lingering energy of the spell, your magic buzzing faintly under your skin. You picture her, not as a reflection of yourself, but as she truly is: darker, undeniably powerful, magnetic. With a flick of your wrist and a soft breath, you send the magic out, releasing it.

When you open your eyes, the figure leaning out of the window has changed. Her true form has returned: wild, dark hair framing her face, sharp cheekbones catching the faintest glow of the night.

Agatha’s gaze catches yours, steady and knowing, as if she’s fully aware of what you’ve just done. She tilts her head slightly in acknowledgment, a silent signal to come up.

The tension in your chest doesn’t fully ease, but you let yourself glance at the towering tree at the center of the garden, its ancient branches stretching out in every direction like a great, unmoving sentinel. The bark is thick and weathered, furrowed with deep grooves that speak of countless seasons endured.

Its lowest branches bow slightly under their own weight, but higher up, the limbs grow stronger, sprawling outward with a defiant strength. One of its largest branches curves close to your window, not enough to block the view from your room but near enough to serve as your path inside.

The tree has always been there, a quiet companion through your childhood. Back then, its lower limbs had felt like a sanctuary, their rough surfaces welcoming and steady beneath your hands. You’d scramble up effortlessly, laughing as you dangled your legs and let the world blur into your own imagined wilderness.

But tonight, the tree looms above you, its branches no longer inviting but daunting, like a puzzle demanding perfect precision. Your gaze fixes on the thick branch that leads toward your window, and doubt creeps in uninvited.

You exhale, trying to calm the knot of nerves twisting in your stomach. The branches look sturdy, thicker than they seemed when you were younger, but you know they’ll need to hold more than they ever have before.

You step closer to the tree as you prepare to hoist yourself up. But as you look upward, plotting your path, reality snaps into focus.

One of your hands is clutching the rabbit, its small body shifting slightly against your palm, leaving the other useless for climbing. Both hands will be needed to grip the bark and the branches, to steady yourself as you ascend.

You can’t climb like this.

Your jaw tightens as you glance down at the animal, then over your shoulder at the satchel pulling against your back. The weight of both feels suddenly oppressive, a barrier between you and the safety of the window above.

Your breath is clouding in the cold air as you glance up at the towering tree again. For a moment, you stand frozen, your mind racing for a solution.

Then, an idea comes to you. Maybe it’s reckless, maybe it’s not perfect, but it’s all you’ve got, and it’ll have to do.

Kneeling carefully, you place the rabbit gently on the ground beneath the tree.

“Stay.” you whisper softly, as the small creature sniffs the grass, its twitching nose brushing against a fallen leaf. You shrug the satchel off your back, unfastening the flap with fingers that tremble slightly from the cold.

You glance down at the contents of the bag and let out a soft sigh of relief. Agatha, it seems, is a light packer. There’s enough space, you think, and without hesitation, you scoop up the rabbit again, cradling its small body close for a moment.

“Alright, you’re going in.” you whisper, angling the bag carefully to create a safe, snug space.

The rabbit shifts, its ears flicking in mild protest, but it doesn’t wriggle too much as you tuck it in among the folds of Agatha’s clothing. You adjust the fabric gently, making sure it’s secure, and offer a quiet, almost reassuring murmur. “See? Not so bad.”

You hope the familiar scent will keep it calm during the climb. For a moment, the faint smell reaches you as well - earthy yet sweet, rich and layered - and it stops you in your tracks. The briefest flicker of distraction pulls at you before you shake it off, focusing on closing the satchel and readying yourself for the climb.

You glance up at the window to check for any sign from Agatha, but what you see halts you. She’s leaning out of the darkened window, her features clear despite the shadows, and her expression… well, if looks could kill, you’d be flat on the ground.

Her glare is direct and unmistakable, her lips pressed into a thin, irritated line. It doesn’t take much to realize why.

She’s staring straight at the satchel slung over your shoulder and the rabbit inside it. You’re frozen, caught mid-motion, her piercing gaze making you feel oddly small, like a child caught red-handed. Your irritation flares before you can stop it, the sharp edge of it cutting through your nerves.

‘What exactly does she expect me to do?’ you think, sarcasm practically spilling over. ‘Carry it in my teeth?!’

You bite back a laugh at your own thoughts, the absurdity of the situation tugging at the corners of your mouth. You glance away from the window, shaking your head with a mix of annoyance and amusement.

“As if she’d have a better idea.” you mutter quietly to yourself, the words more a release of tension than anything else.

The bark digs into your palms as you grip the trunk, pulling yourself up onto the first branch. It creaks faintly under your weight, but it holds, as it always has. Your breath comes slow and deliberate, each movement measured as you reach for the next handhold.

Even so, the awareness of Agatha’s eyes on you gnaws at the edge of your focus. Her gaze feels like a weight on your back, amplifying every misstep and every slight tremble in your limbs. The idea of her judging your clumsy climb, silently critiquing each slip of your footing, sends another wave of irritation coursing through you.

And yet… there’s something oddly reassuring about it too. As if her presence, no matter how frustrating, guarantees that someone will catch you if you fall. Not literally, of course, but the thought lingers, steadying you more than you’d care to admit.

You shift your weight carefully, reaching for the next branch. The satchel presses against your back, its weight a constant reminder of your responsibility, and of the sharp eyes above you. You resist the urge to glance up briefly, focusing instead on the climb.

You move cautiously, gripping the bark tightly as you climb higher. The tree groans faintly under your weight, and you freeze, holding your breath.

The sound seems impossibly loud in the stillness of the night, a sharp contrast to the quiet hum of crickets and the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze. For a moment, you glance toward the kitchen window, half-expecting to see your mother’s silhouette appear, but the glow remains steady, undisturbed.

You grit your teeth, focusing on your balance, careful to distribute your weight evenly. Every move feels agonizingly slow, the need for silence making each step a deliberate act of precision.

As you near the branch that curves toward your window, you reach out with one hand, your fingers brushing the rough bark. It’s close, close enough that you can almost imagine the feel of the window frame beneath your palm.

But as you shift your weight to make the final stretch, your foot slips against the trunk, the bark giving way beneath your boot.

Your stomach lurches as your balance wavers, your free hand scrabbling desperately for a hold. The satchel shifts sharply, throwing you further off balance, and for a terrifying moment, you’re certain you’ll fall. Your breath catches in your throat, panic blooming in your chest.

From her vantage point at the window, Agatha tenses instantly. Her eyes widen, and for a split second, she shifts forward slightly in a reflexive, almost involuntary motion, as if she could somehow close the unbridgeable distance and reach you. Concern flickers across her face as her hands grip the windowsill tightly, knuckles paling with the pressure.

But then your hand finds purchase, gripping a knot in the bark just in time to steady yourself.

You hang there for a moment, your heart pounding in your ears, your body frozen as the satchel settles back into place. The rabbit stirs faintly inside, and you murmur a soft reassurance under your breath, though it’s as much for yourself as for the animal.

The faint creak of the tree subsides, and the night seems to hold its breath along with you. You force yourself to exhale slowly, the tension in your chest loosening as you steady your footing once more. Carefully, you reach out again, this time gripping the branch firmly before pulling yourself up onto it.

The window is finally within reach, a threshold to safety.

As you glance up, Agatha is there, her figure sharp and still against the faint shadows of the room. She’s waiting, her presence a silent promise that the plan is almost complete. The sight steadies you and, for the first time since the climb began, relief flickers at the edges of your thoughts, fragile but real.

As you near the window, Agatha leans out further, her gaze flicking to the satchel slung over your shoulder. She lifts a hand, gesturing for it with a slight wave of her fingers, her expression calm and maddeningly smug.

You pause, blinking at her.

“Really?” you mutter under your breath, incredulity practically dripping from your tone.

She tilts her head slightly, arching a single brow, her smugness somehow amplifying as she gestures again, clearly waiting.

For a moment, you consider ignoring her, but then you glance at the satchel. She has a point, giving her the bag would mean the rabbit is safer, and, without the extra weight on your back, you’ll have an easier time pulling yourself through the window.

With a dramatic sigh, you shrug the satchel off your shoulder, the strap sliding down your arm before you lift it toward her. She stretches downward, her fingers brushing the edge of the leather before she grips it firmly and pulls it from your grasp.

For a moment, you watch her, half expecting her to disappear entirely now that the bag is secure in her hands.

And that’s exactly what she does. Agatha retreats, vanishing from the window’s edge with the satchel in tow. You roll your eyes, your mind instantly jumping to the conclusion that she’s probably fussing over the rabbit.

The thought irritates and amuses you in equal measure, but you shake your head and steady yourself for the final push.

The ledge is close, and with the satchel gone, the climb feels marginally easier. You stretch your arms upward, gripping the edge of the window frame as you shift your weight onto the thick branch beneath you.

Carefully, you pull yourself higher, your knees brushing the frame as you begin to hoist yourself inside.

For a moment, it seems like you’ve done it. Your body halfway through the window, balance steady enough to keep going.

And then your foot catches on the edge of the frame.

The jolt sends you stumbling forward, your grip slipping as the momentum drags you into a clumsy, uncontrolled tumble.

Agatha moves instantly, appearing as if out of nowhere, her reflexes instinctive and precise.

You barely register the sudden shift before her silhouette is in front of you. One of her hands darts out, gripping your arm with surprising strength, but it’s not enough to counter the force of your fall. Her other hand slides to your waist, firm and steady, trying to catch you, but the momentum is too much.

There’s no time for either of you to adjust. The pull of gravity drags you forward, and you both tumble into the room in a chaotic, ungraceful heap. The impact knocks the breath from your lungs, and you land tangled together.

Agatha is half-sprawled over you, her weight pinning you to the floor, grounding and overwhelming all at once. The world seems to fade, narrowing to the soft rustle of leaves in the night and the rhythm of her breathing.

Her face is unbearably close, so close that her breath brushes against your cheek, warm and uneven. Untamed hair spilling over her shoulder and grazing your arm, strands scattered haphazardly from the fall.

There’s a stillness to her expression, but the faint parting of her lips reveals a hitch in her breathing, as though the shock of the tumble hasn’t fully left her.

Both of her hands remain where they caught you, one curled tightly around your arm, the other pressed firmly against your waist. The heat of her touch burns through the fabric of your dress, rooting you in place even as your pulse races wildly.

Those sharp blue eyes, piercing even in the dim light, are locked on yours. The intensity of her gaze makes your breath catch, as if she’s not only seeing through you but searching for something at the same time.

For a moment, nothing else exists. Your chest tightens and your pulse hammers in your ears as the space between you feels impossibly thin, a fragile thread stretched taut and trembling.

And then, fleetingly - so quickly you almost think you imagined it - her gaze drops, flickering to your lips. The motion is so subtle, so brief, that it vanishes almost as soon as it happens. But the imprint of it remains, sharp and electric, making you shudder.

Your mind scrambles for something, anything, to say, but the words won’t come. All you can do is stare back at her, your chest rising and falling as you struggle to make sense of the moment.

The silence stretches, thick and almost suffocating, until Agatha breaks it. Her voice is low, threaded with dry amusement but carrying an almost daring undertone that sets your nerves alight.

“Are you always this dramatic,” she murmurs, “or am I just special?”

The words pull you out of your daze, and your cheeks burn instantly, the heat rushing to your face.

“I— I didn’t—” you stammer, scrambling to find words, but every coherent thought scatters.

Agatha exhales sharply, her lips twitching as if she’s about to say something else, but instead, she pushes herself up abruptly.

The cool night air rushes in as her warmth leaves, and you’re left on the floor, heart still pounding in your ears.

She brushes off her skirts with deliberate ease, her expression once again smug and composed, though there’s a flicker of tension in her movements. She extends a hand to you, her sharp gaze watching you carefully.

“Come on, get up.” she whispers, her tone calm but firm. “Your mother might have heard that.”

You glare up at her, your pride stinging, but you take her hand anyway, letting her pull you to your feet. Her grip is firm, steady, and as she helps you up, her fingers linger just a second too long before she steps back.

The sensation is fleeting but familiar, a ghost of what had happened only hours earlier by the lake. She’d done the same after you healed her burns, offering her hand with that same deliberate calm, as though her touch carried no weight. But it had lingered then too, just like now, and the memory ignites a warm spark in your chest.

As you rise to your feet, your balance feels oddly unsteady, not from the fall but from the moment itself. You linger there, caught between embarrassment and something heavier. Your fingers twitch at your sides, as though still feeling the echo of her grip, and your gaze follows her as she moves away.

She crosses the room, moving toward the satchel she’d placed on the floor earlier and crouching down.

You turn toward the window, reaching for the frame to shut it. The cool night air still drifts into the room, carrying the faint scent of the garden below. Your fingers curl around the wood, and just as you push it closed, a sound freezes you in place.

A creak. Faint, but unmistakable.

Your heart stops, and you glance at Agatha, who has gone still beside the satchel, her hand hovering over the flap. Her sharp eyes meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you breathes.

Another creak follows, heavier this time, accompanied by the low groan of the wooden stairs shifting.

Panic flashes between you in a silent exchange, the weight of the moment sinking in with brutal clarity. Agatha straightens slowly, her hand dropping from the satchel as her gaze darts toward the door.

Well, shit. Your mother definitely heard.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x female reader #agatha harkness x you #agatha x you #agatha x reader #agatha x y/n #aaa #aaa fanfic #agatha harkness fanfic #agatha all along #agatha coven of chaos #agatha all along fanfic #when we collide #agatha harkness

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xiatarot · 1 day ago

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channeled message from spirit

-if you’re seeing this spirit has a message for you-

significant signs:

blue flowers, lip balm, hand cream, 444, cassette tapes, red balloons, rain, 818, ghibli movies, aries, taurus, capricorn, libra.

you’ve come across this reading because there’s something in front of you that you’re not paying attention to and spirit is urging you to open your eyes. i believe you have a project you’ve been working on for quite some time and you either still think it’s not good enough to put out there or you think no one would care about it. it’s actually quite the opposite. you are ready to embark on the journey this project will lead you to, and all you have to do is just take the first step. you currently have multiple ways open to you for you to push this project under the light and let people be inspired by it, all you need to do is look around you. whatever this is, it’s gonna bring you both emotional and financial fulfillment. believe in yourself and just go for it!!! this is your sign.

find out more here: http://ataraxiatarot.etsy.com/

#daily tarot #love tarot reading #tarot #tarot cards #tarot community #tarot deck #tarot reading #tarotblr #pick a card #pick a picture #pick a photo #pick a pile #paid tarot readings #channeled message #channeled reading

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inkmonster21 · 21 hours ago

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Short n’ Sweet💋

Hugh Jackman x Fem!Sister!Reynolds!Reader

Warnings: none

Part 14

Series Masterlist

I Leave Quite An Impression

💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋

Your album quickly became a record-breaking success, surpassing all expectations and soaring to new heights. It skyrocketed up the charts, quickly climbing to the top and dominating the music scene. Fans from around the world praised the album, mesmerized by the unique sound and captivating lyrics.

The achievement was a testament to your talent and hard work, a validation of the countless hours you had poured into creating the album. With each passing day, the album continued to solidify its place in the music industry, marking a significant milestone in your career.

Just as you were contemplating a well-deserved break, Hugh sprung a question upon you, catching you off guard. You looked at him, curious and a tad bit apprehensive.

“Do you want to go on the press tour?” As Hugh posed the question to you, your gaze remained fixed on his, a mix of surprise and interest filling your eyes. "Press tour?" you echoed, the words dancing on your lips. The prospect of embarking on a promotional tour had not been on your immediate agenda, but Hugh's suggestion sparked a flicker of curiosity within you. "You mean, like interviews, events, and all that?" you inquired, seeking clarification on what exactly he had in mind.

Hugh nodded in affirmation, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. "Yeah, exactly. A press tour," he confirmed, his voice tinged with excitement. "Interviews, meet and greets, promotional events, the whole works." The possibilities seemed endless, the idea of connecting with your fans and promoting your album in a more personal way was both thrilling and slightly intimidating.

You chuckled, a hint of self-deprecating humor in your voice as you said, “I’m only in the movie for like 30 minutes. I doubt anyone wants the inside scoop on my terrible acting performance.” You downplayed your role, brushing off the idea that your brief screen time would generate much interest. The thought of being the center of attention during a press tour seemed comical given your limited acting skills.

Hugh leaned in closer, a playful smile on his face as he traced a finger down your cheek. "What if I want the inside scoop?" he teased, his gaze fixed on yours. The simple gesture sent a shiver down your spine, his touch both gentle and electrifying. Your laughter subsided as you met his gaze, the earnestness in his eyes making your heart flutter.

Your mumbled words against his lips were a sweet, almost bashful admission. "You get every inside scoop," you confessed, the words tinged with vulnerability and just a touch of hesitation. There was a depth to the statement, an implication that he had access to parts of you that no one else did - both on and off camera, both personal and professional.

Hugh's laughter brought a warmth to your heart, his words genuine and sincere. "But really," he insisted, his voice carrying a hint of tenderness, "I want you there." The simple phrase held a multitude of meanings, a mix of desire for your presence, support for your career, and a perhaps a hint of possessiveness.

You feigned reluctance, offering a playful protest before ultimately giving in. "Fine, but when this blows up in my face, I'm blaming you. I suck at interviews," you said, trying to maintain a facade of nonchalance while your heart skipped a beat. The thought of facing the press and navigating interviews was daunting, a stark departure from the comfortable anonymity you had grown used to.

Hugh chuckled, clearly pleased with your agreement. "That's the spirit," he teased, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Just keep blaming me. I'll gladly take the heat." His confidence was infectious, and a part of you found comfort in his willingness to shoulder the blame. Yet, under the surface, a flicker of doubt and anxiety remained, reminding you of the challenging journey ahead.

You sat in the makeup chair, watching as skilled hands transformed your already-lovely face into a work of art. Your hair was styled to perfection, and the final touches were added to your makeup, accentuating your features and readying you for the first interview. As the team finished up their work, you took a moment to steal a glance at yourself in the mirror, admiring the result. The process was intense but necessary, and it left you feeling both glamorous and a bit anxious.

