#other wiriting

[hannie-dul-set]

peek into the openings of three new wips ayo

[asadwriter]

Actually listening to italian trash to write a fic is insane.

Like italian trash music has a special place in my heart.

It sucks so bad but it's my guilty pleasure.

[ladydeadrabbit]

North Star- Daredevil: (Bullseye) Benjamin Poindexter x Reader

(Note: Originally this was to be an Arkham Knight x Reader, but with the new episodes of Daredevil, I couldn't help myself <3 I think the next story I write will be a Scarecrow x Reader [Cillian Murphy, of course, bc he's dreamy]. Also, sorry not sorry if this one-shot kinda sucks, I lost motivation in wiriting it about a quarter of the way through, but enjoy!)

Summary: Dex takes a cute girl out on a date. She’s a shy rookie FBI agent naive to his psychopathic nature. Charmed by his grandeur, she falls victim to his desire for her to be his “north star.”

In the 30 something years that Dex had been alive he’d not felt much– call it a result of his trauma from his abusive foster parents, or the psychological disorder he’d been diagnosed with in his early years; but Benjamin “Dex” Poindexter had liked to think he was immune to the weaknesses of normal human emotions. He knew what sadness was, of course, he’d gotten a nasty taste of that in his late teens when Dr. Mercer had passed on– as well as anger, like when his promotion had been delayed at his job.

But there was one thing that Dex had not felt, or at least experienced, in a long, long time– and it was the feeling of jealousy. He knew jealousy, of course, he’d remembered all too well how he felt when his baseball coach had made him sit out in favor of giving the other kids a turn. He also remembered how he felt nothing but resentment towards his coach, and later apathy once he’d thrown the ball to crack his previous mentor’s skull.

Jealousy, to say the least, was something the tall, blonde, handsome FBI agent did not usually feel as a full-grown man. Jealousy was for the weak-minded, for those who lacked the inner peace and structure he’d created carefully in his mind for himself. You see, structure was the key to everything for Dex– it was the essence of his sanity, carefully curated for him with the help of his late doctor.

It was why he followed the same routines in his day-to-day life, it was the sole purpose of the reason why he’d sought out a job in law enforcement. So when Dex awoke this morning and headed into work, one could imagine why he’d felt entirely off put when you weren’t there to greet him with a shy smile and an awkwardly cute little wave. Perhaps his attraction to you was purely from the unspoken routine that the two of you shared, or perhaps it was because of the slightly too tight, slightly see-through, white button-up shirts you had seemed to love to adorn– but if there was one thing that the blonde was fore-sure of, it was the stirrings of the unwelcoming jealousy that boiled within his gut when you weren’t there to greet him by the coffee machine and instead were found to be hold-up in conversation with Agent Nadeem.

Dex didn’t care and paid no mind to the fact that the Agent in question was married with a kid– the sight of him stealing your attention away from the morning greeting that Poindexter looked forward to every day made him grind his teeth and clench his fists in rage. Briefly, though Dex immediately pushed the thought aside, he imagined what it would be like if he threw the pen in his pocket into the back of Nadeem’s head. 

Would his skull explode upon impact? Would his brains go spattering all across your pretty smile? Would you scream and cry?

A shiver of excitement ran up his spine.

Nadeem, as if sensing Dex’s concentrated hatred, turned around to face him. His eyes widened upon contact with Dex’s, but only briefly, and just as quickly as he’d come, Nadeem was quickly moving away from you with his head bowed and over to his private cubicle. That’s when Benjamin’s gaze snapped over to yours.

You smiled kindly, as if not seeing or sensing the tension from the two men in the room, before gliding over to where Dex stood near the coffee machine.

“Rough night?” You asked, ever so kindly. Dex couldn’t help but immediately forgive you at that moment.

It wasn’t your fault that the world was full of predators out to steal you away. You were goodness incarnate, pure, and everything that Dex needed to be.

“Not really, why do you ask?”

“You just seem a little tired today, thought I’d ask.” Your smile widened a little as you said this. “It’s not because of the whole Fisk case, is it?”

Dex’s stomach turned. He did not like you saying his name, or just being reminded of the Kingpin in general, for that matter.

“No. Not at all… let’s change the subject– you, me, dinner at my place?” Dex’s lips moved faster than his brain could process, and by the time he’d realized just what he’d asked you, it was a little too late.

Your smile dropped, eyes going wide, but only for the briefest of moments before the light in your face came right back and you were grinning again.

“Sure! That sounds fun. Have you already decided on the meal, or are you open to suggestions? Because, honestly, I’ve been craving Pizza like crazy!”

Internally, a sigh of relief echoed in the FBI agent’s mind.

“Pizza it is!” He smiled and laughed, mimicking your expression with intent.

The remainder of the day followed without incident. Dex even found himself with a little more skip in his step as the day neared the end. He’d been dreaming of when he could take you home for himself for quite some time now– he just never fathomed he’d ever work up the proper amount of courage to ask you out.

When the Agent had arrived home, he immediately started to put his plan into motion. The two of you agreed to have dinner at around 7– a little late in the evening, but you both decided it would be enough time for both of you to finish up and work from the day, as well as to clean up a bit for the evening. It was never flat-out stated, but tonight was a date– casual, but still a date nonetheless.

Dex showered, changed into a button-down shirt and dark jeans, and ordered the food. He already knew exactly what you liked from his observation of you from the past year, but asked you through text anyhow, just so he would come off all the more casual. While waiting for you and the food to arrive, the dexterous man straightened his apartment up a bit.

There was not much to clean or move around. Dex lived in a simple one-bedroom apartment. The entrance into his home was a small kitchen that was only divided from the living room by a countertop, and to the left of the living room, was a simple wall and door that divided his bedroom and bathroom from the main part of his home.

His walls were a plain cream color, the only photo to be seen was that of a group photo from his old job, and a few childhood drawings pinned to the fridge for memorabilia’s sake. Dex had no family or close friends to have captured memories of. Nor any real interests outside of his job.

Although on the bed of his bedroom door, he did keep a small dart board hung up, just for those late nights he couldn’t fall asleep.

It took you longer than you would have liked to get ready for your dinner date with Dex. Nerves, you supposed, fluttered in your stomach wildly throughout the day. The conversation you had had with Nadeem that morning was the root cause of the anxiety that forced your heart to do jumping jacks in your rib cage.

