#Game Path to Nowhere Serpent

[cosplayclans]

Path to Nowhere Serpent Cosplay Wigs

[truthcons]

path to nowhere girls icons.

[vermilionsun]

DAY 1

Akachi × Vere - Lazy + Hands + Slight exhibitionism

[NSFW under the cut]

The Orchid Festival ✨ aka Eridia's… Sex Festival

Sigh Sigh Sighhh

Calling the streets of Lowtown “buzzing” would be an understatement. They overflowed with bodies—locals and travelers, revelers and pilgrims, nobles and nomads. With the Allmother revered as the city's most cherished deity—associated with fertility and freedom—it made perfect sense. Everyone came to honor her… in their own ways. Brothel owners from Hightown strolled beside flower-crowned priestesses, and no one batted an eye.

Akachi had gone all in, of course; draped in purple and green. A plastic bralette adorned with pearls and shimmer, bead-laced body chains, high-waisted underwear beneath a sheer jellyfish-like skirt, mid-calf fluffy gaiters, barefoot, with precious stones highlighting the sharp curves of her eyes.

Aeron, on the other hand, tried to get away with a white shirt and black pants. He barely made it out of his room before Akachi and Leander shoved him back inside. He ended up in black mesh, leather pants, and a few strategically placed chains

Arioch? Flat-out refused to go. Too many people, too much noise, too much... touching. But curiosity was a trait as stubborn as fear, and by the time they stepped out Wick on the first day—half-hidden behind Akachi and Leander—they were already regretting saying no for so long.

They stood blinking at the explosion of color and life before them; the scent of jasmine and sweat hung in the air, ribbons twisted through the air like serpents, and music, wild and unchained, was heard from every direction. People danced with abandon, kissed strangers mid-laugh, painted each other's skin with glitter and oil.

“Oh,” they murmured, just loud enough for no one to hear. “This… isn't so bad, actually.”

Then, a hand appeared from nowhere and gently closed Arioch's mouth with two fingers. They jumped a foot in the air, yelping—more like squeaking—and spinning around behind Akachi like a startled deer.

“Mouth open like that, someone's bound to offer you a treat.” Vere grinned like a fox who'd just found the henhouse unlocked. He sure was a sight; all long limbs and silk, sheer stockings hugging thighs, garter clips flashing like silver teeth when he shifts. His corset is deep violet and scandalously tight, laced up the back so his ribs rise and fall slowly beneath it—like he's taunting whoever's watching. Which, of course, he is.

“My date is here. Catch you later!” Akachi winked, took Vere's arm like it was the most natural thing in the world and disappeared into the crowd. Arioch was left stunned and Leander, arms crossed, pouted like a thundercloud.

“Cool,” he muttered, “just abandon me. Again.”

Lanterns shaped like blooming orchids swayed above the crowd, casting streaks of pink and orange across the street as Akachi weaved through the crush of colour and noise. She and Vere had long abandoned any linear path, drifting from one stall to another—passing aphrodisiacs sealed in glass hearts, contraceptive charms woven into flower crowns, stacks of glitter-painted toys, and lovers' games carved into polished stone.

A familiar giggle echoed from somewhere near. Akachi turned just in time to see a group of Lowtown kids, faces painted like priestesses in exaggerated makeup, dart out from behind a fabric stall, two of them smacking each other with flower stems, another twirling dramatically with a veil they had clearly stolen—or been gifted—from a priestess's costume rack.

Young eyes met hers, and recognition flared. “Mix Akachi!” a girl squealed. “You're dressed like the festival ladies!”

Before she could respond, she was surrounded. Little hands tugged at their beads and gaiters, eyes wide with delight.

“Do the dance! The spinny one!” and “You know the spinny one, right?!”

Akachi blinked—then laughed. “You mean the prayer dance?” they said, already letting her arms rise into the fluid pose. “I suppose I could…”

The children whooped in triumph, clearing a wide enough space with the chaos only children could conjure.

With a practiced ease she hadn't used in years, Akachi stepped into the center, barefoot on sun-warmed stone. Their fingers traced arcs in the air; a flick of the wrist, a shimmer of beads, a deliberate sway of the hips. She spun, rising on the balls of her feet, the jellyfish skirt catching the motion.

One of the kids mimicked her movements perfectly—then tripped into a vendor's flower bucket. Laughter exploded from the others.

She broke character long enough to help them up with a wink, adjusting a daisy behind their ear. “Try again… but keep your feet under you this time, hm?”

From behind the crowd, watching with arms folded and one brow cocked, Vere leaned lazily against a post strung with fluttering ribbons.

He should be annoyed. She'd slipped away from his arm without warning, off dancing with sticky-fingered urchins in the middle of a citywide orgy of petals and perfume.

He wasn't. Not even close.

A sly, reluctant smile tugged at his lips.

Someone passed between him and the scene—a vendor offering him a flask of “Seven-Hour Bliss”—but Vere waved them off, eyes locked on Akachi as she whirled with the children in a circle, hair catching the fading sun that dipped Lowtown in honey-gold light.

By the time they got away, the city was heaving; laughter echoed off temple stones, bodies glistened with sweat and glitter, and not a single brothel worth its silks had a bed left.

Which was, frankly, a shame. Vere had plans.

Akachi's legs were sore, her arms streaked with shimmer and oil, her hair smelling faintly of incense and wine. And still, she looked like the festival itself had built her. Vere had half-dragged her down a quiet alley behind one of his usual haunts—“closed for capacity,” the sign read, in flowery script. But around the side, under the balcony shadow and behind some hanging silks, was a quiet little alcove, tucked just enough out of sight.

Good enough.

Akachi let out a breathy laugh as Vere pulled them down into his lap, thighs straddling him as he leaned back against the stone wall. She perched like he was a throne she absolutely deserved, letting her weight settle. Vere's hands wasted no time—calloused fingers mapping the shape of her thighs, the curve of her ass, slipping slow and unhurried to rest at her waist, then her lower back, possessive, but almost absentminded.

“Of all the places…” she murmured.

He grinned against their collarbone. “You're not complaining.”

“You just like the view,” Akachi glanced over her shoulder at the flicker of movement beyond the curtain of hanging beads. People walked by, too wrapped up in their own pleasure to notice anything—yet.

Vere chuckled low in his throat. “I like everything,” he said, pressing a kiss just beneath her jaw. “The view, the weight of you, the sound you make when—”

He didn't finish the sentence. Instead, he kissed lower, tongue dragging slow over her pulse. Then his teeth grazed her skin, and she felt the vibration of a soft growl against her neck. One hand slid between her thighs, tugging her panties aside with infuriating patience.

Akachi exhaled and rocked themselves forward just slightly, hips shifting against Vere's lap. “Gods,” he muttered. “You always run hot. Festival's just an excuse.”

She smirked without looking at him. “Says the one who dragged me out of a parade for this.”

“Correction,” he breathed against her skin, kissing the space behind her ear, “I rescued you from the parade. Too many eyes that weren't mine.”

Akachi leaned back into him, spine arching ever so slightly, her arms curling behind to hook loosely around his neck. Her movement made her skirt hike higher, the jellyfish mesh sliding up her thighs like the tide.

Vere's voice dropped lower. “Lift your hips for me.”

She obeyed, a lazy grace to her movements. Vere's hand pulled her underwear aside fully this time, his other arm coiling around her waist to keep her pressed to him. When he slid a finger into her, curling it upward, Akachi let her head fall back against his shoulder, her breath catching just a little.

Someone was playing a stringed instrument, and bells rang from a procession going by, too close for comfort. She should've cared—maybe she did, just a little. But Vere's fingers moved again; deeper, slower. His thumb traced her clit in lazy, perfect circles, and her thighs trembled against him. They bit down on a soft moan, lips parting but no sound escaping.

“You're insufferable,” she whispered. Vere stilled for just a moment. Enough to make her notice. “You thinking too hard?”

“I'm thinking,” he said lowly, “about how Leander looked at you before we slipped away.”

Akachi snorted, breath catching on the edge of another moan. “He always looks at me like that. You gonna stop fingering me because of his feelings?”

Vere's growl was immediate. He pushed in deeper, earning a soft gasp from them—someone definitely passed by just then—and the hand around her waist clenched. “He doesn't know what to do with you,” he said, mouth closing against her neck again. “Doesn't know how to keep it casual. Doesn't know how to be used and thank you for it.”

Akachi tilted her head just enough to glance back at him, sweat-slick and grinning. “Mm. He let me ride his face for a full hour last month. Didn't seem to mind.”

Vere's jaw flexed. Another finger slid inside her, making Akachi gasp, body jolting slightly against Vere's lap. “I should be annoyed,” he muttered, dragging his lips down her shoulder, “but mostly I'm just pissed I didn't get to see it.”

She laughed, breathless now, hair spilling over their face. “Poor thing.”

“And what about Kuras?” he asked, voice honeyed poison. “He lets you boss him around too?” Vere was very hard beneath her now, pressing up against them with festive appropriate intent

“You want a list?”

“I want you writhing on my cock,” Vere whispered, licking a stripe up her neck, “still dripping from the last man who thought he mattered.”

Akachi's breath caught. “You're talkative today,” she murmured, lifting her hips slightly as his hand slipped away. “And I haven't felt you yet.”

Vere didn't need to be told twice. In one smooth motion, the sound of sliding leather was heard between them. He dragged them back down slowly, letting her feel every inch as she sank onto him, her nails digging into his thigh. Vere exhaled like he'd been holding his breath all night.

Akachi's breath still trembled as she shifted in Vere's lap, skin flushed, skirt tucked up around her waist like an offering left at a forbidden altar. Their hands braced against the wall above Vere's head as she rode him in slow, grinding rolls. Vere's mouth never stopped; murmuring filth into her ear, lips dragging over her neck and shoulder, nipping at the base of her throat.

“Look at you. You walk through the world like it was built for you to fuck it sideways.”

Akachi's eyes slid half-lidded. “It was.”

Vere smiled—sharp, not kind. “No one gets you, you know.” His hands slipped lower, over her thighs again, one sliding between them, teasing. Not to push her toward anything—just to remind them he could. “But I…”

“You think this means something?”

“No,” he said immediately. “That's the point.”

He kissed her jaw, slowly. “You won't let anyone keep you. Not even yourself. But I can make you feel like you are the only thing worth desecrating.”

Vere's thumb circled her clit again, with expert pressure, as he thrust up harder, deeper, the wet sounds echoing far too clearly. A group passed by on the other side of the curtain—someone paused, then continued.

“You're getting off on this more than I am.”

“Am I?” Vere breathed against her skin. “Because you're dripping down my dick.”

