#help i do not know how to use tumblr

[inkskinned]

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

[eclipsing-weight]

figuring out how to draw the boy

[sunlit-mess]

consumed by the inevitable

[cptnbeefheart]

last year in my sketchbook: can representational art be more sustainable for me if i take it less seriously? can i balance the two? | my art

[a2zillustration]

The final day

| First | | Previous | | Next |

[[ All Croissant Adventures (chronological, desktop) ]]

[[ All Croissant Adventures (app) ]]

[bluespiritshonour]

here's 18-19 year old aang sketches. been hearing aang is ugly discourse—no he ain't. he was just 12.

[stnlymble]

idk how tumblr works hi guys heres this

[introspectivememories]

tim and bernard who break up and it's nothing big, no one cheated or anything. it's just their lifestyles didn't work out well together. tim cannot give up vigilantism currently and bear cannot handle the level of danger tim puts himself in. and on the other hand, tim cannot handle the fact that bear chooses to run into danger as an emt bc he already worries about everything but now he has to worry if he'll find his boyfriend convulsing from fear gas in a random alley but also bear who felt the life drain out of darla cannot stand the thought of not helping people and runs headfirst into dangerous situation after dangerous situation hoping that every person he saves can somehow make up for the fact that he could not save darla.

(he very pointedly does not think about the fact that there was nothing he could do because if he thinks about that, he'll spiral until they have to lock him in arkham too)

and so they break up but they were tim & bernard in high school and when they started dating they balanced out the worst of each other and they became tim&bernard. and everyone who knows them, knows that they're better together but they cant be together, they refuse actually because they cannot lose another person to the violence of gotham and by the time they figure out that they cant work together as long as the other is an emt or vigilante, it's too late for both them. they've already left too many pieces of themselves in each other.

tim still knows what bear means when he says "tim" in that exasperated voice. tim still goes boneless when he hears bear say "baby" in that firm tone. bear can still read tim like a book. he still knows the right way to massage tim's neck so that tim can go to sleep. everyone at the first responders gala knows not to bother ceo drake-wayne and senior emt dowd when they're talking.

(and if they're standing a little too close to each other than what is normal, who are they to judge? everyone knows that dowd and drake-wayne have history)

and if everyone on the night shift has caught red robin with his head tucked into the crook of emt dowd's neck as emt dowd runs a soothing hand up and down the vigilante's back, well then, they just quietly back away.

(after all, dowd's one of like, five, emts that can get the bats to receive medical treatment so if turning a blind eye to whatever the fuck they have going on is what allows them to give back to their heroes, then the night shift will do it every time)

and of course, tim and bear are practical people. they loved (love) each other sure, but when your lives are fundamentally incompatible, well, you cant get too stuck on the what-ifs, that's for sure. and so they do find love with other people and yeah, maybe it's not what they expected love to be when they first fell in love with each other. it's not the bubbly, stomach-swoopy, cant stop grinning, feeling that permeated tim&bernard's early days or the i Know you/you Know me that was their middle or the quiet despair that was their end but it is contentment. and in a life with as many losses as theirs, contentment is something they hold dearly

and they're happy! truly! but sometimes, at galas when they're making each other snort champagne out their noses or in darkened alleyways when their clothes are both stained with blood or at rallies for stricter gun regulations in gotham where they both sit too close to each other, fingers enclosed around each other in a death grip, when the presenters inevitably bring up grieves

(worst school shooting in gotham in decades, there's blood on their hands and blood in their mouths and darla is dead in between both of them and there is a chasm so wide that they are screaming to get their voices across and she will always be dead and maybe this had always been the problem that she is dead and there is no coming back from that and that there is blood on their hands and blood in their mouth and blood on their han-)

but sometimes, most especially on opposite sides of the street, as life pulls them in different directions, just sometimes, they see each other and just for a second, nothing too long, the flap of a hummingbird's wings, the time it takes to blink, an electron's orbital, they look at each other and for the briefest moment, blue on brown, a barely noticeable stutter in their steps, the space between heartbeats, because this is all they will give themselves because they do not dwell on what-ifs or what-could-have-beens, or what-should-have-beens, or delusions of a softer world, their eyes meet and they think to themselves, god, in another life, i would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with him.

[front-facing-pokemon]

[trove-of-tales]

Three Attempts - Nikolai Lantsov

Nikolai Lantsov x Fem!Reader Summary: When an assassin was hired to kill the infamous privateer of the Volkvolny, she finds herself less and less able to make the killing blow. Third times the charm, though, right? Warnings: Strong language, smut, violence, angst, Nikolai being a bit possessive and an author who doesn't know how to use Tumblr :) Word count: 10K

The Volkvolny was a pretty ship. It almost didn't belong in Ketterdam's 5th Harbour. Still, I couldn't complain about the placement.

It was easy to board the ship, sneaking passed each and every crewmate until I found a decent hiding place at the bow of the ship, behind some wooden crates. My eyes scanned the ship, catching sight of a flash of teal. 

Sturmhond was a well-known privateer, though he was younger than I'd expected him to be. He was tall, his hair an odd shade of red, eyes a muddy shade of green as he strolled next to a taller, buff man. Upon closer inspection, his nose was crooked, like it'd been broken too many times and not set properly. The man next to him was Tolya Yul-Bataar, my intel telling me he was close to the privateer. 

"Tamar would have your head if she found out you were gambling." Tolya grinned at the privateer.

"Can a privateer not indulge in games with his own money?" Sturmhond laughed.

"Not when he drinks too much and loses everything." Tolya retorted. They stood together, shoulders loose, talking amongst each other. 

I stayed silent, watching.

"Tolya!" A woman bellowed from the helm. 

Tolya cringed. "I'm going to get blamed for this, aren't I?"

"Ah, yes, I might have put a few rounds in your name." Sturmhond confessed, grinning. Tolya shot him a look before he stalked off to the woman. 

It was silent as Sturmhond stood mere feet away from me, gazing across the horizon, the sky darkening considerably. 

"If you plan to kill me, at least do me the honour of leaving my pretty face unmarked." He said into the silence of the sunset.

I froze. Surely not, he couldn't possibly have-

"My dear," He turned to the wooden crates. "As much as I adore the build up to an event, if you're going to kill me, I'd rather it be sooner, than later."

I stepped out from my hiding spot, squaring my shoulders. My dagger was gripped tightly in my right hand, the blade catching the light from the setting sun. Sturmhond grinned at me.

"Oh good, for a moment there I thought I was talking to the waves." I bit down a growl at his words. "I assume you've been hired, dove."

I say nothing as I stalk closer to him. He was tall and gangly; I could easily take him.

"Well, you've lost the advantage of taking me by surprise." He continued speaking. "Brute force is what I'd assume your next tactic is."

As he said that, I lunged. My blade centimetres from his throat, he caught my wrist and threw my arm away. I lunged again, aiming for his heart this time, where he sprang back, the blade nicking his bicep. I swept my leg out, plunging my blade towards his stomach. I missed every single time.

Sturmhond grabbed my wrist with surprising strength, holding my arm straight as he stood beside me. I grunted as I moved my other arm to catch the blade as I dropped it, but he held that arm too, kicking the dagger away from us. I panted, furious. 

His seawater scent, mixed with something expensive, floated around me as I glared at him. He tilted his head, eyes sparkling. 

"May I ask, my dear, why were you planning to kill me with a child's dagger?" He taunted. I stared at my dagger mere feet away from us.

I stayed silent, my nostrils flaring. I'd never missed a target before. None had sensed me before I’d killed them and yet, there he was, still alive. I'd boarded this miserable ship to kill him, and he wasn't dead. I growled darkly at him, trying to break his grip from my arms.

"Not very talkative, are we?" He squeezed my wrists tighter, and I found myself loosing a breath. He leant in close, moving to my front. "Do you know what I find so interesting about you assassins? You're all so utterly predictable."

I spat at him, my saliva landing on his left cheekbone.

He didn't flinch, the spit rolling down the side of his face, yet he made no move to wipe it off. Just squeezed my wrists tighter, causing me to wince.

"Shall we try that again?" He said, darkly.

"Get off me." I snarled.

He chuckled. "But you didn't answer my question, dove." I refused to speak. With a swift sweep of his foot, I was on the floor, Sturmhond kneeling above me, my wrists held above my head. My blade was pressed against my neck, so quickly I hadn't even seen him grab it. "I said, 'Shall we try that again?'"

