#front wards backwards time loops

[nokiosud]

I know the goddess of blood and spell

I know the goddess of disease and time.

I know the purpose of mirror universe theory.

I know I’ll never die.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

River Below 9

Warnings: this fic includes noncon/rape, bullying, illness, and other possible triggers. Warnings are not exhaustive and will not include plot devices/elements.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Life in the Banks is tough but one man can make it worse.

Characters: Rafe Cameron

Note: Vday fic taking me some time so here ya are. Also, Ward is tiptoeing his way into this lol.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Lord Farquaad loves unnecessary vowels. Take care. 💖

Work is daunting the next day. Your head hurts, you barely slept, you just couldn’t settle for the night. And your body is inexplicably sore. You walk to work with a weight in your legs and chest. 

Each step is a challenge as you know Rafe will be waiting for you. He’ll have had all night to stew in his anger and humiliation and think of a dozen ways to take it out on you. 

It’s not your fault. You didn’t want to do that. You didn’t ask him to. He made you get naked and he couldn’t… perform. You almost feel bad for him.  

You come up the back steps of the shop, rickety and creaking beneath you. You reach for the door but it opens before you can even find the keys. You nearly fall backwards into the dirt as you take a step down. You’re surprised by the face that greets you. 

You expect the younger Cameron, not the elder. You blink dumbly at him as he bids you ‘good morning’. In a moment, his stern expression brightens and he smiles as he steps back, welcoming you in. You accept with a nod and sidle past him inside. His closeness has you quickly flitting to the row of hooks over the low bench where you hang your bag. 

“Didn’t know you were opening,” he says. 

“Um, yeah, sir,” you take your apron and loop the strap over your neck. 

He closes the door. Odd, he seemed to be on his way out. You reach back to tie the loose straps around your waist. 

“You’re a hard worker,” he comments as he crosses his arm, stepping closer, just past the door. He leans on the wall, one foot hooked over the other, “honest… can I ask you something?” 

You hesitate and press your palms to the front of the apron, just against your stomach. “Yes, sir.” 

He chuckles, a rocky noise. He’s amused by you. You don’t know why. 

“My son. Rafe. He been in?” 

“I just got here–” 

“Yesterday?” He interjects. 

“Oh, uh…” you think back. You don’t know if you should tell the truth. You saw Rafe, just not at work. 

“I don’t remember, Mr. Cameron,” you clasp your hands together, “it was pretty busy–” 

He nods and clicks his tongue. He watches you, combing his finger through his dark hair. He pushes away from the wall, dwarfing you as you curl your shoulders inward. 

“You’re a hard worker. I admire that. Wish my son had that in him,” he puts one hand in his pocket, “he’s got too much of an attitude.” 

You push your shoulders up in half a shrug. It isn’t your place to say so. 

“Haven’t seen him much,” you lie. 

“Ah,” he takes a breath, “well, you just let me know if you get any of that attitude. I’d hate to think of him treating you mean.” 

“He mostly stays upstairs,” you squeak, “sir, I should… I should start opening.” 

He considers you. His bold eyes hold you in arrest. There’s something in them that reminds you of Rafe. You repress a shudder. 

“How about I help?” He offers. 

“What, er, sir?” You blanch. 

“Yeah, I’d love to get my hands dirty,” he says, “it’s humbling, you know? Lot of people out there buy these places and treat it like a number in their portfolio. I think this place has potential. And you. Would do my son well if he got down here in the grease, too.” 

“Erm, okay, sir, if you like, but...” you hesitate. Will Rafe be mad at you? It’s not like you can say no. Not to either Cameron. “Um, you might mess up your clothes though.” 

He looks down at his button up and leather belt. You know it’s probably expensive. He shops at places you never even heard of. 

“How about an apron? You got a spare one?” He suggests. 

“Oh, sure,” you turn and grab the apron that used to be Arlene’s. You offer it to him. He smiles and thanks you. 

“You just pretend I’m new, alright? Like you’re training me,” he explains as he loops the apron over his head. “Honey, do me a favour and tie me up.” 

He turns his back to you. It takes you a moment before you get his meaning. You grab the strings as the dangle at his side and draw them back to tie around his back. He seems bigger as you stand close. You let go and back up. 

“Great,” he spins and claps his hands, “show me the ropes, honey.” 

Your lips purse. It’s so strange. He's so nice but his son is so mean. It confuses you. For a moment, you think of telling him. Maybe he could set Rafe straight. No... no. That’s stupid. Just like you. 

“So I turn the grease heaters on first,” you redirect your attentions to the work; that’s easy, you can do it. Anyone can. “I always check first, see if the grease needs a change.” 

He hums and nods, shadowing you closely.  

“They take some time, so I get the coffee going next. In the morning, it’s what people get the most.” You lead him to the machine and pull out the basket with yesterday’s filter. He watches intently as you empty and rinse it. Your hands are clumsy as you tear open a packet of pre-weighed grinds. 

“I’m making you nervous,” he says. 

“Sorry, sir, I’m... I’m tired, that’s all.” 

“You work hard. I saw the schedule. Almost every day.” He muses. 

You nod, “yeah, er...” 

“I know, it doesn’t pay too much, does it?” He sniffs and holds out his hand. “Let me.” He takes the packet and rips into it easily. He pours it into the filter. “I can still figure out coffee.” 

“Um, next I start the french toast mix. We do waffles on weekends only.” 

“Right,” he shuffles with you. “You live in-town?” 

“I live... down near the shore, sir,” you answer, “down on the banks.” 

“You know, my son, he just never got that. He doesn’t know what it’s like to have to lift himself up. I’m trying to give him that. I want him to do that with this place. Work from the bottom,” he puts his hands on his hips as he looms over you. You pile ingredients into a large bowl and whisk. “Like you are.” 

“Sir, I... I’m just a pogue,” you mutter. 

“You’re a person. You got someone to take care of, don’t you? They keep you working.” He remarks. “You’re young...” 

“My mama, sir. She’s sick but... we manage.” 

He’s quiet as he continues to observe your diligent work. “Can’t underestimate hard work. If I was my son, I’d start with a pay raise but I’m not gonna do the job for him. He needs to figure that out.” 

“Yes, sir,” you set the bowl aside and pull out a loaf of bread so it’s ready. 

“Get the grill going for sausage and craw,” you instruct next. 

“See, you got the mindset, honey. You focus. I can’t make this place any better but my son will get there. He is mine, after all,” he chuckles. “how about...” he pauses and exhales as he thinks, “you could come work with me. Two days a week. Cut back on shifts here since they got the new bodies in.” 

“Sir? For you? But I... I only worked here for a couple months.” 

“You learned fast, didn’t you? You’re showing me around like a pro,” he shrugs. “It’s nothing big. Just need someone to help me out with some clerical work. Filing or whatever. It’ll pay better than here, even with tips.” 

“Sir...” you blink at him. It’s not a true escape but it might get you some space from Rafe. Or it might make him hate you more. 

“You drive?” He asks. “It’s up away from the banks. I could get you there. Send a car.” 

You don’t know if you can say no. Not just because it could lose you both jobs but because you need the money desperately. Your ma needs to see the doctor again. 

“No pressure,” he assures you. 

“Sir,” you look up at him, “can I think about it?” 

He smiles and rubs your arm, lingering on your shoulder with a squeeze, “take your time. I’ll leave you my number. You can let me know.” 

☀️

You get home without obstacle. It doesn’t comfort you. You can sense trouble lurking. It might not be right now, but it’s coming. 

Rafe never showed up at the stand. Ward left and the rest of you went through the motions. You smell like fish and grease. The others swore to silence and loaded up a bag for you to take to your ma. 

She’s happy when you hand it over with a large diet coke. She thanks you as you watch her. She was always right. About everything. Maybe she can help you figure this out. 

“Ma,” you twist your fist around your finger. “I... I need help.” 

“Help?” She looks alarmed as she keeps from biting into the cajun chicken. “You sounded like you were struggling last night. Everything okay?” 

You blanch. Did she hear everything? Does she know? 

“Oh, I was trying to fix that old VCR,” you have to hold back a cringe at the lie. “But that’s... no. Mama, I... I got an offer for a new job. I’d still be working this one but, er, this new one... I don’t really think I’d know what I’m doin’.” 

“You’re smart, baby, you’ll learn,” she preens and takes a greedy bite. You wait for her to finish. “That’s so exciting. A new job!” 

“It’s um... it’s way up... out of the banks.” 

“Out of the banks,” she tuts. “That’s far.” 

“I know, mama, but Mr. Cameron--” 

“Cameron?” She jerks as if she’s been doused in ice water. “Ward?” 

You frown, “that’s him, mam.” 

“Oh...” she chews another mouthful and thinks. “He’s a rich one.” 

“Yeah, he bought the chip shack--” 

“He did? When was that?” 

“Weeks ago,” you sway. “I guess it’ll be too much. Not worth it, huh?” 

“Well, it’s your choice, baby,” she stares at the bag then crumples the top. “I just worry about you goin’ so far.” 

“I didn’t say yes or nothin’,” you assure her. 

“I think if you wanna, you should try. You never know what could happen, right? Could be a step up to an even better place,” she nods. “It’s just... them people up there, the kooks are real different than us. They don’t like us.” 

Pogues don’t like you either. You don’t say so but you don’t see much of a difference there. You smile thinly. 

“I’m still thinking,” you say.  

You flinch at the noise on the roof. You look up in unison with your ma. She grunts.  

“Hope it’s not them dang shingles ‘gain. Can’t afford to have it nailed down.” She mutters. 

“I’ll check, ma,” you grimace. “It could be a gull again. They tryna build their nests all over.” 

You back out and head to the front door. It’s just another tick in the yes column. You need to fix the roof, properly, not to mention the rest of this place. 

As you come out, a rock bounces off your chest and you clatter against the door. Rafe stands across from the front steps with a handful of stones. You touch your chest as it throbs and cross the crooked porch. 

“Been tryna get you out here. Was about to come in and introduce myself to the mammoth. Thought those were extinct.” 

“Don’t talk about my ma,” you sniffle as you cross your arms. 

“Or what? You gonna lay there like a corpse again?” He snaps. 

You furrow your brow. You only did what he said. He must be mad because of well... his thing not working. 

“I got an idea,” he chuckles. You notice he’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday. 

You stare at him. Waiting. 

“Should I come in and let mama hear or are you gonna get your ass over here?” he scoffs. 

You tramp down the steps and he tilts his head at you. His eyes narrow and he reaches for your arm. He jerks you toward him. You collide with his stomach. He grabs the back of your neck and his other hand comes under your chin. 

He holds you against him as he snarls down at you. His hand shifts along your throat. “You’re so pathetic,” he sneers. “Small, nothing.” His fingers curl into your scalp. “Feel that. Feel the power I got over you? I could break your neck and leave you out here for the old lady to holler for... no one would care.” 

“Yes, sir,” you croak at him. 

“Come on. You lead the way,” he shoves you so you stumble and fall on your ass. “You pogues know all the hiding spots. Let’s go find one.” 

[lesbicosmos]

day 4 of @chrisginnyweek !!

day 4 prompt: time

my interpretation: different time period au (medieval/merlin)

summary: ginny is the king's ward and chris is her maid, but there's something more between them. ginny suggests they go for a picnic in the woods and lesbianism ensues

notes: if you've seen merlin, here's my list of character parallels for this au:

ginny = morgana chris = gwen neil = arthur todd = merlin keating = gaius mr perry = uther (bc shitty father figures) charlie = gwaine knox = lancelot meeks = leon pitts = percival cameron = elyan then stick is a stablehand and all the horses are named after midsummer nights dream characters because i had to include that somewhere

also on ao3!!

we lay here for years or for hours

Ginny awoke to the bright light of the morning sun shining behind her eyelids as she heard the silk curtains being carefully opened.

“Good morning, my lady,” came the familiar cheerful voice from over near the window.

Ginny finally opened her eyes, stretching her limbs in her huge four-poster bed as she followed Chris with her gaze.

“Morning, Chris.”

This was their usual routine for the morning: Chris brought Ginny out of her deep sleep with her soft voice and the dazzling sunshine through the window. Then, as Ginny was fully waking up, Chris fixed the curtains and replaced any candles that had fully burnt. Ginny’s breakfast would always be on the table and her hairbrush would be on the dresser ready to be used.

As Ginny stood up from the bed, Chris left the room to go and get her clothes for the day. She walked over to the table and popped a grape into her mouth just as her maid came back into the room holding Ginny’s favourite dress. It was soft satin and a gorgeous purple colour with gold embellishments and a sheer blue cardigan. The dress made her feel like a princess, which she supposed she was, really. She lived in the castle with the King as her guardian, after all. A smile spread across Ginny’s face as she took the dress from Chris’s hands and went behind the changing screen.

“Can you help me with this fastening?” she asked after a few minutes, stepping out from behind the screen.

“Of course!” came Chris’s reply, and Ginny turned around so her back faced her.

Ginny felt Chris’s hands take the ribbons at the back of the dress and began pulling them slowly tighter. There was an odd silence between them as she did; not awkward or uncomfortable, by any means, just…odd. Tense, almost. Ginny felt her breath hitch when Chris’s hand lightly brushed her back as she threaded the ribbon through the loops to fasten the dress.

Once she’d finished, Chris moved over to the dresser to get the sheer cardigan, allowing Ginny to slide her arms through the wide sleeves. Then she stood directly in front of her, her fingers working on the cardigan’s front fastening at her abdomen. They were so close together, their faces only a few inches apart. If Ginny moved just a little bit further forward-

“Is there anything planned today, my lady?” Chris broke the silence, taking a step backwards and breaking Ginny out of the strange trance she’d fallen into.

“Chris, please,” she said, a soft smile on her face. “I’ve told you; you can call me Ginny. We’re friends, there’s no need for the formalities.”

She swore Chris’s cheeks became slightly pinker as Ginny sat down at her dresser.

“Sorry, my- Ginny. Is there anything planned today?”

Chris took the hairbrush and began slowly combing through her dark hair.

“Not specifically. Although, it does look like a fine day to go for a ride in the woods.”

“Of course. Would you like me to go and tell Neil once I’ve finished your hair? Or would you like the King to accompany you instead?”

Ginny lightly chuckled. Chris was always so focused on making sure she was doing her duties. Ginny wished she knew just how much she meant to her.

“No, no, Chris. Not with either of them. I’m sure Neil has his princely duties to be getting on with, anyway."

Neil might as well have been Ginny’s brother. They were raised together as children, have known each other practically all their lives. Whilst they do bicker sometimes, they’ve always been close. There was an understanding between them, but neither had exactly figured out what.

“If he ever wakes up, that is,” Chris laughed. “As I passed his chambers I could hear Todd having to practically hit the bedframe with a sword just to get him to open his eyes.”

“The future King of Camelot, ladies and gentlemen. I still can’t believe people think he’s going to be the best King the land has ever known.”

Chris seemed surprised at that. “You don’t think he will?”

“Oh, I think he will. With his kindness and ideas, this kingdom will prosper once he’s on the throne instead of his father. I just think it’s ironic that he’s still the same dramatic prince as ever.”

“He has always been one for the theatrics, hasn’t he?”

A memory flooded into Ginny’s mind, of her and Neil around aged 10, having been bought wooden swords by a visiting king. They snuck out into the courtyard in the night, playfighting and putting together a choreographed performance, which they showed the King the next day. He didn’t seem too impressed. He never was.

Ginny shook the memory away, aware that she’d zoned out for a few seconds.

“Anyway, no. I don’t want to go for a ride with Neil today.”

This was her chance to spend more time with Chris.

“I was wondering if you wanted to come?”

Chris’s eyes widened in shock, stopping the gentle brushing of Ginny’s hair.

“Me?”

“Yes, Chris. You.”

Ginny stood up from her chair, so there was very little space between the two of them once again. There were a few seconds where that tense silence returned and neither of them moved. Ginny wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t even breathe.

Inevitably, the moment ended, and Chris spoke.

“Are you sure, my lady? You know there’s been bandits hiding out in those woods for weeks now, I can’t protect you if something happens. Perhaps one of the knights-”

“Chris. I want to go with you.”

Ginny looked at her maid sincerely, trying to show how desperate she was to spend time with her. Chris didn’t seem against the idea, but the look of worry on her face was impossible to avoid. Ginny had an idea.

“How about we ask a few of the knights if they’d tag along with us, then? Just to keep lookout in case the bandits are still around. I’m sure Charlie, Meeks and Pitts wouldn’t mind a day in the woods, if we offer them food.”

Chris seemed to visibly relax at that, placing the hairbrush back down onto the dresser.

“Okay. I’ll go and send word to them, ask if they have any duties today.”

“Thank you, Chris.”

Chris smiled brightly and turned to leave the room, but Ginny spoke again just as she got to the door.

“If they can’t come…”

Chris turned around.

“It’s not like I can’t protect us.”

Ginny gave a quick wink, and she watched Chris look down at the ground as if hiding her blush. She nodded and left the room.

It was around an hour later when Chris returned to Ginny’s chambers. She’d managed to convince the three knights to join them, and had then gone down to the kitchens to fill a picnic basket with the best food she could get: bread, fruit, the whole lot. The basket was fairly heavy by the end of it, but the weight wasn’t the thing that made her drop it onto the ground as she entered the room Ginny was in.

Ginny stood by the window, focused. She’d put on the leather sword sheath she’d been gifted by Neil a few months ago, and was sliding her sword into it. Chris knew that Ginny was good with a sword, that was no surprise to her; she simply couldn’t get over how the sight of her with the weapon made her feel even after this time. She really shouldn’t have found it so incredibly…attractive. If she had to die by sword, she’d willingly meet her end by that specific one, she thought; then mentally scolded herself for thinking it.

“Chris, you alright?”

“Yes! The basket’s just…a bit on the heavy side,” she lied

Ginny walked over to her, opening the basket and seeing what was inside.

“Oh, strawberries! My favourite!”

“I know,” Chris smiled. “The knights said they’d meet us by the courtyard gates, so we’d better get the horses.”

Ginny nodded, and her and Chris both reached for the basket handle at the same time, their hands brushing for a moment.

“I’ll take it, my lady.”

“Please, Chris. I insist.”

Chris couldn’t argue with her. She took a step back and let Ginny take the woven picnic basket and walk towards the door.

“Going out?” a quiet voice called from behind them as the two women made their way through the halls of the castle.

They turned around to see Todd walking out of Neil’s chambers, carrying a freshly polished chest plate. Sometimes Ginny forgot that he was technically the prince’s manservant – they were so much closer than that, and it was clear to everyone who knew them. There were rumours about them, but only few knew that those rumours were true. Ginny and Chris had known for over a year, ever since they’d caught the two of them exchanging secret kisses in the armoury.

“We’re going into the woods for a picnic,” Ginny told him.

“You could join us if you’d like!” Chris chimed in.

As much as she loved Todd, Ginny didn’t really want him crashing their picnic. Sure, the knights were going to be there, but she’d make sure they were standing at such a distance that meant her and Chris would have some privacy.

“I can’t, sorry,” Todd said, and Ginny silently thanked him. “Got to prepare for the knighting ceremony tomorrow.”

“Of course. We’ll see you at dinner later?”

“Yep,” Todd replied, adding a quiet “have fun, you two,” before turning around and walking in the direction of the armoury.

As Chris and Ginny walked into the courtyard, they felt the warmth of the early summer sun shining down on them. It wasn’t too hot to be uncomfortable but definitely wasn’t cold – the perfect day. They walked over to the stables, where a blond stable hand was tending to one of the knight’s horses.

“Stick!” Ginny said as she walked over to him.

The stable hand turned around and gave a small bow when he saw Ginny.

“My lady, what a lovely surprise. What can I do for the two of you?”

“Could you ready our horses? We’re heading into the woods with a few of the knights.”

Stick nodded but then seemed to freeze for a moment and looked apologetic.

“I can ready Hermia for you, my lady, but I’m afraid Lysander suffered an injury a couple of days ago and isn’t quite back on his feet just yet.”

Hermia was Ginny’s horse – she’d had her since she was a child: a gorgeous black stallion. None of the servants were allowed horses of their own, but Chris had taken to Lysander a few years ago, and now she was about the only person he’d allow to ride him without knocking them off his back. He was a young grey mare, who currently lay inside the stable, one hoof visibly damaged.

“I can ready one of the other horses for you, if you’d like, Chris?”

Chris opened her mouth to respond but Ginny cut in.

“Nonsense. She can ride with me. That’s alright with you, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Chris stammered, slightly taken aback.

Stick gave them a nod then went to fit Hermia’s saddle.

“Are you sure, Gin? I can take one of the other horses, it’s not too much trouble.”

“Gin? That’s a new one.”

Chris’s cheeks appeared to grow redder as she realised what she had said.

“Sorry.”

“No, no. I love it.”

Chris relaxed, smiling.

“And of course I’m sure. I wouldn’t have offered otherwise. Besides, it’ll be one less horse for the knights to keep track of once we’re out there,” Ginny chuckled.

After a few minutes, Stick walked out of the stables with Hermia’s reins in hand.

“Here she is, all ready.”

“Thank you, Stick.”

Chris held out her hand for Ginny to use to help her mount the horse, then Stick helped Chris up so she was sitting behind her. Chris awkwardly put her hands in front of her, trying and failing to keep herself stable but not knowing what else to do with her hands.

“Chris, you’ll fall off like that,” Ginny laughed. “Put your arms around my waist.”

Chris’s mind may have slightly short-circuited at that, and it took her a few seconds to comprehend what Ginny was telling her to do and follow through with it. She did, delicately moving her arms forward underneath Ginny’s until she was practically hugging her from behind, their bodies flush against one another. Ginny took Chris’s hands in her own, pulling them tighter around her.

“There’s no need to be so gentle, you can hold on tighter than that.”

Soon, they were riding together across the courtyard to meet the knights, who were waiting for them outside the gates.

“Took you long enough,” said Charlie as they approached.

“We had horse trouble.”

“Right. Of course.”

They began riding through the town and out of the city, the forest surrounding getting thicker and thicker. The five of them all laughed and joked together; sure, they were all important parts of the royal household but beneath their sophisticated jobs, they were all just good friends. Charlie and Neil had become friends the moment they met when they were young boys, and with Ginny being so close to Neil already, she got dragged into the friendship, too. Soon enough, they were all teenagers and the boys had befriended the rest of the knights and they became one big group. Ginny loved them all dearly, loved spending time with them outside of the context of ruling the kingdom; but she not as much as she loved spending time with Chris. Sometimes they got too boisterous, and all Ginny wanted was to sit in her room with her maid, both of them doing each other’s hair and talking about everything and nothing.

Now, they were riding through the forest together, Charlie and Ginny and Chris side by side at the front of the group, and Meeks and Pitts taking up the rear.

“So what ‘important knightly duties’ have we dragged you three out of for this?” Ginny asked, an almost mocking tone to her voice.

“Just our daily training session with Neil.”

“Wow, he actually let you miss a session?”

“See, Ginny, we didn’t exactly want to miss it,” Pitts chimed in from the back of the group. “But Chris said you were offering food up, so…”

That was the easiest way to get the knights to do anything. Offer them food, or a way to disobey the king.