You had suspected for a while that Fisk was using the FBI as a means to get rid of the competition to his illegal business, and you knew damn well that his lawyers were likely the culprits handling his business affairs while he sits pretty in that damn penthouse. But when Nadeem came to you with a concerning theory that one of your own was working alongside Fisk, you couldn’t help but feel a little on edge, especially after he told you to watch yourself around Dex.

You liked Dex, you did, you had ever since the first day in office when you accidentally spilt coffee on his shirt and he charmed you with a corny (yet somewhat morbid) joke about having worse spilt on him (or… perhaps he was trying to make a dirty joke? You weren’t sure, but laughed anyways). So when Dex came up towards you this morning, after the shocking revelation that Nadeem dropped on you, you jumped at the opportunity to agree to go on a date. You wanted so badly for Dex to be innocent and this itself presented the perfect opportunity in understanding the mysterious agent more.

That, and you did like him and hoped he did too.

So, with the plan in motion and your determination set, you gave yourself a once-over in the mirror before calling a cab and heading to the address he texted you.

Dex answered the door with the first knock, startling you within the hall of his apartment complex. He lived a little further downtown, but in a relatively quiet neighborhood. Not the best apartments you’ve visited in Hell’s Kitchen, he could probably afford nicer if he wanted, but nice nonetheless, and clean.

Bashfully, the opposing Agent in question smiled and apologized for the abrupt answer to your knocks, before inviting into his abode. You laughed it off, and for a second, the doubts of what Nadeem told you earlier bounced around in your skull.

“You arrived just in time!” Dex said, smiling, guiding you over towards the small kitchen that led into the even smaller living room. “Pizza just arrived.”

You smiled back, allowing him to take the leather jacket you had decided to wear over the dress of the evening. Briefly, you felt his eyes flutter over your figure as you turned and pretended not to notice whilst taking a seat at one of the two bar stools he had set up. Dex hung your jacket next to his FBI jumper on a coat rack next to the door.

“So handsome. What kind of movie are we watching tonight?”

Flirtation was never your strong suit, but you played it off well tonight.

A sheepish smile spread coyly across his face, and you watched as Dex’s cool demeanor suddenly stopped, and a fresh flush blush adorned his face.

“Uh-I- ha,” he laughed bashfully, scratching the back of his neat little hair cut. “I was so focused on ordering the food and waiting for you that I forgot all about selecting a movie.”

You laughed, easing his nerves.

“That’s quite alright! I’m sure we’ll find something entertaining.” 

You moved from your spot on the bar stool to the front of the couch in his living room– which, really, was more of a slightly longer loveseat than an actual couch, before snatching up the remote that lay on the coffee table in front of it and switching on the tv. From behind you, you heard Dex move closer.

“Would you believe me if I told you that I don’t watch tv? Well, besides keeping up with the Red Sox during baseball season.”

“You like sports?” You asked, turning to face him briefly. 

“Only baseball, and not as much as when I was a kid. Really I keep up with it to pass time and to make conversation. You?”

“Not particularly. I just didn’t take you as the competitive type.” With your attention turned back to the TV screen ahead, you watched as it flickered to life seamlessly.

Oddly, Dex’s apartment felt cold– not exactly in a literal sense, the room was at a comfortable temperature, rather, the place didn’t feel very “lived in” as some would say. It was clean and minimal, and somehow his home felt more like a hotel room rather than someone’s actual living space. All of this dawned on you when the smart TV’s option screen came to life before you.

He had no apps downloaded from the menu screen– normally people would at the very least have some sort of channel subscription service like Netflix or Disney Plus to choose from, but all that greeted you were the basic free channel services that almost all tv’s nowadays had predownloaded. 

‘I supposed he really wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t watch TV,’ you thought to yourself; pulling up one of the free channels available and looking through some free movies.

“How do you feel about horror?” You asked, breaking the silence that briefly enveloped the room during your search.

“It’s… okay,” he hesitated, as if he were testing the waters for your reaction. Was he trying to gauge what kind of movies you liked? How sweet.

“This channel seems to mostly have those kinds of movies on it– and you’re not really giving me exactly a selection here. I tell you what,” you made eye contact with him again, “I’ll put an older one on, and if you decide that you don’t like it– we’ll turn it off and try to find something else.”

Dex smiled and agreed. 

The featured film for this evening was titled “Psycho”, naturally, if you were going to put on an old black and white film, you’d rather it be a classic, and Psycho was a grand as they came in American films of this era and genre. The film revolved around a woman stealing money from her job and skipping town to go meet up with a man. During her travels she stops and rests at a hotel where she is then brutally murdered by the owner who plays dress-up by night as his deceased mother.

It was an eerie plot, but by today’s standards, it was nothing in comparison to what is commonly shown.

Dex was silent throughout the movie, and you stole glances from him when you could, trying to understand whether or not it was boring him or if he was actually entertained. The pizza he ordered was fantastic— it was actually from one of your favorite takeout places in town, and you enjoyed it with a soda beverage.

As the film neared the end, you now finished eating and were sitting crossed legged on one end of the couch, felt an ever-so so shift beside you. You ignored it, assuming of course that Dex was just readjusting, until his arm came to wrap around your shoulders.

Shock was the first reaction you had to his boldness, and then came ease. You eased into Dex’s side, allowing him to envelope you. 

It’d been too long since you had the pleasure of being in the company of a man, and despite the slight dwellings of doubt that flickered from your mind– you liked Dex, and so far, he’d given you no reasons to suspect him of the suggestions Nadeem had made earlier about him.

No words were passed between the two of you when the credits began to roll, there was no need. As if possessed, you turned your face up at him and leaned up to capture his lips in a chastening kiss. You meant it only to be an innocent peak; a sorta thank you, for the relaxing night, but when the opposing agent reciprocated, it turned heated.

Dex’s lips were cold and possessive and they moved faster than yours could to keep up. The bite and sucked on your lower lip before trailing to the corner of your jaw, down your neck, where they then made perch on a particularly sensitive spot.

You gasped and shuddered beneath him, slightly taken aback by his behavior and fully turned on from it. You allowed yourself, however, to be dragged down beneath him on the couch. You allowed him to slide a space in between your legs, and you revealed him in the moment.

Your hands, shaky and unsteady, grabbed on to anything within reach to gain some level of control– the couch, Dex’s hair, his shoulder blades– but no matter what, you felt yourself spiraling, drowning in him.

