Tags: mention of Sex, Aftercare, No hurt only comfort, First time, not beta read
AO3 Link: here!
Word count: 1,062
Summary: “Mortal comforts have never appealed to me as much.” Aylin explained late one evening, biting into the flaky treat Isobel had brought her. “I think I’m starting to understand now,” Something mischievous flickered across Isobel’s eyes. “There’s a whole world of creature comforts for you to enjoy, my angel.”
Isobel pulled against the strong hold her Paladin had wrapped around her waist, eliciting a deep, keening sound from Aylin’s chest as she attempted to extract herself from the sweaty tangle of limbs. “I’ll be gone just a moment, my love,” Isobel tried to placate, carding her fingers through the Aasimar’s sweaty, tangled hair.
“Allow me, what do you require?” Aylin rushed out, forcing her limbs to respond as she pushed herself away from the embrace of their bed. The very core of her being felt resorted to her own holy fire, she burned, yet a pleasant fog buzzed around in her mind, keeping the troubles of being her mother’s sword at bay.
Before Isobel could protest, Aylin was swinging her legs over the side of the bed and standing- only to just barely succeed in catching herself with strong hands on the bed frame. Without her permission, her legs quivered under her weight, her entire body malfunctioning, refusing to comply with her demands.
Frustration pricked at the back of her eyes, though before it could become too much, soft hands were ghosting over her back- since when did Isobel move around the bed? “Come my angel,” she pressed a soft kiss to the shell of her ear before guiding the immortal back into the cocoon of their blankets, the sanctum of their love consummated at last. She sank bonelessly into the covers under the guidance of Isobel’s unwavering hands.
“Aftercare is nonnegotiable,” The Cleric explained at the groggy, confused look in Aylin’s eyes. “I’ll be gone just a moment.” Forcing herself to relax was the hardest part as she watched Isobel pad silently across the room, pulling on a robe as she passed one of the scattered piles of clothes. The door opened with a creak, revealing Squire, who must have been waiting just outside the door to keep up her steadfast protection of her charge.
“Hello my sweet girl,” She’d heard Isobel greet just before the door shut, cheeks darkening as she compared the nickname of the beast to the quiet, enraptured praise she’d been giving Aylin just moments ago.
In Isobel’s absence, Aylin turned inwards. The buzz in her muscles seemed ever present, the burn was pleasant however, relaxing in a way that no warm spring or healing spell had ever seemed able to grant her. Moonlight filtered in through sheer curtains, reflecting off the scant lines of gold that crossed her skin from battles past. Slick and sweat still sat heavy on her tongue, ambrosia-like as she reveled in the sweet and saltiness still dancing along her tastebuds. If only she’d known the godly ichor that seemed to flow from Isobel sooner- but never the mind, she would more than make up for it, just as soon as she’d trained her body to overcome the fatigue.
“No, Squire,” Isobel’s voice filtered back on the other side of the door, drawing her attention away, halting the stream of intrusive thoughts that had her hand wandering across the curve of her own hip, wondering. “Not right now, sweet girl.” She slipped through the small opening of the door, toeing away Squire’s inquisitive nose as she shut the door.
Water sloshed in a small bucket as she carried it to her desk, drawing Aylin’s curiosity as her hands dropped back against the blankets, watching Isobel work as if preparing her shrine to the Moon maiden.
Clear water was poured into a clean glass, a soft rag was then placed in the water remaining in the bucket, left to soak as the cleric brought the glass to Aylin’s side. “Here,” When Aylin reached for the cup, Isobel batted at her fingers. “Allow me?” The Paladin had chuckled, but acquiesced. Isobel was careful not to spill a drop as she tilted the glass against Aylin’s lips. She hadn’t even realized how parched she’d become until the cool water washed over her tongue, though Isobel was steadfast, not allowing her beloved’s eagerness to let her tilt the cup too far.
Praise came as she drank, each sweet name cataloged in her mind once Isobel spoke it, her free hand brushing away strands of hair that stuck to her face as Aylin dutifully finished her water. “Sweet girl.” “My strong angel.” “My glowing girl.”
Setting the empty glass on the nightstand, Isobel stepped away just long enough to wring out the soaked rag. “It’ll be a tad cold,” she warned. Before Aylin could ask, the freezing cloth pressed against her upper thigh, shocking her muscles back to reality. Blankets scrunched under her fingers as she shifted under Isobel’s caring touch.
Isobel cleaned away sweat, slick, and saliva from her skin as if she were polishing only the finest silver. Stone-like scabs littered the insides of her thighs, proof of her Cleric’s strength, love, and devotion. “No-“ her voice was gravely and thick, syrupy with the influence of calming drowsiness. Isobel paused to meet her gaze, healing magic sitting at the tips of her fingers, prepared to wipe away the thin lines as if they were never there. “I’d like to keep them, as long as they’ll stay,” trepidation tinged her face, as if the request was somehow unreasonable.
“Anything for you, my love,” Isobel pressed a kiss to her cheek as her magic dimmed. Once she was clean, the shorter woman clambered back into their bed, finally allowing the last few hours to catch up with her as she sank back into Aylin’s side. “Though I won’t have any issue leaving more, should you say the word.”
“If I ever refuse that request, assume Sharrans have controlled my mind and preform only the most brutal of banishments.” Her words were spoken as oath, but she found herself smiling at the warm laughter that bubbled past Isobel’s lips, stoking the cozy fire that sat in her chest.
“Of course, angel.” Soft lips pressed against her collarbone, content to relax into her heat as the Aasimar tugged the blankets around the both of them. “But that will be a discussion for another time,” drowsiness clung to her voice, prompting Aylin to run her fingers along the point of her ear, stroking gently until the half-elf’s breathing was deepening, sleep finding her beloved as easily as the moonlight had brought them together. Right at Isobel’s heels, Dame Aylin found herself drifting off into the calming waves of sleep.
For:@aylinisobel-weekDay Three: The Moonmaiden's Silver Light
Relationships: Dame Aylin/Isobel Thorm
Notes/Warnings: Feelings of incompetence, Non-explicit mentions of sex, Hurt/Comfort, Descriptions of Torture, Psychological Trauma, Aftermath of Torture
Word Count: 2,645
AO3 Link: Here!
Summary:“I want to take care of you.” She pressed on, though backpedaled after a moment. “I know it is a big step to ask of you to take, I’ll accept your refusal in the face of your comfort, however, if you’d like to try, I will stop the moment you ask.”
Pondering the promise, Aylin thought back to conversations of the past, how different they’d been a century ago. Once upon a time, these were conversations regarding bringing something new into their love life, long conversations regarding where to touch, how to grab, and the kind of pressure they were comfortable applying. Oh how the mighty had fallen, their conversations now regarding the simple basic touch of one lover to another.
“I will do my best to endure.”
“No.” Isobel’s hand moved from her hips to her bicep, gently guiding her back to their bed. “You will not force yourself to endure, not here, never with me."
Barbed chains and wires pressed deep into her skin where they pulled her to the ground, the delicate bones of her wings creaked and snapped under the pressure, blood moistened her feathers, and laughter filled her ears. Shar? Ketheric? Balthazar? Or another Sharran yearning for promotion? She could hardly tell the difference between her visitors, and they only came from behind these days. Balthazar had even stripped her of her ability to question her newest conqueror, her tongue was taking what felt like a millennium to regrow, only allowing her to choke out sick, guttural noises of pain during each session.
A cold finger traced down her spine, just between the delicate bones. The nail was sharp and she could feel a sick griminess left behind in the path it had taken. “Yes… These will do,” Ketheric’s voice was loud in her ears, thundering as she tried to struggle. The mage hands grabbed tighter into her arms, pressing a new round of fresh bruises into her mottled skin. The familiar sound of metal sliding from a sheath rang out, and suddenly, she had her tongue.
