𖤝 sending your ass to #𝘆𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗻𝘂𝗺. independent and selective multi-muse colosseum run by havi. [ ft. characters predominantly from fantasy and urban fiction. ] twenty-seven, they/them. medium activity & duplicate friendly. affiliated with cautionarys and veilmotel. please read my guidelines before following. warnings ahead of mature content.
navigation : 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘥, 𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘦, 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴.
a narrative study in : the edgerunners of society, committed to being damned by love and danger, eldritch truth and the cost of insight, finding faith in oneself through madness, the tyranny of heaven, demons as the knights in spiked armour, dismantling shame, embracing the bitter and the dark.
this is a private space where i write characters i'm bananas about. i am busy with work throughout the week so patience is both expected and appreciated. reach out for plots and questions any time!
a few guidelines for newcomers :
duplicates are entirely welcome. duplicate anxiety however is not. open to feedback, won't tolerate rudeness. any bigotry, islamaphobia, sexism, anti-semitism, zionism, and use of ai art will result in block. i can take a few days to follow back, just because i like to make sure i properly read your rules / dossier!
please read, accessibility request :
i also request that colours, fancy letterings and double / triple spaces between words be avoided when writing with me. kindly soft-block when unfollowing and feel entirely free to re-follow whenever.
art by amy thompson. psd by hesperides.
primary :
▪ neil josten, all for the game.
▪ jem carstairs, infernal devices.
▪ alice liddell, madness returns.
▪ clive rosfield, final fantasy xvi.
▪ leon kennedy, resident evil.
▪ vinsmoke sanji, one piece netflix.
▪ galadriel, lord of the rings.
▪ jason todd, under the red hood.
secondary :
▪ lord severin, folk of the air.
▪ kassandra of sparta, ac: odyssey.
▪ lady maria, bloodborne.
▪ messmer, elden ring.
▪ pinokio, lies of p.
▪ stefan salvatore, vampire diaries.
▪ lucyna kushinada, cyberpunk edgerunners.
original characters :
▪ kazheir asghar, child of nox in the riordanverse.
▪ phira katsaros, child of aphrodite in the riordanverse.
▪ freydís sveinsdottir, skadi reborn in god of war.
▪ viziera khātun, janesyr from witcher inspired lore.
▪ farah hosseini, time-travelling vampiress.
private : the dragon, ha do-yeong, sephiroth, oliver marks, andrew minyard, achilles, dark sun gwyndolin [ *includes hiatus muses : the darkling, jude duarte, zagreus. ]
tacos and lemonade, and a teasing dance with red hood that now felt second-nature. the rubbery smell of the booth, the way it squeaked with their weight every time they shifted, and the clamor of cooks somewhere arguing did not touch jesse. and jason seemed just as thoroughly unbothered. the food was good, filling. their legs were touching under the table like a challenge and a promise. and jesse both watched and listened as jason took the out she'd inadvertently given him, the conversational escape route. should've known he'd be so cheeky. wasn't he always?
the speedster wasn't pissed, not even close, but she gave him a little kick beneath the table, anyway, a swat as her skin warmed, contact meant to jostle, not harm. her mouth quirked, eyes of the studious scholar and ceo flicking over him while he sat back in the booth. there it was again: the squeaking noise of the seat. the environment had almost comical timing! her subtle smile broke into a grin for exactly 3 seconds, then smoothed into something neutrally content for speech. ❛ easy, i'd hate to put you on your ass in front of grandma and grandpa, ❜ booth number 6, just to the left. they were wearing their church finest and couldn't hear jesse at all. she tipped her foot a little to the side, a jolt going down her spine at the brush of contact he lent her. touch held so much power. she hadn't known until she'd met him. or maybe she had, and she spent a good chunk of her life running, too afraid to melt in someone's palm. well, here's for melting.
❛ you know what i'm talking about. ❜ duh. jesse's other leg, not captive, shifted suddenly, and his pants leg slid an inch up his calf as she nudged it. ❛ and yep, i do, so, once a week at least. that too much for you to handle? think about it and reach out to my people. we can try my place next time. you cook. ❜ fully a jest between them. he hardly needed to put in a notice; they were comfortable enough with each other to justify jason simply showing up.
noting that some of the food was still untouched, (she'd had enough herself— her appetite was vast, but not limitless) jesse fondly suggested he try the churros. he was full, though. clearly. and most definitely distracted, if the press of limbs beneath the table was any indication. jesse kept her blue eyes on him as she finished off her lemonade, a lapse of just a few seconds, and said, amusement in her tone, no longer the ceo but some lovesick, hypocritical thing who'd come to reap her own proclamations:
❛ suit yourself— guess that's a no on a to-go box? ❜ the server, kind but bored, looked their way, head turning at the sound of minimum wage trigger words, but didn't approach; someone else flagged them down, pulling their attention. the couple that was not a couple teased uncontested, then, uninterrupted. for now. ❛ care to tell me what exactly i need to focus for? ❜
beneath the table of the booth they were sharing, their legs were busy in a prompt match of kick and push. when he felt her boot slide up his calf, and retaliate with a light kick, he returned it by nudging her ankle back with his own. on the surface however, his face was pulled back with mock surprise. he set his cheek into his palm and poured every bit of sarcasm that he could into his words. ❛ nah, i don’t— what are you talking about? would love to know. ❜ then he leaned back and sprawled an arm over the headrest of his own booth seat, & did the other thing she found exceptionally funny: never rising to the ego bait, he shrugged and took the fall.
