#i see a woman with a middle part and flower motif and i assume its sakura

[a-deadly-serenade]

The Shield and the Sword: Chapter 3: Blue Sheets & Family Mystique [Alucard/Reader]

You’re a witch that is skilled in herbology, one that has been persecuted by the church for practically your entire life. In spite of this, moving throughout different towns has allowed you to pick up some chatter about a woman in a village called Lupu. She is supposed to be a wonder when it comes to medicine, and this immediately perks up your interest. So after plucking up some courage, you’ve made it to her door… hoping that she takes you as her apprentice.

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16724856

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“Here we are!”

Lisa pushed open the door to your bedroom, and your heart swelled at the sight.

It was almost as big as the family room of your childhood home, and it was covered in celeste blue wallpaper that had a pattern of tiny silver lily’s etched into it. Two large windows stood on either side of a beautiful antique desk, and a framed painting of a quaint countryside hung above.

A large ornate bed sat against the wall, and its dark wooden bed posts reached nearly to the ceiling, even the headboard took your breath away.

An intricate carving of a fairy brought a smile to your face. Her head rested against her forearms, eyes downcast and serene as she looked at the flowers and vines that spiraled and curled around her. You recognized them as plants that helped with sleeping, such as chamomile, english ivy, gardenia, and jasmine.

You reached out to touch the bed and were delighted to find a thick, blue cotton comforter with white satin sheets underneath. A frayed white bed skirt surrounded the entire frame, which made it look almost as if you were sleeping on a cloudy blue sky.

A thin, almost translucent veil fell from the tops of the bedposts at the end of the bed, and you guessed that the sheen would be able to obscure your sleeping form, if you chose to keep it closed.

There was a small, pitch colored nightstand to the right, and you gaped at the sight of the nearby armoire. It towered over you, and you admired the craftsmanship, the impressive curves and edges of the wood being quite the sight to behold.

It was absolutely lovely, and the thought passed through your mind that you were undeserving of such a lavish space. But you knew that Lisa, and now Vlad, would fight tooth and nail till you accepted it, so you swallowed your doubt.

“Well? What do you think?”

The discovery of a door hindered you from answering Lisa’s question, and when you pushed it open, you found that you had your own personal bathroom as well, and it was just as extravagant as the bedroom.

You turned back to Lisa, and wiped away a tear that had managed to escape (much to your chagrin). “This…. this is all so much Lisa, I can’t thank you enough.” your voice is slightly hoarse, and you melt under her touch as she walks over to give you a hug.

“Like I said, you are a part of my family now,” she stroked your hair and bopped the tip of your nose with her finger. “And my family deserves the best.”

She hummed softly to herself before she took a firm grip of your hand. “It’s getting late, darling. Why don’t you get some rest, and we can begin our studies in the morning?”

With all of the excitement that had happened in one day, it was only then that you realized how utterly exhausted you were. You rubbed your eyes with the back of your hands, and heard Lisa chuckle.

“See? Mother’s intuition,” she joked, and gave your hand one final reassuring squeeze before she started to trek towards your bedroom door.

She said one last goodnight, before you heard the door shut with a quiet click.

You let out a huff, and dug through the contents of your satchel, all the while mumbling of how much of a mess it was.

“Aha!”

Your elated cry rang out through the quiet room as you found what you had been looking for: a lavender scented candle, homemade, of course. You shrugged off your stuffy shawl and went to throw it on the floor, before you decided to not be a complete slob, and instead placed it inside the wardrobe.

“Huh… right,” you muttered, when greeted by a completely empty armoire. “I don’t actually have that many clothes….” an irritated sound rumbled in the back of your throat, but you settled to deal with that issue in the morning.

You crawled into bed, and your assumption from earlier had been right. It did feel like laying on clouds. With a snap of your fingers the candle was lit, and the waves of fresh lavender quickly lulled you to sleep.

Bright white light unexpectedly streaming into your room is what finally managed to rouse you from your deep slumber.

You let out a loud groan, and made quick haste to duck under the blankets to protect your sensitive eyes from the harsh morning glow of the sun.

“Rise and shine!”

Your head peeks out from under the sheets to find Lisa standing at the foot of your bed, hands on her hips.

She had a determined look in her eyes, and clapped her hands together. “Come on! It’s time to get up!”

You groggily sat up, slightly dazed from being woken up so abruptly. “What time is it?”

“The sun has been up for almost two hours now. It’s time for you to eat something so that we can get started on the day.”

Right. You were to begin studying today.

Lisa cleared her throat and brought your attention back to her, for she had moved to stand in the doorway. “Freshen up if you’d like, but you better be quick about it. I don’t want your breakfast getting cold.”

With that, she disappeared down the hallway and you fumbled out of bed to get ready as fast as possible.

As you stumbled into the bathroom, you were shocked to find anything and everything that you could ever need from a hairbrush to soap to fresh towels. When did those get there?

No matter. You splashed some water on your face and brushed through the tangles in your hair, trying your best to look at least presentable. A grimace formed on your lips when it dawned on you that none of the clothes you had brought were very clean, nor did they seem to fit the posh fashion everyone inside Castlevania sported.

