#agile writing

[stevensavage]

It's out!

While I wait for Print Proofs, here's great news!

My latest book on writing, Think Agile, Write Better, is OUT in ebook form!

Find out how #Agile helps you be a #writer by thinking about your work differently. A change of mindset means better writing - and less stressful writing.

[himbosandhardwear]

Steddie I 2.1k I different first meeting I modern au I one sided enemies to lovers I rated T

“I mean, if looking like a dyke is the goal, you're nailing it,” Steve tells Robin as she holds the phone back to showcase her date outfit. “Change the belt, I think-”

He hears a throat clear behind him and spins around to find Eddie the bar manager standing behind him, a blank face and closed off body language.

“Shit,” he mumbles. “Rob, I have to go. I'll text you after work.” He hangs up on her and stuffs his phone into his back pocket. “Sorry about that. Hi, you must be Eddie.” He holds out his hand to shake but Eddie just looks at it. He lowers it, the sting of rejection biting low in his stomach. “Um. Harvey said you just got back from a tour? That's cool.”

“Mmhmm.” He sniffs. “You're on garnish duty,” he says, cold and succinct, before turning away.

It's only Steve's third day behind the bar but he'd been slinging drinks with Rachel the night before. Barback duties are beneath him, he's got six years bartending experience. He doesn't want to complain though, not to Eddie who hated him on sight, and not during his first week.

They stay out of each other's way for the first half of the night, Steve relegated to the back, slicing limes and making the pre-mixes.

He's not used to being hated so thoroughly like this. Eddie hasn't uttered a word directly to Steve since sending him to the back, but he catches Eddie's eye a few times and it's like ice water down his back. The people-pleasing little boy in him wants to cry but he's a grown fucking man, he's not going to let this bother him. Just because he was looking forward to meeting Eddie, wanted to make a friend here, wanted to get to know the guy who managed the bar when he wasn't shredding across the country. Maybe if the owner hadn't talked Eddie up like he was the next Chris Martin…or whoever the metal equivalent of that would be. And, yeah, he'd seen the photos of Eddie, the Polaroids behind the bar of him with staff and guests, and thought he was stupid hot, with his tangled curls and the dimples, and maybe he'd had some inappropriate thoughts about his in absentia boss, and maybe he'd fantasized about flirting at the end of the night, and maybe-

Anyway, it's all good. Eddie doesn't owe him kindness or friendship or a single dimpled smile. Sometimes people just don't get along and that's okay.

“Your Fernet,” he mumbles as he sets the bottle at Eddie's elbow, head down like a dog that's used to booted feet. He feels like an idiot but Eddie's frosty demeanor feels like it's balanced on a knife's edge, like he could tip over into a blazing explosion if Steve says or does the wrong thing.

Eddie doesn't thank him, just snatches the bottle and walks away.

“You're welcome,” he snarks under his breath after Eddie's well away.

“Can I get a rum and coke?” A guy asks over the counter.

Steve hesitates. He's not welcome at the bar, Eddie has made that abundantly clear, but he wasn't hired as a barback, he's a bartender, so he smiles at the guy and starts making the drink. Eddie is busy at the other end of the bar anyway.

“You're new,” the guy says, making conversation as Steve works.

“Yeah, it's my first week.”

“You liking it so far?”

Steve glances down the bar, watching Eddie shake a cocktail like he's fucking Tom Cruise or something. His face lights up at something the woman he's talking to says and the crack of his laugh travels the length of the bar, punching Steve right in the stomach. His dimples are really something to see in motion.

“Jesus Christ, I wanna wrap you in tinsel.”

Steve whips his head back around. “Huh?”

The guy chuckles. “Because you're pining so hard. Get it? Pine-ing.”

Well shit. He deflates. “That obvious, huh?”

The guy accepts his drink with a shrug. “Maybe not to everyone but to a…certain demographic…” He gives Steve a little limp wristed wave, which makes Steve crack a laugh.

“I'm Steve, by the way,” he holds out his hand, which the guy takes easily, unlike some people.

“Cary, like Cary Grant.”

���Or Cary Elwes.”

“Exactly.” He leans a ways over the bar and mumbles, “Don't look but your boy is watching us.”

Steve forces his body to not stiffen up. “Does he look mad?”

“No. Confused if anything. Pretend like I just said the funniest thing you've ever heard.”

Steve, always down for shenanigans, tips his head back and fakes the loudest howl he can without being too over the top.

“Oh, you're good. He's got his eye on you, doll. Make the most of it.”

Steve leans into the shared space, eyes half-lidded. “I hope he's seething with jealousy. He could've had me six ways from Sunday but instead he decided to hate my guts at first sight.”

“What an absolute dumbass.” Cary reaches up and taps Steve's collarbone. “If I wasn't already taken, and you weren't pining like a Christmas tree, we could've ridden into the sunset together.”

“If only,” Steve agrees with a soft laugh.

“We're out of Matcha.”

Steve jumps out of his skin. Eddie is standing three inches from Steve's side, eyes burning into him like he just caught Steve keying his car.

“Make your own Matcha,” Cary snarks, “Steve and I are getting to know one another.”

Without breaking eye contact with Steve, he growls, “I think Tony, your fiance, would prefer it if Steve made the Matcha.”

Chills run down Steve's back and arms but he maintains composure. “On it, boss.”

He slips out from under Eddie's gaze, finger waving to Cary on his way back to the kitchen. He can hear Eddie chastising but he chooses to ignore him in favor of hyperventilating in the walk-in.

“What the fuck.”

Eyes like black flames, licking up the side of Steve's neck. Collarbones raising and lowering in the light of the bar as his chest moved with each breath. Hands clenched at his sides, white knuckled.

That wasn't cold at all.

He moves on autopilot for the rest of his shift. Eddie doesn't talk to him again but Steve can feel his eyes on the back of his neck, raising the hairs and keeping him from forgetting Eddie’s existence.

Towards the end of his shift, just before midnight, he hears Robin calling his name from the bar. He comes out of the kitchen, happy to see her waving him over, excited to introduce her date. He probably shouldn't encourage this behavior, it's his first week after all, but the restaurant is closing and the bar is empty.

“Hey, you must be Chrissy,” he greets the petite woman at Robin's side, takes her tiny hand in his and gives it a firm shake. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Same! I couldn't believe it when Robin said you'd just started here. Like, it's a crazy coincidence.”

He cocks his head but before he can ask, Eddie comes bounding over from the other side of the bar and lifts Chrissy up off her stool, swinging her in a circle while she shrieks with laughter.

“Apparently Eddie is her best friend,” Rob fills him in, sort of unnecessary at this point. Steve wouldn't have been able to imagine Eddie looking so happy, he'd been so sour faced all night. Even when he'd been laughing with the customer earlier, it was only a fraction of this.

“Tell me everything,” Chrissy is saying after he puts her down. “Last I heard you loved Cleveland and hated Boston, which I maintain is insane.”

“And I maintain you didn't have to navigate the Boston roadways with Boston drivers,” Eddie argues, still grinning. “But it was great. Exhausting but…yeah, fucking awesome.”

“I'm so proud of you, Eds. You deserve it.”

He actually fucking blushes, which is devastating to Steve's crush. Just devastating.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “Oh, sorry, you must be Robin. Thanks for bringing Chris to see me.” He shakes her hand, not hating her on sight, Steve notes.

“No problem, but I didn't, she brought me here to see the Dingus.” At Eddie's confused look she throws a thumb back at Steve, who waves.

