#so every time he talks about us he's got this tone of condescension

[the-punforgiven]

My brother pisses me the fuck off

[hiraganasakura]

Hi so me being me I've decided to hyperanalyze the conversation Qrow and Raven had in Higanbana practically line by line bcus I have Many Thoughts and this is the best way I can think of to get them all out. If you can't tell I'm absolutely obsessed with these two. Btw.

Thanks to the RWBY wiki for providing transcripts for every episode, otherwise I definitely would have missed smth despite having just watched this scene recently lol

I put it under the read more for easier scrolling due to how long this post got!

I immediately noticed smth in the very first lines of the interaction:

Raven: "Hello, brother." Qrow: "...Raven."

You'll notice throughout the whole conversation that Raven never calls Qrow by his name, only condescendingly referring to him as "brother" this one time and never calling him anything else. Meanwhile, Qrow directly refers to Raven a total of three times throughout the conversation, and only one doesn't call Raven by her name (which we'll get to shortly)

On the other hand, Qrow doesn't bother with even so much as a greeting beyond simply stating Raven's name

It's different ways of communicating their distance. While Raven holds her relationship with Qrow over his head — never once, even outside of this scene, does she call him "brother" with affection iirc, only derision and condescension — Qrow doesn't seem to rly know how to greet her. He hesitates before saying her name and approaching her, as if trying to assess the situation before acting

Qrow: "So, what do you want?" Raven: "A girl can't just catch up with her family?" Qrow: "She can, but you're not. Now how 'bout we get on with it? Unless you plan on keeping these [drinks] comin'."

Again, Raven seems to bring up her familial ties with Qrow as a tactic to get him to do what she wants — in this case, stick around to talk to her despite him not seeming to rly want to. Frankly, it feels manipulative. We're gonna put a pin in this for now and come back to it in just a moment

Additionally, Qrow already knows that Raven's not just here for a friendly chat between two siblings, and sees right thru her facade that it is. Raven is here bcus she wants smth from him. But interestingly, it is Raven in V5 that says, in an almost frustrated/disappointed tone, "Family. Only coming around when they need something." There's another pin; keep both in mind

Raven: "Does she have it?" Qrow: "...Did you know Yang lost her arm?" Raven: "That's not—" Qrow: "Rhetorical question, I know you know. It's just obnoxious that you'd bring up family and then carry on like your own daughter doesn't exist." Raven: "I saved her." Qrow: "Once. Because that was your rule, right? Real 'Mom of the Year' material, sis."

Qrow dodges Raven's question about the Relic and instead brings up her hypocrisy in how she treats family. And it's a good point. Here she is lording her siblingship with Qrow over his head while simultaneously defending and upholding her rule that she is only obligated to help her own daughter a single time. Another pinpoint on our little conspiracy board

Also, here's the one time in this conversation Qrow refers to Raven as "sis". Like Raven's use of "brother", Qrow's use of "sis" is very pointed and with intent. But it's not to manipulate Raven, it's a snarky jab meant to rly hammer home Qrow's point

Raven: "I told you Beacon would fall, and it did. I told you Ozpin would fail, and he has. Now you tell me. Does. Salem. Have it?" Qrow: "I thought you weren't interested in all of that." Raven: "I just want to know what we are up against." Qrow: "And which 'we' are you referring to?"

A few things of note here. At some point in the past, Raven expressed an outright disinterest in Ozpin's inner circle, at least to Qrow. Qrow also feels excluded in the "we" Raven mentions being against Salem. To me, there seems to be a distinct possibility here that it wasn't that Raven felt personally disinterested in Ozpin's operations, but that she somehow felt excluded and feigned a lack of interest in order to protect herself. An idea that is further supported in my eyes by the following dialogue:

Qrow: "You should come back, Raven. The only way we'd beat her is by working together. All of us." Raven: "You're the one who left. The tribe raised us, and you turned your back on them." Qrow: "They were killers and thieves." Raven: "They were your family." Qrow: "You have a very skewed perception of that word."

And there it is. Raven's problem is laid out here for us, loud and clear: She feels like she was the one abandoned, not the one running away. She says it outright! "You're the one who left." To her, Qrow is the traitor, the one who left their family behind. If you ask Qrow (or, for that matter, Tai, Yang, and even Summer based on the scene in V9), it's the opposite

Bcus they have different definitions of family

Another thing to pin (I promise this will all become clear soon)

Raven: "I lead our people now. And as leader, I will do everything in my power to ensure our survival." Qrow: "I saw. The people of Shion saw, too." Raven: "The weak die. The strong live. Those are the rules." Qrow: "Well, you've certainly got someone strong on your side. I've seen the damage." Raven: "We couldn't have known the Grimm would set in as quickly as they did." Qrow: "I'm not talking about the Grimm. And I'm not talking about you, either."

Notice Raven's shift from "the tribe" to "our people". More of that guilt tripping!

Additionally, Raven is *obsessed* with rules. One save. The weak die, the strong live. Raven lives and breathes rules, even seemingly arbitrary ones. Guess what this is? Another pin!

Raven: "If you don't know where the Relic is, then we have nothing left to talk about." Qrow: "I don't know where the Spring Maiden is, either, but if you do, I need you to tell me." Raven: "And why would I do that?" Qrow: "Because without her, we're all going to die." Raven: "...And which 'we' are you referring to?"

Qrow's "either" here implies that he also doesn't know where the Crown of Choice is, which is... interesting. He's one of Ozpin's closest lieutenants, and is in the dark on where Beacon's Relic is? Wherever it is, it is such a closely kept secret that even Ozpin's best spy doesn't know where it is (maybe so that in the event Qrow gets captured by Salem he can't be forced into giving her the information?)

Meanwhile, Raven's "And why would I [tell you]?" implies that she does know who the Spring Maiden is (obviously. Raven's the Spring Maiden lol) but refuses to disclose to Qrow

A lantern sputters out after Qrow says "Without [Spring] we're all going to die." Now, I genuinely can't remember if this is headcanon or canon, but iirc Misfortune seems to act up when Qrow's upset. He's clearly tired of this little game of dancing around topics that Raven's been playing with him

And once again, Raven indicates a feeling of exclusion from Qrow's life in the iconic final line. She gets the final word in before leaving

We've finally reached the end of the conversation. Now what does all of this tell us?

And here is where all of those pins I wrote down are relevant. As I mentioned, the twins view family very differently

Qrow's view is pretty obvious: he views family as the ppl in his life who matter most to him. Unlike Raven, he does not view the tribe as family despite the fact that they raised him, disgustedly referring to them as "killers and thieves". It's implied that he was, in fact, neglected and/or likely abused by the Branwen tribe, saying in V6C4, "No one wanted me... I was cursed..." further explaining his distaste for them. Furthermore, despite not being related to Ruby by blood, they clearly consider one another family throughout the series, and he even seems closer to her than he seems to his niece who's actually blood related to him (I personally headcanon that he keeps more of a distance from Yang bcus she reminds him too much of Raven, who he feels abandoned and hurt by, but that's neither here nor there). Bloodlines and debts are secondary compared to loyalty, if they're considered at all. He is obviously furious that Raven only insists on saving Yang once and never directly interacting with her beyond that, despite Raven constantly guilting Qrow over abandoning his so-called "family" of the tribe. And yet. And yet. He still offers Raven a place back in his life, even if only to unite against Salem

Raven's view, to me, has been an enigma for a while. But after hyperanalyzing this conversation, after noting down all of those points of interest, I feel like I've finally cracked the code. Raven views family as an obligation, an exchange that always has an ulterior motive behind it. She seeks out Qrow only bcus she desires smth from him despite showing distaste when someone does the same to her; condescendingly calls Qrow "brother" more than his actual name and calls the tribe their "family" to try guilting him into doing what she wants; and feels fierce loyalty to the tribe but barely interacts with her daughter, only seeming to count one of the two as true family. She views the concept of family with cynicism and seems to feel an obligation to the tribe, as if she "owes" them for raising her

I think the two's perceptions of what defines family are all to do with the way the tribe treated both of them. This crosses a bit into headcanon territory, but as you can see by the above quotes and analysis, I rly don't think I'm just making it up entirely

As I already mentioned, I think it's implied that the Branwen tribe neglected/abused Qrow. In fact, we could probably blame their treatment of him for the deep self-loathing he has due to his "cursed" Semblance. But what about Raven?

Well, it's simple: I think she was abused, too, just in a different way. While Qrow was likely shown and told on a consistent basis that he was unwanted, unloved, undeserving of good things, Raven may have been shown and told she was wanted, loved, and deserving of good things... if she did what the tribe told her. If she repaid them for raising her and her brother, for being her "family". The way she uses her familial ties with Qrow as almost blackmail may be exactly the way the tribe treated her. Her obsession with following rules may stem from the fact that she had to follow the rules the tribe set for her in order to be accepted and deemed worth smth

As for her distance from Yang... honestly, I wonder if Raven is aware that Yang deserves better and keeps her distance as her way of doing that. When Summer confronts Raven in the V9 scene, Raven says, "...You're better at that life. Better than I was." She seems to have a fear and insecurity about being a good family member, a good mother, and maybe that's why she fled. Maybe she was scared of being like her abusers due to how she emulates them as a self-preservation tactic in so many other ways. Not entirely sure about this point tho

And I think too this is why the twins don't rly understand one another. They may have been unaware of the different ways in which the other was treated. Qrow, constantly unwanted and loathed, can't understand why Raven sticks around with the tribe; Raven, who obeyed the tribe and, in doing so, garnered enough of their favor to even eventually become leader, can't understand why Qrow can't just be "good", earn respect, and stay

This dissonance between the two experiences may also be completely intentional on the part of the tribe; abusers will often eliminate their targets' support systems in order to make them completely reliant on the abuser, so it's highly likely that the wedge was intentionally driven between the two siblings so that they could not find support in one another. This would also tie into why the twins seem to feel excluded from one another's lives and abandoned by one another: bcus they were made to feel that way by their common abusers, and did nothing to challenge these assumptions bcus they saw no reason to — and only seemed to keep proving one another right if they did

Which rly has some disturbing implications about how the Branwen tribe works. Like, do they just pick orphaned kids up off the street and abuse them into being perfect little bandits, molded to be of the greatest possible use and discarded if they're deemed worthless? Plus Qrow says his Semblance is how he got his name, which implies that the tribe also renames the kids they scoop up (possibly as a form of control or a way to make sure they can't be tracked down by any remaining family)? Plus there's the whole thing where Qrow and Raven were originally sent to Beacon to learn how to kill Huntsmen, which carries with it the implication that the Branwen tribe grooms literal orphan children into becoming stone-hearted murderers? What. The heck.

And if I'm right, if the Branwen tribe is that severely abusive, then like... wow, no wonder Qrow and Raven are Like That. They're both very deeply hurt people expressing it in different ways

I was considering adding their conversation at the Battle of Haven to this post, but I think that would be better as its own thing. Also I haven't gotten there on my rewatch yet so I may miss some details if I try to analyze it rn; it's better to wait overall methinks

But I have reached the point of my rewatch where we see Weiss and Whitley interact, and I think it would be very efficient to sum up what Qrow and Raven's relationship seems to be by using those siblings as a point of reference. Qrow = Weiss, actively trying to break free from and fight back against their abusers in different ways, while Raven = Whitley, continuing to do as their abusers want and have wanted as a method of self-preservation. Only, unlike Weiss and Whitley, Qrow and Raven have yet to come to a point where they can understand one another. I think that's a good way to briefly summarize the uh. Absolutely massive post this is.

In conclusion, I may have cracked the majority of the Branwen twins' pre-Beacon backstory purely by hyperanalyzing a single conversation. Oopsies

[mimisempai]

Our invisible scars

Summary

Aziraphale and Crowley have no visible scars, but the ones you can't see are the ones that hurt the most. Fortunately, each is the other's healing balm.

Notes

50 Types of Kisses - Writing Prompts - Complete!!!

Last kiss: A kiss, followed by more that trail down the jaw and neck.

On Ao3

Rating G -  1327 words

When Crowley entered the bookshop, he immediately sensed from the quality of the silence that something was wrong.

He called softly, "Angel?"

"I'm here." 

Aziraphale's voice came from further inside the bookshop, so the demon stepped forward and was astonished to find the angel sitting on the sofa, elbows on knees, head in hands.

Though the sofa now often welcomed both of them, it was almost common knowledge that it was the place of Crowley and the armchair belonged to Aziraphale.

Now absolutely certain that something was wrong with his angel, the demon came to sit beside him and asked softly, "What's wrong, Angel?"

The angel straightened up and replied quietly, "Nothing serious. I just had a little talk with Muriel about scars."

Crowley, confused at first, asked, "Scar?" then grabbed the Angel's hand and continued, now worried, "Did you hurt yourself? You have a wound I don't know about? But how? What happened?"

Aziraphale smiled faintly before replying, "Don't worry, I've got nothing.  After all, we don't mark, we're angels and demons. In fact, this was the subject of our discussion with Muriel: they had trouble understanding the concept of having a scar, the human concept. And so, as I explained it to them, I realized that you and I have our share of scars, even if they aren't visible."

The angel's expression darkened as he added, "Even if they aren't, the memory of the injury is very present and is like a visible scar, the reminder of the wound that was here. Not completely healed."

It was then that the demon understood what the angel meant and nodded before gently taking his lover's hand and waiting for him to continue. 

Aziraphale intertwined his fingers with the his lover's before resuming, "Talking to Muriel made me realize how much Heaven had scarred us, all of us. And I couldn't help but think that you probably had the biggest scar of them all, and especially that I had contributed to rubbing salt into it for many years."

Crowley understood absolutely nothing of what the angel had just said and looked at him in complete confusion as he said, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

The angel squeezed the demon's hand and explained, "You were cast out of heaven. You went from being an angel to being a demon, and every time you told me about something you'd done, I told you it was normal because it was your nature, because you were a demon, while all I did was reopen the wound, over and over again, without allowing it to close. I'm sor-"

Aziraphale was unable to continue because Crowley had swiftly removed his hand from his and had just grabbed him by the shoulders, holding him firmly before saying in an almost harsh tone, "You're torturing yourself for this? Angel, if you only knew, it's been so long since that scar healed. And it's thanks to you. Your trust when I was supposed to be your enemy, your acceptance of who I was when we met again. Do you think I really took it to heart every time you told me that it was in my nature as a demon? No, because despite your words, I knew we were on the same side, that you had my back as much as I had yours. In fact, I think you've got it all wrong. The one with the most scars, or the deepest scars left by Heaven, is you, Angel."

"Crowley, it's not true, I didn't--"

The demon shook his head to stop him and replied, "Don't tell me it's not true."

He placed his hand gently on the angel's chest and said more softly, "This here, this sweet heart, has endured the bullying of Heaven for more years than it takes to say it. You've endured belittlement, condescension, scorn far more often than I have, and by your own. From those who were supposed to be on your side, more than from me, who was supposed to be your enemy. I don't care if they say I'm a demon, that it's in my nature to do evil. I know who I am. As long as I have your trust and love, the rest doesn't matter. You forced yourself to do what they wanted, even when it seemed unfair, and when you dared to think outside the box, they just tried to put you back in it. All of this was like a wound that never had time to heal, reopening over and over for thousands of years."

The demon watched the angel swallow several times before he let out a long sigh. Then Aziraphale placed his hand on Crowley's still on his chest and said in a voice slightly hoarse with emotion, "But it healed. Thanks to you."

The demon shook his head, but the angel continued insistently, "You healed it and you continue to heal it, Crowley, with every little word of praise, every kind word buried under a layer of humor, every time you encouraged me to just be outside the box. For 10,000 little wounds inflicted by Heaven, you, your presence, every time, was the saving balm that took the sting out of it all. So no matter how much I suffered, I knew you would ease the pain."

The angel raised the demon's hand to his lips to press a long kiss to the palm. But as he moved to release it, Crowley slid his hand to the back of the Angel's neck and pulled his face closer to his own, crushing his lips against the angel's. 

The kiss, tender at first, soon became fierce, each clutching the other's face as if each were the other's lifeline.