“Well, thank you, nonetheless. I may be highly skilled with a sword, but I can’t say fighting with one is exactly my intention for the day.”

Still riding beside her, Charlie was close enough to lean over and whisper a question only Ginny could hear. Luckily, Chris seemed busy looking around her at the beauty of the forest, distracted by a bird in a nearby tree.

“And what exactly is the intention?” He raised his eyebrows, a knowing smirk growing on her face. Ginny really should never have told him about her feelings for Chris. All he’d done was mock her – lovingly, of course, but still.

“Oh shut up,” was all Ginny could reply, subtly turning her head to check that Chris was still zoned out and hadn’t heard. She seemed to be. She had also, however, leaned her head into the crook of Ginny’s neck, which she as desperately trying to ignore. Chris really wasn’t helping her keep her feelings secret, was she?

After at least 15 minutes of riding through the forest, gossiping with the knights about the king, Neil and Todd and the other knights, and having such an intense fit of laughter at one point that all of them nearly fell off their horses, they came upon a small clearing. Wild violets grew scattered around the patch of grass and the sunlight shone through the gap in the trees. The battlements of the castle were faintly visible above the top of the forest.

“This look like a good spot, my ladies.”

It was the perfect spot.

“Absolutely. Now, are you three going to stay close?” Ginny asked.

“Yep. We’ll stand guard around the clearing, don’t worry,” Pitts replied.

“Maybe a but further into the woods than that, Pittsie! Give them some privacy, you know.” Charlie turned to face Ginny and winked.

Ginny could have strangled him. Not that she would, of course. She loved him too much for that. But she wished she could do it in spirit. She prayed Chris hadn’t seen.

As Charlie and Pitts began looking for a spot to keep watch from, Meeks helped the girls down from their horse. He took both Hermia and his own horse by their reins and lead them away to follow the others.

“Enjoy your picnic!, remember to save some food for us!” he called before he disappeared into the woods.

Chris set the picnic basket down on the grass, detaching a soft lilac blanket from where it was tied to the back of it with leather straps. Wordlessly, Ginny held out her hand and Chris handed her two corners, taking the other two herself and the two of them gently laid the blanket onto the ground, careful to avoid the violets that appeared to be everywhere around them. They sat down, Ginny cross-legged and Chris with her feet on the blanket and her knees up. She tried not to pay attention to the way Ginny was sat so close that her knee was brushing her thigh.

“Let’s get the food out,” Chris said, more trying to distract herself than anything else.

There was more food in the basket than seemed physically possible: all different types of fruits and sandwiches and other baked goods. Ginny reached for a strawberry, taking a bite of it, and humming in pleasure at the taste.

“These might be the sweetest strawberries I’ve ever had, Chris! Where did you get them?”

“Palace kitchens,” Chris shrugged.

“I’ve never had strawberries from the kitchens! Not ones this good at least.”

“I may have stolen them from what was supposed to be the king’s lunch…”

“Oh you little rebel,” Ginny grinned.

Chris had taken a sandwich and was slowly eating it, gently carding her hands through the patch of flowers right beside her. Here eyes seemed to widen with an idea.

“Gin, we should make flower crowns! My mother taught me how to make them when I was little, I could show you if you’d like!”

“That sounds like a brilliant idea!”

“I really want to make one with these beauties,” Chris indicated to the violet patch. “But you should make one with daisies. The stems are easier to work with.”

Soon enough, the two of them were sat opposite each other on the picnic blanket, two piles of flowers beside them. Chris picked two of the violets up, slowly demonstrating to Ginny the way to thread together each stem.

“You just keep adding flowers like this until it’s the length you need, it’s easy once you get used to it. I’ll show you how to close it off when we get there.”

Ginny nodded. If she was being honest, she was probably focusing more on the fact that Chris’s nimble fingers looked so pretty tying the stems together than on what she was actually demonstrating, but she got the idea.

“Like this?” she asked, after replicating what Chris had done with the violets on her daisies.

“Yeah, that’s it! Just keep adding them, now.”

They must have spent half an hour in content silence, just threading flowers together. Unbeknownst to each other, both of them had taken a few moments of that time just to admire the other person, watching them work, all the emotions showing in the look in their eyes. They had made eye contact a couple of times, and both had simply smiled at each other or giggled quietly. Chris was a lot further into her project than Ginny was, being much more experienced with the craft.

“The one with violets in her lap,” Ginny muttered, looking across at Chris with the bundle of perfectly threaded bright purple flowers lying on her knee as she struggled with a stubborn stem.

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing. Just a line from a poem Neil told me about the other day. It fits you.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“I wish I could tell you the rest of it. It was written by an Ancient Greek poet, so we only have fragments of her works.”

“That’s…oddly sad.”

“I know. She was nicknamed the Tenth Muse, too. It would be incredible if we could read her full poems, know her mind even better.”

Chris hummed in agreement, focusing once again on the flower that didn’t seem to want to thread into the rest of the crown.

She finally fixed it in, sighing in relief.

“Can I check if it’s the right size?” she asked, holding it out towards Ginny.

“Of course,” Ginny replied, placing her work in progress down in front of her and lifting her head up.

Chris moved so that she was sat behind her, placing the crown on her head and checking the ends met at the back.

“Perfect,” Chris said, and Ginny could feel her breath on the back of her neck. She fought back a slight shiver.

“Here, I know you’re not quite done yet, but I’ll show you how to close off the crown.”

Chris held the ring of violets out in front of her, demonstrating the specific way of threading the final stem into the first.

“I think I get it?”

Chris grinned at her, then leaned forward and placed the crown onto Ginny’s head. Their faces were so close at that point, all it would take would be a slight push forward from either of them and they would be-

“Can I measure this on you?” Ginny asked, ignoring the thoughts in the forefront of her mind at that moment.

“Sure.”

Chris turned around so that Ginny could copy what she had done a few minutes before, holding the daisies around her head. Her hands brushed Chris’s hair in the process, and it was so soft. Ginny thought she would do anything to run her hands through it. The crown fit perfectly.

“It fits,” Ginny said, and Chris turned around to face her again. “How do you connect it again?”

“Here, I’ll help.”

Ginny expected her to take the daisies from her hand and finish it herself, but instead she held Ginny’s hands, guiding her to where to thread the stem. She was trying and failing to concentrate on what to do rather than the feeling of Chris’s hands on hers so softly.

“There you go. Finished.”

The two girls smiled at one another for a long moment, then Ginny reached up to place the crown on Chris’s head. The slight pink tint of the inside of the petals matched her blonde hair perfectly, and she looked like a living embodiment of the sun. One of the daisies in the chain hadn’t been secured in fully, so it fell across her forehead haphazardly. She still looked perfect.

They had realised they’d all but forgotten about the food, so Chris offered Ginny more strawberries, which she gladly accepted. Chris caught herself staring at the gorgeous woman sitting beside her, paying close attention to the way her nose scrunched up slightly when she smiled at the taste of the fruit; the way the late morning sunlight reflected off her eyes, making their green-blue colour shimmer like the ocean; the way her soft dark hair- oh.

In the midst of her staring, Chris noticed something in Ginny’s hair – some kind of tiny insect that must have crawled out of one of the violets on her head.

“Oh, Ginny, hold on a second. I think there’s an ant in your hair.”

Ginny laughed slightly, her eyes moving upwards as if to look at the tiny reddish bug. Chris, hesitant as she was, shuffled closer to her, her hand reaching up to gently pick the ant out of her hair. Ginny’s eyes fluttered closed the closer her hand got to her face. It took a few tries, but she got it out, setting the insect down on a leaf within arm’s reach of the blanket.

Ginny watched her as she did so, her hands so delicate as not to harm the ant. She saw her lips quirk up into a tiny smile once it was safely on the leaf. It was only when Chris turned back to face her that Ginny fully comprehended the position they were in, yet again. They were so close, even closer than they had been when they crowned each other with flowers; Chris lying on her side, propped up on one elbow, Ginny sat only a few inches from her, leaning back on her hands. She couldn’t think what to do: she didn’t want to move; she didn’t think she could; but being this close to her maid meant all Ginny could do was stare at her.

Ginny was sure her feelings for Chris were slowly getting stronger as time went on – it was definitely getting more and more obvious to those around them, that’s for sure. Neil and Todd both knew, and so did half of the knights (perhaps not Knox though, he was a little slow in that area). She honestly didn’t know how Chris herself hadn’t figured it out yet, especially now in this moment, where Ginny’s gaze couldn’t help but move to Chris’s lips, soft as they always looked, soft as Ginny had always imagined they’d feel against her own.

“Ginny?” Chris’s voice broke her from the moment, and she panicked she’d noticed her staring, and was about to say something that would mean they would never be the same again. Ginny quickly looked back up to Chris’s eyes, anxiety filling both her heart and mind.

But Chris’s eyes weren’t looking into hers. They were looking lower, at her lips. Her breathing seemed somewhat laboured, and her voice was barely a whisper.

“Strange request, but…” she paused momentarily. “Can I-“

Ginny’s mind was racing, but she knew what Chris was asking. Before she could even finish the question, Ginny replied.

“Yes.”

Time seemed to slow down as Chris moved forward slightly and closed the small gap between them, tiny gasps leaving both of their mouths as their lips connected. They were just as soft as Ginny had expected, as soft as she’d dreamed they would be in the many times she���d daydreamed this event. In the heat of the moment, Chris lost balance on her elbow and fell backwards so she was lying on her back on the blanket, her daisy crown falling off her head. Neither of them cared; Ginny simply followed until she was practically on top of her, the kiss deepening as a result of the change.

Eventually, the need to breathe interrupted their moment and Ginny slowly lifted her head.

“You taste like strawberries,” Chris exhaled, barely audible.

Ginny just laughed softly; It was the only thing she could think of to do in that moment. She was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to kiss her again.

“I’m glad I came on this picnic with you, Gin.”

“Me too.”

She leaned down again, her fingers finally able to brush through her silky hair. This time, Ginny pressed a soft kiss to Chris’s nose and admired the way her eyelashes fluttered slightly as her eyes closed, before moving her kisses elsewhere: Chris’s cheeks; forehead; jaw; sternum, just above her delicately sewn blush pink corset. Ginny seemed intent on kissing every inch of the other woman’s face, committing it to memory. If she had the time, or indeed the artistic skill, she would have spent hours painting her; recreating the gorgeous patterns of steel grey in her irises, the tiny, excited smile on her lips, the soft curls of blonde hair that fell over her face. She would paint it all, ensure she would never leave her mind for even a moment.

Just as Ginny moved her kisses back to Chris’s lips once more, there was the snap of a branch behind them, and they jumped apart quickly.

“Hate to interrupt this clearly incredible moment between the two of you, my ladies, but Meeks and Pitts have spotted a bandit camp about a mile north.”

Charlie.

“So, unless you want to be interrupted by an ambush instead, we’d best be going.”

“Of course,” Ginny replied, trying to ignore the embarrassment of the moment and comprehend the situation. “Could you ready the horses? Chris and I will pack up.”

“Of course, my lady.”

Charlie gave a small bow and turned to leave, but instead faced the two women once more, a playful grin on his face.

“Also, I thought I was promised food from this picnic for skipping an important training session to be here protecting you?”

Ginny thought for a moment, then lobbed a bread roll at him. It hit him in the chest, but he caught it nonetheless, nodding and leaving.

“Damn bandits,” Ginny swore under her breath, just loud enough for Chris to hear.

“You know,” Chris picked up her daisy crown and replaced it on her head, then moved to take Ginny’s hands in her own. “There are still no plans for the rest of the day. We could spend it together if you’d like.”

Ginny just smiled, pressing a quick but heated kiss to Chris’s lips before they began packing away the picnic basket and blanket.

The ride back to Camelot was oddly quieter than the journey there, likely because the knights had noticed the subtly different way Chris and Ginny seemed to look at each other, or the way Chris was much more comfortable sitting behind Ginny on the horse, holding her waist tighter.

Charlie leaned over to Ginny, whispering once again.

“Nice headpiece by the way. Interesting choice, violets,” he grinned at her knowingly.

“Shut up.”

Ginny couldn’t help the smile growing on her own face, too.

[crybabytoy59]

M&S shopping trip....

That morning was like any other for me a short trip to the local food store during this persistent lockdown full of rules & crap lonely times watching endless movies & eating 🤣....As I pushed the trolly thinking I had kind of become almost robotic in my shopping now knowing each shelf & item off by heart I wandered around aimlessly looking at the others masked up doing just as I was when something took my eye ...I figure I noticed in the opposite isle from behind I thought I recognised ? My heart started pounding at the thought, No couldn’t be...so I walked slightly faster with the trolly, as she went around an isle I try’d to catch up but she was gone in the crowd.

Chuckling to my self I resumed my shopping thinking I was being paranoid half way down this isle I felt a hand on my shoulder pull backwards....as I turned I stood speechless.....stunned by who stood before me ! Something Very unexpected happened....I started welling Up !!!

As if reading me she stepped behind me embracing my chest “Hey it Ok”....I truly fought so very Hard.....But she spoke again “Do you need it tighter cuteness” I nodded as the first tear rolled down my cheek...

She hugged me in a very tight embrace bringing back memories flooding through my mind of her love of making me Cry....

“it’s ok cuteness Let go I won’t let you fall....there we go Clever Baby”

I was lost now crying openly as she turned me around “Hey there There now what’s the matter ?”.....I couldn’t speak for the lump in my throat...

But she spoke for us both.....

“Cuteness are you still having those feelings?” I nodded to her....”But I thought you were over them ?.....

I took a Deep Breath ...Th’They came bb’back.....

She put her hand on my trolly “You won’t be needing this cuteness, push mine & Not a word Madam Look at Me ! ....Clever Baby..... Do What Your Told When Your Told ...Ok ?”...I nodded ....as I pushed her trolly she started putting items in that I knew what they were for! She leaned in to my ear after gathering all she needed as we approached the till she spoke “Am going to hurt you for your lies ...But not like before Baby....this time am going to hurt you really really Bad!”..

She smiled to the shop assistant then we left I put her shopping into her car & she opened the back of the car “In we go cuteness ...Are you in a disposable?” I nodded...she simply smiled as she put on my seatbelt “Wet & Mess it before I get you home...As Crybaby Sweetheart You know what happens if You upset Nanny !”

We drove off as I pushed hard knowing I only had a short time....

Nanny was looking in the rear view mirror at me....A wicked smile that gave me shivers as I knew what she was capable of...such Wicked cruelty one could only dream of this girl was A sadistic who knew how to make me terrified of her....As I looked back at her I gave a grunt loudly as She had trained me to Do all those years ago.....

“Clever girlie Crybaby that’s good....All of it you know your to be empty or else !”.....a 20 min trip then her car pulled into her driveway...”Are you excited to be back at Nanny’s house ? (  I nodded to her ) Clever girlie that pleases Nanny as she is Very pleased today has taken such a wonderful turn for you Baby !...Now let’s get you in so Nanny can prepare baby for her evening Punishment session...Yes Baby Girlie Nanny is going to punish You severely for your naughty LIES !!!!!!.....as she knew you still had submissive little feelings.....O’& Crybaby Not a fucking Word ....Only Your Goo’Goos & Ga’ga’s  Or Else Madam !!!”....

She pushed me down her hall way ..then spoke into the special cupboard...yes baby it’s still set up....Nanny will be with you shortly as she has things to prepare Darling”...

As I opened the cupboard a familiar sight greeted me ! My heart now pounding as I crawled into the small cupboard, it was around 4” in height & three foot wide by a foot deep....the back wall had an old wide studded Dog collar screwed to the wall at my neck height, then at my waist height a similarly old padded weight belt was screwed fast to the wall, a leather sleeve hung to the side, just under the weight belt were two more Dog collars attached to climbing arrest pulleys bolted to the wall a meter apart, the loose rope dangling down from each had a loop for pulling....

Holding my right foot as I knelt against the wall I fitted the cuff, then turned to my left cuffing that ankle also I took hold of the two hanging loops ! Taking a Deep Breath I pulled hard in one motion knowing there would be No turning back now. As my legs pulled both out wards & forward into an unnatural bent position at the side of each hip...next came the belt around my waist tightly I was breathing much faster now due to the restraints & the fact I was incredibly excited over doing this again !

Putting the collar on I was now ready for the one last thing pulling my arms up unnaturally I got them into the leather sleeve to the side of me pausing to catch my breath I then pushed Down hard into the sleeve ! Hearing the Zippering behind me ! As my arms were forced into the centre behind my back by the heavy spring that held the sleeve & the zipper !

I was done now....But knowing it was myself that had put these items in place for Nanny, gave me strange pleasure to know she had after All this time Not removed them !...

My thoughts were short lived as Nanny spoke ..

“Clever girlie Crybaby that’s very well done But Nanny just fix you Properly” she pulled hard on the pulleys as I gasped as she pulled on the ropes, she kicked my legs each one in turn so I was spread further apart.

Then Nanny pushed at my inner thigh into the muscle? She picked something up sliding it under each knee, I felt her buckle a leather strap around my lower shin & thigh tightly! Then I heard a clicking sound ? Suddenly I realised what she was doing Nanny had fitted a mechanical spreader bar between my legs & was now spreading them wider ! I squealed loudly as a cramp hit...she then spoke to me “Relax sweetheart & it will pass cutie...she then wrenched the belt up two further notches having me Exhale to get them so tight ! The arm sleeve she put a belt from the collar that had five horizontal belts from around my arms pulling each one until my skin bulged from each I was now whimpering, but this was short lived as she barked at me “Open Wide Crybaby Sweetheart” As I did she fed cotton makeup pads into my cheeks pushed upwards & downwards between my cheeks and teeth !

Agin Nanny spoke to me “lift your younger cutie” she fed a pad each side of my tongue, then lifted a lime it had been cut top & bottom & now had a makeup pad top and bottom to cover each hole.

This she worked into my mouth, then once in she again “Keep your headie backwards looking at me Crybaby!”

She lifted the black rubber with the large stem from in ! ( This item I had made for her from a lorry inner tube, I had cut to fit me perfectly up under my lips & covering my gums, I had glued a foam oval to this that fitted into my fully opened mouth, then over this was glued a bicycle tube much thinner this caused a raised oval around 20mm out just beyond my lips.But the last part was an idea Nanny had when the gag would move sometimes..From a motorcycle tyre tube I had cut a lower jaw mask with a hole at the front for the valve, but due to the very little give in the inner tube this I had found was quite painful to have fitted & removed ! Nanny Was overjoyed the day we first tried it as after fitting it she kissed my cheek as a tear rolled down in Nanny had whispered into my ear there & then...”Crybaby Sweetheart I love what you have done so am going to reward you cute, with Spankings that baby will remember for days...she had not been kidding !) Next she put her knee at my neck holding my head...then spoke

“Here we go Crybaby Sweetheart have you missed your feeding gag ?..I didn’t get a chance to answer as she pulled the cruel rubber over my face it’s crushing force making its self known instantly ! Tugging it into place under my chin till it was just under my nose the rubber curved up the back of my head too a point at the back Then curved downwards too a similar point down my neck at the back !

Now smiling down at me she wound a 4” Wide vet wrap around my head at my mouth, then ran it over my lips & chin !  She stopped briefly to put small buds into my ears then a cotton pad over each ear she wound the Vetwarp over my head under my chin, then forehead, only my eyes & nose were now uncovered, pulling a roll of black electric tape she wound this over my mouth around my head then under my chin over head back up at an angle to the side of each nose crossing between my eyes, the wound around my forehead...I now had a black pvc tape hood !

She patted my New bound form & spoke...

“Much better Crybaby girlie....Ok let’s explain what’s going to happen cutenesses...Nanny is going to finish up with some preparation then she is going out for a while so that will give Baby time to reflect on her Naughty Lies !!!!

Then later Nanny is going to return with some very close friends she has just called to help with your punishment.....& Crybaby I assume you know what Nanny has put in your mouth ? (I gave a Ga’ga ..she giggled at this) Clever girlie so best keep still ...Try to rest cuteness as Trust Nanny You Are Going To Need It Fuck Toy !!!”...lifting the bag with the tube from it She screwed the tube to the valve from my mouth, the little clear rubber oval I could see was frozen..

Behind me I heard a Very familiar sound ! Nanny was peeing into a jug, this was poured into the bag, then Nanny chuckled at my whimpering...

She then simply closed the door enveloping me in darkness, knowing the warmth would soon melt the Ice Dam !!.....What had I done ?????

Suddenly my ears burst into life as I heard familiar Crying ! One of my old recordings ! Nanny loved to record me when I would “Break” then she would play this to me at nights as she slept ! As this made me Very emotional & ready to Cry at the smallest of things....Nanny loved Tears......Deep WKD tears of complete surrender to her will.........now alone I could smell my soiled nappy ..waste & urin filled the small cupboard I tested the bonds, perhaps I could get free as I was Now getting scared Remembering just how Wicked Nanny was......

As I panted in the bonds the bottom pad was getting wet, the lime juice now going to work my mouth started watering wetting All the makeup pads ! As they swelled up I had to swallow my saliva.

This part took great concentration to do so as not to choke! But Nanny had done this

many times until I could do this unsupervised, as I swallowed I could taste something else in the back ground not just the lime...? But was puzzled as my mouth was not yet filling from the piss bag ?

I burst out crying knowing what Nanny had done ..She had threatened me with this punishment but we had never actually carried it out !....Suddenly warmth spread into the wadding & I had to swallow slightly faster...I was now in NO doubt what Nanny had done to the lime !!!!!...I started crying as the recording stole my mind with subliminal messages of old.....

Three hours later I heard the front door then voices but the cupboard remained shut only occasionally could I hear sounds of laughter & banging noises.....a further hour & a half later the door opened....

“Well ladies this is Crybaby....she has been a Very Naughty girlie & Told Lies to Nanny so what do you think ladies shall we give her a Punishment she will remember for a Very long time ?....I heard a strange voice ...

“Crybaby Close those Naughty eyes tightly ! Now Pain Toy !!” Suddenly something was put over my eyes then pulled tightly holding my eyes still in some sort of cups !..

Then I felt the bindings being unfastened as another new voice spoke..

“Crybaby we are going to punish you So bad that You will beg us to be Obedient !!..Have you shit your nappy Crybaby !”....I was smacked very hard on the back of my thigh, even through my jeans it hurt ! As Nanny barked “ Answer Aunty Dee !!” ...I whimpered out a Ga’ga!! The voice spoke again....”Don’t fret Crybaby You won’t be shitting for a few days after we’re done Pain Toy !”

I heard them laughing...as Nanny put a collar & lead on me.....”Heal Pain Toy !....let’s get her prepared ladies !”...

I was tugged along on all fours !!....

[toraashi]

Chuuya Week Day 6

Hello! This is the princess AU. It’s an unfinished drabble I wrote a long time ago, so I might finish it some other time and I’ll post the results lol. Also formatting on mobile is awful so sorry about the weird random spaces.

The distant sounds of the roaring ball were what kept him awake.

