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irene-sadler · 3 years

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severe thunderstorm warning

but wait theres more

a tropical storm is rollin through town so it is absolutely disgusting outside and (mostly unrelated) i was up until 2 am yesterday/this morning b.c i decided to watch the stupid seattle mariners steelheads go into extra innings yet again (tfw ur a fan of a west coast team and u live 4 timezones away so the 10th inning takes place at 1 in the morning)

anyway during that time i wrote a lil follow up to the executioner so nobody will hate me until uh

the actual follow up is written which at my usual pace will be in approximately october.

yw enjoy todays double header of hot nonsense this one’s called

Severe Thunderstorm Warning:

A week had passed, and even if she’d maybe made up her mind, she still hadn’t actually talked to Reynard about it.

In her defense, nonstop days in the saddle interrupted only by an all out battle with a Nilfgaardian relief force and a followup skirmish with their baggage train guards hadn’t left much time for side conversations. By night, the army either marched or caught a few hours of sleep when it was too dark to keep moving. She could count the number of words she’d exchanged with Reynard about something unrelated to the wounded, the condition of the bridges they used and the towns they passed, or the unpleasant but not undrinkable casks of acidic wine they’d captured on two hands. Most of them were just greetings, offered in the morning with his usual overdeveloped sense of social protocol, at night with a hint of some underlying emotion to suggest he actually meant them. It almost made her nostalgic for the days when her total forces were, more or less, a ragged collection of highwaymen with slings, a half unit of Lyrian pikemen, and a stray dog.

On the other hand, she wouldn’t exactly be able to rush to the Aedirnian’s rescue without the trailing, dusty, exhausted mass of soldiers that snaked along the road under the baking afternoon sun, from one end of the flat horizon to the other, and she didn’t have enough men, maybe, even then. A big enough opposing force with a little more rest, a few more horses, and a following wind might be able to take them out. A private conversation was a small price to pay for an army that could probably hold its own in the field, with even odds.

“Storm’s coming,” Gascon announced, riding in from the head of the column with a scout and a thick cloud of dust trailing him. She snapped back to the present and looked skyward. A hawk or vulture crossed far overhead, almost too small to see. There were a few, smallish, grayish clouds drifting gently across the endless blue, and, above those, the edge of a very high, white cloud cover that might set in overnight and block the moon. She hoped she was wrong; she couldn’t march in total darkness, and the loss of four or five hours of moonlight would set them back seven or eight hours of actual travel time.

Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. Reynard glanced upward and then shrugged at her when she looked back down.

“Uh. Metaphorically?”

“No,” Gascon said. “Literally. It’s crossin’ the plain fast, will be in sight pretty soon. Tipper, here, thinks it’ll be a bad one.”

“Lot of lighting in them clouds,” the scout noted, squinting. “Looks just like th’ one from last week, if you ask me; don’t like t’ be out here in th’ open when it hits, but nowhere else t’ go -”

“How much time do we have?” she asked, interrupting the man’s lecture, which seemed to be going nowhere fast. Gascon glanced behind himself, toward a vague, pale smudge on the northeastern horizon.

“Thirty minutes?”

“More like ten,” the scout said.

“Better stop the column, then,” she said, resisting the urge to swear pointlessly and waste a few irreplaceable seconds. “Gascon - ride up to the front - have ‘em spread out, stay low to the ground. Reynard -”

“The back,” he said, immediately, wheeling his horse around. “I’m on it.”

The supply wagons wouldn’t be able to drop out of the wind and lightning in the open field, and would have to circle around and hope for the best, but she didn’t have to tell him that. He could do his job without her. She focused on the middle, diverting riders and scouts up and down the column with orders for every junior officer and NCO they came across. The result was that, as a black cloud blocked out the blue sky and the air abruptly shifted from dead still to a gusty breeze headed toward it, the army came to a grinding halt and spread out, laying out under canvas tarps and cloaks until the plain was dotted with clustered shelters. Loose horses drifted among them groups, ears tilted back.

It would have to do, she thought, reviewing the sprawling, messy product of her efforts. If the storm was as bad as it looked like it would be, it was all they could do. She dropped off her twitchy, unhappy horse, turned it loose to fend for itself with the others, and realized that her own cloak was somewhere with the faraway baggage.

She squinted up at the boiling cloud overhead and frowned dubiously. The wind had died again. Thunder rumbled nonstop in the distance and crashed overhead. It didn’t look good, she had to admit, and she was lucky to have a scout who could read the signs. If she hadn’t gotten ahead of the storm by a few minutes, it would have been a disaster. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much chance of getting her cloak or even a jacket before the rain started. She’d been caught unprepared and there was nothing she could do about it.

It could always be worse, she told herself, pointedly. She spent a minute with her cavalry commander, come up on foot to report that his units had made themselves fast as much as possible.

“Can’t answer for the horses, though,” he said. “We had to let ‘em go, on the chance this’ll be one of them hurricanes.”

“Hurricanes?”

“Whirlwinds.”

“Yes. Good idea,” she said, picturing the havoc one of those would cause. She doubted there would be one, but -

“You just never know what might happen,” the Colonel noted.

“No. Good luck,” she said. “Once this clears out, we’ll be back on the move.”

Eventually, if everything went perfectly. She didn’t have to voice the thought; he knew what could go wrong. He saluted and headed off toward a distant fork of lighting from the ground to the clouds. The wind suddenly picked up again as soon as he left, gusted toward the clouds, then back in the opposite direction, bringing a strong smell of rain and a strange, greenish cloud with it. She squinted at it. It was like rain, traveled along the ground like rain, but it was the wrong color. By the time she realized that it was a cloud of blowing grass and dust it was too late to duck before the mess hit her right in the eyes. She turned away from the wind, got caught up in the stinging hail that instantly followed it, and stumbled directly into something solid. Whatever it was caught hold of her by the shoulders before she could push off of it; she squinted at it and recognized Reynard in time to keep herself from decking him. He said something that the thunder drowned out. She shook her head.

“Come on,” he shouted, into her ear. She let him drag her onto the ground, under the dirty gold cape he held over their heads. It was just about big enough to cover both of them, if they huddled close together. Another few inches and she would be sitting in his lap. It wasn’t like she was entering unprecedented territory; she told herself to not think too hard about it.

“Where’s your cloak?” he asked. She shrugged.

“Somewhere in the baggage train. Where’d you come from?”

“There. I had time to grab mine,” he said, paused, for a deafening crash of thunder, seemed to be out of things to say afterward. The hail stopped banging off the cloth over their heads. A waterfall of rain followed it.

“What a mess,” she said.

“It’ll clear up soon.”

He was maybe three inches away from her. She was extremely aware that the last time she was this close to him she had been in his bed. He glanced away, like the same thought had crossed his mind. Unfortunately for him, there wasn’t much else for him to look at; he was back to watching her, a little warily, a second or two afterward. She had plenty of things she could talk about, and one or two she should talk about, but the words just weren’t coming to her.

If she kissed him, nobody would know about it, she noted to herself, instead of trying to find any. It would be easy; he was literally right there, watching her with a slightly too intense look in his eye. She had told him she was thinking their relationship, whatever it was, over, but she had always known what she was going to do. She just hadn’t had the time or the place. or the words to tell him. This was not any of those things. It was damp, because the cape was leaking slightly, and a little awkward, and she could barely hear herself think over the rain and thunder. Nothing about the situation was convenient for an extremely personal and delicate conversation.

“I had a weird chat with Gascon, the other night,” she said, instead. He looked vaguely confused, like he had expected something else.

“What about?”

——

It was two in the morning, probably, and they were still marching under the light of a dwindling half-moon. She was pretending she wasn’t tired and sore. Everyone else seemed to be half-asleep on their feet, at best.

“Good morning, Meve,” Gascon said brightly, riding up next to her and interrupting her wandering mind. “You’re looking pensive and thoughtful. What gives?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, lately, you’ve been mostly surly and unapproachable. Which, don’t get me wrong, is a good look on you, but this one’s a little less terrifying.”

She frowned at him and decided there was no particularly good response to the comment.

“You want an apple? I stole some from th’ orchard we passed earlier.”

He held one out, with the same encouraging smile he used when he offered his dog a bone. She squinted at the offering. It was definitely a crabapple, and definitely not really ripe. Her stomach growled anyway.

“Yes, all right.”

She caught it in midair; he waited for her to eat half of it before he asked, casually, “So. What are you thinking about?”

She shrugged vaguely. When she wasn’t thinking about Villem or coming up with a dozen schemes and contingency plans for the next day, week, month, she was mostly thinking about Reynard. By unspoken consent, they had carefully avoided being alone together at any point in the last couple of days. The distance hadn’t made her feel any better. The only good thing about the situation was she was pretty sure nobody had noticed anything different.

He rolled his eyes at her.

“Silent treatment, is it? Been taking notes from Reynard lately?”

Nobody except Gascon, apparently. She raised an eyebrow at him, warningly. He blithely ignored it.

“Or maybe you already had that little strategy down. You have known each other for a long time, after all. How long’s it been?”

She cleared dust out of her throat. The question seemed harmless. She didn’t see any reason to not answer it.

“Uh. Eighteen years. Maybe more.”

“That long, huh?”

He had a curious gleam in his eye. She eyed him cautiously.

“What was he like back then?”

She thought about it for a minute.

“Well, I was - nineteen? So he was, what, maybe twenty-two? He was - I don’t know - about like he is now, only younger.”

She had met Reynard at the same time as all her new husband’s other knights. She hadn’t really noticed anything particularly interesting about him specifically, at the time, if she was honest. He was young, barely said anything because he was so stiff with nerves and propriety, and had a patchy mustache he was trying to grow out, to make himself look older. The stiffness had largely survived the years, as a defense mechanism. The mustache, fortunately, hadn’t. She smiled a little; they had both gotten older and wiser, or, at least, less insecure. She wondered what they would be like in another twenty years.

“You’re drifting again,” Gascon said. She snapped back to the present and eyed him.

“What?”

“Oh, you know; I bring up Reynard, you get this faraway look in your eyes and start staring off at nothin’. It’s a thing you’ve been doin’, lately. You should probably be more careful; people are bound t’ notice. Other people, I mean.”

The side-eye turned to a glare; she turned her full attention on him.

“What do you mean, exactly, Brossard? And keep your voice down, for once.”

“Well,” he said, carefully, “I mean, I know you didn’t go dig through the stash we had in the closet, back in Rivia Castle; only two people had keys to it, far as I know - me and the quartermaster. Carver didn’t stir between midnight and dawn, like usual, and I had mine on me the whole time. Doubt you wandered off t’ look at the scenery for a couple hours, and I couldn’t help noticin’ that Reynard bunked not twenty feet away from your room -”

“So?”

“So, maybe, that’s where you were that night. Maybe. Don’t worry, I didn’t mention this, uh, theory of mine t’ anyone. If it’s true, far as I’m concerned, it’s your business. Well, yours and his.”

“Then why bring it up?”

He tilted his hat back a little, considered her suspicious face in the torchlight.

“Because you look kind of miserable, if I’m honest. Did your chat after the Lester affair go that bad?”

“No,” she said, looking ahead again, trying to pretend she wasn’t miserable, just tired. “No, not exactly. It’s - it’s complicated.”

“You keep saying that,” he said. “Not everything has to be complicated, you know.”

——

“Complications,” she said, vaguely. Reynard didn’t look any less confused.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t mean anything. Listen,” she said, deciding maybe Gascon was right, just this once, in this very specific situation, “If I kissed you, right now, would it change anything between us?”

He blinked at her.

“No.”

A trickle of cold water seeped through the cape and ran into her hair. She shifted forward, away from it and toward him, leaned in, and pressed her lips against his. He kissed her back, slightly uncertainly for a second or two, but when she moved closer and slid her right hand around the back of his neck his lips opened slightly and she could tell he stopped thinking about it. He was busy maintaining their ineffective shelter, but she had nothing in particular to do with her hands; she felt the pulse pounding in his throat with her left, ran her right through the short hairs on the back of his head, and let the electric feeling that crawled across her skin and the thundering in her ears drown out her thoughts until, after what felt like not much time at all, he gently pulled his head back.

