Imogen's deals with the fae
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Summary
Imogen is fascinated with them. With the way their skin shifts subtly in the flickering torchlight like opal, luminescent and shimmering and captivating and hard to tear her eyes away from. She wants to pin them down, more than how her thighs straddling their lap already is, wants to hold their arms to the bed with rope and watch them struggle against her. She wants to take them apart, go down to the bone, just to learn what makes them tick. Wants to go deeper, into the muscle as she forces them to shift into different bodies, just to see the changes as they happen.
Series
- Part 1 of Imogen's deals with the fae
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Summary
Imogen hates Yios. Hates the way her mind is under a constant swarm of thoughts and emotions, hates how her defenses have been utterly shattered after days in the quiet of the jungle left her unprepared. Her nights have been filled with restless sleep or no sleep at all, a bad habit she picked up during her fight with Laudna that never really had the chance to stop. The storm is a constant now, something Imogen can’t escape during the day, she can feel the wind on her skin and hear it rushing past her ears if she stands still for too long. It feels suffocating, being surrounded by it at all times. As if at any moment Imogen will see red clouds swarm the sky and wash everything away. Not to mention the new warnings her mother speaks, begs her to heed, alongside the newer knowledge of who her mother seems to be working with.
So, Imogen hates Yios.
Series
- Part 2 of Imogen's deals with the fae
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Summary
“How was your night? I don’t think I’ve asked.” The question throws Imogen off, and it isn’t helping that Laudna isn’t looking at her. Laudna hasn’t ever asked about the nights when Imogen would sneak off, especially the ones when she would slip away with a faceless stranger. She used to want it, wanted Laudna to press and prod. to give her an opening to admit the feelings she’s kept locked away.
“It was fine. Helped relieve some stress.” Imogen pretends to not hear her voice, ignores how high and strained it sounds.Laudna hums, and Imogen watches her pick at her cuticles, watches the ichor bead at the raw skin there like a smear of ink.
“They seemed your type. Nice shoulders, rather tall.” Laudna says it with a grin that looks more like a grimace. Her voice sounds just as strained. Silence stretches taut between them afterwards, and Imogen tries to think of something to say, a way to turn the conversation back to Laudna.
Series
- Part 3 of Imogen's deals with the fae