You've reached a WLW station. stop for a while, read, and take a break before you get back on the train. You'll find a lot of ATLA and LoK content here, but if you do your digging right, there's some fandom hopping.
Letting yall know that I haven't disappeared, I've been doing a lot of planning for my current Nightreign WIP Staff of the Receeding Night is on AO3. Here's a little snippet from the upcoming chapter
Fandom: Elden Ring Nightreign
Characters: Duchess x Recluse
Chapter 5 "Names"
The Duchess put a hand to her forehead and sat on her stump, torn between pursuing her brother or reassuring the others.
But the Recluse made a decision for her, deciding that the Duchess owed nothing to either and guiding them back toward the ruined castle in which they slept.
She was forced onto one of the chairs around the table, staring into the shining elements stored at the center of it. Whatever they were, they were powerful. Broken, shattered and disarrayed but powerful nonetheless.
It infuriated her to think about. How so much power could be sitting before her, yet she had no way of using it. No way of harnessing it and using it to truly set herself free.
“It's killing me,” she admitted, “every minute it creeps closer and every second I wish it is swift. It would be merciful for it to crash on the first day.”
Recluse simply stood behind her, rubbing her shoulders. The mage's breath filtered through her hair ever so slightly, providing a modest amount of comfort.
“Pray that there is hope,” Recluse told her, “our plan is promising.”
“But it is not infallible. I want to forgo this curse of mine. Kill the Priestess and the Duchess, perhaps that will set me free.”
“But what would remain?” The Recluse asked, finally stumping her. Exasperation coupled to the gentle touch of ebony fingers on her chin drew her eyes toward the other Nightfarer's.
The witch had a kind face about her, not that the others would agree. But to the Duchess it was as though she was gazing upon a burnet orange sky with scarlett puffs of clouds. Perpetual day, she considered.
“You'll have to tell me,” Duchess replied after a moment lost in the sunset. “should you reconcile with my brother on my behalf, he'll surely tell you who I was before the menial assigned me the robe.”
In honor of the DLC I am presenting another chapter of their story. If you like this pair I would humbly like to point you to AO3 where I have been posting chronologically (and with some exclusive chapters!). Check out Staff of the Receeding Night
Or read the newest chapter below the cut <3
This time Recluse brought company with her to the ocean front. The Duchess' wounds prevented her from returning to the battlefield, and the witch didn't have the bloodthirst much of the others did.
Guardian had taken the lead, taking the Executor and Revenant with him. Though she and the eagle didn't get along so well, she trusted him to take care of the puppet girl.
The Executor seemed to have more on their mind, causing Recluse to suspect their investigation would be cut short once personal endeavors were achieved.
With their wellbeing at the back of her mind, she dug her feet into the sand. The cool earth filled the gaps between her toes and crawled up her leg.
It was colder than she anticipated, making her skin feel frosted and hardened against the wind.
The Wylder and Iron Eye showed once more their strength as they ran into the water, keen on being the first one to splash the other.
The Raider stood with his face to the sea, as if the salt in it was bringing about old memories.
But most prominently was the woman next to her. The Duchess’ pale skin braved the cold, even with the modified clothing she had on. Recluse found it endearing that this was the morning the other woman decided to put effort into her hair. The neat spiral braid was certain to get messy and salt-filled, rationalizing another wash.
Recluse walked further into the waves where the sand was softer, covering up to her ankles. Teddy-bear sand Revenant had called it. Recluse remembered thinking that was cute.
“Are you coming?” Duchess asked, extending a hand towards her. The sorcerer was a few steps ahead now, yet the water went up to her calves. Wylder's splashing in the distance frightened her a little, but Duchess seemed keen on wandering in another direction.
So Recluse took her hand, following the blonde woman into the rolling waves. They lapped around her hips not unlike the Duchess did at times. Her cheeks flushed at the thought, generating some mode of heat to her cold extremities.
The Duchess was sure-footed, guiding her through the twirling tide until they reached a calmer, and surprisingly warmer, patch of water. A matter of distance had been put between them and the boys, so they watched for a moment with an amused smile as the Raider forwent his ominous staring and initiated a 1v2 game of knockover.
“It's polite isn't it?” Duchess hummed, “that there can be so many laughs from them despite the impending.”
“It's easier for them,” Recluse replied, “a face off with Heolstor ends in freedom. It's only you that is bound to the more unsightly.”
“You think there's more misfortune waiting for me beyond?” Duchess inquired, watching with flushed cheeks as Recluse moved closer to her. Now that her limbs weren't at risk of breaking off she could approach more smoothly, using her hips to guide her feet.
“No one could be that cruel,” Recluse smiled, looking over her shoulder before wrapping her arms around the shorter woman's neck. The Priestess laid her eyes where she often did, undoubtedly thinking her mask let her get away with such a secret. But the metal could only disguise so much when her nose was pointed so distinctly. “Besides, I've been having thoughts.”
“The mage who never pries her eyes from the pages, nor her figure from the library has thoughts?” Duchess grabbed Recluse's elbows first, kissing the inside of her arms before her cold hands found her waist.
“What about it?” Duchess pressed, her eyes flicking briefly back to the men at the sound of a cheer before looking up to meet her own eyes.
“If I could… make a doll perhaps it could fit you.”
“What are you suggesting?” The other woman stopped, dropping her arms to her side and pulling away from Recluse's allure.
“Murmurs of Renna in a place adjacent to here,” Recluse described, “one of the books set next to the hearth described her talents. She taught such magic to those of good faith.”
Duchess simply glared at her through the metal, Recluse could picture her solemn eyes beneath. “We could build one, to your design and seal it to your fate.”
“So I could be a tool of your sorcery?” Duchess accused.
“I have no interest in ventriloquism,” Recluse assured her. “You would walk freely, speak and touch like the Revenant. Your sorcery and wit would persist you could–”
“I could be with you,” the Priestess interrupted.
“It would be possible.” Recluse agreed, too worried that more enthusiasm would push her partner into a hasty decision.
“The magic would have to be learned,” Duchess reminded them, “and the night draws near. The mission–”
“Is stalled in time,” Recluse told her, “held aback by daylight.” Duchess shook her head.
“My duty,” she recanted, “is to the Roundtable. To the sorcerous blood in my veins that determined my fate be tied to it. Perhaps if the early nightlords had pushed back but… not while we are at the brink. The sky grows darker, Recluse, the red streaks will be fire on the horizon before we know it. I cannot enter with a hope to survive or else I cannot give all of myself.”
“Duchess–” the blonde woman raised a hand to her mouth, her mouth pursing in a quiet desperation to silence Recluse's retort.
“It is not a no,” the Duchess assured her, “but rather something I must do beyond the red sky. When you return to the world from which you came I will embark on this conquest but all that I can promise is an attempt.”
Recluse found herself in a frown. The Duchess held her cheek, smiling reassuredly as though her words hadn't broken the last veil of her sanity.
“If it eases your mind,” the Priestess continued, “you may continue your research. Perhaps it will go smoother if I can pick up the pen where you will have last placed it.”
“Our worlds may not be the same,” Recluse added, picking a poor time to introduce another dark cloud that had been daunting her thoughts.
“Then I will remedy that too,” Duchess assured her, “in time.”
A high pitched whistle drew their attention. It seemed the Raider was no longer playing, but rather coaching the re-initiated brawl between the Wylder and his closest friend.
“We should entertain them,” Duchess sighed.
“Hah! Is that meant to suggest something?” Recluse scoffed, shaking her head at the roughhousing.
“Only this,” the Priestess smiled, returning her hands to her waist and pulling Recluse forward. She grinned as their stomachs pressed against each other and the pale woman's lips found her own. What surprised her is how quickly the blonde attempted to pull away, leaving it the Recluse's responsibility to hold them together.
Any coldness in her bones had certainly migrated, leaving nothing but the warmth generated by their scantily clothed bodies in close proximity.
“You are…” the Duchess hummed, slipping a finger up her side, staring unapologetically at her chest this time, “rare.”
“Easily explained by the scarcity of my assets among the others.”
“Magic has nothing to do with it,” Duchess told her naively. Recluse bit back her smile, holding the porcelain chin in one hand.
“My quip was not in reference to magic, Priestess.”
The other woman stared for a second, before her cheeks erupted in a flush.
“Those would be… uh, they certainly help.” Duchess was looking at her, but still Recluse could find distraction in manner. So she sent the shorter woman off to her brother, tempting her with a promise of seduction if she could beat them.
While retracing her steps to the shore she listened to the heated debated, and found a spot on the sand just in time to see the blonde woman climb onto the shoulders of the raider, and the hoodless archer do the same to the Wylder.
Even before she arrived in this place she couldn't remember a time so tranquil. So full of laughter and melancholy. Perhaps it was why she was constantly trying to solve problems, it just never felt right not to have any.