She’d wished to bite it off, to cut it off once more if only to save her honor, to halt the embarrassment of her screams, harrowing wails echoing in the cavernous nothingness of the Shadowfell as the blade sawed all too slowly. Warm wetness raced along her back and down her face, cutting tracks into the grime. She tried to fight and did everything she could to resist until she simply couldn’t, she wasn’t strong enough, all but collapsing into the hold of the mage hands as bones splintered and broke under the chains and blades. She was glad they stopped touching her skin when Ketheric decided the wings were severed enough to pull.
Her body wrenched back with each tug, each more painful than the last. With a final, keening sob, the ground was swept out from under her.
She landed with a harsh thud onto the ground, floorboards cracking under her weight as she collapsed, each breath igniting her lungs as she pushed herself backward, away from the danger alarms her brain kept blaring. When she opened her eyes to the moonlight bedroom, she could see nothing but Last Light, Isobel’s room, no danger.
Aylin backed up until she could feel the rotten wood at her back, could feel her wings bristling in discomfort as pieces of wood flecked off into the feathers. She was damp with sweat and tears, spittle and blood running down her chin, her lips bitten to the hells and back, her throat torn from each harrowing scream. The room was empty, Isobel was nowhere she could see, and while initially, it would cause her to panic, she found herself grateful for her own pride.
Fighting to calm her breathing, to stop the hyperventilating that kept her chest rising and falling in a painful race against her heart, the Aasimar dropped her head back against the wall and let out a quiet groan. She tried to pray, truly she had, but she could not find comfort, even with the moonlight filtering in through the windows.
Perhaps it was childish, but she was alone- it was just herself and the moonlight, after all. The Paladin tucked her knees to her chest slowly, as if remembering how her; arms wrapped around her calves to tuck them closer to her bare chest, and then, to protect her pride once more, silvery white wings enclosed around herself. She didn’t want to disappoint her mother any further, to make her find a champion who wouldn’t crumble under the weight asked of her. She had to be strong, a sword tempered in the hottest of hells. She would not fail her quest now of all times, after her first taste of freedom in a century.
“Aylin? Love?” Her voice was soft, and quiet, barely breaking the surface of the toiling ocean in her ears. Something clinked together, broken glass was being swept up, strewn items were being returned to their shelves, and tentative steps were coming closer. “Darling?”
“Don’t-” Her voice was choked. It was a painful request to make of her beloved, but she’d all but bristled with the thought of being touched, with Isobel’s fingers coming anywhere near her wings when they ached so horribly. “Please- I... I am sorry, I need only a moment,” She rushed, trying to put her fractured pieces together like they were no more than the crushed and shattered glass that had been swept aside.
Unfolding herself from her fetal position and tucking her wings firmly against her back, Aylin shoved the mask into place, forcing herself to take stock of the damage around her. Glass glittered against the ground, an idol of Selûne lay broken near the nightstands, silver ichor painted the ground and shards of glass, blood, her blood, staining the surfaces of their safe haven. Her stomach churned, though there was nothing that could come up. “Aylin, my dove. Talk to me, please. It pains me so to see you distraught.”
Working a muscle in her jaw, the Aasimar strode to the balcony, stepping into the cold night air and allowing a shiver to race down her spine, following that same sickly path that Ketheric’s finger had once carved. “I… Do not know where to start.” She admitted, flexing her wings in the cool night breeze. Blood matted feathers together, sending a sharp tug of pain along her bones- the glass must have snagged her wings in her flailing. “I don’t wish to burden you with objects of the past.”
“Aylin,” Isobel was close enough to touch, and Aylin knew she wished to, knew how magic itched at her fingertips, that her brilliant blue eyes were focused on the gashes along the curve of her wings, staining white feathers in shining silver ichor. Admiring Isobel was always in the cards, and she couldn’t help herself when she recognized the strength her beloved held within, to not touch just because she’d asked, even if she truly needed the aid. “My beautiful, darling girl,” Her voice edged on sadness, and Aylin could see the way she fiddled with her hands in the moonlight, aching to do something. “You are not a burden. We are together not because I hope you’ll protect me from the world, but so we can share the burden of existence together. I wish to share the weight you carry on my own shoulders, to stand beside you through it all.”
“It is rotten work, my love-” Aylin’s head bowed low, staring at the mossy cracks along the stone railing.
“Not if it’s you. Never if it’s you. Please, share your troubles with me, allow me to work through this with you, as a team.”
Aylin’s weight shifted to the side, and when Isobel’s hand reached out, the Paladin leaned into her touch, warm against clammy skin. The Cleric pressed her palm into Aylin’s hip, following the curve of her waist until she could pull her beloved a fraction closer. “Would you prefer to go inside?”
“No… I am more comfortable out here-” Her wings flexed as if to make a point, though Isobel did wince at the sight of glass still stuck in her feathers. “In the Shadowfell. Balthazaar, he…” She shook her head, unsure how to explain what she’d seen, what she’d lived through, what she’d died through. “They… Wanted my wings. They’d used chains and blades, had broken each bone until they’d healed, and tightened the chains each time until they were wrong. I watched my feathers molt each time, they could not heal properly. I… Recall cursing them to the hells, taunting them, hoping they would allow me a death that would stop the pain in my joints… I can still taste Balthazaar’s putrid hand in my mouth when he’d cut out my tongue,” Isobel’s fingers tightened around her waist at the thought, but Aylin knew all too well that she couldn’t stop now, could not coddle Isobel against the truth, that the Cleric would grow angry with her if she dared to sugarcoat her truth now. “I could not scream, it was a mercy when they’d started sawing…” Aylin paused, catching her breath, chasing away demons as she focused on the feeling of cold air against her skin, grounding her in the present.
“I don’t know how long it took, but my tongue had returned before they’d removed my wings fully. I shamed myself, my mother, the legacy. I am meant to be the Sword of Selûne, and yet… I felt farther from my title than ever. Useless, broken.
“I do not know how long it took my body to understand that they were gone, that they could not return fully without Selûne’s guidance. I’d felt the pain for ages, I forgot what it felt like to not feel the agony of phantom pains, to look behind me and see only the swirling darkness of Shar’s domain, and not my birthright, tall and proud at my back.”
“The pain is a constant. It… takes many reminders to know now that they are home, as I am.”
Isobel’s hand moved to the small of her back, and while Aylin’s body had tensed, she allowed the gentle touch to remain. “My feathers seem to have grown back wrong, and I fear taking to the air on them unless it’s necessary, and yet… All I want is to fly, to know that they cannot take this freedom from me.” Her hands rested heavily on the railing now. “Ever again.”
“And no one shall ever, not for as long as myself nor our new friends walk this plane. Allow us to protect you as you’ve done for us so many times before.” Isobel requested, her thumb stroking against a scar across the taller woman’s tailbone.
Aylin nodded slowly in understanding, allowing a gentle silence to fall over them both. “My dove?” Isobel broke eventually, looking past broad shoulders to stare at the damaged, delicate bones. “Would you allow me to heal your wings and clear the blood from your feathers?”
“I can-” Aylin went to protest, hesitant eyes searching Isobel’s gaze for something she knew she’d never find.
“I want to take care of you.” She pressed on, though backpedaled after a moment. “I know it is a big step to ask of you to take, I’ll accept your refusal in the face of your comfort, however, if you’d like to try, I will stop the moment you ask.”
Pondering the promise, Aylin thought back to conversations of the past, how different they’d been a century ago. Once upon a time, these were conversations regarding bringing something new into their love life, long conversations regarding where to touch, how to grab, and the kind of pressure they were comfortable applying. Oh how the mighty had fallen, their conversations now regarding the simple basic touch of one lover to another.
“I will do my best to endure.”
“No.” Isobel’s hand moved from her hips to her bicep, gently guiding her back to their bed. “You will not force yourself to endure, not here, never with me. I only hope to alleviate your pain, if only for a moment.” Obediently, Aylin followed her guidance, allowing herself to be settled onto the edge of the bed. “May I sit behind you?” At Aylin’s nod, the cleric shifted around, mattress dipping as she wiggled into position, bracketing her thighs around Aylin’s body, carefully sliding her legs beneath the great wings that stopped her from seeing her face. “Do you remember your safeword?”