Then, little by little, the frenzy of the kiss gave way to something gentler, and Crowley's hands slid from the angel's neck to his shoulders before gently pushing him back until the angel had no choice but to lie back on the sofa. Crowley, for his part, moved so that he was lying on top of Aziraphale, both elbows framing the face lit by a small, trembling smile.

The demon, visibly moved, pressed a light kiss to the angel's lips and said softly, "All these scars, I wish I could kiss them away one by one.

His gaze was caught by a tear rolling down the angel's cheek, and he wiped it away with his lips, beginning a trail of kisses that spread along the cheek to the angel's jaw before following the curve down to the hollow of his neck.

Once there, the demon straightened and placed his hands on the first button of the angel's shirt, looking him straight in the eye. 

Aziraphale, understanding the silent question, simply nodded.

Crowley smiled gently at him before opening his shirt, button by button. He didn't undo all the buttons, just enough to expose the angel's chest. 

Then the demon leaned forward and said softly, "I wish I could kiss it better," then closed the distance between his lips and the bare chest and planted a long kiss on it.  

He let the kiss linger until he felt Aziraphale's hands rest on his head and the angel forced him to lift it, saying softly, "That's what you do, you kiss it better, and that's long before you put your lips here."

Aziraphale ran his thumb over the demon's lips before pulling him up and saying softly, "Come here."

He drew Crowley's face to his and planted a soft kiss on his lips before wrapping his arms around his lover to hold him close. The demon buried his face in the angel's neck and slid his hand between their pressed bodies, right where he'd kissed him on the chest. On his wounded heart. Between their wounded hearts.

They stayed like that for a long time, in an embrace that did more than words to soothe the scars the past had left in their hearts.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable kisses series : here

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here

Ineffable Growing Love - Series post S2

Part 1 Story 1-99

Part 2 Story 100-?

[strangersatellites]

pride, envy, sloth, gluttony, greed, lust, ao3

Seven Deadly Sins Series (NSFW 18+)

wrath (noun): uncontrolled feelings of anger, rage, and even hatred. wrath often reveals itself in the wish to seek vengeance. in its purest form, wrath presents with injury, violence, and hate

cw: rough sex, unhealthy relationships, blood, unsafe sex, choking, slapping, dacryphilia, angst (????) on accident, probably more tbh they genuinely fucking hate each other in this universe

This thing they’d had going on for three months now really had started off fun.

It started out soft and sweet. Stolen kisses in the back of The Hideout, quick, messy blowjobs in the backseat of Steve’s car, booty calls late at night when one or the other couldn’t sleep.

He can’t really identify what went wrong or when. All Steve knows is that the butterflies that he used to get when Eddie came around have turned and twisted into something sharp and heavy. Now when they’re within earshot of each other it's all biting insults and low-blows.

Somewhere along the line, the happiness that Eddie planted in his heart morphed into bitter resentment. But Steve’s nothing if not self-sacrificial, and the sex was too good to give up. Who is he to deny himself of the only good thing Eddie has left to offer him? So now he finds himself shoved into bar bathrooms and left high and dry, bruises mottled up and down his chest and dark bags under his eyes from a fitful sleep. Somehow he’s convinced himself it's better than nothing.

On nights where he can’t shake the memory of Eddie’s lips on his and his heart fluttering pretty and soft, he goes out. 

He goes out to a seedy club and he finds someone that he won’t remember the name of in the morning and he tries anything to clear his mind. Nothing’s ever as good.

Tonight he’s found himself a few beers deep and tracing water stains on the bar top at some place he’s never been just outside of town. He’d spent the last ten minutes or so talking to a guy that looked like he’d show him a good enough time. Dark, curly hair cut so that it flopped down into his face, pretty blue eyes that went a shade darker when they looked Steve over, and a shirt cut low enough that Steve could see ink swirl across his collarbones in vines and leaves. 

Steve thinks his name is Adam, but he wasn’t really listening and still really isn’t. He’s found that a few soft laughs and hums while guys talk is usually enough to feign interest long enough to coax them to a bathroom. 

This guy, Adam maybe, is about two seconds away from dragging him there himself, he can tell. It’s written all over his body language. Steve smiles his prettiest smile and flutters his eyelashes.

But as soon as he opens his mouth to purr something like “Do you want to get out of here?” There are strong arms snaking around his waist and teeth scraping at his throat and Steve’s blood runs hot in an instant. He’s well-accustomed to it no longer being a good sensation.

Steve shoves his elbow back with as much force as he can muster and it all goes red before he even hears his chuckle.

“Strike out again, Harrington? I made it just in time then, huh sweetheart,” Eddie coos in a tone dripping with condescension.

He’s on his feet and shoving at Eddie’s chest with enough force he knows it’ll bruise, sees it knock the wind out of him a bit. Gets right up in his face and would do anything to rip that self-satisfied smirk right off of it.

“You miserable fucking prick,” he spits, uncaring of the way Eddie flinches back the tiniest bit. “I was not striking out, and I never am! And yet here you come acting like you’re saving some damsel in distress when it’s you crawling back to me. Every. Single. Time,” he punctuates with jabs to his chest. 

Eddie’s smile doesn’t leave as he huffs a laugh. His tongue swipes across sharp, sharp teeth and he leers at Steve with narrowed eyes. Predatory in a way Steve liked once upon a time but now makes him want to punch out his teeth. He’s got his hands in his pockets and he looks entirely too comfortable with the fact that he just ruined Steve’s night. Again.

“God, sweetheart. You’re so wound up,” he whispers, face pinching up in faux concern. He brings his hands up to smooth down Steve’s biceps and digs his fingers in tight enough that he doesn’t budge with Steve’s attempts at shaking him off. “Tell me. When was the last time someone fucked you good enough that you remembered his name the next morning, now be honest.” He leans in close and that smirk is back and Steve hates it. “You can say it was me, honey. It’ll be our little secret.” 

And Steve’s seeing red again because he’s right. 

It was him. It’s always him and probably always will be. 

He gets back up in his space once more and makes sure he’s looking at his eyes when he whispers a sharp “Fuck. You.”

And it's only for a split second but he swears he sees hurt flash through brown eyes. Gone in an instant and replaced with a real, raw indifference that Steve thinks might be worse. 

He feels a hand at the back of his neck and Eddie’s lips brush his ear. 

“Yours or mine?”

And it was always going to go like this. Steve’s not under any illusions. Knew this time wouldn’t be different. But it still stings the way that he knows in an alternate universe that question might’ve been accompanied with giggles and a kiss. 

But then he remembers the way that Eddie looked so proud when Steve first said he hated him and the rage is back ten-fold.

He turns on his heel and knows he’s being followed.

“Yours. Don’t want you in my fucking house.”

*****

Steve’s got Eddie’s wrists pinned to the wall above his head and his teeth raking down his neck. Wants to leave a mark. A memory. 

He hears Eddie gasp as Steve’s hips shove hard against his own and he shoves harder in retaliation.

“Remember when you used to kiss me?” Steve asks, Eddie’s breath against his face enough to pull some bricks from the walls he’s spent months building.

He feels more than hears Eddie’s hum. Feels his knee come up to shove him backwards until he’s the one pressed against the wall, face turned sideways and arms pinned behind his back.

“Yeah sweetheart.” He leans in to bite at Steve’s ear and make him hiss.

Steve’s grinning, ugly and mean when he grits out “Worst decision of my fucking life.”

But now Eddie’s the one smirking, he can hear it when he speaks. “Mine too. Liked my life a lot better when I didn’t know what you taste like.”

Steve aims for the shin when he bucks a foot backwards, nails it if Eddie’s grunt is anything to go by. He spins around and shoves at Eddie hard enough to send them both to the floor, grateful for a second the fact that his muscle mass makes it easy to manhandle his way into what he wants. 

He laughs, loud and fake. “Now see, that I just don’t believe, Eddie.” He’s got his eyebrows raised high and pout on his lips and he knows what’s coming and he relaxes into it.

And yeah maybe Steve’s strong, but Eddie knows him. Knows when his guard is down. He gets his knees up around Steve’s hips and flips them over, Steve’s back against the ground and there’s the fury Steve’s been after. Been trying to bring it out all night.

Eddie’s got a ringed hand pressed tight against Steve’s throat when he finally lets himself feel. Feel good the way only Eddie can make him. Lets the fight drain out of him as his vision goes spotty. Eddie’s spitting words in his face, “Do you ever shut the fuck up?” and saliva into his mouth and it’s so bad-good.

His next breath is heaving as he comes back down and Eddie’s already standing and walking away. 

“Get up. I don’t have all night.”

And now that he’s got Eddie mad, got him fired up, he knows he can let himself go. Lets himself fall even though he knows Eddie’s not going to catch him. Thinks it's worth it until it's not. Until tomorrow when he remembers the way he and Eddie won’t look at each other when their friends are around. They way they don’t talk.

Because this is how it's always going to go. He’s going to let Eddie rile him up, make his sharp, heavy butterflies flutter out in words he thinks he doesn’t really mean. He’s going to push and push and push until Eddie breaks. And even though he started it, Eddie always will. Break, that is. He’ll break out of his self-assured, indifferent asshole persona and he’ll turn into something real and mean. Someone that hates Steve back. 

Steve thinks it shouldn’t feel as good as it does.

There’s nothing gentle about the way Eddie stretches him open. The way he smacks the inside of Steve’s thigh hard enough it leaves a welt the shape of his hand. 

He’s got two fingers inside him and Steve feels so good and he can’t help but talk. Head thrown back, words fall from his lips between desperate moans. 

“Hate you so fucking much.”

A smack to his ass and a dejected huff. 

“Yeah. I know you do sweetheart."

Steve groans in annoyance but his back arches all the same.

“Hate it when you call me that.”

And he’s not looking but he knows Eddie is rolling his eyes. 

“I know you do, baby.”

And there’s tears pricking at the back of his eyes because sure he really does hate this man. Really does think he’d have been better off never meeting him. But all he can hear when Eddie calls him “baby” is the way he used to say it through laughter against his skin.

He knows he’s pouting but he thinks he deserves it with the bitter memories he’s fighting away. “Hate that even worse.”

Eddie pulls his fingers out and crawls up his body to squeeze at his cheeks until he fishmouths.

“I know. Now shut up and stop crying. You wanted me mean and you’ve fucking got it baby.”

Steve gasps high in his throat when Eddie grabs him by his hips and flips him onto his belly and something about this flavor of anger Eddie’s wearing sets Steve off again. But this time his anger isn’t a facade. It's raw and real and it's hurt that got brushed aside and became something else entirely.

“Hate what we could’ve been. Hate that I hate you.” He says into a pillow.

He hears Eddie groan and not in a good way. In the way he does when he’s annoyed. He feels his weight lay over his back and his hand on the inside of his thigh yanking upward and open.

“Well I hate that you don’t know when to stop talking." He grits out and the pressure as he presses inside Steve is enough to make him white out.

By the time he builds up a bruising rhythm, punching Steve’s breath out of him on every thrust, he’s talking again.

“Could’ve given you everything you wanted sweetheart,” and his tone is so patronizing, “But it just wasn’t fucking enough was it?”

And Steve’s barely holding on to his consciousness through the pressure deep in his guts and the hand pressing the back of his neck down, down, down. But he’s still got enough wherewithal that that strikes a chord.

Because no, having Eddie behind closed doors wasn’t enough. And Eddie knows that. He knows how that hurt him and chooses to use it against him anyway.

His voice is muffled into the pillow and broken up by whimpers and whines but he speaks anyway.

“Well it wasn’t my– shit, so good. Wasn’t my pride that got in the way.”

Eddie’s hips slow to a deep grind and freeze pressed to the hilt.

The hand at the back of Steve’s neck slides to the front and yanks him up on his knees, pressed against Eddie’s chest.

His chest is heaving where its plastered to Steve’s back and his voice rumbles through them both.

“Maybe not. But it was you that kept your mouth shut and made it my fault.”

Steve goes to argue but gets cut off by the sharp stinging of teeth breaking the skin against his shoulder blade. His breath goes ragged on a shriek and his vision whites out around the edges. Eddie’s shoving him back down, ass-up and face smushed sideways. His hand slips up and pries his mouth wide open and shoves in hard, stopping anything he could possibly say. Steve’s eyes are wide where he’s staring, gone glassy and wet.

“And it looks like now you don’t know how to do that, do you baby?” He asks.

And he’s got his fingers down his throat and his dick shoved deep.

There’s blood dripping from his teeth in that sharp, bitter smile. And he’s so pretty. And Steve hates him.

He chokes around his fingers on a sob as Eddie picks up his pace again.

Hates that it feels so good.

Hates that he comes back for this.

Hates that Eddie’s right.

Because maybe he can’t pinpoint when or where things went south, but he knows it has everything to do with the way he started needing more and not asking for it. Knows Eddie was letting him figure it out on his own. And instead of just going for it, he knows he started blaming.

So maybe he does hate Eddie. Hates him for the way he didn’t push him when he knew he needed it. Hates that he still uses him like this. 

But he really hates himself. Because he could’ve had what he wanted but he didn’t take it.

(Hates that tomorrow he’ll forget this all again, too far in his head and in the feeling of Eddie taking what he wouldn’t give. He’ll forget it all and go back to hating him again.)

A sharp smack to the outside of his thigh brings him barreling back down into reality and it's Eddie’s words that send him hurdling into release.

“Here you fucking go again with the crying. God I hate that you’re so fucking pretty.”

Steve hates that that’s what does it for him. Hates that his crying is what does it for Eddie. Hates the way he’s filled up and will have to go home messy, the way Eddie pulls out of him and throws him his clothes.

He hears the flick of a lighter and Eddie’s heavy inhale from far away.

“I assume you can show yourself out.”

As Steve pulls his shirt over his head and wipes the tear tracks from his face he thinks “Yeah. This is why I hate him.”

And from the other side of the room Eddie thinks that if Steve would say half of the things that run through his mind with Eddie inside him, maybe they wouldn’t hate each other at all.

[someplace-darker]

Kinktober Day 2: Dirty Talk | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x reader (no y/n)

Wordcount: 1.2k

Warnings: 18+, PWP, dirty talking, thigh riding, groping, oral (m on f), reader is afab but no pronouns are used

Summary: Bradley didn't tell you he was coming home early when you sent him those nudes.... that doesn't seem fair

A/N: again this is rushed because i worked today. Need this man carnally

You should have learned your lesson the last time you decided to run your mouth over the phone with Rooster, but in your defense, you thought he was on the other side of the country. It was fun to send him texts in your cutest one piece, fun to watch the ellipses pop up with the bubble in the corner of your phone as you waited on a reply. 

He’s been gone for two weeks and at this point all you can think about is how badly you want him to come home and make you regret it. You lean against the counter, face resting against your hand as you patiently wait for him to message you back. The bubble pops up once again and you pick up your phone immediately, grinning from ear to ear when the ding finally sounds out.

Make sure the door’s unlocked, baby. 

The grin almost immediately falls from your face, an unexpected sense of fear and nerves settling into the pit of your stomach. He can’t be home, right? He shouldn’t be home for another two weeks. Mav had briefed you on everything before they left, you remember exactly that he said it would be four weeks. Mav must have been horrifically wrong, because before you have a chance to compose yourself enough to stop your hands from shaking and type out a reply, the door is shut with a thump. 

“Baby,” he says, almost sing-song, condescension thick in his tone “you wanna come say hello?” 

Every piece of you is yearning for him, body lit with anticipation and he hasn’t even turned the corner yet. When he does it’s like you’re seeing him for the first time again, green t-shirt clung to his torso and the sweatpants he no doubt wore for the flight back slung low on his hips. The corner of his mouth is quirked dangerously as he sets his bag to the floor, eyes taking their time as they travel down the length of your body, no doubt savoring the in person view rather than a grainy photo. 

“Bradley,” you murmur, excitement thrumming in your veins “I thought you were supposed to be gone a little bit longer.” Rooster hums and steps closer tentatively, like he’s trying not to spook a cornered animal, and maybe you’re exactly that. Cornered in the kitchen, unable to unpress yourself from the edge of the counter as he gets closer and you’re able to inhale the cologne you bought him for his birthday. 

He steps in front of you, imposing as he hovers, tilting his head down so you’re able to look at him in the close proximity. Instantly one hand is on your hip and the other is gripping your chin, the warmth of his palm radiating through the thin fabric. “Well I had to come home and see this in person, didn’t I?” You know for a fact that’s bullshit, you had sent him those pictures less than two hours ago, but you’re too enthralled with the way his thumb moves from your jaw to trace your lips. 