❛ too much. i’ll curl up in a corner and die on my own, thanks. ❜ then he blew a breath, used two fingers to quickly shoot himself right at the temple. ❛ ‘reach out to my people’. put your pr exec cosplay away, i only give my interview dance card to brunettes. ❜ he reached out and stole a fry from her plate, & munched on it with considerably less enthusiasm than what he’d started with, but the taste was nice and nagging her was a close second fulfilment for his gluttony.
between egregiously slow chewing and feeling the comfortably draw towards an inconveniently timed nap, he glanced out the window at the rare but familiar sight of gotham nearing sundow. maybe it would rain soon, drown it all in greys. maybe he’d feel the chill of a clouded skyline, or maybe he’d be in her bed, tangled to warmth any sane person would want to suffocate on, when it smelled like her.
❛ no, no, let’s take it home. old man won’t like it if we just toss it to waste anyway. ❜ he turned back to her then, back to his own body and mind. he shook his head with the shift & leaned forward again, arms folded across the table, staring at her. ❛ uhm, the day ahead, your night-time routine, yoga. i mean think about it — i’m about to make a dick joke — turning me into a churro won’t help you focus. ❜ he felt it before he’d finished speaking. her boot crashed right into his leg. he took it as a win and snapped his fingers. jason, two dick jokes : jesse, one and a half. ❛ gotcha’. alright, let’s scram, ❜ he said, and half way to shuffling out of the booth, his fingers wrapped around hers carefully at their sides; with a look, she was close to him and his bike keys were spinning noisily around his index. ❛ i’m sick because of you and i want a nap. ❜
the whole brooding loner routine wouldn't have been her first choice. all their doom and gloom warnings weren't for nothing, they owed favors to all the wrong people. the kinda bastards that were not strangers to finding ways to obtain leverage. phira wasn't top of the food chain by any means, a small fish in a big pond, but she had enough celebrity that whatever it was they were doing here wouldn't go unnoticed eitan and his lackeys. linking the two together wasn’t exactly the everyday sort of pr crisis, it could very well be a deathwish so they had thought of bailing. by all means it was the safest option but they didn't do well with neat boundaries and restrictions; it only made them want to tear at their confines more. so she showed up, consequences nipping at her heels but it was worth it for the look on her face right now; eyes brighter than this whole neon hellscape they called home.
eager wasn't good, eager meant there wasn't going to be a way out of this. leave it to alex to still be looking for a backdoor escape after putting herself right in the path of siren. no, her song went to the bone and it wasn't dislodged without leaving its teeth in you. ❛ yeah, well i didn’t come for the music, i came for the view – nice setup you have up here. ❜ not that she hadn't enjoyed the show, just maybe not for the right reasons. not a hint of nerves on stage but the persona cracks ever-so slightly when the merc pulls into her orbit.
❛ you read a lot of those? hot books, i mean, i had a feeling you were a little freak. it’s always the sweet-lookin’ ones, isn’t it... ❜ no way she hadn't realized that she walked right into that one, alex was only ever an opportunist. the image it conjured wasn't displeasing either; text playing across the back of her eyelids, hair splayed over her pillow, a burgeoning flower as her breathe grew more staggered... that's where their train of thought crashes and they're forced to recalibrate — to find some reason, at least for the next few minutes or so. ❛ plus, you attract some real weirdos so can you blame me for keeping tabs? i think you got enough of that attention already. ❜ she is ready to add to this consideration, thumb pressing into the slope of her hip on one side with her fingers grazing just below the skirt's meager length.
❛ so, you do get worked up out there in your little outfits, cute. ❜ pressing into her with the generous swell of her chest. it would be a pretty damning view if she looked down then but they are more fixated on the way phira's mouth quirks upward as she does her best attempt at teasing. ❛ i’ve definitely tripped for less but you look like a soft place to land so i think i can risk it. just don’t get used to it, i'm not exactly known for ‘nice', phi. ❜ despite playing hard to get, they really weren't difficult to catch. at least not once the predicament of distance was dealt with. since getting clean there were few highs left that match that particular mind-numbing ecstasy but slotting her mouth over the parted softness of the singer's comes close. they aren't neat about it, a tongue already slipped past her teeth and her hand had a fist full of her skirt and then some. after weeks of keeping themselves from killing their contract with contact all the rules diminished then.
their parting is a wet and breathless ordeal, they bite at the excess lipgloss that had transferred in the kiss. ❛ gotta shower back there? i can help you get all that glitter off. ❜ a sweat-damps strand of pink hair is tucked behind her ear then and with it alex catches a few flecks of shine on her thumb. they were going to be seeing this stuff everywhere for weeks anyway might as well make a good memory out of the constant reminder.
