21_days | 21 Days of Valdemar!

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21 Days of Valdemar!

Welcome to 21 Days of Valdemar!

Put on your party hats - it’s time for the Dead Vanyel Memorial Party! Vanyel is OFFICIALLY the Woobiest of the Woobies, and we celebrate in his honour!

WE'RE DONE.

No More Fills posted here! Post to AO3 or FF.Net and post the link here!

Discussion Post | Mod Call Post | Resources Post

Schedule

Day 1 -Aug. 9 - Prompts! You will have seven days to put as many prompts as you'd like on this post. And if you start writing them early, well that's just good planning!

Day 8 - Aug. 16 - Prompting ends, posting begins! You have 14 days to write, draw, and potentially diorama as many prompts as you can.

Day 19 - Aug. 27 - This is the cut-off day for prompters to reply to any questions about their prompt. Unanswered questions are considered enthusiastic agreement.

Day 21 - Aug. 29 - Last day of posting! All fills must be posted by 11:59 PM North American Mountain Time.
Day 22 - Aug. 30 - Party time! You now have the option of going unanon and reposting everything you've done to AO3 under our fancy AO3 Collection. Or unanoning in whatever manner you please.

(Click on the dates for countdowns; the fest is following MDT/Mountain Time)

Rules

For the purposes of this fest, the prompts themselves are warnings. If you have issues with this policy, we recommend either not participating or using Dreamwidth blocker.

Joining the 21_days community is optional for prompters, fillers, and all interested parties; we have some extra content for comm members, but this prompt/fill post, the discussion post, and the mod call post are open for everyone.

MOST IMPORTANT RULE: Posting unanon will be deleted. This doesn't mean you aren't welcome here! And if you'd like the content of your comment PMed to you, contact the MOD CALL post.

For Prompters and Readers

Subject lines should include the series, characters and/or pairing you want. Feel free to be as descriptive as you'd like. Warnings aren't required, but they also aren't banned.
You don't have to write or draw. It's anon, there's no IP-tracking, and we aren't going to stalk you.
Do not comment on other people's prompts to try and change pairings or characters. Post your own version with the characters you want instead.
If you fail to respond to a 'is this okay?' kind of question about any of your prompts by the 19th day, it'll be taken as an enthusiastic yes, no matter what the question is.
There are no subject bans. You may prompt anything you want.
If you don't want to answer any questions, you can say so, and that will work as blanket permission for anything people might want to do with your prompt.
Prompts for non-Valdemar Mercedes Lackey series are allowed.

For Artists and Writers

No claiming prompts, please, as multiple fills are welcome!
Minimum wordcount per fill is 100 words.
All content is allowed and all warnings are optional, but if you want to write or draw extreme kinks** for a prompt that doesn’t specifically request them, you have ask the prompter first.
If the artist requests it, the mods will repost art fills as an embedded picture in a reply to their comment. NSFW art will be labelled as such in the subject line by re-posting mods. Art involving underaged characters in porn situations will not be re-posted as an embed.
RPF of underage people is not allowed. We're not even sure if it's possible for Valdemar fic, but whatever. It's not allowed.

** "extreme kinks" for the purposes of this exchange include but are not necessarily limited to: extreme underage, major character death, scat/watersports/emetophilia, extreme gore, and bestiality. Please use reasonable discretion, and ask a mod if you have any questions!

For Everyone

This is a Choose Not to Warn fest. At no point will any comment be deleted for failure to warn of its content in the subject lines. They will be deleted for rampaging dickery and failure to follow the rules.

Unanon comments will be deleted.

Attempts at policing other people's fun will be deleted.

Prompts posted after the end of the 7th day will be deleted.

Links to off-meme posts posted prior to end of the 21st day will be deleted.

Concerns are to be directed to the MOD CALL post. If posted here, they will be deleted.

Fills that have spectacularly failed to fulfill the prompt/been posted to the wrong spot will be screened. You can request a copy of your work at the MOD CALL post.

The rules may change without warning in response to unforeseen circumstances, like us thinking of better ones.

Discussion Post | Mod Call Post | Resources Post

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Ty! Super glad this worked for you. Yeah, I thought this was a place where they could meet on different trajectories. Jisa is going to get her shit together gradually (maybe very gradually) from here, whereas Stef is like 'welp there goes my last reason for hanging around, time to buy some drugs and hit the road'.

