(Annie, 24, she/they/he lesbian, autistic) I write things about Buff Lesbians and Mean Lesbians (Venn Diagram...) /Main Blog: keyblade-loser/ Please do not Private Message me unless we are Mutuals or there is a problem with something I have reblogged or posted/ Taking Requests, please see Masterlist / MINORS AND TERFS DNI
Eventually, everything will be found on AO3 at MothmomWritesShit. All works SHOULD be (Y/N) safe, using that format for the replacer.Â
You can send me requests, but I am not obligated to write a full fic or anything about them at all if Iâm not feeling inspired by it. Please donât pester me about fics in my messages if you think itâs taking too long. Only the women on this list will be written about, though you can ask if Iâve heard about another character or media. :)
All my fics are under the tag #My Writing. When/If I start getting headcanons, they will be tagged under something similarly appropriate.Â
Requests are OPEN!!! Rules List Here
Rules Page for Requests
* NO MINORS NO EXCEPTIONS
* I won't do noncon, but I will do some dubcon, but I reserve the right to not respond to
Kassandra of Sparta x ReaderÂ
   *Note: Any Deimos!Kass Fics will be tagged appropriately.Â
- A Trip To Paris [Smut] (Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4)
-God of Fear (Deimos Kassandra) [Smut] [Angst]
-A Bond Like No Other [Smut] [Event]
-Sharing Injuries (8) [Soulmate Event]
-It Will Come Back (Part 1/?)
Eivor Varinsdóttir x Reader
- A Trip to Paris [Smut] (See Kassandra Section for Link)
- An Offering on the Throne [Smut]Â
- Protected in Her Grasp [Smut] [Event]
-Eivor x Princess [Request] [Smut]
Jarlskona Soma x ReaderÂ
-A Trip to Paris [Smut] (See Kassandra Section for Link)
Kassandra raiding that ship was a blessing in disguise. If she had ignored the bandits, she never would have found you, a rare jewel in the ocean.
Heyyyyyy everyone say welcome back Moth...... it's been.... way too long. LOL. This will be a multi part series!! Thanks for reading!
Potential CW: Captivity, Blood, Fighting
Tagging Needed: None
Word Count: 1704
You were a damned fool of a mermaid. How could you have gotten yourself into this situation? You thrash in your cage, slamming your body weakly against the wooden bars. While your sisters would have been able to break it easily, starvation was already taking over your body and making you weak. The human men laugh as you struggle, hands bound behind you and a gag tied tightly around your mouth. Tears well up in your eyes. You were so hungry and you were so angry that they would dare do this to you. Your tail lashes against the wood and you try to hiss, though nothing comes out.Â
One of the men splashes a bucket of water onto you, only serving to make you angrier. They laugh again and slowly spread out, doing whatever humans do on their ships. Only one stays, a younger one who looks terrified of you. An older man shoves the bucket into his hands.Â
âKeep her from drying out, yeah? The weaker we keep her, the safer we are.â He grins at you. âAnd donât give into any pleading eyes. Sirens are pretty little tricksters.âÂ
The young man stares at you and eventually settles down to sit near the edge of the ship, bucket clenched in his hands. He says nothing as you sail further and further away from familiar waters. You stare out at the sea, past the human. Tears slip from your eyes, forming little perfect pearls that fall to the floor silently.Â
What were you to do? You are starving, youâre weak, you can barely move without the humans snapping their attention over to you. You hate them, you feel the anger burn through you. Never before had you understood why your sisters hated humans so much.Â
The sun slowly bleeds into the horizon. The stars appear above you, and you look to them for any sort of comfort. You scan the skies, looking for constellations and stars that you recognize. You were heading northeast, towards the mainland. There should be a few small islands between there and the ship's location, and your mind wanders to ideas of escaping and becoming a lone siren on an island. You would lack the protection of a pack, but on your own you could hunt and feed on whatever you wished with no threat of it being stolen from you. It would be easy enough. Human flesh was never your favorite anyways, though the temptation to show these men your wrath was strong.Â
The young man with the bucket splashes more water on you. He stares and gets close to the bars. You press back against the far end, growling and snarling at him. What was he planning?
