#I am also very passionate about the hand gestures- I’m so tempted to draw him doing Italian hand gestures- I WILL DO IT AT ONE POINT I WILL

[whereismyhat5678]

HEEEEY, PSSST!

(do you have more headcanons???)

Oh yeah *cracks knuckles*

Get ready for some PEPPINO

(OKAY IN ADVANCE- I wrote A SHIT TON below the cut, and I think because of this I have more headcannons for Peppino than Gustavo- SO PREPARE YOURSELVES- Oh! And I also added Pep and Gus mixed headcannons at the bottom so if you just wanna see those you’ll see this emoji: 💕 Alright thanks! And enjoy :00)

- I said this in a reblog-, at this point I think I hc him a lefty, I KEEP DRAWING HIM AS ONE SO FUCK IT-

- Oh sports are his life support, it’s his saving grace HE LOVES SPORTS- mainly football and soccer (he used to play soccer in middle-high school) THIS MAN SCREAMS AT THE TV “GOOOAAAAAAAAAL” WHEN SOCCER’S ON (he’s just like my dad for real- :0)

- He definitely listens to old fashioned Italian music, his mother raised him in it HE WILL DIE WITH IT IN HIS BLOOD. But he also likes other types of music (he mains Depeche Mode-)

- He has the most dankest most messed up shat up car you can ever imagine that’s STILL GOING, he treats his car like his child though, he cleans it and is EXTREMELY careful with his baby (He listens to his songs in there and bobs his head when he has a song he likes, but he looks really serious, like he’s gonna kill someone- but he’s still enjoying himself)

- I should also mention that he SUCKS at driving, man has a drivers license yet he’s dog at it?! This is also why his car is so jacked up because he kept crashing it when he was younger- I think he’s cooled down now but he still can’t park right- This is also why he rather would take his pizza delivery motorcycle or Stick just drives him (since he’s funnily enough the only good driver-)

- His house is pretty small, and a bit tight but it’s okay once you get used to it, he tries to stay organized but at times he does tend to leave clothes on the floor. Of course his garage is the cleanest thing known to man, a bunch of flags (a big ass Italian flag-) and signs that say “Man’s garage” or “Man cave”. He also has another fridge full of beers and sodas.

- Have I mentioned he likes beer?🍻

(- And when Peppino’s drunk he’s either two things, a silly drunk: he’s doing stupid shit-

….Or a flirty drunk 👀🔥)

- He still has his war gear in a closet, he keeps it for memories (the GOOD ones) and just cuz he thinks it might be important still.

- He keeps a shotgun underneath his bed (for protection of course-)

- He also has a punching bag in his basement, a big ol’ red one, and he has it there to take his anger out 🥊🔔

- I think he has a bit of anger issues, not too severe! Just that he can get mad easily if stuff just isn’t going right, which is also why he HATES The Noise and Pizza Head, they’re too chaotic for him-

- When Brick was gonna stay with them Peppino initially just wanted Brick away from him but he ended up like one of those Dads that have their pet on the couch watching TV. He also play fights with him too like: he’ll pretend to punch him or he wrestles with him for fun-

- He’s an asshole when he wants to be, one time he was eating with his friends at a McDonalds and they were getting breakfast, motherfucker ate half his friend’s hash-brown and put the half he didn’t eat outside the wrapper to make it look normal. (He did this when he was a teen but he can still be an ass like this-)

- He uses a lot of Italian hand gestures, he uses his hands A LOT he practically talks with them-

- He speaks very aggressively in Italian, the amount of times people thought he was angry and yelling at them even though he was just telling them to hand him a napkin. It’s hilarious, Gustavo is the only one to understand he’s not angry, he’s just talking- 😂

- This even applies to when he’s talking in English, HE STILL YELLS- Like his voice is a big BOOM, yeah he can calm it down but it’s still relatively loud, he’s only ever quiet when he NEEDS to be quiet-

Okay now for some Peppino and Gustavo together x] 💕💕💕

- Gustavo’s species has their own language but they can pick up on other languages pretty quickly, so when Peppino wanted to teach him Italian he started slowly and BAM 💥 not even a month passed and he’s speaking fluently! Peppino’s jaw dropped literally-

- Gus can speak his species language at times but only ever to himself.. He usually talks in English and Italian around Peppino (Gus when he’s angry talks really fast in his language, it’s best to just leave him be until he calms down…)

- They speak Italian to each other sometimes, they switch between English and Italian regularly, but they speak English mainly. They WILL however yell at each other in Italian, mostly so no one can understand their conversation if there is people around

- AND FINALLY- like I said with the Italian hand gestures, Peppino uses them A LOT, and he mainly uses them with the other Italians and Gustavo, BUT MAINLY Gustavo. He taught him every gesture in the book so Gus knows what he’s feeling just by hand gestures.

Even some…. Special ones 👀…..

OKAY THAT’S IT-

[spockandawe]

Shen Jiu/Tianlang-jun

Or, I came here for the dunking on binghe vibe, lingered for the aesthetic, and then tripped accidentally into an au that’s actually really compelling me hard that I want to figure out more

(yes it’s the 2k thing that hit me out of nowhere, but i wrote that out and it didn’t scratch the itch, so here we are)

(I always use so many words, let’s just have a cut now)

My general premise as, theoretically, an author: This is set in the canonverse timeline, after Luo Binghe merges the demon realm and human realm. Probably not long after, because things are still VERY much in confusion, both societies are still reeling, unrest is rampant, and Luo Binghe is only just just just starting to figure out that no, he still doesn’t feel very fulfilled. Turning two realms upside down gives Zhuzhi-lang an opportunity to finally get his hands on a dew flower seed to grow a body for Tianlang-jun (he is a patient boy). Shen Jiu is still alive, though honestly, I don’t know how much Luo Binghe bothers keeping him conscious anymore, and there’s my stage.

What I arrived here from was thinking about how I characterized Tianlang-jun for my Shen Yuan/Tianlang-jun fic, and how I’m really leaning into his romantic nature and fond, un-pushy approach to relationships. When I thought about writing those two characters dunking on a stallion novel together, I was like ‘oh noooo, he would have been so disappointed in bingge’ (which adds to an already emotionally complicated situation, what with him having a son at all) and then I was like ‘haha, being disappointed in bingge, something for him and shen jiu to bond over’

And then I was like ‘wait, but seriously--’

So, I keep seeing those shipping memes going around where people describe their favorite dynamics, and I probably won’t ever draw one myself, but a shipping vibe I love is a character in a lonely downward spiral being pulled out of the disaster zone and emotionally reattached to the world. That’s what I’m writing in the sy/tlj, honestly. A vibe I love even more, but which is even rarer, is when two characters are in those downward spirals, and latch onto each other in an intense, codependent, unhealthy way.... and somehow manage to salvage something beautiful from the situation.

Anyways, Shen Jiu and Tianlang-jun.

When I was trying to figure out how to ship them, one of the first questions when I’m sussing out an unusual pair without other fanworks is: Why do they care about each other? And the more I thought about them, the more I realized that they’re each really, really strongly in the mold of the other one’s Favorite Person, who they’d since lost. Shen Jiu is a cold, aloof, untouchable, beautiful person. Tianlang-jun is a quieter person, very pleasant, but terrifyingly strong in some ways, and soft and ruthless at unexpected times. But neither one is exactly a replacement goldfish, which is good, because losing their favorite person was pretty traumatic for them in different ways. Shen Jiu plays more mean than Su Xiyan did, and Tianlang-jun is more eccentric and romantic than Yue Qingyuan was.

Logistically, the idea that Tianlang-jun hates his son made it easy for me to bring the two of them together. In this universe especially, Tianlang-jun feels a lot of scorn towards Luo Binghe, but Luo Binghe is still very strong. He doesn’t have much in the way of weaknesses, and I think even super-traumatized, super-bitter Tianlang-jun would turn up his nose at the idea of attacking Luo Binghe through his wives. But stealing away Shen Jiu, that’s a person who Luo Binghe is almost as ““close”” to as he is to the harem, this is a person with pretty significant knowledge of Luo Binghe’s childhood, and it’s a powerful person with a major reason to hold a grudge against Luo Binghe himself. 

(I don’t think Tianlang-jun has much of a plan, necessarily, when he kidnaps Shen Jiu, the same way he didn’t have much of a plan when he was aiming to merge the worlds together. Like, yes, there’s this big goal, but why? and then what? I’m not going to go off on a digression about this, but I think it is very much a shitty, shitty plan, and that Shen Jiu is not going to be stoked once he figures out he was kidnapped from Luo Binghe because *shrug?*)

So what I want. Emotionally. Is where the two of them do kind of latch onto each other in a replacement goldfish sort of way, but where that kind of closeness really pulls them into sync in a way where they end up attached WAY more strongly than they ever intended to begin with. And also, both of them are dealing with some weird dysphoric feelings (one with four new prosthetic limbs, one with a decaying body) and are trying to power through them by using their bodies as a tool they use, not as residences they inhabit. And I think that Shen Jiu in particular is leaning into his time in the Qiu household in a bad way, and using himself as an incentive to try to nudge Tianlang-jun into doing things he wants. Love me some dysfunction like that, especially if people start having Regrets and/or Feelings later.

I think.... part of the reason I cut off my fic where I did was that Shen Jiu getting his tongue back is going to really, really, really start reshaping their dynamic. In the fic, Tianlang-jun is reading things into his deliberately-vague gestures that aren’t necessarily there, or just seeing what entertains him to see, but with a voice? Shen Jiu is a man with opinions, and he’s so, so, so completely out of fucks to give. When they start engaging with each other for real, they have to start recognizing each other as people, and not as proxyfucking substitutes for Su Xiyan and Yue Qingyuan.

