24, she/her high femme lesbian, autistic // men, minors and ageless dni // I write high-femme-friendly lesbian AC fanfic // TERFs and racists get kneecapped // AO3 @ oh_stars_im_tired
big shout out to tumblr for being the first major site in like two years to implement an ill-advised "feature" nobody wants, likes or respects that doesn't involve AI
I'm studying animation! Went to Sydney to study it and it fell through after one semester cause it's fucking miserable over there, so I came back home and then shortly after my sister gave birth scandalously young so I went and helped her out since I was the only one in my family that had nothing going on lmao.
I'm back to doing my degree though (this time back home) and watching my nephew grow up so things are pretty stable again!
so so so glad to see you're still around and kickin', I love your blog so much!
🧵
Surprise nephew??? Crazy. But it's lovely that you're able to support your sister!
Anyone and everyone CAN write. The world’s most skilled writer didn’t start off skilled. The key is that they practice hard by writing a lot.
As long as you write, you are practicing your craft and you are getting better at writing. But you will never get anywhere if you let AI write for you.
MAMA IT'S ME ITS TAILOR!ANON HELLO IT'S BEEN SO LONG
I fell off tumblr HARD because university abroad and a bunch of random other bullshit BUT IT'S ME IT'S ME DO YOU REMEMBER
I'm back!! Made my way back onto Tumblr and I just HAD to come back to see you first thing!! Have yet to fully update myself on your blog but I just wanted to pop in and say hi!!
so, hi!!!
- tailor!anon, back from the dead
OH MY GOD YOU'RE ALIVE hi hi hi hi hi
I hope university went/is going well! What course are you studying? And I hope the other bullshit was swiftly resolved.
I've been swamped with a new fintech consulting job but slowly easing myself back into writing (and nearly wiped out by the ao3 curse in the process but the universe wanted me to finish my wips lol)
pairing: kassandra x fem!reader
word count: 1.2k
description: kassandra comes from a past of grecian sun and warm oceans... it's safe to say she's not used to the winter chill on the isle of skye. you don't mind warming her up.
tags: FLUFF! set in the isle of skye AC valhalla plotline, not an established relationship and not not an established relationship but a secret bittersweet third thing, courting but also a wholesome situationship because kassandra has to leave at some point?
a/n: I DID IT! i did my christmas/holiday celebration (mostly) on time. this is a first for me. and, hopefully, i'll continue writing on consistently and get my autumn fics out in the next month or two.
The Isle of a Skye was a place of undomesticated beauty.
Crags and cliffs reached high into the air like fingers trying to touch the clouds. The seas were wild and waves tossed like the prideful heads of wild mares. In the mornings, thick clouds of fog hung over the moors. The grass was encased in a loving frost and delicate-footed red deer would pick their way along, grazing to heart's content.
Sea bird nests sat cradled along sea bluffs. The brave, winged creatures face the wind currents head on, diving and spinning, free.
Burbling streams drifted through cracks in stone and eroded their way through grasslands. Sometimes, glimpses of sun would reach down through the dark clouds like heaven brushing her fingers along the isle's grasses.
In the winter time, a soft snow would occasionally fall which dotted the landscape in a thin layer of white. Fawns chase each other through the world's new blanket and birds would bicker over a bundle of frosted berries.
It was also inanely cold.
At least, that's what Kassandra thought.
She's from a land of sun-kissed beaches and sweltering summers. She's used to free-moving armor, leather kissing her muscled legs as she runs. Mornings were for productivity; waking upon the deck of the Adrestia and getting the crew to work while the heat was still manageable. Afternoons were for chasing jobs through sprawling cities or landscapes, sweat stinging her eyes as the sun relentlessly beat down upon her. Evenings were for relaxation, the taste of ripened fruit blooming across her tongue as the light died in brilliant shades of pink and orange.
Even in winter, you could expect some rain but it was never cool enough where Kassandra needed to bundle beneath furs.