so use to losing in this playing field, it took her a moment to realise it had worked. she kept her megawatt grin from blinding alex on the spot and stifled it by pursing her lips. she spoke in small bursts, whispered now with the queasy crawl of desire in her stomach. ❛ oh yeah, i’m sure you did. ❜ would it kill them to admit they might have come for her? possibly. their half-lidded portrait of inexpressive amusement was still a barrier to read through. that was coming from a siren, who had to survive celebrity city by reading people as part of business. a laugh fumbles out of her. she hadn’t been expecting it, but it brings her private life stuttering into view; books that were becoming decor during busy tour months, hot & cheesy romance novels that kept her company when the room got too lonely. she felt her face flare more, a hand swatting the merc’s shoulder. not like that, she was saying, but in truth: it was quite like that.
she also wasn’t going to explain or defend the controversial discourse around some of the fantasies she had been entertaining, courtesy of one equally controversial merc in her sphere...
❛ shut up. ❜ another swat, though they had a tendency to wind up closer with each attempt to push apart. she was against them now, arms around their neck & their hand, not to stealthily sneaking up her skirt. ❛ they’ve got plot, okay— and you have no idea what they even mean, do you. hot books. come on, alex. ❜ she noticed it keenly, felt it keenly, saw the awareness of it reflected in her eyes by what she saw in theirs. her breath spent itself slowly, knee bending to caress the line of their pant leg. things were progressing faster than she could quip back at them, but it doesn’t stop her lidded stare from weighing so heavily on each little flick of change in their face.
she feels flustered being read back, the flare in her stomach reaching her throat, but she doesn’t buck away. ❛ mhmm. maybe. after all this... aren’t you? ❜ there’s also not enough time to overthink it. tripped for less? soft, or easy? she wavers briefly but it’s rectified by the warm press of a mouth on hers. a tongue slides against her own and she meets it with the gradual rise of her chest, breath expelling sweetly and a soft noise courtesy of the hand grabbing a lot more of her than just her skirt. she feels herself smirk against the kiss, dangling like dew in more ways than one, & sighs happily when their lips part. ❛ oh, that’s real chivalrous. come here. ❜ her head is slow to nod, licking at her own bottom lip for the taste of them; then she pulls close again, hair tucked away by their fingers, and kisses them fleetingly while pulling on the collar of alex’s shirt.
❛ shh. this way, gorgeous. ❜ with bounce to her step, she reluctantly steps out of alex’s grip and half-drags them to the comfort of her dressing room. make up sprawled over the vanity, mirrors glittering with lights, outfits strewn about because she’d changed her mind about the mesh top a hundred times. & just past the storage there was a small bathroom with a shower affixed, easily someplace to lock them both behind. her manager could deal with the rest. a giggle gets out of her by the time she’s pressed alex back against the door. she hangs there a moment, breathing hard, thinking about kissing them before she entwines fingers with them instead. then, pulling away, she tosses back her hair and ignores the tangle of butterfly hair clips and glitter splotches to peel her top off instead. discarding it to the floor, she reaches for their shirt next and knocks noses with them. ❛ can i take this off? pretty please? ❜
james stared at oliver, grey eyes seeming to darken as he pressed ever closer; the bard would find himself nudged back, trapped between tree and shorter companion, james's hands hovering for a while before his right palm splayed flat over oliver's heart. the thumping he felt was comforting, a steady sign of life. and when the beating increased, picking up fervor, he smiled, mouth twitching helplessly, feeling a rush of delight and undeniable power. it always excited him, to see his influence over oliver. his own insides were always twisted up by want when it came to the other, he felt always at risk of keeling over in utter love. it warmed him right up, to see his feelings reflected. even scant displays of it. there was nothing he wouldn't lap up.
but @yharnum was oblivious. he only seemed to act true to his heart when his thoughts were slowed; the drinks they shared made their blood hazy, made everything warm, confidence surging. james wasn't a fool; but nor would he indulge his doubt. all night, his nerves had been alight, every brush of their fingers, every heavy-lidded look and smile and grasp building his hopes heavens' high.
❛ couldn't you? —... what have you been doing all night, oliver? ❜ hand flexing against oliver's chest, he seemed to edge closer, his chin turned up ever so slightly. above, the moon and stars. the lights shone reflected on the grass. some chatter still echoed about them, celebrations that hadn't yet died out. james swallowed, throat bobbing. ❛ all your touches, your looks. the lovely song. the smiles. what was that if not seduction? you are beautiful, i only wish you saw it. ❜ not a break in his intensity, but a warming of it. james smoothed his hand down oliver's chest, flattening imagery wrinkles. to hell with the fire and the drink and the smiles. all james saw was him.
a small, invisible bubble formed around them. this was the simpler magic that james had always been so aptly capable of and that oliver quietly envied: suspending oliver to moments of peace and comfort, where the rest of the world might melt away. a childhood habit of longing in his heart, thudding away and betraying his secrets to the only one who might listen to them to begin with. he smiled nervously. as james stepped closer, tender and knightly, he swallowed a little to himself & held his breath. however quiet he had thought to keep his affections all this while were rendered moot.