âA real sirenâŚâ He whispers to himself, like you werenât even here. You suppose, to him, you werenât even a person. âI hope they donât kill you, wherever your buyer takes you.â He reaches through the bars and strokes your scales. You shudder and squeeze your eyes shut.Â
Donât touch me! Keep away!Â
You want to scream, though the gag prevents much of your sound. Instead, you take to thrashing your tail, scaring him off just enough to keep his hands on the other side of your cage. His face twists in indignation.Â
âI was showing kindness, you stupid beast.â He spits. âI suppose not even women of your sort understand what that is.â He stands and tosses another bucketful of water over you, making you squirm more.Â
He stands there through the night, until the sun rises. He stays silent, just staring and occasionally trying to touch your tail and stomach when you tire of fighting. It disgusts you, sends panic through your system, but thereâs not much you can do but wait.Â
So you wait, thrashing to keep him and his replacement in the morning from violating your space any further. You watch the horizon, waiting for the gods to hear your pleas.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
âOh, they want to fight!â Kassandra laughs slightly as a weak volley of arrows hit the sides of the Adrestia. âBarnabas! Letâs engage.âÂ
She rolls her shoulders, almost in time with her younger brother who pulls out his sword. There was once a time where the action put her on edge, but not anymore. Instead, she laughs as their ship veers closer. Her men let off a wave of arrows and javelins, hitting many of the other shipâs crew. As they get closer, she can see a cage on its deck. Were they transporting an animal of some sort?Â
Then, the ship rams into them, turning as sharp as it can to hit the side. Her archers let loose another wave, and she takes the advantage to leap onto the ship. The first man she comes across is easily cut down. She spins away from his falling body, blades ringing against the shield of another bandit. Alexios soon joins her, slicing the man's neck from behind and inadvertently spraying her with blood. She gives her brother a look, making a face at the blood all over her, only to earn his wicked grin and his back to her as he turns to take on another bandit.Â
She turns, only to see the most curious thing on the far end of the ship. In that cage she had noticed before was a woman with a long curling fish tail instead of legs. As Kassandra fights her way closer, she notices that her scales are dull and her breathing labored. Blood pools around the fish creature. Itâs then that she notices an arrow sticking out of her side, not deep in the skin, but deep enough to hurt. The poor thing is gagged and bound and thereâs a flash of anger in Kassandraâs gut.Â
She hated captivity.Â
With the last man fallen, Alexios sidles up to her, the ship groaning with the last bit it has. âA fish woman?â Despite his question, he doesnât seem surprised at her presence. âSheâll be freed once the ship goes down.â
As he turns away, Kassandra grabs him by the forearm. She doesnât say anything, but the look she gives him is all he needs to know. A year out from being reunited and spending nearly every day together will do that, she supposes.Â
He sighs, brow twitching in irritation. He then puts away his sword and moves over to the cage with Kassandra. The fish woman inside thrashes weakly, but itâs not enough to break the wooden structure. Up close, she can see that the creature is starved, ribs nearly poking through the skin. Her scales are dull, shining with a dark red from her own blood. As Alexios breaks the cage open, the woman stills, watching with fearful eyes. Her body is light and limp in Kassandraâs gentle hold.