His hands, just like his lips, were ravenous and everywhere. You couldn’t even fathom what all was transpiring until your dress slipped over your head and you were left shivering on his couch in your undergarments and heels.

Dex, ever the sadist, laughed at your reaction before scooping you up into his arms and whisking you to his room. Almost cruelly, he tossed you onto the bed and stood above you as he began undressing. Sluggish, you tried sitting up and undoing the strap on your heels to kick them off, but like a natural predator, he was on top of you before you could be successful.

Dex forced you into a somewhat awkward position, with your knees to your chest, practically folding you in half. You gasped and squirmed in the uncomfortable, compromising angle, but made no real efforts to stop him as he shimmed out of his pants and tossed his shirt to the side. You were in awe for a moment as the agent presented himself in all his glory to you.

You knew Dex was fit, it was a requirement to maintain your health as an FBI agent, but you supposed you never knew just how athletic his build way under those button-down shirts.

Dex’s room was dark, the only source of lighting coming from the kitchen that peeked out from the half-open bedroom door, but it was just enough for you to take in all the details of the man before you.

Dex smiled down at you, noticing your stare, but said nothing as he swooped down on you, stealing your lips in a shockingly more tender kiss. It didn’t last long as a moment later the heat between the two of you reignited and he was back to devouring you while you were left helpless but to grasp onto his shoulders and neck. Dex was a wild animal.

You awoke sometime in the night to a bump in the dark. Norepinephrine and histamine are not quite yet doing their job on your brain as you struggled to comprehend where you were and the events that lead you there— until everything, just like a switch, flipped in your brain and you were hit with a bus full of memories. 

Dex…

You struggled to pull yourself up from the comfort of the thick covers that embraced you in their safety. Eyes bleary from sleep and crusted over; you could hardly make anything out in the dark, and as a result, found yourself fumbling about. Miraculously, you manage to regain enough mobility to flop yourself over onto your stomach, where you then army-crawl over to the nightstand.

You were still at Dex’s apartment, that much was for sure— but where Dex was at this time was beyond you. Snatching up your phone from the bedside table and unlocking the screen, you squinted at the time.

6:41 am.

‘Damn, it’s early!’ Your subconscious screamed at you.’Where the hell is Dex?’

You glanced over where he’d once slept— the memory of what the two of you did just hours prior floating through your mind. You squeezed your thighs together and reveled in the soreness that followed.

‘Focus!’ The more logical side of your brain complained. With aching muscles, you followed its instructions and moved from the comfort of the bed to the cold hard wood flooring.

A chill shuddered your nude body and you made it a point to cover yourself with the nearest article of constructed clothing— conveniently this being the dress you wore earlier… though, where you’re underwear went, you had no ounce of an idea.

Now arguably more decent than you were before, you ventured forth into the main living space that was Dex’s apartment. It was empty, you found, as your tired gaze swept across the kitchen and living room.

‘Is he in the bathroom?’ The question briefly flickered in your mind, the possibility being highly likely as you turned back into the bedroom… and that’s when your stare caught it.

Next to the front door, Dex’s coat closet stood ajar— of course, nothing about that per say would be strange— except for the large safe that lay within. Said safe, just like the closet, was also pulled open— and that’s where you found a box racked full of cassette tapes. You didn’t mean to pry— hell! You didn’t want to be the one digging through his stuff, but something uncomfortable stirred within your gut and compelled you to reach forward.

“What’re you doing up, darling?”

Dex’s voice startled a yelp out of you and you spun around to face him.

“It’s late, my love. Let’s go back to bed,” he urged you with gentle words. You choked out an embarrassed excuse, allowing him (albeit begrudgingly) to guide you back to bed.

(A/N: If you enjoyed this fic and would like to read my fics an entire month in advanced, please consider becoming a member of my Patreon: https://linktr.ee/starrstuder

Let me know what all you thought of this fic down below, as well as be sure to leave a like and reshare for other <3 and as always, stick around for more content!)

[solitary-traveler]

Charisma Etched on Strings

You despised being near Scaramouche. It was a danger to your well-being.

Because all you can feel is the warmth of his body traveling to yours, enclosing around you and morphing into the oxygen that you so desperately need to survive.

Electric guitarist!Scaramouche x Gn!Reader

Notes: I swear this one has no set pov. It switches between Scara and the reader so I apologize for that. Also, I'm not that good at wiriting x readers *insert crying emoji*

Warning: Slight cursing

It was supposed to be a harmless guitar lesson.

So how the fuck did you end up sitting on this shithead’s lap?

“Easy sweetheart. Stop squirming," Scaramouche’s grating voice reverberated throughout the otherwise empty room. The words he spouts are pestiferous, enough to ensure a fist will land on his face if he doesn’t shut up soon. You merely asked him for a guitar lesson, not to be manhandled and subjectively humiliated by this sick bastard of a friend. “Get me off your lap!" you protest, writhing against his arms. 

You want nothing to do with this. 

Yet he cages you with that god-forbidden instrument of his, propping the black, electric guitar in front of you. You were effectively sandwiched between that handsome son of a bitch and his prized musical instrument. “You said you wanted to learn right?" he mused, his calloused hand cascading down your wrist to seize it securely, "This is the fastest way." 

Lies. 

You scoff at his pathetic excuse to justify himself. He’s just so full of bull. You know he was amused at your predicament, your thrashing and twisting igniting a twinge of sadistic pleasure within him. Scara shifts slightly, a lock of your hair twirled around his index finger, “Now stop moving so we can start our lesson.”

Without much of a choice, you reluctantly compelled to his demands. Your tantrums ceased, much to Scara's entertainment. He knows how much you detest your current dilemma and he couldn't help but take advantage of it. He wants to mess with you. To increasingly rile you up every passing second. He presses his chest completely against your back, wanting to see those cute little veins of yours pop out. His lips twitched upwards as he made sure there wouldn't be any space left between you two. He could hear your pretty lips part and verbalize a gasp. 

A sweet, sweet treat for his ears. 

He couldn't be bothered to give you a chance to retaliate. It was way more fun toying with you when he rendered you helpless. Leaning closer and letting his breath fan against the tip of your ears, his fruity voice resounds through your brain and into your spine in the form of shivers. "Let's learn some basic chords first," he murmurs as he slinks his fingers towards yours, hovering over them. Scara felt the smirk on his face expand, you sure do have a warm set of hands. He surely wouldn't mind if it was pressed with his all the time. Stuck in his wishful thinking, he absentmindedly squeezed your thumb lightly. He blinks. Ah, he was getting distracted. He clears his throat and he proceeds, "Just like in every lesson, we start with C". 