So, when she enters through the door of a homey tavern upon a Scottish isle and far far away from Greece, her teeth were chattering.
But she does not stop by the hearth nor does she stop for a heartening stew nor a horn of mead to warm her belly.
Instead, she makes a beeline for the stairs that lead to the rickety rooms. A withering glare is sent to whoever might dare to chuckle at her shuddering, blowing away their laughter like an extinguished candle.
She takes the steps quickly. Lithe legs push her up two at a time.
Your door is the last one on the left.
The very person she's been so eager to return to.
The door creaks open and shuts just as quickly as she shuffles in. She wouldn't dare let any of the heat out.
A small fire crackles and pops in the hearth, having been fed with enough wood to last a few more hours. Frosted window panes are inlaid in the stone, a slight chill creeping through the glass. But the room is warm, so much warmer than outside. Kassandra can already feel her palms tingling with returning heat.
Then, there was you. Right where you'd been when she'd left in the wee hours of the morning to chase a lead with Eivor.
While Kassandra was running amuck in the snow and the cold that stung her ears, you were blissfully dozing in and out of sleep… piled beneath furs and soaking up the heat of the fire near your feet. Hair fanned out against the pillow, you were sprawled like a starfish in a tide pool across the bed.
Kassandra wouldn't have it any other way.
A grin tugs at her lips as she eagerly begins to strip away her armor. Leather and buckles rasp a she tugs them loose, gently setting each piece aside. It was a ritual of hers. Something that stemmed form her early days where such things were not bought or given so easily. Boots are hastily kicked off and weapons tucked away.
Your lover doesn't even bother undoing her hair before pulling back the furs and immediately scooting close.
Callused hands brush over your waist before taking hold and pulling you close. Kassandra is unapologetic with the way she seeks warmth. Slight tremors wrack her frame even still.
You make a soft noise, half awake and half floating in the realm of dreams. But you're not resistant, you never are. Rolling over, you bury yourself against her, wiggling as close as you possibly can.
You toss a leg over Kassandra's own, face pressed to her collarbone. You push your nose against her, taking greedy inhales of sandalwood and leather.
"Your hands are cold." You complain. The words are half-muffled by the material of her tunic.
"Sorry." But you can hear by the smile in her voice that she isn't, not truly. Your suspicions are proven correct when her hands slide beneath your own woolen clothes. They knead lightly at your waist, greedily seeking the warmth of your bare skin.
She buries her face to your crown. Against her better judgment, she lets her shoulders relax as the familiar scent of your soap and the oils you use in your hair wash over her. It reminds her of a different time, when she was more free to love and give, when her time was limited to one life, when her only worry was the Cult of Kosmos.
She hasn't allowed herself this in a long time. Intimacy. It was frightening. Much too difficult to bear your soul to another, to let them nestle close to your heart, only to have that ripped away when her mission takes her elsewhere.
Kassandra can never stay in one place for long. She knows that. You both do, really. She'd made that abundantly clear when you'd first met; you standing proud at Eivor's side as the viking introduced you as a medicine woman who sometimes traveled with the best drengr's of the Ravenclan.
It's been weeks of you bandaging her wounds, offering an ear to listen, becoming place to rest. Kassandra hadn't felt this safe, this warm, in a long long time.
She also knows, in the end, that will make departing bittersweet. But what sort of life could someone have if it was bereft of love?
That's why she comes back to you, every single time without fail. Lets your warmth, your light, seep into her marrow and lets herself believe this can be something she can have.
She's broken from her thoughts by plush lips brushing over her jaw.
"I can practically hear you thinking." Your voice is still laden with the fog of sleep. Another kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Stop it and rest for once."
Kassandra fights the urge to scoff.
"It's easier said than done." She states, squinting down at you.
"So it seems." You sigh. You won't ever presume to know what lies in the cloud that tends to hang over your lover's head.