“Couldn’t wait until I got home? You had to send me photos in this cute little outfit that barely covers your tits,” he’s then reminded of just how uncovered your chest truly is, the hand on your hip dipping under hem and trailing upwards until the coarse skin of his palm presses into your tit. 

A whimper is all you can manage, your thighs involuntarily clenching together to gain the smallest modicum of friction. Rooster, always the observant pilot that he is, takes note of this and coos, pressing his thigh between your legs. 

“Are you wet already sweetheart? Do you need to come so badly that you’ll get off on my leg? I bet you could. Tell me, did you finger yourself every night while I was gone?”

The pictures must have struck a chord within him, your usual man of few words in the bedroom now running his mouth while you rock down onto his cloth covered thigh in the middle of your kitchen. Your brain is muddled, skin hot to the touch and you know that you should answer him but there’s no sentence that you could possibly put together at a time like this. 

“C’mon, baby,” Bradley insists “I know you did.”

He’s right, part of you knows this, and the other part is embarrassed at how transparent you are right now with your hip grinding against his leg while he gropes you. You’ve truly never felt so exposed in your life.

“Yes,” you sigh, moaning when your clit catches just right against his sweatpants “couldn’t help it, missed you too much.”

The admission seems to fuel Rooster, a chuckle reverberating through his chest. Before you can process, he’s setting you up onto the counter and pushing the lingerie up so he can hook your legs over his shoulders while he sinks to the ground. Fuck, it’s a sight to behold, Bradley between your legs looking up at you like you yourself put the moon in the sky. 

“How about I show you just how much I appreciated those pictures,” he husks, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh, then tugging you to the edge and latching his mouth onto your cunt. The instant reaction he gets out of you is pitiful, a high pitched moan clawing its way up your throat until it spills past your bitten raw lips. 

“Fuck, Bradley,” you think you’re pleading for him, already so close just from riding his thigh.

You muster up the courage to glance down at him, flushing hot when you find him looking up at you while lavvs his tongue over your clit like a man starved. He’d gone down on you multiple times before, none of which were laden with desperation so palpable like this. 

Rooster pulls back only momentarily and replaces his mouth with two fingers that stretch you unlike anything your own hand could ever do, mouth and mustache wet with you. “Need you to come for me, baby. Then i’ll fuck another one out of you.” Nodding, you thread your fingers in his hair, guiding his face back between your legs.

There’s a cramp beginning to form in your side from the position and uncomfortable marble top underneath your ass, but it’s not hard to ignore it when the beginning of your orgasm crests and you shiver, heels digging into Bradley’s back. 

“Oh my god, so fucking good, missed you so much, oh,” you cry out, panting out withered moans, eyes locking with the ceiling due to the inability to look your boyfriend in the eyes as he fucks you with his fingers. He continues like that for another minute before you have to push him away and catch a breath.

Even if you have your issues with his stupid fucking mustache sometimes, you can admit that the feral grin he gives you with your cum covering the lower half of his face is something directly out of your most lustful fantasies. 

“How about we go upstairs and take that outfit off.”

You smile back at him, brushing your hand through his hair “yes, lieutenant.” 

[moon-blanket]

I Finished the Imperium-- here are my findings.

Welcome to the Imperium / Your Place Amongst Magic

Not much to note, Echo wasn't as scary as I thought. I was more so "oooooh"ing and "aaaah"ing about the cool set up. I love me a good tragedy.

Hunted Down by an Obsessive Water Elemental

Kody why do you sing for so long. Please stop.

Blake's "But I'm not-" when being referred to as a Dreamwalker. That's clever, I see what happened here.

VINDEMIATOR !!!! WOOO !!!! I was So afraid that he was gonna be Mean the Whole Time. But I get putting up appearances. He slayed though.

A Desperate Incubus Asks For Your Help

The immediate tone change from Vindemiator oouugu guh YEAH.

Him apologizing if he scared us i'm going to Weep and Sob. The comeback of "living and being alive are two different things" had me shaking the bars of my enclosure. Oh yeah, that's my baby.

I will do Anything for you sir. I will die for this cause.

Hell YEAH getting Kody's ass. Get the fuck outta here baby !

"What are you gonna do, fuck me to death?" return also !!! we love callbacks.

At an Enforcer's Mercy

Vin's little thing about Not wanting to talk about what just happened, how it's just another means of survival :(((

HUXLEY NOOOOO. Huxley baby this isn't like you. Where are your mothers.

Freelancer standing up for Vindemiator when Huxley starts to punch him !!!!! Soulmates in every universe I'm tellin' ya.

Alone with the Fanatical Academy President

Would you hate me if i said I was kinda into it. I was a little Scared, but I get it a little bit.

His whole story about how he got where he is, golly ! that's a little frightening !! And his condescension when Freelancer keeps asking about Vin !!! ouu u ugh that was Something.

Uncomfortable Truths with a Hopeless Demon

Avior !!! Hi Avior. I didn't know that the Haven was a sort of ploy ! It does make sense in the long-term. The Imperium can take any power it gets huh.

And it's Starlight !! can these two not get trapped in a hell for like 5 seconds.

Oh there's the kicker !! an apocalypse !!! I knew this was happening, but hearing the characters acknowledge it !! uhoh !!

His little speech about how No One listens to him and how he goes to the roof to scream at stars :(( What if i Cry.

Consort to the Tyrant King-Imperial

I knew Damian was King-Imperial. I knew Angel was his Consort. Still in awe.

Angel has Very Valid concerns and Damian just brushes them off with "I'm the King" !!

Him freezing/tracing them so they couldn't move during their argument >:(( What the fuck sir. This is not love !!

Turned by a Devious Vampire

Do you think this is what Sam is going to do now that he's kinda left the Solaire Clan. The dentist part, not the mass-maker part. Could you imagine.

Regardless, he seemed nicer than I thought. A little nerve-wracking for sure, but there was Some kindness there. Poor Baby though, and Poor Ivan afterward.

The fucked up cycle of mass-making is crazy. No wonder the Meridian is Dying.

Caught By a Cruel Werewolf Pack

This one i was Most excited for. Imperium Pack Fics are some of my Favorites. I did kick my feet a little when Milo showed up. Sweetheart still being his mate :') once again soulmates in every universe.

ASHER !!! EJ, I understood before but now. I see the whole picture now. I immediately folded.

Him mentioning David and Darlin' OUCH !!! He misses his mate so much. I didn't know it was bc Christian and Amanda were off fucking !! what !!!

Babe asking if he's okay after chewing Christian out, and actually holding a conversation with them-- even if it's an interrogation a little bit. And once he finds out their agenda he takes them to the Den oh my god it's happening guys.

I ate this audio up. I think it's my favorite so far.

Claimed by Two Sadistic Vampires

What the actual fuck is happening right now !!! I mean good riddance Adam, but what !!!

Welcome Back

yeah yeah Echo thank you so much. I do now understand why everyone is afraid that it's constantly raining in the Prime Universe now though !! I get it !!! I'm afraid too !!!

The little bit at the end with Asher and David, and how David just wants to spend time with his best friend before the E&E Games :') that was a really nice touch and also. hurts a lot after the Inversion and Imperium !

It's time for the Cataclysm. I'm sure all of my thoughts will Drastically Change lmfao.

I gotta re-read some Fics first though ;)

[modernwizard]

OMG OMG. Check out Roger Delgado as the Master in this bit from my very favorite DW episode, the fabulously campy and criminally underrated Time Monster.

He's talking here to Doctor Lesbian and her Gay Assistant Ruth Ingram and Stu, who have just fucked around with his Very Important Time Crystal Project without his permission. After blowing up at them, the Master quickly calms down and says that he needs their help to build a time circuit while he goes to schmooze with the VIPs.

Then Stu mentions that UNIT [and thus the Doctor] will be among those VIPs, and the Master quickly changes tacks. He himself will build the time circuit, and Ruth and Stu can do the schmoozing. The Master excuses himself by claiming discomfort with the military. They're so vulgar and unsettling to a "lifelong pacifist" as him!

Roger Delgado's eyebrows are hitting new levels of complexity here. Modern dance even!

Look at the smugness in his raised eyebrows and lowered eyelids as he proclaims himself a pacifist in the first gif. Notice how his chin, his tone of voice, and his eyebrows come down thrice in succession, once for each syllable of "pacifist." It seems like he is nodding thrice, emphasizing three times how against violence he is.

In the second gif, we get that look away, as if he just can't bring himself to even face the word "military." Then the mention of "killing" brings those magisterial eyebrows together in a squinch, and he tilts his head, meeting Ruth's eyes with an appeal in his expression. Don't make him do this!

In the third gif, the word "violence" has him squinting and looking down almost defensively. At the same time, though, he shrugs, and his eyebrows unknit. His expression appears plaintive, even begging, as he trails off. He's implying that merely mentioning these words wounds him deeply. If that's the case, then just think of what he would suffer if he faced military personnel in the flesh! His tender, compassionate heart would tremble and break. He wouldn't be able to bear it.

Yeah, right. This is the guy who just abused Ruth and Stu for messing around with his crystal machine without him around. He is obviously very interested in and well versed in violence. :p He's a blatant liar.

And Ruth and Stu know he's a liar. Interestingly, the Master does not use his mind control powers in this scene [though he does use them on the director of the whole research center in another scene]. Ruth and Stu witness every moment of his dramatic mood swings, which means that the Master is fooling no one. Stu's assessment at the end of the scene after the Master leaves -- "We've got a nutcase on our hands" -- signals that Stu and Ruth know that their nominal supervisor is a dangerous person.

This is a fascinating scene because, while the Master is pretending to be "Professor Thascalos," he's not pretending to be a different personality. He's showing himself as the short-tempered, manipulative, power-obsessed control freak he truly is. And Ruth and Stu, as queer people whose employment depends on the approval of their supervisor, the Master, are at his mercy.

Even as the Master wheedles them to stay around for the construction/demonstration of his Very Important Machine, he also relishes the hold that he has over Ruth and Stu. His hypocrisy when talking about his supposed pacifism right after losing his shit isn't a mistake. He lies to Ruth and Stu intentionally to demonstrate to them that, even if they know the truth of his unreasonable and abusive personality, they can do nothing about it. He's being a hypocrite just to rub it in about how much assholery he's getting away with. He's just messing with Ruth and Stu for a little sadistic diversion.

And you can see how much he's enjoying himself in this performance. Those eyebrows in the first gif are supercilious in their sense of superiority when they raise, but they crash down into devastating condescension as he pronounces "pacifist." In the second and third gifs, the sideways head movement and the Very Concerned Eyebrows radiate contemptuous dismissal. He is hamming it up so hard for these few lines, while also savoring Ruth's every single squirm.

No one transmits self-satisfied villainy with as much playful ferocity as Roger Delgado's Master. I love how Delgado Master is a scenery-chewing HAM, but also a truly dangerous person who has no compunctions about humiliating and mistreating people and then reveling in their fear. Underestimate this guy at your peril. >:}

@natalunasans @sclfmastery @timeladyjamie

[leebrontide]

Thanks to @dogmomwrites for tagging me in the word find game!

I am not going to tag anyone because it's been a minute and I can't keep track of whose doing tag games right now and who isn't. Please, if you like being taged in #writeblr ask games, can you let me know? I want to tag you in things!

My words were empty, shrug, hesitate, escape, and moment. I did it for my WIP Names in Their Blood.

Empty:

It wasn’t till they got to the basement that xe noticed that the security camera and the electrical panel were both open. But just as xe started to worry about what that meant Libby grabbed xyr hand, and started off down the hall on silent bare feet. Yael focused on being quiet. There was another series of windowless, empty hallways, which felt no less surreal for their featurelessness. There were voices behind some the doors, muffled, businesslike and tired. Libby wove them both though odd patterns that Yael eventually realized was dodging cameras. It seemed natural to sneak around this place. There was nobody here whose attention xe wanted.

Shrug:

Issac’s expression sobered. “Did she seem shorter? Wait, none of you are gonna be useful. Mom- was Jenna shorter?”

Mom came out, dislodging Issac from the doorway. “She’s actually back to her original height. The Bion limbs were taller than her original ones.”

“Why?” Jamie demanded. Bad enough Jenna had been pressured into giving up her superpowered limbs in favor of industry standard ones. Worse when Jamie remembered that it was mom who had pressured her.

Mom shrugged. “She designed them that way, not me. I have no interest in policing her height. She didn’t like the timing but she’d always planned to have retirement limbs, just like Neil.”

“Why would she want to be shorter?”

“It’s got some advantages.” Yael offered, trying to sit in a little plush chair next to a polished table and book shelf.

It…did not work.

Hesitate:

She reached, but hesitated, not touching Yael’s hand. She only had the flimsiest looking clear gloves between herself and everything broken and violent in Yael.

She took Yael’s hands in hers, and they were still warm and gentle and strong. They felt realer than anything except xyr pounding heart. Yael wanted to cling to them, but tried to keep xyr hands pliant for whatever Rue could think to do.

Yael’s eyes widened further as Rue wiped away some of the exoskeleton, more of xyr so easily taken away.

Escape:

“Ms Tillman-Voss-“ he continued, in weighty tones. “I have been meaning to speak with you.”

Jamie wanted to step backwards again, but towards what- Jenna? The team wasn’t standing behind her this time.

And the street was empty as far as she could see.

One step wouldn’t make a difference, so she decided not to look like a coward.

But it was probably better not to volunteer too much. “Ok.”

For some reason this seemed to amuse him, which annoyed her. “It has not escaped my notice that every time something of note is happening, you manage to be right in the thick of it.”

Ah, she was just going to get told off for sticking her nose in.

She should demure, talk about how it was all accidental, wrong place wrong time, etc. Make it clear she wasn’t trying to be anything she could never be, avoid the derision and condescension that would come with anyone thinking she had impossible dreams.

She couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Moment:

Sitting put xyr face on a level with the mirror. Xe’d smeared blood on xyr face and through xyr scraggly tangled hair- xe hadn’t showered last night after getting home. The person in the reflection looked feral and untrustworthy. Someone you’d protect the frail and injured from.

No, this was fine. It was only a bit of xyr own blood.

Xe tore xyr eyes away, forced xyr breathing to even out, and scrubbed xyr face with a clean edge and xyr shirt. After a moment’s hesitation xe wadded the shirt up as small as it’d go and kicked it under the bed for now.

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

Rest Your Weary Hands Part 2

Part 1

Requests are open

Warnings: Gambling problems and taking advantage of a working child. Mild medical gore.

1,956 words

Comment if you want to be tagged.

Queen Aslaug walks into your little Healers store with one request, help her son. Said to be blessed by the gods, you find your life becoming more and more intertwined with the young prince as you do your best to ease his pain. It will soon be apparent that outside forces have other ideas.

"Ivar, I know you hate it but we have to keep going." Aslaug was getting sick of this, Ivar would not listen to her, and it was making her life miserable.

"It hurts Mother!" his tone was distressed but you had been clear, and if the last week or two had anything to show, you knew what you were doing.

Aslaug took a deep breath, and remembered what you said

If it gets to the point where Ivar can't take it, leave the cream on his skin for 15 minutes, then go back.

*************

"Is it still painful?" Aslaug was careful not to make Ivar feel weak.

"Not so much, it just feels hot." Thank the Gods.

It had been a few weeks since you had first started helping Ivar, you had yet to come and see him, telling her every time that you have very many orders to complete or that certain plants needed tending.

But it was coming up to winter, and the latest raid meant many of your customers were off looting, which meant no plants to care for and not enough people in need to justify being at the shop.

This time, you would come when she asked you.

"You are serving Ragnar's Sons now, why aren't you making more money?" Your Father was getting worse, he had started taking money right from the till.

"I told you Father, if I charge them more they'll find out and lock me away for stealing, and then you won't have any money." he seemed to take that, going into the back to get some bread you had made for your customers.

He spent the next ten minutes lazing around complaining. Then the Queen arrived.

One of her other Sons, Hvitserk was with her this time, he looked like he knew he was the prettiest thing in the room.

"Hello y/n." Your Father had changed in a heartbeat at The Queen's greeting.