“Yeah, hi. Your best friend is dating my best friend. Sorry. Guess that means you're stuck with me.”

His frown doesn't abate with this explanation.

“Because they're lesbians. She's gonna have me helping her move into Chrissy’s place in, like, a week.”

“Shut up!” Robin reaches across the bar to slap the shit out of his arm and then tosses a lemon wedge at him when he jumps back out of swinging range. Chrissy giggles at them.

“Knock it off, I worked hard on those.” He picks the wedge up off the floor and tosses it into the trash. Three points.

When he looks back up, Eddie is staring at him, wide eyed.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Steve questions.

“Ohhh.” He presses his wrists into his eye sockets.

Steve looks at Robin and Chrissy in confusion but they're both as lost as him.

“I'm an asshole.” He hasn't removed his hands yet.

“Yes,” Chrissy agrees immediately, “what did you do, Eddie?”

He finally looks up at Steve, who takes a step back, involuntarily. They stare at one another for thirty seconds. Or two days. He's not sure.

“Eddie?” Chrissy prompts again.

“I-” He turns around and walks away.

Chrissy rushes after him and yanks him back. They get into a tug match, which Chrissy wins, somehow.

“I love her,” Robin mumbles.

“I fucking said. Less than a week.”

She slides a look his way, one that reads ‘Like you're any better.’ He shouldn't have told her about his plan to seduce his boss, who he hadn't even met yet.

“Whatever you did, you apologize right now,” Chrissy commands to a pouting Eddie.

Steve stands there, eyebrows up, as Eddie grumbles an apology that would do an eleven year old Dustin proud.

“What is happening right now?” He wonders aloud.

Eddie folds his arms across his chest, his black button down stretching across his shoulders beautifully. “I heard your conversation with Robin earlier. You said something about her looking like a dyke and…I made an assumption on the kind of person you were. And I was an asshole to you because of it. I'm sorry.”

“Oh,” Steve whispers in understanding. A weight lifts off his chest. “Fuck. That's hilarious.” He can't stop the giggles from erupting.

“Okay, in my defense, most straight guys don’t get a pass.”

Steve and Robin look at each other and crack up. He wants to ask what Eddie thinks was going on with Cary if he assumed Steve was straight but Robin shrieks, “You think I would hang out with a straight man!”

“Hey! You did hang out with me when I thought I was straight!”

She shakes her head like a smug asshole. “Debatable. You've always been a lil fruity. Tommy H? Whatever that was with Billy? C'mon.”

Steve takes a turn at slapping her. When he looks back up, he finds Eddie looking at him like a kid who just found coal in his stocking, dark eyes wet and bottom lip desperately trying not to pout.

“Holy shit, stop making that face,” Steve begs.

“I can't.”

Chrissy leans up on her knees, wobbling precariously on the stool, to physically push his lip back where it belongs. He smacks her hand away and then puts his own back up to his eyes, pushing hard.

“This is divine punishment. The universe sensed I was too happy so they sent you to test me. Big fat F, just like always,” he mumbles, nonsensically.

Steve looks to Chrissy to translate.

She puts a finger to her chin, looks between the two of them, and then concludes, “He thinks you're hot and that he ruined his chances by being a prick.”

“Chrissy!” Eddie's shriek puts Robin's to shame.

But he's not denying it.

Steve makes extremely pointed eye contact with Robin and says, “It's getting late. Eddie and I have to close the bar. You should see Chrissy home.”

She nods, slow and then quick, as the message lands.

“Yes! Yes, let's get going. Leave these guys to…close the bar.”

Smooth.

They giggle the entire way out the door but Steve ignores them. Eddie is staring again, dark eyes pinning him to the mirror behind the bar.

“I was going to ask earlier but I didn't think it was appropriate…”

Eddie swallows, throat bobbing. “Ask what?”

“What's the company policy on fraternization?”

As a former jock, Steve is thoroughly impressed by Eddie's form as he vaults the bar.

[alexanderlightweight]

hello my love ♡ downworlder/shadowhunter treaty being sealed with a marriage hunt, with alec lightwood (the son of the highly loathed maryse & robert lightwood) as the "prize". Alec, like everyone else, expects to be treated badly by whoever becomes his spouse. Fortunately, Magnus takes one look at Alec and decides the nephilim has to be his.

requested content: primal kink, mating bite, bloodplay, orgasm denial

babe, this is the first part of your prompt because I love you, but your prompts are always evil in the fact that they are very inspiring and this is already almost 2k and I need to go write other things. i'll finish the prompt eventually or if someone else wants more too lol and this is because we talked about it before I wrote it (they sent this like two years ago so I couldn't remember the background they wanted) and I got distracted by the fact that they wanted Magnus to kill all the competition that got in his way.

3DNE

<3 lumine

-

an agile predator at bay

Since the moment the idea of a hunt was conceived, Magnus has had a headache.

“You said there was a condition sent, separate from the Claves’?” 

Magnus isn’t surprised, to be honest the whole thing is going far more smoothly than any of them anticipated.

“It’s more than that, it explains that if we open the hunt to women, he can’t guarantee he won’t kill any participating females who actively try to capture him.  Or himself if he is actually taken.  Since that’s the exact opposite of what this entire spectacle is for, he thought it would be better to negotiate directly.  Since the Clave didn’t seem to care or willing to listen.”

“Of course they didn’t.” Magnus pauses over the file, “it’s surprisingly strategic and clever, not to mention diplomatic.  It’s not a demand or a threat but an attempt at a mutual understanding for something very basic.  Of course we will comply.”

Valois nods and then hesitates, “are you still willing to join in overseeing the event?”

Magnus nods in agreement as he reads the page he’s holding, “it promises to be more interesting than I thought and someone needs to keep everyone else in line.”

—

Wood and metal creak beneath his palms and Magnus finds himself half-rising from his chair even as his magic is busy searing his name onto the list of participants and his eyes fixated on the nephilim prize being presented.  

Alexander Lightwood isn’t going to be claimed by anyone other than Magnus himself tonight.

Magic engulfs him with a dark swirl of wraith shadows as he changes mid-stride. Instead of silk and velvet he’s now draped in abyssal leathers and metals, even his jewelry are artifacts primed for war and bloodshed. It’s truly a pity that his opponents lack intelligence, as only a handful of them step back at his arrival.

Magnus knows exactly what most of them seek from this.  Half of them probably aren’t even planning to actually claim Alexander, just use him and discard him for the next predator.  The runework laid across this entire region means that unless his life is in active danger, Alexander can’t retaliate to anything done to him here.

As useful as that is for Magnus, it does mean that he’ll have some pests to take care of in the meantime.

—

Alec has laid four false trails by the time he’s satisfied and starts to actually run.  There is something about this area that the others won’t know about. Something that will give him more time, perhaps not by much but even just a little extra time will be a blessing in this trial. 

The pond Alec dives into is an underwater offshoot of Lake Lynn.  Any who consume it or the plants growing near it will have hallucinogenic effects and in the case of a downworlder, might die.

It means that the cold, deadly water is worth it, as Alec holds his breath and lets instinct guide him instead of his eyes until he follows the small tunnel back up and into a tiny cave, the cold water lapping at the small bed of sand and stone and shell.  It won’t last for long, Alec will need to leave once the tide of Lake Lynn responds to the gravity of the moon’s pull and the cave refills.