Akachi came without warning, moans barely stifled by the hand Vere pressed to their mouth. Her body trembled in his grip, and he held her through it, grinding up into her, drawing it out, before following, hips jerking as he spilled into her, fingers clutching her hips so tight they'd leave marks.

They stayed like that for a moment; pressed together and breathing heavy in smug satisfaction.

Akachi lifted her head, straightened her spine, and reached back to push her hair out of her face. “Now that,” they said, adjusting her skirt with zero shame, “was worth missing the fireworks.”

Vere let his head fall back against the wall, smirking. “You're welcome.”

From down the street, faint but unmistakable, came the sound of Leander's voice, “Has anyone seen Akachi?”

Both of them grinned.

[kkartist]

Hello, I am now in deep for Path to Nowhere that I ended up writing a fic. An idea popped up in my head of having Coquelic & L.L interracting. As it won't leave me alone, I wrote it down.

Summary: LL's pet dog, Cabbage, slipped away in the night. So, the Sinner went out to find him. Journeying through the MBCC's hallway, she met someone else alongside the puppy. Little did she know that the encounter would lead to bathing with the Garden's Mentor.

Tags: LL & Coquelic, LL & Thistle, Coquelic & Thistle, Coquelic & Garofano, LL (Loreley), Coquelic, Sumire, Garofano, Cabbage, Bathing, Nudity, SFW, slight angst for LL, LL social training arc, Coquelic being wise, Coquelic being a tease, grandma Coco moment, LL being a disaster, LL going through it, Thistle is good baby, Blink and you miss it Thistle/Christina, mentioned: Luvia Ray, Serpent, Eleven, Shrooma, Cabernet, Chief (gender up to reader)

Word count: 3,804

You can click on this link to read on AO3.

Or continue reading it here.

Baby Steps

Notes: Spoiler to LL’s interrogation. Recommend to read LL’s interrogation/backstory before reading this. Minor spoiler to Flora Unfurl. This is my first fic for Path to Nowhere. The game ticks so many boxes for me that it’s now my favorite gacha.

With careful measured steps, the young woman treaded the hallway. Water dripped from the tips of her long blue hair and the edges of her white dress. Droplets forming onto the floor. Body brought low, head forward, and eyes focused. People would think she was a rookie agent from the 9th Agency.

Cabbage slipped away moments ago. After an instance of panic, LL made a decision. Splashing herself with hopefully enough water, she embarked on a mission to find the dog.

Luckily, the puppy left behind a trail of little paw prints for her to follow. All thanks to her bathroom, which was constantly wet. She prayed he didn't disturb anybody this late at night. Receiving complaints would be dreadful after she promised to take care of him.

She could now hear his steps. Those signature tiny patters and the little clang from the experimental prosthetic. Cabbage was near. She continued her pace in the direction until she saw the little creature with someone.

Anxiety kicked. LL immediately hid behind one of the large pots of red flowers lining the hallway. She peeked, trying to discern the scene. The person was crouching. Cabbage seemed to be reaching for something behind them.

"No, this is not for you. It's for Mentor," a young woman's voice. Cabbage whined.

"Sorry, I can't give this to you. But maybe, this will do?" She took something out from her pocket. Then, with her teeth, rip the wrapper apart.

Recognizing a treat, Cabbage jumped, tongue lolling out. He stopped a moment later and sat, his tail wagging. The change went unnoticed. "You can eat now, little guy," said the young woman, her hand offering him the food. Cabbage let a small yip and ate. His tiny tail continued swishing. "Good boy, someone trained you well huh?" she petted his head.

LL didn't recognize the person.  She’s 3 months in and her social circle didn't expand much. Chief was one of them, but busy schedule and constant kidnapping meant they didn’t hang out as much as she wanted to. Luvia Ray and Serpent made light hearted small talk to her on the few occasions she managed to venture outside. As much as she wanted to talk more, her condition didn’t allow her to be out of the tub for long. So, she had to excuse herself every time. Eleven helped during her offline transition but they didn't continue talking after the social obligation was done. Or it was more that LL didn’t know what to say to the radio personality beyond that.  It was nice of her to lend the device though and LL loves her show, the soothing voice never failed in helping her sleep. There’s Shrooma too. She was most comfortable talking with the little girl as they always met virtually. However, her curfew and school meant limited hours. From their conversations (or Shrooma’s rant), being a kid sounded tough. LL enjoyed listening to her regardless, imagining herself in situations she never got.

Getting to know other Sinners had been a challenge. Her social anxiety and disability were a sure recipe for loneliness. Five in 3 months out of 100+ Sinners currently contained within MBCC was an abysmal achievement. From the five, there’s two she could confidently call her friends. Wait. Scratch that. Maybe just one. With most of her time trapped in a tub, her version of getting to know, was reading Sinners' files from the Bureau's database.

Mentor. Mentor. Which file was-

"How long are you gonna hide there?"

LL jolted. Her head peeked out before diving back behind the flower pot.

"Hey, I know you're there," the voice got closer until it's beside her. "Is this dog yours?" The little dog trailed behind the person's feet.

"Cabbage!" At this, the dog ran towards LL. Picking him up eye level, LL's face fell victim to his licks. She pulled away, staring at him sternly, "Don't run off like that again, Cabbage. It's late and we don't want to disturb our neighbours. Now, say sorry to the nice lady," she placed Cabbage back to the floor then looked up at the young woman.

She wore multiple braids; bangs covering her left eye. The lower half of the hair is pinkish red while the upper stays natural black. Earrings decorated both ears. Her sleeveless crop top was adorned with a red bra. Flower tattoo visible on her hip. The slitted uneven skirt laid bare to the expanse of her right leg, if not for the fishnet stockings providing some kind of cover. The feet protected by a comfortable studded dress shoe. Tough yet elegant were the impression LL thought of.

Cabbage walked towards the black cladded woman. He stopped by her foot, his tiny face pressed against her leg. Then, with all the cuteness he could muster, he looked up with his sad puppy eyes. Her lips curled into a smile.

"No worries. He was very nice and friendly. I wouldn't mind playing with him again!" She glanced at the puppy before shifting her attention towards LL, "Don't think I've seen you before."

"Oh sorry! I'm LL," she offered her hand.

"Thistle," she replied, shaking it.

"Like the flower?" LL asked aloud.

"Yes, like the flower."

LL cringed at herself. Whatever was that?? Why didn't she thank her for Cabbage? Right, thank her. She should thank-

"I should go, Mentor's waiting for me,” their hands separated. “Nice meeting you, LL. Maybe next time, I can bring my dog too! Night!" Waving goodbye, Thistle walked away.

LL saw her leave. Not wanting to miss her chance, she rose and shouted, "Wait!"

But what came was a cry. She felt pain, like someone struck her legs with hot iron. Her muscles seized. She fell to the ground like a stranded fish. No no no no! She screamed in her mind.

Jaw clenched. Eyes hazy with tears. The fire spread through the rest of her body. She couldn't move her limbs. Defenseless and alone, her mind raced to one thing. She was going to die. She was going to die. She was going to-

"Hey hey hey. Stay with me," the friendly voice came back but now laced with worry. "What do you need? Tell me."

LL gathered her strength to open her mouth. "Ba...a...th"

Thistle nodded. LL felt her body being lifted up then moved at a fast speed. They entered a fancily decorated room filled with plants. Passing a large canopy bed covered with flower petals, Thistle beelined to a door.

“Mentor, it's an emergency. A Sinner is in need of the bath, please can you let us in?"

The door opened, a woman with long black hair stood behind it. LL felt heat permeating from within. Thistle wasted no time. She entered and LL felt her body being lowered.

Warm water touched her skin. Slowly, the fire was extinguished. She found her limbs working again, the muscles relaxing. Pain ebbed away, replaced with exhaustion and relief. In between breaths, she croaked a thank you.

Thistle exhaled, "Thank goodness."

"Sorry," LL said weakly.

"Don't be. I'm glad you are alright."

"Yes yes. Crisis averted." A voice interrupted them. 

Thistle froze. She turned her head. LL followed suit.

Two other women were in the room. One sitting on the edge of the pool. She wore a simple white shirt paired with a wine colored long skirt. Her wavy purple hair loosely tied low, cascading down her shoulder. Legs tucked underneath, comb in her hand, she was brushing the silver hair of the woman soaked in the water. Compared to her attendant, the other woman's skin was sickly pale, the veins visible under the light. Like beads of blood on top of snow, her piercing eyes were unnerving. And they were directed at Thistle. LL found herself becoming alert.

"Thistle, where is my present?" The pale woman asked sweetly.

"A-about that Mentor..."

"Yes?"

"itfell..."

"Can you repeat that?"

"It fell."

"So, go and pick it up."

"It’s... in the water."

A beat. They stared at each other.

"Then pick it up still! I don't want it to seep into the bath!" The Mentor shouted in disbelief.

Thistle dived immediately. Not long after, she climbed out of the water with a box in her hand. Her head bowed deep, pressed to the floor. "I'm so sorry, Mentor! I accept any punishment you deemed fit."

The woman sighed. She lifted her head, "Garofano, see if it needs salvaging." The woman behind her stood up, picked up the crumpled box, then left the room.

LL felt herself shrinking. She rarely received help after her parents left. But every time someone did, it just further reinforce how much of a burden she is. And now, the person that saved her was going to be punished. Why is she always so weak?

"It's my fault," she spoke up. Those reds drifted to her. "Please don't punish her. I... I can buy you a new one. Or I'll leave. Right now. If that's what you want. I'm really sorry."

The woman thought for a moment. "Will you accept the punishment in her stead?"

"I... Yes..." LL felt uneasy. What if she asked Chief to cut her internet time? She would miss that online auction event happening tomorrow! She needed that personal cutlery set belonging to Ms Cabernet. Calm down LL. Deep breath. It was an accident. Maybe she just wanted money.

"Take off your clothes and stay."

LL's mind grinded to a halt, "Sorry?"

"You heard me. It's bad manners to take a bath while dressed," she replied matter of factly.

LL blinked. Okay, this is... unexpected. Embarrassed but wishing to save Thistle from this predicament, she did what was told. The soaked dress now placed behind her.

Satisfied, the Mentor turned to Thistle who was still bowed, "Thistle, take that to dry. Then, go change."

"Yes, Mentor." Thistle stood and followed the set of orders. After that, she sat where Garofano was, continuing the task she left behind.

A knock. "Mentor, it's me."

"What's the matter?"

"A puppy is currently waiting in front of the bathroom door."

"Cabbage!" LL recalled the momentarily forgotten puppy. The Mentor looked at LL. Her eyes squinted just a little before she answered, "Come in, but don't let the dog in my water."