This was supposed to fit the Vanyel/Blankets prompt, but I felt I ended up a bit off-message so I'm posting under the catch-all prompt just in case! Pretty much 300 words of crack :)

-- "Platonic" --

Vanyel hummed to himself as he worked, the words of Stef’s new ballad running through his mind. His young – friend, his friend – had sung it for him the night before, and he thought that with a bit of creativity, he may be able to split out the lyrics into a duet. He just had to work out the right transitions, and the points where the harmony would be most effective.

If, and here he felt rather less certain of his success, Stefen was open to the idea of experimentation on this piece. Vanyel’s hands stilled for a moment before continuing their task. He and Stefen had altered songs before, adapted them to accommodate two voices instead of one, but never with one of Stef’s own compositions. Perhaps the achingly beautiful redhead – sorry, the precociously competent young man – would be more averse to Vanyel meddling with his own song. It was, after all, a very intimate form of creative intrusion, and Stef might not be comfortable with –

Vanyel sighed, forcing himself away from thoughts of intimacy and intrusion.

He was finished with one project, at least. He tied off the last thread and set the needle aside. Rising to his feet, he shook out his creation: a patchwork quilt, eight by eight feet. The patches were taken from scraps of old clothing – his own, as well as discarded tunics of Stef’s that he’d begged from Medren.

Isn’t that a bit of a, well, more than friendly sort of gift? Medren had asked when Vanyel explained. Vanyel had laughed; he still had no idea, definitely no idea at all, of what Medren had been talking about. The blanket was a perfectly platonic gift, merely a symbol of their lives sewn inextricably together, the tattered pieces of each individual soul given a new and unified purpose.

“Perfectly platonic,” Vanyel reminded himself aloud. He stared down at the blanket, inexplicably nervous. “Oh gods, I hope he likes it.”

Thank you! The prompt tore me up. Really glad to know this worked out.

Oh Van, you hopeless ass. Their UST is too cute. Love it.

Ahahaha writing that part was too much fun. 'Wtf am I doing...wait...actually I do have no desires other than to be Krebain's sex slave. How did I never realise that before? But of course he's not brainwashing me. He promised not to do that.'

Still writing. Krebain is getting even more predatory : D

Thanks! I thought about throwing in some more big-picture stuff regarding how the world would be different if Van hadn't been around to do heroic stuff...but then I was like 'no let's focus on sexily destroying Vanyel'. I'm writing another horrible rapey Krebain scene right now, so hopefully I can update again by tomorrow, will see how it goes.

OP

No, that's TOTALLY PLATONIC, Vanyel. Obviously!

(I love his manic focus on how platonic his gift is. Like Vanyel, you didn't make a blanket sized for one person there, did you notice that? ;)

Decided to go with the blanket-cuddling garden scene from Magic's Pawn! Hope you like it :)

http://i.cubeupload.com/8WhqLo.png

Mods, could you repost as an embed?

Click for full resolution!

So cute! It looks like a colouring book, I love it!

:D Yeah, 'wtf happens to Yfandes?' seemed like an obv plot issue - I didn't want to kill her off, so driving her to wander the Pelagirs for 15 years seemed like a great alternative! If I can keep this going, I think she's going to appear sooner or later.

I'm hacking at another Krebain scene - pure rapey filth. Hope to post more in the next couple of days.

So sweet! The feet sticking out are adorbs ;__;

Oh, the poor traumatized woobie, all covered in blankets and cuddled by his Companion! He's definitely too thin, and those bandages on his forearm...! Congratulations on the woobiest of adorable pictures, artist. :D

Ahhh I love the dark shadows under his eyes, and Yfandes' perfect eyelashes! She looks so concerned and protective.

AYRT

I feel like "what about the Companions" is a plot issue in a lot of fics. "How can Vanyel actually starve if Yfandes is literally right there?" You definitely came up with a perfectly heartbreaking solution :'D

& I am very, very excited for more rapey filth! <3

Awesome. Kero's idea that she's too experienced to be feeling things...I love how you used her fear of 'weakness' and of opening up to someone else. I am stoked for the sex part :P

I'm always up for some Van/Death!

*****************

Vanyel lifts his head from that comforting embrace, has cried himself out, and finds the Shadow-Lover's head bowed over his; his lips touch Vanyel's. The longing that sinks into him is so deep and shaking that he realizes he hasn't felt it since the last time 'Lendel was alive; since he was kissing someone he was lifebonded to.