I struggled beneath him. I hadn't expected him to be this strong. I'd expected a laid back, pole of a man, yet he'd pinned me down to the floor so effortlessly, not even a hitch in his breathing. I'd underestimated him.

At my surprise, Sturmhond grinned. The dagger was removed from my throat and placed in his belt. "Nice blade. I think it'll be lovely to add to my collection, don't you think?" He sat back on his thighs, legs still trapping my body to the ground. When I didn't answer he sighed, as though disappointed. 

The pirate stood, brushing off the invisible dirt from his teal coat. He stared at me, disinterested, before turning and walking towards the stairs. He paused, turning back to me expectantly. 

"Come along, dove." He said. "I hardly think above deck would be the best place for such a conversation. I'd hate to get my crewmates involved." He pointed at Tolya and the woman, Tamar, who were stood at the helm, glaring at me. "It's easier for you to follow me. I'm a lot gentler." He winked.

I glowered at him before moving to follow. At the end of the corridor, he opened a heavy door, stepping aside so that I entered first. It was a plain room, the most notable feature being the large desk in the centre. I realised my mistake as the door behind me slammed shut, lock clicking as Sturmhond turned the key, slipping it into his pocket. He'd locked me in here.

The room was silent around the two of us, eyes meeting, tension rolling. Scanning the room, I saw no other way to leave, just the locked door behind the privateer. Speaking of, his pond-water-green eyes studied me, closely.

I clenched my fists at my sides. He may have taken my dagger, but I could still fight my way out of this if it came down to it.

He smirked as he strolled closer. His eyes scanned me, leaving me exposed as I glowered at him. To myself, I wondered who the hunter really was, and who the hunted had become. "Do you have a name?"

I stayed silent. my chin held high. Internally, I was confused. He knew I was going to kill him and yet, there I stood, alive. Surely the smartest choice would’ve been to kill me before I killed him.

He sighed at my lack of answer. "So proud, dove. But I don't need a name, I suppose. Just exactly what you'd planned." His eyes turned cold, teeth clenching. He gestured to the seats at his desk. "Sit down."

I obeyed, sitting on the edge of the seat across from the larger chair behind his desk, which he took a seat on. He poured two glasses of amber liquid from a decanter before picking his own up, raising it to is lips, slowly.

He pushed my glass forward, my eyes scanning his hands. They were covered in nicks, cuts, scars, and calluses; the hands of a man who did heavy labour, and who did it frequently.

"Drink." He gestured to my glass. I hesitated, wondering if it could be poison. Though, if he wanted to kill me, I suspected he’d go for something a little less plain. I gave in, taking a large mouthful of the bitter liquid. I stifled a cough.

His eyes followed my every move. As I placed my drink down, his eyes narrowed again.

"It's not poison, if that's what you were wondering." He explained. "Just something to loosen the tongue. What do you know of me?" 

"You are Sturmhond. Privateer as you like to call yourself, but I prefer the term pirate." I spoke, voice low and threatening. He rose a brow.

"But Privateer just sounds better, wouldn't you think, my dear?" He smirked. "Nasty, dirty, violent things, pirates. With a term like Privateer, it commands respect. And really, I just smell too good to be a pirate. Continue."

"You're younger than I was told you were. And stronger." I told him, aggravated. "I was expecting a drunk stick of a man and yet..." I trailed off, eyes dragging over his body. "You're surprisingly strong."

He flexed, vainly, at me, causing me to draw me gaze away, disgusted. He let the comment go to his head, smirking. Pirates.

"And what else, dove?" He leaned forward in his seat, slightly, forearms pressing into the hard wood of his desk. He'd said the words quietly, like it was some sort of intimate question. His seawater scent washed over me again. His muddy green eyes seemed to change, like a forest at twilight, the bark still shining, but darkening as time went on. He stared at me, the room fading around us. I broke my gaze.

"You've pissed off some very powerful men. Powerful men that wish to see you dead." I crossed my arms, ignoring heat forming on the tips of my ears. "That's why I'm here."

He chuckled, a low and deep tone, his grin almost mocking. "My dear, you're going to have to be more specific than that. Most powerful men want me dead. I'd be surprised if there was one who didn't, at this rate." He leaned back in his chair, lazing on it like I hadn't threatened his life. "I suspect there are powerful men that want you dead, too. Tying up loose ends and all."

I snarled. "Powerful men don't want me dead. Powerful men want to hire me to kill people like you. And then hope they can spend the night with me." I told him, leaning forward on my seat, eyes a wildfire.

He was silent for a few moments, before he smirked, crossing his arms. "So, killing people like me, bedding powerful men, getting paid. Must be a very fulfilling life."

I scowled. "I kill people, I get paid, that's all there is to it. I don't care what they want from my body." I was in control; I was always in control.

"And I assume they pay you handsomely, to kill people like me." He purred. His tone was light, teasing, yet his body language was tensed, calculating. The room was silent as he studied me, eyes wandering over my figure. I shifted in my seat, unable to read the expression in his eyes, the hair on my arms stood up straight, bumps appearing on my skin.

He sighed.

"Tell me, dove. What does power feel like, to you?" He tried again, his voice suddenly sharp, dangerous. "What does the feeling of holding a life in the palm of your hand feel like?"

He laughed, cruelly.

"I'd imagine you take much joy in it."

I squared my shoulder as I stared at him. "It feels great." I lied through my teeth. I wouldn't let him see the real me, crawling beneath my skin as I watched him study me. I was the ruthless, cold-hearted assassin, and that's all he would see. All I would allow him to see. "It feels wonderful."

"And yet here I sit, alive." Sturmhond taunted. I flashed him a glare, my shoulders tense. "How much were they going to pay you?"

"Fifteen thousand kruge." I told him.

His eyes narrowed. "I'm not sure if I should be insulted. I'd expected a little more than that but..." His eyes met mine. "I'll double that, and we can pretend this never happened."

"There are four contracts against you. Putting the grand total at sixty thousand kruge." I smirked, unkindly. "Give me a better offer and I'll think about it."

"Such a clever little negotiator." He mocked. He grinned wickedly at me, my heart skipping a few beats. His eyes: something about them was dangerous, like a predator hiding in the bushes. He leaned closer and for a shocking moment, I felt what it was like to be the rabbit the fox hunted, hunger in the beast’s eyes. "Seventy-five thousand."

"One-hundred thousand, take it or leave it." I choked out.

The corners of his mouth curled. "I do think that's a bit unfair, dove." he stood, walking around the desk, sitting on it to my left. I turned, raising a brow. He grabbed my glass and refilled it, holding it out to me. "I suppose I may agree to your conditions."

"Do you have that much money, pirate?" I spat, taking a sip of the amber liquid. It burned as it made its way down my throat, my chest warming. 

He pulled a face. "Privateer. And why should I not have that much money?" He refilled his own glass, taking a swig of it as he placed the decanter down. His eyes traced me, a strange glint in his eyes. He oozed confidence. "What makes you think I couldn't pay even double that?"

"Because you're a lowlife scum pirate." I snarled. "You steal and kill and drink. No, I do not think you have a spare hundred thousand kruge lying around."

The small smirk faded from his lips, as he placed down his glass, turning to face me. "Do you know what I find funny?"

I stared at him.

He leaned forward, practically eye-level with me, mere inches from my face. "I could kill you, right here, right now. I don't have to pay you a single coin. You are defenceless and you sit in a locked room with me, with a severe disadvantage. And yet here I am, offering you more money than you'd get if you'd killed me, and you still think you have the advantage?"

The humour in his gaze was gone, and I could truly see why this man commanded respect and fear wherever he found himself. And there I was, poking the bear.

"I'd like to see you try." I challenged, breathing out, sharply.

He said nothing, and for a moment I thought he'd actually do it. That he'd tired of the circles we'd run and was finally going for the killing blow. His face softened and he scooted closer along the desk as he gazed at me. "Join me."

I stood from my chair, walked past him and over to the locked door. Sturmhond stayed sat on his desk, watching me. I ignored him, pulling two lock picks from my corset and inserting them into the lock of the door. I could feel his gaze on my back as the door clicked and I swung it open, pausing in the doorway.

"The next time we meet, I won't miss." I promised. "I will kill you and you will not be expecting it." I did not turn to see his face.

He chuckled, the sound causing my shoulders to tense. "Try," He simply said. I heard his footsteps echo closer to where I stood. "Try again. I dare you."

I curled my lip. "I won't need to try. I know I'll succeed." With that, I began to walk up the stairs. 

