#oc: ganieda an dhu

[wiltf]

lines are softer this time. ganieda would like to argue later that she was thinking, but perhaps in that moment, no. she wasn’t. she really wasn’t. not as the tip of her pen crossed back and forth, following something she remembered. harsher, only over the the eyes, highlighting them. highlighting the scars. and down the nose so gently, like a caress. in her reverie, not quite thinking.

a face appears, between the sketches of locations, local flora. it is not true to form, not as the owner appears around the corner, drawl asking if they should turn in for the night. book snaps shut, a wince not in almost being caught but with the force potentially damaging samples. it’s fine, ganieda tells herself. sure, of course, she tells myrnah. looking up. not looking up. finger still caught between pages where the little sketch lay.

[fetabathwater]

#and not to mention banging her head against the wall tyring to figure out if said charge likes her back

they’ll be married, celebrating their 40th anniversary and still like ‘but do you like me like me’ forreal

how is Myrnah?

she's alright 🧍 probably 98% stress trying to keep her charge (ganieda) out of danger

[fetabathwater]

🎮🎶💯👨‍👩‍👧‍👦 for jen aaaand (uno reverse) 🐉💔💘🖤😞 for genieda

prompts here

jennnnnn 🐑

🎮 VIDEO GAME CONTROLLER — what are three of your oc’s favorite hobbies?

she's a sucker for wood carving (and working, by extension), puzzles, and anything to do with textiles, in particular screen printing. she doesn't do it as much, particularly the more hands on stuff, but give her a puzzle and she's distracted for ages.

🎶 MUSICAL NOTES — what type of music does your oc like? do they listen to music very often?

as for a genre, her regular listening does fall into the very broad category of 'rock', but she's fine with almost anything. doesn't necessarily have a preference, because it's dependent on her mood and why she's listening. if it's to like listen to other local bands and/or competition, then it's more of a focus on what they do, not just the music. if it's for her own leisure and pleasure, it's probably just the radio playing in the background. constantly has some form of music on though, half-jokingly but kind of seriously like a soundtrack to her life following her through even just doing the dishes.

💯 HUNDRED POINTS SYMBOL — share three random facts about your oc that others may not know.

jen is kind of a conspiracy nut, like the wormhole reading late at night that sucks her in. worked hard to reduce her stutter, insofar that like, those she met in high school aren't even aware she has one. has a fear of forests, refuses to consider them.

👨‍👩‍👧‍👦 FAMILY WITH MOTHER, FATHER, SON AND DAUGHTER — how many people are in your oc’s immediate family? how many people are in your oc’s extended family? do they have aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, etc? who in their family are they closest with? are they close with their birth family, or do they have a found family?

yeah she's got her parents who are like. off doing their own thing. her dad's parents basically raised her, but by the time of infamous her grandma has passed. her maternal grandparents don't talk to her, has about four aunts on her mum's side with a spattering of cousins she doesn't know the names of. on her dad's side, has an uncle who has like. a kid that jen is vaguely aware of. but is also convinced the uncle is paying child support for at least twelve kids, whose to say. she's close with her granddad (and grandma before she passed), but definitely the home is in the friends... even if it is a lil fractured underneath.

ganieda (i cannae believe u spelt her name wrong FOR SHAME)

🐉 DRAGON — what is your oc’s favorite mythical creature?

okay like considering that dragons and griffons are rly common, ganieda is like fascinated by the simple house cat. they're so odd, but also like found everywhere. obsessed with picking them up, despite whatever may happen. otherwise, warclaws probably. something about the mist...

💔 BROKEN HEART — what are three of your oc’s negative traits?

reactive, unreliable, uncooperative. to start with lol, but mostly due to her kind of primary focus within the priory and kind of ignoring literally everyone for the sake of her work, its got her a lot of association with being an all around negative person, not someone many want to work with.

💘 HEART WITH ARROW — what and/or who do(es) your oc consider the most important to them?

the lil carved fern hound around her neck. with no possible emotional attachment there to anything else of course but it is definitely only the fern hound. yknow.