The thought is sobering, but the feeling is undeniable; he kisses back, sliding fingers into those thick curls, closing his eyes to the brilliant, depthless eyes looking into his. It feels almost impossible to resist. He thinks, with some amusement, that it's, perhaps, how things must be with this particular Power.

The kiss breaks, and Death strokes his cheek again, gentle. "Beloved," Death murmurs to him, and there's a slight tremble to his voice. "My heart aches for you."

Even as he says it, Vanyel knows it's true. Death wouldn't lie. Just that nearly starts the tears all over again. That Death hurts for him, sympathizes...

But it makes sense, just like the strange sensation of being lifebonded does.

For twelve years, he's belonged to death but has been living regardless. His other half died and he himself was saved from the brink of death over and over. Vanyel looks into those searing, gentle eyes, and thinks of the number of times the Shadow-Lover must have been holding a hand out to him, waiting. Observing the agony Vanyel went through to live, to keep living, to continue on despite it all. Thinks of those times, when he was younger, when he felt like there was no hope in life. Now, there's hope again. Friends, family, his Companion, people who rely on him, things to live for and the desire to live up to all of that. But under all that, the emptiness of loss still, the loneliness.

Perhaps he's never been alone. Death has always been at his side.

"Should I have made a different choice?" Vanyel whispers to him.

Death shakes his head slowly, smiling softly, hair swaying around his shadowed face. "The choices you make are who you are," he says.

Vanyel kisses him again, and Death meets him eagerly. It takes a strange sort of courage to start to undo the fastenings to Death's Heraldic whites, to spread hands against a perfectly unmarked chest, but the Shadow-Lover doesn't rebuff him. Instead, he's met with a brilliantly bright smile, relieved and pleased, as though Death himself had been longing for Vanyel and only holding himself back because Vanyel hasn't wanted him.

Vanyel thinks of the life he's lived and thinks it must be true.

They kiss again, and Vanyel pulls at Death's arms, his hands, helps Death embrace him; moves up against him demandingly until Death laughs and lays him back. He hasn't felt so relaxed, so comfortable, since 'Lendel; the weight and warmth of Death on top of him feels like coming home, like finally finding his equilibrium after all these years.

"I love you," Vanyel whispers to Death, and Death's incandescent eyes gaze at him with a sense of what really looks like awe. It's a humbling thought, that Death might be awed by his love. Loving Death has been the simplest thing to him.

(But perhaps most people's love for Death isn't so intense, so devoted, so forbidden, so star-crossed, he thinks. Maybe it tends to be less healthy—not that he can truly think of this as healthy; he's not sure he's ever had a good image of that. But he wants Death's happiness more than he wants an end to his own suffering, and wants Death's understanding more than that.)

"I love you too," Death says, and cups his cheek.

They make love there, close, kissing throughout. Vanyel holds Death to him like a lifeline, relaxed under him, opening to him, feeling Death inside him, Death on top of him, Death around him, feeling Death moving in him until he clutches Death tightly, desperately, reaching a sharp point of pleasure where nothing matters but this: him and Death and this feeling of being one—

And then he comes down from it, and is just Vanyel again, ready to keep trying. He doesn't know if Death came as well or not; can't feel that. But he can Feel Death's satiation. Death radiates relaxation and contentment, lying against him, stroking his cheek, kissing his neck. So he must have.

Vanyel rests on Death's shoulder, and prepares to live again.

I ended up with two fills for this, a sonnet and a fic. They riff off of each other but the individual narratives don't completely match.

Anyway, here's the sonnet!

*

He falls asleep; again he finds his dreams
enshrined in tomb of ice so bright it blinds.
Content to bleed and breaking at the seams,
his only solace is the cold that binds.
Dark wings and darker words obscure his sight;
he cannot feel the cold beyond the spark
of tender hands exposing him to night.
His lover’s claws will never miss their mark.
He learns too late the nightmare’s just begun,
and when he wakes he cannot see the sun.

And here's the fic! Hope this is kind of what you were after, OP. Contains: Bloodplay, rough sex, underage (Vanyel's about 16), dubcon or noncon (depends on how you want to read it).

"An Echo of Touch"

He falls asleep and yet again finds himself enshrined in ice so bright it blinds. In the harsh dreamscape, closing his eyes is no defense against the piercing reflection from the snow, the shattered bones embedded in the ice. His own bones shatter, and reform; he staggers.