“We are not participating in sex, unless-”
“No, no. Love, it’s for more than sex. The same rules apply, however. If at any moment you grow uncomfortable, and wish me to stop, you need only utter the word. Can you tell me what it is?”
She had to think long and hard, sorting through the past century of hell to find the memory locked neatly in her mental vault. The syllables were thick on her tongue. Air, spoken in the ancient tongues of Celestial. Isobel may not be able to translate, but they’d practiced the word enough, Isobel knew each utterance and had always pulled back before Aylin could even finish the first syllable.
When she’d spoken her safeword, Isobel let out a soft, content sound of approval that spread warmth across her chest. “My good dove, remembering so well for me,” And Selûne’s grace, she’d almost wished they could forgo this emotional dam and skip right to the sex if Isobel was going to butter her up so well.
Just knowing that Isobel’s hands were close to her wings was enough to set off her danger alarms, though she forced herself to remain still, even as her muscles tightened harder than stone at the mere ghosting of fingers along her feathers. “I’m right here, my love. My brave, strong girl,”
The compliments continued to flow as Isobel eased into applying pressure, first she touched the tips of Aylin’s wings, magic alight at her fingertips as she closed each gash along the split skin, her fingertips touching the golden solder where it laid deep beneath her feathers.
It wasn’t until Isobel reached the thick, golden sections of bone closest to her back that Aylin crumbled. “Stop, stop- st…” Anxiety shot through her body as she shot to her feet, uttering her safeword in a quiet mantra. True to her promise, Isobel had stopped immediately, recognizing the pain on her angel’s face as she put distance between herself and the bed.
“I’m so proud of you, my love,” Isobel didn’t move closer, but she did scoot back to create more space on the bed, in case Aylin wished to return. “Thank you for letting me know your limit.”
“There’s nothing to be proud of,” The Paladin rasped deprecatingly, eyes moist and red as she wrapped her arms around herself. “If I cannot sit through it with you then how will I react if an enemy-”
“Aylin, love, deep breath,” Isobel spoke through the thick fog in her brain. “Take a moment. We cannot rush this. Healing will come, but not if you try to force yourself to feel as you once had too quickly.”
“I know this in my heart to be true,” The Paladin admitted as she rounded back towards the bed, the fire in her blood calming as she sank back into the mattress. “It is convincing my mind that it is so.” Tired eyes shifted to the small pile of stone near the nightstand, to the broken idol of Seluene that had sliced her wing in her nightmarish flailing still lay, shattered, her mother’s face sliced similarly to her own.
“We will fix it come morning, my love.” Aylin eyed her warily, unsure if her mistake could even be fixed if a great dishonor as her actions could even be forgiven, or go the rest of the night without being addressed. “If she can wait a hundred years to aid you, then she can wait a night for her idol to be repaired.” If it was anyone else, if it wasn’t Aylin beside, her, bent but not broken, she would never even consider speaking about their Maiden in such a way; but it was the sword sitting beside her, the daughter who deserved her pieces to be picked up far more than a Goddess. “Perhaps we could take your mind away from these matters, if not just for a moment?” Isobel suggested, allowing a mischievous smile to come between them. “After all, you were very good for me, my strong, proud dove.”
And with compliments like that? Who was she to deny the ache that settled deep in her stomach? She may have trouble with her wings, but the rest of her very being belonged entirely to Isobel.
For:@aylinisobel-weekDay Two: A Century of Sorrow Relationships: Dame Aylin/Isobel Thorm
Notes/Warnings: Graphic Violence, Blood and Injury, I suck at dialogue and emotions.
Word Count: 2,330
AO3 Link: Here!
Summary: Tired eyes watched the flakes of ash as they floated to the ground, her body finally sapped of all the fight she had mustered as she dropped to her side at last. "Aylin!" Isobel called again, though it sounded far away, echoing through a tunnel, even as she focused on the silvery moons dotted across the hem of her beloved's robes.
As it had so many times before, darkness enveloped her, and the world went quiet. Her mother's embrace was not waiting for her. It had all been a cruel trick of the Shadowfell after all.
The Sharran enclave was stacked with dark soldiers, more than they could have possibly accounted for in the days leading up to the attack. Eager to prove herself against those who’d killed her so many times in the last century, Aylin had charged in headfirst, a small band of Selûnite Paladins hot on her tail as they stormed the doors.
Adrenaline rushed through her veins, spurring her onwards as spells exploded and crackled in the air around her. Blood spilled hot on her face as she swung her greatsword in a wide arc, catching a Dark Justiciar, familiar with the wide look in his eyes, right between the opening in his armor. Her sword cleaved through his throat like a hot knife through butter, dropping his lifeless form only to move on to the next one. “Hear me and know the fury of the Moonmaiden! Know the fury of Dame Aylin and quake in your bones!” Dame Aylin roared over the battle, rallying the Paladins that fought beside her in the large chamber.
Large wooden doors swung open, revealing an absolute behemoth of an orc, donned in the armor of a Dark Justiciar. She knew this one well, knew the feeling of their fingers grasping around her ribs as they sliced into her abdomen and reached inside. The laughter as she’d been left to die, bones and organs spread across the Shadowfell in a gross approximation of an eagle, their vile Goddess accepting the victory over a defenseless warrior with open arms.
Holy fire burned in her bones. Their presence alone was enough to distract two of her Paladins, their bodies falling among all the others. “I have seen the fury of Dame Aylin,” They bellowed, chin rising pointedly as they brought the large great axe from their shoulder. “And it compares only to a pretty bird that’s missed its worm!” Her wings flapped hard, setting friend and foe alike off balance as she rose into the air. “You have never fought a fair fight in your life, pitiful Sharran. This battle shall be your last!” Her sword raised high above her head, and with a surge of divinity, holy fire lit up in a ring around the chamber.
Trapped alone inside the fires, Aylin let her boots touch the ground once again. Her lips pulled back in a snarl as they examined the scene. “Hard to believe the moon bitch could produce a noble warrior. Shar knows you surely don’t die like one.” A nonchalant shrug surged the anger in her heart. “I look forward to seeing how my Lady will reward me once I return you to her domain.”
“No one will hold dominion of my being ever again!” Aylin bellowed, surging forward with her blade at the ready. When the axe was swung, she dropped her blade parallel to her body. The axe glanced off the broad side of her blade, sending the metal skittering to the floor while the Sharran fought to bring it back up. Using her forward momentum, Aylin planted her foot in the center of their chest and shoved. Flailing backwards, the Sharran managed to swing the blade back just enough to catch in the meat of her thigh as they propelled backward.
Fueled by rage, Aylin pushed her advantage, swinging her blade high over her head as holy fire danced along the edges. Swinging downwards, the Sharran had just barely a moment to roll from under the swing. The ground beneath her blade split and cracked as she struck, embedding the tip into the ground. As she tried to pull her blade free, the Sharran recovered. The next swing of the great axe hit her arm, breaking her hold of her own sword as she tensed to meet the pressure. The metal stayed strong under unrelenting force, allowing her to twist her wrist just enough to grasp the shoulder of the weapon and pull.
With a harsh tug, Aylin sent the axe flying from the Sharran's grip, hauling it out of their fiery enclosure and out of her mind. Beyond the ring, a familiar voice called her name, almost drowned out by the clanging of the axe hitting the ground. The Paladin's head turned, trying to see past the flames, chasing the sound of Isobel’s voice, searching for her safety amongst the chaos.
Her distraction proved fatal as the Orc slunk towards a fallen comrade, sliding the spear from their dead grip without the Selûnites notice. “I pray every day that the Moon Bitch has felt you die, I pray to the Dark Lady that I am granted the power to break you and your disgrace of a mother!” Aylin snapped her head back to her opponent at last, unsuccessful in her endeavor to find her beloved.
