#THANK U FOR ASKING DARLING

[wanderingblindly]

From the ask game: flip flop with any scene from the Seattle/photography fic? Or maybe when they first met? I’d love to read what Lando’s feelings were at that moment lmao

- CX

(ask game) (original fic)

I’m cutting myself off before I rewrite the entire thing what the fuck hahahahahha

“They didn’t even bring tabs!” George flails in his enthusiasm; Lando’s arms loosely tossed around his shoulder, leaning against him from his perch on the counter, and lets himself be jostled.

“They’re babies, mate, they not gonna —”

“I knew to bring tabs for the syllabus back then, so —”

Alex takes a swig of his shitty beer. “Thank god we’re not all like you, Georgie.”

“Rude.”

Lando’s used to feeling eyes on him. Like long grass grazing his ankles, it used to draw his attention; but now it’s merely a passing fact, white noise in his life that fades until it’s nothing.

And yet — half listening to Alex and George bicker, half enjoying the safety of their closeness — he feels them. Buzzing on his skin, sharper than the grass he knows, he feels them.

Over George’s tirade, he hears him before he sees him: “Yeah, uh, yeah. Thanks for having us.”

Lando looks over towards the kitchen door, catching the strangers eyes with ease — a ball to a waiting glove. They’re already a little unfocused, shoulders tilted crookedly; he’s already pretty far gone, grabbing a seltzer off the table for something to do.

His eyes leave him as fast as he found him; and yet they want to draw back.

“Didn’t even bring a pencil to class today,” Lando chips in, feeling George’s tense under his arms.

“Mate,” Alex says, letting himself lean against the kitchen wall with an exasperated smile. “Gonna get him going,”

“Why can’t you take anything seriously,” George starts, shifting to drop Lando’s arms and look at him fully.

“Don’t remember you being my TA,” He smiles, focusing on Alex’s resulting giggles. “When’d you switch to psych?”

George stutters out a response, somehow sounding drunker the more worked up Lando gets him. It makes him smile, warmth building in his stomach as he takes in how much he loves them, but a small part of his mind lingers by the kitchen island. Lingers on the glimmer of red cheeks and drunken staring he saw there.

---

He’s met her once or twice, maybe had a seminar together or something. Or maybe she works at one of the libraries, one of the cafes just outside. He can’t really remember, leaning back on the couch, jaw cupped in his hand, and listening. She’s nice enough, bubbly enough to fill the gap left by George and Alex sneaking away to do what the do in private.

They don’t think he knows, but he obviously put that together a while back. Maybe they’ll put their heads together and realize they’re in love one of these days; the thought makes Lando smile, her cheeks turning a distinctly inebriated sort of splotchy red. Flustered.

His eyes flick to the other side of the room.

He’s still watching, that boy whose flush looks more like soft candy floss than red ink. Pressed against the wall, clearly the wrong side of tipsy, and staring. It gives him a moment of pause, the glassy sheen to his eyes almost like a tourist gazing up at the Winged Victory — so different than usual; reverent rather than rapacious.

“And so then I was like, ‘Carrie, you can’t just say that about a person!’ You know? Like, so uncalled for,” She scoffs, edges tinged with a giggle, and draws Lando back down to earth. He laughs along, mind elsewhere.

He doesn’t like being stared at, the feeling of being more a fixation than a person. And yet.

He sees the man slip out of the room, forgetting to close the front door against the crisp spring air.

---

Bit excessive, Lando thinks as he steps out onto the porch. Sitting out in the dark all alone, even for a quieter guy, it’s just. Lando lingers on the edges of the porch light, suddenly unsure about the entire thing.

Maybe he made it up, that brief moment of distinction in the living room.

He walks up to him anyways, slipping into the second rocking chair like it’s second nature. And he waits, tucking up his feet to make himself comfortable, sparing a glance at his new neighbor.

Soft nose, soft cheeks, sharp jaw, all painted rosey in the dark. It’s started to run down his neck, flooded up to dust his ears. It’s precious, Lando smiled a little, watching him breathe so deeply while clearly struggling to keep it together. Reminds him a bit of George when they fist met, too sharp and too soft and bleeding at the edges.

“Bit sick?”