the events of the last few weeks and their precarious situation with the infected tadpole had made it feel meaningless. what did it matter, if they might possibly die soon or become mindless puppets? the dread of that alone had perhaps spelled out his impulses, and james, quick as ever, had caught on. ❛ i have—? ❜ he thought of it then, all the glances, the looks & the lingering brush of hands. perhaps he had. the mischievous knowledge of that made his smile tug upwards more ridiculously. a few months ago at the academy and he would have seen such blatant confidence as punching above his own weight. yet here he was, indulging it if not outright encouraging it with the light in his eyes. ❛ you noticed, did you? ❜
the hand against his chest flexed, and his breath expanded with it, as if it were on strings. he felt james smooth down his vest and, tugging at the sudden tightness of his doublet’s collar, he flushed with a quiet delight at being noticed. appraised meaningfully, even.
❛ seduction... i had not in mind to seduce you, when i wrote that song thinking of you. rather perhaps, ❜ he said, [a confession! the song of sweet longing, all for him] raising a hand & setting the hilt of his palm to james’ soft cheek. ❛ that it was i who was seduced. charmed, even, i always have been. though, you could not pretend you did not know. you always knew, a little bit. ❜ he sighed heavily, felt his fingers clench and release. their heads brushed together and he stepped closer, invading his space. ❛ didn’t you? ❜
[41.] august being told to open her mouth and doing it before kassandra’s sentence is finished. (sorry about her)
stages of intimacy, accepting. | ft. @yharnum
as much as august learned to trust kassandra's ship, she enjoyed the steady ground of the earth just a tad bit more. the inherent truth in this was that the thing august trusted most about the ocean was kassandra, and being there with her, and knowing that her trust was rewarded with safety and joy; it had little to do with the actual element of the ocean. there was something to be said about the confined quarters of kassandra's cabin, narrow and cozy, and how handsome kass was in the low light of the lamp while the sea was hidden behind the hull of the ship and they were on their own, just the two of them, nights and days of travel to spend time on. but even so, august had missed being under the roof of an actual house, in the presence of the land's well-known noises, the look of people milling around, conducting the businesses of their days, the welcome familiarity of her own house. kass had always somehow fit her way through the doorway, with the real talent of someone with so much tenacity it was a problem sometimes but mostly just reason to swoon for august, and reasons for that she had enough. the woman she loved may had been meant for the sea first, but now she was also meant for, wrapped around august like vine, or stone to moss, and august wouldn't let go now. not with an actual, immovable bed so close at their disposal. it were the little things, weren't they?
there was not one more capable pair of hands to hold onto her, august knew, as she trusted kass with nothing more than her body either. it was best when august could feel their hearts beat in tandems, her hands grabbing at kass's back and her strong shoulders, fingers curling down around her strong biceps, while kass carried her through the kitchen and to the living room with the memory of someone who had done so before - and who could blame her, blame them? the floor would do, even as much as the bed upstairs, and august all but wrapped her hands around kassandra's waist where she was carried through one doorframe, then another, kass reading her mind in a way that stopped freaking august out when she was warm all over, heat spreading through her limbs, her legs tingling where kass was holding onto her thigh, her touch so close to being where it should be. oh, this was madness, the kind the great poets lamented and wrote about, but august quite enjoyed it, to feel her body hoisted around by kassandra, and then sit down in her lap where she found the sofa after all and not the floor, and august could press her hips down against her lover's thighs as if this would do the job. maybe, with enough desperation in her veins, it would. she would eagerly try to find out if kassandrs wouldn't move.
the moment she felt kass's hand in her hair, lifting her head up to look at her, august felt the warmth inside of her intensify and ratchet up a notch. arousal was zapping through her, down from the centre of her and all the way through her, when their eyes met. she moved her hips in accordance against kassandra's thigh, finding friction, happy that she didn't wear pants today. the skirt she wore was already rucked up at the back, something august didn't notice until now, where she fisted a handful of the long flowing material and pulled it further up, leaning into kassandra's chest like she was starving for every bit of her. ( well . . . ) when kass asked her to open her mouth, her hand having moved to august's face, she did so before the other could even finish. there was nothing of sense coursing through her, only stupid and loving want, and she wanted kassandra to get any part of her on august, inside of her, as soon as possible - and lapped against kass's fingers with her tongue were they caught at her bottom lip. the next thing she'd do would be to plead, and she felt no shame about resorting to that either, not when she knew kassandra would listen.
her tunic was split open from the centre, the rugged carelessness of a pirate off duty. in the comfort of a home she had made her own too, with a pretty thing on her lap, prettier noises to boot. august was now marked over the skin of her neck by the mercenary’s teeth in an earlier outburst of possessive longing. a very minor aggression had taken root in kassandra’s heart where all she wanted, and all she could do, was press her lover’s body to wall & ravish her with wanton appraisal and kisses. each stifled laugh she could draw out of hers was worth storing to memory, and each baffled but breathless exhale was a victory she would chase again and again. this woman was all hers, every rasping sound that she made, every curve of her body she had, and every trusting look she could spear kassandra dead with.