Her crew backs away as she and Alexios maneuver themselves back onto Adrestia. All of them look uncertain and fearful as Kassandra moves towards the helm, where Barnabas presses himself back against the wooden railing of the ship.Â
âKassandra, do not ask me to do this.â His voice was a whisper, a far cry from the usual joyous shouts the older man was often known by. âWe donât know what it is.â
âWhat it is, is injured.â Kassandra says, kneeling down on the deck and pulling cloth from the chest she used for storage. There was a healer on board, but she had a feeling that said healer would be far from comfortable treating the creature laying deathly still on the deck of the ship. She looks up at Barnabas. âSheâs no siren. You have nothing to fear.â
âCaptain, she has sharp claws, Iâm sure there are the teeth to match. Fish people⌠they belong to Poseidon and his children. Surely the sea god or his son will rain their wraths upon us for pulling her from the sea.â
âOr they will bless us for showing her kindness before returning her to the sea.âÂ
Thereâs a brief stand off, the men and women of her crew watching from the lower deck. Then Barnabas sighs, glancing down at the fish woman with apprehension. He relents, letting go of the railing.Â
âWe need a healer!â He calls, and quickly, the ship bursts into life. This isnât the strangest thing to happen to them, and certainly not to Kassandra. But it was always good to get backup on her stranger decisions to prevent a mutiny.Â
She notices that as the healer approaches, the woman reaches up and takes Kassandra by the wrist, preventing her from leaving. Thereâs no other movement, just the silent trust between two women. Her eyes stay closed. Only a whimper escapes her lips as the arrow is extracted. Despite her own concerns for safety, Kassandra smooths back the damp hair of the fish woman in an attempt to soothe her.Â
During this process, of cleaning the blood and wrapping the wound, Kassandra finds herself examining the woman. Long hair, pulled back in messy braids, reaching down to her mid back. Her skin has a green hue, not enough to appear green, but enough that closer inspection made her seem almost uncanny. Her tail starts at her lower hips, the blue scales scattering around the skin there before fully forming the long tail. Her fins were delicate and red, fluttering slightly in the wind as the ship moved away from the wreckage. Her lips look dry, as does her skin. It causes Kassandra to itch in concern.
âThere. I do not know how long it will take her to heal⌠but I suggest we find something to douse her in. I doubt her wounds will fester in salt water.â The healer states, backing away a step farther than he normally would. âHer skin is dry, and I imagine that water is important for her⌠condition.âÂ
Kassandra nods, but stays in the kneeling position next to the fish woman. She has yet to let go of her wrist, though her claws were far from piercing her delicate flesh.Â
âWe make for a small port then. Weâll find a water basin somewhere while she heals.âÂ
She is glad then, that no one protests the order as the woman takes a shuddering breath.
I miss writing :( i miss feeling satisfied and happy that i finish something instead of being disappointed it's not perfect :(
Sigh.
I'm trying to get back into y'all. I've been updating my non x reader fics on my AO3 more but they're still not as often as I want. This year has been downright... awful for me.
I'm sorry if people have been waiting, but i'll be back eventually
Iâve never had a loss like this before
those Deaths wereÂ
suddenÂ
and over immediately.
both planned at a hospital.Â
This loss consists of constant death, the accumulation of grief and longing crawling black mold along the walls, (please let me breathe)
hazardous
QuarantinedÂ
Spores choking the lungsÂ
Will this rot ever be cleansed? my mouth aches with the sweet smell, teeth barely hanging onto the gums, desperate
To you, we have been, will be, were, are:
the moth flies Icarus into the kitchen bulbs
the mouse flails glue stuck in the walls
the frog flops drowning in the pool drain
you claim to be a hound scratching at the door, but you run tail-between-legs at the first sound of an intruder
No one ever wants the bird at their feet
you have leftÂ
A taste on the tongue
A lump in the throat
A pit in the stomach
This death is chronic
An ouroboros of your doing
Leave the fowl with the neck
 desecrated by your teethÂ
  in the mailbox
Hey guys! I hate to post this again, but i was able to take out most of my rent, but now i'm negative in my bank account, and I still have bills and groceries to buy. Luckily im getting my job back soon, but im not sure when, and i wouldnt be paid for another good bit.
PLEASE help in anyway you can. I know there are far more pressing things going on but I'm just at the point for begging.
Thank you!!