You nervously nibbled on your thumbnail while you began to pace around the room. It wasn’t the end of the world if you asked Lisa to borrow some of her clothes. You doubted that she would be bothered by it… it would just be temporary, until you found the time to make them yourself.

Your footsteps came to a halt in front of your armoire, and you thought it best to take out your dirty clothes that you had shoved in there so that they could at least be washed.

You count yourself lucky that you were currently the only one in the room the moment you opened those doors, for the expression you made would certainly be one that any sensible person would never let you forget.

It was filled with vestments, and not just the extravagant dresses you assumed families of this stature would wear. You spotted an array of lovely tops and pants, and you thanked the stars that was the most common outfit inside. When you reached out to touch them, you assumed they were made of cotton, and discovered a few dresses amongst it all, alongside scarves, shawls, gloves, and several pairs of unworn shoes.

You were absolutely baffled . Where had all of this come from? You could only assume it had been Lisa, but it was impossible for you to fathom that she just happened to have such an assortment of unused garments.

Still in mild shock, you grabbed a pair of brown pants and a yellow long-sleeved shirt and gave them a curious sniff. They smelled of daisies and crisp, fresh water, with just the hint of grass. You remained in utter disbelief as you put it on, mind abuzz with so many questions that you hoped Lisa would answer over breakfast.

You shut your bedroom door with a gentle tug, and as you began to walk down the long hallway, you silently hoped that you’d be able to rely on your memory to make it back to the front entrance of the castle.

However, you found yourself getting distracted by the many paintings that hung on the walls. They were all encased in ornate gold frames, and a variety of motifs graced the canvases. Some were small portraits, some were of landscapes found around Romania, and others were of towering, detailed figures that you could only guess were relatives of the family.

One in particular made you stop in your tracks.

It was easy to recognize Vlad in the middle, but… you could tell that he looked slightly different, almost a little younger. You hadn’t the faintest clue who the women standing beside him were, although the woman to the right’s golden eyes caught your attention, and it was then that you realized she had been in the other painting you spotted on the way to the library yesterday evening.

Even though you weren’t one to make assumptions, you could only guess that she had to be related to Vlad somehow, seeing as she had long black hair, and golden eyes like Adrian. The dress she wore for the portrait was beautiful, a dark red that clung exquisitely to her form, and her long nails, painted a startling silver color, shimmered like knives in the morning light.

The other woman was much older, her hair the color of starlight and eyes as rich as the beryl’s adorned around her neck and fingers. A white sheer shawl was wrapped around her shoulders that accentuated the slim golden dress she wore, its long sleeves draping across the side of the chair that Vlad sat upon.

You noted, with some amusement, that despite her intimidating expression, golden wreaths dusted with sapphires danced amongst the strands of her long hair, adding just the right amount of whimsy to her depiction.

“I was beginning to wonder if you had gotten lost.”

A gasp trapped itself in your throat as the unexpected greeting caught you off guard, the palm of your hand pressed against your chest in an attempt to steady the erratic beating of your heart.

You felt your cheeks heat up as Adrian laughed, obviously finding your embarrassment entertaining. “I’m curious as to what you find so amusing.”

He wore a smirk on his lips and said nothing, his arms folded across his chest while he gazed up at the portrait. “They are quite the pair, are they not?”

“Was it presumptuous of me to assume that they’re all related?” His eyes glittered, a look of surprised satisfaction shining in the mirthy gold. “You’re quite astute. The woman with the black hair is my aunt, Stefana. She’s a rather spirited individual, but she’s always treated us kindly.”

“She’s very beautiful.” “Don’t tell her that,” Adrian chuckled. “She might snatch you up if you do.”

“Keen for compliments?”

“Let’s just say she has a soft spot for the female form.”

You smiled, happy that Adrian felt comfortable enough around you to talk about his family life. “And who’s on the left?”

“Father tells me that she is his cousin, so I believe she would be my first cousin once removed. It’s kind of a convoluted mess when I really think about it.”

“I know how that feels,” you replied. “Back home, my mother or grandmother would say that someone was related to us in a way, even though I’m positive they weren’t.”

“Why would they do that?”

“I suppose it was just so I could feel closer to them, give me a reason not to shy away from those I was unfamiliar with in my coven. It worked, we all held each other in our hearts… as though we were just a large family…” your voice trailed off as melancholy drew its wings around you, saddened by the connection you had just made.

A jolt travelled through your body as Adrian placed a hand on your shoulder, almost as if you had been shocked. The action was so sudden, and so unexpected, that you almost drew away from him, but you managed to stop yourself.

“I apologize if this discussion upset you in any way. You looked as though you desired answers while you gazed upon this painting, so, I thought–”

“No! It’s alright!” you blurted out. “I was interested! I just… I just got a little caught up in the past is all, don’t worry about it.” you gave the hand on your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, bemused at his almost flustered reaction.

“Yes… well, like I was saying,” he drew his hand back, opting to put the both of them behind him as he resumed his explanation. “She is my first cousin once removed. Her name is Dumitra, and she is… how can I put this delicately?”