“Wind’s stopping,” he whispered. She paused, listening for the real thunder, from the storm. It still crashed overhead, but less often than it had before and mostly somewhere far off to the south; the rain had slowed from a waterfall to a minor downpour, and he was right about the wind. It had shifted direction again, to a gentler crossing breeze that smelled like the oncoming evening. She almost wished it wouldn’t, and the storm would keep going, but time passed whether she wanted it to or not. There were a lot of things she couldn’t control.

If she was honest, given a few more minutes, she would be one of those things.

“Damn,” she said, under her breath. “Just when things were going so well. Nothing can ever be easy.”

“Complications,” he agreed, an ironic smile crossing his face that made her heart stop for a second. “What now?”

“This,” she said and kissed him again for a long moment that felt like it would crash and burn if it went on. She dragged it out as much as she could, anyway, until a little voice in the back of her mind started warning that any more would result in them being discovered, or a Nilfgaardian cavalry unit would ride over the horizon while she was distracted, or someone would slip and fall on the wet grass, stab themselves on their own dagger, and trigger a day-long safety brief - or some other disaster would happen. He looked her in the eyes for the second or two more that she let herself waste, smiled slightly, like he knew what she was thinking, and then she forced herself away from him, out of the shelter of his cape and into the drizzle. A hint of blue sky was showing through the darkness on the northern horizon. The army was still battened down around them. An offended cluster of horses stood around a hundred yards away, dripping. Reynard carefully shook water off his cape and frowned disapprovingly around at the disorder.

“About time we got going,” she agreed, reaching a hand toward him. He took it; she pulled him to his feet, smiled up at him for another strangely long second, and let him go.

“I’m on it,” he said.

#witcher #thronebreaker #fanfic #romance #oneshot #bottle episode #mariners baseball :<

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor, 10 (Branjie) (and background everyone) - Ortega

a/n: omg HIIIIII hihihihihi i’m SO SORRY for the update gap fam, i started back at work and have been crAzy busy ever since! however i tried to make this chapter one that was worth the wait…….insert one thousand eye emojis if ya know what i mean. hope u enjoy!

fic summary: Strictly Come Dancing enters its 18th series and its producers, after being goaded by a rival dance show on its inclusivity, commission it to be an all-female cast. Unlike Akeria who’s just here to bone her potential dance partner, dancer Vanessa is ready to act like a professional.

And then TV presenter Brooke Lynn walks into the rehearsal room.

***

20th November 2020

Vanessa is giggling as Akeria sits with an enormous plastic bag of snacks in front of her on the hard plastic train table. She’s looking at them with the long-suffering eyes of a wearied mother, casting her hands over them as if she doesn’t quite know where to start. She finally picks up a bag of chocolate buttons, stands up in her seat and yells out into the train carriage.

“Okay, whose are the buttons?”

“Oh! Those are ours. Thanks, Kiki,” Jan stands up from the two-seater she’s got beside Jackie and behind Vanessa and Brooke, leaning forward over them to grab the snacks.

“Strawberry laces?”

“Mine!” Crystal cries happily, leaning over Gigi from the table seat they’re sharing with Jaida and Yvie opposite them. She snatches the sweets out of Akeria’s hand and follows it up with a thank you.

“Barbecue Pringles- wait, that’s Yvie’s,” Akeria immediately cuts herself off, leaning over the aisle of the carriage and handing Yvie the tube.

“I’m nothing if not predictable,” she shrugs, ripping off the plastic covering and the paper on top to grab a crisp and then offer one to her dance partner.

“Tangfastics?” Akeria yells out. There’s a pause where nobody claims them. Akeria gives a long-suffering roll of her eyes and yells a little louder. “Tangfastics?!”

Vanessa watches Monique give a jolt in the two-seater she’s sharing with Monet. “Shit, sorry Keeks, that’s ours!”

(Vanessa suspects that Monique’s delay in hearing her snack might be because of the way Monet’s got her hand resting on her thigh and had been whispering something to her moments before, but she’ll park that for now, use it to make fun of her at a later date.)

“God damn, stop gazin’ in Monet’s eyes for two whole seconds,” Akeria teases her, to a hoot of laughter from the other girls and a glare from Monique herself.

“Can’t help it that they’re so dark and intoxicating,” Monet pipes up with a dramatic gesture. Asia yells at her to shut up from over her headrest. A little further down the carriage, Vanessa can see a businessman shaking his head in despair.

“Gigi, that’s your fruit platter,” Akeria hands the tub across the aisle, already able to tell the model’s choice of snack. Vanessa silently takes the bags of Starbursts and chilli heatwave Doritos that she’d asked Akeria to pick up for her and Brooke respectively. “Whose are the Haribos?”

There’s another silence. Vanessa has to hold in her laughter at Akeria’s growing frustration. “Girls, I swear to Jesus, y’all cannot send me to the shop to grab all your motherfuckin’ snacks and then not claim ‘em! Who ordered the goddamn Haribos?!”

Asia blinks suddenly, looks up from her phone and tugs Akeria’s sleeve. “Bitch! Those are ours, we got them! Sit your dumb ass down!”

The girls all roar with laughter as Akeria sheepishly sinks back into her seat. Vanessa can’t help but give a little bounce in her seat from excitement because they’ve made it; she’s off to Blackpool with a girl that likes her back, her two best friends, and the rest of the dorks they’re sharing the competition with. They’ve got a Cha Cha Cha this week which they’ve practised, polished and perfected, and Vanessa can feel a little bite of excitement to the cold air which makes her think maybe…maybe this week it’s their time to get a few more tens and perhaps be top of the leaderboard this week. She’s confident, and she knows Brooke is too. They chatted through their thoughts about the week ahead when Vanessa walked Brooke to the tube station the night before, and her heart still gives a little excitable thud when Vanessa remembers the way they’d stolen a kiss in the dark just beside the entrance.

Whatever it is they are feels like one of the fairytales Vanessa used to watch when she was little on VHS tape, the ones she used to rewind the moment they were done to go all the way back to the start. She and Brooke are still focused on the competition obviously, so for now they’re still content with stealing kisses behind the scenes of It Takes Two, going for dates that aren’t really dates and are more mid-rehearsal lunches, long and lingering goodbye cuddles where Vanessa rests her head against Brooke’s chest and wishes she was going home with her instead of to her own empty flat. It’s nameless and exciting and a bit of a foray into the unknown, only Vanessa knows it’s not really so much of an unknown because she trusts Brooke, she knows she likes her back and how much she’s devoted to her. It’s the way Brooke nuzzles against Vanessa’s hair and mutters a compliment about how talented she is, or the way she’ll stop mid-kiss to just murmur about how beautiful Vanessa is against her lips, or the way she links their pinkies together midway through a rehearsal break and shyly comment on how lucky she is. It all makes Vanessa’s heart feel huge and light and fast in her chest, a helium balloon filled with butterflies.

“Guys! Train selfie!” Crystal cries suddenly, jolting Vanessa out of her daydream. Vanessa leans onto the middle of the table to squeeze herself into shot and yelps when Brooke tugs her back.

“You just totally Mike Wazowski’d me!”

“Oh like anyone could miss you in any photo, fuckin’ lil miss beanstalk bitch!” Vanessa teases her, the girls all laughing in response.

“So funny that half your fans think you’re datin’. You two fight like cat an’ dog on the daily,” Asia rolls her eyes and snorts. Vanessa feels her body spark with electricity as Brooke takes her hand under the table and squeezes it a couple of times in secret.

She feels guilty as she looks to Akeria who’s raising her eyebrows at her, still very aware of her crush. It’s not that Vanessa has kept things secret from her and Monique intentionally. It’s just that she and Brooke have been so wrapped up in each other and their rehearsals, not to mention the fact that they haven’t had a girls’ night in forever. Vanessa resolves to tell them this weekend, having to bite back a smile as she thinks about their potential reactions.

“Guys, get in the fucking selfie already! My arm is hurting!”

Vanessa leans back into Brooke’s chest and feels something in her ribcage blossom as Brooke puts her arms around her in a hug for the photo.

The train starts moving and all the girls give an excited squeal of delight which makes two old ladies a few seats down look at them all suspiciously. There’s a flash of recognition in their eyes after a second and their attitude changes, judgemental eyes becoming kind. Vanessa wonders if it will ever fully sink in that she’s ‘famous’, a public figure. Right now it just feels as if she’s going on some big mad girls’ weekend away with her second family and a girl she really fucking likes.

The evening is mostly taken up by the train ride, all the girls having rehearsed during the day and trundled their suitcases to the train when they were done. Yvie vlogs, Crystal and Gigi chatter excitedly, and Akeria and Asia bicker about who’s eaten the most buttons. Vanessa and Brooke for their part hold hands underneath the table, share little smiles that speak both volumes and a thousand words, and flirt just enough to make Vanessa’s heart beat out her chest but not enough to arouse suspicion. All the while they speed past towns that she’s never heard of and will never visit, blurs of green and grey shrouded in the dark of the Autumn night sky.

The train doesn’t go all the way to Blackpool so they have to change at Preston, which Vanessa knows nothing about other than the fact it’s got a train station. The girls find the platform for their connecting train and mill about, stopping once to take photos with an adorable little Strictly fan who can’t be more than eight years old. Vanessa chats away with her way more than the other girls do because the little girl’s dark hair, nut brown skin and huge brown eyes make her miss her own little cousins back in Puerto Rico. She asks her about school, and if she dances, and what she wants to be when she grows up.

When the girl replies, “a dancer like you”, Vanessa almost tears up.

She tells her not to give up on her dreams- because it’s what eight year old her would’ve needed to hear- and then waves her and her Mum goodbye. By the time she’s finished chatting and she turns back around, Brooke is waiting for her with a little smile on her face.

“What? What’s that look for?” Vanessa laughs a little. She wants nothing more than to wrap her arms around Brooke’s waist in a hug but the platform is busy and the other girls could see them.

“Nothing. Just you’re really cute with kids.”

Vanessa smiles bashfully, looks to the ground. When she looks up again Brooke has come a little closer to her. Vanessa pouts as she very gently threads the tips of their fingers together, the closest they can come to holding hands in public.

“I wanna kiss you so bad right now.”

“Let’s do it,” Brooke giggles quietly, a little sparkle in her eyes. “Let’s just start making out and watch how the girls react. Yvie would put it in one of her fucking vlogs.”

“Storytime- my Strictly co-stars just kissed?” Vanessa jokes, and Brooke wheezes a laugh which in turn makes the other girls turn round. Vanessa immediately drops their hands as Asia eyes them both with suspicion.

Brooke looks back at her and Vanessa can feel her pulse speed up at the adoration that’s in her eyes. “You look so good today, let me take a candid that’s not really a candid.”

“A plandid,” Vanessa shrugs back, then screws up her face. “I look like shit though. I sweated all my makeup off in rehearsal, my skin’s all dry from that train heater an’ I’m wearing sweatpants I’ve owned for six years.”

“Still cute though,” Brooke winks, and Vanessa tries to suppress a smile as she relents, shakes her hair out and looks down the platform. She’s surprised to find the train making its way up the tracks and after a second she leaps back, grabbing her suitcase and Brooke’s arm and yelling to the other girls.

It’s only when they’re on the train again when she gets an Instagram tag and realises that Brooke managed to take the photo, and she has to admit she doesn’t look too bad. She’s confused, though, when she sees what Brooke has captioned it.

bhytes: sls 🧡

Vanessa looks quickly at Brooke before tapping out a message to her.

V: what’s sls mean??? x

She watches Brooke’s reaction in real time as she receives the message. Her eyes widen a little and a pink blush appears on her cheeks, almost as if she’s been caught at something. Vanessa watches her fingers hover over the screen, typing against the air as she tries to figure out how to reply. Eventually, Vanessa’s phone buzzes again.