He adjusts your index finger to pin the second string on the first fret. He does the same with your middle and ring finger, stationing them on the second fret of the fourth string and the third fret of the fifth string respectively. His loitering fingers aid in pushing down the strings as he's aware that you're probably not pressing down hard enough. It also helped restrain any movements that may disrupt the sound when plucked. You, on the other hand, verbalized a protest. 

“Hey, that hurts," you hissed as you tried to lift your finger off. Even just slightly. But Scara wouldn't let you. He remains unfazed, unbothered by the fact that your fingers are possibly bruising underneath his. “It’s supposed to idiot, it's your first time,” Scara rolls his eyes and his resolve to keep your finger position doesn't falter. 

You'll definitely punch him after this. 

“Now strum,” he instructs and you've got half the mind to not follow through. Curse your curiosity though, washing away each and every one of your senses, dulling them and allowing it to control your other hand to strum the strings. It made a tune, not akin to those voice cracks of teenagers going through puberty or screeching bats when viciously searching for their next meal. It was a pleasant melody, a fine sound that signifies a correct mark. Scara smiles, watching in delight how taken aback you looked. "Good. Next chord," he was ready to shift the position of your fingers once more. Your fingers wouldn't budge though. You've reached your limit.

You've certainly had enough. 

Your heart's been racing since the beginning and you were sure you won't be able to take it anymore. Not with him being this close. You catch a whiff of his perfume, a woody fragrance with a base of leather that never fails to drive you insane. You want to smash your head against the wall so badly.

You despised being near him. It was a danger to your well-being.

Because all you can feel is the warmth of his body traveling to yours, enclosing around you and morphing into the oxygen that you so desperately need to survive.

"This is stupid", you scoffed before he could move your fingers. Scara tilts his head in your direction. Oh? Were you going to object to him again? How cute. He chuckles and raises his brow, “What is?” 

“Your way of teaching.” With a groan, you go back to your squirming strategy to try and break loose from his predatorial hold, “Can't we do this without being an inch away from each other?” 

Scara merely laughs at you. ‘Why? Does the closeness bother you?" he teases. He would get closer to you if he could, but there's literally no more space left between you and him. So he opts to angle his lips adjacent to your neck and let out a drag of air. His breath brushes against your skin, parallel to a gentle caress from a lover. He was so sure he just heard your breathing hitch. Adorable.

“Is this better?” he smirks, heaving a drawn-out breath once more. You shake your head and writhe, flailing your arms wildly in a fit of fulmination. Scara can't help but grin at your antics. He doesn't back down, reinforcing his hold over you. He won’t let go. I mean, why would he? When you fit perfectly in his arms?  

Your scuffle abated for a second and he caught the way your face turned into a stunning shade of red. “Aw, you're even blushing for me," he remarks, prompting you to resume your thrashing.

“Of course not! Why would I be!?” 

Scara chuckles, his gaze never leaving you. "Why the denial? Anyone with eyes can see how red you've gotten because of me."

You wanted to wipe that smug expression plastered on his face. He knows that. He's just reveling in the fact that you couldn't. 

He elevated his head to meet your twitching ears, ready to grace them with an assortment of breathy words bound to hit that sore spot in your heart. "There's nothing to deny you know? Not when I'm right here. Mindful and observant of how you feel towards me."

His fingers dragged from your jaw to your cheek, leaving a touch so sensual it's flabbergasting at most. He rested his hands along your cheek as he spoke with an allure that was sure to keep you on the edge, subconsciously thirsting for more. "I know you like me. You like it when we're this close," he continues, cocking your head up and exposing more of that tempting throat of yours. Not that he can see it from his point of view, but from the front? It would certainly be a sensual sight that would drive every inch of his self-control onto the edge of a cliff. 

"I don't mind it though. I don't mind watching your pathetic descent into the abyss of my heart," he chuckles, hands falling towards your lips. It was quite the contrast, his rough fingers kneading against your soft and plump lips. 

"So just fall for me, yeah?" his thumb rubs your upper lip in a circular motion. Honestly, he's tempted to shove his finger in your mouth. He wants to hear your feeble whines as he occasionally toys with your tongue, your erotic whimpers that deluges his entire sensibility. But he doesn't. At least not now.

"I'll be sure to catch you"

[avastrasposts]

Memories made, memories lost

Plot: Before Pero Tovar and his friend William Garin set out in search of black powder, he found himself doing something he never thought he would - falling in love. But what waits for him as he returns from his adventure after all this time?

Mercenary!Pero x female reader

Warnings: Angst and grief, loss of virginity (it's all consensual and it's not the main trope of the fic), explicit smut. No use of y/n, the reader is pretty much a blank slate.

Word count: 7.9k

This is written for @burntheedges Roll-A-Trope Wiriting Challenge where I requested a trope for Pero Tovar and got Amnesia A big thank you to @i-own-loki for the lovely banner! What would I do without my Canva Pro friends!?

Marriage was not something that was ever on the cards for Pero Tovar. 

He left his hometown while he was still a young boy, and after that he never stayed long enough in one place to put down roots. Let alone find a woman who would want to throw her lot in with a mostly penniless mercenary soldier who relied on powerful lords always finding a new enemy to fight. Who would want a scarred battle dog with a permanent scowl and dangerous look to his appearance? And even if someone did, how could he care for a wife? A family? He moved from town to town, from country to country, seldom returning to the same place twice unless the pay was very good. 

But then, one autumn in southern England, when the fighting season was over and the mud was too thick for both men and horses to march in, something changed. He was no longer young but in his fighting prime, hardened, and hard, by years of fighting other men’s wars. He had no other plans than to spend the winter in this small English town with his friend William Garin, wait for spring and the call to arms for another war or rebellion or crusade. He was going to fill his belly, hone his weapons, train the younger men and spend his evenings with a whore or two, and that was it. 

Marriage was not on the cards. 

But fate wanted a different path for him. And you quite literally fell into his arms as you tumbled from your horse on the outskirts of the small town. 

“Curse that nag!” you yelled crossly, struggling to free yourself from his strong grip, “let go, I can stand on my own legs!” You pushed at his chest as the dark haired man let go of your waist, stepping back with a chuckle. 

“And what fine legs they are,” he said, his grin wide.  