Your excitement grew as you approached the interview, particularly because you were about to participate in the iconic Vanity Fair Lie Detector test. You had heard stories about celebrities taking the challenge, and now it was your turn. The prospect of facing the test, being under the intense spotlight, and answering difficult questions left you buzzing with a mix of anticipation and nerves.

Ryan's voice rang out in surprised disbelief. "What the fuck are you doing here?" his words echoed through the room, a mix of surprise and confusion evident in his tone. You paused, turning to face him, a bit startled by his unexpected appearance.

You sauntered over to Hugh, a mischievous smirk playing on your lips. Without hesitation, you wrapped an arm around him, your body molding perfectly against his. Responding to Ryan's question, you declared, "My boyfriend invited me." The words rolled off your tongue with ease, a possessive yet lighthearted claim on Hugh.

Ryan's reaction was immediate, his scoff betraying his skepticism. "Oh I'm gonna grill your ass on that lie detector," he retorted, a challenge evident in his voice. There was a glimmer of mischief in his eyes as if he was ready to expose any secrets you tried to keep hidden.

You met Ryan's smirk with one of your own, your tone playful and confident. "Go for it," you said, your voice dripping with a hint of sass, "the only secret I had was that I was fucking your best friend." The words hung in the air, a clear declaration of your intimate connection with Hugh. Ryan looked taken aback, his expression a mixture of surprise and disbelief. “Oh, my god. This is going to be amazing.”

“Who’s going first?” The air was tense as the question hung in the air, the atmosphere charged with anticipation. Hugh, you, and Ryan all looked at each other, waiting to see who would go first. The choice seemed to carry a subtle challenge: who was brave enough to subject themselves to the scrutiny of the lie detector test first?

After a brief moment of silence, you spoke up with a confident smile, "Why don't you have a go, Ryan?" Your words suggested a sense of sportsmanship, encouraging him to take the first step.

Ryan, who was never one to back down from a challenge, smirked back at you, his eyes locked on yours. "Sure," he agreed, a hint of competitiveness in his tone. He stepped forward, signaling that he would indeed take the first turn in the hot seat.

Ryan settled into the chair, his body taut with anticipation. The polygraph machine was connected to him, its probes and wires snaking across his body, recording every subtle shift in physiological response. The room was deathly silent, the only sound coming from the quiet hum of the machinery.

Hugh, attempting to maintain his composure, began the questioning process, his voice steady despite the hint of amusement in his eyes. "Now Ryan," he started, barely holding back a laugh, "I'm going to ask you some straightforward questions to calibrate the machine." He paused, fighting the urge to let out a chuckle, and then continued, "Are you comfortable and not under any kind of influence?"

Ryan's remark drew a laugh from his own lips, his response laced with a hint of sarcasm and self-deprecation. "Oh I wish I was under the influence," he joked, the words a mix of playfulness and genuine desire to escape the intensity of the moment. The room filled with laughter, a brief but much-needed release of tension.

Louis, the man operating the lie detector test, acknowledged Ryan's statement with a nod, confirming the machine's response. "Truthful," he confirmed, his professional tone breaking the brief moment of levity in the room. The serious atmosphere quickly returned, the gravity of the situation once again palpable.

Hugh resumed the questioning, his voice more serious now, as he asked the next question. "Is your full name Ryan Rhondy Reynolds?" The question seemed straightforward, but the machine's reading was crucial for establishing the test's accuracy. The room fell silent once more, all eyes on Ryan as he awaited his response.

Ryan let out a mock sigh, his response dripping with self-deprecating humor. "Unfortunately, yes," he confirmed, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. The room chuckled at his response, the momentary lightheartedness breaking the tension once more.

Hugh continued with the next question, a curious smile on his face. "You previously talked about failing a high school drama class," he brought up, "Does this explain your limited range?" The question was a mild jab, gently mocking Ryan's acting skills. The room waited in anticipation for his response, eager to see how he would take the playful ridicule.

As Ryan broke out into laughter, his response laced with humor and self-awareness. "It's probably one of the many reasons," he acknowledged, "I just don't think anyone wants to see me as a Dutch impressionist painter, right?" He directed the question to Louis, the man operating the machine, who confirmed his statement with a nod. "True," Louis replied, his tone remaining professional despite the casual banter in the room.

Hugh's smile indicated his next move, and he turned to Ryan, seeking his permission. "Now I'm going to have your sister join me," he said, a hint of anticipation in his eyes. "Would that be okay?" The room felt the shift in the conversation, the introduction of Ryan's sister adding an unexpected dynamic to the already charged atmosphere.

Ryan's smirk betrayed a hint of nervousness, his attempt to mask his emotions failing as he responded to Hugh's request. "Yeah, love that sister of mine," he replied, his voice a mix of feigned nonchalance and genuine worry about what was to come. The room tensed up in anticipation, everyone waiting for his sister's entrance.

Louis, the lie detector operator, looked up at the machine before announcing his conclusion. "Deceptive," he stated, his professional tone belying the significance of the word. The room fell silent once more as the implication of his statement sunk in. Ryan's smirk faded, replaced by a flicker of concern, as he turned to Hugh, awaiting his next question.

You made your way into the room, taking your place beside Hugh, a stack of cards in your hands. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation as all eyes fell on you. Hugh looked at you briefly, a hint of reassurance in his eyes, before turning back to Ryan, preparing for the next question.

You asked the question, addressing Ryan directly. "Ryan," you said, a hint of curiosity in your tone, "when mom's glass angel broke, did do it and you blame me?" The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for Ryan's response and the verdict of the lie detector. All eyes were on him as he prepared to answer the question.

Ryan's response came, his voice steady despite the hint of tension in the air. "No, of course not," he said, his words firm and resolute. The room was silent as everyone waited for Louis to confirm the truth or deception of Ryan's answer, the lie detector the final judge in the matter.

Louis, the lie detector operator, looked up from the machine and confirmed the result. "Deceptive," he stated, his tone neutral. The room remained silent for a moment, the verdict hanging in the air. Ryan's eyes flicked to you, a mix of surprise and resignation in his gaze.

You reacted with mock outrage, pointing a finger at Ryan with feigned shock. "I was 12!" you exclaimed, emphasizing the innocence and vulnerability of your young age. The room chuckled at the display, the humor in the situation providing a momentary respite from the tension.

Ryan admitted to the blame, his smirk betraying a hint of guilt despite the lighthearted tone. "And the easiest one to blame! Sorry!" he acknowledged with a shrug, his attempt at an apology seeming more playful than sincere. The room chuckled again, the exchange between you both creating a humorous moment amidst the serious atmosphere.

You and Hugh alternated asking Ryan questions, the interaction taking on a playful bantering vibe in the room. You asked your questions with wit and humor, while Hugh, being closer to Ryan, posed his questions with a mix of seriousness and banter. The room filled with laughter and banter, the lie detector's responses adding suspense to every answer.

You posed the final question to Ryan, a smirk on your lips. "Can you listen to my new song 'Juno' without thinking about Hugh?" you asked, half-teasing and half-curious about the answer. The room fell silent, anticipating Ryan's response and the lie detector's verdict.

Ryan's response was quick, a mix of sarcasm and genuine annoyance. "Ugh fuck, I can't even listen to it at all," he remarked. The room broke out in laughter, the bluntness of his answer adding to the humor of the moment.

Louis, the lie detector operator, confirmed the truth of Ryan's response with a nod. "Truthful," he said, his tone neutral despite the light-hearted banter in the room.

You all broke out into laughter again, the room filling with mirth and amusement. The tension of the lie detector test seemed to lift as you all shared a moment of genuine laughter, the lighthearted banter easing the earlier seriousness.

Hugh took his turn in the hot seat, preparing himself as Ryan and you looked on, ready to take turns asking him questions. The atmosphere in the room shifted slightly, the focus turning to Hugh and the questions that were about to be asked.

Ryan greeted his friend with a mischievous smirk, his voice filled with playful mockery. "Hello, Hugh," he said, clearly enjoying the role reversal. The room chuckled, anticipating the questions that were about to follow.

Ryan, still sporting that smirk, nodded, "Just gonna ask you a few simple questions to calibrate the machine, okay?" he confirmed, his tone friendly but with a hint of mischief. The room went quiet, the anticipation building as everyone waited for Hugh's response, and what it would reveal about the lie detector's accuracy.

Ryan began the questioning with a straightforward question, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Is it true that your full name is Hugh Michael Jackman?" The room waited in anticipation for Hugh's response, the lie detector recording his reaction to every word.

Hugh, composed and unfazed, responded candidly. "Yes," he affirmed, his voice steady. The room chuckled, the simplicity of the question and Hugh's straightforward answer creating a lighthearted moment.

Ryan continued with the questioning, another straightforward question. "Are you from Sydney, Australia?"

Hugh confirmed the truth of the statement with a nod and a soft smile. "Yes," he answered, his voice carrying a hint of nostalgia. The room remained quiet, awaiting the verdict of the lie detector test.

Ryan's smirk grew wider as he asked the next question, a hint of playfulness in his voice. "Is it true that you sugar daddy my little sister?" The room chuckled, the tension from the earlier questions replaced with amusement at the absurdity of the question and Ryan's choice of words.

Hugh's laugh echoed through the room, his response quick and firm. "No!" he asserted, his tone playful but unwavering. The room chuckled again, the lie detector's response providing evidence against Ryan's exaggerated question.

Louis, the lie detector operator, looked up from the machine and announced the result. "Deceptive," he stated, his tone neutral but leaving a brief moment of silence in its wake. The room seemed to hold its breath as they all processed the unexpected outcome.

Hugh laughs, “I just treat her well! You can’t base that as being a sugar daddy!” Hugh looks to you for help, “darling?” You couldn’t help but chuckle at Hugh’s defense, amused by his denial and the unexpected turn of events. "Sorry babe," you teased, feigning sympathy, "seems like the machine says otherwise." The room chuckled, enjoying the lighthearted banter and the unexpected twist.

You smiled and tapped your postcard, shifting gears with your question. "Now, is it true that you've been trying to meet me for the past three years?" The room seemed to hold its breath as everyone waited for Hugh's response, curious to hear if his efforts had truly gone unnoticed for so long.

Hugh's immediate answer filled the room with confirmation. "Absolutely true, probably longer," he admitted, his tone carrying a mix of sincerity and a touch of sheepishness. The room chuckled at the revelation, the truth of his statement creating a lighthearted moment despite the underlying tension.

Louis, the lie detector operator, nodded in agreement. "Truthful," he confirmed, the lie detector's verdict adding fuel to the fire. The room chuckled again, the unexpected twist in the questioning adding an element of excitement to the test.

Hugh continued, a smirk directed at Ryan as he spoke. "And Ryan just wouldn't make it happen!" The room laughed, the blame subtly placed on Ryan for the delayed meeting. Ryan mock-protested, feigning innocence with a dramatic hand gesture.

Ryan responded with a playful eye-roll and a sarcastic retort. "Well excuse me," he said mockingly, "I didn't want my little sister exposed to such 'filth'" at an early age. The room chuckled at the exchange between friends, the jab adding a lighter tone to the serious atmosphere.

Hugh retorted, a hint of sass in his voice. "Mate, you think I'm the filthy one? Think again." The room chuckled, enjoying the friendly banter between Hugh and Ryan. Even you couldn't help but smile at the playful back and forth.

Louis, the lie detector operator, confirmed the truth of Hugh's response with a nod. "Truthful," he stated, his tone professional yet casual, adding another affirmation to the machine's verdict. The room chuckled again, the lie detector's accurate assessment further fueling the banter and lighthearted mood.

You fan yourself dramatically, a playful smile on your face. "It's getting hot in here," you teased, adding a touch of levity to the room. The room chuckled, the cheeky remark causing Hugh to raise an eyebrow and Ryan to roll his eyes, playing along with the theatrics.

Ryan made a show of gagging, an exaggerated expression of disgust on his face. "Oh my God," he exclaimed, "I'm in my personal hell." He then turned to the camera, addressing the audience directly with a sarcastic remark. "Enjoying this, Vanity Fair?"

You took the hot seat, the wires of the lie detector secured properly and the machine calibrated. Both Hugh and Ryan sat across from you, their eyes fixed on you as they prepared to take turns asking the questions.

“Just to start this off, (y/n), you’re the younger sister of famous actor, Ryan Reynolds.” You nodded, confirming the statement. "Yes, that's correct," you acknowledged, your tone matter-of-fact. The lie detector's sensors were already measuring your body's response, capturing even the subtlest reactions.

“You recently released your album Short n’ Sweet. How many copies did you pawn off to the homeless shelter?” You chuckled at Ryan's sarcastic question, his playful jab adding a touch of humor to the serious atmosphere. "Oh, you know," you responded sarcastically, "I just made sure every homeless person in the city had a copy." The room laughed, caught off guard by the audacity of the question and your witty response.

Ryan continued with the banter, teasing you with reference to your lyrics. "Do you think you really leave quite an impression?" he questioned, a smirk on his face as he alluded to certain lines in your songs. The room chuckled, amused by the ribbing and the unexpected callback to your own lyrics.

You responded with a coy shrug and a flirty grin, exuding confidence in your response. "I do," you affirmed, your words laced with a hint of playfulness. The room chuckled at your unapologetic response, the interaction adding a lighthearted moment to the otherwise serious lie detector test.

Louis, the lie detector operator, confirmed the truth of your response with a small nod. "Truthful," he stated, the machine's sensors recording your body's reaction to the question. The room chuckled at the affirmation, the lie detector's verdict adding a layer of credibility to your confident response.

Hugh's question shifted the tone of conversation, moving on from the playful banter to something more relevant to your career. "You starred in both Deadpool and Wolverine, and there are rumors your character will be back for further installments of the Marvel Universe. Is this true?" he asked, his question carrying a hint of curiosity. The room quieted, anticipating your response and the verdict of the lie detector.

You widened your eyes, attempting to feign ignorance, as you answered, "No, I don't know of any future projects right now." The room held its breath, the tension palpable as the lie detector's sensors recorded your response. If the question was true, the machine would detect any deception in your speech.

Louis, the lie detector operator, looked up from the screen, his gaze steady as he announced the result. "Deceptive," he affirmed, his professional tone adding a gravity to the outcome. The room remained quiet, processing the unexpected result and bracing for the reactions of Hugh and Ryan.

Ryan, clearly enjoying the situation, chimed in with a smirk on his face. "You heard it here first," he joked, "Deadpool's other best friend, Sabrina will be retiring. Maybe in a witchy fashion?" The room chuckled at the playful banter and Ryan's witty response, the light moment providing a reprieve from the serious atmosphere.

You rolled your eyes, feigning annoyance at Ryan's comment. "You're going to get me fired before I even get a chance," you retorted, the room laughing at your sarcastic reply. The lie detector's sensors continued to measure your reactions, monitoring your body language for any indication of dishonesty.

Ryan continued with his questions, his smirk growing wider as he continued to tease you. "Now, in your song 'Espresso,' you state, 'Too bad your ex couldn't do it for you.' Are you in fact referring to someone's divorced wife?" He playfully nodded towards Hugh, adding a layer of mischief to his question. The room chuckled, the tension mounting as they waited for your response and the lie detector's verdict.

Your cheeks flushed pink and your mouth gaped open as you quickly tried to defend yourself. "No! That's... it's just a song. Come on," you protested, your voice just a bit higher pitched. The room chuckled at your flustered response, the lie detector's sensors noting any changes in your body language and voice.

Louis, the lie detector operator, looked up from the machine and announced the result. "Deceptive," he stated, confirming the machine's assessment of your response. The room chuckled at the unexpected outcome, the lie detector's verdict adding fuel to the playful questioning.

Hugh chuckled, clearly amused by the unexpected turn of events. "Looks like the machine disagrees with you, love." His smile grew wider as he teased you, enjoying the lighthearted banter and the surprising results of the lie detector test.

The room chuckled at Hugh's comment, the playful tone adding a sense of mischief to the atmosphere. Ryan, not one to miss an opportunity, chimed in with a smirk. "Oh, it's definitely disagreeing with you," he quipped, clearly relishing in the unexpected revelation.

Ryan chuckled, clearly enjoying your flustered state, but he obliged, moving on to the next question. "Alright, alright," he said, still grinning. "Next question." Hugh lets out a chuckle, he continues with his next question, tilting his head as he gazes at you.

Hugh shifted his gaze towards you, his head tilted slightly as he posed the question, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Alright, then," he began, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Have you ever secretly taken a picture of me when I wasn't looking?" The room went quiet, all attention focused on your response and the lie detector's verdict.

You smirk, “maybe.”

The room waited in anticipation as the lie detector operator, Louis, looked up from the machine. "Deceptive." He stated, the verdict adding a new twist to the game. The room chuckled again, the unexpected results of the test creating a sense of unpredictability and entertainment.

Hugh playfully pointed a finger at you, his tone light and teasing. "You should know better than to lie on this thing!" he scolded, a smirk on his face. "Go on, confess," he prompted, clearly enjoying the moment. The room chuckled at Hugh's remark, the light-hearted exchange adding a touch of humor to the ongoing game.

“Okay yeah, I have a few 100 photos of you I’ve taken without your knowledge.” The room erupted in laughter, the unexpected revelation adding a comical twist to the situation. Hugh raised an eyebrow, a mix of surprise and amusement on his face, while Ryan chuckled, clearly finding the moment humorous.

Ryan chuckled, clearly intrigued. "Ohh, can I see?" he asked, a playful gleam in his eye. Your quick response of "no" only fueled his curiosity, and the room chuckled at the playful exchange. Hugh smirked, clearly entertained by the situation, while Ryan persisted in his request.

Ryan's question was direct, "Why not? Are they x-rated? Wolverine after dark?" he inquired, a hint of mischief in his tone. The room chuckled at the unexpected implication, the question adding a layer of humor to the lighthearted moment. You quickly shook your head, denying the accusation, while Hugh chuckled, clearly amused by the banter.