The black-haired woman entered, Cabbage in her arm. After closing the door, she walked towards LL. The long wide sleeves of her lilac sabrina dress cascade on each of her sides, flowing gracefully as she moved. The wide black belt around her waist accentuated her already long legs. Sophisticated and refined, her steps were slow with purpose. She knelt beside LL, head bowed slightly in greeting. Her silky hair curtaining her face, past her ribbon collared neck; its length reaching onto the ground. Then, she placed the puppy by the edge of the pool, near his caretaker.

Cabbage licked LL on her cheek. "Don't worry, lil’ buddy. I'm fine, see? Now keep away from the water, alright?" LL assured him. Cabbage let a small bark.. He turned around, jumped to the other woman's thigh, and laid on top.

"Sumire will take good care of it," the Mentor spoke.

"Oh that’s..." LL looked back. She immediately shifted her gaze, face heating up. Realization struck. The woman was also in a state of undress.

She had seen nudity. The internet was full of that. However, a moving image or virtual reality had a sense of distance. And that’s the scope LL was familiar with. Experiencing it with someone else offline was a different matter entirely. The situation just made her more self-aware where to place her sight. "I... uh... um... thank you," she finished abruptly.

LL kept her head away from the Mentor. From her peripheral vision, she saw those scarlet eyes burning her side. She shifted her arms around, trying to shield herself. Her body submerging bit by bit.

"Relax," a whisper. Sumire was looking at her softly, Cabbage already asleep on her lap. "We have no intention in killing you."

Kill? Where did that come from?

"That's...not what I’m worried about."

"Then why so skittish girl?" The Mentor chimed.

"I...um.... " She stole some glances towards the woman, blushing. ".... inexperienced?"

Laughter burst free from the Mentor. Chest heaving, mouth opened wide. The sound reverberated in the chamber, echoing throughout. It lasted for a minute until it gradually came to a stop. She wiped the corner of her eye with a finger. Her eyelids opened delicately. She looked at LL for a moment, grinning. Then, she stood up.

LL eyes widened. She twisted her head away so fast she heard a crack. Her pulse beat rapidly from the sudden exposure. Things just happened one after another so quickly that her heart felt like it's going to pop.

Suddenly, she felt a caress on the side of her jaw, applying enough force urging her to turn. Her sight immediately landed on the plains of toned stomach, a small scar crowning the navel. The Mentor’s petite body towered over her, arms pillared on each side confining her in. Realizing what had happened, LL gathered all her willpower to instantly shift her focus to the woman’s face.

The silver haired woman smiled knowingly.

"You can look. I know I am irresistible," her red eyes gleamed.

"Who knows, maybe next time…" she licked her upper lip, showing sharp canines.

"I’ll let you touch them," she purred to her prey’s ear.

LL felt her body temperature rose exponentially. She blue screened, her brain overheating by the seductive force inflicted on her by this unearthly beautiful woman. Face flushed to ear tips, mouth agape, she was unresponsive.

"Mentor, please don't tease her," Thistle's voice came from behind.

The Mentor backed away, cackling, "I can't help it, she's so adorable! Reminded me of my little Thistle back then."

"No, I wasn't!" Thistle exclaimed.

The Mentor sank back at her spot.

"Ah yes, all the things in that bath seemed so interesting to you. Eyes darting from one decoration to the next." She put the back of her hand on her forehead, sighing   dramatically, "I felt so lonely waiting for you to start lavishing my skin! If not for Sumire, I would’ve wilted from the lack of attention."

"Meentooor!" Thistle's face went red.

A giggle. LL tried to stop herself but was too late. The sound had slipped after she witnessed the exchange. She shut her mouth immediately, afraid of offending anyone.

"Now, now, don't hold back. Laugh your heart away,” The Mentor gestured towards the room. “After all, flowers grow best around them."

LL studied her surroundings. Flowers of different colors have bloomed beautifully. Red, white, yellow, purple. The walls were covered in them. The petals decorated the surface of the pool when they fell. Ripples expanding from the touch. Combined with the wood panelling surrounding the edges, it’s reminiscent of a framed painting exhibited in an art gallery. 

The warmth of the water. The tranquil undulation of its surface. The breathing of others. They felt alien.

To her, a bath is a necessity. It's a constant reminder of her disability. Her relief and pain. Her cage. Connections rust and break in it.

But here, she uncovered something. Sumire was gently petting the sleeping Cabbage. Her face, serene and calm. Thistle focused at work. Hands deftly handling the silver hair laid out in front of her. The Mentor's eyes closed, enjoying the sensation. The space fell into a comfortable silence. She felt peaceful. Like waves caressing the sand, it alleviates the ache within her heart.

"This is.... nice," LL broke the silence, surprising herself.

"Isn't it?" The Mentor replied. "It's nothing compared to what we had but, it's adequate."

"I just never..." LL’s mind wandered to her apartment. Her parents. The letter. "It’s... been a while since I had company."

The Mentor tilted her head, eyes opening slightly.

"I mean..." she let out a weak laugh. "Who would want to be stuck with me?"

LL's doubt and fear were out. A question compounded by years of trauma and oozing with self-hatred had cracked the atmosphere in the room. She silently cursed herself for ruining it.

"Flowers are beautiful. Many things in nature gathered around them," LL recognized the owner of the voice, she looked across. "Among them, those that seek harm. Parasites, for one," the Mentor glanced sideways, as if recalling something.

"They are dangerous when left be. Consuming life, little by little by little. Until there is nothing left. Then, they move to another. That is why it's important to deal with them quick." Her voice, light and decisive.

"However, there are those that help.” her expression softened. “Who diligently and attentively nurtured the flowers with patience. Rain or shine." She lifted her hand, a red flower, similar to the ones planted along the hallway, sprouted out of the open palm.

She set the blossom on the water. It floated and drifted away, charting the water’s surface, bumping to other petals along the way. She then looked at LL in the eyes, giving full attention, "You are in a richer soil now so choose well. When you see what you want, remember to grab it with your own two hands."

LL took a moment to absorb the words. The Mentor smiled. She stood up again which prompted LL to turn her head away in reflex. She heard a small laugh before the Mentor spoke, "Thistle, Sumire, escort our guest and her pet back." Footsteps, then the sound of an open door, "Pleasure to meet you, little fish."

-

LL leaned inside her bathtub. Her eyes reading the message she had typed on the terminal. It was only one sentence. A question. Yet, it took her the better part of the day arguing with herself whether the content was good enough or not.

It had been a week since then. Within that week, LL participated in the online auction, wondered if what happened was a fever dream, and then did her research. Finding all the info she needed wasn’t hard. The hard part was reading, compiling, and verifying them. Those were, unfortunately, not covered by her power.

The Garden, an all-women assassination group. Their involvement was extensive. The most notorious happened almost a year ago, that being The FAC serial killings and kidnapping of their director. All the handiwork of one individual. The Garden's current leader: the Mentor, Coquelic.

Fearsome, powerful, intimidating, selfish, hedonistic. These descriptions seemed fitting for the alluring woman. Yet in that bath, she witnessed a contradiction.

Is that why the Garden members followed her still? Why they were willing to feed into her selfishness? A yip snapped LL’s thought. She chuckled, “Okay, Cabbage, I’m doing it.” She needed to finish this task, lest she fell to the reprimand of the little puppy for the second time. It should have been done days ago but she set an important treatment for herself after she was outbid, it's called shopping.

A ritual of self-encouragement later, she checked her terminal for the fifth time. Still the same message. Searching through her contact, she inserted several names intended to be the recipients. Then, she reread the message for the sixth time. All good. LL took a deep breath. And press send.

-

"That was surprising. What you did the other day, Mentor," Garofano expressed.

"Our Thistle was the one who asked. I couldn't say no, could I?" she replied.

"But you let a stranger stay in the bath."

"I did let strangers stay before."

"Those were marks."

"Yes, seeing their face twisted into horror was so delectable."

"The scrubbing wasn't."

"I did reward all of you for a job well done, didn't I?" Coquelic retort with a faux surprise. Her fingers curled around her cup, eyes narrowed in distaste, "My tea is cold."

"Of course, Mentor." Garofano took the cup, emptying its content to the teapot. She then placed the pot on a mini stove. Coquelic watched, one arm supporting her head.

“Where’s Thistle?” asked Coquelic.

"She mentioned a gathering," Garofano answered, her focus on the thermometer she just inserted.

They were in Coquelic’s room. There was a setup with a round table and 5 chairs surrounding it. Cafeteria exists in the Bureau, but it was a public space and the style was uninspired. Here, Coquelic and her flowers made it to resemble a small replica of the Garden. A perfect place for a gathering of ex-assassins. At the moment, only two chairs were filled.

"Mentor,” the purple haired woman broke the silence. “If you miss her, you should let her know."

"I don't know what you are talking about," came a nonchalant reply.

The thermometer beeped. Garofano watched the numbers increase on the display. When it reached a certain point, she turned the fire off. After preparing the cup to be sufficiently warm, she poured the tea and served it to Coquelic.

Coquelic lifted the cup. The temperature was exactly how she preferred. Garofano did a wonderful job preparing the present Thistle bought for her. The salvaging was surprisingly minimal too. Thistle must’ve requested additional layering inside. 

Fragrant aroma wafted to her nose. She sighed in satisfaction and sipped. The liquid warming her body.

"Garofano."

"Yes, Mentor?"

Coquelic set the cup down to its saucer. Face reflected on the surface; she stilled for a moment. "Tell Thistle to come by tomorrow. Her tea brewing still needs work." She paused, "She could even bring that axe wielding barbarian if she wanted."

Garofano smiled, "Of course, Mentor. I'll let her know." 

-

The bar reached 100%. Photos appeared on the display. LL looked at each of them before stopping on one. She was in a portable pool along with five others.

Thistle was hugging a dog. It’s fur wet, tongue hanging out. Months ago, she found it in the Bureau injured. She was currently taking care of it until the wound fully healed. Serpent had a brown snake around her shoulder. She wanted a brightly colored one but was rejected by administration because their venoms were a danger to others. She relented after some persuasion from the Chief. Shrooma held a terrarium of mushrooms. Her lecture of why they’re considered pets still made LL laugh even now. Luvia Ray and Eleven didn’t own any pets. That is why, Manty was positioned between them so they wouldn’t feel left out when the picture was taken. Then there was her, right in the centre. In her arms, was Cabbage, the little pup that started everything. All of their expressions gave evidence to all the fun they had that day.