He jumps, Lando winces. Not his smoothest start. But the man looks at him, and Lando wishes — without meaning to — that it was daylight.

“Already looked pretty sloshed in the kitchen,” He shifts, making himself more comfortable. “Go too hard at the pre?”

The silences stretches between them. Normally, Lando would give up and go talk to someone else — conversations soaked in beer and seltzer don’t really matter, anyways. But he doesn’t want to.

He raises a brow. “Gonna say something?”

“I’m, uh. Oscar.” Lando smiles a little; he looks like an Oscar, somehow. In the roundness of his nose and the lilt of his accent, he’s an Oscar.

“Lando.”

“Weird name.” His eyes blow wide as he says it, and Lando doesn’t bristle like he normally would. It’s almost… endearing. Like a cat that scared itself with its own tail.

Instead, he laughs. And he means it. “Yeah, get that a lot.”

The breeze is biting, but Oscar’s gaze — fixated and definitely a little awkward — is warm. He shivers at them both.

“Are you… cold?” He stumbles over the words, their earnestness driving into Lando’s ribs like a knife.

George would have reminded him that he should have brought a jacket. “Nah, I’m fine,” He nuzzles his nose into his elbow, waiting to get used to it. He could just go inside, he doesn’t really *have* to be —

“No, it’s. Erm.” Oscar pitches forward in the rocking chair, nearly tumbling out of it. It would be hilarious if Lando didn’t realize what he was doing, clumsy fingers trying to grab the bottom of his sweatshirt, struggling to pull it over his head.

His shirt lifts a bit in the process, exposing the skin just above his jeans — the unexpected line of his abs. Lando’s eyes snap away when Oscar finally gets his head unstuck, holding the sweatshirt out between them.

His hair’s a rumpled mess, eyes trained on Lando’s face with a sort of… fevered servitude.

“Here.” He breathes, and Lando notices that his shirt is crooked from the ordeal. It looks like he just woke up, disheveled by his sheets.

Lando feels his face run hot as he gingerly grabs the sweatshirt, warm and soft and well-loved in his hands.

“I — yeah, thanks.” He gets on, unable to look away from Oscar’s… everything. Putting it on feels like some sort of promise, heart skipping a beat when the sleeves fall beyond his one fingers.

But maybe it’s nothing. Oscar’s eyes, his sweatshirt.

Maybe it’s just the spring air.

“What’s your major?”

Oscar smiles, and Lando realizes it: he’s fucked.

[blindmagdalena]

honestly i love imagining the reader trying to ride homelander for the first time and him moaning/being overstimulated when she sits on him and her forgetting who he is for a second and going 'shit, did i hurt you?' and him just. being so conflicted by that phrase. of course a human can't ever hurt him and you should watch your tone but also... it's nice you care so much for him. makes him feel cared for, in a way

18+! Given the sounds he makes, no one could blame you for mistaking one for pain. That sharp gasp and the breathless keening moan that follows it.

"Oh fuck," you breathe, hand braced on his bare chest, legs tightly bracketing his hips. He's sweltering beneath you, holding your hips in trembling hands. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

He opens his pleasure-bleary eyes, confused.

It'd be laughable if he wasn't so delirious. You? Hurt him? No, it's another matter entirely. He's accustomed to his gloves and his padded suit acting as a barrier to the world, to the overwhelm of sensation, but he has none of that when he's beneath you.

He's completely at the mercy of the wet, clenching heat of you. It's a betrayal of his stamina that he becomes too sensitive to continue long before he's finished with you.

"What? No, nngh, it's... y'just... y'just feel really fucking good," he says, nearly chokes on that last word. "Too good. So much. It's so much."

"Do you want to stop?" You ask, touching his jaw. Your thumb strokes his cheek and he moans for the tenderness of it. For the care. He'd begun to think there wasn't anyone who could witness what he's capable of and still think to treat him gently.

"No! No, just... just stay... Stay like this," he says, holds you still while he recovers.

You oblige him—you always do—and bend over to kiss him. Your lips are slow and loving against his, coaxing. You cup his face with both hands and sit with him inside you, feeling you, tasting you. It's torturous bliss. He slips his tongue into your mouth, greedy for as much as he can get despite the magnitude of it all, and you lick right back into his.