🖤 BLACK HEART — has your oc killed or seriously wounded anyone before? have they broken someone’s heart and/or broken someone’s trust?

okay i mean to be fair if she fights to kill, she fights to kill. very rarely does it end up with simply wounding. especially as in her line of work prior to being thrown around with all the dragon god war things, like sometimes she had to make the first move. sometimes, she removed a thug on the road who pissed her off enough. sometimes, she took out the bandits first. and then sometimes she's been pissed off in a bar hard enough to break a glass against someone's face without quite knowing her own strength.

it's all perspective on breaking a heart. but she definitely has.

😞 DISAPPOINTED FACE — does your oc attract others, or do they tend to be left alone?

if ganieda has attracted anyone, it's not really been picked up by her. granted, most people tend to also give her a wide berth, in the sort of observation way. pretty flower perception way. there have been times where ganieda has been aware, and acted on that attraction, but she definitely is very aware that the vibes she gives off are rancid. the layer of filth as she's bog diving probably doesn't help.

[fetabathwater]

🖊️ + Ganieda🌱 or Llonvyne🦇 or Catiel🚀

okay so like

🌱 ganieda 🌱 is literally the grossest fucking plant like kind of interlinking with how i think that sylvari honestly do have some inherent poison resistance due to plants, and the whole golden liquid gut thing going on, so she definitely tests it on everything. i know the commander eats anything in canon for those points but ganieda cranks it up to eleven. like probably an outlier even amongst sylvari. i dont rly see her as my canon commander bc its fun playing barbie dolls with her (and myrnah) and just having gan walk around and her having gross lil priory girlie moments wherever. i cant write anything serious for her because all she does is lust over myrnah, argue about history, and lick rocks. not always in that order.

🦇 llonie 🦇 is an oc i always come back to she never rly changes like she's always existed as she is and i think one of my fave things about her is that she rly was randomly generated with me mashing the randomise button and like esp being thrown in with the greymoor dlc opening it just kinda clicked? like also i love how eso rly is like yeah ok u can do whatever u want like ur a dunmer but like. get OUTTA vvardenfell we dont want you which is the funniest reaction. reminds me of morrowind. but yeah. the lil blood sucking, super soul charged, divorced, daedric loving weirdo is MY weirdo.

🚀 catiel 🚀 is like. okay i LOVE how like the bounty hunter's story is there? like i know a lot of the stories overlap and the timeframe is worked out by people but the bh is so fucking funny in being the random group who gets in some sweet revenge, participates in a bloody competition and may or may not become the mando's adoptive killing machine (honourary child), may become part of a royal alderaanian family, shows up right at the end, kills both sith and jedi, and then is like. okay bye we're gonna go fishing. and also like i know that the ages are all vague and stuff but with the older voice and the implied experience behind dialogue options its like. i love how the bh can be like. older. so naturally i made catiel a milf. she's in her 50s by the time kotfe rolls around. i definitely channelled a lil of desperate housewives into her, so we love to see a cougar winning.

[wiltf]

in truth, ganieda rarely slept through the night. myrnah could count the hours on one hand of solid sleep, even if there is little movement. it's the way her breath catches, and there is that moment where, perhaps, a thought is entertained of this being it. that the slow moving heart might finally never make it to the next second. because her skin was cooler to the touch, and even before being thrown the way she had, her heart had moved to a different rhythm. like the mother had put ganieda together in a different way.

and, perhaps, it was these times that had myrnah move from her post by the entrance to the tent, to beside the bed. where her hand was firmly in ganieda's, feeling the fluttering of fingers and muscles when her dreams did dive deeply. a face, buried under hair and pillows and sheets, turned towards her. and that little furrow, right in the middle of her brow, as disarming as it was, smoothing once myrnah touched her cheek.

perhaps, with the way they were joined, there was. hope. that ganieda's heart would move alongside myrnah's. not just fill in the gaps in a stutter, but grow stronger. for her pulse was under myrnah's fingertips, and she might've just been convincing herself otherwise. especially when ganieda stirs, sleep interrupted. sleepy-eyed and droopy smile, turned her way. deep inhale, and she falls back asleep. stronger. more solid. myrnah was not sure what magic she wove, but perhaps it worked. this time.