“An absolute horror?”

The both of you whipped around to find Lisa at the end of the hallway, her hair up in a high bun and sporting a white apron dotted with stains.

“Honestly, I leave you alone for ten minutes, expecting you to make your way down to eat some breakfast, and where do I find you? Musing over some paintings.” she gave an exasperated sigh, before a smile slowly found its way back onto her visage. “Well, I suppose it’s not a total loss,” she joined the two of you under the towering stares of the three vampires. “This is a beautiful painting. Look how handsome my husband looks.”

Her comment caused her son to let out an annoyed groan, to which she just laughed at in response.

“You interrupt me to gush over father?”

“Why shouldn’t I? He looks dashing in this portrait.”

You could not help the giggles that managed to escape you at the charming display between Adrian and Lisa. It was innocuous moments like this that you had missed since living on your own.

“Stefana looks wonderful here too. It’s been a mo’ since she’s come ‘round to visit.”

“You know how busy she is, having to look after Caliacra. Not to mention, father tells me that she’s found a new beau.”

“Really?” Lisa gave a delighted little hum. “It’s about time. I thought that other woman she’d been with was simply dreadful.”

“As dreadful as Dumitra?”

“Oh no,” she scoffed. “It’s impossible for anyone to be as unbearable as her.”

“Lisa,” you interjected. “Why do you hate Dumitra so much?”

She froze for a moment, as if collecting her thoughts, before she tried to wave off the question. “Oh, darling, I do not wish to bore you with familial semantics.”

“That’s unfair, mother.” Adrian said.

“How so?”

“You said that she’d be a part of the family now, isn’t that right?” Adrian’s fangs gleamed in the sunlight as his voice lilted with a teasing tone.

“I… yes, I suppose you’re correct–” “So shouldn’t she know why Dumitra is so insufferable?”

“Since you’re so eager to talk to her, maybe you should explain?” Lisa challenged back, her own smirk finding refuge on her face when she saw Adrian’s cheeks tinge a slight pink.

He quickly regained composure however, and turned his attention back to you. “Dumitra is… an ancient vampire. I remember asking her when I was much younger how old she really was, and father had to intervene before she gave me a right good slap.”

“Yes, I remember that,” Lisa muttered to herself, mouth contorted into a grimace.

“Did you get an answer?” you joked, and Adrian gave you a playful look in return.

“My father has lead me to believe that she’s even older than he is, which I find exceptionally terrifying.”

“I was told that Dracula was where all vampires came from?” you question. “At least, that’s what I’ve read in some books.”

Lisa shook her head. “No, my husband is simply a vampire–albeit a very well lived and powerful one.”

“Dumitra could have beaten my father during her glory days,” Adrian mused, and moved his hand to point at her. “They are not visible here, but she has an array of scars on her back that she displays proudly. She totes them as a trophy of surviving one of the first vampire hunters.”

“Vampire hunters? I never knew such a thing existed.”

Adrian nodded. “Oh yes. There’s a particular clan that tends to give our kind some trouble. Even Stefana has scars on her arms from holy water burns. Although, I believe they’ve been covered up by some lovely henna work done by one of father’s generals. What was her name?”

Lisa bit her lip in contemplation before her face lit up. “Raman! Oh she is such a sweetheart. I saw her a few weeks ago!”

“You don’t say? Nevertheless, being such an… old fashioned woman, Dumitra has had a problem with not only me, but my mother as well.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, wondering how anyone could possibly dislike Lisa in any sort of capacity. “Why is that?”

“Well,” Lisa replied, before she shrugged her shoulders. “She is not exactly a fan of the fact that I am human.”

“Is that bad?”

“Certain vampires,” Adrian interjected. “No, let me amend that: most vampires only see humans as fodder, food for the supposed superior race to feast on.”

Your stomach turned at the thought, but it made you remember how much some of your coven hated vampires. A specific memory came to the forefront of your mind, of some younger girls expressing their outright fear towards them. They had shown you the amulets and charm bags that they had created for the sole purpose of repelling these creatures of the night, and that their mothers had even gone so far to inscribe magical runes onto the walls of their home.

“You appear as though you’ve had experience with these types of vampires.” Lisa said, which snapped you out of your train of thought.

You shook your head no. “Fortunately I have not, but I do recall several younger witches being deathly afraid of them. I am always one to judge something myself, especially when it comes to supernatural beings; they must be treated with respect. But I cannot deny being especially careful when it came to walking through the nearby woods on my own.”

Adrian let out a delighted little hum as you said this. “Your intuition is quite remarkable, mother. I cannot think of a more suited person to work with you.”

The compliment caused you to blush, and your eyes darted back to the painting to refrain from looking at the both of them.

“Look how flustered you made her, Adrian!” Lisa jokingly chastised, before she wrapped her hand around yours and gave it a gentle tug.

As you looked up at her with wide eyes, she gave you a delighted smile before she leaned down to whisper, “He’s right you know.”

“Lisa,” you whined, and she burst into laughter.