With a smile, you sink down until your chests are pressed together. His hands slide up your back and he wraps his arms around you, embracing you, needing you more than he's never needed anything in his life. Your lips are like velvet against his, slick with spit and kiss swollen. It's so much more than he's ever had, so much more than he knows how to handle.

He comes just like that, without having to move a muscle, his cry swallowed up by your dreamy kisses.

[pigdemonart]

Hello! May I ask how Hei Hei is doing? And pls give the little cute void floof some pets for us? 🥺

HE IS GOOD, LUMPY AND LARGE-EARED

My sweet boy who pukes spit when anxious because I am taking too long in the shower

My sweet boy who is shedding and has left a black spot of hair in the corner of our bed

My sweet boy who angrily demands cuddle time DONT TOUCH ME…. i’m gonna lie on your lap and purr BUT DONT PET TOO MUCH….

[kyoukorpse]

THE KING OF LET EVERYONE DRESS CUTE CAME TO YOUR CULT

😭😭😭 OH MY GOODNESS,,, 💕💕

[t3ddyd0ll]

I swear this is my last time requesting this but it is literally my favorite thing to read(I might have a problem 🧍🏾‍♀️) but can we get a si and resistant darling short from the second person this time? Btw the Thomas and autistic darling fic was phenomenal-🦇

Your body feels like a sack of bricks as you sit at the table, head in your arms as you haven’t the strength to hold it up on your own. You never do anymore, especially after he feeds you.

Simon hums something soft in the bathroom while he prepares your bath, letting the water cool a little before he has you step inside. You watch him gather your clothes, set out the hairbrush, and fold a towel that came straight from the dryer so it’s warm when you need it. The gesture would be sweet had your circumstances with him been different. Truly, they might’ve been a good boyfriend if they didn’t kidnap you first.

But here you are, heavy and tired, watching your captor prepare a bath you don’t want to take. They emerge from the room, a soft smile on their face as they see your sleepy eyes scan him from his socks up to his eyes. He approaches, hands outstretched to help you stand.

“Come on, sleepyhead. Time for a bath.”

You shake your head, putting your head in your hands as if it could shield you from the inevitable. “I don’t want to..”

Their hands coax yours away from your face. Once he can see you again, he runs his thumb over your cheek, tilting your head upward to meet their gaze.

“But it’ll be so niiice,” they croon. “And doesn’t it feel good to be clean?”

“How can I get dirty if I never leave the room?”

“Mm, it’s not just about that. It’s good for you, too. Come on..”

He grabs your hands to pull you up from your chair, but in an act of protest, you lazily tug them away again. Your movements are becoming slower the more the medicine works.

“No,” you declare, as strong as your sleepy mind can muster. “I said- I said I don’t want to.”

“Ah.. I know, baby, but we need to,” his voice is soft and lulling, as if he were talking to a little kid. “You’ll sleep so well. Doesn’t that sound good? Some sleep?”

Once more, he grabs your hands, this time successfully pulling you up from the chair. You try again to release yourself from their grip, but although it’s gentle, they have a snug hold of your hands which you can’t seem to break free from. You don’t have a choice but to lean into him as he begins guiding you to the bathroom, the medicine making it hard to even put weight on your legs. How are you supposed to fight back in this state?

“Stop it, stop,” you protest, grateful that he’s finally letting you go so he can close the bathroom door. You feel suddenly very trapped, very cornered, and it’s hard to navigate your senses. You lower yourself to the floor, knees coming up to your chest to hide again.

Simon sits on the floor with you, and starts rubbing gentle circles into your back. He uses his nails, and you can’t help but relax a little to the feeling.

“You don’t have to be scared, sweetheart. I just wanna take care of you.”

“I don’t want you to,” you reply, eyes softly closing as your captor continues to scratch your back. He runs his nails up, and down, up, and down, slow and soft and soothing. You relax even more, unintentionally.

“But you’re so tired, and the bath is so warm…” he reaches up to run his hand over your hair, and while you mourn the feeling on your back, it’s quickly replaced by the wonderful sensation of his nails gently running over your scalp. You sigh, hating that what he’s doing is working.

“I’ll wash your hair, and I’ll massage your hands… you’ll fall asleep in no time. Come on, baby.”

