"beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful." - Mary Shelley.
Danish reader, writer and sucker for aesthetics.
about me ♥
Astrid / sexuality, uh idfk know anymore u tell me / [She/her]
My: Ao3, Wattpad and Letterboxd and Goodreads
I love music ❤❤
A little message <3
･:* Masterlist *:･
༻ Spooktober 2025 ༺
Requests are open, always! (smut requests are allowed)
Actresses I write for:
Rebecca Ferguson, Natasha O'Keeffe, Vera Farmiga, Rosamund Pike, Billie Piper, Scarlett Johansson, Eva Green, Cate Blanchett, Elizabeth Olsen and Charlize Theron.
What I will not write:
Let’s keep things safe and respectful. I will not write underage relationships, non consensual, incest of any kind, straight or gay pairings, SPECIFIC reader inserts (with any specific traits, such as race or age.
I aim to make my fics as inclusive as possible so if you don’t see yourself in a story, it’s never intentional. We’re all learning all the time, if I say anything which might be misinterpreted as offensive, please do tell me.
If you have any questions, feel free to write ✎ <33
Requests: Open
A click for Gaza! ♥🍉
Help the Palestinian People with a Click | arab.org
Rebecca Ferguson characters x Reality TV shows. Aka, which show would they likely be on, and how would it go.
I'm sick again, lets turn this into a tradition.
Juliette Nichols - Silo
Survivor
Juliette would somehow accidentally become the best contestant in the show's history
But at the same time all the other contestants hate her because she's so bad at the social strategy aspect
She despises alliances and is sort of just on her own all the time, building shelter and water filtration systems while glaring at the others
She's constantly winning the immunity challenges and doesn't even know why herself
People are constantly trying to start drama with her but she's way too clueless so she never partakes
"If you guys would like, shut up for a moment and focus on surviving we wouldn't be having this problem."
She ends up winning the 1 million but actually doesn't want to go home afterwards, and ends up spending the money on another holiday far away from everyone
Jessica Atreides - Dune
The Traitors
Jessica is IN her element in this show
She knows every liar before they've even said a word yet
In the end she manages to become almost a religious figure in a REALITY SHOW, and the entire cast just sort of does whatever she tells
"Could you get me a water-" "YES MOTHER JESSICA"
Every other contestant is having an absolute rollercoaster and a horrible time because of her but Jessica is taking a nap
Either she ends up being a Faithful and wins with everyone, or she's a Traitor and everyone's crying and breaking down
Maybe she's even doing therapy/psycho analysing sessions with the other contestants at random points of the show
"I can tell by how overly friendly you are that you have attachment issues…" Oh, okay, cool, can we go back to voting now?
Morgana - The kid who would be King
Love Island
Bringing her on this show was a big mistake, this would be a fucking catastrophe
Let's be honest, she's just on this show to fuck and be a menace
Steals EVERYONE'S partners just to make a point and is never loyal to anyone, there is absolutely no strategy to this, just chaos
Oh my God, the producers LOVE her
She treats every challenge with medieval seriousness, as if she's on trial as a witch
She's at once deeply seductive and sensual and socially feral
All throughout the show she also talks like she's out of a medieval period piece, because she sort of is
"COWARDICE IS UNBECOMING" and "YOU WILL ALL BURN, WORM HEADS"
Ends up leaving the show and losing but actively sets everyone up for failure and metaphorically setting everything on fire, then immediately goes and fucks a producer because why not
Jenny Lind - The Greatest Showman
The Great British Bake Off
I was a bit between putting her in The Voice or this but I feel like she'd fit so well in a bake off competition oh my God
She'd give off that “widowed in 1892” vibes and would be every other contestants favourite, plus, the judges adore her
Maybe she even has a Youtube baking channel where she's just staring at the camera with the best asmr voice while baking absolute masterpieces
Halfway through the competition everyone else sort of realise "oh shit, yeah, we're like competing against this woman", she is competent competent
Her bakes are amazingly beautiful, kind of old fashioned. She loves tinkering around with decorating the cakes, making stunning marzipan and fondant flowers, chocolate stencils and icing swirls, the whole nine rounds. So time is her greatest enemy in this competition
She cries exactly once over overproved dough and the internet never recovers
She may not end up wining the competition in the end but she wins everyone's hearts
Riza Stavros - MIB
Shark Tank
Riza isn't exactly pitching a business proposal, she's pitching an entire scheme
She steps into that room with a whiteboard and giant arm movements as she explains a practical heist while subtly threatening the hosts, all while looking like that meme of the guy with the whiteboard
Mark Cuban absolutely tries to invest while the producers are contemplating calling the police
"Guys, guys, give me a month, I swear,"
She somehow gets the deal in the end but the hosts are visibly shaken
Cut to when the product is then later banned internationally
Mae - Reminiscence
Too Hot to Handle
Again, I was thinking about putting her in The Voice as well but just walk with me okay
Mae enters this show entirely planning to mind her own business, but unfortunately for her, she's got mad intense divorced noir protagonist energy and everyone else is instantly intrigued
Additionally she's got that devastating eye contact and "I can fix you" energy
And everyone wants to be fixed by Mae
She forms an intense, deep and emotionally unhealthy, parasocial connection with every other contestant and they immediately unravel when they're around her
She's kind of a confessional personified and she doesn't even know why herself
throughout the entire show she's just sort of chronically confused
Also, the editors use excessive slow motion whenever she’s onscreen
Rose the Hat - Doctor Sleep
Ghost Adventures
This would be almost too perfect
Zak Bagans is just trying to do his thing, narrating and talking and she is all up in his business
Zak: "Did you hear-" Rose: "Yes. Yes I did."
Bro she is having the time of her life on this show, I feel like the ghosts would be scared of her
Whenever she's on camera, the paranormal occurrences just triple in amount, they keep hearing mysterious whispers, there's figures at corners and she's just walking around info dumping about everything
Nobody on the show leaves psychologically intact and Rose is having herself a wonderful time
The producers despise her because she keeps interrupting and correcting everyone, but at the same time she's also trying to seduce them
Ilsa Faust - Mission Impossible
The Amazing Race
This is kind of unfair because Ilsa would dominate the format completely, but that's also why she went on the show. For shits and giggles
She speaks multiple languages, can drive literally anything, can blend in anywhere, never panics under pressure and somehow looks amazing even after 26 hours of being awake
The only problem is that whatever poor soul she brought on as her partner is having the worst experience of their life
She'd keeping saying things like "No no no, we'll sleep after this border cross" and her partner already knows she's lying because she said that at the last goddamn border cross as well
At some point they probably bought a taxi ride, and when the driver is not going fast enough she just throws herself across to the driver's seat and hogs the steering wheel like this is a life or death situation, "here, let me-". (meanwhile the driver and her partner are both screaming btw)
Also she definitely seduces at least one rival team for information while at a meetup point, just for shits and giggles, again
Bonus! Hell's Kitchen. All of them together! 😨
Gordon Ramsay medically retires after this
Juliette keeps repairing kitchenware mid competition and complaining about the quality of the oven
Jessica is tearing HIM apart for some reason
Morgana threatens the cameraman with a ladle
Jenny is the only one actually cooking
Rose is having a bit too good of a time
Ilsa is running the entire show like a prison yard
Mae is outside smoking while staring contemplatively into the distance
Riza commits corporate espionage against the blue team
All right, all right. All right. I've never sent in a request to anybody before. Not that I even remember. But I am in dire need of a lanfear fanfic because I feel as though I'm going to jump off a building so...😀
Can you drop me the most fire landfair fanfic where reader is some form of noble who is infatuated (little "innocent" crush) with Lanfear (still mierin at the time) during the Age of Legends. Forced to abandon her after "The bore/freeing the dark on" catastrophe, reader discovers an artifact granting immortality. Centuries later, she reunites with Lanfear (in the most unhinged way, you choose), forging an unbreakable bond as they face new challenges together. And you know you. You figure out the rest cuz I know how you are but please don't kill me with angst
Ily good luck
Heavy
Lanfear/Mierin Eronaile (Pre-Bore) x Fem!Reader 18+ MINORS DNI OR I WILL SMACK THAT BLOCK BUTTON
Summary: The wheel weaves as the wheel wills. Some stories are only ever ended halfway through. Pre-bore, Age of Legends fic with a three thousand year conclusion. Mierin Eronaile defender until I DIE bro. FIGHT ME.
Warnings: Dry humping/making out, it's hot and heavy when you've got flying wagons, ok?
A/N: I've had this in my drafts for... I don't even know. I managed to bust it out after hitting a wall with my dissertation. I've got a week left to submit, wish me luck!
Word Count: 8k
August brought about blackberries, hot weather and an atrocious surge of galas. Debutante galas were never few within noble circles. At least once a season some young daughter of a nobleman was being paraded around society, adorned with the most expensive silk gowns, hair done in spiraling patterns that rivaled lace. Your ball came as the heat of summer began to die off, leaves questioning the tint of yellow that slowly slid up the topmost leaves. It was summer's close in which you were destined to be introduced into society. It was with the pumpkin blooms that you were shoved out into society, a gown puffed out at the waist like a tiered cake.