[wiltf]

they were told, with some emphasis, that the capes were decorative. but in truth, myrnah had a suspicion it was to hide weaponry. intricately sown gold thread was to lead the eyes away from how the sword sits at her hip. relegated to at least the thinnest possible blade, with a promise all the way from pact headquarters to divinity's reach that security would be at a maximum. but just like the weapon that would perhaps snap if pressed against the breast, those were pretty words. doing nothing for how they stood out, surprising them both that the majority of present nobles and pageantry were,

"short," ganieda mutters under her breath, whilst endlessly fighting with the hem of her own cape. "and they wanted to put me in taller shoes."

"you have worn heeled shoes while we crossed the ranges of the shiverpeaks." as gentle a reminder that myrnah could provide, as ganieda sends her a withering glance.

"that was different. they were not held together by a single thread."

at that, myrnah does smile softly. true. but everything here seemed to be barely hanging on. and if she was anyone else, myrnah might've found comfort in that not everyone was free of suffering from what lay beyond their walls. yet myrnah was not that person, and instead she could feel the tension in her brow, along her jaw. sight that moved back and forth.

they wanted ganieda to dance. even ganieda had objected, for reasons far different than most. it was not so much a fear for her safety, well, not entirely. of course there were the lingering worries, curled up in myrnah's belly when she thought on the few times they had parted, and what had followed. ganieda's objections were for her lack of dancing skill; myrnah's were for what this professed noble court had proven themselves to be, time and time again. if it were not their own queen's life on the line near every day, they would not be deterred by a sylvari, commander or no. if anything, myrnah was concerned for the collateral that would follow.

[wiltf]

according to the memories and dream, each generation of sylvari brought their own idea in. some of them were more practical. others were more wild. and then some, like the one that was brought up just now, was more. confirming. romantic. whispered between lovers who had seen the other in their dream, or by two who had found each other, somewhere along the way. ganieda was still never quite sure where or how or why, and by this point she wasn't interested enough to ask.

not when myrnah leans back into her, daring to sink into the warmer water. ganieda sits at the edge, feet kicking up the water, while her fingers work. thumbs pressing into tense muscles along the back of myrnah's neck, up her nape. this one moment in hoelbrak going to be enjoyed as much as they could. and well, as ganieda pulls back myrnah's hair, the only reason she had really considered bringing it up was as she had seen more than one norn exchange gifts. from great axes to intricately carved spoons. even some of the best steeds and grain had been gifted. all of it fascinating, taking up pages of her book. but now, with her hands on myrnah, she is considering it again. one of the many ways that their own could keep each a piece of each other alive and well.

myrnah's approval is a deep rumble in her chest. turning just so from where she was between ganieda's knees, to watch as strands of hair were pulled free. not just woven into myrnah's hair now, and there was always the risk of rejection, of course - ganieda had been witness to one such attempt by a couple in the grove. and so she holds the root, close to myrnah's scalp. along where her hair was kept in its usual shape out of her eyes. hoping. waiting. eyes solely on the hair, not wanting to meet the curious eye.

on some level, myrnah secretly understood why they had been studied. something she had never spoken aloud. but watching myrnah accept her hair, intertwining roots to hold the long strands in place. it was magic. it was comforting. it had her sigh in absolute relief, before tilting myrnah's head the other way, allowing more strands to take position. frame of almost red under the torch light and moon, now holding myrnah there. long strands of wisteria that had not quite understood the preferred shape, but lay gently along the surface of the water. ganieda would be carried with her now. such a thought was almost terrifying, and yet ganieda could not express how much that meant to her. not yet.

[wiltf]

truth be told, time was never linear since that moment. each hour, dare she say every second, seemed to fluctuate. it did not help that there just never seemed to be any sort of peace within her own mind, of course. fear and confusion seeming to heighten the voices of her companions, but myrnah was not sure if she could blame them. truth be told, there was a part of her afraid as well.

such as when a glass falls from fingers, shattering as it hits the ground. such a simple action that was oft overlooked, but now it has the effect of ganieda slipping. just a moment, between this world and another, furthering into the shadows before bouncing back. too hard and fast that it has myrnah stumble back half a step. only that much, until she remembers. her position. her need. to pick up the shards of glass lest more harm come to a commander already bandaged and barely allowed out of sight of most of the healers.

yet that is the wrong action, once again. the way ganieda flares this time, it was not out of fear. myrnah did not know what the feeling might've been, nor what words were that passed from her lips. all she knows is that someone else pulled the blade from its sheath at her hip, holding it in front of her. readying, to defend. attack. to catch the air where ganieda should've been, instead there stands the shroud, immovable and invulnerable. black and ghostly and catching the blade.