Guarding the front hall of the castle wasn’t particularly intriguing work, after all, but at least it kept him from the temptation that the fine, regal wine served in crystal bowls brought. He could easily imagine his calloused fingers swathed in dark leather gingerly gripping the elegant goblet swirling with the sweet crimson fluid, a whirlpool of euphoria. Standing from his perch on the velvet sofa on the far side of the breathtaking foyer, he strolled carelessly to the center of the room, his ebony shoes rubbing into the lovely golden threaded carpet that extended down the length of the chamber, complemented by sunshine strings embroidering every bit of furniture. The iridescent, glimmering chandelier above him was alight with the finest of candles, set precariously by one of the kingdom’s top tier maids. It gave everything a pale, almost eerie glow, especially in the night’s blanket of dreary gloom. Above him were painfully high rib vaulted ceilings that were decorated with a dramatist’s arrangement of stained glass.

Pacing back and forth, he kept both sapphire eyes locked on each tall, ebony pointed arch door. He was instructed to ward off any threats that may appear to take the princess hostage, after all, a widely known celebration for her birthday would raise some heads in the underground. The subdued sound of breaths alerted him immediately, and he tread to the door, kneeling on one strong leg to peer through the tarnished brass keyhole. A hitch sounded merely inches away, but it was hardly a hostile noise, merely dainty, reminding him of a halcyon he vaguely remembered. Relinquishing his tense gait, he shuffled backwards, allowing the culprit to meander into the room, albeit more innocently than she actually was. The sight of her scintillating diamond tiara was enough to elicit more than an exasperated sigh.

“My, I suppose you’re not as thrilled at my presence as I presumed.” She cast a shimmering grin his way, arms outstretched as she skipped towards him, light and flighty like a graceful ballerina, or a fledgling bird, young and naive.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the ballroom? It’s a party for you.” Scoffing, she dramatically placed her hands on her corseted waist.

“Chuu, it’s not as if it particularly matters whether I’m there or not. Father hosted the party merely for attention, as always.” Scrunching up her face, she furrowed her eyebrows. “He’s most likely plotting something. Besides, why must you be melancholy at my appearance? You are my bodyguard, you should be absolutely enamored!” Chuuya flicked his chin up, hues narrowing demeaningly.

“Because when I have to watch your stupid ass I lose focus on other dangers.”

“Isn’t this post a means of protecting me anyway, kind sir?” Growling under his breath, he fiddled with the carved wooden end of his knife protruding from its sheath.

“Maybe. Go back.”

“No.” God, his resolve was already crumbling. He was already discontented with how soft he was around her, and her arrival was causing more problems than he would ever want to deal with. Unfortunately, before he could utter another rumbling word, two lithe appendages looped across the expanse of his waist, tugging him backwards until his back was pressed against her front half. “Please don’t make me go.”

“Princess. Your place is in the ballroom, not in the foyer with your bodyguard.”

“My bodyguard who is neglecting to live up to his duties. You couldn’t possibly imagine the amount of demeaning comments I’ve received. Invitations to slip out of the room and into another man’s arms. It’s simply exhausting.” Her voice was muffled against the cropped coat on his back, wisps of her hair tickling the exposed skin on his sleeves. Normally, the idea of a man treating her so poorly would boil his blood and scald his skin, but exhaustion and exasperation was too prominent in his stature today.

“Let go.”

“Chuuya…”

[creepy-spooghetti]

A Hapless Endearment [Creepypasta x F. Reader]

Sorry for being inactive... I’ve been busy this week and haven’t had much time nor inspiration to post any headcanons or anything else. Forgivesies?

Chapter 3- It’s Time To Begin

A sudden crack of thunder erupts throughout the sky, making her flinch and crane her neck backward to look up at the ever-darkening clouds. The atmosphere shifts from warm to damp in an instant as rain draws nearer. Oh great, she thinks, turning on her heel to walk the two miles back to her grandparents' cottage. That's what I need. Rain. She quickens her pace, being mindful not to trip over a stray root or run into a limb dangling lower to the ground, following the plant-ridden trail that she originally took to get this far out here.

She isn't exactly sure where she is, as she doesn't recognize the seemingly endless frondescence around her, but she knows that she has to be around thirty-five to forty minutes away from the cottage. This means she will likely get caught in the storm that just abruptly appeared out of nowhere. 

The air around her feels muggy and thick, and she can’t stop herself from sniffing. It grows steadily darker, though not enough to obstruct her vision any, for which she is exceedingly grateful. A bolt of lightning streaks through the sky, and following close behind is another startling clash of thunder. Forcing her legs to move at an even faster pace in an effort to get back before it starts to rain, she continuously avoids running into any plants or tripping over weeds sticking out of the ground and looping around each other.

It starts out as a small, almost unnoticeable droplet of water landing directly on her nose and slowly cascading down her skin, causing her to avert her gaze back up toward the sky anxiously. Another soon follows, this one stopping on the top of her head and dribbling down her h\c locks of hair. This is the moment that she wishes she would have brought a jacket. Well, how was I supposed to know it was going to storm?

The area around her now begins to seem more familiar, and she hopes that means she's getting closer. Maybe she can get back before it starts—

Another crackle of thunder erupts throughout the atmosphere, and not two seconds later, a shower of rain follows. She curses under her breath and now speeds up into a full-on run, desperately wanting to make it back home prior to being totally drenched. She'll need a shower at this point, anyway. 

Water blurs her vision as it leaves wet trails down her face, and she can feel it as it soaks her clothes and weighs her hair down. The cool drops send chills up her spine, and she dashes down the path, trying to step on the patches of grass to avoid slipping on mud and falling to the ground. Holding her hands above her eyes to act as a sort of shield from the rain, she navigates through the condensing fog and thick greenery surrounding her b\s frame. 

Every couple of minutes she steps under some branches housing abundant leaves, making a temporary shelter against the storm, though it only lasts about three or four steps before she's back underneath the mercy of the pounding rain. The nearer she gets to the cottage, the harder the rain seems to get, and it isn't long before her shoes and feet are slathered in mud and her hair is sticking to her neck. 

I'm gonna get a cold, aren't I? She can't stop the annoyed huff that exits her lips, her eyes squinted as she attempts to ward off the pouring water and stop it from irritating her senses even further. The deep rumbling of the constant thunder, the pitter-patter of rain splashing against the leaves and rising puddles of water, and the invigorating breeze gently blowing against her skin would be almost relaxing if she wasn't currently being saturated as she hurries back.

In her rush to get out of the weather, she stares ahead of her in an effort to see if she can find the tranquil little house, and just for an instant forgets to watch where she's stepping, and as a result, misses a particularly thick weed, causing her foot to get caught up in it which soon has her losing her balance and falling to the dirt floor with a grunt. 

She catches the majority of her body weight with her hands and allows her arms to take the brunt of the fall, though she still lands on her stomach and chest. The tips of her hair land in mud and she can feel pressure in the palm of her right hand, almost as if something was stabbing through the skin, but she doesn't pay much mind to it, too focused on returning before the weather has a chance to get even worse. Releasing an exasperated "crap", she slowly pushes herself to her feet, not taking time to look at the damage that had to have been caused, and makes sure to keep her eyes glued down to her feet and what's in front of them.

Finally, finally, after what feels like an hour, she comes upon the familiar driveway, and straight across from it, sits the quaint property that she calls her temporary home. Sighing in relief, she sprints toward the gate, hurriedly unlatching and opening it far enough so she can step through, closing it back behind her and moving to the, thankfully roofed, porch, where she meets the eyes of a very unhappy cat, who is also drenched in water, sitting on an old, wooden chair and looking at her in obvious contempt.

"Oh, you too, huh?" she mutters, brushing her hands off to the best of her ability and opening the screen door, hoping to God that her grandparents left the main one unlocked. To her luck, she grabs the knob and twists it without any trouble, and immediately steps inside, relishing in the warmth and dryness that it holds. 

Marshmallow nearly trips her as he tries to push past her legs and go through the door himself, though she puts her foot up in front of him and blocks his path before he can. 

"Sorry, little buddy. You'll get mud everywhere." She gently nudges him back outside, and he lets out a meow in protest, clearly not enthused about having to wait outside in the damp chill that the storm holds. Once he's out of the screen's path, she shuts it and gets a glimpse of the wet feline as he stands on his hind legs and pushes against the door with his paws, looking in pitifully and continuing to cry, even though it's mostly drowned out by the rain. She taps the glass in compassion and softens her voice just a tad. "Look, I'll dry off then I'll get a towel and dry you off, okay?" 

His calls raise in volume as if disagreeing, and she can't stop the laugh of sympathy that leaves her mouth. 

"It'll only be a few minutes, I promise—" 

"Sweetie! Oh, my goodness, are you okay?" She's cut off by the worried voice of her grandma, who appears by her side to examine her in concern. She meets her eyes and nods reassuringly, brushing a strand of wet hair stubbornly clinging to her forehead behind her ear. 

"Y-yeah, Nana, I'm fine."

"Are you sure? It's raining cats and dogs out there!" 

"I'm sure." She uses the back of her hand to wipe away a stray droplet of water as it runs down her cheek before shivering slightly. Farrah's eyebrows furrow. 

"My word, you're cold, aren't you?"

"Only a little," she replies, her gaze trailing down to the hardwood floor, or more specifically, the puddle that's quickly forming around her feet. "Um, will you bring a towel or something? I'd hate to get water and mud all over the floor."

"Oh, don't worry about that, hun. My biggest concern is you getting sick." She wraps her hand around her shoulder and lightly pushes her in the direction of the stairs. "Why don't you go and get cleaned up and I'll make some hot chocolate." The very sound of hot chocolate makes her heartbeat quicken, and she only nods and makes her way up the staircase, in a hurry to get the mud caking her skin off before it dries and becomes a pain to scrub. 

She tries to make the journey quick so she doesn't completely soak the carpet and cause mildew to grow, and soon enters the bathroom, where she flips the light on and shuts the door to grant herself some privacy. Grasping a piece of thoroughly-soaked clothing and prying it away from her body, she lets out a quiet scoff, not very pleased with the recent turn of events.

She looks at her hand after dumping her clothes on the floor beside the sink, noticing the color red mixed in with the minuscule pieces of gravel and mud coating her hand, and after rinsing it off under the faucet, she sees a hole around the size of a pinprick permanently indented into her flesh, along with two minor scrapes around it. 

A stick must've poked me, she thinks, remembering the moment she tripped and felt a sudden pressure in her palm. Sighing in discontent, she steps into the shower and turns the water on, having to wait a minute for it to get good and steamy. She rinses all of the mud from her skin and washes her hair, becoming irritated when she picks a couple of small twigs out of it and tossing them down the drain without a second thought. 

The hot water cascading down her body feels relaxing, and she finds herself almost wanting to go to sleep, though she shakes off the idea pretty quickly. Sure, the weather is perfect for it, but she needs to visit with her dear grandparents whom she hasn't seen in years. Perhaps she can show Nana some of her paintings like she was planning on doing originally. She highly doubts that she would be criticized; Farrah is too nice to do such a thing, and even so, she'd be doing it gently and out of love, hoping to help rather than condemn. 

Shutting the water off and stepping back out a moment after, she grabs at her arms in an effort to warm herself back up, as the temperature inside of the bathtub is much warmer than the temperature elsewhere. She wraps herself up in a towel and turns toward the fogged-up mirror, making a portrait of sorts with her arm to enable herself to see the reflection that it gives her and finding herself satisfied enough with it. 

After brushing her hair she cautiously makes her way to the room that she's occupying while she's staying here, making sure that nobody is making their way down the hall while she does so, and shuts the door, going to the closet to pick out yet again another pair of clothes to wear, since her first ones got wet and dirty.

She slips on her undergarments, a pair of sweatpants, a loose-fitting t-shirt, and a pair of socks before throwing her previous clothes into the laundry room and going back down the stairs, being sure to bring an old towel with her. The pleasant aroma of hot chocolate wafts up into her nose, and she licks her lips absentmindedly, glancing into the kitchen to see Farrah mixing the warm liquid into two separate mugs.

She seems to notice her granddaughter's presence and gives her a welcoming smile, one Y\n finds absolutely calming each time. "Hi, sweetheart! How are you feeling?" The h\c girl shrugs and moves over to the front door, where she knows a certain cat is likely still waiting in front of.

"A lot better, now that I'm not covered in rainwater and dirt."

"I understand. That's not a pleasant sensation by any means." As soon as Y\n opens the door, a gust of cool breeze hits her in the face, bringing drops of rain with it. Not wanting to confront this weather again, she looks around for Marshmallow and finds him curled up beside the door, a shivering lump of soaked fur, clearly attempting to create some form of heat to lay in. 

"Aw, little buddy," she coos, feeling bad that she couldn't have brought him in sooner. He lifts his head at her voice, and it's obvious that he's been trying to lick himself dry by the random tufts of fur sticking out here and there on his small body. He lets out a meow and she bends down and swaddles him in the large piece of cloth she brought with her, lifting him up in her arms and allowing the towel to soak up as much of the water as possible before she brings him back inside and closes the door. 

"Oh no, is that Marshmallow?" Farrah says, and Y\n hums in response and places him on the floor after wiping off the mud from his paws. "I totally forgot about him. I guess I was too distracted." She chuckles, and the girl rubs her damp hair, watching the grateful yet exasperated feline find a nice, cozy spot on the couch before starting the process of grooming himself, once more. 

"Well, he's okay, now." Her Nana hands her a mug of cocoa, and she sucks in a large whiff of it, looking around curiously. "Hey, where's Pops at?" 

"Oh, he laid down to take a nap. We old people don't have too much energy to spare, anymore." Both of them walk into the living room and find seats on the couch, thankfully not disturbing Marshmallow as they do so, as he's currently sitting on the back of it, seeming quite content at the moment. 

She blows on her drink, waiting for it to cool down enough to allow her to sip on it, and her eyes fall to the window, watching the drops of rain hit the glass pane and slide down the shutters. Farrah follows her gaze and flashes her a sympathetic look. 

“I really am sorry about the rain, Y\n.” The teen meets her caring brown orbs attentively. “If I would’ve known it was going to storm, I would’ve told you.”

“Nana, it’s fine,” she reassures, resting a hand on Farrah’s arm. “There’s no way you could’ve known what it was going to do. Besides, I’m inside and dry now, anyway. I don’t think I was out long enough to get a cold.”

“Lord, I hope not. I would hate for you to be sick on your vacation.” She pats Y\n’s hand and takes a small, cautious sip of her cocoa.

“Yeah, that would suck.” She agrees, and copies her grandmother’s actions, putting the rim of the mug to her lips and tilting it upward in order to get a tiny drink. She can feel it burn the tip of her tongue as a strong burst of flavor erupts through her mouth, and she swallows, holding back a peaceful sigh as it slips effortlessly down her throat and warms her insides. 

Haven’t had hot chocolate in forever, she thinks, savoring the smell and taste of the rich, chocolatey beverage. I forgot how good it was.

“So, hun,” Farrah starts, shifting her body around to have a better view of Y\n in her position on the couch, “what do you like to do? I mean, do you have any hobbies?”

She considers the question briefly, taking another thoughtful sip of her drink. “Well… I like to paint.”

“Oh, you do!” Her eyes seem to light up at the very thought, and she leans in closer. “I remember that. You were always giving us little art pieces that you did. There’s a drawer in our bedroom dedicated to that very thing.” Upon hearing this, Y\n glances away shyly as her cheeks glow a light shade of pink. 

“Heh, y-you didn’t have to keep them. They were all just meaningless stuff, anyway.” 

“Sweetheart.” Her expression morphs into one of seriousness, and her voice hardens slightly. “Nothing you do is meaningless.” She shrugs in response and bites the inside of her cheek. 

“If you say so…”

“Of course I say so.” She nudges her with her shoulder in a consoling manner, making Y\n avert her gaze back at her. “So what do you paint?” The genuine interest she holds within her tone almost surprises Y\n, as she isn’t used to somebody, much less a family member, being intrigued by what she does, and it takes her a moment to gather her thoughts and form a coherent reply. 

“Like… scenery, and stuff. Mountains, skylines, waterfalls. Gardens, sometimes people, though I’m not very good at that. I don’t know. It depends, really.” 

“Well, that sounds absolutely lovely. Did you bring some?” 

“I, uh, I brought one or two of the small ones. But I have most of the pictures on my phone."

“Can I see them?” Her eyebrows raise and her lips part a bit, attempting to contain the excitement quickly flooding into her chest as she glimpses at Farrah hesitantly. 

“...Really?”

“Yeah, really! I wanna see what my little girl has been up to all these years.” A bright smile etches itself across her face, and Y\n stares at her, perhaps a couple of seconds too long, before complying and slowly standing to her feet, setting her mug of hot chocolate on the frosted coffee table as she does so.

“Okay. Just, be warned that they’re not very good.” She, herself, is proud of some of them, especially the more recent ones, though when in the presence of someone she finds that she wants to impress, her confidence steadily dwindles down and shrinks into the back of her mind, plaguing her thoughts with doubt. What if she gets laughed at?

“Oh, stop criticizing yourself. I’m sure that they’re beautiful.” Her words offer the slightest bit of relief, and the girl nods slowly and makes her way up the steps and into her room. Grabbing her backpack and taking out the two canvases—one 6x6 inch and the other 9x12— she looks down at both for any mistakes. After all, she doesn’t want to embarrass herself in front of one of the only people in her life who actually seems to care about what she likes to keep herself busy with.

One of them is a painting using watercolors, and it shows a small stream glimmering in the moonlight alongside a meadow of vivid wildflowers of yellow, pink, blue, purple, and white. She remembers doing this one when she was bored, and she got inspiration from a photo she saw on Pinterest, although a few key details were changed when she created it.

The second painting is one of the ones she worked fairly hard on, one that took around a week to complete, and she was pretty happy about the result. It shows a beam of sunlight shining down into a forest of willow trees, capturing the life beneath them in a bright, cheerful embrace. A mother fox and her two kits sneak out of their burrow dug at the bottom of a small hill, a nest of robins lay up in a branch, away from danger, butterflies flutter their wings and land gracefully on a patch of lilies.

The project had been something she had wanted to start and complete ever since she began painting with acrylics, and once it was finished, she was proud of it. Before she left to go to her grandparents’ house, she had a mental debate about whether or not she should bring it. It may have gotten broke, after all, though she eventually decided, what the heck, why not. 

She made sure to pack it carefully, in a position where it couldn’t get crushed or torn easily. And it looks in perfect shape as of now, so she figures that she accomplished her goal. 

She tucks both of the paintings under her arm and grabs her phone from off of her bed before walking back down the stairs to present her work to Farrah, nervousness and slight hesitancy bubbling up and making itself apparent in her stomach, once again. What if Nana doesn’t like them? She’d feel ashamed and embarrassed for even mentioning her favored activity, in the first place. Shaking her head dismissively, she attempts to gather some form of confidence as she nears the living room. It’s only her grandma, not some popular judge from America’s Got Talent. It will be fine, she tells herself. It will be perfectly fine, there’s nothing to worry about.

A rumble of thunder tears her from her thoughts, and her eyes shift up toward the ceiling, almost expecting the house to shake, though nothing of the sort happens. Ignoring the second boom of noise as it seems to get more distant, she finishes her trek into the living room and takes her previous seat on the couch, beside Farrah, and puts her phone on the table in front of her.

“Okay, so, this isn’t one of my best ones. I did it about three months ago when I was bored.” She lifts up the painting with the pond and lays the other one beside her, handing it to Farrah and giving her a clear view. She subconsciously bites her bottom lip and glances in the between the painting and the elderly woman several times, trying to read her thoughts and anxiously awaiting her reaction.

An expression of pure revelation and pride appears across her face as she stares down at the work of art currently in her hands, taking in every, well-thought-out detail to the best of her ability, her mouth dropping in astonishment and her eyebrows raising. 

Y\n is unsure what to make of this; she’s never been great at reading other people’s emotions and sensing what they’re thinking. All she can do is wait for a verbal reply and hope that it isn’t one purely of criticism and distaste. 

“Sweetheart…” She speaks, and Y\n’s ears perk up in recognition. “Y\n, this is gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous.” She turns to meet the girl’s e\c eyes and holds the canvas up in front of her face to better get her point across. “You did this?”

Y\n nods timidly, her cheeks raising in warmth as they flush a faint shade of pink at the compliment. “Uh, y-yes, ma’am. I did.”

“Hun, this is spectacular. Absolutely amazing. How am I just now finding out about this secret talent of yours?” It’s asked as mostly rhetorical, as they both know the reason and the answer to the question. “You said you had more?”

“I only brought two, but I have pictures of others I’ve done in my phone gallery.”

“Show me!” She gives her back the painting, and she takes it again, before handing her the second one, the larger one of the two. Her eyes scan the surface, where all of the shades blend together in a peaceful cadence of colors and a proper story, full of raw emotion and dedication. 

“This is one of my favorites,” Y\n comments quietly, reaching up and petting the fluffy feline laid behind her head affectionately and looking over Farrah’s shoulder at her creation. 

“My word… this is even better than the first!” She looks down in the bottom left corner, where the young girl’s signature rests, and clicks her tongue considerately. “Hun, you could have a business with these treasures.” 

“I actually do want to become a professional artist. Make paintings for a living.” She tenderly takes the canvas from Farrah’s grasp and lays it atop the previous one before leaning forward and grabbing her phone. “Maybe, if I can scrape up the money to go to AAU, I can make it a reality. I’ve already gone to art camp three summers in a row, so I have practice.”

“Well, that sounds lovely. I hope you stay on that track because I think you would make an excellent artist. People all over the world would want to buy your paintings if they looked like those do.” She releases a small chuckle and unlocks her phone, scrolling to the side until she finds her gallery and clicking on it.

“Yeah, well, people are really picky about what they do and do not buy, so I dunno. A girl can dream, I guess.” Farrah wraps her arm around Y\n’s shoulder reassuringly and pulls her closer. “One of my dreams is to be recognized by April Gornik, maybe even meet her someday. She’s, like, my inspiration for half the things I paint.”

“It’s great to have goals, Y\n. I’m sure she would love to meet you. Who knows, maybe she could even teach you a thing or two about being an artist.” She smiles at the very idea and nods slightly, her thumb swiping patiently through the many photos as they appear across the screen. 

“Maybe.” She clicks on one of the pictures, this one revealing an older painting based on Niagara Falls, the rainbow shooting through the sky and over the surging white water below, and shows it to Farrah, who looks at it proudly. 

"That's amazing. Where'd you get that artistic talent from? I know it wasn't your father." She breathes an amused laugh in response and shakes her head in the negative. 

"Yeah, it definitely wasn't him."

 ✭ ✭ ✭

For the past couple of hours, she had talked with her grandmother about various other things, ranging anywhere from her potential job to what else she plans on doing in the future. Does she want to get married, have a family? Where does she want to live? Is there another career she wants to pursue should the original fail?

