#bremwyda

Gonna get my tag out of the way right off for @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast !  ____________________________________________________________

An all-too-familiar cry starts ringing out through the upper floor of the house that Brem and the miqo’te sleeping on either side of her called home, yanking two-thirds of the trio immediately into the realm of the waking. A few more of those wails eventually drags Delesta right into the the symphony of low groans the other two new parents were working up to. “One of y’ gettin’ him, righ’?” The Seeker road her implicit ‘What if he’s just hungry?’ excuse right through rolling over and sitting a pillow on top of her head to muffle the steadily increasing volume from the boy a room away.

By that point Sana’s nearly got herself untangled from the bedding, only to find a pale hand planted on her shoulder and shoving her right back down. “I got it this time.” There’s about a half syllable of protest and a bit of push back against her arm before the roe had to lean her weight into things a bit further. “What’d I do all that work and fuss with those herbs for if you’re gonna jump up and run in there every time? I got this.” There’s a string of sleepy grumbling from the Seeker after that, but she’s been through enough moments like this to know when she’s about to be out-stubborned. After a bout of her own against the bedding, the roe gets her feet planted on the floor to start a bleary-eyed shuffle towards the nursery. 

The decibel jump as she actually makes it to the infant’s crib is enough to not only start overwhelming her hearing, but leaves the sea wolf squinting if that’d somehow help. Working from least pleasant task and moving forward, Brem starts off checking his diaper, and when it comes out clean moves on to lifting the boy up for a few cradling rocks and light bounces. After a few minutes of pacing around the soft blue room trying to soothe the boy to no avail, the giant makes for the moogle-styled seat in the corner. “I swear you’re trying to grow up to out eat your auntie C’arha. I’m sure your grandpa’s gonna be thrilled.” The words are half cooed out at the little miqo’te/xaela child as she works open a few buttons and adjusts her shirt.

Though she didn’t carry the kid, nor was involved with the conception directly at all for that matter, the roegadyn woman had work for moons to prepare to help cover this need once she found out her mate was pregnant. She’d had some trouble getting him to latch in his first couple of weeks, and had always had Sana there for the attempts, but this was her first time at night or with him so wildly upset. Even once he’s in place there’s still too much crying on his schedule to figure things out right off. Eventually ‘hungry’ starts to outweigh ‘everyone must know I am upset’ and he starts to feed. The giant wasn’t fully used to the whole thing, but even just a lack of screaming baby was enough relief to get her sinking into the moogly face on the back of the couch. 

The woman’s mixed vision slowly raises up from the hangery infant cradled to her chest back out into the main bedroom, and specifically the white eyes peering out at her from their bed. It’s a particularly sleepy watchful gaze, with a few droopy blinks that threaten not to open back up each time, but the mother catte continues to claw back to being almost awake to keep a watchful eye on her mate and their son. As much as the sea wolf wanted to go urge her to get some actual sleep, she couldn’t bring herself to offer up the chiding words.

(It’s a very short one this time around. This prompt and I didn’t get along despite me having a clear idea of what I wanted. Brem belongs to @eyesofsteelandsky and Del to @delestadorel. Vaguely NSFW for light BDSM elements.))

Tagging @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast up here! -----------------------------------------------------------------

The arena sands shift under the roegadyn's weight as she staggers away from her opponent. A couple of wide swings of her blade help her keep the space she's just bought as the fought to recover her breath from the blow he'd just driven into her stomach. The weapon itself was working without aim, the day's battering of her helm and the summer heat of Thanalan had more or less left her blind in the one eye she had to work with. Few things in the world held her hate more fully than the hunk of metal wrapped around her head at that point, and the broken pieces that had it stuck in place. It wouldn't be long at this point until the xaela figured out she couldn't actually see and finished this off at this rate. C'arha's rules be damned, she wasn't about to lose a finals match over a piece of armor being useless.

A bloodied gauntlet grips down on her helm while a few one-handed swings continue to discourage her opponents advance. With a sharp cry of frustration built over moons of dealing with the thing, the sea wolf violently rips the helm from her head, tearing everything holding it in place along with it. Sweat-matted hair frames her half metal visage, looking every bit like it's fueled by flames as intense as those that'd left the angry red burn scars all around that plate. Every ounce of hate she had for Ishgard, that helm, and every other annoyance in life were grasp and twisted right into the direction of the eager man in front of her. There was still a blurry quality to her vision from sweat and head injuries, but she had a clear enough view to start the thundering footfalls of plated boots across the arena floor, the percussion to the war cry ripping hoarsely out of her throat.