[wiltf]

🔞.

sometimes, ganieda does forget how strong myrnah is. the grip at her thigh, the other following. as if by sheer force alone she is in the air. only briefly, because the edge of a table meets her skin, sliding along in a way that has her hiss into myrnah's kiss. doesn't break through the fog that had taken over her mind, instead just keeping her in there. deeper. conscious of how myrnah's lips are now at her ear, teeth following to the tip, and that her own fingers fumble over buckles now. trying to pull at anything and everything, to get her hands. here. and there. skin under skin.

mixed blessing that myrnah takes the lead. while ganieda finds her mouth once more, busying herself with trapping lower lip between teeth, slow drag, myrnah is. collected hands. undoing laces. pushing off armour. opening up, and ganieda wants nothing more than to sink into her. but her hands are caught, pinned against the table. encouraged wide and myrnah leans her weight forward, until eventually ganieda has to follow, back against the wood. paper. maps. there's correspondence underneath her that she couldn't even breathe of. not as myrnah keeps her hands spread, once more.

"stay like this."

in one of the more recent novels she had bought for myrnah, ganieda had spied something like this. it may have even influenced her buying choice. but recreating a scene? that sent more warmth south than just the polite command. stay like this. do not move. under her nails, paper was caught, ink was spilt, and at myrnah's soft, "please raise your hips", she does as told. what would it be like, to walk in as ganieda lay here: heaving chest, legs spread. her bodyguard kneeling now, between her thighs. hot breath and steady fingers, that trace along the wrap of vine, muscle, and her.

the first touch is not like myrnah's usual steady approach. one fine stroke of her tongue, pressing against her lips and parting her. ganieda's first reactions was of course to jump; not ready for such a touch. but what should've been her jumping out of her skin was more of a push against myrnah. myrnah and her hands. myrnah and her tongue. myrnah and her mouth, kissing and licking and sucking along ganieda's thighs, clit, anywhere and everywhere at once. fingers join, in probing at her sensitive skin, finding her opening.

ganieda holds her breath, and myrnah grunts. something about how she should relax comes through, but when had myrnah ever known her to relax? especially when she was like this, nose buried where thigh met the crease of her pelvis, determined movements now. the kind that had ganieda breathe and sigh and moan and let go of the desk. slap a hand over her mouth, not caring about the ink stains now, to muffle the sounds that were leaving her. for a moment, she might care if anyone were lingering outside on guard duty. poor things.

poor things that had to hear their commander be undone by her bodyguard. two fingers that stretch her, joined by a third, tongue flat against her clit and ganieda doesn't remember sitting up. let alone getting her hands in myrnah's hair. bent over her, as she comes all loud and quiet at the same time, hips moving on myrnah's face. she wasn't as strong, but she held her there, between her thighs, riding those lips and that tongue until she stopped twitching. until she was able to let myrnah go, pulling her up and up. her own kisses now, wrinkled nose when myrnah murmurs how she was tasting herself.

but ganieda was not consider that. not when it was her hands at myrnah's buckle now. fingers following the belt around to where she dipped her fingers under, brushing skin. nose brushing myrnah's ear, where she whispers, begs, let me have you. here, on this desk, where myrnah just had her way.

often, ganieda had joked that she would be first against the wall. that they could take turns. and there were words on her tongue that might've leaned into that slippery sort of snide, except myrnah gasped. lips parting just enough to let the sound leave her, that it possibly could've undone ganieda again. but myrnah lets herself be handled where ganieda wanted to speak, too wrapped up in swallowing each sound that followed now.

"tell me if you want me to stop."