The blade sinking into her stomach was cold, freezing, even, as hot, silver blood gushed to the surface, fighting its way through the narrow escape between metal and skin. Aylin stumbled backward as her hands dropped to the shaft piercing through her body. “And once again, you will die no braver than those you claim to defend, little bird.” She raised her hand, magic sparking at her fingertips as she tried to summon something to finish the dirty bastard off. She was not afraid of adding another death to her toll, but this… it felt dirty . The spear embedded in her body so close to the scars where they’d first maimed her, blood spilling at the Orc’s feet as if they’d never left the Shadowfell.
“Filthy dog,” They’d spat, stepping back enough to admire the handiwork of a mortally wounded Selûnite. The blade they’d pulled from their belt next was serrated, made to saw through bone. “I’ve always regretted not being the one to cleave those wings from your body. I’d heard Aasimar wings go for a fortune these days, too.” Aylin was losing blood, fast , but the fear of losing her wings once again had her fighting to stand.
“You… you will not dare !” Her voice was raw, blood gurgling up in her throat and past her lips, as she tried to wrench the spearhead free of her insides. Pain lanced across her entire body, she wished to bleed out faster, if not to take her moment to revive and bring the true fury of the Heavens down upon them.
“Aylin!” That voice shouted again, her sweet, darling Isobel. It was closer now, no longer distorted by the roar of the inferno around them. Her vision swam as she looked towards her injury, forcing her hands closed around the shaft just enough to snap it in two. Without the spear forcing her up, the Paladin collapsed into the ground, elbow just barely catching her weight as her forehead hit the sticky marble, slick with her ichor.
She can only wait for her mother’s sweet embrace as the steel of their blade flashes in the light, waiting for it to tear through her body and finish off another life.
Boots stomped on the ground before her, and the sick sound of metal sinking into wood made her eyes open once again. Blearily, she can see Isobel before her, spear held firmly in her grip as she intercepts the Justicier’s blade, twisting it from their grip just as her spear splintered and broke in two. With renewed vigor, Aylin dug her fingers into her wound, hoping to find whatever inferior internal organ was caught on the tip of the spear. With an agonizing growl, she anchored her arm into the ground, searching for the leverage that would grant her gravity’s aid in removing the obtrusion.
“Stop!” Isobel demanded, voice firm as she reared back from their opponent. When Aylin looked up once again, she found intense blue eyes leveled with her own. Weakened by blood loss, Aylin could only nod her submission, forced to watch as the Cleric reared back, drawing her hands to her center as she summoned Selûne’s magic.
Selûne guided each of Isobel’s movements, filling divine purpose into the incantations that sat on the Cleric’s tongue. As the Sharran tried to surge forward again, Isobel called forth a beam of moonlight, searing through the ceiling of the temple and striking down right upon the enemy, obliterating them where they stood. Tired eyes watched the flakes of ash as they floated to the ground, her body finally sapped of all the fight she had mustered as she dropped to her side at last. “Aylin!” Isobel called again, though it sounded far away, echoing through a tunnel, even as she focused on the silvery moons dotted across the hem of her beloved’s robes.
As it had so many times before, darkness enveloped her, and the world went quiet. Her mother’s embrace was not waiting for her. It had all been a cruel trick of the Shadowfell after all.
“You need not restrain her!” A familiar voice shouted from the darkness. Leather and metal dug into the sensitive skin of her wrists and forearms, keeping her from moving easily. “Let her go!”
“Lady Thorm, she’s attached four clerics in your absence, we had to do something !” Someone argued, even as a door burst open and the voices grew closer. “The Moon Maiden will understand, surely!”
“Well, I don’t. You’d better pray that Aylin is more forgiving than her mother and myself when she wakes.” Isobel’s voice was seething as she approached Aylin’s side, her fingers gentle where they pressed against her skin, working the tight bindings away from her beloved's prone form.
Swimming between consciousness, Aylin couldn’t find the strength to bounce back, not even when her arms were released and blood flow ran back to her fingertips. When Isobel’s fingers traced against the line of her cheekbone, she still could not find the energy, nothing in her that could scream ‘I’m here, I’m awake!’
A chair creaked as Isobel pulled it to her bedside, lowering her weight into it with a soft sigh, a rattle in her lungs that signaled an aching coughing fit pushed back far too long. “Oh my sweet dove,” Isobel rasped. The next time she touched Aylin, it was against the new solder, thick and knotted where it put her body back together, deep into her insides. “It kills me, you know?” Wetness clouded her voice, and Aylin could feel a fat droplet land against a thin layer of fabric across her stomach. “Watching the light leave your eyes. Every time you’d rush off into a fight without thinking of yourself. You throw your life away time and time again like you’re expendable … As if no one would care about your life so long as it’s in service to the Moon Maiden. But Aylin, my love so bright… this? This can’t be what a mother would want of her daughter.”
Aylin felt her throat go tight, even if she could respond, she wasn’t sure if she had the words. “You are more than her sword. You are my Aylin, her daughter. A guiding light in the darkness of this world. The grief, every time I’ve lost you… It weighs on me so… We were lucky, this time if we didn’t have the enclave to back us up, who’s to say what could have been done…”
Blunt nails pressed against the edge of the scar, tracing a bruise. It didn’t hurt, but it did drive home what her beloved was trying to say. “Isobel,” Her voice was hoarse, throat parched from however long she’d been out of it. Her eyelids felt as if weights were trying to keep them closed, and the brightness of the candles around them made her brain ache. Aylin didn’t often survive these encounters and wasn’t used to waking up and dealing with the repercussions of mortal injuries so severely. Her hand was heavy when she reached across her body to grab at Isobel’s wrist. “I.. apologize.” The Cleric straightened when she realized she’d been heard. “It was never my intention to hurt you… I only want to prove useful. I faltered against the weight of my memories, and I failed to take my revenge,”
“You mean…”
“Yes. The Sharran is one I’ve faced before during my imprisonment. They reached their position by killing me, once upon a time.” Her eyelids slid shut again, attempting to soak up whatever she could in her short rest until her mother called upon her again. “I should not have put you in the position-”
“Don’t you dare. ” Isobel cut her off, reaching to cup her hand around Aylin’s face. “Just as you, I would throw down everything time and time again to protect you. It is my duty as your lover. And it is your duty to let me. Trust that I will come through for you, but just to be a favor?”
“Anything for you, my dear Isobel.”
“Use your head before you try that again. You cut yourself off from all reinforcements. Selûne has other champions to help, to fight in your stead when you need a moment. Let them do the jobs they signed up for, wait for your reinforcements, and for the love of your mother, slow down once in a while. And perhaps, take care to not fight the Clerics that are trying to help you heal.” A smile graced Isobel’s lips, one that Aylin couldn’t help returning.
“I will do my best to accommodate, my love,” Aylin promised after a moment of thought. She would need to speak with her mother, to know her thoughts. But if she was causing her Isobel pain, then she would strive to find a compromise between her duties as Sword and as Wife. “If I may ask one thing of you..” Isobel took both of Aylin’s heavy hands in her own. “Don’t let them take me back…”
Heart breaking, Isobel could only nod for a moment, leaning forward in her chair to press her lips to the Aasimar’s temple. “Never. They will never take you away from me again.”
For: @aylinisobel-week Day One: Moonrise Over Reithwin
Relationships: Dame Aylin/Isobel Thorm
Notes/Warnings: Feelings of incompetence, Non-explicit mentions of sex, Hurt/Comfort
Word Count: 2,074
AO3 Link: Here!
Summary: "I believe I made a promise or two that I cannot fathom breaking." And yes, Isobel knew Aylin was deflecting, but as her angel lifted her into her arms and strode across the room, she deigned to allow it to slide, if not just for the feel of Aylin's lips and teeth returning home against the smooth column of her throat.
It had been far too easy to let herself fall prey to normal, in the way that Aylin set her down on the edge of the bed, only to drop to her knees before her, heavy armor scraping against the floorboards, and in the way that her Paladin had eagerly devoted herself to the task of reuniting with the feel of Isobel's body beneath her, warm, respondent, alive.
Candlelight still blazed inside the common rooms of Last Light Inn, their safe harbor in the storm that had been the last few hours. With all the refugees and mercenaries emptied out, the clatter of Aylin’s armor and their footsteps echoed through cavernous rooms. Where Isobel’s steps were gentle against the old wooden stairs, Aylin’s feet fell heavy, her wings brushing against the walls to whisk a fine layer of dust into delicate feathers, darkening them considerably.