"I don't believe we've met My Queen, I'm y/n's Father." his tone was kind and friendly.

She seemed unimpressed.

"No we haven't. No matter, winter is coming up and I will need your Daughter's services in person for the next few weeks."

Your Father looked like he was going to shove you out the door.

"Of course my Queen, she will be happy to help" you didn't look happy, but you knew your Father wouldn't give you the option.

"I will need to let people know where I'll be in case of an emergcy, I can't let other people get sick no matter who I'm treating."

The Queen seemed to be happy with that, then she was throwing a bag of coins at you.

Oh no

"I'll keep that safe for you until you get home y/n." Sure you will, you knew it would be all gone by the end of the week.

"Thank you Father, I'll close up before we leave, that way, you don't have to remember to cover anything if it starts to rain.

It had taken you about an hour to close up, Hvitserk was walking up to you as you locked the front door.

"You can ride on my horse if you like." What a smug ass.

"No thank you My Prince, I have my own horse."

************************************************************************

The ride to Kattegat was pleasant, it wasn't cold enough yet to need to rush inside so you got to enjoy the changing countryside.

You spent your time talking with Aslaug and Hvitserk about your work, The Queen listened well and asked complex questions, Hvitserk on the other hand, less so.

"Can you cook too?"

"Yes My Prince."

He gestured to the sword hanging on your saddle.

"Do you know how to use that?" There was no malice or condescension in his voice.

"Yes, My Prince. I work in a store filled with exotic and intoxicating herbs and spices, I've been robbed more times that I can count." He looked almost worried.

"They've never managed to take anything, don't worry."

You couldn't see it, but Aslaug was smiling.

*******************

Kattegat was amazing, there was the constant bustle of people and the ocean breeze carried the smells of the town through the air in a swirl of salt.

"I imagine I'll be staying in the inn?"

Aslaug didn't even look at you.

"No, you will be staying in the servent nook in Ivar's room. I had it set up for you this morning, the bed is comfortable enough and I made sure you would have plenty of furs."

I sleep on the floor at home so that's an upgrade.

"That way you can tend to Ivar whenever he needs it."

"You know Lady y/n, Ivar's room is right next to mine. Maybe you can come in and rub my feet." Hvitserk was incorrigible, it didn't seem he meant anything nasty by it, he was just clueless.

"You wouldn't like that, I'd have to find something wrong if you wanted me to stay. Do you want me to find something wrong with you?"

"Come now Hvitserk, she's going to be busy with your Brother, you shouldn't bother her." The Queen didn't miss the subtle dig you made at her son.

Be grateful you're healthy.

************************************************************************

"Clink slide, clink slide, clink slide, clink slide"

"Mother, are you back for your outting yet?"

You didn't have time to take in the Great Hall before you met Ivar which was a shame but he didn't stay long.

Ivar took one look at you and your trunk and turned and crawled away.

"I'm sorry, he can be a bit like that. He wasn't happy when I said you were coming for a visit." You could understand why, the last few weeks can't have been fun for him.

"It's ok My Queen, I'm sure he'll warm up."

The fact the Ivar didn't want you there made you question, why were you here?

"Why am I here if Ivar didn't request me?" You hoped you didn't sound accusatory.

"Ivar doesn't know what's best for him sometimes." the way she said it made you think she wasn't just talking about his legs.

*********

"Knock knock"

"Prince Ivar, I need to put my things away, may I come in?"

You hoped he would at least speak to you while you were here.

"No", you couldn't help him with this attitude, whether you understood it or not.

"That's ok, Prince Hvitserk offered me his room so I'll stay in there." The door was opened as you started to walk away.

You knew that would work.

"Fine, but don't bother me."

Ivar's room was nice, it was large enough that he could fit a four-person table and some chairs, there were trunks throughout the room and the floor was covered in more furs than normal.

"Mother has you in there" He gestured to the doorless doorway, through which was a small room with just a bed and a side table.

"Thank you My Prince."

The rest of the afternoon went well, and you managed to get Ivar to speak to you for more than a few sentences. Come dinner time, it seemed that you two would get along well.

"So you're Ivar's new nurse" You hadn't spent any time with Sigurd yet, he didn't come to the store like Ubbe and he didn't seem as charming as Hvitserk.

"Not really My Prince, I won't be staying here long so I don't think that qualifies me as Ivar's personal nurse."

Dinner was nice, it had been a long time since you had been able to sit down and eat a nice meal. Ivar didn't talk much and he spent most of his time glaring at you.

************************************************************************

It was late now, you were getting ready for bed when Aslaug came in.

"I was hoping you could do Ivar's legs tonight?" Ivar looked pissed.

"Mother, no. She'll just do it wrong." You sensed he was very used to getting his way.

"Well we'll have to see then" You were surprised at her sternness.

Ivar was laying in bed by the time everyone was ready to start, he had the blanket thrown over him and he was staring at you like he was looking through you.

You had a feeling he didn't want you touching or seeing his legs but there were no other option.

You picked up some things from your corner and sat down at the edge of the bed with Aslaug.

"I was thinking of trying a liquid oil this time, it will be a bit more messy but I think it will be easier to use in the long run"

Aslaug nodded along as you explained what was in it and how it worked, when she went to pull the blankets back, Ivar flinched and held on.

"Permit me to be frank My Queen." she pursed her lips but didn't say no.

"Ivar, your legs will not be the worst thing I've seen, last week I had to treat a man whose legs were rotting off his body. Unless you have cocks growing out of your knees you can't shock me."

Ivar went bright red, and Aslaug tried her best to stifle a giggle fit.

"Can I start?" Ivar gave one short nod and you pulled the blankets back.

Ivar looked so scared and ashamed.

"Oh, this is nothing. If one were 'normal' legs and ten were the legs of a rotten corpse you're a four, you're not even in the top twenty worst things I've seen" Ivar visibly relaxed but he still looked so sad.

"Please no stories, miss y/n, I don't think my stomach could take it. You were grateful for The Queen's interruption.

"Please tell me if I hurt you My Prince, this time around is meant to feel nice"

You start slow, rubbing his calves in long sweeping motions, Ivar was getting more and more comfortable. The Queen was looking at your hands intently, as if you'd suddenly sprout knives from your fingers.

Then she was looking around and getting up.

"I think I'll leave you to it, you seem to be doing a good job" You looked at her like a dear about to be shot by a hunter.

"Whatever Ivar's feels comfortable with is ok with me." But Alsaug didn't give her son the option, she was walking out the door before he got a word in.

"Can we try something with you feet on the ground? I'd like to what your kness are like." Ivar hesitated for a moment but pushed himself up and used his arms to swing his legs over the edge of the bed.

"You're very strong Prince Ivar" you watched the muscles of his arms and back sift under his shirt.

That's a good sign

"Don't patronise me." his tone was short, he almost sounded a little hurt.

"I'm not, I can see how well built they are under your shirt. That's a good thing Ivar, it means you've already done some of the work yourself" you hoped you had soothed his worry a bit, judging by the way he was looking down at you, something you said had helped.

"Mother was right, you are beautiful." You felt the rush of blood to your face, you hoped he couldn't tell that you were flustered.

"Thank you, Prince Ivar, you're very sweet."

You spent the next twenty minutes feeling his knees and rubbing his legs, Ivar staring at you the whole time, it was as if he was trying to memorise every pore.

"Will that be all tonight, My Prince?" He gave you his hand to help you off the floor.

"Yes y/n, thank you."

"Great! Tomorrow the real work starts." Ivar's blue eyes went wide.

What the hell did you mean by that?

Part 3

I'm not really happy with this chapter, I tried to make their meeting feel more organic rather than dramatic

Tag list

@ladynightshade30 @katshuya @istorkyou @smears-and-spots @youbloodymadgenius @draculasbride-blog @profoundtyrantharmony @vikingsfranatic @hellie98 @localtrashopossum @polly-jayne

[pikahlua]

so this question is kinda out of the blue but i simple couldn't stop wondering about it. what exactly was shigaraki telling bakugou when they met at jakku? the english translation is rather dismissive but i vaguely remember that one fan translator said that there was some at leasts nuance with the way tomura adressed him compared to the rest. it would be really cool to read your take on it (only if you are up to it, of course). thank you for your input. really enjoy reading your meta posts.

I think you must be talking about this weird-ass moment from chapter 277.

ごめん もう君に興味ないんだわ

gomen mou kimi ni kyoumi nainda wa

“Sorry” "[But] I’m not interested in you anymore.”

The content of the message is fairly dismissive in Japanese as well, but there is a little bit of linguistic nuance we could discuss and run with, so why not? Let’s do it.

The easy part to translate is “mou kimi ni kyoumi nainda,” literally meaning “[Because I’m] not interested in you anymore.” The “[I’m]” is implied, and the “-nda” at the end just means that the phrase is an explanation (hence why I added “[But/Because]” to the beginning of my translation of the sentence). Basically, the reason Tomura is “sorry” is because he’s no longer interested in Katsuki, so that’s what he’s spelling out.

The interesting bits are the following word choices: gomen, kimi, and wa.

Gomen - “Sorry,” but in a casual, familiar way

Kimi - “You,” but with a connotation of familiarity or condescension

Wa - A sentence-ending particle that, when used by men in casual speech, softens/adds politeness to a message that might otherwise sound like it should be taken as offensive because of the content

So what’s funny about these word choices is how much of a disconnect there could be between what Tomura means by them versus how Katsuki might take them.

Tomura usually refers to the heroes with slightly ruder language, such as using the omae form of “you.” However, he has called Katsuki “kimi” ever since kidnapping him back in the Kamino Ward arc.

Both kimi and omae imply some level of intimacy/familiarity between the speaker and subject, but if that familiarity does not actually exist between the two people, the meaning for both becomes rude. The subject could take offense to the use of either term, even if the speaker just mistakenly believes the familiarity is there when it actually is not. The ways in which they sound rude will differ though: omae will sound rude and disrespectful like a vulgarity, but kimi will sound condescending. Kimi implies some sort of hierarchical relationship where the subject is the junior (like kouhai) and the speaker is the senior (like senpai). At its most extreme, it will sound like the speaker finds the subject quaint and nonthreatening (like a child).

Put all the pieces together, and we’ve got Tomura speaking to Katsuki in a manner that has two potential tones:

Tomura might still believe he and Katsuki could come to an understanding like how he mentioned in Kamino when he tried to convince Katsuki to join his side (with Tomura as the leader aka the senior in the hierarchy), and so he is making an effort to show that he means no offense to Katsuki with his words, or;

Tomura might just be laying on the condescension hard by implying Katsuki is so weak and insignificant that Tomura doesn’t even consider him a threat, that Katsuki’s not even on the level of the other heroes present

And we all know no matter which tone Tomura is actually going for, Katsuki is gonna take it as #2 every. damn. time.

[insufferablelust]

THE QUEEN HAS SPOKEN, ITS MY DUTY TO WRITE SO I CAME UP WITH THIS.. HOPEFULLY ITS GOOD SHSJKS! thank you for the idea my love! you’re awesome @slutforthegubes !

WARNINGS : S M U T! filthy smut (usual stuff gsjsks), Professor!Reid era x hiatus SSA!Reader, Dom spence, Heavy degradation by name calling, Jealous Spencer, Cockwarming, Condescension, Over stimulation, Rough Kitchen sex, Fluff... i think thats it:)

excuse grammar errors! i’m trying to be better, promise!

MASTERLIST OF ALL MY WORKS!

Taking a time away from the team was a hard decision, but you needed this break. Being on the team for more than 5 years has really made you saw the worst of the worst of mankind, and you just need some time to refresh your mind for awhile. Another reason that convinced you to take a break from BAU is Spencer, you know how much he needed you at this point, after everything that has happened to him, you wanted to he there and just enjoy the moments not worrying about all the horrors and traumas.

Thankfully Emily agreed to it, sending you to a time off as long as you and Reid needs. But of course you’re not going to just abandon your team, so whenever a case comes through, you always stay on the line with Garcia and help as much as you can.

So now, without a horror case hanging over your head, you’re busy living a domestic life with your boyfriend Spencer. It feels so good to just be with him, to love and cherish each other, and to show how much you appreciate each other without having to worry about some psychopath hunting you down. Ever since Jail, Spencer has changed to a different man— not that you can blame him but he has changed.

He’s still your Spencer, the man you love and would die for, but he becomes assertive, obsessive almost predatory, now it sounds scary but it just meant that he’s more protective especially of you. You could feel the change by observing every little things he did, like the way his hand gripped yours tighter when you’re both in public, or the way he would put his hand on your lower back as you stroll down the grocery store, or the way he kissed you every time he left for work or comes home— it sounded mundane but the way he kissed you is almost feral, his hand would grip your jaw and the other one would soothe over your waist rubbing the bruise he left the night before, his lips would devour yours in a heartbeat, like every missing second counts. And when i said it counts it really did, he never taken his hands off of you unless he has to work or read, even then he always wants you close.

Thats when the subject of cockwarming surfaced, one time he was in his office as you limped down the stairs after the long night you’ve had, but the thing is you still needy more but he’s working, preparing for his lecture. As soon as you entered his office stark naked with your robe, you see him in wearing matching robe and pair of glasses— and god that drove you crazy. All you both want is to be as close to one another, without having to spend the energy to pound against one another and he can’t left his work.

So cockwarming it is, he just casually pushed his cock inside your fluttering warm walls— as you straddling him and you both stayed there, content feeling full and satisfied, lulling you back asleep. After you woke up though, the desk witnessed yet another round. And since then whenever you’re too tired or he’s busy, he’ll just enter his cock inside your pussy or you’ll sink down on his cock, depending which position fits the situation better. Its just the need to be close to each other, the after sex is just a bonus.

——————

He has gone to work about an hour ago, pressing a passionate kiss before he left, the type of kiss that left you wanting for more and of course he did that on purpose. So when you wake up for the second time that day you decided to take a shower. You were going to try to touch yourself but decided against it because it’s one of Spencer’s rules that “Your body is mine, so does your soul. I own every inch of you, so let me remind you again, pet. Do not ever touch what’s mine without permission.”

When you got out of the shower you pranced around the bedroom for a bit, before putting on one of Spencer’s white button up shirts that looks cute on you, and a cute white thong. You take a look at yourself one more time before grinning happily, Perfect. You look completely ready to be taken.

—————

You were cooking dinner when you felt it, the two arms that wrapped themselves around your waist, and a warm lips littering your neck with kisses and bites.

“Hi baby, didn’t hear you coming in. I’m making Rossi’s carbonara you know.” Your voice sounded so high pitch— its innocent, knowing full well what it does to Spencer.

“Mhm, got home early because i’ve missed you,” He mumbled against your skin as trace the line of your thong with his index finger and his teeth sunk down on your skin causing you to gasp “You look so cute wearing my shirt and this pathetic excuse of a thong, do you know how easy it would be for me to bend you right.. here...” His hands gripped yours as you turn off the stove, and he place both hands on the counter, his lips nibbling near your ear making you grind back against him.

“And just take you over and over again, pound into your sweet cunt that i’m sure has been needy for me. I can always see through you, little one.” He chuckled at the end, as he pressed his palm over your back so he can bend you over before, Knock knock! Ah perfect timing!

“who in the hell—“

“I ordered garlic bread, i knew you would be home early as usual so i shortened the cooking time and had it delivered instead there it is, let me go get—“

“No! absolutely not you mindless baby. Go finish plating up, i’ll get the bread and you best believe i’m going to destroy you.”

Oh the way he talked about it as if you didn’t want that to happen, he could very much ask you to do anything he wants or needs and you’d obey. So the only thing that supposed to terrify you, makes your blood running with the adrenaline and oxytocin.

You only set up one plate on his side of the table, only because you know that he’ll want you to either sit on his lap or kneel beside him and you’re fine with both. As long as you can be close to him is all that matters. You poured the wine as he comes back bringing the bread and set it up on the table.

“Sit down and relax Dr.Reid, tell me about your day.” Her tone could actually make him burst in his pants just thinking about it, every thing about her is perfect, even with her damn attitude and brattiness, its just meant that she needed to be set in her place often.