"i don't."

myrnah has too many buckles. too many layers. ganieda lets out a frustrated noise, as her hands are batted away. even after all this time, she still hadn't perfected the art of undressing myrnah (although, she was quite fond of watching). one look up, to protest, at having another attempt, before myrnah all but mashes their lips together. a messy kiss, her own hands deftly undoing buttons and dropping armour left and right. and a whisper, against her cheek. get it.

perhaps the 'it' in question should've been pushed further. except ganieda didn't require a picture drawn - not this time, anyway. although she cannot say if she would have been able to even hold a pen, with the way she was sure every part of her slowed down, yet sped up at the same time. aching, longing. trying to hold back the noises at the thought of just what might play out. just like in the book? with the way myrnah had the pages folded between her fingers, pinching along the edges before turning to the next, eyes following each line. did she know? was this part of the plan?

could ganieda have made it to their belongings faster, pulling free the it. a funny thing that was not entirely new to the both of them, fashioned out of a morbid desire. to be fair, ganieda still wasn't sure who was rightly to blame for it following them on their journey. almost like an afterthought of winding up at the bottom of a pack, only to be remembered when it mattered most. even as she steps into the straps, tightening it at her hips, myrnah was removing the last of her clothing. always quicker at it. and there are an assortment of liquids in ganieda's hand too, to go along with the design. scented, flavoured. ganieda offers them for myrnah to choose.

she knows it doesn't matter. that this is all a smokescreen, holding the vials between her fingers, while her free hand moves between myrnah's thighs. stroking along her lips, thumb drawing lazy circles not unlike what myrnah had done to her mere moments before. memory having her squeeze her own thighs together in response. the ache right there, one that would not be satisfied so easily. but everything happens in perfect order, muscle memory underneath hastily performed kisses. open mouthed and more just breathing each other in, than tasting the other. both of them, together, sliding oils over the device until it was slick, dripping. guiding it in.

myrnah's moans are swallowed. becoming her own, ones reverberating through her skin, back to myrnah, in one endless cycle. just enough. not enough. they do not part, not even as myrnah moves to press higher on the desk now, nearly sitting at the edge, ankles locking behind ganieda's back. and whilst ganieda presses featherlight kisses along myrnah's skin, as she breathes and adjusts, there is a moment where she considers. that perhaps she could not tell where she ended and myrnah began. lines along their skin where they glowed beat in time with their hearts, until it blurred into nothing more, but nothing less.

they have not moved. seconds drag into hours. like this, chests heaving, skin to skin. so ganieda says, let me move you. a nod against her cheek is the encouragement she needed, as she encouraged myrnah to lay back. to become just as stained in spilt ink as she was. flat, yet her nails still dug into ganieda. especially when ganieda pushes her legs back. a little more. further. "hold them.”

myrnah's mouth draws into a perfect 'o' for a margin of a second, before her eyes slide shut. biting down on her lip. it is the slight nod, that has ganieda move her hips forward. slowly, painfully slowly, listening for the shuddered breath and watching how myrnah's thighs tremble in response. all of these are collected carefully within her memory, but ganieda would ponder over it later, on a lonelier night. for now, it was her turn to recreate the scene. to have the lover quiver underneath, as her pace increases.

hips snapping forward now. hand that was not braced against the desk instead between them, rubbing and circling myrnah's clit, which only increased her groans. not enough, harder again. until there was that moan dragged out, almost like a weep, a syllable shy of ganieda's name. ganieda grins into the way she presses forward, until her lips catch a cheek, and myrnah. myrnah reaches forward. clasping at the necklace that dangled between their chests. pulling it, enough that ganieda only hisses at the way it catches at her hair. revels in the look in myrnah's eye.