They gently take your hands in theirs and help you take off your shirt. The rest of the night follows that same routine he has for you, and although you don’t want to admit it, Simon always does give you the best night’s sleep.

[shrimparts-blog888]

Actually on the topic of inspiration, heres a pic I’ve actually waited a whole year for the perfect oppurtunity to send to someone.

This is the best image in my photo library and I will never lay my eyes on something better than it

This is just a sketch but I think I’ll color it later 💫💫💫

[ask-dbd-wh-au]

Questions for both:

Wally: Do you remember all the neighbors? More specifically do you remember their faces?

Y/N: Do you remember anything specific about the show that could be the cause of this?

[coffeeghoulie]

Mushy May Day 10: Love Notes

Mushy May put together by the lovely @forlorn-crows <3

Aurora's stressed leading up to the new tour. One of her packmates takes it upon themself to cheer her up. No warnings. 800 words.

divider by @ghuleh-recs <3

After finishing her morning coffee, sweetened far past the preference of any of her other packmates’ tastes, Aurora pads her way down to the band practice rooms. Tour is fast approaching once again, and despite this no longer being Aurora’s first rodeo, she wants to get as much rehearsal in before they leave as she can.

No one else is in here, most of her packmates enjoying a lazy morning in each other’s beds, Mountain down at the greenhouse preparing the newest batch seedlings to be put into the ground, Aether and Aeon in the infirmary. Aurora grabs her headphones, flicking through her phone for the backing tracks she’d been sent with all the new songs for this cycle.

She’s nervous about Perpetua. She and Aeon have just gotten comfortable with life Up Top, their roles in the church and their summoner before his promotion, and now everything is on its head once again. So Aurora manages what she can control. And that, right now, is her own abilities.

The lights flick on, and Aurora takes a deep breath of the familiar metallic scent of the room. But when she hops up onto the platform of the mock stage, a flash of hot pink catches her eye. Aurora certainly didn’t leave a sticky note on her mic stand.

“Take a deep breath, you’ve got this! Love you!” it reads, in scratchy handwriting and smudged black ink. There’s a heart on the bottom corner, with cartoony little bat wings on either side.

“Subtle,” she says to no one in particular, but it makes her smile wide enough to show the gap in her front teeth. Aurora folds the note and tucks it into her pocket before she starts her own private rehearsal.

The notes don’t stop. Little flowers drawn with a shaky hand, compliments of every color under the rainbow, hearts and, one memorable kissmark, made with a lipstick that looked suspiciously like one of Cirrus’s.

Aurora brings them all back to her room in the den and tapes them around the edges of her bathroom mirror. She’s never considered herself sentimental before. But this makes her feel light on her feet in a way she hasn’t since her Papa was promoted to Frater. So she keeps them.

It’s a highlight of her days, and with tour quickly approaching, Aurora begins to dread the notes stopping. She doesn’t even know for certain who’s writing the damn things.

She shakes her head and rolls her shoulders. It’s not worth worrying about right now, she convinces herself as she walks into the common room.

Aurora’s running a little ahead of her normal schedule, a weird dream waking her before her alarm and her body deciding not to let her return to sleep. But, to her surprise, Aeon is already in the commons.

They’re leaning over on the couch, tongue between their fangs as they write something on a suspiciously bright pink piece of paper. The nib of their pen scratches, and Aurora clears her throat.

Aeon bolts up, their mismatched eyes wide. “Oh, uh, hi, Rory, good morning!”

She cocks her head, a slow smile spreading across her lips. She thinks she’s been spending too much time with Swiss and her fellow multighoul’s starting to rub off on her. “You’re up early,” Aurora says. “Whatchu writing?”

Their mottled lavender and grey cheeks flush a brighter purple. “A, uh, a note. For someone. Before I go to work. What are you doing up so early?”

“Deflecting, I see,” she grins, walking towards the coffee table. Aeon yelps, scrambling to snatch the note up before she can see it. Aurora’s a little quicker than them, snatching the sticky note from their fingers. “Aw, that’s cute. ‘Love you, Ladybug,’ I wonder who that’s for.”

“Rory,” they whine, reaching for the note, but Aurora’s too quick.

“Nuh-uh, who’s it for?” She tries to demand, but she cannot hide the smile on her face.