Your soft, much warmer, hands slip under her tunic. Skimming across her toned back, you start to knead at the knots you find buried in her muscles. Kassandra makes a grateful noise, leaning her head against your own as she finally lets her eyes slip shut.
As the tension is unwound from her frame, her thoughts begin to quiet. She just lets herself… be.
There is only the found of the crackling fire, the warmth of your embrace, your gentle hands, and the hushed intimacy meant for two souls entwined.
If her hands clutch you a little closer tonight, it goes unmentioned. Because, with your hands tangled in her shirt, you hold her just as tight.
‧₊˚── Synopsis: The daughter of Athens' corrupt leader and the misthios interested in taking him down have joined forces... but only to bring an end to his reign. Certainly not because they fancy each other, and the sex is amazing.
Word Count: 2.9k
Content/Warnings: nsfw, reader is referred to w fem pronouns/has fem anatomy, top!kass, bottom!reader, semi-public sex, porn with lots of plot, very fluffy, period-typical misogyny, slight degredation, but mostly kass is a giant sweetheart who's wrapped around your finger
A/N: wow! i'm back! i've missed you all so! this was actually supposed to be my entry for day 11 of kinktober, but- obviously- i have since abandoned ship in an effort to get over an awful bout of writer's block. thankfully, i had SO much fun finishing this without the pressure; hence, its length lol. and i figured, what better way to celebrate my birthday than to return from my mini hiatus with my favorite warrior? i hope you enjoy, and i'm excited to get back into the groove of things. thanks for all the love and support you guys have shown me in the meantime. it means the world <3
𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐁𝐞𝐞 ୨ৎ
──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──
This is the last way you'd like to be spending your evening.
Surrounded by a group of pompous politicians drowning themselves in wine and gorging on foreign delicacies, whilst the citizens of Athens are being underfed and over-taxed.
Your father had originally called this "meeting" under the guise that those citizens and their well-being would be discussed, but you knew better than to believe the invitation was anything more than an excuse to surround himself with aristocrats eager to earn the favor of Athens's leader.
Still, you hold out. Put on a smile. Listen closely, take note, and- most of all- remain completely unassuming, reminding yourself that it won't be long now before you expose your father's corruption and take the throne your-damn-self.
But, unfortunately, that reminder doesn't change the fact that this is still the last way you'd like to be spending your evening.
And then, she walks in.
All legs, toned muscle, sun-kissed skin, and piercing tawny eyes. Eyes that instantly find yours, prompting the smirk that pulls at her pink lips.
Talk about a way to spend your evening.
It had taken The Eagle Bearer almost no time to pin you as a fellow renegade, and even less time to pin you against your bedroom wall and fuck the living daylights out of you.
The first time she attended one of these meaningless gatherings was after your father had hired her to take out an… obstacle… before the last ecclesia, guaranteeing his victory. It was your agitation with your father that she'd picked up on before anything else; the tense coil of your shoulders, the clench of your jaw, the tight smile that never seemed to reach your eyes.
She would have simply pegged you for another daughter of aristocracy trapped in a gilded cage if it hadn't been for those questions. Questions you'd been asking all night; ones that everyone else figured were in the name of small talk, but that she realized you were silently filing away for something.
Intent on figuring out just what that something was, she'd stealthily pulled you into your bedroom to insist on answers, and when you finally revealed your plan to take down your father- only after she'd provided ample promise and proof that her allyship belonged to you- she'd all but begged you to let her reward you with that sinfully talented tounge for being such a godsdamned genius.
She's likely the only person who knows just how smart you really are; who respects you immensely, and truly values what you have to say.
And… it helps that you see the gods when she's between your legs.
So, you agreed to work with her to advance your plan. She gets whatever information she can from outside the estate, you get what you can from the inside, and the two of you convene at these routine meetings your father hosts to "discuss matters regarding the prosperity of our great Athens," where- ironically enough- you're the only two concerned at all with doing that.