As soon as he sat down you were about to sit on his lap before he denied you by snapping his fingers, before telling you to “pull my pants down a little and take my cock out, while i eat, you’ll try to be a useful little cockwarmer for me okay?” His condescension makes your head spin as you replied with a high pitched whine of “Yes, Sir.” and doing exactly as he said.

Spencer took a bite of the pasta as you sink down on him, feeling him pressed against your tummy. “Oh pet, it’s so good.” that makes you whimper because you know that he isn’t talking about the food. “Open up baby,—Good girl!” he said as he continues to eat and feeding you couple of times.

You can’t hold out your whimpers, as you feel the tip of his cock pressing directly on your spot, causing you to clench your walls bunch of times before earning yourself 5 smacks on your exposed ass and a warning “Stop being a greedy slut and let me finish my dinner you brat.” He huffed, then going back to enjoy his pasta whilst scrolling down on his phone.

You wondered how can he be so calm and collected, because you can’t even help the way you squirm each time he breathes. But then you heard it, the small grunts that escaped his lips here and there, He’s also turned on beyond belief. You were snapped out of your thoughts when you hear his voice cutting through the tension with his thumb rubbing circles on your clit, earning a yelp from you.

“I’m finished, go and bend over the kitchen counter like i wanted you to earlier, keep your cheeks pressed against the counter and place your hands behind your back, you hear me?” He talked slowly as if to mock you how mindless you are, but you won’t deny it and said that it doesn’t turn you on cause it does and he knows it.

“Y-yes sir.. thank you sir..” You shakily stand up, from his lap pulling his cock out and you immediately clench your thigh, eyes fluttering shut as you feel the emptiness and coldness. “Oh, what’s wrong baby? you feel empty don’t you? of course you do. Can’t leave a second without stuffing your holes full, what a whore.” He shakes his head as he hold her jaw tightly and slap her right cheek. “There you are, pretty and marked. Now go do as i asked if your cute little ass is not bent over that counter i won’t let you cum a single time tonight.”

So you scrambled to bend over the counter, as you hear him placing the dishes away, taking his dear sweet time blowing each candle out. Your hand secured on your back as you feel the wetness drips out of you— whimpered out at the need to be touched god you hope he didn’t catch that.

“Be patient, whore. Good girls wait.” Of course he did. You should be ashamed, but if anything you’re dripping down your thigh.

Finally, after long minutes of just psychological torture, you felt both of his hand on your hips, gripping it bruisingly tight as you feel his cock pressing against your cunt, teasing the opening with the tip, keeping an agonizingly slow pace.

“You were going to open the door weren’t you slut? wearing your skimpy outfit maybe even flashing the guy hm? is that what you want? exposing whats mine?”

“No! no sir it isn’t like that i—“

“Shh, just keep your lips shut pretty girl, and let me ruin you. Let me show you that you’re mine, no one gets to see you like this, like a mindless little baby i know you are.”

Just as you were about to reply, you feel him push his cock inside of you with one single thrust, you yelped at the mixture of pain and pleasure, squirming against him as he wastes no time to pound into your cunt with a fast pace.

“Thats it, take it baby. Good girl.” You whined at the praise clenching your walls around his length, making him groaned out loud and smack your ass. “so damn tight, my perfect whore.”

“y-your whore! yours Spencer oh fuck please! make me cum.” You screamed out as you feel him twitch inside of you, the tip just keeps on hitting your sweet spot making you clench your walls involuntarily each time. “Oh i’ll make you cum alright, i’ll make you cum so hard that i’ll ended up ruining you” He laughed as he keeps on pounding onto you, curls sweaty and chest heaved.

“I’m so close sir please!” at this point the only thing you could do is submit fully and wait for his command no matter how hard it is. When you finally thought that he’s going to let you cum finally but before you can even ask, he pulled out of you abruptly and straighten your posture, flipping you around and place you on top of the counter— legs spread.

“You can cum whenever you want to, as much as you want but know that i won’t stop until i cum inside of that cunt. you hear me?”

“y-yes sir.” your eyes are glassy and you just look like a mess, a total whore for him. As soon as he push his cock back in you were a goner, the combination between his cock pounding your sweet spot and the thumb on your clit sends you over to the edge and had you convulsing against him.

Spencer laughed as he keeps on going, pounding you with the same pace, his fingers grabbed your throat and press down on it, “That’s right baby, keep it going” He encouraged as you cum again for the second time that night,

Your body shakes as your nerves wired with over sensitivity, begging him to “P-please sir- can’t cum anymore” Tears are flowing down your eyes as he feel himself twitch seeing how cute you are.

“C’mon aren’t you my little cockslut hm? yeah my one and only, so you’ll come for me one more time baby, one more and then i’ll fill you up” He cooed against your skin as he himself cant hold it much longer, so he slapped your clit as fast as he’s pounding onto you, and oh how you just scream out and tightening around him like crazy, sending him over the edge and spill his cum inside of you, making you whimper out loud,

“Fuck- fuck i- love you Y/N.. Oh i love you”

“I-i love you too spence”

He chuckled seeing your post orgasmic cute state, pressing a loving kiss on your lips before pulling back and hold you close for a second, “what do you need my love?”

“need you and bath please...” You whined out like a small kitten, making him shakes his head and pulls out of you, before carrying you bridal style to the bathroom and take care of you properly.

————————

Send in your blurb ideas like this or any genre you want through my ask! and send me feedback or constructive criticisms on my private message. Thank you for reading and supporting, love you all❤️

[amusedyan]

Monthly Meetings

A Peaky Blinders commission!

Words: 2k

Once a month there was a meeting. It was something dreaded by both parties, but one that was necessary- it was neutral territory, where mutual suggestions were discussed, grievances were gone over and business settled. No one officially came armed- but that was never written into the deal. Just like it wasn’t discussed that both parties came with a small coterie of their most trusted, each eyeing the other and waiting for a twitchy trigger finger.

Tommy Shelby was never on time to any meeting.

He came early when he was the one to suggest it- to get the drop on the other person, to make an impression. You waste my time, and you have no right to ask anything of me, was the goal there. When told to meet someone, he always made it a point to arrive 5 minutes late, because you aren’t worth my time.

This meant that meeting Alfie Solomons put him in an uncomfortable position- he had to come on time. And sometimes Alfie was there already, smug, or sometimes Alfie was late and dismissive about it, but with a stack of papers and grievances to make up the difference.

Tommy was continually unimpressed with the Jewish mobster, though you could color him surprised when word got out through the grapevine that Alfie Solomon had started going steady with some bird from the local flower shop.

He’d never figure him to be one to settle down, but those same rumors claimed that he ws continually trailing after her. Considering how…temperamental his associate could be, Tommy could believe it.

When Alfie actually entered the restaurant, Tommy reflected that the rumors must be true because the man was practically glowing. More importantly though, his usual stack of gripes was noticeably absent.

“Tommy-boy!” The man grunted, taking his seat at the table. There was already whiskey poured- courtesy of Tommy, of course.

“Alfie,” Tommy greeted, watching the man settle.

It was such a waste of his time to come here, and it took active work not to lose his temper about it. He could be home now

“So, to business. Would you like to begin?” Tommy offered magnanimously.

Alfie drank from his glass and winced at the taste. “Shit, that is,” he mused, shaking his head. “How’ve you been, Tommy? How’s life treated you?”

Suspicion colored Tommy’s thoughts. What was Solomons up to? Small talk wasn’t part of the meeting, ever. As if reading his thoughts, Alfie chuckled. “Don’t be like that, Shelby. I’ve been advised to try diplomacy.”

“By your new conquest?” Tommy countered. The expression on Alfie’s face closed off, and no longer was he looking at a man blatantly in love and feeling charitable to the whole world for it. It made things much easier to deal with. But a moment later, a sly smile crept across Alfie Solomon’s face, and Tommy wasn’t much fond of that expression.

“You’d know all about conquests, wouldn’t you, Tom?” Alfie folded his hands across his midsection and leaned back against his seat, leveling Tommy with a look just as cold.

Fury unfolded, and beside that, fear. What did that mean? Who had talked?

Chuckling, Alfie waved it off. “Now, there’s no need for that look, my good man. There’s been whispers, same as there have been for me. About a pretty girl. What’s her name?”

“We aren’t here to discuss women, Alfie.” Tommy said flatly, trying not to growl. From the corner of his eye, he could see Finn watching intently. He was waiting for a signal. No, he needed to reign it in.

Alfie was just intent on pushing his buttons though, grinning broadly, damn near leering at Tommy. “Well, her name’s Margaret.” His finger drummed against the glass, the ring he was wearing clinking methodically. “I doubt her name’s in your network, yeah? Every fucking thing else, but not that.” He shook his head. “Beautiful name.” And there was that lovesick look again.

“Is that all?” Tommy asked. What would it take to get the meeting back on track? Alfie eyed him, and reached into his coat-

Finn and Isaiah were drawing their guns, Alfie’s men were responding-

“SIT THE FUCK DOWN!” Alfie boomed, stilling the room. Tommy saw that what he’d withdrawn was his wallet.

“What are you planning, Solomons?” He asked, withdrawing a cigarette from his case.

The Camden bastard rolled his eyes and withdrew a photo. “Here,” he grunted, “have a look at this.” He handed it over to Tommy.

And honestly the last thing that Tommy expected to see was the image of a young woman posing for the camera. Rather lewdly, to put it mildly. Like a whore if you wanted to be blunt.

“My Margaret,” pride dripped from Solomons’ voice, like he hadn’t just shown off the parts of a woman that only her husband would see.

Tommy weighed his answers- would Solomons light up with fury if he complimented the woman? Or would he be offended if he didn’t? The trouble was that you never knew with him. He took a contemplative drag of his cigarette.

“Lovely,” he settled on.

Alfie scowled. “Oh like yours is any better,” he taunted. “C’mon, let’s see ‘er then.”

“I don’t have pictures of my woman on me, Alfie.” Tommy said, unable to stop the slight condescension from creeping into his tone, like he was talking to a child, or else someone very simpleminded.

“Well why the fuck not? How’m I s’posed to know if this woman exists, eh?” Alfie accused, smacking the table.

This was all very confusing honestly. What the hell was he playing at? “I didn’t claim she was real.”

“What man doesn’t have a picture of the woman he loves?”

“What man carries filthy pictures of his?”

“Oi mate, those are fuckin art!” Alfie argued with surprising vehemence. It was a strange hill to make a stand on, but hey, he could relate.

“Whatever you say, Alfie,” Tommy sighed and blew out another cloud of smoke.

It was raining now. Storm clouds had been gathering all of yesterday, and he’d been able to taste the moisture, along with the filth in the city air. Rain was ugly here, didn’t clean a fuckin’ thing. He found himself thinking, longingly of the estate. The Shelby Estate, a grander name than something like Arrow House. But little things like a name change kept your feet on the ground. Sylvia would be there, reading. It was raining, so she couldn’t ride today.

At first she’d hated being in the house. She’d wanted to be back in Birmingham. Always liked the action, wanted to support him. It had been charming before, but now that they were together, it couldn’t be tolerated. Too many risks.

“Are you fucking ignoring me, Tommy-boy?” Alfie’s voice was dangerous now, angry and short. Shit. He stubbed out the remains of his smoke in the ashtray.

“No, Alfie, I’m not ignoring you,” he said on the exhale. Clearly, he reflected, nothing was going to get done with this meeting. It was a shame, but at least that meant things were secure where they stood.

Either Solomons was happy or about to betray him again.

“So, I’ve told you about my Margaret, tell me about your girl.” Alfie ordered, pouring another drink.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Tom said, but at the disbelieving look on Alfie’s face, he shrugged slightly.

“I just don’t understand how a man can have a woman and not want to talk about her. Obviously you’ve heard how proud I am, but you? Are you ashamed?” It sounded like it was amusing- the idea that Tommy Shelby would be ashamed of anything in his life.

But the idea of being ashamed of Sylvia? That struck a nerve and that pissed him off properly.

“I’m not ashamed of her.” He snapped.

Alfie’s grin was positively disgusting. “So she does exist? Well, come now, what’s her name?”

For a moment he didn’t answer. Then he spoke begrudgingly, “Sylvia.”

“Sylvia, aye.” He nodded, turning it over. “She a gypsy like you?”

“No. She is not a gypsy.” Eye contact was key. “It wouldn’t matter either way.”

“So why don’t you talk about her? I could talk all day about mine, as I’m sure that you’ve noticed,” of course he had. “You move her in yet?”

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” Tommy mocked, making Alfie roll his eyes.

“Neither of us are gentlemen, Tom, no matter how you fuckin’ pretend. I moved Margaret in almost right away, you know? We just, we just had this connection- I saw her and I wanted her. Sent her gifts every day, came into the store when I could- her smiles, they lit up my fuckin’ life.”

“I’ve never known you to be so open about your business, Alfie. Aren’t you worried that someone might overhear?” It wasn’t a threat, not at all, not for once. This hit a little too close to home for it to be anything more than idle curiosity, and luckily Solomons knew it.

“No, mate. I need her to know how much I love her. And I need other people to know. Because if someone thinks that they can hurt her? I will…” he laughed, and it didn’t sound sane at all, but it didn’t bother Tommy, “well fuck, I think I’d burn the fuckin’ city down. But,” and he looked at Tommy, and that affable, unstable mask came off for a moment, and Tommy was looking at the emptiness that came from the war, the same emptiness in every soldier who’d been in the field, “but I think you know that, don’t you Tom?” He sighed and shook his head. “I figured, hell, if anyone on this Earth knew what I felt- how far I’d go- it’d be you.. And you do, don’t you?”

Tommy thought about Sylvia. He always thought about Sylvia.

He did horrible things on a daily basis. What would he do if something happened to her?

And the thing was, Tommy didn’t even need to ask himself that question. He’d known the moment that he’d seen her what he’d do for her, what he’d already done. She was safe, that was what he told himself, she was under constant watch, by men he trusted, where he didn’t need to worry about someone running off with her, or an accident, or any of the things that could take her away.

“And you just keep her in an apartment?” He muttered.

“How else would I see her?” Alfie countered evenly. “I take it you don’t?”

Tommy didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to, not in the context of the question.

“No, no, the way I see it, it’s better that I can keep an eye on ‘er. I get to come home to a nice meal, lovely company, and everyone knows what’ll happen if they fuck with her. You keep yours,” and he pointed at his business associate, “in some isolated fuckin’ kingdom and what happens? People get curious. You can’t see her as often. She goes missing. There’s no fuckin’ neighbors to pay to keep watch.” And hell, that was actually a very good point, but he didn’t want to hear that from Solomons.

“Let’s just agree to disagree.”

“Oh I fuckin’ disagree, mate. You don’t get that shit in hand-“

“And what might happen, Solomons?” Tommy asked calmly. He knew what this was- this was Solomons trying to knock him off his game, disturb him. And why? What the hell did Solomons have up his sleeve? “What are you planning?”

“Well I dunno mate.” The glass in Solomons’ hand was empty now, “what do you think I’m planning?”

“I think you’re just being a prick.” The other man barked out a laugh.

“Fair enough, so- grievances.”

And there it was.

When it was over, Tommy went over the meeting- all of it, bullshit included- in his head, thinking it over.

Alfie Solomons was a two faced bastard.

But Tommy found himself making plans to go visit Sylvia as a surprise, nonetheless.

[phoebe-delia]

Phoebes did you notice that most of the song prompts are odd numbers? I just think it's kind of neat! But for some lovely chaos in the stats, let us please have song no. 10? Also your doing this is a wonderful gift to the world and I adore you so so so so much

@rockingrobin69, Robin, my darling, hello. First of all, I'd noticed that the first ten or so were mostly odd numbers, but after you pointed it out, I realized how many odd-numbered ones I'd done! How funny. Also, before I get to tell you what song you've selected, I want to say that you and your writing are the true gifts and the feeling is very much mutual, my love. I cannot thank you enough for your constant love, support, and friendship. I absolutely adore you. <3

Another funny thing, Robin, is that you've managed to now select two out of my top three all-time favorite songs by Taylor Swift. (song prompt 3 was, ironically, my 3rd favorite TS song: "it's time to go.") But here, you've requested song 10, which is my number 1 favorite Taylor song of all time: "All Too Well."