Sturmhond caught my arm, pulling me to a halt as we reached the deck. The hair along my arms rose and my skin pebbled. I felt his breath against the back of my ear, his body heat hitting my back. He was too close.

"Are you so sure you want to take that risk?" He mumbled, voice low and gravelly. The deck faded around us as my senses reduced to him and how close he was.

I said nothing.

It was silent for a few moments, neither of us making a motion to move away. He sighed, the feeling bouncing off the back of my ear and the side of my neck. He let go of my arm and stepped back, coldness filling the space at my back once more. I was thankful for the cover of the night sky. 

"You're free to go." He said, coldly. I still refused to turn to him, my gaze resting upon the railings at his ship. "But I await your next attempt." There was an underlying threat to his words.

I jumped from the railings, disappearing from view. The further I got away from the Volkvolny, the better I would feel.

-

It was several months later before I tried again.

The Volkvolny had docked at Novyi Zem, and its privateer had booked an Inn not far from Weddle. It was a decent Inn, the walls thick, freshly painted and not chipping, a door that locked, a wonderful windowsill I'd perched on as I stared into the darkness of his room. I'd acquired a new dagger after Sturmhond had taken mine, this one a beautiful glittering silver, bronze handle decorated and delicate.

The room was simple, a wardrobe propped up near the door, a small vanity with an even smaller chair. I took note of the teal coat draped over it. Finally, two bedside tables bracketed a large queen-sized bed. And on that bed, a pirate sprawled out on his back, soft snores filling the room. The only thing wrong with the Inn? The windows didn't lock.

I crept silently into the room, shutting the windows behind me. The only light being from the oil lamps outside on the street, the room otherwise dark. I stood by his bed, dagger raised, ready to deliver the killing blow.

And yet, I found myself hesitating.

I watched him, his oddly coloured red hair splayed across his forehead, messily. A callused hand rested on his chest, the other tucked beneath his pillow. His lips were parted, soft snores escaping, and his eyelids would flicker every so often, signalling his dreaming state. It would be so easy to kill him, just one perfectly placed plunge of my dagger... so why could I not do it?

A mumble came from him, his lips quirking into a slight smile as he dreamed. This pirate, who had killed and stolen for fun, looked so innocent in the light of the oil lamps outside. His brows creased in the centre, and I found myself wanting to smooth it out with my thumb.

I took in a deep breath, steadying my shoulders, the dagger raised above his heart. I faltered again. Why? Why could I not kill him? 

My grip on my dagger was so tight, the hilt seemed to tremble, as I hesitated again and again. Did I doubt myself? Was that why I couldn't do it? Or did the guilt of killing so many finally rear its head at the final moment?

And then, he moved. My heart raced as he began to shift, groaning lowly in his throat. I stood utterly still as he stretched his arms above his head, sighing as he released the tension of his shoulders. His eyes flickered open, dark in the night's cover, yet I knew they were still that strange, murky green.

As though he sensed me, Sturmhond's eyes locked with mine and I froze. He said nothing as his eyes studied me, up and down, the room silent. Then, he grinned.

"I thought you promised to kill me." He spoke, his voice rough with sleep. He let out a cruel chuckle. "I suppose I'm a little disappointed you didn't even try. I picked this room especially for us."

My nostrils flared and I lunged at him, pressing my dagger against his neck as I pinned him to the bed, my knees framing his sides, crouched on top of him. My breathing was quick, rushed, as I scowled at him. I had killed countless people before him. I had succeeded at every single one of them.

And yet-

He laughed, this time a soft chuckle, eyes shining in the dull light as he stared up at me. He made no move to defend himself, to push me from his chest. Instead, he spoke, carelessly as though asking about the weather.

"Well, my dear... what are you waiting for?"

I pressed my blade harder against his neck, nostrils flaring as I watched a single drop of blood collect on the metal. Yet I could not kill him. No matter how much I fought with my mind, I could not do it. With an enraged yell, I threw the dagger across the room and rested my head on his chest, fisting his sleep shirt in my hands.

It was silent before he spoke again.

"Why?" His voice was soft.

"I don't know." I growled at him. I was hired to kill him and yet it was impossible for my hand to do as I said. He was insufferable and I hated him, but why could I not kill him?

He raised his head, slightly, causing my gaze to snap to him. His hand slid up and bunched the hair at my nape in his fingers.

"You've waited so long to kill me, dove," His lips brushed my throat as he spoke, voice almost silent. His seawater scent surrounded me. "And you failed, again."

I pushed myself away from him, stung by his words, the feeling of his lips still a phantom touch against my throat. His hand was still curled into my hair, loosening the band that held its braid. Strands fell down by my face, yet all I could see was his murky green eyes.

"Just join me." He whispered. As he spoke, his eyes grew heavy, the usual twinkle in his eyes darkening. "You know it's easier for you to just give in and join me."

"I refuse." I told him. "I'm here to kill you."

It was silent as he pondered my words, before the fox-like look returned to his eyes. He grinned, gripping my hair at the nape of my neck, giving him full control.

"Still so stubborn, even though she's on the losing side." He purred. I stiffened in his grasp, his breath hitting my face. I lost my words. "Just join my crew."

I shook my head as much as his grip allowed, eyes lidded.

"I'm an assassin, I don't belong to any crew."

He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. "Then why haven't you killed me yet?" He said, darkly. "Tell me why."

I shook my head, hands pressed against his chest, face turned away from him. He was beneath me, yet I had the sinking feeling I wasn't the one in control. His voice was gravelly due to his slumber mere minutes ago, and he whispered into the silence of the room. 

His other hand took my chin, gently, and turned my face back to his. "Tell me." He said, lowly, finger stroking my jaw. "Or I will give you a reason."

My eyes fluttered closed, but still, I said nothing. 

His grip tightened on my jaw, and I let out a sharp whimper, eyelids flying open. I flushed as his eyes widened. The fox-like look was back on his face, grinning cruelly at me. He leaned upwards, slightly breathing on my face, and I felt my cheeks burn.

"Still no answer?" I breathed out at his question, eyes fluttering closed again. The silence of the room was deafening, and goosebumps appeared on my skin at the tone of his voice. "Should I give you a reason to stay?" His eyes were dark as he took me in.

"You're a pirate." I whispered. "I refuse to belong to a pirate."

He let out a sharp laugh, the sound rumbling underneath me, where I was still perched on his chest. "Privateer. But I'll teach you the difference." his finger stroked my jaw, up and down, gently. "I think it's a very good offer."

"Why would I possibly want to join you?" I snarled. "I've played the part of looking like some cheap piece of jewellery, hanging off someone's arm. I work alone."

"Not even for the money? The thrill of killing? You'd make a wonderful addition to my crew." He nosed up my neck, speaking slowly. "All it takes is one word."

"No."

He pulled his face back, biting his lip as he studied me. Whatever he found must have amused him because he chuckled again. 

"You're a challenge, dove. Maybe that's why I enjoy your presence so much." His hands withdrew from my jaw and hair, and he brought them underneath his head, smiling lazily. "If you're so against joining my crew, leave. I won't stop you."

The window was to my left. I could slip out and not look back, leave him there, smug and alone. I made no move to leave.

He laughed again, his voice almost silken, enjoying the conflict within me. "So, what is your answer?" He purred.

My gaze flickered to his lips, the tongue that poked out to wet them, before I remembered myself and met his eyes, glaring fiercely.

"You were so vocal just now; don't tell me you've turned shy." He grinned. "Just tell me your answer. Stay with me, or leave. I think I know what it'll be." His gaze flickered down to my lips as he spoke, lowly.

"No," I trembled. My heart beat loudly in my ears, my breathing faster than its usual controlled speed.

"That's not an answer, dove." He told me, smiling. The window was there, I could step off him, and leave. But I felt frozen to my place on his chest. "Leave now, like you should do. Or stay."

Saints, he was making this hard. I knew I should leave. Leave before this progressed. But perhaps... just for one night I could entertain this. Just for the night.

"Stay?" My voice was quiet. I sat, frozen, on top of him, eyes lidded.

His smile widened as he watched me. "Yes." There was something final in his voice, almost sounding like the word 'forever'. He sat up, his face inches from mine. "Well?"

His voice was soft and cruel and sweet, something so very powerful in it that I felt myself nodding before I'd even heard what he said. A low chuckle filled my ears, turned my words numb on my tongue. My heart gave a sharp pang and fluttered dangerously.

"Are you mine?" He asked.