You felt silly, hair done up in tight curls, waist pulled into a gown that felt much too tight, boning pressing against your ribs with every exhale. It was much too hot to wear a dress like this, but you doubted any weather would feel comfortable in the mountains of lace and satin, aside from freezing. Old family friends and their grown children flitted around you, complimenting your too pink cheeks, (over-applied rouge), and too large dress. A doll never felt so restricted, a painting never felt so fake.
Champagne remained the one thing you could stomach, bubbles burning in your stomach hot enough to take away from the corset digging into your hip bones. Suitors from lands known and unknown were quick to seek your hand, all with varying levels of success. Drinking and dancing, talking and laughing. It was all a circus of activity, music too loud and perfumes too strong until only the pinch of your toes in your shoes kept you alert. No one came to your rescue, no gentle friend tugging you into a corner for a reprieve. It took the direction of an older cousin, much more aware of your dizziness than you to end the constant motions of the gala.
The bathroom was much quieter, the strong ringing in your ears noticeable now. The detail of the marble floor and vaulted ceilings registered dimly, your cousin Annetta gently feeding you sips of water from a flute.
"Most guests will be too drunk to notice your absence for at least a half-hour. We can rest awhile here." she said, brown eyes kind.
Her green dress remained loose around the waist, false boning giving the impression of a synched waist without any of the structure. Annetta had been married four summers ago to a rich guildsman, though she'd remained close to the family regardless.
"Can you loosen my corset please?" you gasped out, still catching your breath.
"Absolutely." Annetta agreed, gently unhooking your bodice little by little.
The relaxing of the corset laces brought enough slack to take in a full breath. Annette was wise enough to keep the corset laced, merely loosening the stays before hooking your gilded bodice back in place.
"I envy your choice in dress. That style must be comfortable." you smiled, noting how simple her bodice was in comparison to a more natural waist line.
"It's a maternity garment, dear." Annetta chuckled. "You've never noticed them before?"
Maternity. A hot flush grew over your cheeks as you comprehended the embarrassing truth. Annetta had been absent from most dances, content to twitter with your aunts like a much older, infirm version of herself.
"Oh. I had no idea."
"And you will promise me not to speak of it?"
"Certainly." you nodded once, gulping down the last of your water before standing.
Annetta was quicker than you, slipping out of the bathroom before you could manage to move for the door. Pregnancy was no revelation for society, gossip as cruel as it was informative. Your cousin was no stranger to the vultures of rumor that had followed her quick marriage to a man seemingly below her station. No child had come in the first year after the marriage, no seven-month child born as many had expected. It was merely an inopportune arrangement. But that was only until Annetta l'Onnie became the Lady l'Onnie, wife of the Lord of the Guild.
A creak of the door interrupted your quiet musing, the suddenness snapping you out of your theorizing.
"Oh, sorry, my lady." a soft voice came, a simple white dress slipping over marble tiles without a sound.
A woman stared back at you, no immediate recognition sparking at the sight of her dark hair and high-cheekbones.
"Oh, no it's alright…" you began, searching for a title that escaped you with increasing anxiety.
The woman stared back at you, the embarrassment becoming too great for you to bear.
"… I sincerely apologize, I've forgotten your name…"
"No, no." she chuckled, cheeks sparking with color. "We have not been introduced. I am Mierin Sedai, from the Collum Daan institute. I am a colleague of your father's."
Relief blossomed through you, and you stood, gently shaking her hand and recognizing the familiar ring that sat on her left hand, white stone like that of her dress.
"Mierin Sedai, it is lovely to make your acquaintance."
She nodded once, clearing her throat once more.
"You must forgive me, I've forgotten your name. How truly shameful to forget the name of the guest of honor…" she said, though the self-deprecating tone of her voice didn't meet the confident composure she kept.
"No, don't be. I am Miss do Avriny.
"It's lovely to make your acquaintance." Mierin parroted, still holding your hand with gentle pressure. "I suppose we should join the rest?" she smiled, same confidence like ichor dripping from her lips.
For the first time since the party had started, you didn't feel the familiar pulse of dread in your stomach at the thought of the throng of people outside the door. Mierin's stability was infectious, the sureness of her footsteps out of the room enough to propel the same energy through your feet. An Aes Sedai at your side, and a gorgeous one at that. It wasn't until you reached the hall that you realized how long you'd been staring, taking in the bow of her lips and the sure line of her jaw and nose. A more beautiful woman you couldn't be sure you'd ever seen, though most beautiful of all was the blue flame of her eyes as they slipped over to you.
"What, never seen an Aes Sedai up close?" she teased, head tilting up in a tender laugh as she took in your star-struck expression.
"… N-no… Just… I'm not used to being saved by… No, not saved, err, helped by-"
"-Served? By a servant of the people?" Mierin cut in, saving you another embarrassed ramble. "I'll count myself fortunate to be anyone's savior, especially such a sweet lady like yours, Lady do Avriny.
It was all done in a courteous manner, her interjection. And yet it felt no less intentional, the delivery noting her sentiments, (notably patronizing), towards yourself. It should have been insulting, the way she used her words to highlight the difference in rank between you. And yet it felt like a compliment to be rewarded with her sarcasm, by even a glimpse of the character she was beyond duty and station. You clung onto it like a child clutching the skirts of a guest.
"The only fortunate person in this interaction is me. You've saved me from the faux pas of hiding from my own debutante gala." you continued, ready to spare no effort in coaxing out her interest, even if it put you in an unflattering light.
"Oh?" Mierin smiled, amused by your candor. "Well I suppose it's alright. They put you in quite the gown."
"It's not that bad!" you interjected, feeling a familiar tingle of heat in your cheeks.
"Really?" Mierin giggled, eyeing the yards of satin puffing out from a too-small waist.
"… Okay I look like a swan with too many feathers-"
"-No you look like a swan wearing all of its friends." she parried, bringing laughter to you both.
As quick as your wit, hers was quicker, though it brought delight to you both to exchange swift remarks.
"So you're better dressed than I am, so what? It's my debutante ball, take one for the team and dress yourself in a funny hat."
"I don't think a hat would be enough to take any eyes off of you, frivolous fashion choice aside." Mierin smiled, a genuine glimmer in her eyes.
It took the wind out of your lungs, to be complimented so soon after being critiqued, however light-heartedly. To never know what Mierin was going to say, when it would be tender or a tease. It didn't take an astute eye to see how you never strayed too far out of her company that night, how you hung onto her words like jewels dripping from her lips.
ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚
If the scholars of the day had drawn up any reports on the strange relationship between Mierin Eronaile, inventor and scientist of the Aes Sedai and another unassuming lady of another wealthy house, it would've been a bullet point, an inflection that summed up to nothing more than an unconventional friendship. A schoolgirl's crush. And yet you never would've corrected anyone if they had called it an affair of the heart.
Another year since you'd flown into society, another ball for another young cousin. You attended to save face, to remind those suitors of another young woman ready for marriage, at least by first impression. By the second hour most never cared if you were gone, your own mother had three other sisters to worry about marrying off, all older than you. A gentle traipse into the gardens, the intentional choice to risk a cold and leave your shoulders bare to the night wind. If Mierin was at the gala she was never far behind.
"My lady, you're missing quite the party." a familiar alto crooned, slipping out from behind you.
There was no question as to her identity, to the familiar face behind the voice you were beginning to know so well. You waited to turn, knowing just how annoyed you made her when you pretended to be aloof.
"Am I?"
She came closer, footsteps more urgent than you had bargained for. Her arms slid around your waist, palms soft against the loose satin of a much thinner dress.
"Don't be like that." Mierin husked, nose brushing against the shell of your ear as she breathed you in. "We both look forward to this, don't insult me and insinuate anything different."
Cleverness was her strong suit, not yours. But you'd learned how to make her want, to make her desire long enough to steal a few kisses in the dark, though you'd always wished for more. Tonight you pressed your weight back against her, letting your bottom brush against her pelvis.
"I'm allowed to play the same games as you, although I'm much kinder." you sourly retorted, letting your body and your words say different things, if only to keep her guessing.
Mierin's breath puffed against your ear, a sigh of resignation. You'd caught her, or perhaps pinned her to the truth.
"I couldn't stay at the last gathering. Your father required my attention, and after that I had no energy left." Mierin excused, rubbing a hand against your hip in a gentle gesture of affection.
Mierin's time was always split between her research or the minor social commitments she made, as few as they were. It's why you'd only met her a few times in the last year, had only stolen a few kisses from her three months ago. It was your interest that was explicitly understood between you two, her attention something you'd learned to search for as quietly as you did. But then again, you were a young woman who could flirt with a suitor, and the entire night she'd been away conducting business. Enough disinterest to keep her anxiety was key, enough straying to insight her jealousy. Mierin was a simple woman who liked her toys to herself, although she certainly had more than you.
"… Say something." she pleaded softly, far more vulnerable than you expected.
Truly your apathy couldn't affect her this much? You were merely a crush, a tiny fling, it would be flattery to think more of yourself.
"… I wasn't sure where I stood with you anymore. You'll have to forgive my iciness." you admitted, slowly turning in her arms until you saw once more her face.