Ping! The notification stole LL’s attention. A message appeared in the group chat, a cute sticker accompanying it. Replies bubbled one by one, coalescing into a conversation. LL hovered her fingers over the keys. She smiled. The tub doesn’t feel as small anymore.

-

End notes:

Thank you so much for reading this fic! The idea of having these two interacting won’t leave my head so I got to do my due diligence. More content of Coquelic is never wrong.

I love Coquelic. She lives rent free in my head. I was analyzing her character like an unpaid researcher until an idea popped up. Coco loves taking a bath and you know who is always in the bath? LL.

LL has an interesting backstory that got revealed in the last chapter of Into the Blue. And, it also got locked away behind interrogation. Which honestly, I think was quite a shame. But it's gacha. I get it.

So, I'm putting the two of them in the same bath. As Coco is THE Mother of all time (or grandma), I thought LL could hear her wisdom so she can experience being guided and/or teased by a maternal figure in a way. The wisdom being related to LL’s situation.

I headcanon LL’s social training arc took longer. Because even though the interrogation did give a line about LL being more outgoing like her online persona, the duration it took wasn’t exactly mentioned. Let’s just say this moment happened after her offline transition was complete. So, talking directly is alright but she still has problems with making friends. Hopefully Coco’s interaction with LL feels believable as it's set up to be a push for LL.

Fun fact! My first impression of Coquelic was: I don't like her, such a fan service character. I read Flora Unfurl fully expecting to like Shalom cos lots of people sang praises for her. But Coquelic stole the show instead. This caused me to roll for her. Then, I read her interrogations. I cried and now, she is my favorite character. So, big round of applause to the writer (Dumpling Duck/Guo Tie Lao Shi). You changed me as a person.

[sinsmockingbird]

Thought I'd make an updated list of the women I write for as Transfem. It's been a bit since the past one, and there's been quite a lot of new characters added to the games I write for. So here's the list of who I see/write as Transfem. BTW I am not saying I strictly write a certain character as transfem and not afab, I do if someone specifically requests it, otherwise I'll just automatically write them as such.

✧ GENSHIN IMPACT

Will, usually, always write as Transfem; Beidou, Dehya, Shinobu, Raiden Ei, Shenhe, Yanfei

Switch between writing them as Transfem; Candace, Furina, Jean, Kujou Sara, Lynette, Ningguang, Rosaria, Kokomi, Yae Miko, Yelan, Yoimiya

Won't write them as Transfem to much; Amber, Eula, Ganyu, Hu Tao, Ayaka, Keqing, Layla, Lisa, Mona, Navia, Nilou, Xianyun

✧ HONKAI: STAR RAIL

Will, usually, always write as Transfem; Jingliu, March 7th, Serval, Stelle, Yukong

Switch between writing them as Transfem; Black Swan, Fu Xuan, Himeko, Kafka, Seele, Tingyun, Topaz

Won't write them as Transfem to much; Asta, Bronya, Hanya, Natasha, Qingque, Ruan Mei, Sparkle, Xueyi

✧ PATH TO NOWHERE

Will, usually, always write as Transfem; Cabernet, Deren, Enfer, McQueen, Ninety-Nine, Oak Casket, Rahu, Raven, Zoya

Switch between writing them as Transfem; Bai Yi, Cinnabar, Corso, Iron, K.K., Langley, Mantis, Serpent, Tetra

Won't write them as Transfem to much; Adela, Anne, Chameleon, Chelsea, Coquelic, Dreya, Eirene, Garofano, Hamel, Kelvin, Lamia, Lisa, Macchiato, NOX, Pricilla, Shalom, Stargazer, Sumire, Uni

[mydarlingedits]

Trick or Treat with Serpent from Path to Nowhere, please!! - an anon who has been on the wiki all morning after starting the game a few days ago.

You geeeet a TRICK!!! ᯓᡣ𐭩

WHOA MAMA!!!!! I NEED HER!! ← my first reaction upon googling her GAJAHAKAJA

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

sooo ik you’re not gonna get into itafushikugi’s dynamic in your fic but just out of curiosity, if megumi ever did tell them about what happened to him, how would they react? actually how would they react to yuuta & megumi’s dynamic? LMAOO wait how would they react to gojo being megumi’s parental figure? god. megumi life is just insane.

They are absolutely obsessed with whatever the fuck megumi's life is. he enchants them. he comes off as the most normal of them all and then months into the relationship they find out that gojo satoru is his fucking dad. they didn't know he had a sister until someone else told them. he's the world's most interesting man but he shares no personal information and refuses to acknowledge how inexplicably fascinating he is.

The thing is that I would like to think that he did tell them, but when i say it would take years for him to get to that point.

I like to think that sea glass gardens feeds into a lot of canon as normal, and in my mind, the events of sea glass gardens within its own universe is a lot of the reason why megumi's blatantly suicidal in his first year.

I don't want to get too much into it, because we're still unpacking everything that happened, and like. Spoilers. But I don't think I can emphasize enough how traumatizing these events were for him, and how he is 0% willing or able to start the healing process for what happened. I think that Megumi as a person is just someone who hates being at other people's mercy, and these events were one of the most invasive losses of control for what happened.

I've talked about this in some other post, but one of the most notable things about Megumi is that he seems to constantly be trying to die on his own terms with Mahoraga. He's accepted that he'll go down, but he'll go down his way, taking the person who killed him with him. I view that as sort of the ultimate way of reclaiming control for someone who had very little control over the direction of his own life, and the events of sea glass gardens potentially robbed him of even that. Gojo says that he thinks the Zenin had to have a way to keep megumi from summoning mahoraga, but that means that Megumi's spent his entire life with this one reliable source of autonomy and control over his self and still had it be taken away. Mahoraga was his security blanket, and he lost it.

By the time Megumi reaches canon, he's jumping to summon Mahoraga at every turn, and that kind of reads as someone who 1) doesn't have a very high valuation of his own life, and 2) wants to make certain that he's dying on his terms. He is nowhere near close to being okay from what happened, he's not open to help from anyone, and he's not about to let himself be vulnerable with anyone. The events of sea glass gardens represent this inescapable moment of weakness and humiliation to him, and he's not mentally okay enough to admit to anyone that it happened.

Kugisaki and Itadori sort of start pulling him back from that path. They give him a reason to live and make him start fighting to survive instead of fighting to die his way. They really do sort of set him off into finally healing, and that breeds the sort of trust between them that I think they would one day be the people megumi is most comfortable telling about what the zenin did to him. But it would be slow. It would take a very, very long time. But when it did happen, it would happen because they were the people he trusted most in the world, and there is not a single part of him that thinks they could ever hurt him. He would trust them to the point of his own destruction.

I'd like to think it happens a little like this:

the scars from the Great Serpents fangs were something that Kugisaki and Itadori had been hounding him about for ages by the time he tells them. They have 93 theories in counting, each more crazy than the last. it becomes a sort of joke between them, finding a new explanation for where they came from since Fushiguro wouldn't tell them, and the game marks the first time that Megumi could even think about them without the memories tormenting him for the rest of the day. somehow, he can never feel grief around itadori or kugisaki.

it just comes out. he thought it would be harder, he thought he would choke on it, but the truth slips out easily, and he isn't afraid of what kugisaki or itadori would do with it. He tells them the truth of the Zenin, of what they did to him, of where the scars came from and how goddamn terrified he is of those people.

And it hurts less. It almost shocks him, how it hurts less.

Yuuta and Megumi's dynamic post-sea glass gardens is the source of endless bewilderment to Kugisaki and seething jealousy for itadori. I've talked about it in some other posts, but I think Itadori is unbearably jealous of yuuta when he meets him. He's not even a jealous person. this is an anomaly. Yuuta is living his perfect life, which is a shock to yuuta, who did not think he was living anyone's perfect life.

Like, Yuuta exists in this weird exception to everything for Megumi. Megumi Is Yuuta's Boy. They're inexplicably close and there's simply no explanation as to why that anyone can tell them. Yuuta is so visibly fond and protective of him that there's no way to say that megumi's not his favorite. Kugisaki has no idea what's going on but it's fucking hilarious watching itadori lose his gourd over it.

they go insane when they realize that gojo is megumi's dad and no one fucking told them. Maki lets it slip in passing (because she thought they had to know already) and itadori has to sit on megumi while kugisaki tries to weasel answers out of him. what the fuck do you mean gojo's your dad. why did he think this was not relevant information. this guy won't tell them shit about his life.

After, Itadori and Kugisaki insist on referring to gojo exclusively as "megumi's dad," which gojo is a smug dick about, and which causes megumi endless suffering. he wishes they were not told.

[ghostlynighty]

Path To Nowhere is the gatcha game where I don't really care if I lose the 50/50 and it's not only because there's a lot of good sinners on who to lose it to, but because you'll get that guaranteed in the next ten pull, atleast in my case.

My goal was to get S3 Shalom, I lost all of my 50/50 but I wasn't mad cause she would appear in the next ten pull every god damn time. The only time she didn't was the first one BUT I freaking got serpent in 3 pity. 3 PITY! and then at around the 40's, I got Shalom.

Without spending a dime, I got Serpent, Etti, Bai Yi and of course Shalom in this banner. With Shalom having 4 copies.

Man, I love this game so much.

[its-tina-timevo]

Hi! Introducing myself again! Follow me as I get used to adding some Tina chaos hehe

You may also know me from: Path to Nowhere (Serpent and Mess)

Yu-gi-oh Sevens: Nana

Acai in Cosmic Wonders!

Games coming out under NDA but someday I can tell you!

Random nursery rhyme videos on YouTube lmao

Random children’s apps

Hi all!!

My name is Christina, and I am the English voice actor for Collei in Genshin Impact!

I was on Tumblr many moons ago, and now I am back!

About me:

I’m pretty awkward but I try my best!

I’ve voiced in anime, animation, and some video games! Very lucky :)

I’m disabled/ chronically ill with a rare lung disease.

I love video games! Especially cozy games, JRPGS, RPGs, and adventure games. :)

Other social media:

Tiktok:

http://www.tiktok.com/its_tina_timeVO

Instagram:

http://www.instagram.com/its_tina_timeVo

Twitter:

http://www.twitter.com/its_tina_timeVO

Join my discord if you want:

Twitch:

[cosplayclans]

Game Path to Nowhere Serpent Cosplay Costumes

[truthcons]

path to nowhere, serpent & stargazer icons.

[lanibijou]

I'm just really excited for her to come out to global after eirene banner

She looks like she is a fun character, just wana play her already

[popcrone818]

Main Masterlist

Here is where I will be putting all of my master lists and one shots I’ve written. It has come to my attention that I don’t have one of these yet.