Now, why I didn’t write that whole fic from the beginning is because it’s almost gotta be plot-intensive. Luo Binghe is not going to be happy that Shen Jiu is gone, he’s going to be very interested in getting him back, and if he gets his hands on him, it’s going to be... ugly. Shen Jiu is aware of that, and makes Tianlang-jun aware of that, but Luo Binghe is so hilariously overpowered that it’s going to be HARD to keep them both out of Luo Binghe’s hands without just making them quiet hermits in some corner of the world. And they can’t be quiet hermits, because otherwise Tianlang-jun would never have stolen Shen Jiu in the first place :P 

I am still really, really, really tempted to write it, because like, just imagine Luo Binghe coming for Shen Jiu in his dreams, and all that trauma crashing back into him, and Luo Binghe digging into every old emotional wound, and Shen Jiu trying to cope. And if dream abilities run in the blood, then Tianlang-jun isn’t completely useless either, and I do very much like the idea that protagonist or not, Tianlang-jun is capable of going toe to toe with his son. The picture of them fighting a battle across Shen Jiu’s dreamscape is just... *chef kiss*

(especially because if luo binghe gets into shen jiu’s head, he’ll totally use yue qingyuan against him, and if tianlang-jun gets involved, he’ll use su xiyan against luo binghe, and luo binghe will probably try to use her against him, and shen jiu is perfectly happy to try to make binghe hurt over how binghe’s dad chose him instead of binghe, and it will be so, so ugly all around)

The trouble with this would be knowing where it was heading :P The quiet hermit ending wouldn’t be a bad fit for what I want for the characters at all, but it would be hard to achieve with Luo Binghe still alive, and I still don’t know if I want him dead, or how I would even make that happen. 

But what I do want, even if it only takes shape in one-shots of scattered scenes, is two exhausted, traumatized characters curling up into each other, without any emotions, no emotions involved, definitely not, and accidentally getting super entangled in each other’s hearts. The kind of relationship with a lot of intensity and need and passion, and virtually no healthy coping mechanisms to be seen. I want ‘Separation Anxiety: The Musical.’ I want Shen Jiu with angry clinging, and extra anger if anyone mentions the clinging. I want Tianlang-jun deflecting and deflecting away from his past and his emotions. And part of the reason I’m not sure if I want Binghe dead, is that I want to see if I can get them to a point where one or both of them has a choice between hurting Binghe or helping their partner, and they choose their partner instead.

[padfootagain]

The Perks and Pleasures of Being an Actor

Hello!!!! Here I am with my first little drabble for Ben's week!! We are only a few days before his birthday, and I'll be posting drabbles and one-shots all week for the occasion, participating in the event hosted on @benbarnesbirthdayparty​ ! Today's writing prompt was 'the perks or pleasures of being an actor', so here is my little cute piece for it!

I hope all of you like this cute little fic, and have fun this week for the event!

Pairing: Ben Barnes x reader

Word Count : 1671

There was one good side to being an actor.

Actually, there were many, and Ben being passionate about his work was not the kind to deny it. But overall the good things that had come out of his career as an actor, and everything it had changed in his life, there was one thing that stood above everything else. One thing that was better than the rest. And if he were to be fully earnest, it was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

And it was you.

As he stared at you reading a book in his armchair, wearing one of his comfortable and warm jumper and an old pair of sweatpants, relaxed and soft, he had to admit it at least to himself.

He studied the curve of your lips and the bridge of your nose and the shape of your cheekbones and the colour of your eyes and the little crease of your focused frown. He memorized it all, carved it in his mind, a memory to be remembered when you would be apart. If you had caught him staring, you would have asked him to stop, shying away from his intense gaze and hiding your features behind your book. You would argue that you had barely gotten out of bed and hadn't even taken a shower yet. That you looked dishevelled and sleep-deprived. And he would joke about how proud he was to be the cause of your sleepless night, making you groan in embarrassment, probably. Meanwhile, in his head, he would think about how much he adored seeing you like this, in your comfy clothes and relaxed demeanour.

Sometimes, it was hard though to say all that he felt. Maybe it was because you made him feel too much. Maybe it was because deep down he was still afraid you would end up walking away. Maybe he was simply not ready to let out every truth he held on his tongue. It didn't really matter. He reckoned he could just wait for a little longer before telling you all this. He had told you he loved you before, after all. You knew how he felt, you simply... weren't aware of how deeply his feelings for you ran in his bones and soul, that was all.

As he watched you peacefully reading a novel in his home, his mind travelled back to the day he had met you. How hot it was on the set of Westworld, and how painful his foot was after his clumsy self had broken his toe a few days before. He had broken a prop during a scene and you were the one to come on set that day to replace it. He always felt guilty for breaking anything on set, and so he had walked up to you to apologize. He remembered how you laughed at him, brushed his remark away. It was nothing, you said, happened all the time. He could hear your voice speaking to him for the first time all over again so vividly. He reckoned that it was surreal, the way he remembered all the details about you. And if he felt guilty every time he broke something, this oil lamp was the only object he didn't feel bad about shattering. It had allowed him to meet you, after all.

Being an actor also had its disadvantages, though. The fact that he travelled so much was both a curse and a blessing. He had seen so much of the world thanks to his job, but he had to spend some time away from you. And as you worked as a set designer, your suitcase was often packed and ready as well. Fame was a strange thing, and he was grateful to not have the attention that others had to carry with them. He reckoned that his life was pretty normal these days. Still, the media and rumours was a world he had to keep at bay for you. It made everything complicated. It made his life lonelier than he wished it to be, most of the time. Until he met you, of course.

There were only a few weeks left before he would have to fly away to New York for work, while you'd be heading to Canada to start building sets there. And for a moment he hated both of your jobs for causing you to be apart for a few months. It was because he was an actor that he wouldn't be able to wake up by your side every day for a while, and for a moment, he wanted to drop everything so he could just keep you close.

All he wanted then was to walk over to your spot on his armchair and hold you close.

And he could for now, so he did.

He grazed his fingertips across your knuckles first, touch so gentle it was almost ghostly. His tender gesture made you look up at him, offering him one of these warm smiles that never failed to brighten the whole room.

He gestured you to move over to let him settle with you in the comfortable piece of furniture. You snuggled against him, warm and content, the scent of your shampoo overloading his senses and making his head spin.

"How's your book?" he asked, wrapping his arms around you to draw you even closer, until you rested your head against his shoulder.

"Good so far. Want to read it too when I'm done?"

He hummed in quiet agreement, pressing a kiss to your hairline. You readjusted your book in your hand to hold his fingers too, and he traced the calluses across the pad of your fingers and your palm, traces left by your work building all kinds of objects and sceneries. He brought your hand to his lips too and kissed the centre of your palm.

"What do you want to do today?" you asked absentmindedly, your mind still half-focused on your book.

"This," he simply answered, a smirk making its way to his lips.

"This?" you frowned, looking up at him.

"Cuddling with you all day. Or maybe not just cuddling at one point this afternoon..."

He added a wiggle of his eyebrows for good measure, making you burst into laughter.

"Subtle, Ben... Very subtle..."

"I'm always subtle."

"Of course."

"You don't like my plans?"

"Hmm... I might let myself be tempted..."

"You might?"

"We could also get ready, take a shower and get dressed. And we could take a walk this afternoon."

"Where would you like to go?"

You shrugged, capturing his gaze into yours. As usual, he found himself unable to look away.

"I don't know. Wherever you want. But it's sunny outside today. It would be a shame to stay inside."

He nodded, seeming lost in thought, and for a moment you reckoned that he was looking for a place to go to for the afternoon. Eventually though, he rested his head against his armchair, his lips barely brushing your temple, with just enough contact for you to feel his warm breath against your shivering skin and his voice send vibrations all the way down your spine.

"Can I be honest?"

You felt too good to gather the strength to speak, so you merely nodded instead. It was a quiet moment, soft and fragile and ephemeral that would break at the first movement, it would seem. Ben too seemed to feel this way, because he whispered his question, his deep voice barely loud enough for you to hear him.

"I'd rather stay in today," he went on. "Just you and me. Just like this. Doesn't matter if you want to read or watch TV or whatever. As long as I can hold you close like this, I'm up for it."

Your smile grew even more tender.

"You're adorable, you know that?"

He wanted to answer that perhaps it was just because he loved you this much. Maybe he was just so enamoured right now that he didn't want the world to slip into the cocoon your arms created for him. Maybe he loved you enough for you to be all that he needed.

He had time to tell you all that, though. He had time to show you how much he cared. In moments like these, he felt like they two of you had all the time in the world.

Instead, he leaned down to reach for your lips with his and give you a loving kiss. And when he pulled away he could read in your eyes that you knew what he had almost uttered anyway. You could feel it in the way he kissed you with so much care, and how he held you close as if worried you'd slip through his fingers otherwise, and how he touched you so gently like he was worshipping you.

But then again, maybe it was time, after all, to actually let you hear what he meant to say but hadn't been brave enough to speak out loud until now.

"I really love you, you know that?" he asked, his eyes almost black in the morning light as you lost yourself into their depth. His voice was a little hoarse, too many emotions boiling through his chest for him to contain them. You gave him a touched smile in return, traces of happy tears glistening in your eyes. "I mean it. I'm really... deeply in love with you."

"I know. And I really love you too. You win. Let's stay in today. We should watch something on Netflix."

A mischievous smile made its way back to his lips.

"You mean... just Netflix or... Netflix and chill?"

You both broke into laughter, and for a long while, the morning light bathed a room filled with love and happiness thanks to the two of you.

Yes, being an actor most definitely had its bright and darker sides. But if only for allowing to meet you, he reckoned that he had no regrets in choosing such a demanding career.