“Alright, alright, I’ll spare you from any further embarrassment,” she began leading the way down the hallway, both you and Adrian following her long strides.

It was only slightly humiliating that the distance between your bedroom and the kitchen was not only in the opposite direction that you had initially walked, but that it was insurmountably closer than you had originally anticipated.

The kitchen was equally as beautiful and wondrous as the rest of the house, with large windows that allowed for the sunlight to warm even the most northern brick that dotted along the floor. A large wooden table with plenty of luxurious plush chairs around its perimeter stood in the middle of the room and it was covered in a decadent array of food, from eggs to sausages, to bread and the finest local cheeses, to a very delicate tea set steaming with a fresh batch of what smelled like lavender tea.

Even the tea cups were magical, the most delicate of porcelain that had hand painted watercolor roses as their motif. A thin line of gold graced the rim, and made up the handle, a tiny plate with tiny pink roses lining the outside being its accompanying piece.

You were awestruck, your eyes as wide as the saucers in front of you. This looked like a feast fit for kings, and it was merely breakfast!

Lisa pushed you down into one of the chairs before you could begin berating her with thanks and telling her that she, “shouldn’t have done all this for you!”

The meal was as delicious as it looked, but something that surprised you more than the bountiful breakfast in your plate, was that Vlad was enjoying food with them as well, albeit, a much smaller amount than his wife and son.

You were a bit puzzled to say the least, as you had always heard that Dracula could not bare to be the sunlight, and you thought it was common knowledge that vampires get sick eating regular human food.

Vlad appeared to read your thoughts, a devilish smirk on his face as he took a sip of his golden goblet. “You seem to have several questions buzzing around in that head of yours, little one.”

You flushed, and averted your gaze, as you shoved a piece of bread into your mouth.

“There’s no need to be so bashful. I enjoy a curious mind.”

You looked over at Lisa for reassurance, and she gave you a kind smile and a nod of her head. Swallowing the bread you nearly choked down your throat, you took your attention instead to the bright morning sun that grazed his sharp features.

“I read that vampires cannot stand being in the sunlight?”

He hummed to himself. “Ah yes, a particularly popular rumor… I think Helsing had something to do with that,” he mused, but turned back to you after his moment to himself. “I can say that spending too much time in the sun could be harmful, but, sitting here, just barely out of its direct rays will not harm me.”

“I see,” you mumbled, and then focused on Adrian. “So, since you’re a dhampir, you can go in direct sunlight thanks to your mother, yes?”

“Exactly.” Vlad answered. “I like this one. She’s keen to pick up things.”

“I told you that she was a worthy apprentice!” Lisa sang as she gathered up the empty plates and cups. She placed them the large sink, using a large pump to get water to start running across them.

You walked over to her, offering your assistance, which Lisa greatly accepted. She decided to clean all of the dishes, and then hand them to you to dry.

As she held out a dripping plate for you, she gave you a nudge and a playful smile. “Once this is all cleaned up,” her eyes twinkled with excitement. “It’s about time that we head to the library and start studying, don’t you think?”

author’s note: hello everyone!! i’m BACK. i did not plan on having such a long break between chapters, but spring semester kicked my ass. but guess what? i Graduated Y'ALL. so guess who has time to work on a fic? this bitch. anyways, tysm to all of the new followers this has garnered in the past couple months. it really helps me stay encouraged to work on this, knowing that people like it so much!! i hope this chapter was worth the wait <3

[thegempage]

i was afraid to swim until you pulled me under

ao3 link; word count: 2389; finished hurloane/hurley x sloane fic

pls rb if you enjoyed!!

When people asked Hurley if she believed in love, she said sure. Anyone who pressed further asked why she didn’t have any for herself yet, got, it’s out there, just not for me. And for all the world, she looked content -- in a way, she was content in her view, if she didn’t dare to look into the threads of the words themselves. Didn’t dare think of what made up the bandages that held her heart together after the first two times it had broken. Didn’t dare to think of the dye that colored it, of when she tried to go deeper into love, of what she wanted to scream when people asked her about it.

Love drowns you, she wanted to scream. It’s an ocean you need a boat to survive and I can’t even swim.

(Maybe that was why she’d moved out to the desert.)

People usually dropped it before she could scream and left her on her island in the middle of that stormy sea, watching others play on the waves in their shining boats. She was content, she told herself. She didn’t need to swim or frolic on the waves. She had her work and a garden and that was all she’d ever need.

The universe, as it so often does, had other plans that she didn’t get the memo for.

Instead, she got something new.

A visitor to her island. A dancing shadow of a woman tauntingly close but impossible to catch. A half-elf, with eyes like the earth Hurley loved so much and a cloak of feathers that hid her in the darkness of the night. A criminal whose case was given entirely to Hurley after she’d expressed interest in her and her alone. A never-ending game of cat and mouse.