I'd agree. Just for tonight I'd agree. Indulge myself. And while he slept, I would leave. I formed the plan in my head, feeling my limbs lose all strength.

"Yes," I whispered.

His face lit up, a dangerous glint to his eyes. I could almost see fangs as he grinned viciously at me. He pulled me closer, flushed against his chest, his words a whisper and he brought his mouth to my ear, his eyes glittering like obsidian. 

"Good girl..." I shivered, visibly. "Now say it. Say the words. Say 'I am yours.'"

I hesitated.

He tilted his head, dangerously. "Come on," He purred, mouth working into a cruel smile, hunger in his eyes. "Say the words, dove."

"I'm yours." I breathed out, panting slightly. The words felt so good on my tongue, as they formed in my mouth, as I uttered them to him. And I found myself uncaring for my safety.

He grinned, corners of his mouth curling up, eyes lighting up as I spoke. His eyes told me everything, every desire, every action, knowing he could do anything, and I would take what scraps I could.

His hand returned to the nape of my neck, fisting my hair as he shoved me forward, his lips claiming mine. It was not soft, it was not gentle or tender. It was hungry and it was wild and it was exactly what I'd wanted. 

"You're mine." He growled against my lips, and there is something dangerous in those words.

I could not speak, could not reply to him, my mind a jumble as he kissed me, harshly.

Whatever calm composure he'd had left shattered completely as he laughed, a cruel sounding laugh, as he pulled back to observe me. I sat, panting in his lap, dazed. His other hand reached up to stroke my cheek, gently. I leaned into the touch.

"You belong to me." He hissed. I did not reply. His gaze softened. "I will treat you well." He promised. At my lack of attention, he brought my gaze to his with his hand on my jaw, tight enough to ground me. "You will not leave."

I nodded, even though I knew that by morning when he woke, I would be gone.

Something flashed in his eyes as he stared at me, nostrils flaring. I knew he didn't believe me as he leaned closer, kneeling on the bed this time, my own figure sliding off his lap, kneeling with him. The hand at my nape withdrew, but the one on my jaw tightened. 

I felt like the rabbit again as the fox towered over me.

"Give me your word." He said, lowly. "Give me your word that you will not leave, or you will have to beg me to stop." It felt more of a promise than a threat.

I trembled. From where the two of us knelt on the large bed, my knees gave out and I sat down, Sturmhond looming over me. And he watched it happen, his eyes shining as he cupped my face, bringing his head closer to where I was sat. 

"I like it when you tremble for me." His fingers continued to stroke my cheek. I leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering. He laughed at my movement, causing a flush to build on my cheeks. But I craved more, more than just a touch to my face, more than just his words. And he knew it. "You're mine, dove. Doesn't it feel better, to not lie to yourself anymore? To give in."

I found my hands moving by themselves, reaching up to tug at the ties of his sleep shirt. His eyes flickered in slight surprise, before they darkened once more. He let me have that, the first hint of freedom of the night. The smirk on his face told me all; he'd won, he did not care that I could pretend to have control in this moment, because he'd already won.

His shirt loosened and my hands faltered, dropping to my sides as I lost my nerve. His eyes flashed with amusement. 

"Go on." He purred. "Do as you will. I am yours as much as you are mine."

With my heart beating, I grabbed the ends of his shirt and lifted it over his head. I'd seriously underestimated him the first time I'd seen him. As he knelt above me, I took in the sight of his bare torso. His arms were veined and sculpted, meeting broad shoulders. His chest was firm as he breathed evenly. I lowered my gaze downwards, trailing over his abs and to the line of his pelvis that disappeared under his pants. If I hadn't been sat down before, I would've slumped to my feet immediately at the sight of him. I found myself filled with want.

I shivered.

He grinned at my subtle movement, cruel and amused. "Just my shirt and I have you drooling," He purred. "But come now, don't be cruel. I do believe it’s your turn, hm?"

My fingers reached for the ties of my corset, pulling and loosening as his eyes watched me, head tilted. Deciding I'd taken too long, he batted my hands aside and almost ripped the corset from me, letting it fall at my waist. He started on my shirt next, unbuttoning each and every delicate clasp. He shoved the shirt off my shoulders and pulled the corset over my head, breathing in the sight of me. I flushed.

He leaned his neck down and captured my lips in his again, overpowering me easily. I breathed in a gasp against his lips, closing my eyes. His hands gripped my waist, thumbs rubbing circles before one of them trailed lower, fingers brushing my hips, knuckles caressing my stomach. It moved lower still, gentle, and delicate.

"It's a beautiful thing, you know?" He mumbled against my lips, his other hand pulling me up to kneel again, palm firm against my back. "To surrender, to belong, to give yourself over to someone who knows what you desire, someone who will keep you safe and happy."

His hand stopped, fingers curling under the waistline of my pants. "Now surrender to me, dove."

I breathed out, leaning into his touch. "More." I asked.

The cruel glint in his eyes was back, the hand at my back curling its fingers in a beckoning motion, chills breaking out along my skin. The hand I needed stayed in place.

"More?" He smirked. "You want more? You'll have to ask nicely, my dear. Tell me what you want, full sentences, say 'I want more.'"

His gaze turned feral.

"Say it."

"I want more." I whispered. "Please."

His grin was triumphant. He watched me as his hand moved, curling beneath my waistband, disappearing beneath the fabric. 

"Good girl." He whispered. "So polite."

The hand continued, passed my hip, my lower stomach, beneath the edges of my underwear, his lips pulled into a cruel smirk, a look I didn't recognise flashing in his eyes. The hand moved slowly. Down.

I let out a sharp gasp.

My heartbeat sped up, my breathing hitched as he pulled his hand away, fingers resting on my lower stomach. "You like it, don't you? It feels good, doesn't it?" The hand at my back pulled me closer into him, my head tucked beneath his chin my arms wrapping around his shoulders, nearly holding myself up as my legs shook, slightly. "And yet I can take my hand away and there's nothing you could do about it, dove." To prove a point, his fingers wiggled against my lower stomach, so close to where I needed but still so far away.

I squeezed my eyes shut, mentally begging him to move his hand lower once more, the brief touch not nearly enough. "Please."

His breath was hot as he angled his head down, hitting the sides of my neck. His lips brushed the tip of my ear. "Please." He mocked, knowing no matter how much I'd begged, he still had the final word.

But, he'd been cruel enough, so he dragged his fingers down again, beneath the line of my underwear and cold fingers touched where I'd needed most. My breath caught at the touch, stiffening in his hold before relaxing against his chest, slumping over. I released a breath.

One finger circled the apex of my thighs, cold but nimble. The rest spread me, slightly, letting him move easier. I jolted against him, fists curling, arms tightening around his shoulders.

"Saints." I whimpered.

"Saints?" His voice mocked me. He halted his finger in place, ignoring my slight sound of confusion. "No saint will help you now. I am your saint. I am your everything. There is no escape."

With a sharp thrust, his middle finger entered me. I cried out, startled. My knees trembled where I knelt, my arms around his shoulders and Sturmhond's hand on my back the only things that kept me upright. He thrusted a couple times, dragging out to swipe his finger over my entirety, before he plunged back in. A second finger joined, thumb circling my apex. I breathed faster, choked gasps leaving me as he fingers curled. His hand left my back, cupping my face and bringing my lips to his, my neck bent backwards to reach his height. His kiss took over, my sounds interrupting my attempts at trying to kiss back.

My knees wobbled, my thighs tensed, and I felt the tell-tale sign of my incoming release. I rolled my hips against his palm, breathing through my mouth, as his lips left mine to trail my throat. My stomach fluttered at one particularly angled thrust, and I was pushed over the edge, squeezing around his fingers, arms tight around his neck as my body jumped and trembled. As I came down, Sturmhond aimed a few more cruel, but well aimed, thrusts into me before withdrawing his hand entirely from my pants, resting against my bare stomach. My knees finally gave up as I crashed down onto the bed again, shivering.

The room was silent.

"Good girl," He mumbled into my hair, hand stroking my jaw. I blinked, before I shuffled closer to him, hands fumbling with his belt. He stayed silent as he watched me, his belt loosening before I worked on the drawstrings of his pants. I unlaced them, messily, know that he could stop me at any moment, take control of the situation, leaving me to tremble in want.

"So frantic, dove." Sturmhond belittled. I tugged his pants down before he stopped me, grabbing my hands, smirking. "Must I remind you who's in control here?"