B: Oh I meant to type sis!!!! Silly typo x

Vanessa narrows her eyes- she’s not buying that for a second. Sure enough as she goes back to Brooke’s Instagram page there’s a small “Edited” beside her caption, and it now reads what Brooke had just told her she’d allegedly meant to type. Feeling a little guilty for snooping, Vanessa scrolls through the comments- there’s one from Yvie already, and another from Jackie, and some from Brooke’s friends and colleagues of course, but eventually she reaches the fans.

branjie2020: SHE EDITED IT IM-

strictlybranjie: Brooke we see u girl

brookelynnbites: not little mix secret love song…………

Intrigued, Vanessa looks up the lyrics and instantly she knows why Brooke had been shy with her. Now blushing herself, Vanessa puts her phone face down on the table and loses herself in thought. She thinks about the lyrics. Why can’t I say that I’m in love…it’s just a song, Brooke probably just meant the sentiment generally, but still. Vanessa can’t help but wonder if maybe they could make something of whatever it is that they are, a fling between two members of a TV show. Maybe they’ll be together when this is all over, and maybe…well. Vanessa hasn’t told anyone that she loves them like that since Kameron, and it would be a big deal if she said it to somebody else again. She’s not falling for Brooke yet; that would be ridiculous, especially given that they’ve not even so much as seen each other naked, but all Vanessa knows is that she really likes her, cares for her so much that it almost scares her, and whenever she’s around Vanessa feels as if she’s levitating.

Vanessa puts her jacket over her lap and wordlessly takes Brooke’s hand underneath it. She doesn’t miss the smile on Brooke’s face when she squeezes it reassuringly.

They all eventually reach Blackpool, the windy seaside weather and the sound of the seagulls greeting them as soon as they’re out of the train station. Their hotel isn’t far from the Tower Ballroom and Vanessa’s glad that they’re not staying at some run down B&B although the BBC, always eager to cut costs wherever they can, has booked them all in with each other in twin rooms. Vanessa isn’t mad about that. Admittedly after that moment they had in Brooke’s dressing room last Saturday she’s been thinking ever since about how she could engineer some form of sequel. She’s narrowed it down to finding an excuse to crawl into Brooke’s bed at night, bullshitting something about it being too cold in her own and how it would be so much warmer if they just slept together. That’s if she needs to be subtle, of course. Knowing how Brooke had practically slammed her against her dressing room door last week there’s probably not going to be much need for subtleties.

“I hope you don’t snore,” Brooke laughs, rolling her suitcase out of the lift and onto the carpet of the hotel corridors. Vanessa lets out an incredulous snort.

“Bitch! Do I seem like the kinda girl who snores? I’m insulted.”

“No, that’s true. I need to worry about you talking in your sleep instead. The loudest girl in the fucking cast,” Brooke laughs, Vanessa kicking a leg forward to knock Brooke’s suitcase off-balance as revenge. Even though it wobbles on its wheels, Brooke is undeterred. “I’m going to be trying to get to sleep and just as I think I’m drifting off all I’ll here is…AN’ FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT!”

“Shut up,” Vanessa giggles, giving Brooke a push as they both arrive in front of the hotel room door. Brooke presses the key card to the pad and walks in first, and Vanessa is too busy struggling with her case to gauge her reaction at first. That is until Brooke turns around from the spot she’s rooted to in the middle of the room.

“Oh.”

Vanessa frowns. She doesn’t really know why Brooke’s grown so awkward and quiet all of a sudden until she takes three steps forward and can see their room properly.

‘Oh’ is right. Because there, in the middle of their room, is a double bed. No, not double. King-sized, a king-sized fucking bed that’s probably the size of a small country village and is just for the two of them. All Vanessa’s plans go out the window because this is…new, and unknown territory. A quick makeout session in Brooke’s dressing room is one thing but the two of them haven’t even stayed over at either of their flats yet, they’ve never shared a bed in any context before. Vanessa bites her lip.

“Well…” Brooke says finally, trails off. Vanessa realises that she’s not going to finish her sentence.

“Um. I can go down and get ‘em to change it?” she offers, regretting it as soon as she’s said it because despite it all being new territory she’s not exactly opposed to it.

“No! No, it’s fine,” Brooke says- a little too quickly, Vanessa thinks, which causes her to suppress a smirk and try not to let her thoughts get carried away. “I mean, we’re both adults, it’s fine. Plus it’ll probably be comfier, right?”

“Yeah. Sure, right,” Vanessa nods and agrees, trying not to seem too eager.

It’s late by that point, so the pair of them unpack, trying to chat easily but the elephant in the room shaped like a king-sized bed is still very much present. Vanessa showers before bed and changes into her pyjamas, a little embarrassed at how scruffy her small black cami top and mid-length bottoms are. When Brooke comes back from her own shower, though, already changed into her pyjama set, Vanessa’s mouth dries up. She’s dressed in a matching set made up of a little pink satin shirt and shorts, the black cording at the hem of which is only drawing Vanessa’s eyes to Brooke’s thighs and not at all helping the bed situation.

Brooke clearly sees her looking and raises an eyebrow. “Cute, right?”

Vanessa snaps out of her daze. “What?”

“The pyjamas. They’re from like…Asos or Missguided or something? One of them,” she replies, hopping into bed and under the covers on the other side. Vanessa inches away from her a little, careful not to make their bodies touch because this is different to dancing and it’s not as simple as just being able to wrap her body around Brooke’s or make some stupid move because there’s no performance high or adrenaline or alcohol, it’s just…them. The pair of them in the same bed with the silence of the room surrounding them and the dark of the night outside hidden from view by the blinds Vanessa pulled down. As Brooke gives her a quick kiss and leans over to her side of the bed to turn the light off, she gives a quick look back to Vanessa.

“Night, babe.”

Vanessa gives a small, nervous smile back as she says goodnight. They shuffle under the covers to get comfortable and the silence falls again. Vanessa should say something, do something, reach out and take Brooke’s hand or lean in again. But everything is new and different and the time just isn’t right and she has no idea if Brooke even wants to go there with her yet, so instead she closes her eyes and attempts to sleep.

But in the morning, things are different. The moment Vanessa stirs she can tell there’s something in the air. She blinks open her eyes, the sun peeking through the slats of the blinds already too bright. That’s not it, though. That’s not what’s different.

And then as she gains a little bit more consciousness it hits her like a ton of bricks.

Brooke’s leg is thrown over her thigh, her arm around her waist, and her body is pressed up against hers. Vanessa feels a little tingle flash between her legs. For one thing, it’s cute that Brooke’s sought Vanessa out to cuddle during the night- whether she was asleep or awake for that decision Vanessa doesn’t know, but it’s nice either way. But on the other hand, Brooke’s little satin shorts have risen up to expose most of her thigh, and it’s not helping Vanessa think rationally right now.

Slowly, Vanessa starts tracing soft patterns on Brooke’s arm in a bid to wake her up: little figures of eight, then her name, then love hearts because if Brooke’s asleep she can’t work out that that’s what they are. Brooke’s leg shifts against her, and Vanessa can feel a heat against her thigh which she can’t decide whether or not helps or worsens the situation she’s in. Just then, she feels Brooke’s thumb give a little movement, a small stroke against the skin of Vanessa’s stomach where her cami top has risen up during the night. When her thumb moves again, Vanessa knows she’s woken up.

Neither of them have spoken yet and Brooke’s still stroking at her stomach, so Vanessa shuffles back in her arms just in case she’s still half asleep. She hears Brooke give a stifled yawn on the pillow behind her, hears her breathing shallow out. She’s awake, so Vanessa can take things up a gear. She moves her fingers from her arm to Brooke’s thigh, keeping her touch light and gentle as she traces a little patch of skin just at the outside. She feels Brooke shift against her in response, tries not to think too much about her thighs or what’s in between them because she knows she’ll overwhelm herself, flip round to straddle her and end up begging her to make her come apart. This moment is good. It’s gentle and tense all at once, the pair of them just touching and teasing each other, a mutual understanding even though nothing’s been said. This is different to last night- there’s no awkwardness, there’s no tentativeness, there’s just Brooke’s body wrapped around Vanessa’s and there’s only so many places that situation can lead.

Vanessa feels Brooke press a small kiss to her shoulder blade and it makes her heart flutter, a hummingbird caged in her ribs. Brooke’s fingers trail a little higher to stroke under the material of her top and Vanessa feels herself melt. She wiggles in Brooke’s lap, knowing how it’ll drive her crazy given the amount of comments the girl’s made about how much she loves her ass and how completely obvious she’s made it. In response, Vanessa feels Brooke sigh against her neck, kissing it once, twice, three times.

Vanessa feels her resolve cracking so she traces a little higher on Brooke’s leg, decides to break the silence. She tries to keep the smirk out of her voice but it’s hard when Brooke bucks against her thigh again. “Good morning.”

Brooke gives a little whine against her neck which makes Vanessa press her thighs together, raising her own hips in an attempt to gain some sort of friction. “Morning.”

Vanessa presses her lips together in a suppressed smile, her next move falling into place in her head. “Y’know, I think I’m gonna get up an’ start gettin’ ready.”

“No,” Brooke whines, the arm around her waist pulling her closer, and Vanessa can hear the pout in her voice. She feels Brooke rub against her thigh again and it’s almost impeding her ability to think straight at this point.

She’s having fun winding her up though and she knows she’ll be able to have Brooke begging for her if she keeps it up, so she attempts to turn around a little to face her. She can’t really manage it, but she doesn’t mind too much. She just wants to see Brooke’s face when she delivers her next line, keeps her tone light and ever-so-slightly mocking. “Why not, boo?”

Vanessa decides to shuffle round, can hear Brooke whine in frustration now that she no longer has something to grind against. When she sees Brooke blushing, biting her lip with her hand now pressed between her thighs, it’s the hottest thing Vanessa has seen in probably years.

Brooke’s still not answered- instead she’s trying to shuffle close to Vanessa, presumably to kiss her, but Vanessa’s enjoying her moment of being in charge, so she lays her hand against Brooke’s chest to stop her and narrows her eyes. “Uh-uh. You gotta tell me why I shouldn’t leave this bed.”

Brooke only blushes harder, and Vanessa’s knocked for six. Brooke is actually shy. This confident, stone-cold goddess is getting embarrassed at the prospect of talking dirty to Vanessa in bed.

Vanessa’s brain is hotwiring.

“Don’t go quiet on me, princess,” Vanessa murmurs, bringing her other hand down to stroke at Brooke’s exposed skin again, this time against the visible strip of her inner thigh. “Can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me what it is.”

“Please…kiss me, fuck-”

Brooke’s barely got the words out when Vanessa bridges the gap between them, meets Brooke’s lips with her own and kisses her softly and gently. She knows Brooke wants more, knows she’s getting herself worked up beside her but Vanessa’s enjoying having the power for now because knowing Brooke it won’t be long before she tries to take it back. When Vanessa pulls away Brooke is pouting, all disappointed that Vanessa’s lips are no longer on hers. Vanessa hears Brooke give a little gasp and then a whine as she takes her hand, the one Brooke’s grinding against, brings it out from between her thighs and places it by her side. There’s an unspoken rule between them that Brooke’s not allowed to replace it.

“Please, ‘Ness,” she pouts, and Vanessa would find it cute if her hands weren’t trailing up and down her waist. Brooke paws at her, needy and desperate, stops to rest her hands on her ass.

“You’re so polite. Such a good girl for me,” Vanessa praises her, kissing her pouty lips and delighting in the way Brooke moans against her. Vanessa strokes her hair with the hand she’s not propping herself up with and she can tell Brooke wants it somewhere else.

“Please,” Brooke says again, her eyelids heavy and her pupils blown. Vanessa feels herself give a small laugh.

“I don’t know what you want, baby.”

“You know what I want, fuck,” Brooke whines, her eyes fluttering closed. She thuds her head against the pillow in frustration, grabs at Vanessa’s ass in an attempt to pull her closer.

“You want me to touch you?” Vanessa murmurs, and Brooke nods her head frantically in response. She trails her hand down Brooke’s neck and down her chest, stops when she sees Brooke’s nipples poking through the satin fabric of her pyjama top. Vanessa bites her lip as she flicks her thumb against one, squeezes her thighs together for the hundredth time when she hears Brooke let out a moan. She teases her slowly and gently, can feel her own breathing deepening as Brooke writhes against the sheets. Brooke’s hand drifts from Vanessa’s ass to the waistband of her own shorts and Vanessa stops touching her, moving her hand to her wrist instead.