But even as her mind whirled on the subject matter of puppet designs she found herself unofficially cheering when the Priestess managed to dislodge Iron Eye from her brothers grip and send him into the sea. The Raider had an infectious bellow, earning a smile on everyone's face.
Duchess's masked eyes looked over her shoulder, finding Recluse sprawled into the sand. Recluse offered her a polite wave, hoping that her desperation for her company wouldn't be so obvious.
The memories of their time spent together would be more easily relived through a swift hand, but the Duchess would have a hard time recreating this once everyone else was gone. Boisterousness, a little chaos, and of course, collegiance.
After one more round with what seemed like an undetermined winner, the group began their saunter in from the sea. Recluse waited, propped up on her elbows with her back against the sand, for the Duchess to reach the shore and offer her aid to get up.
“Now is a good time to tell you,” Iron Eye said, “The guardian and I went for a hunt earlier. Plucked some mighty birds from the sky. We'll eat well tonight– and there is enough for all of us.”
“I sure hope the cooked pheasant won't reveal itself as an eagle,” Recluse teased, “let alone one with a shattered wing.”
“Hah!” Raider laughed, smacking her slightly too hard against the back. “I'm going to repeat that one when he gets back.”
“They'll be on the return soon enough,” Wylder observed, turning his eyes to the sky. “We best make ourselves comfortable now so they can have the space to settle back in.”
“The salt marinates the beard,” Raider grinned, “I'll start the pheasants.”
“Race you to the bath!” Iron Eye said quickly, racing off before anyone had a chance to catch him.
Wylder followed in pursuit, so the two women strolled behind, allowing their shoulders to touch in quiet peace.
“I wish I could think of more words to flatter you with,” Duchess said out of the blue, “but all that comes to me are teasing comparisons.”
“Oh?”
“I feel as though I've sipped from the Raider's tankard when I look at you, but I know that I am not drunk.”
Recluse smiled, shaking her head at the silliness of it. But it was true in some way. She understood the mellow haze the Duchess referred to when they were together.
“I couldn't have played,” Recluse told her, “with you and the gents.”
“Why not?”
“My skin would reveal too much of my blush if I were to sit on your shoulders.”
The Priestess’ pale cheeks flushed a vibrant pink, and her hand brushed against the Recluse's until her fingers interlocked in reply.
“We should go to the tower,” the Priestess suggested, “be on the lookout for the child.”
“She's fine,” Recluse insisted, “besides, her absence presents us with an opportunity.”
Duchess said no more, instead she followed the mage's lead. Recluse guided them to the partitioned sleep chamber their shared with Daphne. It was a small room, separated by a weak corridor to make a section for the Priestess and the other for Recluse and Revenant.
Recluse felt this was a good time as any to be presumptuous, so she pursued the bed of the shorter woman, falling onto it with a grin.
“The salt wouldn't benefit yours,” Duchess teased, removing the medallion from her braid and letting her hair fall out in the back.
“It's wise to dirty only one,” Recluse told her, “truthfully I think Revenant would appreciate we break the secluded one and share the one in her room.”
“What if she is to return?”
“Fresh pheasant to distract her. Are you worried you won't finish in time?”
“I thought I would try something new,” Duchess told her, “but not unless it appeals to you.”
Recluse nodded for her to proceed, smiling at the prospect of something new. She had her suspicions, and they were confirmed when the pale woman revealed the efforts of her tinkering.
“Let us start,” she demanded, taking what the paler woman had suspended over her fingertips and setting it aside.
The bundle of blankets and pillows supported her neck while the other woman closed the partition. Recluse stared down at her own chest, still bound by the white-pink wraps she had put on for the water.
One of her legs bent to raise a knee, only for the Duchess to push it back down as she was straddled. Hands planted themselves on either side of her head, causing the bed to indent slightly. Lightly clothed hips brushed against her own with an intoxicating heat. Recluse raised an arm down her back, strumming the Duchess’ exposed spine with a smile.
The gentle touch of lips against her caused her to be distracted, and soon her hands sought something more stable to hold onto. The waist of the other woman was one of her favorite places, but as the Duchess squeezed her thigh she found herself reaching upwards for the back of the bedframe. A tongue pushed its way through her teeth, taking the water from her cheeks and using it to deepen their kisses.
Her body hummed in gratuity, pushing itself against the warmth of the woman on top of her as though it was a living thing of its own mind. She wondered if her partner would remove her mask tonight. Sometimes she claimed it to be more comfortable, other times she spoke of things that were simply worth the discomfort to see.
The Duchess shifted her position, pushing a leg between the Recluse's and sinking deeper into her. Recluse arched her back so the sweet spot between her thighs could get more friction from the pale limb found there.
A small gasp slipped out of her lips as the blonde dipped her head. The light tattered hair fell across her back as she made imprints on the ebony skin of the Recluse's breasts. Each kiss was like a little bite, as though she was trying to get as much as possible without getting caught.
“Harder,” Recluse whispered, placing a hand on the back of the other woman's head and forcing her to engage more firmly with her chest. It wasn't like their companions would be able to see it anyway, and the gratification of looking at herself in the mirror was worth it.
The Duchess obeyed eagerly, taking larger portions of her flesh, securing each one with a suck drawing blood to the surface of her skin. Recluse inhaled sharply, feeling the softer parts of herself harden with stimulation. The hands on her waist continued to pull, undoubtedly leaving pale bruises in the shape of fingerprints. Not that she cared, for each tug of her flesh sent waves of heat coursing through her veins.
Her own hand reached in desperation at the wraps around her chest. Although the Duchess had been efficient enough to pull them aside with her teeth, she'd been too distracted to properly remove them. So Recluse pulled at the back strand, wiggling herself for an uncomfortable second, before presenting the other woman with the fabric.
Duchess smiled, sitting back on her knees and mimicking the gesture, letting her own bindings blend in with the mess of articles on the bed.
They paused for a moment, so that Recluse could place a wandering hand up the other girl's abdomen. Duchess simply watched, perched on her hips like a bird of prey on a branch.
“I wasn't hurting you, was I?” The pale woman asked.
“I don't think you're capable of that,” Recluse replied, pushing herself up on her elbow.
The Duchess paused, lifting her hands before her eyes as if they had committed a sort of crime.
The drama Recluse surmised with an eyeroll. The other woman was incapable of awkwardness, despite being a magnet for it. Talking for the sake of sound. Doing for the sake of an action.
A problem easily rectified.
While the Priestess was distracted by her own mannerism, Recluse pushed them over, using her advantage to get atop the other woman. The Duchess seemed surprised as she looked up at her, her hands wasting no time in reclaiming the real estate around her hips.
Recluse began to move her hips, slowly at first, to build a rhythm for the other girl to pull her forward.
Now she was on top, directing the feature but not starring in it. No, as the Duchess sucked her breasts she made it expertly clear there was a designated driver.
The hands at her waist clawed under the line of her swimwear, attempting to slide it off her ass. The Duchess was smooth about it, too, lifting a leg just enough so the Recluse could kick the fabric off her feet. When her final piece of clothing was gone she made quick work of the high waisted band around the Duchess’ legs, sending it to the same derelict site her own article had been cast too just moments before.
Now it was truly just them. Onyx against the ivory. Porcelain, as she described the Roundtable's leader. Porcelain in color, and in texture perhaps but unlike the material the Duchess was not so easily broken.
A hand slipped through her cunt, causing her to momentarily keel over. She huffed, looking down at the confluence between their legs, before finding her partner grinning up at her.
“The water,” the Duchess hummed, “its salt is dehydrating.”
“Mmmhmmm,” Recluse hummed, leaning down to meet her lips before directing her breath to the blonde's ear. “What is it you mean to tell me?”
“I could use a drink,” the Duchess answered with a grin. Recluse sat upright once more, taking a moment to stare down her own chest at the other woman's growing desperation.
Hands preemptively readjusted, gripping at her ass to pull her forward. Admittedly the flirtations were a success. Recluse swung her body forward slowly, gripping the rickety headboard before her as she smothered pristine cheeks with her thighs.
“Fuck!” She called into the air, letting her body move as it desired against the other girl’s face. Hands clawed into her back, and she pushed deeper into the mouth of her paramour. “Right there,” she commanded as a tongue flicked rapidly against her excited clit.
She might have felt bad, or at least worried about hurting the other woman, but the Duchess hummed to her own pleasure and remained steadfast. Recluse shuddered as the sensation of a tongue inside her. It nicked at her pleasure groove, as if to tease her into getting even lower on the Priestess’ face.
Pressure swelled in her chest and abdomen, not unlike the surges of fire she was used to unleashing on their enemies. It threatened to rupture her skin like the blood boone if she didn't release the tension soon.
Her hips grinded harder against the teeth that sought to undo them, finding even more friction against her lover's skull.
Lover.
It was such a strange word. She was almost certain no one else at the roundtable knew of it. She had been oblivious to its connotations not too long ago. It wasn't until one of the books yielded a story of matrimony, baked in the love of the nominated couple.