I choked on a gasp as he pressed his lips to mine, hard. I teetered backwards, and found myself laying on my back, at his mercy. He didn't break the kiss, moving to rest above me, hands either side of my head. He withdrew, slightly, smirking.

"Well, my dear." He nipped my bottom lip. "Are you satisfied?"

I tried, one final time to regain some semblance of myself. "You could do better."

His eyes lit up at the challenge. A laugh rumbled in his chest. "Oh, you think so?" One hand moved to grip my hip. "Perhaps another demonstration is in order." In a flash, he'd gripped both my wrists and pinned them, with one hand, above my head. 

He leaned down, nose to nose.

"Show me what you want."

"Please." My voice encouraged his grip to tighten around my wrists, the one at my hip squeezing in sync.

"Please? Is that all you have to say for yourself, tonight?" He laughed again. Not kindly. The laugh of someone who knew their power over another. "What did I say? You're all so predictable, you assassins. Now, try again. Full sentences."

I let out a soft moan at his words, clenching my eyes shut, embarrassed.

His eyes gleamed. "Just from my words?" He smirked. "Do you like it when I speak to you like that?"

I lifted my hips, slightly, before I remembered who was above me, lowering them again. I turned my face away from him in a final act of defiance.

"You were so good for me earlier." He shook his head at me, feigning disappointment. Though I knew it was an act, I felt a pang in my chest. "Say it. Say what you want."

"Please, please." 

He shook his head again. "Must I do everything? Are you too dumb to speak, dove?" He taunted. His eyes were hungry, his teeth gleaming like fangs. I needed more. I needed him. "What do you want, dove? What do you need?"

"You!" I finally caved.

The sound was sudden in the silence of the room. Sturmhond's eyes widened and glittered as he heard my words. I recognised the look, now. He needed me as much as I needed him.

"Well, my dear." He cooed. "It seems you've given yourself to me, have you not?" His voice was cruel again, but there was an edge to it.

"Yes. Yes, just please-" My eyes burned. His gaze darkened at the break in my voice. He leaned in again, lips a breath away from my own. 

"Have me." I begged him. Though, as he heard my words, his hand released my wrists. I panicked as he started to move away from me, leaving a chill so deep, it seemed to seep into my bones. I cried out, softly, as he moved away from me.

He shushed me, hand caressing my cheek, thumb smoothing over my cheekbone. "I'm here, dove."

He began to work on my pants, unbuckling my belt, undoing the tiny buttons that clasped the front of my pants together. He tugged them free from my legs, working on his own, leaving us in just our underwear.

"How desperate are you, dove?" His growled, one hand caressing my hip, the other placed beside my head, propping himself up. "How badly do you want me to 'have you?'"

"Yes, yes, please." My eyes fluttered. 

"Do you want to give yourself to me? Is this what you want?" Sturmhond's dark gaze gave way to a softer look, one I did not recognise. "Do you want me, dove? This is the last time I'm going to ask."

"I want you." I confessed.

He nearly shuddered, but he forced his composure to remain steady. "Good girl." I was the one to shudder. "Get on all fours."

I shivered at the command, hesitating. Seeing his expectant gaze, I flipped myself over onto my stomach, hands and knees pushing myself up on the bed. Sturmhond knelt behind me. I tensed as his hands slid under my hips, rubbing small circling, gripping almost bruisingly. 

"Beg for me. You owe me that much." He commanded.

"Please. Please, Sturmhond." I begged. I was his puppet, made to dance for his amusement.

I felt him tense behind me. "Good girl." He whispered, stroking my hips as he leaned forward, breath hitting my back. I arched my spine as his lips kissed the small of my back. He watched as I shivered before him. I lifted my hips slightly, wiggling the smallest amount, embarrassed to verbalise what I wanted. What I needed.

I couldn't see his reaction to my movement, but it must have been well received as I heard a low rumble of his chest, his fingers reaching out to finger the waistband of my underwear.

"Do you want more?" His voice was soft, losing the cruel tone he'd had for most of the night.

I nodded, eager. He pressed my hips backwards, resting my ass against his front. I tensed at the hardness I found. 

"So eager." He complimented. "So perfect."

I sighed, deeply, unable to find my words. I let him take control, willing to do whatever he asked of me. He rolled his hips, slowly. 

"You want me to take you, dove? Do you feel safe enough to let me do that?" Despite his heavy panting, he still hesitated as he held the waistband on my underwear.

"Yes." I whispered.

I heard him take a sharp intake of breath before I felt his body shift. For a moment, I was worried he might pull away, but the squeeze of his large hands at my hips soothed my fluttering heart.

"Then let me take you." He growled, eased my underwear down to my bent knees. He spread me again, with his fingers, massaging the nerves between my thighs. I shuddered, biting back a groan. He withdrew, causing a cry to erupt from my throat. "Want to see you." He told me.

With gentle hands, the gentlest he'd been tonight, he flipped me onto my back, kneeling before me, resting his ass on his heels, underwear still on. His eyelids were heavy, pupils dilated. He studied me, not moving. I whimpered, impatient.

I moved my hand downwards, seeing as he made no move to touch me. I watched as his gaze flickered to my hand, lip curling. He snatched my hand up, face dark. I felt my eyes water in frustration.

"Please, I'll be good, just touch me." I pleaded. He smirked.

"Of course you'll be good." He taunted. 

Within seconds, he'd entered me with two fingers, collecting the wetness that had dripped from me. As he coaxed more from me, his other hand pushed his underwear down, his length springing up, flushed. I stared. With his hand covered in my wetness, he slid his length into his grip, groaning as he covered himself. One, two, three pumps and he took his hand away, the left-over wetness cooling against my skin as he gripped my hips in both hands. Lining up with my entrance, he eased in, slowly.

I sucked in a breath, closing my eyes. I faintly heard his groan above me as he rested, still, only the first inch inside. After a moment, he pressed further.

"Fuck!" I cried out, hands gripping the sheets, not knowing where else to go. His grip on my hips turned bruising. His hips met mine in a soft kiss, bone bumping against bone. I panted and whined as he stayed in place, hearing his own heaving breaths.

As he dragged himself out, slowly, I felt myself clench subconsciously. Sturmhond stumbled forward, arm catching himself by my head, holding himself above me. I grabbed him, looped my arms around his neck and brought his lips to mine. He groaned into my lips as he began to set a steady pace, my hips rolling in time with his.

Sharp, angled thrusts replaced the long, slow drags of his hips against mine and I felt my eyes flutter shut in pleasure. The hand not holding himself up explored my body, starting at my neck, down to my chest, circling at my hips before it edged down and pinched my mound of nerves. I threw my head back, breaking his overpowering kiss, echoing a moan throughout the room. 

"Saints." Sturmhond spat, feeling me clench around him. In the light from outside, his muddy green eyes seemed to darken to an almost hazel colour, and the broken crooked part of his nose seemed softer. I knew I couldn't trust myself to gaze at him in this state, but his face seemed different somehow. 

At a particularly powerful thrust, Sturmhond angled his hips in just the right place, leaving me shouting into the quiet of the room. He repeated his movement, thumb circling in time with his thrusts and I felt as my breathing grew heavier, my heart pounding in my ears, stomach fluttering and tensing.

a bite to the side of my neck had me screeching, hips bucking as pleasure rolled from in between my legs, to below my naval and straight back down again, like a lightning strike. I felt my eyes roll, heaving moans following as I rode the wave of my high. Distantly, Sturmhond continued to thrust, until he too, groaned and leaped over the edge, his hips gradually stilling against mine, rolling softly as the last stars of pleasure left my eyes.

I shuddered as he pulled out, feeling the trickle of fluid slide down to my ass, collecting beneath me on the bed. I rested a hand against my lower stomach, still dazed. I felt the bed dip to my left, Sturmhond crashing down next to me, on his back.

We breathed in silence, in sync, panting as our minds caught up to the present. I felt him move, sliding off the bed with dragging footsteps as he wandered around the room. I heard a door open, realising he'd had an en suite bathroom. Maybe being a privateer did pay well, after all.

The sound of a tap running was all I could hear. Distantly, I felt sorry for the Innkeeper, knowing we'd made a slight mess... perhaps been a bit too loud. 

Sturmhond's heavy footsteps trudged back to me before I felt the bed dip at my feet. With warm, large hands, he gripped the backs of my knees and separated my legs. I sucked in a large breath.

"Just cleanin' you up." Sturmhond slurred, sounding almost drunk.