You explained your reasoning, "No! I'm just a private person. I don't need you snooping in my phone," you responded with a firm tone, while the room chuckled at your honest response. Ryan huffed in mock disappointment, clearly teasing you, while Hugh chuckled, enjoying the lighthearted banter.

The room erupted in laughter once again as Louis, the lie detector operator, announced the result. "Deceptive," he stated, his professional tone contrasted with the playful atmosphere. Hugh smirked, clearly enjoying the unexpected outcome as Ryan chuckled, thoroughly entertained by the ongoing game.

You laughed, covering your face in mock embarrassment, and looked at the camera, addressing your statement to the audience. "The Tumblr girls know what I'm talking about," you joked, referencing an inside joke or reference known to his fanbase. The room chuckled at your remark, appreciating the playful banter and the acknowledgment of his dedicated followers.

Hugh smiled, enjoying the moment, and Ryan chuckled, clearly entertained by the playful interaction. The lie detector's sensors continued to monitor your reaction, capturing every detail for the test. The camera remained focused on you, capturing the light-hearted exchange for the Vanity Fair audience.

Ryan's question broke the laughter with a more personal query. He shifted his attention towards you and asked, "Would you say you're your mom's favorite?" The room quieted down, the lighthearted banter giving way to a slightly more serious tone as they waited for your response. The lie detector's sensors prepared to capture any change in your body language or voice.

You smiled, a sense of confidence in your voice as you affirmed, "Oh, definitely." The room chuckled lightly, appreciating your self-assurance, while Hugh and Ryan exchanged glances, intrigued by your unabashed response. The lie detector continued to monitor your body's response, silently recording your confidence.

Louis, the lie detector operator, once again confirmed the truth of your response. "Truthful," he stated, his professional tone adding a sense of authority to the verdict. Hugh laughed, clearly enjoying your confidence, while Ryan smirked.

Ryan chuckled as he disagreed with your answer, his playful banter continuing. "Love the confidence, but you're not," he stated, a smirk on his face, clearly enjoying the exchange. The room chuckled along with Ryan, appreciating the friendly banter, while you remained steadfast in your claim. The lie detector continued to monitor your body's response, capturing every nuance of your interaction.

You teased back confidently, "I'm bringing Hugh Jackman home for Christmas, of course I'm her favorite.” The room burst into laughter at your bold statement, the lighthearted banter adding a touch of humor to the moment. Hugh chuckled at your remark, enjoying the playful exchange, while Ryan shook his head, amused by your self-assured claim. The lie detector buzzed as it registered your response.

Louis, the lie detector operator, confirmed the truth of your statement with a simple statement. "Truthful," he announced, the machine's sensors having detected no signs of deceit in your voice or body language. The room chuckled at the result, clearly entertained by the game, while Hugh and Ryan exchanged grins, amused by your unwavering confidence.

The topic shifted to a classic debate in the Marvel fandom, "Now, comparing superhero’s. Are the MCU movies better than the men movies?" The room waited in anticipation, knowing that this was a question with divided opinions. Hugh chuckled, clearly enjoying the debate starter, while Ryan smirked, already knowing your stance on the matter. The lie detector's sensors monitored your response, ready to reveal any unconscious bias in your answer.

You smiled at the camera, fully embracing your role as a Marvel ambassador. "They are now. Go see Deadpool and Wolverine in your theaters when it releases," you stated confidently. The room chuckled at your plug for the upcoming film, Hugh and Ryan sharing amused glances. The lie detector's sensors noted your enthusiastic response, the machine confirming your truthfulness while capturing your confident endorsement for the movie.

Louis, the lie detector operator, once again confirmed the truth of your response, his professional tone adding authority to the verdict. "Truthful," he stated, the machine's sensors having detected no signs of deception in your statement. The room chuckled at the result, clearly entertained by the ongoing game, while Hugh and Ryan exchanged grins, appreciating your unwavering truthfulness.

The Vanity Fair staff wrapped up the photo shoot session, signaling the end of the promotional event. You were finally free to leave, and you exhaled a sigh of relief. Hugh and Ryan were talking to the staff, while you stood nearby, waiting for your cue to leave. The crew began to pack up the lie detector equipment, preparing to wrap up the day's work.

A member of the Vanity Fair staff approached you, sporting a sheepish smile. He greeted you timidly, "Hi, sorry. I'm such a big fan. I had to say hello." The staff member's shy demeanor betrayed his excitement at meeting you, his fanboy enthusiasm evident. You smiled warmly at his greeting, appreciating his kind words despite his obvious fangirling.

You reassured him with a kind smile, "No need to be sorry. It's nice to meet you." The staff member beamed at your friendly response, his nervousness gradually fading away. He fidgeted slightly, clearly trying to control his excitement, but was clearly overjoyed to have a chance to meet you.

The staff member continued to shower you with compliments, his cheeks flushing slightly as he spoke. "You're so funny, and pretty," he mumbled, his fanboy admiration clear. The comment tugged at your heartstrings, and you couldn’t help but smile at his sweet words.

Hugh, who had been in conversation with the staff, turned his attention towards you and the crew member. He observed the interaction from a short distance, his eyes narrowing slightly as he saw the staff member complimenting you. Despite your apparent disinterest, Hugh couldn't help the pang of jealousy that crept into his heart. He turned back to his conversation, discreetly glancing over his shoulder every now and then, monitoring the interaction between you and the staff member.

You chuckled as you watched the flustered fan walk away, clearly smitten after meeting you and getting your autograph on his phone case. Hugh, who had watched the whole interaction, walked over to you, his expression a mix of curiosity and jealousy. He approached you, trying to hide his feelings but failing slightly.

Hugh cleared his throat, "Making friends over here, are we?" he asked casually, a hint of sarcasm lacing his tone. He tried to keep his emotions in check, but his slight possessive nature was evident in his words.

You wrap your arms around him, “I’m known to be friendly.” Hugh melted into your embrace, his jealousy fading slightly as he felt the warmth of your arms around him. He wrapped his own arms around you, drawing you closer to him as he responded, "Indeed, quite the social butterfly." Despite his earlier jealousy, he couldn’t help but find comfort in your touch.

You broke the silence with a simple question, "Dinner?" You casually suggested, your fingers intertwined with his as you both began to make your way out of the building. Hugh smiled at you, feeling incredibly fortunate to have you in his life. He nodded in agreement, his gaze fixed on you with a mixture of love and awe.

💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋

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#hugh jackman fanfic #hugh jackman series #hugh jackman fic #hugh jackman #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine #logan wolverine #logan howlett

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liviawildrose · 2 days ago

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𝐞𝐠𝐠 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐞

hey loves, let’s talk about one of my favorite energy-cleansing rituals: egg cleansing. it’s a practice rooted in ancient traditions (think mexican curanderismo, filipino spiritual beliefs, and other cultures) and is all about removing negative energy, bad vibes, or even spiritual blockages. i’m obsessed with how simple, yet powerful it is. if you’re feeling drained, stuck, or like something just isn’t right, this might be exactly what you need.

here’s a step-by-step guide to help you try it out:

ingredients

• 1 fresh egg (organic if possible—keep that energy pure!)

• a glass of water, salt, (chilly flakes and black salt)

how to perform an egg cleansing

1. set your intention:

• before starting, center yourself. light a candle, burn some incense, or say a quick prayer/affirmation like:

“i release all negativity and invite peace and clarity into my life.”

2. prepare the egg:

• rub some salt on the egg (massage the egg with salt) hold the egg in your hands and infuse it with your intention. visualize it absorbing all the bad vibes, negativity, and heavy energy that’s been lingering

3. cleanse your aura:

• starting at the crown of your head, gently roll the egg over your body. move downward head, neck, shoulders, chest, arms, stomach, legs, and finally your feet. don’t forget your back and sides if possible.

• as you do this, visualize the egg soaking up all the negativity. you can say something like:

“this egg absorbs all that does not serve me.” “this egg is absorbing all the negative energy” “i can finally start on a clean slate now”

4. crack the egg into water:

• once you’re done, carefully crack the egg into a glass of water (add some salt too in the water). be gentle; you don’t want to break the yolk right away.

• look at the egg and water for any patterns, bubbles, or shapes. these can symbolize the energy it picked up:

bubbles or spikes: negativity or tension.

cloudy whites: emotional heaviness.

cloudy water: signifies confusion, stress, or emotional overwhelm.

blood spots in the yolk: can indicate psychic attacks, curses, or unresolved trauma.

multiple bubbles in the yolk: represents people or situations contributing to your stress.

floating yolk or egg white: suggests unresolved emotions or health concerns.

a clear yolk and water: you’re in the clear, babe!

5. dispose of it properly:

• pour the chilly flakes and black salt mixture in it and flush it down the toilet or bury it far from your home. never keep the egg it’s carried away the energy you want to be free from.

pro tips for the best results

• perform this ritual during the waxing moon or full moon for heightened power.

• try doing this while in showers (naked) i did it like that

why it works/ why i did it

it’s not just about the egg. the act of intentionally focusing on your energy, visualizing negativity leaving your body, and creating sacred time for yourself is powerful af. combine that with the natural spiritual conductivity of an egg, and you’ve got a low-key yet magical ritual.

if you’ve ever tried this or plan to, let me know your experience! spiritual hygiene is just as important as physical hygiene, and rituals like this remind us to check in with ourselves.

so, yesterday something huge happened in the cosmos—pluto shifted into aquarius. if you know anything about astrology, you know this is massive energy. like, i felt it immediately. this shift brought this overwhelming urge to reinvent myself, release the old, and just become. but before stepping into this new chapter, i knew i had to cleanse myself energetically, spiritually, emotionally. i needed to clear all the stuck energy weighing me down. that’s why today, i pulled out one of my favorite rituals: the egg cleanse. it felt symbolic, like cracking open a whole new version of me. with Pluto entering Aquarius, this is the time to embrace transformation, growth, and that next-level glow up.

if you want to join me on this journey of becoming a higher self. please comment, like, reblog, and follow let's embrace the glow of together.

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wisefoxluminary · 3 days ago

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Arcane Season 2 Act 2 my thoughts (+analysis)

Wow just wow…this show really is a rollercoaster and this set of episodes really delved into the family dynamics of Vi and Jinx, two broken characters trying to fix what was lost between them. Jinx being forced to reckon with who she is as a leader in Zaun, inspiring those to stand up against the injustice wrought by the enforcers and this time we get to see the innocent and more soft side of her as she realises all these people look up to her as their saviour when all her life she was led to believe she was a monster who gets everyone she comes close to killed but she realises that she is making an impact on everyone around her including Isha who reminds her of her past self that she buried and is bringing that back out to the surface. Their sibling relationship was really beautiful to witness because they would save each other every damn time. It was cruel watching that get taken away from us because Isha’s final act was saving Jinx from Warwick’s rampage, though her life was short lived just like Powder’s, her sacrifice really showed the impact Jinx had made on her life and that act of preservation and love will help her finally embrace the role of a saviour complex the people of Zaun need, in the shadow of Viktor’s passing, a fallen messiah who used his power of healing for good. Jinx takes that chance and must weaponise her own destruction for good, to liberate her people and what remains of her family from Ambessa and the Piltover Guard and also Jayce who seeks to wipe every last remnant of Hextech.

I really liked the twist that Vander was Warwick as it added loads of tragedy to his character and really fuelled the emotional beats for the reminder of the story, in particular Vi and Jinx’s journeys respectively. The idea of Vander's love being the one thing that ties the sisters together was really beautiful to me because every time he saw Jinx, he was reminded of Powder which brought back his humanity which was slowly being corrupted by the beast. Powder is his tether to humanity thus why he protects her with all his might (“they don't touch my daughter” scene comes to light). This link to humanity, his memories of Ponder is what helps him overcome his monstrous impulses. He's a dead man who has turned into something unrecognisable and yet the memory and warm love Vander once embodied still resides within him and Vi and Jinx are working so hard to persevere that. This is shown in the memory sequence Viktor observed in his mind because Vander's impact is always felt on Vi and Jinx. He gave Vi her name, he was a loyal friend of their mother. His dying words to Vi was for her to protect Powder. That's why he recognises Jinx and sees her for who she used to be, why he saved her. Jinx may blame herself for his death but that only brings him closer to her. So when that perfect image of family was taken away from them, the monster from within won and every last memory of Vander is stripped away from him because that light Viktor was trying so hard to untangle from him was gone the moment he was killed.

Jayce really lost his mind because who knew one senseless action could cause this horrific chain of events to happen because being trapped in that anomaly caused him to see a false and corrupted vision of the future and it descended him into madness. Jayce is the reason Viktor loses his humanity because as he said in his dying moments the greatest good can also become your greatest evil. So what Jayce believed he was doing right by killing Viktor and stopping him from going down the wrong path only was the fuel to the fire that caused it. Betrayal and the tragedy it brings and how it melds us into the worst version of ourselves is a very integral theme in Arcane as seen with Vander and Silco, Vi and Powder, Vi and Caitlyn etc. Jayce and Viktor is just another representative cursed by the narrative and the ramifications of this betrayal will be dealt by them in terrifying ways and how they'll overcome that is going to be very central heading into the last three episodes. There is no changing the past, but there must be a way to make a better future with it as well.

The only way this show can end is if Vi and Jinx finally forgive each other and themselves and finally use love as their greatest weapon against the evil that threatens to supress them, how sacrifice impacts them and encourages them to carry on what the people who are gone had taught them. Love is what united them rather than hate and I think that's a beautiful thing. The resolution of their arc would be those two sisters reconciling, living in peace knowing their family is in a better place. For Vander to be ressurected and for Zaun to return to what it used to be under his resistance, finally at a peaceful agreement with Piltover where no more blood is shed. Where Hextech isn't used as a weapon anymore.

But overall, this episodes truly were a masterclass in storytelling and animation with its vibrant and colourful visuals. Truly can't wait for Act 3 because the symbolism of this show goes crazy.

#arcane #arcane season 2 #arcane act 2 #jinx arcane #vi arcane #vander arcane #isha arcane #jinx and isha #jinx and vi #warwick arcane #jayce talis #viktor arcane #episode breakdown #character analysis #i am obsessing over this show

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thisgirlnamedblusy · 4 hours ago

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maybe an insecure G!P donna x reader?

angie and reader have basically grown to be friends (bc reader has been working as donnas maid for a very long time) and angie brings up the idea of reader being with someone (a woman) with a penis and the reader gives an off reaction, so when reader comes onto donna, she sort of freaks and doesnt know what to do or say in response to readers advances.

(but it obviously ends good)

Yesss!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!!

Fears

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem, maid! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, smut, Minors DNI, Donna being Donna, fluff

Word count: 8,124

Summary: Why? Why she hides her feelings?

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

The silence, broken by the sound of cutlery, a dim light illuminating the table, that gloomy mansion... It could certainly seem that, like every night for some time now, you were having a romantic dinner with her. But even though all your senses, your feelings told you, whispered to you confirming that you were right, the reality was confusing and mysterious, as always.

There were no kisses, hugs or confessions; it was just you and her. It was a connection that was sometimes very visible and other times you couldn't even perceive.

You weren't a friend, a confidant, a lover, no. You were a maid looking for a way to stop being one, without finding a hidden corner, a secret passage to her feelings, to her heart.

Discreet, but at the same time endowed with a confusing joy for living, you spent the first years of your youth doing what all girls your age longed to do, looking for love. But your interests were far from those of a small majority, from what was expected of a villager, or rather, from what was the norm and not an exception.

Like the cliché of a romantic and dramatic novel, you fell in love with who you shouldn't have and you gave your first love to a stupid girl, thus becoming the worst mistake of your life.

Disappointment and deception were your first lessons, and you learned them too well. With a broken heart and a family on the brink of poverty, you decided to find a way to get away from it all. Being away from the village and at the same time earning some money seemed impossible.

Mother Miranda, the Lords, the Black Gods… they were your captors, the reminder that you would never get out of that place. The Duke, the village merchant, an entity somewhat kinder than the Gods or Mother Miranda seemed like a good solution to your problems.

For a 20-year-old girl like you, it wasn't difficult to aspire to any of the jobs that this extravagant man offered, but what you didn't know was that you wouldn't be an assistant or a merchant, but… a maid.

You were terrified, but you had to help your family. There was no time to think about fears, about what could happen, you simply accepted. Of course you would get away from the village, but the place you were going to was much worse than the memories of a failed love.

Nobody knew exactly who or what Donna Beneviento was. She was a Lord, descendant of the founders of the village, the youngest of her siblings, a doll maker... You didn't know anything else. You knew her mourning figure, the veil that covered her face, the sinister doll that always accompanied her, but the rest was just rumors.

They said she was a very sick, dangerous woman, who could make you suffer your worst nightmares without lifting a finger; they said that entering her territory was like death itself, a journey without return that no one could explain clearly. The reason? Just like the end of life, no one had ever returned to talk about it.

Barely speaking, she accepted your presence as a useful nuisance. You couldn’t hide your fear, the tremors of your body when you had her near. The rumors were present every day in your head and every night you wondered if it would be the last.

But time passed and nightmares didn’t haunt you. You couldn’t feel comfortable in her presence, in her elegant steps and glances through the black fabric, but you got used to it.

Donna was a strange woman, withdrawn, sick, and had no interest in you, in your presence or in your work, at least at first. Time was in your favor, as you began to stop shaking and accepted that you would continue to be in that place, that you wouldn’t disappear in that waterfall.

You did everything a maid did: clean, do the laundry, prepare your mistress a hot tea every afternoon... You did everything, except cook. You didn't know exactly why the lady in black was reticent in that regard, but you did know that you would never cook as well as she did.

Time again settled that strange coexistence, and conversations stopped being simple words or timid gestures, to let the words flow little by little. Of course, the attitude of the Angie doll was completely different from that of her owner, in fact, many times you prayed to the Gods for her to leave you alone.

Accustomed to your new life, you began to pass each of the challenges you set for yourself, knowing what to say to Donna to make her look at you or respond, and how to deal with that sinister puppet.