"finish."

a command, that if ganieda had a free hand, she might've saluted to. instead, she doubles down on her efforts. her hands now, pushing myrnah further into the desk, until her knees damn near knocked into her shoulders. whilst the grip on the necklace never wavered, ganieda was over her. kissing, licking, nipping along her jaw, close enough that perhaps the strap was joining in the pressure there. intense friction, catching along already too sensitive flesh.

when myrnah comes, it is not with a bang. not quite a whimper. it is ganieda's name like a prayer, and she cannot deny that part of it is thrilling. another part knows that there are too curious guards just outside the entrance to the tent. but ganieda moans alongside her, guiding her through until the final shudder leaves her. until she pulls free, not wanting to leave myrnah's warmth but needing to.

so she all but flops beside myrnah on the desk. the strap still sits between her legs, a glossy sheen that catches in candlelight and it is. the kind of thought that twists her gut once more. something she wasn't sure if she wished to replicate or write down, just to remember it. but that is interrupted, by the deep inhale from myrnah, followed by her speaking.

"this was supposed to be about you."

perhaps, there is a touch of annoyance in her voice, as myrnah covers her eyes with her arm now. unwilling to move, despite the way ganieda knew they looked should someone walk in. chests still heaving, and ganieda trails a finger over myrnah's breasts, following the lines where bone and muscle mixed.

"trust me, cariad bach, this was as much for me as it was for you."

colour darkens on myrnah's cheeks, until her arm moves just enough to betray her expression. the way her visible eyes lowers to where ganieda only guess.

"give me a few minutes, and i'll return the favour.”

[wiltf]

soft skin. so unlike how myrnah looks when she stands on duty. looking out for threats on the horizon. nape of her neck, cradled gently in ganieda's hand. find the soft strands of hair there, another part of myrnah that so many would not be privy too. because this was just her. them. exploratory hands that following the curves of muscles, with myrnah's hand keeping ganieda's elbow aloft, fingers stroking there.

and ganieda finds those scars under her lips, where they are twisted and bright and cut so deep the eye does not see. and ganieda knows that her peripheral ends just where she trails those lips now. and here is the temple, where she says the quietest prayer in the form of still not quite letting go.

southward bound, over a cheek that is warm and to the jaw that is solid. chin, corner, mouth. pressure, right there, where myrnah's lips dip, only to part at the embrace.

like this, ganieda feels whole. complete. there was all kinds of poetry that she awoke with, memories and fragments of those who had walked and would, trapped within her veins. and perhaps they were right, they understood this, when a hand grasps at her waist or she was able to drag fingers through hair. her lover's, is what those words beat, within the space where her heart would've been if it bled red.

but everything was golden, and the sun settles over them a hazy blue, that when they glow there is no space between the two. just their lips and their breath, stolen away, to words that ganieda repeats, in places of myrnah only she was able to know. because, after all, with a pulse under the tips of her fingers that reminds her this is real, right, whole, it was just. them. them and the songs whispered in the dark.

[wiltf]

scars were normal. expected. they came with stories and experiences that were retold loudly over campfires. shared by priory, vigil and order member alike, huddling in the shadows of mountain ranges while chasing down something that should have been only a fairytale.

but there were scars, and then there was this. myrnah didn’t know whether to be thankful that she could not feel it, that perhaps the first time she had lost most of her sight, so too had she lost sensitivity. just to swipe at the blood that was running over her cheeks, pushing through the ash and flames with only one goal in mind.

this was a scar. one that would bury itself in every part of her muscles, cracking open once in a while to remind her. that no matter how fast her feet carried her, time moved faster. at its own pace, doing its best to trip her up as she tried to move. forward? back? myrnah doesn’t even know if this was still land under her feet, and that she had not simply passed back into the mists, awaiting the atmosphere to change around her once more.

there are too many bodies to sort through. myrnah could name some of them just by appearance, others by face, position on the map. but some other force was leading her through the forward charge, to stumble over mislaid defences and hopeless retreats. whether it was the way ganieda’s hair was tangled within hers, so that they always carried each other, or just some far off dream, myrnah doesn’t want to say.

that might break the spell.

so when her knees finally hit the burn, it was because she had reached her destination. like everything wore off then, that little magic piece of hope that had carried her through. because her hands hover and she’s not sure where to touch first. ash and dirt and blood that was not entirely ganieda’s own. twisted fractures that burned underneath her skin still, moving even if her chest didn’t.