Luke Morrow 

How Could You Know - She took a turn for the worst, sleeping with a drug dealer, then her mother helped her get help. She's now 12 months sober and ready to make something of her life. When someone from her past drops back into her life how will she handle everything thrown at her. Will she go back to her old ways or take a page out of someone else's book to continue on the up and up.

Eric Coulter

Wicked games - Amaya Eaton has always dreamed of being able to run away from her abusive father, with her choosing ceremony will she finally be free of the cold heartless man that rules Abnegation? What will her brother do after he had left her years earlier, will she forgive him? And does she have strong feelings for a certain ruthless dauntless leader?

Seth Clearwater

The Other Swan- what happens when Skylah Swan is thrust head first into the wild lives of the wolves? How will she react to knowing that the tribal histories are in fact real. All she wanted to do when she moved in with Charlie and Bella in Forks was to have a normal life again. Get into the swing of school and finally be able to have the strong bond she once had with Jacob when they were younger. The youngest wolf of the pack puts her normal life in jeopardy but he will do everything in his power to make sure she is safe and loved. And who is Zach?

Stiles Stilinski

Broken- Amya is broken, she wont let anyone in and no one really knows why, her older brother Isaac has left her in Beacon Hills to fend off the supernatural all on her own. But does she really need to do it all on her own? Will she finally let someone in other than Scott? And what happens when Isaac comes back but she wants nothing more to do with him? Will she find love with the man she grew up with or with Scott’s new beta?

Rafe Cameron

Cruel Intentions- based on the song Cruel Intentions by G-Easy and Delacey. Topper Thornton has a twin sister. She and Rafe are hopelessly in love with each other but they dont want to admit it to themselves or each other. Will Maia Thornton finally be able to tell Rafe how she feels or will a fake relationship to piss off her mother take things in the opposite direction.

Accidental- you buy new lingerie and Sarah sends it to Rafe, he then goes crazy with lust and confesses that he’s had feelings for a while.

JJ Maybank

His person- Reader is just having a really shitty day and after a confrontation with Rafe Cameron and blowing up at Kiara, the only person she wants next to her is JJ

Killian Jones

Wildest Dreams- Regina’s biological daughter becomes enslaved by her grandmother Cora.Cora doesnt know who she is but that doesnt stop her from locking her in a cell and using her powers of portal jumping to her advantage when a pirate seemingly comes out of nowhere and rescues her. Will she allow herself to love or will her mothers hatred for everything rub off on her.

Alec Lightwood 

Fate- When I look at him it's like my whole world changes. He is the only thing I can see. With us being shadowhunters, that is not a good thing. He never saw how perfect he was to become head of the New York institute. Always doubted himself, could never take a compliment and never let loose. He was a straight-thinking guy. And yet I was in love with him.

Sweet Pea 

Spitfire- Aurora Andrews seems like the Perfect northsider but what happens when she is thrown into the path of a hot headed serpent. Will she forever be Archie's little sister and hide in his shadow or will she make a name for herself and be who she wants to be?

Ace 

Soul Bonds 

In the quaint town of Horseshoe Bay, Clara Drew works at The Claw, a local restaurant, alongside her sister Nancy. Clara's life takes an intriguing turn when she starts seeing Ace, the restaurant's dishwasher, in a new light. Initially just a background figure in her daily routine, Ace soon becomes a subject of fascination for Clara due to his quiet strength and enigmatic presence.

As Clara and Ace interact more, they develop a seamless, unspoken understanding, moving together in harmony during their shifts. Their connection deepens, and Clara begins to experience vivid visions of past lives where she and Ace are intertwined. These visions reveal a deep bond and a curse that has tied their souls through different eras.

Seeking answers, Clara and Ace, with the help of the Drew Crew - including Nancy, George, Bess, and Nick - embark on a journey to understand these visions.

[queenoftheboard]

♕ headcanon . Eirene's main connections in Path to Nowhere

I have been going over the profiles for most Sinners for a while now, while revisiting the Dreamy Bubble segment with Eirene rather frequently and doing most interrogations available until now (I am missing very few of them). These bits of information have yielded interesting revelations when combined - particular the Dreamy Bubble stage where you see the 'shadows' of the main 'chess pieces' used by the Chief and Eirene.

This stage seems to imply that Eirene is associated to Mr. Fox, Cinnabar, Serpent and Mess. The entire setting of the special event and Eirene's interrogation, however, also seem to point to a connection with Langley. Therefore, based on the existing Sinners to date and everything presented by the game until now, I have elaborated a bit on the other relevant Sinners which I think could have realistic connections to Eirene:

Mr. Fox: this one seems almost too obvious - no worthy business conglomerate is built without the assistance of competent legal counsel, in-house or externally hired. It seems to me that Mr. Fox and Eirene would have professional connections given the way Eastside is set up - Fox is regarded as an 'unbeatable' attorney (thanks to his powers), Eirene is someone willing to stop at nothing to achieve success; this is a combination that would be incredible for both of them. Although I'm exclusive with @svnsworn's Mr. Fox on this blog, I don't think there is a world where these two don't meet and are acquainted with each other.

Cinnabar: another one that is offered by canon content, particularly the comic strip about dispatches and which also makes sense when you read Cinnabar's profile - she was the best among the best group of elite security personnel. Eirene is powerful enough to merit her own security detail - and where bodyguards are concerned, she wouldn't settle for anything less than the best. I also headcanon that Eirene hires bodyguards as part of her 'cover' to keep her Sinner identity hidden - it is in her benefit for people to think she's just smart and not incredibly dangerous.

Serpent: this one is a curious connection - Serpent clearly states that she was invited to perform at Midsummer Night's Club given her incredible entertainment skills and talents - and going by the reaction of people attending the club's opening in-game, she is quite unique. I can definitely see Eirene committing to finding something remarkable that would set her latest business apart from others; but the entire thing with Serpent seems to suggest that she also engineered this in a way to test the MBCC directly. The Chief points this out, too - Serpent is another 'chess piece' for Eirene, but one she speaks of fondly (as a 'friend', a hardworking and vulnerable soul who she likes very much). At any rate, Eirene suggests that she would be willing to trade her 'friendship' with Serpent for something else (and 'turn' Serpent over to the Chief) - something that is in line with one of her profile lines, too. It's a curious thing: Eirene was interested in Serpent's abilities, enough to offer her a very shiny, large stage for her ambrosia experiments while simultaneously: a) testing the MBCC's Chief; b) gaining leverage/favors with the 9th Agency; and c) being able to face herself in a chess game to escape real life boredom.

Mess: I genuinely think Eirene and Mess are not connected directly despite what is shown during that part in the relevant Dreamy Bubble stage; I think it's an indirect thing through Serpent, with Mess serving as the supplier and acting away from Eirene's sphere of influence (Mess is never inside the club or in contact with her). To be very blunt - I don't think Eirene deems Mess to be important enough; she's a tool to enable Serpent's reach to grow and for her experiment to be done and is treated as such from Eirene's perspective.

Langley: Between Dreamy Bubble events and Eirene's interrogation, I am convinced that her relationship with Langley is an old one and that they're both aware of each other's real identities. Chronologically, the MBCC was already under the command of the 9th Agency by the time Dreamy Bubble events took place, and then at the epilogue, you can clearly see Langley by the window after being briefed by her agent saying 'Tell that company president that I said thanks, and… That I really liked her little gift.' I interpret the 'company president' being Eirene, who was able to prove something/give significant intel over to the 9th Agency (the results of the ambrosia incident); she was also not within custody of the MBCC at the time despite knowing who the Chief was, and outing herself as a Sinner during the episode. We can reasonably establish that Eirene turned herself in after Dreamy Bubble events (as per own profile), and then during her interrogation, managed to force the Chief's hand (and the 9th Agency) in such a way that ended up beneficial for her. In other words: it appears to be some form of collaboration between Langley and Eirene, or at least a cat and mouse game. They know a lot about things most people don't (i.e. Black Rings, how they work, Parma) and seem to be involved in ways that go beyond superficial interactions. They're both very strong in terms of mental capacity and corruption levels.

Other people that do not have anything in-game officially pointing to ties to Eirene but who could nonetheless have something built off common grounds and/or origins in Eastside would be:

Chameleon: I always thought that Chameleon seemed to target the type of people that Eirene would like to see removed from Eastside's economic landscape, not to mention that there is also a 9th Agency/Langley connection here that could also be invoked. Further, I personally headcanon Eirene to be resistant to Sinners of the catalyst tendency as further elaborated here - I don't think she would be hypnotized by Chameleon (or not nearly as easily as others are) and this could make their interactions decidedly more interesting. I do like to think they could have a shared agenda and be friendly with each other.

Ariel: given their interrogations, I don't think Eirene would be aware of Ariel on an individual level (particularly how Ariel stresses that she's not 'successful' by her parent's standards) but I do think Eirene would know of the Spencers, particularly if they are from old money and people that would either be relevant customers/partners of Eirene's ventures with Quinn. While there is room for them to meet, I'm not sure Eirene would make the effort to befriend Ariel unless she wanted something out of the other woman.

Chelsea: similarly to Mr. Fox, it seems very likely that their paths would overlap at some point given their lifestyles (both are shown to be adept of a comfortable, luxurious routine). If not before at Eastside, then certainly afterwards post detention. It's curious that there is a very insane amount of fanart of these two together; I cannot tell if it's meant to be romantic or not, but people tend to think these two are close and I definitely see the potential, particularly if their foundations go way back in time or if they collaborate in some way to disrupt old Eastside power.

These are some of the references that I may use in character when writing Eirene; but they can also be ideas to be further pursued/discussed with any mutuals who are interested in starting new interactions. :)

[geniegrays]

◆ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 / JANUARY 21, 2021;

◆ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 / ELITE BOXING GYM;

◆ 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 / @kittym

GENIE: There is a dichotomy that exists between her scattered selves. At once, people are insufferable to her, overwhelming her and suffocating her and blinding her with their colours, yet still, there is nowhere Genie is at home—for it is a feeling, she knows, she knows—than when caught in a throng of strangers. A single person’s prattling can irk her. Often, it does. It isn’t around just anybody that she breathes. It isn’t around just anything that she can. It is as though even the most dulcet of soundwaves come in form of relentless deluge, in torrential bedlam that hits maliciously against the atoms of her existence, drowning her till she gasps for breath that does not come, not soon enough, never soon enough. Yet a crowd’s noise is not individual; it is formless din, and in the sea of it, Genie surfs through, weaving a path through waves skillfully. No one even notices her, this she knows. Why would they?