While your eyes are locked, you cock your head toward the gardens behind you.
She nods, but then, her eyes narrow as she draws a circle with her finger around the crowded foyer.
"Let me work the room first," her motion signals.
A grin stretches across your lips as you nod, standing to make your way to the garden anyway.
You're well aware that offering empty greetings, shaken hands, and meaningless social niceties is most important when you're lying in the faces of your given company.
You chuckle to yourself, thinking about how small talk is among Kassandra's most dreaded obligations as you make your way over to the roses. You've come to learn that the woman wouldn't dare let her comfort come before a greater cause.
Sometimes, you wish she would. That she'd rest, take a break, stay a while longer.
That's a newer revelation of yours; that the feelings you have for her might have become something more than you were expecting. That she might mean more to you than you planned on allowing.
But she's so hard not to love.
How could you not love the way her nose wrinkles when she laughs? Or the way she twirls loose strands of her chestnut waves around her forefinger when she's deep in thought, but only when she thinks there's no one else around? The way she listens so intently, talks with her hands-
Hands that have seemed to come from out of nowhere to land on your waist.
You yelp, bringing a hand up to your now racing heart as you whip your head around to face her.
Her silent footsteps, on the other hand… you're not so sure they make the list of things you love about her.
"What have I told you about sneaking up on me?!" You hiss, but when she chuckles and her freckled nose wrinkles, you can't help but crack a smile of your own.
She peppers kisses along the soft junction of your neck and shoulder, still giggling at your fright all the while.
"I'm so sorry, agapi," she says sweetly. "I promise, I didn't mean to."
You roll your eyes- grin growing wider, now- as she slowly turns you around; backs you up against the nearest wall as the pecks on your skin begin to lose their innocence.
"Hey," you playfully warn, dipping down to meet her gaze.
When she lifts her head, and her eyes meet yours in return, you find that they're alight with something far too dangerous for a place this out in the open.
"Keep it in your pants. We've got important matters to discuss first."
She lets out a huff, throwing her head back in indignation for just a moment. You can tell she'd like to talk back; to whine about how long it's been since you'd seen each other (an entire three days), or how she couldn't possibly keep from jumping your bones when you're wearing that dress (a dress not unlike the ones you're always wearing), but, instead, she straightens up.
"You're right," she declares. "Important matters first."
It seems your Eagle Bearer has decided to behave today.
Or so you think.
"You know," she begins, the sardonic nature of her words to your immediate entertainment, "there is so much treason going on just under your father's nose in his military camps, I truly began to think for a moment that, perhaps, the downfall of this state is in accordance with his plans. But, only for a moment," she clarifies, "for that thought was immediately snuffed out by my remembering just how fucking stupid your father is."
You snort, shaking your head and leaning back against the wall as you watch her pull something from her pocket.
"That was…"
Your smirk falls. Your eyes twinkle.
"Until I found this."
She holds a small piece of folded parchment in front of you.
"A letter," she answers before you ask. "From your father."
You quickly pluck the letter from her fingers, straightening up to examine its contents for anything that could strengthen your case against him.
But when you find nothing, you look up at Kassandra with furrowed brows.
"Alright," you begin tentatively, "a pledge of allegiance to the leader of Lokris for his ample donation. It's nothing damning," you note with a shrug. "He's spoken of this freely with his council."
"Is he speaking freely of being in correspondence with the Delian League of the Cult of Kosmos? Because I found this letter on their leader after I pulled my spear from out of her throat."
Your eyes go wide. Your heart damn near drops out of your ass.
You frantically reread the letter, its newfound context igniting a fire within you.
"You're serious?" You ask; breathless, urgent.
"Gods as my witness," she quickly replies. "Your pater is done, Y/n. He addresses her by name in the letter; signed off with his signature, too, the damned fool. This is it. Irrefutable evidence. He's caught."
You let out an incredulous laugh.
