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femslashficlets2020-06-09 10:25 pm
hipsquare) wrote in femslashficlets2020-06-09 10:25 pm
Entry tags:
[CHALLENGE 264] untitled [She-Ra]
Title: untitled, part of a multi-chapter series here
Fandom: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power
Pairing: Shadow Weaver/Castaspella
Rating: T
Prompt: 264 - 'scent'
Word Count: 345
Summary: Castaspella has a simple request for Shadow Weaver. Except that it's not so simple.
The request should have been simple. ‘I want you to hold me,’ Castaspella had said to Shadow Weaver, cheeks tinted a painful red in the apples of them as she spoke. It ached in her face, so much so that she wanted to rub it to halt the pain.
It wasn’t appropriate. It never would be — so why should Castaspella wait? She was lonely. She’d been lonely for years, an emptiness in her heart after what Light Spinner had done. It — she — was the core of all of her life’s woes: the way Light Spinner had toyed with Micah’s life, and in turn, doomed Castaspella’s. She felt it every time she walked by that damned state of her in the halls of Mystacor, dirtied and worn.
Shadow Weaver had agreed, and for that Castaspella wasn’t sure of whether to be thankful for. She’d worn a toothy, characteristic smirk on her face. ‘To think you’d crave something so intimate,’ she’d chuckled, and Castaspella turned, then, to march out of her tent in humiliation, when Shadow Weaver caught her hand. She grasped it in hers, squeezed, said: ‘Stay with me. I will hold you, as you wish.’
Castaspella was even lonelier in the war. This time, however, she actually had Light Spinner — Shadow Weaver — beside her, rather than taunting her from a distance with her memory. She was here, in the flesh, physical and tangible enough for Castaspella to actually touch.
Their relationship had blossomed strangely in the few weeks since Casta visited the rebel camp. Tense flirtations and lingering touches became the norm until they festered; until it became — this, whatever this was, with Castaspella tangled up in Shadow Weaver’s arms, trying to feel the warmth of a body that barely had any left to give.
Shadow Weaver’s layers of robes smelled of pine, her grey skin of earth. Castaspella only hoped that when she finally departed from Shadow Weaver’s lonesome tent that it was discrete enough, and that nobody picked up on the scent of her that still surely lingered.
Fandom: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power
Pairing: Shadow Weaver/Castaspella
Rating: T
Prompt: 264 - 'scent'
Word Count: 345
Summary: Castaspella has a simple request for Shadow Weaver. Except that it's not so simple.
The request should have been simple. ‘I want you to hold me,’ Castaspella had said to Shadow Weaver, cheeks tinted a painful red in the apples of them as she spoke. It ached in her face, so much so that she wanted to rub it to halt the pain.
It wasn’t appropriate. It never would be — so why should Castaspella wait? She was lonely. She’d been lonely for years, an emptiness in her heart after what Light Spinner had done. It — she — was the core of all of her life’s woes: the way Light Spinner had toyed with Micah’s life, and in turn, doomed Castaspella’s. She felt it every time she walked by that damned state of her in the halls of Mystacor, dirtied and worn.
Shadow Weaver had agreed, and for that Castaspella wasn’t sure of whether to be thankful for. She’d worn a toothy, characteristic smirk on her face. ‘To think you’d crave something so intimate,’ she’d chuckled, and Castaspella turned, then, to march out of her tent in humiliation, when Shadow Weaver caught her hand. She grasped it in hers, squeezed, said: ‘Stay with me. I will hold you, as you wish.’
Castaspella was even lonelier in the war. This time, however, she actually had Light Spinner — Shadow Weaver — beside her, rather than taunting her from a distance with her memory. She was here, in the flesh, physical and tangible enough for Castaspella to actually touch.
Their relationship had blossomed strangely in the few weeks since Casta visited the rebel camp. Tense flirtations and lingering touches became the norm until they festered; until it became — this, whatever this was, with Castaspella tangled up in Shadow Weaver’s arms, trying to feel the warmth of a body that barely had any left to give.
Shadow Weaver’s layers of robes smelled of pine, her grey skin of earth. Castaspella only hoped that when she finally departed from Shadow Weaver’s lonesome tent that it was discrete enough, and that nobody picked up on the scent of her that still surely lingered.