The trouble is, I've already written one fic to this before. But no matter! I will persevere. This is technically a sequel to the original fic, but you don't have to have read it to understand this one! It is highly likely when the 10-minute version of All Too Well comes out that I will write a fic to that, but since it's not out yet, here's this. CW: post-breakup, potion/substance addiction, bad coping mechanisms, potions overdose; but there's a hopeful/happy ending!

Paralytici Memorias means "paralyzed memories" in Latin, if Google Translate is to be believed. And finally, an enormous, gigantic thank you to my big sis @avenueofesc for making this coherent and much better.

It wasn't a substitute by any means. It would never replace what it was made to mimic. In some ways, it was hopelessly inadequate.

But it was all he had: just the potion and his memories. If Draco's mind insisted on torturing him by reliving the best moments of his life in sepia-toned images, at least this way he could delay the crushing reality a little while longer.

Paralytici Memorias was his greatest triumph and biggest mistake. At first, he blamed it on completing his due diligence; every good potioneer should know and test the effects of their potion.

But then one test turned into two. Before he knew it, Draco spent the better part of his days coming in and out of deep periods of sleep, reaching for the vial every time his eyes opened to the sight of his empty flat, his engagement band on the coffee table next to him.

He wondered what Astoria would say if she could see him now. If their current level of communication as soon-to-be-weds was any indication, their marriage contract was more of a business venture than a romantic one.

After all, as long as he had a pulse, sperm for insemination, and a sound enough mind to sign over half his vaults, he'd have done his duty as her future husband as far as she was concerned.

"You'll forget about me, I promise."

His own words—written on the parchment he'd sent off with his owl before he could stop himself—were burned into his memory. He still remembered the searing pain in his chest as he promised the love of his life that what they'd had could be forgotten. In breaking Harry's heart, and in shattering his own, his only consolation was knowing that Harry would be happy eventually; that Harry would move on and find someone with the freedom to love him the way he deserved, someone who could offer the intangible riches in which Draco had always been impoverished.

As he reached for the vial that afternoon, it was to remind himself of the priceless love he sold for the price of his heart.

The potion’s effect was hazier than a Pensieve, but this way he could see the memories from his own point of view; could relive it in his own skin. Still, his mind couldn't do justice to Harry's eyes, the bright sound of his laughter, the warmth of his skin.

They were in Harry's car, the name of which Draco had never bothered to learn, too terrified and fascinated by the contraption. He yelped when Harry took a hand off the wheel to grab Draco's shaking one in a reassuring squeeze.

"Hands on the wheel, Potter!"

"I've got it under control, love. You watched me put the protection spells on the car myself, and it would be perfectly safe even without them. I promise I won't let anything happen to you," Harry said without an ounce of condescension.

Draco exhaled shakily, "If you say so."

"I do. Now, why don't you tell me a little more about where we're going?"

"Have you forgotten already? Honestly, Potter, your memory is abysmal."

"I haven't forgotten. I just like hearing you talk."

Draco valiantly didn't blush. And while he described the beauty of the Cotswolds, he found himself mesmerized at the red and orange leaved trees that lined the road as they drove out of the city and into the peaceful countryside, with its steady beeping noise.

Wait…that wasn't right. Why was it beeping?

"Potter, there's something wrong with the car."

"Draco?"

He squeezed his eyes shut tight before he opened them, blinking as the unfamiliar room came into focus. He could feel his pulse pounding in his head as his mind raced in a heady mix of confusion and anxiety. What happened? Why wasn't he in his flat?

"You're in St. Mungos."

Draco's head nearly snapped as he turned to look at a pale-faced Harry sitting in the chair next to his bed. Near Harry stood an unfamiliar woman scribbling on a clipboard. She reached over onto a side table and handed Draco a paper cup. The water was cool, a relief for his parched, sandpaper throat.

"Mr. Malfoy, how do you feel?" She asked after he handed the cup back to her.

Draco closed his eyes to stop the room from spinning. "My head is killing me and I'm dizzy, but I'm okay. What happened?"

"Your fiancée found you unconscious in your flat. We completed a blood test and couldn't match the substance to anything we know—"

"I invented it," Draco grumbled. "Where is Astoria? Harry, what are you doing here?"

The healer pressed her lips together. "I'll leave you to gather yourself for a few minutes, but I'll be back soon to ask you more about that potion, and next steps from there, alright?"

Draco nodded. "Thank you, Healer...?"

She smiled. "I'm Healer Rostova. Press that pager if you need something, but otherwise, I'll be back in a little while." With that, she left the room, the door clicking softly behind her.

Draco turned to Harry, who regarded him with wide, worried eyes. "What happened? Why are you here?"

Harry bit his lip. "Astoria found you unconscious on your couch. She brought you here and then she, well...She called me."

"She—what?"

"She called me. She said you were in the hospital, and I didn't really think much beyond Apparating here."

"Why did she call you?"

"She said you were...talking in your sleep."

Draco blushed. "Oh."

"Yeah," Harry let out a humorless, breathy chuckle. "She figured it out, I think. She said to tell you that she's having her parents terminate the contract."

Draco closed his eyes, letting his head thud against the headboard and then instantly regretting it, gritting his teeth against the sharp pain. "Great. I bet Mother's furious."

"She'll come around."

"You don't know that. You don't know her."

"No, I don't, but hopefully she'll want you to do what makes you happy."

Draco clenched his jaw and looked away. "Happiness is easier to manage when it's artificial. I ran away from the only thing that ever brought me close to real happiness. I can't handle it."

"Then let's manage it together."

Draco closed his eyes, kept his head turned.

"Draco, look at me."

Slowly, Draco forced himself to look at Harry, opening his eyes to let the other man see the tears beginning to well.

Harry's expression was as pained, yet kind. "Do you have any idea how agonizing it has been to miss you?"

Draco's chest seized, sharp with regret. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I thought it was what's best for both of us, I—"

"Shhh," Harry leaned forward, rubbing a soothing hand over Draco's. "We'll make it okay. We'll figure this out together, alright?"

Draco kept his eyes open, let himself enjoy happiness in full color. "Okay. Together."

Send me an ask about Harry Potter, broadway/musicals, The West Wing, and/or Taylor Swift! Or just about life in general :).

Also, I have a playlist of my 99 most listened-to songs of the year so far. Pick a number 1--99 and send me an ask and I'll write you a fic based on it!

[libra-kirishima]

Could I request some angst-to-comfort with Mirio? I've had a rough past few weeks. Feel free to make it as soul crushing as you want. Also, absolutely love your blog!

Your rough couple of weeks probably long since past by the time I'm getting around to this, but I hope you're doing better babe! Had more fun with this than I'd like to admit. Gender of the reader wasn't specific in the ask so I just went with fem reader. Hope that's ok!

Also includes the very slightest hint of manga spoilers but not to the point where it makes a difference.

You knew you shouldn't be alone.

All you wanted was to be alone, but as you heard the sound of footsteps gaining on you as you walked alone at night you knew you shouldn't be alone. You tried to walk faster, just hoping to make it that last stretch until you were safely back on campus, but you could tell it was no use.

"You shouldn't be walking alone at night like this." The person following you spoke, quickly catching up to walk by your side. You let out the breath you were holding when you saw that the person following you was just your boyfr-

Your ex-boyfriend. It was Mirio all along.

"It's not safe for you to be out this late. I don't want anything to happen to you, you know." He added, approach closer until your bicep touched his. His tone was surprisingly warm, with no hint of condescension. It took you off guard. You could tell that he really cared about you, and that realization hurt more than it should have.

"Get lost." You responded. "I don't want to hear anything you have to say to me.

"I'm not letting you walk all the way back to campus by yourself."

"Oh, now you care what I do?" You rolled your eyes at him stepping away so the two of you were no longer touching. Despite your anguish, you still longed for his contact again after you pulled away. "How did you know I was here anyways? Or where I was going for that matter."

"I saw you sneaking out by yourself, so I followed you."

"So you're stalking me?"

"No! Well, in this case yeah, but-"

"Why?"

"I told you that I didn't want anything to happen to you." You were clearly feeling argumentative, but he spoke back to you with a casualness that honestly made you jealous. You rolled your so hard that he was surprised they didn't fall out of their sockets.

"No, not that. Why do you always feel this weird need keep tabs on me in general? Following me around, pairing up with me for group projects, trying to sit next to me at lunch or in the common rooms, calling me and texting me constantly even when I said I never wanted to hear from you again."

"I just wanted the chance to talk to you." He admitted. "I want to tell you everything but you haven't even spare me a second glance."

"I don't want to hear anything you have to say." You repeated, turning away in hopes of ignoring the holes his stare were burning into your skin. You noticed that he drifted closer to you, so you were once again shoulder-to-shoulder. Despite retaining your anger, you allowed his touch to linger this time.

"Why?" He asked you sincerely. It was the first time he spoke to you in a way suggesting anything other than his typical optimistic nonchalance. You chose not to answer him, instead allowing the few steps to the front gate to be silent. You reached out to pull it open, but found it locked.

"Fuck me-" You groaned. Mirio moved to try the gate himself, though it still wouldn't budge.

"(Y/N)," He spoke again. "Please just talk to me. If you still hate me afterwards I understand. I know I hurt you. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself knowing that I hurt you irreversibly." For the first time since you noticed he was following you, you allowed yourself to really look at him. You felt the love he still had for you in his eyes. It was a gaze you missed, knowing that it was all for you. It made your heart ache with every second you stared at it. He wasn't yours anymore and it hurt to remember. You knew you shouldn't cave this easily, but you would allow yourself the indulgence for tonight.

"I'm going to try to find another way on campus. You have until I do to say whatever you need to. No exceptions. And if nothing changes when you're done you have to agree to leave me alone. Deal?" He nodded eagerly, chasing after you like a lost puppy as you began walking along the campus border.

"I- um- uh, this is a lot harder than I thought it would be." He scratched the back of his neck nervously. You shot back a sarcastic 'Is it?' to which he nodded. "I didn't think I'd get this far." He admitted. You shot him a bewildered look, watching the way he fiddled with his hands. Things you'd seen Amajiki do countless times but it was a strange look on Mirio. He was confident, bold, self assured even at his weakest points. It dawned on you that you must really mean something to him to be allowed to see this side of him. In the near three years you'd dated him, you'd only experienced him like this a handful of times. "I'm sorry." He finally spoke after a while.

"That's what you followed me out here to say?"

"I can't tell you enough times how sorry I am."

"You've told me that you're sorry countless times but do you know what you're sorry for? Do you care? Or are you just telling me what you think I want to hear?" You asked, too weak to continue making eye contact with him. You busied yourself feeling along the bars of the fence, no longer looking for anything in particular. The silence that passes makes you assume that you were right.

Part of you knew that that was the case all along.

So why did it hurt so much?

Would you seriously rather hear empty repetitive apologies? Did you really want to continue to be told what you wanted to hear without depth or meaning? No. It had nothing to do with anything he said. What you really wanted more than anything was your boyfriend back. But you wouldn't let yourself be used again. You didn't want to feel the sort of pain he put you through again. Your tears threatened to overflow right as he spoke.

"I'm sorry that I hurt you. I know I hurt you in so many ways and I can't take back any of them. That kills me to know, and I can't tell you how bad I feel about it. I'm sorry I pushed you away for so long. I was so afraid to tell you what I was feeling in the moments leading up to when we broke up. How much I hated myself for letting Eri go. How afraid I was that I couldn't save her. How hard it hit me after losing Sir Nighteye. I wanted to shield you from all of it. I was so afraid of losing everything that I pushed the most important person in my life away. I thought that keeping it all to myself would make things better for you, but they only made both of us feel worse." His way of speaking was a lot more composed than you would expect of him. He'd been thinking about all of this for so long. You stopped trying to keep yourself from crying. "When we broke up, in a way I did lose everything." He admitted sadly. "I'm sorry I didn't let you see me when I was in the hospital after I lost my quirk." He continued after a while. "I figured that you would think it was better than it actually was if I kept everything from you. I wanted so badly to keep you from being involved that I ruined the connection we had to each other. On that regard, I'm sorry I never told you that I got my quirk back. I figured you didn't want anything to do with me at that point since you wouldn't listen to me telling you I'm sorry. I didn't think that maybe you wanted to start with a normal conversation. I know you still care about me."

"I do." You said between sniffles.

"I know you do. And I took that for granted for so long. I'm sorry. I can't take that back but I can promise that I'll be better. I'm so glad that you still do. That's why I never stopped trying. If not now then I'd try to tell you I'm sorry until you stopped loving me."

"I can't." You confessed. It wasn't until now that you realized you were sat on the concrete crying. He had sat himself next to you, not fully hugging you but still rubbing soothing circles into your back.

"I'm sorry I threw away almost three years of our relationship so easily. And I'm sorry I spent so long blaming you for it. I should never have blamed you for refusing to put up with the pain I was causing you anymore. I'm sorry I didn't tell you all this sooner."

Mirio kept himself at a distance from you. A choice you appreciated and respected, but at that moment all you wanted was to be held. You leaned over and wrapped your arms around him, sobbing freely into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry too."

"For what?"

"I'm sorry I cut you off. I'm sorry I was so mean to you. I'm sorry if it seemed like I was trying to turn your friends against you with the way I talked about you. I'm sorry I never listened to you. I'm sorry you had to go through these lengths just to talk to me. I love you so much and I didn't want to be hurt anymore. I didn't know what else to do but I shouldn't have done that. I missed you so much that the only way I could think of moving on was to convince myself that I hated you."

"I miss you too." He whispered, placing a kiss on the crown of your head. "I miss being the one that has to wake you up in the morning. I miss being the first person to see your beautiful smile every day. I miss letting you pick the movie and then falling asleep on my chest halfway through. I miss you coming to dinner at my dad's house. I miss you sneaking into my dorm when you get lonely. I can never stay mad at you for long when I see you, even though you wake me up at 2 in the morning." You scrunched your nose up, but laughed softly at his words. "I miss that too. The way your nose would scrunch up like that. I miss hearing you laugh and making you smile. Knowing that I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy."

"Can we start over?" You asked wearily. He nodded, wiping his own tears away before flashing you the smile you loved so much.

"Yeah, I'd like that." He whispered.

You smiled into the crook of his neck before pulling away, leaning in to kiss your boyfriend once more.

[naerysthelonesome]

The Sanctuary Scene

From Alastair’s POV

(I tried, okay?)

Start of fic:

Upon being securely locked into the Sanctuary, Alastair had swiftly moved to one of the bedrolls provided, and pulled out a book (Machiavelli’s The Prince- one he’d read many times before), trying as best he could to take his mind off of Thomas’ inescapable presence. He’d settled himself among the provided blankets and pillows, moving only to take off his jacket and flip pages.

Thomas apparently determined to make himself near impossible to ignore, walked about, observing anything and everything, and generally making himself a distracting nuisance. He’d even knocked over a candelabra at some point. It had taken every ounce of Alastair’s self-control not to look.

He continued to stare at his book with unseeing eyes, trying as hard as he could to concentrate on the story. There was, however, none of the curiosity that might have motivated him. He could just have picked up one of the books provided by Eugenia, who admittedly had quite good taste, but that would have required him to move from his inconspicuous perch. And drawing Thomas’ attention to himself just would not do.

He knew he’d made the right decision to follow Thomas all those evenings, and he would do it again in a heartbeat. But now they were locked together for Angels knew how long, their only key to getting out, far away in Paris. Paris. That city brought back memories he would rather not think of right then. Memories of ink against warm skin, sparkling eyes, and a boy that was nothing less than a painting in motion.

He shook his head and focused his eyes on the pages in front of him. He had successfully kept to himself for hours now; what were a few more? But the silence was starting to get oppressing, as were the eyes that seemed to periodically settle on him. He could not imagine what Thomas thought of their situation.

As if in response to that thought, the boy in question darter to the door and shook it. A valiant but damned effort.

“A little menacing that the Sanctuary bolts shut from the outside, isn’t it? I never thought about it much before”, He said, making Thomas jump slightly. He allowed himself to look as the boy turned toward him.

Thomas looked surprised at Alastair having spoken to him at all, but attempted conversation, nonetheless.

“I, er, suppose one might have to keep an unexpectedly dangerous Downworlder out or something”, he said, making sound but obvious sense, as was his way.