Where you expected to see a victorious smile, a familiar curve of a haughty lip you saw only a dull mask. Her hair pulled up in a neat bun, too simple for her tastes. Eyes missing kohl, missing any glitter of the mica powder she was fond of. A month had passed since you'd seen her, and yet it could've been a decade, how tired her eyes were and how sallow her skin seemed. She didn't smile as she saw you, her eyes flitter about as she took in the subtle curve of breast against silk. It wasn't your absence that had caused this exhaustion, you knew for certain. Whatever had hurt her was the instigator of this interaction, you were sure of it.
"… Mierin, I'm so sorry." you gently whispered, pulling her as she pulled you. "Tell me everything, or nothing at all."
Only then did she smile, the ugliest smile you'd seen, completely devoid of any light in her eyes. Mierin pulled hard at you, hands digging into your hips, and then one clawing its way through your hair, clenching at your scalp with enough force to sting. You didn't say a word in protest, letting her hold, possess, claim your body against hers as her breath came out in shallow gasps against your ear.
"… Don't deny me. Ever again. Don't make me think for one second I do not hold your affections." she hissed, rage simmering beneath every word.
Where first shock had stilled you to silence, now fear spurred you into fawning, nodding stupidly against her shoulder, biting back a whimper as you watched the hedge behind her for any indication you were being watched.
"Say it!" she snapped, tugging your hair hard enough to cause you to cry out.
"I won't do it again." you answered, lip wobbling as you silently cried out for help.
"That's not good enough! Swear you won't! Swear it!"
Another yank against your hair, and then a sudden whip of wind against your shoulder, like a slap where no hand could have struck. The One Power, though you had no way of seeing it in motion, had been the cause enough. You shrieked against her shoulder, now trying to pull away.
"Mierin! Mierin stop!"
Another crack, hard against your thighs and with enough force to send you slumping into her arms.
"Swear!"
This time when it hit your face, you screamed, a wail of terror loud enough to be heard out of the hedge maze. Only then did she relent, releasing her grip on your hair, cooing softly as you sobbed into her shoulder like a frightened child.
"No, no, no. Shh, I'm sorry my love, forgive me." Mierin whispered, gently scooping you up until she could sit on a nearby bench, rocking you like the child you felt like.
The change to kindness felt as abrupt as her sudden anger, and if you looked too closely, a predatory hunger in her eyes still burned quietly.
"You're scaring me." you sniffled, clinging dumbly to her.
"I know. I should never have struck you like that. It's the Collum Daan, my colleagues, my work. I haven't been myself, haven't thought like myself in weeks."
You let her tender hands soothe over your frayed nerves, hardly stirring when urgent footsteps came through the maze.
"Mierin Sedai! Thank the Light, is this the girl who screamed?"
Misery and shame kept you curled in her arms, kept you close enough to feel the vibrations of her voice as she spoke. Aes Sedai couldn't lie, and yet you didn't doubt her ability to twist the truth.
"Yes, this is she. She's alright now, yes?"
You met her eyes, noting the entirely calm quality about her, a composure that should've been shaken in anyone else.
"I am, yes. I'm…"
"The danger is passed, I've made sure of it." Mierin nodded once, stroking your spine softly. "The Lady do'Avriny is safe with me. You'll give us some space while I ensure she is composed once more?"
The assent of the men shouldn't have made you feel as powerless as it did. There was still the question of how she had managed to use the One Power against you, how she could hurt when you'd done her no harm, posed no danger. And yet when she cradled your cheek, slipped a finger against your lips, you could find no reason to cling to the mystery.
"Come with me to the Weat village tonight. I will ensure all proper excuses are made. Let me make it up to you." Mierin whispered, eyes sincere, troubled still, but no less kind than you'd first seen her.
You let yourself lean in closer, following the soft pressure of her fingertips until you were tasting the source of her promise, tasting the dull wine on her tongue, the salty braille of her teeth. Soft, questioning and improper. And then she moaned, a high crack in her voice, almost a whimper against your tongue. Hot waves flashed up and down your body, warmth and cold clashing until you couldn't decide if you needed another layer or a chance to shed your dress entirely. Desire, not like you'd heard it whispered of, a slithering feeling in your stomach, nor the certain description of a wife's expectation to her married husband one day. It was as intoxicating as all of Mierin's quirks, and you found yourself clinging to it until a squeeze to your shoulder brought you back to reality.
"I presume it is a yes?" Mierin rasped against your lips, eyes almost black in the light.
No two people went to a small village, travelled to an unassuming, sleepy town for the purpose of proper conversation. It could mean only one thing, something far beyond shy kisses stolen in dark halls. Any pain, any fear or discomfort at the memory of Mierin's temper was gone, squashed by the taste of her lips on your tongue.
"Yes. I want to go." you nodded, not daring to pull too far away.
"Then let's slip away." Mierin smiled, squeezing your hips once before standing.
"Wait! You said you would make the proper excuses-"
"Did I say when?" Mierin smiled, familiar twinkle in her eyes as she dragged you through the hedges, towards the street.
"My mother is going to hang me!" you groaned, letting her draw you into a wind carriage, the sigil of Aes Sedai bearing no direct reference to your mission.
"I will assure her the investigation I conduct with you tonight will be entirely unavoidable, and urgent enough to warrant the necessary haste with which it was conducted." she wagged her brow, following it with a pinch to your hot cheek as the vehicle purred to life.
"You're an Aes Sedai, you cannot lie!"
It was clear just how easily your company invigorated Mierin, the dull bags under her eyes hardly visible beneath the flame of life in her eyes.
"Oh, but my mission is urgent. And no other person but you can serve it."
"The mission of your loins." you snapped back, shooting her a glare.
"How unbecoming for a lady of society to speak so crassly about her companion's faculties." she smirked, flashing teeth taking away from the dark bags under her eyes.
Any final retort you had died with the roar of the wind carriage, the momentary ascent causing your stomach to flop uncomfortably before the vehicle leveled. You expected the teasing to end there, but didn't let yourself be too surprised when Mierin left the vehicle to drive itself in favor of grasping at you once more.
"You can't wait?" you giggled, amused by her grip at your waist.
"I want you hot enough to continue in the village." she shrugged, mouth slipping down your ear, lips hot as she breathed raggedly around your pulse.
Your dress, thin as it was, posed no barrier to her, though it seemed to aggravate her merely by its presence. You felt her hitch it over her arms, hands sliding up your thighs, nails grazing soft skin.
"You can be as loud as you want to in the carriage, it's a forty five minute flight to the village." Mierin whispered.
You felt her hands slip higher, still teasing you with only her breath on your neck. By the time her hands found the slope of your ass you were trembling, clinging uselessly to her shoulders as she puppeted your body in sensations you'd only read about. Her hands stroking over the globes of your bottom, feeling over the lace of your panties, fingers teasing under it. Every breath you took, every shallow gasp echoed by her own. The soft press of her lips against your neck was a reprieve to the anticipation she'd been building. You relaxed into her arms, thighs slackening around her lap. And then she squeezed her hands.
The burst of lust that punched itself in your abdomen was far stronger than anything you'd ever elicited before in your own experiments. The moan that sprung itself from your throat too naturally for you to stifle, like the whimpers of your own solo nocturnal escapades. You were throbbing for her, now panting as she continued to kiss your neck, to slowly roll the flesh of your ass in her hands.
"Mierin… Mierin, oh Light!" you almost sobbed, desperate to shut your legs and to spread them wider simultaneously.
"It feels good, I know. Rock in my lap."
You obeyed, rocking your hips back and forth, searching for any friction as you continued to whine uselessly into her hair.
Her fingers crept higher with every squeeze, curved around the alex of your thighs, around the gusset of your panties. When she pulled at the skin, pulling the seam of your labia tight, you wailed into the dark carriage, momentarily digging your nails into her shoulders.
"Oh? You need it that bad?" Mierin cooed, patronizing tone making your dizzy brain run in horny circles around itself.
"You couldn't tell?" you gasped out, clinging to the last straw of stubbornness you had to give her.
"Naughty. I like it."
This time when her fingers pulled, you were ready, hooking your hips up, dragging against her pelvis as your erect clit caught momentarily. The relief it brought was instant, a spark of pleasure, something to satisfy the ache that remained unfulfilled.
"Ah, ah, ah." she chided, swatting dangerously close to your cunt. "I make the rules. I'll pleasure you when I feel like it."
The hum of the wind carriage was the last thing on your mind. You couldn't beat Mierin at her own game, but convincing her was easy enough. You whimpered pitifully into her ear, stroking her ego and igniting her libido to match your own.
"Can't blame a girl for trying." you gasped again, nipping softly at her earlobe.
The small groan you got was victory enough. If you could get her hot, she could be convinced.
"This is going to be the longest forty five minutes of your life if you tease me like that." she growled, her unsteady breathing matching your own.
"But then you'll ruin me properly?" you answered, pressing your ass against her hands.
"Oh sweetheart, I'll make you cry."
The groan of the seat as it reclined was merely the first indicator of her plan. Her hands pressed you up, bringing your breasts to her face. The dress you'd worn had been riskier for an event like the ball for a few reasons. But this was the wildest of your hopes come to life, her breath the air you had barely dared to fantasize in quiet nights.
"Wore it for me, did you? Didn't think I'd have the courage to put your breasts in my face myself?"
Mierin's taunts shouldn't have felt as sensual as they were. And yet every word spoken in that tone, in that low growl felt more arousing than a single page of the most bawdy erotica you'd ever opened.