One afternoon, without warning, the lady in black pulled the veil from her face in front of you, leaving you pinned to an old chair. The people who said that a monster was hidden under that black cloth had never seen one in their lives. Donna was a truly beautiful woman, with a face damaged by selling her soul to the Gods.

Her face was damaged, yes, but not her beauty. Finally seeing the face of the mysterious woman laid the foundation for what was a chain of events that would continue until that very day.

She knew how to smile, she did it often. Her pale skin blushed with your compliments; her soft hands caressed yours from time to time, thinking you wouldn’t notice.

Your heart wasn’t oblivious to all of that, to those changes in your way of seeing things, in the way in which little by little, you began to see Donna.

That cowardly girl from the village abruptly left your thoughts, pushed by the constant image of the smile of the lady in black, by those timid and apparently innocent approaches. Denying it would be foolish; your heart had chosen, had chosen to fall in love with Donna Beneviento.

What could have been a new illusion in your life mutated unintentionally into a constant longing, into much more intentional approaches, into caresses that you began to provoke.

Donna seemed more than satisfied with your hands in hers, with a sweet smile, with a loving gaze staring into yours.

Again, it seemed like a love story worthy of a novel, but you should have already known that fiction was just that, fiction.

The tension was constant, the silences between you always seemed to precede a kiss, a confession, a confirmation that it was really happening, but it never did.

Donna, who at first seemed to want to get closer, moved further and further away. She seemed just as in love as you, but something told her to stop. When you were close to her, when you couldn't do anything but kiss her, she moved away with any stupid excuse.

Close, far, close, very close, and very far. She never said anything, never confessed the feelings you saw in her eye. You just settled for that special friendship, that tender relationship that maybe was just that.

The fear of misinterpreting things, of making a mistake and losing what it took you so long to achieve, made you deflate, but not give up.

If she was scared, if she needed you to wait for her to gain enough courage to tell you that you weren't fooling yourself, of course you would. You would wait for her until she was ready, whatever it took.

“It's delicious,” you said, blinking in pleasure at the food, earning her beautiful smile back with a slight nod.

“Grazie, (Y/N),” her hoarse voice replied. “But it's not the first time you've tried lasagna.”

“I know, but it's always delicious,” you said amused, shaking your head, searching your mind for the right way to stop silence from reigning again. “Someday I'd like to learn how to make it.”

Donna looked at you and smiled again, looking at you curiously.

“You... do you want me to teach you?” she asked in a cautious whisper, as if she didn't believe your words, as if deep down she knew that all you wanted was to hear her voice.

“Yes... well, if you want, of course,” you said, looking down to continue with dinner. “If you don't want to teach this clumsy maid how to cook...”

“No, no, no, um...” she said nervously, with the words coming out of her mouth with difficulty. “I didn't mean to seem rude. It's just that it surprised me. No one had ever asked me to teach them how to cook.”

“Well, I have,” you said jokingly, rolling your eyes adorably and making her nervous again, holding her gaze.

“Actually... I haven't gotten involved with many people so...” Donna murmured, wiping herself with a napkin. “I mean, with no one really and... Ugh...” she sighed nervously, looking down.

“Has no one ever told you that you cook wonderfully?” you asked curiously, to which she simply shook her head.

“I've always cooked for myself,” she explained. “You're the first person to try my dishes.”

“It's an honor,” you whispered, bowing shyly. “You're also the first person I've worked for as a maid, so it's a tie.”

“Yes,” she sighed, sipping some wine to hide her blush. “You're also very good at cleaning and… you leave clothes sparkling clean and…”

“The washing machine does that,” you joked, gesturing with your hand.

“Yes, but… I mean, you're a good maid and… Ugh, I better shut up,” Donna muttered, frowning.

“No, please, I like listening to you,” you said with a serious tone, making her smile discreetly.

“(Y/N), why did you decide to serve me?” she asked with a slightly different, distrustful voice. “I know your parents need the money but… Why me? You could have been more comfortable in the castle.”

“To be honest, the Duke offered me the job,” you whispered, with the demons of your past stalking you. “I'm not going to lie to you, Donna, at first I was a little scared with the idea of coming here and…”

“With me,” Donna added, with a hurt sigh and a dark look.

“Well, yes,” you said sincerely, drinking from your glass. “But I couldn't refuse, I… needed to get out of the village and if I tell you the truth, I never believed in rumors.”

“Did you need to get out of the village?” the lady asked curiously, arching her eyebrow. “Perché?”

“It's a long story,” you murmured, relaxing your expression. “I don't want to be boring by telling you about my misfortunes.”

“Oh, no, please, tell me,” Donna said, blinking curiously, with a look that you couldn't deny anything to. “I'd like to know.”

“Okay…” you sighed, taking a breath and turning your eyes away from hers. “Well, it turns out I fell in love with a girl from the village,” you began, remembering worse times.

Donna nodded impatiently, giving her full attention.

“I thought she was wonderful, the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen and, well, all those things you think about when you're in love,” you said, playing with the delicious food. “I'll just say that her family was very… traditional, they didn't look kindly on their little girl having anything to do with a poor girl like me, especially a with a girl.”

“I don't understand,” she said, shaking her head, not missing a detail of your sad story. “Why not?”

“Well, I guess there are people like that,” you sighed, controlling the sudden moisture in your eyes. “The issue wasn't what her family thought, I didn't care, but she did.”

“Oh,” Donna sighed, looking down, sensing the end of that story.

“Yes...” you said, shaking your head. “You know what? I thought love could overcome all that nonsense and prejudices. The truth is that knowing that wasn't the case was what hurt me the most.”

“Don't you believe in love?” the lady asked, innocently.

You couldn't help but smile, smile when you looked at her, seeing her bright eye giving off curiosity about what you felt about love.

“I thought I didn’t but... I was wrong,” you said, trying not to be too obvious.

“Have you found someone?” she asked abruptly, clenching her fists in a suspicious, nervous way. “Who?”

“I'm still not sure,” you whispered with melancholy, knowing that Donna would never, ever think that that someone was her. “I envy you.”

“Envy?” she asked, shaking her head with a strange look.

“You, the Lords,” you said, shrugging. “You aren’t judged, you can do whatever you want.”

“Um, well…” Donna murmured, frowning. “But that's not…”

“I wish Mother Miranda had adopted me too. It would be great to be completely free and also have powers. You're very lucky…”

“Lucky!?” the lady shrieked, hitting the table with her fist, scaring you with her abrupt attitude. “Lucky, you say?”

“That's the way I think,” you said confused, taking your hands off the table, noticing the trembling of her body. “You're a powerful woman, no one tells you what to do.”

“You have no idea, (Y/N),” Donna hissed, getting up slowly, threateningly. “You just talk nonsense. You don't know what you're talking about.”

“I'm sorry, have I offended you? I thought that…” you said nervously, fearing for the tranquility of that night.

“Would you sell your soul to the Gods to feel free? Do you realize what you're saying?” she asked in an accusatory tone, pointing at you with her finger.

“You did it,” you said strangely, crossing your arms.

“Yes,” she said coldly, leaning towards you. “I paid the consequences. You don't know what she did to me…”

“She offered you a gift, one more chance, eternal life, that sounds good to me,” you answered sincerely, a grave mistake, since the lady was increasingly nervous, her body trembling with anger.

“A gift…” she sighed, with a nervous laugh. “Look at me!” she shouted, pointing at the deformity of her face. “Do you think this is a gift!?”

“Donna…” you sighed, moving your hands to try to calm her down. “I've told you many times that it doesn't matter, you're beautiful and…”

“Sei una stupida…” the brunette hissed, clenching her teeth. “You don't know what it's like to look like this, you don't know what that gift did to me, what it did to my body…”

“Body? What's wrong with your body?” you asked confused, looking her up and down. “You have a beautiful body, what…?”

“Nothing, forget it,” she whispered, controlling her breathing and closing her eye.

“Donna, what…?” you asked, getting up and bringing your hand to rest on her arm.

“I said forget it,” the lady growled, pulling away from your hold with an annoyed gasp.

“But…”

“Forget it! Porca puttana! Lasciami!” she shrieked angrily, kicking the floor and turning with a sob, disappearing down the elevator hallway.

“Donna…” you sighed, frustrated by that argument, one that you had unintentionally provoked. “But what did I say?”

“Nonsense, as always,” a shrill voice said, the Angie doll, who approached you with a comical step.

The puppet was always jealous of your presence, at least for a while. Little by little you managed to gain her trust. Sometimes you wished you had that complicit friendship with the lady and not with that rebellious mix of porcelain and wood.

“I haven't said anything bad, right?” you asked curiously, letting yourself fall into the chair and resting your hand on your forehead. “I just wanted to praise her.”

“Praise her? Well, you're really bad at it, silly,” Angie mocked. “Anyway, I hope you haven't forgotten our game session tomorrow.”

“What? How can you be thinking about that?” you asked annoyed, while you looked at the hallway. “I screwed up things with Donna, again, help me.”

“Help yourself, silly maid,” the doll snapped at you, tilting her head. “You can start by keeping that mouth shut.”

“What did I say? Angie, do you know what she meant?” you insisted, looking for an explanation for the lady's behavior. “Look, I know Donna is embarrassed by her looks, but I thought she was over that and…”

“She wears a damn veil every time she leaves the house. Do you think she's over it?” the puppet hummed. “Um, lasagna…”

“Well, she doesn't wear it with me,” you muttered thoughtfully, staring into space. “I don't understand what that was about, I thought…”

“Stop thinking so many things, silly girl, and pick this up, I'll deal with your mess,” Angie said, patting your back and getting off the table, walking towards the elevator. “Big mouth!”

“Hey! But…” you protested, shaking your head and growling in frustration. “Damn…”

With no other options, knowing that it was going to be a rough night for your lady, you decided to obey the doll, which mysteriously seemed to be the more rational part of the lady when she lost her mind.

You were never allowed to deal with those horrible crises and psychotic attacks, but you were convinced that you would eventually be able to, although that night didn't seem like progress at all.

In silence, mulling over what your unforgivable mistake could have been, you did your maid's work, cleaning the dishes in the kitchen under a deathly silence, a silence that betrayed a distant sob coming from the lady in black's room.

You knew Angie was with her and that you shouldn't worry too much, but a second sob prevented you from going up to your room and caused your legs to move on their own towards the bedroom.

“A-A-Angie... I can't take it anymore...” you heard the lady sobbing, whom you could see through a crack.

Donna was at her dressing table, her head buried in her hands, faithfully accompanied by the only friend she ever had, and that wasn't you.

“Come on, come on, she didn't mean any harm,” the doll said while you listened. “She has no way of knowing that…”

“That's the problem, Angie,” the lady said, raising her head a little. “Cazzo… she doesn't…”

“Hey, hey, Donna, relax… I'm convinced that if you tell her…”

“I can't tell her! Don't you realize? She would never understand, she would leave and I would… be alone again…” Donna said, making you frown, not knowing what they were talking about, but sensing that it had something to do with you.

“Well, I think she would understand. She's nice, I'm sure…” the doll said, with a petulant tone.

“No!” Donna shrieked again, with a completely broken voice. “No, Angie, I can't keep her away from me, I... she...”

“You're almost as stupid as she is. That's nonsense, Donna,” Angie said, in a mocking, dangerous tone. “Let me take care of that.”

“Cosa? You?” the lady asked, shaking her head. “Angie, don't you even dare to...”

“Leave it to me, my dear Donna, we’re friends,” the doll said.

You didn't want to risk listening any further and you disappeared with a subtle step, wondering over and over again what was going on.

Fantasizing, tossing and turning in bed, you imagined what that secret could be. Logic and your hopeful heart whispered dangerous theories in your ear, whispered that maybe, just maybe, she had feelings for you and that the mere fact of acknowledging it was a torment for her.

The reasons? You didn't know. It could be because of her status as a Lord, because of the irrational fear of a relationship, or because she considered you a silly maid who couldn't feel the same.

It was definitely nonsense. You were madly in love with Donna, nothing could change your mind, but there was something you could do to change hers.

The shy and slightly submissive attitude you always had with her wasn’t going to serve to get results, you would have to be more direct, subtly force her to stop being afraid, to say something you already knew, that she knew. But you would have to be cautious and not take hasty steps.

Everything you thought or believed was pure conjecture from a stupid girl in love. One wrong step and everything would end. You would lose that wonderful woman, that woman you were longing to love.

“Donna,” you said the next morning, entering the workshop with an innocent smile, pretending that nothing had happened.

“Mm,” she murmured, focused on an almost finished doll, without looking at you.

“How pretty,” you whispered tenderly, looking over her shoulder at the creation.

The lady couldn't help but smile, handing you the doll so you could see it closer, satisfied by your compliments.

“It's almost finished,” she said with a distracted look as you gave it back to her. “Do you want something, (Y/N)?”

“Yes, well…” you said somewhat nervously, trying to search in your mind for the strategy you had already rehearsed. “Hey, I was thinking about yesterday…”

Donna lowered her gaze, suddenly tensing her whole body and breathing with difficulty.

“I don't want to talk, go away,” she said, with a dangerous hiss, moving away from your proximity.

“Oh, wow,” you sighed in a sad tone, pouting. “I thought you were excited to teach me how to make lasagna…”

“Mm?” she murmured again, frowning and looking at you briefly.

“Don't you remember? It seemed like you wanted to teach me,” you insisted, placing a hand on her shoulder, one that she glanced at, but didn't move away. “Well, if you're not in the mood, I won't bother you anymore.”

“Un attimo, (Y/N),” she interrupted, getting up from the chair when you were about to leave the place, playing nervously with her hands. “I-I'd like to teach you.”

“Great,” you said with a bright smile, putting your hands on your hips.

She smiled back, nervously nodding.

“Um… let me finish this and…” Donna sighed, with a different glint in her eye, one that betrayed interest, almost excitement.

“Hey, not at all!” Angie shrieked, also entering the workshop. “Don't you know what time it is, you silly, silly girl?” she asked, demanding an explanation.

“Well…” you said, glancing at the clock.

“It's playtime, silly maid! Have you forgotten?” Angie told you, insistently hitting your shin.

“Angie, Iasciala estare,” Donna sighed, glaring at the doll. “I'm going to teach her how to cook.”

“That's fine,” the doll said, nodding and walking towards her owner. “But first things first, Donna, she has to play with me.”

“Angie…” the lady growled, with visible impatience.

“No, um… it doesn't matter, Angie is right, playtime is sacred,” you said amused, with a childish tone, bringing a bold hand to the lady's cheek, which trembled with the contact. “That way you can finish that pretty doll…”

Donna blinked when she lost contact with your skin and opened her mouth to say something, but the words didn't seem to want to come out of her lips, so she just nodded, bringing her own hand to the place where yours rested.

You smiled satisfied, turning around and leaving a petrified lady behind you as you walked with Angie through the basement.

“Let's see…” Angie whispered, rummaging through an old drawer where she kept her favorite games.

Throughout that year, playing with the doll had been just another part of your routine. You couldn't deny that it was fun deep down, and as loud and irreverent as Angie was, you considered her something very, very close to a friend, a special one, of course.

“How about chess?” you suggested, taking out the board as you sat on the floor.

“No!” Angie shrieked, destroying your ears. “Cards, cards...”

“Cards again?” you asked, rolling your eyes as the doll pulled out a deck of cards.

“Yes, but not just any cards...” Angie murmured in a mysterious tone. “Let's play Angie poker.”

“Angie poker? You just made that up, didn't you?” you joked, laughing amusedly.

“Shut up, you silly, silly,” the doll protested, placing the deck in front of you.

“How do you play?” you asked while shuffling.

“It's like normal poker, but…” she explained, sitting on the floor.

“But,” you whispered in an intriguing, curious tone.

“If I win, you'll have to answer a question, whatever it is, and you'll have to tell me the truth,” the doll commented, making you frown.

“A question?” you asked, distrustful.

“Yes, silly, a question. If I win, I'll ask you a question and you'll answer honestly,” the puppet said again while you sighed, somewhat nervous.

“What if I win?” you asked, shaking your head.

“That's not going to happen,” Angie mocked, hitting the floor with one hand. “Come on, come on, deal.”

As expected, the doll didn't take long to win you over, no matter how hard you tried, you would have to answer her.

“Okay, you win,” you said, throwing your cards reluctantly and crossing your arms. “Come on, ask.”

“Mm, well...” Angie whispered, rubbing her hands. “First question, silly, silly, have you only been with girls?”

“It's an easy question,” you murmured thoughtfully. “I had some boyfriends when I was a teenager, but you could say that I have,” you answered without hesitation.

“Interesting,” Angie commented, studying your gaze. “Well, (Y/N), come on, another round.”

You laughed, arching your eyebrows at that fun game. Well, it wasn't so fun when you had defeat in front of you again.

“I have the same,” you protested at the doll's sinister laughter.

“Yeah, but my card is higher,” Angie mocked. “You lost again, silly, next question.”

“Ugh,” you complained, shaking your head. “Go.”

“Well… you said you had a boyfriend…” Angie murmured, with a more discreet tone than usual. “Have you ever touched a penis?”

“What?” you said, eyes wide, heart completely stopped. “Angie, what kind of question is that?”

“It's my question, answer it, loser,” Angie said, unfazed by what she had asked.

“Hey, that…” you whispered discreetly, looking around for more ears in the room. “That's none of your business, I'm not going to answer.”

“Coward, huh? Those are the rules, silly,” the doll said in a dark voice.

“No, not a chance,” you said, refusing flatly. “Ask something else.”

“No, I want you to answer that,” Angie said impatiently. “Come on… we're friends, friends talk about those things.”

“Angie, I don't think…” you whispered nervously, biting your tongue.

“Answer, maid, or I'll tell Donna that you think her lasagna is crap,” the puppet threatened, looking at her hands cockily. “You don't want that, do you?”

“Oh, you wouldn't dare…” you hissed, narrowing your eyes.

“Try,” the doll crooned, making you refuse again, which caused Angie to get up and walk past you. “Donna! Look what she said…!”