"You're incredible," you shake your head, looking up at her in awe. "By the Gods, you are incredible!"
She stumbles back as you fling your arms around her shoulders, laughing wildly, a smile splitting your face.
This is it. He's caught.
Years of corruption you've worked so hard to uncover, and finally, you've enough to end his shitshow of a reign for good.
"Give yourself some credit, eh?" She chuckles, pulling back, hands planted firmly on your waist. "This was just as much your doing, if not more."
"Still," you smile, "I couldn't have done it without you."
Your hands move to rest on her leather breastplate.
"You have no idea how thankful I am for your help, Kassandra," you softly say.
Her brow quirks up in that way that lets you know she's about to say something entirely inappropriate.
"Oh, I have an idea," she purrs, kissing your temple sweetly to distract you from the way she's backing you up against the wall once more. "Your fingers say everything words can't."
"Kassandra," you firmly scold, though your cheeks are growing hot, "you're being naughty."
"I am," she dips down to whisper in your ear, hands traveling over your dress. "Will you punish me?"
"Kass!"
"I'm just asking a question. I'm an inquisitive woman."
"You're an insatiable woman," you laugh, meeting her eyes. "And- what are you doing?!"
She shrugs innocently, like her hands aren't under your dress now.
"You're being… There are people… We are exposed!" You sputter.
"I don't see anyone around," she deadpans, fingers tracing the seams of your underwear.
You scoff at her audacity.
"Kass-"
"Tell me to stop."
Her words are firm, her gaze sharp- challenging.
"Tell me to stop, and I will. You know I will."
She's right. Kassandra is just as responsible a lover as she is ravenous, and unlike most of the men in the foyer around the corner and down the hall, she hears a "no" and always listens.
"You'll stop if you hear anyone coming?" You whisper.
"You have my word."
That's something else she always does. She keeps her word to you.
So, you relax- give in- but not without the blithe roll of your eyes.
"You're evil," you chide, though your fingers wrap around her wrist, guiding her closer still to the heat in between your legs.
"Am I?" She chortles.
Her fingers slip beneath your dampened underwear.
"If this is what you call evil," she croons, fingers spreading you apart, "then I've done a fine job keeping true evil away from you."
Her words snap you out of the pleasure-induced haze you're already falling into for just a moment.
"What do you mean?" You ask. "What are you keeping away from me?"
"The daughter of an archon makes a good target for any political dissenter trying to make a point," she quirks a brow. "I keep my eyes and ears out. Try my best to keep them from getting too close."
A warm smile stretches across your face.
"You needn't trouble yourself with that," you murmur.
"I don't do it because I need to," she retorts, fingers still working at your slicked folds; slow, gentle. "I do it because I care for you."
Your heart twists in your chest.
You pull her in for a kiss before you have time to slip up and say you love her.
Her tongue slides into your mouth- her fingers into you- and you choke back a gasp, already having to work hard to stay quiet.
"Going around cutting people down for me, eh?" you quip, hands finding purchase on her shoulders.
She chuckles lowly, two skilled fingers curling languidly.
"I show no mercy when it comes to you, agapi mou."
A wicked grin appears on her face when she feels you flutter around her.
"That do it for you?" She teases.
"Don't act like it's so strange," you smile, words airy as your breath quickens just the same as her fingers. "You're the one who gets turned on listening to me strategize a coup of my own father's throne."
"Oh, keep talking," she sighs dramatically, brows furrowed in feigned pleasure, "I'm so close."
Your head tips back against the wall as you laugh, and her head dips down to rest on your shoulder, her free hand snaking around your waist to keep you close as she works you open.
You feel her smile against your neck as your breath grows uneven. Her palm shifts ever so slightly, making space for your own hand.
"There you go," she coos as you reach down to press your fingers to your clit. "Good?"
"Oh, yes," you frantically nod, eyes closed and brows knit together.
"I'd put my mouth on you," she smirks, "but that'd be a much more compromising position to get out of, should someone make their way out here."