But it should at least hold him till near dawn, which means that the vampires will have to retreat.  Alec won’t risk becoming nothing more than a bloodbag.

Once the water retakes his temporary sanctuary, Alec will only have until his breath runs out before he’ll need to move on, finding the next and more deadly set of outcroppings that will safeguard him.

His hands tremble with exhaustion — the Clave hadn’t trusted him not to run from what they perceive a fate worse than death — and he’s been denied rest and nutrients.  They don’t want him avoiding getting caught for too long, but Alec won’t go down without his own personal pride intact.  Either he’ll surrender on his own terms or go down fighting his best.

The stone he pulls from the rock hides an assortment of leather and waxed linen packages.  Dried meats and fruits, water safe to drink and two small vials, potions that Alec had thought he might need when he heard that this madness was going to happen.

—

Magnus goes for the vampires first and with the prejudice of knowing there is a time limit.

They’re the most dangerous opponents as of now.  Everyone knows how addicting nephilim blood is and Alec is a prime specimen for feasting upon.  Every single one of them wants at the very least a taste, but they wouldn’t hesitate to drain him near dry and keep him there on the brink of dying for just another mouthful.

Small suns condense in life between his palms before he slams one into the chest of a vampire, portaling behind and moving with a speed too quick to see. Magnus collects five vampiric heart gems before he finally finds the last two, they’ve joined up and as far as Magnus can hear, they have tracking experience.  

It’s amusing to use them at first, following behind them with deadly precision as they track through the shadows of Idris.

It gets less humorous the longer it takes, the more they circle, confused and disoriented until Magnus summons a silver sword and simply beheads them both.  It wastes two heart gems but Magnus finds his patience truly tried and tested.  He’s wasted time he could be culling the rest of this herd that dares to think themselves his competition. 

—

Alec can’t fight, he reminds himself of that fact as he runs, damp and slick from the waters of the pond but also his footprints shudder even as he makes them.  The water wavers in a new reality, corrupting what it touches until the path his feet take leaves a twisted trail of entanglement behind him.

Ahead, the mountains peak through, the sun breaking over them and Alec snarls through the next jump he takes, clearing a small canyon before he wipes his mouth on his now dry sleeve.  His sweat will be dangerous for the next few hours from the water, he can’t afford to ingest any of it even by accident.  

The stones beg for Alec’s fingers as he uses them to climb, tucking himself into the shifting arches and curves of the rocks as he uses the mountain wall itself rather than the path between the peaks.  If he’s seen, then he can be tracked and if he leaves too many traces he can be found.

It’s rough work and even with all his years training as an archer and his years as a shadowhunter, the rough treatment wears on him.  His shoulders ache, lower back burning with a new tightness as his raw fingers scrape for the next handhold.  If he summons his Iratze now, there’s a chance he can’t activate the rune with the power he might need later.  

There’s a small shelf near a nest of eagles that Alec takes a break at, hard jerky and soft dried fruit as his meal as he sips from the leather canteen he’d stored in the cave. Izzy’d gotten him top notch potions, just like she promised.  The last thing she could do for him, after begging to try and help in any way.

It’s a risk but one Alec allowed since he’s the one who actually stashed and used them. 

—

Magnus hadn’t planned on killing every other competitor in the Hunt — that was a bad look after all — but everyone seemed desperate to continually try his patience.  

Yet another disturbance and this one, one of his own.  Someone who should know better but ultimately didn’t and Magnus ignores the words and magic, sentences meant to cajole and instead burns it all.

Fire licks into existence, snuffing out all life as he blows out a breath, spreading the ash far and wide, using the remains as a sacrifice for a tracking beacon.

It’s practical, after all.  Not letting things go to waste.

The cliffs loom ahead and Magnus — rather than fight the terrain — calculates.  The portal is his invention, he knows secrets unfathomable to even those who study its use and with the sun at the right trajectory, he opens a door through space and time and steps through.

—

It takes what feels like hours before Alec finally reaches a flat plateau of forest near the peak of the mountain.  Hidden in the gentle slope of grass and wildflowers is a small and safe spring from the ice peaks.  A place he can finally rinse off in.  After all, he can’t afford to have someone actually catch him while he’s still covered in hallucinogens.  

He strips quickly, efficiently dunking his clothes and then activating the drying runes on them.  They have to recharge so he’d waited, using them after entering the cave but not after leaving it. The water is ice cold on his skin as he washes himself with a few handfuls of the fine sand on the streambed and then dunks his hair to vigorously scrub. 

It’s the work of mere moments but it feels forever, as if the weight of an invisible predator is lingering on him as he cleans.

It’s instinct to go with his pants first, then boots and shirt. The safest order of redressing in a situation he might need to move quickly in.  There’s an impatient tsk that resonates through the air as he reaches for his socks and boots rather than his shirt. 

With instincts screaming at him, Alec abandons both his shirt and shoes and runs, ready to cross the stream with a jump before a lashing whip of blue magic curls around his ankle and slams him down.

Alec rolls on his back,  heels pressed down into the ground as he prepares to lunge and run. The magic on his ankle caresses his skin as if activated by the mere thought of escape and then tugs, forcing his leg flat again and dragging him down and through the moss and water smooth rocks.  

Bringing him closer to a warlock with gleaming gold eyes, twin suns hot enough to brand Alec with just a gaze. A gleaming black boot kicks his legs apart, the man stepping closer before he bends down, his knee pinning Alec’s torso to the dirt like a butterfly mounted to a frame. The magic leaves his ankle and slithers up his body, parting to go up his arms and wrapping around both wrists before jerking them up and over his head, taking away any hope at getting leverage.

Warm fingers grip his jaw and cool rings tease at his skin as his head is tilted, maneuvered without his say until their eyes connect.

“There you are, Alexander.”

[honey-im-hotdog]

Pretty Boy

Finan x Reader x Sihtric

Author’s Note: Hi! This is my very first time writing for The Last Kingdom, so please cut me some slack if the characters are a bit ooc. There simply is not enough poly stuff for these two in my humble opinion. I need to be between them both so bad. Okay, please enjoy!

As always, reader is supposed to be gn+vague, so if you catch any mistakes related to that please let me know.

Words: 0.4k — a quick one since I just wanted to get it out :)

Warnings: fluff; pet names (love, pretty boy); kissing; reader is said to have hair with braids but no description of length or color, etc; cheesy as fuck.

Summary: A cute moment spent within Sihtric and Finan's arms.

Check out my other stuff :)

———————————

“What are you thinking about?” Thick with sleep, Finan’s voice is a warm blanket.

Your head tilts to the side as you brush a leaf down his face, smiling softly as his eyes close in bliss.

“Hmm,” you hum as his eyes open and pin you with his stare, “just that you are too pretty to be real.”

His eyes widen, “‘Pretty?!’” he says in mock offense. “I am ‘pretty’ to you? That’s all?! I am a fearsome warrior, I’ll have you know!” His hands fly about as he exaggerates his words.

You can’t help but giggle at his grumbling, feeling your chest warm as he shakes his head side to side in your lap. Your fingers are quick to find the short braids Sihtric wove into the Irishman’s dark hair, the metal beads matching the ones in your and the Dane’s hair.

“Fine, fine! You aren’t pretty.”

As if it were possible, the man grows even more bewildered when you leave your sentence at that. “Excuse me!” His accent thicker than ever.

The laughter bubbles out of you, “What? You didn’t wanna be pretty!”

His mouth opens and closes like a fish as he tries to come up with a response.