“Shh!” you hissed nervously, grabbing her arm and pulling her away. “Shut up, damn,” you growled, knowing you had nothing to do against her.

“Answer me,” she demanded again, freeing herself from your grip.

You growled again, squeezing your eyes tightly and rubbing them with your hand.

“Okay, okay,” you said in a discreet whisper. “I'm not going to give you a concrete answer. I just say that I experimented.”

“Oh…” Angie murmured, laughing amused. “Did you like it?”

“That's another question,” you said in a dark tone, wanting to throw the irreverent puppet into the fireplace.

“Oh, come on, you'll never win,” Angie said, leaning towards you. “You know it, look, I have all the aces.”

“Damn…” you swore. “Angie, what did I say about cheating?”

“Silly,” she mocked, making you hiss again and look away. “Come on, answer, did you like it?”

“I'm not going to answer that, what are these questions about?” you said annoyed and embarrassed.

“Curiosity,” Angie said dryly. “Come on, yes or no?”

“Ugh…” you sighed, wishing time would pass faster. “Well, it was different, but I never got as far as…”

“Would you like to do it again?” Angie asked, with a less mocking tone, as if she was serious.

“Okay, that's enough, I've played with you, now...” you said, getting up from the floor, ready to flee to Donna's company, to a shelter without Angie.

“Donna! (Y/N) doesn't like your lasagna at all!” the doll shrieked, making you grab her roughly, covering her moving mouth.

“Will you shut up? What's all this about?” you asked nervously, unable to put the pieces together in your mind, you wish you had done it before.

“If you don't answer, face the consequences,” she threatened again, making you twist your hands, imagining that between them, there was a wooden neck.

“You're...” you hissed, crossing your arms and giving up. “Well, no, Angie, I don't like boys.”

“I don't talk about stupid boys, silly,” the doll corrected, signaling you to sit back down.

Reluctantly, you obeyed, letting yourself fall to the floor.

“No? So what are you talking about?” you asked in a cold, annoyed and slightly embarrassed tone.

“You know…” Angie whispered, getting closer to your ear with a childish giggle. “Penises…”

“Ugh,” you said blushing and shaking your head.

“What if…? I don't know. If it wasn't a man, but a woman… would you like her penis?” she asked again, making you blush even more and raise your eyebrows.

“But, Angie, that's not possible, unless it's some kind of voluntary change, I once met someone who…” you explained, trying to find some rationality in that absurd conversation.

“I'm not talking about that, silly,” the doll said, interrupting you. “I'm talking to you about... well, what if it was an involuntary change?”

“Okay, I don't understand anything, what are you trying to tell me?” you asked, losing patience, finding multiple explanations in your head, some of which you didn't pay the attention they required.

“I mean, silly, silly... I'd like to know what you would think if... well, if you were in love with a woman, but she had a penis, not by her own will, but because of... the Cadou...”

“Cadou? What is that?” you asked.

“That doesn't matter now, silly, what matters is your answer,” Angie said, as if she had said something she shouldn't.

“You haven't asked any questions.”

“Because you don’t let me talk,” protested Angie. “Well, if you were in love with her, what would you do? Would you reject her just because she has a penis?”

“No, of course I wouldn’t. If I loved that woman I wouldn't care about anything else,” you answered from the heart, without even thinking about what it would imply, the meaning of those strange questions. “Seriously, what is Cadou?”

“I'm the one who asks the questions,” Angie said, with a slightly more nervous tone.

“They are very strange questions,” you said nervously, looking at the clock from time to time to end that torture.

“Don't be a whiner, come on, the last one,” the doll said, giving you a strong slap on the back. “And tell the truth, silly... I know when you lie to me.”

“How scary,”

“Shut up and answer: You love my Donna, don't you?” she asked in a low, kind tone, very different from the rest of her impertinent questions.

Of course you got nervous. The doll's statement was true, terribly correct, but you didn't know that she could even sense your feelings.

It was clear, the conversation from the night before was about you, but… if Angie wanted to know, why beat around the bush? Why such strange questions if that was what she really wanted to ask? It didn't make sense, no sense at all, unless…

“Gods, Angie, is it true? Does Donna have a…?” you asked, open-mouthed, blinking in confusion. “Gods, that's why…”

“Hey, that's not my question,” the doll protested. “I didn't say anything, do you hear me? You’re just drawing your stupid conclusions.”

“Angie, but, but, but how is that possible?” you asked curiously, stopping the doll from running away by grabbing her by the arms. “I don't understand anything.”

“I've already told you, silly, silly, when Mother Miranda adopted my Donna, her face isn't the only thing that changed,” the doll explained, then covering her mouth. “Oh, shit, I shouldn't have said that…”

“Hey, hey, wait, wait!” you said chasing Angie, who naturally ran away terrified by her mistake. “Hey, I do, I love her and I don't care about…!”

Your screams were of no use, as your mind was occupied with your thoughts. Suddenly, everything started to make sense.

The doll maker's insecurities went far beyond her face, and you had no idea. Slowly, memories of your encounters began to fall on you, encounters where Donna would always back away when your bodies got close.

It wasn't an easy issue to understand. Surely she did have feelings for you, but her insecurities were too big, how could she expect you to fall in love with her if she probably thought you wouldn't like her body?

Poor Donna, it must have been terrible for her to think that you would never love her, that all she could do was discreetly walk away when you pretended to do the opposite. How could she confess her feelings? She couldn't be hiding it from you forever and as long as you found out... well, she would think you would leave, that you would be disgusted.

The revelation was strange, yes, but it wasn't anything especially surprising in a place like that. You were totally honest with Angie, you didn't care at all. You loved her, with a scar, without a scar, with a penis or without it.

It was an important step to begin to understand her feelings, but your mind understood it as the last step, as the green signal that indicated you could run as much as you wanted, that the path was clear.

You had been wanting to declare your love for her for a long time, wanting to kiss her, to feel her. Surely that is why you decided to end the tension at that very moment, and act, to force her in a certain way to admit that she felt the same for you.

To do so you would need some improvised strategy, to rescue some of that extroverted and daring personality you once had and you knew was somewhere. In addition, you had a unique opportunity for it, a great cooking lesson.

“That's it... gently,” she indicated while you cut the dough to form some perfect lasagna sheets, with a tender smile and a subtle purr. “I know I can buy it ready-made, but I like to do it this way.”

“Mm, it's much better if you do it with your own hands, isn't it?” you asked as you shook the flour off. “I hope I'm a good student.”

“Of course you are,” Donna whispered, giving you a tender smile as she moved away from you a little, stirring the sauce. “But pasta isn't everything. The main thing for a good lasagna is the…”

The lady froze when you approached from behind, grabbing her waist to stand on tiptoe and look over her shoulder. She trembled, speechless, but she didn't move away, she didn't take your hands off her body, innocent hands with not so innocent intentions.

“Mm? What, Donna?” you asked in a honeyed voice, as she moved gracefully so your hands would move on their own, away from her.

“T-The sauce,” she said, looking away and nervously stirring the appetizing contents of the pan.

“Yeah, sure, the filling is the most important thing, isn't it?” you asked pretending to be distracted, making her blink again, nodding slowly.

“Y-Yes…” she sighed. “Look, come.”

You smiled more widely as the lady left you some space to stand next to her, pointing at the pan.

“Mm, it smells wonderful,” you sighed, getting a little closer, shamelessly invading her personal space, leaving her no room to back away. “Can I try it?”

She just nodded, watching how your body brushed against hers, how your breasts brushed her arm in an intentional movement, with the wooden spoon shaking in her hand.

“Here,” she whispered frowning and offering you the spoon.

“Can you give it to me?” you asked, blinking childishly, not looking away from her confused eye.

“Em… va bene,” she murmured, dipping the spoon into the sauce and bringing it to your mouth while you held her hands, moaning in pleasure at the taste of the meat.

“Delicious,” you whispered, licking your lips sensually and making poor Donna look away, nodding.

“Ti piace?” she asked, moving away again, pretending to look for something in a nearby cupboard.

“Mi piace, mi piace,” you answered amused, chasing her slowly, standing behind her again. “What are you looking for?”

“Um, spices, yes, spices,” she said nervously, rummaging through the drawers.

“Parsley? You've already put it, haven't you?” you asked, looking at the jar she picked up, turning her hand with yours and taking a step towards her body again, being terribly close.

“Yes, but, but…” Donna murmured, seeing how her defenses fell, how your proximity completely deactivated her, just as you expected. “It's just that…”

Without thinking twice, you acted, directly, forcefully, bringing your lips closer to hers, catching them in a sweet, but deep kiss, which made the lady in black drop the jar as your lips consumed hers.

You pulled away with a curious look, seeing how her eye was wide open and her jaw dropped. She wasn't able to say or do anything, it seemed like she had been paralyzed. You could take advantage of that.

“Donna, the parsley,” you said pointing to the floor and bending down in front of her to pick up the jar, going up slowly, very slowly. “Be more careful, it could have broken,” you whispered, with a smug smile, handing the parsley to the motionless lady and moving away to leave her alone, at least for a moment.

It was the best kiss of your life, but it was also one that got no response. You fought inside yourself not to kneel down and confess your love, not to repeat the wet actions of your lips again.

You decided to tone down the euphoria a bit and continue cooking as if nothing had happened. Donna was nervous, terribly nervous, but she tried by all means not to lose her composure.

That lunch was the most tense of your life.

Silence reigned as always, but the looks were different. A tender smile decorated your face as she watched you, trying to decipher your actions, the reason for that stolen, treacherous kiss.

She didn't say anything, but neither did you, at least until, after eating, you decided to continue with your approaches, taking advantage of the fact that the lady was trying to distract herself by reading on the sofa.

You sat very close to her, her dress brushing against yours and, comically, she cleared her throat, moving away a little, but being chased by you until she was cornered.

Suddenly Donna put her book aside and sighed, looking at you briefly and shaking her head.

“Why did you do it?” she asked with a hoarse voice, a nervous whisper.

“What?” you asked, pretending to be confused, playing seductively with your hair.

“You kissed me,” she murmured after a few seconds of silence, avoiding looking you in the eyes. “Why did you do it?”

“You didn’t like it?” you asked, pouting. “Because I think you did…”

“I asked first, (Y/N),” Donna said, in a stern tone, frowning as she clenched the fabric of the couch in her fists.

“I don't know, I wanted to know how your lips felt,” you purred, resting your head on your hand. “I've been wondering that for a long time.”

“So, so... what's your verdict?” the lady asked shyly, slowly falling into your trap.

“Mm, I don't know. Maybe I'll have to give you another one to check it out,” you joked, getting closer again while she laughed shyly, with an obvious blush on her cheeks. “Unless you didn't like it.”

“I...” Donna murmured, shaking her head and closing her eye tightly. “I-I wouldn't mind if you kissed me again.”

“Mm, okay,” you said amused, getting closer to her lips, kissing them softly, letting her hands caress your face while she experimented, caressing you with her lips in a tender, but shaky way.

“W-Wait, (Y/N),” she said, slowly moving away and brushing your hair away from your face. “We shouldn't do this.”

“Why?” you asked in a more serious tone, far from joking. “Donna, I'm tired of enduring this tension between us... I know you feel the same way as I do... You can't refuse to admit it.”

“You're my maid, and it's not right,” she said, crossing her arms with a nervous gasp, looking at you comically out of the corner of her eye.

“It's not because of that, and you know it,” you said, taking her hand and pulling it towards you. “Donna, why do you insist on hiding?”

“(Y/N), look, maybe, maybe you're right and maybe I'm... madly in love with you, but it can't be possible,” Donna finally acknowledged, squeezing your hand in hers. “Don't ask why, tesoro, just... just accept it, okay?”

“No, I don't accept it,” you said seriously, with a brusque tone. “Stop hiding, my love… I, listen, I…”

“You don't understand, you're not capable of understanding it,” she hissed, moving away from you and passing a hand over her forehead.

“Kiss me again, Donna, please…” you begged, pushing away her fears, confusing her again with a deep kiss, one that she returned as you noticed how a tear ran down her cheek.

It was a different kiss, wilder, deeper, one that silenced the voices in her mind, that fear she had of not being loved, those insecurities. Your hands went to her face, to her hair; they went down her body slowly, not giving her time to think about what you were doing.

She stopped, but only for an instant, before continuing with those panting, hungry kisses, while your hand rested on her leg, moving up little by little.

“Basta, basta,” the doll maker said pulling away and placing a hand on your wrist. “Don't go on, per favore,”she sighed, embarrassed.

“Donna, stop... being afraid,” you whispered, wiping away one of her tears, hissing at the brunette's grip on your wrist. “Listen to me, I know everything, I know why you hide, I know why you ran away from me when I came near, I know why you deny yourself the desire you have to love me…”

“What? How do you…? Ugh, cazzo…” she hissed, pulling away and getting up from the couch. -Angie, vieni qui!”

“Shh, it's okay, Donna,” you said, lowering her back onto the couch little by little while she trembled in embarrassment. “She just wanted to help you.”

“Help me? But you, you know it and…” she stammered, breathing heavily.

“I'm here, kissing you, don't you see, darling?” you asked, caressing her cheek, guiding her to look at you. “Donna, I don't care, I love you just the way you are.”

“It wasn't my fault, it wasn't my fault!” she screamed furiously, while you fought against her demons.

“Shh, I know, I know,” you whispered affectionately, nodding slowly. “I know, Donna…”

“I didn't want this to happen to me… I just wanted to have someone, a family… to stop being the crazy Donna Beneviento but… I, I became a… a mons…”

“No, don't even think about saying that,” you cut her off abruptly. “You're a wonderful woman, Donna, you really are and I… I love you, I love you and nothing can change that, nothing, do you hear me?”

“But I'm not what you're looking for,” she protested, shaking her head.

“Mm, do you even know what I'm looking for?” you asked amused, making her laugh shyly. “No, right? Then… let's stop fooling around, stop holding back, stop being afraid and let us to love each other.”

“(Y/N)…” Donna sighed, unable to stop your lips, which silenced hers again while your hand returned to the desired place, caressing her leg slowly, following the rhythm of her kisses.

“Shh, don't talk. Let our bodies do it,” you purred in her ear, pushing her chest gently so that her back rested on the couch.

Everything was already said, everything was clear, she loves you, you loved her, there was only one last thing left to do: an act of love, an act that would demonstrate the reality of your words, of your feelings.

Kisses began to calm the silence, small gasps replaced her complaints and fears and her hands lost control, wandering over your dress, grabbing your back, pulling you closer, much closer.

Your legs climbed over her hips as you fought the gasps, her wandering hands clawing, clinging to your clothes. Your mischievous hand moved up her leg, making her breathing quicken as you approached her shame.

You laughed on her lips as your fingers ran over her covered, but very noticeable erection. There was no doubt that she wanted it, that she wanted you in a wild way, you didn't know to what extent she did.

“You're beautiful,” you whispered to calm her nerves, to let the caresses on her dress not be uncomfortable, but quite the opposite.

She didn't answer, she looked at your hand with doubts, but it didn't take long for her to kiss you again, to stop thinking, to let herself be carried away by all those longed-for sensations. Not afraid to go fast, to quench the thirst for love that your body had throughout that year, you continued to stimulate her little by little, grabbing her gently, causing terribly erotic moans to vibrate on your lips.

“Wait,” the lady said, nervous and excited, when your hand went inside her skirt to free her shaft and expose it to you. “Wait…”

“Shh, allow me,” you said putting a finger on her lips while your hand did its job, freeing her hard erection, making you feel her hot skin between your fingers. “I know I'm going fast, but I can't hold back the desire to love you… Oh, wow, not bad,” you said amused, looking down while your hand made soft movements up and down.

“Don't look at it,” she complained, looking away, closing her eyes to avoid seeing your lustful actions.

“Donna, you're perfect, your whole body is perfect and I want it,” you said sweetly, knowing that she wouldn't be able to complete that impure act and freeing yourself from your own underwear, climbing a further on her body.

“(Y/N), I…” Donna said, enduring the pleasure of your fingers caressing the tip, of the soft and inexperienced movements you made to align her erection with your wet entrance.

“Shh…” you moaned again, letting the heat of her shaft pass to your entrance, to rub against it, to play cruelly with it until you lowered your body slowly, introducing it inside you and closing your eyes at the sensation.

“Oddio…” the lady moaned as she felt how she slid into you, how your walls, so unaccustomed to it, adapted as you lowered yourself more and more, until she was completely inside. “Così buono…”

“Mm,” you moaned, enduring that discomfort you felt at the intrusion, dancing slowly, very slowly on her hips. “Oh, Donna… it's just perfect.”

“Can you move? Please,” she asked you, trembling with the pleasure of feeling your warmth, of being inside you in a unique and special way.

You nodded once your body got completely used to it, going up and down, feeling how it slid, how the hands of the shy and insecure Donna traveled to your hips, marking the rhythm of your movements.

“Yes, Donna…” you moaned, feeling an overwhelming heat, pleasurable and unmatched sensations, dancing, going up, going down, squeezing her erection with your slippery walls, accompanying those obscene sounds with soft moans.

You had wanted to do something like that for a long time, wanting to give yourself completely to Donna, no matter how. The pleasure you felt was shocking, unbearable at a certain point, especially when the soft movements of her hips began to get out of control.

Her shaft throbbed inside you, calling, demanding a release that you complied with by pulling back, trembling, squeezing her inside you with a moan that was going to traumatize the elusive Angie.

“(Y/N), I can't… hold it…” Donna moaned, her nails digging into your skin, just before her own release erupted inside you, warming you up, covering you with the wet caress of her seed. “Oh, cazzo…”

“Wow, that was fast,” you joked, moving with her still inside you, giving her a soft kiss on the lips.

“I'm sorry, I…” she said, visibly embarrassed.