She expects a chuckle. Perhaps a slap on the shoulder.
She does not expect you to tighten around her; for the ministrations against your clit to quicken.
Her eyes twinkle as she rears her head back to look at you.
"You'd like that?" She questions lowly. "For someone to walk out here and find you like this? Falling apart on my fingers in your father's gardens?"
You bite down on your bottom lip so hard you're afraid it'll bleed, so as not to let your cries of pleasure escape you. You bury your head in her shoulder in the hopes that, should noise escape you anyhow, it might at least be muffled by her sandalwood-perfumed chlamys.
But she's a hair's breadth away from your ear, now, and there's no way in Hades she's not using that opportunity to place her lips against its shell and speak filth.
"Make some noise for me," she goads. "You might just lure a guest or two out. You're putting on such a pretty show…"
You place your cheek against her chest, your breath quick and shallow as the coil in your belly grows tight and white-hot.
"Wouldn't you like that?" She continues, the hand on your waist now trailing up the expanse of your back before threading through the hair at the nape of your neck. "Letting them see how well you take me? Letting them watch as I make you mine?"
Her thumb rubs soothing circles into the base of your skull as you begin to lose yourself.
A pathetic whine escapes you.
"Please don't stop," you exhale.
"I won't," she assures.
"I'm so close."
"I know."
And then, she grasps the back of your neck; forces your gaze to meet her own.
You let out a squeak as you begin to tip over the edge, and her thumb is quickly slotted into your mouth.
"Hush," she commands. "Lest you're truly so filthy that you'd rather an audience."
You bite down harder than you intend as you cum around her fingers. With your eyes squeezed shut, you miss her wince, but she doesn't pull away. Not until you finally exhale, going limp against the wall as your body thrums with the aftershocks of release.
"You've got a mean bite," she smirks, but only after a long moment of stroking your hair, kissing your cheeks, coaxing you back down to earth.
Your eyes go wide as you reach for the afflicted digit.
"I'm so sorry," you sputter, horrified.
She quickly waves you off, giggling.
"It's fine, it's fine," she promises. "I'm only teasing. I've had much worse, you know. "
You smile weakly, pulling her toward you with one hand, reaching up to trace a new scar on her cheek with the other.
"I do," you muse.
You pull her in for a kiss- deep and tender- before pulling away just enough to rest your forehead against her own.
"You should take a break soon," you offer.
"After your father is dealt with," she negotiates. "After you take his place. Then, I will."
"Really?" You beam. You'd expected more of an argument, frankly.
You know you shouldn't push your luck anymore- getting her to agree to a break in the first place is already like pulling teeth- but this moment feels too tender not to ask,
"Will you stay with me when you do?"
A wry smile tugs at her lips. You're already steeling yourself for the no; for the reminder that she hates to be in one place for too long.
But then, she kisses you once more; places another on your nose for good measure.
"I'll stay for as long as you'll have me. The estate will be yours to manage, after all."
"As long as I'll have you?" you giggle incredulously.
She shrugs with a cheeky grin.
"And what if I say I want to keep you forever?" you challenge.
"It'd be very unwise of me to deny a request from the archon of Athens," she straightens up, cocking a brow. "The political sphere here is quite volatile."
You snort, shaking your head.
"Don't I know it," you smirk. "I've already begun mapping out campaigns to increase citizen approval and decrease hostile negotiations between allies and enemies alike. I'll have no more of these glorified tantrums when I'm in my father's place."
She stares at you for a long moment with something like awe written on her face.
And then?
"Gods, that's sexy," she sighs. "Can we go again?"
Now, I know that the AO3 curse isn't real. I'm not superstitious. I do not believe deities or any adjacent sentient force that might take pleasure in AO3-oriented comedic timings. But if I didn't know any better, I'd say that nearly dying in a car crash the day I decided to resume creative writing was the universe taking the absolute piss.
