#i also keep drawing her in a veil i think its time for return of nun gibby

[assigned-caim-at-birth]

sleepy

[euryalex]

Sera's letter to her inky :'))

transcript under cut

Notes from the Inquisition

(An artistically doodled journal page presumably from the Inquisitor's partner, Sera.)

Keep this as close as I need you. (A drawing of a pile of flowers, with lines like it's moving, an arrow pointing to it labeled "us.")

-North again, Mini-wrathus still stuck up its own pucker -Magiturds are scared of us. They don't even know -We work with Maevaris, right? She's wow. -So many Friends! Jennies in all the walls! -We kill him this time. He took from us twice! (A drawing of a cracked egg scribbled out, with "can't even joke" in letters that tore the page.) -Still thinking of you sideways. -Never mind the Dalish, here's the Veil Jumpers! Tempest-kin! (A drawing of a tall, shorthaired elf (Sera?) and Irelin brandishing two fingers, backflipping as a tree explodes in runes.) -The memory thing makes my head spin. If that Rook doesn't take it, throw it out. -Tell Morrigan ppbbth! for me. -I'll also tell her ppbbth! She knows why. -Tell them to Stripe. Him. Up. I wanted more books. (More heavy scribbles that tear.) -You meet. I'll keep you safe. Then I'm your time off, and you're my time on.

(The last section has different colored inks, like Sera has returned to it several times.)

New naked names: -Sweet-tits (scribbled out) -Bested (scribbled out) -Loverly (scribbled out) -Lovey (scribbled out) -My-for-always-and-ever - name's not too long, time's too short -But "Sweet-tits," though (scribbled out)

[varlaisvea]

... lattia mallari av malatu.

For day 4 of @tes-summer-fest: Thief

This can totes be read on its own, but is a continuation of days 1 and 2. It's also all on AO3.

Rated G-ish, veiled reference to sex, mild descriptions of racism

------

Va garlas agea, gravia ye goria, lattia mallari av malatu. "In the caverns of lore, ugly and obscure, shines the gold of truth." —Ayleid proverb

J’zargo curses every step on the way to Dawnstar. The Arch-Mage had to go to Artaeum—they say they do not trust the Psijic Order, yet when the Elf-wizards came calling, the Arch-Mage duly followed their kin through the portal. And they left J’zargo with a stupid errand, as if he is some assistant, taking care of the Arch-Mage’s unfinished business while they accomplish yet another spectacular historical achievement, no doubt. 

The moon-amulet had glowed in J’zargo’s hands, and then when he'd opened the also-glowing book… there were words that had not been there before. The fur on the back of his neck had stood on end—surely he could not return this amulet now; much larger things are at stake, or so the time-traveling Elf-wizard had said, when he came to fetch the Arch-Mage. This amulet was clearly far more powerful than its owner had let on—the Arch-Mage had said the caravan-guard told them it is only a stone, it is not worth your life. Likely the warrior-cat had no concept of what the amulet could do; such cats usually have minds as dull as their swords are sharp. A treasure like this is easily worth at least one life, especially an unimportant one… J’zargo could probably fry this ignorant cat to a crisp before he could draw his sword. Truly, a cat who does not know the worth of this treasure does not deserve it, especially not when J’zargo was the one who had unlocked its secrets, somehow. 

But, if the Arch-Mage does not keep their promises, it looks bad for the College, and the College cannot afford to lose any more prestige than it already has—then all of J’zargo’s study, hard work, and putting up with slight after slight would be for nothing. So J’zargo trudges through the snow and frigid winds, like a silly jeek who does exactly as he is told. No, he thinks bitterly, it is Zargo who trudges stupidly through the snow. J’zargo respects himself. J’zargo is not an errand-cat for the Arch-Elf.

It’s only once Dawnstar is in his sights that he fully understands this transaction will involve speaking to another Khajiit. A choke comes to his throat suddenly when he realizes he does not remember the last time he even saw another Khajiit, let alone had a conversation with one. It is a loneliness he’d anticipated when he came to Skyrim, but could never have prepared for. The trading caravans were the only other Khajiit he’d ever seen in Skyrim, and he’d distanced himself from them since the beginning—common cats who will never rise above camping in frigid fields, sleeping on the frozen ground, politely enduring suspicious glares and racist abuse for a bit of coin. He could not imagine they would have much to say to him, or he to them—J’zargo spends his time perfecting the intricate art of harnessing magicka, while the caravan-cats do not think very far beyond their next sale.

Nevertheless, their fire is warm, and they greet J’zargo with minimal suspicion about his mages’ robes. The caravan boss has surprisingly high-quality Pellitine moon-sugar—at least, if a Khajiit asks her for it—at a very reasonable price. She tells him with a sly wink that she always has quality goods for discerning buyers. At least this errand means he’ll have a steady source of good moon-sugar in the future, and won’t have to be as sparing with his supply.

J’zargo finds the cat in full plate, sitting off to the side of the fire, cleaning his sword. “Eh… hello. The Arch-Mage of Winterhold asked J’zargo to return this to you,” he says, pulling the amulet from his satchel. “It is yours, yes?”

“Ah! My amulet! I thought I’d never see it again!” Kharjo stands immediately, grinning with warmth J’zargo did not expect from a stern steel-clad warrior. He looks at J’zargo’s robes. “That Elf is Arch-Mage now? When I asked them to help with my moon-amulet, they were merely a dragonslayer, master thief, and Thane of Whiterun.”

“They seem to have a way of attaining authority, that’s for sure,” J’zargo says.

Kharjo notices J’zargo is not handing back the amulet. He looks at J’zargo with a questioning expression.

“Eh, when J’zargo had this in his possession… it, er… it made new words appear in certain books,” J’zargo says, by way of explanation.

“Jone and Jode,” Kharjo says. “I have never seen such things when I have had it.”

“It showed this one a hidden text that was supposedly about the first Khajiit Arch-Mage of Winterhold.”

Kharjo steps back. He seems like he didn’t quite believe J’zargo until he mentioned that detail. “The first Khajiit Arch-Mage,” he says, mostly to himself.

“J’zargo did not know whether to believe this thing,” he says slowly. “According to the story, he was seduced by a witch, who compelled him to teach strange dark magic at the College. The witch killed him and joined the Psijic Order, selling out the College in the process. Apparently the first Khajiit Arch-Mage was embarrassingly dull-clawed.”

“The witch was Altmer?” Kharjo asks, oddly surprised. 

“Er…” It’s a strange question, but J’zargo presses on. “The text did not say. This was during the brief period in the Second Era when the Order allowed mages of all races to join, so, not necessarily,” J’zargo says. Then, before he can stop himself, he asks, “you have heard of the Psijic Order?”

Kharjo laughs. “You sleek mages like to think all of your knowledge is so shadowy and secret! This one has been guarding caravans for the past twenty-odd years. The Psijic Order is just like the Dark Brotherhood and the Blades—everyone knows what they do, but very few know what they really do, yes?” His eyes turn to the necklace in J’zargo’s hands. 

“Ah, apologies,” J’zargo says, handing it to Kharjo slowly. Too slowly, probably; with every movement of the muscles of his arm, he wishes he had not chosen the honorable path.

Kharjo takes it and then they stare at each other awkwardly. “Er, bright Moons guide your steps, walker,” Kharjo says, but he doesn’t turn away, and neither does J’zargo. Kharjo hesitates, then turns to leave, then hesitates again. He looks at J’zargo. “Mother told this one a story about this amulet. There are, eh… similarities,” he says, wincing as he speaks. “Heh, it sounds silly when I say it out loud.”

“You must tell J’zargo, please,” J’zargo says, immediately kicking himself for being so eager and hot-headed. Too much time constantly ready to parry an insult from a man or mer.

Kharjo seems not to have expected that reaction. “Heh, I thought you would say every Khajiiti family has a silly story about some heirloom.” 

“That is true,” J’zargo says. “But recall that this amulet did some strange magic in J’zargo’s hands, and—” he looks down at his feet, then sighs. “And the information it showed me was not exactly clear on its own.”

Kharjo sighs too. “Well, when I was barely a teenager, I went on my first caravan trip. Mother did not want me to leave, but… I had to get out of Riverhold—”

“—that is not hard to believe,” J’zargo mutters, before he can stop himself.

“Ah, you have been to Riverhold.” Kharjo smiles kindly. “I miss Elsweyr bitterly, and of course I love my hometown,” he says, as J’zargo looks away from his gaze, “but…” He gestures, and J’zargo nods. “Anyway, Mother gave me this. She said to be careful, because it was cursed—of course, isn’t every ancient amulet? But mother also said that in her experience it had always felt protective.”

“A curse on your enemies, then?”

“Not quite,” Kharjo says. “I have lost it twice, and both times, when I returned home to visit Mother, she had some strange story about how some traveler or merchant brought it back to her. Both times she was afraid Kharjo had been killed, and was overjoyed to see him alive.”

“Heh, it is cursed to return to Riverhold, perhaps,” J’zargo says.

“Mother says its first owner was a mage adept, also from Riverhold. The story goes that he was secretly a Ziz Zhan assassin who had run afoul of the Zhan, and they killed him on his way to Winterhold to become a student.” Kharjo looks away, a bit sheepish. “Heh, apparently a witch brought him back to life with an enchanted pearl,” he holds up the necklace, which features a large, faintly blue-tinged pearl at the center of an intricate metal cage.

J’zargo stares at it, remembering how tempted he’d been to steal the Saarthal amulet—which, he now remembers, also had a large pearl at the center—when he’d noticed it just laying around the Arch-Mage’s quarters. He briefly considers swiping the amulet back from this cat’s claws and running away as fast as his legs will take him.

Kharjo cautiously watches J’zargo’s reaction. “Eh, us northerners and our back-country superstitions, hm?” he says.

“J’zargo is from Torval,” J’zargo says with southern pride.

Kharjo looks J’zargo up and down. “Yes, this is obvious.” What is that supposed to mean? “So anyway,” Kharjo continues, “having been resurrected, the mage expressed his deepest gratitude to the witch under the shining aurora, several times. When the witch was thoroughly subdued, the mage stole their pearl." He laughs. “I think that part was one of my ancestors spicing up the tale by mixing in Rajhin and Mafala, but it makes for a much more interesting family story, so Kharjo makes sure to keep it in. Heh, but of course, unfortunately for the mage, the pearl was already cursed.”

"This mage does sound about as dull-clawed as the Arch-Mage I read about," says J'zargo. "Everyone knows that stealing a powerful item from a witch has consequences, yes? Even Rajhin could not manage hold onto the power he stole from Mafala.”

“Just so,” Kharjo says. “Any Khajiit worth their whiskers is wise enough to fear a witch’s wrath.”

“Then, what happened to the mage?”

Kharjo laughs. “I don’t know; the story ends after he steals the pearl. But, the pearl was cursed—at some point, it was given to the Temple of the Purifying Moons in Riverhold, after their pair of Temple Pearls was stolen. Of course temples must house a pair of pearls, to honor the Moons, but the witch’s pearl would not bind with any other pearl, no matter how many sanctifying rituals or spells were cast. The Winterhold mage was long gone, and the pearl had rejected the blessing of Jone and Jode, so it was considered quite unlucky. Apparently, it was given to one of my ancestors who was an acolyte at the temple.” He laughs to himself, gazing at the amulet as he turns it over in his hand. “But, if we are talking about the same cat,” he says, “it sounds like the witch got their revenge eventually.”

“Who is to say?” J’zargo says with a shrug. “Khajiiti stories are not exactly known for their factual accuracy.”

Kharjo smiles like a crooked crescent moon. “Ah, but they are always true, yes?” 

Despite himself, J’zargo grins. “Ha, just so!” They both laugh, and then there is a long, not-entirely-comfortable silence. J’zargo spends it cursing himself for being so reluctant to leave this stupid necklace behind. It is only a stone, he reminds himself. It doesn’t help.

“It seems like it would be easier to simply steal back your pearl,” says Kharjo, scratching his head, “but this one has never really understood mages.” He smiles.

“Neither has J’zargo, if it makes you feel better,” says J’zargo with a chuckle, in his nervousness friendlier than he’d meant to be.

Kharjo is still turning the amulet over in his hand, his movements suggesting strong muscle memory, something he has done in idle moments for most of his life. “I have always felt safer with this around my neck.”

J’zargo forces a smile. “I wish I’d had more time to learn what secrets it could tell me, but…” he looks at Kharjo, at Kharjo’s beaten-up armor and battle-scratched sword, at the weary caravan horses, the unwelcoming homes of Dawnstar, the wind whipping in from the harbor, the other caravan members readying their tents, the setting sun. “Anything that makes Khajiit feel safer in this frozen place is a precious blessing.” He’s a little proud of himself for not saying that with a resigned sigh. “Jone and Jode watch over you, walker,” he says. He forces his feet to turn around.

“Wait,” Kharjo says. J’zargo turns, and Kharjo lets out a heavy sigh. “It is not curiosity alone that made you hesitant to return this.”

“No,” J’zargo says. “But nor is it greed, nor ambition.” He sighs. “J’zargo is as surprised as anyone.” They both chuckle. “It is… well, I do not actually know what the problem is, but… I think the College is in danger.”

Kharjo looks at him with something like pity. “More danger, you mean.”

“Eh, yes. I suppose. Anyway, I have been researching for days, trying to figure out what to do. I do not know what this Khajiit Arch-Mage has to do with anything, but…” ugh, “I think reading about him might help me find part of the answer.” So much time without speaking to a single other Khajiit has made him prone to oversharing. He does not like it.

Kharjo closes his eyes and breathes in. “Mother always said that Kharjo is not its final owner.” He sighs again, and looks at the amulet in his hand. “It is only a stone, right?” He smiles weakly and holds the amulet out to J’zargo.

Two minutes ago, J’zargo was still half-considering stealing the amulet as soon as Kharjo turned his back, but now, he feels sick at the thought of taking away something that could make a Khajiit feel less unwelcome and alone in Skyrim. Namiira take this frigid place. “No,” he says, holding up his hand. “The night is dark, and this one has his own fire,” he says. He conjures a tiny mote of flame.

Kharjo shakes his head resolutely. “Even if your Arch-Mage is not the same cat as my pearl-thief, the College of Winterhold was important to both of them. This pearl came from the other end of Tamriel to be in just the place it was needed, at just the right time. It cannot be a coincidence. Or at least, things make more sense if it is not a coincidence.” He looks at J’zargo pleadingly. “And you still brought it back to me, when you had every reason not to. Please.” Now he almost looks like he’s fighting tears. “Heh, it will make Mother laugh, when I tell her how I lost it this time.” He thrusts his hands at J’zargo again.

J’zargo takes the necklace and puts it in the inner pouch of his robes. “Thank you,” he says, not sure how to express the deep and unwelcome emotion he’s having. “You have made the cold snow feel like warm sands to me. I will repay this kindness. I promise.” He turns to leave, then turns back. “Keep your claws sharp in Skyrim, walker,” he says. He casts a ward over the caravan, the strongest he can muster. The moons are in Cathay; the ward will last for days. “Bright Moons light your path.”

For some reason, he can’t bear to look back at the caravan as he trudges away. 

[cassie-was-found-dead]

Sera’s letter to a romanced inky

Full letter typed out under the cut!!

Notes from the inquisition

(An artistically doodle page, presumably from the Inquisitor’s partner, Sera.)

Keep this close as I need you. (A drawing of a pile of flowers, with lines like it’s moving, an arrow pointing to it titled “us”.)

— North again, Mini-wrathus still stuck up its own pucker

— Magitards are scared of us. They don’t even know.

— We work with Maevaris, right? She’s wow.

— So many friends! Jennies in all the walls!

— We kill him this time. He took from us twice! (A drawling of a cracked egg scribbled out, with “can’t even joke” in letters that tore the page.)

— Still thinking of you sideways.

— Never mind the Dalish, here’s the Veil-jumpers! Tempest kin! (A drawing of a tall, shorthaired elf (Sera?) and Irelin brandishing two fingers, backflipping as a tree explodes in runes.)

— That memory thing makes my head spin. If that rook doesn’t take it, throw it out.

— Tell Morrigan ppbbth! For me.

— I’ll also tell her ppbbth! She knows why.

— Tell them to Stripe. Him. Up. I wanted more books. (More scribbles that tear.)

— You meet, I’ll keep you safe. Then I’m your time off, and your my time on.

(The last section has different colored inks. Like Sera has returned to it several times.)

— Sweet-tits (Scribbled out.)

— Bestest (Scribbled out.)

— Loverly (Scribbled out.)

— Lovely (Scribbled out.)

— My-forever-and-always - name’s not too long, time’s too short.

— But “Sweet-tits” though (Scribbled out.)

I know a lot of people don’t like Sera but she’s definitely my favorite inky romance, like her and my spacey circle mage inky are adorable. lowkey might write a little bitty thing about them

[thecameronchronicles]

Remedy

TW: mentions of blood. Smut. Language. 

SUMMARY: period sex with Rafe. 

WORD COUNT: 1600

REQUESTED

Anonymous asked:

Hii can you do period smutt with Rafee... like the reader begs him to eat her out because her stomach hurts from the cramps... and he's all gentle and later she asks him to lay on top of her and fuck her slow and hard... and he keeps dirty talking in her ear and is really passionate...

Remedy

There was always a torturous existence veiled beneath that specific time of the month for you and this was because of your hormones. It also didn't help the fact that your boyfriend, Rafe, managed to make every single moment sexual. Whether it was innocuous or intentional, it had your thighs pressing together in the need for relief. And yet, you were too anxious to appear needy as your relationship was still blossoming into the coming stages of comfort that would be expected on longevity. For that, you would simply endure the side effects of being a woman, shedding that painful lining, as he would smirk at your inability to sit still as you laid your legs across his lap. 

"Something wrong, baby?" He teased as you held your hand over your lower stomach, the depths of the cramps twisting and pulling to such a degree that you were desperate for even a moment's relief. 

"I'm hurting…"

"Oh…" He seemed too distracted on his phone to notice your actual comment, a second of silent analysis drawing his eyes back to you, "Ohhhh…"  He smirked. 

"I know Sarah craves things like chocolate when she has hers…do you want some? I think we have something in the pantry-"

"There is something…" You bit your bottom lip atrl the thought. On any other day, you would already have your fingers wrapped within his blonde tresses as he would have your back pulled into that familiar arch. But the worry of being too forward kept you stubborn in your reservation. At least it had until now…

"Yeah?" He now devoted his attention fully to you. Phone set on the coffee table as he waited patiently for your explanation. 

"Orgasms help with cramps."

"Do they?" He scoffed. "Hmph…"

"Please Rafe…It hurts…"

"Do you want me to take care of you, baby?" You nodded as you watched that usual arrogance shift into expected mischief as he pulled your legs to either side of him. 

"I don't want you to feel like you have to because its-" He silenced you with a kiss, slow but dominant, before pulling himself back at the rest of his heels. 

"Did you forget that I was the first one to make you bleed, baby? It doesn't bother me…"

"That's different…"

"Why?"

"There wasn't as much…" You confessed with a crimson hue plaguing your cheeks. 

"Just more lubrication, right?" 

"Rafe-"

"Sit back…let me take care of my baby…help with those annoying little cramps, yeah?" Your eyes were pulled into a roll before you could convince him otherwise. Not that you even wanted to try. 

"Rafe…" You moaned, watching his eyes peek from between your thighs as he managed to undress you in effortless motions and crane your legs at rest over each shoulder, a devilish smirk colored eith your blood having been more erotic than any instance prior to this. And as he returned his tongue to your clit, focusing on this as his fingers made slow work of your sex itself, you basked in the relief his touch left behind. 

"So warm baby, I can't wait to be inside of you…Gonna feel so good for me, aren't you?"

"You want to?"

"You think I'm getting you this wet just for you?" He chuckled. "As much as I love making you come baby, I need to be taken care of after hearing you come…" He moved his lips to your ear. "Something about your moans that make me need to come…"

"Rafe…" You groaned as he curved his fingers, the feeling applying a pressure that acted as a double negative to your feminine discomfort. For that, you began to move against him. 

"That feels so good doesn't it baby? I can see it on your face…making you a bit desperate isn't it?" 

You nodded. "Please-"

"Mmm…those sweet little pleas..keep begging me baby…let me know how bad it hurts so I can make it all better…"

"Please Rafe don't stop…please…" You breathed and groaned as he would nod into you, kissing your neck and jaw, before teasing your lips. 

"Do you have any idea what just the thought of your blood on my cock is doing to me?" Your jaw clenched at his words. You remembered when you gave your virginity to him how excitable he was when validating this with that line of blood on his spent shaft. The way his eyes widened in wonder and his jaw clenched as he savored it to his kiss. You believed it was a heat of the moment situation. But you realized now it had been a full-fledged kink. And you couldn't deny how it excited you. 