Hurley toed the tide for the first time since her second heartbreak. She wasn’t in love with the criminal, no, she’d never fall for someone who fell outside of the law (even if, in her quiet moments, she couldn’t make herself believe the rumors spread about where the criminal kept her money by the rich). But she fell in love with their chase, with the way the criminal managed to evade the rest of militia, the way she told Hurley her alias with a note and a feather tucked into her ponytail (It’s the Raven if you were wondering. You looked cute with the pixie). She fell in love with the thrill the Raven brought to her life -- but not the Raven herself. That’s what she told herself, even when she clutched her chest after a particular chase as her heart followed after the fleeing shape.

(And if she started maintaining her pixie cut again after that note, no one had to know why.)

Her visitor started appearing in the tides instead of on the beach as she got used to the waves lapping at her toes, just out of reach again.

The letters dragged her another step into the sea.  They started during the lull in the Raven’s activity, appearing on her windowsill when Hurley got home, tied with twine and ribbon. At first, they were casual, an admirer of her work and how she tried to change Goldcliff from the inside. Time passed and her pen pal grew closer to her. Hurley told the person on the other end things she’d never told anyone else: about her garden, about going to see the battlewagon races, about how she wished she could be properly face-to-face with the Raven just once, to look her in the eye and ask what she really did with what she took. Her pen pal set their own secrets in her hands: about their tiny home full of stray birds and children who came and went, about their participation in the races, about how they thought they were falling in love with someone who would never return the feelings, and how they saw their crossed star just often enough to keep the wound fresh and bleeding. One letter -- an invitation, really -- was sealed, not with the small feather drawing they’d been signing before, but with a kiss of black lipstick. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw it, and Hurley was in love with her pen pal.

(Or, rather, she let herself be in love with her pen pal.)

She was calf-deep in the waters that still terrified her, but the figure didn’t move as far away, and she had hope.

Two steps this time. At the insistence of her pen pal, she attended the biggest battlewagon race of the year, a masquerade mask with curling horns and little way to discern her face safely strapped on as she watched the carts rattle down the track. The letter was tucked against her chest, its words beating against her chest like heartbeats. I’ll win for you. You’ll know it’s me, promise. Her eyes were glued to first place, watching the title trade hands between crashing wagons and flying arrows. She couldn’t tell who was the person who had brought her here on danger of both their heads. A smaller, sleeker shape kept catching her eye, but after the third or fourth time it disappeared she disregarded it as a trick of her nerves.

At least, until it pulled into first place at a speed that earned a chorus of accusations. A bike-wagon, all black metal and bird motifs. A cloak of black feathers thrown across the shoulders of a slim figure. A mask in the shape of a raven’s head, more decorated than its twin but striking Hurley just the same. A moment of locked eyes, when the Raven looked straight at her and winked. A realization that stole her breath and painted her face red.

(Somehow, she knew this shouldn’t have been as surprising as it was, though she didn’t know why.)

Hurley was knee deep and staring into the eyes of her visitor, who sat under the waves and reached up.

She didn’t take the invitation right away. She waited where the crowd gathered to greet the winner as they all dispersed once the Raven had taken her winnings and gotten on her bike to speed away. Her mask still hid her face, a hood tugged over her hair to hide its carroty glow, and she had the patience of a flower awaiting spring. And, if somehow blessed by the gods, she knew exactly what she was going to say when the Raven came back, mask still strapped on, and stood on her bike in front of her.

“You came,” the Raven said.

“You asked,” Hurley replied.

A beat of silence. “So… when did you figure it out?” the Raven asked, parking her bike and getting off of it. “I’m… honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t… you didn’t rat me out a month ago.”

Hurley wrinkled her eyebrows. “What?”

“When did you figure out it was me?”

Another beat. “Just… just today,” Hurley said, halting as if she suspected that was the wrong answer.

“Today?”

“How could I have known who you were?”

The Raven’s mouth twitched and broke into a smile. She didn’t say anything else as she swallowed her laughter. Under her breath, “And here I thought I was being too obvious.”

Hurley huffed and pursed her lips, the laugh stinging even without full expression. For a moment, she considered taking her question and leaving this whole situation behind to run from the waves once again before she broke. The conflict was already brewing in her heart as the criminal she’d been chasing for months became her visitor and her trusted confidant. But as she looked up to tell the Raven to leave her alone, they locked eyes again, and the Raven’s face had melted into a kinder smile despite her eyes being full of panic. Her hands were twisted into her elbows, arms crossed in forced relaxation as she shook. Hurley could get her killed, and they both knew it. Hurley knew she wouldn’t; the Raven did not. Hurley opened her mouth, prepared to deny her, prepared to swear silence but nothing else.

“I want to race with you.”

The Raven looked like Hurley had just handed her the world.

Hurley had precious few seconds to take it back, to save herself, to get out of the waves and run. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Not when the Raven’s smile grew giddy instead of cool and she coughed to regain her composure, or when she sputtered over a couple words before asking, “Really?” in a voice that didn’t fit any version of her in Hurley’s head.

“Yeah, really,” Hurley said, feeling her face heat up again behind the mask.

The Raven hesitated for a moment, but stepped forward and fell to her knees to sweep Hurley up in a hug. “I’ll show you the garage tomorrow,” she said as she pulled away. “I, um, I’ll come get you. Are you… working?”