Though her target scrambles backwards to get away from her, he barely gets a few footfalls before she's launched herself the last bit of the distance, impacting sword-first into his shoulder before the rest of her several-hundred ponze of flesh and armor comes crashing into him immediately after. The two of them drag a channel through the sand before she's driven her blade deep enough out the back of his shoulder to pin the man to the arena floor under her, already gripped with panic. If there's one thing the giant's learned in her time at the 'Grounds though, it's that a fight isn't finished until it's called. Her fingers tighten around the loathsome helm still hanging from her other hand, rage still boiling over as she stares down at the man under her. A wordless snarl leaps from her lips as she brings the helm crashing down onto his head, bashing into his face and scraping along the forward points of his horns with a horribly pitched scrape along the steel.

Over and over again the scrap of armor-turned-weapon crashes into the xalea's face, repeating that harsh pitch of horn dragging against metal in a slightly uneven pattern. Though he was capable of doing little more than kicking at the sand to try and escape, no call had come. The fight wasn't over yet. So the battery and sounds rolled on with each arc of her arm. Even as the world was rapidly fading into unclear, fuzzy blurs...

--------------------------

The conscious part of Brem's mind started a lazy slog out of the murk it'd fallen into, still too coated in the slime of that place to make sense of the world whipping around her at a pace too hard to properly get a hold of. Her eye peeks open, and is immediately rewarded with a blade of light stabbing right through the orb and to the very back of her skull, sending her back to the darkness for another moment longer. A few additional blinks eventually gets enough adjustment to let her look at the fuzzy shapes around her. Most were familiar, even if they weren't clear. Safe enough not to feel panicked as she stumbled back into the realm of the waking. The first that came into any sort of clarity was the rough features of a purple xaela man with pale hair. He was making sounds, she didn't know what they were but his tone was soothing and that was nice. A smile pulls it's way onto her lips as he continued to make nonsense fall from his mouth at her.

Other sounds past him start to stand out. These too were familiar ones, though the shapes were too far away to place them. They were not soothing sounds, however. Some of them were frightful sounds, anxious sounds, even angry ones. They were near her, but they didn't seem to be pressing down her way. Perhaps the purple man's sounds were keeping them from closing in. A part of her knew that all of this was wrong. Things aren't supposed to be the way they are at the moment, but her mind hasn't put itself back together fully enough to understand how to be worried about that.

Every dance of flame played out against the pale roegadyn’s features as she sat on the edge of the table parked just in front of their home’s fireplace. Most of the other lamps and candles were out being that it was some unreasonable hour of the morning she’s long since lost track of. The upper floor was full of snoozing miqo’te that she’d snuck her way out of a while ago now. As much as she loved each of them, for the first time in what seemed like ages that comfortable bed and cozy home felt like a boxed in cage. Not born out of any feeling not wishing to be there; quite specifically the exact opposite. Save for occasionally having the ship out for a voyage or a particularly wild night at the Mason, she couldn’t remember the last time she wasn’t eager to get back to that bed. Even those nights away, her thoughts would keep back home even she couldn’t. And until the incident with her sister, even her family seemed proud in ways she wasn’t familiar with. But it all spoke to one thing.

She had been domesticated.

She still had the thrills of cheering crowds at the arena, the chance to sweep up the attention of people on her stage in her bar, and even had her sky back, even if it was still in it’s infant steps with the current crew. These she had either swiftly fallen into needing or had yearned for all her life, they were all sitting there in the palm of her hand. If her name came up, these were the things likely to come along with it. What right did she have to go complaining when literally all the things she would choose to have if she were completely free were already in her hands? It wasn’t that she wasn’t allowed to chase the things she wanted that was setting up the golden bars of her gilded cage. It’s that she was wanting them less than the other. That if a day came where she didn’t have it in her to keep doing everything at the nearly impossible rate she was doing them, that the things she would chose to toss aside were the tent poles of the persona she cultivated. That years of hearing her family talk about ‘when you meet the right man’ or some other such nonsense to chase her away from her dreams would be true. Trading away her dreams, a piece of who she was for being comfortable and happy.

That of course all twists back into it’s own guilt as she stares down at the bottle of rum that’d been in her hand for the last several hours, still unopened. Shouldn’t she love the three of them more than all these selfish things? Isn’t that what love is supposed to be? She had once told them, earnestly, that she would give up the sky for them if they ever asked it. But was that in good faith if she knew they never would, because both sides knew what bitterness that would invite? It’s been nearly a year since Del and Sana’s bonding, and the night before with the collar. Not once since that night had she been given any reason to doubt the words ‘I love you’ from any set of lips of the bunch. The love hadn’t gone anywhere, and that was perhaps the more terrifyingly comforting thing. She couldn’t talk to the two of them about it though. How does one even phrase the question? ‘I don’t really want anything to change and I love you and our boy, but also this feels like me giving up on being me some days and I don’t know what to do about that?’ That would be absolute madness at best, and a dagger into each of their hearts at worst.