"Please, Rafe…I want you inside of me…"

"Would that make my baby feel better? My cock massaging those tense muscles in there?"

You nodded, whimpering as he scoffed. 

"I'm gonna take real good care of you, sweetheart." He undressed rather quickly, his cock at a painful attention, before he would slip between your thighs. Instantly, the relief of his dick made you express a deep exhale before you felt him suddenly retract. Sharp snaps of his hips contradicting the usual rough waves of prior fucks. But this was almost gentle, at least as close as Rafe could get to it. 

But even if the pleasure behind such thrusts was tender to some degree, the depth reminded you that it was still very much Rafe. Deep but slow. Hard but thorough. It was clear he understood his task, but also held the intention to quell his own kink in the process as the inner warmth was temperate beyond what he was used to, and it made everything better. He could move deeper, faster, harder, all while you were warmer, tighter, and producing those perfect little moans that made him needy for his own orgasm. 

But he refrained from ravaging you. Instead, he would nurse your skin with passionate kisses and fondling, massaging each ache as if he could read your mind to this. The perfect display of care and carnality existing hand-in-hand as he built you to that cusp. 

"What day?" He asked somewhere between thrusts, countless having made you wet with perspiration and breathless from those deep pistoning motions sending you back into the arm of the couch. 

"What?"

"What day are you on?"

"Three."

"And how many are there?"

"Five-"

"You are going to let me know on the first day. And then for the next five, I'll make sure you never have to worry about those cramps…"

"Are you gonna tie me down?" You chuckled. "I have work, Rafe, how do you expect to make me come every fifteen minutes to keep them at bay?"

"If I have to…" 

"I'm sure everyone would love the voyeurism in that…"

"They would be so lucky…But no..I can make you come so many different ways. Make you touch yourself when I call you on your lunch breaks…make you meet me in the parking lot so I can give it to you in the backseat to help those dam cramps…" Your body tensed to the arrival of his thumb to your clit. 

"Not to mention what you know I can do with my tongue…a vibrator…that tight little ass-" 

"Rafe!"

"So many ways to make you come…and five days a month to figure out which way is best-not to mention the days in between..but something about this feels so fucking good!"

"Rafe…" You warned. 

"But since we're starting late this month…gonna have to get deep…" He pulled your legs to your chest as you winced. 

"Oh my-"

"Yeah baby…that's what I like to see…that perfect little pout…" He moved back just enough to witness the penetration. Porngrpahoc a sight as it was, your groans had been the true aphrodisiac to him. 

"Feel how my cock loves it baby? Feel how badly I need it?"

"I need it…"

"Then take it…because you're hurting, baby…I’ll let you lead-but only because you’re hurting..." You nodded as he would extend his thrusts sharper, longer stall time before he would repeat the process, all until you reached that curve. 

"Rafe-"

"Bleed on me, baby…let me take that pain away…" 

"Fuck!" You belted as that wave of warmth washed over him and allowed him the final need for his own release. But the second he was spent, he withdrew. Pulling the blood to his lips, he rolled his eyes to the mix of the taste before looking back to you. 

"Next time, you're gonna tell me of the first day so you can sit on my face and I can feel you come on my tongue-"

"Rafe-"

"Not to mention how I'll make you come over my thigh when you visit me at work…And when we get back home…" He smirked, "You'll never have to worry about having cramps again because I take care of my girl, don't I?" You nodded. 

"Always." A gentle kiss allowed you a hint of copper and musk in the compression of your lips as you pulled back to fins that fire still raging behind his eyes. 

"Still hurting baby?" He asked as you nodded while he flipped you onto your stomach. 

"Let me see if a new angle makes it better. Maybe squinting? Maybe my fingers on your nipples?" He lifted you against his chest, enough to feel how the ideas narrated had excited him aloud. 

"Oh sweetheart…you have no idea what you've done for me…"

"Yeah?" You asked, turning to face him. 

"Show me…"

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @rafesbae @belcalis9503

[lillianastras]

“Hit Me With Your Best Shot” -- The Darkling x Reader

Pairing: The Darkling x Reader (no surprise here)

Warnings: none, I think

Summary: The Darkling and his second spar in the morning, after he starts to doubt her abilities have worsened over time.

A/N: I feel so great that I actually used my own experience in martial arts for writing this. Also, I’m so empowered by all the great feedback I’m getting from you guys. If anyone has requests, please send those my way!

“Rule number one,” he says, “Only take a break after saying you need a break. Otherwise I won’t know and will wipe the ground with you.” Her eyebrows shoot up and he has to fight a smile, glad he caused the reaction. “Rule number two,” he continues, hands behind his back, his wrists wrapped in cloths, to numb the harshness of his blows. “No Small Science. Whatever you do to me, you do it with your own two hands.” “That was just plain filthy.”

This time Aleksander grits his teeth, not appreciating the interruption. She is standing in the middle of the training grounds, arms crossed in front of her chest, the same irritated expression on her face since she had woken up. He could tell she was looking around, looking for an opportunity, an excuse to leave. Yet, there is little chance that anyone else is up this early, except by the pair of guards by the gate.

“The Drüsskele attacks are getting more aggressive than ever,” he hisses , trying his best not to raise his voice at her. “You need to know how to defend yourself when they hold your hands apart.”  It’s not happening again, he thinks. The years have passed, but even time didn’t manage to blur the memory of Luda bleeding out on the ground. “I know how to defend myself!” She hisses back, and the Darkling gives her a cold stare.

“Ivan said he managed to tackle you to the ground several times yesterday.”

Her lips curl in disdain, but not for Ivan, he knows. She likes the Heartrender probably as much as he does, which came as a surprise at the start. He is rude and harsh, but even he manages to crack the occasional smile to two in her presence. That’s just how she is.

No, he thinks, the grimace just proves the truth in his words. Her skills had deteriorated, and she needs to get herself together. For her own good.

“Ivan is bigger than me,” she mumbles, but her eyes are staring at the ground. Even she realises this is a poor excuse, if any excuse at all. 

“They are always going to be bigger than you. And I might not be there to have your back at all times.” It might not matter, he thinks bitterly, and his hands ball into fists, even if I am.

“Alright.” The easy agreement comes as a surprise, although easy might be an understatement. She gave her best efforts to keep him in bed this morning with gentle caresses, suggestive whispers and kisses down his neck. But still, he had dragged her outside as quickly as he could and she was sour ever since.  “Let’s see if you get to wipe the ground with me.” She adds and he knows he managed to annoy her.

She takes her battle stance, her guard up and the Darkling sighs, eyes turning to look around. The sun is starting to rise higher in the sky and he realises he has little time left, just because no, Aleksander, you cannot ruin my reputation by throwing me around in front of everyone. Soon, people would start waking up, ready to start the day and they would have to leave training for tomorrow, when he would have to bring himself to say no to her advances again and… No. They have to start today.

She raises her eyebrow at him, challenge barely veiled, and he takes a deep breath, letting the thrill of the upcoming fight wash over him.

His first punch is not that fast, he knows, and she manages to dodge it with ease. Her elbow slams in his chest in return and was most probably going do force the air from his lungs if he hadn’t tensed. He is forced a step back. When he looks at her, there’s a small cold smirk growing on her face. She isn’t that out of practise after all. The Darkling squints his eyes and starts to pay more attention.

This time she doesn’t wait for him to charge, and when she aims her foot for between his legs, he knows he had touched a nerve. He blocks the kick with his forearm, but he doesn’t bother stop the grin that is slowly stretching on his face. Quick as a cat, he closes the distance between them, taking a tight hold of her wrists, their faces so close she could head-butt him in the nose if she wanted to.

“Is that why you’re so irritable all morning,” he asks, letting out a quiet grunt when she stomps on his foot, but he doesn’t let go. “Because I wouldn’t sleep with you?” This time he manages to move his foot in time and she groans as she misses. “For real?”

“No,” she answers quickly, too quickly, and he grins even wider, because her reaction is so petty, that he can’t really help himself. “You’re putting way too much faith in your ability to —” 

He doesn’t let her finish and puts his foot behind hers, giving her a harsh push. She looses her balance and falls ass first on the muddy ground, shock written on her beautiful face.

He grins down at her, reaching out a hand to help her up. She finally comes back to her senses and looks around, her pants and shirt far from clean, mud covering her hands. She grits her teeth and whispers something under her breath, and Aleksander recognises Ivan’s name, followed by a string of curses. She then glares up at him and stands up on her own, ignoring his open hand. 

“Again,” she demands, squinting her eyes against the reddish strays of the morning sun. The Darkling attacks again, this time not holding back as much as the first time. 

He doesn’t realise how much time passes, punches delivered and blocked from both of them, until they are both panting messes, sweat dripping from their foreheads and sticking strands of hair to their skin. Aleksander allowed himself a moment of distraction, glancing around the training grounds. The palace was slowly coming back to life, voices heard from inside and the occasional kefta-clad figure running around the place.

“Scared someone will see that you’re getting your ass kicked?” Her guard is up and he can’t see the shit-eating grin that is plastered on her face, but he can practically hear it. It’s amazing what an hour of good sparring can do for one’s mood.

“You wish,” he calls back. “Final round?”

“I thought you’ll never ask.”

A smile creeps its way on the Darkling’s face. He takes slow, careful steps to the side, circling her, and her eyes follow him, not even blinking. Yet she is too focused on his movements that she doesn’t notice him close the distance at all. Just like he intends. 

She is so surprised by the sudden attack, that she barely fights back when he grabs her wrist and gives her a harsh tug. He bends it behind her back in a swift motion, enough to trap it between his body and hers. 

His free hand goes straight for her throat, fully pressing her back against him.

She tries to wriggle out of his grasp, but he presses her forearm slightly upwards and she hisses in pain, giving the hand that is wrapped around her throat a few quick taps, to let him know she surrenders. He stops the pressure on her arm, but doesn’t let go just yet. He leans in, his breath tickling her ear. “Not too bad,” he whispers, and he has to remind himself that they are out in public, “but you still have much to learn.”

She finally releases her, and grins when she turns around and her eyes are a little hazy. She takes a deep breath and when her gaze finds his, she shakes her head at his smirk, her hand rubbing her wrist to dissolve any pain.

“Careful General,” she lowers her voice to a whisper and theatrically looks around, as if to make sure no one is listening. “Someone might actually see you smile.” She sighs. “Can we call this a draw?”

He outright laughs at her audacity. “A draw? You didn’t win even one round!”

“I disagree.” She shakes her head and gives him a cocky raise of her eyebrow and a wave of her hand.“Plus that last one was hardly fair.”

His gaze hardens. Even though the last round really was more playful than aggressive, he had managed to disarm her and have the upper hand after all. If it wasn’t his hand around her throat, she’d be dead. She needed the practice.

As though she reads his mind, she rolls her eyes. “I won’t admit that you were right.”

He snorts a humourless laugh. He doesn’t really expect her to.  “But we continue tomorrow.” It’s neither a request, nor a question. It’s an order from a General to his warrior.

She sighs and he knows she’s about to murmur some complaint. Shockingly, gives in with a shake of her head and after a long observation of her clothes, ruined from the mud, she mutters a quiet. “You’re the boss.”

He grins. “I’m the boss.”

[shepherds-of-haven]

In an alternate Blest where the Endarkened never returned thus there was never a need for the shepherds to form, what would the main cast be doing?🧐 Would any of their paths have crossed otherwise? For those who are not from Haven would they have any other reason to travel there?

Holy shit anon, this is such a great question that I've literally sat on it for six weeks thinking about it... Let's give this a try! 🤔💭

Beware! Heavy alpha build and overall spoilers below! Read at your own risk, or do not read if you haven't played the alpha fully!

Blade: well, if things had gone exactly the way they had, just without the need for the Shepherds in the mix, he'd be dead! But if we ignore that particular detail, he'd still be working as an assassin for the Ket Rebellion, and he'd probably be a colder, crueler person as a result of it. He would still be a frequent visitor to Haven, plotting you-know-what and taking on various jobs and assignments in the meantime; and he and Trouble were friends before the Shepherds were formed, so they'd still be merc buddies and occasional partners on bigger jobs where they'd need someone to watch their back! But they probably wouldn't be as close. He'd probably spend the rest of his life working as the tip of the spear for the Ket rebellion, the left hand and living weapon of his brother. It'd be an okay life, but he'd never truly be independent!

Trouble: he'd likely still be a mercenary or soldier-for-hire, sort of wandering around the Continent with Haven as his home base. For some reason, I could see him being talked into joining the Army of the Sun and becoming a military man once he was older and tired of the merc life; he'd probably like the order and structure and camaraderie of it for a time, but he'd clash with his superiors and the culture so much that he'd probably eventually wind up discharged! At that point, he'd probably leave it all behind and go West to start a new life... maybe he'd become the sheriff of some small town out there, or a farmer, or an airship mechanic in Lindell!

Tallys: she'd probably work as a hunter for hire, usually working for the farms out in the Sun's Embrace or guarding their livestock from wolves and predators, or possibly as a 'van guard for Elvish caravans. She volunteered at poorhouses and Elvish clinics in Ashtown before joining the Shepherds, so she'd probably still be doing that. I think her life would be a sort of haze of just... existing, looking for a purpose or some way to help people but feeling like it's all a bit futile. She'd probably do some self-destructive things to make her forget the emptiness inside of her, and if things reached a boiling point, perhaps she'd simply disappear into the wind one day...

Shery: hmmmm, this is an interesting question! Shery met up with the Shepherds because her parents sold her into an apprenticeship that she didn't want and she ran away, and by coincidence she happened to come across the group and Blade offered her a job as quartermaster because she was good at book-keeping. If that didn't happen, I don't know what would have happened to her?! She alludes in the game that she saw how prostitutes by the docks were living and was scared that that was the only option open to her if no one would hire her, but I like to think she would have found a job as like, a librarian or a bookshop clerk or a merchant's assistant. I almost feel like she could have somehow run into Riel and joined Merchants Guild as one of his assistants alongside Aerin! So I feel like she would have been okay, though her life would have been very quiet and domestic and humble, and unless she worked for Riel, she likely would have never earned enough to have more than a little dingy apartment all to herself (and some cats).

If things hadn't worked out so well, she likely would have returned home and faced her terrible parents, and probably would have lived under their thumbs for the rest of her life as atonement! :(

Riel: he'd still be master of Merchants Guild, and doing just fine! I think he'd just continue to garner wealth, power, and influence, and likely would have been made a minister or some sort of politician within the Consortium when he was older! Not sure yet if he would have taken that offer, though! If the Endarkened didn't exist, I wonder if Merchants Guild and Thieves Guild would have had any particular bone to pick with each other, as they largely ignored each other's existence... Chase's thieves typically targeted the aristocracy and the obscenely wealthy before the whole Black Sun thing, so they might never have crossed paths!

Chase: he'd still be master of Thieves Guild, also doing just fine! I can't really imagine anything about his life changing that much; he would have continued to steal, nettle, and harangue the denizens and criminal underworld of Haven until the ecosystem could no longer sustain it and the Thieves Guild would have to pack up and move elsewhere to elude capture (probably to Conte); or he would have developed such a monopoly on crime in Haven that he would have gotten bored of the power, handed control off to Ari and Kato, and peaced out to parts unknown... realistically, in that scenario, his luck would have to run out at some point, and he'd probably sleep with or double-cross the wrong person (probably both) and get himself into a corner he couldn't back out of alone...

Red: he'd still be Archmage of the Veiled Circle, and they probably would have remained at Capra for longer, since there wouldn't have been the Endarkened to draw attention to their activities as pointedly as Quiial did. Still, they would have had to leave to evade the Inquisitors eventually, and probably would have settled somewhere else; and Red probably would have passed off leadership of the Circle to someone else, maybe a promising instructor who joined later or Pan or someone. Basically when he'd felt he'd put in the time and wasn't abandoning the Circle to its fate, he'd leave and go off and do his Traveler stuff he'd always wanted to. But it'd be a lonelier, more solitary life, and his letters home or his jaunts back to the Circle would drop off as he became more and more engrossed in his research, and people would worry about him or his health, not having anyone to watch his back on the road. He has a 50/50 chance of marrying someone nice that his family set him up with after like a concerned intervention on their part, or he'd probably drop off the face of the earth and no one would know where he went!

Ayla: she'd still be working as a wilderness guide, taking rich people around on tours and guiding parties and caravans through dangerous stretches of wilderness. She would have gone to Haven to visit as a tourist, but probably wouldn't have stayed long; a handful of weeks, at the most. She'd spend her life scrapping, fighting to stay alive, and watching her own back, but it would be an empty life, pretty much devoid of meaningful connection or meaning. At some point she'd probably get fed up, return to Jalis, and launch a single-woman campaign against the warlords there, just because she could!

Briony: hmmm... okay, she'd still be in that shipwreck, but would slavers have found her if there was no gladiator arena, since there would be no Endarkened to have created it?? I feel like she would have woken up, still an amnesiac, and staggered to the nearest town eventually (which I think would have been Courtshore or one of its outlying, smaller towns/villages). After recovering a little, she probably would have put herself to work as a mercenary or as a street-fighter working for bets (so like a gladiator... but on the street!). She probably would have been taken in by a kind innkeeper or family and allowed to rent a small room with her bizarre story of not having a memory. Or she could have taken up something simpler, like working as a barmaid in the inn or something like that! She probably would have had a relatively happy, peaceful life once she got used to things and it all settled down... but given her proximity to the shipwreck, her past would have caught up to her way faster, and the fallout would have been... intense...

Lavinet: she'd still be in Lockwood, and the Elementals would still be an issue, since that wasn't tied to demonwork! What probably would have happened: things would have deteriorated, and the families of the besieged nobles in Lockwood would have grown impatient and would sent in their personal armies to deal with the situation, most likely without Lavinet's consent. The ensuing conflict would have been devastating, with the Elementals most likely winning. In response, the Autarchy would have mobilized the Army of the Sun and absolutely annihilated the Elementals--but Lockwood would have likely burned, caught in the crossfire. Lavinet would have to spend the rest of her life with that shadow looming over her, and while she'd still harbor ambitions to attend the Sun Court and rise in the ranks as a Sun Courtier, there would always be that stain on her reputation, or she wouldn't have been able to leave Lockwood, having to help it rebuild after its destruction. Or she would have gotten kidnapped by the Elementals far earlier and might have been killed then!

Halek: he would have stayed sol of the Reach, and I have no idea what would have happened... he probably would have married Moonsilk and just have been absolutely miserable... probably would have popped out a few kids and just... existed! Or maybe he might have run away and left Naolin holding the bag and become like a guilty drunkard in some random town, though it's hard to believe they wouldn't have tracked him down eventually...

[the-broken-truth]

The Language of Flowers - Donna Beneviento x Female Reader

Request Made By @p-jtarts

P.S.: THANKS FOR BEING MY FIRST ONE-SHOT ASK!

Summary: Donna would watch the Gardener every day since the first time she came to House Beneviento for work. Donna would sit on the porch and watch her, her affection for her growing by the day but could never make a move because she was so shy. What happens when something happens that makes Donna speak to her?

- Quick Key -

[Y/N] - YOUR FIRST NAME

[L/N] - YOUR LAST/SURNAME/FAMILY NAME

[H/C] - HAIR COLOR

[H/L] - HAIR LENGTH

[E/C] - EYE COLOR

[S/C] - SKIN COLOR

Donna would watch her from her pouch every morning when she went to water the flowers and every afternoon when she would sit in the garden to talk to the flowers - Donna would watch her every hour of every day if she could but she still had a family back home and would leave House Beneviento at the end of the day to return to them.

Just who was she? She was [Y/N] [L/N] - Eldest of the [L/N] Family and the new gardener of House Beneviento; she was a fair maiden with [H/L] [H/C], [E/C] eyes, and [S/C] skin. Donna remembered the day she first met her: Donna was in town when she noticed a woman with a vase of beautiful flowers and had Angie asked where the woman received them - out of fear, the woman told her about the [L/N] Family Flower Shop before running for her life. Donna watched the woman for a while before she headed in the direction she was told and that's when she saw her.

The most lovely of maidens aiding another customer with a smile on her face that seemed the shine like the full moon on a cloudless night. Donna was stunned by her that she didn't notice she walked closer to her until she heard a voice smoother than silk and sweeter than honey.

"Ma'am? Is there something I can do for you?" The maiden asked.

Donna was silent - was it from embarrassment or was she still stunned by the maiden.

"Hello." The doll called from the veiled woman's shoulder. "My name is Angie and this is Donna; she doesn't speak much." the doll explained.