Hurley shook her head, swallowing and explaining, “You’ve been quiet, so the captain has had me on standby.”

(That was a lie; she’d taken the day off on a hunch.)

The figure she’d been chasing -- the Raven, her pen pal, the beautiful woman who had such a tight grip on Hurley’s heart -- moved no farther away. Hurley took her hand and let her pull her under the waves, and it turned out she could swim just fine.

As promised, the Raven picked her up at her apartment early the next morning, scaling up to the window that faced her garden with a smile on her unmasked face -- which was, as Hurley had guessed, absolutely beautiful (though she may have been biased, since already in love with her), with floppy ears that echoed a drow and a pillow of long black hair streaked with white all framing a shining face. The garage was spacious, covered in parts of battlewagons that the Raven had scrapped, and Hurley felt at home the second she slid under the door. The bike-wagon she’d been using the day before was propped up against one wall and a partially completed full-sized wagon filled the center of the room. It was big enough for two people, maybe even three or four, even half-assembled. The Raven was on it in a heartbeat, pulling out tools and scrap pieces that seemed to match the composition of the wagon. Hurley wasn't sure what to do, so she found a stool nearby and watched as she got to work. For a few minutes, the Raven didn't remember that she was there, lost in a practiced routine.

She perked up as she realized Hurley wasn't at her side, turning to face her. "Oh, um, you've never worked on a wagon before, right?"

"I worked on the police wagons, but I sort of… assumed this was different."

The Raven stuck her lip out, looking over her wagon. "I doubt it's too different at this stage. I'm not to the racing components, yet. Just putting this ol’ thing back together."

Hurley hopped off her stool and pulled it over to the wagon, sitting on it again so she was level with the Raven. She opened her mouth to ask what she was doing, and instead a different phrase tumbled out. "I don't know your name."

"...shit. I. I forgot to introduce myself yesterday?"

"I don’t think we really got around to introductions."

The Raven covered her face, a faint blush forming under her skin. She seemed to be collecting herself after that blunder, finally mumbling, "Its Sloane. My name is Sloane."

Sloane. Hurley repeated it, rolling it off her tongue and feeling the rush that came with it. "Well then, Sloane, show me how this baby runs." Her grin was lopsided, and her phrasing earned a snort and a chuckle (success).

Sloane showed Hurley what she had already in the wagon and what she planned to strip from each of the surrounding wagons. Hurley found that she knew a lot more about wagons than she thought, though part of it might've been from Sloane's explanations and the fact that, really, what went where wasn't hard to figure out when everything was designed to fit together flawlessly. They started work on the wagon before the afternoon hit, and midway through Sloane looked up and over at Hurley, eyebrows wrinkled just slightly.

"...yeess?" Hurley asked, flushing faint pink.

"Sorry, I just… you'll need to hide your face, and I was. Trying to think of a good fit for you," Sloane explained.

She turned more fully toward Hurley, something other than curiosity in her eyes but only scrutinizing Hurley as she promised to. "That mask," she said, "do you still have it?"

“Back home.”

“The Ram…” Sloane repeated it a few times to herself. “The Raven and the Ram. Sound good to you?”

Hurley tried to imagine it, forming the battlewagon in her mind and placing them inside, tumbling down the track at top speed. Sloane in her raven mask and cloak, Hurley in a ram’s skull mask and… a cape of fleece? No, she wasn’t a cape person. Her gi, though... a new one formed in her head, patterned to look like wool she’d been wearing as she headbutted someone’s nose in. That she could rock.

“I like it,” Hurley said, grinning.

And that was what they became, among other things. The Raven and the Ram, fiercest duo on the tracks; Sloane and Hurley, fantasy Starbucks master and militia lieutenant; cat and mouse, Goldcliff’s second-favorite illegal pastime. Lovers playing under the waves together, content where they were in each other's arms instead of floating above in boats of shallow happiness and loose commitments. The wounds on Hurley’s bandaged heart stitched themselves closed and the bandages fell away. She held Sloane’s own healing heart in her hands and held it close. Maybe love was for her after all. She had her work and her garden and frolicked under the waves with her girlfriend (later fiancee) all at once. She dived deeper, deeper, learned new things about herself and the woman she loved as their chases became staged and their races became shows, as they danced and swam and grew a garden and helped the birds and children of Goldcliff get enough to eat.

Love didn’t feel like drowning, she thought. It felt a little more like breathing.

(Hiccups and all.)

[funkypoacher]

Kinktober Day 1

“Aphrodisiacs”

Ship: Solas/Ori; Fandom: Dragon Age

The night was a warm one. He opened the door. She said, “I was just thinking about you,” to which Solas smiled.