The Paladin did not move, even as Isobel crossed the room to draw the curtains back, lighting the dusty room up with Selûne’s silver embrace. Silvery eyes watched her every move, statuesque even as the Cleric paused in front of her. “Aylin,” She called, reaching to run her fingers along the taller woman’s jawline. “Come back to me,” Her voice was a mere whisper, but the spark of recognition that flashed in her eyes was grounding.
“Apologies, my love,” Aylin’s head dipped to follow Isobel’s touch, her lips pressing into the soft leather of the Cleric's glove as she focused back on the present. Eager hands reached out, wrapping carefully around Isobel’s waist to keep her within reach. Heavy wings encircled them both, almost as if Aylin were attempting to block the moon's light from intruding on their small cocoon.
Wherever she’d gone, Isobel could still see the way it tried to claw her back within its grasp, much like the cold hand of death had stayed clenched around her lungs. The bump of a warm nose against her cheek drew her from her introspection, as Aylin’s breath fanned across her skin and the armor across her fingertips pressed past the thick robes covering her frame. “I believe I’d made a promise or two that I cannot fathom breaking.” And yes, Isobel knew that Aylin was deflecting, but as her angel lifted her into her arms and strode across the room, she’d deigned to allow it to slide, if not just for the feel of Aylin’s lips and teeth returning home against the smooth column of her throat.
It had been far too easy to let herself fall prey to normal, in the way Aylin set her down on the edge of the bed, only to drop to her knees before her, heavy armor scraping against the floorboards, and in the way her Paladin had eagerly devoted herself to the task of reuniting with the feel of Isobel’s body beneath her, warm, respondent, alive.
Sweat glistened in the silvery moonlight atop Isobel’s thighs, the Cleric lay sprawled back against the old duvet, sucking air into revived lungs as Aylin’s cheek pressed into her knees. “Oh, my sweet Aylin,” She murmured, rising only enough to meet the woman’s gaze. Silver glinted from the armor still donned across her body, and she could feel the uncomfortable press of gauntlets into her calves, where Aylin’s bare hands steadied herself.
Her muscles ached as she sat up, allowing Aylin to pull back just enough to rest on her haunches. “My love,” The Paladin’s voice turned away as her fingers ghosted across the fine details of the outer pauldron. “Would it not be more comfortable to join me?” For she wanted, needed, Aylin just as badly as the Paladin had her, and while she would do most anything for her mate, the added weight and jagged edges of metal made communion much more painful to her mortal body.
Aylin’s jaw set tersely, her eyes fixated on a deep, scratched groove in the floorboards as if the scars in the wood could explain the many new ones she carried, not only in gold but deep in her foundation.
The soft pad of Isobel’s thumb stroking across her jawline was enough to make her flinch back, blinking away shadows as she focused on the smudged kohl around Isobel’s eyes and the way the moonlight from behind seemed to halo her lover's head. “Forgive me,” Aylin’s head bowed and her weight shifted, her hands dropping away from Isobel’s calves to rest nervously atop her own lap.
“I return to you… unwhole,” Isobel’s lips parted to interject, for if anyone knew what it felt like to return missing such a vital piece of themselves, it would be the Cleric herself, however, Aylin pushed forward, unable to bear the weight of waiting any longer. Vulnerability hadn’t been safe in a century, after all. “The last we’ve been together, I had else been perfect, contented in my place in your life, your protector, the sword of the Moonmaiden,” Warily, her eyes dipped towards the open window. “Whole as marble, as founded as a rock. In my years on the mortal plane, I believed I knew everything about myself, my purpose. I lived as free and broad as the air in our lungs, the wind in my wings.” The great wings behind her stretched at the mere memory of the feeling.
“But now I return, cabined, cribbed, confined, and bound in ways I knew not possible- not when I..” Her voice trailed off, and moisture filled her eyes. “I had done everything right.” Isobel’s hand carded carefully through the Paladin’s hair, easing the stress that threatened to combust. “Everything.” Her voice trailed into a whisper. “And yet, I’d lost you, my mate most high, my reason to breathe beyond my mother’s sacred duty. They cursed me Nightsong, and I am afraid that the Nightsinger may always live within the confines of my head, that I will be no more than a tool for mortals to chase away their fears. I am afraid that I cannot bear that burden again.” Pale fingers were curled tight around the lip of armor at her knees, knuckles whiter than snow where she gripped hard.
“So long as I am carved wide with teeth marks, I know that I am wanted,” Aylin admitted at last, her fingers twitching against the armor as her gaze dropped to the spiderweb of scars that raced across her hands and under her armor. Her admission seemed to take enough out of her, the hard line across her shoulders had drooped, and with it, the strength to hold herself up fully. The Paladin’s head drooped until her forehead was once again resting against her knee. “I long to be the person I was before I understood this sacrifice.”
“You are still my Aylin.” Isobel’s voice was stern, hardened with the edge of certainty as she drew the woman’s head into both hands. “You are still Selûne’s daughter, the sword of the Moonmaiden, and the love of my life. Yes, you may be Nightsong, but we can rewrite it, together. That witch will never set the tempo of our lives. Never again.” Fire burned deep in her chest as she spoke.
“You are no mere cattle to be grazed upon by predators. You are not the pawn in a devil's game, and you will be the Nightsong no more, as long as I walk this plane to protect you.” The weight against her knee shifted, though this time, it was Isobel’s turn to push onwards. “It will take time, time that we have been afforded, even with the most nauseating of circumstances. Time that we can use to heal, to learn. There is a new world around us, a world in peril, one that needs saving. We cannot restore Seluene’s might to Reithwin and beyond if we throw ourselves onto the blade each time. And with her guidance, we will do all we can, for Her, Her people, and ourselves. For even if they do not believe themselves devout to her grace, even if they have fallen into the shadows, she will always accept the beings who tread in Her light as Her own.”
The promise of Selûne’s grace and empathy seemed to help calm Aylin’s nerves at last, allowing her to sit not quite as deflated, and far from as defeated. Exhaustion weighed heavy though, and Isobel knew of the toll even their conversation had on her angel. “Now come, my love. Allow me to remove your armor, and allow Selûne to embrace you once more, to protect you in her light as you have done for her so many times before.” The Cleric reached for Aylin’s hand, pulling until the Paladin rose to her feet, only to sit heavily on the mattress beside her.
“My beautiful Aylin,” Isobel hummed as her fingers danced up Aylin’s arm, her fingertips dipping between the leather strap keeping her pauldrons secure. Even after all this time, Aylin knew better than to magic the pieces away, more than happy to oblige the soft caress of Isobel carefully removing each piece. She even set them aside gently, despite them shimmering away in moonlight the moment they left her hands.
Removing the armor at her arms and legs had been simple, ritualistic, though when Isobel got to her chest plate and reached between the juncture where the backplate met her chest plate, all comfort seemed to disappear. The wings at her love’s back shifted as if Aylin were preparing to bolt out the window if she dared get too close to them. “It’s alright, my love. I’m only removing your armor.” The Paladin’s head turned to the side as embarrassment flushed her cheeks a dark hue. “Would you like me to fetch a mirror so you can watch?”
Isobel made to pull away, but strong fingers encircled her wrist quickly. “No… No, I will be alright, my love. I trust you with all that I am.” And while her body clearly betrayed otherwise, Isobel could find no fault in her apprehension. She’d seen the wings on Marcus’s body, and she would have to be stupid not to make the heinous connection.
She kept each touch gentle where she’d come too close to the feathers, carefully unlatching each and every piece of armor that clung to Aylin’s body like a second skin. “Even now, you will always be able to call on it again,” She’d soothed between pieces, recognizing the way Aylin watched each piece dematerialize as if she’d be forced into another century without its weight.