"Oh, well it's pleased to meet you, Ms. Angie and Ms. Donna. Welcome to the [L/N] Flower Shop. What can I do for you?" The maiden asked with a smile.

"We need some flowers for our garden - what do you recommend?" Angie asked.

"Where do you live, if you don't mind me asking?" The maiden asked.

"We hail from House Beneviento in the Valley of Mist." Angie said.

"I don't know much of House Beneviento but I do know about the Valley of Mist - A Place shrouded in mystery and uncertainty." The maiden said.

"We saw a woman carrying a vase of roses - do you have any of those?" Angie asked.

"It's funny you say that - I was going to recommend Blue and White Roses for your garden." The maiden smiled.

"Why Blue and White instead of red?" Angie asked.

"Each flower has a different meaning just as a color has a different meaning: Blue Roses are a symbol for Mystery but they are also used to represent attaining the impossible & love at first sight." The maiden smiled.

"And the white roses?" Angie asked.

"In this case - The white rose would stand for Silence as the Valley of Mist is known as a deadly quiet place but they can also mean innocence, wistfulness, virtue, purity, secrecy, reverence, and humility." The maiden finished. The doll was silenced for a moment before she spoke again.

"You know a lot about flowers, don't you?" Angie asked.

"I do indeed, Ms. Angie. I've been known to speak the Language of Flowers." The maiden nodded with a smile.

"The Language of Flowers?" Angie asked.

"That's just a joke my father would tell me - he said I would spend more time talking to the flowers than to actual people but...I feel like the flowers understand me better than other people do." The maiden explained.

"May I ask a question?" Angie asked.

'What is Angie doing?' Donna wondered in her mind.

"I'll answer as best I can." The maiden smiled.

"Would you like to work at House Beneviento as the Gardener? We would pay you 2000 Lei every week." That offer made the Maiden's eyes widen (And Donna's too but you couldn't see them from the veil). 2000 Lei a week? that would be perfect - with her sales, as popular as the shop was - she was only getting around 800 a week. This money could really help her family.

"I would love this opportunity, Ms. Angie! Thank you!" The maiden bowed.

"Don't thank me - it was Donna's Idea; I just did the talking. By the way, what name do you go by?" Angie asked.

"Oh, My name is [Y/N]."

"Y/N..." Angie and [Y/N] looked at Donna; that was the first thing she said. "A very beautiful name."

"So is yours, Lady Donna Beneviento."

That was what lead them here - Donna was standing with Angie on her pouch as the two of them watch [Y/N] talking to the flowers in the garden as she pulled the tiny weeds that attempted the grow.

"You should talk to her, you know you want to." Angie whispered to Donna.

"I know I want to...I just can't." Donna whispered back.

"What's stopping you?" Angie asked, "She's been working here for a full month and you never talk to her; she was actually wondering if you disliked her, considering the way you just stand and stare at her without saying anything." Angie said.

"It's just...it's hard to find the words to say to her - her eyes are like endless pools of priceless gems when I look into them and I lose all the words I had in my head; I just want the chance to have something to talk to her about." Donna said.

"Well, you're gonna get your chance sooner than you think." Angie said.

"What makes you say that?" Donna asked.

"Because it's about to start raining." Angie said with a smirk - if she could smirk.

Sure enough - a sudden heavy rain came from nowhere and drenched [Y/N] who shrieked at the sudden downpour and used her arms to cover her head out of instinct. Donna's body moved too, she ran into the rain and grabbed the gardener by her wrist before pulling her to her feet and running back to the safety of the pouch.

"Whoa, that was sudden. Thank you, Lady Beneviento." [Y/N] said as she bowed to the second lord.

"It's alright." Donna spoke softly, "Are you alright?" she asked.

"Yes, My Lady. I shall be a-a-ACHOO!" [Y/N] covered her nose just in time to keep the sneeze from hitting Donna or Angie.

"My, that sounds that a bad sneeze." Angie giggled.

"I underestimated just how dedicated the Earth is to watering its plants." [Y/N] chuckled to herself before placing her face in her elbow when she felt another sneeze coming on.

"You'll catch a cold in those wet garments. Come, I shall get you warm." Donna said as she held out her hand for [Y/N] to take - the young girl looked up at the lord with a blush creeping across her face before taking Donna's hand and allowing her to lead her into House Beneviento.

[A Few Moments Later]

[Y/N walked down the stairs in the white nightgown Donna allowed her to use while her clothes we soaked to the bone; judging from the sound of the massive downpour hitting the room and perimeter around the house - it was not going to ease up. She looked around to Donna but soon came face to face with the portrait that hung on the wall aligned with the stairs; it was of Donna and Angie but Donna didn't down her veil. [Y/N] kept her eyes upon the portrait, completely taken by the lady's beauty/

"You look comfy!" Angie suddenly appeared in [Y/N]'s face, making her jolt back.

"In the name of Mother Miranda, Ms. Angie; you nearly scared me to death." [Y/N] said as she eyed the doll.

"Sorry about that, I couldn't help myself; you seemed distracted so I took it upon myself to bring you back down the Earth." Angie giggled.

"Well, thank you; I wouldn't have wanted to get lost in the stars." [Y/N] smiled at Angie.

The sound of a door opening caused the two of them to look - Donna came out with a tray containing a pot of tea and two cups on saucers with a flask of creme and a bowl of sugar cups. [Y/N] headed over to Donna and took the tray from her - before placing it on the table where Donna was heading to. The Head and the Gardener sat in silence for a while before making themselves some tea.

"Um..." [Y/N] wasn't sure where to start. "You have a very beautiful home, Lady Beneviento." She said with a blush.

"Thank you." That was all Donna said before sipping her tea again. [Y/N] looked at her for a while before she placed her cup back on the saucer before she swallowed her fear and spoke.

"Lady Beneviento...do you dislike me?" that question made Donna freeze.

"What? No, I don't dislike you. Why would you think such a thing?" Donna's voice was laced in panic.

"It's just...you never talk to be apart from today - you're always distant and I thought..." Donna cut her off.

"It's not that!" Donna said in a rushed voice before she calmed down. "It's not that I don't like you - I do, it's just that I like you more than I should but...I never knew how to approach you. I never knew how to talk to you." Donna said as she looked down at her hands but she gasped when she saw a pair of smaller ones reach across the table and gently took one of hers in a soft embrace.

"I understand, Lady Beneviento; I...feel the same. I was so curious about you and something about you draws me to you. I understand if you wouldn't wish to rush; maybe we could talk? Get to know each other better?" [Y/N] asked with a tilt of her head and a smile.

"I...I would like that." Donna said.

"I'll start - My name is [Y/N] [L/N] and I co-own a flower shop." [Y/N] said with a smile.

"My name is Donna Beneviento and I'm one of the Four Lords of the Romanian Village."

[sylverstorms]

Donna x Elena ----From Winter to Spring

This is a commission written for the lovely @saltwatereulogies and I cannot thank you enough for all your support! I hope you enjoy the story :)

She doesn’t know how she escaped that nightmarish inferno. How she still draws breath. Why her body keeps running despite its condition and despite the fact that she has lost everything.

The village is gone. Everyone she knew is either dead or a monster. She watched her own father growl like a beast and cleave a woman in half, then soon after wail out her name and succumb to the flames swallowing up the building. There is nothing left. There is nothing left for her.

Why? Elena wonders. A trail of blood marks her path through the snow, towards the unknown. Why still fight?

It will be easier to surrender to the agonizing burns, to the open gashes and wood splinters stuck in her skin. It will be far, far simpler to stop pressuring her rattling lungs to provide oxygen and fall into the snow, instead. It looks… peaceful. Soft. Pure.

It will welcome her to a quiet death, she thinks, so she may join her friends and her father.

Her father. The man who had never reached his hand out to help her when she fell –either on the fields or when she tripped over hardships— yet had always been there in his own stubborn, strict way, telling her to pick herself up.

“I didn’t raise no quitter.”

Ah, is that why.

Perhaps part of her feels it owes it to him to try. She did miraculously survive the fiery wreckage she’d initially thought would be her grave. But… the odds just aren’t with her.

Elena is only human. She’s lost too much blood, been through too much punishment. Her vision is growing blurrier by the second, her legs more sluggish. When she steps on grass instead of snow, she believes her mind is now playing tricks on her, too.

Something smells sweet, like wildflowers.

That is the last thing Elena is aware of, before she drops to her knees and blacks out.

-

-

When she blinks her eyes open, she is… confused.

She never thought heaven nor hell would have a wooden ceiling. She wouldn’t have guessed pain follows one into the afterlife, either, yet there she is, prone and throbbing with every weak breath on a bed too comfortable to be her own.

Unless…

Unless she’s not dead. Unless, against all odds, she survived a second time only to suffer some more. Elena wants to cry. What cruel game is the universe playing with her? The luck she never had in life is suddenly gracing her in extreme bursts now that she doesn’twant it.

“She’s awakeeee!” an overly excited voice exclaims somewhere around the room. Elena is too dizzy to tell.

“Shh.” A second presence makes itself known, calming the first.

“Who…” Who are you, Elena tries to say, but the words never make it past her dry throat.

Heels tap against the floor, until a black-clad figure comes to peer down at her. Elena expected to see the face of her savior, yet all she sees is a ghost, its visage hidden behind a mourning veil. The image is jarring; it sends her heartbeat skyrocketing, which doesn’t help her condition.

Oh, Lord, Oh, Lord what… Elena wants to tell herself she’s dreaming. It isn’t real, none of this is real—

Until a doll jumps into the edge of her bed and says something she doesn’t hear over the sound of her hoarse scream.

The ghost flinches backwards as the world turns dark once more.

-

-

The second time she opens her eyes, hours or days later, the pain has subsided somewhat.

Elena can feel her body, at least. All the wounded parts are carefully wrapped in gauzes and all her burns are covered by a soothing salve. Her lungs no longer hiss when she inhales, so long as she does so slowly, evenly.

That, of course, is not so easy to do when she turns to her left and sees the ghost sitting there, an open book in her lap. The veil is still on, obscuring her features, but Elena takes note of her fingers as they cradle the spine of the tome, long and pale, manicured black.

Appearances aside, there is a certain calm about her that doesn’t feel threatening.

“I… I’m not hallucinating, am I?” she whispers, not trusting her voice to go any higher.

The mystery woman tenses as though her voice has startled her. “…No.” she eventually replies. Her voice is quiet, like the rest of her.

“Did… you save me…?” A single nod is all she gets in return. Her company doesn’t seem very comfortable speaking, but Elena has questions that she needs answered. “Where am I?”

“The Beneviento estate.”

Elena would gasp if she could. I made it that far? And this woman… is she really Donna Beneviento? Her father told her all she needed to know about the four Lords residing at the outskirts of the village. He had also told her to avoid them at all costs.

“Um. I’m Elena—” A cough cuts her off. The sudden motion causes every injury across her body to burn.

“…I know.”

She is too much pain, in that moment, to ask how Donna knows.

-

-

In the following days, Elena comes to accept a few things that would have normally made her question her sanity;

The doll is alive. Her name is Angie and she is Donna’s friend. Donna is the adopted daughter of Mother Miranda, who, upon the former’s request, has given her permission for Elena to remain in the mansion. When she asked what would have happened had she denied, the doll only sing-songed that she doesn’t really want to know.

It still plagues her mind, probably because she has far too much time to think and this is the only thing she can focus on, lest she starts crying over and over again.

When Donna comes to change her bandages, it is a relief.

The woman sits at the edge of her bed, at the absolute maximum distance. Elena slowly brings her body to a semi-reclining position to assist. Angie hops on the bed and pulls the covers to the side… and that is when they arrive to a standstill. Donna doesn’t move, Elena doesn’t know what to do.

“Um. May I?” the veiled woman motions with her –admittedly very elegant— hands. It’s… endearing, how she approaches the subject of touching her.

Elena nods and tries to be a good patient for her. Tries being the key word. When she’s not fighting for her life, she is not nearly as brave in the face of pain. Her teeth are gritted as Donna’s cool hands unwrap the gauzes at her right arm, her eyes closed, breath held.

“…Am I hurting you?” Donna asks, quiet as ever.

“No.” Elena forces herself to exhale. “No, you’re… very gentle.”

Donna nods and continues with the same measured movements. Elena doesn’t want to look at her wounds, afraid of what she’ll find there, so she turns to the veiled visage of her companion. She wishes she could see her face. Wonders what she may look like, what flaw she’s trying to hide.

Until a bandage catches on a particularly bad burn and Elena cries out.

Her whole body jumps—

Donna’s hands fly to her shoulders, keeping her steady with surprising strength, yet she steps away the very next second as though she’s been scorched.

Elena bites her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. There you go, making her uncomfortable…

Angie takes over for a while, also quite precise. Elena peeks down to realize she isn’t in as terrible a condition as she may have imagined. Scars will be left, no doubt, but she will probably heal well enough.

Then the last difficult spot comes up. She knows it when Angie warns: “You need to stay still here.”

“No, no wait!” Elena pleads. “I—I can’t.” I can’t, I can’t deal with this again, not again—

But Donna sits back next to her and her mere presence calms her down. “You are very strong, Elena. This is the last one.” she says.

“Hold me down.” Elena requests.

Donna doesn’t seem to like the idea. Still, she slowly brings her hand back over the uninjured part of Elena’s shoulder. “It’ll be alright.” she whispers.

“On three.” Angie says. “One… Two…”

She pulls the bandage on two and Elena would jump high enough to burst through the ceiling if it wasn’t for Donna. When the agony subsidies she realizes she’s sobbing helplessly, clutching at the dollmaker’s sleeves for dear life.

“Shh, I’m sorry, it’s over now. It’s over.” Donna’s slender fingers comb through her unruly hair.

The brunette closes her eyes and lets her head drop back down into her pillow, but she doesn’t let go of the dollmaker right away. She smells like the flowers outside her house,she thinks.

She feels like a safe space, steady, in a world that’s broken and tilted for Elena.

-

-

Gradually, Donna talks to her more. Gradually, Elena tests her body’s limits until she is strong enough to walk around the house on her own.

Angie is with her, most of the time, but she knows it’s less a security measure and more one for her safety. Her mental connection to Donna is something Elena cannot grasp nor understand, but she tries to.

The first time she manages to get to the living room, Elena stops and stares at the painting of Donna adorning the wall opposite her.

“…is that her?” she asks Angie.

“Of course!” the doll replies excitedly. “I am so proud of that one, the artist did a great job! Mistress Donna looks splendid, but it is me who steals the show!”

Elena can’t look away from the canvas. Why is she so familiar…? “Is that what she looks like?”

“Well, excluding a scar she wishes to hide. Kind of like my face. We match.” Angie answers, giving her version of a grin.

For the rest of the day, Elena sneaks glances at Donna, then the painting. It isn’t proper, she knows, but she’s curious. And… surely, no scar is enough to justify hiding that cute face from the world?

-

-

Weeks pass. Elena has healed well and she owes it all to Donna.

The two of them have grown closer in the time the former’s injuries have forced them together, close enough to have tea in the mornings and brief chats over common interests throughout the day.

When the weather grows a tad warmer, Elena asks the dollmaker to take a stroll with her outside. She sees the decorated graves, of course, but she knows better than to ask. She doesn’t want their time to be poisoned by grief. The scars of losing loved ones run deep, she knows this too well and they never really heal.

The two of them are basking in comfortable silence for a while, until a thought that feels impossible not to be voiced strikes Elena.

“Donna.” she speaks.

“Hm?”

“When I first woke up and I told you my name… you said ‘I know’.”

“…yes.”

“I’m sure we’ve never met before…?” Elena stops and turns to face her companion. Donna mirrors her.

“How certain are you?” she asks. Upon Elena’s obvious confusion, she elaborates; “As a child, I used to visit the village with my father. In one of those visits, some of the kids made fun of my scar. A boy, especially, was saying some very mean things.”

Elena starts to recall one such incident in the blurry images of her childhood.

“You stopped him.” Donna says. Pauses. “…with a punch to the face.”

Elena raises a hand to her mouth, but a quick laugh escapes her anyway. “I did?” A nod. “No way.”

“You did.”

“It couldn’t have been a strong one, though.” Elena giggles.

“I don’t know. Rumor has it he still hasn’t gotten up, to this day…” The little exhale of a chuckle that escapes Donna makes something in Elena bloom and flutter.

She wants nothing more in that moment than to lift the damned veil and see the face of the gentlest, kindest woman she’s ever met.

-

-

The winter eventually gives way to spring. The earth heals from the wounds of the cold like Elena has, under Donna’s care.

She no longer has doubts about what she feels, what she wants. It is only a matter of overcoming her fears and nervousness. Only a matter of finding the right timing and the appropriate setting.

Elena has rehearsed the words she needs to say many times in her dreams and thoughts, yet she finds herself tongue-tied and completely lost on what to do in reality. She has asked Donna to walk with her, taken her to where the waterfall calms into a river… and now struggles to summon her voice.

“What is it, Elena?” Donna, ever the sweetheart, asks. “You know you can tell me anything… right?”

“What if…” she hesitantly begins. “What if I can’t tell you? …can I show you, instead?”

“Of course.”

Elena takes a deep breath and chastises herself to woman up. One little step brings her into Donna’s personal space. Her hand raises to the edge of the veil, blue eyes searching for a sign she should stop. The dollmaker is tense, but she hasn’t made a move to back away, nor lower Elena’s hand.

She trusts her.

And that’s all Elena needs to finally, finally remove the barrier separating them for months. The cute girl she defended as a child is a beautiful woman now, looking back at her with gentle, dark eyes. The jagged scar running down the right side of her face does nothing to retract from that beauty.

“You don’t need that.” she breathes. “You never did.”

Donna glances to the side, a hint of color spreading over her pale cheeks. Elena chases her chin with her fingers, then slowly inches closer, making sure the dollmaker has ample time to decide if she wants this, too.

When their lips meet, color blooms behind her shut eyelids, within her chest. Donna’s mouth is as soft and sweet as her personality, Elena discovers. It is a short, chaste kiss but it is also a promise for many more to come.

It is the gratitude Elena will eternally hold for Donna, who found her at the ending of her life and nursed her back to this,

A new beginning.

[haircoveredwriter]

Carol's Origin Story: 5 most underrated scenes

There are some moments that always come to mind when fans of The Walking Dead think of Carol Peletier; ones seared into our minds from sheer awesomeness or heart-wrenching emotions no one can escape. Yet such multi-faceted characters cannot be simply broken down into their 4 best episodes for one to truly understand who they are and how far the journey they've traveled to get here. As such, we will examine a few poignant stages along Carol's journey which deserve their recognition.

5. Teaching the kids at the prison to fight

Following the fall of Woodbury, our survivors were inundated with new people joining them at the prison and looking for some semblance of leadership. A role which Carol takes on easily and with devout purpose; arranging schedules to help the community run smoothly as well as maintaining the perimeter fencing's safety. Although she's not content simply to sit back and let her past be repeated, fearing it was her own lack of education that lead to Sophia's tragic death. Not if she has anything to do about it. Disguised as regular storytime, she quietly instructs the children on basic weapon usage and how they can protect themselves when they're threatened; a lesson that proves extremely helpful upon the Governor's return and subsequent attack. If it were not for Carol's tactical thinking, Mika and Lizzie might never have saved baby Judith or Tyrese for that matter, and Rick would have never gotten the happy reunion he'd been dreaming of.

4. Her facade in Alexandria

Becoming who she needs to be in any given situation is much more than a talent for Carol, it is a survival mechanism. Something she'd had to learn during her marriage to Ed in an attempt to appease his temper and evade his ever-present wrath. Though it was truly mesmerizing to watch her read the room within an instant of entering Alexandria - a community they knew nothing about or whether it was to be trusted - and switch over to her previous meek, demure persona without missing a beat so that she would have the ability to protect her family. The Wolves would have served well to have noted this point sooner. While Carol has donned her veiled mask multiple times since, in the show's series, it's the first iteration which shows just how intelligent this woman is.

3. Saving Lydia in The Storm

Reliving a parent's worst nightmare is horrible enough to experience once but for Carol she, unfortunately, lived through many losses of children, the most recent being her adopted son, Henry, at the hands of Alpha. Swallowed up by pain and grief, her feelings of self begin to fracture as she fears she's losing any hold of who she is. When the group is forced to venture into the eye of a terrible winter storm, she finds herself face to face with the daughter of her son's murderer and has to battle her own dark inner thoughts as well as the young girl's suicidal tendencies. Despite the immense burden of blame weighing on her heart (of other's and herself), Carol is able to connect with the mirror image Lydia displays, seeing her own past traumas and pain being experienced by another and it's then that Carol chooses to reach out to provide the support she'd never had to the suffering teenager. True strength comes from the ability to use one's own pain to help others ... this is the definition of Carol Peletier.