“You want me to just sit and watch you touch yourself? Sit here on the bed with you fuckin’ yourself with your fingers instead of letting me fuck you instead?” Vanessa asks her, making sure to keep a warning tone to her voice as she draws away. Brooke whines, instantly ripping her hand out from between her legs and pulling Vanessa close with it instead.

“No, baby, I’ll be good.”

“You gonna be good for me?”

“Uh-huh.”

Vanessa feels sorry for her at this point so she lies on her side against the mattress, tucks herself in beside Brooke and traces the skin just above the waistband of her shorts. Brooke is letting out a litany of whines as Vanessa inches her hand under the material, stops and presses a gentle finger against Brooke’s slit. Vanessa feels herself gasp as she feels how wet she is already, slick against her finger and dripping on the inside of her thighs.

“Fuck,” Vanessa whispers, leans in to kiss Brooke’s neck. She’s managed to find herself an actual Aphrodite and she’s never felt more religious in her life. She tilts her head as she slides a finger up to brush against Brooke’s clit, eliciting a gasp from Brooke who bites her lip and squeezes her eyes shut. “What would people say if they knew that Brooke Lynn Hytes, confident, boss-ass, sex-on-legs bitch, turns into a lil’ whiny, bratty, needy princess when she wants to come so badly?”

“Vanessa, please,” Brooke practically sobs in response. Her hips lift high off the mattress as Vanessa rubs little circles against her. Vanessa desperately wants to feel how wet she is again but she’s wondering if she can wind her up even more, so she moves her lips up to whisper in Brooke’s ear.

“Remember when I sent you that message by accident?” Vanessa asks, her voice a low murmur. Brooke hisses in response and Vanessa sees her grab a fistful of the duvet.

“Shit, you know I got myself off to the thought of you lying in bed all wet and needy after you had that dream,” Brooke gasps out, and Vanessa’s eyes fly open in shock. If Brooke didn’t have her knees bent and propped up then she would probably straddle her thigh and try to ride it until she came because God, the idea that Brooke touched herself thinking about her in the morning and then came into the studios and acted as if it had never happened with her afterwards is just too much. Almost as a reward for the information Brooke’s just given her, Vanessa slides a finger inside her and hears Brooke moan in response.

“Y’know you were the girl from the dream,” Vanessa drops her lips down to Brooke’s neck, kissing it hot and slow as she slides a second finger into Brooke and presses the rest of her hand gently against her clit. Brooke gives a gasp that’s almost sacrilegious.

Brooke is writhing beside her, frantic and desperate and frustrated and Jesus fucking Christ if Vanessa couldn’t just come from the sight of that alone. “Tell me. Tell me what happened.”

So Vanessa whispers in Brooke’s ear about how she’d kissed her, how Brooke had told her how much she’d wanted her, how Vanessa had begged her to touch her and how Brooke had got her off through her underwear, and she hears Brooke gasp and moan and whine in response to each new revelation. Vanessa fucks her gently with her fingers and Brooke is so wet around her that it’s sending her into a frenzy herself. Suddenly, Vanessa has an idea.

“And you told me you thought I would taste good,” Vanessa tells her, tipping her head up a little to gauge Brooke’s reaction.

“Fuck…want to taste you so bad,” Brooke pleads.

All her shyness seems to be gone now that she’s riding Vanessa’s fingers desperately, and even though Vanessa thought shy Brooke was cute, this version of Brooke- the Brooke that knows what she wants, the Brooke that’s loud and vocal and messy- is her favourite. Vanessa gently removes her hand from between Brooke’s legs, ignoring the nearly apocalyptic whine Brooke lets out in response to the lack of contact, and takes Brooke’s hand from where it’s still digging into the duvet. Vanessa shifts a little, spreads her own legs as she guides Brooke’s hand between them, and her heart is almost beating out of her chest as Brooke eagerly brushes two fingers over her, hears her gasp as her fingers slide up her slit easily from how wet she is.

Brooke’s fingers feel like heaven as they push softly inside her, pumping gently, and Vanessa’s moan is cut off by Brooke’s lips against hers. Brooke’s kisses are slow and wet and she teases Vanessa’s tongue with her own as Vanessa bucks her hips underneath her. For a moment, her plan to make Brooke come is thrown into disarray as she thinks maybe she could just lie here and let Brooke tease her and finger her until she does instead.

“Oh my fuckin’ God you feel so good,” Vanessa whispers out in one breath, the way she sounds so broken already making her blush and bite her lip. Brooke’s gaze is dark- she’s watching the way Vanessa bucks her hips up to meet her fingers as they slide out of her, greedy and desperate just like Brooke had been.

“So wet and I never even touched you,” Brooke whispers, the little bit of awe in her voice sending Vanessa into the stratosphere. “You got this worked up over me?”

“You should see how good you look when you wanna come so bad,” Vanessa murmurs back, turning to watch as Brooke takes her fingers and wraps her lips around them, slides them into her mouth and sucks on them.

Every single time Brooke does something new Vanessa thinks it’s the sexiest thing she’s ever seen, so the fact that Brooke’s no longer touching her isn’t helping at all. Brooke’s a goddess though and she wants to worship her properly so Vanessa leans over her, doesn’t even bother trying to manoeuvre around the waistband of Brooke’s shorts this time and instead just trails her fingers up Brooke’s inner thigh, moves the material to one side and teases her again with her fingers. She rubs gently against Brooke’s clit and can hear her breathing coming in short gasps, knows she’s close so Vanessa kisses her, deep and fiery and hot, then murmurs against her lips as Brooke’s hisses and whines get increasingly louder.

“You know once you come I’m gonna let you do whatever you want to me.”

Brooke gasps and Vanessa watches her eyes roll back into their sockets. “Fuck, I’m gonna get you back for teasing me so fucking bad you won’t be able to sit right for a week never mind fucking dance- ah!”

Brooke’s reacted to Vanessa pulling her hand away. Vanessa’s making sure her eyes are dark, giving Brooke a warning. “Is that trash talk, or are you gonna be good for me?”

“Please, Vanessa!” Brooke nearly yells into the room, and Vanessa thinks that perhaps she’s put the poor girl through enough so she replaces her fingers, works Brooke’s clit until she’s gasping beside her, little shudders racking her body.

“‘Ness, I’m gonna- ah!”

As Brooke comes, Vanessa crashes their lips together, and the sound of Brooke’s muffled whines gives her a better high than any drug ever could. When she’s sure Brooke’s finished Vanessa leans back against the mattress, exhausted. Her left side is practically numb from propping herself up, her neck is tense and her right hand is aching but fuck if that hadn’t been the best sex of Vanessa’s life and she hasn’t even come yet.

“You good?” Vanessa asks Brooke once she’s got her breath back. Brooke is on her back, her eyes wide and staring up to the ceiling, her hair plastered all over her face and her chest shiny with sweat. Vanessa watches as she moves her mouth once, twice, trying to come up with something to say and failing.

“I don’t have any words,” she finally says, and Vanessa bursts out laughing beside her. Brooke giggles, then suddenly scowls, reaches behind her head for her pillow and thumps Vanessa with it.

“Hey! What the fuck was that for?”

“You were so mean!” Brooke half-pouts, half-laughs and she leans over Vanessa, cages her in with her arms. Even after sex she still looks incredible in her pyjamas, and Vanessa finds herself rubbing her thighs together, trying and failing to find something to rut against. Brooke obviously notices this and Vanessa watches the little flash in her eyes as she grabs Vanessa’s wrists, pins them above her head in one swift motion.

Vanessa almost dissolves.

“You know I’m used to being in charge, right? That was very out of character for me,” Brooke cocks an eyebrow at her. Vanessa smirks back at her, anticipation building low in her stomach at the thought of Brooke bossing her around and roughing her up a little.

“Well then maybe you need to put me in my place.”

When Brooke straddles her, leans down and meets her lips in a kiss, Vanessa feels as if she’s made entirely of embers and flames. She pulls away and Vanessa realises that she’s tugging her pyjama bottoms off so Vanessa brings her knees up to her chest to help make things easier. Once they’re off Vanessa’s heart crashes against her ribcage as Brooke takes her legs and spreads them apart quickly, her palms holding Vanessa’s thighs down. As Brooke leans between her thighs Vanessa tangles one hand in her hair, her heart rate rising in anticipation as she feels herself throb. She waits for the contact of Brooke’s tongue, tipping her head back against the pillow.

It doesn’t come. Instead, she hears Brooke’s voice.

“You know, maybe I’m tired now after you played with me so much earlier. Maybe I just need to go back to sleep.”

Vanessa brings her head back up in shock and looks at Brooke’s face. She’s got a glint in her eye and a smug smile on her lips and Vanessa has never wanted to kiss the smirk off her face more. As much as she thinks the girl is a goddess, there’s no way she’s giving her what she wants that easily. “Uh-uh. I ain’t beggin’ you, Brooke.”

Brooke raises her eyebrows lazily, lightly scratches her nails down the insides of Vanessa’s thighs and in turn making her rapidly regret her last comment because she knows she’s going to be yelling Brooke’s name in probably a matter of minutes once she puts her mouth on her. “That’s some awfully big talk from someone who moments ago was trying to grind against air.”

“But I know you wanna feel how wet I am an’ hear what I sound like when I’m about to come,” Vanessa whispers, bucking her hips up because Brooke’s touching every little bit of her except the place she needs the contact most and it’s starting to kill her very slowly. “You want me ridin’ your face.”

Vanessa sees Brooke blink slowly, the composure and power she’s just built up wavering just a little. Then she makes eye contact again, presses kisses up Vanessa’s inner thigh that make her feel as if she’s burning up.

“Yeah,” Brooke murmurs against Vanessa’s skin, punctuating her sentence with kisses. “But I also know that I want to hear you beg me for it, and you’re not going to come until you ask me nicely.”

“Fuck,” Vanessa whines, letting her head thud against the pillow. She regrets teasing Brooke so badly. Actually she doesn’t at all, but her behaviour is coming back to bite her and it’s not fun. She’s shocked into a gasp as Brooke licks up her slit, the contact gone almost as soon as it’s there. “Brooke, baby, c’mon, this ain’t fair.”

“Is it not? I think it’s perfectly fair,” Brooke laughs softly and traces patterns into her inner thighs that make Vanessa want to scream. “I had to be a good girl for you, now you have to be one for me.”

“Honestly you could be doing whatever you want to me right now an’ all you want is for me to say fuckin’ please?” Vanessa hisses, frustrated and incredulous and ready to fucking explode.

“I want you to be good for me. Good girls use their manners.”

As if to drive her point home Brooke kisses up her thigh and then licks against her again, too much and not enough all at once. Vanessa needs Brooke’s mouth and her tongue and her lips and so her resolve cracks all too quickly like a sheet of ice.

“Okay, okay, okay, God fucking damn it…please, Brooke.”

“Can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me what it is,” Brooke replies instantly. The bitch is using Vanessa’s own words against her for her own gain and it’s infuriating Vanessa as she bucks her hips in the air, writhes against the mattress.

“Want you to use your mouth, fuck, please.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

All at once Vanessa feels as if she’s been shot out of a cannon because when Brooke’s tongue finally licks at her clit slowly and gently Vanessa thinks she’s ascending to heaven at about a million miles per hour. When Vanessa brings her hand back to tangle in Brooke’s hair, Brooke takes her wrist and holds it down with one hand, putting her even more in control. Vanessa can still use her hips though and she does exactly what she said she was going to do- rides Brooke’s face as her tongue brings her closer and closer to the edge and makes her even more wet than she’d been in the first place. Vanessa would probably feel embarrassed at how much she’s writhing and whining and moaning underneath Brooke if her mouth didn’t feel so fucking perfect, and with every flick and swirl of her tongue Vanessa feels more and more like a raging fire that needs to be put out.

“Brooke Lynn, fuck, you’re gonna make me fuckin’-”

Brooke’s nails dig into her thighs as Vanessa comes with a loud cry, the blaze burning her up finally extinguished. Vanessa sinks back into the pillows and Brooke simply relaxes with her head against Vanessa’s stomach. It makes her wish that they could just spend all day in their hotel room and learn each other’s bodies, figure out everything the other likes in the space of a single day.