With her armor gone, Isobel was able to make quick work of the under armor, easily sliding chainmail from pliant limbs and carefully untying the laces that ran down the back until she could raise Aylin’s dark blue shirt past her head. Silver moonlight seemed to caress each new golden scar as they became visible, causing Aylin to practically glow in her radiance.
“May I touch you?” Isobel requested, hands hovering a mere centimeter from her beloved shoulders.
“You needn’t ever have to ask, of course you may.” Aylin’s voice was heavy as her emotions and body wound down from the day.
“Mmm. But I wanted to ask,” First, Isobel's hands danced across rigid muscles, fingertips alight with healing magic, the incantation silent on her tongue between her words She could feel the way each muscle responded to her touch, jumping beneath the pressure as she skirted over them once, then twice. “Your consent and comfort mean more to me than most other things,” Unable to find a reply, Aylin let out a soft ‘harumph’, which quickly melted into a soft groan of relief as Isobel’s fingers found the first knot in her back.
Perhaps she would not partake in tasting the divine ichor she had once known tonight, but the soft sounds that passed Aylin’s lips, each moan whine, and sharp inhale of breath proved to be more than enough for her as her angel began to relax beneath her fingers, even allowing her to go so far as to press away the knots closest to her wing bones, to not shy away when her arm brushed against their delicate feathers in her endeavor to follow the curve of her hips.
Coaxing Aylin to lay back in bed properly, wings dipping most likely uncomfortably into the mattress, but blanketed in silver light, Isobel felt truly at peace. The magic at her fingers dissipated, content to trace the golden solder across her beloved’s thighs. With Aylin’s breathing slowing, she found a moment to simply admire the woman before her. “My beautiful angel,” She whispered, leaning her weight over the Paladin to press her lips to her clavicle. “Home at last,” Needy hands reached, fumbling in a sleep-addled state as she latched onto Isobel’s hips, tugging until the Cleric acquiesced and allowed her weight to drop against the woman’s chest.
For @polyshipweek Day 7: Free Day
Relationships: Dame Aylin/Shadowheart/Isobel Thorm
Notes/Warnings: Blood and Gore, Violence, Werewolves, Self-worth issues, brief mentions of torture. Canon Major Character Death Mention
Word Count:
AO3 Link: Here!
Aylin- Oh Aylin would never, though, as Isobel studied the desecrated remains of the prison, awfully reminiscent of that which the Nightsong spent over a century restrained in, she knew that this was the work of her paladin. Deep gouges ripped through stone and metal as if it were nothing, while blood and viscera painted the walls.
There had been no survivors, and while Dame Aylin was always one to fulfill her oath, to be her Mother’s Sword and to bring Justice to those that would cause harm, she very rarely ever stooped to such… barbaric means, not since she’d crushed the monster who’d fed off her own suffering.
Isobel stepped past the rotted remains of… well, she couldn’t quite tell what species the poor sap had been, he was nothing but mushy remains now. Caught in the mess of his entrails, the cleric reached out, plucking a once-white feather from an indiscernible lump of tissue. She twisted the calamus between her fingers, allowing the warm torchlight to catch on the hues of gold and silver, hidden beneath the downy vane, each minuscule barbule catching fire in its own way as she studied it.
“Oh love… where did you go?”
Shadowheart’s footsteps were silent across the forest floor. The weight of the spear in her hands was hefty. Lady Shar was placing so much faith in her and was willing to give her this chance to prove herself. It was not one she could waste- She would kill the Moon Maiden's monster, cut the wings from its grotesque back, and return victorious where so many others could not.
The tracks were large, pressed deep into the soil as if it had wanted to be found. Shadowheart clung to the safety the darkness provided, knowing she would be dropping into a trap, but hoping to catch the monster just as unaware. The moonlight pierced through the thick canopy of trees, seeming to grace every step the monster had taken.
Her nose crinkled as she grew closer. The distinct reek of death and decay filled her nostrils, and as she slowed her pace to peer through the thick shrubbery, she caught her first true sighting of the cryptic silver wretch.
Some would say such a beast was magnificent, a great wolf larger than even the biggest Róthe she’d ever seen, with wings that spread resplendently into the night. Selûne’s blessing caught the icy feathers, igniting them in a way that seemed like the embodiment of holy fire from The Overgod Ao’s might itself.
Its fur was as silvery as the surface of the moon itself, white like the Tears shed by Shar's lesser sibling, yet still touched by divinity. Golden cracks cut through the thick fur, almost as if the beast was no more than a mason’s shattered statue, rebuilt repeatedly, unwilling to accept that the masterpiece was a lost cause.
The monster’s mouth was turned towards the moon, and the song that passed its muzzle was a howl of agony, serene and penetrative, embedding its woe into Shadowheart’s chest, sinking past her bones and into her very soul.
She knew better than to allow the scene to fool her than to give up her Lady’s will for a beast that would cleave her in half without a thought. Using the sound of the beast's song to her advantage, Shadowheart began to creep closer.
It was no sooner than her boots crossed the treeline into the clearing, the sickly silver moonlight dousing her boots in its toxic light, that a voice called out. “Aylin!” A woman, a voice she’d never heard before, one full of worry and sorrow- Emerald eyes tracked the voice to the hurried movement across the clearing as a woman burst from the line, running towards the beast in what had to be a suicidal hail mary.
The beast did not attack, and neither did it move to greet her halfway, instead, Shadowheart watched as its large head lowered shamefully, and the silver-adorned woman embraced it. She only then noticed the blessings of the moon bestowed upon the woman, with white hair and silver adornments that glinted in the light.
“Oh, darling!” The woman’s voice was heavy with emotion, and Shadowheart was certain she was crying as she tufted her fingers through matted and grimy fur. “You poor thing-” Her sentiment was met with a low rumbling- not a growl of impending doom, but closer to an exhale of reluctant acceptance. Whatever that monster was, it felt shame, or at least, it was playing into the Moon Witch’s trap, just as Shadowheart almost did.
With her heart thundering in her chest and blood rushing in her ears, Shadowheart ascended, her steps were light and her goals were clear. She had no intention of letting the two commune longer. That is, until, she heard the moon cleric whisper. “Shar did not break you, my love. The pain she bestowed upon you is not a mark of your shortcomings but of her own wretched jealousy. Neither she nor my father; they can't hurt you anymore.” Small gloved hands stroked past the beast's muzzle, smearing splattered blood deeper into the snowy fur as she did so.
Shadowheart froze in her tracks at the keening sound Lady Shar’s name brought from the great beast. She faltered, unable to move further, unable to heft her spear and send it soaring into the hearts of her enemies. Some part deep within a mind she did not truly know ached for them, and she understood the cleric’s words in a way she had never afforded to ponder on.
Her hand flared in agonizing pain. Shadowheart’s gasp cut through the clearing and her spear dropped to the ground with a mighty thud as she reached to alleviate the pain from her cursed wound. The silence that followed was thick as two sets of eyes turned to acknowledge her presence.
The beast growled, pearly teeth baring in a way that perfectly accented the bits of flesh and gore that clung between its canines.”Aylin…” The cleric tried to reason with the monster, but it was too late.
The wings unfurled, giving Shadowheart a perfect view of the metal armor inlaid in the bone as if the beast's ulnare had grown with the purpose of slicing throats as it took to the air. In just a few long strides, Shadowheart was facing her death in large silver eyes, in the drool that pooled at the corner of the monster’s mouth, no doubt salivating at the thought of fresh blood.
She felt powerless, she felt like no more than that girl saved by Lady Shar’s people, cornered by a wolf, mocked by the moon as it licked its chops, waiting to turn her into a meal. “Aylin, stop!” There was no longer an empty chasm between the Sharran and the wolf, now, the Selûnite cleric stood between them, her back to Shadowheart, arms thrown wide as she placed herself as an offering for the beast, so clearly ready to pounce.
“This is not who you are.” Isobel declared, keeping her tone firm, no matter how much it hurt to speak to her beloved in such a manner, how much pain coursed through her reanimated heart at the way Aylin’s ears drew flat to the back of her head, or how the Paladin’s haunches shook as she lowered fully to the ground, muscles aching in the exertion to restrain herself. “Don’t do this.”