She'd tried to find a definition but nothing felt quite right. Words hadn't yet matched the sensation in her stomach when the Duchess returned from the night. Or how her mind eased into sleep much faster when she conceded to spending her sleeping hours in the Priestess’ bed.
Words could not describe how she felt in this moment. Her body ached to do something so primal she wasn't sure even the most primitive people here would understand. Her throat contorted in pain as she held in her howls of satisfaction. Her leg began to shake as the Duchess concluded her testament of skill by reaching her core with her tongue.
“Priestess I-” she gasped, throwing her head back so she could stare at the ceiling while her breath was taken. Her cunt throbbed against the blind woman's jaw, as if daring her to take more. Components of the fluid Duchess had testified having a taste for pooled against her legs, coating the two of them in a thin layer of heat.
Fingers crawled up to her breasts, titillating her nipples while she tried to rationalize her surroundings. A heavy fog weighed down her skull like one of her wide-brimmed hats. Only with this she had no intention of seeing it removed.
“Yes,” she moaned, starting her grind again while the Duchess focused on the parts of her that were still cold. Her breasts first, drawing them in with a gentle guiding hand before wrapping her lips around them. Recluse hummed her approval at the softness, sliding lower to lay on the other woman so she was in better reach.
When the Duchess was done with her chest, if that was possible, she found a spot for her hand on the back of the Mage's head. The woman beneath her arched her back as she pulled her in for a kiss. Sweat stuck them together as they engaged each other's lips and tongue.
It wasn't long before the Duchess used her instability to flip them over once more. The blonde woman laid atop her, taking a moment to look at her eyes. Even though their gazes were intercepted by the mask, Recluse could feel the intensity of their shared stare.
She wondered then, what words the Duchess used to describe them. And if that word sought to penetrate her skull right now.
“Satisfied?” Recluse asked coyly, adjusting her position slightly.
“I should be asking you,” Duchess replied, placing her lips against her cheek.
“I think you'll find my evidence quite compelling, Priestess,” Recluse told her, “it pours like ichor from me now.”
“I'm not so thirsty anymore,” the other woman teased, “but I would be a fool to refuse another round.”
“Mmm,” Recluse laughed, drawing her hands across the shorter woman's back. “Your mouth is a tool of envy,” she prefaced, “but I was promised something new.”
The Duchess raised her eyebrows in surprised excitement. Her weight shifted, exposing portions of the Recluse's sweat-trapped body to the chilly air.
She waited patiently, watching with amusement as the other woman recovered the tool she'd presented earlier. Seduction manifested in the way she stood to put it on; as though the Recluse hadn't noticed just how charming her figure was.
Being a devout mage gave her the privilege of being soft. Her wit and mind were far stronger than her limbs ever would be, and so her training regime was more relaxed than that of her peers.
Though the Priestess was a talented sorcerer, she walked the line between physical and mental. What she lacked in faith she made up for in her combat skill. Like a swift-running river or a fox through Limveld the Duchess slipped her dagger into unsuspecting foes.
It made her lean, strong. And evidently under the warm torchlights of their bedroom it made her into something the Recluse had won. To be the bedfellow of someone so enchanting was a reward, but for what she didn't know.
Her body pulled her from her thoughts as it hardened again, this time against the pressure of the other girl returning to the bed. Leather straps wrapped around her hips and thighs, squeezing her skin enough to leave a little indentation. Recluse found her fingers pulling against the straps, tightening it until it fit the other girl to her satisfaction.
Duchess beamed a smile that should not have been found on someone so tragic. Of all her victories on the battlefield she smiled the most for this one.
“Radiance,” Recluse commented, inviting the Duchess to her lips, “or confidence?”
“Anticipation,” the sorcerer answered, “it seems one of my spells has finally worked.”
“You cannot compare your magic to mine,” Recluse reminded her. She inhaled, finding the Duchess’ cold fingertips and placing them on her labia. “Violence is in the veins of magic. It comes naturally to any who might try it–” she panted now, growing increasingly warm as the Duchess lined up their hips. “But purity from the fingertips- pleasure- is a skill I've known only one to have mastered.”
“Who?” The Duchess whispered in her ear, holding her jaw in place. Recluse smiled coyly before her head shot back in pleasure. The Priestess inserted her contraption with a thrust of her hips. A slight slapping sound of their skin reuniting filled her with more heat and edges her closer to the end goal of satisfaction.
Involuntary sound escaped her lips while her hands sought for something to hold onto.
“You,” she managed to say while the other woman pushed in and out of her. The derelict wood of the bed rattled embarrassingly from the motion, but they were too involved with the action to notice or care much.
Her nails dug into the skin of the other woman's back, undoubtedly leaving scratchmarks on top of her scars. Her cunt absorbed each push like carian retaliation, pushing out sounds in exchange for the Duchess’ touch.
The sensation filled her entire body. Though it was impossible to be in her chest she felt it there, churning her blood like a cauldron stew. Lips sucked at her nipples, hardening them into weathered ocean-like stones. Her body told her to rupture again. It pleaded against the tissue keeping her skin together, begging to be let out.
But the Duchess was not so tired yet. Her cheeks were red with attraction and effort, and sweat dampened her hair. Yet the loyal Priestess soldiered on with a grin, as if the orgasm at the end was voluntary and the journey was just as exciting.
So held strong, letting the cold material penetrate her in quick succession. Her back arched with each push and her cunt contracted around the phallus to keep it inside. The Duchess nipped at her neck and collarbone, attempting to distract her from her steadfast position.
The blonde released a high-pitched moan, her cheeks igniting in the sweet cherry color of embarrassment. Recluse ensured the feeling was short lived by making a sound of her own.
The others told them they spoke too much, yet Recluse never thought that was the case. She always had more to say, but she was quiet about it. Her thoughts were usually said into the mirror, that is until her first conversation with the Priestess. Effortless and self-sustaining. It wasn't until now that she recognized she had yearned to hear the other woman's voice so she kept them engaged. Funny, how she had manifested an image of an extrovert so accidentally.
Her body seized with pleasure as the Duchess increased her pressure. Even her temperate skin had a limit, and the Duchess was about to find it.
“I can feel it,” she murmured, latching on to the shorter woman's neck.
“Tell me how you like it,” the sorcerer urged, desperate to finish with perfection.
“Higher,” the mage answered, picking up the blonde's hand and placing it on her lower abdomen. She showed the other girl how to properly push– reaping the rewards in the moment that followed. The added contact was enough to break her barriers, and soon she was panting again.
Desperation showed in the way her hands pulled at hair and her feet dug into the worn mattress. The heavy fog on her brain return to temporarily stifle her vision while she rode out the orgasm.
Her throat desired to scream but she'd been loud enough already. The attempt at subduing her vocal cords was a futile one, though, as the clicking sound of seconds reversed activated in her ears.
The repetition doubled down on her ecstasy, washing over her skin like the embrace of a frenzied flame. The Duchess forced their lips into a kiss with a ferocity Recluse could not match in her state of indisposition.
Her cunt throbbed as the phallus was removed. It rested against her shaking thigh while the Duchess continued to splatter her torso with indentations carved from her lips.
Her eyes closed and her lips parted into a smile as she coaxed the other woman into relaxing her advances. The strum of her heartbeat could take no more pressure at the moment--and as the blood drained from her extremities she was left with cold hands.
The Duchess rested on her legs for only a moment- just long enough to discard the heavy strap next to the bed, before she crawled next to her. The warmth emanated from the sorceress’ body, causing Recluse to sink further into her in hopes she might absorb some of it. Her lover wore a deep red flush on her cheeks, and the hair that had dried from the ocean once again stuck to her face. Recluse took a moment to remove the mask so that the pieces covering her eyes wouldn't bother her vision.
Beneath the silver was two pale irises. She knew they couldn't see anything, but somehow they looked at her as if they could see everything. She kissed the woman again, this time inviting a thigh to rest on her leg.
“A personal best,” the Duchess remarked, her tone flat and serious but the subject matter playful. “Perhaps favorite,” she added nonchalantly.
“I've returned from battles less weary on the body,” Recluse assured her, “your effort won't ever go unnoticed, Priestess.”
Duchess propped herself up on her arm, her aimless eyes attempting to meet her own, but instead pointing at her cheek. Recluse smiled because of it, using her palm to gently coax her jaw in the right direction.
“I don't know if I have it in me to persevere here,” the blonde woman spoke, “without you.” Recluse frowned, thankful that her leader could not see it.
“Perseverence implies persistence,” Recluse told her, “I won't expect you to persist. Endure is the most I can ask.”
Duchess seemed to consider this as she laid back down, pushing her head underneath her chin. Recluse kissed the top of her head, hiding her recoil from the lingering salt taste.
“We'll lay here,” she decided, rolling onto her side and holding the Duchess against her abdomen, “until the candlelight has expired.”
“Again?” Duchess asked excitedly.