It takes her a moment to answer each question without stumbling over her words, mainly due to the fact she isn't used to somebody being so invested in her personal life and interests as a whole. But she quickly finds that she enjoys being asked frequent questions about such things and that she's able to tell Farrah anything and everything about whatever she wants to. A bond seems to radiate between the two; Farrah is like a long-lost mother figure to Y\n, and it feels good to have finally recovered her, again. 

The rain outside eventually ceases, as does the storm, and the clouds slowly thin out until they're nothing but thin streaks of white floating through the now grey-blue sky. The plants outside are coated with thick drops of water, the soil surrounding them properly soaked and allowing the roots to suck in the moisture. The very air itself smells of life, feels damp, and holds a certain cleanness to it, as if the earth has just been cleansed of evil and is made pure, once again. 

The rest of the day goes by, for the most part, uneventfully, with Y\n helping and visiting with Farrah, and when he wakes up, Phil. The three stay inside of the house, neither of them wanting to go out when it could possibly start raining, again. 

They have dinner; a few simple chicken strips and some homemade gravy, along with biscuits to add a bit of variety. It fills Y\n up well, and by the time all of them are finished eating, it's nearing eight o'clock. Despite the late hour that she awoke this morning, she feels drowsiness seeping through her body and making her mind hazy. Perhaps it's the stress of everything finally weighing down on her and causing her to collapse, or maybe it's the lack of stress, at last, allowing her to get the rest that she greatly yearns for. 

Releasing a small yawn, despite how much she tries to fight against it, she stands from where she had been previously lying down on the soft, delicately-patterned sofa, and discreetly rubs at her eye. "You alright, hun?" Nana's voice erupts from behind her, and she glances back and gives a tired smile. 

"Yeah, I'm okay. Just feeling sleepy."

"Well, go on to bed. Get all the rest you need; that's why you're here, after all."

"I'm here to see you guys," she argues halfheartedly. "I'd hate to cut this time short just cause I'm tired."

"Y\n, you've been visiting with us all day. Besides, you've been through a lot. More than what a person should ever go through, especially someone of your age." She parts her lips to further proclaim her point, though when she sees the final expression formed across the woman's face, she huffs lightly in defeat and internally rolls her eyes. 

"Fine."

"That's more like it." 

"You going to sleep on us?" Phil interjects from his recliner, momentarily taking his attention off of the old sitcom that's playing on the small flatscreen TV sitting across the room and onto his granddaughter. Y\n shrugs hesitantly, holding back another yawn that tries to escape past her lips. 

"I guess so..."

"I see. You get here then you leave again." His voice sounds serious, though anyone who listened closely enough could hear the playfulness hidden inside. His wife lightly slaps his hand from where it's resting against the arm of the chair in a scolding manner.

"Oh, hush up, Phil. She's tired. You've been sleeping near about all day."

"I know, I know!" He puts his hands up in front of his face defensively. "I was just joking! Jeez, woman." Y\n watches the two bicker in amusement, unable to decide which person she ultimately agrees with. Just in case she's forced to take a side. Farrah only scoffs, and Y\n leans in to give both of them a warm, fleeting hug, trying to put all of her unending love for them in that one gesture. 

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, hummingbird," Phil says.

"We love you."

"I love you guys too, Nana." She begins to walk toward the staircase. "Call if you need anything."

"You, too!" Then she makes her exit, stopping by the bathroom to do her nightly routine before heading into the bedroom and changing into her pajamas. The world outside has yet to darken enough to allow stars to peak down, but the bright illumination of the moon can be seen far off into the sky, if only somewhat. To her, it's a relaxing scene to go to sleep to, and she crawls beneath her covers soon after turning off her light and plugging her phone in to charge. 

Something about it feels tranquil, and she finds herself wishing that her parents never come back to get her. She doesn't have many friends back home anymore, if she can even call it that, and her lifestyle is less than desirable, largely considering the fact that she can have a perfectly good, stable, loving environment right here, where she could continue to grow, and do it healthily, this time. 

Her eyes slowly flutter closed, and she lets out a relaxed sigh, allowing her consciousness to drift off into the deep, dark hollows known as sleep. 

___

"What are we going to tell her?" Phil, now sitting up fully in his chair and staring at the aged woman beside him, asks, concern showing in his crystal blue orbs. Farrah lets out a distressed breath, burdened by the confounding information her husband recently shared with her.

"I don't know, Phil. It would... it would crush her if she knew what happened."

"Well, obviously. But we can't keep her in the dark. She asked about them. It's only a matter of time before she asks, again." Farrah pinches the bridge of her nose in apprehension, finding it hard to focus on what they should do to solve this issue. Do the right thing. But what's the 'right' thing?

"We just got her back. I don't want to make her upset the rest of her trip..."

"Yeah, neither do I. But we have to do something."

"Okay, okay. We'll just... wait until she brings it up, again." Phil raises his brow at her suspiciously. "Then we'll figure it out from there." Thoughts of perturbation swarm her mind, and she clenches her fists in an effort to calm her jangled nerves. "Phil... we already lost three babies. I don't... I don't want to lose another." Her voice cracks, showing the strain that this whole event has had on her, and she buries her face in her hands to conceal the tears threatening to flow from her eyes. 

"Baby, hey, hey." His tone softens, and he moves over to the couch to sit beside her, wrapping his arms around her smaller, frail frame comfortingly. "We're not gonna lose this one. I promise." She leans into his embrace and quivers vaguely, shaking her head in doubt.

"You can't promise that."

___

Darkness. That's all she can make out at first, as she blindly stumbles around, desperately trying to find a way out of this soul-crushing gloom that surrounds her. She blinks, and blinks, and blinks, even rubbing at her eyes to rid herself of the dull, emotionless scenery, until eventually, her wish is granted, and instead of never-ending darkness, she figures out that she's standing in the middle of a forest. 

The trees are all dead, their leaves having fallen long ago and leaving their branches bare and sharp. The flowers, or what she assumes used to be flowers, litter the lifeless ground below her feet, their stems drooping low and petals losing all original shape and color as it becomes pitiful piles of what could have once been beautiful plants. A heavy, morbid breeze blows, ruffling the brown grass and sweeping through her hair in what she can only describe as a taunting way. 

Chills zip up her spine, and she suddenly gets the feeling that she isn't alone. Spinning around frantically to find someone, any form of life in this dead, empty place of horror, she spots a flash of color as it disappears behind the trees, out of her immediate sight. She feels a tug in her chest, an invisible force pulling at her heart and begging her to follow. 

She doesn't want to listen to it. She wants to ignore it and walk away, though something tells her that she can't simply just walk out of this place. At least not alive. So she complies, hesitantly, and begins her chase after the mysterious blur of color that made itself present in her vision for only a mere second, but it was enough to gain her attention. Draw her curiosity. Forcing her way through the dead trees, she notices a thick fog appearing steadily around her, altering her vision severely though not enough to force her off of the trail.

Determination strikes her body, and suddenly, she wants nothing more than to find that figure of color. Confront them, ask them what their problem is. Why she's here, force them to take her back. An ominous force wraps around her mind, so abruptly it's almost blinding, and she feels nausea gripping at her stomach and squeezing. It's fear. Pure, raw fear that she's never felt before in her entire life.

Her breathing becomes more labored as she quickens her pace, and no sooner than she does, her foot catches on an unknown object and she comes tumbling down to the ground with a pained grunt, her arms taking the majority of the impact and shielding her face from the dirt underneath her body. 

It takes but a moment to collect her bearings, and as she leisurely rises to her full height, she catches a whiff of a smell. A bitter, rotten smell. An odor that's so strong, so rank, it reminds her of the possum that crawled under their house that one time when she was seven years old and died. They had to call the exterminator to pull out its rotting, maggot-infested carcass and burn it. 

She crinkles up her nose in disgust at the distant memory and tries to pinpoint exactly where the smell is coming from. Stumbling to her feet, she glances around to the best of her ability but finds her efforts are fruitless. It seems so close, but yet so far away at the same time. 

She finally spots a lump right beside her feet; the very same lump that she tripped over not a minute earlier, and she bats away the fog with her hand and squats down to get a better look. She recognizes something. The color. A light, serene shade of green. That's what it's wearing. A green t-shirt.

The smell gets stronger, she just knows it's coming from this motionless figure lying on the ground. Nearly gagging though wanting to get a closer look, she leans nearer, noticing a mop of messy, platinum-blond hair covering his head. It's a 'he', she knows it is. She pinches her nose and nudges him with her foot, though he still doesn't make any move to signify he's conscious. Or even alive.

Her heart rate quickens, and she puts quite a bit of strength into the next push she gives him. His body is quite small, which is why it takes her off-guard when he's so difficult to move. As if he's being weighed down by an invisible force. His body is rolled over, enough to give her a clear look at his face, what he looks like.

What she identifies as blood leaks from a large wound in his forehead and dribbles down his face, causing her to let out an audible gasp and tumble backward from shock in an effort to get away. She knows this boy. She knows him all too well, even though she hasn't seen him for years on end. Wyatt.

Her mind is in a frenzy as she stares at his corpse, breathless, motionless. Dead. An expression of absolute terror is etched onto his ghostly pale features, and she feels hot tears pricking at her eyes. How did this happen?? Why-why did this- what happened!

Her breathing is fast and hard as she covers her mouth, trying to contain the sobs from spilling from her lips and alerting whatever else may be here, on the prowl. Waiting for her. Looking for her. No, this can't be happening. He's only a kid. He was only a kid...

That breeze once again flurries around her shaking frame, bringing a warning like no other with it. "Remember this," it whispers softly in her ear. "Remember what happens when you fail to listen."

～

Shooting up in the bed with a strangled gasp, she looks around her room frantically, doing a mental reality check, as if to make sure that she's still here. That he's gone. That it's gone. Tears freely stream down her warmed cheeks, and she shakily runs her hands through her hair and tries to slow her breathing and the rapid pace of her heart. She swallows, perhaps a bit too hard, because she ends up gagging herself and almost throws up in her own lap, right on her bed.

A squeak exits from between her parched lips, and she moves her frantic gaze out toward the window, hoping to find some form of comfort in knowing, confirming where she's currently at, rather than where she was just moments before. Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream. 

She sucks in a cooling breath and wraps her arms around herself, staring intently at the treeline on the other side of the natural driveway as she makes sense of everything around her. It's okay, it's okay, you're safe, you're safe. He's safe. He's okay. It doesn't exist, it's just in your head.

Something catches her eye, and she leans closer to the window, attempting to rid herself of the salty tears making her vision blur and get a clear image of what she's seeing. Or, at least, what she thinks she's seeing. After a failed attempt, she wipes her eyes on her arm and looks again. Something white, reflecting the moonlight where it shines down from the sky and gaining her attention even further. 

With her fast, shallow breaths and busy mind, she finds it hard to concentrate, so all she can make out is something beige. Its height isn't very intimidating, at least not from her distance. Is that... a man? With a mask? She blinks, processing her assumptions and praying that they aren't true. And he's... is he watching me?

Releasing an unsteady, nervous sigh, she stares at it for around thirty seconds, before it turns abruptly and disappears behind the trees and likely deep into the forest. She sniffles, keeping her gaze locked in that exact spot until her eyes begin to get heavy, again. 

No! No, I can't go to sleep... not again. She shakes her head, getting rid of the drowsiness to the best of her ability and turning to grab her phone. Gotta keep myself distracted. I can't go back to sleep. Otherwise...

Her e\c orbs anxiously shift back toward the woods, and she bites her lip. Who was that guy...?

[wordsablaze]

Ch.2. Bright Blue

Blue Buttercup Almost like buttercups, it took Jaskier a lot of time and trouble to bloom and find his place in the world, but it wasn't all so golden... (aka: yennefer was his mother way before he was jaskier)

A/N: i love yennefer and made her pretty soft bc i think she deserves it, sorry not sorry :p

previous chapter

-

Yennefer was not heartless.

She was not, as many people assumed, immune to emotions, to love.

It was just that she’d experienced far too much pain and she’d forged herself with chaos and it all meant she often found herself exasperated at the human desire to take risks with one’s heart.

(She knew those risks all too well.)

But children.

She could rarely resist the cries of children.

The screams of the small were loud and powerful and tragic.

And there was something truly awful about hearing, feeling the tears of such young lives.

(She was haunted by them.)

Sighing to herself, she walks over to the front door, pulling it open and glancing around only to have something - someone - fall against her legs.

The child gasps as they topple over, clearly having been leaning on the door, and scrambles backwards, looking up at her with impossibly blue eyes, bright eyes filled with a deep sorrow.

She looks over the child, a boy who seems too fragile to remain on her property despite the wards, and takes in his messy hair, his spotless jacket, his bare feet.

(She wonders how his skin is still unbroken.)

“Who are you?” she asks, wincing internally as the boy shrinks away at her tone.

He doesn’t offer her a reply but quietens down, waiting for her to do something. She notices with slight confusion that he struggles to look away from her eyes, nothing but curiosity burning in his eyes.

After a minute of silence, she kneels down to his eye-level, asking again: “Who are you?”

The boy frowns at her, shaking his head.

(She can tell he’s trying hard not to cry again.)

Before she can say anything else, the boy jumps to his feet, opens his mouth only to close it again, and sprints.

Surprised, she watches as he twists between the trees, disappearing far too quickly for her to determine where he’s going or why he’d left so suddenly.

(She could track him but she doesn’t want to scare him.)

He doesn’t seem to be returning even once she’s recovered from her surprise so she shuts the door, making a note to reinforce her wards once she’s had enough time to recharge - the boy is no threat but he really shouldn’t have been able to see her house at all.

Back to her normal routine, Yennefer takes her time bathing and freshening up. She all but forgets about the strange blue-eyed child at her doorstep by the time she sits down to eat.

And then she feels it.

(Feels him.)

He’s back.

“Really?” she asks nobody in particular, going back to the door and pulling it open with a wave of her hand, not sure what to expect this time.

The boy is standing there with a shy smile and a bunch of flowers in his hands, blues and purples and whites impressively mixed together.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

(Yennefer’s heart melts.)

He holds them forwards, making no move himself, keeping his gaze locked onto her eyes.

She’s not sure what to say but she takes the flowers from him and kneels again, her muscles moving without her permission and offering the boy a small smile in return.

Instantly, he beams.

And throws himself at her, his tiny arms looping around her neck as he giggles, his relief radiating from him like rays of sunlight.

He doesn’t even seem to mind that she’s unsure what to do, her arms awkwardly frozen in place, he just steps back once he’s satisfied and continues to beam - that is, until he spots the flowers he’d accidentally crushed.

(She doesn’t know why the sadness on his face hurts her.)

“It’s okay,” she whispers, blowing on the flowers and smiling as she watches him brighten up when they magically repair themselves.

(She’ll never let them die.)

He looks up at her with awe in his eyes. “Thank you.”

Usually, people’s awe is directed at her alongside fear or distrust, the lack of which in his eyes is refreshing, strangely pleasant.

Yennefer doesn’t want to get attached, she really doesn’t, but the boy makes no move to disappear again and she finds herself asking: “Would you like some food?”

She might as well have offered him the whole world if his smile is bright enough to go by, his entire being becoming happier, more confident, more comfortable.

“Please,” he replies, and reaches for her hand.

(That reaches her heart.)

Slightly out of her depth but unwilling to make him cry again, she lets him take her hand and stands up, guiding him into her dining room, into a seat at her very small table.

When she summons another bowl of soup from the kitchen, his expression shifts from awe to confusion to panic. He looks up at her with tears half-formed in his eyes, “I don’t know how to eat your food.”

She would be insulted if not for the sincere guilt she can sense he feels.

“It’s just soup,” she tells him, holding out a spoon.

He shakes his head. “I don’t… I’m sorry, we never-”

Curiosity stirs inside her as he cuts himself off but Yennefer doesn’t herself dwell on it, instead taking her own spoon and lifting it up. “Here, copy me.”

To his credit, he nods, watching her carefully as she eats a few spoonfuls and then picking up his own spoon. She thinks he’s figured it out until he stabs the spoon into the bowl and jumps at himself.

(It makes her smile for some reason.)

“Like this,” she says, wrapping his hand around the spoon and guiding it to his mouth.

His eyes widen, brighten when he finally swallows it and a ridiculously large grin breaks out on his face. “I love it!”

Even she doesn’t appreciate her soup that much. But his enthusiasm is infectious and, although she has to practically feed him at regular intervals because he struggles to understand the concept of a spoon, she finds that she’s enjoying herself.

(The realisation hits her like a bucket of ice.)

The boy goes still once they finish eating, biting his lip as he frowns up at her. “Can I stay here?”

She wants to ask him why he thinks he can’t but the deep sorrow from earlier has taken over his expression again and all she can do is bite back her sarcasm and nod slowly.

Within the blink of an eye, that sorrow has been replaced by joy and the boy almost tumbles from the chair in his rush to throw his arms around her - the way he ends up hugging both her stomach and her chair is a strange sort of ridiculous.

(It’s endearing.)

He lets go of her and runs back to the front door, where he turns back and gives her a sheepish grin. “How does this work?”

“The door?”

He nods quickly. “The door. How does the door work?”

Yennefer raises an eyebrow. “Why do you need the door to work?”

“You said I can stay,” he replies, sounding confused.

“That I did,” Yennefer agrees, walking over to him and kneeling down again, “but I meant you can stay inside the house.”

(Inside her heart.)

It takes him a long moment to think that over before he smiles, stepping towards her, hope shining in his eyes. “With you?”

She doesn’t want to say yes, she doesn’t want to commit to something like this. She’s not even sure if the boy will want to stay for long and it’s probably safer for her to avoid that risk at all instead of-

“Of course.”

Blue eyes brighten and that’s all the warning she has before there are small arms draped around her neck again and giggles filling the air.

(Destiny smiles over them.)

-

thanks for reading :) | masterlist | next chapter

[starbrigand]

exit, pursued by bear

Cyree does not like cold, and it is cold here. She’d been even less enthused at the prospect of snow; having grown up on Ryloth, a hot and arid planet at its best, she had never been terribly good with snow. Even when she’d been dealing with the gangsters on Hoth, she’d spent the whole time complaining and telling Bowdaar to carry her places in his large, furry arms. 

This is not snow. It’s worse than snow, because as it piles up on the ground, she finds herself dumped on the doorstep of a house that she can’t even get into. Fantastic. A lot of the other buildings seem to be in a similar state. She checks one house, and then another. Same problem. She gets all the way to the edge of the ward, looking for somewhere that looks both open and reasonably safe to camp out in until this odd weather gets handled.

She slides a bit on the diamond-covered ground. It’s not exactly slippery, but it is uneven enough that she’s had some trouble navigating as she cases the place in front of her, looking for ways in or out of the building.

❝ This is some bantha crap, ❞ She mutters to herself as she steps around towards the back of the building, and then repeats, at a higher volume, ❝ This is some bantha crap! ❞

No answer. She puts her hands on her hips. There is a strange metallic rustling sound coming from out front, but she ignores it. 

Both stories have windows. If she could get some height, she could probably break in. But that would mean climbing, and she didn’t have any of her climbing equipment (or her wookiee friend, who had always been more steady than a ladder).

She circles back around to the front, hopping over a raised section of the diamond snowfall and past the large, angry-looking crystalline wampa-thing watching her from the street outside. Placing her hands on her hips, she takes a moment to stare up into the second story of the house. It might be climbable, but—

Hey, wait a minute.

It’s not exactly a wampa. It looks similar, but smaller, and made of crystal. Cyree spins on her heel just quick enough to slip and fall backwards onto her ass as a claw rakes the air just over her head, missing her lekku by a few inches.

Did monsters usually come into the city, or was this one unusually far out of its range? It’s a bit bigger than she is. Maybe it got lost? Wandered here by accident? Is it because she’s so close to the edge? Who knows. Cyree certainly doesn’t; all she knows is that it’s here and it’s mad.

❝ Aw, kriff! ❞ Cyree rolls sideways and jumps to her feet. The creature makes a disgruntled huff noise at her, and she doesn’t give it a chance to make another dive for her, taking off down the street. Passers-by are treated to a scene: a red twi’lek woman shouting in one long, continuous note as she’s chased down the suburban road at the surface of Fibonacci by a diamond yeti about the size of a large bear.

She hops a fence, and the yeti follows her by barreling through the diamond-covered metal. Surprisingly, the substance seems breakable when the creature charges through it—that’s interesting. Cyree runs around the block, still being pursued, and loops back to the fence. She bends down to scoop up some fragments of the shattered, diamond-covered metal to examine them—and then shoves them into her coat and runs, when she sees the creature turn the corner behind her.

Hey, maybe it’s worth something.

Her boots slide on a patch of smooth ‘ice’ as she rounds a corner, ducking into a liquor store at the very edge of town with its doors stuck open in a sheet of ice. Not stopping, she swings past a surprised customer, reaching over their shoulder as she goes and grabbing two small glass bottles out of the fridge before making for the back door. She hears someone behind the counter shouting, ‘hey, you have to pay for that!’ just before the creature breaks through the front door after her, and she wings it out the back.

Through the alley, she leaps out towards the far street, the creature not too many steps behind her. There’s a car on her side of the street, with both of its back-door windows open—jackpot. She dodges a claw as she jumps through the tiny window, shimmying into the back seat. The creature follows, shoving its upper-body halfway through the opening before getting stuck, one claw reaching for her as she clambers out the other side. 

Taking a moment to catch her breath, Cyree leans over, hands on her knees. Sigh. It wasn’t actually too far of a chase, but it did take a bit out of her. She saunters back around to the other side, to see her new friend trying its damndest to pull its head out of the car window. 

❝ Aw, chin up, buddy. ❞ Cyree says, taking one of the still-cold beer bottles out of her coat, hooking the cap over a protruding piece of diamond on the creature’s back, and popping it off with a hiss, ❝ I’m sure somebody’ll be ‘round to help you out eventually ❞  

She takes a long swig, dusts off her coat, and pats the critter on the butt before strolling off towards town proper once again. The sun is setting behind her, casting all the diamond in a pretty orange light, not too unlike sunsets back home. The cold drink is pleasant on her tongue, and, with no hurry, she puts the struggling beast’s cries well behind her.

This planet, she thinks to herself, flipping one of the recovered pieces of diamond like a coin as she goes, This planet ain’t shit.

[myriadimagines]

Common Face

Game of Thrones One Shot

Pairing: Reader x Margaery Tyrell

Other Characters: Olenna Tyrell, Tommen Baratheon, Cersei Lannister

Warnings: –

Request: “One Shot for Margaery x reader. Reader is an assassin sent to Kings Landing by Olenna to spy on Cersei & is Margaery's secret lover, while she is married to Tommen. Cersei gets suspicious. (i requested this b4 but one shots were closed - hope you can do it) Thank you!” – anonymous

Word Count: 1,923

A/N: I ended up writing a lot more than I thought I could given how short this request is rip but anyway I hope it’s okay!!

please reblog/leave comments, they’re very much appreciated!

Your name: submit What is this?

You sign your initial at the bottom of the letter, the ink bleeding through the thin parchment before you place you quill down. You blow a gentle breath over the paper, allowing the ink to dry before you fold it, reaching for the melting gold wax to your left before pouring it over the folds of your letter. Reaching under your coat, you pull out a small seal, securing the letter closed.