Genie is a wisp of a girl. Thin as a weed, and drowning in a black, fleece-lined hoodie that swallows her frame, with its hem falling past the edge of the shorts she wears beneath it, not that they are visible beyond an occasional sliver of frayed denim unveiled over the tights donned beneath her boots every time her torso twists to navigate through the groove. Though, fine, perhaps it isn’t only to navigate, strictly speaking, that she perambulates with such pointed purpose. Her gaze wanders idly in the way her hands don’t. No, her hands are focused; lightning-quick, gentle as a summer breeze. Just like a summer breeze, their movements are ephemeral, flowing with a seamless ease one moment, and in the next, plummeting to stagnation – right as blue irises are arrested by dark.

She doesn’t blink. Ever as her mouth twists to a sour purse of lips. Her brows arch in challenge.

KITTY: The atmosphere sings electric, a homage to the oil that her family’s fortune was made on. Like any old fight venue, the room smells of sweat and alcohol but unlike any old fight venue, it’s expensive sweat and alcohol, tanged with notes of designer cologne and top-shelf liquor. Kitty watches money pass hands and knows it’s going to line the pockets of those she loves – that’s why she’s here, after all. Why she does this. One day the oil would run out as the Earth dries and ceases to offer spoils to the ones with bright teeth and low morals, but crime and greed? They were forever. Open maws and snapping jaws would be fed sparingly, enough to offer the hope of a gambling win, that hot-bloodstream-hit of success, but it would leave them all hungering for more. 

Her gaze is idle, washing over bodies until a slender hand, pale against the dark of someone’s coat, catches in her periphery. It’s quick. A flash of movement, as swift as a running deer through the hunter’s rifle sight. But she sees it all the same, suddenly far less interested in the scheduled conflict as she seeks out one of her own. Something to sink her teeth into, perhaps. “Hello,” she says calmly through a smile that suggests she’s anything but. The thief is bold; clearly has the guts to have ventured into this veritable lion's den. Kitty thinks she’d probably like her if it had been someone else’s profit she was stealing. 

An open palm is held out between them, expectant. “Let’s play nice, little lamb. Hand over anything in your pockets that doesn’t belong to you.”

GENIE: Risk is a part of the game. Risk is a part of every game played. 

Genie can’t pretend to not have known it when she strode—stomach steeled, eyes wide open—into the pit of serpents hissing her name. She can’t pretend to not know it when she weaves her way through the crowd towards the brown-eyed condemnation awaiting her. Her mouth cottons: white, puffy clouds leeching all the wet from her tongue, till it drags like sandpaper against the roof of her mouth. Not that her gaze, unflinching and electric, gives it away. Defiance twists her lips to something lemon-sour, tipped towards her whilst taking advantage of the difference between their statures to scowl down at her. Her eyes only narrow at the saccharine that drips from the greeting, undeceived by it – on a knife’s edge, like a pig at a slaughterhouse.

Every step towards the middle-ground meeting-point, she blinks with languid nonchalance. It was all a game, wasn’t it? When survival against odds was an essential part of one’s existence, as was the case of Genie Gray’s many lives, Russian Roulette barely felt like a game anymore. It feels like habit to her. Like weather already reported the night before. It is the patronisation—simpering and sweet as poison—that sets Genie’s teeth grinding till she tastes dust. 

Little lamb, the woman calls her. Her grin bares wolf’s teeth in response. “My pockets,” blinking casually, she echoes. She nods. A sturdy, contemplative bob, right before her hand burrows itself in the right-sided pocket of her sweatshirt, digging around in a show of subservience… only to come up empty-handed, with a fist wholly bundled with the exception of a single finger, the middle, at odds with the angelic lilt of her words when she adds: “Someone must’ve fuckin’ dropped it, dollface. Here you go.”

KITTY: Kitty’s tolerance for troublemakers is high. She can laugh along with the best of them, exchange sly looks and oil-slick grins, but a penchant for misbehaving is far less welcome when it’s at the expense of her family. The other’s silver hair all but luminous in the low light, dark eyes take in the wisp of a thief stood before her with a long, lingering drag, intense gaze seeking to pin in place. Her patience has been worn thin by Saint’s presence tonight, the weight of his unreadable stare and the unshakeable bite of War’s unyielding talons squeezing Famine for whatever money they can get merely for offering four walls and a roof. The Wardens may own the building but it was the Femenias family who breathed life into it, blood, sweat and tears shed in sacrifice to the mouth-watering religion that was hunger. For violence. For a win. For a sense of belonging.

The stranger is bold-faced in her charade, unfaltering in her bravery. On a better day, Kitty may have found amusement in the act. Instead, she slips into her anger like a silk robe. She’s quick to snatch at the middle finger presented proudly in her face, hand clasping around the single digit to lever it sharply towards the blonde’s body. An arm reaches around to press a palm to the small of her back as if in dance, drawing her closer, keeping her from backing away. “So you don’t want to play nice?” A golden seam of pleasure runs through the Virtue’s darkened murmur, catharsis from stress feasted on ravenously. The woman has all but served herself up on a platter. The finger caught in Kitty’s grasp is pushed further still, though not yet to the point of breaking.

“Don’t go doing anything fucking stupid, now,” she advises. “This room is full of people who wouldn’t hesitate to hurt you. Retaliate and you won’t even have a chance to look for the door before you find your life very quickly coming to an end. And a pretty shit one at that.” There were far better places to die than a sweat-scented gym. Far better causes to die for, too. “You get to decide how this plays out from here, Artful Dodger. Go ahead, what’s your next move?”

GENIE: What is the inherent opposite of self-preservation? It must permeate her bloodstream. Whatever be the tallest, most impossible of cliffs, Genie craves a leap off of. There is something off inside of her – some trick switch – and this is not unbeknownst to her. It does not dissuade or temper her. If it jams its needle’s-point into her tender jugular-vein, forcing the thick, black syrup of a healthy dose of fear into her system, then it unmakes itself to the sizzling spike of the adrenaline that shoots through her system. Her body is the billiard table; electrical chemical the balls, ricocheting with dissonant, whimsical cacophony, till it thrums in her gums. Zing, zing, zing… Her breath hisses past the clench of her teeth, still twisted in an ugly grin that only widens with the narrow of her eyes.As if she did not already know it, the words confirm it: the wench doesn’t know her from fucking Adam, does she? Only a fool entirely new to the Genie Gray experience would be so remiss as to tempt with such deliciously dangled bait. What is telling her not to go doing anything fucking stupid than to be fucking stupid oneself? When the girl’s palm splays at the small of her back, yanking their bellies flush together, Genie’s cackle rings like a warning bell. Her life had ended plenty of times, and begun again in the morning. The girl gives herself away, doesn’t she? Only those afraid of death taunt with it. Only those who still believe there is nothing worse consider it a threat instead of blissful, seductive dark. She does not smell sweat; her senses are flooded by this woman’s sweet perfume. So, vindictively, the stupid thing is precisely what Genie does ��

The hand not held hostage moulds itself to the back of her skull, lost in dark tresses her hand bunches when her mouth crashes into hers without reserve, planting the kiss of a fucking lifetime on a smart-mouth that cannot keep Genie’s finger in her grip, or the knife from her waistband that freshly-freed hand wraps around in a heartbeat. An ending does not faze her. To go out without a fight does. Genie presses blade to carotid artery, tender as a lover’s touch.

“Ask me for something else,” she purrs against her lips. “Girl’s gotta hustle for a living; make you a trade that’s not my fuckin’ money.”

KITTY: Soft lips press to her own and Kitty forgets what she is doing. Surprise steals her thoughts, holds them in its jaws like a newborn cub as she falls victim to the unexpected kiss. Affection turns her dizzy, weak when it comes to crimes of passion. Her grip on the thief loosens, hand trapped between the heat of their bodies, grabbing instinctively instead into the material of the blonde’s neckline. Kitty doesn’t realise just how foolishly easy she is to pacify with intimacy, how her heart burns for someone to pour her attention into as if constantly on the edge of spilling over, until the identifiable press of a blade brings her tumbling out of brief bliss. Fuck. Her chin raises, giving the knife more room to cut into should it dare pierce her, unafraid– something told her that the other woman, too, would barely bat a lash if she were to press her switchblade to bluish veins set into porcelain skin. Perhaps she has met her match. To stand toe to toe ( lips to lips ) with another that uses abrupt actions and a penchant for disregarding personal space as their strategy was as infuriating as it was refreshing.

“Bold demand for someone who just got the pleasure of kissing me,” Kitty murmurs her response. She nips at her bottom lip; a gentle warning. “It’s not your fucking money though, is it? It’s Famine’s, by association.” The palm pressed to the small of her back falls away, light touch fingers dancing up the other’s arm to curl fingers around those holding the knife. Slowly, she does what she can to coax its steely press away from her throat. “We can agree to no bloodshed. Leave that for the boxers in the ring.” As if on cue, there’s a dull thud of impact: a clenched fist against the meat of a sternum. She keeps her attention fixed, however, on the newfound acquaintance wearing her own smudged lipgloss, voice dipping low enough to slip beneath the noise of the fight.  

“While I love a woman who’s quick with her fingers,” a slow unabashed smirk pulls at one corner of her mouth, lewd suggestion hoping to momentarily distract from a mind that ticks over the possibilities of having a pickpocket on her roster, “I’m not interested in the pretty little watches and wallets currently lining your pockets, so if you’re going to steal something for me it will need to be a different sort of valuable to settle your debt.” Kitty’s expression turns smug with conceit. “Get some juicy information for me and I won’t ask my Angels to rip your life apart and carve it up between themselves. How’s that for a trade?”

GENIE: Thought, as it tends to, catches up to this Angel in the aftermath of her actions. Those bartering words roll off her tongue, and it is after the fact that recognition impales her brutally, dark irises smouldering bright blue to storm clouds. The woman’s head cants in defiance and Genie nearly slashes serrated silver blade straight across enticing bronze expanse – as much as she almost tucks the weapon away to her side, and buries her face in the warm curvature that beckons to her. Well, it was a pleasure, she had Genie there, that much she could give her. Not that she does, not aloud – yet still, for her to be aware and accepting, is a victory all the same, reserved though the brand of it may be. Pleasure, especially to be gleaned from the scrape of her teeth that could be the brunette’s idea of a reprimand, but pools blood beneath porcelain surface, rendering the apples of her cheeks flushed and the back of her neck warming. Genie’s breath leaves her mouth in a hum. The woman’s touch tickles like an electrical-field; blonde hairs stand in tandem with gooseflesh everywhere. 