Aeon sighs, shoulders slumping a little in defeat. “For you. They’re all for you. You seemed really freaked out and I wanted to try and help.”

Aurora’s smile shifts to something softer, and she kisses their cheek. “You did help. It’s very sweet, and I’ve been looking forward to it every morning.”

They smile back, leaning in to rub their cheek against hers. “’M glad.” Their long arms wrap around her, pulling her into a tight, warm embrace.

The two of them stay like that for a long moment, before Aurora suddenly realizes. “Wait! How the fuck did I not think it was you? Who else would put bat wings on a heart?”

Their laughter echoes down the hall.

[venusandsaturnsrings]

calling at the walls of my enclosure.... I HATE school... I have so much homework but my thoughts r filled with wolf dog wrio vs puppytaru or maybe foxtaru. They fight for your attention behind ur back <3 -chubby darling anon that's going a bit insane, particularly from the fem nurse geto pannel in the jjk manga

HAIII MY FAV ANON HAIIIII!!! linking this from like two weeks ago here bc… wolfwrio foxtaru :3 butttt… wolfwrio and puptaru is a VERY good combo bc that’s like… double dog moment… imagine urself as megumi, wrio and taru are ur demon dogs, terrible trouble makers both of them… also ignore my fiddling with the time line, taru gets more free prison time for the plot… anyways i hope ur doing well i miss u sm my dearest :(( reminder my dms r OPEN!! i have more thoughts that i think you’d like <3

wolf Wrio, as we’ve already established, is a territorial mess. when he decides something is his, it’s very difficult to get him to even let it leave his sight so when that thing is an entire other human being things only become more difficult. any meetings with him now have to come with the disclosure that you will be there regardless of what the other party has to say about that, he’s started furnishing his office with more things that you like (a big thing considering how protective he is over his spaces), and almost all of the inmates have been witness to wrio nibbling on you whenever he can. he’s a major biter, by the way, even an inch of skin has his teeth on display as he gently chomps onto you, tail swishing happily.

the little set up of you nearly never being without him was working flawlessly before a certain ginger man became the newest prisoner. suddenly, Wrios occasional bouts of irritability became more frequent and he was growling at even the quietest of sounds. you hadn’t seen him so… aggressive before so the behaviour was concerning, and given that you didn’t have such a sharp nose like him, it was impossible for you to figure out what exactly was getting on every last one of his nerves. brewing his tea yourself and making sure he got enough pats seemed to help to a degree but the moment you stopped his ears would be flat against his skull once more.

after a week of this nonsense, you peeling him off of you one afternoon to ask around and see if you could decipher what was going on. you figured there was a good chance it could be internal prison affairs or certain deadlines but upon finding all the other staff and inmates in perfect spirits with not the slightest bit of knowledge of the situation, you hung your head and prepared to scheme up a plan to visit Neuvillette and ask for his thoughts. that was until a pair of floppy orange ears came into your field view followed by a man who certainly looked like he should not have a disposition so cute; a well-built frame smattered with various scars. you briefly thought about how his appearance matched your dear Wriotheslys in a way but the man spoke up with a cheery voice, already knowing your name and introducing himself as ‘Tartaglia or Childe to most but you’re welcome to call me Ajax, cutie,’ and pulling you in for a hug rather than a handshake. it didn’t take a genius to figure out how odd of an interaction this was becoming or how dangerous the situation you’d gotten into was. alas, it would be more troublesome to ignore him and walk away so you entertained his slew of questions for awhile longer, desperately trying to avoid noticing the way he looked at you with something darker than mere curiosity.

when you finally managed to speed walk your way back to Wrios office, you were met with his nose at your throat and a prominent scowl on his face. gruffly and paired with numerous low growls, he demanded to know just why you thought it was okay to be around that harbinger for more than a second especially when he isn’t there. baffled and slightly afraid, the gears turned in your head and you realized that this is what had been bothering him; Ajax. slightly and patting his head lovingly, you assured him of your love and promised that you’d never even lay eyes on him again if that’s what he wanted, and Wrio was pleased with this. the rest of your day was spent wrapped in his arms at his desk, only escaping briefly to help Sigewenne reach a book off a shelf.

you didn’t need to know of the late night rounds the two men spent in the pankration ring, at each others throats between individual fascination with you.