You sneered at his comment, “Too fine for you either way.” 

You glared at him as you brushed your dress, “I should thank you, I guess. You saved me from a much greater fall, that stupid mare is spooked by the smallest twig and throws me twice a week at least.” 

With a sigh you looked at your horse who’d decided that the twig wasn’t an immediate threat and had begun to graze the last of the summer grass just a little while down the country lane. 

“If that’s the case, you best go and claim your horse before she decides one of farmer Ned’s cows has fangs and means to eat her,” Pero chuckled. He liked your spirit, and the way your eyes blazed as you glanced at him. 

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” you said with a shake of your head, “I best be off, thank you again, sir.”

Tovar gave a small nod and crooked smile at your retreating back. 

Later that evening, as he’d eaten and gone back to the room he shared with William, he wondered why the chance meeting on the country lane wouldn’t leave his head. He felt as if he might’ve been bewitched, one moment walking down the country lane on his way out to the smithy for a repair of his armour, the next he had a woman in his arms as her bay horse bolted down the road. You’d smelled of apples, a rich, sweet scent clinging to your hair as it brushed over his face when you both landed in the dust. The soft yield of your flesh under the rough linen dress, it was as if he’d put his hands on the softest down pillow, he’d wanted to grab hold of it and not let go. 

As you rushed away from him, scolding your skittish horse, he’d watched the way your hips swayed with each step, bright hair bouncing with frustration. You gripped the horse’s bridle and pulled it around, even at a distance he could see the way your nose crinkled in annoyance as you berated the poor animal. When your anger trickled out as quickly as it flared up, your face softened and you gently stroked the animal’s nose, giving its neck a pat before swinging yourself up into the saddle again. You caught him staring and gave him a quick smile, before turning again and nudging the horse into a slow trot. 

He’d made his way to the smithy and then back to the rooms he and William had rented for the winter. And when he laid down on his bed, the vision of you filled his head, soft curves, sweet smile, quick temper and a sharp tongue. He would very much like to see you again, be that close to you again.   

The next day was a Sunday and he joined William at the church for mass with the rest of the village. He let the familiar Latin incantations wash over him, the rituals the same here as in his hometown as it was in every other town he’d ever visited, irrespective of the country or the ruler. The power radiated from Rome and although the churches looked different, the rituals were the same and it brought a strange, albeit dull, comfort to him. 

When mass was over the congregation filtered out of the church, slow in leaving, catching up with neighbours and sharing gossip. Pero tried to scan the crowd surreptitiously but William caught his wandering eye. 

“Who are you looking for? The mysterious horse woman?” he asked, looking around at the villagers and the mercenaries who were wintering here just as they were. Pero had told him of the encounter, not being able to hide how you’d remained on his mind as he returned to the rooms. 

“I don’t remember seeing her here before,” Pero replied, trying to appear unphased, uncaring, as he continued to scan the open space in front of the church, but without success. When he couldn’t see her, he followed William back to their lodgings. The Lord’s day should be spent in rest and was not wise to anger the local priest. 

But Pero found himself too restless to sit still, fiddling with a troublesome chainmail. He left William to it and ventured outside instead, vying to find a secluded spot in the woods to get some practice in without being scolded by someone spotting him working on a Sunday. 

The autumn forest was golden, the air crisp and clear as the sky stretched endlessly blue above the trees as Pero wandered further in than he meant to. It felt good to be away from people, from the crowded town and the small rooms he shares with William. 

The clank of metal on wood reached his ears and he furrowed his brows, no one would be out here felling trees on a Sunday unless there was some strange business. He moved silently through the underbrush towards the sound, and came upon a clearing, drawing breath at the sight in front of him. You had stripped down to just your slip and a pair of men’s breeches, your arms bare and glistening with sweat as you raised the heavy sword and parried an imagined attack, and hit the thick beech trunk. The sword lodged in the wood and with a grunt you pulled it free, backing up a few steps and repeating the exercise. 

Pero watched you for a few minutes, your technique was good, someone has clearly taught you the basics, but the sword was too heavy for you. 

“You have some skills with that sword, señorita,” he called, just as you dropped your arm, letting the sword hang by your side as you took a deep breath. 

His voice made you jump and swing around, the sword quickly raised. 

“Do not worry, I mean you no harm,” he said, walking towards you with both his arms raised, “We’ve met before, with your troublesome mare.” 

“I remember,” you answered, the tone of your voice betraying your wariness as his sudden appearance, “What are you doing here?” 

“The same as you, señorita, I think,” he replied, “seeking a place away from unwelcome eyes to hone my skill on a Sunday.” 

Unclipping his cloak and satchel and placing them on a log near the edge of the clearing, he then turned and nodded at the sword in your hand. 

“You have some skill, but the sword is too heavy for you.” 

“What do you care?” you snapped at him, the sword still lifted as he approached. 

“I train the younger soldiers, when a sword is too heavy for the user, the technique suffers. And I hate to see a bad swordsman. Or woman.” 

With a fluid movement he pulled both of his swords from his back, the left one spinning in his hand, the handle held out towards you. 

“Let me show you, borrow my sword, it’s more lightweight.”

You regarded him with suspicion, not lowering your own sword. 

“Why do you want to help me?” 

“Why do I want to help a woman become a better fighter?” he countered, still holding out the sword to you, “Because those without swords can still die upon them. I learned that a long time ago. So better the women know how to fight too.” 

You regarded him with caution, the dark haired, dark eyed man with a strange accent and a menacing scar across his eye. But something in his face, the way he looked at you with a cocked eyebrow, encouraging you to take the sword he was still holding out to you, made your trepidation waver. Slowly you sheathed your own sword, and grabbed the handle of his. He gave you a crooked smile and a quick nod. 

“Good. Now show me what you can do.” 

With a quick movement he brought up his own sword and attacked, and you just about parried in time, the two swords ringing out through the empty forest as they met. 

Marriage was not something that was ever on the cards for him. But sometimes fate wills it differently. 

And before that Sunday afternoon in the forest, you’d never considered marrying someone either. At least not for any other reason than your father telling you that a man was needed to run the farm when he was gone. But the dark haired Spaniard with the scowling face, menacing and imposing, he was the one who made you see that marrying didn’t mean settling for one of the local boys. 