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

Taglist : @ponycake27​ @horsesreign​ @xinyourdreamsx​ @jbluevelvet​ @notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss​ @stuckupstucky​ @snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity​ @i-padfootblack-things  @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi​@jigsawlover10 @emyyjemyy @addictedtofictionalcharacters​ @staringmoony​

@geeksareunique​ @giggleberts​ @sad-orange-thoughts​ @aylinnmaslow​ @benbarnes-world @ladyblablabla​ @madamrogers​ @drinix​ @joelynnp @mxrihollxnd @rockintensse​ @newtstarmander​ @iammadeofstarsandlazyness @shinebrightlikeafanbase​ @wangmangagavroche​

@presstocontinue @ilmiopiccolounivers0

[frooopsen]

Kyalin - part 4

thanks to @linguini17 for beta-reading again. :)

Communication

"Kya.“ It was dark outside and the moon shone into their bedroom through a gap in the blinds. They had both drifted in and out of sleep and the sun would rise in a few hours. "Kya,“ she whispered once more.

"What is it?“ Kya didn’t sound sleepy at all, which confirmed Lin’s suspicion.

"You can’t sleep,“ she sighed.

"Very perceptive, Chief.“ Her smile was audible the next time she spoke. "Are you going to let me in on why you felt the need to tell me that?“

"I‘m having trouble sleeping.“ The moonlight accentuated Lin’s smooth skin and Kya let her eyes wander, taking it all in.

"You know this is hard for me, too,“ she said smirking, her fingers stroking along Lin’s arm, "No teasing you for a whole day.“

"I know. You’re doing so great,“ Lin sighed with a smile making its way onto her lips. "By the way, if you tell Bumi that you got me all mushy and analyzing stupid nightmares, there will be consequences.“ She tried to sound at least  vaguely threatening but that notion was discredited by the grin that travelled between their faces.

"Well don’t tempt me.“ Kya gasped leaning in for a kiss. Before letting go, she captured Lin’s lower lip between her teeth, as the metalbender took the opportunity to pull her in by the hip.

"Speaking of tempting,“ Lin hummed, searching for another kiss. Their lips met again, as they started feeling down each other’s backs. "Maybe,“ she said while trailing kisses along Kya's tan skin, "And I’m only throwing ideas around – we could have a different kind of communication for a change.“

Kya felt desire kicking in and this time knowing that the talk was not going to be avoided, she didn’t care how much time passed until said talk came around. "Oh, I love this non-verbal communication,“ she smiled before placing a long-lasting kiss on the side of Lin's throat.

"Maybe you’ll get a taste for it after all,“ Lin answered jokingly.

"You are a smooth one,“ Kya admitted before sliding her hand down Lin’s stomach, a clear goal in mind. "However, my tongue is just fine, tasting different things for now.“

Lin arched her back as Kya made her way down her body. Kya did have the best comebacks, no matter how good Lin's ideas were, Kya had never lost a teasing match. Lin didn’t really mind. She did like it, most of the time. She was quickly ripped away from her thoughts as her focus was drawn in by lips wandering the invisible trail that Kya had already left with her fingers.

------

"I‘d almost forgotten how fun this is,“ Kya joked as she took the cup of coffee Lin had just made for herself.

"It hasn’t been that long,“ Lin said, turning around just to find the empty spot on the counter. That had been her coffee. She sent a piercing look Kya’s way.

"Well I’ll be needing that if you keep me up when I’m supposed to be sleeping,“ the waterbender murmured while sipping her coffee with a knowing look on her face.

"It’s not like I woke you. And if memory serves me well, you enjoyed yourself,“ Lin answered, making herself another cup.

"Still got my coffee, didn’t I?“

They sat down at the kitchen table. Kya watched the spirits floating by the window. They usually came by during the early morning hours and she was always mesmerized by their ease. Lin read through the newspaper and sipped her coffee. The weekends were when she spent a little more time on the things she usually did in a hurry. Showering, getting ready, making coffee – weekend coffee was always better. She even flipped through the news, since she didn’t spend a lot of time doing that during the week. The most important news travelled fast – especially at the station – and she spent enough time reading police reports already. At some point reading had turned into a chore, rather than a relaxing activity. The occasional article sparked her interest, nonetheless.

"I can’t believe it,“ she gasped in suprise. "Look at this!“

Kya leaned over the table and tried to decipher the headline. "Would you look at that! It’s about Uncle Sokka!“

"Not him. His sword. Some kids found it when playing hide and seek. It says here that it was stuck in some tree,“ Lin elaborated.

"I did always wonder where it ended up. It’s been forever since he lost it. Did Toph ever tell you that story?“ Kya asked, remembering how Sokka had never been able to shut up about his space-sword – as he called it.

Lin shrugged her shoulders, "She didn’t, but Tenzin did. It sounded rather boring until Bumi took over. I always wanted to see a sword like that.“

"Tenzin never was a good story-teller. Another point to me.“

Lin glared at her. "I hate when you do that.“

"Too bad,“ she smiled as they both resumed drinking their coffee.

--------

After a quiet lunch, Lin cleared her throat. "Can we finish that conversation?“

Kya looked around the room as though looking for something.

"You alright?“, Lin asked.

"Did you hear that?“ she giggled. "I think I heard someone volunteer to get touchy-feely.“

Lin sighed as she rubbed her forehead. "You are taking it too far, too soon.“

"You’re just rubbing your face now, so I won’t see that smile,“ Kya complained.

Lin let out a unappreciative growl. "Fine. Then we don’t talk about it.“

"Oh, come on!“ Kya said. "Don’t shut off now, I’ll promise to be nice from here on,“ she paused, then added, "For the duration of the conversation, of course.“

"Well, now I don’t even know how to start,“ Lin growled, "Not that I did before.“

Kya lead them to the couch, where she gestured for Lin to sit down. She joined her, pulling the muscular legs onto the cushion, planting herself in between and leaning her back against one of the armrests. "That’s not a very serious position,“ the earthbender noted as she leaned against the armrest behind her back, like Kya had done.

They sat across from each other, legs slightly tugged towards themselves, shins touching lightly. Lin fumbled on the leg of her pants.

"We’re just talking, not having a meeting,“ Kya laughed. "Also, talking about your feelings doesn’t have to be organized. People just…ease into that and don’t declare the beginning.“

Lin opened her mouth to interject, but Kya didn’t give her the chance.

"I’ll let it slide, since you claim to be new to this. I mean we have talked about our feelings together before. Otherwise I don’t think our relationship would have gotten to this point.“

Lin looked straight ahead to meet Kya’s eyes. "You being nice didn’t last very long. Besides the talks you’re referring to were us talking about us or sometimes you. That’s different.“

Kya leaned forward, just enough to cup Lin’s cheek and smiled, "Well, how is that different? They‘re still your feelings.“

"Yeah, the nice ones and I like talking about us and especially you,“ she explained kissing Kya’s hand before she withdrew it from her face again.

"You know, Kya,“ Lin said softly, her gaze still holding the waterbender’s eyes captive, "When you smile at me like that, I am so happy to have you. Your’re so full of love and I get to feel it wrapped around me.“

They stayed quiet for a while. Kya had heard the words come out of Lin’s mouth clear and warm. Yet it felt like the woman‘s soul had spoken instead. Lin’s voice sounded different, when she said things like these and Kya couldn’t explain why. It didn’t happen a lot. She thought it must have been that it felt so surreal to hear Lin – the woman she adored to an extent, which sometimes scared even the passionate waterbender – talk about her in that way. Yet she wanted to hear it from no one else. "Spirits,“ she sighed finally breaking the silence as she lowered her head a little, "I only want to make you feel, like you just made me feel.“

"And what was that?“

"I can’t tell you. I wish I could, but I don’t think the words exist.“

Lin smiled into the room as she remembered a poem. "You know, some poet once said that if lovers were ever able to express their feelings in words, they would be too full of energy for everyone who heard them. He called it the lovers‘ curse.“

"Well, it’s not hard to believe him. Especially when I see you looking at me like that.“

Now it was Lin’s turn to sigh. The past week had been filled with so many emotions, that she could feel the exhaustion flare up any time she took a little time to sit down and rest. The time she spent with Kya had been spent in silence; except for that one afternoon after the panic attack. Her skin still reacted with goosebumps when she recalled the immense fear she had felt; first in the nightmare, then during the panic attack. Now anytime she went to bed, she had to convince herself that she wouldn’t dream like that again. It still lingered around and she knew Kya could feel it too. She had always been more perceptive when it came to that. Even though Lin had noticed that her tension somehow affected both of their sleeprythms, she still didn’t know if Kya saw the residue of fear, that Lin saw anytime she looked in the mirror.

"Can you see it in my eyes?“ she mastered up the courage to ask, "The fear.“

Kya swallowed, because she knew that it would be easier if she couldn’t.

"As clear as the love you claim to see in mine,“ she paused then added. "Not just your eyes, though. You move differently. You have for a while now.“

Lin shifted, drawing her knees even closer to rest under her chin. "I really wish you couldn’t.“

"I know.“

"What if it breaks me? My strength is all I have.“

They both knew that she had more, but Kya understood what she meant. She couldn’t imagine Lin without the powerful elegance she carried herself with. It had been the constant in her life.

"You won’t break.“

"How can you be so sure?“

Kya wasn’t. "Because I’ve seen broken people.“ It didn’t make a lot of sense, but it seemed to help.

"I don’t feel like myself since we’ve talked and I don’t know how to get back to that.“

She hardly remembered the time she had spent at work that week. Like she hadn’t been there but watched her body work on reports and arrests. Her mind had been busy thinking about the panic attack and the helplessness she had felt at the lack of control.

She slightly raised her voice again, "I have always had control until I met you. They aren’t joking when they call it 'falling in love‘. I don’t mind that anymore. But this…this feels like loosing a different kind of control.“

Kya was surprised. Even though it still felt like Lin carefully assembled her sentences before saying something, so as to not disclose it in the wrong way – whatever that meant – she was talking freely, nonetheless.