[wanderingblindly]

im sorry for the random ask but i just need to let it out. this is giving me major lando vibes in most of landoscar fics

https://open.spotify.com/track/4tG0cdbL7v4pQ8RWOqLDHx?si=-sA-ucubROi1NJNKeOWSOA

I've learned more about musical theater being in this fandom than I ever expected, frankly.

"If when he knows me, he's only disappointed" << hmmmm yes. yes i'm chewing on this like a steak actually.

[wikitpowers]

Every day you get a little more unhinged, and every day I love you a little more lol

OH MY GOD HAVE U NOTICED?!? AHAHAHAH :’)

i am trying to get a little more unhinged every day so they don’t figure me out. it’s a long process but will be worth it in the long run. i cannot dunk all my unhingedness (?) on you or u would run away... i’m taking it step by step :’)

[yooboobies]

TODAY’S YOONGI MAIL 💌 (and only 25 more days!!!!)

i hope you’re having a fabulous day 😭🫶

I AM SO CLOSE TO HAVE MY DEAREST DARLING UNIVERSE BACK🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 god i hope suchwita will have a return, that was my comfort show (still is)

THANK YOU FOR THIS BEAUTIFUL PRESENT IT MADE MY EVENING EVEN MORE SPECIAL🥺🥺🥺😭😭💜💜🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

[t3ddyd0ll]

Hiii is it okay to request a short story or drabble of Si and darling finally starting to come around? (I cannot stress enough how much I enjoy your writing and i hope youre taking care of yourself!!

Safe, sleepy, warm.

You lay with your head in his lap, comfortable, content. He runs his fingers through your hair, drawing long and gentle lines across your scalp. Every once in a while they switch to petting, smoothing down your hair and twirling it around his fingertips.

Together, you watch a movie. Something funny- they've been begging for you to watch it with them- but you can't remember what it's called. Your mind is still a little fuzzy from the medicine.

He giggles at the screen, and you can't help but smile. Their laugh is so cute.

Simon looks down at you, once again smoothing down your hair to get a better look at your face.

"You look so sweet," they croon. ". . . I wish I had my camera..."

You feel suddenly shy. Your hand comes up to hide your face, but they wrap their hand around yours to stop you.

"Nooo," they coo. "Let me look a little longer.."

"Look at the screen," you plead softly.

A sound you could only compare to a chirp escapes his throat, and he squeezes your hand a little tighter than normal.

"Sorry," they whisper, a little smile peeking up at the corners of their mouth. "I can't help it..."

You begin to blush a little, unable to conceal the smile that forms on your face. "You're terrible," you tease.

"And you're pretty."

Finally, they allow you to conceal your face so they can go back to playing with your hair. You relax almost immediately once they do, feeling safe, sleepy, and warm.

[ask-dbd-wh-au]

I have recently entered the world of DBD, I still don't understand everything, but I like it. My question is, does Wally have any attack pattern or style? °^° (By the way, I adore him^^)

(Welcome to the world of DBD lol~ Enjoy your stay UvU)

(also big secret, i adore him too jksnfkjsab XDD /lh)

[kawaiialeisha]

the way you react to fanart of wally is hilarious to me 😭 honestly you just say what i’m thinking, i hold back SO much

BHAHHAHHAHSHHDFANHVETU YOU GET IT TOO 😭💔💔💔

LISTEN I CANT KEEP THE SILLY IN ME

MY DEMONS NEED TO BE RELEASED I CANNOT DO THIS ANYMORE /HJ

I RESIST THE INCREDIBLY LARGE URGE TO WRITE A WHOLE PARAGRAPH/ESSAY THAT EXPLAINS EXACTLY HOW I FEEL MIXED WITH LOTS OF SMASHED KEYBOARD 😭

[hawksblooded]