Unfocused eyes drew their way back down to the bottle of rum once again. She hadn’t had a drop in over two moons, and had been largely cut back even before that with the medicine for the falling sickness. The blissful haze of a drunken stupor almost felt like a long forgotten memory, but certainly one that had a siren-like call at that unreasonable hour of the morning. And after all, she and Sana were well ahead on pumping, so much so it was getting tossed out sometimes. One night wouldn’t kill her. Setting the bottle between her thighs to work the cork with one hand, she fishes out a link pearl with the other and pulls it up into place.

I set up a Carrd page for Brem to have a one-stop place that link to whatever stuff I throw her at, be it other websites like this Tumblr business, or information about groups she’s associated with.

Nearly as much effort was going into keeping her painted lips from twisting into a scowl as she was keeping her balance walking along cobblestones in heels. After the breakdown the other night, she wasn’t about to openly spit on the gift that the cattes flanking her had been responsible for, but the voice in the back of her head apparently quite ready to stop screaming into the void anyway.

Beyond just the additionally attentive make-up and unfamiliar heels, the focus of that ‘gift’ was a long pink dress, nearly brushing the ground but still managed to find a way to end just above her bust. No straps to be found and presumably held in place by wishful thinking. She certainly didn’t trust the silk wrapped under her chest to handle the task on it’s own all night. The whole thing was a much more Eastern design than she’d expected, and the floral designs on the lower reaches did look nice. It still hadn’t made it feel right.

More than a few heads had turned along the way, the occasional mumbling just out of earshot. It didn’t much matter how often the Dorels were telling her it was out of admiration, or more crude lust depending on which catte was doing the talking. The roe remained convinced that they were taking in the freak show being paraded down the path to the Mason. Seemed to her that it was far less like getting eye-fucked, she’d had that plenty when she dressed herself, and more like strangers getting an eyeful of a painted pig. A wall of muscle trying to make it’s tits bounce, to put on enough makeup to pretend half of her face wasn’t made of deck plating and misshapen, all wearing a dress that was broad enough she could have probably smuggled both of her lovers underneath it and not a sole would have known.

VERY slight NSFW implication. Not actually enough to put in the title really.

“FUCK!”

Just when the roe thought she’d nearly got things arranged the way she wanted, she’d slammed her knee against the bottom side of the table she was working at and jostled all the delicately placed but still unsecured materials she’d spent the last bell on. It was the start of a torrent of cursing as she leaned back from the project, taking a moment to calm herself before those massive hands ended up crushing something. Again. It hadn’t been cheap to replace the ivory that first time around after all. After a few moments and a swig of rum to help settle her nerves, she sets the core of her project aside and ensures the base is ready once more.

It’d started simple enough really. A carved and then polished piece of river stone that had a broad circle base with a backdrop made to look like a trio of mountains. She’d even got a bit of white pant to make for snowy peaks seeing as they looked far more Northern than anything near Thanalan. Sitting on that base though had been three days of nightmare made reality. A mess of spun copper, gold, and even slips of silver all layered and woven so that no one stretch looked like it had too much of any one metal as she built up the nest. The edges rising up to make the ‘bowl’ shape had fought back hard, but it seemed even after the knee battering it needed little more than a few tweaks and to be re-centered.

Finally her attention turns back to the point of the whole project. A pair of carefully carved matching white doves, made from ivory and finished with little hints of black paint and gold foil on the beaks. It felt like it’d taken a moon just to do one, let alone a second, and the whole set again. Truth was it’d been far shorter, but the roe didn’t have the patience for such fine work as some. Years of maintenance of an airship and her eye had her used to sensitive tools, but most days she’d happily pass the work off to those who adored it and leave her to her books. This though, she wasn’t prepared to just pay out for. The edge of her lip is pulled inward and gnawed, being offered as a sacrifice to the Twelve while she finally got the two birds positioned just so that one was angled a bit, resting it’s beak over the other while the two heads nestled against one another. A few subtle shifts and she got the adhesive into place, holding it all together probably several moments longer than really needed. The two were finally set into their nest permanently.

The last addition was a repeatedly polished star ruby, that she ends up giving one more pass with her cloth to fully bring out that shine of the egg-shaped jewel. A few turns and twists later and she’s satisfied with the stone’s burst being display and it too is sealed into it’s final resting spot. Heaving out a sigh, the roe let her mind wonder as to how those like Nymia who did this sort of finery, or much better really, as their day to day. But the struggle had been worth it for the two women represented by those birds, and the hopes bound up in one day seeing that stone have it’s own soul to stand for. All of it framed and supported a mountain of sorts, touched by snow but having been plucked from the water and shaped first. One thought did start to jump ahead of the back as she basked in the achievement.