“Mmm, the bath, Priestess. The Menial has surely prepared more water by now.”
“Oh,”
“We could share it,” Recluse suggested drawing a fingertip up the other woman's side. Duchess perked her head up, tilting her ear in the direction of her hum.
Recluse kept her hand going, stopping at the pale woman's chest before going back down and finding some place warmer to put it.
The others could return at any moment, and the Priestess was too good of a leader to do anything but forfeit her bathing time. Which meant she would have to work fast.
She started with one finger, going in slow gentle circle while the woman it her arms suppressed a moan. The Priestess was already so wet and swollen that there was little trouble locating the spots that mattered.
Her other hand wrapped underneath the other girl, and around her chest. It held them both in place, but better yet it stimulated her nipple, drawing out the invigorating hardness.
Recluse added another finger to her circulation, pinching the clit between her nails and kissing her target's neck. Duchess moaned softly in reply, her hands gripping Recluse's arms and begging for more contact. She picked up her pace, drawing out quiet whispers of pleasure from the other woman. After a moment the blonde girl inhaled, stretching her head up to meet her lips and moan into her mouth. Recluse caught herself smiling as their teeth butted together. Her hand slipped up the pale woman’s torso, wiping onto it the collection of fluid on her chest before inserting her fingers into her mouth. She hummed at the taste, amused at the fact the Duchess had a messier finale than herself.
Duchess panted for a moment, before she let her head relax against the Recluse’s breast. A cold hand extended backward over her thigh, earning a sly grin as the Priestess circulated her body like a vulture.
Had time been on their side she might have encouraged the advances, the two of them had certainly recovered enough, but she had meant it when she said they should take advantage of the empty bathhouse.
“Comfortable?” She asked, and the other woman rolled over. The Duchess lifted an arm, wrapping it lazily around her waist until it settled at the small of her back.
“Undoubtedly,” the blind woman replied, stealing a taste of her nipple as she spoke.
“Forgo it temporarily,” she murmured, stroking the side of the Duchess’ head.
“Times are bleak,” the Duchess replied, taking her mouth from Recluse's ebony skin and sitting upright. “If you would ask me to stop.”
Recluse laughed, pushing herself forward and taking a moment to solve the puzzle created by their mess before putting one of her robes over her head.
The Duchess watched her as she always did, except this time she held pieces of their undergarments with a look of confusion on her face.
“You've missed a piece. Or two,” she pointed out, attempting to hand them to her. Recluse dropped them back on the lazily made bed.
“I said forgo it temporarily, Priestess.” It wasn't until the Duchess reached for her mask that Recluse felt a little apologetic. Of course the other woman couldn't see her intentions.
Perhaps this is the riddle-talk she claims to misinterpret.
When the Duchess did find it, her eyes did a brief scan of the room. Her cheeks turned red again, something her body evidently could not be trained to withhold.
“I want you to join me for a bath,” Recluse clarified. “And to make a point of leaving our underclothes here.”
“That can be accommodated,” the Duchess said, hastily finding something to cover herself up enough for the walk. As she walked over towards her, Recluse stopped her by placing a hand on her chest. The Priestess paused, elements of her exercise lingering in rapid breaths.
“Bring your toy,” she ordered, speaking in a low whisper directly in her ear.
The Priestess nodded, shoving the strap under her coat. Anticipation had rendered the Priestess disordered and disheveled. It was endearing, mostly, that Recluse was found so desirable it put the most well kept of them in such disarray.
She decided then, that the Duchess would feel her appreciation. And if the other woman made a stake to take charge, then she would hear it.
If I see ONE more edit of the dinosaur extinction to twenty one pilots I WILL be calling up the ceo of the internet because there is no reason for me to be sobbing over an imaginary allosaur on a friday night
I didn't know I was even gonna make a part two to this but the nightrein dlc trailer got me hyped so for the two people on this ship train this is for you
Link to part one: here
Duchess almost wished her masked wouldn't be fixed, lest Recluse could keep her hands on her face just a moment longer.
But the witch was adept at everything she did, including wardrobe changes.
“Good as new,” she commented, restoring Duchess's vision just in time to catch the end of her smile.
“Fulghor is slain,” Duchess blurted, chastising herself for having nothing better to discuss.
“I was there, Priestess,” Recluse commented, sitting next to her on the brittle bed. “You want to know if I'm satisfied?”
“I do,” Duchess insisted, “slowly but surely the others have come into themselves. Grown.”
“The executor had their chest torn open.” Recluse pointed out.
“Yet they walk among us, fight among us as if they hadn't.” The onyx-skinned woman had nothing to say to that, which was unusual.
Duchess had assumed the role of hopeless pessimist. Unlike the others nothing awaited her at the far side of this endeavor. There hadn't been anything to look forward to, so her own survival meant little in view of the grand painting.
But the Recluse had surely won her heart, and worse yet… her hope. The Nightlord had to be slain, but the witch spoke of ways to spare her life from the fate of the roundhold.
She didn't want to believe, not unless or until it was real.
But as an ebony hand slid into her own she couldn't help but feel remorse. Her affection had done nothing but given her a weakness. It was easy not to care for herself, but extremely hard not to care for the woman next to her.
“I want you to have this,” Recluse told her, offering what seemed to be one of her old staves.
“it looks retired,” Duchess noted, running a hand over the cracked frame. The staff was holding itself together by mere fibres– left over vessels from the tree it had been carved from.
There was still power imbued with it but her intuition with the magic told her not much. This staff would hardly produce a pebble, which meant it wasn't gifted as a weapon but rather an item of sentimentality.
In defeating Fulghor the Recluse had looked weary, as though the thing she had been waiting for had left nothing but disappointment.
Given the circumstances it was hard not to think about the possibility the disappointment was about her.
“I'll cherish it,” Duchess said determinedly, “and ensure it always has a place in my belt.”
“Save the space,” Recluse laughed, “it would only slow you down. Observe it, when you need to.”
“Does it dance? Or perhaps sing?” Duchess teased, setting it next to her. Recluse laid a gentle hand on her leg, her fingers strumming something against her waistcoat.
“I thought it might comfort you,” Recluse told her, “knowing it belonged to me.”
Duchess looked at it again. Yes, it was derelict, but it retained elements of the witch in its structure and aura. Fine traces of her white hair, imprints of her hands on the optimal piece of shaft. A dark, eerie, and otherwise undetectable energy associated with someone of the Recluse's caliber.
It would be hard to look at it and not think of her.
“I appreciate it,” Duchess told her, “I just… I thought that you were indifferent to me.”
“I could be,” Recluse said quietly, “but I am wise enough to know I mean more to you than indifference.”
Duchess wished the woman would refrain from her riddle-talk. But from what she could tell Recluse had all but admitted that there was a mutual connection.
What had started as a mutual reprieve had graduated into something more. There were no longer words to describe it, though the Executor had spun tales of emotion so powerful between people in times of old.
The full moon had devoted her life essence to a person of Radagon, and he had submitted his body to the goddess Marika. Finlay had travelled disease-ridden with a demigoddess on her back through provinces. Twins, who had always done right by each other.
How much of it was true she couldn't be sure. But the stars were supposedly brighter for it, and the moon darker.
“When this is all over,” Duchess began, “I'd like for you to take from me anything you'd like. Useful or otherwise.”
“I'd take your mask,” Recluse told her, “impart it to my hat so that you might see everything that comes after vicariously.”
“I would like that,” Duchess murmured, raising the other woman's knuckles to her lips. “With the promise that you would take time every so often to stand in the mirror. So I might see you.”
Recluse looked at her in a way that made her stomach sank. The sentimentality was not lost but Duchess could tell finitely that from here on out they would no longer be getting to know each other.
They would be saying an elongated goodbye.
“We could all use rest,” she said, allowing the witch to tuck her hair behind her ear, "perhaps we could spend it here. Just the two of us.”
“Mmm,” Recluse agreed, “What I would give for some extra time.”
“Every second counts,” Duchess agreed, leaning in to meet her quiet kiss. It was soft and sorrowful, but within it was a passion she hadn't experienced yet.
Her clock reset so she could prolong it, hoping to uncover what this mysterious emotion was.
But it seemed her work would entail the unveiling of at least one more of the witch's secrets.
“I use to disregard the use of your abilities for pleasure,” Recluse recounted, pulling away slightly, “I have to admit my opinion on the matter has changed.”
Duchess laughed as much as she was able, pulling again the interesting woman towards her lips.
“Then when I am gone my power will become yours,” she said, “use it to my discretion.”
Recludes lips pursed in a restrained smile, her wand wandering up Duchess’ leg and toward her thigh. Reprieve she'd called it, but it was more than that now. It was salvation.
Salvation that would have to wait as the archer barged into her quarters, his hood pulled back to reveal his scarred face.
“Priestess,” he said with urgency, “your brother and I wish to speak with you.”