His dark eyes glittered with mischief as he taunted your sword skills, easily smacking your arm with the flat side of his blade as you failed to anticipate his next move in the early days of your training. But it was the way he smiled with pride when you managed to disarm him and put your blade to his neck, that smile made your heart melt. He was proud of you for a skill any other man you knew would shame you for, even attempt to lock you up for. It was like taking a deep breath of air for the first time, the way he treated you like an equal in a way no ever had before. 

It was mesmerising how a hardened soldier with such a menacing scowl could transform into the most handsome man you’d ever seen. It stunned you, and locked you in place, the first time you stood toe to toe with him, his back against a thick oak, your sword resting against his neck. Surprise flashed across his face first, then he smiled, his eyes shifting from the hard concentration of battle to soft warmth as his lips pulled up in a proud grin. 

“I knew there was a warrior in you,” he said, holding his sword arm up in defeat as you pulled the blade away from his neck, “with my training, you’ll beat almost any man.” 

“Almost any man?” you replied, your eyebrows lifting as you moved your hand and rested the blade against his neck again. 

Pero chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he looked down on you, glancing down his sharp nose as you made him tilt his head back again. 

“Any man, guerrera,” he smiled and again the pride in his voice made warmth and elation shoot through your body. 

Sweat was dripping from his forehead, you could feel the heat of him against you, the rise and fall of his chest, your own short breaths against him as an errant drop slipped over his lips and his tongue came out to catch it. Your eyes drifted to the pink tip as he licked his bottom lip, watching it disappear into his mouth again. When you looked up, his smile was gone, replaced by something more hungry, his eyes darker as they seemed to study your face. There was no need for you to be so close to him still, the fight over. But as he brought his hand up and carefully pushed your sword away from his neck, you only let your hand drop, not stepping back. You felt rooted to the spot with his eyes on you, the warmth of his body like a magnet to your own. 

“Señorita…” he almost growled, a half whisper from the back of his throat, as he slowly leaned closer, his eyes moving to your lips before his gaze fell on you again. Dark and warm, it was like being pulled in by the last of the dying embers of a fire. Pero glowed and burned hot under your palm as you put your hands on his neck and pulled him to you, your sword falling to the floor of the forest with a soft clatter. 

He wouldn’t let you go, and you clung to him just as eagerly, the dry leaves rustling as you pulled him down, he rolled you over, caging you in under his strong arms.

“Señorita…” he growled again, it was all he could press out before your lips found his, soft, pliant and sweeter than anything he’d ever tasted, addictive in the way they felt against his mouth, his jaw, his cheeks as you found new places to kiss him, your fingers winding through his hair, keeping him locked in place against your lips, taking as much as you wanted from him and he never once stopped you. 

He was lost. So utterly lost. And he’d never felt more at home. 

You plucked last year’s leaves from your hair and cloak all the way home that day. Pero followed you to the edge of the forest as always. But this time you pulled him behind a tree and made him press his hard body against you, pinning you against the trunk. The way he groaned into your kisses made your body heat up, your need for him growing with every slow roll of his hips, hands roaming to feel as much of him as you could, his hands kneading your hips and caressing your curves.

If your lips were swollen and your hair dishevelled, your father said nothing of it when you came home. When Pero came by one Sunday after church and asked permission to marry his daughter, he wasn’t surprised. 

There had been no war or rebellion to pull Pero away from you that year. William left, serviced under a local lord, but Pero stayed and put what little money he had left into buying the small farm next to your father’s. When the time came, the two could be merged and provide a good life for the two of you and any children that followed. When the small cottage was his by law, only then did he go to your father, who said yes without hesitation to the large Spaniard. 

“As if I could deny you the man you’ve clearly set your eyes on, even if he wasn’t a great, big hulking warrior,” your father had said later that same night after Pero had left, “With him in your house, I know you’ll be safer than with me. And if you truly love him too, well then I have no objections.” 

“I really do love him, with all his scowls and menacing looks, he is a very good man underneath it all, father.” 

There had been strange looks from the villagers, but that had hardly mattered. You’d always gone your own way, and marrying a dark haired outsider with a thick accent seemed to be something that the gossiping wives had expected of you. Either way, when you exchanged your vows outside the church on the intended day, you were surrounded by smiling faces, the old priest beaming down at you as you entered the church with Pero by your side to be blessed by by God.  

The feast lasted most of the day but by the late afternoon, you both left your father’s farm and was escorted by the priest, William and a few other villagers, to your new home, the cottage that Pero had worked so hard to turn into a home for you both. His first home since he left the place he was born, and now the place where he intended to live out the rest of his life as a happy man. When the marital bed had been blessed too, Pero closed the door to the cottage and you were alone as husband and wife for the first time. 

“Come here, husband,” you smiled at him as he turned back from the door. You didn’t need to beckon him, nothing would keep him away from you tonight, but you liked the sound of his new title - husband.

“Mi esposa,” he grinned as he crowded you against the sturdy oak bed he’d built with the aid of the local carpenter, “my wife, finally.” 

His eyes went soft, his mischievous grin replaced by a tender look as he cupped your face with his warm palms, “Never in my life did I think I’d call someone ‘my wife’, I never thought this was the way my life would be, and then I found you,” he ran his thumbs over your cheeks, leaning his forehead against yours as your breaths mingled, ”Te amo, mi amor,” he whispered. 

“I love you too, Pero,” you whispered back, your fingers finding his soft curls as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Gently he pushed you backwards, making you lay down on the bed, your bed, as he moved to cage you in under his arms and wide shoulders. Many training sessions in the forest had ended this way, time slipping away as you kissed each other breathless, but it had never gone further. You’d feel the thick weight of him pressed against your thighs, felt how he sometimes rolled his hips to seek a brief relief, but he'd always pull back.

“Amor, I won’t take you on the forest floor,” he’d muttered when you asked him to stop caring so much about your virtue, “I want you in a bed, our bed, when I’m your husband and you’re my wife.”

Now here you were, in your bed, and you called him husband as he slowly removed all your layers, caressing every sliver of skin that was revealed to him. He pressed kisses to your soft breasts, moaning as he felt them pebble under his touch, his strong nose trailed across the downy hairs of your belly, and when you giggled at the way his beard tickled, he nipped at the warm skin of your thighs. The thick slide of his tongue through your heated centre made you arch your back and gasp, your fingers scrambling for purchase in his hair. You could hear him chuckle against you, the tip of his nose circling the epicentre of your pleasure, he seemed to know this part of your body better than yourself and he soon had you moaning his name as you fought to catch your breath. 