"Not courageous enough to taste them, I'd wager." you challenged, smirking down at her once more.
The stunned expression you recieved was priceless, one of the few times you'd ever truly caught her by surprise. You expected her to stammer out a retort, something half-baked at the very least. Instead she merely obeyed, leaning forward until her mouth pressed softly against the curve of your left breast, sucking softly between her lips.
It was enough to render you weak, barely able to continue holding yourself up. A few more kisses against her sternum brought back most of her courage, but hardly your awareness. This time, when her fingers stroked once up the damp gusset of your panties, you admitted true defeat.
"Please." you begged, legs spread wide for her, butt angled up, presenting yourself as best you could in the position. "I can't wait, please take me in here."
A moan vibrated off your ribcage, answering your needy plea with an identical echo.
"You sound so much more desperate than I ever could have imagined."
Two fingers stroked up and down, pressing against your wet opening and avoiding your clit entirely. You groaned and whimpered above her, stomach churning in knots as you fought to stay up, to hold yourself above her and withstand her torture.
"Mierin, you're killing me!" you whined, scooting down until you could look her in the eye.
"Shh." she whispered, softly mouthing at your neck. "Slower is better, trust me."
You answered her with a petulant whine, seeking her mouth with your own for distraction. Her kisses were soft, teasing, enough to keep you compliant but certainly wanting. And still her fingers with that incessant circling.
"For Light's sake Mierin!" you groaned, met with a wry chuckle. "Please, just take me already."
"Take you? In a wagon, that's what you wish for your first time?"
The gentle cadence of her voice almost kept the spell intact, you forever wanting, forever begging. But she'd spoken truth, as per an Aes Sedai's station. Worse, she'd spoken truth she shouldn't have known.
"… I." you stammered, feeling your entire body go hot with embarrassment.
She only stared up at you, chuckling softly at your stammering.
"Oh darling, you're a noble. And not even a firstborn. Your purity is the only thing keeping you fresh in society. Besides, you were never good at hiding what you were feeling."
"So I'm a game?" you tried to be outraged, too focused on the feeling of her fingers gliding over your clitoris to think too long about what she was hinting at.
"No, you're a prize. And you'll be mine by the end of the night, if you don't succumb to me in the wagon first…"
As swift as she was sexy, Mierin caught your lips on a hot kiss, sucking down any objections with a blend of tongue and teeth. Every kiss was laced with the taste of her, with the taste of experience. And still your body ached after every tense moment spent away from her lips. And then her fingers gliding up and down your cunt killed any suspicion of this being more than carnal, more than lust and need.
You pressed your hips down to match the rhythm of her fingers, letting out undignified sounds into her mouth. She was teasing you, edging you with plain indifference to your pleading. Edging wasn't the proper word anyways, it implied constant stimulation to bring you to the brink of an orgasm, but Mierin wasn't even doing that.
"Mierin…"
"You want it?" she whispered, panting into your mouth with a genuinely frazzled appearance.
Brief indignance flared at her tone, equal parts cocky and aroused. You didn't want to be just a game to her, just a hook up in a wagon, too flustered to make it to a hotel less than an hour away. And yet you wanted, ached, practically breathed desire. You gave nothing but a soft grunt in response.
"Use your words." she purred, voice honey and condescension as her fingers sawed back and forth.
"Bitch." you spat, angling your knee down to press against her cunt.
You expected to see her curse, to briefly lose her composure before it flared into anger. Anger could postpone the passion long enough for you to keep your dignity intact, long enough to feel a shred of victory before it was ripped away again in the morning light. Certainly not a whimper, the smile crumpling from her face as her nails dug hard into your hip bone.
"Fuck." she gasped, head falling onto your shoulder, her fingers stalling completely.
You pressed again, using the angle of the seat to slide your thigh down a little, feeling her hot through her trousers. A sharp bite answered, digging hard into your collarbone as Mierin bit back a moan, struggling just as you had been a few moments earlier. Victory washed over you, a desire to bend as you'd been bent. Not moving an inch, your hand groped downwards, finding the seat control and pushing it as far back as you could.
"What are you doing?" Mierin breathlessly asked. "It wasn't a challenge, when I said you couldn't wait-"
"I can wait. That's not what I'm trying to do here." you answered, fingers dipping down from her shoulders, fumbling at her belt.
Mierin stared down at your hands, shocked beyond words at the sudden change in roles. She didn't fight, hissing softly as your nails scraped at her hipbones.
"Do you even know what you're doing?" she dryly asked, both of her hands loose at her sides.
"Can't be that hard." you shrugged, yanking her trousers off of her hips, over the globes of her ass.
Sliding her pants down, you helped her kick them off, reaching down to put the seat down flat. Mierin's hair stuck flat to her head, a few stray hairs wet at the nape of her neck. Each breath in the dim wagon seemed to grow heavier, the stretch of your hips burning into a dull ache as you pressed down, clothed cunt meeting hers.
"Dry humping?" she smirked, still trying to be cocky.
"Are you averse to it?"
It didn't take a genius to see that Mierin was in fact staunchly for it, her breath coming in gasps as she sawed her hips with yours, fabric pulling and tugging firmly against her sensitive center.
"It's… Solid foreplay." she managed, both of her hands sliding down to squeeze hard at your ass.
Up, down, up… Down. The rhythm came slowly, but once you found it the rest was muscle memory. Her mouth returned to your neck, biting and sucking unforgiving bruises into your flesh. You made a mental note to ask her to heal them in the morning, to cover what would otherwise make a very nasty rumor. Like you cared, anyways.
"More… Left." Mierin directed, pulling at your hip.
Again the rhythm continued, grinding and moans slowing to rhythmic intervals as sweat and slick settled between your thighs.
No history would ever cite the relationship between Mierin Eronaile and an unassuming noble woman. None knew of it, none could ever suspect that the sheets washed at an inn the following morning had traces of Mierin Sedai, soon to be Forsaken interwoven into their fibers. But your body held the marks, left nestled between your thighs, beneath your ribs, carved harshly under the swell of your left breast.
When the Collum Da'an came crashing down into a field months later, none would recognize some negligible Accepted among the list of the deceased. Those records were long lost in the catacombs of some molding White Tower library. But sometimes, if one person lingered on the succeeding noble line do Avriny, a trapped woman of bone and blood shuddered, long nails clawing once against the One Power in her dreamless sleep.
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Else Grinwell of the Grey Ajah was your nemesis. Traveling with Nynaeve and Egwene to the White Tower was never simple to begin with, each step you took from the Two Rivers leaving another undeniable crater in your already bleeding heart.
Moraine had no way of knowing that you would suffer like this, pushed through the arches by a woman of unquestionable rage and authority. None that you questioned in the tower could picture a life without Else, the dark haired woman scouting out the novitiates like a wolf scouting a herd. Liandrin pushed Nynaeve into the arches, only to stumble out days later, and then Else pushed you. Two of the most powerful channelers in a thousand years, two terrible trials of destruction and anguish.
The arches had shown Nynaeve a future she would not have, friends would sacrifice at the cost of the tower. But for you, it was worse. The final arch glowed without the entry of Else's chosen pupil. Another lost to the tower's appetites. Not that she cared, the weak would have to be uprooted, the thirteen Black Ajah would find other supplements. She made a point of leaving last, though the look of despair on her face remained only so long as Egwene did.
"She'll come, Nynaeve did." the stupid child blubbered.
"You're dismissed, novice." red lips spat, white robes still red from where the Two Rivers girl had stumbled out of the second arch, bloody and trembling.
A day passed, another two. Else Sedai let her feet travel down polished steps, facing the third arch of stone. No threat would she face, pale hand sliding down smooth stone, wondering quietly at how the arches had held up, still functional after three thousand years.
"A marvel." she mused, letting her disguise drop entirely.
Lanfear let her feet glide through each arch, repeating the steps she had taken millennia earlier. Hellish nightmares of the future, the past, the possible remained fuzzy imprints in her mind. Too much real horror had replaced what the ter'angreal had shown all those years ago. At the third she paused, letting her fingers stall over a slow pulse in the stone.
"Still in there, little novice?" she cooed, lips curled in disgust.
A blast of light burned hot into her eyes, stunning the Forsaken back, the True Power coursing briefly around her hands. She watched in amazement as Two Rivers stumbled out, clothed in the weave of Accepted years passed.
"Mierin!" she choked, eyes filling with tears as pain blurred whatever senses remained.
Lanfear, most formidable of the female Forsaken, caught those suddenly all too familiar eyes. Not one yellow healer would touch her that day. Else Sedai, Lanfear worked far faster than they could.
Three thousand years ago, you'd been crushed under the weight of the Bore's explosion. In your second life the exit to the ter'angreal had appeared just moments before you were crushed, shoving you hard through white stone arches, into the arms of the same woman who had been three rooms away in your memory.
Else Sedai labeled it "delirium" when you babbled her name before collapsing. Whatever you saw in the arches made no rational sense to anyone, other than that your burden was your own, bloody body patched and bathed by none other than the woman who shoved you so fast and so far in the first place.
You awoke slow, parallel lives playing out slow, Old and New tongue fighting until the slowing of mumbled gibberish faded. Lady do Avriny was dead, you knew that. She'd died, a Two Rivers wisdom in training had been born. But seeing that dark hair sprawled over a silk pillow stalled you.