“commander?”

her voice was soft, but it only started to grow as she held ganieda’s face in her hands. “commander an dhu? ganieda?!”

shaking now, as there was no movement. just the reality, crashing down. myrnah had not considered such a possibility, in truth. and there is a feeling in her gut now, twisting, when it should be her. it should be her, in ganieda’s place. droplets on her cheeks, from where ganieda might have sat over her. but at least then, it would’ve been her.

“fy enaid, please, don’t leave me now.”

magic words. magic words and a magic life they lead. myrnah isn’t sure when she stopped talking, or crying, but there is a hand on her face now, wiping away at her tears. unfathomable. this was the kind of thing that was in her books, the ones long since buried at the bottom of bags. something about the power of love and a declaration, to stop the ferryman in his tracks.

“what did you call me?” it’s a croak, and that would be generous. broken words leaving a broken and scarred face, with an eye that barely opens, and a smile that barely forms. but under that pain, there is ganieda. and she was alive, even as her arm fell by her side once more. even as her breath shook.

[wiltf]

to be fair, myrnah knew that she was below the surface. the distinct glow had given her away, just there, between the reeds. moving out into clear water, only a bubble breaking free to let myrnah know she was still under. and perhaps, myrnah should've turned, waited back at their little camp. for that moment to pass where ganieda would return, dripping from the lake, and myrnah would be thankful the water was cool.

instead, however, today was different. today was new scrapes and hurried healing, a tumble from their escapade up a cliff gone wrong. too many wrongly timed jumps, that had left myrnah not broken, but bruised. needing to sink in until just her nose was above the water. that's all. she should wait, to announce her presence. to give ganieda the opportunity to depart.

to not linger, on how ganieda had scrambled down, when myrnah had slipped. she had caught herself, of course, but ganieda had been all over her. lingering hands, her use of healing magic not quite up to speed. cursing herself, as she hurried to bandage even the slightest cut. but that moment, with her hands and her breath and her face far too close, had hung between them. and now here myrnah stood. thinking over it once more, with the intent to bat away the voices who insisted that it was a trap. a lie.

a farce.

reeds part for myrnah with an ease. welcoming. perhaps intentionally making her aware of her nudity, for the water was only waist deep and ganieda breaks that tenuous surface. another night, any that had occurred before the previous day, myrnah might've teased her. asked her, if she had perfected the way with which she rose, hair flicking back. an arc that burned in the back of myrnah's lids. warning sign, the voices say.

be aware. be aware, of ganieda. how she turns. how her eyes light up. down. that furrow appears between her brows; there should be an excuse on myrnah's tongue.

should be, is the key phrase here, that echoes in her mind. along her skin. how they are turned to each other. and this is not the first time, of course, that myrnah had been in front of ganieda like this. a stray arrow or bullet to the both of them, needing armour to be removed to see the wound. in those moments, the thoughts of skin are not there, just the concern for healing.

who should break the silence first? for once, myrnah hopes that ganieda would talk. endlessly, all about nothing in particular. for as the silence stretches on, she becomes more and more aware that this was not a good idea. that waiting at the camp was a safer option. that ganieda's hand reaches out.

myrnah shouldn't take her hand. myrnah should apologise and leave. myrnah should do many things, and she instead remembered distinct lines from her book. carried and held, words buried in the spaces between her ribs. talk of romance and offered hands and declarations. loud ones, that she had once sneered at but now. well, now myrnah knew that was not her way, but instead it was the way the tips of her fingers met ganieda's, sliding along skin with a shudder. finding her palm, her wrist. delicate and soft under the moonlight, not at all the hands of an excavator.

just like how myrnah was not torn by war. not worried about how callouses might catch along ganieda's cheek. hands on waist, tender, as if waiting for this moment to break. in myrnah's dreams, she had kissed ganieda. here, above her temple. there, along her jaw. leaving a trail of fire in her wake, until the sun had cut through her tent, and she had awoken to avoid eye contact for an hour or so. was this real? yes. no. the voices argue, but ganieda sighs against her lips, sinking into her, that it didn't quite matter anymore.