You pull the seal away, revealing the Tyrell sigil, the golden rose glistening at you under the dim candlelight. You will hide it in the gardens, as you have done countless times before, where Olenna’s spies will no doubt take the letter and deliver it to her. She expects weekly updates from you, after all — you are only in King’s Landing for one reason, that reason being to spy on Cersei Lannister.

And also, unbeknownst to all, to be closer to the love of your life, Margaery Tyrell.

There’s a knock at your door, and you immediately tense as you bury the letter under a stack of books on your small, creaking table. Reaching for a concealed dagger under your belt, you slowly advance towards the door before a familiar voice hums, “Are you going to keep me waiting, y/n?”

You sigh, relaxing, shaking your head as you tuck your dagger back into its sheath. You tug open the heavy door, revealing Margaery standing in the doorway, her beautiful smile illuminated by the small lantern she holds up to her face. She moves past you as you check the hallways, closing the door behind you and locking it for good measure. Margaery sets down the lamp, and your hand has barely left the door handle before she reaches for you, her hands sliding down your arms to intertwine her fingers with yours. You chuckle as she pulls you closer to her, and she trails kisses along your jawline as she mumbles against your skin, “I’ve missed you, my love.”

“And I’ve missed you.” you reach up, tilting her chin to face you before you press a kiss on her lips. Pulling away, you give her your best attempt at a stern look as you gently scold, “But you were foolish to come here. You, we, could’ve been caught.”

“Do give me more credit.” Margaery teases, and her soft laugh makes you smile. “If I have been careful enough to ward off suspicion for this long, what makes you think I would mess up now?”

You press your lips together in an attempt to hide your growing smile. “Yes, well, I suppose you have been rather good at keeping up the charade with your new husband.”

It’s subtle, your tone, but Margaery has spent most of her life knowing how to read the tiny cues, the small changes in voice and the subtle gestures that give a person away. Your lips curl ever so slightly, a tiny crinkle in your nose forming out of disgust, and you practically spit out the word as if it tastes rancid on your tongue. You trace your finger along the neckline of her dress, one of your favorites that you’ve seen her in so far, and Margaery reaches for your hand, bringing it up to her lips as she kisses your knuckles. A teasing smile flutters onto her face as she remarks, “He is rather sweet.”

You roll your eyes, and Margaery giggles before you spin her around, backing her up into the small bed that decorates the corner of you shabby room. Being located in a rather crowded square of King’s Landing meant accomodations were limited to fit everyone in. 

But you could be in an even smaller room than this, you realize as you feverishly kiss her, her soft curls splayed out over your sheets, if it meant spending time with Margaery.

—

Every muscle in your body aches to see Margaery stroll through the gardens of King’s Landing, arms loosely looped together as Tommen bites back a smile at a remark Margaery whispers into his ear. 

She’s good, you bitterly think, better than most people give her credit for. Had you not been together, you would’ve truly believed the newlywed couple were utterly in love. You know most people dismiss Margaery as a pretty face, something she uses to her advantage as you know as well as she that she can play the game of thrones just as well as everyone else in the dangerous game. 

You busy yourself with the servants around you, who prepare tea and pastries for Tommen and Margaery as they make their rounds through the rose bushes and the decorated fountain before sitting down at the table. You pose as a guard, wearing the armor as the other guards peppered throughout the garden do, keeping a watchful eye on the young King and his new Queen. Despite trying to avoid eye contact with Margaery, your eyes connect for a brief moment, a split second which goes unnoticed by everyone around you before she looks away, placing a flirtatious hand on Tommen’s shoulder as she leans closer to tell him something.

“Make room for another.” Cersei’s cold tone startles you, and you turn to see her standing behind you. Despite having been in King’s Landing for weeks, spying on Cersei and her every move, this is the first time you have been this close to the Dowager Queen, and it takes you off guard. You blink at her momentarily, the servants around you scrambling before you quickly step aside, allowing her to sit. You can see Margaery quickly recover from her initial shock, and you feel your heart pounding in your chest as her eyes flicker to meet yours. 

Your shared look is brief, but Cersei catches it. By the time she looks between the two of you, you have already broken eye contact, but you know she has already seen. Margaery quickly plasters on a smile, recognizing the damage done as she greets, “Mother! How nice of you to join us on this lovely day.”

Cersei flashes her a tense smile, but she doesn’t reply to Margaery as she instead looks to you. You remain stoic, despite knowing that Cersei is studying you, picking apart every feature as you know the longer you stay, the more Cersei is memorizing your face. 

Everyone looks away as you hear the shattering of porcelain, all attention now on a young servant girl who has clumsily dropped some plates. You use this moment to your advantage, slipping away from Cersei’s turned back and disappearing back into the towers, your breaths shaky as you plan your next move. Knowing you need to stay away from the Red Keep for a while, long enough for Cersei to forget your encounter, you start navigating the hallways to the exit when a hand grabs yours. You defensively snatch your hand away, eyes widening in alarm as Margaery grabs your hand again, pulling you into a darkened corner behind a pillar. 

“As much as it pains me to say this, you need to go back to Tommen.” you hiss, peering around the pillar to make sure you’re still alone. “We’ve made Cersei suspicious.” 

Margaery wants to make an excuse, wants to dismiss your accusation as paranoia, that simple eye contact can’t give you away, but she knows better. She knows Cersei, knows how perceptive and cunning she is, and knows that it will take a lot to ease her out of her suspicion.

“y/n-” Margaery starts, but there is only so much she can say. Her hand lingers on yours before she pulls away, taking a step back before she adds, “I’m sorry.”

“There is nothing we can do now.” you reply, and Margaery’s face falls as she knows it will be a while before the two of you can see each other again. Waving your hand, you urge, “Go!” 

You watch her turn, briskly walking back to the gardens, a brunette curl being the last thing you see of her before she disappears. You leave as hastily as Margaery does, leaving you unaware that just around the corner, Cersei is waiting for Margaery after having quietly followed her. 

Cersei knew there was more to the flimsy reasoning Margaery provided, after all, before she had abruptly excused herself from tea with her and Tommen.

—

You tuck the coin in your pocket after selling some vegetables to a young mother, smiling as you wave at her smile child before the two walk off hand in hand. You pick up a basket of fruit, moving to place it down in front of your stand before you’re distracted by the loud commotion from the end of the street. Straining your neck to see above the crowds of people, your eyes widen as you see Cersei marching down the cobbled path, everyone quickly clearing a path as her guards march around her, fiercely protecting her from the terrified civilians in her path. You step backwards, moving to duck into the nearby alley behind the group of people in front of you, but they quickly disperse when Cersei stops in front of your cart.

Your grip around your basket tightens as Cersei takes a step closer to you, her piercing gaze scanning you up and down. Despite the dirt smudged on your face, the sweat glistening on your forehead under the tattered cap pulled over your eyebrows, Cersei takes her time studying your face as she did back in the gardens. A faint, calculating smile appears on her lips as she muses, “I could’ve sworn you looked familiar, as if I’ve seen you wandering the halls of the Red Keep itself.” 

There’s a beat of silence, and you hope you sound more confident than you feel as you reply, “I could only dream of ever stepping foot in the Red Keep, my Queen. I suppose I just have a common face.”

Cersei narrows her eyes as you refuse to break eye contact, a silent challenge, yet she doesn’t interrogate you further, instead smiling at you ever so slightly as she raises an eyebrow. “Yes. I suppose you do.”

You hold your breath, watching as Cersei picks up the skirt of her dress as she turns around and departs, her guards loyally following behind her. It is not until she rounds the corner so you finally let out a shudder of air, dropping your basket before leaning against the wall, your head spinning. You close your eyes, attempting to compose yourself before you straighten, and you begin walking back to your chambers when a young man suddenly crashes into you. He scuttles away, not bothering to mumble an apology, and you frown before noticing the folded square of parchment she had strategically shoved into your hands. You glance around, seeing the Tyrell sigil in the wax seal, and you hurriedly rush down the street and back into your room, firmly closing the door behind you.

y/n.

Your name is curled in Olenna’s handwriting, and you step deeper into the room as you unfold the paper, reading the rest of her brief message.

Cersei continues to astound me with her monstrosity, and I suspect she is plotting something against my dear Margaery, if she has not already. You must be extra careful in these times, for if your allegiance to House Tyrell is exposed, the consequences will be dire.

Be sure your love affair with Margaery isn’t exposed, too. Yes, I have noticed.

O.T.

tags: @chinike / @gofandomsandotherstuff / @emmacata / @pascalisthepunkest ↳ want to be added to the tag list?

[minsimagines]

Rescue - part 4

A/N: I’m SO sorry the delay for this!!!! I’ve been working two jobs and studying and traveling the world since late april. So I’m sorry :’(( Characters: The Winter Soldier/Bucky Barnes x reader Warnings: Loss, a little blood.  Summary:  Readers an innocent and slightly giddy person. One night her apartment is broken into, and her mysterious neighbor comes to the rescuse. Word Count: 3531. Picture source: https://kingsebastian.tumblr.com/post/149745802022 Part: 1. 2. 3. 4.  

Y/N stared at the woman.

No way. No way!

“you… Why- why are- you’re lying,” she whispered.

Confusion was an understatement.

Anger. Sadness.

Her mother was gone, how dare she talk like that? How dare she tell a lie like that?

“My mother…” Y/N took a breath as the tears welled up in her eyes again, “my mother is dead.”

The lady just smiled at her.

Y/Ns attention went from the lady to James as grunts left his throat. She saw his chest heave and fists curl around the armrests. The grunts were slowly turning into muffled screams as the machine seemed to send shockwaves of electricity into his body.

Closing her eyes, she let out desperate sobs as she tried to think of what to do.

She could always try to run, but James would most likely get badly hurt and she would probably be stopped on her way to the door.

Letting out a shaky breath, she looked at James again. Her body hurt, looking at him.

“Please… Stop, I don’t know what to do,” Y/N looked at the woman with pleading eyes.

The woman tilted her head.

“Of course you do, you just need to move the bear,” she smiled at the crying girl.

As James screams were getting stronger, Y/N gripped the table.

“What the fuck do you want!? How the hell am I supposed to move something without fucking touching it!?” She screamed at woman, anger bubbling inside her like a bomb ready to explode.

“Use your head.”

“How am I supposed to use my head when you’re killing him?! I can’t fucking think!”

The woman gestured for the men to stop the machine.

“Let’s try this again. Calm down and move the bear.”

Y/N looked at her in disbelief before looking at James who was slowly steadying his breath. He looked at her with desperate eyes.

She wanted to go to him and touch his cheeks and brush her fingers through his hair. She wanted to hug him and stroke his arms and back. Protect him, calm him.

She looked at the woman again.

“I’ll do anything, please, I don’t know how…” Y/N bit her lip.

“Focus on it and move it. Or else we will have to put him under again.”

Y/N felt her anger grow even higher.

“That’s not physically possible! You hurt him and you kill him, because I can’t move a fucking teddy bear!? What the hell is wrong with you people?!”

She knew it probably wasn’t the best idea to anger psychopaths, but she was angry, and she was hurting, and James was hurting. He was hurting so much more, and it was her fault.

The lady just looked at the other scientist and he stepped fore ward, leaning towards Y/N.

“Listen, we don’t want to do this-“

“So, don’t! Stop!” Y/N cut him off.

The man licked his lips in annoyance before looking at James.

The machine started again, and Y/N met eyes with James as he was strapped up once more.

She wanted to scream. To kick, to slap, to hurt the people around her. She wanted to throw them at the wall. She wanted to throw the walls at them.

She looked at the teddy bear in anger. And she stared at it. She pictured it lifting, pictured it flying, pictured it slapping into the ladys face. But all she felt was stupidity. All she felt was James screams, breaking into her body and ripping apart her soul.

She stared and stared and stared. Her mind was a loop of a flying teddy bear, but nothing happened.

As she heard the male scientist whisper about how it wouldn’t be long until James was wiped completely, she felt fear and anger rush through her limbs. It was like something she had neve felt before.

Her fingers started shaking in her lap, her body rigid. Her breathing was getting harder, blending in with the horrid screams from James.

Her James. They were hurting her James.

Memories of their mornings at the breakfast table ran through her mind. The peace and kindness she felt from being with him.

She was staring at the bear.

She almost jumped when she thought she saw it move, although… the bear wasn’t moving. Or; the bear wasn’t the only thing moving. Everything around the bear was moving. Shaking. It was like a small earthquake.

The lady and the man looked at each other with what seemed to be shock and happiness. It made Y/N even angrier. The old building was creaking. But she didn’t feel fear. The only thing she felt was the warmth she had for James.

The shaking got worse. But they didn’t stop. They didn’t turn of the machine. They didn’t stop hurting her James.

Her kind, sweet, handsome James. The man who got shy talking about women he saw on TV yet didn’t hesitate to go through lengths to save her life.

The man who promised to protect her, and the one she had promised to protect back. He had laughed a heartwarming laugh at her statement, and she had smiled her brightest smile at him.

At the thought of losing him, she felt her body didn’t belong to her anymore.

-

Y/N’s mind was blank. There were no sounds, no emotions, no thoughts.

It was all dead. Everything was there, but it was all nothing.

She was there, then she wasn’t.

Looking at the woman in front of her one second, then the next, she was floating through the room, watching herself sit on the chair.

There was a feeling she felt as she was floating around. She couldn’t touch upon it, and she couldn’t tell you what it was, but it was there. In the nothingness.

The room was getting darker around her, and a tiny ball of light appeared before her. She stopped and looked at it. Curious, she leaned closer.

The ball flew backwards.

Y/N exhaled in wonder and flew after it.

The world around her was gone, but she didn’t see. She saw nothing but the so curious light in front of her. It wasn’t flying fast; it wasn’t running from her.

It’s playing with me.

Y/N’s smile grew as she reached out to try to catch it. It slipped away. Each time she would reach out it would slip away.

She would let out a chuckle and try again. It tickled. Whenever she would touch it, it would give her a little shock in the finger.

The feeling was warm and comfortable. She wanted it.

But after a while, she grew tired of it. Frowning, she stopped abruptly in the air.

The ball flew away from her, the light slowly dimming. Staring at it, she wanted to know it, understand it.

For once, taking her eyes from it, she noticed the nothingness around her. How empty it was. Yet… how full. So much darkness.

So many eyes. She couldn’t see them, but something could see her.

She could see nothing, but somehow, she knew there was something. The feeling she had felt earlier was encircling her again. It was not a good feeling. Not like the ball of light, no, the light was good.

A shiver went down her spine as she felt something cold slowly creep up her ankles. Like arms of black nothingness.

Her breathing caught in her throat as she felt something cursing through her veins. It was getting colder yet warmer, burning inside her.

Darker.

The light.

Taking a sharp breath as she looked towards the ever-dimming ball of light, she took off.

But no matter how hard she tried, no matter how she pulled at her body, the cold was at her knees now, swallowing her.

Stretching her hands towards the light, it was slowly getting closer, but it was too far.

She could feel the slight warmth on her fingertips, but the cold heat was holding her back. Her legs were disappearing into the black nothingness, she was slowly being devoured.

The fear was gnawing at her chest as she desperately tried to break free.

The heat was raging inside her like a beast trying to eat its way out of her belly.

Clawing at the air, trying to get hold of something – anything, she was nearing it.

But the void had reached her thighs and she could no longer feel her legs. Her eyes teared and burned.

Her heart was pounding against her ribs; her breath was scratching at her throat; the beast was growing.

She couldn’t contain a scream as she closed in on the ball and felt it with her fingers.

She enveloped it with her palm as the dark reached her stomach, and squeezed her eyes shut as the whole of the darkness exploded in blinding light and she was thrown far away.

Tumbling through the nothing.

Until the nothing came to an abrupt stop.

 -

Air left her lungs as the back of her body hit the ground. Gasping for air, she grabbed at her chest. Eyes wide, staring at the ceiling – or, what once was the ceiling, she wheezed.

Coughing, she tried to move to sit up, but everything hurt.

What the hell is going on?

Breathing hard, she was scared. Tears left her eyes as the fear welled in her chest. What happened?

Turing her head, she saw people on the floor. The light was flickering, the walls shattered. It looked like an earthquake- wait a second.

There was an earthquake. And it had destroyed everything.

Looking around, she saw the soldiers. Some were grunting a little, some were half under a big chunk of… well, building.

Looking down at herself, she was covered in dust, and she winced as she brushed it off. Managing to lean on her arm, she sat up slightly to get a better view. She felt pain in her other arm and noticed a nasty gash right under her shoulder.

There was smoke, dust and… blood.

Swallowing, she panicked as she thought of James.

Where is he?

Looking around frantically, she grunted as she gathered her legs to stand up.

Breathing hard and clutching her stomach, she stood and stumbled towards where he had been. There was a big bit of… ceiling in the place the chair had stood.

Letting out a breath, she covered her mouth. Her eyes shut tightly as pain flowed through her chest.

She knelt. She could see a part of the crushed chair poke out from between some rocks. All she could see was his face in her mind. All she could hear was his voice. And all she felt was pain. Anger. Regret.

If she had only done something. If she had just been with him, maybe he hadn’t been taken.

Maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

Choking on her sobs, she coughed and felt her body draining of energy. Letting the rest of her body fall to the floor, she laid there, her head on her arm. Looking at the mess around her. The world was slowly going dark, but she fought to stay awake.

Though it didn’t help. She was empty. Her body felt so strange. She couldn’t fight it. And as the darkness took her, she thought of the ball of light.

Slowly blinking her eyes open, Y/N winced at the bright light. Reaching her hand up to cover her eyes, she felt pressure around her arm.

Squinting, she looked down on it. There was a bandage around her arm. She noticed she was wearing a hospital gown, but the rest of her body was covered.

Warm.

She was in a bed.

Her mind was racing. She was in what seemed to be a room at a hospital. There was something connected to her hand, a tube of some sort.

Swallowing hard, she grabbed it and pulled it out of her hand. She hissed at the sharp sting and threw the thing on the floor. Looking towards the window, she saw it was dark out.

Why was she here? Where was she? How did she get here? Where were the others?

Y/N pushed her legs over the edge of the bed, letting them hang off it while she tried to gather her thoughts.

Not having any success with that, she decided to see if there was anything in the room that could give her any clue. Stepping down to the floor, she felt a pain run through her body. It felt sore, like she had been running for hours.

Wandering over to the window, she saw the city lights. She could recognize them; she knew she was in town still. She turned around and inspected the rest of the room. There were no items around the room, only the bed, a table and a closet. Y/N stepped towards the closet and opened the doors. Inside she found the clothes she had worn earlier and pulled them out to change.

After doing so, she pulled out a little box on the shelf above where the clothes had been. Her wallet and cellphone. She put them both in her pocket and turned towards the door.

Outside it, she saw an empty hallway. She could hear someone typing on a computer and soft music, probably a radio.

Taking a deep breath, she decided she would walk out of there and go home. Stepping towards the sound of the radio, she saw a young lady with bright red lipstick typing away at the computer. The woman looked up at her and she stood up once she saw Y/N.

“You should be sleeping,” she said as she went to step around the little booth she sat behind.

Y/N walked faster.

“I don’t think so.”

“Miss!” the lady yelled after her as she walked towards the elevators in a hurry.

Pressing the button a million times a second, Y/N cursed under her breath.

“Come on…” she whispered as she heard the nurse approach her.

“Miss, you can’t just leave!”

As the door dinged open, Y/N ran in and pressed the close button as if her life depended on it, because well… it might.

Y/N saw the lady start running as the doors closed, but she didn’t make it. The doors closed and the elevator rushed down. She now knew she was in the 11th floor.

What the hell…

When the elevator reached the 1st floor, she rushed out and walked briskly towards the entrance doors. A guard greeted her on her way.

“Good evening, miss,” the old man smiled.

Y/N just smiled back and continued to hurry towards the doors. And she didn’t stop once she was outside.

Once outside, she almost started running. She walked as fast as she could to the main road to get a cab. She was going home. Maybe she had hit her head, and this was all a dream and that James was still alive.

James.

She hadn’t even thought about him until now. The image of him smiling at breakfast made her body freeze. It stopped dead in it’s tracks and her eyes teared. She felt her breath hitch in her throat as she almost leaned out to grasp at the image of him. Gulping, she bit her cheek and pushed past it. She needed to get home.

After getting in a taxi, Y/N still couldn’t relax. She knew where she was headed and she knew that what had happened must have been a dream, but she needed to see. She needed to physically feel his body before she would believe it. And this taxi wasn’t moving fast enough.

When it reached her building, she gave the taxi driver some money and said he could keep the change, just so she could run out. Sprinting into the tight alley besides her building, she pushed between two dumpsters and lifted a small rock from the ground. Beneath it she found her spare key and ran out again.

Sprinting up the stairs, she gasped for air; both from the run and from the fear. When she got to her floor, she came to an abrupt stop. Someone was exiting James’ apartment. But it wasn’t him. It was a man, probably James’ age. He was handsome maybe, but all she knew was that he wasn’t James.

“Hello there!” he greeted her, with a grin and a wave.

“What are you doing?” she said. He looked at her.

“Excuse me?” he asked with a confused smile. He had a british accent.

“I said, what are you doing?” Y/N said firmly as she stepped towards him and pushed him out of the way.

“I- hello!?” he yelled as Y/N pushed past him into James’ apartment.

The apartment was… the same, but different. It wasn’t her saviors. There were decorations. Even a vase on the kitchen table.

“It’s- it’s all wrong…” Y/N whispered as she felt a horrible pull in her stomach. She felt sick.

“Excuse me!? Care to tell me what you’re doing in my apartment?” the man demanded.

Y/N suddenly felt furious. She spun around and faced him. Her body was shaking.

“This is not your apartment,” she said, sounding like venom was dripping from her lips.

The man took a step back.

“Hey, I don’t know what your talking about, okay? I just moved in,” he said, holding his hands up.

Y/N frowned.

“When?” she asked.

“What?” the brit asked, stupidly.

“When!?” Y/N screamed, and it was like the walls shook with her voice.

The brit nervously looked towards his walls for a split second. Y/N kept her eyes on his.

“I- uh, I moved in yesterday, I’m sorry…” he did sound sorry.

Y/N didn’t know how to process the information just given her. She wanted to scream how this made no sense. How this had to be a dream. He seemed to see the confusion in her eyes.

“Hey…” he said gently, “where do you live?”

Y/N’s eyes searched his for any malicious intent but found none.

“I live next door,” she whispered.

He seemed to both like and dislike this information. She had to admit she understood him.

“Well, okay… so, I guess you knew the last one that lived here then?”

Knew was an understatement.

Y/N just nodded her head at him. Her mind was racing.

“And I guess they didn’t tell you they were leaving?”

Maybe he had, she had just been too busy staring at his beautiful blue eyes to see.

Y/N frowned.

He took that as a yes.

“Okay, let’s sit down, hm? Maybe we can figure something out?”