I felt another trickle and heard his breath hitch. A soft touch of a wet towel pressed itself again me. My toes curled and my thighs tensed, but he persisted. Every rough scrape of the towel had me twitching, toes flexing. Fuck, I could barely think straight.

A puff of breath between my thighs had my stomach jumping. I glanced down to see Sturmhond's heavily lidded eyes focused on my swollen flesh. 

"You're stunning, dove." He mumbled. The towel was discarded by his side as he crept closer, hands resting on my inner thighs, making sure I couldn't close them as he took in the view.

My head flew back as his tongue struck out, licking from the bottom to the top, circling at my apex.

"You were so good for me." He growled, the sound vibrating against me, travelling up my spine. I arched, sensitive.

"Oh, Saints, please." I didn't know what I was begging for, but the words flew from my lips all the same. Another rumble vibrated against me as he chuckled. "Fuck!"

"Not quite yet, my dear. I need some time to recover." He teased. I opened my mouth to swear at him when he enclosed him lips around my nub and hummed. I spasmed, pushed almost to the edge, losing my words. "What was that, dove?"

My eyes rolled as he released me, words forming, then failing on my tongue.

Sturmhond's own tongue burrowed deep into me, curling inside before withdrawing and flattening against my entirety. I shuddered.

I lost track of time as he flicked and sucked and plunged his tongue into me, my eyes clenching, the space between my thighs doing the same. His name was lost on my lips, pleads half forming before the next stroke scattered my words again.

Two fingers joined at some point, curling upwards in a beckoning motion, his tongue twirling over my nub. Every so often he would clamp his lips shut, suck and then hum, causing my toes to curl and my legs to shake.

He timed the finale, adding a third finger, thrusting in quickly and curling up, just as his teeth scraped my nub.

I shouted, screamed as my hips lifted off the bed, not knowing if I was chasing his touch or trying to escape it. I felt my legs shake as they held me up, my stomach clenching, fluttering and jumping as pleasure raced down my spine. He continued the assault until I flopped, boneless, onto the bed, struggling to breathe as the pleasure faded and I went numb.

When I came back to myself, I first registered the hands stroking my thighs. Sturmhond sat at my feet, large hands clasping my thighs, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into my skin. He had a strangely fond look on his face as he stared at me, watching as I blinked the leftover tears away from my eyes. 

I yelped as the towel pressed itself to me again.

"It's okay." He shushed me. "I'm only cleaning you up, nothing else this time."

He cleaned me up, quickly, my thighs now dry, though my skin still flaming and sensitive. He returned the damp towel to the bathroom and scooped me up, resting my head against the pillows, as I'd previously been laying with my head at the foot of the bed. He placed a fresh towel over the mess we'd made and slid in behind me into the bed, pulling the covers over us.

"Couldn't resist." He mumbled into my hair; arm slung around my waist. "Tasted so good. Sounded so pretty."

I was too exhausted to even flush at his remarks.

"Did so good for me." His hand rubbed soothing circles into my stomach. "Took it so well."

And I couldn't speak. The dynamic we'd built had broken, leaving something softer. No more tension between us, something raw left in its wake. 

It kept me awake until the morning, when the sun shone through the window, illuminating his face.

The face that didn't belong to Sturmhond.

-

I'd stayed away for two months.

Away from the man I'd been hired to kill, away from the man that had left me dazed on the bed of an Inn. Away from the man who wasn't what he'd seemed.

I'd found myself in West Ravka. I'd searched for his ship, The Volkvolny, for the last month, finally tracing it to Os Kervo. I'd stayed in the shadows, not knowing whether to approach or not.

He was dressed in his usual teal coat, haggling with some stall owner. His hair was its usual shade of off-red, cheeks flushed in the sunlight. It seemed he was succeeding in his haggling, the stall owner waving a hand in defeat, nodding at the privateer. He handed them a few folded notes, picking up whatever he'd bought from them and sliding it into his pocket. He turned to observe another stall when his murky green eyes met mine. His face lit up; eyes gleaming as I froze from my spot in the nearest alleyway. 

Dodging the heaving crowd, Sturmhond made his way over to where I stood, my heart pounding. I wanted to run, but he'd made my decision for me, entering the alleyway with a grin.

"Hello, dove." He greeted, leaning against the brick wall. 

I lost the words I'd been practicing for a week. 

"It's so good to finally see you, my dear." His eyes flashed with something cold, yet he seemed to reign in it. "Tell me, did you enjoy your time away from me?"

I swallowed, thickly.

"You can't have enjoyed it that much if you're here, before me, now." His eyes glowed. "To come back so soon after you promised you wouldn't leave. Was it guilt that brought you back? Or just greed."

He took a step closer towards me, my own feet stepping back. His controlled demeanour changed, nostrils flaring.

"Tell me, dove."

"I don't know." I told him, unable to confess the true reason.

He tilted his head. "You don't know?" His voice was steady, but there was a hint of rage threatening to rear its head from his clutches. "Are you sure you're telling the truth, my dear. Or do you just want me, greedy little thing."

"I've had you already." I hissed, venomously. "I'm just deciding if it was good enough."

A lie. Sturmhond had done things to me those two months ago that my hands couldn't even begin to replicate, no matter how I'd tried. What had really shaken me, though, was the emptiness I felt at night.

He blinked before smirking at me, taunting in the way I was familiar with. Good, let him hate me, the rawness of his voice as he held me that night had been too much to handle.

"You know good and well that it was more than good enough." He growled. "I distinctly remember your legs shaking so hard, I thought you'd foam at the mouth."

I snarled at leapt at him, pressing him against the wall of the alleyway and holding my dagger to his throat. Just like the two previous times. Always the same thing, never able to make the kill.

I saw the flash of hurt in his eyes. Only lasting a second, but it shook me all the same. He grinned at me, an unbothered façade on his face.

"And here we are again." He baited. "You can try and kill me, dove, but we both know you'll never be strong enough."

My heart clenched.

He leaned in, voice dark and cruel and thick with an emotion I refused to recognise. "You're so weak for someone so determined. I almost feel pity for you." His teeth shone like fangs. "So why can't you finish this? Third time's the charm, dove. Do it, kill me."

"I have tried!" I snapped. My dagger felt weak in my hand. "Three times I have tried to kill you and I cannot do it. I know you don't truly care for me but, Saints, I can't help the way my heart beats for you."

It was silent. Sturmhond's hand reached up and clasped my hand, uncurling my grasp from my dagger. I heard the clang as it hit the ground.

"Oh, dove." He whispered. I turned my face away, but he brought it back with his fingers on my jaw. I leaned into the touch. "And who told you I do not care for you?" His voice was soft, gentle, my heart fluttering at his words.

"Because you cannot." I told him. I dug into my pocket and shoved a crumpled letter into his chest. "Your nature is to lie. And I refuse to be used by you for your benefit, just to be left alone. I will not be broken by you."

"What are you talking about?" Sturmhond took the letter from me. "I would never do that to you. I would never pretend to love you, just to leave you later."

I turned away from him, leaning against the alleyway wall opposite him, sliding down it until I rested against the ground. I buried my head in my knees.

He refused to even glance at the letter, kneeling down before me, reaching an arm out, touching my arm, gently.

"Please, dove. Believe me on this." He leaned in closer, his hand wrapping around my own. "Please, please, my dear."

I felt my eyes tear up, betraying the stern look I'd tried to keep on my face.

His hands cupped my face, forcing me to face him. I stared into the false-green. "I would never-" His voice was desperate. 

"I don't know what to do." I confessed. "I can't kill you; I can't lose you and yet, I cannot allow myself to be hurt by you."

"I wouldn't..." Sturmhond furrowed his brows before he remembered the letter by his side. "I wouldn't hurt you. My heart yearns for you."

 A wave of emotions rushed through me. He sounded so honest, yet I feared for my heart.

"Don't lie to me." I whispered.

He looked at me, startled. "I'm not. Dove, what makes you think-"

"Because you are lying to me right now, Nikolai!" I snapped. His eyes widened at my words, frozen on the spot. I growled and stood up. "The men that hired me to kill you. They wrote to me, a week after I'd left you, upping the bounty. You're Prince Nikolai, aren't you. Sturmhond is just your persona."

The alleyway was silent. 

"You're angry at me for not telling you who I really was." Sturm- Nikolai growled, standing up, towering over me. "For not telling an assassin my true identity? Like it would have made a difference! You stand there and call me a liar, when you never even told me your name."

I faltered before my nostrils flared. "That is different!" My chest heaved. "I wasn't lying about who I was!"