ganieda's voice against her ear, but it's whispery. caught in between the others that sit along her shoulder, telling her to leave. growing in intensity until lips meet myrnah's once again. drowning everything out, until the dam breaks. fingers that threaten to break skin, pressing in as hard as they can. until there are gasps of understanding against her, as ganieda's hands stretch over myrnah's back. no space between them, just the heat. the want. the way myrnah should ask questions and ganieda should have answers and they should exchange them. work through all this. understand and think and pause and not lose themselves to a tongue that drags a stripe up her neck.

maybe she does say, are you sure. and maybe ganieda responds with yes. a hundred times yes. answer wrapped in the way she kisses more and more, growing fevered in getting closer to that hundred. just them, now, the water and the reeds. myrnah doesn't wish to break this moment, to move them from where this was their own pocket of the world. that thought was almost terrifying.

[wiltf]

one of ganieda's talents was somehow bringing the both of them down. myrnah had to appreciate that in the few times she had been so preoccupied with her work, book held up at such an angle it affected her peripherals, pencil in hand ready to scribble, that it was one of the most important things to keep an eye on her. at least this time, there weren't any nearby cliffs to wander a little too close too. small blessings, of course, but myrnah had realised she had to take them where she could get them.

but with her following, just a fraction too close, myrnah wasn't ready for ganieda to turn so quickly. and perhaps if there was time and space between them, she might've appreciated the sparkle in ganieda's eye, as if she had found something grand amongst these ruins. instead, there's a clash between them. book and pencil hitting the ground, hands trying to catch each other before they. fall.

myrnah grunts as her back hits the stone. ganieda's weight above her, and she's readjusting herself. more than one apology, as her knee catches myrnah in the gut. and as myrnah blinks away the stars, that's when she sees something dangling between them. it was a little carving, of course. perhaps not entirely her finest work, but there now. above her eyes, was the carved fern hound. already seemingly worn away around the ears, suggesting that it had often been held. even the markings where leaves should be were not nearly as defined. but that didn't matter right now. critiquing her own work wasn't worth it.

especially not with knowing now, that the small token was here. around her neck. carried with her. how myrnah had not noticed it before she didn't know. but ganieda's hand against her cheek is soft, and myrnah can't help it. can't help, with a little flick of her finger against the carving.

[wiltf]

“wait.”

they’re here again. but different now. everything is different now but they are still just ganieda and myrnah. myrnah and ganieda. a few more scars, a few exchanged tokens of affection. and the furs just aren’t deep enough for ganieda to sink into, as her voice betrays her.

“myr... i think that we should—“

but it’s her hand on her cheek. a soft caress, thumb stroking just there. “duty calls.”

and this was going to be it. for who knew how long, because ganieda definitely didn’t. her orders hadn’t been given, and myrnah gives her a soft smile, straps of the bag she had only been carrying since they met finally meeting stone. inside were carvings and feathers and all manner of jars that contained their journey.

so she moves. her own bag hitting the ground with a concerning sound, and there were novels out there that describe this moment. ganieda had read them, remembered them. seen others bury their noses in pages that detailed the way her coat had fallen from her shoulders as she threw her arms around myrnah’s neck.

[wiltf]

🔞.

the first clap, of an open palm meeting soft flesh, wasn't what myrnah expected. soothed, instantly, with gentle fingers that massage the area, before moving south to where her thighs began. tempting the skin just there, dipping one exploratory finger in. and just when myrnah was sure that was all, there's another smack. other cheek, earning just as much warmth and noise. back of her throat, threatening to press between her lips. give out, when the other hand meets her chin, thumb pressing between her teeth. holding her open, as a moan leaves her on the next slap. as those fingers press in deeper, curling and brushing, before. she bites on that digit. laves the skin with her tongue.

[wiltf]

she's not breathing. myrnah holds a hand against her chest. and there is no heartbeat.

and she tells herself, that she should expect a delay. that ganieda's heart had always skipped a beat. something about the magic she had enveloped herself in.

but this was not like those times. this was the colour leaving her, hair turning frail in her hands.

the glow that was always them fading, until it was the slightest nigh impossible to notice colour in the middle of her chest.

myrnah could only watch, even as it self like someone took over her, patting ganieda's cheek. begging her, please, wake up. could only watch as if she was merely someone else, observing, that perhaps this time. this might've been the final time.