No, it is his heart that shatters. It will not reform.

Vanyel stares at his feet, the blood pooling around them. The blood spills red into the snow, and he cannot feel its heat. It is not his blood.

A shadow passes over him, a brief respite from the unbearable clarity of light, and a whisper follows the shadow: You may yet freeze over, beautiful child. Yet you need not freeze alone.

*

His days echo with chatter and song, human, hawk, hertasi voices inextricable from bubbling springs and the patter of falling leaves. Even as he learns to live again, he doesn’t understand how anyone can sing in such a septic world as this.

Most nights the only sound he hears on the cold tundra is his own stuttering heartbeat. Tonight the wind screeches sharp and spinning about him. He closes his eyes, stinging and wet with tears that freeze as they fall.

He listens, holds his breath and tries to still his heart so he may listen harder, but hears nothing over the wind. He cannot hear the second, stronger heart he knows is beating somewhere out there. He sees nothing, though he knows he is seen.

“Who are you?” he says; the words are lost in howl of wind. He repeats the question, louder, then screams it to the void.

*

When next he sleeps, the wind has stilled. The blood at Vanyel’s feet is dark, near black, and frosting over.

A set of red footprints tracks away from him. He touches his cheek and his fingertips come away red as well. Whose blood he cannot guess, will not allow himself to guess. All he knows is that he’s not alone in the wasteland, and the thought sets his desperate heart racing.

The snow muffles his steps as he follows the footprints. None falls from the sky, yet it piles higher as he walks. Soon it’s up to his knees, slowing him to a shuffle, and the footprints grow fainter and fainter until the trail vanishes. He stops, shivering, and turns around. His own trail has vanished too. The snow is blank and unbroken, save one dark object.

He stoops to pick up the feather with pale fingers now clean of blood. Sleek and curving, black as starless night, it belonged to a crow or raven far larger than any Vanyel has ever seen. He should let it fall, he knows, without knowing why. He should let the feather fall and forget it when he wakes.

Instead he holds it close, though he wakes empty-handed.

*

Tonight he stands at the foot of an ice-clad mountain. He is barefoot, dressed only in loose tunic and leggings, and he shivers. He has not truly felt the cold in so long.

Climb, my darling.

Where there is a trail, he runs along it. Where there is none, he scrambles and slides his way up on hands and knees. Tonight he leaves the bloody footprints instead of following them. He feels no pain from limbs scratched and torn. He feels nothing beyond the compulsion to obey.

Vanyel climbs only a moment; he climbs for hours. He kneels at the flattened top of the mountain and pants for breath in the thin air. His eyes water in the stinging wind. “Who are you?” he rasps, through labored breath.

Cold fingertips beneath his chin, then sliding up to trace his jawline. He looks up and is unsurprised to see a man quite like himself standing above him. He wears a fitted suit of black silk and velvet, a misbegotten cross between Heraldic Whites and Tayledras mage robes. Skin near as white as the ice itself, unmarred by lines of age—though he seems twice as old as Vanyel’s sixteen years. No, his eyes are far older than that. Black eyes and long black hair, spilling loose past his waist like blood in moonlight, braided with black feathers, sharp teeth, small bones.

“I am Leareth,” says the man. His pale lips hardly move, and his voice is so soft and clear that Vanyel isn’t sure whether he speaks aloud or in his mind.

But Vanyel has heard that word before, and translates it unbidden: “Darkness.”

Laughter, the warning stir of snow before an avalanche. “That we are,” says Leareth. “That we are.”

*

He opens his eyes to see himself again on the mountaintop. Leareth stands an arm’s length before him, as beautiful and terrifying as the night before. Vanyel shakes, and Leareth smiles.

The strange man—strange, yet familiar, as through a clouded mirror—reaches out. He holds the black feather, now trailing dark-dyed leather laces and strands of obsidian shards. Vanyel stands still, or tries to, tries to still the horror that trembles his bones. Leareth strokes his cheek, but Vanyel feels nothing; the touch is as cold and as sharp as the wind.

Leareth’s smile widens, and he begins to braid the feather into Vanyel’s hair, anchoring it above his right ear. When he pulls away, Vanyel can feel the foreign weight of it hanging from him. “Beautiful child,” hisses Leareth, and his fingernails sharpen as they slide down Vanyel’s neck, caress his bare shoulders, trace the seams of his tunic. The fabric splits at the touch and falls in pieces to the snow.