Y/N hated to admit it, but this brit was a nice guy. Nothing like her mysterious teddy, but he seemed alright. She nodded her head as he held his hand out towards the kitchen table.

As he walked over, she slowly followed and sat down.

“Boyfriend?” he asked.

Y/N’s head snapped up at him. She didn’t know what James was. They had been friends in the beginning for sure, but friends don’t look at each other like they did towards the end.

The end… what if this really was the end?

Y/N bit her lip and he nodded his head.

“I see, well… I never met them. I had just posted my number online so anyone who knew about an apartment could call me,” he explained. She frowned.

“Them?”

“Yeah, there were two people, a couple I assume,” he shrugged.

“But… There was only one man living here, why were two people-” as her mind went to the woman in the abandoned building and the man, she panicked.

“I- I need to go,” Y/N pushed up from the chair and ran out.

“Hey, wait! Where are you going?” he came after her.

She fumbled with her keys in the lock on her door. Getting frustrated, she couldn’t calm her shaking hands.

Gentle hands grabbed the keys from her hands and pushed her own away. For a second, she thought it was James. Looking up at the man, she couldn’t even hide her disappointment.

The man unlocked her door for her, and Y/N pushed it open. The brit behind her was worried it might fly of it’s hinges at her force.

The apartment looked like it usually did. Except for the kitchen table. On the kitchen table there was a vase with flowers and a note. Y/N froze. The brit stopped next to her. He looked at her terrified expression and looked at the flowers.

“What?”

Y/N didn’t answer. Her breath deepened as she stepped closer to the table. The flowers were pink, orange and yellow. They were beautiful, but they weren’t hers.

Picking up the note, she opened it. Her eyes widened and a gasp left her throat as she dropped the note on the floor. The brit frowned and picked it up.

“Oh, you been ill?” he looked at her after reading it, only to find the face of a deeply disturbed girl. Looking down at it again, he checked the back of it to see if there was something he missed, but he didn’t find anything.

He only saw a lovely get-well card. She saw a lot more.

Will be back to check on you soon. You made wonderful progress. Your friend sends his regards.

                 Much love.

                        -   Your mother.

“No...” Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Then what’s wrong with this? You don’t like your mother?” he asked. 

Y/N swallowed hard preparing to answer, and the answer shocked the stranger as much as the letter shocked her. 

“I don’t have a mother.”

Tag list:

@buckysgirl04

[egg-of-mankhad]

Hazy Shade of Winter (11/3/2019)

Location: Jeweled Cypress; Mist Ward 14, Plot 45

Lights would swirl around the center of the stage like a vortex of light. Hypnotizing and cold. It continues to build up along with the ding dong chiming tune of twinkling bells and synthesizer music. Wind picking up within this center. Only evident by falling fluttering shredded papers that had the appearance of falling slow.

 ♪Time, time, time….See what's become of me…♪ A masked wolf man would step into the line of sight of the audience. Stalking like a wolf, Its furs flaring out against the wind. Muzzle up. Staring at the swirling light. It GRIPS at the edge of the mask as the guitar riffs--!

--PULLING it off and revealing shark like teeth as the bottom of the mask is cast to the side. Its face glowering at the audience in a SNARL before its legs would kick off from the heel as it does not one, not two, but three well coordinated flips towards the audience. Bouncing up so that its legs would meet its legs in an energetic leap!

 It ended such acrobatics with a wild pose. One arm lifted over its head. Followed by a series of pivots on the very tips of the clawed heels. ♪Time, time, time---See what's become of me!♪ Its gloved hand pressed against a jawed forehead. Peering at all that before it with a meticulous nature

 ♪While I looked around for my possibilities---♪ Its heels CLACKING off the ground as it spins some more. Kicking and stomping and clacking upon the floor with striking and practiced precision. The leg brought out as it twirled. Hands out towards the sky. Then brought down across its chest. ♪I was so hard to please!♪

It grins at the audience as it anchors his step. Turning on his heel before facing away from them! Towards the back of the stage. Its arms dramatically spreading out before it! ♪Look around leaves are brown♪ It steps forward… ♪And the sky...Is a Hazy Shade of Winter!♪ It would reach into its coat jacket. Before brandishing an arrangement of fake snow into the sky! Its walk forward like a gliding stride.

♪Hear the Salvation Army Band♪ A hand waves off to the side conversationally. As though addressing a vague conversation partner. Ending with one finger pointed UP ♪Down by the riverside, it's bound to be a better ride than what you’ve got planned!♪ It stops. Turning its head. Slowly. Diligently. Reaching inside its coat again to bring out some sort of golden chalice.

♪Carry a cup in your hand♪ It presents the cup to the audience, walking back towards them with an almost desperate stride. As though begging them to partake maybe? Its walk urgent. Erratic. Stumbling forward to get on its knees with arms outstretched. Continuing its begging motif.  ♪Look around! Leaves are brown!♪

♪And the sky!♪ It LIFTS the Goblet up to the sky briefly, before pouring some sort of visceral black liquid that looks something like thickened blood upon its maw (it's definitely fake blood but definitely doesn't look like it). Partaking in it like it was some sort of religious covenant rite. ♪Is a Hazy Shade of Winter!♪

The chalice empties and desperate the beast would try to collect the very last drop in its maw. Sad, that it would find no last drop. So instead it wipes at its face. Trying to clear the blood only to stain what white was found on its clothing. Its voice addressing the audience again ♪Hang onto your hopes my friend…♪

There seemed to be a glare there. As the goblet was aggressively tossed to the side of the stage. The beast standing and pointing accusingly! ♪That's an easy thing to say---But if your hopes should pass away; Simply pretend!♪ It claws at the stained fur on its collar. Gripping it tightly and RIPPING the fur off and away. Nearly taking the coat jacket half off! ♪That you can build them again!♪

Its claws would strike repeatedly to the side in a sort of side step. Jig like motion. Stepping to the side, stepping back. Repeating this movement as it moves backwards. ♪Look around….♪ It extends its arms to the side. Spread with head kept bowed low. Claws reaching for the one sleeve of the jacket and drawing it off...

♪....Grass is high!♪ It cries, removing the sleeve and swinging the side of the jacket around like a shawl. Its stepping movement mimicking such poinent movement of the arms and hands. ♪Fields are ripe!♪ It reaches across to remove the bloodied jacket and remove it with such an aggressive SWIPE. The jacket practically FLYING across the stage!

♪It's the springtime of my life!♪

The music would rest. Cascading into what was almost a ballad. A trail of red locked onto the creature’s claws from one of the sleeves of the jacket. Caught almost frozen in time in midair. Fluttering and floating about...

♪....Seasons change with their scenery♪ The creature would flick its arm once. Then twice. Sending ripples upon the fabric. As though trying to get it off of it but to no avail. ♪....Weaving time in a tapestry♪ The fabric becomes disconnected from the sleeve. And in a moment of utter defeat the creature flicks the fabric forward. Circling it in front. Towards the audience. Then looping back around behind it.

A hand reaches out to solemnly grab the other end at this point. Gripping it with a sad resolution. A kind of determination. ♪...Won't you stop and re-mem-ber meeeeeee♪

The air itself seemed to pause. And there is a beastly flash of crimson from the creatures eyes! Suddenly a leg kicks up! Forward! Back leg back! Brought to the side! Then switch! Heels clicking against the opposite foot which would be brought up upon the other side! Balance! The fabric held high!

It would take the bloodied fabric and -wear- it. Adorn itself with it. Using it as a weapon. A TOOL. Its tool. Brandishing it with a strength that it took from itself. That IS from itself Its feet leaping and dancing over the fabric and under it. 

♪Look around! Leaves are brown!♪ The fabric was a part of this dance. It was this dance. It swirled and curved and glided like the very vortex from the beginning of the dance. Swishing violently to and fro at some point. It was the wind.

♪And the sky! Is a Hazy Shade of Winter!♪ And it was the creature’s own. The as the song continues into a threefold chant the creature spun around. Once. Twice. Thrice. More and more until that vortex came into a sweet visualization.

♪Look around….Leaves are brown...There's a patch of snow on the ground!♪ Before the song would come to an end. With the creature ending the dance with a brilliant pose. Arm raised up with the red fabric with a certain kind of strength. A hopeful strength. A forward strength. A faith of self moving forward.

[mesothulass]

96 + 22

96 - Scars & 22 - Space AU I’m! Defaulting to Cywhirlgate! Since you didn’t specify the ship! (it was originally gonna be cygate but yikes)

Cyclonus the swash buckling space pirate! (this got long)

Ok no, he’s got an inflated sense of honor. But let’s twist that on its head - what if Cyclonus was pushed to piracy due to Scourge and Galvatron getting held hostage. I’d like to imagine Cyclonus was the most reasonable of the three of them, and that’s why it was him who was bargained with. So he’s still got his sense of honor, a set of rules he’s not allowed to break, and he’s a pirate.

What are these rules? First and foremost, he will not kill unnecessarily. He has to do one good thing, no matter how big or small, for each bad thing he does. No getting overcharged, no taking part in what he plunders, no rescue attempts rescue Scourge and Galvatron until he has everything he needs.

The Intergalactic Council has been after him for millions of years - as has Cybertron’s equivalent of Interpol. There haven’t been enough actual sightings of him to figure out where it is he refuels or who he works for (if he works for anyone). So Cyclonus just floats around and does what he has to to keep Galvatron and Scourge alive.

Enter a blue and white mech, a minibot  that makes Cyclonus want to - well, he doesn’t really know. Stop his unending mission to keep his oldest friend and lord alive? Abandon his rules? Not particularly. But he keeps showing up, first at that one robbery of Cybertron’s national bank, then as a cleaning bot when he stole an outrageously expensive painting, then as one of the mechs who see Cyclonus clean the slums of Kaon, then as one of the travelers on the spaceship he held hostage to barter a good sum of money from a politician nobody liked.

Whom the fuck? This is a minibot who definitely should not be showing up as many places as he is. Admittedly, Cyclonus has been seeing him on and off for a good couple million years, but he’s an old design. Has he been in Cyclonus’ vicinity this whole time?

Then comes their meeting - official meeting, with an introduction. Hot shot cop Rodimus Prime has finally caught the famous outlaw. He sets Cyclonus in a cell and stands off to the side to make a couple calls. Cyclonus is originally indifferent but the white and blue minibot is in the cell with him. Cyclonus is dying, just a bit. But the minibot lights up when he sees Cyclonus and bounces as close to him as his shackles allow.

“I’m Tailgate! Last time I saw you, you were helping rebuild Velocitron’s titan!” Is what he says and, despite hot shot cop Rodimus Prime’s continued pretense, what can Cyclonus do but introduce himself in kind? So they talk, and by that I mean Tailgate talks and Cyclonus listens with a mixture of confusion and utter horror at some of the stuff Tailgate says. The reason Tailgate is around so much? He has bad luck and bad taste in mechs. The people he hangs out with are the very same people Galvatron and Scourge’s captors want dead. 

Tailgate, after centuries of being abused by the Senate (“The would perform empurata on people who went against them so I never dared try - I don’t want to thank Primus for a revolution that killed millions, but… anyway, we’re free now.”), was a philanthropist of sorts. He might not have much money, but he was always down to travel somewhere for an outreach or goodwill mission, or maybe just to help other civilizations rebuild after natural disasters or to teach people to read and write. This has lead to many uncomfortable situations for him.

That aft backwards politician Cyclonus was sent to murder? Tailgate was one of his guards. The bounty hunter Cyclonus had to go ten rounds with in order to obtain some round trinket? Tailgate had saved his life and was cashing in a favor at the time. The reason he was in the cell? His friend, Nutjob (”That’s not his name, but he calls me shorty.”), had gotten into trouble with the law (”He’s always in trouble! Poor thing doesn’t know how to be a descent person like the rest of us. He’s really cute though.”) and Tailgate was just a case of wrong place wrong time.

It was intriguing.

Scourge’s and Galvatron’s captors had never said anything about companions, so Cyclonus breaks Tailgate and Nutjob (“I’m Whirl and if you think I can’t beat the crap out of you because you’ve got a big fancy sword, you’re mistaken.”) out of jail and takes them with him. Hot shot cop Rodimus Prime watches them go - he doesn’t try to stop them. Cyclonus is careful never to mention Tailgate and Whirl, paranoid for forever and a day. They grow closer during all the lawbreaking Cyclonus has to do and - and it’s nice.

Yes, they break his rules (“Haven’t you listened to a thing Shorty has said?! I’m made for violence! How can I not kill everyone here??”). Yes, they eat him out of spaceship and storage (“I’m sorry, Cyclonus, but no sane minibot can eat this little fuel and not go into permanent stasis-lock? How are you not dead? Do you have special internals? Are you undead?”). But it was nice to have them with him after his millions of years of loneliness.

And, in time, they become a sort of home. Somewhere safe to end the day. A pair of bots who want his time just to have it, to talk and relax, not to go out and pillage and destroy. They helped him win out against his fury and in turn he put his attention to helping them with what they needed. They made him a person again and he, because what else was he good at, made himself a wall against their fears and insecurities and self deprecation. They share their scars and help each other learn to move on, to learn from them, to become better people despite the trauma they’ve all been through.

And, when the time came to rescue Scourge and Galvatron, they were a big help. Whirl was just the kind of distraction Cyclonus and Tailgate needed to break in (“Come on you little freaks, it’s time to fucking party!”). While he exploded the front of the building, Tailgate hacked into the system (“I just have to plug in right into this terminal and… ooh! It’s so nice and organized! I used to have a friend who’d feel just like this during interface.”). He’d learned a lot through his many, many run-ins with Cyclonus and his travels and had picked up a few tricks. What he didn’t know, he generally knew how to bullshit.

Once they’d located Galvatron and Scourage, Cyclonus went on alone. Whirl pulled back, attacked a different part of the building, Tailgate was busy sending self destruct codes to every and any computer linked up to the system, and Cyclonus tore down whatever got in his way. And even now, Cyclonus doesn’t give up on his rules.

In the end, Galvatron hadn’t survived. He was hotheaded, uncontrollable, uncontainable (“You’re not so much a bodyguard as the mech who has to keep me in line. I’m going to try to murder the world. You’re going to have to stop me.”) . He’d tried to escape and they’d put him down as a result. Cyclonus could recognize, through the shock and the pain, that Galvatron had died like a warrior - fighting for freedom. But Scourge… Scourge had… his best friend…

(“I bid you stand in the glow of my spark so that you may feel the heat of my words and know them to be true. I invite you to receive my light and in so doing become my amica endura - from now until forever. Cyclonus, for your loyalty, your laughter, and your soul. As you are to me, may I be to you - today, tomorrow, and always.”

“Today, tomorrow, and always.”)

It was here that Cyclonus lost the carefully crafted control he’d worked so hard on. It was here that his rules lost meaning. It was here that he tore apart the entire building, it was here that he murdered every single person inside it, it was here that he fought and fought and fought until there was no one left to fight, until it was just Whirl carrying him to the ship (“You’re heavy, Little One. See, I can call you that too! Now, wake up and tell me off!”), just Tailgate standing watch (“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”), just Cyclonus’ memories looping through his mind (“Promise me no harm comes to them. Promise me they will be safe and well-fed. Promise me that, and I will do whatever you ask.”).

Hot shot cop Rodimus makes a reappearance, aboard the bulkiest ship Cyclonus has ever seen (“The Lost Light is a little beaten up, but she’s got quantum engines and the best damn crew an ex cop can ask for.”). He was making a safe haven, he said, for the wronged people society would never protect. For the lost. For the ones with nothing left. 

Tailgate is the one who said they would join (“You won’t regret taking us on, I promise.”) and Whirl is the one to ward off those who tried to pry (“I’ve got titty guns! Do you really think going up against me is a good idea? I’m unvincible!”). Cyclonus is the one who relearned his rules, born from love and acceptance instead of hate and fear.

(“You were by my side when I needed you. You have been beside me since we first met. You brought me back when I thought… when I thought the Afterspark would be better than suffering life. I owe you my life. But when I look at you, at either of you, my thoughts don’t go to that. They go to waking up together. To scaring some poor fool. To the two of you getting overcharged and getting called to pick you up. To seeing you happy and carefree. You’ve seen my scars and yet you still accept me for what I am; more than that, you care about and protect me despite them. What I’m trying to say - what I’m - I wanted to ask.

“Will you, both of you, be my conjunx endurae?”)

[applsauss]

Read My Mind

Description: “That’s strange,” you say as you push him into his apartment (with a careful hand on his chest), “because last night I…” you breathe – breathe – breathe, “had the same dream.”

Fandom: 
Star Trek: TOS

Pairing: James T. Kirk/Reader

Word Count: 1.8k+

Warning(s): None

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-


“Last night I had a dream where we were birds, and we flew up and up until we were in space, and then we kept going, flying farther and farther from the known universe and into the unknown universe, past the edge, until the black of space became a familiar blue again and we realized that we were right back where we started, only this time we were beetles.”

“Last night I dreamed I was stranded in a marketplace on a familiar planet, but I couldn’t speak the language and no one would sell to me because of it – and then the sea of patrons dissolved into a real ocean, with waves for city blocks and ships for stands and I would have drowned if it weren’t for you hauling me up and over, onto your raft.”

“Last night I dreamed I was exploring a cave, and it was so dark I couldn’t see the ceiling or walls, and I walked and then I ran, chased by unseen terrors and the sound of my own footsteps, which grew louder and louder as if running towards me, disembodied, and then I tripped and slipped and fell and I was cold and lost, completely, until I looked up and caught sight of your smile, the light at the end of my tunnel,” you slide your hand down his stubbled cheek and wiggle his chin teasingly.

“Last night,” Jim laughs and swats at your hand, “last night I had a dream where we were two olives in a martini glass at a Starfleet function, on the tray of a waiter who never showed for his shift, and so we kept each other company until the drink was warm and flat and all the guests left and as we laid there, forgotten and wholly unimportant, we never drowned and never felt bad because we still had each other to talk to – and in that moment, that was all we could ever need.”

You try and tamp down the undeniably stupid grin that wants to erupt across your face, but you’re so high on the jetlag and the being with Jim that it’s impossible. Your clock is ticking on ship time and your heart is beating with his in time and Lieutenant James T. Kirk has class in a couple of hours ‘cause you’ve looped the night, but his cheeks are flushed and he’s wearing that dimple that makes you want to kiss his face to pieces and so you don’t find it in you to care that much about anything that isn’t right here and right now.

The air is soft and still where you sit, and the voices from the heart of the party carry easily across the garden because of it. You’re off to the side, lounging on some oversized deck chair, and Jim thumbs a burn on the back of your hand and you tuck yourself farther under his arm, trying to ward off the lingering distaste and nerves that always comes with speaking at Starfleet functions, appearing in front of uniformed officials as you spout off technical terms and point at a presentation screen with deliberately smooth transitions screens.

It never fails to make your skin crawl, the posing and posturing, the dance for funding, like you have to sell yourself, convince everyone in the room that you and your work are worth it on showmanship rather than merit; your badges pinned, collar pressed, shoulders sore from endlessly standing at attention and an plastic smile plastered across your face.

Your head lab technician stepped forward to explain the practical applications of your research, and you finally let yourself breathe, eyes seeking Jim out in an indistinct crowd because he’s the glow coming from under the door in a dark room. Then you stepped off the stage.

The conversation was a constant rumble, the lights were nauseous, an admiral shook your hand, a military history grad offered to buy you a drink, then Jim was guiding you towards a table circled by his colleagues with an easy smile, “Haisrus would never let me hear the end of it if I didn’t introduce him to you,” he’d said, “he’s been obsessing over your work ever since I mentioned you were a friend,” and you laughed and followed him through the crowd because if you knew anything about Jim Kirk, it’s that he always manages to surround himself with the most intriguing and pragmatic people he can find – and then someone said something about a Mexican restaurant – and then you found yourself sitting on a couch in a living room lined with Arcturian art, trading fibs and unprofessional opinions, Jim leaning towards you, laughing in your ear – and then Jim covered your retreat to the garden, sneaking out a minute later for fresh air and a rehash of shared memories – and now he says –

“Let’s go home,” Jim runs a thumb across your cheek, and you know he’s fussing over the dark circles under your eyes, “you deserve some sleep.”

He splits off to thank the host for the drinks, you tug at the collar of your uniform to keep it from cutting into the base of your neck, fabric thick and unyielding as you begin to pick your way through the house towards the front door.

The house is far from crowded, but it’s warm and the laughter is rich and the conversation easy. Your boots hit fuzzy carpet, and you wave goodbye to your lab tech, who’s reclined against the kitchen counter with a Betazed leaning flirtatiously over her. She raises her glass in salute, Jim rounds a corner, pulling on his overcoat, then someone cracks a joke, and it’s that laughter that chases your heels down the front steps and out into the night.

Your silhouettes are forced against a building by the headlights of a passing car, and Jim hikes you higher on his back as he hops the curb onto the sidewalk. You drape yourself over his shoulders, not really paying attention or holding on to anything other than his voice as he sings some song that was popular last year. You drop your chin to his shoulder, and let your arms hang loosely around him – and then his voice cracks and you both laugh.

“Last night,” you begin without much thought, “I dreamed I found you in the ground, and when I tried to pull you out, I fell through it with you – and as we descended through existence itself, we came face to face with the beginning and the end and we discovered the true meaning to life, the universe, and everything.” You hide your nose in the hood of his coat and bite back the anticipation.

He stutters a laugh, unaware, “Forty-two?”

“No, writing scientific reports for Starfleet.”

His shoulders shake with laughter, and it’s easy for you to reap the reward, to take the leap over the edge and join him. He clutches your legs tighter around him in a direct response to almost dropping you, curls forward, giggling, and you hold onto his neck and stifle your own delirious laughter through a close-lipped smile.

“Oh,” he says as he finally slows and turns to make his way up the steps to his apartment building, “don’t remind me this late – or early. Whichever it is, I have still have papers to grade.” He stops in front of the door.

“I can’t believe you’re one of them, Jim,” you say as you pull his wallet out of his coat pocket, “we used to complain about your type, remember? The professor who always has a fresh excuse for why grades aren’t out yet?” With some shuffling, you reach around him and swipe his ID, then boost yourself with one firm hand on his shoulder and grab the door handle as he walks backwards. The heavy door, thankfully, complies, hanging open just long enough for Jim to slip in with a straight back.

“I know,” he moans then, the door hissing shut behind the two of you, “I’m the worst of the worst – I even assign group projects.”

“No! Jim!”

“I know! I know – Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Stop making me feel old.”

His footsteps echo in the empty lobby, approaching and approaching from the back wall, until they’re muted by the carpet (you can’t see the ceiling), and then he steps into the elevator and informs the computer of his floor. You pat his shoulder twice, re-adjust your legs, and he loosens his hold until you slide off his back.

You’re both still as you let the silence blanket the small space. Side by side, surrounded by something soft and physical, Jim bumps his shoulders with yours – and you’re both staring at your reflection in the metal of the door, matching grins, when your communicator chirps.

You fumble to pull it out, the elevator dings, and you follow Jim down the hallway with a hand on his back as your department head informs you that shore leave is being cut short by a week, the reasoning vague and not important; She signs off and you pocket the device.