Back kept straight, hands clasped behind, and feet called forward by her sweet confession, the man sauntered confidently towards where the she sat. Amidst the superfluous expense poured like rivulet silver, Orilya was almost lost. Not one example of extravagance was overlooked as the Inquisitor’s quarters exemplified the over-blown expression of opulence – at least, to some deluded man’s heart. A bed frame of molded gold; marble floors forgotten under stretches of silken tapestries woven with nature motifs: ostentatious displays such as this were meant to inspire dread rather than impress, and indeed they met their goal for Solas was afraid. He was very afraid of the appetites of the Orlesian elite. They found sweetness in starving their servants while consuming taffeta window-curtains like confection. They gorged on samite petticoats or stockings while the poor put their children in reappropriated sacking. While surrounded by a million brass mirrors so that they might better see the beautiful debauchery in which they binged, these powdered nobles metaphorically mirrored the world which had been locked away for all that they cost.

In the middle of this noisy luxury –rather amateurish when compared to the Evanuris’ tastes– was Ori, sitting like the jewel-like middle of a flower from whence the petals unfold. Soft and unassuming, and dressed down to only an over-sized shirt that fit her like a shift, she stood out for her simplicity and her spirit. And her mind. And her smile. Which was, at the moment, beaming.

Before her was a broad platter topped with varying vibrant fruit. In the excess of consumption, the woman’s mouth had tinged. As Ori smiled in her wide, animated way, it became clear that this colouring had not been confined to her lips alone: her teeth and tongue were blood-red, too. It was almost garish – and certainly charming.

Solas chuckled.

“Were you not taught that eating in bed is the behavior of beasts?”

It was difficult for him to affect such a lofty tone. And Ori snorted at the attempt. Flashing a wicked, gory grin, her head lolled skeptically to the side. Then, under the pretense of cleaning fruit juice from her finger, she puckered her lips around the tip of her pointer-digit, took it to the back of her throat, and, easing it out, letting it go with a loud pop.

“Really? Because I’m fairly sure all you ever do in bed is eat.”

His lover’s laugh was insidious. He rebutted in the only way he could: an even smile which darkened to something ravenous. While settling on the edge of the bed and sinking deep for the goose-down it was made of, Solas off-handedly considered how Ori’s bare legs –inviting him from beneath them hem of her shirt– kindled his mattress-based appetite. Then he wondered, even more casually, if that shirt was his.

The Inquisitor nodded at the food. She took more to her mouth.

“So. There’s fruit, and chocolate –melty chocolate– plus chilies, which is wild. They’re not too hot, though. Oh, and champagne. Which I drank most of. It gets less wretched after the first few glasses. The chilies, though, they are so— you’ve got to put them in the chocolate. I cannot believe how good it is. I’ve eaten… Well, it’s safe to say I’ve eaten more than I should have, at this point.”

Her description was accented by swallows and slurps as she gluttonously munched on watermelon cut into garish little hearts, pomegranate pearls, and rich, red strawberries nearly the colour of wine.

“It came from Celene,” Ori added, lips busying with a splash of water to wash it down.

“And Briala, ostensibly,” guessed Solas, all the while gathering chocolate with a slice of watermelon.

The Inquisitor settled with a sigh and a wriggle against the pillow-stack. According to her crooked look Solas had not touched upon the half of it, and Ori motioned towards a card of periwinkle parchment placed on the bed-side table. “Oh yeah. Take a look.”

While placing the watermelon to his lips, Solas glanced over Celene’s elegant script penned in a twinkling, golden ink. It read,

Ham of despair and acrimonious stag are quite fashionable for a soirée, but what you have done for me and mine requires a new palate altogether. Accept these morsels flavored of amour and passion, and may its fruits taste ever sweeter.

                                        ~Celene and Briala~

Solas swallowed the melon. After reevaluating the Empress’s words, he immediately ate more.

”See? They’re even signing things as a couple.” Ori’s hazel-stare watched him and shone. “Is that… alright? Briala is still one of us. It could be used as blackmail at some point. Don’t you think?”

“Perhaps,” Solas shrugged, picking up some pomegranate. “Should they part as brutally as before.”

The fruit was extraordinary: a rich, raw, souring sweetness with a bit of a bitter follow-up which was much enjoyed. Audibly smacking his lips in approval, the man’s mouth then began to profusely water, which Solas thought to remedy with eating more. Taking a dozen of the glistening pomegranate pearls to his mouth, he noted Ori scrutinizing him with her head tilted, eyes steady, and mouth slackened to the point of showing off her little, red tongue. He almost had to ask as soon as he finished with chewing.

“Ah.” Solas feigned a modest look. “Am I to assume my lips have stained?”

She nodded languidly. The day’s long hours finally seemed to be having an effect, for Ori had now quieted, she was blinking her rounded, shining eyes more often, and her breathing came harder, catching thick in her throat. Swallowing hard around a sigh, she motioned towards his hands –“fingers, too,” – and fell deeper into her pillows.

It took Solas less than a second to stop caring about his loose-fitting, tight-collared, Orlesian-cut costume of light blue damask accented by ivory and mauve. They weren’t his colours. Nor did he like the style. But, while he didn’t care for the clothes, he did not want to smear reds all about Ori’s sheets, so he licked the few dribbling, wine-toned droplets dripping down his hands. There were no napkins – by design, in all probability, considering the appreciative, insinuating note.

“Lovely,” Solas approved. The last of the pomegranate he soon popped in his mouth.