This is a dream, Vanyel thinks, as Leareth’s talons draw stinging sigils across his chest. This is nothing to be afraid of, he tells himself, as the claws slip behind and down into his waistband. This can’t hurt me, he prays, as sharp teeth sink into the juncture of shoulder and neck. Leareth pulls away with a smile, his lips red with Vanyel’s blood.

His neck hurts when he wakes, though the skin is unmarred.

*

A frozen canyon, sheets of ice broken and rippling high above, the chasm stretching out as far as he can see. Vanyel finds himself as he was before: clad only in leggings, blood trickling down his chest. The black feather swings from his hair, catches in the wind, he tries to pull it out but his fingers are too numb to untie the knots.

Gray clouds drift over the canyon’s edge and Leareth steps forth with the shadows. Vanyel’s hands fall useless to his sides as Leareth twists a clawed hand into his hair, pulls back, slowly, farther back, Vanyel whimpers and bows backwards with the unrelenting grip.

“Either the ice or I will take you,” says Leareth gently, his voice a promise of deepening night. His other hand strokes the taught lines of Vanyel’s stomach, the hollow beneath his ribs. “Which would you prefer?”

He has a choice; he has no choice at all. Leareth knows and does not wait for his response. Laughing, he shoves Vanyel suddenly forward and down, the boy cries out, thin arms flung out to slow his fall. He lands on his knees, bent over so far his cheek presses into the snow. Arms poise to push himself up, though he dares not move. He gasps as the claws leave his hair and rake down his back, draw lines of blood like wings over his shoulderblades.

Raking further down—Vanyel’s heart stalls as the last scraps of fabric are shredded from his trembling limbs. He screws shut his eyes and chants silently, over and over, it’s this or nobody, it’s this or nobody, it’s this—

Cool lips press to the base of his spine, a soft kiss for each vertebra. Tongue lapping the blood spilling slow from his wounds. Vanyel shifts, warms, his belly tightens, he brings his hands together in the snow over his head so he can grasp his own wrist, dig his fingernails in. He needs this to hurt.

Leareth’s silks have vanished, and when he stretches over Vanyel his chest presses bare against the boy’s bloodied back. He kisses a bruise into Vanyel’s pale neck and his hands wander downwards again.

Vanyel flinches, but the claws have blunted into a more human shape when the long cool fingers tighten around his cock. He jerks away, then into the touch. Even in the pitch dark behind closed eyelids he can’t pretend that this is anyone else. Can’t pretend the fingers pushing inside him are warm, or slow, or gentle.

Can’t pretend the pain is not relief.

“I will always be with you,” says Leareth, and the words echo from the frozen chasm’s walls. He straightens, a hand curled around Vanyel’s hipbone, the other twisted again in Vanyel’s hair, pinning him in place—as if he could ever think of moving. Vanyel opens his eyes, tries to squint through powdered snow and loose strands of hair, the black feather fallen across his face. Through the tears welling up and catching on his lashes.

His grip tightens on his wrist, tightens, his fingernails tighten, they break the skin when Leareth shoves inside him.

*

Vanyel wakes in the warmth of his green-draped bower, his skin clammy, heart thudding so loud he fears the whole Vale can hear him. He sits up and rubs at his eyes. A shadow of fear nags at him, an echo of touch, but try as he might he remembers nothing. I’m safe here, he reminds himself, and the thought is less reassuring than it should be. I’m safe, and still alone.

Love this! Especially the concept of him being lifebonded, or kind of lifebonded, to the Shadow-Lover. And it makes his choice to continue living even more bittersweet. My favorite line was this -- I think it perfectly captures that facet of Vanyel's character:

"Loving Death has been the simplest thing to him."

/not OP, but I've been watching this prompt very hopefully since it went up :D

Shallan lifted her head, and Kero saw the lines of her face, faintly sketched in darkness. “You’re too bony, Kerowyn. This is like lying on a bed of sticks.”

Kero opened her mouth to retort--and instead closed her eyes, a muffled, startled sound escaping. Shallan was kissing her--her tongue sliding painfully slow across Kero’s bottom lip, sending every nerve in Kero’s mouth on fire.

A second--no more than a second, though it felt like forever--Shallan pulled away with a satisfied sigh, and said, too brightly, “We’ll feed you up. Make you pump and round and pleasant to sleep on.”