but, a woman as beautiful as her lover, could be trapped and jostled against a wall only for so long. no, she and her dress deserved a little more decorum than being groped and kissed senseless standing. and so, that had led to kassandra carrying her one-armed to where they were now, all the while that her other hand slid up her leg and skirts. settled, and reclined lazily where she held august by hair and waist, she grinned at her ferociously. her body aligned over kassandra’s thigh, which she had begun to roll her waist into, and skirts were pulled up hastily to accommodate; and the front of her dress, mischievously unbuttoned from all her incessant pawing, made her blood sing. she felt the gradual heat in her gut serrate her insides the longer she looked at her chest, the slow rise & fall of them, the softness of her skin as it flushed over the breadth of her breasts. painful. egregiously pretty.
comfortably, she gave a firm tug of the blonde hair tangled in her fingertips. by now she could feel the steady wetness gathering between her lover’s legs, the further along she rubbed against her thigh with a steady determination; and her own too, of course, near dazed with lust and love for the one in front of her alone. she was a demanding creature, & acted as much; tugging her lover’s head to hold her in place, until her lips parted for her preciously and obediently, and without reluctance, she pressed two fingers into the waiting mouth to stuff it full. after a moment, she gave another careful tug, hearing the soft but unsteady string of pleas arrive to her satisfaction, and this close, she could brush her mouth over a flushed cheek with a gnawing satisfaction.
❛ gooood— ah, good girl. there you are. ❜ she kissed her then, briefly withdrawing her fingers, a thrill of adoration. then she pressed them back in, further & further until she was able to hear exactly what she wanted: that soft, stumbling noise, where she choked faintly and with some surprise. when she retracted her fingers a second time, she grinned with a shameless heat to her face and heart, and caressed august’s cheeks, which had grown considerably red. ❛ you are so beautiful, it fucking pains me. ❜ her lips were on her mouth before she properly finished. now it was time for her hands to move, though she kept one in august’s hair tightly. ❛ i’m going to eat you up, until all you can think about— is how good you feel. ❜
palm over her throat and chest, tugging down the front of her dress, and her mouth at her nipples, & this dress valiantly battled away long enough for her thumb to find the focal point of her wet heat— it might have felt that her movements were hurried, but kassandra couldn’t feel more at ease with this slow uncovering. each time she was given this, where she could hold her and kiss her and rub her thumb in delicious circles where it mattered, elicit a surrender to impulses (when else did august allow herself this?), she felt the throttling desire to find out every little thing she could about her. what better way to start than by helping her hips roll, and making her breath catch? ❛ my sweet, let me hear you. ❜
🌺 Send this to ten blogs you think are wonderful! 🌺 ( obsessed with this torture sphere 😩 if we kissed with tongue do u think i could get half your talent? )
if we kissed with tongue I’M taking half your talent and #flowstate poetry that’s the only way i’m getting that coin bag thank you!!!
the sad part is i can see leda entertaining romantic relationships or close companionships either: before she becomes a zealot for miquella, or when she’s under his charm.
i’m just going to come out and say that miquella’s charm imo is not the usual brainwashed trope. she is not being controlled. she has agency over her actions and decisions. however, her personality is being influenced greatly, to the point where her traits are being supplanted by false characteristics. she’s compelled towards kindness and care as per miquella’s design, two things that are overriding her bloodlust.
you have to understand that she likes who she is when she’s charmed and it’s why she is devastated when the charm breaks. she likes this version of her that’s graceful, kind, trusting and a good person and she would stringently think that it is this version of her that can achieve something close to love and friendship. i think this is also why she just, thoughtlessly accepts the tarnished. she is unable to be suspicious because of the charm and welcomes the tarnished open handedly.
the second the charm is off? she is back to who she really is, the person she has gone unfathomable lengths to subdue. she is someone who does not comprehend that there is another way or why ansbach would fight against this supposedly brilliant charm to be authentic. and that zealotry, that narrow-mindedness hopelessness, is why she turns on everyone. not just the tarnished but her own travelling companions. and even the elite needle knights miquella himself chose.
it'd seem they were, in equal shares, gluttons for desire and despair. as evidenced by the artful glint of her smile, edging towards him like the point of a blade— spoiled from his bleeding confessions, and yet no less poised to twist him for more. a gentleman might have been shocked by the contrived tantrums of a such a well-bred lady, and certainly abhorred her hidden delight over one so debased in his affection; and yet— though koschei grew silent, eyes narrowed and vexed— he could not deny @yharnum had cleaved his heart bare in the act. the rotten thing felt as if it would pry open it's leathery, blood-rooted coat. wound through the air. follow her anywhere. for he could not have found a more perfect match nor adored her any more than by the charm of her treacheries. driven always by love or some other madness twin to his own.