Although simply a token –a reflex of etiquette really, and hardly a reflection of her true gratitude– Celene had outdone herself. The platter had more life and exuberance of taste than all the marinated meats or complicated creams usually served at table. It hit every kind of taste bud and left it distinctly gratified. To say nothing of the company, of course, which was superb.

Still reclined upon a dozen damask pillows, Ori watched him eat. Shoulder-length hair of mousy, silken brown framed her wide face in shadows, outlining its every aspect and making them more specifically beautiful. Her short, delicate, perpetual pout blazed in the dimmed candlelight for all the berry juice that now acted like a cosmetic. It drew the curves of her lips right into a picture of what they could be doing: sipping spirits while negotiating with nobles; sneering sourly at the kitchen staff’s treatment; contorting in the sweetest agony while screaming inarticulates that perfectly described her complete abandon while Solas was buried hot and hard inside.

She’d had her fill she’d been filled to brimming and was now simply content satisfied; utterly satiated to just see him relish in a delicious meal.

Solas was sweating. Bad. Particularly at the collar. Clearing his throat, the man let the sudden, hazy lust clear from his head before trading a happy look with his beloved.

“Try the chilies,” suggested Ori. She was very tired now, and it left her voice trance-like.

Doing as she’d needingly begged asked, Solas could not truthfully say they were his favorite fare. The spice was nicely accented by the bitter chocolate, but the new, sharp, without-warning sweat he developed couldn’t be forgiven because he was already sweating terribly. Although a few buttons were let, it did not help his breathing. Solas felt suffocated: by the stifling heat of the chilies, his constricting clothes, and, most of all, Ori’s very naked legs bending at the knee, folding up, and then falling apart just enough to suggest the smallest glimpse of her…

Ah. The air clouded thickly with her woman’s aroma.

“I believe the fruit is starting to have an effect,” Solas noted hazily as he vaguely recalled something about it tasting ever sweeter. His mind immediately moved on to the idea of shoving his fingers between Ori’s legs until she squelched and squeezed around him.

Ori spoke without acknowledgement. “Still got chocolate on your hands.”

Solas’ previous theory that she wasn’t sleepy –just deliriously horny– found glorious affirmation. As soon as he started laving over his messy fingers, the Inquisitor’s gaze exploded. All of Ori’s face fell to expressionless distraction in her desire except those eyes; those burning, ardent eyes, which were pretty much pleading that he keep fucking going. Clearly she was boiling inside just as badly as he. As the pace of her breathing quickened, Solas made sure to crawlingly lick and lap in the crook where his fingers met. It was a sensitive spot; it did as much for him physically –little quick tickles firing towards his cock– as it did for her to just watch his tongue work, never mind the innuendo; the insinuation. My face buried between your legs until you break, vhenan: I beg for it. Within a few more mouthy strokes, Ori made a sad little cry, parted her legs farther, and her fingers found their own sodden mischief.

She threw her head back with elated gratification. Growling, Solas stood away from the bed, began hastily undressing, and watched the Inquisitor finger-fuck herself.

“The… the fruit was… Um— So…”

Panting, Ori played furiously at her clit in those rapid, tight circles that sent her careening towards an end, but still she retained her stubbornness and quaintly tried to speak. The sounds of her stroking through her own slick were heard poignantly and perfectly as her folds slapped wetly together. “So the fruit was laced, or what?”

Solas chuckled while finishing up with his shirt. Wriggling out of the sleeves, letting it flutter to the floor, he then turned to the adversary of his belt. “There is certain cuisine that will inspire sexual appetite. Fruit, nuts; a variety of vegetables. But this may simply be the suggestion of Celene’s note. “Solas stepped out of his pants and dove towards her. “Or that we are both easy.”

Ori giggled joyously as Solas, without preamble, dove for her. Flippantly tossing her legs farther apart, he came to a thorough hilt, and groaned for her soft, milking grip that cradled him in soaking euphoria and poured hot silver to fire through his veins. Finding the rush of his body only incensed, however –and hearing Ori mewling so pitifully beneath– he gave into solid, body-jarring pounding until he felt the boil within his stomach want to burst just as badly as his balls.

Thrusting along in uneven, violent, writhing tandem, Ori came quick with a holler that left her face beautifully contorted. Her cunt convulsed and clamped down as her hands grabbed around his back, pulling him closer and signaling that he was allowed to cum. Gasping and heaving far more than audibly, Solas followed up with his own orgasm which was short and bright and ended with him sweating and quietly laughing.

For all the relaxing inaction he was seeing while in Halamshiral, it was well that they were screwing so often or else Solas’ legs and back would have been aching. Instead, he felt slightly light-limbed, but waited to go again once Ori had caught her breath. In the interim, they both lay far apart, the huge bed accommodating more than enough room for each

“It was the fruit,” Ori insisted as soon as her jaw could make more than her familiar gasping purrs. “Definitely the fruit. We are not easy.”

After a skeptical snort, Solas affirmed her declaration with a slightly more affable “yes.” His hand crawled over and across the sheets, and his fingers twined and entangled with hers. “It was the fruit, vhenan.”