2. 'Warning' Merle

"People underestimate me ... don't underestimate me." Why this scene was cut from the broadcast airing I will NEVER understand! Carol has always been protective over those she cares about, although when Daryl's brother, Merle, arrives at the prison, potentially jeopardizing his mental & emotional well-being, Carol doesn't bat an eye before making it clear to the elder Dixon ... if he messes with Daryl, she'll take him out in his sleep. There are so many subtle aspects to this scene that draw the viewer in at the same time shock them to their core; whether it is Carol's sweet and reserved presentation, her ease in mentioning descriptive details proving she has already been keeping track of Merle, or the mere fact that in a way the man in front of her displayed several tendencies which she had cowered from earlier in a previous life. This is also the first instance where the strengthening bond between Carol and Daryl shows how deep it goes, and how far the star-crossed soulmates will go to protect the other from anyone or anything.

1. Saving herself in "Look at the Flowers"

You can be your own worst enemy. When times get tough, it's easier sometimes to fall back on habit rather than going for what you want or need. Both these are true for Carol when we find her in season 10. Alpha is dead, Henry's death has been avenged ... yet neither brings her the peace she's sought and she finds herself running again from her emotional turmoil rather than head back to Alexandria to face it with Daryl. Along her instinctual journey she can't escape the voices inside her head which take on the physical representation of the woman she hates the most, Alpha. Every horrendous thing anyone has ever told her or things she has told/believes about herself come flooding through, one after another, until fate deals its hand and pins her overnight beneath a boat with no way to escape. The incoming promise of death seems nearly accepted before the prospect of losing Daryl is too much for Carol to take and she musters her courage, dislocating her shoulder and then killing the incoming walker. This is the moment where she decides she is done running. This is the moment where she chooses her relationship with Daryl over everything that has come or will in the future. This is the moment where Carol decides she is worthy.

Carol Peletier Origin Story (3/7)

[nxrthmizu]

love in bubble wraps.

fandom | haikyuu!!

pairing | kuroo tetsurou x reader

genre | fluff

w.c | 1.9k

author's note | based on a real life experience... :)

Love, you think, comes in many forms. Sometimes love is a warm, home-cooked meal that is now cooked at least once a week because you told your mother you liked it. Other times, love is laughing and crying alongside the friends you’ve known since pre-school because everyone passed their highschool finals with flying colours. Throughout our lives, we gradually come to meet the different forms of love, because it comes in all shapes, colours, and sizes.

First, we learn that love is a roof that you can always turn to when a storm blows in. Then, we learn that love is knowing that there are people who will drop everything to help you when your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere. Lastly, we learn to interlock our fingers with the one we wish to walk to the end of time with.

Then again, love varies from person to person— Just like how the goddess of love, Aphrodite, looks different to every soul that sets its sights on her; Beauty truly lies in the eye of the beholder. For some, love comes in the form of a warm body to cuddle next to on a rainy day. For others, love comes in the form of a jewelled ring. For you, love comes in the form of a 6’2 man who still doesn’t know how to tame his bedhead.

Tetsurou is often too busy for his own good, always running around here and there to secure contracts, ensuring that Japan can make a name for itself during the Olympics. He books train tickets to opposite ends of Japan at least once a month, leaving before the sun rises and returning after it sets. The sun never dictates his work day, because while his coworkers work from nine to five, Tetsurou works until he finishes his tasks.

Okay, so your husband is a bit of a workaholic. And maybe not just a bit.

“L/N-san,” Your colleague asks one day out of sheer curiosity. A group of women are gathered around the snack station, sipping on cheap, machine-produced instant coffee as they gossip about their marital lives instead of working. “Now that I think about it… I’ve never met your husband, have I?”

“Ah,” You sweat-drop nervously at this. Wonderful— Your parents are already pressuring you about how Kuroo rarely visits with you— And now your coworkers, too? “He’s quite busy. He works very hard to make sure that we’ll be well-off in the future.” You respond, knowing that your reply is just a thinly-veiled way of saying ‘He’s rarely home,’.

“Oh, that’s awful,” Wherever you go, there’s always a middle-aged lady who has nothing better to do than to prey on the weak spots of your life, “It must feel lonely. You must feel so sad when you see my husband pick me up from work.” A smirk dances up her lips as she waits for you to walk into her trap, smiling as widely as a spider watching its incoming meal.

“Not really,” A practiced smile counters hers as you take a sip of your coffee. “I know Tetsurou loves me— There’s an unbreakable trust between us. He might not be home often, but I know that he’s working hard so that we can have a better tomorrow… And that’s sort of comforting, in a sense. Knowing that Tetsurou wishes for a future where we’re financially stable, where we can just spend a whole day doing nothing in each other’s presence…”

A chorus of ‘awws’ makes you blush. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the middle-aged coworker huff in failure. You mentally fist-pump the air at your victory.

“Anyway, I heard that you got engaged last weekend, Shiho-san,” Changing the topic quickly, you smile when the attention of all the ladies instantly redirects to the said woman, who blushes fiercely as they all coo at her ring. “Congratulations!”

“Oh my! He bought you such a beautiful ring… Ah, Shiho-san, you’re so lucky!”

“My husband also bought me a new bag last week,” The middle-aged woman chips in proudly, cocking her head towards her cubicle, where the leather handbag sits atop a tower of documents. “It’s very expensive.”

“That’s nice of him! It’s been forever since my husband bought me something.” Sighs another lady. Most of the group hums in agreement, sharing sympathetic looks with those that share the same fate.

“At the beginning, when we were still dating, Hayato used to buy me so many things, now…” The coworker that brings homemade cookies every New Years’ party says, looking dejected. “It’s like once we’re married, they don’t have to worry about making us happy anymore…”

“Ah, what about you, L/N-san? Does your husband buy you things often?”

You groan internally when the attention shifts to you once more. Honestly, you’re just there to listen and enjoy your coffee— Must you keep getting dragged into the conversation? “Well, personally I don’t really need my husband to buy me things to keep me happy, but… He does bring back trinkets whenever he travels.” You think about it for a while, then brighten when you remember the latest thing Tetsurou brought back for you.

“What is it?” Your change in expression isn’t missed by your coworkers, who preen with curiosity, excited to know what made you brighten up.

“Ah, it’s nothing… I promise, you’ll be disappointed if I tell you.” You chuckle.

“Come on!” “Be a good sport, L/N-san!” “We’re curious now, you can’t not tell us!”

“Oh, fine.” You sigh, “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

[ Three days ago, Saturday ]

You were on the couch, binge-watching Grey’s Anatomy with the Netflix subscription Tetsurou got for you to occupy yourself with while he was out of town. Your cat, Kazume (nicknamed after your husband’s best friend) lazed on your lap, yawning once in a while and swatting at the stray threads from your sweater.

Somewhere in between your fifteenth and seventeenth episode, the front door chirped with the sound of someone inserting a key into the lock. You perked up at the noise, Kazume yelping in protest as he almost slipped off.

“Oh, sorry Kazu.” You said quickly, a smile widening your lips as the front door opened.

“I’m ho—” Before your husband could finish his sentence, you were already at his side. Kazume meowed loudly from the couch, complaining about you abandoning him for another man. Tetsurou’s eyes softened, the edges of his hazel irises worn down by exhaustion. You took his laptop bag from him, as well as the folders he has in hand, balancing them like how you would balance your three grocery bags when Tetsurou wasn’t around to help. “I missed you too, but are you sure you can carry all of my files with one hand?”

“Yes!” You replied confidently, showcasing your balance as you wobbled through the living room with all of your husband’s stuff. Tetsurou’s laugh echoed through the apartment as he followed you, his reflexes coming into play as he dived for a falling file. “Oops.” You giggled, helping him up after he practically hurled himself at the floor.

Tetsurou shook his head, sighing fondly while he hugged you from the back, taking comfort in the familiar smell of your hair shampoo. “I missed you.” He mumbled.

“Me too.” You hummed, reaching back to stroke your hands through his still-untamed bedhead.

“Oh, before I forget,” Tetsurou leapt up suddenly, chucking his backpack onto the ground. “I brought back something for you!”

“I already have like, twenty-five keychains from Hyogo,” You reminded him, “Please tell me it’s not a…” Your voice trailed off when Tetsurou proudly whipped his gift from his backpack, hazel eyes shining for your reaction.

“... So?” Tetsurou grinned widely, like a five-year-old child holding up his drawing for his mother to critique.

“Oh my god, I love you.” You declared in your 80 sq ft kitchen, grabbing the gift from him. “I’ll clean up your stuff, go take a bath and we can have dinner while watching the…'' You pursed your lips as you try to recall the information that kept evading you like an annoying fly. “... 15th? 16th episode of Grey’s.”

“You started that without me? I said I wanted to watch that.” Tetsurou pouted petulantly like a child.

“I finished all the other stuff I wanted to watch,” You told him unapologetically. “And Kazume wanted to watch it too. Now hurry and take a bath or I’m starting without you.”

Twenty minutes later, you were cuddled up to your husband, who did not bother to comb his hair (“It’ll just be messy later anyway,” His reasoning was). Every few seconds, he would scoop some cold mash potato out of the giant bowl (The two of you were too impatient to heat it with the microwave) and feed you. All throughout the episode, there was the constant pop-pop-pop of you working your way through the giant piece of bubble wrap Tetsurou had brought home for you.

“You know, I was thinking,” You hummed as Tetsurou pressed ‘Next Episode’. “If It were any other woman, they might have slapped you for bringing just bubble wrap home after a whole week away.”

“Well, then I’m lucky that you aren’t ‘any other woman’, am I?” Your husband smiled, pressing a gentle kiss onto your lips before picking up the mash potato bowl again. “Are we just going to have mashed potatoes for dinner?”

“I bought spicy instant noodles yesterday, we can have that later if you want.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

[ Present, Tuesday ]

“That’s actually so sweet of him!” Your colleague coos as you finish your story. “Wish I had a husband like that…'' Even the middle-aged lady begrudgingly nods in agreement. For a moment, you feel a surge of pride— It was your husband they were talking about— Your sweet, hardworking, dork of a 6’2 bedhead.

“You wouldn’t be able to survive.” Another lady snorts. “That guy is away for weeks at a time.”

You hum. “Well, at least he calls back every night, regardless of how tired he is.” In the corner of your mind, you remember that he makes sure to call his grandmother every weekend, and that he sends his parents (and grandparents) money every month, that he visits your parents the first Sunday after he’s back from his trips— Not to mention that he always brings a gift of wellness products (The most recent one was a box of abalone).

The group of women swoon once more.

“Well, I guess we should get back to work,” You dispose of your paper cup in the trash, brushing your hands off. “See you ladies later.”

The moment you’re back at your desk, you take out your phone to text your husband, who is, no doubt, going to be very, very confused.

[ y/n ] 2.37pm

— we have a problem

[ tetsu <3 ] 2.39pm

— what’s wrong???

[ y/n ] 2.38pm

— i may have accidentally caused 20 women in my office to fall in love with you

[ tetsu <3 ] 2.38pm

— what ???

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

you know it's love when your dad comes home with this giant piece of bubble wrap and your mom literally squeals and snatches it to immediately start popping it on the couch while browsing facebook on her ipad

[saturatedboy]

Can I pretty please get some angst with Donna confessing her feelings for Reader but Reader declines, saying she doesn’t return her feelings and also has feelings for someone else (preferably Alcina or even Heisenberg)

Donna Beneviento x F!Reader

Warnings: angst, possessive language

Words: 4K

Requests: open

The outside had turned the mud ground into a blanket of white snow. How long has it truly been since you went outside? A week, maybe 3 weeks at tops. You missed the cold air, running through the forest playing 'hide and seek' with some unexpected visitors. Gosh you hate to admit it but you missed going to the family meetings at the church where Mother Miranda would talk about her plan.

You were just a journalist from Britain, looking for an adventure but somehow your so-called-holiday in Romania came to a sudden stop wen you were taken by Mother Miranda and had a Cadou paced in you. You had slight PTSD of the pain you had gone through but you were deemed to be an 'undesirable' vessel for something you were never given further information upon. So you were thrown to the side for Donna take take home and for Angie to have a 'playmate'. However, what Mother Miranda didn't suspect was that the Cadou had in fact affected all your sense so you could hear, see, taste, feel and smell much more than an average human. Of course when Donna found out about this, seeing you see perfectly in a pitch dark room during you and Angie's game, she grew here suspicions and kept it a secret.

It was only after she saw that, that she had decided to keep you inside away from any of the other Lords and Ladies. Donna had thought that if any of them found out about this that they would want you for their own personal reasons. So what was better than to keep you locked inside away from any of them. If only she saw the incoming feelings that she would gain just by being in close contact with a human for a long period of time.

Breathing hot breath onto the glass window, you drew a bunny sniffing a carrot with some strange looking trees in the background. Leaning back feeling proud of your drawing, you ran a hand through your hair and straightened it out. "Having fun?~" A voice came from behind. Twirling your head around you were face to face with none of than Angie the doll. She smiled and crooked her head to the side, admiring your small drawing, floating closer to see it clearer.

"I suppose, it's just boring staying in here all day without seeing anyone else." You sighed and looked down, letting your body rest with your back against the window sill and your legs dangling off the window sill. Angie looked at you then back at the bunny. She knew how badly you had wanted to go out, and she was more than sure it wasn't healthy for a human to stay inside for long periods of time. Tapping a finger against her mouth, she gasped in surprise and pulled against your hand, wrapping her small hands around three of your fingers. 

"Come come! hoho, I have an idea~" She sang out, pulling harshly on your fingers making you slightly wince. 

"Okay okay I'm coming, just keep your voice down. You're getting louder each day." You had jumped off the window ledge and landed perfectly on your feet. Using your other free hand, you had patted down your grey dress and straightened the veil on your head, only to be dragged into various rooms by Angie and her excited giggles, making the bottom of your dress become crinkled from the quick movements.

"If I remember correctly, if you can't go out then we'll just invite people to come see you hm?~" The doll had purred out once she dragged you into the office room on the first floor. Her voice held a slight tone of mischief making you think about backing away from her and going to go back to sit and wait for Lady Beneveinto to come back from the meeting. But if you did that, you may just loose a chance of seeing someone else other than Angie and the other puppets. You followed her reluctantly near where the large oak desk was with a black leather chair occupying the floor behind it. "Yes yes, that's it! Now just sit down there and take some of the paper from the filing cabinet underneath that desk! oooo this is going to be o fun!" 

Following the orders, you had taken hold of the seat and leaned down, searching for the filing cabinet under. Just in the far left there it was, 2 drawers with silver handles. Pulling the first one, there in the drawers was paper. Grabbing three pieces of paper, you pulled yourself back up and shut the drawer with your foot. Moving around a little on the chair, you got yourself comfy and waited for Angie's next words. "Wow, no wonder she really likes you! You're so obedient-anyway~"

"Wait Angie, who do you mean by 'she'?" Angie was swaying across the room, laughing softly as she heard your question. She had her back turned to face you so you couldn't see the growing smirk playing at her mouth. She wouldn't ruin who liked you because it wasn't her position to-However if she didn't confess to you sooner or later, Angie will have no choice but to in fact tell you herself. Just the thought of you both together had her internally screaming in merriment, the way her owner would stare at you when you were sleeping on the couch or even when Donna would create you clothing perfect to your size to see you wear them. Angie knew Donna was so much more merry with you around, her heart had practically been in love with you since you first ever came. Getting back on task, Angie flew over to the coffee table behind the green couch and grabbed a pen that was sitting above some recent sketches of Donnas plants. Grabbing it within her grasp, Angie had swiftly floated back to you and waved the pen in front of your face, your eyes following its movement.

"Now, use this to write letters to the other lords and Lady! We could throw a party~ OOO and you can meet everyone more! Great time to meet people right~" Liking the idea and forgetting about your past question, you had plucked the pen from Angie's grasp and started to write in formal writing to the other Lords and Lady.

"Angie," You asked her as you had finished writing to the other rulers. Angie hummed as she was sat with folded knees on the desk and was picking at some splinters in her wood arms. "What about Mother Miranda...shouldn't I be thrown into the death pile by now?"

"Ah ah," you placed the pen back down, passing the letters to Angie who had called some other puppets to walk in with envelopes in their arms. "You were suppose to die but it appears you survived the Cadou. Mother Miranda doesn't care much about the failed experiments, such as you, so she gave you to us~ Aren't we just a happy family~"

You stayed silent, watching the doll place the letters into the envelopes and signing the back of them, most likely applying the other Lords and lady addresses. She gave them back to the puppets and signalled them to go off, their feet scurrying away as quick as they could to deliver said letters. Clicking her gears about, the doll had stretched her arms up and stood on the table waving her hands about. "C'mon lets go get ready. I made a few adjustments to your writing and they should arrive hopefully around 6 sharp. Hoho lets get you spiced up!" As soon as she said those words, she flew out of the room in what you could only think to be to go to your room you were staying in. Sighing out, you brushed away any lose strands of hair and stood up. Smiling to yourself, you strode out of the office room and made your way to your room, lifting your grey dress up when it came to walking up the rickety stairs.

When you followed down the few hallways, you arrived to your destination. Turning the silver knob, you pushed over the heavy door to reveal Angie throwing clothing all over your room. "Angie could you at least try keep my room clean," You spoke as you wandered over to your bed where most of the discarded clothing were. Picking them up of your sheets, you cradled them all in one arm and placed them onto a rocking chair that was seated in the far corner of your room.

A groan came from inside your wardrobe, followed by the appearance of the wedding doll slamming shut your wardrobe door. Huffing, she crossed her arms. "There is nothing here! Nothing good. hmmm, Argh! What are we gonna do?" Silence filled the space between you both. You hadn't got a clue what was wrong with the clothing you had, Lady Beneviento made them all for you. You were grateful for the beautiful clothing you had been gifted with, treasuring each one making sure to never tear any of the fibres in any of them. 

Soon however the silence was broken with the noise of the manor door opening and the soft sound of wind from outside. "Ooo~ Looks like Donna is back eeee! Lets go say hiiii~" The doll had hovered near the door, waiting for you to follow. Making an 'o' with your mouth, you followed the doll out of your room and down the steps where you were greeted with Lady Beneviento waiting for the both of you. She was mid-way in putting her veil behind her head when she spotted you at the top of the stairs. Smiling sweetly, she held her hand out inviting you to join her.

Plucking the front of your dress you, you walked down the steps being careful not to fall as Angie had glided past you into Donna's arms giving her a hug chanting her name over and over. "Donna! Donna! Donna you're back! Now lets play, No wait lets eat! Ahh, no. Lets get ready for the party- wait no!" Donna raised an eyebrow. party? Now that was news to her.

"What party?" She asked, holding Angie out as she saw you walking in the background towards her.

"Well, hehe. We decided to host a party~ You know, meet...the others...heh?" Angie squirmed out of the holding of Donna and turned to the side to allow you to greet Donna. Curtseying, you showed respect to the Lady of the Manor. Her hand moved to be under your chin. After she moved your chin up so she could see your face showing worry.

"You are holding  party without my permission?" She asked softly, brushing your jawline with her thumb watching your every move. You gulped, feeling much smaller than Donna in the current position and feeling the pressure of guilt seeking into your heart.

"I'm so sorry milady-It's just I haven't been able to go out or see anyone else in a long time. I didn't want to go against you in anyway! I swear," You panicked, feeling Donna's hand become slightly tighter until she released you and brought you close in by snaking an arm around your waist and pulling you into her chest, only to snake the other around and give you a hug. She rested her head on your shoulder and inhaled deeply smelling your shampoo from the morning shower you had before she left for her meeting.

"I'm not mad dear, just tell me next time. However I wish you to not make any agreements with any of my siblings." She pulled away from the hug, still having her arms wrapped around you, and raised an arm up to cradle your cheek. "I wouldn't want you to get hurt by any of them," Her whisper had been tense, like a warning. She gave your temple a kiss, pulling away and smiling once again. "Well if I know Angie, I'm sure the party is being today. Come, I'll fetch some clothing for you to wear for tonight." She stepped out of arms length and began to walk, her shoes clicking against the wood on the floor. You watched her go, only to get nudged by Angie to go follow her. You hastily ran after her, following her to her quarters of the manor. You hoped nothing bad would happen tonight.

Donna had sat waiting patiently for you on a stool. It took 3 hours to create the most elegant dress she could, having the top a little tight with a flowy bottom. In silver hand stitches, were roses crawling up from the bottom of the skirt to the top. Gibeon gemstones were decorating the sweetheart neckline with a sheer of black fabric attached to the top going down to the bottom of your wrists. Donna decided to let you keep the opaque veil, finding it completing the look of your dress. "Do you need any help at all?" Donna asked, sitting waiting for you with hands on her knees.