“Wish we didn’t have to get up,” Brooke sighs against her skin, presses a kiss to her stomach which makes it flutter. Vanessa smiles lazily, laces their fingers together which makes Brooke smile in turn. Brooke’s voice is soft as she keeps talking. “So was that, um…good? For you?”

Vanessa starts giggling, gives Brooke a gentle kick with her foot. “Jesus, dare you to sound any more like a 19 year old boy who just lost his virginity.”

Brooke gives an offended cry, plants her lips to Vanessa’s stomach and blows a giant raspberry against her skin that makes her howl with laughter and curl in on herself like a woodlouse.

Vanessa fights through her laughter. “Oh my God okay, okay! I’m sorry. Of course it was good, fuckin’ amazing. The whole fuckin’ buildin’ prolly knows how good it was, think I damn near yelled the place down.”

“Not entirely great for the whole keeping-us-on-the-down-low thing, though.”

“I guess you’d know, havin’ just spent a decent amount of time on the down low,” Vanessa wiggles her eyebrows and causes Brooke to yelp a laugh.

Charmed by the other woman’s reaction, Vanessa gently slides herself out from underneath her and steals the duvet to wrap around herself as she crosses the short distance to the window and pulls the string on the blinds to open them up. She smiles as she’s greeted by the seafront view: the sea icy but blue under the sunny November sky, the golden sand of the beach, the little rattle of the tram that’s making its way along the waterfront. The smile is still on Vanessa’s face as she turns to take in the sight of Brooke still splayed out on the mattress. She’s got that post-sex glow with the light hitting her toned skin and her hair all messed up around her face like a scribble of a halo.

Vanessa feels a tug on her heart, a longing even though she knows Brooke is hers.

“Welcome to Blackpool, baby. Let’s get those tens.”

#rpdr fanfiction #ortega #bet you look good on the dancefloor #strictly au #lesbian au #smut #branjie #vanessa vanjie mateo #brooke lynn hytes #akeria davenport #asia o'hara

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unnameablethings · 4 years

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Uxorious

(submitted this to Silk and Steel back in February - made it to the second round, didn’t make it in! so now all u lovely folks get to read it! Same universe as Toothed-Bird Grin, but wlw now. this one is also about 6.5k long, so, uh, hope the readmore works. I’ve put it up on AO3 so you can read it there if you want.)

The timing of the Earl of Tabiner’s call was rather inconvenient, considering the ghoul’s teeth were still embedded in the meat of Dell’s good sword-arm.

Under ordinary circumstances, Dell would readily greet him with every ounce of her good St. Catherine’s manners, but in this particular instance, her formidable self-possession was occupied with biting back a string of deeply unladylike language. With a great feat of strength, Dell set her feet in a square, sturdy position and wrenched the deuced ghoul’s jaws apart with her bare hands, arms trembling as she did so. The great lout of a lord stood with fastidious, scowling displeasure as she slammed the ghoul down into the open grave she had prepared for it, driving the sainted blade down through its heart to pin it there. It would be very polite of the ghoul to stop squirming so much when it was clearly downed, but, as with most ghouls, this one had no sense of decorum.

Nothing for it but to climb out of the grave and finish the job, and Dell gritted her teeth as she put weight on the injured arm, hauling herself and her sword up and out. The ghoul stayed put for the moment, which would be, hopefully, long enough. The lord’s foot tapped fretfully, his nose wrinkled in disgust. There was no avoiding him any further, it seemed.

“Good evening, my lord. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Dell inquired through gritted teeth, and wished for a bath and a change of clothes. Perhaps even a decent supper.

“I am in need of your… services,” said Lord Tabiner, with a frustrating lack of elaboration. I had assumed, Dell carefully did not say. She dusted a half-inch of soil off her thick, gray trousers, and unhooked a flint and steel from her belt.

“By all means, sir, make your request,” she said, and struck a few sparks into the grave. The corpse inside keened as it went up in a blaze far faster than any corpse should, crackling and moaning in the flames. Lord Tabiner’s face drained of color, acquiring the texture of sealing wax. This seemed like an appropriate admonishment for his unfortunate timing, so it was difficult to pity him.

“It is a delicate matter,” Lord Tabiner hedged. “One that must be handled… discreetly.”

“Well, if you’ll give me a moment, sir, I will gladly meet you in private to discuss.”

There had been a time when Dell had insisted upon a chaperone for these sorts of meetings, but she was twenty-eight, and had been working at this sort of thing for twelve years. She was clad in trousers and blood, for heavens’ sake, and a holy blade was sheathed at her hip. Eventually, the damage to one’s reputation was irreparable. And with Dell’s mannish shoulders, broad stature, pronounced nose and close-cropped hair, the unwanted attention of men had not been a concern for many years.

Lord Tabiner stood back as Dell finished with the ghoul, reburying it so that, when the ghoul’s poor widow came to see what had become of her husband, she would find him peacefully lain to rest at last. Another few coins toward Dell’s freedom.

And perhaps a few more, yet. Dell joined Lord Tabiner in his stuffy carriage, raising an eyebrow as he shut the door and drew the curtain like a man hunted.

“I have reason to believe,” said the whey-faced lord, “that a daemon has placed a spell of wantonness and seduction upon my wife. She pines for the daemon, and seems to dream of her. She has confessed the temptress visits as often as fortnightly.”

“St. Catherine’s will happily send someone to your estate to invoke a blessing against daemons, I am sure,” Dell said, and thought, rather uncharitably, that this was not something she particularly needed to be bothered for, nor was it urgent enough to preempt a chance to treat the wound that pained her at present. A daemon was a powerful creature, but their primary harm was in seducing good, God-fearing people into sin. Really more of a religious matter than one that Dell’s particular brand of violent intervention was suited for.

“I want you to deal with the daemon directly!” Lord Tabiner exclaimed, loudly enough that Dell’s eyes flashed in warning, fist tightening on the hilt of the blade laying across her lap. “I have had blessings placed left and right, and yet I am continually cuckolded in my own home by this unholy creature. If this gets out, my reputation will be in shambles.”

“I see,” said Dell, though if she had been frank with the man, daemon-slaying was somewhat beyond her ordinary purview. Dell considered herself a fairly straightforward woman, suited to the battling of ghouls and wyverns. “Straightforward” was the one thing daemons consistently were not.

Lord Tabiner coughed uncomfortably into his hand. “As it is so sensitive a request, I would appreciate your discretion, and would be willing, of course, to compensate you for the trouble of anonymity.”

“And what would be my compensation?” Dell inquired, intrigued. Perhaps she would come out of this with a tidy sum after all.

“How much is the remainder of your debt to St. Catherine’s?”

Dell blinked, feeling rather like she’d received a blow. “Come again?”

It was not an insignificant sum - she owed nearly two hundred pounds for the cost of her upbringing and training, still, which would be three years of income for even a well-to-do lady’s maid, and the income from doing battle against the cursed creatures riddling the country was largely eaten up by St. Catherine’s charges for maintaining the blessing on her blade, with sundry other costs.

“However much is still owed on your life, I will gladly pay it. In return for your utmost secrecy and your swift and effective action, of course.”

“I am not certain you know what you are saying, sir,” Dell said, weakly. “I still carry a debt of nearly two hundred pounds.”

Lord Tabiner sneered, emanating a miasma of condescension. “Is that all?” he asked. “My wife has gowns more costly. I will sign the contract here and now, if I will be rid of this nuisance.”

Dell’s traitorous heart was lifting already, thinking of her freedom - yes, she was a spinster already, and would never have a husband, but that was not a hardship. The unhappy visages of the women who had married to escape St. Catherine’s had thoroughly cemented in Dell’s mind that husbands seemed more trouble than they were worth. But to be able to make her own money and live in her own home and choose her own work - that was worth having to deal with a daemon.

“It will take me a day or two to acquire a contract through the proper channels, and I will need to speak to Lady Tabiner about her predicament, I’m afraid, but that is quite the offer, my lord.”

“Call upon my estate once you have the contract. I will ensure you receive the information you need.”

“Yes, sir,” Dell said, and was dismissed to go about her business.

Dell arrived at the Tabiner estate on that following Tuesday, as promised, with a St. Catherine’s signed contract in hand, dressed as respectably as was manageable. There was not much to be done about her hair or the scars or her unsightly complexion, but she had scraped herself into impeccable tidiness and a dress that had fit perfectly well when she was eighteen, but not so much anymore. It strained uncomfortably at the muscle of her arms, irritating the bandaged wound.

Immediately upon being admitted to the small, informal sitting room, it was clear that Lady Tabiner was beautiful, but her posture next to her husband was arched slightly away from him, collapsed into herself like a cowering dog. She looked for all the world like a terrified, scolded child, and the helpless anger that struck Dell was an old and familiar one. Dell had not assumed that a man like Lord Tabiner would be very forgiving of such rampant infidelity, but regardless of the poor gentlewoman’s sins, it was difficult for Dell to see a woman suffer and not long to come to her aid.

"Sir," Dell said, quietly, a greeting less polite than originally intended, and proffered the contract to Lord Tabiner. He signed it with barely a scan of the contents, which would be almost insulting, if it were not for the sheer amount of money. Dell was hardly going to complain if a wealthy man was less careful of his money than he should be. She almost wished she were planning to scam him, the wretched man.

“Thank you, sir,” Dell said, retrieving the contract. “Now, if I may speak to your wife in private, please?”

“Absolutely not,” Lord Tabiner puffed, chest swelling. He was a tall man, but Dell was a tall woman, and she did not flinch. She waited for him to finish, and then repeated herself.

“If I may speak to your wife in private, please?” she asked in the same neutral intonation. “Sensitive matters, you understand, of a feminine persuasion.”

Eventually, Lord Tabiner was convinced to vacate the premises, and left with a grumbling sense of simmering anger that left Lady Tabiner still and cold; Dell maneuvered to put her broad form between the lord and his wife until he was safely away. Only then did she sit down across from Lady Tabiner and fold her hands in her lap, sitting in polite silence to allow Lady Tabiner time to collect herself.

“You’re here about her,” Lady Tabiner said, finally. Her hands clenched in her skirt, her voice sharp with unguarded vulnerability. Dell found herself looking away from the raw intimacy of her expression.

“I am.”

“Does he-” She said the word in the exact opposite of the tone she had said her in, bitter and curdled, “-expect me to fall in line merely at the threat of a St. Catherine’s hunter of sin? You cannot hurt her. She is too strong, and I - I refuse to allow you.”

“Has she done something to deserve being hurt?” Dell asked, meeting her eyes. Lady Tabiner was the first to look away.

“No. Perhaps- No. She is not at fault. It was I who did the wrong, and perhaps I would have done it without her to ask me to.”

“Tell me,” Dell said, and Lady Tabiner heaved in a breath so deep her stays creaked. She was a tiny woman, but swollen with suffering. Dell leaned forward in an attempt to project understanding and gentleness - she was hardly a charismatic woman, strong and unbeautiful and often lacking tact, but she had found that other women tended to gravitate toward her. Lady Tabiner’s fine mouth trembled, and then she began to speak: rapidly and tripping over herself, her voice raw and choked. Dell let her speak, silent out of shock as much as respect.

“I never meant to betray my husband - I am not that kind of woman. I obey my vows, madam, it is important that you know. I should have remained a respectable wife and mother, it matters not how much I - how much he- I ought never have let any of this happen. I knew not what she was, at first. I met her in the gardens while on a promenade and all I knew then was that she was kind to me. She told me I was beautiful. She spoke to me like I was important, and I felt a kinship with her as is only possible to feel with another woman. And she was so lovely. She was perfect, with roses in her hair, and I felt as though the sun were out for the first time since- In the beginning, all I wanted was to see her again, to speak with her, to attain the sort of romantic friendship that women have in novels.

“And then a few nights later, I woke up and she was there. In my room. It had been a… difficult evening, with my lord Tabiner, and I was so glad to see her that I did not question as I ought. I assumed it was a dream, and I reached for her-” Lady Tabiner’s hand rose slightly, mimicking the motion, and her eyes were distant.