You feel the vibrations of Sihtric’s laughter against your back before you hear it. His arms squeezing you just a little tighter. “Keep tormenting him, my love. Misery looks good on him,” his words are said into your shoulder, eyes also peering down at Finan. The smile clear as day in his voice.

“You fucking heathen, you!” Finan sits up in faux rage, but you’re quick to grab his arm and pull him into your chest; smothering his face in light kisses in between your quiet laughter.

“You are the bravest, scariest, toughest, handsomest warrior to have ever walked Wessex. And I am in awe everyday to call you mine.”

The Irishman cups the crown of your head to pull you into a soft kiss. The both of you smiling through it.

You feel Sihtric nuzzle his nose into your neck after a while, “And what about me?”

You and Finan pull away from each other with a laugh.

“You, my friend, are an oaf.”

“Finan!”

He just laughs at your gentle smack against his bicep.

You rest your head back on Sihtric’s shoulder, the hand not holding onto Finan reaching up into his hair. “You are the sweetest, kindest, gentlest, most fearsome,” you lightly pinch Finan as he starts to protest, “warrior, Sihtric. My pretty boy.”

He kisses the spot just below your ear, mumbling his thanks and returning your praise tenfold.

Finan tilts his head back, humming in disapproval. “You got that last bit wrong, love,” it’s Sihtric’s turn to be pulled down, “he’s our pretty boy.” Sihtric moans the second their lips connect.

The embrace between the three of you tightens as you get lost within kisses and caresses for the rest of the night.

[oddsnendsfanfics]

May or may not have drawn inspiration from this, in inserting fun and flirty moustache jokes into future parts of Stinky Dog.

[citrine-elephant]

chreon but

leon can't fuckin relax. he just wants to keep moving, can't get his mind to stop.

chris, in an effort to get this man to relax and sit tf down, challenges him to a lil wrestling. one of those, "can you just sit down?" versus "make me" situations. oh, the tension.

leon won't make it easy, of course, as fun as being dominated by chris would be. you seen the re6 fight, it'll go on awhile.

but once chris eventually wins, maybe leon's too tuckered out and accepts his fate. maybe, just maybe, chris pulls a move and ties his ass down.

alternatively: chris can't relax, so leon decides to test the big guy's stamina and agility by playing keep away with some important nonsense of his.

cat man climbing up and over walls so that chris ends up giving up out of exhaustion.

[fatedroses]

Zenos, but he uses his grandfather's name and imagery for his new armor so he can actually feel like a hero.

[icarusignite]

Okok hear me out, this story has been festering in my head for a while.

King Alfred loses his beloved wife, Lady Aelswith, in childbirth of their only son, Edward. While he is still mourning, his eldormen pressure him to take a second wife to produce more heirs and spares, but really, they just hope to push forward their own daughters as candidates for the King to select. The most vocal amongst them is power hungry Lord Augustine, whose lands and wealth make him impossible to say no to, because even the king needs allies. So Alfred agrees to marry his daughter, Lady Joanna, but he vows never to touch her so that Augustine's dream of having his blood upon the throne will never be realized. Alfred knows that the moment he has children with Joanna, his children with Aelswith will meet fatal "accidents" and be removed.

Joanna is very different from what Alfred is used to in Aelswith and its part of why he hates her. While his previous queen was quiet and gentle, guiding his decisions with a non commanding suggestions, Joanna is bolder and more disagreeable. She isn't as careful as Aelswith was and Alfred hates that she isn't her.

He also hates her obviously cuz hes forced into the marriage and her father is always breathing down their necks waiting for them to have kids. Alfred thinks that Joanna is a spy for her father sent to torment him and his children.

But eventually he sees that Joanna hates her dad too cuz he's a prick and he actually has more in common with his new wife than he previously thought. He begins to find her candor and brashness refreshing, and she's always so gentle and good with Aelswiths kids, so he can't make himself continue hating her, but then he feels guilty for beginning to care for her cuz he still clings on to the memory of Aelswith.

Alfred is deeply religious but Joanna is lowkey abit of a secret agnostic cuz ✨️religious trauma ✨️ and they beef over that for abit too. Alfred feels even more religious guilt about falling for what he considers basically a Heathen in disguise

One day Alfred comes accross Joanna's father like being cruel to her and just yelling at her for not yet bearing the king's children and he barges in to their private conversation to defend her by being all "she is your queen, and you will respect her as you would respect me, your king." And Joanna is speechless cuz this is the first time he has stood up for her or said anything remotely polite or kind about her. But then Alfred ruins it by saying that he needed to atleast keep up the appearances or else the eldormen would shackle him to another useless bride of their choosing so he had to pretend to be somewhat content with Joanna. And obvi Joanna is hurt cuz she thought he was finally beginning to care for her.

Essentially a slow burn, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, angsty King Alfred fic?

Would anyone be interested in that? Alfred is such an underrated character and I have barely seen any fics for him, so I thought I might try and remedy that lol.

Credit to @justasightseer for getting me into the Alfred squad lol, I can't stop thinking about him now.

[cntarella]

The Young Man by Annie Ernaux

[transfinan]

Every time Finan interacts with Uhtred he's so gentle. Like he can be so brash when he's joking around with the others and everything but anytime Uhtred is a little sad it's like he immediately shifts to comforting mode, his voice gets softer, he makes cautious physical contact, eye contact etc.

Kind of makes me think more about what their relationship was like on the slave ship, did keeping an eye on Uhtred help Finan get by? Was caring for someone else a comfort and a distraction for him?

When they finally escaped together he said they were bonded, and that rings so true when you look at how connected they are emotionally.

[obvious-captain-rogers]

“I don’t follow, Lord,” Finan said and he watched Uhtred’s face in the silvery light that came from the moon. It was pensive and it was concerned and Finan felt something in his chest clench at that. Uhtred didn’t often show his worries. He was either too foolhardy or assured of his skills. “Gisela told me of something that Sihtric said to her. Something that I am sure he would not want passed along for others to know,” Uhtred said and shot Finan a look. Finan couldn’t contradict that. It was pure fact that he had a tendency to let his mouth run away from his good sense. “Sihtric…” Uhtred hesitated uncharacteristically. "Sihtric has not been taken to bed.” The information sat between them heavily as Finan thought. He couldn’t believe it. Sihtric was a strapping lad who had been shot many an intrigued glance by the young ladies of Wintanceaster and Coccham. It made no sense to Finan that he hadn’t yet fallen into the sheets- or even into the hay- with one of them.

the working title for this was "the deflowering of sihtric kjartanson" 😂 I don't know why this fic wouldn't leave me alone, but I came up with a few of the conversations on my drives to and from work and now here we are 14,000 words later

[alexanderlightweight]

you forgot a few of my requests last time :) fix pls? <3

for you of course <3

so, i'm finishing the rest of the prompt for my bf because yes, I did cut it off halfway through the prompt because between these two prompts (okay between these two halves of a single prompt) its over over 6k when I combined the fills. but here is only 4k of malec smut.

here we are <3

~ lumine

Magnus is just finishing his trap when his prize arrives.  

Alexander pulls himself up past the crest of the valley by sheer strength and will. His body is trembling from overexertion despite his runes and Magnus lingers in the warded shadows of the layers he's placed.

There’s something strange in the air around Alexander, a glimmer to his clothes and skin and hair that Magnus’ unglamoured eyes can track. 

Patience rewards him with a boon for once.