Kya used the next silence to speak. "I don’t think you lost control. It was rather taken away from you. By your feelings. I don’t know…to me that’s different.“

Lin’s brow furrowed. She didn’t understand what Kya had meant.

"I couldn’t even bend my armor away,“ she exclaimed, changing the course of the conversation. "When I had nothing else, I always had my bending.“ Almost always. As she heard herself say those words it felt as though they had come from Kya. It sounded like something she would suggest.

"Well, fear is a powerful mind blocker. Your qi must have been affected. You once told me how your breathing influences your bending and how you breathe deeply before swinging the bigger rocks,“ she thought out loud, recalling the conversation they‘d had a long time ago about their differences in bending-style. "I was a good listener. Even back then.“

Lin smiled, thankful for the light comment, keeping her from tearing up. "I know. I can only repeat myself: quite the catch I landed with you.“

Kya smiled in response but didn’t want to change the topic. "It only makes sense that you loose the connection to the bending, when your other senses are overflowed as well.“ And back was the tension.

"How do you know what it’s like?“ Lin marveled. "You haven’t had one, have you?“

Kya shook her head slowly. "No, but I’ve read about them. The mind convinces the body that you’re in immediate danger, so your senses are more alert, causing you to feel and perceive things more vividly and unfortunately overstimulating your nervous system.“

Lin nodded as she thought back. "Everything was so bright all of a sudden…and the room started spinning so badly. And time passed so slowly, while it felt…like…like something was wrapped around my neck.“ She put her hand to rest underneath her throat.

"I can’t imagine how scary that has to have been.“

"I hope you never experience that. I sure don’t want it happening again. Imagine if that happens at work. I wouldn’t be able to bend.“

Kya interrupted the train of thought. "How about we don’t imagine that for now. I don’t think it will happen again.“

"But what if it does?“

"Remember when Ammon had taken you bending away,“ Kya began. "You still got all the criminals you set out for. You weren’t helpless. Your strength exceeds your bending ability. And if you find a way to reconnect to yourself you won’t even have to think about that again.“

Lin scoffed, "So you do think it might happen. How am I supposed to 'reconnect to myself‘ when I don’t even know how to express what feels off?“

Kya tried to stay calm. She had no idea either and it wasn’t fair of Lin to keep coming at her like that, but she reminded herself that it was in fact new to Lin and the pain she had accumulated over the years would in consequence spill out of her as soon as she opened up.

"I can’t see the future, but I’m trying to tell you that you’re already stronger than you think. We can all be. Sometimes we don’t even find out how strong, until we’re faced with a stupid situation like this one.“ Her frustration was clear, yet Lin stayed put, not lashing out.

She continued, "I can only rely on the experiences I’ve had, just like you. I’m not all-knowing.“

"I don’t ask you to be. You’re just... So in touch with your feelings. You probably don’t even  have to think that hard before saying those smart things and analyzing.“

Kya felt embarrassed at the underlying jealousy in Lin’s tone. People had always told her to be less emotional and that it was overwhelming when she rambled on about her feelings. Lin seemed to come from a different angle. Kya hadn’t thought that the trait she had found to be a strength, rather than a weakness, could also be seen as such from someone else – Lin of all people.

"You have to give yourself a break. You’re trying so hard to overcome the uncomfortable feelings that you don’t give them enough room to exist for a while,“ Kya muttered.

Lin’s face let go of some of the tension that had built up throughout the past minute. "But I don’t want that. The more fear I feel, the less I can bare.“

"Well, you can’t shut them off. You see how that turns out. I don’t want you to increase that distance inside yourself. You feel it, too, you said. Just give it time. It will fall into place.“

She didn’t know what else to tell her.

"The way people praise 'talking about feelings‘, it just seems like a pill you have to swallow and afterwards everything’s fine,“ Lin growled. "But it’s not. It just leaves you confused and angry at yourself.“

"Talking isn’t the easy way out,“ Kya agreed, closing her eyes. "It’s the hard way through.“

"I’m going for a walk,“ Lin announced, getting up. When Kya stood up as well, she signaled her to stay. "I need to be alone for some time. I’ll be back before dinner.“

Kya swallowed but knew she had to give Lin more space – even more. She didn’t want to.

"See you then,“ she said while making her way to the kitchen.

[ineffably-good]

Flufftober #7: Second Kiss (Good Omens)

I got nowhere on prompt 18, so I’m going back to pick off the last one I missed from the first week. Enjoy!

__

The angel and the demon were celebrating their second anniversary at their usual table at the Ritz, the gorgeous rich linens draped over their laps and candles twinkling on the table, the soft murmur of conversation flowing around them. Aziraphale took a swallow of his champagne, and looked at Crowley consideringly.

"What is it, angel?" Crowley said, leaning in with his chin in his hand and just drinking in the glow of his partner in the candlelight.

“I was just wondering, my dear -- do you remember our first kiss?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley looked affronted. “Of course I do, angel, it was only two years ago – I’m not mental.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No, you’re wrong,” he said. “That was our second kiss.”

Crowley frowned. “I am absolutely certain I would remember if you had ever kissed me before.”

“Well it was quite some time ago.”

“You’re making this up,” Crowley said.

“And you were rather drunk,” Aziraphale said with a slight grin, obviously enjoying this.

“What? When?”

“Actually, you were extremely drunk.”

There’s no doubt about it, Crowley thought; the angel was toying with him. And what’s worse, he got the feeling that this story was actually true and not just some kind of twisted joke.  

“Aziraphale!” Crowley nearly shouted, attracting the disapproving attention of a number of other patrons. He quieted down and slumped in his seat. “What are you talking about?”

The angel was clearly reconsidering teasing his love in such a public setting. “Let’s go back home," he said apologetically, "and then I’ll tell you, all right? It’s hardly the place.”

“You brought it up,” the demon muttered, but he acquiesced. He also quickly brought the meal to a close, tossed down some money to pay the bill, and hurried them out of the restaurant. He then tucked an arm around Aziraphale and all but speed-walked them home, as if they were trying to set a world record.

++

They’d barely walked into the shop when Crowley snapped and locked the door, lowering the windows, and then threw himself down on the couch. Aziraphale, amused, watched him glower.

“Okay, angel,” he said, “I waited. Now tell me what you’re on about with us having kissed before.”

Aziraphale sat down near him and adjusted his waistcoat primly. “Do you remember the three day festival held in Rome in, oh what was it, something like 77AD? All Bacchus and nymphs and wine and strange little dishes with song birds in them?”

Crowley thought for a minute. “I think so – we were both there on work assignment? You were protecting someone who was going to be important someday and I was tempting a senator?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “That’s the one. Well, after the first day our missions were essentially completed, but we decided to stick around because the wine was so good and the people watching was extraordinary.” He got a faraway, distracted look in his eyes for a moment. “And they did have some truly excellent wine, I believe from the southern peninsula, possibly Pompeii.”

Crowley cleared his throat meaningfully and made a ‘get on with it’ gesture.

“We drank rather a lot of it, for rather a long time,” Aziraphale said, smiling fondly, “and we ended up lounging together on a – well on a lounge, I suppose, for most of the third evening. Everyone was very liberal with the touching and draping over each other and the expansive displays of affection then, and we were just trying to fit in of course and not draw too much attention. And, well, somewhere in that final evening, I believe I kissed you rather thoroughly.”

“You kissed me?” Crowley said.

“As I said, I’d had rather a lot to drink,” Aziraphale admitted. “And you were just being so charming and pleasant, and it was warm and dark and we were touching in ways we didn’t usually, and I just couldn’t stop myself.”

Crowley wracked his brain. He had a vague memory of lounging on a couch with the angel and feeling dizzy and happy – and then nothing. A big blank. “Why wouldn’t I remember this?”

Aziraphale laughed. “Because you were so drunk that you passed out completely. At first I thought I’d rendered you completely limp with passion – I was feeling rather proud of myself right in that moment – but then I realized you were half in an alcohol-fueled coma. Put somewhat of a damper on the proceedings.”

Crowley groaned. “I did not! Tell me that isn’t true!”

“Oh it’s true, I’m afraid. Quite a blow to my ego, that was.”

Crowley pouts. “You never said anything about it!”

Aziraphale had taken Crowley back to his rooms and made sure he made it safely to bed, miracling most of the alcohol out of his system. When he next saw him a day or two later, it was very obvious that Crowley didn’t remember. The angel thought about telling him what had happened but ultimately decided that perhaps it was best not to bring it up – his momentary foolishness could have a devastating effect on their growing friendship, and he suspected that perhaps the demon would be horrified if he’d remembered. The last thing he wanted was a century of awkwardness.

“I suppose I just thought it was for the best,” Aziraphale admitted. “Perhaps a divine favor, really, that you didn’t remember my indiscretion. I wasn't at all sure how you would have felt about it in the light of day.”

Crowley sighed. “I wish I remembered,” he said. “Even if I wouldn't have known what to do with the knowledge at the time.”

“I’m sorry, my dear.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Crowley said bitterly, “it was my stupid blackout.”

The angel laughed.

“Although,” Crowley said, “I am a little miffed at you.”

“For what?”

“Because!" Crowley sputtered. "You’re telling me that you snogged the daylights out of me in 79 AD when I was barely conscious enough to take part, and then you didn’t bother to do it again for another nineteen HUNDRED and forty one years?”

Aziraphale considered. “Well, when you put it that way…”

“You have some making up to do,” Crowley said, mock seriously. “Nineteen hundred and forty one times, by my count.”

Aziraphale leaned in for a kiss. He broke off a moment later and sat back, searching Crowley’s face. “Does this help?”

“That’s one,” Crowley said, long-sufferingly. “Only nineteen hundred and forty more.”

“Oh my,” Aziraphale said with a hint of laughter in his voice. “I might need some chapstick before this is over.”