"No worries, I am....done!" You exclaimed, stepping out behind the folding screens. Your appearance made Donna stand up. You couldn't see her reaction behind her veil but you knew from her movements as she paced herself towards you she was proud of her handy work. Once she was stood in front of you she clasped her hands tightly together.

"Now don't you just look like the perfect doll, all dressed up...for me,"

You tilted your head to the side. "What was that last part Lady Beneviento?" You asked like a lost puppy. She giggled lightly and took hold of your arm, slowly dropping her hand down to take hold of your hand. 

"Do not worry about it, now I think it's time for you to meet my siblings. They are downstairs at the moment already." You nodded and smiled softly. Finally you were going to meet other people! Or monsters...from what Angie has told you and Lady Beneviento from the past. Letting Donna walk in front of you, her hand still in yours, you followed behind her as she lead the way. You could hear many voices from below as well as Angie's screaming and two people arguing. A pit in your stomach had been created. Were you really ready for this?

You had reached the stairs, hiding behind Donna's height. This was it, all voices had became quiet. More likely staring up at Donna. Donna had coughed, clearing her voice. "I'd like you all to meet someone close to me. Be respectful for any foul behaviour towards her I will attend to by using either force or a violent way to manage you." You lightly gasped, you knew Donna to never be someone to ever be violent so her proposing words had left you slightly on edge. Without any warning, Donna had stepped to the side and used her hand to guide you to stand next to her.

You looked below to see three young girls, all dressed in black. A fish like monster with a hunched back and a crown made from bones. A very tall woman flashing a motherly smile at you with a large black hat on her head. And lastly a man that held a hammer that you were sure to be maye just slightly smaller than your own height over his shoulder. Gulping, you waved at them all which resulted in the three girls squealing with Angie. "Oh wow she's just like a doll all dressed up!" One with blonde hair had spoke.

"I know right hehe~ Lady Donna had dressed her up perfectly~" Angie spoke, being just as excited as the rest to see your appearance. Donna gently pulled you closer to her and then walked down the steps. You trailed behind her seeing the three girls go back to their conversation with Angie whilst the fish man went to go towards the office room. Once at the bottom of the steps, both the tall woman and male walked over to you with smiles of their own. Donna had let go of your hand and stood beside you staring behind her veil at the approaching people. She was seething with unseen anger.

"Hello there dearie~" The tall woman spoke, her red lips highlighting the fact she had pearly white teeth. You blushed as she said 'dear'. Her voice to you was very attractive. The male beside her had playfully bowed to you, reaching for your hand with his gloved one and lightly kissed your knuckles.

"Now now Donna, why do you keep this beauty of a fine woman away from us all?" He asked, letting his lips linger on your knuckles as he spoke, only pulling away when the woman in white had hit him on the head.

"I'm sure Lady Beneviento had her reason you man thing. Now give the lady some space and keep your dirty paws off her." She harshly flicked him on the head and turned her attention back towards you. "My name is Lady Dimitrescu, and what might the alluring dazzling girls name be here?" You shyly looked away, rubbing your hand up and down your arm feeling the material below scratch slightly at your skin leaving a tingly feeling.

You bowed your head and spoke with a smile, hiding all your nerves. "My name is (Y/n), its an absolute pleasure to meet you all." Absolutely loving your manners, Lady Dimitrescu had gently stroked your hair.

"Such lovely manners~" She purred out, staring deeply into your eyes that were almost hidden behind your veil.

"Yeah yeah and my name is Lord Heisenberg, but please doll call me Karl~" Heisenberg had spoke, letting his hammer drop to the floor next to him so he could lean against it. Hearing the rather loud noise, you turned your eye sight to stare at him. Seeing your head turn to look directly at him, he grinned and pushed he glasses to the end of his nose sending you a wink. You 'eeped' and looked the other way in embarrassment.

'Keep yourself together!' you shouted at yourself in your head as you huffed out harshly and took a breath in, turning back around to face everyone. Donna wasn't having any of this. How dare they all come into her home and flirt with what is hers. Her doll, her creation, her property.

"How about we go have lunch." She seethed out through closed teeth.

"Oh what a marvellous idea. Say (Y/n), why don't you sit next to me and we can talk more about your life. I'm sure we could also discuss days you could meet me and my daughter. Oh they'll love you, such a graceful woman as yourself is sure an eye-catcher." Lady Dimitrescu had spoke out, grabbing your hand and leading you astray with Lord Heisenberg following behind shouting out how you should instead come to his factory and explore the real world. 

As Donna was left behind, she clenched her fist tightly. To see you walk away with her siblings sent shivers down her spine. You were a beautiful woman, there was no doubt about it so of course you were going to catch the eyes of at least one of her siblings. But she didn't expect you to just...just follow them like that. "Is this jealousy I can smell?~" Dona turned to look at Angie. 

"I have no clue what you're talking about. She doesn't like them, she's only just met them all." She denied, taking a stroll to meet everyone in the dining room.

"Just remember you fell for her when you first saw her~" Angie called from behind making Donna stop in her tracks. She was right, she did indeed fall for you after she set her sight on you. You were so beautiful, everything you had ever done lead her to believe that there was a connection between the two of you. You had spent most time with her, surely you had fallen in love with her. She'll just make sure to claim you before any of the others do. Better to tell the truth then later. And so tonight, she had told herself she would confess to you, confess her feelings and get you to become her other half.

You were stood outside on the porch. Lady Beneveinto had asked you to meet her here after the lunch you had with the other lords and ladies. You felt happy to be within the presence of others instead of just you and Donna being the only functioning people with blood and skin. The weather had became slightly warmer and left with a full moon in the sky. You had your veil pulled back after Heisenberg had asked to see your eye colour. You blushed slightly as the thought of him, however your blushed increased when yo thought of Lady Dimitrescu. How could two people have such strong effects on you. Gosh you felt like you were about to faint in there with their teasing about your height as well bout your manners, though Lady Dimitrescu did say they were perfect.

The door behind you opened and out came Lady Beneviento. You glanced at her and nodded in acknowledgement. "Evening Lady Beneviento." You said, seeing her stand by your side. 

"What do you think about them all?" She asked suddenly catching you off guard. You raised an eyebrow and took a moment to think.

"They are...different from you. I know that for sure. However I do believe that each have their own personality which makes them fun in a way. Not to mention they were all really kind towards me tonight and I felt honoured to be within their presence." You finished with a beaming smile. Donna hummed, looking at the forest in front of her manor. Inside she could hear her siblings fight and Angie chanting cheering them on.

"What do you think about me?" She turned her full attention to you, taking your hands in hers and looking up at you. You couldn't see her facial expression because of her veil but nonetheless, you thought.

"You are someone who takes control when needed. Although quiet, you bring a comforting atmosphere with you everywhere you go. You're really sweet a well and thoughtful, which is why I treasure every dress you give me." Donna listened carefully to your words. She was extremely happy you liked the dresses she makes you, and to also be told that you loved her being around too. She bit her lip in anticipation, maybe this is the right time to say what she is needing to say. Inhaling deeply, she cleared her throat and stepped closer to you, placing her hands on your hips.

"I need to say this because it's been playing on my mind ever since you got here and was given to me. From a playmate, you have made your way past that and became much more to me. What I’m trying to say is that- I love you.”

You stayed in silence, a soft wind brushing through your hair as you looked at Donna.

“Lady Beneviento I- I don’t know what to say.” Your face had turned a slight red, feeling a weird feeling in your stomach- like you were about to faint. Donna held your hands tighter, your knuckles turning white from loss of blood.

“Just say you love me back! Easy right?” Again you had stayed silent, looking away from her to look at the manor door instead. You felt her grip loosen however, you could move your fingers about. “Right?” She pressed on, her voice quivering a little.

“I can’t love you,” you placed her hands to rest in her chest. Slowly you took your hands away from hers and left her standing in shock- not that you could see. “I love someone else, I’m sorry Lady Beneviento. I’m sure someone will love you as much as you love them one day.”moving yourself away from the awkward conversation, you had left Donna standing alone on the porch, going back inside only to be greeted by both Heisenberg and Dimitrescu.

Dropping her hands to the side, Donna had gripped the side of her dress. Her shoulda slowly shook up and down growing rapidly in speed. A single breathy laugh left her throat. “If you don’t love me-

I’ll make you love me.”

[what-the--curtains]

There Are No Wolves in the Desert

Part 2 - The Tell Tale Knife

(Oberyn Martell x f!reader)

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Summary: After the death of his paramour Oberyn seeks out a local mercenary known as the Shadow Hunter, but who he finds is more valuable than he could have imagined.

Authors notes: Thank you for all the comments, likes and reblogs! I’ve loved Robb and Oberyn since I read the books like 10 years ago now (yes my parent gave me that book when I was like 13 😂) I’m so happy to finally write down whats been in my head for years! Thank you for letting me share it with you💕💕 as per usual let me know if youd like a tag (or untag)!

Tw: Alcohol, violence, threats of sexual assault, swearing, nudity (implied), mentions of sex.

Word count: 4.5 k

Tagged: @evyiione @ayamenimthiriel @xsadderdazeforeverx @agingerindenial (if i missed anyone please let me know im the worst for tagging!!)

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3 years later

The days passed slowly while you remained tucked away, out of sight from those seeking to do you harm. A generous payment kept you safe in the attic of a local blacksmith, the promise of more ensuring you wouldn't be sold out. Once the imminent threat of assasination was over you focused on staying alive, finding the dragon queen becoming a distant memory, one that would have to wait until a more opportune moment presented itself. You used the last of your funds to purchase a horse and sought out work where you could. For a while you served as a healer to those returning from the fighting pits and other skirmishes occurring between nearby cities, until a Lannister soldier showed up searching for you. After that you moved further out of town finding work at a tavern miles from the city walls catering to a variety of characters travelling from near and far.

The owners were good folk, a retired sculptor, her wife and two young children. You’d stopped in for a drink with plans on heading further south, but an incident changed your course. A man came in threatening the owners demanding a payout when you’d stepped in, the man thought it would be easy, and it was at least for you. You helped them bury the body and they’d asked you to stay and so you did; tending to bar, training the horses and offering protection when needed. In return they offered you a bed, hot meals and a small salary despite your insistence that room and board was more than enough. It was a quiet life, a simple life, but one you enjoyed greatly. The noise of war and murder a ditant cry. Only in your sleep were you reminded of the cruelty of the world. The restful days quickly turned to weeks and it wasn't long until a year had passed, as had the memories of who you were.

The rumour of your murder had spread slowly from king landing, uttered from between the poisonous lips of Cersei Lannister, a lie you prayed one day would come back to haunt her. The day the news reached the ears of your employers you knew it was time to leave, and you rode back through the golden gates of the city. You’d resold the horse to a palace guard whose wife worked with the royal stables, training them, breeding them, caring for them, a good place for a faithful friend to live out its days. Noticing the weapons on your back the guard offered you a fee to find and kill a man who had snuck into the palace and murdered three of his wife's favourite horses after their daughter had refused his hand in marriage. He was dead within the hour, and from there the word of your skill in both tracking and murder got around amougst the nobility, and you fell haphhazourdly into mercenary work. If there was one skill you could rely on, it was your ability to unabashedly kill and you quickly became one of Dornes finest assassins. You fell into the work, the ease at which you became accustomed to it frightened you at first, but you had been hardened by loss, and it wasn't as if you hadn’t killed before.

Any semblance of emotional morality long forgotten, unable, or not wanting to have it all come seeping back, fearful of what may surface as a result. Most of your money went to keeping you fed, well rested and off any enemy radars. After the first month, money became more lucrative and you had splashed out on new armoury and weapons, nothing flashy like some of the more ornate dornish assassins who made a show of their profession. They were harmless, though admittedly annoying and from what you heard, not nearly as impressive as they boasted. Your armour was simple, lightweight leather over loose, breathable cloth, and a dark cloak, Its hood heavy and kept drawn well up over your eyes obscuring your face from prying eyes at all times. A shadow on the wall. Your weapons were similar to your clothes, your short swords and longbow were well crafted and durable, no decoration but for a few carved vines wrapped around their ends. Your only remaining identifiers were your eyes, and the dagger belonging to your late husband which stayed with you at all times, always within reach. Any remaining money was hidden away about the city, a retirement fund if you will, assuming you lived that long.

There were bonuses beside finances in your line of work, your ability to disappear into a crowd kept you in touch with the rumour mill. Words and secrets would fall from drunken mouths carelessly. Most of it stank worse than the horse's field after rain, but there were some that rang true, and a few that even brought a rare smile to your face. A young woman had spoken loudly about Tywin Lannister's death and how he’d supposedly died on the privy, causing you to snort into your soup, a fitting end for a coward of a man.

A month later you heard that the prince of Dorne had gone to King's Landing to fight for Tyrion, where he supposedly defeated a man standing well over 12 feet tall. A tall tale of a tall man you think, knowing how royal always sought to increase the truth of their abilities. You had also heard the unfortunate news of Ellaria Sands poisoning , the venom not reaching her veins until the ship had sailed out, no remedy to be found on the vaste seascape. It was a shame, she and the Sand Snakes were skilled adversaries here and they had since scattered in search of answers and allies around the seven kingdoms, to help avenge their mother. The prince apparently had to be restrained to stop him from turning the ship around, that was a story you found more believable. From what you’d heard the prince may have many lovers but he would go to war for any of them. You’d never seen his face, except for on the back of coins or from a distance. If you had you may have noticed him enter into the tavern where you sat awaiting your payment from your most recent client.

Your eyes stay on the table, your hood pulled up well over your forehead giving you a frightening silhouette beneath the candlelight that was beginning to glow more prominently as the sun set. The young man who commissioned you entered, he stank of wine and privilege, but he was rich and the payment promised was well worth putting up with his unsavoury personality. His true odor protrudes through the thin veil of perfume attempting to mask his stench, alerting you to his presence well before he’d sat down. Your time alone had heightened your tracking skills, a side effect of living under the constant threat of being hunted. The wiry man sits down next to you, his thin fingers snapping under your eyes in an attempt to get your attention, you inhale deeply, drawing yourself back to your displeasing reality and forced social interactions.

“Where's the money?” you ask, knife whittling a notch out of the table's leg with Robbs dagger.

“Where the head?” he retorts, and you pull out a small sack, shoving it into his hand watching as he pulls at the drawstring, opening the velvet bag. He raises his eyebrows and pulls out the index finger you'd removed from the corpse.

“Head was…. indisposed. I hope this satisfies,” you murmur, this job had been messier than you intended. You typically weren't so reckless especially with a noble.

“ Very much so, ” he says taking it and turning it in his hands

“The money then,” you restate, tone flat.

“Well there's one more... proposition I had.” He states, hand resting down on your thigh.

“I'll take the money for this job then you can hand me the next target,” you respond, sighing heavily, used to people getting handsy with you.

“You can make extra on this job if you play your cards right,” he whispers, hand running up your thigh. The other reaches up to pull back on your hood within seconds your dagger had impaled his hand, pining it to the table. His wail of anguish causes the heads in the tavern to turn briefly towards the scene before returning to their lively chatter.

“You stupid bitch,” he spits making a grab for the knife but you reach forward pushing it further into the table leaning in towards him.

“The money, or I cut off your head and mount it on the wall of this tavern,” you say, louder than intended.

Oberyn watches from the bar in amusement , the last time he’d seen fire like that had come from Ellaria. He needed someone to help get his revenge, someone willing to murder a man in front of witnesses, his birds had been right, this mercenary was the one for the job.

You rip the knife from the man's hand as he throws you the coinpurse you were owed you reach for it as he stands.

“Bitch,” he spits, liquid hitting the side of your face as he pulls down your hood “you better watch you back mercenary, I'll be taking you from behind in no time.” He snarls, as you hurry to pull your cover back up.

“Clever,” you retort, wiping your face, shaking out the purse and counting your pay out. Empty threats. Or threats you didn’t care about, you could kill scum like that in your sleep, and you had. You mutter another curse under your breath at being exposed, the latest delay in dye shipments had allowed the roots of your white hair to protrude through, lucky everyone inside was too drunk to notice. The money from the job was enough to keep a roof over your head for the foreseeable future, maybe even enough for a bath, it was getting to be that time. You go to stand, you had an ‘appointment’ in town, one with a handsome payout. Before you can stand you see a pair of hands adorned in jewellery slip into your view a scent of sweet fruit and honey indicating a cleanliness and a high status, a very high status, your appointment could wait.

Obery was observant, his eyes had been glued to you even while conversing with the beautiful patrons of the bar, not wanting to lose you in the crowd. “The shadow tracker”. That’s what you had been dubbed by those residing in the city according to his sources, clients of yours pleased with your services, services he was in need of. It seems you may bear more than one secret identity, it may have been for the briefest second, but the colour of your hair stood out against the dark fabric you wore. It intrigued him, white hair was uncommon in those of your age, very rare. In fact he only knew of one person still alive with such a trait. The other, one whom he’d sent a wedding gift to years prior, was long dead, or so the Lannister would have him believe, and when has he ever trusted the word of child murderers. He may have come here in seek of a mercenary, but what he found may prove to be even more valuable to his cause.

“Payments 50 for a nobody, rate goes up with each class, royals are above my paygrade, and nobles will cost you at least 6 of those fancy rings on your fingers,” you list, taking note of the martell sigil embellished on one of the larger rings.

“How much would it be to convince a wolf to take down a Lion,” he queries, hunching his head down to try and catch a glimpse of the eyes under the hood. Your heart drops.

“Above the pay grade, couple down at the docks have a death wish, you might try your luck there,” you explain, deepening your voice slightly in an attempt to disguise yourself.

“And what would be your wish, if you could have it?” he queries, leaning back kicking his feet up onto the stool beside you. As he does the yellow of his robes come into your peripheral the suns intricately stitched on, shining against the murk of the tavern's tile floor.

“To be left alone,” you chide, this was someone well acquainted with the royals here, you didn't deal with royalty, more trouble than they're worth.

“What's that old saying? The lone wolf dies, or am I mistaken? ” he returns, chuckling slightly.

“I don’t know who you think I am but I assure you…” you say, eyes finally raising, only then realizing the prince of Dorne sat before you, at least based on his impression on one of the coins in your hand.

“Lady Stark, I was hoping we’d meet face to face,” he remarks, the long forgotten address catching you off guard causing your eyes to shoot back down.

“Lady Stark died, the Lannisters ground up her body and fed it to the king's direwolf before killing it, haven’t you heard?” you say sarcastically, pulling your knife out of the table, unsure if he’d recognized it.

“Propaganda, set to diminish the power of the north,” he says, watching the blade intently as it's pulled from the table.

“I do not know if Lady Stark is alive, but for a price I could find out, granted you tell me what you need her for,” you mutter.

“I did not come here in search of Lady Stark. I came seeking a mercenary, the so-called “shadow tracker” however, this is a most welcome surprise, as for why I need you, or her, the answer is revenge plain and simple.”

“Is that what they call me?” you remark “ So you seek out a mercenary only to find something better, something you can trade?” you pose shaking your head.

“No, I needed an assassin, but found something better. Something more lethal.” He pauses.

“Which is?” you prompt, hoping to end this conversation sooner rather than later.

“One they think is dead. Besides I figured Lady Stark would want the opportunity to take down the Lannisters.”

“I assume she would, though she may think the offer stands too good to be true,” you state, gathering up your payment and making your exit he follows suit, stopping briefly to gently nudge his hand under the chin of an attractive man standing near the door, no doubt planning on returning later.

“The desert is no place for a wolf,” he calls after you, a significant distance between the two of you now.

“I shall let you know if I see such a sight, my prince,” you shout, dramatically curtsying before turning on your heel and walking off. He smiles before re-entering the tavern.

A week later

You stroll through the dark alleys of the city, a few years ago you wouldn’t have dared ventured out so late. The woods were known to you, their dangers and sights predictable, but the city was uncharted territory. While a bear could be trusted to do as bears do, the movements of man were less predictable. Your work kept you attune to the veins of the city and the people that coursed through them. You knew where to go and where to avoid depending on the day. You knew the sounds, able to pick out when something was amiss and tonight something was. The usual scurry of the rats below or the call of the parrots from above were absent, someone had been through here and not long ago. Your hand dips into the folds of your cape and you throw your dagger catching a man in the neck. You lean over and remove it from his jugular, the blood flowing out from the wound. Before you can turn him over, something hits you knocking you forward onto your stomach. You’re lifted from the ground by the nape of your neck. Your hoods pulled down and your head pulled up to see the foul smelling client and two other assassins standing before you.