“She said my name. Her voice was like a concerto, and her eyes shone in the dark, and I realized what she was, and I did not care. I didn’t care. Not then.”

“What was she?” Dell asked, barely above a whisper. She was drawn in despite herself, could see the tragic circumstances, the beautiful seeming-salvation of the daemon offering comfort, as vividly as if she had lived it.

“You know what she is,” Lady Tabiner spat, and pressed her trembling lips together, staring hard at Dell’s shoulder, where she could not avoid her bandages showing above the collar of her dress. “A daemon. She called herself Uxorious. Perhaps she did bewitch me, because when I looked at her that night, I could not bear to look away. I am… ashamed of what I did that night. Of what I do, when she comes. But I can’t say I regret it. She makes me feel precious, and beloved, and beautiful. And- and safe. Just for a night, now and again. Perhaps that is the spell speaking.”

Dell felt herself react at learning of a name, though she did her best not to interrupt or startle her. The name itself was interesting - Uxorious, to love one’s wife overmuch, an ironic name for a daemon that seduced married women into adultery. It was also useful, as was a location where the daemon could presumably be found - either in the promenade gardens, or in Lady Tabiner’s bedroom at uncertain intervals. Best to check the gardens first, however, so as not to intrude upon a lady’s privacy.

It was difficult to blame the poor woman for seeking solace from the brute whose children she was forced to bear. It was equally difficult to ask the question that must be asked. “How did your husband find out?”

Lady Tabiner’s complexion turned a cold, washed-out grey.

“I was unwise. Lovestruck, one could say. I called her name in my sleep, I tried to draw her portrait, I wrote her name over and over. I was besotted with her, and I rejoiced too visibly in the mornings after her visits. My husband thought I was betraying him with a man of our acquaintance, at first, but he dragged the story out of me, eventually. He was… displeased, with my weakness, but better that it be a daemon than an ordinary man, for at least I was victim to a devilish temptation, and not an earthly one. A daemon’s bewitchment would mean it wasn’t entirely my fault. I… I do not know if I believe that Uxorious has treated me so cruelly as to bewitch me so, body and soul, or if I merely fell prey to ordinary temptation. I would… I would like to know. My husband certainly believes I have been bewitched - I suppose that is why he summoned you here.”

“Thank you for telling me that,” Dell said, with a tenderness and a sympathy she could not hide. Lady Tabiner’s dark eyes were wide and wet. “I will investigate whether or not there is a spell involved, and inform you of my findings.”

“Thank you,” Lady Tabiner said, and then slumped back in her seat and burst into tears.

Privately, Dell felt dread begin to brew. It seemed more and more likely there was no bewitchment, and that meant that when Dell did battle with the daemon and stopped her from visiting Lady Tabiner, there would be no breaking of the curse, no return to normal. Lady Tabiner would be forced to feel every ounce of misery in her right mind. It was cruel of the daemon to play such havoc with the woman’s tender feelings merely to feed on her eternal soul.

It would be easier for Dell to battle the daemon if she could ask around for more information, perhaps find others who had made Uxorious’ acquaintance, so to speak. In this particular instance, however, there was absolutely no way to inquire after that information without causing great offense. Nothing for it but to parade around a garden chanting a daemon’s name under her breath like a fool until the daemon got either intrigued or irritated enough to come and see what was happening. What a dignified excursion this would be.

It was hardly like Dell had any gowns fine enough to show off around the gardens anyway, so she did not bother with a gown at all. As a hunter of unholy creatures, she had some leeway when it came to crossdressing, and she took full advantage of it. Dressing in men’s garb gave Dell a queer feeling of comfort. She felt calmer and more confident, able to act with a man’s brashness and dispense with thoughts of beauty. While she appreciated the look of skirts on other women - there were gowns which truly took Dell’s breath away, on others - she felt only discomfort when wearing them herself.

She dressed in sturdy trousers, armed herself thoroughly, and strolled in the garden with the calm austere severity of a true woman of St. Catherine’s. None would publically call a St. Catherine’s hunter anything but respectable, however improper the manner of their garb and their work, so she gathered many odd looks but no comments as she wove between the finely adorned women and their gentlemen suitors, through the spiraling rose paths. Dell was not entirely certain what she was looking for, but she hoped she would know it when she saw it.

And, in the end, she did know the daemon when she saw her. The sunlight touched Uxorious’s braided hair like a lover, and her smile shone across her small, impish face. Her eyes were a brilliant green as she touched a woman’s arm, smiled up at her; her dress, green and brown and white in a confusion of embroidery and gems, was cut just barely within the restraints of modesty. All these could have been merely the mark of a beautiful woman, but the dazed, enraptured look on Uxorious’ companion’s face was difficult to mistake.

“Uxorious,” Dell murmured, too softly and distantly for a human woman to hear. Uxorious’ pretty head snapped up, and she turned to look with eager alacrity. Dell was expecting her to look nervous at the sight of a woman clearly demarcated as a hunter with cross and sword and trousers, but instead the daemon lit up with unholy glee. She whispered something to the woman she was speaking to that made her blush and smile, and abandoned her companion to glide over to Dell with a slinking grace. A single dark ringlet fell softly over her freckled cheek as she smiled up at Dell.

“Did you call for me, ma’am?”

Lady Tabiner’s description of Uxorious’ voice as reminiscent of a concerto was barely an exaggeration - it was truly musical, in the way of harps and flutes. The daemon was more diminutive than expected, however, barely reaching Dell's ribcage. She looked as delicate as a porcelain doll, and Dell felt an uncomfortable twinge of protectiveness that she knew was intentional on the daemon’s part, and yet seemed unavoidable.

“Lord Tabiner hired me to come and speak with you,” Dell said, stiffly, fighting the urge to soften. It was hardly as though Dell had never met a monster disguised as a beautiful woman before. She knew better than to give in to her weaknesses.

“Did he? Lord Tabiner? Whyever for?” the daemon asked, round-eyed.

“Oh, you are perfectly aware,” Dell snapped. The daemon looked innocuously uncomprehending, small, soft lips parting slightly. Dell fumbled for words that were not entirely inappropriate for a public setting. “You know,” she said again, and the daemon’s innocent face cracked into the most self-aggrandizing smirk that Dell had ever seen. Lord above, this would be an uncomfortable conversation.

“Are you here to kill me, ma’am?” Uxorious asked, easy and smiling. “Or do you prefer sir? I suppose you may make the attempt, though I must warn you, it is unwise.”

“No, not to kill you,” Dell said. “Not unless I have to. But what you’ve done to poor Lady Tabiner - I am here to make you undo it.”

“I’m afraid Aurelia has been quite thoroughly done, so to speak,” Uxorious said, and seems to feel the opposite of remorse. “Is it my fault, when women cannot resist my charms?”

“She is miserable,” Dell said, quietly.

Uxorious stilled. Her voice seemed a decade older when she spoke next. “Perhaps this would be better suited as a private conversation?”

Dell became aware of the curious passersby, never quite rude enough to eavesdrop, but certainly wondering what sort of scandal was brewing when a well-armed St. Catherine’s hunter was conversing with a beautiful stranger.

“And where would you prefer to have it?” Dell asked.

“I have a place,” Uxorious said, and proffered a small, elegant hand.

Dell narrowed her eyes. “You want me to enter a circle of Hell of my own volition?”

Uxorious smiled. More than ever, her beautiful form seemed like the lure disguising a hook, and Dell did not care to bite like an unwitting trout. “On my blood and power, you will come to no harm within my domain, and you will be freed into the world before the sun sets tonight.”

Dell thought over the wording, and then said, “Freed specifically back into these gardens, and I will have your word that no more time shall pass inside your domain than outside it.”

“Freed into the Promenade Gardens, right where I found you, and you will experience no more time than is truly passing,” Uxorious confirmed.

This seemed acceptable, and Dell hardly wanted to have this conversation in the middle of a public garden, so she inclined her head and offered Uxorious her arm. Uxorious slipped a hand into the crook of Dell’s elbow as though they were intimate friends, and pulled her through an archway. The effect was odd - she did not reappear on the other side of the archway, but went through it into emptiness, as though the garden on the other side were an illusion. There was little time to puzzle over it, however, before Dell was through the archway as well, and into Hell.

Hell did not look like Dell expected. Of course it did not, this was a daemon’s domain, not the torment-chambers of sinners. Yet Dell had expected some reminder of its location. Instead, she found herself in another garden, this one forest-like and untamed. The trees were enormous, some bearing fruit and others blossoms, a heady mix of scents filling the air. Blackberry thickets cluttered the undergrowth, and the floor of the forest-garden bore plants that Dell recognized as poisons side by side with strawberries and sunflowers.

It was all so wild and earthy and green that Dell could not help but look around in awed admiration. It suited Uxorious, who reclined in the crook of a low, sturdy apple-branch with the comfort of one who sat there often.

“Now. What was it you wished to speak to me about?” Uxorious asked.

“About Lady Tabiner,” Dell said.

At the reminder of Lady Tabiner, Dell felt her soft, sun-warmed awe harden back into cool resolve, and her shoulders straighten, hard and cold. She clasped her hands behind her back, drawing herself up to every inch of her full stature. Yes. She was here on behalf of the sorely wounded Lady Tabiner, and she could do battle for the lady, even if the spirit quailed at the thought of battling a woman on behalf of the lord. Uxorious’ only response was to languidly lay a cheek against the trunk of the apple tree and casually kick off her shoes, one, two, letting them hit the clover beneath with a thump.

Now her feet and calves were bare, dirt-smudged and scandalous. She should have had a petticoat, stockings, should not have had so much sun-gold skin on display and such a casual air. It was hardly as if Uxorious were not aware of what she was doing. Of what she had done to Lady Tabiner.

“I’m not the reason she’s miserable,” Uxorious said, sharply. Dell’s eyes jerked guiltily back up from her hemline to meet her eyes. The green of Uxorious’ eyes seemed to have deepened unnaturally, and her jaw was set in a cold rage. Dell could not blame her. The brute of a man that Lady Tabiner - and now Dell herself - were beholden to for their livelihoods was prone to inspiring such emotion.

“And yet she is,” Dell said, “She thinks you bewitched her. She begged me not to kill you, and she wept.”

“Is it bewitchment to provide a miserable woman with a moment of light?” Uxorious said, and began to let down her hair, neatly picking out dark pins and combing it out with her fingers, strand by strand. Dell looked away. It felt like a sin of some indefinable sort to watch. “If she must be with him, is it not a gift to allow her some affection now and again, at least?”

“But did you bewitch her? Or do you linger simply because you are so memorable?”

“I think you underestimate how memorable I am,” Uxorious laughed. Her teeth were blinding white, and oddly sharp behind her rose-petal lips. Dell scowled at her, folding her arms tighter, but a blush tipped her ears with heat that she couldn’t suppress.

“She betrayed her marriage vows,” Dell snapped. “That is not behavior for her to take pride in, and you ought not take pride in tricking her into it. She is ashamed.”

“A sham of a marriage, and sham-vows.” Uxorious shrugged, elegantly. Dark hair fell around her face in a curtain of curls, all of her pins vanished. “He vowed to love and to cherish, and he has done none of that.”

“Would it stop you, if he had?” Dell asked, disgusted.

“Who knows?” The daemon seemed unconcerned. “The promises of humans to deny themselves their indulgences has never meant much to me. Why shouldn’t a woman be allowed to take pleasure in the arms of whomever she likes? I am happy to bestow my gifts upon the unhappy married and unmarried alike.”

“Gifts?” Dell frowned. “I thought you just seduced them.”

She realized how hopelessly naive she sounded when Uxorious started, and then tossed her head back to laugh in a gleeful, uproarious peal. Her teeth have changed, two long incisors jutting out like fangs, and her laughing mouth opened wider than it should. Dell flushed, dully.

“Oh, my dear,” Uxorious said, when she finished laughing. “Am I not a gift in myself?”

Dell said nothing, flustered and guarded. She felt herself a fool, and Uxorious’ beautiful, vulnerable delicacy concealed a razor wit that set Dell quite at odds. The sinuous line of Uxorious’ body and the glittering sharp of her eyes and teeth made Dell think of a serpent, jewel-bright and venomous. For the first time, she put a hand on the hilt of her sainted blade.