Crowley pulled him back in, and the angel set about making things right.

[crystallized-shadow]

Chapter: 1/1 Rating: Explicit Pairing: Madara/Tobirama Word Count: 1680 Warnings: Discussions of murder Summary: In a world where a dating site matches people up based on their search history Madara, a mystery writer, gets matched to Tobirama, a serial killer. Hilarity ensues. 

For @madatobiweek Day 4: Any AU

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

Checking his phone for the 10th time in just as many minutes, Madara wonders why he had given this dating service a third chance when clearly they only matched him with shitty people. The first two had been wannabe serial killers, both intent on making him victim number three. Luckily for Madara he was highly skilled in self defense; unluckily for him his rather strange internet search history made it likely guy number three would also be a serial killer, if he showed up. It was hardly his fault his search history was so sketchy, he only wrote about murders!

“Sorry I’m late,” a deep baritone murmurs, drawing Madara from his thoughts. He looks up into red eyes and for a moment Madara forgets how to speak. “You are my match aren’t you?”

“Not what you expected?” Madara asks, used to that response since most people saw the name Uchiha and expected someone more put together like his politician brother.

“You’re even more attractive than your picture.”

“Flatterer,” Madara chuckles gesturing to the open seat, “please join me Tobirama.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Tobirama practically purrs as he slides into the seat. “So tell me about yourself Madara, how did our searches match up?”

“I’m a mystery writer and I like to make sure my murders are realistic,” Madara admits with a shrug, “based on my luck so far, I’m going to guess you’re a murderer of some kind.”

“And if I am?” Tobirama challenges with a raised eyebrow, nothing but amusement on his face.

“Then I hope you’re more creative than the two wannabe killers I’ve already beaten,” Madara shoots back, “and for god's sake if you’re going to attempt to kill me after this date I’d like something more personal than a gun shoved in my face.”

“Awfully demanding when it comes to a fictional murder,” Tobirama chuckles, “but I suppose that’s how all writers are, so I’ll play along; how should I kill you?”

Madara lets his eyes travel over Tobirama’s lithe figure, lingering on the tattoos on the pale man’s face that make his eyes even more striking. “Looking at you I’d like something close and personal,” Madara smirks, “maybe your hands around my neck.”

“You do have a very nice neck,” Tobirama agrees, “but I’d much rather have my lips on it than my hands.”

“That could easily be arranged, provided you impress me on this date.”

“Now I feel like my skills are being doubted,” Tobirama says with a grin, “shall I tell you of my many hypothetical kills?”

“I figured that would off limits, one of those ‘I’d tell you but then I’d have to kill you’ type subjects.” Madara says, watching Tobirama’s grin morph into a smirk that shouldn’t be allowed to be so sexy.

“I think it’s a safe bet that if I’m really a serial killer you’re going to die anyway,” Tobirama points out, “so you might as well have some fun before that happens.”

“Want to make it big by taking down a big bad Uchiha?” Madara challenges with a smirk, “of course picking the family outcast won’t do you a lot of good.”

“Oh?”

“You didn’t know?” Madara asks, sighing when Tobirama shakes his head; he should have figured this would be the first man that had dug up every dirty secret the tabloids had published. “My entire family is in politics, I, the eldest son, decided I wanted to be a writer.”

“I can’t imagine that went over well,” Tobirama says, wincing in sympathy when Madara nods.

“My father has disowned me in every way except legally,” Madara admits, “said it would cause too much of a scandal. However it’s been made very clear that I'm no longer welcome anywhere near anyone bearing the Uchiha name. So if your murder plan involved trying to get some ransom you’ll be hard pressed.”

“I come from a family of lawyers, I’m not hurting for money.”

“That would also explain how you’re still a free man,” Madara states, sizing Tobirama up, “but enough about our families, let’s get back to what we have in common: murder.”

“Since we’re talking hypotheticals,” Tobirama begins, lacing his fingers under his chin as he observes the man before him, “if you had to kill someone, how would you do it?”

“Well that depends,” Madara says, rubbing his chin in thought, “if I don’t want to be caught and it’s likely to be a one time thing then an injection of air between the toes; it would look like a heart attack.”

“What if you didn’t care about being caught?” Tobirama presses, gazing intently at his match, “what if you wanted people to know which kills were yours?”

“Oh that’s easy,” Madara chuckles, “my signature would be a single slash across the eyes.”

“And why is that?”

“The eyes are the window to the soul,” Madara explains, passion making his eyes shine, “to gaze into another’s eyes is incredibly intimate, to rob a person of that in their dying moment is both cruel and thrilling.”

“Amazing,” Tobirama mutters, the awe in his tone making Madara blush.

“Ah, sorry,” the Uchiha mumbles, glancing down at the table in embarrassment, “probably not what you wanted to hear at dinner.”

“On the contrary, I want to hear more,” Tobirama assures, leaning forward to cup Madara’s chin, trailing his thumb over the other’s jawline. “You are truly a magnificent specimen.”

“Only a serial killer would find my murder talk normal,” Madara sighs, “I have the worst luck in men.”

“Why my dear author, I’m insulted,” Tobirama mutters in mock offense, “anyone that’s read your work would only be so lucky to hear you talk, your passion is intoxicating.”

“Aren’t you the charming bastard?” Madara chuckles, leaning into the hand still on his chin, “I have to give you credit though, you’re very good at it.”

“Well if that’s the case, perhaps I can tempt you into skipping right to dessert at my place then?” Tobirama tugs Madara forward and claims his lips in a searing kiss that drives all thoughts of saying no from Madara’s mind.

“Sounds absolutely deadly.” Madara grins, allowing himself to pulled to his feet and lead from the restaurant.

The door slams shut moments before Madara’s back crashes into it, a hand around his throat.

“You wanted close and personal,” Tobirama growls against his ear, “how’s this?”

“Not nearly close enough,” Madara shoots back, moaning when a knee brushes against the bulge in his pants.

“We should do something about that,” Tobirama mutters, the hand not gripping Madara’s throat making quick work of freeing the writer’s painfully hard cock, trailing feather light touches along the length.

“Tease,” Madara moans breathily, pleasure zinging through his blood when the hand at his throat squeezes hard enough to restrict his airway. He was completely at the mercy of this likely serial killer and that thought had Madara high on the endorphins flooding his system.

“Are you objecting to me fucking you right here?” Tobirama chuckles, releasing Madara long enough to to spin him around and press him face first into the door.

“Not if you hurry the fuck up!” Madara snaps, bracing his hands against the door as his pants and underwear are yanked down.

“You should never rush a serial killer,” Tobirama advises fishing a packet of lube out of his pocket before pressing a coated finger deep into his willing victim, “we like to have our fun.”

“Called it,” Madara groans, pushing back into the sudden intrusion, “so the sex better be worth it.”

“It will be,” Tobirama promises, quickly stretching Madara, he could tell the writer liked it on the rougher side, but he still didn’t want to hurt him too bad.

Madara moans loudly as one finger quickly becomes two then three, eagerly thrusting back once his prostate is found and mercilessly prodded. Later he’ll deny the embarrassingly loud whine that escapes him when the fingers suddenly disappear.

“Hush pet,” Tobirama purrs as he pushes his own pants down just enough to free his cock. Pressing into Madara’s personal space, Tobirama snaps his hips forward as his hands drop to Madara’s hips, fingers digging into the sensitive flesh hard enough to bruise.

“Fuck!” Madara exclaims as he’s yanked back to meet the next brutal thrust, “just like that!”

Tobirama chuckles at the writer, shifting the angles of his thrusts until a yowl of pleasure tells him he’s found Madara’s prostate again. Aiming solely for that spot, Tobirama picks up the speed of his thrusts as he leans forward, nosing through the wild mane of hair until he can sink his teeth into the back of Madara’s neck.

“Tobirama!!” Madara practically sobs, wave upon wave of pleasure crashing over him as he claws uselessly at the door, attempting to ride them out.

“So good,” Tobirama murmurs, trailing biting kisses along the writer’s neck until he can nip at the other’s earlobe, “you take me so well pet, I just might have to keep you.”

“Please!!” Madara begs, not sure what he wants, just knowing Tobirama can give it to him.

Tobirama smirks against Madara’s jaw, sucking a mark there as one hand slides around to stroke Madara’s cock in time with his borderline violent thrusts.

“Tobirama!!” Madara cries as his release splatters door only a few thrusts later, the sudden clench of muscles dragging Tobirama down with him. For a second both men just pant, too tired to even move yet. Just as the killer pulls out, he feels a finger jab into his stomach.

“If I stabbed you,” Madara mutters, his words slurring as he yawns, “how long until you bleed out?”

Tobirama considers the factors involved as he straightens up his clothing. “About five minutes,” he finally says with a chuckle, carefully pulling Madara close; there was no way he was going to let his favorite writer get away now.

“Thanks,” Madara mumbles, sleepily snuggling into Tobirama’s chest, “my next killer’s gonna be you.”

“I’m flattered,” Tobirama smiles, pressing a kiss to Madara’s forehead as he takes the other man to bed.

[mysteryfanfictheatre3000]

The Bargain and the Inevitable Fall, Part 1

The Bargain & the Inevitable Fall

by Somber_Resplendence

Summary:

Minister Frollo made a bargain and the gypsy gave in to the inevitable fall; or perhaps they both gave in.

This is another Hunchback story, but more “adult” and tagged as “extremely dubious consent.” And by that, they mean “graphic sexual assault.” The consent isn’t “dubious,” it’s just nonexistent. 

So, yeah. Warning: graphic torture and rape.