When he had you drenched and dripping, he rested his head on your soft thigh and tapped your leg. 

“Amor, look at me,” he invited. Through half closed lids, clouded with pleasure, you watched him slide a finger through your liquid, coating it before he slowly pushed in. It slipped in easily, and when he curled it, caressing your insides, your eyes fell closed of their own volition. Suddenly you wanted more, more of his fingers, more of him and you whined, your hips rolling over his finger. 

“Please, Pero…” you whimpered, your voice hoarse and pleading. 

“What do you want, esposa,” he asked as he moved his finger gently back and forth, making you gasp again. 

“More…I think…more…” you mumbled and Pero smiled. Seeing you fall apart for him, slowly showing you how good he could make you feel, how he intended to spend every long winter evening, it filled him with a happiness he’d never felt before. It was like a hot burning fire inside his chest and it would keep him warm when he had to leave, he knew these memories would be the ones he returned to on long cold nights alone. 

“More?” he asked, “I can give you more, amor.” 

The smile in his voice made you look up at him as he moved to lie at your side, putting his arm under your shoulders and finding your lips with his own. As his tongue slipped inside your mouth, he gently pushed a second finger into your heat. He felt you arch up against him, whimpering into his mouth, your fingers digging into his arms as he slid his own in and out, setting your body on fire with every slow drag. 

He moved so slowly, it was like your body was turning into molten metal, heat flowed through you, all coming from where Pero’s fingers sunk into you. Your hips rolled of their own accord, your core clenching hard around him and a tension was building up inside you. But just as you felt as if you were about to snap, like a thread pulled too tight, Pero slipped his fingers from you and caressed your side, his hand leaving a sticky trail on your skin.

“Amor,” he mumbled, moving over your body so that he once again was caging you in, his warm, dark eyes glowing as he looked down at you, “Amor, I’m going to enter you now, tell me to stop if it hurts, you are so tight.”

You nodded and made room for him between your legs, you knew this might hurt, you’d heard the wives talk and the gossip. But no one had ever mentioned it feeling this good to be with a man, this aching need to be filled up by him. It had you panting with impatience, your core clenching around the emptiness left behind by his fingers. 

Pero kept his eyes locked on you as he coated himself with your silky liquid and lined himself up. Your brows furrowed as he pushed the thick head inside, and he dropped his forehead to yours, taking a deep breath. 

“Does it hurt?” he whispered, slowly rocking himself back and forth, just the tip moving inside you, and you shook your head. 

“No, it was just a little tight, I want more,” you replied, spreading your legs wider for him. He reached down and hooked your leg over his hip. 

“Squeeze me, pull me in if you want more,” he said, gritting his teeth as he felt your contract around him, fighting the urge to push in harder, “you feel so good, amor, so good to me.” 

Your legs wrapped around his waist and Pero rocked slowly, pushing in deeper with each short thrust. His face was pinched with concentration, his mouth half open as he licked his lips. With your arms wrapped around his neck, his forehead against yours, each breath you took was his and your world shrunk down to only Pero. Only his warm body above yours, his hips heavy between your legs, driving himself into you and creating ripples of pleasure through every fibre of your being with each thrust deep inside. Your eyes wanted to close but you forced them to stay open, to see your husband as he looked at you, his eyes hazy with lust, dark and burning, every movement making him groan as your body pulled him in. The tight string started to pull taught inside you again, your body moving against Pero’s, making him pick up his pace. 

“Amor, can you feel that?” he mumbled, his forehead still resting against yours, “can you feel your body getting ready to fall?” 

You nodded, it felt like a lightning storm ready to break, just over the horizon. Tightening your grip around his waist, you pulled him in and he understood, driving himself deeper, a little bit harder into your tight core. 

“Pero…” you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders, and he grunted in response, his hand grabbing your leg and finding a new angle. 

“Amor, let me feel you come around me, give me this…” he panted, “the first time…I want it-”

Before he’d even finished you cried out under him, gripping him tight, your body trembling as the string snapped and lighting coursed through you, Pero’s thick cock driving hard into you, pushing your pleasure higher as he gasped and grunted. With a cry he broke, a loud groan, and he spilled himself inside, your legs like a vice around his waist as he rocked himself deeper. 

He was heavy on top of you, the warm sweat of his torso gliding against your own chest as you buried your face against his neck and took long, deep breaths. 

“Pero…my love…” you whispered softly into his ear, his wet kiss against your own neck was his exhausted response as he slowly came down from his high. Your arms were still wrapped tight around him, as were your legs, locking him in place. Not that he wanted to leave, he would stay here, in this bed, between your legs, until moss grew on him like an old boulder that no farmer could move. 

He was home. 

Endless miles stretched out behind them, thousands if they cared to count them. Pero did not. All he could see was the white cliffs in front of the ship, like a beacon, a sign that their long journey was finally coming to an end. 

They returned, not as poor as they’d set out, but not as rich as they thought they’d be, but the only thing that mattered to Pero was that he was returning. He’d fought with his friend, felt betrayed by him, even abandoned him in the end, so strong was his need to return home. It had almost cost him his life, caught by the very army he was trying to escape as he left William behind, brought back and then thrown in chains. He thought he’d die there, locked up in a dungeon, never seeing you again. 

It burned in his chest as the chains gnawed at his wrists, to never see you again, to leave you behind in this world without a word. He could see your face as he closed his eyes, conjured it up in his mind and remembered the tears clinging to your lashes as he pulled back one final time and turned for his horse. Riches or not, he was a damn fool for leaving you, he should’ve been content with what he had. 

In the end it was only by the grace of God, or maybe by William’s good heart, that he’d been freed by the very friend he’d betrayed and allowed to leave and make the long journey home. 

Now he stood on solid ground again, readying his horse for the final stretch home. 

Home. 

A word he’d never thought he’d be able to say and for it to mean something worth fighting for. A woman he loved. A house where he could keep her warm and protected. A place to raise a family. 

Home. He was going home. He knew he never should’ve left. 

The last ride was easy and he drove his horse fast, the afternoon barely past its prime as he saw the cottage at the end of the path, tucked in among the heavy oak trees. It looked well kept, but the door was shut tight and no animals roamed around the yard. 

“Mi amor!” he called, spurring his horse on for the last few yards, “Mi amor!” he called again as he swung himself from the saddle. 