“Dirron, Brant, always a pleasure” you snarl

“No hard feelings Shadow, you’re taking out all the business” Brant responds.

“How much is he paying you? Not enough I bet he didn't pay me enough. I'll double it if you let me walk.” you plead, but they shake their heads.

“I paid you more than your worth,” he spits, gesturing to the man behind you and he lifts you up slamming you into a nearby wall pressing your face against the rough brick. You can taste the blood beginning to gather in your mouth. He releases you, handing you over to the unpleasant smelling man who brings the dagger you’d dropped into your view, pressing the steel against your cheek as he begins to speak.

“This dagger belonged to Robb Stark.”

“Did it? I stole it from a client months ago,” you say, elbowing him in the stomach causing him to drop the blade. You catch it, and drive it deep into his knee. He falls, and you unsheathe his sword and throw it catching Dirron in the chest. The large brute gets to you before your next move knocking you in the stomach and pinning you back up against the wall.

“Told you I'd have you from behind,” the client says, limping over to you and spitting on the side of your face. As the moisture hits your flesh a spear pierces through his chest , pinning him to a nearby crate as the remaining two men scatter. You push yourself up spinning to see the prince standing in the alley picking up your dagger.

“Of all the souvenirs to keep, this…” he starts, examining the blade before continuing “ is the most telling. Even with your distinct traits, the Young Wolf's knife is well known, especially by those who saw it made. Dornish steel,” he explains tossing it in the air catching it by the blade and handing it back to you by its handle.

“As I just finished explaining to your dear friend there, I stole that,” you lie, taking it from him.

“No you didn’t,” he says, eyes bright even in the dark, a familiar smirk on his lips, clearly bemused by your attempts at lying.

“Yes I did,” you retort, refusing to let up on your façade.

“Shall we debate it over a drink?” he asks, retrieving his spear from the client's body which falls to the ground with an unpleasant thunk.

“A prince slumming it with the poor?” you ask watching as he uses the dead man's silks to wipe his weapon before turning back to you.

“My enjoyment of life precludes class,” he says offering you his arm

“As you speak from your riches,” you point out, watching him run his tongue along his upper lip.

“We are not as antiquated in our ideologies here, class here is less pronounced” he assures you.

“Is it?” you argue, pushing down on his extended arm and he shrugs his shoulder in defeat, pride faltering only for a fragment of a second at the notion of being rejected. The streets are busy tonight, the warm weather bringing the people out en masse to enjoy the city's nightlife. He brings his hand up to usher you into a nearby tavern by the small of your back, but thinks twice and drops it, not wanting to lose it. As you enter he raises his hand and winks at the barkeep before following you towards the back near the window sill.

“What will it cost you?” you inquire as he sits down, watching over his shoulder as the person behind the bar pours out a decanter of wine.

“What?” he asks, the downturn of his mouth and creased forehead painting a picture of confusion.

“To let me leave here, to keep this a secret, the two men who escaped know who I am now. My time here is up.” you confess as the decanter is placed on the table the bartenders hands trailing across his shoulders causing him to smile fondly up at them.

“I do not wish you to be found. It would ruin the plans I have,” he says, slowly turning his attention back to you, offering you wine. You stare at the decanter, then to him before shaking your head causing him to chuckle

“What? Have I said something amusing? “ you question, almost annoyed.

“Untrusting,” he remarks, taking a sip of the liquid before offering it to you once again. You reach over the table grabbing the cup from his hand.

“I am untrusting because in my experience people cannot be trusted,” you explain taking a sip.

“You husband certainly lied about marrying the Frey girl,” he remarks, leaning back into his seat, arms spreading out across the chairs back.

“I’ve never been married,” you state, wanting nothing more than to punch the smug look off his face.”

“You're good,” he says, eyes giving you the once over.

“At what?”

“Lying, well perhaps not good per say but committed, i'll give you that, you fight in a similar manner.” he presses, hoping to get a rise out of you.

“So, you think I can’t fight,” you say, shaking your head with a laugh

“Your words,” he states.

“I did not come here to be insulted by the likes of you, prince or not,” you scold, sitting up.

“I didn't mean to offend,” he remarks, eyes watching your movements, evidently he’d touched a nerve.

“Didn’t you?” you query, tilting your head.

“No, truly it was not my intention, I merely believe upon improvement,” he explains.

“Hard to improve without practice, hard to practice on your own,” you state, moving to leave, the prince drawing too much attention than you wanted on you. You down the rest of your wine and utter a ‘thank you for the drink’ before bidding him a farewell and exiting the bar. You don't make it far, seemingly unable to shake him.

“Why are you here?” he asks.

“That’s privileged information,” you say, turning to face him walking backwards along the cobbled streets. His eyes fall to you before looking up to the heavens, the stars were bright tonight illuminating his features. The rumours of him held true in one area undoubtedly, he was handsome.

“Come back to the palace with me.” He says, eyes still gazing up at the sky.

“I have no intention of divulging in your pleasure my prince, my heart belongs to another, I swore I wouldn’t stray from him even in death,” you reply, turning back to walk forward spitting blood out onto the street, sure one of your teeth must have been knocked out in the earlier fight.

“While I disagree with more than one of those statements I did not mean to imply, though I would be remiss to say it wouldn’t be of great honour. I heard the Young Wolf betrayed an entire kingdom for you.” he says eyes once again on you, trying to catch a glimpse of your features obscured by the hood.

“Are you suggesting I got my husband killed?” you muse, hearing him tut in disagreement

“You’re dirty, you’re tired, you’re injured and at risk of murder, the palace offers you a safe place to recuperate.”

“And what do you expect in return?” you ask.

“I simply wish to offer you a proposition once you are rested, if you decline, you are free to leave. I will ensure you are transported to a safe location where no one knows you.”

Perhaps it was the itching of your skin, or the way the dye was clinging your out of control hair or maybe it was being allowed to be who you once were, but you agree.

“This is Shana she will help you, unless you prefer a male companion, though I would gladly offer my services” he says, gesturing to an older woman of great beauty.

“I can bath myself, thank you though,” you say, turning and nodding to the woman who bows her head and exits the bathhouse.

“Whatever you wish, I'll have her bring you clothes while we clean yours... if we can clean yours” he muses, the remark cracking a smile in your icy demeanour. He leaves and you undress placing your clothes outside the door as requested. Your bare feet feel refreshed against the cool orange tiles of the bath house, the area evidently meant for the use of many people. Multicoloured tulip petals float atop the water filling your nostril with an aroma unlike one you’d ever known. The steam from the water rises in the cool air of the night and you dip your toe in water proceeding to the steps.

You stride into the water allowing your lower half to adjust to the heat before fully sinking in to cover your shoulder. Immediately the dye in your hair begins to leak into the water blending together with the built up mud and blood that has been stuck to you since your last clean. You scrub your skin until the scars scattered across your body are once again visible in the moonlight. Your hand pauses over the wound above your shoulder, memories of Robb flooding back in, as you assume your true identity for the first time in years.

You dunk your head under the water, scrubbing to remove grime from your face and to work out the last of the dye until it's all gone, your hair returned to its original state. You stay in the water for a while enjoying the heat, but sitting in your own filth is no longer a luxury and you stand up and dry yourself off. Pulling on a robe hung up for you as if they knew you’d be there that night. The cool air hits you as you exit, a welcome relief compared to the heavy heat carried around while wearing your armour. One of the palace guards leads you to your bed chamber, the bed is large and the room even larger. Tiles from floor to ceiling apart from the windows which opened up to the balcony allowing the breeze in at night. You step out onto it, hand trailing through the flowers growing along the bannisters. You thank the guard and he closes the large wooden doors leaving you to change into an orange gown true to the style in Dorne. The thin material leaves little to the imagination, but it would prove good for sleeping though not much else. You turn your head to the room's table where clothes better suited for your line of work sit. Your weapons had been cleaned and lined up across the corner of the room, your dagger shined and stabbed into the wood, holding a note in place.

“Dramatic,” you chuckle, pulling out the knife retrieving the note and opening it ‘winter is coming’ you recognize the handwriting immediately, it had been years but you'd never forgotten the letter you'd received the day at the docks. Perhaps the prince could be trusted after all. You hesitate before folding the note up and placing it back down on the table, walking over to the large bed and falling asleep with the knife tucked securely under your pillow, just in case.

[ariel-seagull-wings]

TOP 12 WICKED QUEEN PORTRAYALS

@sunlit-music​ @mademoiselle-princesse​ @princesssarisa​ @superkingofpriderock​ @metropolitan-mutant-of-ark​ @amalthea9​ @theancientvaleofsoulmaking​ @astrangechoiceoffavourites​ @giuliettaluce​ 

Alongside the Big Bad Wolf, Cinderella’s Stepmother, The Giant from Jack and The Beanstalk, The Witch from Hansel and Gretel and Bluebeard, The Wicked Queen from Snow White is one of the most iconic fairy tale villains of all time. A lot of people come to consider her the real protagonist of the fairy tale, since is her desire to be considered the Fairest of All and her actions to keep that title what puts the narrative in motion. And today, i will rank my favorite portrayals of this fascinatingly nasty foe.

12º Miranda Richardson as Queen Elspeth in Snow White: The Fairest of Them All (2001)

Talk about being typecast: before that turn as Snow White’s Evil Queen, Richardson had portrayed an Evil Sorceress Queen and Stepmother in Jim Henson’s The Storyteller (’The Three Ravens’ episode) and she was a wicked Sorceress Stepmother in Tim Burton’s Sleep Hollow. So it was neat for her to be called for the role of the most famous Evil Sorceress Queen and Stepmother in this Hallmark TV Movie. Elspeth is the sister of a strange, mysteryous creature known as the Granter of Wishes. Having been recently released from his freezing prison, the Granter of Wishes makes a spell to make her look beautifull for human standards, and marries her to the newly crowned and widowed King John. At first she looks content with the prospect, but as time passes, she grows more and more unsatisfied. Her source of joy is the Magic Mirror that praises her beauty, and casting spells to turn gnomes into garden statues. But when the Magic Mirror says that Snow White’s beauty surpasses hers, the unsatisfaction gets mixed with paranoia, and Elspeth slowly abuses her power in constantly harming other people, until there is no magic enough...

11º Herta Kravina in Schneewitchen (1971)

This german TV Movie is the most faithfull adaptation of the Grimm’s tale original edition, not only keeping the three murder attempts by ribbon/lace/corset, hair comb and apple, but also being the only one to show the Queen dancing to death with hot iron shoes in Snow White’s wedding. This is enough to make it worth a checkout. The other reason i find this version interesting is how the Queen comunicates with the Magic Mirror: they sing to each other. And Kravina has a really good voice (no wonder she was a voice actress for Peggy Lee in the first german/dutch dub of Disney’s Lady and The Tramp). Sometimes that is enough to get a spot in a ranking.

10º Mari Yokoo/Caterina Rochiara/Regina Reagan/Carol Jacobanis as Queen Crystal in The Legend of Snow White (1994)

From the outside, Queen Chrystal appears to be calm, regal, and sophisticated, but in reality, this collected and stately facade hides an extremely sadistic, hateful, cold and sinister person. She is ruthless, jealous and obsessive and wants nothing more than to be the fairest in the land. She also has an extreme vanity that made her utterly intolerant of rivals. Being solely focused on the idea of becoming the fairest of all, Queen Chrystal does not appear to be significantly involved in governing her husband's kingdom, though the skeletal remains of prisoners in her dungeon point to her being a villainous ruler. In the end, her mad vanity and jealousy of her stepdaughter Snow White drove her to murderous insanity. Later is revealed that Queen Chrystal is not unredeamably evil as everyone thins, but an actually kind and gentle person who is possessed by an Evil Spirit. 

09º Diana Rigg as the Queen in Canon Movie Tales: Snow White (1987)

This lady is the personification of paranoia multiplied by the double. Why? Because the Magic Mirror didn’t needed to say that the little child Snow White was the fairest, this queen just feared so much that the princess’s beauty would outgrow hers that she ordered the huntsman to kill her. Basically: run, she is bad news.

08º Jeri Arredondo as Sly Fox in Happily Ever After: Fairy Tales For Every Child (1995)

Sly Fox... What a cunning diva. People try to counsel to not use alone a Magic Mirror that is a portal to the spirit world, but who says she listens? She is just there to hear the singing of her praises, and will try to eliminate anyone who gets on her way. She even goes so far as taking the appearance of the kind hearted nurse Sage Flower to lure her stepdaughter White Snow to eat the poisoned appled. What is not to love about that bastard?

07º Kazue Komiya/Arlene Banas as the Queen in Grimm’s Fairy Tale Classics (1989)

Interestingly this encarnation starts naturally cold, calm and collected, ocasionally at the princess Snow White to see if she can ever grow more beautifull than her, and dismissing the girl with contempt. It is years later that she lets go of acting calm and collected, because after hearing some gossips in the palace, she asks Snow White if she thinks of herself as more beautifull than the Queen, and her stepdaughter reacts by exclaiming that the Queen is vain and cruel, and to her eyes that makes her ugly. So besides the desire of being considered the most beautifull, you get the feeling that this Queen pursues Snow White as a way to shut a person that dares to rebell against her, wich ads new interesting dimentions to their antagonism.

06º Dorothy Cumming as Queen Brangomar in Snow White (1916)

Brangomar was once a lady in waiting of the palace. But one day, she met the powerfull Witch Rex, who offered to give Brangomar anything she wanted. And what Brangomar wanted was to become a beautifull Queen. Wich was achieved by a faustian deal where Witch Rex would cast a spell that killed Imogene, the previous Queen, while in return Brangomar would have to find a way of getting Snow White’s heart for the Witch. Years have passed, and now Brangomar  must kill the princess to pay her debt, or else everything she got will be lost. Hey, here is a way of making a villain tragic, almost simpathetic and complex while keeping clear that she is still a villain!

05º Vanessa Redgrave as the Queen in Faerie Tale Theatre (1984)

The most loud and bombastic portrayal of the Wicked Queen ever put on screen. Bringing to television her sperience from stage, that allows some more over the top emotional reactions, Redgrave had the time of her life in that role, indulging in twirling, preening and screening as much as she could, and his Queen is all the most fun for it.

04º Gudrun Landgrebe as the Queen in Schneewittchen (1992)

What i live about Landgrebe’s Queen is her range: at first she acts all humble, discreet, cold and mysteryous. Then her husband leaves to fight in a Crusade, and she trows the white veil and gray clothing of humility to show a diva red hair and orange dress, as to say “Hey, the King leaved, i have all the power here now and you must do as i say”. Later, a knight comes, offering a magical crystal ball that connected to a mirror says all the truth, and the Queen takes posession of it to ask about her beauty. When Mirror says that the most beautifull woman in the kingdom is Snow White, she gets infuriated, than goes to carefully plan ways to eliminate the princess once and for all. The highlight is when she takes the disguise of a russian male doctor to offer the apple (where she injects poison into with her ring) to Snow White.

03º Maria Antonieta de Las Nieves in El Chapulin Colorado: Blancanieves y los Siete Churín Churín Fun Flais (1978)

This three part episode of the mexican comedy superheroe show is a loving parody of the Disney version, that stands out as an enjoyable retelling of the classic fairy tale in its own right. Interestingly, while most of the comedy in the episode is delivered in the form of over the top slapistick, de Las Nieves’s delivers a straight faced, contained performance. Wich makes her answers to the absurd situations in the story all the more funny.

02º Patricia Medina as the Queen in Snow White And The Three Stooges (1961)

This lady was a hell of a foe: she not only antagonizes Snow White for the title of the Most Beautifull, going so far as to lock the princess in a dungeon for no crime at all, but also, alongside her partner in crime Count Oga, ordered a murder attempt aggainst Prince Charming when he was a child, to prevent him from marrying Snow White, and this way she could become ruller of the kingdoms of Fortunia and Bravuria. Troughout the film, you think that she could win, since she has powerfull magic, spy and a mighty army at her comand, wich makes the viewer get all the more excited on the seat, that is how enjoyable Medina’s Queen is.

And my Number One Portrayal of the Wicked Queen is...

01º Lucille La Verne as the Queen in Disney’s Snow White and The Seven Dwarfs (1937)

The first encarnation of the character that i ever saw in my childhood, and the one that still sends chills/shivers to my spine. As a young Queen, she rarely smiles, acting cold and calculating, intidimidating who is subordinate to her with the expression of her eyes and highbrows. And as a Crone, she lowdly indulges in her cruelty, offering the poisoned apple to her pet raven to scare him, and mocking the dead skeleton of a prisoner inside the castle’s dungeons. That balance between cold calculism and loud cruelty, where both are equally unsetling and scary, is something very hard to achieve, but i think this encarnation did a very good job in achieving that balance, that every other  portrayal that camed tried to draw influence from it ever since. And that’s why Disney’s Wicked Queen is my Number One portrayal.

HONORABLE MENTIONS: Addi Adamets in Schneewittchen (1955), Marianne Christina Schiling in Schneewittchen (1961) and Sonja Kirchberger in Sechs Auf Einen Streich (2009)

[nurseofren]

Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 27 (NSFW)

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Read Chapter twenty-six

Title: There is No Redemption

Words: 7.4K

Summary: Happy trail worship? Happy trail worship. 

ST Rambles: Hello readers, I hope you enjoy this part. I am in my final semester for my ADN and cannot promise even monthly updates at this time. Please, please, please comment your thoughts because I don't want to produce content that is not enjoyable. Thank you for your patience and understanding.

[MASTERLIST] || BANNER / @elmidol

Stress enveloped your skull in throbbing pain, Karmen’s six-hour rundown stinging your senses and drawing you inward.  Halfway through, you had already begun to feel the excess of information take its toll; Zag’s voice – unpleasant in small doses – grated into you, each word coming too fast and leaving too soon.  Thankfully, no doubt to cover herself, she had left you with a thumb drive; it summarized everything she’d mentioned.

After the ordeal, when she left by the sharp click of her heels, you understood why it was recommended to arrive two days prior to the initial hearing: you were utterly and dreadfully exhausted.  After unpacking – ensuring easy access to your favorite socks and keeping Snoke’s letter tucked into the back drawer of a desk – you had sat in bed for an hour trying to refresh with the thumb drive’s contents; you’d were determined to be prepared for tomorrow’s shift at Canto Bight’s recovery wing.  If nothing else, you would not make a fool of yourself during your practice here.  This you swore to yourself.

At some point you had drifted to sleep, waking to find your cheek stuck to the datapad that’d been propped up before you.  The sunset woke you with a searing ray of light, screaming fuchsias and hazy purples warming your outstretched arm as they cast through open curtains.  The breeze rolled off of the bay and tickled loose hair over your nape, a deep breath stretching your lungs awake before you unfurled from yourself. 

The radar at your wrist indicated Kylo Ren was near but not in his quarters, probably not inside the building.  It was a confusing feeling – the unsteadiness you felt when revisiting your earlier interaction, the vagueness of his words contradicted by the certainty in which they’d been delivered, but simultaneously this calm in your chest since you had left him.  Although you had no idea what he’d gone on about, or what in time meant, his mere presence – the fact that he was near and would continue to be – allowed you these glimmers of peace.

Not since Starkiller.  Not since Snoke.  Not Mason and his baseless confidence, no matter how much you wished to latch onto it; not Talia, who had helped you back from your darkest moment.  The only things that stilled you were the known proximity of your master, and the nature of the words he’d earlier spoken.  You’d felt it that recent night on the Finalizer, how it lingered in your muscles just before you’d dozed off, how it seemed his presence had scared your nightmares away.

However ridiculous and backwards, Kylo Ren – the one whose pain is printed on your skin, who led a slaughter just strides away from you – had become a constant.  It was never what you had expected, but when you thought of the trial now, what eased your nerves was nothing less than the raven-haired warrior whose face was slashed with midnight hues of pain. 

Much like you, you’d come to realize, he had survived Starkiller, and the event changed him.  Though you could not know for sure, you began to wonder if what had gone on had not only left him with the wounds that’d wet your skin, but perhaps ones that were deeper – ones that were not so visible.  Something happened before that explosion, something more than whatever fight had earned him that scar.

You shook your head; this was too much to think on right now.  With a throw draped over your back, you trudged through the room and out into the chill of your side-balcony.  This sky held more beauty than any you’d ever seen; you watched the sun descend, spying a domed, octagonal pavilion at the far left of the side gardens.  It dripped with violet-petaled ropes and emerald ivies, was supported by scalloped columns entwined with twinkling blooms welded from gold, the whole stage centered around a sunken fire pit. 