A snickering guard's laughter resonated within the darkened dungeons, his grip tightening on a blood dripping whip, speckles of the dark liquid covering the floor like stars covering the night sky. A darkened figure, garbed in black judicial robes, a crimson ribbon fluttering behind, swept the empty, forgotten corridors of the dungeons. His footsteps echoed, alerting the hopeless prisoners of the foreboding sense of death. He clasped his pale hands together, spindly fingers entwining as his rings of emerald and ruby gently clinked against one another. The Minister of Justice had arrived.

Well, at least it’s true to how he was portrayed in the movie. Lookin’ at you, Danisha.

"Minister Frollo!" the guard gasped, eyes widening in terror at the sight of the towering, menacing man whose granite eyes shimmered in disapproval as he narrowed his hardened gaze upon the blubbering guard.

"What are the charges?" he asked, his deep, baritone voice sending tremors through the stone walls. The guard shivered, lips quivering in response beneath his thick mustache where bits of breakfast were stowed away.

That’s a description I didn’t need to hear. Though, to be fair, gross mustaches should honestly be the least of my concerns.

"Thievery, Your Honor," said the guard, "She's been restrained for three days."

If they’re talking “restrained” as in “shackled to a wall restrained” for three straight days, I’m willing to assume at this point that Esmeralda is in severe pain if not unconscious, has muscle atrophy, and all the rest. 

 Trembling in the brooding presence of the Minister, he slid to the side, allowing the bright glow from within the prisoner's chamber to spill into the corridor. The orange pool of light cascaded upon the minister's tall frame, accentuating his stark features. He craned his neck and peered in, a black eyebrow shooting up in raw suspicion. Inside, a curvaceous body hung motionless from a set of rusted chains which were bolted to a brick wall; her head hung low, ink black hair shielding a beautiful but battered face.

Mixing the description of a woman being tortured with description of her curves and her beauty comes across as weird and very wrong-feeling. Don’t do that. Pick a mood: threatening or sexy.

Minister Frollo growled in satisfaction. He'd been expecting her. He twisted his dry lips into a wicked grin, and it stretched across his aged face, nearly reaching his ears.

Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew...

"Leave us be," he said, gracefully waving a slender hand towards the guard who quickly scurried away at the command, his clanking armor fading away as he scampered down the lonely corridor.

The Minister entered the grimy cell, slamming the door behind him, causing the prisoner's head to shoot up like a child waking from a terrible nightmare, drenched in sweat and panicking. 

Comparing a woman who is about to be raped to a child and expecting readers to find this alluring is... not right. It comes across as disturbing and makes people want to protect Esme, not have sex with her.

However, her nightmare was existent and on-going. Red-rimmed, emerald eyes fixated on the skeleton draped in Death's garments, and she shivered in alarm.

See, this is tagged and titled as if it were romantic and not horror. And that just doesn’t seem okay.

He neared her, cocked his head to the side, and jutted his chin out, cynical eyes watching her down the length of his aquiline nose; she was delicious. Her arms were pulled back, chained to the brick wall behind her alluring form, causing her chest to jut out due to the uncomfortable position. 

What’s sexier than a terrified young woman who’s been chained up for three straight days and described as being child-like? Boy, does that get people aroused. Innocent girls being tortured is so alluring!

And the Minister's eyes drank in every curve of her plump, succulent breasts, sweat glistening upon them and slipping down their shapely form into the crevice between them.

I feel like just reading this is putting me on a list.

He bit his lower lip and attempted to regain his soundness by straightening his narrow form and placing his needy hands, which longed to run across her shapely figure, behind his back, pale fingers entwining.

Needy is not the word this makes me think of. This makes me think Frollo is a literal demon from hell.

Also, where the hell are Phoebus and Quasi? Did they just vanish? Are they prisoners, too? Are they just okay with this happening to Esmeralda? What the hell?

"I'll make this simple for you, gypsy. You give me what I ask for and I'll let you walk out alive. An offer I'm sure you cannot refuse," he said. His voice slightly cracked due to her appealing position which stirred a burning sensation in his loins. 

Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew....

She teased him. Even in confinement, even in the nethermost, murkiest chamber of his dungeons, she tempted him. 

She is not teasing him, she is dying, and scared, and in pain. Talk about victim-blaming.

And as a means of suppressing his enduring, lustful passions, he began pacing the room, dense footsteps falling upon the blood stained floor, a rosary wrapped around his thin wrist swaying back and forth like a pendulum with his every swift movement.

"However, should you fail to comply with my demands I'll have to bestow upon you a befitting punishment. Is that understood?"

Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew...

"I'm not afraid of you," she hissed, fury brewing within her gut, bubbling forth from her luscious lips. Her emeralds narrowed on his daunting frame, her gaze burning through his robes and setting his him aflame. 

These oddly sexualized descriptions are very out of place. 

She loathed him, and until the end of time, she'd use her every breath polluting his order and denouncing his reign.

"I believe you," he said flatly, "But I do trust that you have neither the authority nor the time to make such accusations, for as we speak my men are on the hunt, searching for that diminutive hideaway you so dearly consider to be enthralling. I, most assuredly, can guarantee you-"

"You'll never find the Court of Miracles," she interjected, her body lunging forward, chains rattling in the dead silence that followed her revolting words. She was lovely when draped in frustration, and the Minister grinned; his plan was unraveling perfectly.

A.) plan? and B.) how the hell did you capture her if you don’t know where the Court of Miracles is? If the charges of thievery are legitimate, that’s pretty racist. And why would she even need to steal, anyway? She made tons of money at the Festival from dancing alone.

"Correct you are, my dear," he said. Drawing near, his large frame towering above her, he forbiddingly ran a thin finger down the side of her hot cheek. His touch sent a cool sensation throughout her body, yet she refused to admit it, for he was a foul, loathsome beast. 

Yes, he is. And why everyone treats him like a sex bomb is beyond me.

And though his peculiar gesture made her stomach churn and her heart ache in a strange and unexplainable way, she couldn't help but to shudder in odd excitement at the feeling his dark and mysterious presence brought her.

*EW INTENSIFIES*

"However," he began, absentmindedly twirling a finger into one of her ebony locks, "I am willing to make a bargain with you. Give me the location of the Court of Miracles, and I'll let you walk out of here alive."

"Never," she said, turning away from him, allowing her lock of hair to gently slip away from his parched finger; the silky touch of her hair had felt heavenly.

Again, weird sexualized description is weird.

"I expected you'd say that," he said, withdrawing from her and steepling his fingers. "I suppose I'll have to change my methods."

Her brows knitted together in confusion as he crossed towards a wooden table which lay to the left of the small, dingy cell. A puddle of dirty water drowned its crooked legs, and a few splotches of crimson, which the gypsy assumed was blood, coated the countertop; the foul decoration of past victim's fluids was a worrying sight.

This entire story worries me. And, by the way if you’re ever trying to make a scene feel intimidating, don’t make half of it scary and half overly sexual. 

 The gypsy swallowed hard, daunting visions of unbearable torture swirling in her head; the crack of a whip filled her ears and made her jump, the pinch of clamps made her knees buckle, and the touch of hot wax dripping onto her goose bump skin nearly had her yelping in fear.

This is just making me want to hug her! The author’s intent is to have these seem arousing but all it accomplishes is making the readers sympathetic for Esme.

Silence entered the room and took a seat, and as she impatiently awaited her death sentence, vowing to seal her lips at all costs, a sound drew her from her thoughts. A golden ring, an emerald stone perched atop, fell to the table. The clanking sound shoved silence out of the room, and the gypsy stiffened, hands balling into fists within the metal restraints, chains slightly rattling. Another golden ring fell to the table, a red diamond hitting the wooden surface, and she clenched her teeth.

What is with this thing with the rings? Does Frollo even wear rings? Even if he does, why are they emphasized so very much?

Minister Frollo rubbed at his naked fingers before turning his attention back to his prisoner. The anxiety in her eyes was captivating, and to know he had sublime power over her weak emotions was gratifying as it was engaging. Growling lowly, he neared her again, his body pressing up against hers, forcing her into the damp brick wall behind.

NOT SEXY, JUST CREEPY.

"Tell me, gypsy. Where is the Court of Miracles?" he asked, a wandering hand climbing up the length of her leg, fingers digging into her flesh and leaving red imprints behind like a trail to be followed.

Poor Esmeralda. Like I said, not sexy. This is flat-out disturbing.

"You're dirt," she said, shivering in disgust at his actions while devastatingly trying to keep her secret kept.

"Don't insult me, you filth!" he snapped, a free hand snatching her by the neck. She stifled a breath and suppressed a cry of fear, but his grip didn't prove to be treacherous, for the rapid beating of her heart pounding from beneath his grip enticed him, and the soft touch of her flesh upon his own aroused once dormant feelings. Slowly, he loosened his hold, fingers gently sliding down her neck.

Prose purpler than Purpleberry Pond.

"Perhaps you aren't so filthy; perhaps you're sweet," he said, his desperate lips sinfully approaching her inviting neck where the beat of her heart beckoned him to draw near. "Shall I have a taste?"

*EW INTENSIFIES MORE*

His words pierced her, created a hole within her chest, and she fell cautious, confused, and oddly curious. But it was the way she parted her delicious lips in hesitation, and the way her shinning emerald eyes lost themselves in his question, which ultimately pulled at the rusted chains binding his suppressed longings. His lips gently brushed against her neck, and she winced; whether it was from disgust or shock, she didn't know. However, his breath warmed her and invited her to lose herself within his madness and to give into corruption. She refused, temporarily.

This is just... incredibly gross and squick-y. And the consent is not dubious. It just flat out isn’t there. This is verging quickly into sexual assault territory.

Tarnishing her, he ran his tongue along the length of her neck, and she gasped, chains rattling from her sudden jolt. His lips pressed onto her flesh, teased her earlobe, and carefully trailed down the work of her jaw line, nearing her quivering lips. A hand entangled itself within her raven hair, and she cursed him over and over; yet, when he claimed her lips with a kiss, darting his tongue into her hot mouth and scavenging every area he could, the world fell apart and burned. Her mind screamed obscenities, her body fell weak, and her lips unfaithfully deepened the forbidden kiss. It was unwelcomed, but needed; it was toxic, but relished. 