Hi my name is Jenifer! I need help paying this month's rent and bills. Due t⌠Jenifer Davis needs your support for Help Jenifer Overcome Her
Pride season is approaching and if I hear ANYONE speak poorly of bisexual women with boyfriends/husbands Iâll pop all your tires okay thx for listeninggg <3
Hey everyone! I'm struggling right now due to a temporary situation in which I have basically lost my job because of allergies (i work outdoors as an archeologist). ANY MONEY HELPS. This is my last resort. I live in Louisiana and it is getting hot with no AC in my car.
Imagine a visit to a frigidarium with Eivor. A hidden gem of Roman architecture, somehow kept pristine over the centuries, its cool waters glistening with jade and teal in the faint torchlight from reflections of the mosaic underneath.
She submerges herself in the pool with ease - she once swam amongst glaciers, and this is no feat by comparison - until all but her head and shoulders disappear into the water. Grinning, she beckons you forth. There's a laugh, rich and gravelly, as you lower yourself in to your knees with a shriek, its heartiness serving as your only source of warmth.
Eivor offers you her hand. The corners of her eyes are creased with amusement, her tone lilted as she promises you that it's easier to take the plunge and be done with it. She'll pull you in if you take it, no doubt. But your lover would not bring you to this bath to torture you, thus you place your hand in hers, not without a light-hearted curse that only widens her impish grin.
Not a second later, you're up to your neck in what feels like frost, breathing out an estranged laugh. You ought to kill her, you think, amidst your shock. Eivor laughs as if you thought aloud; perhaps you did. Nonetheless, the silly thought dissipates as she coaxes you into her arms, guiding your limbs to wrap around her so she can relieve you of the burden of keeping yourself afloat. The warmth of the blood under her skin melts some of the ice prickling at yours in a manner most grounding. It's only natural that you nestle your face into the crook of her neck, relaxing as her palm rubs soothing arcs into your back.
Softly, adoringly, Eivor calls you a wimp. You shush her, muffled by the skin of her neck, but she can feel your loving smile against her pulse, and it trebles the width of her own.
You understand why she brought you here, now. The cold clears the mind, stealing the essence away from time. In each other's embrace, chest-to-chest, your bodies equilibrate. A meditation of sorts. Every scar and blemish, every freckle and mole, is emblazoned into one another's flesh. The world around you stills. Your hearts, ever-beating, resynchronise as one.
I believe I promised some word vomit about an AU that has been rotting in my brain for about a year. It yearns to be free. Yes, it predictably revolves around the knight-princess concept. And while I genuinely have too many thoughts to conceivably put onto a page, I want to share it with you, because it makes me happy
The concept: an ancient oath that binds a knight's undying protection to a person of royal status, on fear of death
The reader in this is a princess, and while I won't give them a concrete personality, the AU does have some foundations in the princess' role to the kingdom. They're successful, philanthropic and dignified. (I aspire to be these things in a much better version of myself, and this is a bit of a comfort au lmao)
The backstory is obscenely elaborate in my head but the gist is, you are the heir to the throne. Your father passed before you were of age to ascend to the throne, and your mother remarried to the current king regent because she wanted you to be genuinely ready to rule by the time of your coronation. His reign is a fixed term spanning a decade or two because heâs a consort and thereâs some old law dictating this. I can never decide on the actual duration.
His reign is nearing its end. The court and the public are optimistic about your coronation. Youâre a believer in progress and innovation, and have pledged vast, accessible education to the children of the kingdom on top of the schools youâve already built. A generation of well-educated kids will be a boon to the economy in future years, so the court is mostly all for it. There are a few who feel threatened by the idea, of course, and the investment in the future means less money padding their pockets, which theyâre not fond of either.
The King however has adult children from his previous marriage whom he envisions as his successors, despite the terms of his reign forbidding it, unless you were to die. Knowing there are a few very willing co-conspirators amongst the court nobles, and that you vehemently refuse marriage and having children (self-projection, sorry), he sees a clear avenue in securing the line of ascension for his offspring. Plus, he'd no longer be legally obligated to abdicate.
