#desnas

[dujour13]

△ sia, what is something you completely despise about yourself?

😭😭😭 the hidden insecurities under the bardic panache, nice one!!

10/10

“Are you implying something? Come on, there’s nothing… Even the fact that my nose isn’t perfectly straight just adds charm, I’ve been told. Trying to get me to say my taste in clothing? Because no, this is me.”

He spreads his arms. Indeed, he’s wearing an embroidered mustard-colored vest over a roomy-sleeved striped purple shirt, gathered snug at the waist with that fringed turquoise scarf. On anyone else it's an eyesore, but he knows he pulls it off.

Yet he sees you will not be distracted.

The smile falters. You can tell he’s bitterly regretting agreeing to answer these questions. When he finds his voice it’s unusually subdued.

“Don’t congratulate yourself, it’s not that big of a secret. The Hand of the Inheritor spotted it. So did Woljif.

“How much I love to be adored.

“I sometimes wonder if people are just there for the sake of my ego and not for themselves. It’s lonelier than you think in here.” He gestures vaguely, maybe at his heart.

“I despise treating people like tools but… sometimes that’s what I do.”

With that, he heads for the door.

[cassynite]

△ what do you think your brother would think of the person you are now?

"I don't...know," Sparrow admits softly. "I would like to think he'd be happy for me. Proud of me. I am successful by most standards, and closing the Worldwound is no small endeavor. I am secure; I work to help and enrich the lives of those to who rely on me. Ideally, I would hope that even if none of those things were true, he would think well of where I am if only because I am happy.

"I wonder, sometimes. What he'd say if he saw my home, my husband, my work. Would he recognize the adult I've become? Would I be a stranger to the version of myself that he would have raised me to be? There's so little of him that I carry with me now."

She takes a deep breath. "I can only say that, were our situations reversed...if I had died and he went on to live his life, through whatever pain and tribulations took him to companionship and happiness...I would be grateful he was alive. That he thrived, in whatever form that took. I don't really think the rest matters."

Intrusiveness level: 6/10

[honorable-guardian]

❌ for grim!

❌OC in something they would absolutely never wear

From this prompt!

"Aly... do I really have to wear this?"

[Thanks @desnas for the prompt! This was a lot of fun. Sorry, Grim!]

[cassynite]

if you receive this, you make somebody happy! go on anon (or not!) and send this to ten of your followers who make you happy or somebody you think needs cheering up. if you get one back, even better! 🖤 + 🤍✨this is the you are amazing award. send it to ten humans you think are wonderful or just take a moment to bask in your own awesomeness! ✨🤍

ty faye this is so kind of u to send 😭

[camelliagwerm-archive]

mirror? 👀

thank you! Sorry this took a little while to get to. A mixture of a lack of brainworms and internet. Based off the Camellia-Sosiel jealousy banter (resolved in favour of Camellia), 966 words.

Camellia slips out of his tent at first light – not because she hadn’t wanted to wake up with Valerius, but the thought of the others seeing her leave it with him still unnerved her. Thankfully, only Sosiel is awake:  going about his morning rituals: checking the protection wards were still in place, preparing breakfast, making sketches of the Worldwound’s landscape as the sun rose above the crags. 

“Good morning,” he says, looking up from his sketchbook with the customary gentle smile. “There is some tea brewing over the campfire if you want some.”

With a yawn, she stretches her limbs, taut and aching from yesterday’s travel and last night’s pleasures, even if her thighs still burn; then, she comes to join him by the campfire, keeping her long legs stretched out in front of her, continuing to warm up her arms, stretch out her back until there is that satisfying pull, moving her neck from side to side. That is where it hurts most, and she lets out a small hiss as the muscle pulls underneath bitten and bruised flesh from where Valerius had sunk his teeth in, where he’d put his hand around her neck and pressed just hard enough to send a rush of pleasure through her.

She reaches into her pack and finds the small pocket mirror, plucking it out of the depths. She unwinds the shroud of fabric she keeps it wrapped in, to better protect it, and pops it open. The mirror reflects her arching her neck,  showing  her the mottled bruising, black and blue, and the angry red surrounding a fresh crescent-shaped bite, little flecks of smudged, dried blood surrounding it. 

Camellia, wearing a mixture of a smile and a grimace from the pain still as she reaches out to gently touch it,  notices that from the corner of the pocket mirror, Sosiel is looking at her again– no doubt having drawn attention to herself through her hiss. He has put his sketchbook and stick of charcoal aside; he’s frowning, and his warm brown eyes are focused on the raised bitemarks and bruises around her throat. His mouth is open slightly, his brow furrowing and nose wrinkling in concern like he is trying to bring himself to say something. 

She snaps her pocket mirror shut, the noise cutting through the quiet. “Well, out with it, then.” 

He moves a little closer to her,  lowering his voice. “I understand why Valerius chose you, Camellia. You’re beautiful, your manners are impeccable – and many people could only dream of having a lady like you on his arm, but–” he casts a furtive glance towards Valerius’ tent and lowers his voice even further, “I see you almost every morning with those marks and I fear Valerius might not be treating you as you deserve.”

Camellia considers schooling her face into a perfect mask of fond concern, but instead she laughs once, her words surprisingly joyous for first thing in the morning. “Oh, Sosiel, your concern is entirely misplaced. It would be utterly crass of me to divulge too many details, but the Commander has certain needs, and I happen to enjoy accommodating them.” She reaches out to pat the cleric’s hand once. 

“That is reassuring to hear, but… if you wish to talk about it, you can always tell me in confidence. Not as a cleric, but as a friend.”

“I shall remember that, thank you.” Camellia withdraws her hand, placing it neatly in her lap. As their conversation falters, Sosiel picks up his sketchbook once more and goes back to the landscape he had been working on. Her gaze flickers to Valerius’ tent, where from within she can hear him already stirring. Her lips curve up into a smile as she imagines his muscles becoming taut as he stretches out, stiff from sleeping so still all night, the tousled hair from where she’d tightened her grasp on him as she’d ridden his face.  If only he knew how many of those bitemarks and bruises she’d gotten from their illustrious Commander were all over her body – the gentle cleric would have a heart attack.

“And Sosiel, my friend..?” she begins, with that in mind. He looks up and her smile grows wider, predatory. “I meant to say – I hope you also find a worthy companion, some day. Someone from your side of the social gulf that yawns between us.”

He is about to respond when Valerius leaves the tent, the quilted jacket he wears underneath his plate still mostly untied to reveal her bone amulet - his lady’s favour, he’d called it once before – and his pallid crystal nestled against his bare chest. Sosiel ducks his head back down as Valerius acknowledges him, murmuring a quiet ‘good morning.’

Camellia moves her pack aside so he can sit down next to her, the Commander swiftly coming to wrap his arm around her and pull her in for a kiss the moment he is close; his cool breath already a balm to the rising temperatures of the Worldwound’s sweltering summers. 

“I wasn’t expecting you to be up before me,” Valerius murmurs when they pull away, his finger tracing her full lips, the curve of her jaw. Her own fingers play with the laces of his gambeson, twisting the grey fabric around each one. 

“I feared if I remained, we’d never leave the tent,” she replies, biting down on her lip, “and as sorely tempting as that is, I’d much rather we wait now until we are back in Drezen. Anticipation, darling –”  She reaches up to tap him once on his mouth, “will make the date I have prepared for us all the sweeter.”

As Valerius leans in for another kiss, from over his shoulder, she catches Sosiel furtively looking away – guilt written plain across his usually serene face.