Considering for a moment, you saw it would have a better view of the sunset, and you’d been cooped up since arriving.  It was a quick decision, catching view of a spiral of stairs that led to the grounds, but only after noting the pair of doors a few paces left of your room’s.  They were closed, and the inner curtains seemed to be shut, the room behind them dark.  Empty.

No, Kylo Ren was not here, but – a thumb over your radar – he was not far.  Somewhere off on his own business.  Training, maybe.  At least, that’s what you supposed kept you from traveling with him, the thought frustrating.  Maybe – no, undoubtedly – he would never admit to it, never show it, but he was still recovering. 

Ten days ago he was in a medically induced coma talking about someone named Ben and how he’s dead.  Bacta works wonders, but it means nothing if a patient is noncompliant with post-operative restrictions, like swinging around a plasma sword for hours on end, or doing trial runs with the Force – which, although you knew little about, one could easily assume it put strain on the body. 

Maybe you were wrong and your master was completely fine, maybe the Force aided in healing.  No matter, you worried; for him, mostly, never forgetting how he appeared in that medbay, but also for yourself.  It was clear that you cared for him – for fuck’s sake, when you thought you’d never see him again you wanted to tell him you loved him – and you knew his pursuits could very likely be the death of him.  Stubborn as you might be to acknowledge it, so long as he was okay and not recklessly shredding through healed wounds, so long as he returned to you, you could rest somewhat soundly.

Hugging your blanket, tighter when the wind blew, you wandered down to the courtyard’s trim lawn, along the overflowing flowerbeds that brimmed with brilliant colors, until you met the few steps that led to the pavilion’s stage.  Flames shocked you when you stepped onto the eight-sided base, your presence triggering a hidden system.  The rectangular pit exploded into a rainbow of fire, thin veils of flames ascending elegantly into an ordered myriad.  The pit was massive, consuming the base but for a few paces from each support.

Much like everything else, the pavilion was grand in size and decoration; the hearth’s hues danced along the draped flora, at least ten paces separating each gold-threaded pillar.  Everything here was explicitly luxurious, so big and gorgeous.  You wanted to settle into it, but it was temporary, and you would not know how fatal that fact was until it was too late.

Farther out, flames rippled over the bay; the sinking heat of the sun endeared your skin, the warmth at your back growing in distance as you gave in to the silent call of the scorching sky.  First tracing the tip of one of the gold leaves woven to a pillar, admiring the detailed stems and ridges, you curled up against the column’s wide base.  Head caressed by the smooth, cool stone, knees curled close to your chest, you were glamored by the water’s rhythmic sway, wondering if you would ever have the chance to feel it on your skin.

It took little effort to keep Karmen’s lecture from your thoughts, too lost to the burgundy of dusk that bloomed as the sun wilted toward the bay.  A stillness surrounded you, and then you tuned into the chirping whispers of bugs that remained hidden with the fall of night.  It did not bother you in the slightest, their distant songs a reminder of your life before the academy.  A passing thought, fond amusement lazily humming in your chest – there are no crickets in space. 

You remained folded against the pillar for some time, watching night creep over the city, more grateful for the heat on your back as warmth waned, the moon climbing higher with each lulling minute.  The stone iced into your cheek.  You went to leave, but your commlink buzzed at your waist, and you knew it would be wiser to keep this particular conversation outside. 

Elbows to your knees, you ruffled a hand through your hair, closed your eyes, and answered Mason’s call.  “How’s your day, McCarty?” There was no use in starting an argument if he had moved on from earlier.

“Probably better than yours, if I had to guess.” He sounded chipper.  It was a relief.

“Well, what went on? Where’d you go? Who’d you see? What’d you eat?”

“I’ve really just been hanging out at the house since getting here.  Caught a nap, which was nice.  Soto sent me a transmission detailing updates on a few patients.”

He wasn’t hostile at all.  Hopefully it meant he was done being weird.  “I also got a nap.  Which, agreed, is definitely nice.  Especially after being kept in a room with Zag for six hours and trying to keep my head from exploding.”

“Six hours? With Zag? Are they trying to get you convicted of murder?”

You shared a laugh, scooting along the stone floor and peering up to the ceiling.  It was tiled with mosaics, the fire’s vibrant colors reflecting off of it and shifting along the intricate designs.  The view of the city was wider from this position, distant lights shimmering in windows that peered into whatever parties were undoubtedly happening. 

“She isn’t that bad.  It’s just her voice.  And I barely have a handle on anything other than the fact that I have my first shift tomorrow, and then two days after that is the initial hearing.  And I don’t even want to think about that to begin with, so…”

“Well,” he sighed your name, “I’ll be there.  Bright and early, just like you.  Wearing my second-best attire, saving the very best for the official trial, of course.”

“Jeez, that’s another thing, right? They fly us out here, put me up in some military-grade villa, but they give me nothing to wear, are aware that my residence just exploded on Starkiller, and then still say I can’t wear my uniform.  I just find that a bit unfair.  But that’s what I think, which we both know has not mattered since the very beginning of all this.  I don’t even know why I expected anything different.  I’ll just have to request transport to the shops or something.  And then make credits appear out of thin air to pay for it.”

With notably increased enthusiasm Mason said, “Actually, I, uh, I was going through the house earlier and there’s actually a lot left over from my family’s recent trip.  You’re free to come over and take some stuff back to your embassy if you want.”

“Alright, first – not my embassy, and if we’re calling it anything, I vote palace.  Seriously—” you stared at a trellis that overflowed with wild blooms of every shade of red, the dead, fallen petals mocking you in the familiar way they pooled beneath.  “—this place is too beautiful for any of the old businessmen who stay here.  It’s actually ridiculous.”

“So it’s not homey, after all?”

A bellowing laugh came from the center of your chest, echoing up to the domed roof and into the growing dark.  “No.  No.  Not homey.  Not quaint.  None of that.  Just giant and spectacular.”

“Well, whatever it is, do you want to come over and grab some clothes?”

“Oh! Oh, yeah.  That’s a lot better than spending credits I don’t have.  Although maybe I’m worrying for nothing? Don’t they forgive your debt when you die, anyway?”

Mason did not laugh, did not even speak, and your amusement fell into alarm.  An edge menaced along each pointed word when he spoke; “Maybe they’ll forgive your debt, but I won’t forgive you for dying.” He grunted in rejection.  “You’re not dying, so I don’t know why we’re discussing this.”

Silence swallowed you both, and for a moment you could hear him trembling, hear the shakiness of his breath.  A sharp exhale startled your hand from your ear.  And then it was quiet again.  He cleared his throat, and you noticed how thick it had become.  Was he crying?

“Mason, you need to tell me what’s going on.  And don’t say-,”

“Nothing is going on.  It’s fine.  We’re fine.”

“Funny, because when you say that, when you tell me we’re fine when I didn’t ask, it makes me think the exact opposite.”

He sighed, but at this point there was a good chance it was more exasperation or fuming than anything else.  “I’m not having this conversation when I can’t see you.”

“Well, I’ll just turn my transmission on and we can-,”

“No.” Clipped, barked.  Final.

It concaved your chest.  Mason had never spoken to you like this.  Your teeth scraped at your bottom lip.  “Should I be worried?”

He paused.  “No,” as it gritted through his teeth, your name was contoured with wisps of ire.  An ounce less of restraint and whatever he was holding back would crack this hardened, taut façade.

The worst came to mind.  All you could manage was a terrified whisper, “Are you revoking your seat to testify? Is that what this is about? Am I about – fuck – am I about to- I can’t lose you.  I can’t-,”

“I told you.  I told you I will be there.” Frosted fury swept through his following pause.  His flat tone was laced with quiet hurt when he next said, “Do you really think I could do that to you? Leave you in the dust like that?”

“No.  I guess not.”

“You guess not,” he thought aloud, a long drag of breath crackling into your ear.  “I’m glad that you’re settled in, and… good luck during your shift tomorrow.  You don’t need it, I know, but nonetheless.”

He was dismissing you.  You hated it.  “I’m not hanging up until I know we’re okay.”

“We’re okay,” he said simply, too fast.  Mason cleared his throat.  “Request transport for the morning after your shift.  You can shop around the closets and after, we can order lunch and… and we can talk.  About things.  Everything.”

It was apparent he would not give anything more away, but you knew from his flat tone that whatever it was, was detrimental to him.  Or you.  Or both.

“Yeah.  I’ll put in the request after shift tomorrow.”

Another long, aching silence.  You listened to his breath, trying and failing at ignoring the knives in it.  The line remained silent, the hanging static a backdrop to the hidden, harmless creatures humming in the night. 

“I love you, Mason,” you prompted, teeth catching your trembling lips, time choking you with every halved second that trudged along.

It killed you, every inhale adding to the weight in your chest, every empty, wordless moment he spent cutting into you with a silent blade.

Another second and you turned back to the heightening tide of the bay, the clear night sky dying it a deep navy.  Even as you tried to focus on the waves that foamed along the distant shore, there was no sound louder than Mason’s nonresponse.

“Goodnight,” Mason said, small, far enough away that it splintered through your heart like ice wedged through rock.

“Good-,” the line went dead, the static dying, a night-kissed wave crashing in your periphery, “-night.”

The iridescent veils of hearth rippled before you now, turning away from the seemingly infinite expanse of water.  Even so, you shivered, and you were sure it had nothing to do with the weather.  Tucking your commlink into your waist pocket, loosing a long-kept breath, you stood from the stone and clasped your blanket over your shoulders.  With a final glance, chin to your shoulder, you appreciated the beauty of your first night here. 

Whatever awaited you tomorrow, the next day, and in the weeks to come? It would remain.  For now, just this one moment alone, you could pretend that everything was okay.  Just for a moment.

A soft touch brushed your shoulder, but when you turned to meet whoever it belonged to, you found there was no one around.  But a light caught your eye, one that had not been there before.  Maybe that interruption to the dark captured your attention, but not at all was it what kept your gaze above the gardens.

Through the clear night, a breeze danced through the flora, glittering scarlet petals into the shadows.  Above those dwindling rubies, leaning over the balcony’s curve, was Kylo Ren.  Behind him, the golden light of his quarters caressed his back, small fragments draping over the sharp, toned muscles of his shoulders.  He was staring down to you, his gaze laving along your figure, eyes those of a predator aware their prey was no match for them.  The ever-heightening moon was all that lit his front, but it was enough.  No, so much more than enough.  Entrancing.  Captivating.  Beguiling.

Light cascaded along the taut strength of Kylo’s abdomen, his broad, thick chest emanating with the smooth white of the dusk’s sun.  Once more, like it always did, the scar skating through his features kept your attention.  From a distance it was less intrusive, but its presence sank your heart like the sun had wandered into the sea.

A whip of night air pushed his hair back to tease his ears, his head slightly cocking to the side when you found his eyes again.  There was no color to them, none that you could see so far away, but you felt their heat slink along your lips, then your neck, over your chest, and lower still.  When they claimed yours once more, they were sculpted with steadfast steel, strong and slithering, ordering your compliance to the smoking promises beyond.

Without noticing, that chill from earlier had left you, and you gathered the blanket so it hung from your forearm.  Kylo held you with his eyes, the fire’s warmth falling away when you stepped off the platform and wandered, in leisure, down the steps and into the plush lawn.  A dew was readying to form on the grass beneath your bare feet, the coolness welcome under his blazing attention.  One step, two, another, and a final; small, shuffling, like you were hypnotized – truthfully, you could have been, but there was none but your own intent in the steps that carried you closer to him.

Only when he straightened to his full height, standing away from the balcony’s edge, did you halt your advance.  He paused there, watching you, so gracefully still you were unsure of his breathing.  From his new position you could no longer see his hands, but – you could feel them.  A pressure along your cheek, your heart stammering at how its span so completely matched his own, and then around your throat, dizzying when it teased your carotids.  Breath shivered from your slack mouth, catching when that – his – ghosted touch skimmed down your sternum and pushed into your rib cage. 

Kylo made no sound, but when the night’s quiet scattered around your faint, gasped moan – feeling the whispered hands smooth over your hips, around the front of your thighs – you saw his jaw flutter, darkness and moonlight tangling when he gave you one final glance.  The phantom touch left, a feline smirk flickered along his lips, and when his brows descended and veiled those deep, deep eyes, Kylo turned and sauntered out of sight.

But you understood his message, the silent one that only his body spoke, and you knew that his leaving was not goodnight, but an invitation.  One you fully intended on accepting. 

The trees swayed above you, the beds of perfectly spaced flowers blowing with the gentle breeze and combining with the sea behind to fill your head with the salty, fresh aroma of a Canto Bight night.  Each step you took along the patterned grass shimmered anticipation through your veins, heady, wanton thoughts brimming in your mind.

The cold stone that marked the ground level’s patio shocked through you, wet crimson petals that had pooled below the trellis now clinging to the soles of your feet.  You did not have time, or at least were desperate to not waste any, to pluck them off, allowing them to travel with you as you led them up the curved staircase.  As you climbed the steps, you stole a fleeting glimpse of the bay; from this height the city’s nightlife sheened along the shore, a few private ships zooming above the skyline and carrying their passengers to events unknown to you. 

Events that you could not have cared less about, not when you arrived to the second-level balcony, not when you saw the swaying curtain beyond Kylo Ren’s open, waiting door.  No, those events meant nil, exceedingly so when you found the beginnings of a trail leading into his room, the first crumb that of pooled, discarded athletic pants. 

Instant, overwhelming chills clamored about your skull, the blanket draped over your arm joining the black bottoms when your limbs went wobbly.  Through the wind-swept gossamer you spied the second addition – one long, impossibly large, black sock – and when you came closer, the cool of night waning as you met the threshold, your heart thrummed louder at the nearing shaft of light that fled the refresher’s entrance. 

Heated tiles warmed your first steps into Kylo’s room, the coquettish curtain kissing the tip of your nose before the door at your back locked shut in near silence.  You brushed past the veil of fabric and took in your surroundings, quite different from what they were earlier.  The golden rays of morning had since been overridden by soft panes of night, only the moon reflecting onto the light tile, not a single star to join it.  The bed’s canopy remained shut, its thin sheets cascading around the bed so there was ample space to walk within its soft confines.  And from that canopy, from the circular track above, bloomed delicate, mild light; it melted midway down the canopy, fading to nothing before it breeched the polished ivory below.

Another step and you noticed the trail of scarlet, dew-drop-covered petals you were leaving in your wake.  On the step up from the bed’s level lay a second sock, so you padded to it, and tuned into the sound of heavy, rushing water that became louder as you delved further into the dimly lit room.  This level was dark save for the glow of the open refresher; you followed that light like a lost vessel in space, hands trembling as you passed through the sitting area with soundless strides.  Finally, as you’d calculated at the earlier bareness of his chest, you found the piece of clothing that signaled your final destination lying at your feet.

Atop the refresher’s threshold lay a pair of black boxer-briefs – unfolded, just as they’d appear fresh off the heated, muscled body from which they’d come.  A smile played at your lips, remembering how the pair he’d so generously provided you the morning after you’d first slept next to him had hugged your hips with subtle compression.  Those, unfortunately, were undoubtedly obliterated with everything else that had exploded with Starkiller. 

Kylo Ren was nowhere within view, but running water tucked behind a corner to your left, and when steam swirled around an inlet that bordered a sleek, unbroken wall of ash-grey tile, your lungs lit with need, with want, your thoughts only focused on the body and man that waited for you just beyond view, just out of reach.  Suddenly you became aware of how overdressed you were, so you turned to your right and found a mirror that ruled its own wall and plucked open the top button of your uniform.

The fogged silver expanse provided a blurred, softened outline of your near-bare body, scalding goosebumps scraping up your neck at the thought of Kylo’s slicked, dripping body.  Hands hooked behind your back, you loosed your bra and smoothed the straps down the sides of your arms.  And then all that covered you were the lack-luster panties the Finalizer had provided all those months ago, but they soon joined the small pile at your feet, leaving you naked and anticipatory and adamant.

Plopping your watch onto your clothes, you squared your shoulders, fixed your posture, and approached the heat of the hidden shower.  Its warm embrace evoked such a calm through you, first loosening your shoulders, then steadying your breath.

Beyond the smoke hued barrier was a chamber of luxury, the water cascading from above like it came from an invisible storm cloud; its volume suggested a harsh pressure, but, stepping beneath the jets that seemed to span the entire stall, your skin was graced with the pleasant fall of a spring shower.  Looking up, blinking through the misted warmth, you found the navy night sky peering down at you through the clear glass ceiling.

All light but that of the moon left the stall, and when your attention shifted down, you saw him through the sheets of water that kept you apart.  The air was thick with fog and mist and night, but he remained the most devastatingly gorgeous person you’d ever seen, ever known.  You needed him to be closer, you needed to be closer to him.  No matter if you’d been with him those few nights ago, and though you’d spoken just hours ago, there was a tautness that tightened as your steps brought you to him. 

Arms at his sides, stance strong and confident, Kylo Ren was a stride away from you, and you stopped.  Inky black hair dripped down his neck, and his mouth was set in a flat, unreadable line, but all you could think of was how it felt you were seeing him for the first time all over again.  He was different now, body scarred and worn from the passing of time.  You did not stare at the red and black that had only been there for such a short time now.  You appreciated it.

Kylo observed you, and a measure after your gaze followed the ebony ribbon rested in his countenance, you lifted a hand to it.  He tensed and you caught his eyes, giving him a small nod before the very tip of your fourth finger kissed the start of his scar.  You watched him, vaguely aware of your hand slipping along the marked path through his brow and down his cheek.  Breath pushed from him in eased waves, his eyes danced between yours, and when you reached the line of his jaw and tapped your finger to the raised, pinking skin there, you closed your eyes and leaned up on your toes so you could press an aching kiss to it. 

That tenseness that’d clanged into him at your touch was instantly gone, the heated streams above not a match to the stifling relief that fogged from his nares.  So near to him, a second hand pushing through wetted, onyx locks, you remembered how he’d stared up at you on the Command Shuttle, how unreadable his expression was when his new scars had still been fresh wounds.

Your touch found the tail end of his healing flesh, and you swallowed down a thick, betraying sob.  “Why did you believe me?” you whispered, not looking up to him.  “When I told you I hated you and I wanted to quit.  When I said,” you winced, “when I called you a bastard and said I wished I could forget you.  Why didn’t you fight it longer?”

Kylo was quiet for a moment, body still but not reluctant to the steady meandering of your fingers.  Something haunted him when he said, “Irredeemable bastard, if you’ve forgotten.”

“No,” your throat bobbed, “I haven’t.  I don’t think I’ll ever forget that day.  Any, any part of it.” Looking up at him, you smoothed your hand over the scar settled into his shoulder.  “After that morning, after everything, why did you believe me?”

“You were saying goodbye,” he murmured, like he’d mulled over that day time and time again and never considered the possibility.  “Before Takodana.  You knew.  He’d gotten to you by then.” A note of betrayal sharpened his tongue, a snarl lighting when he referred to Snoke.

The hand that wasn’t tracing circles along his scarred muscles now toyed with his ear, the tip of your index finger molding to the curved pinnae.  “Kylo,” just a breath, nearly drowned by the water ricocheting at your feet, “answer me.  Please.”

Smooth, low, he began, “Because who could-,” he swallowed, considering you before starting over, “Because I’ve never known anyone who didn’t hate me.  And I’ve always been a bastard.  So when you said those things, after that morning, after you’d ran through Starkiller to tell me and kept saying them…”

Memories fluttered behind his eyes, and as their burning brown centered glittered against the navy night, you lifted your hand so you could hold his face, hold it like a parent would caress their child’s tear-sodden cheek.  Kylo blinked back to you and you comforted the purpled skin beneath his eye. 

He did not want to voice the answers you sought, but you watched as, piece by piece, you dented one of those walls he’d erected in that time-stained interrogation room.  Perhaps it was a hopeful thought, but you swore you felt him ease into your hand.

“I stopped fighting because only a fool counters the truth of his life.” Kylo’s throat bobbed, his deep, shadowed gaze swallowing you whole.  He caught your hand and led it flat along his broad chest, and then to the panes of his abdomen, placing it over the bruised, raised flesh of the scar you’d yet to explore.  “I believed you because there was no reason to doubt you.”

The showering heat from above shielded that which was blurring your vision.  He believed you because he believed those things of himself.  After seeing him wear so many masks, physical or phantom, you saw it in his eyes that he still thought those things and had for his entire life.

And then it made sense, and the realization dragged jagged, thorn-wrapped talons through your heart.  You whispered through the water, wondering if you were speaking only for yourself when you said, “That’s why you didn’t look inside my head.  You didn’t think it would show you anything different.  You didn’t think I could ever feel differently.”