Alexander strips, washing both himself and his clothes and baring himself to Magnus, letting Magnus see what is his to claim. Magnus crooks a finger, adding yet another layer to the wards.

Magnus will not allow himself to be easily interrupted.

Not when he is so close to his goal.

It seems a pity to let Alexander cover himself back up, but Magnus doesn’t mind unwrapping the whole package.  At least until Alexander inconveniently reaches for his boots instead of his shirt.

Magnus enjoys unwrapping his presents but his quickly waning patience has finally snapped at the thought of Alexander trying to run. 

Which he does.

He’s smart. 

Trying to flee from a battle his instincts will warn he can’t win.  It’s delicious, to drag him closer to the maw of the beast waiting to devour him and watch as he struggles in vain.

To see how he stills, quiet and limp like prey when Magnus pins him down and purrs his name.

“If you have any other tricks, play them now, sweetheart. This will be your last chance for leniency.” 

—

There’s a moment, a moment where everything hangs in the balance of Alec’s answer.

Blood pounds, his heart beating so loud that he can no longer hear the babbling of the brook of the even, unbothered breathing of the warlock atop him.

There’s no need to answer.

Alec could just let it happen. 

The warlock pinning him down is going to fuck him whether Alec lies or not.

He could just himself be fucked into oblivion and then fade, the Clave will find a new prize for the downworld.

This is his last chance for defiance.  

The only moment from now on that his choices will actually ever matter again.

Except, do choices really matter when there is only one he can pick?

—

Magnus can practically feel the submission when his shadowhunter finally relaxes beneath his touch, eyes dropping from his own to look down and away. It’s a beautiful victory — though Magnus wouldn’t have minded Alexander playing hard to get — and Magnus wants to set his teeth to Alexander’s neck when his boy finally speaks.

“There’s an antidote in the lining of my pants.”

Edom roars in Magnus’ ears and his fingers and magic tighten, Alexander shifting beneath him yet unable to move.

“And just where did you get poison, Alexander?”

It appears Magnus is going to need to keep a very tight leash on his boy from now on. Alexander had been checked over by warlocks — to ensure nothing that could be used as a weapon was on his person — before the hunt began.

The poison might also be the answer as to why it was so difficult to track Alexander.

“I stashed it days ago in an underwater cave.  It’s in the pond supplied by Lake Lynn.”  

Alexander doesn’t need to say more, they both know that Magnus is fully aware of the dangers of Lake Lynn.  It had been a place he hadn’t even considered looking. Not when he’d known that the Lake can be just as dangerous for nephilim.  It was only so as not to be accused of assassination that the Clave let them know to avoid the location at all.

Magnus hadn’t considered that Alexander would put himself in that much danger but since his boy was also willing to take poison, it’s clear Magnus underestimated him.

“Well aren’t you clever.” 

It should be a complement but it isn’t and Magnus uses magic to find the antidote, his fury building with every moment the poison continues to course through his boy’s veins.

The vial is thin, cleverly concealed in one of the reinforced seams where traditionally a sword-harness would attach. The liquid is thick and blue, the strong smell of wintermint covering any other recognizable scent.

Magnus diagnoses Alexander with a grimace of anger.

The poison will begin corroding his boy’s internal organs any moment now and yet Magnus checks the vial again.  

It’s as unfamiliar as the poison slowly killing his prey.

“If you’ve lied, Alexander, and this is another poison. I can promise you that you will not die. Instead you will live to regret disobeying me.”

Alexander swallows the potion obediently, not a shudder of fear going through him as Magnus’ magic carefully entangles with it.  It can't be pleasant, swallowing the viscous liquid or the dense shard of Magnus’ magic, but Alexander doesn’t flinch or close his mouth.

Not that it would help if he did, not with Magnus keeping Alexander jaw open with a harsh press of his thumb.

For a moment the potion wavers, seeming unsure of if to hinder or help, then it does something strange.  Magnus thinks that despite his warning, it is another acid, except what it eats regrows, thrice as fast as it devours and what it regrows is healthy again.  Alexander chokes on a gasp, wrenching his head from Magnus’ bruising grip to turn, coughing out a mouthful of silver blood. His lips are stained with it, dripping down his chin and it’s only because it contains poison that Magnus uses magic to clean it away rather than his tongue.

“Good boy,” even as he says it — enjoying the shudder that goes through Alexander at his praise — he double checks. 

Nails dragging down Alexander’s chest before he stops, palm over his boy’s heart.

The poison is truly gone, but Magnus’ wrath has yet to be soothed.

“This?” Magnus finally lets his sharp points of his rings bite into the skin over Alexander’s heart, “this is mine, darling. You do not have my permission to die.”

Alexander keens as Magnus kisses him, the taste of Magnus’ own magic greeting him on Alexander’s tongue.

Alexander is enthusiastic and clumsy, unable to do anything but accept as Magnus licks into his mouth, tongue-fucking him until Alexander is writhing, barely breathing but still trying to kiss back.

His boy keens when they part, but Magnus merely croons and uses magic to shred the leather of Alexander’s pants and slicks his fingers with magic.

Alexander struggles, not away but into Magnus touch, trying to fuck himself on Magnus fingers the minute they pet over his hole.  He’s so desperate, wanton and begging and Magnus has barely begun.

It’s more time than it’s worth to stretch him for long, Magnus’ ring-clad fingers fuck into him hard and fast as Magnus bites deeply. Teeth sinking into Alexander’s skin with eager victory. Blood wells beneath his teeth, pooling in his mouth and running down Alexander’s neck as Magnus finally unclenches his jaw.

Alexander’s stays in place, bleeding neck arching in supplication as he lets Magnus move him as he wants, muscles trembling but otherwise still.

There’s no resistance, Alexander pliant and obedient beneath him as Magnus finally lets himself take.  Pressing his cock into Alexander until there is no space between them,  the sound of skin slapping together the evidence of a covenant taking place.

“From now on when you exalt your god, darling. It will be my name you praise.”

With that last instruction Magnus bends down, pressing his lips to Alexander’s ear and whispers both the name of his body and the name of his soul. Tying it to the magic Alexander consumed and binding his names to Alexander’s heart with immortal chains.

—

Alec feels like he’s dying.

It’s too much and not enough and the magic pinning his wrists down means he can’t touch Magnus.  It’s a torture far worse than the poison burning through his body only moments before.

“Please—” he starts because he wants to touch but Magnus fingers shush him, pressing into his mouth and Alec reflexively swallows around them.

Magnus tastes like power.

Like sun and bone and ash and moon and the way shadows linger on your tongue during a hunt.

It’s overwhelming and yet stokes a desperate thirst that has Alec chasing it.  His tongue desperately laps for anything taste, twining between Magnus’ fingers and Alec barely notices Magnus’ stifled groan or the way the magic on him tightens.

He’s too lost in the feel of calluses petting over his tongue and the way Magnus’ rings are cool against his lips, tasting of star-metal forged in bone-fires.

From the minute Magnus’ magic had caught him, Alec had lost.

The feel of it on his ankle had been searing, as if penetrating to the bone in a brand that would never leave.  Even now, Magnus’ magic feels like fire demanding its due, claiming him as Alec’s reforged around Magnus’ cock.

But the choice Alec made, telling Magnus about the poison.  

It hadn’t been a choice at all.  

It stopped being one the moment Alec had met the golden eyes of the warlock, of Magnus, pinning him down

—

Alexander looks like sin given form as he fights.