“Don't worry, Donna, I was saying it to me too. I think we've been hiding what we felt for a long time,” you replied, caressing her cheek

“Yes, we have…”

#donna beneviento #donna beneviento x reader #re8 donna #re8 village #oneshot #requests

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musee-de-muse · 2 days ago

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The Sightless Eye

DWC November 2024

Day 3: Morose/Strength

OC: Cassiopia Dawnbrook, Quel'dorei

((Cassie has lived in my head a long time, doing mage stuff in Dalaran - the 'forever student', hungry for ever-more knowledge. TWW has changed that, and I've put off writing about her anger and confusion in the days after the fall of Dalaran for long enough!))

@daily-writing-challenge

Was this what the fall of Quel'thalas had been like?

Cassiopia had been in Dalaran even then – spared the horrors of that fateful day, the sight of her people's blood running red in the streets, the shambling corpses ravaging the delicate beauty of her beloved homeland - and there had always been a part of her that had felt... guilty. Less than. She should have been there to help with whatever spells she'd have had at the time.

She should have been there - if only to suffer alongside everyone else.

But she knew, now, with Dalaran crumbled into little more than inert dust lost to the tides... it wouldn't have mattered. She wouldn't have been able to help. Nothing would be different, now, if she'd been there when it had all came tumbling down.

Cassie knew, because it hadn't mattered in Dalaran, either. The memories dogged her every footstep.

She'd known the instant that Dalaran's inherent arcane flow was disrupted... every enchanted item in the room falling dead, her light blue eyes going wide with the instantaneous knowledge that nothing that could alter Dalaran's inherent arcane flow like this could be easily dealt with. Dalaran's arcane flow – it's... what, lifeblood? Life force, in a sense – that which held the city together, and floating... the very essence of Dalaran was... leaking? No... being hungrily siphoned. It was a different sensation than the magic spent to move the city; there is a difference between a blood-letting, and a gushing wound, after all.

She had burst forth, staff in hand, robe swirling around her legs – blonde hair piled atop her head bouncing with the rush of movement - confident that it was a threat that Dalaran could handle, as the people of this grand city had so many times before – and had been faced with spiders bigger than the buildings around her.

The thing was... for all the power within her, for all her years and years of study? Knowing how to cast a fireball, or an ice lance? Those things were different than the visceral reality of combat – she enjoyed her scholarly pursuits – the unending journey for ever more knowledge. Being up to her eyeballs in tomes, the scratching of quills, the unearthing of knowledge that tested both her mind and the magic her little body had always buzzed with too much of.

And now that was an issue as well – not only had she lost her home of many years, many friends, a way of life, and so on... she'd always had an issue with her own flow of magic. It meant she was powerful, but it was a deadly sort of boon; it was more of a curse than a blessing, to be constantly on the edge of... overloading with magic, to put it simply. The arcane power building within her painfully, practically leaking out of her, she'd had help in Dalaran... and ways in which to constantly bleed that magic off. Whether it was in aid of another in the city, or simply dumping power into a myriad of enchanted objects to animate them, or crafting magic items, or her work in inscription... channeling magic into the written word – there had never been a shortage of ways to burn off her magic, and there had always been a scholar, or master of the magical around to ask for assistance or advice about the situation.

It still clung to her - that sorrow and anger and helplessness - all these weeks later, and Cassiopia kept finding herself at the shore, staring up at the one, broken tower left of her once-grandiose-home, the tightness in her chest threatening to choke her... and the magic within her close to the boiling point.

So she let it out – the arcane explosion loosed on a cry both mournful, and furious – the energy erupting in a wide, violet circle around her. Seagulls dropped dead, crabs lay still in the sand, and even the flora seemed too cowed to stand back up – the very waves, themselves, pushed back for an instant with the magnitude of the power released... but it was impotent, all the same. The Elf could not change what happened. She could not turn back time – at least not to that degree – nor could she wrap her pale, manicured little fingers around the throat of the vile creature that had done this to her beloved home.

She would never see the Violet Citadel ever again.

All that knowledge. All Dalaran had stood for. All the ancient, powerful artifacts. Even the dangerous criminals of the Violet Hold could be wandering these isles, or causing havoc elsewhere on Azeroth, now. There was no going home – not to Dalaran, anyways – and perhaps there would be those who scoffed, and pointed her back to Quel'thalas, and she did love her homeland. But Dalaran had been as much home – and at times more like home – than Quel'thalas. She'd loved the variety of the city's denizens, and how they'd all come together... who cared if you were a Gnome, Elf, Human, or Orc? Knowledge was a great uniter of peoples – and all the city had held, all it had stood for, all it meant to every person who had lived there?

Gone in an instant.

But the Sin'dorei had risen from the ashes, when all hope had seemed lost; even now, they still swept away the signs of Arthas' devastation – grimly determined to reclaim hearth and home - and peace of mind - in their own homes. The Kirin Tor could, too. The peoples of Dalaran – be they scholar, baker, or belly-dwelling rogue – would not be scattered to the winds, cowed by the unknown.

They were seekers of knowledge, after all – and they might mourn the history and homes lost, but they would uncover the truth, and make that creature pay for what it had taken from the world... or they would gladly die trying.

It was time, perhaps, for the practical application of all those years of study – and a special, concerted effort in an altogether new study: that of the most effective way to crush a spider as big as an elekk.

#dwc2024 #novemberdwc2024 #wow oc #wow rp #world of warcraft roleplay #world of warcraft rp #sin'dorei #quel'dorei #dalaran #the war within #the war within my TINY MAGE - she has had no reason to throw a fireball yet... but she will gladly become pest control this xpac #(technically she'd be Quel'dorei but she thinks the distinction is stupid -#- her family are considered Sin'dorei... but how is that any different from the Quel'dorei they used to be? They're the exact same people.)#anyways she loves her people and she loves Quel'thalas and all... but she misses Dalaran something awful #one day I'll actually RP her even ; ;

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ms-oswald · 2 days ago

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homesick | chapter two

author's note: aaaand chapter two is here! another long one (sorry, not sorry lol). 18+ MDNI. Sending all my love to @persephones-journey, thank yoou for being my second pair of eyes! ❤️ banner credit to @arcielee 💜 Lots of love & stay safe 💕

“Kára?”

The roughness of battle suddenly vanished, the sight of an old friend gracing relief into his muscles.

“If it isn’t my favorite Irishman.” A grin stretched into her cheeks, light steps pushing her to him as he got up from his seat and met her halfway, the alehouse rowdy and curious as eyes peered over to them.

“Who is the woman?” The youngest of Uhtred’s men, a gentle monk, leaned closer to his friends as he whispered while his view remained on the couple.

“She is one of Ragnar’s men.” Uhtred had taken the lead on answering, his own blue hues set on them. “A seafarer.” A slight smirk had crossed the side of his lips as well, a sense of contentment at seeing his closest friend ease a little; Finan had reached out for her, gingerly holding her hand with their fingertips timidly tied together as they laid above the ground.

She noticed a tired look in his eyes; she placed her other hand to his cheek, stroking his skin tenderly before pulling him away and out of the alehouse.

A few feet away, settling in a calmer air, he looked back at her. Though his heart swelled to her presence, he remained curious – and partly hopeful. “What are you doing here?”

“Are you not happy to see me?” She teased, bumping his shoulder and catching a glimpse of his chuckle. She proceeded, her lighter tone softening. “I heard about what happened with the brothers... I came to see if you had survived.”

He sighed, a grim look flashing across his irises; even in the dim light around them, she could see something was not right. There was anger, fear, grief – exhaustion. He wore them heavy on his shoulders and her heart broke.

“How long are ya here for?” He had taken the smallest of steps, head down as he held her hand again, suddenly needy for her touch. It had been some years since they last saw each other – since she had left after helping Ragnar defeat Kjartan. He had mourned her departure once, and knew it were to happen again as she was a fleeting form, a nomadic essence that was never meant to be rooted into the ground, her breath wedded to the sea.

And so, his inquiry would need to become an iterant quest for their time to come.

She placed her hand to his cheek. “I can stay for a couple of nights, leave the day after tomorrow...” She softly replied, worry etched onto the creases above her brows.

He leaned into her touch, kissing the heel of her palm as he exhaled a faint smile of gratitude.

She then pulled him out of his thoughts, her fingers playfully rubbing at his shaven scalp while taunting him with an exaggerated disapproving look. “What am I supposed to grab onto now?”

A low laughter rippled from beneath his chest, an easy beam glowing under moonlight.

He leaned towards her, whispering teasingly into her ear. “I don’t remember ya having any issues last time. I still have your nail marks on my back, Love.”

She bit her inner cheek, attempting to hide her blush, and slapped him on his chest playfully. “I guess you will have to refresh my memory.”

A chuckle rumbled the back of his throat as he kissed her cheek, reaching the corner of her lips.

He broke the embrace, locking eyes with her while she tiptoed around the arm ring he wore on his right side, her fingertips grazing gently over the piece of jewelry before they slithered down to his wrist and hand.

“Does Ragnar know you are here?”

She smirked. “Jealous now?” She bit her bottom lip, her head tilted sideways as faint mirth reached the green specks in her eyes. “As far as I know, he doesn’t.” She took a closer step, the tip of her boots touching his own, and lifted herself on her toes, hovering over his breath. “Like I said, I was just passing through to see you.” She eyed him intently, adding jest into her words. “It would have been devastating losing out on such a good friend.” She tapped his chest to her last words, and lingered.

He grabbed the hand that rested on him as he spoke. “A friend or a hump?”

She extended her play, pretending to think seriously over her answer as she pursed her lips. It earned her another of his infamous smirk, the creases to his cheeks welcomed.

She sobered up, nodding curtly. “Both.”

Another vibration across his lungs, a gentle chortle escaped him as he shook his head. “It’s really good to see you.”

“And darling, it is good to be seen!” She took his hand and tugged him her way. “Now lead me to your home. I am exhausted and need a bed!”

“Alright, alright.” The crinkle to his cheeks remained with his grin unwavering to her presence. He pulled her the opposite way, the couple scurrying away from the lights and from the dwindling drunken people as he led her to his place.

It was a quaint home, comfortable enough to house one person.

She walked around, glancing to every corner of the open space, taking in the sight while he stayed behind to lock his door.

He then turned and silently watched her, trying to catch her in the dim light peering through his windows.

A mind of its own, his body moved forward, his feet marching towards her until he stood behind her. She sensed him and smiled as his arms slid around her stomach, pulling her firmly against his chest.

She closed her eyes and fell into his embrace, the tip of his nose stroking her temple into her hair as he inhaled; the faint scent of salty waters sent shivers down his spine, the bittersweet aroma curling into the pit of his stomach as he tightened his hold around her. He trailed down behind her ear and her neck, taking in her presence by way of his other senses, un-relying on his sight as his shut hues stayed in the dark.

Her breathing steadily grew heavier to the feel of his caress traipsing down her stomach. He quietly reached the laces of her trousers, swiftly undoing them before his fingers slipped underneath the fabric.

She sighed, her head falling backward against his shoulder. She then tilted to the right, hugging his arm with her teeth grazing the muscles; her mouth was slightly parted in pleasure, the dexterous fingers toying with her wantonly.

“I missed ya...” He breathed, air fanning over her blushing cheek. “I missed having ya around.”

She tried to regain her composure, her hazels catching the shy glimmer of the moonlight onto the floor.

She huffed a smile, a lopsided curve etched into a smirk. “As a friend, or a hump?” She called back, playing.

He took a moment, following into her footstep as he teased her; a slight pressure to his grasp, he heard the faintest of whimper before answering, the cheeky grin smug behind her.

“Both.”

The skin of his teeth scratched her earlobe, an overlay to his ministrations as he listened to her soft panting, her chest heaving from the growing warmth underneath her breastbone.

She cursed under her breath, a strained giggle shaking her tongue at his answer before calling out for him.

“Finan...”

“Mhmm?” He mumbled, sweetly kissing the column of her neck.

“We’re in the dark...”

She attempted once again to gain control of herself, desperately wanting to focus on her thoughts.

He did not relent, purposely continuing with his diligent work. “I know.”

A faint titter tickled his ear. “Do you not want to look at me, is that it? Have I grown hideous since last we saw each other?” She patted his cheek, signaling him to stop. He breathed out as she turned in his arms, rolling her eyes in amusement at his inflated disappointing gaze. “We’ll have all night for some fun.”

She parted from his embrace with her arms stretched behind her back, a coy glimmer sparkling in her hues. “Come on, get a fire started – give me some heat, and when you are done, I’ll be ready and completely bare, waiting for you in your bed.”

He let a soft groan out and yanked her back into his arms before catching her lips into his own, granting himself a firm kiss – a tale for more, before once again pulling away.

He turned to his hearth while she moved to his bed and started to undress herself until she reached her shift. She left it on as she took a seat on the bed, waiting for Finan to join her.

Once he finished tending to his task, he turned to Kára and found her waiting for him.

“I thought you said ya’d be naked?” He bit his lip into a lopsided smirk, eyeing the way the thin material of her shirt proudly displayed her cleavage down to the way she had crossed her legs, purposely hiding herself away from him.

He swallowed the sudden saliva coating his inner cheeks, mouthwatering at the sight, body thrumming at the thought of what awaited him.

She stood up, hands behind her back as she glanced downwards at herself before lifting her head to him, a bold glimmer settling across her features, her silent invitation. “How about instead, I give you the joy of ripping this off of me. Have you work for it.”

“So thoughtful of ya.” He followed her pace, tagging along as he closed in the distance, teasing with a hand to his chest at pretend gratification. “I really appreciate it.”

He took one more step as she extended her hand towards him, grasping his shirt. He chased the motion and pulled her in his arms before tipping her way, ghosting his lips over hers until they firmly pressed.

He then cupped her cheeks, holding her gently as he deepened the caress. The strokes were gentle – sickeningly sweet to a roaming eye, as she sunk into the way the ale was coating his tongue; she had felt it heavy in the warmth of his breath, and how the taste lingered – bittersweet.

She let him hold on to her as she reached for the layers of clothes that covered him still; they only parted for the second she removed his shirt, the item thrown carelessly onto the ground before her arms rested back around his shoulders, searching for the delectable kiss in candlelight.

Catering to both their needs for closeness, he swiftly lifted her up, her legs encircling his waist as he moved them closer to his bed.

He lingered at the edge, simply standing as she held on for dear life, her nails softly digging into his jaw and cheeks.

Without letting her go, he eventually took his seat and settled her on his lap. He let himself fall within the warmth of her embrace, to the way she wrapped around him, seeking air from his lungs as he searched for peace. An urgent need rummaged into his chest, a shovel digging for anything but death and war – a lost treasure.

She felt a tightened hold about her waist, fingers clutching at the fabric of her shift; an unsettled feeling stroked beneath her breastbone as she pulled away, silently catching her breath.

“What’s wrong?” An affectionate touch spread across his cheeks as worry raised into the softened streams of her hazels.

“Nothing.” He breathed out, locking his gaze onto hers.

She pulled back and saw the lie trembling within the depth of his hues; they were at a standstill as she observed him.

He had tried to look away, a sudden shyness creeping up in the pit of his stomach but she stopped him, fingertips to his beard as she tilted forward and gently brushed her nose to his.

She gifted him a tender kiss and whispered closely, catching the glimmer of the hearth in his brown eyes.

“Finan... Let me take care of you.”

He could only stare at her, her words slowly settling within his teared down mind. He couldn’t muster a response, his only source of communication the careful gestures he bestowed upon her form.

She slowly pushed him to lie down and hovered above him while still holding onto each other’s sight.

She took a moment, her nails lightly grazing at his beard. She wore a simple smile, a small pull from the corner of her lips as she lowered herself towards him. Another kiss across the pink of his skin, he kept her unmoving as he caught her with his arms around her body, hands slipping down her back. She teased him, faintly rolling her hips and earned a muffled grunt from the back of his throat; she repeated the movement once again, the pressure tightening between her thighs.

She then hid her face in his neck, keeping up with her pampered touch as she found the ties of his pants.

Feeling the slip of her hand between their bodies, he helped her undress him by kicking off his boots and pulling down his trousers. She was slowly slithering down, mouth to skin as she trailed pecks down his chest. She discarded his last piece of clothing, finding herself at the edge of his bed.

He waited for the mattress to dip again, his eyes to the ceiling before he leaned on his elbows and watched her stare back at him. She was biting down her inner lip and took a moment as she reached for her shift, removing it and baring herself in front of him as he was.

He sat up, drawn forward by his own enthrallment, his breath stuck within the confines of his lungs.

He stretched his arm, grabbing her fingertips and tugged her his way until she stood between his legs. She looked down at the way his beard scratched her stomach as he pressed soft kisses to her flesh. She bit down her bottom lip, hands holding the back of his head while feeling his own trailing down her back to her cheeks and thighs.

He inhaled deeply, the subtle scent coating her skin sweetly intoxicating him, lulling him further into distraction.

She caught his attention as she slowly pulled away from his squeeze. He raised his head to her, his gaze shadowing her movement as she lowered herself to the ground.

A shaky breath escaped his parted mouth, titillated by the way she presented herself to him; her palms rubbed against his thighs as she kneeled before him, her chin upwards. He glanced down at the swell of her breasts before meeting her eyes, enraptured by the honeyed glow of her irises, the darken room inexistent under her colors.

His stare was unbendable as he intently watched her with a dry throat.

A violent groan rasped passed his lips, his head tilted back as he gripped his sheets. He cursed, his lungs tied to the weight in his chest, with her name slipping in a strained echo within the walls of his rooms.

She anchored herself with her nails carved into his hips, the ploy performed by her tongue seducing gluttonous breath out of his slacked jaw, his whimpered string of profanities – a sweet melody to her ears.

Enraptured by the way she suctioned her cheeks, keeping him wet and warm, he grabbed her curls, forcing dishevelment amongst her braids as he tensed, his head falling back in pure pleasure.

He was tied down by her chords, sinful vibrations passing through her swollen lips as her own carnal ache thrummed between her thighs. She became a prayer intertwined into his marrow, her name smothered under tantalizing heat.

She sought his pleasure continuously, unrelenting as every twist and twirl of her tongue, the sliver of graze from her teeth, earned her grunted blasphemies from his mouth, hisses and hitched exhales into the thick air around them.