The floor is black and synthetic, and you’re watching your feet when Jim comes to an abrupt stop in front of a door, presumably his. He reaches out, but his hand stalls in front of the keypad. You can’t see his face, a shadow falling over his expression.

“Jim?” you place a careful hand on his upper arm, “are you alright?”

His hand closes into a fist.

“Jim,” you give his sleeve a firm tug, and he turns and wraps you in a hug, arms loose, but his hands wound tight, pulling at your uniform. You close your eyes and let your hands glide around his middle, pulling him closer and farther towards you until he has no choice but to yield and hug you proper, melting like butter on warm bread.

“I’m just happy you’re here,” he says, pulling away just far enough so you can see his small smile.

Your fingers are carding smoothly through his tamed hair before you can think about doing anything else, “I am, too.” You tug him down for a soft kiss, and his lips move slow and smooth against yours.

“But I’m also happy you’re leaving in a week,” he confesses quietly.

“Jim,” you lose your voice.

You’ve loved others and love others and will love others and he’s loved others and loves others and will love others and this is nothing new – but sometimes it’s hard to see past the moment when the moment exists as something like this: soft and shared and beautiful and promising (“and in that moment, that was all we could ever need,” he says) – but you have a ship waiting for you in orbit and a yearning for something greater, “I am, too.”

He begins to grin, “good,” he punches in the code, and then the door behind him opens, “because last night I dreamed that even as I stood on the edge of the galaxy, that even though the odds were shot, you were standing there, somewhere else, far away, looking at the exact same stars I was.”

One day, you’re sure, this will all fall apart and you’ll have nothing but the notion that there are still questions begging answers, out in the deep of space, but until that day comes, you’ll bathe in whatever sunlight is offered and prepare to deal with that storm when it hits. For now, it sits on the horizon, a dark promise.

“That’s strange,” you say as you push him into his apartment (with a careful hand on his chest), “because last night I…” you breathe – breathe – breathe, “had the same dream.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-


A/N: I remembered that Kirk was a professor at the academy for a while and I just…. Had to write this…....

Masterlist in blog desc.

[bubmyg]

Hello sweetheart! Could u plz do a Hobi scenario where he’s lounging with his girlfriend in the practice room and the rest of the dance line come in and steal her away from him because they wanna dance with her and like he starts to feel a lil jealous? Thanks!!!🤩

word count: 948

Hoseok watched you under drooped eyelids, a dashing smirk plastered to his lips as gaunt fingers worked at your ankle. Your feet dangled absently to the part of his thighs where his back pressed into the practice room mirror, mouth chattering something about needing to improve the arch in your foot over the soft playlist blanketing the empty room that he’d plugged into the auxiliary cord in the far corner.

“You’re the dancer,” You winced, trying your best to stretch your toes to accommodate the gentle pressure of his palm. 

Subtle auburn feathered over softly blinking eyelashes as he hushed into the cheesy curve of his mouth, “It’s never a bad thing to stretch, baby.”

You huffed, tugging your knees to your chest to dislodge your grip. Instead, you spread your thighs to roll the edges of your bare feet to the scuffed bottoms of his tennis shoes. A grunt tumbled from your lips as you reached, snatching the limp flatten of his palms against the wooden floor.

“What about this stretch, then?” You leaned, peeling away Hoseok’s sweat stained shoulders from the fogged mirror. 

He easily ducked to the messy pull of your hands threaded around his wrists. Hazel honey eyes flashed over the caramelized apples of his smiling cheeks, soft chuckle articulating a breathy, “Easy.” 

You squealed when he pulled back, arching the touch of his shoulders off the mirror to dug the tip of your nose to his ribs. Strained legs folded underneath you as your limp body was instead pulled easily against his chest. Hoseok easily accepted your half whining figure, looping his arms over your protruding hip as his lips fell to your hairline. 

The serenity lacing to the mingling of your evened breathing was ruined by the door ripping open to the chattering of three individuals. Jimin spotted your embrace first, a wicked smile lacing past plump lips when he caught the sighing pout over your expression. 

“Taehyung!” Jimin’s sing-song emitted as he raced to slide over next to you. “I bet Y/N can learn today’s choreography faster than you did.”

“I bet she can,” The younger rumbled, shrugging off a bouncing Jeongguk with a dashing smile, “She’s a great dancer.”

“Learned everything from me,” Hoseok mumbled in indignation against your temple, squeezing your waist in his palm. 

“Wrong,” You turned, messily bumping your nose against his chin as your smile shined to the fond toothless line of his lips. 

Jeongguk bounded over to slide in next to Jimin, crooked fingers wiggling in your direction. “Bold words,” He mused, “Come dance with us and show us.”

Your lips swiped to the corner of Hoseok’s mouth as you accepted Jeongguk’s grip, allowing him to tug you to a standing position. The three herded you to the middle of the room, stationing the clunk of their shoe clad feet away from the stance of your bare arches as Jimin began explaining the choreography with wide eyes and flailing limbs. 

You’d taken the combination a couple of times with music, a thin layer of sweat beading along your hairline as you listened intently to a correction Jeongguk was insisting. Hoseok continued to observe in mute succession, corrections and suggestions and counts dying on the curled ends of his tongue as he instead bit to the inside of his cheek and shifted his support against the mirror. 

A piece of the footwork was particularly tricky, one that had your curled toes stumbling as Taehyung chanted soft counts behind your movements. Your tripping had four bodies moving at once yet it was Jimin’s hands that caught your waist, holding you in place for a passing moment. 

“You alright?” He checked, dark locks parting across his forehead as he ducked to glance at you. 

“I’m-”

A familiar pair of hands were suddenly replacing Jimin’s, tugging you backward into the curl of a firm chest. Hoseok’s voice was firm over your shoulder as he situated your stature in front of him, “It’s because you weren’t teaching it right. It’s…”

He trailed off, sound effects replacing counts as he instead hummed the tune of the music. Yet, he didn’t allow you free movement, keeping you pressed against the flex of his torso as his toes nudged at your ankles, manipulating the steps as he wished. 

Jeongguk’s voice was hesitant when Hoseok was cheering a soft there you go, better. “Do you guys want the music?” 

“Yeah,” Hoseok lightly pushed you by the small of your back, instead rewarding a pinch to your backside, “You’ve got it this time, baby.”

You nailed it this time, body flowing through the movements to the best your torso could isolate, the best your heels could rut into the wood, the best you could concentrate on the counts while holding Hoseok’s darkening gaze in the mirror. You ended with a huff, hunching over your knees as the continued notes of the chorus trilled through the room. 

Crooked fingertips danced over the small of your back, securing to your far hip as lips pressed to your ear.You straightened, supporting the majority of your weight into his embrace. 

“That was great,” Hoseok praised softly, holding you tightly as his lips melded against your temple. 

Three more figures dashed to crowd around your figure, poking and prodding and chattering. Hoseok’s swatting forearm batted them away, a sharp glare warding off the youngest members. 

“You were right!” Jeongguk lipped with wide eyes, “You are really good. Better than I expected at least.”

“I told you guys,” Hoseok nudged your hip, getting you to look up at him. He smiled, a blinding stretch that preceded the nudge of his lips between your eyebrows. “Learned everything from me.” 

[selenelavellan]

Dirthalene body worship and office sex :D

I got distracted with plot but I DID IT

Reverse Evanuris AU

Dirthamen and the usual Evanuris are @feynites

Ana is @lycheemilkarts

NSFW

Selene has been under quite a lot ofstress lately.

Dirthamen knows this, as does much ofthe castle. It is not a secret that she has been struggling to mendties with members of her family whom she alienated during thefestival. That she has been tense and trying to return to a sense ofnormalcy in her home ever since she returned from her mothersterritory.

He would like to help.

That is where the trouble started.

They had fought, before the festival.She seemed to forgive him for his outburst upon her return, butit still hasn't been quite the same between them. Almost as though she has triedto force herself to move on, to take him back the way they had beenbefore, but something is holding her back. He can only assume he hasdone something wrong, without realizing.

That will not do. But heis unsure of how to aptly apologize.

It is a dangerous thing, to ask Des'dinfor advice. It does not escape Dirthamen that his markings have notchanged; that his lord has not changed, despite his seeminglypermanent transfer, and that his life and privilege still thrive atthe whims of the horned god.

Des'din has noticed the tension of hisother half as well though.

“She's doing that...thing,again” Des'din says, making a waving motion with his hand. “Ithappens. She's not good with stress. She holds onto everything untilit crushes her. Then she breaks apart, takes a deep breath, forcesherself back together, and starts the process all over again. It's aterrible habit of hers.”

“How do I help?” Dirthamen asks, alittle more pointedly this time.

Des'din raises an eyebrow, mouthcurling into a grin. “You need to give her another outlet, ofcourse.”

Dirthamen blinks in confusion.

“Oh, dear thing,” Des'din sighs,propping his head up on the back of his hand. “Distract her fromher work; pull her away from her worries, and let her have some timewhere she remembers that the world is not going to fall apart becauseAndruil is off pouting in the woods.”

“Oh,” Dirthamen nods slowly. “Howshould I do that?”

The grin curls back onto Des'dins face,as he pats at the space on the stone bench beside him.

“Come listen to my tale, littleblackbird,” He coos “And I'll share with you the weaknessesof my other half.”

-

It has been a very long day.

A shame it is only noon, Selene thinks.

She pushes open the heavy wooden doorsof her office, letting out a soft sigh at the pile of papers stackedhigh upon it. Ana is inside, browsing through a scroll detailing therecent movement of Elgar'nans peacekeepers near their border. Sheblinks when Selene enters.

Glances down at the desk.

Glances back to Selene.

...Curious.

“I'm just gonna....” The red headsays, pointing to the entryway Selene had just used and exiting theroom before finishing her declaration.

Selene doesn't bother chasing afterher; whatever Ana is dealing with, Selene trusts her to handle it.

Selene lets out a breath, tugging offher cloak and tossing it haphazardly onto one of the chairs as sheuncoils the braids that are in fashion in Sylaise's lands, and whichsomehow had been requested for her morning trip to check on theprogress of June's latest project.

It is far better than she had expected,at least. For all his faults, he really has learned an impressivelyefficient way to use his resources, even with a minimal amount ofspiritual sacrifice. Still not none, but at least 40% lessthan the original plans had called for.

Progress, however slow, is stillprogress.

It is with this mindset that she takesto her seat, leaning forward to begin her slog through the dayspaperwork.

A small, black tendril begins to windits way up her calf, and she nearly lights it on fire before sherealizes who is controlling it.

“Dirthamen?” She asks, glancingdown to find him kneeling beneath her desk. “What are you doingdown th-”

The doors of the room are flung openand she nearly jumps out of her skin as she watches CaptainDin'Durgen barge into her office, a crumpled piece of parchmentraised high above her head. Without even thinking about it, Selenescoots her chair further in, in an effort to hide Dirthamen fromview.

“Is something wrong?” Selene asksthe woman, who finally remembers herself and stops a few feet awayfrom the desk, standing at a soldiers attention.

“There has been a mix up,”Din'Durgen asserts, before hastily adding “My lady.”

“Alright. What sort of mix-UP?!”Selene squeaks out the last wordas the tendril moves further up her leg, brushing against her corejust lightly enough to let her know where it is.

Din'Durgen clearsher throat “Ah, it seems as though all of our spiritually enhancedweaponry has been seized by your blacksmiths?”

It takes a fewmoments for the words to register to Selene, whose mind seems to bemuch more interested in the fact that Dirthamen has started trailinghis mouth and hands up the length of her legs.

“Uh,” Shefinally manages, forcing herself to focus. “Yes. I'm having theshards re-purposed.”

“For what?”Din'Durgen demands.

“To regrow in thedreaming,” Selene admits, trying to hide a shiver as Dirthamenshand traces the shape of her calf lightly enough that she can feelgoosebumps prickling her skin.

“Andhow are we to defendourselves?”

“Withyour-” Selene shakes her head, trying again to pull her focus tothe meeting with her guard captain, and away from her lover who hasapparently decided he would like to be exceedinglymischievous today “With your training, and your skills.”

“So we are to dieon the battlefield with only the words on our tongues and the storiesin our hearts?” Din'Durgen says wryly. “My lady, I know yourpurview is secrets, but please-what am I to tell my people?”

“I-” Selenestarts before getting pulled into a moan, Dirthamens mouth bitinggently on the soft skin of her inner thigh. She tries in vain to cover itwith a cough. “My research team is looking into a newmaterial for your weapons. One that has more naturally enchantedproperties. I discovered it while I was staying with the Lady Mythal.If we can harness it correctly, it should be able to lead us into awhole new era of energy that doesn't require spiritual sacrifice atall.”

“And in themeantime?”

“In themeantime,” Selene says, voice rising slightly in pitch as shestands abruptly to keep Dirthamen from delving his tongue inside ofher “I expect you to do your job the way I ask of you. You may takeyour leave now.”

Din'Durgensface twists slightly, ready to make another argument before Selenepushes out an air of impatience, and points directly to the doors.“You are dismissed,Captain.”

The turquoisehaired woman drops to a bow, and makes a hasty retreat. 

Selenefollows closely behind, locking and warding the doors behind her beforeturning and staring at the desk.

“Whatdo you think you're doing?” she says aloud.

Dirthamens headpeaks just over the edge of her desk as he says plainly “I amtrying to give you an outlet.”

“An outlet forwhat?”

His head tiltsslightly. “Interesting. I...did not ask that question.”

Selene drags herhand down her face. “Des put you up to this.”

“Not...precisely.He only mentioned that I should make my attempt somewhere that youoften find stressful. Since the council chambers would beinappropriate given their shared nature, your office seemed like themore reasonable choice.”

“And he told youto do...what? Surprise me with oral?”

Dirthamens mouthopens.

Closes.

He humsslightly in consideration before fully crawling out from beneath herdesk. “I would like to try something,” He finally decides.“If you would permit me.”

Selene feels herheartstrings tug, but stares over him at the piles of papers still on her desk.“I have so much to get done...”

“None of it istime sensitive,” He assures her. “I have already checked.”

“You read throughmy official paperwork?”

“You told me Iwas permitted to read 'anything I could get my hands on'.” Hepoints out.

Selene sighs andshakes her head fondly. “I did. I did say that.”

“May I make myattempt?” He tries again.

Selene slips herfingers into the loops of his robes, pulling him slightly towardsher. “I suppose so,” she allows.

The tops of hischeeks turn a soft pink at the gesture, but he clears his throat andtakes a step back.

“If you wouldhave a seat, I think this would perhaps be easier.”

Selene raises askeptical eyebrow. Chair sex in here? Really? Not quite theamount of support they usually need. The back of her chair is highperhaps, but several feet away from the wall. It's not meant towithstand a surplus of weight or movement, not like the ones heenjoys being tied to in the bedroom. One good thrust and they'll bothgo flying backwards.

Still. She canalways catch him, if need be. If something goes wrong, she'll simplyhandle it.

She always does.

Without furtherarguments, she seats herself back in her chair, scooting it fartherfrom her desk to avoid any temptation to multitask. Time sensitive ornot, she still has responsibilities after all.

But she sits upstraight, one leg crossed over the other expectantly, ready forwhatever Dirthamen might have in mind.

He kneels down infront of her, and her first instinct is to tell him to stand, thatit's ridiculous for him to act like this. He knows better than mostshe's no actual Goddess.

But his hand grazesover her knee and gently, so gently, uncrosses her legs.

“Just relax,”He says quietly, glancing up to make momentary eye contact, his baredhands still resting gently on her knees.

Such a small thing,really. The focus, the contact, the care for her in his words.

Her heart skips abeat all the same, words caught in her throat as she nods incompliance.

He places a softkiss to the top of one knee in thanks, eyes drifting closed and handsdrifting lower, thumbs rubbing small circles into the backs of hercalves. Affection is not unusual behavior for Dirthamen; quite theopposite, really. But this is...this is something different.

The way he exploresthe length of her legs, the attention and compliments he gives, theway he seems to savor every moment of this time...

It's worship.

She can feelherself heating up at the realization, even as he continues to takehis time with her legs and thighs. While he presses just firmlyenough on the tender flesh of her inner thighs to make small divots with his fingers,praising her softness, telling her how much he enjoys her, how muchshe means to him.

It is just words,really. Words coupled with affectionate touches, with genuineaffection and love and devotion pouring out of him.

It takes her breathaway. Ignites her in ways she hadn't expected, relaxes muscles sheforgot were capable of such a thing. His hands pull away the ribbonthat had been keeping her robes together and slide against her sides,reverent and unabashed while his mouth presses against the soft pouchof skin from where she is now slouching. Every inch of her is alight,straining and expectant, every touch like a new spark of magic fromhim. He goes slowly, so slowly it's almost maddening, but theanticipation is such a wonderful burn, his mouth and praise the balmshe craves while he takes his time inspecting and exploring everypiece of her.

Selene isn't sureprecisely when the scales appeared on her spine, or when her taildecided to make an appearance until Dirthamen is paying attention tothose pieces of her the same as he has the rest. She is on her kneeswith her back facing him, head raised towards her ceiling and breathscoming in shallow bursts when he runs his tongue over her scales andsends a shiver that makes her keen, tail dragging against thecold stone of the floor beneath them.

“Dirthamen,”She finally begs, head swimming in her hypersensitive state, hishands and mouth and ardor flooding her senses, thoughts falling awayas he makes a small bite on the crook of her neck, flooding her in anentirely different way.

Any other time shewould worry about the mess she must have made of her office chair,but now...now, all she can think of is him, is the way hemakes her feel, the relief of his presence, the love swelling withinher, ready to overflow and the blazing heat in the pit of herstomach.

He seems to noticethat she is approaching her limit, whispering more praise in her ear,telling her how well she is doing, how much he loves her, howgrateful he is to have been gifted her trust while he lifts her outof her chair, splaying her open on top of her desk instead.

A familiar,brightly colored container is pulled out of one of his pockets beforethe robe is discarded entirely. He coats one finger in it, slippingit inside of her with ease-

And she comesaround it.

Embarrassinglyearly, some corner of her mind thinks.

His own surpriseflares briefly around him before he reins it in and continues hisministrations, slipping a second finger in with ease and laving moreaffection over her sides and chest, a few tendrils sliding up hercalves once again, pulling her legs open a bit wider.

She hums as shefeels them, thoroughly relaxed, and considers the inspiration.

Subtly, as much asshe can hide it, she glances to where the discarded containerlays and carefully moves her tail closer to it. Pulling in on thecurls of hair that usually cover the end and softening the rough edges ofher scales, she rolls the extra appendage around in the lubricationbefore nudging it carefully against her lovers rear entrance.

Dirthamens eyes goslightly wide as he notices her actions, and she raises her eyebrowsup in challenge.

“Fair’s fair,”She coos, gently brushing her own hands over his cock.

He shivers, and shethinks he might be about to argue so she slides her mouth over hisbefore he can. Encases him in her arms and flips their positions,until he is the one splayed open on her desk and she is the one withtwo feet on the ground, devouring and drowning in the taste of him.

“Is thisalright?” She checks, pulling away just enough to speak, his breathstill warm against her lips.

“Yes,” Hebreathes, and she hums in thanks as she delves her tongue back intothe warm wet of his mouth, the tip of her tail pressing gently intohim in unison.

Selene can'tremember the last time she felt so relaxed. The last time she was inso little hurry to be somewhere or do something. Hownice it is just to enjoy her lover, her heart, to feel the way hemoves beneath her.

It would be better,she thinks, if he were not trying so hard to restrain himself.

“Let go Vhenan,”She purrs against his neck.

“My form...” Hemanages, skin still flushed and his cock dripping precum onto his stomach.

“I've got you,”She assures him.

He hesitates amoment before letting out a soft breath.

The air in the roomchanges notably as he does.

Six large blackwings unfurl from his back, skin turning to a beautiful dark expanselittered with stars and eyes. His legs lose some of their solidity,most of his body past the knees turning into tendrils that match hisskin, and the room fills with power and magic, long restrained by hischain and mask and his own growing capabilities. She has to loosesome of her own to cover it, to hide that this surplus of power ishis, so that anyone passing in the halls will only sense her power, her own magic flaring out into the wards. Her own pair of wingsunfurl, and she feels her pupils shift as she does, still in controlbut vulnerable as her peripheral vision nearly vanishes.

That's alright, shethinks as his tendrils curl around her. Her waist, her hips, herlegs, her arms; she trusts him.

Trusts himentirely, as he lifts her over his still straining cock and shelowers herself down onto it, sliding her tail slowly in and out ofhim in tandem with the rise and fall of her hips. His wings flare andhis breaths become as shallow as her own, her own hands exploring asmuch of the expanse of him as she can reach, stars bursting andgleaming under the pads of her fingers. Feathers fall down aroundthem; hers, his, theirs. 

Details become blurry while they losethemselves in each other, energies and words mixing and blurring andthe feeling of being touched all over simultaneously too much and not enough. Moansand groans and flesh on flesh, keening and orgasms and not even thecertainty of who between them is having them, only a shared desire to keep going, tosavor this, to make the most of being together again.

It is....very darkby the time they have stopped.

Selenes tail hasreceded and her scales have mostly vanished and Dirthamens form moreclosely resembles his usual one now, as they are spent and exhausted,hair damp and clinging and Selene is unsure if the insides of herthighs will ever be dry again after she glances down at the sloppymixture of their fluids still dripping out of her.

It’s a goodfeeling, though.

With the littleenergy still in her, she rolls over to Dirthamen, the two of them ona tapestry they seemed to have yanked off of her walls to lay on thefloor instead, and presses an affectionate kiss to his forehead.

“Thank you,”She manages.

He smiles, eyesonly half opened and his chest still rising and falling a bit tooviolently while he attempts to regain his breath. “Anytime.”

She snorts.

“Probably weshouldn't make a habit of completely destroying a room every time wehave sex,”

“There are worsehabits to have,” He notes, a mischievous gleam in his eye.

Selene shakes herhead in fondness before burying it in the crook of his neck, curlingher body up around his.

It is good to beback.

[etaeternum]

Blood Magic

Mother of Griffons Blood Magic

Hale scouts for the Wardens. A new interaction with Nathaniel Howe.

Find it on AO3 or start from the beginning on Tumblr!

Tingling, her lips still felt him. The sensation reminded her of the fiery interaction she shared with the Lieutenant a few moments ago. Furious with his dismissal of her, she was determined to get away from the encampment.

Damia sat upon the layers of blankets of her bedroll and looked up from the blade she was sharpening. A sly grin found its way to her face when Hale rushed in. Damia teased. "Really? The Lieutenant was that fast?"

Hale ignored Damia and glared, grabbing her tabard from the floor and pulling it on over her tunic.

Playful taunts continued from Damia as she observed Hale buckle her belt and loop the slack around, tucking it into the strap. "Now that surprises me. Sorry excuse for a Grey Ward-"

"Wouldn't know," Hale interrupted, not looking up as she knelt to lace up her boots.