Oh he's not fighting Magnus, hasn’t since Magnus caught him..  

But he is fighting his own desires and the fact that Magnus still has him tied down, unable to do anything but writhe beneath him as Magnus takes his fill.  Fucking Alexander harshly as Magnus’ takes out the remainder of his bloodlust on Alexander’s body.

“Please—” his shadowhunter finally manages to get out, desperate and eager and pleading desperately, “Magnus please.”

Magnus knows exactly what he wants.  

What Alexander is praying for without even knowing himself.

“Don’t you beg so sweetly.” Magnus croons, kissing Alexander and being eagerly met, Alexander trying to rock up against him which he allows for a moment before pulling away. “Yet the answer is no.” 

Magnus pets over Alexander’s thigh, laughing as Alexander keens in protest as he takes both his mouth and the promise of release away. 

“When you come it will be in my bed, on my cock with my magic in and around you. Not here where Idris can lay claim to one last piece of you.” Magnus’ magic is a gleeful binding on Alexander’s body, still such a small tether but already one brimming with potential.  “Besides darling.  You’ve been mine since the moment I laid eyes on you.  Did you really think you could hurt what belongs to me without punishment?”

Magnus had offered benediction for tricks.  He had not offered forgiveness for the crime of Alexander harming himself.

Alexander whines again, body bucking under Magnus’ touch, his cock quivering, balls taut but even as Magnus finally touches his cock, he doesn’t come.

He can’t.

It’s such a sweet proof of how deep the claim Magnus’ already has on him is.

“Your first and most important lesson, Alexander.” Magnus chuckles as Alexander squirms closer, drying desperately to fuck Magnus’ hand. “If you run, I will chase you. Fuck you unconscious  no matter where I catch you and when you wake where you belong, in my bed and arms.  It will be to find another mark only tying you closer to me.  Until your own body obeys me more than it does you.” 

Alexander clenches around him, body convulsing with effort as he trembles, his body betraying him even as it obeys Magnus.

—

Alec would tear his own heart out and offer it to Magnus if it meant only a moment of relief.

Instead he’s unable to speak, his raw throat too caught on sounds he never knew he could make as Magnus plays his body like it was an instrument made solely for him.

He was.  

Alec thinks to  himself.  

Alec had to have been made for Magnus because what other answer is there? Not when he feels delirious as he tries to cling to the feeling of Magnus pressed against him, memorizing the brand of Magnus’ skin and magic and body against his own.

Euphoria floods him at how well Magnus' body fits to his own.  To know that even when he’s not doing anything — can’t because of how Magnus is forcibly keeping him still — there’s something about him that makes Magnus want him.

Magnus comes with Alec’s name on his lip and Alec’s blood on his tongue and who cares if Alec can’t come. He’s felt more pleasure from Magnus fucking him and using him as he wants then Alec’s ever had with his own hand and fingers.

It’s a pity that before Alec can bask in the sensation — ignoring just how badly he wants to beg again to come — his instincts flare.  

—

“Let me up, Magnus.” 

Magnus’ name on Alexander’s tongue — voice quiet with how raw his throat is —  is just as delicious now as when he begged Magnus during sex.

A pity his boy won’t get what he wants this time either.

“No.” Magnus tells him, leaving Alexander there as he stands. Stretching to enjoy the ache in his muscles and only stopping to zip his cock back into his pants.  He lets his magic keep Alexander pinned, naked and splayed out on the forest floor as Magnus steps away.

Whatever lucidity he’d fucked out of his boy is returning far too quickly for Magnus’ taste.  It’s clear that his shadowhunter can also sense the incoming presence of an intruder.  An enemy that has pinged his senses and in his currency state of vulnerability, he means to fight or flee.

Magnus will happily dissuade him of the notion that he’s allowed either.

“Settle, Alexander. A warrior you may be but you’re under my authority now. You’ll allow me to protect you unless I decide otherwise.”

And currently his only job is to be a spectator as Magnus prepares to greet the werewolf stepping out of the thick bramble on the other side of the clearing.

“Bane, already started then.” The man grins, “any fight left in him?”

Magnus vaguely recalls the name of the werewolf in front of him, but seeing as how his existence is forfeit, there is no reason to use it.

Magnus is still wearing his battle rings, chains interloping down his knuckles to his wrists and without answering he catches the arm of the werewolf, the man screaming from the contact as silver talons rip through his flesh and Magnus shreds sinew to the bone.

—

Everything is awful. 

If Alec had realized telling Magnus about the poison would result in no orgasm, he would have just risked his health and waited until the sex was over to confess.

Surely whatever punishment Magnus would have dealt can’t be worse than the one Alec’s already enduring.

It feels incredibly unfair to be fucked and claimed by the man of his unknown dreams and then not even be allowed to come.

It’s even worse when Magnus moves away — taking away his touch which is the only thing keeping Alec sane and grounded — and keeps Alec there.

Pinned like a carcass to the ground, as if he’s nothing more than slaughtered prey to be fought over.

He should hate it.

He does hate it, or at the least the idea of it.

But all protests die at the thought of Magnus killing because of him, for him, up-close and with Alec watching this time.  Using Magnus’ own hands rather than just magic in what Alec knows is meant to be an object lesson.

For both Alec and everyone who looks at him.

Because Magnus will eviscerate anyone who comes for Alec.

He’ll torture them too.

Alec can tell by the way Magnus is toying with the werewolf.  

Taunting him with words and actions and loudly praising just how good of a fuck Alec is in a way that should make Alec flush with indignation at just how blatantly he’s being objectified.

Instead a part of Alec preens, wanting to do even better next time if this is the kind of reward he gets.

How can Alec have any protests when he’s watching — body trapped and still trembling from how hard Magnus fucked him  — as Magnus taunts and teases and laughs cruelly before falling silent.

The wolf says something.  

Something he shouldn’t have that Alec can’t make out over the pounding of his own heartbeat but he can tell that Magnus’ playfully violent mood has snapped.

One moment Magnus is mocking the werewolf and the next he’s pulling a blood-slick wrist out of the other man’s chest.  The silver-clawed rings that cling to Magnus’ fingers sear into the still sizzling heart and the body drops with any aborted howl.

Alec can see the blood dripping from the gleaming points, thick and dark and for a moment he wonders if Magnus offer him his fingers again

Coat Alec in the blood of the intruder and slick himself up and back into Alec’s body with the blood of his competition. Alec can’t tell if he loves or hates the idea with how desperate he is for Magnus to touch him again.

There’s nothing he can do right now. Just take whatever is given to him and he desperately wants more, his dick even harder after the fight.

“Aren’t you greedy.” Magnus mocks as he gets closer, the heart in his hand that Alec is eyeing warily turned to pulp.  Crushed in Magnus’ palm before he drops it to the ground to step over. “Now do you really think I’d dirty you with just anyone's blood?” 

The blood disappears with a twisting flame of magic and Magnus stands over him with a smirk, “those who dare to covet you don’t deserve to touch you.  Even in death.”

Alec swallows down a whimper and tries not to start begging for Magnus to put his hands on Alec again.

“Now darling, should I finish what I started, before we were interrupted?”

Raziel, yes.

If it means Magnus touching him again, even if Alec still can’t come, then he wants that.  

Needs that more than he’s ever needed anything in his life.

—

Magnus licks the mess of his own come, sweat and precome from Alexander’s skin, forcing his boy’s thighs further apart and uncaring of the burn already left by his goatee as he runs his teeth in a searing line down the crease of Alexander’s inner thighs and groin.