“Maybe”, Alastair replied with what he hoped was an amicable shrug, “On the other hand, it does give the institute a makeshift prison”. Idle conversation, but surely something to think about. He looked back down at his book and kept them firmly there as Thomas came closer.

He felt the other boy stare at him, unmoving. He could be thinking of any number of things. Maybe he was thinking of a response to what Alastair had said, or maybe about how ardently he hated him.

Thomas’ tone, when he finally spoke was demanding, almost angry. It shifted completely the comfortable energy that had started to establish between them.

“Why have you been following me around?”

Alastair’s breath hitched in his throat. Here was the question he’d been dreading all this time.

“Someone had to”, he said, for lack of a better answer. How was he supposed to tell Thomas that he had done it because he had wanted him to be safe? That he hadn’t wanted any harm to come to the person he should be feeling only apathy- or maybe shame- towards? How was he supposed to explain himself?

“What on Earth does that mean?”

Alastair nearly flinched, but kept his face impassive and eyes trained on his book. It was as easy to act unbothered, as it had been to act cruel. Alastair was no stranger to wearing masks.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to, Lightwood”, he said with all the condescension he could muster.

Then Thomas did the first truly surprising thing he’d done all night. He sat down beside him, and the movement startled Alastair enough that he couldn’t stop himself looking up at the boy.

“I do want the answer”, Thomas said decidedly, “and I will not get up until you tell it to me”.

Well, damn him. Alastair could hardly blame him for wanting to know. He was owed an explanation, but that didn’t make the decision to give it to him any easier. He slowly closed and placed his book aside, steeling himself for the surely nerve-wracking talk that was headed his way.

He looked at Thomas, who was once again staring. Alastair had to admire the determinacy with which he was approaching a conversation with him.

“I knew you were taking extra patrols”, Alastair said truthfully, “And more than that- going out by yourself with a murderer on the loose. You were going to get yourself killed. You’re meant to take someone with you”. He only narrowly avoided sounding cross or accusatory.

“No thank you. All these people going out in pairs, announcing themselves every time they speak, unable to make a move without consulting each other- they might as well ring a bell to let the killer know they’re coming”, Thomas said scornfully, “And meanwhile, if you’re not on the schedule, you’re supposed to just sit around on your arse doing nothing. We’ll never catch the murderer if we avoid being out on the streets. That’s where the murderer is.”

The indignant expression Thomas was wearing, and the little speech he’d just made, amused him. He and his friends were all so alike. Alastair knew Thomas well enough to know that while those words may not have been entirely honest, the sentiment behind them was sincere. He had just so badly wanted the killer gone.

“Never before have I heard such a concise statement of the ludicrous philosophy with which you and your school friends go through the world, running toward danger.” His arms were starting to hurt, so he stretched them out over his head, and went on, “But that’s not why you were doing what you were doing. There’s a little truth to what you just said, but not the heart of it”.

“What do you mean?”

“You couldn’t save your sister, so you want to save other people.” he said, hoping he wasn’t going too far, “You want revenge, even if this isn’t the same evil that took Barbara- it’s still evil, isn’t it?” The look in Thomas’ eyes confirmed that his assessment was true, so he continued, “You want to behave recklessly, and you don’t want your reckless behavior to compromise a patrol partner’s safety. So you went alone.”

Alastair had understood his motivations easily enough. Thomas was complicated, but he had never been hard for Alastair to read. At the heart of him, he was simply good, and kind, and fiercely loyal. It was a miracle his friends hadn’t seen through him.

“Well, I don’t believe that you really think we’re stupid,” Thomas said, “Or that we willingly court danger for danger’s sake. If you believed that, you would do more to stop Cordelia spending time with us.”

Outwardly, Alastair scoffed. But it seemed Thomas was not the only person easily read.

“My point,” Thomas went on firmly, “is that I don’t think you believe the rude things you say. And I don’t understand why you say them. It doesn’t make any sense. It’s as if you want to drive everyone away.”

The audacity of Thomas to believe that Alastair was any sort of good; the nerve he had to believe he was rude for anything but selfish, cruel reasons- Alastair had never wanted to embrace another person so badly for being wrong.

“Why were you so awful to us in school? We never did anything to you”. The words were not spoken with any venom, and yet, they stung. Alastair winced.

For the first time, he really considered letting someone in. He needed someone to know the truth of his actions. Cordelia was the only one who even remotely understood why he had done the things he had done, and although he still felt his behavior inexcusable, telling her had been a small comfort.

But the words would not come easy.

“I was awful to you… because I could be.”

“Anyone can be a bastard if they want to be,” replied Thomas, verbally batting away his answer, “You had no reason to do it. Your family are friends with the Herondales. You could have at least been kinder to James.”

He could have been. But he had had a reason.

“When I got to school,” Alastair said, forcing himself to breathe; he had never spoken about this before. It had never been easy, and it wasn’t now- “loose talk about my father preceded me. Everyone knew he was a failure, and some of the older students decided I was an easy target. They… let’s just say that by the end of the first week, I had been made to understand my place in the hierarchy, and I had the bruises to remind me should I ever forget.”

Thomas seemed to be having a hard time wrapping his head around what he had just said. And understandably so. Alastair wondered if he’d always appear the bully in Thomas and his friends’ eyes.

Thomas didn’t inclined to talk just then, so Alastair went on before he lost the nerve, “After about a year of being knocked around, I realized I could either become one of the bullies, or suffer the rest of my school days. I felt no loyalty to my father, no need to defend him, so that was never a problem. I wasn’t very big- well, you know what that’s like.”

He looked at Thomas then, noting the broad, strong width of him, and the way his shirt sleeves hugged his arms. He didn’t miss the way he seemed to shrink back into himself at the gaze. Alastair looked away.

“What I did have,” he said, “was a savage tongue and a quick wit. Augustus Pounceby and the others would collapse laughing when I cut some poor younger student down to size. I never got my hands bloody, never hit anyone, but it didn’t matter, did it? Soon enough the bullyboys forgot they’d ever hated me. I was one of them.”

None of what he had said earlier had been an excuse. In a game of hurt or be hurt, he had chosen to hurt. It had been self-preservation, but it had still been selfish.

“And how did that turn out for you?” Thomas said, with distaste.

Alastair had no misconceptions regarding the consequences of his decisions, so he met Thomas’ glare and replied, “Well, one of us has a close knit group of friends, and the other has no friends at all. So you tell me.”

“You have friends”, Thomas said, but a hint of doubt crossed his face even as he spoke the words. It was unsurprising to Alastair that Thomas had not paid him enough mind to have ever realized otherwise. Why would he have?

“Then you lot arrived, a bunch of boys from famous families, too well brought up to understand at first what went on far from home. Expecting the world would embrace you. That you would be treated well. As I had never been”. He was unable to restrain the jealous tinge in his voice. “I suppose I hated you because you were happy. Because you had each other- friends you could like and admire- and I had nothing like that. You had parents who loved each other. But none of that excuses that way I behaved. And I do not expect to be forgiven.”

Alastair felt close to tears as he came to the end of his story- physically exhausted- and his hands were shaking. But he did not regret it. He hoped Thomas would not cause him to regret it either.

“I’ve been trying to hate you-” Thomas said in a quiet voice. The response did not faze Alastair. It was what he deserved. “-for what you did to Matthew. You richly deserve to be hated for what you have done.”

It was true that Alastair had hurt Matthew in terrible ways, but he had hurt Thomas as well. He was tired of Thomas’ refusal to acknowledge it. What he had said about his family more that warranted Thomas’ own hatred of him.

“It wasn’t just his mother I slandered. It was your parents, too. You know it. So you don’t have to- to act all high-minded about this. Stop pretending you are only upset on behalf of Matthew. Hate me on your own behalf, Thomas.”

“No”, Thomas said, then paused.

The word brought only a fleeting comfort with it, and Alastair waited for the other shoe to drop, for the blows he deserved to rain down upon him, this time deserved. But they did not come.

“The reason I cannot hate you is because- because of those days we spent in Paris together,” Thomas said, and the words damn near stopped Alastair’s heart in his chest, “You were kind to me when I was very alone, and I am grateful. It was the first time I realized you could be kind.”

The tears that had threatened to come up earlier, nearly made their presence known again. H stared at Thomas with lucid eyes as he tried to process those words. Memories came back to him unbidden, and he heard himself say, “It is my favorite memory of Paris as well.”

“You don’t have to say that. I know you were there with Charles”. That was all it took to wrench him out of his mind and back to the present. He felt his defenses go up again at the mere mention of his former lover.

“Charles Fairchild? What about him?”

“Wouldn’t that be your best memory of Paris?” Thomas replied, undeterred.

Consciously, he knew there was no danger here. Thomas would never use this information against him, and besides… he had his own secrets. This did not keep him from responding defensively, as he was wont to do, when it came to Charles. “Exactly what are you suggesting?”

“I’m not suggesting anything. I’ve seen the way you look at Charles, the way he looks at you. I’m not an idiot, Alastair, and I’m asking…”

Time seemed to stop as Thomas shook his head and sighed, coming to some kind of abrupt decision. A decision that began with words that as good as ripped apart Alastair’s defenses yet again.

“I suppose I’m asking if you’re like me.”

End of fic.

This turned out so much longer than expected- If you read it all the way through, you likely have a slight obsession.

[love-and-monsters]

Unicorn Centaur

M centaur X F reader, 5, 091 words

In this story, you work as a hired guard for a centaur lord. Your job is to get him to the stronghold with his horn still attached- no matter how annoying he is. 

You hooked your knife back into your belt and pulled on the thick, metal-reinforced plate that covered and reinforced your chest. It was a pity you were no longer going to be staying in a nice bed, but the money you would be getting for this escort mission would supply you with a nice bed for weeks to come.

Dressed in the royal blue uniform you’d been presented with, you headed outside of the inn to look at your charge.

You’d heard you were escorting one of the young lords- he was the oldest son of one of the local lords and primed to take over his father’s land when the old man died. Being a lord, and therefore, pretty rich, wasn’t the only reason you had been charged to escort him.

The elderberry lords were an unusual kind of centaur. Most centaurs looked like standard horses from the waist down, and completely normal humans from the waist up. But these lords were an unusual sort: unicorn centaurs.

Aside from the long, spiral horn in the center of their foreheads, unicorn centaurs had more delicate bodies and long tails that were tufted in hair. Their fur was typically white, though black, gray, and brown unicorns also existed. It was always oddly shiny, almost pearlescent, and startlingly beautiful.

Unicorn horns were rumored to have magic potential. Extreme healing powers and all that. So, whenever the unicorn centaurs traveled outside of their well-protected homeland, they hired bodyguards to ward off anyone who wanted to cut their horns from their heads, killing them in the process.

The sound of hooves alerted you to the approach of the procession. You watched as they approached. Two of them were standard centaurs, with brown fur and black hair. One of them trailed a thoroughbred after them, presumably for you. And in the middle of them was a pure white centaur. His tufted tail flicked and waved behind him, his shiny hooves gleaming against the dull dirt road. His head was under a veil, held away from his face by his long horn. Veiling was a common practice among unicorn centaurs. It was old, coming from a time when servants would wear sticks and veils on their heads so bandits couldn’t tell those with horns from those without. Nowadays, it was less common, but most unicorn centaurs were a little haughty and hid their faces regardless.

You approached them with a stiff back, arms held ramrod at your sides. “I stand ready for defense,” you said.

The lord turned his head to you. The white veil obscured his expression, but you knew he was looking at you. “A human guard,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension.

“Yes, sir,” you said. Human guards were standard for centaurs, if only because they were much less obvious and could employ guerilla tactics. But that didn’t mean the lords were going to stop being sniffy about it.

“Hmph,” he said, turning his head away from you. One of the other centaurs offered the reins of the horse to you and you swung up onto its back.

“We’re heading for the Vastran Stronghold,” one of the centaur guards said. “It’s a week-long journey. You’ll be paid upon arrival.” You nodded, shifting the reins in your hands. Paid upon arrival was standard for guards as well. It ensured that if you failed, you didn’t get paid.

You set off down the trail at a steady pace. The lord was slightly ahead of you, walking at a steady pace. You shifted impatiently in your saddle. It was going to take longer than a week if he kept up his slow pace. He was barely moving faster than a walk. Then again, you thought, the veil likely made it difficult to see.

For hours, you rode on and on. The sun was hot and your hands kept slipping on the reins. Your rear ached from the stiff saddle. Luckily, it was easy to stay on guard. The trail was in the midst of a field, which made any approaching enemies easy to see.

By the time the sun was setting, you had made it into the forest. It was a mixed blessing. It was far easier to hide in a forest, but the same was true for any adversaries. And it was more difficult for centaurs to move in the forest. The lord was better at it than many others you’d met. His slender frame made it a little easier for him to pick his way out around the trees.

You stopped sometime after the sun had set. Setting up the tent was a hassle. It was large and irritatingly fancy, and you had an easier time getting close to the ground and fiddling with knots and pegs. By the time the tent was up, you were exhausted.

Of course, the tent was only for the lord. You had a sleeping bag, and that was good enough for you. Not that you used it much. You spent about half the night patrolling, looking for adversaries.

The woods got thicker the deeper you went. The next day, even the lord was starting to have trouble traversing it. You eventually hopped off your horse and took to guiding it over the logs and leaf litter. Luckily, the trees provided some shade from the merciless sun.

Resetting the tent that night was difficult. The ground just wasn’t flat enough. Eventually, you managed to set everything up and collapsed into your sleeping bag.

You were roused by one of the other guards near midnight and set up for your shift. Blinking sleep from your eyes you settled next to the tent’s doorway.

You hadn’t been expecting to see the lord during your shift. It was late and you thought he’d been sleeping. However, shortly after your shift started, you heard something shift in the tent. You glanced over in time to see the lord emerging.

It was the first time you’d seen him without a veil. His face was pretty, with delicate, smooth features, long lashed eyes, and smooth, full lips. A long, pearlescent horn spiraled from the center of his forehead. He stepped delicately from the tent, heading toward the edge of the camp.

“Hold on!” You stood and followed him. He looked back at you, his full lips curling into a sneer. “Where are you going?”

He shifted his weight, snorting. “Where do you think?” His long tail shifted, slapping at his flanks. “Need I tell you of my every bodily function?”

“I do need to accompany you, sir,” you said. His eyes narrowed and he gave a horse-like snort.

“You’re a woman,” he said. His tone was derisive enough to make you bristle.

“Indeed. I’m glad you’ve managed to notice. That doesn’t change the fact that I am your guard and I need to keep watch over you.”

“I will be gone for five minutes. I won’t be far away,” he said.

You sighed. “I understand that you’re embarrassed. But trust me, assassins don’t have a sense of honor and they will not hesitate to kill you at any opportunity. Even if you’re pissing.”

It might have been a trick of the firelight, but you could have sworn the lord’s face was turning red. “Fine,” he snapped. He turned and trotted into the woods. You followed from a short distance.

You did keep your back to him while he did his business, keeping your ears out for any other motion. Finally, he stomped out of the bushes, refusing to look at you, and headed back to camp. Whatever. You didn’t need to talk. You just needed to protect him.

There was an uncomfortable tension between the lord and you the next day. He kept his nose firmly in the air as you helped take down the tent and glared at you from under his veil when you started moving. Fortunately, being a guard meant that you had dealt with far worse things than a cranky lord. You ignored him, picking your way easily through the woods.

It was obvious that he was getting tired of traveling, too. He toyed uncomfortably with his veil, snapped at his centaur guards when they tried to pick up the pace, and started stumbling over the little bits of detritus on the trail. It slowed your pace considerably and you heard the other guards grumbling about it when you stopped for the night.

It was your turn to bring the lord dinner that night, so you gathered up his fancy meal (well, fancy for something you were eating on the road) and brought it into his tent.

He was sprawled awkwardly on the ground, reaching for his hooves. There were little cuts around them, probably from all the tripping he’d been doing. You cleared your throat, setting his meal on the ground near him.

“Are you all right?” you asked. He snorted, glaring at you.

“I’m fine.” He tucked his hooves back underneath his body. “It’s none of your concern.”