❛❛ just you . . . ❜❜ he echoes, almost amused, despite the pervading melancholy of the matter. ❛❛ — and how harmless you are. ❜❜ promising he would not be hunted while she speaks to him with all the honeyed offerings of a sundew. determined to both quell her loneliness and make the cup of her hand his final resting ground. just tonight, she says, though it would doubtlessly become several more. for both their sakes, he's already decided not to fall for the idea, but —
❛❛ i could stay for a dream. ❜❜ fretting a stray curl away from her dark brow, the upyr comes to graze and linger over the quickening flush at her ear, marveling at how her blood rushes to answer his every touch. ❛❛ will you tell me about one of yours ? ❜❜ it'd be a welcomed distraction, where he laments to admit that in all his dreaming and nightmaring alike, he settles too frequently on the thought of how easy it'd be to pierce and peel her like the skin of a fruit.
❛❛ i've often wondered how i might kiss you there. ❜❜ perhaps sweetly ? as any other marmaladed man from the ton would, if given the chance he had now? koschei could be terribly sweet. especially when his mouth finally bends to meet and consume hers as though it were a feather-light thing, burning slowly at the edges. but he knows her heart better, and too quickly comes a need for the contrary; the urge to grasp firmly at her hair, sink his kisses down through the center column of her throat, her collar, her sternum — where he then has the delirious suggestion of undoing the strings of her nightgown with his teeth.
❛❛ no, no, that can't be right. ❜❜ he murmurs in a taunting retreat, ❛❛ a london girl like you would never dream of that. ❜❜ the affront is punctuated by the weeping sleeve he sets chaste, and a crooked smile — which wonders if she may reconsider his not being hated here. however briefly.
harmless, her eyes seemed to say, widening with acceptance of a naive and foolish name. yes, but of course; she could be harmless as a herb, harmless without all those toxins, harmless as long as she was party to the very thing rotting his veins. she could know the ins and outs of his bloodstream and reach the palace where decisions were made. find a lever, pull it hard as a brute, & wash him with the perfume she preferred. with the way her eyes moved innocuously and with no shortage of mischief, she sought to make it appear as if her desire for his company was a small thing. what couldn’t a man with his focus afford? yet he is privy to her duplicitous mouth, how she softens words with cunning and intention, to make it appear as if the very idea had been his own to begin with.
perhaps she has endured the company of self serving men for far too long, & acts out of habit, anticipating their moves. perhaps he is no less self serving but he has what they had not: unparalleled obsession, and its white-light focus settled on her face. this is what she finds herself unfamiliar with as they play.
distractedly she heeds him. her eyes have become fascinated once more by the way his mouth hovers and moves so close to her own. she is sound of speech yet her body betrays her with minor transgressions; the blood has reached her ears, & warms each tender bit of skin that his wandering hand caresses. even her hair, which is a dark black from her father, appears to her reddish now in the dim light. biting her lower lip briefly, farah thinks back on her dreams. ❛ i could, but i may not have the words. it is not the sort of dream to endear you to me. ❜ but she suspects he knows the contents of her most unladylike turmoils, if by the way he is hardly discouraged from seeking her out after the fact.
❛ have you? in your dreams, do you— ❜ her words stagger like a shot knee. his mouth curtains over her own suddenly, & her hands jump from where she had folded them at the small of her back. her spine presses into the wall and her fingers curl into the sleeves of his shirt. but no sooner had she begun to kiss back, reaching on the tips of her toes and gasping into his sweet and delirious mouth, that he thinks to pull away from her at all. a london girl, he says, and her mind snaps erratically; what did he know of london girls to speak of them in such a way? her brow furrows, vexed by the taunt he had no doubt intended to startle her with.
finally, farah steps closer, then past him, her shoulder knocking into his on her way. her voice when she speaks is untouched by the acidic annoyance she truly feels, bright & unburdened as if he were her favourite fool to gossip with. ❛ oh, are you sure it’s london girls you’re thinking of? and not your girls from surrey? or blackpool? god, they’re so dull. ❜ she whirls on him now, pulling the satin fabric of her night gown close, her arms folded. ❛ ah, but all you gentlemen in london have a taste for scraps. how could i blame you, my love? ❜
with a bounce of her shoulders, utter glee, she grins at him with no shortage of spite. then, warningly as the short distance between them burns rather than cools: ❛ kostya, i can play this game all night. ❜
and suddenly, she's hefted into the air by a pair of muscular arms, hoisted up and hauled (with an incredible amount of grace) over to kassandra's tent at the west corner of skyhold's grassy grounds. hypatia is left blinking, bleary-eyed in the sun, her head fogged up like a mirror in a humid room. her jaw remains slack and loose in her mouth as @yharnum guides her across the grass and through the fabric panels of her tent. the sun vanishes in the dark — hypatia blinks again to regain her vision. "i..." she gets out a single word before the rest of her words die in her throat. swallowing thickly, the inquisitor tries to shift in the hold, preparing to land on her feet in the grass when kassandra puts her down.
"you do this on purpose," she manages finally. there's a faint laugh in her voice as she says it. "make me flustered. show off your... your arms..." it's meant to be playful and friendly, but hypatia realizes immediately it acts as a confession of her feelings. she's deeply attracted to this woman, and with nowhere else to put these emotions, they come blabbling out of her mouth in the post-exhausted daze. "sorry." standing now, hypatia brushes herself off and fixes her braid. "you're right. all the heat... it's getting to my head, and i'm saying things i shouldn't." there's a small wooden bench inside kassandra's tent; hypatia meanders over, drops onto the left side, and rubs her sweating face.