"… Mierin?" you whispered, fingers slow and clumsy underneath unfamiliar blankets.
A face slid slow, blue eyes bright and familiar. She stared down at you, hair cascading over her shoulders.
"That wasn't a mistake then. You do recognize me. How?"
Imminent danger awaited any who lay so exposed underneath Lanfear, daughter of the night. But you'd died too soon, were still to fragile to feel anything but relief as she stared down with the same look she always did after a night spent pretending to love.
"Because I knew you. A turn ago." a warble gurgled from your lips, fingers seeking out the cold hand you knew was hiding underneath the duvet.
She only raised a brow, smirking at the commentary.
"I knew a lot of people. Remembering your past life is improbable, but it will win you no points."
Her spare hand crawled up, grasping around your shoulder hard enough to restrict blood flow. You didn't feel fear, rather you took it as invitation, curling into her arms. She stilled, wondering at her angle. Was playing dumb really the way to go with this reincarnated do Avriny girl?
"A coworker, perhaps? Another withering Aes Sedai?" she mocked. "My enemies?"
Your nose was so gentle as it pressed into her collarbone, seeking comfort as no one had done in… She refused to think long about it. Blessing or curse, she needed clarity.
"No… No."
"Oh? Surely you can't be a family member. I didn't much like mine, at least the ones that were alive long enough to remember."
Again you choked out a negative answer, fighting against the lingering terror of your second life. She grounded you, Mierin did. Somehow she'd been reincarnated as Else… No, that wasn't right. Mierin Eronaile had lived past the Bore. Details were fuzzy still.
"A friend? Are you going to be so weak as to claim that?" she taunted, eyes sparkling with excitement as your body went limper and limper. "Maybe you'll be smarter in the next life and claim to be a lover."
Your hand jerked around her waist, momentarily gathering enough strength to signal you needed to speak.
"Oh. Interesting."
She was cradling you, a dull realization dawned. One arm looped around your shoulders, supporting your neck, the other hand pressing against a phantom wound. Like the night she'd whipped you with the One Power in the garden, her temper cooled and schooled back into place at the first flicker of her intrigue. Back then you never would have guessed Mierin would be capable of the cruelty that would come later, details you still couldn't grasp.
"Are you going to tell me who you are, or do I need to guess?" she smiled, eyes still perfectly cold. "One of my pillow friends from my novice years, perhaps?"
"… No, we met when you were a researcher, at the Collum Daan." you slowly replied, speaking between slow breaths. "A year or two before the Bore was executed."
As slowly as the smirk had appeared on her face, it disappeared in a flash, face icy before she could be caught surprised. Lanfear prided herself on her acting, letting your eyes slide slow over her face as she made a play of this reunion.
"You're that do Avriny girl." she stated, without much emotion.
There was nothing wrong with the detached way she spoke of your past. It felt like a lifetime ago, as it truly was, and yet to see the need for deflection, to see how quickly she remembered and reacted to it… It was more than you expected, and yet less.
"Are you going to say my name or not?"
A spasm of irritation, perhaps disgust came over her face for the briefest moment, and yet you couldn't decide if it was meant for you or her.
"Don't expect familiarity, girl." Lanfear spat, finding out at once that her angle had failed.
Her comical rage, the sheer venom in her voice would have frightened another, and yet it was the same expression she'd used when you'd stolen the last chip from a bowl, and her tone was the same one she'd used when you'd offended her. Lanfear was still Mierin to you, still someone that you had loved.
"You're still the same." you smiled, reaching up to brush a hair out of her eyes, even as she leaned away.
"Don't."
More deflection, more games you'd played before. You didn't hold back a giggle as you worked to catch her face, fingertips leaving clammy smears over her cheek where you touched her.
"I said don't." Lanfear repeated, growing more frustrated.
This time you caught her chin, stroking over her lip in the way that always caught a rueful glare in the past.
"Let go, then."
A dare. She stared back at you, eyes searching. This time she didn't pull away from the touch, letting you stroke back and forth, mesmerized by her beauty, just like you'd been a lifetime ago. Lanfear, daughter of the night, a woman so cruel the world had scorned her across the generations. And yet she didn't pull away, didn't fight you, didn't drop you and leave you to die slowly. She pulled you in, letting you rest slowly in her lap, hand still cradling your head.
"… You touch like a schoolgirl, fingers still trembling," she whispered, eyes filled with that same blue flame, "After all these years, I'm flattered at your inexperience."
Her dark hair hung limp around her shoulders, out of any style or wave. It touched you, that she'd kept you in her bed after the arches. Slowly you pieced together the truth, letting your fingers trace over familiar fine lines and moles. Lanfear, daughter of the night, first to swear the oath. She'd pushed you through the arches, though you were sure she hadn't known, could never have guessed they would show you a parallel to your past life, a parallel to the life she hadn't been able to save.
The mood had changed, and whether you were talking with Lanfear, or tentatively interacting with the surfacing Mierin, it didn't matter. She wanted to reminisce as much as you did, and so you spoke.
"The wheel turned after I died in the explosion at the Bore. I can't explain why the arches showed me that, but I remember how scared I was. You can't imagine-"
"Oh but I can." Lanfear smirked, tapping a finger gently against your temple. "I can imagine all too well."
Leaning forward, leaning into Lanfear brought stability, a sense of relief from the dull ringing in your ears. You felt the soft tug against your temples, fingers pressing into pressure points to calm, to soothe a nervous system you hadn't even recognized was disregulated. And yet it was done, in the same gentle way she'd stroked away the lash marks on your sides. Not a direct apology, but close enough.
Her body was sturdy, as wiry and strong as you remembered. All of it was the same, even with the smell of antiseptic in the air, she was still saffron and cinnamon. Spice upon sweat.
"You smell exactly like I remember." you murmured against the rough cloth of her dress.
Mierin. The bed in the Weat village, a night spent tangled in sheets of anonymity. One night, another, ten. It didn't matter, you were hers even before you swore yourself to the White Tower. And what had it ever brought you except misery? A turn of the wheel, you knew better. Or at least you had thought you did.
"If I call you by her name will I get Mierin?" you carefully asked, severing the past as neatly as you could.
Fog had cleared, she was Lanfear. The stories were clear, how much misery and pain the very appetite for power had caused.
"The past tense is useless, dear, we both know I'm as much Mierin as I am Lanfear." she sighed, arms snaking around you like serpents.
It was true. Mierin had made the choice to choose the dark, though you only knew it from legend now. Your soul had passed on well before she had fallen.
"Did you choose dark because-"
"-Don't go there. Don't flatter yourself." Lanfear spat, momentarily squeezing you with enough force to jar air out of your lungs.
"I see." you murmured, combing a hand against her skull once to soothe her temper. "You'll forgive my idiocy, my mind has never had the opportunity to age a few years beyond maturity."
A wry chuckle came from your companion as she took in the humor of your words. Mierin had loved dry wit far longer than Lanfear had given herself a name. It was the best quality of yours, whispering jokes about yourself and others as you staved off exhaustion. Tangled in her sheets you were jester and queen, though Mierin had always been the King.
"A sad truth. Maybe you'll live long enough to see thirty in this turn. Although I'm not sure how well it would flatter this form."
A swat to her shoulder brought out another gasp of laughter, followed by a gentle squeeze of your bum. Just like old times, the comforts she used.
"I jest. I quite like it. You're more fit than you were in the last life, farmer's daughter and all."
Her eyes sparkled gently now, though the firelight burned no brighter. A blaze of temper followed by the slowest calm. Lanfear, daughter of the night and yet hardly serene enough to embody the gentle pass of complete darkness accompanied by soft stars. You would've chosen a different title perhaps, something reflective of her temper, her drive. And yet nothing seemed more perfect than the name you'd whispered, wished and moaned in quiet hours before dawn. It was this nostalgia that brought you forward, pressing a searching kiss against an all-too familiar cupid's bow. It was hers that returned it, sucking softly against your bottom lip until you moaned softly into her, body sparking with want. The first time all over again.
"Easy now." she whispered, not parting a moment from your lips. "You'll end it before it's even started with that urgency."
A dull heat burned in your cheeks. You were embarrassed, how easily you folded for her. The world had changed since your last life, she had changed. But maybe this hadn't changed at all. Maybe what you were, this union of your legs wrapped around her waist, her hand tangled in your hair and the slow broil of need burning between you, maybe this hadn't changed at all.
"By the light… This body is as easy as the last one." Lanfear gasped, leaning forward and sending you sprawling on your back, head thunking against the headboard.
"Oww!" you yelped, touching the tender spot.
"Oh pooh. Do I need to kiss everything better?"
Lanfear was mocking, smirking too wide to be teasing. You didn't care, nodding once as she processed the request.
"Seriously?"
"Mhm." you nodded, watching her sigh in resignation.
Lanfear rolled onto her side, leaning above you until she pressed a soft kiss on the back of your head. Your arms wrapped tighter around her, more support than intimacy.
"It was all I was, wasn't I?" you coolly asked, letting your fingertips graze slowly over her nose.
She tilted her head, thinking to herself without much obvious judgment.
"You were a distraction, yes. I would be lying to you if I claimed much else."