“Can't it wait?” She asked, “I'm battle-weary.”
“Wylder told me that whatever you were doing with the mage wouldn't correct that. A calm discussion over tea would.”
Duchess stuck her tongue in her cheek, cursing out her brother in the name of the Nightlord.
“Very well,” she agreed, standing up. “Tell Wylder I'll be around the table shortly.”
Iron Eye departed, having enough decency to close the door.
“Do your diligence,” Recluse whispered as she stood up, “I'll be in the tower avoiding the bird.”
“With haste,” Duchess assured her, holding the door open for the taller woman.
Watching her go was made slightly less painful by the comforting sight of her gait. But it was short-lived as their direction split and she was once again doomed to listen to the sound of her own footsteps on the floor of the roundtable.
Wylder should expect half my attention she surmised.
The other half would be busy counting the seconds.
Polytrix prompt since you asked: Polytrix goes out on a date, they want it to be calm. No fan interactions. Just a normal date between three people. Then some one recognizes them. Problem is, they've already been acting like a throuple. Media erupts with speculation. Shenanigans ensue.
Alright this has piqued my interest, it also encompasses one of the most common themes in my inbox-- people seem to really want a polytrix "coming out" piece, so I' going to attempt to accomplish that here and settle those inquiries.
There were some very fun ones, so to those with other suggestions, I beg for your patience because I am going to do as many as I can. Also I split this into two parts because I made it way longer than intended. Will reblog with part 2 when its ready. For now, take this as my gift:
"Trending" Pt. 1
Rumi sighed in relief at the sight of the restaurant. It was small, private, and unassuming. The lights were dim, and the booths muffled most of the noise from adjacent tables.
Even Zoey, who was more hyperactive than the rest of them, seemed at ease among the subtle music and low-energy dining.
“Reservation for Bobby,” Mira said to the hostess, who checked her tablet and beckoned for them to follow.
Their trip to the States thus far had been exciting. Zoey kept a strict itinerary, which meant they were seeing as much as possible in their short time. It often meant that their food was eaten on the go, not that they minded, or at odd hours of the day.
So it was nice when Mira suggested going for a proper dinner at a proper time. Zoey had lit up at the suggestion and chosen a place she swore by.
In the booth, they felt comfortable enough to shed some layers, revealing small aspects of their identity with every forgone hood and sweater.
It was like being at home, if home utilized a little more comfort lighting.
“Babe,” Mira said, “any suggestions?”
Zoey shook her head, “You just have to choose something and try it. Trust me.”
“We trust you,” Rumi assured her, “we just don't know what some of this is…”
Zoey grinned, tilting her menu up playfully to hide her expression. Mira pretended to be exasperated, but the small smile tugging at the edge of her lip suggested otherwise.
A waitress walked over, greeting them with a subtle pause, before continuing after a cleared throat.
“Can I start you off with any drinks?” She asked, her eyes directed at Mira.
“I think we'll split a bottle of wine,” Rumi told her, “whichever one you think is the best.”
“Certainly,” the waitress replied, before disappearing in the direction of the bar.
“Wine?” Mira asked with a raised eyebrow.
“What?” Rumi responded defensively, “It's been ages since we were wine drunk.”
“Mhmm,” Mira hummed, “I'm not judging, just… considering.”
“What?”
“You get handsy on wine,” Zoey explained, skipping the coy song and dance.
“Wha– I… no I- I do not.” Rumi protested.
“To be clear,” Mira prefaced, “we aren't complaining.”
“Just excited,” Zoey chimed with a blush. Rumi felt her face go red hot.
“Funny,” she remarked after a moment, ending the banter in a halting silence.
They still hadn't quite figured out how to be… themselves in public, or at least overseas.
Rumours surrounding their extended relationship with each other had been circulating for years. It was ironic when they came to fruition, and they had spent many nights looking at phone screens and pointing out the most obtuse of the remarks with a laugh.
Despite this, though, many people insisted on other endings for each of them.
Heterosexual, monogamous endings.
“I don't want this to be awkward,” Rumi blurted, earning their attention back, “we have the benefit of anonymity here, something we never have in Seoul.”
“It's not awkward, Rumi,” Mira assured her.
“No, I…” she struggled to find the words. Communication was something they all agreed to, especially her.
Trust that they will be on your side
“This is a date,” she clarified after a moment, “we should treat it like one.”
Mira and Zoey exchanged looks, their eyes holding each other in suspension.
Rumi waited anxiously, tapping her foot against the table below.
“Yes,” Zoey exclaimed. “Please, someone share the spaghetti with me so we can recreate Lady and the Tramp.”
“Oh,” Mira responded in confusion, "that's, uh,”
“It's a movie about dogs,” Zoey explained, “we will culture you later.”
“Is it long?” Mira asked, “Because I kind of had other ideas for the night.” Rumi's disappointment at the notion was quickly dismissed as Mira looked her up and down.
“Mira…” she groaned, squishing her face with her hands to hide her blush.
“You said it was a date!” Mira defended, going stark silent at the arrival of the waitress.
“A chardonnay,” she said, clearing her throat. They watched as she poured them each a glass, sliding it across the wooden table with elegance. When that was poured, Zoey went ahead and ordered.
Mira and Rumi landed on their dishes, but admittedly, Rumi stuck to something small.
Zoey's spaghetti did sound good.
When she disappeared again, Mira pulled out her phone, holding out her arm and inviting them into the picture. Rumi slid over, leaning her head on her girlfriend’s shoulder as she grinned into the camera. Zoey's toothy smile lit up the photo as Mira took it, her more subtle grin a relaxing beacon.
When Mira put her phone down, she met Rumi's eyes.
Zoey and Mira both had a tell. It had taken Rumi a while to learn them, perhaps even an embarrassing amount of time, but now that she was aware, she never missed it.
Mira always made intense eye contact, often with a furrowed brow. But what really sold it was the tongue poking into her cheek. As though she was so excited she could hardly contain it.
Zoey was a little more overt with a tongue bite. Often, it was in her mouth, and to a stranger it would be undetectable. But Rumi had spent many hours studying her face, so she knew when her raven-haired girlfriend's jaw was offset to compensate for the girth of her tongue.
So when Mira's tongue-in-cheek and Zoey's tongue-in-teeth presented themselves, she took the invitation, giving each of them a quick peck on the lips.
Rumi took pride in the small blushes that painted their cheeks, even if they were accompanied by a sly comment.
“The wine is already working,” Mira teased, taking a generous sip of her own.
“I have to say Zoey,” Rumi said, taking in the quiet vibe of the restaurant, “it's not that bad here. I'm a little concerned that the government is run by a demon, and I'm going to have to up the cardio routine to compensate for all the sodium in the food but…” she paused, “it's nice. Quiet. For the first time in a while, I can hear myself think.”
“Both are easily remedied,” Mira chirped, waiting a moment for them to chuckle.
“I'm happy you're happy,” Zoey smiled, “I think you'll love what I have planned tomorrow. Being here with you guys is special, and I can't think of anyone else I want to share my spaghetti with.”
The last few months had been long and exciting. Since salvaging the honmoon they'd been on a tour, checking every city they visited for a wave of gold. Since they're “Golden” tour was thwarted by the Saja boys, they had to introduce their new tracks alongside it. Which meant learning and practicing an additional track and choreography every few weeks.
It was true that they all felt alive on stage, but now that Rumi wasn't scared for her life, she appreciated couch time a lot more. She understood the allure of growing into the sofa, merging with its cushions.
It was all the additional downtime and improved communication that had gotten them to see what was there all along.
Friendship, yes, but also a halted attraction rooted in affection. Rumi hadn't trusted them with the worst part of her, yet somehow they had encouraged her to be the best version of herself.
Before she could say anything more– the wine was making her sentimental– the waitress returned, alongside a helper, with plates of food. The smell was intoxicating, and it didn't take long to turn full meals into scraps.
“Okay, now you take this,” Zoey directed, holding a flaccid piece of pasta to Mira's lips.
“In my mouth?” Mira asked, horrified.
“Yes, and then suck on it,” Zoey mumbled through the noodle hanging off her lips.
Mira furrowed her brows, but did as she was told. Rumi chuckled belligerently at the sight of them. Their faces zipped forward, surprised expressions contradicting the fact that this had been planned.
But most of all, their faces settled into a smile as their lips joined over the confluence of a broken noodle.
“A solid attempt,” Zoey acknowledged with reddened cheeks, “it might take some practice.”
“Any excuse to kiss you more,” Mira told her.
“I want in on the action,” Rumi inserted, still laughing. She held up another noodle, offering it to either of them. Both offered eagerly so Mira gave in to Zoey. Zoey beamed proudly, taking the noodle in her mouth. Rumi was as careful as she could be, placing it in her mouth and slurping until her mouth met Zoey’s. Unlike their previous kiss, this one was far from quick and far from dry.