In the same big legal book that lays out the terms surrounding an acting monarch, there is an oath that is seldom undertaken, rooted in ye olde tradition. With a witness present, a single person may pledge undying allegiance to a member of the royal family. They would be entrusted with their life, and expected to lay down their own if it ensured the royalâs survival. The Oathsworn is regarded as an elite ranking within the royal guard, and expected to undertake additional martial duties alongside being personally responsible for the safety of the royal in question, who must give consent alongside the witness to the pledge. Breaking the Oath is high treason. The royalâs untimely death counts as a breaking of the vows, so the Oathsworn scene is pretty stagnant.
Kassandra, Soma and Eivor all have their own trajectories based on this.
Soma's is...big. I suffer from chronic undying-love-for-unromancable-npc-itis. Kassandra's is comparatively undercooked. Eivor's is a work in progress, put generously. I do love Eivor, really, it's just whenever I try to build something for her in this universe, she quickly becomes Soma. See diagnosis. But I'm going to build on them, even if the ideas aren't as long or thoroughly explored, because it's fun :)
This doesn't even scratch the surface, and there's 2000 odd words under the cut. This entire AU was built around Soma. I am unwell. As a big supporter of women's wrongs, the fact that in the game's canon, she allegedly managed to piss off the entirety of Mercia within a couple of years of being in England appeals to me greatly. That's a nefarious feat. Her hands are bloody.
The whole Oathsworn premise post is linked here.
The King isnât a tactful man, and managed to piss off a very powerful nation overseas just a year after his coronation. Theyâre cunning merchants, and equally as cunning on the battlefield. The Danes are governed by a war council, led by Guthrum Jarl, with formidable politicians and warriors seated beside him.
Guthrum does not like the acting King. But neither side would profit from an all-out war. Your kingdom has money and connections from trade that the Danes (creatively named) didnât want to compromise. And in terms of prowess in battle, your army didnât stand a chance. Tensions were high, with neither side willing to escalate things past sanctions, a few shot messengers, minor sieges of neutral territory, and a lot of threats.
Three years ago, the King â bored of current circumstances â acted against the advice of the court and ordered a disproportionately sized infantry unit to attack a very small encampment flying a Dane banner on neutral ground, breaching the peace. He smiled while the council were left to develop one hell of a contingency plan. Thirty men sent to kill three or four Danes, according to the scout.
One soldier returned, his right leg dragging limply behind him, utterly harrowed. He trembled, wide-eyed and halfway retching as he recounted how the one Dane who survived the ambush sprinted into the swamp with thirty men on her tail. With a single axe, murky water and the darkness of the night, she cut down the infantry. She sliced the sole survivorâs heel and forced him to watch her butchery of the twenty-ninth soldier. Then she escorted him back to her camp. Cleaned and dressed his wound, purely so heâd live to tell the tale.
The court froze with dread as he gave a description of the woman. Specifically at the scar, ragged and deep, cutting through her face from her ear to her nose. That woman was Soma: one of Guthrumâs most trusted councillors, and something of a nightmare to your kingdomâs soldiers.
Your court anticipated full retaliation. However, they were met with diplomacy. Despite the breach of unspoken contract, Guthrum had no intention of returning the gesture, still believing that the price of a war wouldnât be worth its rewards. He arranged to visit the kingdom with his war council after sending a draft of a new peace treaty, full of mutually beneficial trade outlines, but pending one unfinalised condition.
Soma, looking like Soma does, caught your immediate attention upon the Danesâ arrival. She immediately recognised you as the crown princess without introduction, despite the Kingâs children also being present. She knew something, and that was unsettling, but she was courteous nonetheless. Her smile was warm, her eyes betraying her calculation. You werenât completely in the dark yourself, though â the scar was unmistakable. This woman could likely take on all the Kingsguard in the room without the help of her colleagues. Whatever their game was, she was an integral player.
