#suresaint

a lioness amongst the wolves au: 7/???

“Up so quickly? You were barely alive when I found you.” “Speaking of which... Thank you. You saved me life.”

((So uh, had to reverse this because Kly doesn’t know how to dance. The Aen Elle as a society don’t do it because its pointless and frivolous and can evoke emotional responses which are taboo, so she has literally zero idea how it works ))

“I don’t have time for whatever it is you want, Your Highness. I-what are you doing?!” Kly snapped as the Kynge took her hand and dragged her away from her reading. Thankfully, the library was empty and none of the human refuse heard her very caustic and irreverent tone of voice towards the monarch. 

She nearly collided into the human woman’s chest as she wrapped an arm around her middle and took her free hand in hers. Then she just started moving her legs and Kly did not. She grunted as they ended up colliding with a bookshelf, nearly crumbling into a head on the ground. Then she realized she’d seen something like this before among lower humans. They’d do it when they were happy or inebriated or celebrating something. Some sort of archaic mating ritual where they followed a set in stone movement pattern.

“Stop that,” she snapped as she felt her legs moving again. She tried to mirror the movements the way she’d seen humans do. It only ended up with her taking the both of them to the ground. She winced as her back hit the ground and the Kynge’s body pressed into her front. This was ridiculous. What was the point of this anyway? What did this little ritual gain anyone? Fighting, she could do. It was useful. So was politics and killing. This had exactly zero purpose. Like most human customs. 

ASK MEME || accepting! 

In her true size, the shirt would have never managed to fit the man eater, but as she stands within Zelda’s bedroom at the edge of her bed, their heights now equal, the linen drapes perfectly about her smaller form. “  Do I?  ” Drathenia replies coolly, a coy smile plays upon plush crimson pout. Wooden frame of the bed creaks faintly as she kneels upon it, climbing over Zelda to straddle her hips, trapping her between powerful thighs. Cool hands then lay upon bare torso that has been robbed of the very shirt she is wearing, soft finger tips skim over lean muscles. A low purr thrums within the monster’s throat as she leans down to press her lips to the witcheress’ décolletage. 

“  How fortunate, I’ve always thought you look better without them.  ” 

@suresaint​ asked:                           “ well, how do i look? ”  

kiss me like... it's the end of the world | @suresaint 

  “I don’t want you to go.”

Anne’s whispered plea comes as her arms wrap around Zelda’s taller frame, drawing her in close. The Crucible is only a few final checks away from being finished, and ready to be sent out on Commander Shepard’s orders to send the fleets back to Earth. She can’t help the feeling of dread - fear of the unknown and what it could mean for humanity, for all of the galaxy.

Zelda leans down into her, over her, kisses the top of her head and it makes her look up. There are so many things she wants to say, so many things about the future, about what she hopes for and what she fears, but in the moment, she can only offer a tired smile - bags under her eyes, hair going grey at the roots, this war has certainly taken its toll on civilians, too. 

She reaches up with a hand outstretched, caressing Zelda’s cheek, skimming her proud jawline with delicate fingertips. It’s never been perfect, meeting in a time like this, but what they’ve had for these past months has made her feel like there’s a light at the end of the darkness, a bit of joy amid the grief. 

“I know.” comes Zelda’s answer, finally, and Anne’s heart aches for the pilot.