“Zoey!” she giggled, pulling away after a moment. The taste of the other girl’s tongue lingered on her taste buds. Judgment of Zoey’s blush faded as she recognized the potential for hypocrisy. The other diners looked at them with a small response to the increased volume. Rumi tucked herself back into the booth, spending the rest of the dinner wishing it was over.
I know it's been so long but I'm a flighty writer okay, and TO BE FAIR cooy and paste mechanisms on mobile suck and I was very upset I had to go and redo the formatting myself 😔. Enough of my miniscule problems... here's the final part!
"Trending" Part 2
They had barely made it through Lady and the Tramp before Rumi found herself the subject of her girlfriend’s mutual desire. It was true that she had instigated the whirlwind of affection by removing her sweats and placing Mira’s hand on her thigh and kissing Zoey’s neck.
“Handsy,” Mira remarked amidst the eye contact. Rumi tried to focus on her lips, but the hand circulating between her legs was an excellent distraction.
“My hands are the most innocent ones here,” she retorted, switching the direction of her head to meet Zoey’s attempts at getting her attention. A hand around her neck and under her jaw. Mouths plastering her patterned skin with lipstick marks.
It was looking to be the best night of the trip thus far.
Until her damn phone went off. Again.
Mira sighed, sitting back against the couch, giving her hand a rest against Rumi’s knee. Zoey waited awkwardly, contending with herself as to whether she should continue or wait.
“You should answer it, Rumi,” Mira implored, “if someone is calling you this many times it’s urgent.”
“It’s spam,” Rumi deflected. Mira shook her head, reaching across the sofa to the small end table, finding Rumi’s phone on the surface.
“Bobby,” she remarked in confusion, looking at the screen. Rumi blinked in surprise, taking it as Mira handed the device to her.
“Hello?” she answered deflatedly.
“Rumi?”
“Speaking.”
“Where are you?”
She paused, looking to Zoey, “Where are we?”
“San Francisco,” the raven-haired girl replied.
“San Francisco,” Rumi repeated.
“Well, it has bad cell service.”
“What do you need, Bobby?”
“Well first of all.. CONGRADULATIONS YOU GUYS ARE SO CUTE. I know you don’t want me to say anything but I always had my suspicions–”
“What are you talking about?” Rumi asked, panic in her throat.
“Polytrix” He replied innocently. Rumi set her phone to speaker, Zoey and Mira clueing in.
“What?” she replied.
“Oh my god… you don’t know.”
“Know what? Talk, Bobby. Explain.”
“It’s… on twitter. And instagram. And facebook and-”
“NO,” Rumi muttered, looking to Zoey and Mira and alarm. Immediately, the other two found their phones, equal looks of panic on their faces.
“No no no no no no no no… FUCK!” Mira shounted, dropping her phone and covering her face with her hands. Zoey looked in horror and exhaustion as the messages progressed and progressed.
New posts and comments with every second. Bobby chatted on the other side of the phone, words of comfort and support no doubt, but Rumi couldn't hear him.
The loud, stinging, ringing in her ears.
The urge to scream demonfire into the atmosphere.
How was it, everytime she was so close to perfection she lost.
People were destined to hate her no matter what. There was nothing she could have for herself, and she realized that now more than ever.
“Rumi?” The quiet voice on the other side of the phone asked.
“C-can I call you back, Bobby?”
“Oh, yeah, uh, whatever you need. Just… don't be too hard on yourselves. Please.”
She smiled, pressing the red button at the base of the screen. Her phone sat on her lap for a moment, the display continuing to light up as she was tagged in posts and articles.
Mira growled in frustration, tossing her device to the far end of the room. Zoey set it down in silence, pushing it away with just a few fingers before pulling her knees to her chest.
Rumi turned it over, placing it on the coffee table she had kept her legs on just minutes ago. She grabbed the blanket on the floor next to her feet, pulling it over Mira first, then Zoey.
Like cats the cuddled into each other, sharing the heat, warmth and comfort of both the blanket and their bodies.
No words were said as Zoey lifted up the remote, pressing the resume button.
The movie continued. Two dogs from completely different walks of life fell in love before them. A lady, who was supposed to be with another dog of her status. A shepherd, perhaps, or a dalmation. A dog that would be worthy of her time, and make sense with her image of royalty.
A tramp, who was supposed to be loveless and despised. Feared and feral to other dogs. Choosing survival before anything else material. Because of who he was and how he looked it was decided he was undeserving of affection and decency.
But through love they overcame adversity, and found a way to be together.
It was corny, she knew, so she would have to keep her realization vague, lest she be subjected to Mira's teasing.
“I don't care,” she announced, triggering Zoey to pause the film. It was practically over, just the sound of smooth music from years past and some adorable imagery.
“What?” They asked in tandem.
“I don't care,” Rumi repeated proudly. “That the world knows about us.”
“Seriously?” Mira expressed, looking at Zoey with concern.
“Yes,” Rumi reiterated, “I almost broke the Honmoon and released a demon lord. You guys accepted me knowing I'm half demon when we have been conditioned our whole lives to kill them. I choose to believe the world will accept us. Or… at least most of it. The people that matter.”
“What if they don't?” Zoey asked “You don't know America like I do.”
“Then it's a good thing you have a Korean citizenship,” Rumi told her, “and us to protect you.” She looked at Mira, who sat silently thinking.
Rumi waited patiently for her to speak up, giving her ample time to formulate her thoughts.
“It does… open up possibilities for choreo,” Mira mused, “if we are embracing it? I don't know if this is a good idea, Rumi.”
“Just months ago,” Rumi elaborated, “I almost killed myself in an attempt to hide these patterns. But now… now they are plastered everywhere. Fans recreate them, draw them, embrace them. You guys embrace me. I choose to believe this is a good thing. And if not…”
She paused, waiting for one of them to finish. When neither did, she chuckled, extending her hands and holding their palms.
“Couch time,” she finished cheekily.
“Well..” Zoey said hesitantly, “it would be nice to hold hands. In public tomorrow. We still have so much to see here and I want to enjoy it to the max.”
Rumi looked to Mira, the last piece of the puzzle.
“What?” She asked, “My brand is being a rebel. I'm not going to stop now.” Rumi smiled, leaning in and kissing her girlfriend on the cheek. Mira feigned indifference, but even through her naive eyes Rumi detected a blush.
“Now what? Zoey asked, and the three of them were at another standstill.
“Call Bobby back?” Rumi suggested, “let him know we are okay?”
“We could,” Mira mused, “or…” the hot-pink haired girl paused, locking eyes with Zoey across the sofa.
Rumi bounced her eyes between them, trying to pick up on their silent communication. The two of them had a way of speaking without words. A language she didn't yet understand, and possibly never would.
Mira had insisted it was better that way, it made it easier to surprise Rumi with a coordinated assault of affection.
But in moments like this she wished she knew, and maybe she wouldn't be so gullible.
Before she could urge them to speak their minds she was bombarded with a kiss on either cheek. Hands made themselves comfortable on her shoulders and thighs. She smiled lightly, laughing as the flash of Zoey's camera sparked in her eyes.
Mira continued the onslaught, picking up as if nothing had happened, and they were still only a quarter of the the way through Lady and the Tramp.
Zoey, however, used one hand to rub Rumi's thigh and the other to type furiously on her phone.
“What do we think?” The raven-haired girl asked, flashing a screen that was way to bright in their direction. After the initial shock from the brightness, Rumi was able to squint to see the prepared post.
A simple picture of them, cut off below the chest to hide any of Mira's groping, with kisses planted on either side of her smile.
The comment supporting it was absent, the only contextual indication being in the form of a hashtag.
#POLYTRIX
“They are going to hate us when we go silent for the next few days,” Mira jested, tucking her nose into Rumi's neck.
“Silent?” Rumi laughed, “are you going somewhere?”
Zoey hit post, before tossing her phone to the other end of the room, landing with a soft thud in a pile of turned over pillows.
“No,” Mira answered salaciously, pressing her lips and teeth into her collarbone.
“What she means,” Zoey elaborated, using a hand to pull Rumi's chin towards her. Zoey locked her eyes, flipping a smile so flirtatious it sent Rumi into a blush.
It flustered her still, the way they admired her. The oogling at her subtle muscles and prominent patterns. It was hard to believe she once found them reviling, considering how her girlfriends liked to pay them extra attention whenever the lights were off.
“My hands are going to be too busy to text anyone on the subject, and,” she paused sliding her free hand further up Rumi's thigh, “her mouth is going to be too busy to speak on the subject.”
“Ah,” Rumi acknowledged, the sound falling somewhere between a confession of realization and a stifled moan. “And me?” She followed up playfully, making more room for Mira as she advanced on her collarbone. “My voice is abundant and my hands are empty.”
Zoey smiled, leaning in for an elongated kiss.
“You have more important things to say, better yet… to sing. As for your hands,” Zoey looked down as she moved them, placing one of Rumi's palms in Mira's hair and the other on Zoey's lap. “They seem pretty busy to me.”