Guthrum said he was content to forgive the King for his misdeeds, and while the phrasing angered his Majesty, the animosity was silenced by the treatyâs very generous terms. The Danes saw profit in an alliance, but needed a reason to believe the King would honour it. After this, Guthrum nodded to you and bowed politely; word of your stride towards free public education had reached their shores, and he found it an admirable goal indeed. No wonder your kingdom spoke fondly of their heir, he remarked.
His caveat to the treaty was simple. Your court, by now, was familiar with the capabilities of Soma. Guthrum had heard of the Oathsworn tradition. Soma was prepared to abandon her port and her seat at his council in favour of swearing the Oath. This way, if the King was to lash out again, she would be within striking distance to take the life of the kingdomâs crown jewel â and your death wouldnât be painless. The oath would be sworn with him and a noble of your choice present as witnesses, and it would be sworn.
Very few people in the court were aware of the Kingâs intention to eventually dethrone you, and he was in no position to refuse the treaty. The Danes did not come without reinforcements. He agreed to the terms, signed the papers, and you asked your queen mother to bear witness. She was sickened by the thought of the Oath being sworn under these circumstances, suspecting her husbandâs intentions regarding his succession, knowing your life was doubly at risk here. But she agreed, because it wasn't up for negotiation.
That same evening, yourself, Soma, a priest and the two agreed-upon witnesses took to the chapel. She recited the sacred vow, never breaking your gaze. Her tone was steeled, but there was no mistaking her contentment to abandon the tenet, should it be asked of her.
The first attempt on your life occurred a mere month after the Oath ceremony. The assassin concealed the family crest of one of your kingdomâs nobles on a cufflink. He struck when you were checking in with the headmaster of a school you recently built, dealt with swiftly by Soma, who shadowed your public appearances. She was professional â positioning herself between you and the attacker in a suit of armour she had yet to adjust to, incapacitating him. The visit was cut short as she wrapped you in her cloak to mask your identity, leaving the other guards to formally arrest the assassin.
She had an authoritative, no-bullshit attitude about her as she used her newfound influence over the royal guard â a perk of the position given the politics â to organise an inquiry, presenting to the King the engraved cufflink found on the assassin. No doubt, she took pleasure in getting information out of him, but how she handled the inquiry made it clear that your life was paramount, and you took peculiar solace in this. The conspiring noblewoman who sent him was soon tried and punished accordingly. Soma insisted upon standing in as her executioner.
You cursed yourself as your defensive, wary demeanour around her cracked over time. There were other attempts on your life, and she took her role as your Oathsworn seriously, seemingly more so with every new perpetrator. Beyond duty, though, she showed you kindness. And as you learned about one another in your close proximity, you grew fond of each other. A profound respect was building, and it was mutual.
At one point, you both had problematic revelations. You had never felt safer around the woman tasked with taking your life, should the causal circumstance arise. And Soma realised she had no desire to act on that kill order. You made a promise to her: when you were queen, you would grant her deeds to the kingdomâs port, because she had once confessed to you how she mourned that part of her old life, and the gods knew she could bloody run it. She pondered the promise being empty, but dismissed the thought. You listened to her in a moment of vulnerability. This changed things.
A dalliance was inevitable, but this was neither fleeting nor inconsequential. Your affection for one another, your devotion in all its intensity, was a secret well-kept from all eyes, ears and quills.
And it was intense. Fast. Hasty, even. The threat of a sudden awful change loomed over you both, leaving no time for courtship. Butterflies were reserved for the newfound gesture in Somaâs hand on your back as she escorted you through crowds. Her solitary company was filled with dizzying kisses, passionate rendezvous under the moonlight and unbridled laughter.
At first, your mutual desire for physical intimacy was overwhelmed by a sudden anxiety in your closeness. There was the persistent fear that the kill order had been given, and that Soma was waiting for you to be at your most vulnerable before she ended your life. It choked you, frustrated you, but you were honest with her. The first time it happened, Soma assured you that she would sooner cut off her hand than lay a harmful finger on you. She thanked you for your candour, bidding you goodnight with a comforting smile and a chaste kiss to your knuckles. She would not lay with you until you felt safe enough to trust her with your body, and she wanted you to realise this safety on your own. With time, that safety came about. You made love, and confessed that love shortly after.