Woah, woah, woah. Stop. Quit making rape seem sexy. This is an elderly man molesting a young woman after she’s been tortured and chained to a wall for days on end. Hell, her muscles are so weak at this point (I mean, looking at this from a clinical standpoint, being shackled up for three days doesn’t help your health) that she wouldn’t even be able to stop him, making consent just nonexistent. 

He was warm, as if the sun lived within him, and she craved it; however, it was the fires of hell which warmed his blackened soul, and to the flames they committed.

Quit romanticizing rape.

His hand, stripped of golden ornamentations, lifted her skirts and trailed up her thighs, pausing at her most intimate region which was aching for him. From within their mad entangle, she felt his lips jerk into a wicked smile and before she could pull away and protest, a single finger slipped inside of her hot core. 

Again, literal, actual rape.This is not romantic. She is not giving consent. She is shackled to a wall. This is rape.

Her breath hitched, eyes widened, and her sanity fled her; She wriggled beneath his tall frame, ashamed at her desire to have more of him within her needy cunt. And as she hopelessly forced to break free, her every movement caused him to push his finger deeper, motioning it into a 'come hither' gesture.

She’s actively resisting him. He is penetrating her anyway, without her consent. This is rape and would be treated as such in a court of law.

She trembled and bit her lip in disgust at her sickening needs, but he reveled in the inner war she waged with her conscious.

NOT ROMANTIC. SHE DOES NOT WANT HIM. STOP.

[two VERY graphic passages cut because I may have done a story about Snaoe/Teletubby buttsex, but even I have standards.]

 She was panting, chest furiously rising up and down against his warm body, half-lidded eyes focusing on the blurred gleams of his golden rings lying on the table.

Again, what is with the focus on rings? 

"Tell me," he said in hoarse voice, breath tickling her neck. "Tell me where it's hidden and I'll set you free."

EW HAS INTENSIFIED TO THE POINT WHERE WORDS CAN NO LONGER EXPRESS IT.

She shut her eyes, the golden blur vanishing from her mind, and slumped forward, forehead resting upon his shoulder as his fingers continued to swirl within her. 

[more grossness cut because yuck]

This last sentence in particular is like something out of a romance novel- between an elderly rapist and a young woman chained to a wall. That doesn’t sit right with me.

"No," she gasped, voice hoarse and broken. He growled in frustration.

"Well, I suppose release will never find you," he hissed, removing his fingers, her sweet ecstasy dripping down his hand. He withdrew from her, his sudden warmth leaving her body cold, and she shuddered from the realization of being denied release. 

See, the author is talking about orgasming, but I am getting more of a sense that she wants to be “released” as in “no longer shackled to a wall and beaten.” I mean, she’s just been raped. I doubt she wants him to come back.

He refused to spare another glance at the gypsy and strolled towards the wooden table to collect his valuables. His game had been fun while it lasted, but it was a game nonetheless.

"Disgusting," he said while rubbing his fingers together, her hot fluids staining his pale skin. Scowling, he carefully adorned his slender fingers with the golden rings, as if they gave him comfort in returning to his supposed cleanliness and celibacy.

Again, stop with the weird focus on the rings. What is with this? They’ve been mentioned really often and it’s off-putting.

"Please," she begged pathetically, sweat sliding down her cheeks. "Please don't leave me like this."

Again, author is talking about sex, and I’m just thinking that she probably wants to be not chained to a wall anymore.

He halted, spindly fingers dripping with her ecstasy clutching the brass handle. For a moment he was silent until a thought blossomed in his darkened mind.

"I do not believe it is in your authority to make requests," he said, relishing her sigh of anguish that followed. "Well, no matter," he continued, easing the door open, "I'm certain you'll soon appreciate my generosity, gypsy. I'm a patient man, and should this little escapade of ours continue to carry on, then I shall be more than willing to oblige until your lips have spoken fact." He curtly smiled before stepping into the dim-lit hall and shutting the door behind, leaving her alone to rot in her misery.

Ė̸̡̛̛̥̥̭̼̹͉̗̠̤͔̱͙̟̟̋̈́͂̄͆͒͆̓̀ͅͅW̷̛̤͎̩͖̾̍̒̈́̇̐̉̀̀͠͝

For hours her legs trembled, her heart raced, and her body craved his touch; it was diabolical. However, as Minister Frollo returned to his quarters, gracefully gliding down the dungeon halls, he couldn't resist the urge to slip his fingers into his mouth and savor the gypsy's sweetness.

Į̸̛͕͉͎͉͕̻̬̺̜̺̤̮̫̝̺͎̟̙́̾͒̍̽̆̓͌̀̋̍͑́͆̽̒̀̌͋̀̓͝͝ͅͅ ̵̨̠͔̜̗̫͖̼̫̥̈́̀ͅw̷̧̮̭̦͍͇̫̬̫͔̬͖̝͍͇̭̰̻͚̻̬̕ͅa̴̜̱̍̈́̅̽̃̏̕ņ̸̡̛̛̤̫̩͉̜̞̯̖̥̠͓͓̯͚͉͕̄͊̓̓͗̈́͌̐̑͗̅̎͒͆͂̈́̏͘͘̚͜͜ͅt̷̝̮̻̳͔̜͎̰̤͍̖̗̥́̋̊͂̉́̋͒͒̐̋̉́͘͜͝͝͝ͅ ̸̛̜̥̟̯̜͒̓͂̒͋́͑͌͋̾̚͝͝͝t̵̢̡̡̧̛̺̻͈̮͉͎͙̝̰̝̤̣̦̘̩͇͙́̄͂̆̈́͐̽̏̅̈́̆͊̔͑͋̏͘̚͘o̸̢̞͔͎̩̰̩̥̩̟̪̭͒̽͆̅̃̌̓̅̃̽̐̏̐͋̄̂̃̿͆̚͝ ̶͉͋͂̓̿͗̊̉d̵̛̲̫̳̻͇̭̻̦̫͎̙͚͈̝̘͍͎̭͍̝͉͎̲̒̒́͂́̿̎͆̄́͑̒̑̇̔̈́̿̆̾̔̎̀͋̿̚͜͝͝į̶̭̱͓͖͔̳̦̙͓̮̞̗̫͉͚̞̳͐̂͒̎͒͆͊̀́̊͜͠ͅè̷̦̻̰̤̹̉̉̈́̄͊̀̏̊͒̾́͊

[dovah--kiin]

Time Alone

characters: fem human mage + zevran a little chat about love (cullen) and expectations 

Magic is not within the blood of dwarves. Oh, they have read about it -- dreamed about it, but cannot never own its gift: not even enough coins could grant this wish. However, now the masses can watch magic with their own eyes in their own kingdom. The gray warden -- Azura of the circle of magi -- has come for aid for the Blight. She has chosen the king of orammar with the help of Caridin -- the hand made crown now sits on the choose king.

The journey to the deep roads was long and exhausting for the entire team. Each member of the team took their leave after the crowning. Oghren took the fall of his latter wife very hard and excused himself to the local tavern for the night. Sten was standing guard of the library where Azura is entertaining people. His demeanor enough to keep many dwarves at a good distant as they watched the mage perform her magic. Zervan, stayed toward the door watching the others flock toward the warden.

Dagna, a local dwarf, had begged Azura to see some magic first hand. Azura, more than glad to share her talents, showed much. The warden was performing her various skills -- ice, fire, lightening, ward -- whatever the girl asked. Dagna was sitting in a stone chair making notes as Azura changed her magic from one element to the next.

“WOW! This is so amazing” Danga nearly squealed.

Azura only smiled a little -- the corners of her mouth turning upward. Tis a good sight to be appreciated instead of feared.

“Those are simple spells that any apprentice can handle,” Azura explained as she picked up her staff.  She walked out toward the opening of the library -- giving herself plenty of room. “This is what I have been trained to be.”

Azura closed her eyes and held onto her staff tightly. Then, the staff turned into a bright light and formed into the shape of a large sword. Azura turned her body to the left then the right, swinging her magical sword. Dagna sat with her eyes larger than before; clearly too distracted to make notes at the moment. The sword then turned into pure ice and Azura clenched her fist -- destroyed it and the sword returned the the wooden staff.

Dagna clapped her hands with a bright smile. Sten did not make a facial change but only a nod. My, tis a sight to see him give any thought toward magic. Zevran clapped as well with the slightest smirk on his tan face. Azura only bowed slightly at the claps.

“Thank you, but now I grow very weary. I hope you learned something from this Dagna.” Azura stated with a winded breath.

Dagna stood up with her stone tablet. “Oh yes! Thank you so much! I can’t wait to see other mages do this as well! Oh, I better go home and pack my bags. Thanks again!” Dagna ran out.

Azura only shook her head with a smile on her pale face. She turned to Sten.

“Kadan. What do you need?” Sten asked. Azura wished she knew what the phrase meant -- she has never studied qunlat. Perhaps she should start , maybe after The Blight.

“Can you check up on Oghren? He has been gone for a while and he left in a horrid mood. I do not wish anything bad to happen to him in his state of mind”, she explained to Sten. He only scoffed at her request.

“His mate was in the wrong. He should be thankful we corrected her actions,” he stated back in his emotionless tone. However, Azura was not phased by the tone.

“Please Sten,” she spoke softer. His strong gaze was on her almost white hues -- never leaving his. He let out an exhausted sigh. Ah, success.

“Yes...” he then turned and left the library.