Rumi folded, allowing herself to smile. She was a sucker for flattery and flirtation so it was almost unfair she was being tag teamed.
But as her girlfriends continued their conquest she surmised that she was gullible and weak to their advances because she wanted to be.
No matter the hashtag or the reception of the fans, she swore to choose them.
Over and over again.
So even after insult after insult was thrown their way she persevered.
#polytrix wouldn't be trending forever. It was simply a matter of riding it out, waiting for the haters to get bored and jump to the next hashtag that made them lose sleep at night.
After that it would be smooth sailing across the lake of their golden Honmoon.
Until then, she was more than okay with keeping her hands, mouth, and thoughts busy.
Here's my attempt at breaking into a new fandom. Nightrein one-shot below
Duchess x Recluse
"Archetype"
Duchess cursed for a second time, scowling at the fact she could not roll back the clock once more. Manipulation of time was a privilege, yet it never quite felt like enough.
In battle, a couple of seconds could make or break a fight.
Here… well it made for something even more incredible.
“Ahh!” Recluse yelped, well, as loudly as she would permit herself to. Really it was more of a muffled gasp, with only a hint of a broken voice.
Duchess swept her tongue between the ebony thighs one last time, before resolving herself to the fact that they had reached the finale.
“Your ability is a powerful one,” Recluse huffed. Her obsidian hand invited Duchess to her feet, unknowing that she much preferred to stay on her knees. “It would be wise to spare it.”
“Pain is permanent,” Duchess told her solemnly, “pleasure is temporary. Thus it has a higher need for repetition.”
Recluse didn't reply, instead her free hand searched for a discarded belonging. Duchess wanted to tell her that whatever it was, wasn't here. The area of the hold in which they currently resided was a distant one. Up, they had climbed, until their legs could take no more. A resolute balcony, overlooking the lake of endlessness and the ever approaching shadows threatening to consume them.
That was to say, the loft was empty. Whatever the witch was in search for would not be found here.
“Can I help?” Duchess asked, sidelining her skepticism. There was something about the way the witch carried herself she found enchanting. Though she wore no armor, and scarcely carried a sword, she was among the strongest of them.
“A stick” the raider had called her staves upon introduction. Duchess still chuckled slightly at the memory. Even now, as they ventured across limveld, if the Raider partook in the hunt he ensured that the witch carried some type of blade.
“Just in case you have a need to gouge out an eye,” he had laughed.
“No,” Recluse told her, “I suppose it was never here.”
“When we descend,” Duchess offered again, “I could aid you as you shuffle through the books.”
Recluse smiled. The soft, painfully pitying grin she always used when she'd had enough while the Duchess begged for more. A means of setting her expectations.
“The others should criticize you,” Recluse explained in her siren voice. “For aiding in my search while the Priestess sent them on their own.”
It was true, there would be criticism. But it wouldn't come in harsh words. Instead it would be her brother, leading the rest of the Nightfarer's on an adversarial mission of relentless teasing.
“I don't entertain their ridicule,” Duchess reminded her assertively. “This is my roundtable. And as long as they reside within it they answer to me.”
Recluse chuckled again, only it was worse this time because it was accompanied by the reapplication of her robes. Though her attire provided what the witch termed a “peek”, for the most part, they were quite chaste. Leaving a lot to the imagination.
And Duchess had a disruptively captivating imagination.
“Bold,” her paramour whispered, grazing her chin with a cold fingertip. “The other would-be captains may not agree.”
“Then they should mutiny,” Duchess jested, relenting in her advanced and taking a step back. Recluse used her fingers to brush out the knotted locks of hair. The floorboards and scavenged leather bedrolls hardly made for a proper venue. Often they left looking much more derelict than when they arrived.
Luckily for the Duchess, ruffled hair was a part of her look. With so much going on she rarely found the time to do anything more than tie it back.
The Recluse, however, wore hers in a waterfall of frost. Covering her back and shoulders. Sitting in a perfect uniform, tucked into place by a wide-brimmed hat. It required more attention to remain soft and un-matted.
Duchess considered offering her aid, but as she observed the quiet hum and Recluse's nimble fingers working out the knots she figured her hands were no longer needed.
“Uppn the sunrise, who will your dagger search for?” Recluse asked. Duchess knew there was an answer she wanted to hear. A nightlord she targeted so specifically. One she had been waiting for countenance.
But the time wasn't right. They needed to prove their strength first.
“If my brother is successful with Adel this night, then you and I will have the great opportunity to fly-swat.”
Recluse paused for a moment, and laughed. His lips were slightly parted and she still wore her eyes seductively. “The pests, sentient as they may be, are but insects. Thou doesn't have brighter ambitions?”
“In time,” Duchess reminded her.
“Time,” Recluse said dreamily, “spoken as if you have so much of it.”
Duchess clenched her fist. Her fate being tied to the roundtable was a secret, one she had kept close to her chest. And although her and recluse had been well aquainted these past few weeks, did not mean she'd gotten vulnerable.
So either Recluse had found out for herself, or her words were so vague that it was easy to find unintentional meaning.
Recluse held her silver mask in her palm, presenting it to the Priestess with avid eye contact.
“Tragedy is in your eyes,” she told her, as the Priestess picked it up. “It would be wise to hide it. Lest the others be discouraged.”
The priestess put it on, sighing in relief when her face was no longer able to be read.
“And you?” She asked, stepping onto the window ledge.
“Determined,” she answered, peering through the gap the Priestess slipped through to begin their descent, “to change the archetype.”
CHAPTER 24????? Ren is so swagful waddahel,,,,,,,, can't wait to see whatever you do with those (presumably) 26 placeholder(?? not sure on wording) chapters. AND HER MARK OF JERGAL BEYOND HER COOL AS FUCK SCALES. we bet she looks sooooo fucking pretty after all that,,,, women be killing
I'm so glad ya'll loved it! And trust Ren does look stunning (Minthara can attest)! Thank you so much for reading everything, it truly does mean the world to me! Until the epilogue!
You get a bonus for finding me on Tumblr, here's the sigil for House Absole.... now they just have to pick a place to tattoo it.
Polytrix prompt since you asked: Polytrix goes out on a date, they want it to be calm. No fan interactions. Just a normal date between three people. Then some one recognizes them. Problem is, they've already been acting like a throuple. Media erupts with speculation. Shenanigans ensue.
Alright this has piqued my interest, it also encompasses one of the most common themes in my inbox-- people seem to really want a polytrix "coming out" piece, so I' going to attempt to accomplish that here and settle those inquiries.
There were some very fun ones, so to those with other suggestions, I beg for your patience because I am going to do as many as I can. Also I split this into two parts because I made it way longer than intended. Will reblog with part 2 when its ready. For now, take this as my gift:
"Trending" Pt. 1
Rumi sighed in relief at the sight of the restaurant. It was small, private, and unassuming. The lights were dim, and the booths muffled most of the noise from adjacent tables.
Even Zoey, who was more hyperactive than the rest of them, seemed at ease among the subtle music and low-energy dining.
“Reservation for Bobby,” Mira said to the hostess, who checked her tablet and beckoned for them to follow.
Their trip to the States thus far had been exciting. Zoey kept a strict itinerary, which meant they were seeing as much as possible in their short time. It often meant that their food was eaten on the go, not that they minded, or at odd hours of the day.
So it was nice when Mira suggested going for a proper dinner at a proper time. Zoey had lit up at the suggestion and chosen a place she swore by.
In the booth, they felt comfortable enough to shed some layers, revealing small aspects of their identity with every forgone hood and sweater.
It was like being at home, if home utilized a little more comfort lighting.
“Babe,” Mira said, “any suggestions?”
Zoey shook her head, “You just have to choose something and try it. Trust me.”
“We trust you,” Rumi assured her, “we just don't know what some of this is…”
Zoey grinned, tilting her menu up playfully to hide her expression. Mira pretended to be exasperated, but the small smile tugging at the edge of her lip suggested otherwise.
A waitress walked over, greeting them with a subtle pause, before continuing after a cleared throat.
“Can I start you off with any drinks?” She asked, her eyes directed at Mira.
“I think we'll split a bottle of wine,” Rumi told her, “whichever one you think is the best.”
“Certainly,” the waitress replied, before disappearing in the direction of the bar.
“Wine?” Mira asked with a raised eyebrow.
“What?” Rumi responded defensively, “It's been ages since we were wine drunk.”
“Mhmm,” Mira hummed, “I'm not judging, just… considering.”
“What?”
“You get handsy on wine,” Zoey explained, skipping the coy song and dance.
“Wha– I… no I- I do not.” Rumi protested.
“To be clear,” Mira prefaced, “we aren't complaining.”
“Just excited,” Zoey chimed with a blush. Rumi felt her face go red hot.
“Funny,” she remarked after a moment, ending the banter in a halting silence.
They still hadn't quite figured out how to be… themselves in public, or at least overseas.