She allows her hand to be coaxed, ultimately. She drops it without a shadow of resistance, letting her weapon twirl between and over fingers, playful as a little girl with a sunflower in hand. “Uh-huh,” Genie taunts, when she outright chortles at the pitifully-veiled truce she is offered, as if it would not have been easier than the next breath she huffs, to wear the woman’s blood as nefariously as Genie wears the colour that stains her mouth. So riveted is she by this wild, volatile thing, she only dully registers the din around them, her shoulders hunching in a pensive, provocative shrug. “I didn’t offer you my pretty little watches or wallets, doll,” she reminds glibly, brows arching in candid challenge. "Oh, calm down, ya bloody Game of Thrones wannabe. I don’t have much of a life anyhow, so your fuckin’ threats mean jack-fuckin’ shit to me, pretty much. I’ve got no one. I am no one.” As though they are puppies of the same litter, the tip of her nose bumps into her companion’s. “What I take, I pour to people who deserve it more than any of you fuckin’ motherfuckin’ cunts.”

Their smirks mirror each other’s. Genie looks down on the cant of her head. “– I’ll get you a secret because your lipstick tastes nice,” she offers. “Name a person. I’ll make you a present so pretty you’ll think its Christmas again.”

KITTY: Like calls to like; energy to energy. The two have ensnared one another and remain toe to toe, chest to chest, gaze to gaze. Fearless, with smiles that gleam bright in the low light, they’re as well-matched as any pair of fighters to have graced the gym’s boxing ring and twice as prone to violence. Kitty protects a territory that thrives on the promise of a chance at fortune – to win a bet and taste what it means to have wealth, to let lady luck smile down on you, deem you worthy of joining the upper echelons. Go on, put some of your savings on that boxer. Shout and yell with all you can in the hope that it will spur them, and you, on to victory. Don’t worry if you don’t win this time, there will always be another. And another. And another. Do you dare to stop when there’s always the possibility that the next turn will be a win?

The other’s nose brushes against her own and Kitty’s lips part without thought, this sort of closeness drawing out an ill-hidden desire for intimacy ( however unlikely the places it is found ). She – nameless and taunting – shows her cards, splays them in front of the Virtue with pleasure, and Kitty can’t help but wonder if she should be impressed or disappointed. “People who are no one are fucking dangerous,” she muses, although the nuclear bomb of a blonde is evidently perfectly aware of that, taking power from the fact that her carelessness was her greatest weapon. It strikes something in Kitty, somewhere between curiosity and jealousy –

– stood before her, this thief represents something that she has never realised she didn’t have. To be untethered like that, free to make your own choices, free to do as you please: the notion was a foreign one.

“Cute argument, but who deserves shit and who doesn’t is always going to be a matter of opinion,” she counters, voice low, tracing a thumb over the corner of a soft jaw before her hand finds the younger woman’s neck. Her fingers gently find a home around it, feeling their pulse, dark eyes trained on the eyeliner-painted pair staring back. A light breath ghosts warmly against lips that now match in colour. “This motherfucking cunt likes what she has but she can appreciate that you graft hard. She also happens to know some people who could do with having some of their possessions go missing.” Her voice dips. “Don’t fucking steal from those who put their money in the Femenias family’s pocket and maybe I can help you out.”

A slow smile slips across her mouth, pleased with the words that are offered. “Good girl,” she coos, pressing a butterfly-light kiss to the corner of her lips. “The Warden family– that is, if you think you can handle it?”

GENIE: It’s a wonder that the crowd of spectators doesn’t turn their attention to the duo that isn’t sequestered by any rings but those of the metaphorical variety, Genie feels. Then again, they might be watching, riveted by their extemporaneous showdown, and neither of them would know. She is sure of it; the woman’s lips part over their proximity — and she feels her heart throb within her throat over the warm breath that fans over and coats her own reckless mouth. “Dangerous? Little ol’ me?” Genie quips thoughtlessly. Her mind is a bartop wiped clean for a moment past when it ought to be, her faculties as unable as they were unwilling to return to her so quickly, as the woman’s do. She realises a beat later that, oh, dangerous isn’t an unapt word for her, after all: for Genie, who was a ticking time-bomb; Genie, who leapt without fear, high on an abundance of guile and unparalleled gall. She was dangerous, even if it was mostly to herself, first, and to anyone standing too close, in an extension of a nature that could not be helped any more than it could be permanently, unfailingly staunched. 

“Maybe I am,” she allows, before pressure is thumbing along the slant of her jaw... Before it is slinking lower, until the heart in her throat finds itself, with such menacing tenderness, cradled in the woman’s palm. Would her hand come away stained? It does not seem a threat of violence to Genie. It is intimacy: a closeness that insists upon truth-telling. Her shit-eating grin softens by a tremendous margin, her eyes bright as shooting stars and supernovas. It catches her off-guard enough for her to be unbothered at arguing that countering beyond a, “Touché,” she murmurs. Later, she will care, lying wide-awake in her bed and letting this collision in her mind on a loop, dissecting until she can get her hands on something to quiet the incessant whirring of a kaleidoscopic mind that never, ever stops until it is muffled forcibly, and she is left wishing, uselessly, that she had thrown in her brown-eyed, bitch-facing sparring partner that it hadn’t been an argument, let alone a fucking cute one, and only people who’d never gone without in their lives said dumb shit like that, turning to the screen of ambiguity to forgive them the condemnation of cold, hard reality of a life on the other side of privilege – but for now, she does not. 

For now, her jaw cants over the woman’s hold, deeply fazed but not in the least fearful, when she lets her lips brush over hers, never quite pressing fully: “You’ve got yourself a deal. Come find me at PEST next week. I’ll buy you a drink.”

[hopelesslygazingthestars]

In Valentines Day spirit... a lil love... and a lil angst.

Fools And Love.

Since long before Ashara’s flower blossomed, she knew that love made fools of men. There were many that came and went, fell over themselves and professed love for her pretty eyes and tinkling laugh. Even a Dornish prince had played the fool for her and sworn off marriage, and instead pursued fleeting desires.

Elia broke her promises and chose Rhaegar. When she uttered the rejection, Ashara literally heard her ribcage crack from the explosion beneath her chest. She had finally conjured up the confidence to confess long-hidden feelings and Elia gave a response she never foresaw. Her sweet Elia, the one she trusted above all others, and the one that loved her like none. The irony was not lost in that, at the beginning, she had wanted to apologize in advance because she thought it would be her to accidently break Elia’s heart and run, just like she always had. Yet, in the end, it was Elia who ripped her heart out and abandoned her.

It was only in Elia’s abandonment that Ashara realised she never healed what was broken inside of her. Elia was the tourniquet to her being, and without her, she was left bleeding on the cold, hard ground.

First, came an agonising emptiness which left her powerless to rise from her bed. Then, a volatile rage she unleashed on anything in her proximity. Next, she chased an oblivion in endless goblets of wine. Lastly, came the venomous desperation, which had her acting out for Elia’s attention in the most foolish ways.

After a long confinement, when Elia had not come chasing as usual, Ashara returned to court like a hurricane, on the centre stage of the Realm’s biggest and most extravagant tourney.

Lord Whent’s tourney at Harrenhal attracted nobility from every hill, river and rock in Westeros. From the sour lords of winter to the prickly roses of the Reach; to the stags of Storm’s End, to the old keeper of the Mountains of the Moon. Even Mad King Aerys, looking haggard and unhinged, crawled out of the dragon’s den for the first time in years, much to Rhaegar’s dismay. However, noticeably, the lions of the Rock were nowhere to be seen, except the newly knighted golden cub, Ser Jaime.

The tourney was as much a political event as it was an athletic melee. Treason was in the air, and the Great Houses of Westeros had more in mind than jousting, archery, and merrymaking. Ashara knew of the great efforts Rhaegar and Elia underwent to secretly fund the tourney in guise of calling a Great Council and initiating Rhaegar’s ascension to the Iron Throne.

After the opening ceremonies, when the dancing walls were hung with magnificent tapestries, each emblazoned with the symbols of the Great Houses, the psychological games began. Aerys made his own power plays and officially named Ser Jaime the youngest knight in kingsguard history. A clear spite at his Hand, thereby claiming the heir to the Rock his own.

Nonetheless, Ashara had plots of her own in mind. Driven by foolish attempts of attention seeking and many a cup of heady Dornish Reds, Ashara dragged Prince Oberyn up after a long evening of introductions and tedious niceties.

“Now, come. Let us show these stiff Northerners how to dance properly, my prince!”

Always ready for mischief, Oberyn set aside his wine before Ashara swept him to the centre of the dance floor.

Ashara expected the many eyes which stalked them, the distrust for the Dornish and their strange ways was something she was long accustomed to. Yet, there was only one pair of dark orbs Ashara cared to attract.

She took one of Oberyn’s serpents and waved to the musicians, who picked up their instruments and began to liven up.

The technicoloured red and blue serpent slithered up her arm and down her exposed mid riff.

Ashara was a foolish maid in love, recklessly seeking the love she was deathly afraid of losing. When she gazed up at the princely couple, seemingly besotted with one another, she knew she would sooner withstand Elia’s blazing rage than her careful distance.

She brought the serpent’s head close to her face and stuck out her tongue as its forked one did the same. The music swelled and she began to mirror its movements seductively as Oberyn stalked around her gyrating form. She moved with a slow and sensuous purpose as the snake coiled around her and slithered into Oberyn’s grip. Her body wove itself lithely in tandem with the growing rhythm of the seductive beats.

To dance was her freedom, to dance was to become a shooting star, and in the crumbling ruins of Harrenhal, Ashara came alive for the first time in so long.

Her movements flowed with a dazzling grace that took away the breath of every person in her audience. She felt her soul become one with the music and she unleashed her emotions into the dance; heartbreak, jealousy, longing. In that moment, she needed to dance as badly as she needed to breath. She wanted to shine and be seen in the darkness.

When she noticed that Elia’s attention remained on her husband, despite the audience she drew, Ashara grew more desperate. She was determined to draw such spectacle that Elia had to do something. Anything. It was not a well thought out strategy, merely a frantic attempt to salvage what had been shattered between them.

When the song ended and the applause came, Ser Barristan the Bold, stepped out another fool in love.

“Lady Ashara, I must insist on the honour of dancing with you. I am no great dancer, but I am certain your talents will more than make up for my lack of skill.”

She nearly declined until she caught Elia curiously watching her. She took it as a small victory and laughed loudly, throwing her head back.

“Ser Barristan, the honour is all mine.”

She took his offered hand, and it was the first of many. She danced with an entire host of men; princes, knights, and lords alike. Ashara was in her element, gliding close to whichever man she held close in her long arms and dared hope to see vexation in Elia’s expression.

She chased Elia and they chased her.