“If you say so,” you said. You headed back for the tent entrance, then hesitated. The cuts were small, not serious at all, but they looked like the sort that would sting and itch irritatingly. “I have some salve that might help those, if you’d like me to-”

He cut you off with a piercing glare. “I don’t want nor do I need any of your ridiculous human medicines. And I’m not allowing you to smear any of your foul-smelling gunk on my hooves. Just give me my dinner and go.”

 Anger boiled, threatened to overspill. You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths. Getting into a shouting match with your employer was a bad idea, no matter how much you wanted to do it. “As you wish, sir.” You spoke through your teeth. He snorted and flicked his tail, but said nothing else. Stiffly, you turned and left the tent.

Fortunately, you didn’t need to speak with him much after that. You slept for most of the night and broke down the tent in the morning. Then you were off again, the lord veiled and walking a little in front of you.

The forest was growing less thick, but that was only making you more nervous. This was the most dangerous part of your journey. There was a town only a few hour’s gallop away and it had a port. If someone wanted to grab the lord’s horn and take off, this would be the best part of the journey to do it during.

If the lord was stressed, he didn’t seem to be showing it. He was even slower than usual and got even sniffier than usual when one of you tried to prod him along. By the time you were ready to stop, you were exhausted just from dealing with his constant complaining.

“Can’t you put that up any faster?” he whined as you started setting up the tent. You ground your teeth. “There are bugs out here! They keep biting me!”

“I’m going as fast as I can,” you said. It was growing more and more difficult to not yell at him. You swore you could feel one of your blood vessels getting ready to burst.

“Then your fastest is incredibly slow!” Good lord, his voice was annoying. There was a slightly nasal quality that you hadn’t initially noticed, but which was becoming more and more apparent with every word he spoke.

Cramming all of your frustration away into a back corner of your mind, you finished up the last of the pegs and stood. “It’s done,” you said, adding a sarcastic, “your highness,” in an undertone.

He snorted and stalked into the tent. You leaned back on the ground, trying to calm yourself back down.

“Hey.” You looked up. One of the other guards was leaning over you, giving you a patient look. “Sorry about him.”

You huffed. “I’ve dealt with worse. I think.”

The guard chuckled. “He’s not easy to deal with, I know. Take a break, why don’t you? I can cover your shift if you’d like.”

You hesitated. “You sure? I didn’t take a guard shift last night.”

“It’s fine. Really, you’ve done enough today.” He waved his hand dismissively. You shrugged.

“Sure. Okay.” You know what? You weren’t going to argue. You were going to get some goddamn sleep.

At least, that was the plan. The instant you lay down, though, your head was buzzing. It wasn’t that you weren’t tired. You were. Your body wanted more than anything to fall asleep. But your brain was insistent that you could not.

You tossed and turned. Tried to find even a slightly comfortable spot on the ground. Counted to one hundred, counted back down. Did some meditative breathing. Every time you started to slip toward unconsciousness, your brain would send out alert signals that made you jolt upright out of bed.

After what felt like years, but was actually only an hour, you got up. Clearly, you were not going to sleep. Your instincts were picking up that something was wrong. Might as well trust them.

The other two centaur guards were outside the tent. You positioned yourself a little closer to them, still somewhat hidden in the trees. You didn’t want to bother them, and maybe if you were a little closer to the lord, you’d be relaxed enough to fall asleep.

One of the centaur guards shifted his weight. He was swaying a little on his hooves. The other centaur guard glanced over just in time to see the first guard slump over, landing in a heap on the ground.

Your chest clenched. Automatically, you stood, ready to go help. But the other centaur guard just glanced down at him briefly, then, with an unhurried, uncaring gait, he stepped into the tent.

Alarm bells rang through your head. You plunged out from the tree line, heading right for the tent. The collapsed guard was left on the ground. You felt bad, but if he was fine, he was fine, and if he wasn’t, there was probably nothing you could do. Your first priority was getting to the lord.

You tore through the front flap of the tent. The false guard was standing over the lord, gripping his horn in a single hand. The lord had clearly just been woken up and he was staring at the guard with dawning horror.

No time to think. No time to plan. You lunged. One hand went to the blade you kept strapped to your hip, the other went out, to seize the centaur’s shoulder.

He barely had time to turn toward you. Your knife hit the side of his throat. There was always more resistance when stabbing people than most thought. You really needed to have some commitment behind it. You had plenty. The knife ripped through his neck in a spray of blood.

He choked. His legs wobbled. The hand holding his knife slackened and fell. You seized him and wrenched him to one side, so he didn’t collapse onto the lord. Blood pooled underneath him as he twitched on the ground, the last vestiges of life draining from him.

The lord made a sort of strangled choking noise. You glanced at him. His legs were awkwardly splayed, hands up toward his face. His eyes were huge and horrified. “You- he-”

Okay. First things first. You stepped over the body and held out your unbloodied hand. “Hey. It’s okay. You’re safe now. He can’t hurt you.”

The lord responded much stronger than you thought he would. He grabbed at your hand with both of his, clinging to it with some desperation. “He tried to kill me. He tried to kill me!”

“I know. Come on. Get up.” You gave a gentle tug. He staggered to his hooves. Thankfully he seemed pretty malleable, willing to go in whatever direction you pushed him. You would never have been able to move him if he’d gone slack.

“Where are we going?” he asked. His eyes remained on the corpse no matter where you moved him.

“I can’t move the body on my own. So, unless you want to stay here with it, we’ll need to go outside.” He picked up some speed, scrambling out of the tent. His hooves skidded a little in his haste and you had to brace yourself to support him.

You settled him down by the fire, wrapping blankets around him. He trembled constantly, eyes locked on you as you knelt next to the unconscious guard.

“Is he dead?” the lord asked. You shook your head.

“He’s unconscious. I think the other guard drugged him. That’s probably why he told me to get some sleep. If I’d been asleep, he would have been able to cut off your horn and escape before anyone was the wiser.” You glanced back at the lord. His trembling had increased. “Er. Sorry.” You walked back over to the fire and sat next to him. “When the other guard wakes up, we’ll move the body, get rid of the tent, and keep going.”

The lord shifted his weight. “Thank you for saving me.” His voice was quiet, barely audible over the soft crackling of the fire.

“It’s my job,” you said. After a moment, you added, “but you’re welcome.”

           There was silence for a few moments. “What’s your name?” the lord asked.

“Kara.” The lord extended his hand toward you. You moved to shake it, but he took your hand instead and lifted it to his lips. There was a long, breathless moment as his soft lips brushed the skin of your hand.

“Lord Julien Sorrelito. A pleasure.” His voice was warm. You assumed that the tone as was practiced as the words.

Your leg was starting to sting. Without the adrenaline, you were starting to feel the injuries you’d acquired. There was a nasty slash on your calf where the false guard’s serrated knife had caught you as it fell. You probed at it and hissed.

“You’re hurt.” The lord’s voice was surprised and concerned.

“I know. I’ll grab some bandages from my things.” The lord reached up and caught your hand as you started to move away.

“Wait a moment.” He said it with a sigh, like he was annoyed about what he was going to tell you. “Sit down.” You did so, stretching your leg out awkwardly to prevent the wound from pressing into the dirt. Julien shook his hair back and arched his neck. His horn pointed down at your leg. His eyes closed and he took a deep breath.

There was a glimmer around his horn. The light concentrated itself and flowed away from his horn and down to your leg. There was a sharp tingling feeling around the cut, then your skin rippled. It flowed like a liquid, covering the cut entirely. When the tingling faded, there was no more pain. Your leg was whole.

“You’re kidding,” you said. “You can actually heal?”

“You didn’t think people just made that sort of thing up, did you?” Julien snorted. “We can heal small wounds when they’re still attached. If they’re removed and ground, they can cure illness and poisonings.” He glanced at you. “But don’t tell anyone. We try to keep as quiet as we can.”

“I won’t. You’re paying me well enough for my silence.” Julien nodded, closing his eyes. He looked exhausted. After a moment, his head swayed down, ending up on your shoulder. You stayed still. Gradually, he slipped into a deep sleep.

As it turned out, he drooled in his sleep. It would have been pretty funny if he hadn’t been doing it on your shoulder.

By morning, the other guard was up, albeit with a headache. The two of your cleared out the tent and broke it down. Julien watched, looking dazed. The sun was well over the horizon by the time you were ready to move again. “We’ll need to be fast today,” the guard said. “He’ll probably have had allies who are waiting for him to return. They might come after us.”

 Julien seemed much more willing to pick up the pace. He and the guard hurried through the woods, moving at a steady trot. You were much slower. Humans couldn’t move as fast as centaurs at the best of times, and whatever he’d done to your leg last night had really stiffened up the muscle. It was a struggle to keep up.

By midday, you were falling significantly behind. Julien kept pausing to look around at you, face still hidden by his veil.

“Look,” you said. “I can’t keep up. I can fall back a little, see if I can catch up with you later. I’ll engage if I see more poachers.”

Julien’s tail flicked back and forth. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“A bit, I suppose. But what else am I supposed to do? I can’t keep up the pace we need to maintain.”

Julien let out a sigh that made his veil flutter. “You can get on my back.”

There was a long pause. You were pretty sure you’d misheard. “Get on your…?”

“Yes,” he said testily. “Get on. I can probably carry you and it’ll let you keep up with us.”

Most centaurs had complexes about people riding on them, and unicorn centaurs especially so. The guard stared at him incredulously. You stared at him incredulously. “Ah, sir,” the guard cut in. “I could carry her instead.”

Even through the veil, Julien’s glare was obvious. “No,” he said. “I’ll carry her. If you need to fight, you’ll do better at it without someone on your back. And if she’s close to me, she can defend me better.”

The guard looked at you and gave a helpless shrug. Julien bent close to the ground and gave you an expectant look. Hesitantly, you climbed up onto his back. His coat was surprisingly soft and silky, despite being quite short. Julien clambered back to his hooves with a sniff. “Shall we continue?”

He kept up the pace surprisingly well for carrying a whole person on his back. You kept shifting your position, trying to find a good place to put your hands. They ended up at the junction between his torso and horse body. It was a little awkward, but he didn’t say anything. Every now and then, he would press one of his hands to yours, shifting your position to a better one. The touch was always unexpected and it always put your heart in your throat.

You were a little saddle-sore by the time you set up camp again. Without your slow human pace dragging down the speed, you were actually ahead of schedule. It would be your last night on the road. By sundown the next day, you would be at the stronghold.

The guard started patrolling and you brought in dinner for the lord. He was staring at the stained patch of floor where the body had been. Options for cleaning were limited on the road, and attempting to splash the tent with river water hadn’t done as much as you’d hoped.

“Your meal, sir,” you said, offering him the tray. He took it from you, blinking like he was coming out a of a daze.

“Wait,” he said as you turned to leave. “Stay.”

You sat down with him and he offered you a chunk of bread. “I feel that I didn’t properly thank you for yesterday,” he said.

“It’s just my job. Money is payment enough,” you said.

Julien sighed. “I haven’t been terribly good to you,” he said.

“I wasn’t expecting it,” you said. Julien frowned at you.

“I am attempting to apologize,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting to be attacked during this trip. I thought I would be safe with my own two guards and I was annoyed that there was a human coming along.” He lifted his gaze to yours. “If I hadn’t brought you, I would be dead.”

You weren’t really used to such sincerity just for doing your job. His gaze was surprisingly intense. “Thank you for your apology.”

He nodded, shoulders slumping with relief. “It was quite impressive, the way you took him down.”

“Lots of training,” you said. “I’m sure I could teach you. Self-defense lessons would be quite useful for you.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “I suppose I never expected a beautiful woman to be so skilled at fighting.

You snorted. “Perhaps you should expand your horizons.”

“Only if you’re willing to help me,” Julien said. You blinked at him. Was he flirting? The tone of voice seemed right. Were you supposed to flirt back?

The moment stretched on a little too long, making it into an awkward silence. Julien cleared his throat, shifting his hooves. “If you’d like to spend the night here, I wouldn’t mind.”

You blinked at him. “Really?”

“Well, if you hadn’t been there last night, I would have died. Keeping you with me seems to be a wise move.” He smiled, brushing a lock of white hair away from his face. “And I would imagine it’s more comfortable in there than it is outside.”

“It is,” you agreed. “All right. If you don’t mind.”

You settled down to sleep, pulling your sleeping bag in around you. Julien was lying on his mat, chin dipped to touch his chest. In sleep, he looked like a statue. The peaceful expression of his face, the delicate way his lashes touched his cheeks, the soft, full curve of his lips. He looked like a very lifelike statue. It was surprisingly hard to take your eyes off him.

You didn’t actually end up sleeping in the tent for very long. About midway through the night, you were woken up and took a guard shift. Julien shuffled out of the tent a little after sunrise, yawning and stretching.

“You’re up early,” he said.

“Had to take my shift,” you said.

“You could have stayed and slept. I would have allowed it.” He folded his legs down to sit next to you.

“No. That would have been irresponsible. I’m not going to just let the other guard stand all night because I want a nap.”

Julien lowered his head a little, staring at the ground. “You’re committed to your job.”

“I’m committed to doing a good job. It’s what I’m paid to do. It’s what my reputation is built upon.” You spoke steadily and carefully.

“It’s admirable,” Julien said. “I… admire it.” He got back to his hooves. “Breakfast first, then we should get going, I think?”

You nodded and stood, brushing your hands off. “I’ll get it started.”

Breakfast was hurried. All of you were eager to get back on the road and make it to the stronghold. Luckily, you had enough of a head start that you didn’t need to ride on Julien’s back this time. He trotted carefully next to you the entire time, peeking at you from under his veil.

By the end of the day, the stronghold loomed in front of you. Julien strutted ahead, showing off his horn and papers of lordship and was ushered in with the usual level of respect and groveling. You were ushered off to the small, cozy rooms used for temporary guests. Your payment was handed over and you promptly collapsed into bed, ready to sleep for at least a full day.

Unfortunately, you had barely been out for an hour before someone came knocking at your door. “His Lordship wants to see you,” the messenger told you. Grumbling, you marched to Julien’s room and stepped inside.

“There you are,” he said when you stepped inside. He looked startlingly pretty when he was well taken care of. His hair looked even softer and his white coat seemed to glow. “I expect they’ve made you comfortable here?”

“I would be more comfortable if I could get some rest,” you said. He was not technically your employer any longer, so you could afford to be snarky. Julien’s tail flicked and he glanced at the floor.

“Then I apologize for interrupting you,” he said. “But I had a proposal I thought you would be interested in.”

“Which is?” you said a little testily. Julien stepped closer, close enough that you could feel his body heat.

“You have shown me that I have a great lack of physical fighting skill. And… perhaps my worldview could stand some more expanding. So, I would like to offer you a job. You would train me. Teach me of the world. I think it would be beneficial for both of us.” He smiled, long lashes fluttering. “And I find you admirable and interesting. I would like to spend more time with you.”

You lifted your chin, peering up into his face. There was something a little arrogant in his expression, but also something hopeful, and something wanting. He really wanted you to work with him. A smile teased at your mouth. Hm. That felt nice. To be wanted.

“I suppose I need to stay with you until you get better at self-defense. As you said, without me, you’d certainly be dead.”

Julien grinned. “That’s a yes, then?”

You smiled back, all teeth. “It’s a yes.”

                                           Three Months Later

Your blade clashed with Julien’s. He sprang back and you pushed your advantage. Even after months of working together, he still startled from the impact.

Julien’s hooves skittered across the ground as he backed away. He swung his sword wildly, barely clanging with yours. Sensing weakness, you darted in.

You realized he’d set you up a second too late. Julien dodged your strike and used his superior weight to press you up against the wall. His sword swung up to your throat, tickling your skin.

“Ha!” he said. “My win!”

“Congratulations,” you said. You leaned against the blade, so the tickling became a sting. “Would you like your prize?”

His lips met yours eagerly. You kissed him back until your felt his blade slip from your throat. In a single motion, you knocked it away and lifted your own sword to his neck.

“I didn’t say I yielded,” you said, grinning viciously.  Julien lifted his hands, pouting.

“No fair! You just didn’t say it with words.” 

You snorted. “All’s fair in love and war.”

Julien laughed low in his throat. “And which one is this?” You pressed your sword a little harder against his throat and he sighed. “And I yield!”

You dropped the blade and moved in. “Bit of both, really.” This time, the kiss had the sweet taste of victory.