Alexander will feel it chafing under his clothes for days since Magnus won’t be letting him use an iratze.  

His sweet prize keens but doesn’t resist as Magnus nips, leaving marks that will overlap with his fingerprints and finally, after pressing a long, sucking kiss to the tip of Alexander’s cock, Magnus slides back into him.

It’s like being welcomed home.

Alexander’s hole is just as greedy and tight around Magnus’ dick as the first time and this time his shadowhunter's body is desperately tense.

There’s an awareness now that wasn’t there before, Alexander squirming closer even as Magnus’ balls slap against his ass.

“Please,” is whispered, just a breath between kisses and Magnus finally relents, because this time Alexander is asking for something else.

Something Magnus is now willing to allow.

For the first time he lets the magic binding Alexander relax.  

It doesn’t leave him, it won’t ever leave him again, but it does let him move.

Alexander is quick, arms coming up and with a grip so tight it could be taken as an attack if he weren’t desperately trying to pull Magnus even closer. 

His trembling fingers leave bruises, harsh marks that Magnus can already feel forming as somehow Alexander’s squirming earns him a free leg, one he gets up and over Magnus’ hip.

His boy is so demanding now that he’s been allowed just a hint of freedom.  His kisses are consuming, like a drowning man begging for air and well, who is Magnus to refuse such a plea.

Magnus has been hard since the fight and he comes again, grinding his hips deep and digging his teeth for one last time into Alexander’s chest, stilling and letting out a pleased sigh as his boy clenches as if desperate to prolong Magnus’ orgasm and keep him from leaving.

Alexander pants, hole still tight around Magnus’ softening cock and arms locked around Magnus’ neck.  Alexander’s cock is a wet, sopping mess between them, almost purple with how desperate he is and he keeps rocking up against Magnus’ abdomen.  Rubbing his cock against Magnus’ abdomen with little hitching movements of his hips that while adorable, won’t get him what he wants.

With a groan Magnus pulls out, chuckling as he has to use magic to untangle Alexander’s limbs from his own.  

Then he looks down at his boy, ruined and defiled and absolutely begging for Magnus to come back and fuck him all over again.

Even knowing he still won’t be allowed to come.

“Stay.” Magnus orders as he stands, kicking apart Alexander's legs when he tries to close them. Wants to see his come leaking down Alexander’s thighs, this time without the need of magic keeping his boy down.

Magnus is the bloodline of lust and already his cock is hardening again and while the lure of slipping back inside Alexander — fucking him full again and again, defiling him for hours in the hollowed lands of Idris —  is near irresistible, he can’t.

Magnus has priorities.

One of which involves showing off just how deeply he’s claimed Alexander to the Clave and every other being in attendance. 

It’s a pity to cover up any of his marks so soon, but Magnus enjoys Alexander too much to let him go anywhere without being draped in the signs of Magnus’ victory.

It’s easy to summon a simple but elegant leather collar, threaded with pure silver and buckled with iron for additional safety. It digs into one of the bites Magnus left, teeth marks on either side of Alexander’s deflect rune in a blasphemous claim.

It seals without a buckle, joining in the middle to form a gem made of hellfire and a drop of energy harvested from sol.

Despite the sun having risen, he will suffer no chances. 

Magnus knows that among those of lesser ranks there had been whispers but to have it thrown in his face by the werewolf he’d just killed has stoked his wrath.

A man suicidal enough that even in the face of certain death, he’d gone a step further and taunted Magnus.  Letting Magnus know that since the nephilim — Magnus’ nephilim — belonged to the downworld now, any downworlder should get to have him. 

It would almost be amusing, the delusions that have spread, except they involve what belongs to Magnus and the werewolf should have known better.

Magnus does not share what is his. 

No matter who approaches Alexander with the intent to feed, the gem will not discriminate.  

Not even against Raphael.

For any who covets what belongs to Magnus, even if only by instinct, is worth no more than fuel for Edom.

Alexander is still barefoot as Magnus pulls him to his feet and unhurriedly dresses him in simple pants and a shirt. Not bothering to clean off the evidence of his claim, just covering it under the fabric of Magnus’ own clothing.

Anyone who gets close enough to Alexander — whether they have enhanced senses or not — will be able to smell the sex and blood.  They’ll smell hellfire ash, come and the same unique sandalwood scent that clings to all of Magnus’ personal clothing.  

It’s proof of Magnus’ absolute win for those stupid enough to think he’ll share.

“Do you know how many I had to kill?” Magnus asks conversationally as he zips Alexander’s pants, “how many dared try to compete with me for you?” 

Alexander shudders under his touch, revulsion from the thought of others but also something eager in his eyes as he questions Magnus’ silently.

It’s such a small defiance, withholding the question that Magnus wants to answer and Alexander wants to hear the answer to.

Yet Magnus allows lenience just this once.  Something he’ll need to be careful with, considering how easy it is to want to spoil his boy. 

“So many that I quite lost track.  We’ll just have to see how many survived.  After all, the Clave needs to officially relinquish their hold on you, don’t they?”

AN:

The werewolf taunt was that basically he didn’t get why magnus was being so serious when alec belonged to the downworld now. And that when magnus got tired of him, he’d be happy to fuck him (in wolf form no less) and uh. yeah.

Magnus is like... wow i didn’t realize the local pack was so uneducated.  Looks like i’m about to make some object lessons.

This can be practice *takes heart and considers feeding it to alexander before realizing its dirty*

It got contaminated by the werewolves dirty thoughts involving Magnus’ boy. Therefore, cannot be fed to alec.

Magnus is sanitary like that.

[vargassdottir]

So what happened to me writing “Wonders Seen Through A Storm” asked no one at all, but on the rare chance anyone came here looking for it…

Answers.

I have up to chapter 14 written, but honestly I lost stamina for it and the story kinda frustrated me just by the sheer amount I put myself going through. TLK is loooooooong okay.

I doubt I’ll post more for it, on the grounds of if I think it would be a little cruel for me to show what could have been when I’m struggling to continue it.

That said! I am still writing, but I won’t upload anymore stories either here or on Ao3 until they’re fully completed! I have two ongoing fics that I hope to finish by next summer at the latest and then will start sharing so 🤞🏻

[towriteloveontheirarms]

So, I´m currently writing the next Sihtric fic and um... Y´all are not gonna like Finan in this one. Seriously, homeboy is so not behaving like a good friend lmao. Oh well, someone needs to be the bad guy, so why not him Ig💀💀

[asa-do-your-thing]

An Eye for an Eye - 05

“Kindling in the Grove”

Osferth x F! OC - 18+ MINORS DNI

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: fluff, sexual innuendos, adults talking about sex, just general saucyness

Aemma walked along the overgrown trail in the forest, collecting fallen limbs and branches, her short legs striding quickly. The tall grass brushed against her rough-spun dress and twigs crunched underfoot. She placed each log on armfuls of kindling and barked at Osferth to gather their bedding from the horses as she crouched over the pile to light a fire starting with some tinder.

Despite the growing storm clouds, Aemma and Osferth worked together in an easy camaraderie that had been forged in the short time they had known eachother.

"One more log, and I think this should be enough," Aemma said, adding a few logs to the pile in front of Osferth.

Osferth nodded in agreement and struck the bellows to life with a glowing ember. "Let's finish up before the rain starts properly."

As if on cue, the rain started to lightly fall around them in a drizzle. "Right," Aemma said with a smile, turning back towards their task.