The men would take and so would she, for it was clear love was not meant for Ashara. These men would flirt and dance, perhaps even take her to bed, or to wed, but she knew none of them meant to see her beyond the violet eyes and fair golden skin. The only eyes which had ever seen her were so dark she could scarcely breath sometimes, and now they were blinded by fire.

Despite the sparing glances, Elia made no movement towards her, and Ashara descended further.

She left behind willing partners looking forlorn as she bounced to her next conquests. She flirted outrageously and was vitalised by the scandalised looks.

She was entirely content to continue her path of self-destruction until she saw dark grey eyes watching her. She noticed them follow her as she danced with Barristan, Prince Lewyn, Ethan Glover and Jon Connington. Always watching yet without hungry lust as some, or barely disguised disgust as the others.

She knew he was a Northman from the rigid way he sat between the boisterous young storm lord Robert Baratheon and his patron, old Jon Arryn, the Lord of the Vale.

Her curiosity fell away when from the corner of her eye, she saw Elia gaze over at her before whispering something to Arthur, and when he walked over to her, she felt victorious in her rebellion.

Yet, those hopes were quickly dampened.

“Did she send you here?” She asked.

Arthur sighed and looked at her apologetically.

“No.”

Elia did not want her. Ashara feared that this new meek woman that was Rhaegar’s wife would never love her like Elia of Dorne had.

Were things the way they once were, Elia would have risen from her seat and joined in the merriment long ago, propriety be damned. Ashara yearned for Dornish nights and Rhoynar rhythms, of small soft hands and blood orange scented kisses.

Ashara was taken out of her reverie and reminded of exactly where she was. On the dancefloor of a crumbling castle with near enough every pair of eyes on her except the ones she wished for.

Arthur gently caught her hand.

“Sister, dance with me,” he prompted.

She knew Arthur’s intentions were to soothe her suffering as he always had. For the pleading in his expression, she accepted the request and rocked with him to the slowing tune.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but you will learn to breathe again without her,” he explained interrupting the stillness between them.

“I don’t want anything without her.” She answered petulantly, cursing herself for sounding like a spoilt child.

She felt more childish when he leaned back slightly and peeped down at her seriously.

“Ashara, you have to learn to live for yourself, not for anyone else, not even for her. For so long you held love with an iron grip but at arm’s length. You could have had your sweet Elia long ago. Inevitably, it would still have ended the same way because duty was always going to call for the prized sun of Dorne…”

His words stirred something uncomfortable inside her. They were difficult truths to accept. She made many excuses for why she waited so long to reveal the depth of her feelings. It always came down to her own inadequacy and inability to feel deserving of love.

“…You deserve love, Asha. Just because it no longer resides where you believed it to, does not mean it is not out there for you,” he finished.

Deep down she still felt like the neglected child that begged for scraps of her mother’s attention – like the abused girl that was sullied long ago.

It was an arduous and complicated set of issues to settle, but for the first time, Ashara was confronted with the truth.

“I don’t know who I am without her,” she admitted.

“Then perhaps you ought to find out.”

She took a moment and considered Arthur’s suggestion.

She wondered if it truly was time to attempt to move on. It left her chest feeling tight because it was something she never even fathomed to consider before. It was in the unknown to exist anywhere that was not Elia’s side.

Before she could respond, she was swiftly whisked into the arms of another, the charming Brandon Stark. He had made himself as well known as the young storm lord that evening, and it would be a lie to say her eye had not wondered to him during the introductions.

“Lady Ashara,” he greeted with a mischievous smirk and mirth gleaming in his eyes.

She feigned disapproval but continued gliding along with him despite it.

“The Sword of the Morning will not take too kindly to that, lord Brandon. I fear you may have made yourself a formidable enemy in the lists tomorrow.”

Brandon was not typical of the stony-faced Northmen. He was bold and confident, which she found attractive, although she would never admit that aloud; there was a cockiness to him that raised her defences.

“It’s just harmless fun, why should he make an enemy out of me?” He countered.

He acknowledged Arthur and nodded in respect, although the twinkle in his eye remained.

“You have a sister do you not – how pleased would you be if a man took off with her?”

The smugness fell from his expression momentarily.

“I suppose for her honour, he would become my enemy,” he answered gazing towards a young dark-haired girl Ashara assumed to be his sister.

She was a pretty thing, with the same teasing glint in her eyes as Brandon.

“Then what makes you exempt from my brother’s wrath?”

His knowing smirk returned as he peered at her with his grey eyes, and she hated how it made her blush.

“For a start, you think me quite handsome, and you enjoy me.” He winked with a growing grin.

Ashara laughed despite herself.

“And that’s enough to warrant his forgiveness?” She countered.

He shrugged playfully before brushing her hair back from her shoulder, with just the right look of heat in his eyes and moving in so close she could feel his lean body pressed up against her.

“Then perhaps I ought to give him better reason to make me his enemy.”

She pretended to be indifferent to Brandon’s seduction. It would not do to allow someone with an ego like his know how much power he had. Thus, she refused to lean in or seem too keen.

“You’re very sure of yourself.”

“As are you, Ashara.” He looked pointedly at the men that stood peeved in the wake of her abandonment.

“If you came over to insult me Brandon, you can surely return.” She scolded as she recoiled.

Ashara was not a stranger to rumours, men and women alike often set their tongues wagging over tall tales about her. Unlike Dorne, the rest of Westeros were prude little creatures when it came to pleasures, but she would be damned if the would-be Warden of the North, who had his own whispers of lovers and bastards, would question her integrity.

“My lady please forgive my impertinence. In fact, I truly came here to request a dance of you, with a man far more honourable than me.”

Confusion washed through her, but strangely, she was intrigued. Man after man had taken what they wanted from her this night, and it was odd that one remained reserved.

“That won’t take much… but go on, who is this poor fellow?”

A wide grin spread across his features.

“My young brother is too shy to approach you. Don’t be so hard him. Whilst I was blessed with all the charm in the family, he is good and honourable, a man worthy of your time.” He spoke with pride.

As audacious as Brandon had been, it was evident now that it was act to make his brother appear the better man.

“Very well, but I shall decide that for myself.”

Brandon returned to his table and Ashara was surprised to find that his shy brother was the stiff Northman that had been watching her all night.

Ashara could not help but chuckle endearingly when she saw the younger Stark’s back stiffen and panic wash across his features as Brandon whispered to him.

The young Stark was not as tall as his brother, just of a height with her; he kept his long hair tied back messily, and unlike Brandon, wore simple clothing unadorned with any marks of House Stark.

It would be difficult to guess they were brothers if their features were not so similar, and even then, where Brandon was always smiling, the young Stark already had frown lines across his brow.

“My lady, I thank you for the honour of a dance,” he greeted, inclining his head rigidly, and offering his hand.

She took his hand and led him to the dancefloor.

It was awkward at first, because even at their slow pace, it was clear Stark did not have the grace of a dancer. She rearranged his hands until they were in the correct position, and led the steps, anything to occupy herself from meeting his mystifyingly intense gaze.

“Do you happen to have a name?” She wondered, once they swayed in rhythm to the languid tune.

“I do.” He answered, adding nothing further even as Ashara tilted her head in curiosity.

“You’re not very talkative, are you?”

“If you might give me your name, I shall give you mine.” He said unsmiling.

When she finally met his expectant stare, she saw the beginnings of a smile pulling at his cheeks, and something akin to intrigue flared inside her.

In that moment, instead of seeking Elia, she found herself regarding Stark, questioning if he was not shy at all, but instead, reservedly confident.

“It appears you already know who I am.” She answered with a cock of her brow.

“I would rather get the name from the lady herself than the fame which precedes her.”

Ashara found herself pleasantly surprised by their exchange.

“I am Lady Ashara Dayne, lord Stark.”

“Thankfully, I shall never be lord Stark… I am Eddard Stark, although you may call Ned.”

A teeth-baring grin spread, and his face transformed. She found herself strangely attracted to the quiet wolf.

“Ned.” She said testing out the syllables on her tongue.

The song picked up pace, as did she.

Her feet struck the floor in perfect synchronisation with the building tempo and his pursued with every step. Ned’s grey eyes shone behind the shy expression as they advanced, retreated and pirouetted.

The rapidly enclosing space between them felt electric and burning. There was something she could not explain about this quiet Northman, who stared into her eyes as if he could see past all that she armoured herself with and saw the frightened girl inside. She felt admired, as one might the stars on a clear night.

“Why do you keep staring at me?” She finally asked, fascinated in his unravelling scrutiny of her.

His answer made the flirtatious grin fall from her face.

“You have danced and laughed quite a lot tonight… But I can’t help by notice, you don’t seem all that happy, my lady.”

Shaken, she abruptly halted her movements.

She remembered the pain in her chest and found Elia across the room, glaring at her with fire behind her eyes. She was confused because this was what she initially wanted, but now she had it, it felt nothing like victory. For with Ned, for just a moment, she put aside her heartache… and breathed.

“You’re very perceptive.” She answered, a slow panic filling her.

“I’ve said the wrong thing.” He commented apologetically, noticing the change in her.

She looked up at him wide-eyed, contemplating the stirring emotions inside her.

For reasons unclear to herself, she lurched to kiss him, but he pulled away just as quickly.

Embarrassment filled her and she exploded into blazing anger.

“Is this not what you wanted, Ned – to say you had an easy Dornish wench to your brother and friends?” She spat turning to walk away.

He chased her before she could escape, appearing ahead desperately.

“I meant no disrespect, lady Ashara. I would never dishonour you in such a way, only when I kiss you, I want it to be because you want it, not because you think that’s what I want.” He interrupted.

That he could read her so easily, and was not scared away by it, terrified her. Just like she always did, she crumbled under her fears and lashed out.

“What honour is there in getting your brother to do your courting? I pity you Ned, that’s why I danced with you.”

He flushed in embarrassment, and deep down, Ashara was ashamed for it.

“Then allow me to rectify my actions, may I do something no other has done today?”

Despite her urgent need to flee, she was intrigued.

“Go on.”

“Will you come sit with me, Ashara?”

“What?”

Again, she was surprised by this strange Northman.

“I want to get to know you, is that so hard to believe?”

She carefully maintained a neutral expression. Yet, even in that, he read her disbelief.

“Come on, Ashara, get to know me, take a chance on a fool in love.” He pleaded.

Love.

The word spun around in her head, and she realised, for the first time, it was something she truly yearned for.

Warmth began to spread through her blood and hammering seized her chest.

“I-I…”

Despite her epiphany, her tongue fumbled in her mouth. She did not know how to articulate such desires and succumbed to old behaviours.

“…I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Without a single glance back she fled, a maid made a fool by love.