"i think i'm getting better." it's an attempt at a change of subject; get the two of them off the implied attraction and into something more business-related. kassandra didn't come all this way to join the inquisition and be flirted with. "with practice, i'm improving. i can feel it in my muscles and in my bones; my endurance is improving." then, eyes whipping up to find kassandra's tall height — "you've helped me a lot. the other cassandra... you know, the seeker... she says she's noticed my skills on the battlefield improving, and it's all thanks to you." still flustered, still flushed, hypatia uses the fabric from her shirt to mop her brow. "kassandra, cassandra... the name meant for powerful women. was that intentional? what does 'kassandra' mean, anyway?" these ramblings come from her sore throat and the heated cheeks, the racing heart, the nervousness she feels around a beautiful, powerful woman. "probably means... andraste's strongest. andraste's chosen. something important like that."
kassandra had little trouble filling silences and rooms with her words. it wasn’t the sort of pompous chatter that excluded all else but her own merit [though, guilty, amongst soldiers of her own ilk, drawn out bashing and boasts in drunken exchanges weren’t uncommon], but rather the sort that tended to segue one conversation into another. she had been content to do that with hypatia as well, to perhaps redirect the inquisitor’s thoughts & focus onto better, more enticing subjects than the weight of the world bearing down on her.
yet, when she begins to speak her mind, her sheltered thoughts, kassandra holds her tongue. and in her silence, she is gifted a lot more than what she had expected. it takes a great deal of restraint to keep her smile down, her vanity exceedingly sustained by each word. was the inquisitor flustered? ❛ my— arms? ❜ she studied the way her hands seemed to wring themselves, fixing her braid & straightening, as if it was easier to bear the confession if she were doing anything but staring only at kassandra. the mercenary’s grin widens shamelessly. folding her arms, she gestured between them. ❛ by all means, speak your mind. if i’ve distracted you inquisitor, my apologies... i suppose it can’t be helped. ❜
easily enough, kassandra wanders over to where the inquisitor has seated herself. it’s a balm to her own alert awareness that hypatia has finally taken to resting. there was no point in senselessly encouraging her to practice when a rest went a long way for warriors. ❛ you are getting better, ❜ she said, now with a tone that befitted an instructor rather than an insolent flirt. her brows furrowed a touch, head tilting as if to catch hypatia’s eye. ❛ the effort is your own, guided merely by my hand. each time you take up the sword, even if for a minute, your body knows it better than it did before. ❜
there was talk of her name as well, though kassandra hadn’t a habit of overthinking such matters; a name was a name, it carried less weight than one’s actions. she had known kings with names that spoke of heavenly light, yet their character was that of a stupid pig.
❛ ah? hardly, sweetling. my name means better than men, that is all— though there is a story where i hail from, that it too was the name of a prophetess, cursed by the sun to never be believed. ha! strange how that is. ❜ then, stepping closer, she takes up a seat just beside the inquisitor. curiously she watches her fiddle and turn and speak. watches her hair fall across her back & the darkness of her eyes turn up. ❛ and your name, do you know what it means? it is from the same lands that i was born to. there it means, supreme. the highest order of intellect. ❜ she rests her cheek against her curled hand, eyes over the flushed face staring back at her— or trying to. ❛ now, isn’t that a majestic name? andraste’s supreme. a woman as intelligent as she is charming... and tired, from the state of you. ❜
he's in thought - as he so often tends to be - in his corner of the hotel. the blue shimmer of the stargazer, as it springs to life, catches his attention. this is not an uncommon occurence since his arrival at the hotel. the stalker he helped take down the overseer ( it was at his behest. a dignified death after a hard earned victory ) comes in and out as he pleases, so it seems. ergo truly is a curious thing, though he knows to stay away. some things are not made for mortal hands.
nevertheless. he watches the other appear once more. ❛ a moment, if you have it. ❜ he raises a hand to halt the stalker in his tracks. ever the whirlwind, that one. ❛ we've only ever established a shared sentiment towards lea. but how did you come to know her ? ❜ curiosity demands answers, even if he is not one to outright dig for them, usually. this is a very unusual situation, though. so he risks the question, even if the answer might not satiate him.
a spirit whisking through the chapters of the past, unfettered curiosity his guiding cricket. he listens to his fellow adventurer with few words given back. even out here, or rather especially out here, he avoids speaking where possible. p has learned quickly that a handful of gestures with his hands often does the trick. he poses as a mute boy more often than not; to speak is to risk it all, to make apparent the gears turning in his throat, & the scrap of metal that makes his voice sound far away rather than present. ordinarily, he keeps his head down in the shattered streets of krat, but where they have wound up now affords him little secrecy. this once-city has he never got to know it, was teeming with a lot more life than what was to become of it.