You ran your thumb along the uneven ridge of the scar forming over his side and tucked your other arm around his waist.  With the force that kept moons anchored to their planets, you pulled him in and nestled into the notch of his breastbone.

Through your teeth, “You are not a bastard.  Or irredeemable,” your fingers dipped to the center of the healing tissue, “I’ve learned that we make the choices we think are best, and if that’s true, if I believe it? What do either of us have to be redeemed for?”

Kylo said your name, clear as the night that loomed overhead, and a patient finger tipped your chin up.  “Nothing.  Because there is no redemption for those who do not want it.”

Intensity hardened his face, and once more you felt that sense of equality between him and you.  Long fingers smoothed into your drenched hair, and you found a prompt in his brow.  Sighing, lungs stuttering, you asked, “What, then, if not redemption?”

The hand that he’d set over yours shifted to your hip, thick fingers prodding at your flesh.  Kylo’s touch left your chin and the pad of his thumb rolled over the faint scar that cut into your hairline, a twinge of pain lighting at the memory of its origin; it had healed days ago, but you would never forget the sound of it cracking open when Robbie knocked your skull against the durasteel door. 

Kylo stopped musing when he heard you wince, his eyes meeting yours in a stark, unwavering gaze.  He smoothed over the blight a final time and proceeded to skate his fingers along your jaw, his thumb coming to rest over your bottom lip.  Similar to this morning, yet colder and with a quiet fury breathing beyond his eyes, he looked at you with solidarity.

Calm, sure, adamant, Kylo said, “Retribution.”

A moment to process was spent in his gaze, studying how unbreakable it was, swimming in the shadowed hazel that poured into you.  Kylo’s eyes flicked to your lips, and before he could look away, you leaned up so you could reach his own.  The swirled hair at his nape slithered through your fingers when you swept you hand from his abdomen and up his torso.  Massive, enveloping hands trailed praise along your body until they were mirrored under your breasts.

Exploring his skin, your fingers took residence over the small of his back, digging red trails along the slick surface.  You moaned into Kylo’s mouth when a capable hand claimed your supple chest and kneaded into you.  He growled in response, a predatory sound that rippled through your nerves and tightened deep, deep in your belly.  The pliant pads of his thumbs circled your nipples, the very tips of his nails flicking upward before he added his forefingers and pinched the sensitive peaks to his will. 

Kylo mouthed the hinge of your jaw, the bridge of his nose slipping along the bone until you surrendered your neck to him.  He hummed against your artery, sucking away the beaded moisture that’d collected for the past few minutes – or had it been hours? Time evaded you further when the schemes of his tongue at your throat delved deeper, revealed themselves further when he laved at your clavicle, shifting between kissing and biting and marking as he made his way to your breastbone. 

His muscled back flexed as your fingers routed to his front, dipping low until you found the haze of soft, wet hair that grew from his pelvis.  Kylo continued his endeavors and pulled you in by the curve of your back so he could bare your chest to him and run his nose under the base of your breast.  His need for your body was evident in the way he bent you to his will, cradling your back so he could have you, but also permitting a sense of safety in the relentless strength that flowed from his forearms through to your marrow. 

Near limp in his hold, you tread your fingers down his pelvis and savored the feel of that patch of hair, feeling his pulse beat beneath it, reveling how water collected and fled in such a slow, teasing manner.  His chest was to yours, so you felt, rather than heard, the pleasure vibrate from him, deepening when you grazed the very foundations of his hardening shaft.  He breathed into your skin, mouthing at your breast and sucking painful paths as he went.  The heat of his mouth melded around your nipple, and he bit, and even when you winced and writhed with satisfied hurt, Kylo kept on; not until you were sure he’d drawn blood did his teeth – their unique ridges now throbbing into your breast – leave you, replaced by the salve of his plush, scorching lips.  The body of his tongue was structured with adamant, laving over your pebbled peak until poems of pleasure groaned from the depths of your chest. 

He leaned you back up and shifted his attention to the remaining half of your body, but you needed him just as much, and you wanted to litter his body with the same pleasure he’d given yours.  So, snaking your hands to his jaw, you kissed the hinge opposite to his scar and pecked harder and longer, sucking at his skin like the blood that bruised would grant you eternal life.  Falling to your knees in a steady, unrushed descent, you kissed every inch of his abdomen, every bump and ripple of skin that was present around the mending injury.  With eyes peering up, hands cherishing the fronts of his thighs, you tongued the scarred tissue and watched him shutter with ecstasy, eyes half-lolling, mouth slackening for a second before he swallowed down whatever satisfaction would have left him.

You teethed at the soft, raised skin, watching him, content when a guiding hand pet down your slick hair.  Shifting to his middle, you hummed from one hip bone to the next, feeling the tickle of hair that fled from his naval and dispersed in an even, thick layer of black atop his pubis.  Hunger ravaged your throat and you nuzzled into the soft bed of obsidian hair.  A kiss to it, then a nip, and then the tip of your nose swirled around the dark patch, his cock twitching at the side of your face.

Anchoring your eyes to his yet again, you dragged the flat of your tongue through the maintained, drenched hair and pushed both your hands along his inner thighs.  The muscles beneath your touch sang, streamed just as fluidly as the droplets that were trickling down your spine.  Pulling away from him, you faced his cock and observed how it bobbed with your eyes on it, watched it strain for friction when your hands teased both sides of his base, sifting through the dark curls beneath. 

The moonlight painted his shaft with subtle, breathtaking contours – a shadow cast under the spongey ridge of his head, light glinting off the misted moisture that’d caught on his flushed shaft.  Each prominent vein cast a winding whisper of darkness just a measure from the next.  It hypnotized you, the way they overlapped and crossed at points, bulging out from his cock and shifting with each throbbing pulse of blood that clamored through him. 

Curious fingers flitted along the heavy, hot column of flesh, tapping it and listening to the thickening breath from the man watching you through ravenous eyes.  A smirk curved your mouth, and you peppered a light, whispered kiss to his slit, pushing his cockhead just so it met your teeth, and leading your lips away so the teasing burned through him.  You pulled a hand away from his leg and sat back on your calves, taking a breast into it and kneading as he had before, plucking your nipple through each space between your fingers. 

“A teasing little whore tonight,” he purred, voice thick.

You hummed, pleased you were getting to him.  “I’m your little nurse, remember?” The tip of your tongue teased circles into his frenulum.  “And you are my master.  Isn’t that right? Master Ren?” Fuck, the title even got to you, cunt fluttering with the hope to be overflowing with him.

“Good girl, teasing whore, nasty slut? Little nurse? You have so many names now.”

“And all of them belong to you.”

You teased his tip and finally laved a flat tongue on the underside of his shaft, flicking it side to side and gripping into his structured, rippling thighs.  Something animal, completely primal, roared in his throat, and sooner than you knew, Kylo Ren had joined you on your knees, the weight of his cock slicking down your middle and slapping up to your slit when inertia bounced through it. 

A masterful tongue slipped into your mouth and licked your hard pallet, next dropping down and pushing against the side of your own tongue.  A muffled moan – one that you were unsure was his or yours or both – clouded through the shower’s downfall.  But then a throat-thick huff, aggressive and impatient, gnarled through the air and you were spun on your knees so your back was flush with his chest.

“Yes,” he rumbled, “they do all belong to me.” A possessive hand pushed you into him with might, taking residence in the valley of your breasts.  “Your names, your body.  Everything.” His hips canted, and the tip of his cock knocked against your clit, fire billowing in your belly, quicker and deeper now. 

“Everything,” you echoed, finding his free hand and guiding it so it lay over the permanence etched into your thigh.  “I’m- everything.  It’s yours.  I am yours.”

Unrelenting digits bruised more marks around the one he’d made prior, and when you felt his cock fall in line with your entrance, you thrust into him as he did the same, and you took all of him, at once, in one, fluid, aching motion.  An unabashed cry echoed euphoria throughout the moonlit stall.  Before you could fully recover from the first thrust, his hand – the free hand that didn’t remain under your own, clutched to your thigh – dipped into your folds and that blooming fire from earlier mushroomed at the graze of his thick digits against the buzzing nerves. 

Thrust after thrust after thrust, fucking into you and filling you to the brim and then some each time, knocking the air from your lungs and burgeoning those sweet spots within with each paced, violent pass.  All of that pressure combined with the winding circles and strokes he racked your clit with, you felt the breath of climax rise first in your chest, and then upward into your throat. 

Kylo was panting by your ear, sucking the skin behind, clutching you to him so it became uncertain where his body ended and yours began.  You hooked your arm above your head and clutched at his drenched tresses, flailing for a better grip and settling on clasping your hand onto the back of his neck.

“I feel you,” he groaned.

“Feel me,” you huffed.

“I know you.”

“know me.”

“You’re mine,” your name was laden with yearning claim, lilting from his tongue so it caressed your mind, body, and soul all in one fell swoop. 

“Yours,” you heaved, “all, yours.”

You came.  Simple.  Body swimming in the schemes his fingers and cock and tongue and voice forced into you until it became too much.  A few thrusts more and his pace faltered, cum spurting against your walls and dripping out of you as more and more left him.  Full lips pressed fleeting, lulling praise into your nape, your shoulder, until he angled your head to his and branded his lips to yours. 

Spent, emotionally and physically, you fell into him and enjoyed the image of his legs framing your own.  But then your eyes lolled shut and you simply breathed, settling into this moment as best you could, and tried to memorize the tide of his chest slicking against your back.

Barely aware in the vague, misty stall, you only realized that Kylo had begun cleaning you when he guided you back to your feet to rinse you free of soap.  Even then you just leaned into his chest and let the jets spray silken streams down your skin.  And then you were wrapped in a heated towel and cradled in his arms, leaving the steamy refresher and coming into the gentle atmosphere within the golden gossamer canopy.

With less than a word, maybe a breath, the light from above waned to nothingness, and the room was black save for the glinting eyes that studied your own.  The towel discarded to the floor, you now lay beneath the thick comforter and linen sheets of Kylo Ren’s bed.  Both naked, you huddled together in the center of the expansive mattress, legs wrapped together in an impossible knot, each breathing in the other’s warmth. 

Ease trickled into your muscles, and you shifted so your forehead could rest in the heat of his chest.  

“What changed? From the other night?” you yawned.  “What convinced you? About Snoke.”

He was tired, too, you knew, the hand tucking you into him tracing lazy, distracting circles into your back to keep him from sleep.  “Perspective, really.  Seeing things clearly for the first time in… Seeing things clearly.”

For now, fatigue caressing you, that was an answer you could accept.  He’d given you more of his mind tonight than ever before, and you did not care to mar that fact with a half-wit interrogation.  Perhaps you would listen to him this time, given how little you potentially had left, and do as he’d said this morning.

Trust me first.

It was sound advice, and not worth questioning on the eve of your first shift on Canto Bight.  So you nuzzled into him and giggled when the tip of your nose nudged that black healing ribbon over his collar bone.

“I like your scars,” you hummed.

You could not be certain, sleep plunging you into its riptide, but just before it pulled you under, you swore you heard the fatigued rumble of Kylo Ren’s voice whisper, “I like yours too.”

[dreadfutures]

WIP Wednesday at BTV: @kita-lavellan | @silvanils | @noire-pandora | @ellie-effie | @musetta3 | @jarakrisafis | @nivenor-krosis | @kittynomsdeplume | @inquisitoracorn | @ohhgren | @medlilove | @morganlefaye79 | @hollyand-writes

And @crackinglamb who also tagged me!

I’ve had a really awful week but I’ve been slowly chipping away at this very important conversation between Ixchel and Solas. And I’d actually appreciate thoughts on this. I’ll just listen to whatever anyone has to say. This is long though so I’m going to put it under the cut.

Question: Specifically, I'm trying to navigate this complicated cause/effect and question of autonomy and individuality in their relationship, which happens to hold the weight of the apocalypse over both their heads in different ways. It is important that they both can operate as they wish, without fearing they will misstep and drive the other away

Ixchel definitely is one of the reasons Solas ultimately confronts some of his stubbornness/willful blindness, as his friend and someone he respects--it’s the way she lives her life and the way she hopes and fights and the world she believes in that ultimately makes him see more paths available than his din’an’shiral. It's not that she loves him or he loves her.

And he's aware that because of so many complications and questions about her resurrection, that she constantly feels like it might indeed be her love--and lovability--that’s holding back the apocalypse. And their relationship will never be equal and truly healthy until she stops carrying that burden. Somehow she needs to learn to trust that he has made his decision and will continue to make decisions based off of himself, and not her.

But also at the same time, he loves her, and she loves him, and they do help each other with like, reinforcing each other's hope, and reminding each other what they're fighting for, that the fight is worth it, and when the other one is tired, being able to prop them up and help them keep going as equals. There are the shadows of her own anxieties and depression that aren't entirely based in reality, but there are also these fears that are so deeply founded in reality. idk.

The Excerpt:

Ixchel and Solas finished bathing and washed their clothes—smiling like the foolish da'lenala neither of them had ever had the luxury to be. She was full of wine and laughter, and she knew that there would only be more waiting back in the Hold.

But as they dried off in the warm evening sun and she thought about the celebration of Hakkon's rebirth, her mind strayed to the name the Spirits of the Basin had given her, and what she had done to earn it. The shock and gratitude she had felt upon hearing herself called 'God-Song' had faded some, and now the chill of anxiety returned to the pit of her stomach. She shivered despite the golden light that surrounded them, and she felt Solas's attention shift from the sky down to her again. He did not speak, but she felt the question in his eyes on her bare back. "Vhenan," she began in a low voice, "should I… The Spirits called to Mythal through me. Was it her power that they summoned with that song? Or my own? Or theirs?" His grip around her waist tightened. "Do not be afraid," he said, but of course that solidified the cold tendrils of anxiety into hard, heavy dread in her gut. "The Spirits here are older than many," Solas said haltingly, "but they are still young. They remember only echoes of…'elf songs,' they call them. The echoes by themselves have power, even if the subjects of the songs cannot hear. That is the power of a prayer, spoken where the Veil is thin." He took a deep breath, and after a moment of consideration he sat up beside her. He rested one arm across his knees and began to trace idle patterns across her cursed forearm with the other. "I do not think she heard you." She stared across at his tense jaw, though his eyes remained on the horizon. "We summoned Flemeth at Mythal's altar in the Arbor Wilds, with a song," she whispered. He tilted his head slightly. "Did you not have the Well of Sorrows in your company?" "Ah." She gave a shuddering laugh as something, not quite relief, swept through her. "That's true." Solas responded with a shallow nod, but then, for a moment, his chest seemed filled with words. She waited, but he did not speak them before sighing again. "What is it?" she asked, and bit her lip. Solas slipped his arm around her waist to shift her closer, and then he sought out the Anchor. He spread her palm open, and with deliberate slowness, he dipped the pads of his fingers into the shining tear of magic her skin. It was as though he might slip through her hand and into the Fade that way. A vicious shudder wracked her frame; the penetration itself felt strange and dull, like a cramp, and yet the magic in her hand came to life with a hot flare. She could see the spirals of his orb across her skin, as she often could if she examined her palm closely, but now she could see the green tendrils of green rift magic as they wound their way up her wrist and her forearm. To her horror, it was clear that the Anchor had embedded itself almost halfway up to her elbow. She could feel Solas draw upon it with his concentration, and yet the reaching veins of the Anchor did not retreat. The damage had been done. Her fingers had curled around his instinctively, until the bones in his hand seemed to creak in protest. "I will not let them have you," he said. The finality with which he spoke made her feel as though he were not quite answering her question. Some other conversation had played out in his mind, and he had come to this answer. She did not know exactly whether he spoke of Flemeth and Mythal, or even perhaps the all-consuming power of the Anchor. She stared down at their joined hands, eyes burning, which was likely a sign that she was too exhausted to handle these conversations. When she heard and saw the resolve in him, she should have been able to stifle the part of her that remembered how he spoke to her of the din'an'shiral he must walk alone. She should not have immediately been afraid that the calculation he had done in his head was about his loyalties. It should have been a settled matter, and yet, still, it was not. Ixchel took a deep breath and tried to swallow that part of her. "I am more concerned about what she might do with you, Solas," she said truthfully. "How did I end up with Old God's spent soul within me? How did he come to possess it, when Mythal had taken it? Was he moving to the beat of her drum—knowingly, or not?" She saw the slightest twitch of his ear and knew that she had touched on a raw topic there, too. But this was a better topic, and one that was just as important for her to know the answer to. "If I have enticed you from the path that she wanted you on… Should I not be afraid, to stand against Mythal?" He turned his head abruptly, and she met his piercing gray eyes dead-on. After a moment's consideration, he reached around her to stroke her cheek gently with the backs of his knuckles. And she knew immediately that he had heard, beneath this line of questioning, the doubt that still ate at her. There was no challenge in his gaze, but the look with which he pinned her was not soft, either. "My loyalty is to our People above all else," he said, to make her heart seize in her chest. He continued in a measured voice that was heavy with blood and wine. "In Wycome. In Halamshiral. In Serault, and Minrathous, in Skyhold, and across the Veil… If Mythal indeed remains, she would not keep me from such a duty. For all the fearsome tales of the Witch of the Wilds, I cannot believe the All-Mother, if she truly remains, would undercut that work." She gripped his hand ever tighter. "And you… You are not afraid of Mythal," he said, a bitter note coloring his words. "You are afraid of walking your path alone. You are afraid that you cannot hold the Dread Wolf at bay with the strength of your love. And you cannot. You have not." His breath was hot across her face as he drew closer—not to kiss her, of course not, but rather as though he might impress upon her the full weight of his words with the strength in his silver eyes. "You are the Champion of the People. You have sworn, and I have believed." He squeezed her hand back, to emphasize his point. "For as long as you hold true to your purpose, you are my Champion, 'ma'lath, 'ma'av'in. But as you insisted, you chose yourself first. You gave yourself a name, decided its meaning." He brushed her hair behind her ear and then settled his hand firmly at the back of her neck, fingers tangled in her hair to hold her, ground her. He gave her the smallest shake. "Let me do the same." Ixchel swallowed. "Hope is a choice," she murmured. "Yes," he replied, "it is. So is trust." He kissed her gently then, and she tried to lose herself to it. The hand at the back of her neck slipped back to her ribs, to pull her close against his chest. She could feel his heart beat steadily beneath their skin, a steady, certain rhythm. She sighed into his mouth, and he hummed in response. "Ir abelas," she whispered as she broke away. They rested their foreheads together, eyes closed. "Do not be," he said, more gently than before. He raised their joined hands between them and traced the scar that ran down her chest, over her heart. "For all your stalwart strength, Ixchel, for all that you have reforged yourself from ruin, you cannot be blamed for fearing the one who shattered you. Especially when you have given him the very tools with which to shatter you again." Ixchel lost her breath as his words impacted her physically, and she opened her eyes to see that he had, too. For a moment, they were no longer silver—but rather they burned with the blue light of a god's power. That terrible gaze was focused on something deep within her chest…something that responded, and reflected his power back at him in painful resonance. "If there is one burden you can put down," he said, voice falling to a lilting whisper, "it is that you still carry the responsibility of the death of a world in your heart. Please… You must know it was not your failure." The magic in his eyes faded, and his lashes flicked up as he caught her staring at him. There were creases of grief at the corners of his eyes. "My mistakes will always be my own." The grief in his face might have seemed incongruent with the hard and heavy weight of his words, but she could feel how they hurt him as much as they hurt her. "I have told you that you have changed everything, but it was not your love for me, nor even my love for you, that has changed my course. It is the harm I have done to the world, the harm I know I might yet do, that stays my hand. Ane mala vasreëm." Perhaps it was the tears he saw well up in her eyes, or maybe it was simply his anxious mind trying to cut off any possible way he could hurt her more than he had already, but his own face was suddenly torn with pain and apology. "In saying this, I might seem to take away from your perceived victory—" "No," she said suddenly. "Solas, I do not need to believe it a war between us." She freed her hands from his so she could brush briefly at her eyes. "Thank you. I have only ever cared for your path as a friend... I love you, but--" she could not stem the flow of her tears, and she laughed at herself.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. He obliged and held her tightly; warm, smooth skin pressed against her rough constellation of scars, and she was enveloped in his smell, his warmth, his magic. She knew that she was safe in his embrace. And she knew that he was right. Perhaps she could have thwarted the Dread Wolf's plans, had she not killed herself. But he had chosen his path, chosen to excise his heart and give it to her, and she had been right to think that to carry it—to redeem it, to return it—was a futile task. Solas had never betrayed her. He had never promised anything. Cole was right: Solas was only ever his own. It was Solas who had watched her walk her path. Solas had chosen to follow, open-eyed. And ultimately, it would be Solas who chose to stay. Life is a story written by two hands, after all.