Your relationship introduced a new variable to the political equation. Until the present, you tried your best not to question any loyalties. Foolish as it were, you were content in the illusion of security.
With his reign coming to an end, though, the King is under pressure to secure the line of succession for himself and his children before heâll be forced to abdicate. Never having had a penchant for patience, this urgency is beginning to seep into his actions in court. None of the assassination attempts were successful. His co-conspirators are dwindling in their numbers; those who havenât been convicted of treason are succumbing to fear.
Truthfully, he never anticipated Soma would honour her vow, nevermind with such ferocity. He had hoped one of his carefully organised, bloody fates would befall upon you, and her subsequent execution would bury the evidence of his crime. But she complicated things terribly, and in his frustration, he begins to suggest processions that would put the treaty at risk. Gambling merchandise due to be exported form your kingdom to Guthrum. Proposing a mandatory armistice for all Danes in the kingdom. Inquisitions, the likes. All fortunately talked down by the court, but not without rapidly building concern.
You and Soma begin to see through the cracks. The King isnât intelligent, but he also isnât naive enough to accidentally compromise the kingdomâs safety. As your step-siblings begin to look at you through a different gaze, you're forced to navigate court with a pit in your stomach. Conversations with Soma following the string of conspiracies only reinforced the idea that foul play is at work.
Soma caught word some weeks ago that Guthrumâs war council had undergone a few changes of seats, and not all of the new councillors share his ambitions. They seek conquest. She suspects theyâre in contact with your King, most likely manipulating him into pushing for political moves that would spiral the kingdom into a war you would certainly lose.
Her fears reside in whether Guthrum could have a change of heart, or if he would be willing to isolate you from the actions of the King with your coronation inbound. There is every possibility that the King could overrule the democracy of the court regarding one of his rash decisions, and the kill order would be given. There would be war, and if she refused to take your life, sheâd be an enemy of her people â her family â as well as your own.
Yet when she confides in you, distressed, itâs abundantly clear that Soma doesnât see a dilemma in all of this. She paces about your quarters and thinks aloud, knowing youâll always lend your ear and comfort to her. If all negotiations failed, she would rather live as a pariah than betray you. The idea of taking your life is unfathomable.
Amidst a sea of uncertainties, youâre unable to avoid doubt. Those panicky feelings from the early days of your relationship are resurfacing, as much as you want them to stop. Your heart yearns to trust Soma. You hear the truth in her words, the humanity in her voice, but you canât shake the fear that itâs an elaborate act. Your apprehension hurts her. It wounds you both.
A bitter few days pass by. Youâre sick with worry, unable to sleep. Questions of if sheâd do it bleed into how sheâd do it. Your mind lingers on poison, to the extent where you employ somebody to taste your food and before you so much as touch the plate.
Soma knocks on your bedchamber door one night with a goblet in hand. She lets out a pained breath when you flinch away from it. Itâs a sleeping aid, she tells you gently. Itâs agonising to watch your health deteriorate under paranoia. You are her heart, after all. As difficult as it is to acknowledge your wavering trust in her, her love for you has not lessened.
Youâre exhausted. And scared â not just for your life, but for the future of your kingdom. Apologies flood from your lips as you crumble before her. Soma canât stop herself from holding you. Tears of her own escape as you sob at the sensation of her embrace, trembling in her arms as your sleep-deprived, anxiety-riddled mind tries desperately to refute that immediate feeling of safety.
It dawns that neither of you have the luxury of certainty in anything but each other.
Tenderly, after a small eternity in each other's arms, Soma asks if she can renew her vow, right here. She wants you to hear her Oath anew, her tenet solemn, devoted, and devoid of political motivation. Fuck the chapel, the priest, the gods. Witness be damned. The only blessing that matters is yours.