Kero stared at her through the darkness, frozen, wondering if Relli had seen Shallan kissing her. “I--”

Relli kissed the corner of Kerowyn’s mouth, smeared the thin layer of saliva left by her lover. “You are home,” she said, husky and low. Kerowyn detected, moments later, the uncertain waver in their voices.

She didn’t like women. Not like that. Kerowyn liked--men. Eldan. “Relli--” Kero stopped, appalled at how her voice had lowered into a raspy purr. She cleared her throat, and continued gamely, “I’m not--like--”

Shallan’s hand cupped her head, chilled fingers lacing through Kero’s hair, and her thumb pressed into Kero’s pulse point until her heartbeat echoed in her ears. Shallan kissed Kero again, her mouth so soft and fierce that Kero wanted--

“You’re alive,” Shallan said after she pulled away, and Kero heard the grief in that, the names of those who weren’t included in that simple statement. “That’s what you are.”

She wasn’t alone. Not in her grief, not in her life, and never in her heart. This was her home, and it was impossible for Kerowyn to be alone in it. “So to be clear,” Kero said, fighting down giddy laughter. “If I’d been a corpse, you wouldn’t be kissing me?”

A heartbeat of silence, where Kero cursed herself for ruining the mood--her jokes were never funny--and then Relli hummed contemplatively. “To be fair, you’d be a really attractive corpse.”

Shallan broke into laughter, and Kero joined in, relief coursing through her. Kero dragged Relli down to her by her braid, and kissed the laughter from her mouth, deciding that she liked this, at least. Shallan’s fingers slipped under the hem of Kero’s borrowed shirt, and she stroked the hollow of Kero’s belly, tracing over the sloping rise of her hips. “You got skinny, Kero.”

“I didn’t have any food,” Kero protested, reaching out in the dark and finding--she moved her hand, set it to Shallan’s shoulder instead. Blood rose to her cheeks, staining them pink, and Kero scoffed at her own ridiculousness, the tense heat rising under Shallan’s hand over her stomach telling her that like it or not, she was not half so unmoved by women as she had thought.

Relli kissed her again, her fingers loosening the laces on Kero’s shirt. It was a man’s shirt--Kero couldn’t quite remember whose--and unlaced it opened down to her sternum, a wide, deep vee of her skin exposed. Kero returned the kiss, grateful to the darkness, that they couldn’t see the way her ribs rose out from her chest, like a skeleton wrapped in skin.

Relli’s fingers were cold, goosebumps rising in their wake, and Kero gasped a little when Relli found her breast, stroking, then pinching her nipple and rolling it . Her cunt clenched down on nothing, aching for the emptiness, and Kero couldn’t quite believe--she didn’t like women, not in that way! She couldn’t be this hot for it, jolts of lust bolting over her skin every time either of them touched her. She ached for them like a bitch in heat ached for a dog, probably staining her borrowed trousers with her wetness, and all for--

“You want this, don’t you?” Shallan asked, interrupting Kero’s thoughts on how incredibly hot having both of them touch her was. “Kero--” Her hands hesitated, and there was a note of genuine uncertainty in her voice.

“Do you want me to write it down?” Kero snapped, “For the love of all the gods, yes!” Her voice echoed too loud, doubtless more than audible in the tents on either side of theirs, but fuck--Kero forced her voice back into a whisper, “I want to--fuck, I don’t know. Are you just going to tease me all night, or do I get to touch you back, or--how...” Kero’s mind pulled blank, completely lost at what they could do--or want her to do. Her thoughts rolled in increasingly obsessive circles, scattering between how do you even fuck without a cock? and I want them to fuck me.

“That’s probably a yes,” Relli said. She pulled her hand out of Kero’s shirt, and Kero looked toward her, unable to see more than the faintest curve of her jaw, like a barely seen ghost in the dark.

“Oh good,” Shallan whispered, and Kero could picture her smile, the one she wore when she was surprised by her own happiness. Her lips curved at the corners, tiny wrinkles around her eyes, and her smile just the slightest bit crooked--Kero liked Shallan’s smile.