"And if I had told you? Would it have made a difference to your plans to kill me? Or would it have just motivated you more?" He glowered at me. 

"It would if you hadn't fucked me before I found out!" I cried. He snapped his mouth closed. "Do you know how used I felt? Turning over to see the face of someone completely different to the man who'd made me feel so special the night previous. I felt lied to, used. And no, I wouldn't have killed you if I'd have known you were a prince. I hunt pirates, Nikolai. Not good men."

Nikolai breathed heavily as he listened to my words, eyes unreadable. 

"I knew of Prince Nikolai's reputation. I would never have dared to kill him after all he's done for his country." I said, energy leaving me. "I'd planned to kill Sturmhond because he was a threat to my country and the people I protect. And yes, it paid well. But I wasn't going to kill you after that night."

He stared at the dagger on the ground.

"Then what was that about?" He asked me. "Pinning me against the wall, dagger at my throat?"

"That is what happens when a woman is scorned. By a prick of a pirate and a coward of a prince." I seethed.

"Privateer." He corrected, softly.

I scoffed yet found no energy to fight him. 

"You expect my love when you've shown me no reason to let you have it." I told him.

"I expect nothing from you, dove." Nikolai whispered. His eyes met mine, the muddy green still covering the colour I now knew they truly were. The ones I'd seen in the lamplight from outside. Hazel. "I'd like nothing more than for you to love me. But I don't expect- won't demand that from you. I only ask you to be honest with me."

"My heart tells me to want you. But my mind tells me to run from you." I confessed. "What do I listen to?"

"I can't answer that for you, dove." Nikolai admitted. 

It was silent for a moment. "Y/n." I told him. "That's my name."

Nikolai breathed out, nodding his head. He repeated my name, like he was testing how it felt on his tongue. 

"No more secrets." Nikolai promised. He stepped closer to me, hand cupping my cheek. "Just Nikolai and y/n. I yearn for you. And I want to give us a chance, dove."

I leaned into his palm.

"So please, don't leave." He whispered. "I swear to you with everything I have that I will prove myself to be loved by you. I am in love with you."

"No more lies." I whispered as he stepped closer to me. 

He shook his head. "I swear to you."

He brought me in closer, lips brushing mine. So tender, so gentle. I thought of how feverishly he'd kissed me on that night two months ago. I sighed into his lips, leaning forward, and pressing my lips harder against his. His fingers brushed my cheek.

-

The Volkvolny was known by most: pirates, merchants, kings. Its captain was infamous, ruthless. His hair an uncanny shade of red, eyes a murky green, nose crooked, like it had been broken too many times and set wrong. 

His quartermaster was as equally infamous. She killed for him, hunted for him. They were matched in combat, but she usually did the dirty work. Sturmhond was happy to indulge his Zeeduif.

Behind closed doors, a man with golden hair stood over his lover, hazel eyes filled with adoration, nose only slightly crooked. She met his gaze, equally as fierce, thankful for their soundproof walls.

The prince of Ravka would eventually return to The Grand Palace to visit his parents, and brother, where he would introduce his wife; the, now, princess y/n of Ravka.

As she lay in his arms at night, she would think back on their first meeting. Then flush as their second meeting sprang to her mind. And though there were things she wished she could change about their third meeting, being there in Nikolai's arms was reward enough.

Oh, and she absolutely wouldn't let him take control all of the time.

[karinafazcat]

📦Stuck in a box 📦☀️🐈‍⬛

Also a POV from outside :B

A friend on Twt asked me to draw them even closer, this is what came out 😷

[marvinsprettyboy]

I never post on tumblr but im genuinely proud of this 😔

its so stupid looking

[yuridovewing]

i understand the frustration with “i made this gay pairing cis x trans so they can still have biological babies” with no thought to other methods and how ppl assume thats the case when it comes to mothpool aus where mothwing is also the mother of the three, but also…. idk i kinda dont give a shit if someone wants to do that and i dont really think its inherently transphobic as long as its handled with care and respect.

what really concerns me about this debate is how some people are adamant that you cannot portray trans people having biological children in media or youre being disrespectful. and im gonna say as a nonbinary person who doesnt want children for themself- thats kinda fucking weird? like i understand that for some people, theyre trans themselves and theyre speaking from a place of dysphoria, and i absolutely get that, which is why i think the topic should be handled with nuance and diversity in trans characters, but like…. guys. pregnant trans men exist irl. trans women get people pregnant irl. trans ppl’s ability and right to parent and have biological children are being debated irl. we get denied the opportunity to adopt as well.

in a climate like this, are we SURE we want the stance on rewrites and headcanons in the silly cat books to be “if you portray trans characters having children, especially with a gay couple, youre a transphobic freak no matter what!” does it really matter? especially if its being done by a trans person handling the topic with nuance who has a lot of trans characters with varying perspectives?

obviously yes, remember that thats not the only way certain gay couples can have kids, remember that not every trans person is fully comfortable with it and keep that in mind, remember that surrogacy and adoption are also perfectly valid ways to give fan babies- but remember that there are OPTIONS. not that you need to condemn the idea of transgender parents in the first place unless they fit the very specific criteria of “proper transgender representation” and anything that dares deviate from that is proof the op is a transphobic monster (bonus points if theyre a trans creator bc i mostly see trans people getting shit for this and it kinda pisses me off. although idm if cis people do it either as long as theyre handling it with respect)

[sweetvalentinescandy]

grrriaanwwnananannn i tried to make a cool effect but its not really that cool

sorry fo the casual negativity but im going through the craziest art crisis ever and like im completely overhauling as much as i can from my old art style so all i have rn are doodles ahhhh its so frustrating but i feel like i should post somethin anyway just to make me feel better

[not-poignant]

Hi Pia

Feel free to ignore if this is unwelcome, but have you ever thought about publishing traditionally to sublimate your income and draw in new readers? I know you've self published two books already and that you didn't feel like they did very well, but maybe the experience would be different if someone else was in charge of marketing and all the other business stuff?

Obviously everyone's experience is different but as an author myself who's published both trad and self, traditional publishing has been a completely different experience and has allowed me to focus more on writing because I'm not the one responsible for advertising/marketing/financing anymore.

There are a ton of literary agents nowadays that want to represent diverse and lgbtqia+ fiction, some of them even in Australia.

Websites like Reedsy, AgentQuery and Jerichowriters have extensive directories to find literary agents.

(This is lengthy folks so I'm putting the other two parts (and my response) under a read more! Also putting it under a read more so the anon can skip my response since it's very 'here's all the reasons I can't do this' and they just might not want to read that, lmao)

(continued -> )

Trad publishing houses have better resources for marketing and helping authors get more attention than any self publishing website could.

Obviously most authors, unless they're really prolific, don't get a huge advance (the average is between $1000 - $5000) but getting your foot in the door or on the traditional publishing "ladder' so to speak can have a huge benefit for your serials. Because it gives you more exposure. Plus it's in the agent's best interest to find a publishing house that accepts stories that contain darker themes and negotiate the best deal for you.

For some reason places like Amazon and the like accept and keep up more "dark" books that are traditionally published than they do with self pub ones. Maybe because they have more respect or leniency for publishing houses? I have no idea. But you could use this to your advantage. I think I remember you mentioning that writing novels felt quite isolating to you? But you already have 2 completed novels (3 if you count the fae one) that you could potentially revisit or rewrite to your liking and get them represented by agents.

You already have a loyal readership and that's very attractive to trad pub houses and agents.

As well as trad publishing, you could also make s simple website that doesn't require much maintenance. It could be just a landing page that says something about you and then has links to your tumblr and patreon where you're more active. That way you increase the chances of getting your serials found by additional readers and also come across looking more "professional". Not that you're not professional now. You are and I admire you greatly, but the unfortunate reality is a lot of people still judge by appearances and some will be more drawn to an author's website than a tumblr page, at least at first. So I think having a simple landing page would open up another door for you to benefit from.

Trad publishing is work but definitely not as much as self publishing, and you can continue on with your serials. Getting an agent can be time consuming but I personally believe the pros outweigh the cons and I also believe that your stories would be a huge treasure to the growing lgbtqia+ market. Seriously there needs to be more!

These are just suggestions and thoughts and like I said before, feel free to ignore. But I know you've mentioned wanting to grow your career in the past and I genuinely believe you can do so with some of these pathways.

~

Okay, my response. Posting this because firstly I think the suggestions could work very well for other authors reading this! And I hope they take the advice to note, and secondly because I haven't talked about this for a hot minute so let's talk about it again.