Azura turned toward Zervan who was looking at her with those tempting yellow hues. She turned away from the gaze refusing to allow herself to fall for such a pathetic attempt. True, he was attractive enough but she does not like this game of cat and mouse they play. She pulled out a seat for herself and sat upon the stone. Truly, it is so uncomfortable but she was curious to their books about mages. She pushed her long raven hair behind her shoulders and turned her head in the opposite direction of him -- in a silent statement to Zervan to leave her.

“My dear, do you know what kadan means?” Zervan asked as he walked over to her.

“No, but I am certain you wish to indulge me with your knowledge?” Azura replied as she pulled a book about mages off the shelf. Zervan only smirked with a glint in her golden eyes.

“Oh, my dear, I wish to indulge you in my knowledge of many things. I assure you.” he said quickly so she could not interpret him -- the typical game they play.

Well, she fell into that trap, didn’t she?

Zervan sat in the chair next to her: a little too close for her comfort but she did not say anything. His golden eyes glued to her like a moth to the flame.

“Kadan means “where the heart lies” or in simple terms ‘friend’. But I do prefer ‘where the heart lies’, do you?”

Azura was surprised to hear this. She honestly did not think Sten saw her as an equal -- let alone a friend. It touched her heart in a way she never thought possible. She did not say anything for a moment --- just thinking to herself about the word kadan.

“I do as well,” she answered as she opened the book. The words were in dwarf language, but she had spent her youth in the circle studying other languages -- this would be a good chance the challenge herself. She began to read, or at least tried. She knew this would set a flame to Zervan because she was not engaging in conversation.

The assassin leaned closer to her to examine the book. “Ah. Did I offend you, my beauty? Do you wish I call you kadan as well? Kadan....Ka-dan...it does sound better when it leaves my lips, doesn’t it?”

Azura tried extremely hard to let any emotion, or dear say a blush, appear on her pale features. His accent is truly marvelous -- it is so smooth and clear with a hint of allure in it. Yet, she would never tell him. She keeps her gaze on the book. Her slender finger turning the pages ever so slowly.

Zervan pouts at his gesture. He leans even closer to her. Azura can smell him -- a hint of cinnamon, leather, and the cleanse of a day bath. Maker, she hoped she smelled just as nice.

“I did not know you could read other languages. Truly fantasizing -- you are truly a remarkable woman,” he stated as his finger traced the words in the book. His fingers dancing a little too close to hers.

A compliment and a good one at that. She does pride herself in her knowledge, that is for certain. Yet, she refuses to give into this game they have played since she spared his life. He did look so pathetic that day -- bloody and beaten but still has flirty as usual. It was this charm that sparked her interesting. She had , probably never again, met a man like him. She has always been surrounded by stuttering Templars.

“You flatter me,” she replied as she gently swayed his hand away from the book. The moment her slender fingers touched his, he took his chance and held her hand in his.

“I am truly trying, mi amora,” his voice lowered and was as sweet as honey. Azura looked at their hands locked together. He leaned in toward her, and she was starting to lean back toward him as well. It was like a magnetic draw to him -- one she cannot escape so easily from.

Oh, his efforts are that of a determined man. A man ready to show his hand of cards if that means he can win the bet. She gives him credit for all his attempts and his alluring voice. It is very hard to not fall for this man. Yet, she is strong willed and refuses to fall for lust.

He was so close to her face, she could fell his breath on her skin. Her heart was racing under her blue robes. Their lips are just inches a part. Only a few more inches....

No, she cannot fall for his trap!

Azura moves her hand out his grip in a swift motion and moved her head toward the side. She closed the book and placed it back on the stone table. “Why must you make this a game?” she finally questioned him -- a question she is sure will never have answers.

Zevran had a defeated expression and pouted. “A game? My dear, this is not just a game for me. I am truly mesmerized by your beauty. I only want to show you just how beautiful you are. The only way I can do so is by showering in compliments and also in the heat of passion as I ravish your beautiful body,” he answered, adding a tone of dramatic to show his “wounded” pride of the disjointing of their hands and their needby kiss.

Azura only looked at him with a defeated expression upon her face. His handsome features, his confidence, his body -- tis everything a woman or man would want in a man. Yet, she is hesitant. He approaches sex as if there is no love in it -- sex to only be a comfort idea, not of two people in love. This is something she can never agree too.

“I am flatted, truly. But, I will just not lay with you unless there is something more than just lust.” She stated with a wave of her hand.

Zevran raised a brow and chuckled under his breath. “My dear, why must you make it so difficult? Two friends can lay and have no feelings in under the sheets.”

Azura shook her head and ran a hand through her long raven locks. This appears to be a stand off between them. She stood up and crossed her arms over her elegant robes. “Do you know what the circle of magi is?”

“Changing the subject? I’m game. I have heard only a little when I was in Anitva. Why don’t you tell me since you are eager to speak of it”, he answered and leaned back in the stone chair.

“I was given to the circle when I was only seven. I don’t remember my own parents or even what part of Ferelden I was born in,” she spoke as she stared at the books in front of her. “The circle was my home. However, in the circle we had many rules. We were respected -- to a certain degree.”

“Oh, where did the respect end?” Zevran questioned.

Azura turned back to him, “We could not be friendly to other mages or anyone in fact, if you catch my meaning” --oh he did from the look on his face -- the raise of his eyebrow and the small gap in between his lips “I am not too certain why but now that I left the circle I have my own ideas. I think they don’t let us because they believe two mages would birth another. We must serve men -- tis true, but the charnty doesn’t want too many of us. “

“My dear, are you saying that you are a virgin?” He questioned with the same expression on his face.

Azura refused to show any sign of weakness on her pale features. Yes, it was true. She was. The have relations in the circle was too difficult. So many were caught and if caught a mage risked the chance of being tranquil -- a fate worst than death. She refused to give into temptation, and there were many that is for sure.

“Yes, I am.” She answered with her chin up high. “I could never or I would risk the chance of being tranquil. However, I had a few moments of lust that is for certain.”

“Oh, “ he chuckled “do tell.”

Azura started to smile, only a little. A smile that was hard to bring out of her. “His name was Cullen. He was so strong and handsome, but he was a Templar. His job was to watch me and ensure I never fell to my demons. He would watch me train and compliment my skills. I was smitten by his appearance. One day after class, he tried to speak to me but in stead I kissed him before he could speak. Me! I did something so daring like that. I ran away in fear that he would have tell his kinght-commander on me.”

“Did he?” Zevran asked. He has been so quiet during her tale. She is not sure if he is that interested or just being polite.

“No. But we never spoke of it after that. Some days, I would kiss him out of fun if he took too long to speak. I think he did enjoy our times of lust. However, the day of my harrowing, if I became a demon he was supposed to slay me without a second thought” -- she paused, that was such a glorious moment in her life. She thought after that day she would finally be a senior mage and leave the town to serve armies as battle mage. Oh, how fate laughed at her that day.

“I approached Cullen afterward and we spoke about it. He reminds me of Allistar ; they both cannot speak in front of women. He was always so flustered around me and could never make eye contact. I tried to flirt but he would always excuse himself: I found it rather heart warming.”

“Ah. I see,” Zevran interrupted. “You wish for me to be like that. My dear, I wish I could but unlike them I cannot keep my charisma at bay.“

Azura only sighed and turned back to face him. “That is not the point of my story. If you let me finished however....”

“Yes, yes. I am eager to know what became of him,” Zevran replied and leaned on the table closer to the warden.

“I was forced to leave the circle because I helped a friend -- who became a blood mage. I still remember Cullen’s face when Duncan took me away. I waved goodbye, but I wanted to say more,” she paused -- his expression still in her memories -- too fresh. “I returned to the circle as a warden and saw that the mages took over using blood magic. Cullen was their prisoner. He was tormented by demons who pretended to be me. He didn’t think I was real and said....horrible things about me.”

“Oh, like what?” Zevran asked with a venom in his usual honey like tone.

“He couldn’t understand how he could want a mage. Like I was some vile creature from the gates of the fade ready to chew men up. He saw me just as another apostate -- not even a circle mage.” she paused and exhaled slowly. “He...he never looked at me the same after that day.”

“My dear....I.....am sorry,” he spoke softly to him. His soft tone was almost her undoing.

“I tell you this because I have been in lust. This is what this is between us, just lust. I....” she paused -- too shamed to say what she really wants from him. Love, that’s what she wants. That’s what she craves. She craves to be the desire of someone -- her and only her. “ I don’t want just lust.”

Zevran was silent as he stared at her. She has never felt self conscious, but she does under his silent gaze. So unlike him to be so quiet.

“I have always taken my pleasures when I could. I only know of lust,” he paused and she felt her feet getting cold from the fear of his statement. “Yet, for a women as beautiful, strong, alluring such as yourself. I would kill to have you share a night with me. Perhaps... We shall see, no promises, mi amora.”

That’s all she can ask for at the moment.

Azura sat back in her chair and looked up at Zevran. “I suppose it is hard to think what you say about me is true all the time. I was never praised in the circle for my appearance or my body: only my talents. I was created to serve man -- that was all -- and am still good for.”

Zevran shook his head. He stood up and nearly turned the chair over. “No! That is not true. You don’t just have one purpose. You have many. Look at you! A beautiful warden whose fate is to unite the races together to stop the Blight. That is more than serving man, I believe.”

Azura sighed -- it does sound nice but her only purpose for so long was to serve SOMEONE -- the chantry, a noble, an army, whoever.

“Maybe, all this independence has gone to my head--” she started to say but Zevran walked over to her and took her hands into his tanned ones.

“Azura,” he stated and a blush formed on her pale features. The way he speaks her name in the accent --- it is truly her undoing. His fingers stroked the top of her hands slowly. “you are so much more than just a circle mage.”

She looked up at him and her fingers tightened around his hands. She didn’t break their gaze. This -- this connection, right here and right now feels stronger than any she has felt before. His warm yellow hues made her feel so warm -- protected.

“Thank you,” she whispered.