"Right," Damia continued, her grin stretched wider, head tilting to the side as she stood. "And I'm an Orlesian Comtesse. Spill it, Hale. What did you and the Lieutenant do at such a late hour?"

Armor donned, Hale reached for her bow and packed quiver- both of which rested in Damia's tent. She glanced at Damia before looking away. "Nothing." With nothing other than her curt reply, Hale took a step toward the entrance of the tent. Damia reached for her.

Brow wrinkled with worry, Damia crooned as she touched Hale's arm. "Hale, are you-"

Hale's arm lifted as she turned around to Damia. In a quick motion she shoved Damia who gasped as she staggered back, brow wrinkled, arms reaching out for balance. The crease in Hale's brow quickly changed, her eyebrows lifted apologetically. Her mouth opened, "I-" she stammered. What've I done?  "I didn't…" Seeking words that wouldn't come, she gave a frustrated sigh. "Fuckin' shite."

Grabbing her items, she pushed her way out of Damia's tent. She didn't look back.

Her mind raced, explanations of Nathaniel’s rejection swirled and contradicted themselves. He fucking liked it! Her long legs lifted, alternating in quick succession. The balls of her feet landed lightly on the soft dirt, carrying her through the dark forest. Then it's me. Her eyes peeled to adjust to the blackness. She flew, a whirlwind of speed and stamina. Arrows rattled in her quiver. I'm a fucking prat.

It may have been minutes, or maybe hours. She ran until she couldn't continue and stopped in a clearing.

Breathless, panting, she bent at her waist and rested her hands on her knees. It only took a moment for her to catch her breath. Hyper-vigilant, heart still pounding, her eyes darted around where she stood. Fireflies speckled the surrounding darkness, their light blinking in silence. Her forehead was damp from running. Shite! She cursed herself. Rash choices brought her to this place, unsure where she was, how far she was from camp. The campfire was out of sight.

Forced to improvise, she scanned the trees around her and spotted one suitable for climbing. Lithely, she lifted herself up branches and limbs. The coarse texture of the tree against her palms was soothing and familiar as she continued higher.  When she found a good place to stop, she peered around from her elevation and spotted the camp, a fair distance to the east. Light pulled her attention to look west before descending. There she saw another camp, larger and about half the distance than her own.

She also noticed a faint tickle, like a tug, buzzing in her head joined by an urge from her heart that pulled her toward the foreign encampment. She noticed blue and white regalia as she neared. So is this the bond the Bitch Queen Commander's always going on about? Strange, something about the sensation seemed wrong. Regardless of the oddness, her curiosity won out. Staying above in the trees, she lurked toward the encampment. Senses heightened, she could roughly determine people occupying the encampment standing around a fire. Sneaking even closer, her ears tuned in with subtle awareness of her own noises and greater attention to those below her. Eerily silent, large number of Grey Wardens stood. Small shifts in color passed between their hands.

"Do you feel that?" A male voice from below questioned. Hale caught her breath, concerned that the Grey Warden might feel her presence by the bond.

"No," another man replied, his voice gravelly. "Just get back to work." Both of their accents were Orlesian.

Hale released a quiet exhale. What are they working on? Eyes focused, she surveyed the encampment. It was larger than the scouting groups by four or five times. Squinting as she studied these Wardens, she saw they were dressed in light armor, barely offering any protection, and mending their staves with magic. They're all mages. Continuing her survey of the camp, she covered her mouth so as not to gasp.

Beyond the camp, a variety of demons milled either unaware or uninterested in the troop of Grey Wardens right next to them. Instincts told her to run back to her camp, to immediately warn her fellow Wardens of what she saw. But curiosity kept her there, staring at the sight before her.

Another Warden ran up to the group below. Panting, he announced. "The Inquisition army has entered Orlais. Their numbers are larger than the Elder One predicted."

The man who must have been an appointed leader, replied. His grating voice made Hale cringe. "And the Grey Wardens among them?"

"There is a significant number of them," the messenger reported. "And some of our brothers who didn’t complete the ritual are among the Ferelden Wardens."

"Wonderful," the leader croaked. "We will protect the Vessel, as ordered. Maim, harm, or debilitate the Grey Wardens. But we can’t kill them. We will continue the ritual without the magister."

Ritual? Hale's eyes widened as she listened. Cautiously, she waited, hoping that the leader would say more while desperately wanting to flee from her hideout. Her heart pounded in her chest and she felt her hands shaking.

"There will be plenty of warriors to sacrifice and mages to induct," the leader gloated. "Our army against the Old Gods will be stronger than before Stroud and Clarel's betrayal."

Sacrifice? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I have to tell the Lieutenant. Stark still, she waited. Head spinning with fear, her mouth parched, she swallowed and closed her eyes. Her head rested against the tree trunk as she forced herself to wait patiently for the activity to carry on in the enemy encampment. Eventually she determined it safe to move. Light and agile, she drifted from limb to limb toward her camp with speed.

Then her hand slipped. Palms wet with sweat from her running and nerves. Her hand landed on a moss-covered branch and slid, causing her to lose her footing. She fell backwards with a whoosh. The air left her lungs when she landed hard on a bulky tree-limb and bounced off a more before she caught herself. Stabilizing on the tree, she found her breath, though painfully.

The first thing she checked was her bow. It was broken. Bollocks! Fortunately, her quiver was packed tight enough that she didn't lose any arrows but the container was cracked. Unmoving, frozen with fear, she listened for activity from the direction of the enemy camp.

The camp was unchanged, emitting the same noise as before. Safe. With a deep breath, she exhaled and inhaled again. Intense pain resonated in her side and it hurt to breathe. She picked up her leg to run, building momentum with a few steps. But the stabbing pain in her side stopped her. Pox on me! She cursed herself and stopped to try to breathe. Her hand reached around and clutched her chest. Tears of pain involuntarily welled in her eyes. Left to walk, she took her time hobbling back to camp. Fireflies lit her way and the hints of smoky roast nug teased at her nose, guiding her back to the camp.

Pride wounded, just like her ribs, she stumbled into the forward. The smell of cooked nug still lingered despite the cold fire pit. It seemed everyone was sleeping. Exhausted, and sore, Hale tiptoed through the encampment toward her tent. Curling up into a ball, symbolically licking her wounds and sleeping off the pain was tempting. But she knew she needed to tell someone what she saw, and that person was the Lieutenant. She paced in front of her tent in thought.

Mist weighted with moisture hung near the ground. The butterflies in her stomach fluttered quicker than her racing heart and contradicted the stillness of the camp.

Eventually, Hale closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and walked toward Nathaniel's tent, shaking her free hand as she made her way. She entered and closed her eyes again. She could feel the bond clearly now; it hummed steadily in her heart and it wasn’t strange like it had been earlier.  Now it was pure, clean and warm. The sensation was better than being drunk, better than sex. Better than hunting. Her eyes closed to revel. With her senses subtly heightened, Nathaniel's earthy scent quieted her nerves.

"What are you doing, Hale?" Nathaniel asked.

Hale yelped. Eyes wide, she froze and stammered, "I, uh, sir. Lieutenant…"

"Spit it out." She heard his body moving on his bedroll, sitting up. No, don’t do that.

Eyes closed, with a deep inhale, she turned to face the entrance of his tent. "I fled the camp after you, we, um….”

"I know," he interrupted. "What then?" She heard more movement as if he was rising from his bedroll. Don't fucking stand up.

"I ran… far, maybe half a day’s walk, and I found the rest of them crazy Warden fucks." She heard the movement of his bedroll. "Said something..." Holding tighter to her ribs, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Her other hand found its way to pull on her ear to avoid from shaking. "Something about a, uh, Vessel or something… a ritual… and," she paused, biting her lip. She could hear him standing, stepping closer, breathing from behind her. "Sacrifice… of warriors."

"What?" He sounded shocked, almost angry.

"Don't know anymore," she answered, her head tilting to look over her shoulder and catching a glimpse of him in his smallclothes despite the poor lighting. His legs were just as muscular as his upper body. Hale's head snapped back to face away. "Some… something about sacrificing warriors to induct mages." The word induct was emphasized as it was one she was not sure she completely understood. It had never found its way from her mouth before.

"Turn around," Nathaniel ordered softly, his voice patient.

Hale shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. On any other day, this interaction would have been exciting, fun. She would have welcomed the challenge. But after being rejected by this particular man, stumbling across an enemy encampment, and then falling from a tree, she was not her usual brash self. Her heart still raced.

Nathaniel’s hands reached to her shoulders and applied faint pressure, nudging her to move. Hale released a whimper. Feet planted, the slight twist of her body stung.

His hands retracted instantly in response and he gave another order. "Hale, look at me."

She sighed. His voice was kind, and she wanted to hear more of it. Her feet moved to turn around. Face tilted down, she looked up to him, barely making out the lines on his face. Hale bit her lower lip, trying to ignore that he stood brazenly in his smallclothes.

He was frowning, but it was not in disappointment. The questioning wrinkle of his brow showed concern. He’s so tired he don't realize he's in his underwear? "Okay…" she broke the silence.

"Are you hurt?" He asked as his eyes scanned to her hand holding her chest before looking back at her face.

"Yeah," she rolled her eyes. "But it don't matter. We need to get out of here or we'll get sacrificed or some shite."

"Did they hear you get away?" His questions continued, eyes narrowed.

"No!" Hale huffed, shoulders slouching until she remembered her injury and whimpered again. "Damn, you got a lot of questions… sir."

Lip curled in a smile, Nathaniel's chin lifted. "We're not going anywhere. You've found exactly what we came to scout, young Warden. You did well."

Hale's mouth opened and her brow furrowed. "But…"

"No," he replied as he moved to find his breeches, pulling them on as he talked. "I'll meet with the mages to determine our next steps before we depart in the morning. Stay here. I’ll get Philippa and Aidan."

Barefoot and shirtless, he departed, leaving Hale standing in Nathaniel's tent, mouth gaping and wide-eyed. Am I dreaming? She pinched herself. Ow! The lack of anger, the absence of verbal scolding or threats of reprimand from the Lieutenant stunned her.

A few minutes later, Nathaniel returned with the mages, Philippa and Aidan. Upon entering the tent, Nathaniel lit a candle and Philippa walked to Hale. The sorceress's black hair was divided into two braids and her full lips were pulled in a tight frown in displeasure. Her forehead seemed as though it was always creased with focus and her hands rested on her hips. Aidan stood in the corner, holding a book in both hands over his legs. The man was in his early 30s, handsome. He looked noble to Hale. They all did.

"Child, what have you done to yourself?" Philippa said as she lifted Hale's arm by the wrist to examine her side. Teeth gritted, Hale hissed at the movement. "Oh, hush now. Let me see it. Remove your armor and shirt."

Hale's eyebrows wrinkled for a second, and her eyes darted to Nathaniel and Aidan who were sitting on Nate's bedroll, conversing in the corner near the candle. They seemed to reference the book that Aidan held. Hale looked back to the witch and nodded. Slowly, she unbuckled her belt and dropped it to the ground. Holding her breath, eyes closed tightly and lips puckered, she bent at her waist to pull the tabard over her head. Stop being such a baby, Hale! She didn’t want to cry in front of the Lieutenant.

Hale lifted the shirt up on one side to expose the pained area, already marked by blue and purple bruises. Philippa frowned, hands returning back to her hips. "All of it, child. And what's that blasted thing you're wearing under your tunic?" She pointed to the fabric wrapped tightly around Hale's chest over her small clothes.

Sighing, Hale pulled her shirt up and over her head with one arm, revealing the numerous other scrapes and bruises she gathered from her fall. Her eyes darted to Nathaniel, who was sitting shirtless nearby. He was already looking at her and held the gaze before lazily looking back at Aidan. She swore she saw a grin at the corner of his mouth. But the candlelight flickered in the tent now crowded with four people. Shadows played tricks inside the canvas walls.

"Dear, this is certainly making it hurt more." Philippa pulled at the wrap. "Why on earth would you hide such fine breasts under all this fabric?" Her scolding was followed by Nathaniel’s coughing, which even Hale could tell was an attempt to hide his laughter. Aidan grinned at Nathaniel's reaction. The antics between the men had no effect on Philippa who didn't blink as she continued. "Take it off, child."

Face red, her eyes widened, and she looked at Nathaniel and Aidan. They stared hard at each other, forcing their conversation to continue as if they hadn't heard what Philippa just ordered. The grins on their faces revealed their amusement.

"Come now. Time is running out, dear. Turn around if you don’t wish for these lechers to gawk at you." Philippa suggested as her head turned to face the men. "What were you gentleman saying about blood magic?"

Apparently, in her studying of Hale, Philippa had overheard the conversation between the men. Hale looked to Nathaniel, who looked back like a hawk. Empowered in spite of her blushing, the call to mischief urging her, she raised an eyebrow and untucked a corner of the wrapped fabric. Yeah. You’re not sending me away now, are you? Gaze maintained with Nathaniel, she removed a layer as Aidan replied to Philippa.

"It must be blood magic," Aidan said. "There’s no other reason to require a sacrifice for a ritual."

Hale unwrapped a few more layers, keeping eyes locked with the Lieutenant. He was looking back, eyes squinted. The shadows on his face made it hard to tell if he kept their gaze or if it wandered to her chest. With each layer removed, as there were many, she could feel the weight of her breasts shifting, relaxing. Her inhales were deeper and although the pain of her ribs wasn't as sharp, it became dull and constant.

"A sacrifice, you say?" Philippa questioned Aidan. "Of what sort?"

The Philippa woman was beautiful, Hale decided, her skin smooth and pale like porcelain; her voice and the way she spoke belied the age her appearance suggested.

"That's what I'm trying to decipher," Aidan replied.

Nearing the final layers of her wrap, a smirk pulled at Hale’s lips. She had Nathaniel's attention. For a moment, his chest didn't rise and fall. He held his breath, stare firm and intense with a brow risen in intrigue.

Aroused by his enrapture, Hale’s lips parted and just as the fabric became loose and fe away from her breasts. She turned around to face the canvas wall. Hah, take that.

"Hale said that they were planning on inducting our mages. They’re protecting a Vessel. That could require blood magic." Nathaniel offered as if Hale’s display hadn't been the slightest bit distracting from the conversation. She shook her head as she removed her bra, displeased with Nathaniel's apparent diligence. Damn it!

Philippa scoffed. "Do you literally read nothing, Nathaniel?" The pronunciation of her words was crisp and her voice sharp. Hale coughed to stifle her laugh this time. "The Vessel is in the destination. The Temple of Mythal. As for the blood, Grey Wardens already share it. That sacrifice would be useless. Blood is payment. They are buying a weapon or weapons and mixing our blood with something greater."

"I saw demons," Hale voiced without turning around. "On the other side of their camp. A whole fucking lot of them, right there, just standing."

"That's a good girl," Philippa said turning back to Hale, who cringed at the sentiment. "That's the answer.  Sounds as though they are binding themselves to demons from the Fade and depending on the derivation of the spell, that is likely the source of their pledge to Corypheus."

"The leader- ow!" Hale yelped as Philippa prodded her side.

"Hush, child. I have to examine it and then I'll use magic to heal it. I didn't just have you take your shirt off so you could tease Nathaniel." Philippa continued with the what she was doing, the faintest evidence of a grin evident in the edges of her taut frown. Hale clutched a tent pole, eyes wide and face burning red. "Continue."

Surprised that Philippa referred to the Lieutenant by his first name, Hale explained. "Least I think it was the leader said- Ow… Said they could continue the ritual without the magister."

"Hold on, dear. Last bit." Magic radiated through Hale's chest, she felt it cooling, soothing her pain. Elated, fascinated by the sensation, it complemented the strength of the bond they shared. "All right now, dress up. You can put those pert, young breasts away, dear." Hale blushed again, glad no one could see her face as she put on her bra and tunic. She left the wrap and armor off.

"So what should we do about all this?" Aidan asked Philippa for guidance.

Not waiting for her turn, or for Philippa's answer, Hale spoke up as she sat down next to Nathaniel, across from Philippa and Aidan. "Couldn't we use the magic against 'em? Without the ritual, can we make them Orlesian whoresons fight for us since we share the same blood and all?"

Philippa's tight frown curled up just a little. "Clever child," she hummed. "It is possible, but we'd have to kill the demons first." Philippa looked to Aidan. "Hand me the tome."

Hale observed curiously as Philippa took the book from Aidan and flipped to a certain page. The audience waited patiently for Philippa's next piece of information. "It would require our own blood magic," she explained. "Warden mages are entitled to such illicit dealings since it is by our very nature." Handing the book to Hale, Philippa pointed to a section within a specific page. "Read this."

With a blank stare, Hale looked at the book, then up to Philippa, then back to the book. A knot tightened in her stomach. "I can't."

"What for?" Philippa chided, her brow wrinkled as she looked down her nose at Hale. "Just read what it says."

"I can't read," Hale confessed, embarrassed, her eyes still fixed on the book.

The humans in the tent were all of noble upbringing, illiteracy a misfortune of which their privilege kept them ignorant.

The book flew from her lap as Nathaniel lifted it.

Nathaniel read for her, only after giving her a wink. She relaxed, glad all eyes were no longer on her as Nate spoke. "Tainted blood magic. The Grey Warden blood bonds all Wardens to one another. Just as Mages of the Grey use blood magic to manipulate darkspawn, so too can the magic be used to control Warden brothers in times of duress." Nathaniel stopped and looked to Philippa, one eyebrow cocked with confusion. "I would say this counts as duress… but are you sure about this, Philippa?"

"Tut, tut, Nate," Philippa remarked, her lips remained tight and her face stern. "You think so little of me. Cherish this rare moment when I humor your lawfulness. The concern is valid as blood magic incurs risks. But unless you wish to slaughter our brethren, I see no other choice."

"I see," Nathaniel frowned.

Before Nate could ask any other questions, Hale chimed in again. Her nose wrinkled as she spoke. "So, we need to kill them demons, yeah?" She repeated Philippa. "How do we do that if those arseholes are all coming at us with magic?"

"My, you are a clever child," Philippa's proud grin was unmistakable now. Hale's chest puffed up in response. "And you're right to question. Aiden and I can hold them with magic while you all destroy the demons. How many did you say there are?"

"’Bout four or five times us, I think," Hale estimated, as she looked up, scanning her memory for the images of the encampment.

"That's forty to fifty Wardens to hold, Philippa and just as many demons for the scouts to kill," Aiden worried aloud.

"And we only have light weapons among our scouts, save for Val and I don't think he's taking 50 demons head on while we offer support," Nathaniel added.

Hale sat upright, engaged in the interaction. Interested, curious even at the strategizing of the next steps of the Grey Wardens, she remained silent as they continued, only mildly aware of the Lieutenant's eyes drifting to her on occasion.

"Hm, I suppose you’re right," conceding to the men's concerns, Philippa paused.

"And I would also prefer we get this approved by the Commander before we act," Nathaniel said as Hale rolled her eyes and shot a sideways glare at him.

Really? So the leash reaches this far?

"Then it's settled. We'll scout on the morrow, gather more information about these Wardens and any others defending the Temple and take the information back to Caoilainn," Philippa announced as if she had the final say of the group's choices.

"Good," Aidan stretched his arms and yawned, rising from the bedroll and bowing to the group. "If you all wish to stay up, have at it, but I am going back to bed." He left the tent without waiting for a reply.

Hale rose from the ground, the exhaustion of the evening overtaking her. She swayed on her feet as she stood.

"Nathaniel, dear. See to it she makes it back to her tent safely. And child, get your bric-a-brac off the Lieutenant's floor." Philippa gave them both orders as she stood, turned and departed back toward her tent, leaving Nathaniel and Hale alone again.

Stooping to pick up her items, she avoided his eyes. Nathaniel took step forward and offered his arm to Hale. "Since I was ordered, I'll walk you to your tent," he smirked as he gave a mocking bow. "And I’ll carry that for you, milady." He gestured to the pile of clothes in her hands. Hale stared at him, her face illustrating her skepticism.

"What'd you call me?" She sneered and jutted her chin.

His grin spread wider as he took the clothing and weapons from her hands. Too tired to insist on carrying her own things, Hale did not fight back. Instead, she looked at Nathaniel with amused disgust, an eyebrow cocked, and her lip slightly raised.

"Milady," he repeated with more emphasis, teasing her with the word. “It’s a term of respect.”

"Well don't," Hale scoffed, though she was failing to hide the smile from curving her lips. "I'm not a lady and I’m definitely not yer lady, Lieutenant."

His grin didn't fade as he carried her items back toward her tent through the Inquisition encampment. It was nearing dawn. The mist was thicker, and the stars faded in the night sky. When they arrived, Nathaniel followed Hale into her quarters.

Heart strumming, quicker than it was before he entered, Hale bit her lip- the excitement of having the Lieutenant so close by was battling with her complete lack of energy.  She motioned for Nathaniel to drop her items on the ground which he did. Unconcerned with the mess of her tent, she plopped down on her bedroll and took off her boots.

"Thanks," she offered through a yawn, sitting cross-legged. Her eyelids were heavy, fluttering as Nathaniel looked down at her. She was too tired to appreciate the spectacle of the Lieutenant’s bare, muscled, and scarred upper body on display over her.

"My pleasure," he replied, looking to the items on the ground near him. "What’s this binding your breasts business for, anyway?" The cloth wrap she was no longer wearing sat on top of the pile of clothing.

"Really?" Her question jeered as if the answer was obvious. In her opinion, the answer was visible under her tunic. "You ever tried to draw a bowstring with yer tits in yer fucking way?" She stuck her chest out and her hands circled her ample breasts.

"Well, no. I can't say I have," he said through a laugh.

"Then don't ask dumb questions." Why is he still here? She wondered. Her heart still fluttered, and she was certain her cheeks were pink, but she couldn't seem to muster the energy to flirt.

Nathaniel squatted down on the ground to get closer to her eye level. She felt his warmth, curiosity, and caring. It differed from the tension they shared before. She wasn’t sure which she liked more. "Philippa was right, you know. You are quite clever, Hale. And rebellious. Between sneaking, stealing, and spying, you're like-"

Stretching her arms over her head, she cut him off, looking at him with one eye open. The sing-song sound of her voice carried through her yawn. "A fox. That's my name. You know Elvhen now?"

Nathaniel's brow wrinkled and his mouth curved down. "Hale is fox?"

"Aye," she responded as she laid down, unable to keep herself upright any longer. She glanced to him from where she rested. "In the clan they called me Hale'Harel. The Dread Fox. Always been a bit of a troublemaker."

The dramatic inflection she used on the title instigated a chuckle from Nathaniel. "Somehow I don’t find that hard to believe."

Eyes heavy, she couldn’t resist closing them. She yawned once more and pulled the layers of blankets over her clothed body. "Thanks again, Lieutenant."

"Call me Nate tonight," he said through a smile. He must have thought she was asleep already because he rose and turned to leave her tent.

“I felt the bond today,” she murmured in her sleepy stupor, “Lieutenant.”

Hale could feel him standing, looking down at her for a few long moments. “Sleep well, milady,” his gruff voice hummed before she heard his footsteps leave her tent. Grinning, she drifted off to sleep.