“Don’t draw that blade, hunter, not in my place,” Uxorious said, with the same lilting, careless tone. Dell neither drew the sword nor removed her hand from the hilt, challenging.

“You speak of your attentions as gifts, but I doubt there is any charity involved,” Dell said. Uxorious drew her knees up under her skirt, shifting to reclining sideways on the apple branch.

“Of course I get something from them,” she said. “But it is a more than fair exchange, I feel.”

“You feed on their immortal souls and call that a fair exchange?”

“No need to be so dramatic.” The ‘s’ in ‘so’ is sibilant, hissing. “I take nothing they cannot regenerate with time, and I make very sure there is no pain. They all agree to it, in the end.”

“Because you trick them and seduce them,” Dell argued, but the smell of the garden was heady and Uxorious’s half-hooded eyes were heavy on her, and she suddenly found it quite easy to understand how someone could lose all track of their vows and the integrity of their soul under such a look. Uxorious’s dress seemed to be getting tighter, conforming to the shape of her, and the shape was odd. Not quite a woman’s, and then very much not a woman’s at all.

“Why are you here, Dell?” Uxorious asked, instead of answering the accusation. By now she was a serpent in the apple tree, her skirted legs melded into a sinuous length that looped and coiled. Her dress was melted into her skin, birch bark and leaves and scales covering her elegant form, a mix of plant and serpent. Beautiful and terrible, strange and lovely.

After too long a look, much too long a pause, Dell said, “I am here to make sure you don’t bother the Tabiners anymore.”

“And if I say no?”

“No?”

“If I say I will go back to the Tabiners as I wish, and draw Aurelia Tabiner into my bed whenever she consents to be taken? If I follow my own will and take my lovers without care for the constraints of your congregation?”

“Then I will do as I must.” Reluctantly, Dell drew her sainted blade.

Uxorious hissed as the blessing-inscribed steel was bared, and the sound struck a bolt of fear into Dell’s chest. Uxorious was so small, in her mortal disguise, so harmless and round-faced and big-eyed, and now as she approached her coils seemed to surround Dell entirely. The smell of apples and herbs and summer was strong enough to choke, the glimmering green of her eyes hypnotic and her mouth red enough that it hurt to look at. The world seemed to bend around her as her long, ophidian body curled and wove. The daemon was so beautiful, so much, that Dell felt tears stream from her eyes without her permission, that she wanted to kneel, but she locked her knees and her spine and held her blade firm.

“Put that away, Dell,” Uxorious ordered, softly.

“I have my orders,” Dell said, and her voice barely escaped her lips, rough and strangled. Her hands were strong, though her shoulder pained her at the strain, and she had killed more frightening things than this with her rough and bloodied hands. “I have no choice. Surrender, or do battle.”

“You always have a choice.”

Dell’s hands shook, arguments rising to her lips and then dying there. She struggled with the emotion for a long, furious moment, silent as the daemon watched.

“Well?” Uxorious prodded.

Dell’s voice rose to nearly a shout as the words escaped at last, different words than she had planned. “I am not free to make them! The nunnery owns me, and I must do as I am bid until I can purchase my freedom. Do you think I want this?”

Uxorious’ small, exquisite face was close enough to Dell that her warm breath brushed Dell’s cheek. Her eyes were bottomless pools of green, and up close, the scales on her body were revealed to be leaves and blossoms, bark and bone and small, glittering gemstones. There were delicate vines mingled with the waterfall of her dark hair.

The myth of adders hypnotizing their prey came to mind, and Dell kept the blade up between them, the scant few inches of blade-width and the sharp of the edges all that separated them. Uxorious, languid, laid her cheek against the flat of it, and though the burning glow of the saint-markings must have hurt, she betrayed no sign of pain.

“You do not need to pay,” she murmured, “for the crime of being born. Children are owed care, and you ought to have incurred no debt for it.”

“The church disagrees,” Dell said, though Uxorious’ words hurt more than if she had dug her claws into Dell’s wound. The sword was pressed so close to the curve of Uxorious’ throat that the scattered petals there bent around the edge. The sword was not so sharp as to cut with just a touch, but if Dell moved to raise her blade, the friction would slash those white petals in twain. She did not allow it to move, even with Uxorious’ slight weight leaned against it.

“The church disagrees with me on nearly everything, and I am right about all of it,” Uxorious said, with a glittering smile. A strangled laugh burst from Dell’s throat, and hurt as it did.

“There,” Uxorious said, and her tone had dropped all malice or conceit, merely gentle now. She delicately touched a cheek Dell had not realized was wet. “There’s a smile, lovely.”

Dell froze at the touch, terrified and wanting to lean into it all at once. The steel between them was not enough of a barrier, and yet was far too much of one. Uxorious’ hand was warm, and felt less like skin than like new leaves. Thorn-claws prickled at Dell’s skin. She was so near.

“Free yourself,” Uxorious breathed, and rubbed her cheek along the steel flat of the sword in a way that made it even harder to think. “They will never let you repay the debt - they cannot afford to let a warrior like you leave. They will only find ever more reason to keep you. Come away, and make your own choices, freely, as your strong soul dictates.”

“They’ll find me, if I run,” Dell said, bleakly.

“Then run away with me.”

Dell flinched back, violently, and Uxorious let her go, though she felt herself come up against the sun-warmed wood of Uxorious’ thick tail. Her arms trembled, her shoulder aching so badly she could hardly move it, and she dropped the sword to one side to look at Uxorious better. A tiny cut on the curve of her jaw dripped liquid gold.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Why?” Dell begged.

“You’re magnificent,” Uxorious said, and her coils tightened slightly, brushing against Dell’s calves, bringing her body a little closer. The sword was no longer between them, and Uxorious’ scaled chest brushed Dell’s. “The church would like to keep you because you serve them well and obediently. I would like to keep you because you are handsome, interesting, strong. You are the sort of woman who puts men to shame.”

“Do you make this offer to all of the women you seduce?” Dell said, almost laughing. The heat in her cheeks was unaccountable and embarrassing, and almost certainly obvious to Uxorious’ close, gleaming gaze.

“Some of them. Often they deny me.”

Dell was so warm, pinned against the daemon, sun and earth and sweetness. She could hardly move her sword hand, trapped in the daemon’s coils, and if this was a plot to disarm and destroy her, then it was remarkably effective.

“I refuse to make myself into anyone’s servant,” she warned.

“You are free to come and go as you please, and do as you wish,” Uxorious promised. “Only be strong and brave and kind, as you are, and allow me to admire you.”

“And where are the teeth in this trap?” Dell challenged. “It is a very pretty lure, but there must be a hook underneath.”

“No teeth. No hook. I am taking a gamble.” Uxorious’ body rippled, brushing up against Dell, and she swayed, intoxicated.

“What do you mean by gamble?”

“You have a magnificent soul,” Uxorious said. “Strong and warm and sweet. The gamble I am making is this: I think you will let me taste it-” At this, her tongue flicked out, delicate and forked, scenting the air a hair’s breadth from Dell’s face. “-and that it will be even sweeter with the taste of freedom, and the space to grow to your full strength.”

“Lord above,” Dell said, faintly. “You’re very presumptuous.”

“Allow me to presume a little more?” Uxorious’ intention was clear, her mouth angled toward Dell’s, murmuring so quiet and close that their lips almost brushed with every word.

“Please,” Dell said, barely breathing. Uxorious laughed, and kissed her. Quite thoroughly.

Her mouth was soft, the kiss sharp and bright. It felt like Dell had never been touched before this moment, and she abruptly felt desperate for more of it, to be kissed and kissed and kissed. Dell fisted a hand into the daemon’s long hair, careful not to crush the fine stems entwined there, and kissed back, at first with more fervor than skill, but learning how to kiss more gently as the movements of Uxorious’ mouth taught her.

This was a remarkably persuasive argument as to the goodness of Uxorious’ ideas, and Dell lost her objections for a considerable amount of time, dazed and adoring. But eventually she pulled away for long enough to have thoughts again, her mouth feeling odd as she looked into Uxorious’ half-hooded eyes.

“Well,” Dell said, with a sense of almost hysterical humor. “If I am to run away and let the church go hang, something needs to be done about Lady Tabiner.”

“I bring her happiness, when I can, but she will not ever leave the Tabiner estate when her child and her family will be left behind with it,” Uxorious said, and her body rippled in a way that made the wood of it clatter and rattle.

“Then something must be done about Lord Tabiner.”

Uxorious smiled a slow, ophidian smile. “I am no warrior, but do you have any ideas, my strong knight?”

“A few,” Dell said, darkly. Uxorious laid her head against Dell’s chest, a soft weight, and Dell daringly petted her hair, momentarily distracted from her anger. “But my thoughts are not the most important to consider, I believe.”

“Agreed. Perhaps we ought to ask the lady herself?”

“Perhaps we ought.”

The door did not open, that night, onto sunset in the Promenade Gardens. It opened, instead, into a darkened bedroom. The conversation was brief, and Lady Tabiner’s desires were clear.

The Earl of Tabiner, the rumors said, had fled in the night, to parts unknown. He left behind his fortune, his only son, and his wife. It was agreed by all that his wife was to be pitied, so noble and brave in the face of the loss, and that the Earl was quite the cad. There were no rumors about the St. Catherine’s hunter who had vanished from the ranks - casualties were not uncommon, and the church disliked gossip.

Lady Tabiner’s smile, these days, was remarked upon as brilliant.

#original #my writing #original fiction #short fiction #f/f #silk and steel #butch #femme #lesbian #wlw

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listlesscholar · 4 years

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Rules: Don’t reblog, repost.

tagging: anyone who wants to do this!!!! and also @detheknyght tagged by: @imperialvestra, thank u as always. This one was fun :>

( reply as muse talking )

► NAME ➭ Linhardt.

► ARE YOU SINGLE? ➭ That��s a bit nosy to ask.

► ARE YOU HAPPY? ➭ I’m not unhappy.

► ARE YOU ANGRY? ➭ No?

► ARE YOUR PARENTS STILL MARRIED? ➭ My father has been widowed since before I can remember.

⚡️ NINE FACTS!

► ‘BIRTH’ PLACE ➭ As with most nobles, I was born in my family’s estate.

► HAIR COLOR ➭ A bit of a dreary green.

► EYE COLOR ➭ Dark blue

► BIRTHDAY ➭ The 7th, of the Red Wolf Moon.

► MOOD ➭ I’m my usual, sleepy self.

► GENDER ➭ ( yawn )

► SUMMER OR WINTER ➭ Ugh. In the summer, it’s so hot that my clothes stick to my skin and I sweat when I sleep. Whereas in the winter, it’s so cold that I can hardly stand to leave my bed, let alone my room... That being said, sleeping in the grass on a warm sunny day is wonderful. There’s something special about reading by the fire while the rest of the world is cold and still.

► MORNING OR AFTERNOON ➭ Afternoon. It’s the best time for naps.

⚡️ EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE!

► ARE YOU IN LOVE? ➭ Ah yes, nosy indeed.

► DO YOU BELIEVE IN LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT? ➭ No, not really. Though I’m guilty of crushes, like anyone else.

► WHO ENDED YOUR LAST RELATIONSHIP? ➭ I don’t care to remember.

► HAVE YOU EVER BROKEN SOMEONE’S HEART? ➭ Perhaps inadvertently.

► ARE YOU AFRAID OF COMMITMENTS? ➭ Huh... hmm.

► HAVE YOU HUGGED SOMEONE WITHIN THE LAST WEEK? ➭ No, I didn’t ask.

► HAVE YOU EVER HAD A SECRET ADMIRER? ➭ If I knew, then it wouldn’t be a secret.

► HAVE YOU EVER BROKEN YOUR OWN HEART? ➭ Yes. I then buried myself in the oldest tome I could find.

⚡️SIX CHOICES!

► LOVE OR LUST ➭ Hmm... while I certainly experience both, love is a far more fascinating concept.

► LEMONADE OR ICED TEA ➭ If lemonade is anything like sorbet, I suppose I’d like it quite a lot.