a rather familiar face stops him just as he strides for the door. he has subjected this precious hotel to the shriek of sharpening swords plenty; how about some quiet & peace? but alidoro, [with a pang to p’s mechanical heart], speaks.
p’s eyes widen with study. he stops abruptly because it is innate to him to listen. just as much, gemini’s lamp swings wildly at his hip before he is completely still. as alidoro speaks, he realises quickly that this will be hard to explain, primarily seeing as, he is hardly ever the keeper of clear truths himself. when his voice operates, it is crackling with a lack of practice & uncertain pauses. gepetto had not intended for him to have the privilege of speaking for himself, but his head nodded easily, as it was designed to. ❛ 𝚒… 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛. ❜ as if in agreement, the lamp at his hip flickers. ❛ 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚠𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍. 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞… 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍? 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖… 𝚏𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛. ❜
can he fault her in the need to do something ? does he not grapple with the lives that remain in danger, with the desire to help as many as he can? of course he does. every fiber in him strains against the patience a dire moment demands. but in vuk's ears also ring the teachings of his ancestors and clan elders. to the young khan-to-be, they had sought to impart the wisdom in a leader knowing when to yield control. they'd tell him tales of how the ten clans became nine after the great flood; that those who'd survived had done so not by fighting fruitlessly against the monstrous waves that tore them from their homes, but by heeding the leaders who told them to keep heart before the face of something wild and unknowable. to have faith that no matter where the water took them, their feet would find ground again and they would endure.
❛❛ we would be better help to them after the storm passes, viz. ❜❜ already the rain bleeds down the column of their necks, seeping beneath his wolfskins and leathers. a full night's search in the damp and cold, lungs choked in firesmoke— vuk knew they'd be courting death long before their swords ever had the chance to strike a single culprit down. his murmur at @yharnum's shoulder is meant to echo what they both knew to be most prudent, to bid her to rest again. but he sees how the idea wracks at viziera from within. feels her shallow and uneven breaths pressing against his palm— how could his heart not leap alongside hers in protest then?
if it were your little brother lost in the jaws of that forest, could you have gone the night without searching for him? he knows he could not. nor could he have forgiven anyone, if they tried to stop him and the worst came to pass. if that made him as unwise and faithless as the tenth clan, so be it. was it not better to die and be judged a poor warrior than a poor brother? ❛❛ we cannot search the whole the of the forest in this. ❜❜ vuk says at last, drawing back the hold that consoles her if only to grip his horse. catch her eye in surrender. ❛❛ . . . if you were with the others, where would you have sought shelter ? ❜❜
the disaster leaves her numb, her thoughts splintering in ways that make her question much. her training comes to mind first; had yahya not taught her better? the stern man would disapprove, his long beard and narrow eyes drawn back up on his face. an expression that had taken months to soften into pride for young viziera. how could a soldier of the sultan fail to make a sound decision & be guided so by heart in a moment of crisis? she attempts to shake herself through it. her teeth grit together in the covert humiliation that he, a guest of honour and a solider in arms removed from the responsibility of her sisters, should be made to remind her of good sense.
at last when her exhale breaks upon a stuttering, she pulls back her shoulders and her sword hand wavers. the rain has sunk into her neck, exposing the veins of bark that lie beneath. she must think with her mother’s good sense. trust that her sisters, clever & resilient, could tarry the hail and the fire. ❛ you speak true, vuk. ❜ it is here that he catches her eyes in surrender, the pale fade of anxiousness in them even as her sword is put away. he is so close, his hand departing her back to find the reigns of his mighty steed. she looks to him and then the poor creature nosing into his shoulder, and the wet sadness threatening her eyes is put to bed. ❛ there is high ground across this incline. we can set camp out of sight, and should our enemy think to return, we will catch them first. ❜
where would you have sought shelter? her eyes blink in succession, a quiet but painful pinch of memories at her periphery. little dryads they were, darting through the forest bed. all in ruin now, all turned to ash, the father tree & the sister lilies in a grave of soot. the lines of bark beneath her skin now stretch over her jaw, her cheeks, towards her eyes like endless stains of tears. panic vibrates in her chest, her hand reaching out to grasp the reigns of his horse too unthinkingly. they begin to move, or they ought to, to that incline she spoke of.
❛ there is a linden that stands north of the creek. its boughs have withered all manner of terror & mischief. that is where i would go, where my sisters would go, that tree. ❜ the rain had soaked him through now as it grew in intensity, drenching him as his suggestion became all too glaringly apparent as the correct one. her own headveil was in tatters, with a few strands of hair unintentionally slipping free. were she in better spirits, the exposure would see her quickly tuck them away. ❛ you will know it, vuk, it is where i met you. ❜
the memory comes to her as they reach the incline; what a strange man to have wandered so far from his camp, the heart of a guest and the face of a noble story. his eyes bright, unaware of her body peeling out of the trunk of a tree, until the interrogative & amused tip of her needle sword was at his throat. and who are you, friend or foe to the derakhtiyān kazas? it is not until they stop that she winces at last, a hand clutching her waist. the slow withdrawal of abrupt panic has made her aware of the wound at her hip.