Ignoring the simmering bruises to her knees, she felt him tense, his grip tightening as he looked down, his hues struck by her wanton teasing; he let go, submerged under ecstasy as a hefty exhalation rapidly escaped his lungs.

He fell back onto the bed, catching his breath while running a hand down his flushed face.

He felt her slip away and shifted his gaze to her climbing back onto the mattress, finding her seat as she straddled his lap. She kept her eyes on him, cleaning the corners of her mouth with her fingertips. He sat back up, arms snaked around her waist while closely watching the way she licked her lips, a silent swallow gracing her ears.

He quickly claimed her reddened flesh, latching on lustfully. She felt him twitch underneath her, the taste of himself across her tongue igniting his desire anew.

He engulfed her breath, holding hostage every drop of her taste for his own, a primal need that burned within his very core and kept her slightly lightheaded while still grounding her to his strokes.

His hands slithered to her back, pushing her firmly with her breasts in heated friction against his chest; a muffled moan slipped away from her, the contact enticing as it burrowed into the pit of her stomach, forcing a clench between her legs.

She barely broke away from him as she slid her right arm down his stomach to their joint hips. A light gasp fanned across her swollen lips as he felt her gently stroke him while she leaned on her bruised knees, high enough to graze herself against him.

Mouth ajar, a strained moan fumbled at the back of her throat, the teasing touch causing shivers to violently scrape her bare skin. The thicker the pressure at her hips, her head instinctively fell back,

She glanced down to catch him staring at her just as she slowly sunk onto him, the thickening pressure increasing at her hips and causing a twist in her voice as she called for him, cursing his name unabashedly.

He stilled, taking in the way unadulterated pleasure etched beautifully across her features, flushed and whimpering. His heartbeat deafening him to the sound of his own exhales, his body trembled under such weight, lechery at its finest in this night.

She settled back onto his lap, her bruised joints finding comfort resting on the sheets.

Hitched breath tickled his lips, warmth spread across a she took a moment of enjoyment, the feel to be back in his arms this way maddening.

He searched for her lips, capturing them then as she timidly tilted her hips. She listened to his panting, the stuttered groan grasping at his throat while he pressed her further against him, every piece of her fitting within him.

They took their time, the thrusts gentle as stolen kisses and rough skin strokes were in precedence; she needed his attention, to bask in thrill amidst the tragedy hanging above him, puppet strings cutting into his flesh.

She knew he was keeping it together for appearances – from the moment she greeted him this night, she could see a darken shadow suffocating him, drowning in eyes, his posture, his shoulders. The fury, grief and exhaustion were simple friends as they held hands.

The desire to digress from such gloomy depth and lure him into her arms, lovers delight seeping through careful gestures and sound; it was the soft call of his name, the gentle ‘Look at me’ from her lips to his, to the breathless ‘Touch me' as she guided his hands along her form, the heat in his palms raising her skin from her breasts down her waist, and down her back.

He continued of his own accord, carving her flesh into his creases, pleasure thriving beneath his fingertips.

She held his gaze in fervent strength, a lustre of vulnerability crossing over their bare flesh. They latched onto one another, the ombre swirling between her brightened hazel to his darker hue; they were unrelenting, stubborn – a sliver of obsession, a shadow of possession, rooted into their frantic embrace, the tied threads simmering, humming to every thrust, every crescent, every drip sliding down limb to limb.

She slowly felt overpowered under the weight of his stare, her body trembling – resonating against his touch. Her pace quickened, the friction between their hips ceaseless, delectable. And she was cursing sweet nothings between their lips, the letters of his name sculpted into her chords, a lust-filled melody haunting his ears.

Overwhelmed, her head dropped backwards, her chest following as she anchored herself to him, her left arm grasping his shoulder while the other fell to his leg.

She stayed in his view, watching as she submerged under their pooling pleasure, seeking the rushed waves as adrenaline pumped through her veins.

He tightened his hold on her and swiftly pivoted, landing her on her back as he hovered over her.

She gasped, taken aback as he took over without interruption, the strokes consuming and hips rutting in greed.

He pressed his forehead to hers, warm breaths mingling in heavy steps as his hands wandered – a must – until their fingers interlaced. Comfort waved through, her surreal presence settling into his reality the way a breath of fresh air seeks lungs for nestling.

He hadn’t realized how much he had missed her – the sound of her voice singing into his ears, the softness of her skin rubbing lovingly against his calloused tone, the depth of her gaze always searching for his even under the cover of darkness.

He caught her lips, stealing kisses every chance he got as he still held her underneath him, hips bruising – yearning.

He was pursuing her shadow, despair clawing at him knowing she was a temporary presence; his muscles tensed as his mind dragged him back to their separated time. The sudden restlessness that was roaming in the pit of his stomach crept back ever so slowly, every moan rolling down her tongue a knock into reality.

She had become an unexpected presence in his life, an unintentional friend – an emblem to the freedom he had been given. She was entwined into the cracks of him, pulling him together into a state of perpetual hope, solace, forthcoming by her reappearances.

He savored the thrusts, the appetite euphoric with her clinging to him as if afraid to let go – the thought of parting from him, of losing his warmth as he filled her lasciviously left her delirious over the nights she had ached for him, over the years and oceans that separated them.

Her muffled moan snaked across his tongue, inciting a groan as he deepened their kiss, the brushes languid as his hand rested on her throat, thumb to chin as to tilt to the angle he wanted. He then trailed down her neck, swollen lips tender against her skin while the trim of his beard scratched her carelessly.

Her eyes rolled to the back of her head while she tightened her legs around his hips, falling into an utter state of bliss. He felt her body quiver as her nails dug into his waist – shivers ran down his spine, his pace faltering until he slowed down and lingered, taking his time, relishing in the sweet ecstasy coating them longingly.

He lied on top of her, hiding in her neck while her breath lingered by his ear, her thighs lazily resting by his hips, caving under pressure, and her fingers grazing his back soothingly.

She inclined her head his way, closing her eyes for the moment as to enjoy the simplicity of their position – the way the weight of his body fit with ease over her own. She felt the press of his lips atop the glistened layer of her skin, a tender gesture he trailed along her shoulder.

Reaching the end, he pulled away and slowly slid to her left while she pulled the disheveled sheets and fur around them, the fire still bright as it heated his room. She then shifted in her seat as she stretched her legs, wanting to nestle closely to him. She laid on her back, his arm around her with her left elbow lazily bent, her fingertips feathers above him.

Finan could feel the heaviness on his shoulders partially drifting away, a faint sense of ease covering him; it was the pant heaving from her chest that soothed him, her presence an everlasting solace. He mindlessly played with her hair, fingers lumpish within the entangled locks while caressing her head.

He was staring at his ceiling, lost in thought while his exhales steadied, the rush of adrenaline dissipating into the beads of sweat across his bare flesh.

He felt her slip her fingers through his, silently searching for his hand to hold. He let her, his right arm following the movement as she brought his knuckles to her lips. He smiled, squeezing his hold on her and tilted slightly, his nose stroking her hair before kissing her sweetly.

She moved again, gently enough to press herself further to his waist. He set a soft breath out, a burgeoning need to never let her go settling into his core – despite knowing it was futile.

“Where are ya headed next?” The gruffness in his voice pulled her back to reality, his question a slight tug at her heart.

She sighed quietly, her gaze unfocused. “Irland... I owe my father a visit.” She started tracing patterns over his chest, pensive. “Have you ever thought of going back?

The silence was cut short, the minute dropping as he took his time to answer.

“I haven’t really... I don’t think I’ll ever see it again.”

She frowned and shifted to lean on her elbow, her eyes finding his. “Why not? It’s your home, is it not?” Genuine curiosity prickling at her brow.

He was caressing her arm, his right still placed around her as he moved his own left to rest behind his head. “Not anymore... Coccham is my home now.”

She took on the dramatics, an exaggerated groan shaking her tongue. “Ugh, but Irland is so much better!” She coaxed a smile out of him, her playful whining earning a soft laughter. He patted her arm and turned away, his hues facing the top of his home once again, the grin fading.

“There are days where I wonder about it, but... not enough to want to go back.” She listened, watching the somber expression heavy on his features. He tilted his eyes back to her once again. “There is nothing left there for me anymore. I was a warrior until I wasn’t.”

She lingered across the faint anguish coloring the depth of his browns; she could sense he wanted to change the subject, the dismissive tone laced in his lilt giving her a nudge.

A weak bite into her inner lip, he moved to stroke her cheek, sweeping strands away to rest behind her ear. She slid closer to him, hovering above and leaned down to share the tender kiss – a moment of peace passing through them, her questioning of his motherland turning to dust.

“What of ya?” He retraced her lips, his callused thumb enjoying the smoothness of her skin.

She puckered the muscles, pecking his touch quickly before following with an answer.

“My family may have settled there after leaving Norway, but Irland is not my home. And Coccham is definitely not it either.”

He chuckled, his arm falling down as she leaned on her elbow once more. “I have never truly thought of it, really. A home... I just know I never was one for land, and farming and everything in between.”

Restless, she switched positions again, lying back down as Finan followed, facing her while she took her turn to gaze upwards.

Her words dug from the underground an inaudible inquiry – an opaque wondering, a glimpse into a scenario that could never be, a drawing settling into his mind for a split of a second.

“Ya never thought of settling down?” Kára was young, her future ahead of her – the smallest piece of his shadow pondered if she had even thought about such a path.

“I don’t think it was ever meant for me.” She turned her head to look at him, catching his stare as she responded, a layer of improbability stuck to the back of her throat. “I was born on a ship in the middle of nothing but water... and just maybe that is why I could never settle.” A lopsided grin, ever so timid, rose to her cheek. “Or at least that is what my father says of me – that I am a true seafarer. A true daughter of Njörd.”

“And what do you say of yourself?” He had moved his arm over her stomach, palm stroking her sweetly, warmth spreading to both bodies.

She contemplated, taking a moment before meeting him with a mischievous glint in her hazels.

“That this traveler needs to ride out the sea.”

He matched her smirk, his lips stretching as he teased. “I can help with that.”

She played along, expressing disbelief to his proposal. “I don’t think so. Your Irish waters are weak. I need something stronger-” Her tone dropped, seduction rising as it slipped down her tongue, warm breath tickling him. “-robust. Rough.”

He startled her, earning a squeal as he leaped to hover above her and pinning her arms above her head; a light laughter followed, amused by his sudden change in behavior.

He lowered closer to her, parting her thighs with his knee as he pressed himself against her breasts, re-awakening temptation into their midst. He trailed one hand down her form, resting it below her hips with his eyes never leaving hers as he took in the way her mouth parted, a hitched breath floating between them.

She arched her back slightly, a teasing gesture earning a bite from his lips, taunting her.

“We should prepare ya for a storm then.”

He spent the next morning with his head between her thighs, stirred by having woken up with her pressed comfortably against his chest.

It had followed with a slow roll out of bed, Kára pushing Finan to break his fast while she had remained distant, her own plans in their finishing touches.

She then walked to the great hall, finding him sitting with Uhtred and Gisela, calmly chatting with their plates and cups slowly emptying.

She took her place behind her friend and placed her hands on his shoulders as she tilted her head towards Uhtred.

“I am taking him for the day.” The tone had been set as an order more than it was a request.

Gisela quietly chuckled, her eyes falling to her husband as he stared back at the newcomer dumbfounded. He then glanced to Finan, the Irishman shrugging his shoulders as he waited for a response.

Uhtred simply nodded, nudging his head for the young man to go – speechless.

A satisfied grin on her face, Kára took his hand as he got up, and walked out. As she reached the entrance, she quickly turned back and shouted.

“Oh, and don’t expect him until sundown!”

Without letting room for protest, she pivoted and led Finan away, both bodies walking towards the stables.

“Where are we going?” He was puzzled, curiosity set in his brows as he let her lead the way, his arms tensed from her pull.

She pivoted her head to him, a teasing smirk cornering her lips. “You’ll see.”

He found two horses with their saddles on, bags, furs and blankets tied to each of them. He stilled and watched as she continued, quietly greeting them with gentle petting before grasping at their reins and tugging them back his way.

She handed him his own, a spark of excitement floating across the green of her eyes. “Ready?” An instinctive smile stretched into his cheeks as he nodded. “Ready.”

Climbing on and riding away, she led the march out of Coccham and into the woods with Finan trailing by her side.

He had remained quiet for a few minutes, waiting to see if she would reveal the secrecy she was withholding; she noticed the stolen glances from the corner of her eyes and smirked, amused by the way intrigue prickled at the furrow brow atop him.

“You’re staring.”

“Ya are kidnapping me.”

She turned his way, her grin still apparent. “It’s not kidnapping when you will be returning later.”

He matched her smile and shook his head as he shifted his gaze back to the road ahead of them. “Where are ya bringing me?”

“You’ll see.” He could hear the mischievous intonation in her words, stretching wider the beam dimpling into his cheeks.

He glanced back towards her, catching the glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “A woman of mysteries.”

“That is my charm, Irishman.”

He chuckled at her response and continued the ride, light jests shared between them.

They eventually then made their stop, Kára halting her horse after the hour had dropped; Finan followed, both bodies climbing down their horses before they continued on foot while still holding onto the reins.

She took the lead once again, carefully walking through a dampen cave passage, the sound of water echoing all around them.

To the other side, the area seemed to have been secluded from the rest of the world. The indistinct sound of insects chirping rallied as they hid within the foliage, the trees framing the scenery as they reflected across the serene creek, its rhythmic voice setting the tranquil atmosphere. The mixture of rocks and boulders were comfortable within and around the body of water, the trunks of weeping willows, birch and elms closed in around them, cutting off outside pollution.

Finan stood breathless as he took in the lush greenery blinding his gaze.

Kára let him be as she continued down her path, carefully guiding her horse to the willow a few feet away.

“If ya wanted me by yourself, you could’ve said so.”

She tied the harness to a low branch before turning to face him, scoffing dramatically. “And be disturbed by Uhtred?” He had approached her close enough, she grasped at the collar of his armor and tugged him her way playfully, a sham of a threat gracing her features. “I’d rather kidnap you.”

He fell into step, adding theatrics of his own. “So, this is a kidnapping!” He then inclined her way with the tip of his nose grazing hers. “I knew it.”

She giggled at his antics and let him go, both turning around and undressing their horses as they removed the weight off their backs and placed them by the tree’s roots. She pulled a small bag of apples and dropped it at their feet, the fruits toppling over while Finan handled the blankets and the rest of the baggage.

She followed with the saddles, placing hers gently on the ground before moving onto the next one; just as she was untying the second seat, Finan grabbed her hand, pivoting her towards him. He placed a hand to her neck, thumb stroking her jawline, and tenderly kissed her lips.

Without pulling away, he mumbled a soft ‘thank you’ a timid smile gracing her view.

He reached for her loosened braid, her locks soft under his touch.

She watched him, attempting to capture a reaction as her heart squeezed. “Does it still bother you?” She still remembered the discomfort he felt the first time they sat close to each other, the day she had tended to his wounds, the breeze forcing him to breathe in the salt in her curls.

He noticed the quiet distress in her hazels. “It hasn’t been that long.” The faint uncertainty laced into her voice, the distant tremor of fear rooting her to the grass – a slight tug tore at the pit of his stomach.

He cupped her cheeks, another shared kiss in a try-out for reassurance.

It wasn’t enough to convince her.

Despite their physical closeness, a part of her hung onto the fear of being pushed away.

“You don’t have to hide from me, Finan. You can tell me.”

“I know. But I promise ya, I am not bothered by it.” She swallowed the lump in her throat and clenched her jaw, holding onto the tears glazing the corners of her eyes.

Finan pulled on the tie keeping her hairdo together and watched as the ends detangled.

“Ya’ve got the sea air, and so every time I breathe it in, it will remind me of you.” He continued un-doing her braid, the strands flowing freely around her shoulder. “You’ve made it into something that doesn’t frighten me anymore.”

Her breath hitched, taken aback by his confession. She ignored the heat creeping up to her cheeks, her eyes struck by the way he was gazing at her, tender affection coated within his irises.

She bit her bottom lip, stifling a smile, and took a step backwards, breaking the embrace.

They kept their sight on each other, her smile widening as she kept her teeth to her pink skin.

“Rid of your clothes.” She ordered before she followed, kicking off her boots, removing her weapons and discarding her armor, her own wear falling atop the open blankets.

He peered closely her way, hues retracing the way she discarded her garments, from the way her trousers had swiftly dropped around her ankles to the way she pulled at the hem of her shirt, passing it over her head and throwing it.

She took a step towards the water, her back facing him with her hands reaching into her curls, finishing detangling her braids.

Feeling the heavy gaze, she turned to look at him, finding him leaning against the willow, arms crossed over his chest. She rolled her eyes, her grin dimpling into her burning cheeks. “What?”

“Nothing.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Liar.”

She turned back, the hairdo gone and ruffled her roots, fingers scratching her scalp and easing their previous strain. She then dove into the water, disappearing from Finan’s sight for a moment, the quiet settling in for a short minute before she resurfaced.

He was still eyeing her, stare unwavering as they shadowed her every move – a complete state of limerence.

She swam around to face him. “Join me!”

“Is that an order?” He pulled away from the trunk and walked towards the edge of the water, untying his sword belt.

“I’m afraid it is.” He stared at the way the shivers covered her skin down her exposed breasts. Her arms were afloat, shaping the water by the sides of her body with her hair slick back and freshly damp. “Come on, the waters are freezing without you.”

He made a quick turnaround, removing his clothes and marching to her until he sunk to the water, continuing his way towards her.

They held their eyes to each other, her body dipping under the surface down her nose. He kept swimming until the creek reached his waist. Closing the distance separating them, she slowly stood up with her hazels stuck to his own gaze.

Hand to her cheek, she leaned into his touch as he stroked her skin. “Better?”

She nodded shamelessly, the corner of her lip caught between her teeth. “Much better.”

Her fingertips pressed delicately across his pink skin and trailed towards his toned chest and stomach, teasing the downwards motion to his hips.