► CATS OR DOGS ➭ Cats. I’ve awoken to find myself surrounded by cats a few times, while I attended Garreg Mach. It makes for an easy excuse to stay where I am.

► A FEW BEST FRIENDS OR MANY REGULAR FRIENDS ➭ Whether I make the effort or not, life offers a multitude of relationships, some very close while others are far more transient. Why does the difference matter?

► WILD NIGHT OUT OR ROMANTIC NIGHT IN ➭ Night in... Though I don’t mind an occasional adventure, as long as it benefits my research or whoever my companion might be.

► DAY OR NIGHT ➭ Contrary to what one might expect, I’m quite active at night. I can’t help if my sleeping schedule is different from everyone else’s.

⚡️ FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS!

► BEEN CAUGHT SNEAKING OUT ➭ More often than I’d like to admit.

► FALLEN DOWN/UP THE STAIRS ➭ Not necessarily... I’ve fallen asleep on the stairs more times than I can count, however.

► WANTED SOMETHING/SOMEONE SO BADLY IT HURT? ➭ No, of course not.

► WANTED TO DISAPPEAR ➭ Yes. Although it’s worst when I’m either being lectured or when I’m being attacked on the battlefield.

⚡️FIVE PREFERENCES!

► SMILE OR EYES ➭ Both features have their merits, so whichever is a rarer sight to behold.

► SHORTER OR TALLER ➭ ( sigh ) I once considered myself quite tall, but over the course the last five years, everyone else grew taller. My preference hardly matters.

► INTELLIGENCE OR ATTRACTION ➭ Both. One begets the other, does it not?

► HOOK-UP OR RELATIONSHIP ➭ Truthfully, most of my “hook-ups” entail myself falling asleep on whomever I’m with. If I truly enjoy someone’s company then, admittedly, I’d probably daydream about what it might be like to be in a relationship with them.

⚡️ FAMILY!

► DO YOU AND YOUR FAMILY GET ALONG ➭ Yes and no. We’re quite distant.

► WOULD YOU SAY YOU HAVE A “MESSED UP LIFE” ➭ No, I admit I’ve lived a comfortable life. My concerns have far more to do with the present than the past.

► HAVE YOU EVER RAN AWAY FROM HOME ➭ Never tried to, wherever would I have gone?

► HAVE YOU EVER GOTTEN KICKED OUT ➭ Does being sent to the Officer’s Academy count? No? Then no.

⚡️ FRIENDS!

► DO YOU SECRETLY HATE ONE OF YOUR FRIENDS ➭ No, we wouldn’t be friends.

► DO YOU CONSIDER ALL OF YOUR FRIENDS GOOD FRIENDS ➭ As opposed to bad friends?

► WHO KNOWS EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU ➭ If there’s anyone like that, it might be Caspar. We’ve known each other since we were children.

► WHO IS YOUR BEST FRIEND ➭ Truthfully, I’ll get along with anyone as long as they don’t lecture, belittle, or chase me... though I suppose I might have enjoyed being chased once before.

#( dash games )

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ordersreality · 4 years

Text

Crossroads

Ekúi, still sore from the swim and weary from the medication, decided to stay at home, that night. After all, he hadn’t been invited and his big brother can always fill him in, later.

The first thing Second Class Petty Officer Kirk Samuel Hicks, the Coast Guard Instructor, said when Cull got there was, “Go ahead and tie the dog outside. We won’t have room for him.”

Azif reluctantly agreed to play along.

Just in time to hear his name taken in the role call. “Azif i-Sabba? Sounds Iranian, you a terrorist son?”

“Yezidi, Sir, and a terror only to my vitals, Sir.”

“Yezidi? Never heard of them!”

“Must be because you do not listen, can we get on with the class, Sir?”

He called on “Colin Ironwode? What kind of fool name is that?” Then with a little more volume, “Ironwode!?”

The teen opened the door, “Does that mean the ‘dog’ can join the class now?”

“Wait, ‘you’ are Trainee Colin Ironwode?”

“Intern, Son, and yes. And that is ‘iron wood, not iron wad; it’s a weed, not a spit ball, Khurg.”

About that time Captain Madoc stepped to the door, and not realizing the mess that was just made, “Ironwode, what the hell are you blocking the door for?”

“Sorry Captain, I’m tied up for the moment. Still waiting on the Little Officer to let me play with his toys.”

His crew mates thought that was just a little too much, but contained the giggling rather well.

Madoc was still not amused. He opened the door he swept his hand to wave xer in.

Cull grabbed a blue plastic, butt-slider chair at the back, turned it around, and climbed in as best xe could.

Meanwhile, Hicks just had to ask, “Why didn’t you tell me you were signed up for this class?”

“Why did you ass-u-me I wasn’t? You did not even ask, just commanded I be tied up. A fetish of yours, Mate?”

“But, your not hu-,” the man gestured at the body in that blue chair, trying to make sense of what was going on, sputtering, badly.

While Cull patiently waited for the ignition, Hicks went onto the next name on the list, with better courtesy, now that the good Captain was present.

This was followed by what even Madoc thought was a boring rendering of Coast Guard History, skipping over the less popular events like turning the fleet into engines of war during every major military event. Cull had taken to writing one of those Drheigr nursery rhymes when Hicks passed down the isles handing out a booklet.

Cull just couldn’t figure if the man was afraid he wouldn’t have enough, or if someone would get more than their share. The Petty Officer grabbed the doodle and demanded, “What the hell is this?” Without waiting for an answer, “Not in my class!” While the dragon-skinned teen was repressing a growl, “Put that away, you won’t need it here.”

“Um, put what away?”

Tapping the Input Recorder, “That cell-phone, you won’t need it.”

“Khurg, that ‘thing’ is anchored to my skull. It isn’t going anywhere I am not.”

The instructor moved to take it when Madoc barked, “Leave it, Petty Officer!”

“But, Sir,” the Petty Officer whined, “the class, what if it rings!?”

Cull simply grunted, and offered, “It is not a cell-phone. If it rings, I’m the only one who would hear it. Can we focus on the class, Khurg, or can I go home and get some …?”

“… Ironwode!” Madoc barked. “Hicks, either teach the class or get out of my way so I can do it!”

Much subdued and clearly chastised, the Coast Guard Petty Officer continued to distribute his booklet to the rhythm of pages being turned. Though angered by the act without permission, he held his tongue.

When he returned to the front, Hicks asked, “What are the three most important components to an investigation, anyone?”

The seconds ticked on, again to the sounds of pages being turned, without a single volunteer. Feeling somewhat responsible for the silence, Cull raised a winged hand.

Reluctantly, owing mostly to the lack of participation from the thirty-two students before him, he pointed.

“First, blood, sweat, and tears, ninety-percent: then educated and talented deductive reasoning, eight-percent: finally, Anomalous Thought Entities, three-percent.”

“That does not add up, um, Son.” When no explanation was forthcoming, “So, what are ‘Anomalous Thought Entities’?”

“Ideas, hunches, connections, sudden bursts of inspiration, wild-ass chains of reasoning, knowing something without knowing how you come to know it, that sort of thing.”

“And you think it’s that important?”

Shrugging, “It helps.”

“I have never heard of someone relying on ‘hunches’ as a major part of the investigation.”

“Um, my 101% might be a bit fuzzy, but how is ‘three-percent’ a ‘majority’?”

“Tell me, ‘Cull’, how much field experience do you actually have?”

“You mean with the Authority? I don’t know, counting …, wait, is this paid time?”

“Just answer the question!”

“Thirty-two-and-a-half hours, give or take. That would not be counting the times I spent on paleontological digs with my uncle.”

“Thirty-two-and-a-half hours, give or take? Well, I have you know, after eighteen years in the First Fleet I have never entertained a single hunch. Pure science young, um, is it man or woman?”

“Imán, Khurg.” The look of confusion, though entertaining, dispelled any further explanation. “Choose one that entertains you the most, and go with it. I do.”

Then plowing into the ensuing silence, “Petty Officer, after eighteen years you should know that pure science includes both a recognition of ourselves as part of the subject of observations, as well as the knowledge of how very little we really know. I’ve seen people digging in the dirt for hours only to get dirty. And someone accidentally digs where they weren’t supposed to because they thought they saw something, and ‘Dingo!’ a prize in minutes. I’ve also seen someone ignore those hunches and get very hurt. Now, if you don’t mind, I will trust my nearly seventeen years of life experience over your mindless service to our country, any day.”

“Captain, do I have to tolerate this insolence? If he were in the Coast Guard….”

“…I think you would be in chains, Sir. You came to this class with insolence on your tongue. Azif has done nothing to you and yet you call him a terrorist? In a world where that could get him in a lot of hot water? Extraordinary rendition mean anything to you? Pinochet maybe? I don’t even care that you call me a dog, make fun of my name, but he’s my crew mate. I wonder if you even have any friends, Khurg!”

“Captain!?” When Madoc didn’t say anything, “Tell me this, have you ever had a single ‘hunch’ pay off?”

“Just this last Saturday,” Azif replied. “Xe saved a child’s life with it, Sir.”

“What? I don’t get that, how could she have saved a child’s life with a stupid hunch?”

“Story, Petty Officer,” Cull went forward, “the parts that are up for public consumption, that is. I’m floating up there, getting a workout because the ceiling winds are pretty disorganized at the time. I drop down a bit to get some rest and I smell petrol burning. Knowing what I do about the winds I try to follow the smell with my mind as best I can, leading to the discovery of low lying, whitish smoke accented with a taste of black. I fly over there to investigate and notice the boat had already sunk, and a man swimming for Mazatla Peninsula. I’m in contact with my skipper and alert him to my findings. But, I find I am entirely too interested in the sinking boat, and decide to learn why—the singular Anomalous Thought Entity in my equation. The schooner is sinking slowly, nose up, natural I guess if there is still air caught in it. So I open a locked hatch, swim up inside, and there is this little, maybe seven-year-old boy, frightened, feeling very unloved. He says his daddy’s angry with him, I ask where his daddy is, get him to come with me, and learn his dad is now arrested. So, I suppose that ‘one’ hunch saved a boy’s life and lead to a criminal investigation.”

Madoc added, “Not to mention, there were barbiturates in the boy’s stomach. His inhaler was fighting them off. Cull thought enough to grab a baggy and collect the evidence before the fish did.”

“That was just an act of due diligence, Sir, not a hunch.”

“And where were you when you heard the explosion?”

“I don’t know that there was one. I was 33 fathoms over Elephant Island.”

“There wasn’t, just fire,” Madoc added.

“So, how did you learn of it?”

“Okay, let me replay what I said so I know I said it; yes, yes-yes, okay, yes, right after the upper atmosphere turbulence, I told you I smelled the petroleum burning.”

“You must have some pretty special talents to have been made part of the service. Where do you hail from, son?”

Somewhere in the distance a phone rang.

“My mother. Tell me, Second Class PO, eighteen years, and only an E5?”

“Um, nothing to worry about.”

“Good, can we get on with the class? I have some personal training in a few hours and would like some rest before then? We are supposed to be discussing ‘Coast Guard Forensic Procedures,’ not airing your personal issues out.”

The Captain’s personal phone rang, quietly.

The Petty Officer barked, “See, that phone rang!”

Ignoring the charge, “Cull, there is a problem we could use your help with.”

“What and where?”

“Lincoln Street Bridge, the top of the south pillar, a man looks like he might jump. They want us there to collect if he does.”

“Let them know I’m on my way. What frequency?”

“Em-4. What are you waiting for?”

“Sir, only one of us is passing through that door; right, thanks.”

Out, down, and up, Cull found the warm night air a bit thin, but usable.

Madoc simply added, “Class dismissed, Petty Officer, you are on report.”

“What?”

“You spent three quarters of your valuable class time—which is supposed to contributed to these people’s certification—on anything but the subject you were sent to teach. Azif, did he insult you? There, the very reason you are still only a Petty Officer.”

“Well, he kept calling me Khurg, it’s Kirk.”

Greg, who was carrying a heavy load toward the dry-dock, followed by am orc carrying a heavier load, “That would be orchish, mister, means ‘dog’. Did he say it kindly or cruelly?”

· • º • ·

#Forensics #Fiction #Tolkien for the Modern World

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