Aemma looked up at Osferth with a thoughtful expression, wondering what their journey had in store for them. "Do you know what we have to do in Cirreanceastre?" she asked quietly.

Osferth paused his work and met her gaze steadily, sensing the seriousness of her question under the layer of everyday banter between them. He considered her thoughtfully before replying, "No," he said simply. "But I imagine it will be difficult."

The dim light of the campfire gave a slight warmth to the cold night and Aemma and Osferth had just finished setting up the tents when they heard the sound of hoofbeats in the distance.

As it drew closer, they could hear the jingle of armor and the rustle of fabrics. Aemma's heart skipped a beat as she recognized the familiar forms of Finan, Sihtric, and Uhtred.

Their faces were weathered by years of battles and hardships, but their eyes held an indomitable spirit as they dismounted from their horses.

"You made it!" Aemma exclaimed, embracing each one in turn.

"Aye," Uhtred smiled, his eyes twinkling in the firelight. "We wouldn't miss this journey for anything!"

Finan nodded in agreement, rubbing a hand across his whiskered chin thoughtfully. "It's time we make our way to Cirreanceastre."

Osferth nodded respectfully at them all before motioning towards their supplies. "Let's get ready for tomorrow," he said curtly.

Uhtred surveyed the campsite with a delighted smirk, his gaze never missing a single detail. "Excellent work, Osferth, Aemma," he proclaimed, his voice reverberating across the meadow like a lion's roar. He swept his cape behind him and gave a nod of approval. "We'll make this our base camp before we set out to fulfill our mission."

Osferth and Aemma exchanged a glance, sharing a small smile. As the others settled around the fire, Aemma took the opportunity to make herself useful, offering them each a plate of roasted meat and a tankard of ale.

As they ate, Uhtred's gaze settled on Osferth and Aemma. He cleared his throat, drawing their attention. "I have news to share," he began, his voice low but commanding. "We've received a secret message from King Alfred. He has tasked us with a mission of great importance."

A hushed silence fell over the group as they listened intently. Uhtred continued, his words carrying a heavy weight. "We are to infiltrate the camp of a Thane who has been harboring ambitions against the kingdom. Our objective is to eliminate his son, who poses a threat to Alfred's plans."

The gravity of the mission hung in the air, and the fire crackled as they contemplated their roles. "This is no easy task," Uhtred said, his eyes meeting each of theirs. "But it is a necessary one. The fate of Wessex rests on our success."

Uhtred sat in front of his men, trying to keep cool despite the sweat that soaked through his tunic. He leaned forward and grabbed his sword tightly, resting it against his chest. "We could charge into battle and hope for the best," he mused. "Or we could be smart about this and plan a proper attack."

"I agree with Uhtred," said Finan. "We need to think before we act."

Sihtric cleared his throat. "But how do we infiltrate the Thane's son's camp?"

Osferth chimed in, "I suggest we scout out the area first and assess our options."

Uhtred nodded thoughtfully. "Alright, so Finan and Sihtric will lead the scouting party. Osferth and I will gather intel from the locals. And Aemma, you'll have to use your charms to lure away the Thane's son."

Aemma raised an eyebrow skeptically. "And how am I supposed to do that?"

Uhtred smirked. "I'm sure you'll find a way."

"Still, under which pretense am I to lure him away? Should he think that he should help me? Or do you want me to lure him out for a rut? Because if it's the latter, I'm afraid that'll be difficult. These men could do it anywhere, hell, I've even seen a nobleman bending over a maid while she was cooking," Aemma said with a nervous twitch in her brows.

"I... I cannot think of anything to lure him out." She let out a sigh and rested her head on her arm, finishing her ale. "Come on, you lusty dogs, I'm sure you can think of something," she said with a small grin and watched Osferth turning a deep shade of red.

"I... ehm, I do not know...," he choked out and looked at Finan for help. "You're the kind of man that knows his way around these things? Or... Sihtric? Maybe even you, Lord Uhtred?"

Finan grinned mischievously and leaned forward. "I've got just the thing," he said, his eyes twinkling with excitement.

Aemma raised her eyebrows, intrigued. "Go on," she urged.

Finan leaned in closer to Aemma and whispered a plan in her ear.

Aemma's cheeks flushed as she listened, but she couldn't deny the thrill of excitement that coursed through her.

"I can do that," she said, a sly grin spreading across her lips.

Uhtred nodded in approval. "Good. We leave at first light. Everyone rest up. We have a long day ahead of us."

With the plans for the next day set, Uhtred bid everyone goodnight and retired to his tent. Finan and Sihtric followed suit, leaving Osferth and Aemma alone by the fire. The shadows from the trees danced in the orange light of the flames as Aemma stirred some more stew in a pot over it. She offered Osferth a bowl before taking her own, settling down beside him.

As they ate their meal silently, Aemma couldn't help but feel an odd sense of excitement. This mission was dangerous yet exhilarating - she felt like anything was possible right now. She turned towards Osferth with a smile; he was so composed despite all that lay ahead for them tomorrow.

"We can do this," Aemma said firmly, her gaze meeting his own determined one. "Our skills combined with Uhtred's experience will make us almost invincible." She paused for a moment as she thought about how far she had come since joining forces with these men months ago. "We can do this," she repeated softly before falling into silence once more, watching the lights flicker against her skin.

A few moments later, inside their shared tent, the awkward tension between Osferth and Aemma was palpable. They avoided each other's gaze as they settled onto their respective bedrolls, their movements careful and deliberate.

"Good night, Osferth," Aemma said hesitantly, her heart battling between desire and caution. They had dreamt of laying together and even of marriage - yet, as reality sunk in, she could not help but tremble in fear. If she gave in to temptation now, what would the other men think? She knew that Osferth would never hurt a pup that resulted from their time together - but what else did he have to offer?

“Good night, Aemma,” Osferth muttered reluctantly. He couldn’t help but glance up at the ceiling in search of the right words—words that he was unsure he possessed. The thought of her proximity had stirred something within him on their horseback ride, and he had to adjust himself discreetly in order to make sure she wouldn't pick up on it. Though it was his job to make a move, this situation felt more intimidating than any battle could ever be.

Time seemed to stand still as Osferth gazed upon Aemma, his heart in his throat. She was breathtakingly beautiful, her almond-shaped eyes heavily lidded, her hair clasping her as if it were a protective forcefield from the world outside. Her white linen dress clung to her curves like a second skin and those soft full lips, Osferth thought he would never have the courage to kiss them. His fingers itched to reach out and touch her, yet fear of rejection kept him rooted in place. He wanted nothing more than to bridge the gap between them, but in that moment, she seemed so much further away.

Eventually, the sounds of the night enveloped the camp—the rustle of leaves, the distant hoot of an owl, and the soft breathing of his companion. Just as Osferth began to drift into a restless slumber, he heard a gentle snore emanating from Aemma's direction.

He chuckled softly to himself, realizing that she was indeed just a human being, and not some part of his imagination. But the sound, strangely comforting, helped to dispel the tension that had plagued the evening. In the darkness, Osferth allowed himself a small smile, feeling a growing connection between them—a connection that was built on shared experiences, mutual support, and the promise of a brighter future.

With a contented sigh, he let himself succumb to sleep, feeling the warmth of the fire's glow and the soothing rhythm of Aemma's soft snores guiding him into dreams.

[grntaire]

lindsay mendez i bow at your feet