She retraced the way his skin raised to her touch, watching as his muscles ticked under the tip of her nails, the tickling soothing to his limbs.

She kept going, arrowing downwards, eyes up to him.

He leaned his forehead against hers, mouth slightly parted as he thought of what to say – the flirtatious caress along his form was freeing, calming.

She was tending to his wounds – a silent promise to care for him, as she had done last night.

And as tempting as it was, he found himself only wanting to hold her, to indulge in the way her body would melt into his, arms holding her tight, and simply savor her presence.

He carefully took her wrist, stopping her from slipping past his hips under water.

“I don’t need... that. I just...” The low tone of his voice made her frown. She searched for his gaze, curious. He breathed out his last words, his shoulders depleting. “I just need you.”

An ache hid beneath the surface of his browns, an unfamiliar yearning – it was the simple need to be embraced without the shadow of carnal delight hanging above them.

She was his refuge to the storm that had numbed him, a shelter, a fire keeping the cold at bay.

She was unencumbered by the loss at Beamfleot, though still understood the woes of war.

“Alright.” The soft reply slipping from her lips, she shared the smallest of kisses on his cheek as she placed her arms on his shoulders, hands falling into the void behind them.

They shared an intimate breath, lips – feathers between one another, as they stood still, time halting by their side.

He held her by the waist, pulling her closer until they were flushed together, hiding in the crook of her neck. She closed her eyes, falling into the feel of him warmly pressing against her cold skin. He continued down her shoulder and trailed backwards until he kissed the spot right under her ear, gooseflesh running amuck.

The tranquility of their moment soon was interrupted – the horses pulling them out of their reverie, agitated.

Both turning their attention to the right, Finan instinctively pulled her nearer, acting as her shield as tension crept up across his limbs.

She eyed the area, glancing between the horses and the rustling sound coming from a few feet across them. Kára wasn’t frightened – had it been intruders, they would have shown themselves by now.

She shifted her eyes back to Finan, the man still seemingly on edge. “Finan. Look at me.” She forced him to pivot her way, hands to his cheeks as she caught his stare. “We’re safe.”

The distant bushes continued stirring until a fox slipped through the low branches.

The horses distanced themselves, slowly calming down just as Finan let out a breath of relief, his shoulders dropping.

Kára giggled, her head resting on his chest before she pulled away, smacking him with the surface of the creek.

She flickered water his way once again, pulling his attention away from the shore and back to her as she continued swimming away from his grasp.

He complied, catching up to her and quickly caught her back in his arms as he blocked her own, her back pressed against him.

The reverie had settled back in, bringing comfort to the two characters as she digressed reality into her back pocket, stretching the slumber for a few more moments with the laughter and antics simmering beneath the surface.

They hid under the shade of the weeping willow, sitting atop the blankets and fur she had brought from the village.

She laid her back against the trunk while he rested between her legs, head to her stomach with her knee bent over his shoulder, her bare feet enjoying the feel of the grass.

She ran her fingers through his shaved scalp, nails soothingly scratching random patterns as she tilted back, eyes closed, the warm breeze seeping through the bended branches.

It was midday and the sun hung high above them, warming bodies and lands as it lulled them into a state of bliss and comfort; the horses were resting, and the fox was asleep a few feet away from the couple, having searched for its own shade under the leaves.

Clothes were discarded, the use of blankets partially covering them; being the only two people in the world, decency had no pertinence.

They were quiet, the comfort of each other’s company enough to soothe any lingering worries away; Finan had slowly fallen into a light state of slumber, enjoying being in her arms.

Their moment of peace was then halted, a grumble disrupting them.

A light laughter slipped from her tongue soon after, realizing the origin of the noise.

“Is that the call for hunger or do we have another animal roaming about?”

She felt his body shake atop hers, his own mirth laced with her own as he placed his hands to his stomach and tilted his head upwards, attempting to catch a glance of her from the corner of his eyes. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was. Did ya bring anything for us to eat? Or is it all for the horses only?”

A soft giggle graced his ear as she leaned over, her palms sliding down his muscles. “I brought us some bread, nuts and fruits.” She placed her chin on his collarbone. “I couldn’t get away with the meat, so we will need to hunt.”

He hummed in response while pushing himself to sit upright and then reached for his trousers as she sat on her knees, hugging him once again, her arms wound around his shoulders. “How about I do the heavy lifting and you get started with the fire?” She kissed his cheek then trailed down to his neck as he leaned against her, instinctively smiling and agreeing to her proposal.

The campfire was bright, its hues in harmony to the sunbeams still bright above them.

Kára came back with small traps in both her hands, satisfied with her catch as she wore faint smudges of dirt across her face and arms.

Finan watched as she dangled their feast in front of him, a grin etched across his cheeks, amused by the spark in her steps.

The meat cooked, the fruits and nuts laid out, the bread fresh and in pieces – their meal were plenty, filling his appetite as the atmosphere dipped into light banter and jest.

Their little companion had found a seat next to Kára, silently sniffing and waiting to be fed; she obliged, splitting bits and pieces of the last remaining raw rabbit to give to the little one, the furry friend never leaving her side.

“I think he likes ya.” He stared at his friend’s new pet while nibbling on fruit, teasing laced in his vocals.

“He’s got good taste.” She turned to Finan, playfully winking while she petted the animal.

He chuckled and wrapped one arm around her shoulder, pulling her near as to lay a kiss to her temple before turning back to face the small fire.

She placed her head on his shoulder, the pet slithering its way to rest between her feet, quietly finishing its lunch.

She sensed Finan sobering up, his silence suddenly suspenseful.

“Where did you go?” There was sliver of strain in her voice as she rested her chin on his shoulder, coaxing him to turn her way. She lifted her head, her fingers stroking his beard gently as he looked in her eyes, the glimmer of green shining under the sun.

He leaned against her, bumping the tip of his nose with hers before stealing a kiss, the humble gesture preparing his response.

“Nowhere near as interesting as your travels.”

She huffed a chuckle, noticing the subtle way he pushed for a new line of inquiry.

And she followed with no hesitation.

“Where are ya headed after Irland?”

They held each other’s eyes, a tenderness to the gaze as she caressed his cheek, the back of her knuckles soft against his beard.

“We’ll sail East… maybe visit the Greeks again, see what new treasures they’ve discovered.”

A small smile dimpled the left side of his cheek, tone low as he spoke, the spark in her honeyed stream conjuring curiosity. “Tell me more.”

She shared a quiet laugh, grasping the bottom lip between her teeth. “Where do you want me to start?”

She met his wishes, leading their talks as she reminisced of her past voyages, the trials and tribulations, the people she’s met to the lands she visited, down to her small crew – a group of seafarers just like herself, who craved the taste of adventure and thrived amongst the seas.

He listened intently, observing the way her lips curved in excitement, her cheeks dimpling into a brightened smile, to the way the glint in her hazels lured him in, enthralled by her exuberance. She spoke with a light step in her voice, a silent promise she made to herself, to share her discoveries with him, to gift him the pleasures of such a life by her side, to present the wonders right at his feet.

Her words hung to his ears, thrumming within his core and aching – ambivalence settled beneath his breastbone, a bittersweet taste coating his marrow into a state of admiration; his heart slipping down his sleeve, every tug shadowed her spoken syllables, its pulsation reverence and cowardice.

An invisible thread pulled him further towards her, enraptured by her presence – an aura exquisite under the timid sun beams.

“You should see the world…”

They had moved to lie on the ground, side by side as she had shifted her gaze, looking up while Finan glanced between the open air above him, to his left with his hues taking her in, the glow of the afternoon seeping through the tree leaves.

She turned her head to him as she spoke, catching his eyes. “This doesn't have to be your life, you know. There are beautiful lands out there that are worth more than this entire country…” She bit her inner lip, teeth digging into the soft tissue in hope. “You should join me, come see it with me.” Her tone softened, serenating as she leaned closer to him. “Let me take you to see the world, Finan.” She turned, pushing her weight to hover above him, her elbow taking the pressure and facing him as she caught the hint of a smile appearing across his lips. “Leave Wessex behind, and come with me. No more battle, no more war, just food and drinks and women until you are blue in the face.”

He let a chuckle rumble down his tongue, a pensive gaze stitched over his brow as he stared back to foliage above him.

The moment seemed to have stopped – even though it had been short, it felt to have dragged itself through the mud, a disappointment that had been both forthcoming and yet still heartbreaking.

She sighed, not withholding her displeasure. “Uhtred it is then…” She sat up, arms wrapped around her bent knees.

Finan quickly followed her, his shoulder to her blade. “Kára-”

“It’s alright. I figured as much…” She tilted her head towards him, chin grazing her shift. Her eyes were cast downwards, giving herself a quiet exhale before meeting him, the faint saddened gaze imbued into her greens. “At least you are giving me a reason to come back.” She wore her lopsided smile, crafting an exit to their path.

“I’m touched.” He kissed her, lips pressed to shoulder, a smirk hiding behind the gesture.

She rolled her eyes, unable to stop her own grin.

She then inclined his way, kissing him softly, and lingered before resting her forehead to his.

He noticed the change in her demeanor, sensing her frown as if in thought.

“What’s wrong?”

She pulled away, meeting his gaze once more as she caressed his cheek. “When I didn’t find the brothers in Frankia… I knew something was wrong.”

He leaned into her touch, in awe. “Ya came back for that?”

She nodded, her hand patting him playfully. “I needed to make sure ya Irish arse was still breathing.”

She mimicked his lilt, brewing a chortle from his lungs; she hid away her worry, the mere drop of imagining such loss weighing on her shoulders.

They had gone the rest of the day with light jest and quips, bringing back the needed distraction into their midst; she pulled him back into the water, having quickly discarded of her shirt before pulling down his trousers and dragging him away from their burned-out campfire.

The fox had gone and the horses rested still, nibbling at whatever fruit and greens laid at their hooves.

Only the light laughter – the teasing plays and childish bantering had coated the breeze within this small place, the drops of water from the stream fall, to the music of insects adding layers to their afternoon.

He woke up in a frantic state, startled as sweat hugged his skin.

He was catching his breath, attempting to recuperate as he took a moment to absorb his surrounding; the darkness of the night silently greeted him, the hearth’s embers becoming but decor in this time.

Sitting up, he rubbed his face and ran his hand across his shortened hair, anxiety crippling under his chest as it pierced through his lungs, palpitations heavy.

He didn’t feel the bed dipping behind him – it was the soft call of his name that pulled him away from his anguish.

“Finan?”

She slipped her arms around his shoulders as she sat up, and felt the slight sweat slipping off his back along the tension in his muscles. “Nightmare?”

“Mhmm.”

She pressed her nose against his cheek and wound her arms closer. “You are safe, Finan.” She whispered soothingly as she turned his head her way, catching his tired gaze. “You are well, and you are safe.”

He leaned back against her, closing his eyes and listening to her words, his breath steadying.

She helped him shift his focus to her touch, to the warmth spreading from her body with her hand placed on his chest, guiding his lungs as she controlled his exhales.

He tilted his head further towards her, stealing a soft kiss before breaking away, resting over her brow.

She stopped speaking and breathed with him, caressing his chest gingerly – lovingly.

The minute had passed, her own worries draping over her.

“Finan...” He met her eyes, noting the slight frown she carried. “What happened with the brothers? Why the strain?”

He hesitated, looking away and in front of him.

She pulled him back in, finding a seat next to him while taking her hand into his, resting them on her lap, the other stroking his beard.

The longer he held her gaze, the comfort of her touch – he found a slither of courage reaching the surface; it was slow, but the words slipped out of his tongue, shaking the ground as he counted the events of the battle of Beamfleot, shivers scurrying across his skin.

To the death of Clapa, Kára teared up, having grown fond of the gentle giant.

Her heart broke, Finan’s tale and state wrenching anguish into her bones.

His confession brought her closer, the bewilderment sitting atop him – puzzled by why this battle was tearing him apart.

“Some are harder than others. Especially when you were close to death...”

There was a light tremble to her last word. He turned to her, detecting the glimmer in her eyes, the tear drowning her hues. “You almost died. You lost a dear friend- the night in itself... It was a disaster.”

She took a deep breath, pivoting away from his gaze. She instead moved, resting her head on his shoulder and squeezed his hand in hers, a self-reassurance of his presence by her side.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, both of them sitting in silence for the moment that passed.

“There is nothing but death and war...”

The sober tone in his voice sent chills down her spine. She felt the break in his heart and carried it as she turned back to him.

“Penance for being a warrior, I’m afraid.”

She leaned in, stroked his cheek once more before gently pecking his lips. She then pulled away and silently invited him back to bed, the sheets covering them comfortably.

He buried his face against her chest, letting her chin rest on his head as her leg wrapped around him, her arms encircling his shoulders – a shield. She raked her fingers against the back of his scalp, her nails soothingly scratching while he breathed in deeply, pushing himself flush against her.

He found refuge across her collarbone and down her breasts, his lips seeking her bare flesh. He tugged her closer, every empty inch vanishing as limbs molded, a sculpture forming under nightlight.

She sighed, the weight of his body demulcent as he moved her to lie on her back, sensing an urgent longing in his strokes, his fingers bruising her.

She cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look at her, eyes meeting in the dark. She shared a small smile – a silent promise of reassurance, before gifting him a gentle kiss. He slowed down, resting his forehead on hers as a shaky breath escaped him, fanning timidly over her parted mouth. She swallowed, capturing his lips with her own and taking the lead in the lingering gesture while he settled between her legs.

She wanted to give him the distraction he was craving, to create disassociation, to care for the present moment only – to fuck and forget for the few remaining hours they had left.

To use her and relent all worries – to escape and drown under carnal desires, to lean on a primal need; to cope and pursue the physical pleasure instead.

He did not let her go, tongue stroking hers while she felt his palms down her waist, raising her skin, until they rested on her thighs and parted them further. He then pulled away, trailing wet kisses down her stomach until he reached her hips.

She arched her back, her fingers gripping at her pillow above her head as a strained moan vibrated passed her slacked jaw.

She closed her eyes, ripping at the fabric of the sheets as he consumed her – a glutton.

He held her down, toying with her pearl while his ears listened to the sighs he coaxed, her chords becoming an exhilarating rush quivering down to his core. He thrived; the distant call of his name, the way she was begging for more, pleading for release.

She cursed, an annoyed groan slipping out of her, unable to grab onto his hair. Sensing what she was trying to do, her pleasure building in tandem with her frustration, he could only chuckle, the sound shaking beneath her hips. Hearing him, her huff turned into laughter – a small giggle running down her tongue as she made him pull away.

He caught her eyes and noticed how she quickly glanced at his beard, the taste of her fresh on his tongue.

She rolled her eyes, bumping her knee playfully against him. “Stop it- Just- Fuck, just come here.”

The smirk remained across his lips, complying to her demand. He crawled back towards her as she wrapped her arm around him, tugging him near until his breath ghosted over her. She wiped his beard lightly with her fingertips, licking her own lips before she kissed him, taking a lick of herself along her tongue. He groaned, trembling under his chest as she teased him, her calf firm onto his backside – luring him to nestle in the cradle of her hips, begging to be filled, to clench around him as he rutted into her; to have him bury himself inside her, ecstasy aflame, mindless.

He held onto her – his anchor, reclaiming her body as he gently rolled his hips, thrusting into her with careful movement.

He hid his face in her neck and deeply inhaled. The infusion of her scent – the hint of rosemary and thyme, the whiff of earthy aroma clashing with the sea salt overflowed his senses.

His grip of escape, the need for solace grew. He turned desperate the longer he remained between her thighs, pushing passed the anguish that lingered on his shoulders and making his sole purpose on this night to bring his lover to the brim of unadulterated bliss – to have her come undone once again under his touch.

The room filled with heavy breaths, dirty nothings and the continuous friction of skin to skin – limbs glistening under every dimpled mark of teeth and lips, and fingers, in a drunken haze as haste and frantic, and greed engulfed them.

Deception waited outside their door, counting down until it was time to part.

They stood by the entrance gates of the village, her horse by her side while her small group of men were exiting, ready to embark on their next journey after their short intermission.

He was holding her hand and gently tugged her in his arms as he spoke.

“Be safe. I beg ya.”

The soft pleading laced into his words had faintly pushed at her chest. She breathed in deeply, closing her eyes, and took a moment before pulling away.

She stretched her lips into a smirk. “Well, if you are begging...” He shook his head, amused by her cheeky reply.

She then leaned towards him once again, placing a tender kiss to his cheek as she whispered her promise into his ear – a swift shift to a tender and honest approach.

“Thank you for staying.”

“That is what friends are for.” The way her eyes settled across his own, an attempt to reassure him of her presence, the depth she would go to for him – a silent callout for the care she held for him.

He gave her a nod as a soft huff of a chuckle escaped him, his gaze shifting downwards. He ignored the slight twinge in his heart – her chosen words, a tremble to his core.

A faint ache buried under her chest as she watched him, her brows furrowed into concern.

“Are you going to be alright?”

He could hear it in her voice, the slight anxious inquiry; he dismissed it and gave her a soft smile as his lips stretched into the one side of his cheek. “Aye.”

One step forward and he pressed his forehead to hers.

He took a moment, eyes closed and breathed her in, hands to her cheeks as he carefully stroked her skin, the need to touch her, constant. She met him, her palms wrapped around his wrists as he placed his lips to her hairline.

She then kissed him, tilting her head slightly upwards until she reached him, the tender caress holding them close.

“Don’t miss me too much, Irishman.” She spoke between their breaths, a hint of mischief slipping across her tongue.

She noticed a slight spark across the brown of his eyes as a light chuckle tickled her ears; it had looked as if the storm had passed, its heaviness pushed into a distant horizon.

“I won’t if you don’t.”

She winked at him, giggling. “I’ll try then.”

She gave him one last kiss before she climbed onto her horse.

They bid each other another goodbye as he walked her to the other side of the gates.

Once they parted, the smile curved across his lips fell slowly until it disappeared, his heart faltering in its step as it tumbled over a lost footing.

--------

xoxo

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