Rare for them to find moments like this, when their violent and relentless world slows to a stop even if for only the evening. Aye, the grog's still too much water and too little liquor, but the tavern is warm against the chill of the winter-bitten night and the gathered crowd's merriment seems infectious in an all too welcome way. Their off-key singing and laughter carries up from beneath the floorboards of their half-decent room, and Sam hums one of the tunes even as he presses his thin lips against Liz's own, stained hands cupping her strong jaw and long fingers leaving streaks into her darker skin. There's a few candles scattered about, a lantern haphazardly hung over the desk they'd shoved into the corner of the room to illuminate any late night tinkering, and the light is plenty enough to see the usual hard set of those grey eyes melt into something far warmer, far softer for being here with her like this. "Heldin," he murmurs inbetween soft kisses, the tenderness here stark compared to the violent shape their shared affections usually take. What with how gently he holds her face and traces her scars with those keen fingers down to her neck, one might've thought he was holding something fragile or delicate rather than the hardened warrior he beholds every morning and every evening. Such is love, perhaps, fool creature he may be for it.

THERE'S SOMETHING SHE REMEMBERS Stenvarr saying, one morning as he took their travels to a sudden standstill. Surrounded by chill mountain air, he had stopped in his tracks, the little girl she once was very near crashing into his wide frame. Her impatient voice, still pitched high by youth, had asked, why stop? He hadn’t turned to her, his eyes filled with dawn’s roseate light fixed on the peak-ridden horizon. “Look,” he said, and the girl squinted where his thick finger pointed. “There’s nothing,” she’d remarked. “There’s beauty,” came her guardian’s answer. Shivering, eager for the warmth and shelter of the next hamlet their pilgrim-path promised, she had patted his side as one would a horse, as if to spur him from his reverie. “It’s useless,” Alizebeth had said. “Maybe. But you have to spend what little time you have with it. Ours is a hard world. Beauty rarely comes to us. Welcome it, when it does.” She understands what he meant, now. Stenvarr is gone, but the words remain. She’s older, worn by the life that she has chosen for herself, that lonely path she chose to walk. In her relentless world of bloodshed, of white-knuckled survival, her great and cruel wilderness, she could have been made to grow cold and cruel also. Still her mentor had made it clear that despite everything, one must find beauty in it. One must hold on to that beauty with that same iron grip one has on their life. Because beautiful things are fragile.

Ah, but the world, the path, it isn’t so lonely anymore.

Her face is ever impassive as a scarred hand runs up the length of Samuel’s back. He knows it well, now, that there is a feeling her expression can never betray, something buried deep in her broad chest under the thick earth of fear, burrowed. Not a sleeping thing, but alive, beating, such that it may well be aflame. Something she cannot speak of in words that slip from her grasp, riverlike, and that instead he must piece together. It isn’t hard to puzzle out her fondness for him, not anymore. It’s true, she hasn’t spoken it, the words so far from who she is - from what she’s been made into. Instead she’s opened herself up for him, slit down the middle like skinned game, bared and red and raw. There are no questions in it. He knows exactly where her heart lies.

Lips meet, and Alizebeth’s hand at the nape of his neck is a gentle guide. His fingers leave blackpowder streaks at the edge of the crescent scar on her cheek like warpaint. War; that is the shape their entanglement took, in the first months. Not against each other, but against the world, a violent reminder that they were alive, a rebellion against their lonely fates. Two people who had seen the edge of humanity, and sometimes breached it -  who had looked death in the eye and said no, not us, not today. Animals surviving, teeth at each other’s throats, clawing at skin and dirt.

It isn’t so anymore, in the candlelit tavern room, the pair still dizzy from the revelries below. There’s nothing animal or warlike to his crawling into her lap, cradling her face. He whispers that sweet name to her, traces her scars. Samuel holds her so gently, as though she is made of silver and not steel. His fingers come to rest just above her heart, in the dip of her marred chest. His mouth brushes against hers as grey eyes peer, not sharp but tender, at her impenetrable features. It had confused her, this tenderness. She had blamed the now-countless drinks, watered-down as they’d been. Had, because she doesn’t want to think about it anymore. Her fingers comb through his hair as she kisses him again, her other hand at his thin waist. It doesn’t matter if the shape has changed. Her heart may not race, her veins not burn with adrenaline, her body not dully pounding with pain, but this, too, is being alive. It may even be love. She doesn’t want to think about that, either. Only the shadow of a man who has grown so dear to her, the softness of his lips, the strange and new lightness of his deft touch. She sees it now; more than anyone else, he understands. He holds on to this near-silent moment, to its precious warmth. She will, too. Beautiful things are fragile.