Shadowheart took a step back at the sound of the first wet snap, though when the Cleric’s head turned to catch her in her peripherals, she found herself frozen once more. Curiosity got the better of her as the snapping and cracking grew more pronounced. It was a gruesome process, though the person inside the wolf did no more than release a deep breath once her bones had found their home wrapped in the skin of a celestial being.
Like the wolf, golden rivers seemed to hold this woman together, metal danced across every inch of her flesh, slicing through unnaturally pale skin in vital areas. And just like the wolf, the humanoid had wings, wings that folded close to her back, as if she could not find the pride to extend them to their full glory.
Shadowheart was enraptured as the warrior in rags knelt before the cleric, raw power pushed into submission by no more than a request from one who clearly loved them. Was it a weakness? Or was it great strength that put the cleric between Shadowheart’s doom? Shar would preach the former, though she could feel her heart tug towards the latter.
“You do not know who I am, dear Isobel. Not anymore-” The woman’s head had turned to the side, silvery eyes locked onto one of the deep gouges she’d left in the soil as if it would reveal the answers to her strife.
“You are my Aylin,” Isobel’s voice softened as she reached out, her fingertips brushing across the Paladin’s jawline. “Nothing can change that, my dear. You are the woman I love.”
“I am not!” Aylin’s voice trembled. Shadowheart felt intrusive as she caught the wetness freely tearing through the dirt against pale cheeks. “The woman you loved is dead. Killed a thousand times over, she died easily. Far too easy to be…” A growl of frustration. Aylin’s cheek pressed into Isobel’s palm even as a hand moved to tangle viciously into her own hair, trying to find an outlet for frustrations far beyond mortal comprehension. “To be the Moon Maiden’s sword.”
“You are no god, Aylin,” The hand not cradling the aasimar’s face moved to trail along a golden wrist, interlocking their fingers and guiding the wolf’s hand from her hair. “You are not indomitable, and even Selûne must see that, or she is a fool.” Her tongue burned, speaking in such a way about her Goddess, more so when the woman’s light graced them all, but surely she wouldn’t wish to see this pain spread and fester in her beautiful daughter?
“I fought so hard not to break in the Shadowfell-” Shadowheart felt her blood run cold. “I thought once I was free, I would be fine- My body… it has sewn back together time and again, and yet… It feels as if it was the freedom that shattered me.” Aylin admitted, broad shoulders heaving as her forehead pressed against Isobel’s abdomen.
“Shar has stolen from you. She has stolen time, freedom… your life, but she did not steal your heart.” Isobel released the Paladin’s face to place her palm flat against a knotted section of scar, just over the aasimar’s chest. “She did not steal who you are. You are never the same person as you were yesterday. You may remember the pain of all you’ve endured, but that is what’s natural. You survived a great deal, and you are stronger for it.”
“She shouldn’t have had to be strong.” Shadowheart found her lips moving before her brain could catch up and found herself peering over Isobel’s shoulder at the beaten-down woman. “She should have been safe.”
Aylin’s lips parted to speak, though she found herself speechless in the way her beloved had nodded her agreement. “You understand then… There is no safety where the kingdom of light cannot reach. But there is a promise to those who find Her again. Healing. Life. You are no less the sword of Selûne today than you were a hundred years ago, even if you choose to lay down your arms for the rest of your immortal life.”
The wolf- woman’s face contorted in disgust. “I will not turn back on my oath,” She defended with more bite than her beast had been capable of, appalled that the cleric could suggest such a thing. She was the Sword of Selûne, of Justice, and she would not falter-
“A sword will not temper under constant pressure.” Isobel tutted softly. “But alas. Another night. Once I get you home.”
“And the Sharran?” Shadowheart found herself frozen once more, both in the agony of pain that flared through her hand at the perfect time of those piercing eyes meeting her own once more. “No… Not quite a Sharran…” Golden brows furrowed. Shadowheart focused on the way the solder in her skin seemed to wrinkle, silent as she ignored the scrutinizing gaze. She was meant to kill them, and now? Now she was left reeling, with something she could not understand all but prying on the boards of her recessed memories.
“So that’s it? You’ll kill me now?” Shadowheart swallowed hard as she looked between the women. Her call for magic was left unanswered, and the spear was much too far away to lunge for now. Shar had left her at this moment, unable to slink into the clearing with Selûne poisoning the world with her light.
“To be Selûne's chosen is to be granted a great honor, and a greater burden. To be stolen by Shar…” Aylin trailed off as she rose to her feet at last. She towered over Shadowheart, and yet, as she drew closer, the dark-haired woman no longer felt that all-consuming fear. “It is to be stripped of who you are. To be peeled apart as no more than fodder.” Shadowheart could still see the flesh caught in the woman’s teeth, though she assumed the Paladin’s words were to the effect of that thing tearing at her mind as if it were eating her connection to Shar far away.
“When given the chance to kill us, you did not, little warrior.” When did Aylin get so close? When did great wings spread to encircle the three of them in their magnificent span, allowing only moonlight to pierce their protective cocoon?
“You… mentioned Shar, and-” Shadowheart found herself stammering over her words.
“Even without knowing the truth of who you are, you understood at the moment that she has failed you. You have been twisted and manipulated, doomed to a life of servitude, to be left alone and unclaimed in a death undeserving of all your trials and tribulations.”
And when Aylin’s forehead pressed against her own, she found herself transported back to that cursed clearing, except this time, she did not see a wolf prowling to lock her in its maw, but a father fighting to save his daughter from the followers of Shar. “They may not have broken you in the way they’ve broken me-” Isobel’s hand rested on Aylin’s bicep, even as her arms encircled Shadowheart, reminding her of her distaste for that particular word choice. “They have taken from you, and perhaps, like myself. It is not too late to find who we are meant to be.”
“What… Will I do now…?” Shadowheart breathed at last, for once, allowing herself to sink into an embrace that sought no harm against her.
Shadowheart lived and died a thousand times in the silence that followed, unable to understand the way their eyes passed so much between each other. As a Sharran, she should have seen comfort in dying a warriors death for her Goddess, except Shar’s acceptance was nowhere to embrace her, the dark maiden was silent when she should have been all-encompassing, there for her warrior who was making the sacrifice to get a shot at a Selûnite. Through each of the deaths she imagined the Paladin would give her, she saw only herself, abandoned for eternity. “You are not alone. And you never have to be again.” Aylin started, words slow and deliberate, as if unsure as she spoke them. Isobel’s hand squeezed her bicep to steady the woman’s words.
“We will walk this path together, as long as you’ll have us.” Isobel offered. This new silence that settled over the strange group like a blanket them, was calm, at least for a moment. “And I believe that first step should be towards a bathhouse-” She tried to look towards the not-quite-Sharran without too much scrutiny, though Shadowheart was sure the stench of the House of Grief was unpleasant, especially compared to the stench of a prisoner that had broken free of a century of enslavement, just to spend weeks as a lumbering beast covered in gorey remains.
When their hands laced with hers, she didn’t find that age-old pit of regret in her stomach, she only felt the warmth of their hands linked in her own, and the way the moonlight seemed to make her skin tingle pleasantly, a welcome feeling from the sickly crawl the silvery kiss had left her with prior.
Even the stench of the wolf under Aylin’s skin grew bearable, and the sight of fanged teeth contained in a human maw nipping at bubbles as they floated gracefully into the air in the bath house felt like it helped dispel any notions of monster.
Is it obvious this is extreme ADHD hyperfocus word vomit? I just can't stop thinking about them rn...
For @polyshipweek Day 2: Blorbo has two hands
Relationships: Dame Aylin/Shadowheart/Isobel Thorm
Warnings: Suggestive Themes
Word Count: 882
AO3 Link: Here!
Notes: Did I intend to write actual smut? Yes. Has it been so long that I scared myself off of the idea? Also yes. But goddammit I'm gonna try,,, eventually.