Her pause brought a moment for you to react, to take in her words and feel pain, as she so clearly wanted you to. But she was speaking a truth you'd known for years, a truth that had flashed through your mind seconds before death. It was bittersweet that the arches had given you the opportunity to be saved in this life.
"I did enjoy your company, not just the sex. I wouldn't have… Pursued you like I did if I just wanted your body."
You felt your eye twitch before you let your chest sag with emotion. She didn't let let it slip that she felt you cry. Not yet anyways. She had three thousand years worth of longing to make up for. And you, buried deep in her arms like you'd never left, didn't hesitate to pretend that you were still Lady Maiden do Avriny, and that the Bore, this life and all the rest, had just been a bad dream before waking up in Mierin Eronaile's arms.
Nothing bad would ever happen when you were with her, she'd once said. Nothing bad at all.
Ilsa Faust X Fem!Spy!Reader (also very awkward reader)
Summary: You were supposed to be the one watching her, not the other way around. You were a spy, sent to catalogue, to capture, to prove what she’d become. It should have been simple, really. But now, the lines are beginning to blur.
Warnings: None so far except for reader being an awkward fuck :p.
A/N: Sorry for my bad English, it isn't my first language. <33 And also sorry if the end is a bit rushed and shitty, I'm doing my best out here 😀. Writers block will be the death of me.
word count: 6k (HOLY MOLY)
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Jun 12, 2022, 17:41:22
CAM 03
You were already watching when Ilsa entered. Sat, hiding behind thickly rimmed sunglasses in spite of the sun setting outside the dust coated windows of the coffee shop. It was always at hours like this when you knew you could find her. The woman didn't exactly allow herself many pleasures, and she was used to always being on the move, especially during times as these. Never staying in one place too long, afraid it might give away her position. And yet, it seemed, she was and would always be a creature of habits. Habits easily recognised to the trained eye. And eye like yours.
Gently adjusting your sunglasses, you heard the by now all too familiar shuttering sound of the camera which was conveniently embedded into the plastic pieces shading your identity. You didn't quite know why you were capturing exactly this moment. After all, you'd been tasked with photographing incriminating activity, not simply afternoon recreational coffee drinking. An innocent café visit wasn't necessarily unlawful. Although, Ilsa did take her coffee with an alarming amount of sugar which in itself could be considered a crime.
Nonetheless, you supposed you might just find this moment a tad… Quaint. Especially for a character like Ilsa herself. A rogue on the run, convicted of countless murders and crimes treacherous crimes against her country. Her ledger contained such an extensive list of offences you were sure you'd require an army's worth of hands to count them. And yet, now, through the lens of your camera, you watched on as she nipped carefully at the scalding mug of coffee. Buried in a book. Framed ominously with your glasses' ample facial recognition technology, naming her a 'threat' and a 'target', in large, bold, blood red letters.
It reminded you of just where you were, and with who. Because in spite of how preoccupied she looked to be, gaze flitting across a newly turned page in her book, that look in her eyes was all too recognisable to you. To the average passer-byer she seemed only particularly engrossed in whatever novel it was that she had picked out, but to you, to your countless hours of training and briefing on who exactly she was, it was all to clear. The focus. The sharpness in those forest green eyes, the memorisation of every word she read. You could not get distracted.
You only hoped those sharp eyes hadn't noticed you, and just how intensely you were observing her. Ideally, your heavy tinted shades would conceal exactly where your gaze was directed. And if that failed, your disguise would make a cover for your next encounter, and you'd be written off as just a curious civilian. And there would be a next encounter. And then another one, and another one. This was your mission. To trail. To stalk. And to capture any incriminating moment of her daily routines, any and ever single lapse of judgement which could land her with a final conviction from the country she'd earlier served, and could finally get her imprisoned and out of their hairs.
You'd pass by her on the street, glancing at her through the reflection in a window, whatever was behind the glass mere background noise to you as you pretend to window show, your focus solely and completely on the woman walking by peacefully. Obliviously, or so you hoped, at least. You could never be quite sure with Ilsa. She was, after all, dangerous. Treacherous. She was your enemy, your target. No space for slipups or lapses, you were loyal. Loyal to your superiors and the state which employed you.
It had been a while now, and your mind had grown used to watching her. By now, you were quite sure you could follow her blindfolded, you knew her patterns. You knew how she took her coffee (suspiciously sweet), what sorts of books she read, you recognised how she walked, knew what made her laugh and what made her frown. Why you had picked up on such details, you didn't really know. And additionally, you didn't really want to think about it. It was all just distractions, you thought. Red herrings and all that. Admittedly, she'd become a bit foreseeable in her actions, and only more so over time since you'd started this job. Which you knew was… Well, a bit unusual. You'd expected more unpredictability, more inconsistencies in her movements and routines, after all that was what agents were supposed to do. All in order to shake off possible stalkers, like yourself for instance. So why was she playing the course so compliantly?... Perhaps she had grown tired of running? You, for one, had been in that position before. It was how you'd ended up with your current employers. Subdued. Caught. And offered a job. You'd gotten sloppy. Maybe she had too.
But now was not the time to dwell on such things. Ilsa was there. A problem to be solved, a traitor. And you were an artist. A photographer, if a bit of an atypical one. It was all about catching her in moments where she thought she was alone, unwatched. When she thought the coast was clear and she was safe to open her Pandora's box. Expose herself for the criminal she was. Angles, lighting, timestamps. Habits. All through your lens. Click. An opened computer, shot over her shoulder when she thought nobody was watching. Locations, weapons sales, the liked. Secrets unravelled on a glowing screen, baring the warm underbelly of the very criminal spider's web in which Ilsa had entangled herself. You were a hero, you thought. The knight in shining armour, doing what you were told, what was right. And she was the villain. She had to be stopped, no matter at what cost.
Jun 13, 2022, 17:22:43
CAM 03
And so, you returned. Same street, same time of day. All the same. Predictable. So predictable. Click. Another picture. Ilsa was stood at the disk, giving her order to the worn out clerk behind the counter. The same as always. What more could you expect at this point. And yet, it didn't quite bother you. Not anymore, at least. In a sense, you'd come to enjoy the mundanity of these moments, it felt almost domestic. Normal. Unlike so much else happening around you. Your life had become such a wrangled mess of chaos and orders, flung about you like tiny meteorites that you were never quite able to catch and grab onto. But this, this was different. Like a warm sun, standing still in the chaos. Something you could hold and keep. And indeed, you always kept these pictures, no matter their usefulness. No reason to, no logical one at least. Although so much about you had become undone these last couple weeks, not a lot of your decisions really remained "logical" anymore. You didn't really think so much anymore, just kind of do. That had always been your problem, hadn't it.
Ilsa just seemed so human beneath all that armour. All the missions and war, it had jaded her, made her seem more so like a statue, a concept. Something, not someone. Something to use as a lesson, not someone with her own desires and beliefs. Those books she always picked up at the library while you stood at some other random shelf. They were so personal. Always distinct, of all genres. Romances, thrillers, mysteries and everything in between. She especially liked Agatha Christie, you'd noticed, which was a given. And Doyle and Capote. All the classics, comforting in their predictability, just as herself, in a way.
She was still a criminal, of course! She had to be secured and put behind bars, far away! But, you still couldn't help but enjoy this time. It was unlike any of your other missions in all its boringness and mundanity. You'd come to anticipate Ilsa, unlike you anticipate any of your other missions or targets. At points, you caught yourself arriving early at the café, sitting down at your designated table as any other regular patron of this shop, book in hand, ready for your afternoon of recreational coffee drinking. You knew she'd arrive. She always did. And in your own newfound comfort, you grew sloppy. Predictable, yourself. Because that would always be your weakness, wouldn't it?
Jun 16, 2022, 17:22:43
CAM 03
You're early again today, as you've gotten into the habit of doing. Earlier than necessary. And earlier than protocol requires.
17:19:08.
Ilsa first arrives at 17:21:32. you know this perfectly well, and yet you're already seated at your designated spot. You know when she arrives because you've catalogued it. You catalogued every single thing thing about her, in fact. Because routine is weakness. Because predictability is leverage. Because you are good at what you do. Attentive to detail and diligent no matter how painstaking. The bell above the café door rings, and carefully correct your sunglasses, allowing the facial recognition in the glass to focus in on your target, framing her in green visuals that flicker and zoom. She's 4 seconds early exactly.
You do not look up immediately. You have trained yourself not to. Peripheral vision only. Reflection in the spoon resting against your saucer. The warped curve of metal makes her taller and stretched but you don't make an effort to get a clearer view, not quite yet. She's wearing a forest green coat today, framing her body in a way that creates a silhouette that's so distinctly her own. It… Suits her. Hair tied back, no weapons visible. Or at least none that neither your eyes or the camera fixed into your glasses, could pick up on.
She moves forward, practically floating across the stone paved flooring. But halfway towards the counter, she pauses. This is new. A deviation in the routine, it makes your heart pause right in your chest for a split second, and you tilt up your chin. She's not looking at the counter, or the menu. She's looking… She's looking right at you! Or- through you? Your pulse misfires once, sharp and humiliating. It's impossible. Your positioning is controlled. Table facing the exit, back to wall, the sightline is clear. Sunglasses conceal eye direction and contact, and micro-camera inactive between captures.