So the TL;DR is yes I have considered traditional publishing. I have actually been traditionally published in short stories, poetry, and also had my art published on covers and re: interior illustrations. But my Fae Tales works got soundly rejected when I sent them to publishing houses that were doing open calls for that sort of material. I've never heard back from an agent and I never expect to, heh.

~

Now for a bit more detail

I have been traditionally published before (it's how I got my writing out there long before I ever wrote serials), and yes, I have approached publishers with my writing since then. In fact Tradewinds was written for the traditional publishing market, and it got soundly rejected, and then shelved. The reasons it was rejected ran the gamut from 'I don't like that these fae eat humans no one is going to relate to these people' (while the editor then went on to publish vampire books idk) to 'There's too much worldbuilding you can't expect readers to keep up with this' to 'Your stories are too long, no one wants to read characters talking all the time.'

Meanwhile in my online serials I was getting feedback like 'my favourite chapters are the ones where the characters just sit in a room and talk' lol.

The traditional publishing world is also not quite as utopian for most authors as you make it seem. I'm friends with a lot of authors who are traditionally published because that's the world I came from, and unless they're solely in KU and doing generic rapid release formula romances, none of them are making that much money. Certainly not enough to live off. It may have been that you were very fortunate, anon, but I know hundreds more traditionally published authors that left trad pub to make money, and I know about 5 in trad pub personally who are making enough to live off of.

Only one of those is really writing what she truly loves to write, and even then, publishing houses have refused to commit to her entire fantasy series (and she's regularly in 'Top 10/20 Women Fantasy Authors in the World' lists) and forced her to finish the series prematurely. Something I never ever have to worry about in self pub.

The reality is that in trad pub these days, you're still in charge of most of your marketing unless you're one of the big earners for the publishing house. In fact I'd be expected to keep even more of a social media and marketing presence than I do now. I don't do almost any of the things you're supposed to do as an author in marketing to be appealing. I don't have a Facebook author account. I don't have an Instagram author account. I don't maintain or regularly send out newsletters (which automatically puts me in the like 0.05% of authors who make money doing this lmao).

I don't know if you ever have looked that closely into what m/m publishing houses expect from most of their authors, but the newsletter swaps, cover releases, review circuits, interview circuits and more are fucking grueling. We're expected to be responsible for our advertising and our marketing to a fairly massive degree. Some traditionally published in m/m still have to pay for their release blitzes out of pocket. These publishing houses, by and large, do not offer advances. You say most authors don't get large advances. I don't think most authors in this arena get offered advances at all unless they're somehow miraculously acquired by a Big 4.

We're expected to have an already established social media presence because of that (that's why it's so appealing to publishers that we have social media presences already, anon, so we can market, they can save money, and we still see only a minimal cut from the royalties).

And you still have to focus on your finances, because publishing houses like Dreamspinner straight up didn't pay a whole bunch of authors for so long they destroyed careers. They still haven't paid some of their authors. And they're still running a business and people still buy their books.

Trad publishing houses have better resources for marketing and helping authors get more attention than any self publishing website could.

This is true if a) they're a big publishing house and not an indie publisher of which most LGBTQIA+ publishing houses are and b) they're willing to use them on you.

The authors that make the most money get the most resources. If they believe you're going to earn back your advance and move thousands or tens of thousands of units per book, then yes, you will get those resources.

I have been told so many times now - even from friends who run publishing houses, including one who works at HarperCollins - that my work will never be mainstream enough to have broad appeal. They literally told me not to keep trying re: trad pub, because that was my dream for a long time. These folks have given me rock solid advice in the past, it's one of the reasons I'm doing so well now via Patreon + Ream. But they were like (paraphrasing) 'you don't write 60-80k romances and you don't want to and that's not your strength anyway, you're multi-genre which makes you hard to market, you write psychological and literary trauma recovery which is hard to market, you write character studies which are hard to market, publishing houses often don't commit to series anymore if the first two don't move units and if they pulled the plug you'd be contractually obliged to never finish that series until your contract was up.' I could go on, but it was like yeah...actually. Fair.

For some reason places like Amazon and the like accept and keep up more "dark" books that are traditionally published than they do with self pub ones. Maybe because they have more respect or leniency for publishing houses?

They do, but most publishing houses want very formulaic dark romance which is not what I write.

I have a 300k omegaverse slowburn that still hasn't had any penetrative sex in it, anon. Publishing houses don't want that. They don't expect anyone will wait 4 full length novels to get to literally a single penetrative sex scene.

But you already have 2 completed novels (3 if you count the fae one) that you could potentially revisit or rewrite to your liking and get them represented by agents.

If I rewrote them to my liking, trad pub wouldn't want them. They'd be too long! I think agents etc. take one look at me and go 'oh god, no thank you!' I'm not an easy sell, by any means.

Plus I'm very e.e about all of that with the knowledge that they then give me only about 10-15% of the royalties on the sales, vs. self-pub where I get around 70%, or subscription where I around 80% of it. When someone subscribes to me, they don't have to worry about 85-90% of their subscription fee going to a publishing house. I don't have to think about how many thousands and thousands of books I'd have to sell to make the same amount that I do now via subscription.

As well as trad publishing, you could also make s simple website that doesn't require much maintenance.

If it was that simple, I'd be doing it. I don't mean this in a facetious way, I mean it in a: I've made a lot of websites, in fact I run one at the moment not connected to my writing (I've been running it for so long it's now in its 20s and can probably has a driver's license). I find it so tedious that I barely remember to check in on it. But forgetting about it means there's always maintenance to keep up with when I get back to it.

Running websites is simpler than it used to be, but it's still not simple. There's hosting and hosting costs, there's server changes, there's back-end maintenance etc. I'm considering it for down the track, but there's a reason I decided to go the route of Patreon over my own site. There are authors (like Christopher Hopper) who actually do subscription through their own domain, but it's a lot of work.

Even placeholder sites are still work. They need updating, details change, story titles changing etc. Maintaining my Patreon + Ream About pages is enough, they're always both a little out of date, lol.

Not that you're not professional now.

Oh no, I mean from a 'traditional publisher looking at me to see what kind of candidate I am' I'm really not though. Like I said, I don't have the newsletter (100 subscribers who get one newsletter a year is not really a newsletter), I don't have the Facebook/Tiktok/Insta/Twitter/Bluesky/Threads accounts, etc. I write multi-genre across multiple steam levels, and I'm allergic to writing serials shorter than 150k. One of my best performing original serials was an 800k contemporary story with no sex in it but a lot of BDSM. It can't be marketed as clean or sweet, it's not high steam, an entire chapter is 'boy saves snail from rain.' Also he was cruel to animals, so not exactly what I'd call a sympathetic main.

And yet that story did so well for me via Patreon + Ream, because people want the kinds of stories that publishing houses generally don't want and I happen to be writing them.

Trad publishing is work but definitely not as much as self publishing, and you can continue on with your serials. Getting an agent can be time consuming but I personally believe the pros outweigh the cons and I also believe that your stories would be a huge treasure to the growing lgbtqia+ market. Seriously there needs to be more!

Anon I just literally do not believe an agent would want to represent me. I have 0% belief in that. Not from a self-deprecating angle but from a 'I am not a good bet for the trad market' perspective. From a 'I have so many friends who are trad pubbed authors who stare at me like I'm insane for writing serials as long as I do' perspective. From a 'professionals in the industry have told me it's amazing I'm doing so well in serials because there's no way they'd take a risk on what I'm doing' perspective. From a 'just because it's queer and diverse doesn't mean it hits literally any other thing a trad pub is looking for' perspective. I've been doing this for 10 years. There are agents who represent work similar to mine who know what I'm doing and wouldn't touch me with a ten foot pole. They're not missing out on a trick, they know I'm not broad appeal, and they're right.

Also the only way I'd have the energy to manage trad pub is by quitting serials. And honestly, I never found trad pub all that much fun while I was doing it for non-novel stuff. It was fine, and it is nice to have my stuff out there, but it was a ton of admin and a lot of going back and forth between people who really only care about marketing a product, and that's great and what they excel at! But I'm too disabled to turn this job into something crushing just to potentially make more money, I'd rather just quit and go back onto a full Disability Pension. I can't see any way I still get to write the stories I want to write, in the way that I write them, and be remotely appealing to a single reputable trad pub or agent.

Also *gestures to everything in this article*

[seraphic-sibyl]

I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been