Kero heard the creak of leather and the rustle of fabric, the blankets swaying wildly for a moment, and something soft dropping to the side--Relli’s leather armour, and the shirt underneath, she thought. Kero failed utterly to find something to say. She was--scandalized. Ridiculous, but Kero was, embarrassed and aroused and judging all at once. It was all right for Relli and Shallan, but Kero--she shouldn’t be doing this--

She stared into the darkness, swallowing hard as she heard them kissing over her, and was deeply disappointed that it was a new moon. The scent of Relli’s skin was warm, horsey and familiar, and now she could hear Shallan--beautiful Shallan, with her ice-white hair and delicate features--stripping off her upper armour as well. Kero’d seen them naked before, bathing, changing, doing laundry--but she wanted to see them naked now.

“Come on,” Shallan told her, tugging at Kero’s shoulder until she sat up. They were both naked from the waist up, and Kero’s hands were frozen at her sides, terrified in spite of her words. Could she--would they let her touch them? She lifted her arms when they urged her to, acutely aware of the back of her hand accidentally brushing up Relli’s side, a tiny hardness that had to be her nipple drawing a line across Kero’s wrist.

Both of them tugged her shirt off, left her bare like they were, and Kero’s breath hitched in her lungs, eagerness riding her hard and fast. “Fuck,” she muttered, so soft that she doubted they would hear her. I want this so bad.

It was cold with the blankets around her waist, and Kero shivered, teeth chattering as someone--one of them--got to work on her belt. The trousers she’d been loaned were so loose that they’d fall right off her without it, and Kero’s cunt was pressed bare and wet into the crotch of them--she’d have to wash them before she returned them--and Relli was sliding her hand inside them. Shallan pulled the belt free, the buckle rattling when she dropped it aside.

Kero’s thighs trembled, Relli’s cool fingers slipping between the lips of her cunt, moving easily because she was so wet that she’d be painting her thighs to the knee in a skirt. “Fuck,” Relli whispered, her breasts caressing Kero’s arm, bigger than Kero’s in the best of times and almost huge in comparison to Kero’s starved frame. “Fuck, Kero, you’re so wet for us--” startled, she sounded startled-- “You want this bad, don’t you?”

Shallan checked her too, her fingers even colder than Relli’s, and Kero spread her legs to accommodate them. Fuck me, she thought, in a desperate unvoiced wish--they were women, they couldn’t.

“You always get this wet?” Shallan asked,and she pressed into Kerowyn’s side, her body hot and soft and smooth against Kero. A wet line down Kero’s neck that made her shudder and whine low in her throat, and Shallan hooked three fingers into the entrance of Kero’s cunt, not big enough or deep enough to satisfy, just enough to send Kero that much higher.

Kero gathered her wits and replied, “No--” She tried not to think about how wet they might be, what their bodies would feel like under her hands, like Kero’s--? Different? And succeeded in focusing on nothing but that. “Can I--” Relli’s pet her clit, smearing Kero’s fluids over it, and sending a shock of pleasure straight to where Shallan was teasing her.

“Can you?” Relli asked, rubbing Kero’s clit in long, painfully slow strokes. She couldn’t get off on that, could only enjoy and want more. “What do you want, Kero?”

Shallan pulled her hand free, and Kero flushed red at how wet that sounded. Her mouth was open to reply, and Shallan hushed her by filling it with her fingers, missing and painting Kero’s chin, then finding her mouth and tongue. “Clean these off, would you? We need to get Eri’s pants off before you ruin them, don’t we?”

Kero nodded and sucked them deeper, licking herself off Shallan’s skin, tongue finding the salt of her skin under the strangeness of herself. When Shallan pulled out, Kero took the risk, grabbed her wrist and dragged Shallan’s hand back to her mouth. Her palm was painted too, and Kero cleaned it down to the delicate bones of Shallan’s wrist. She had such small hands--

“Holy hell, Kero--” Shallan dragged Kero’s pants down her thighs as soon as Kero released her, Relli still working her clit like she was determined to give Kero the slowest climax of her life. “Thought you liked cock, girl.”

“I do like cock,” Kero hissed back, unsure of when her arm had wrapped around Relli’s waist, and her hand slowly creeping upward like it was on a quest to find her breasts. “I like it--just fine,” she finished lamely.

“That so?” Relli asked, and Kero supposed she deserved that. “Hey, Shallan, you know--”

“Yeah,” Shallan agreed, brightly and too loud--people would hear--and disappeared from Kero’s side entirely, scrambling over her to get to their bags.

Kero squinted, trying to see through the dark, but there was nothing for it--the dark had her blinded. “What?” she asked, squirming under Relli’s hand, wishing she’d hurry or press harder or something that wasn’t just this torturously slow rhythm.