Isobel’s body pressed Aylin’s hips apart where she arched off the wall, fingers grasping needily at the Paladin’s broad shoulders as Aylin licked hungrily into her mouth. Aylin’s fingers squeezed against the cleric’s thighs in her grasp, urging the roll of her hips against her own.
When Isobel closed her teeth around the muscle of Aylin’s tongue and sucked, the aasimar growled, pressing her closer to the wall, pulling back only when her darling gave her the gentlest of taps against her shoulder, releasing her devilish hold on her tongue. A string of saliva connected their mouths, and Aylin took pride in the way the cleric looked at her, blue eyes blown wide, kiss-swollen lips parted just for her-
The door to the room opened as Shadowheart slipped into their quarters, dropping her mace and shield beside the front door as she huffed a breath. “Clowns, why did it have to be-” Noticing the two pairs of eyes watching her, “Oh, hello. Am I interrupting something?” There was a teasing smile on her face as her arms crossed over her chest, smearing the blots of viscera that still clung to her armor.
“Mmm, not interrupting, never interrupting,” Isobel promised, taking Aylin’s distraction in her bloodlust to find the sliver of skin where her throat met her jaw. A hot tongue laved at the skin, following the river of molten gold, teeth brushing against the skin enough to make her proud paladin falter.
Her attention turned back to Isobel, though she could hear the quiet sounds of Shadowheart removing her armor, could smell the musk of sweat and the stench of death where it wafted from the woman. “She seems quite preoccupied, does she not?” Shadowheart came up behind Aylin, fingers finding the spot against her back, right between where her wings would rest, pressing into knotted muscle in a way that made her knees shake. Isobel’s chin lifted from the crook of her neck, though Aylin could not see the look the two clerics shared.
“Well, I do have two hands,” Dame Aylin boasted, practically beaming at Shadowheart, even as Isoebl’s lips and teeth attacked the column of her throat.
“I can think of a better use for you, and your hands.” Shadowheart’s hand trailed down Aylin’s left arm, coming to a rest at the inside of her wrist before dragging the pad of her finger along the smooth metallic feel of a golden scar, racing down the aasimar’s palm and ending in the cook between her ring and pointer finger.
The touch of magic was barely noticeable, easing the phantom pains that the demigod had learned to live with. Her hand relaxed against Isobel’s thighs, and when Shadowheart reached to hook a finger under her chin, guiding her towards their bed, she became malleable to both women’s wishes.
Aylin was gentle, always so careful in setting Isobel against the pillows at the head of the bed, though the shove from Shadowheart that pressed her face into the pillows was nothing of the sort, Aylin still felt a warm laugh bubbling past her lips as the half-elf settled beside them, fingers trailing up the line of corded muscle along the aasimar’s bicep, biting back a remark about the pull of the muscles that kept her elevated above Isobel, even as the cleric of Selûne attempted to urge her lower.
“This is getting out of hand,” Aylin complained with no real bite in her tone, allowing the persistent press of Shadowheart’s fingers into her arms and Isobel’s heels pressing into the small of her back to finally pull her down, body flush against Isobel, who, upon being pressed firmly into the mattress by the paladin’s weight, released a long, contented sigh.
“Now, I thought you said you have two hands for a reason,” Shadowheart interrupted, a sly smile on her face as she pressed close to the pair, laving her mouth and teeth over the juncture of an uneven scar fissure, causing the paladin to shiver.
“I believe we outmatch you, my love.” Isobel all but purred in her ear, taking immense satisfaction in the sight of sculpted muscles jumping at just the sound of her voice. “We have four hands between us.”
As if to enunciate her point, those blessed hands danced up her arms, briefly ghosting over Shadowheart’s cool touch before following the golden sutures to a point along her back, pressing into the muscles that held her wings. “Devil women.” Aylin shuddered, allowing the movements of both women to roll her to the side, instead leaving Isobel’s weight pressing comfortably into her abdomen, left to gape up as both clerics exchanged a knowing look between themselves, a communication that the Aasimar was not privy to.
The instinct to slide her hands along Isobel’s thighs came from something deeper than her DNA, trailing her fingers along soft thighs and urging her to sit just a little higher. Falling perfectly into the cleric’s trap, Shadowheart used the new space to settle herself between Aylin’s legs, earning a faux sigh from the demigod. “I believe I need to start the search for more hands.”
Isobel laughed a joyous sound to her ears, before leaning down to capture her lips. “We’ll be happy to lend ours to the cause… after we’ve had our fill,”
For @polyshipweek Day 1: Group Hugs
Relationships: Dame Aylin/Shadowheart/Isobel Thorm
Notes/Warnings: N/A
Word Count: 641
AO3 Link: Here!
Isobel had cautioned her to be slow, not to overwhelm the not-so-Sharran, and Dame Aylin had tried, truly she had. Time and time again, when her muscles would twitch, shaking with the exertion to fight the urge to reach out, to brush the pad of her finger against the scar against Shadowheart’s cheek, and to express her pride and admiration. Each time she wished to, she would bite her tongue, would show a restraint stronger than she had ever been able to gather in her imprisonment, and turn towards their next task.
Except things were different. Aylin had been distracted with bashing in the skull of a rabid Gnoll, and hadn’t heard the scattering of taloned feet against the cobblestone. It would have been too late, and she would have had to face the agony of once more dealing with her wings being cleaved from her body.
If it hadn’t been for Shadowheart’s shout, the way her voice lilted with the magic weaving through her incantation, and the sudden flash of a blinding inferno, blazing its way to the aasimars rescue, she was sure she would be reliving not-so-old wounds.
Shadowheart reached Aylin before Isobel could race down from her spot in higher ground. Scarred hands reached towards the Paladin, as if afraid to touch her. “Are you alright? I didn’t burn you, did I?” She questioned, the soft green of her eyes bouncing across Aylin’s armored form. She would have laughed, wanted to proudly exclaim that Dame Aylin was untouchable, despite the many scars that proved she was not quite as indomitable as she had once thought.
Instead, Dame Aylin took one staggering step forward, eying Shadowheart with more emotion than she knew how to channel through words alone. In the next breath, strong arms encircled the cleric's waist. “Aylin!” she heard Isobel call, though it wasn’t with the scorn of a woman whose orders had been defied, instead full of the worry and admiration held for her lover.
Shadowheart’s forehead rested against the cool metal of her armor, hands clasping almost hesitantly around her faulds. The Paladin only moved her arm enough to allow Isobel the space to wrap around the both of them. “Thank the Moonmaiden you two are alright!” She wheezed, blackened lungs struggling with her mad dash toward the two from the front lines.
“More than alright, my darling Isobel,” Aylin murmured, surprisingly quiet as she leaned her chin against Shadowheart’s head, arms squeezing carefully around both women in her grasp.
The trio stayed still for a moment, as if frozen in the respite their proximity could offer until Shadowheart slowly released her hold on Aylin’s armor and cleared her throat somewhat ineligantly. “Apologies, I saw the nasty beast lumbering after you, and-”
“You have done nothing to apologize for, little warrior,” Isobel promised, pretending not to see Aylin’s beaming smile as her nickname stuck to the not-so-sharran. Aylin pressed her lips to newly dyed hair, inhaling the familiar acidic scent of the dyes as they danced within the flowery fragrance of the clerics’ shampoo.
“Our Lady Silver smiles upon me this day, to grant me with one as brave and forthright as yourself.” The Paladin agreed, finally relaxing her grip enough to catch the heat on Shadowheart’s cheeks. “And I could not be more thankful that it is you she has sent us,” Isobel’s hand sought out her own as their embrace came to an end. “Let us retire, so I may properly show my appreciation for your actions.”
Shadowheart had never been a particularly shy person, at least from her memory, but whenever it came to Dame Aylin, and her pride in each word spoken, she could feel the tips of her ears reddening more and more as the Paladin led the way back to camp, hand in hand with Clerics blessed by Selûne.
i dont even post my art on here anymore, but i made so fucking many homestuck bg3 gifs and i could only think of this dumb webbed site to throw them into. and yes this was mostly inspired by my friends saying that shadowheart and lae'zel are each other's kismises.
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