Rumours surrounding their extended relationship with each other had been circulating for years. It was ironic when they came to fruition, and they had spent many nights looking at phone screens and pointing out the most obtuse of the remarks with a laugh.
Despite this, though, many people insisted on other endings for each of them.
Heterosexual, monogamous endings.
“I don't want this to be awkward,” Rumi blurted, earning their attention back, “we have the benefit of anonymity here, something we never have in Seoul.”
“It's not awkward, Rumi,” Mira assured her.
“No, I…” she struggled to find the words. Communication was something they all agreed to, especially her.
Trust that they will be on your side
“This is a date,” she clarified after a moment, “we should treat it like one.”
Mira and Zoey exchanged looks, their eyes holding each other in suspension.
Rumi waited anxiously, tapping her foot against the table below.
“Yes,” Zoey exclaimed. “Please, someone share the spaghetti with me so we can recreate Lady and the Tramp.”
“Oh,” Mira responded in confusion, "that's, uh,”
“It's a movie about dogs,” Zoey explained, “we will culture you later.”
“Is it long?” Mira asked, “Because I kind of had other ideas for the night.” Rumi's disappointment at the notion was quickly dismissed as Mira looked her up and down.
“Mira…” she groaned, squishing her face with her hands to hide her blush.
“You said it was a date!” Mira defended, going stark silent at the arrival of the waitress.
“A chardonnay,” she said, clearing her throat. They watched as she poured them each a glass, sliding it across the wooden table with elegance. When that was poured, Zoey went ahead and ordered.
Mira and Rumi landed on their dishes, but admittedly, Rumi stuck to something small.
Zoey's spaghetti did sound good.
When she disappeared again, Mira pulled out her phone, holding out her arm and inviting them into the picture. Rumi slid over, leaning her head on her girlfriend’s shoulder as she grinned into the camera. Zoey's toothy smile lit up the photo as Mira took it, her more subtle grin a relaxing beacon.
When Mira put her phone down, she met Rumi's eyes.
Zoey and Mira both had a tell. It had taken Rumi a while to learn them, perhaps even an embarrassing amount of time, but now that she was aware, she never missed it.
Mira always made intense eye contact, often with a furrowed brow. But what really sold it was the tongue poking into her cheek. As though she was so excited she could hardly contain it.
Zoey was a little more overt with a tongue bite. Often, it was in her mouth, and to a stranger it would be undetectable. But Rumi had spent many hours studying her face, so she knew when her raven-haired girlfriend's jaw was offset to compensate for the girth of her tongue.
So when Mira's tongue-in-cheek and Zoey's tongue-in-teeth presented themselves, she took the invitation, giving each of them a quick peck on the lips.
Rumi took pride in the small blushes that painted their cheeks, even if they were accompanied by a sly comment.
“The wine is already working,” Mira teased, taking a generous sip of her own.
“I have to say Zoey,” Rumi said, taking in the quiet vibe of the restaurant, “it's not that bad here. I'm a little concerned that the government is run by a demon, and I'm going to have to up the cardio routine to compensate for all the sodium in the food but…” she paused, “it's nice. Quiet. For the first time in a while, I can hear myself think.”
“Both are easily remedied,” Mira chirped, waiting a moment for them to chuckle.
“I'm happy you're happy,” Zoey smiled, “I think you'll love what I have planned tomorrow. Being here with you guys is special, and I can't think of anyone else I want to share my spaghetti with.”
The last few months had been long and exciting. Since salvaging the honmoon they'd been on a tour, checking every city they visited for a wave of gold. Since they're “Golden” tour was thwarted by the Saja boys, they had to introduce their new tracks alongside it. Which meant learning and practicing an additional track and choreography every few weeks.
It was true that they all felt alive on stage, but now that Rumi wasn't scared for her life, she appreciated couch time a lot more. She understood the allure of growing into the sofa, merging with its cushions.
It was all the additional downtime and improved communication that had gotten them to see what was there all along.
Friendship, yes, but also a halted attraction rooted in affection. Rumi hadn't trusted them with the worst part of her, yet somehow they had encouraged her to be the best version of herself.
Before she could say anything more– the wine was making her sentimental– the waitress returned, alongside a helper, with plates of food. The smell was intoxicating, and it didn't take long to turn full meals into scraps.
“Okay, now you take this,” Zoey directed, holding a flaccid piece of pasta to Mira's lips.
“In my mouth?” Mira asked, horrified.
“Yes, and then suck on it,” Zoey mumbled through the noodle hanging off her lips.
Mira furrowed her brows, but did as she was told. Rumi chuckled belligerently at the sight of them. Their faces zipped forward, surprised expressions contradicting the fact that this had been planned.
But most of all, their faces settled into a smile as their lips joined over the confluence of a broken noodle.
“A solid attempt,” Zoey acknowledged with reddened cheeks, “it might take some practice.”
“Any excuse to kiss you more,” Mira told her.
“I want in on the action,” Rumi inserted, still laughing. She held up another noodle, offering it to either of them. Both offered eagerly so Mira gave in to Zoey. Zoey beamed proudly, taking the noodle in her mouth. Rumi was as careful as she could be, placing it in her mouth and slurping until her mouth met Zoey’s. Unlike their previous kiss, this one was far from quick and far from dry.
“Zoey!” she giggled, pulling away after a moment. The taste of the other girl’s tongue lingered on her taste buds. Judgment of Zoey’s blush faded as she recognized the potential for hypocrisy. The other diners looked at them with a small response to the increased volume. Rumi tucked herself back into the booth, spending the rest of the dinner wishing it was over.
just started reading Absole, got to chapter 9, and decided to tell you just how much we love your writing. like. you capture Minthara perfectly ::3 and they're so cutes together !! we can't wait to see where you take it
AHHHH I'm freaking out!!! Thank you so much! The fact you would switch websites and come here to tell me means the world to me! I feel so special : )
I really hope you enjoy the rest of it, and please don't be shy to get back in my inbox and tell me what you think. Seriously I cannot smile big enough right now!
Do you think they share a bed, have separate beds next to each other, or bunk beds?and who takes which bunk?
Oh these girls give me the vibes if owning the largest bed possible. They all have their "sides", Mira on the left closest to the door, Rumi in the middle and Zoey on the right close to the window. That being said, they all end up on Rumi's "side" during the night.
But IF they had bunkbeds, I think Mira takes the bottom because she can't be bothered to do the climbing and stuff. She has a cute habit of leaving clothes hanging over the ladder that Zoey will promptly step on on her way to the middle. Zoey has a setup that allows her to mount her ipad on the roof of her bunk, and her ipad charger is constantly falling down so Mira has to continuously pass it to her.
Rumi takes the top because Mira and Zoey both like the smoke show of her climbing (and will actively stare through the rungs of the ladder). But she kind of likes the liberty of the top. She doesn't feel boxed in and can see the whole room, it helps stifle some of her anxiety. She puts posters of them on the roof so she can fall asleep to their faces every night. When she wants someone to come cuddle she lets her braid hang down so Zoey can see it. Only with the enticement of a cuddle puddle will Mira be bothered enough to scale the bunk beds.
Thanks for the prompt! And i hope it satisfied your question!
Mira's arms extended over the edges of the bath, and it took all of Rumi's willpower not to claim one of them.
"I would like to propose," the pink-haired girl said, "that we conclude every night like this." Zoey hummed enthusiastically, causing the cucumber over her eyes to fall in the water. Mira laughed, plucking them out one at a time and tossing them over the edge.
"Sorry," Zoey apologized with a blush.
Rumi smiled, looking down at her arms and chest. For some reason, she still expected it to feel different with her patterns. The absence of any unspoken reservations was almost unnerving.
But it was quickly washed away when Mira lifted her hair over the edge, letting it drip to the floor.
"We're alone," she stated matter-of-factly, causing Rumi and Zoey to observe the other baths.
True to her word, they really were alone.
"Should we play a game then?" Rumi asked, unaware of Mira and Zoey's shared look.
"Something like that," Zoey answered, before lifting up her arm. Dangling from her fingerfips was the bright blue and green bikini top she had arrived in. Rumi raised her eyebrows, looking to Mira in disbelief, only to find that she, too, was holding her swimtop above the water.
"You okay, Rumi?" Zoey asked with a concerned look.
"We can out them back on," Mira offered. But Rumi had other plans. Her hands moved just as quickly as her head shook. Soon enough she was tossing her swimsuit over the side, basking in the freedom of the open water.
"Glad you're excited," Mira grinned, "but now someone might see it on the ground."
Rumi was horrified at first, the implication that they could be caught was a grave one. She might never recover from the embarassment.
But she soon realized by the wishful eyes of her friends that it was merely an attempt to bait her. To get her out of the water.
I'll take the bait, she decided, getting to her feet.
As she walked to get her swimsuit, she added yet another thing to the list of reasons to love the bathhouse.