You quickly lower your gaze to your book. The page hasn't been turned for the last 6 minutes. You swallow, and mechanically turn the page. Perhaps… Perhaps it was just an overreaction on your part. The fact that she looked at you didn't necessarily mean she SAW you. Or knew who you were. Strangers look at each other all the time. Right? Chance encounter. The barista calls out for the next customer, and Ilsa moves at last. You let out a sharp breath, one you hadn't sensed though it had sat lodged in your throat like a boulder. You log it mentally.
Deviation: 8 seconds at entry.
Coincidence.
After a moment of you just staring at the smooth page of your book, you stand to dispose of your paper cup right as she steps away from the counter. It's accidental, it's timing. It is poor. planning. But you just couldn't help it, you needed to clear your mind, everything was just spinning, you were in shock and you had to-
You almost collide. Not dramatic or theatrical, no, quite the opposite in fact. You just, bumped into each other. Right as she stepped away from the counter after paying for her coffee. Either you were the one not minding your step, or she was deliberately targeting your path. Either was a possibility, and in your confusion, you could be sure you noticed a slight smirk touch her features.
"Careful," she mused, and the two of you locked eyes for what felt like hours, though it likely lasted no more than just a couple seconds. "Yeah… Yeah, sorry, my bad" you simply muttered in response, clearing your throat and attempting in vain to recollect yourself and get your bearings. To at least resemble something a tiny bit normal. But it felt impossible with her eyes boring into you. Like two shards of icicles, glaring into your soul. It made all the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention, as a cold shudder wracked your body. So, you cleared your throat, and lowered your head as you progressed towards the trashcan. As you were finally out of her line of sight, your entire body seemed to melt on the spot and you swore you could've collapsed right there on the spot, in front of everyone in the café. This entire day had only just lasted a couple hours and everything was already splintering between your fingers, this was not the plan!
And yet, at once, you somewhat found yourself feeling disappointed. Not at yourself or your own apparent lack of spacial awareness and utter incompetence throughout the entire encounter. Or, well, yes, also that. A tiny bit maybe. But there was something else swirling about inside of you. Something else which just felt utterly wrong and entirely misplaced. Why didn't anything more happen?…
Collision: 2 minutes at entry.
And so, after everything, you decide to return home. Perhaps this day was just bound to go wrong, perhaps you just got out of bed on the wrong foot and now everything was crumbling. Nothing felt right, not anymore.
The door to your designated darkroom creaks upon entry, a subtle greeting. Welcome back, and, you're early. The red lighting illuminated only your nearest surroundings enough for you to not trip a second time today. One smooth metal table, and a couple strings fastened around the room with pictures hung to dry. Developed from that tiny camera built into your glasses. Convenient and easy. You could've easily just sent the pictures straight to your employers raw and undeveloped, but something inside of you gained a sort of satisfaction from watching them become tangible. For you to be able to hold them. It was almost therapeutic in a sense. Which was why you stood here now, leaning on the metal table nearest you as you rummaged through a box of newly dried pictures.
All of them entirely useless. At least, that was if you asked your boss. None of them really carried anything incriminating, only ordinary, everyday tenderness. Should you even report these? Really, there was nothing to report back. Your eyes scanned quickly across the thick pieces of printed paper. Nothing on this one, nothing on that one. One of Ilsa lounging in a library, immersed in yet another thick novel. The book sprawled across her legs, positioned, open, in between her thighs while she sat like a shrimp, hunched in a large, tall backed chair. And another one, this one of Ilsa on a walk through the park. Her hands were buried in her pockets and she was wearing a pair of earphones. You wondered what she was listening to in that moment. Perhaps something classical? She seemed like the type. Or something entirely different.
And as you pondered on that, you realised just how truly useless this all was. Here you were, supposed to capture incriminating pictures of a rogue, runaway agent. And instead, you were considering what kind of music said dangerous and rogue agent might be listening to on her evening stroll. It was utterly hopeless. Every word of the MI6 rung hollow in your mind, no longer really seeming to carry the sort of weight it used to. This woman, this apparent danger to society, was living her life finally far removed from a world that had almost killed her on numerous occasions. You'd heard the story too many times. Ilsa, almost shot by one guy and at another point stabbed by another. And now she had finally escaped. And England wanted to what, punish her for it.
God, you were really defending her? You should be feeling shame, you knew that. You should be more loyal to the country which had nourished you and trained you, now only demanding that you take a couple pictures and nothing else. And yet, you didn't. You felt nothing.
Your hands dived into the box of pictures once more, and you withdrew a third picture. This one, however, looked different. In the picture, Ilsa was sat in the very same café she'd been in earlier. Her computer sat ajar in front of Ilsa on the table, the screen clearly in view from your own position at the far end of the café, your own usual spot. And on the screen, what you supposed to a government website sat clearly displayed. A government website Ilsa wasn't exactly supposed to have access to organically. Only officials. Evidence. Without a second thought, or perhaps any thoughts at all, you found yourself picking up the picture, holding it up in front of yourself. And in the other hand, your lighter.
The flames licked gently at the sharp edge of the sharp corner of the photograph, slowly eating away at the paper. It evaporated there between your fingers, and you did nothing but watch on as ashes scattered beneath it on the table. Remnants of what should have been the very evidence you'd been told to provide your country.
Jun 16, 2022, 22:46:03
CAM 04
The cold air of the early night brushed across your features like a gentle caress. It was colder than you expected, the night had only just arrived. You hadn't bothered with a coat when you stepped out, needing just a moment to regain control over your fractured mind. The door to the building clicks shut behind you, the sound too loud in the quiet street almost casing you to flinch at the sudden interruption. For a moment you simply stood there, breathing in the night air like you had surfaced from underwater.
Your fingers still smell faintly of smoke. Ash had collected in the crease of the metal table when the photograph finished burning. You left it there to sit, didn't clean it up, didn't take another picture to replace it. Right now your barely even had the capacity to truly consider the consequences of your actions, let alone look at the evidence of them.
You rub your thumb against your forefinger absentmindedly, as though expecting soot to still be there. But there was nothing. Just you and your thoughts on a still street, far, far away from home. Alone. It was only now in the silence that you truly had a moment to contemplate your predicament. How had you even ended up here? Was this considered a mental breakdown? What the hell were you going to make for dinner?!
You shook your head and groaned. The street was quiet. London always had a such a strange stillness to it this late, a contradiction to the usual bustling of people and vehicles, conversations from passer byers and the occasional outburst of a discontented toddler. Not exactly silent, but muted. As if someone had put the entire city on pause. Cars were passing somewhere distant. An underground train rumbling by faintly somewhere beneath the city like a giant shifting in its sleep.
You start walking without even deciding to. Just away. From the darkroom. From the box of photographs. From the place where you had stood and watched proof dissolve into grey flakes. Your route turns familiar before you even notice, and with an almost ashamed expression, you reach into your bag. From it, you fetch a pack of Marlboros. Stone pathways stretch out in front of you, framed by cold, iron fencing. Tall trees with fresh, green branches bloom from the grass on either side of you, swallowing most of the streetlamps. It was the park. You lit your cigarette, the movement of your hands almost automatic as you did. Practised and repetitive. You hadn't smoked in years and yet, your hands still remembered the gesture.
You don't remember choosing this direction and yet here you were. It was as if you'd entirely lost control of your body, like a zombie walking in whatever direction its decaying brain thought made sense in that moment.
The gate creaks softly as you push it open with your free hand, the metal cold against your palm, almost bringing you back to life in that second. Gravel crunches beneath your shoes, and wind rushes through the thin branches of the trees above you. The park is empty. Not even a mere dog walker in sight. Just you, your thoughts, and the trees that by now seemed almost alive. It felt normal. Ordinary. Safe.
You progress further into the parks thicket, past the bench where you'd once watched her sit for nearly an hour, doing nothing. Past the stretch of path where she always slowed slightly just to appreciate the flowers, adjusting her pace just right before reaching the bridge. Your mind had catalogued everything automatically. Without thought. Like a machine. All tiny habits that had made her seem so human it practically ached. You could no longer bring yourself to view the routine as weakness, even though that was what you'd always been taught to do.
You come to a halt suddenly. Something felt off. It takes your brain a short moment to identify it, that feeling. Not exactly foreign, in fact, it felt almost too familiar. That faint tightening at the back of your lizard brain which told you that you you were in danger. You'd gotten far too used to this sensation and you knew what it meant. You are being watched. Your ears perked up and you straighten your back instinctively like a coil tightening, the cigarette in your hand still producing subtle swirls of smoke.
Leaves rustle somewhere behind you and you wince, turning about yourself in a halfway circle as if believing you might be able to catch whatever or whomever this was with your eyes if you just moved fast enough. God, if this ended up just being a squirrel you might just combust. However, it might just as well be Freddy Kruger himself and in that case you'd rather be prepare than not. No matter that, by now you could feel it moving closer, and your body turns once again before your brain can even process the movement or finish your thought.
And there she is. Only a few paces away from you, at attention, staring straight in your direction. Only lit by the dim spill of a lamppost and yet you recognised her almost instantly. You hadn't even heard her approach! Of course you hadn't, it was Ilsa fucking Faust, the very woman you'd been practically stalking the last, what, months?! And she's looking at you the exact same way she had earlier today, with that crooked smirk and knowing eyes, a gaze which stared right through you and yet right at you. All seeing and intense, eyes harbouring a sort of amusement, almost as if the two of you were both in on some sort of joke that you didn't quite understand yet.