“Don’t you mind,” Relli told her, straddling Kero’s thigh, and blocking what view of Shallan she’d have even if she could see. “Lie back,” she said, so firmly that Kero processed it as an order, falling back onto the thin pad that separated her from the ground. “Fuck, you’re eager, aren’t you?”

Kero spread her legs, offering Relli more room between them, pressing her thigh up and into Relli, and she caught herself nodding uselessly--it was too dark, Relli couldn’t see. “Yes,” she said, and it was too loud, she would be heard--and Kero said again, at the same volume, “Yes, I want it.”

Soft laughter, and the rhythm of Relli’s hand over her cunt stayed exactly the same, the ache inside her growing almost painful. “And what is ‘it’?” Relli asked, leaning over Kero to whisper it in her ear, her breasts barely touching Kero’s. She rolled her hips, grinding down Kero’s bare thigh.

“I--” Kero felt Relli’s breath against her cheek, and turned her face up, searching for and finding Relli's mouth. Kero touched the bared skin of Relli’s waist, over the hard ridge of her hip, feeling embarrassingly daring for it. Relli was smiling against her mouth, her hand between Kero’s legs finally quickening. It made soft, sucking noises on every stroke, and Kero squirmed in not-quite embarrassment. She couldn’t hide how hungry she was for them, couldn’t stop her cunt from getting wetter and wetter under Relli’s touch.

“What’s ‘it’, Kero?” Relli asked again, rubbing herself slowly against Kero’s thigh. “You’re so fucking hot for us, what do you think we’re going to do?”

All my fic operates under an assumption of a huge blanket surplus. It's just how I roll as an author. ;)

(The dynamic is largely made up. :P Shallan is a minor supporting character, and Relli has approximately three speaking lines. I don't think we even know what she looks like. That having been said, they shared a tent with Kero once, and I'm going for it!)

It is a great book, and I can earnestly recommend it. It's the only piece of my Lackey collection that I saved when I moved last time.

Thanks again, and I hope you like the porn. It's my first femslash fic, but it's turning out to be really fun to write!

Kero's issues are like the fourth character in this threesome.:)

Thanks for commenting, and I hope you enjoy the rest!

AYRT

Then I love the dynamic you created between them ;D And "shared a tent once" basically means "definitely banged" in Lackeyverse, so I think your fic sits pretty well canonically.

Oh my GOD nonny, are you sure you never write femslash? Because I am not at all convinced. I love how vivid Kero's emotional response to everything is.

And that is one of the sexiest cliffhangers I've ever read on a kink meme. (I mean, we know vaguely what they're going to do based on the prompt, but Kero doesn't!)

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Page 6 of 22

21 Days of Valdemar!

Re: Fill - not dealing

FILL: Vanyel & Blanket, Offscreen Van/Stef Pre-slash

Re: Fill - not dealing

Re: FILL: Vanyel & Blanket, Offscreen Van/Stef Pre-slash

Re: 1/?

Re: 2/?

Re: FILL: Vanyel & Blanket, Offscreen Van/Stef Pre-slash

FILL: Vanyel/Blankets & Yfandes - Art!

Re: FILL: Vanyel/Blankets & Yfandes - Art!

Re: FILL: Vanyel/Blankets & Yfandes - Art!

Re: 2/?

Re: FILL: Vanyel/Blankets & Yfandes - Art!

Re: FILL: Vanyel/Blankets & Yfandes - Art!

Re: FILL: Vanyel/Blankets & Yfandes - Art!

Re: 2/?

Re: Kero/Shallan/Relli - Fill - D/P with Toys (1/?)

FILL: Vanyel/the Shadow-Lover, "Little Deaths"

Fill: Leareth/Vanyel dream-sex - "His Lover's Claws"

Fill: Leareth/Vanyel dreamsex - dub/noncon, bloodplay, underage

Re: FILL: Vanyel/the Shadow-Lover, "Little Deaths"

Re: Kero/Shallan/Relli - Fill - D/P with Toys (2/?)

Re: Kero/Shallan/Relli - Fill - D/P with Toys (1/?)

Re: Kero/Shallan/Relli - Fill - D/P with Toys (1/?)

Re: Kero/Shallan/Relli - Fill - D/P with Toys (1/?)

Re: Kero/Shallan/Relli - Fill - D/P with Toys (2/?)