She's dawning the same, forest green coat that you recalled she had at the café earlier. Hair tied back the same way, the same shoes and the same makeup, God, you remembered everything, knew everything about her. Or at least you thought so.
And she's so calm, she's always just so calm. Both of you stay quiet momentarily, the only sound being that of the rustling of leaves. Accompanying the two of you, filling the space in between you and making it even smaller and tighter than it already felt. You can practically hear your own heart in your eardrums as it gallops away and then stumbles, hard enough that you're sure Ilsa must be hearing it too. And the theory is then only made certain when she tilts her head, the smile creasing her face only growing as she simply observes you with an attentive glare. Not at all friendly, no, of course not. But not exactly cruel either.
"You're off schedule tonight." The words hit you as if you've just been shot. Or perhaps that's just your fear talking already. You scramble desperately to catch up mentally, blinking rapidly, your lips parting and closing and parting and closing. The words just at the tip of your tongue, though constantly evading your attempts at speaking them at the very last second. Finally, you manage to stutter out a few words, but you almost instantly regret it as you hear yourself. "Excuse me?" Your voice sounds smaller than you expected.
Her gaze flicks briefly toward you. Your face, your eyes, your hair and your clothes, then back to your eyes. "Usually you stay in the café until seventeen forty-three," she continues conversationally,casually almost. Had you not been so surprised, you might've been annoyed with her tone. "You leave through the side door, walk two blocks east, then disappear into that building with the broken streetlamp outside."
Your entire being seizes inwardly and your breath catches. As if she'd physically grabbed you by the hairs of your neck and tugged hard. But physically you were still standing there, frozen. And Ilsa hadn't even touched you. She takes one slow step closer now, the gravel shifting and crunching beneath her feet like a warning signal as she approaches. "You didn't do that today." She continues, taking yet another step closer. And you can do nothing but just stand there dumbly as your enemy closes in on you. "You left early." You can't breathe. Every instinct inside of you is screaming at your, your nerve endings are on fire and your brain is mush inside your skull, and can do nothing to aid you now. "...You must be mistaking me for someone else."
It's a pitiful attempt at dodging her, almost embarrassing. But it's all you've got, and so you have to double down. You shake your head, clearing your troat as you attempt to look at least somewhat collected. And once more, it's a pitiful sight. "I don't know you."
Ilsa's eyebrow lifts slightly. "Oh you don't?" She muses, a soft chuckle rolling past her lips. By now she's right in front of you. She isn't even careful in her movements. There is no apprehension in her steps or care to her motions as she shifts, closer and closer. Step by step. She's completely and entirely sure of herself and sure that you won't do anything. And you so wished you could prove her wrong.
"You know, I noticed the glasses first," she says lightly, shrugging on her shoulders and cocking her head to one side. "Your behaviour, it's very telling." You twitch, the corner of your eye just slightly. You're perfectly aware that it's a weakness, that she can see everything, notices everything. It's Ilsa Faust for fucks safe! And yet there is nothing you can do to conceal it. You've sort of just… Short circuited. And so, she's free to continue her psycho analysis of you. "You sit in the same place every time. Same posture. Same book angle every time." She gestures vaguely with one hand. "And the spoon, of course."
Your throat tightens, and you squint your eyes in confusion. She knew that too? You're wringing your hands, picking at your nails, your breath is picking up. You shake your head curtly. "The… The spoon?" "Yes. The spoon. The reflection," she says. "You watch people through it."
Her eyes flick briefly toward the nearby lamppost and then back to you with a sigh. She'd been chewing gum, you note. Those instincts, the desire to remember and notice anything die hard, clearly. Her breath is warm on your features, but you quickly ignore that part. The part of you that wanted to approach too and get closer. She speaks again, her voice is smooth still. Curt and controlled but with that underlying amusement that you'd always found yourself listening in closely to whenever you heard her talking. Whether that was just a simple coffee order, conversing with the cashier or talking over the phone. It was just so… Captivating…
No… Stop it, get it together! "It took me three days to realize you weren't just another paranoid Londoner." Your thoughts were momentarily interrupted by her voice as she explained, and you slowly exhaled a breath you'd been holding back without realising it. A beat of silence passed passed. Drawn out and thick with tension. Your mind was struggling, practically burning with so many questions your skull hurt. Three days… Three. Days. That was all it had taken? You'd been watching her for weeks!
“Three days,” she repeats, softer this time, like she’s tasting the number over again, turning it over between her teeth. There’s something different in her expression now, something less amused, less clinical. It was sharp. In a sense you could almost feel it on your strangely warm skin. Like a knife being dragged across it. She was focused. Completely and entirely on you, in a way that made your chest feel too tight, like there wasn't quite enough room in your lungs to draw a proper breath. “After that, I stopped trying to figure out what you were doing,” she continues with an almost bored shrug. She advanced now impossibly closer, stepping about you as if to sniff you out. Her voice lowered just slightly, pulling you in whether you wanted it or not. She went on: “And I started wondering why.”
You swallow, hard. Your throat aches with it. “I don’t—”
She cut you off “You do,” It makes your stomach drop and spin and flip. So many emotions you couldn't at all place. It’s not exactly an accusation. Just a simple fact. Her gaze drags over your face, slow, deliberate, catching every flicker, every micro-expression you fail to hide. You can feel it happening and you still can’t stop it. “You’re not careless,” Ilsa then says, almost thoughtfully. “You’re not stupid either, despite how this must look.” A pause and a short beat that stretches too long for what it was. “So it isn’t incompetence.” Your pulse is hammering now, loud enough you’re half convinced she can hear it, map it out the same way she mapped your routines, your habits, your tells. Every single thing. She knows it all, everything about you. You force a breath in through your nose, in an attempt to steady yourself. Trying your best, at least. “You’re making a lot of assumptions.” You scoff.
“Am I?” There’s the faintest tilt of her head again, that same assessing angle and that same devious smirk. But it’s different now. More personal, almost. She takes a step toward you and it’s instinct, the way your body reacts, the way every muscle goes completely taut, and your nerves light up. Her fire to your gasoline. And yet, you don’t move back or even flinch. You should, yes. But you don’t. What the hell is wrong with you… Ilsa continues “Because from where I’m standing,” she sounds a bit quieter now. Her fingers twitch. She wants to reach out. She wants to touch you. “it looks very much like you had exactly what you came for.”
Your breath stutters and you furrow your brow, already readying up to defend yourself. But she's already a step in front of you."But you chose to destroy it. Didn't you darling?”
The world doesn’t stop as you expected it to. It should. It really, really, really should, but it doesn’t. The distant hum of the city is still there, cars passing somewhere beyond, a door slamming, voices you can’t quite make out. All of it feels muffled, like it’s happening behind glass, far away from the sharp, suffocating clarity of this moment. Of her. Of the way she’s looking at you now, not searching anymore but instead looking at you like she already knows everything about you, because she does. You don’t say anything, you can't, your throat has closed up on itself like its trying to choke you from the inside. Or maybe just trying to stop you from saying something stupid, because God knows you will if someone doesn't shut you up. And at once, your brain tripping over itself, trying to grasp onto something, anything that might pull you out of this, but there’s nothing there. No excuse that doesn’t sound hollow even in your own head. No lie she wouldn’t see straight through. No escape from her.
Ilsa watches all of it because of course she does. And something shifts in her expression then, subtle enough that you almost miss it if you weren’t already staring, already caught in her little honey trap. You're like a moth drawn to her light. And she's like an angler fish, who'd been dangling that very light in front of you for weeks now. “So. that leaves me with a rather interesting problem.” She says finally, the words slow and measured, like she’s placing them all very carefully out between the two of you. Your breath catches, traitorously, and you hate that she notices. You hate that she always notices.
Her eyes flick briefly, just for a second, enough to make your heart jump into your throat. She smiles deceptively and you feel your cheeks go warm suddenly, making you subsequently turn your face away. But she doesn't let you. She reaches up and grabs your face in a way that should've been rough and cruel, but instead was just so… Horribly gentle. "You've got a choice to make. Spy," she decides firmly, and you part your lips to protest "I know-" “Do you?” she interrupts again, and this time there’s something almost tender to her tone, which somehow makes it even worse. A pause. And her voice drops, barely above a murmur now. “Because people don’t throw away their leverage over me without a reason. Especially spies of your sort.”
You can’t breathe properly. Every inhale feels shallow, insufficient, like your body’s forgotten how to do it right under the weight of her attention, her proximity, the way she’s peeling you apart piece by piece and laying it all out in the open.
“So. I think,” Ilsa says, after a beat, her gaze steady, unwavering, “I think you've already made a choice.”
I despise seeing hair on my body because it makes me feel like the furry monster men treat me as
and I hate seeing myself without it because it makes me feel like the naked child they want me to be.
Tags: @mlovelore @hecatescrystaldagger @k-mzy @astrids2th @grechkathekasha @bjoerkumlaut @whatever-lmaoo and literally anyone else who sees this and goes ‘hey i wanna do that 🙈’