But the door was shut tight and wouldn’t budge and a lap around the small house showed him that it was indeed as empty as it looked. He mounted his horse again, not yet uneasy, and set a fast pace down the lane, towards your father’s farm a mile through the forest. 

Here there was life at least, chickens in the yard, a dog pulling on its leash and the door open. Again he swung himself from the saddle, throwing the reins around the gate post and striding forward. 

“Stay back!”

Your sword was raised. Your sword? No, his sword, the one he’d left with you. Held up by you now, threatening him to not take another step forward. 

“Mi amor, it’s me, Pero,” he smiled, spreading his arms wide and taking long strides to you, wanting nothing more than to pull you into his arms and feel your soft body melt against his after so many months. 

“Stay back!” you snarled, taking a step back and settling into the fighting stance he’d taught you and Pero floundered, stopping in his tracks. 

“Amor…Have I changed that much? Don’t you know your husband?” 

“I don’t have a husband,” you replied, your sword still raised, “Now, leave before I set the dogs on you!”

Pero felt a cold dread rise in his chest, confusion clouding his mind, he didn’t understand why you didn’t know him and he dropped his arms, his face a pained mask. 

“Mi amor, it’s me, I left a year ago on a foolish mission, you were my wife when I left and I have fought so hard all this time to get back to you and…” he trailed off as your eyes showed no recognition, no flash of relief. Just a hard stare at him. 

“Tovar!” 

A voice called out, an elderly man coming around the corner of the cottage, his white hair in tufts around his ears and neck and his face concerned. 

“Tovar, it’s good to see you safe after all this time, my boy!” 

The man forced a pained smile at Pero before he reached you. 

“Daughter, lower your sword, he is a friend, he just hadn’t been past here in some time,” the old man put his hand on your arm and gently made you lower the sword, “Go inside and make sure the stew is not burning, I will speak with Tovar and join you shortly.” 

Pero looked on in confusion as you sheathed the sword, smiled at your father and turned back into the cottage. 

“John, tell me what’s going on, why does my wife not know me?” 

“Come with me,” he replied and gestured towards the edge of the farm yard, the low stone wall serving as a seat as he sank down. Pero remained standing, glancing back at the cottage. Part of him wanted to storm into the cottage and grab you, shake you and make you see him, see him, your husband. But John’s hand landed on his arm and pulled his attention back to the old man. 

“It began not long after you and William left, her memories have been slowly going and neither the priest nor the physician know why or what caused it.” 

“What do you mean, her memories are going? She doesn’t know me?” Pero gripped the handle of his sword, not a threat, just a comfort, to hold on to something familiar as he rubbed his thumb over the pommel, “I am her husband, she loves me, how can she forget me?” 

“I don’t know, Pero,” John sighed, rubbing his weathered hand over his face as he shook his head, “she just doesn’t. And it’s not just you, she seems to forget most new things from one day to the next, a new neighbour, the cow giving birth to a new calf, selling a few of the chickens, she just forgets,” he looked over at the cottage where a thin tendril of smoke rose slowly from the short chimney, “She remembers her childhood, her brother and mother dying, after that it all becomes hazy.”

John looked up at Pero again and Pero could see the toll the past year had taken on his father-in-law as pain flashed across his face, his usually bright eyes sunken and dark. 

“I’m sorry, son, she doesn’t even remember meeting you, nothing of your life together, and not you leaving.” 

It hits him like a dagger to the chest, piercing in its pain and wrenching his chest open; he left, she begged him not to, but he left and this is his punishment. Her mind is protecting her from the pain he caused. With a groan he turns around, sinking down on the wall, his head buried in his hands, it feels as if his throat is closing up, a sob tearing its way up, like broken glass cutting him open. 

“I left her,” he groaned, choking around his words, “She begged me not to go, that last night before I left, and I thought I had to and left her anyway. I broke her heart and this is my punishment, her mind has removed me from her so she doesn’t have to live with my betrayal.” 

“Son…” John said, his voice choking too, but he put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder, “We do not know the will of the Lord, you did what you thought was best.” 

The hand on Pero’s shoulder burned like fire, guilt over taking him and he stumbled to his feet, shaking off the other man’s grip with a shrug. 

“I’ll leave, it’s for the best,” he replied, striding towards his horse without looking back, his jaw tight around his words, “Take care of her for me.” 

“Tovar, wait,” John called after him and hurried to his feet. He grabbed the reins of the horse just as Pero swung himself into the saddle, “She loves you, still. I know she does, she just needs to remember you.” 

“Remember how I broke her heart and left her? What kind of a husband was I? No,” Pero shook his head and gathered the reins, making John let go of them, “Let her have a good life without me.” 

The door of the cottage creaked as he spoke the last words, making him look up towards it. You were standing in the opening, an empty water bucket in your hand, your eyes on him. 

“Are you really my husband?” you asked, glancing over at your father, but finding Pero’s eyes again. Pero felt his throat close up again as he saw the way you looked at him, a complete stranger, not a trace of recognition. 

He just nodded in response, not trusting his voice. 

“He is, my dear,” John replied in his stead,  “Do you remember me telling you about him when your mind first started to go?” 

You shook your head at that, your eyes still on Pero. 

“I’m leaving,” he said, a deep furrow in his brow as he ruefully shook his head, “I caused you both enough hurt.” He nudged his horse to turn around, walking it through the gate and out onto the road, avoiding John’s look of pity.  

“Wait!” 

The call came just as he was about to spur his horse on, away from your empty stare. 

“Wait,” you called, hurrying after him, stopping as he halted his horse and turned in the saddle. You came up to stand by its neck, looking up at him, “Stay at least the night, I…I know I lost so many memories, but...if you’re my husband then you should stay, maybe something will come back.” 

“No,” he shook his head, looking away from you and down the road, “I caused too much harm, I don’t want you to have to relive the pain I caused you.” 

“Please, my life has been cut in half, I can’t remember it, but I know something big is missing. I will gladly take the pain again if I can have the rest of my life back,” you put your hand on his horse’s neck, tilting your face up to him as you waited for his reply, “Please.” 

He couldn’t resist looking down at you and he felt his resolve weaken as your eyes met his. Such a familiar face, the one he loved so deeply. The colour of your eyes was seared into his mind, the small imperfections on your cheeks that he’d mapped with his lips so many nights, the shape of your perfect nose that he’d traced with his calloused fingers when you complained that it was all wrong. So many long, cold nights, picturing this face in his mind’s eye as he tried to do what he thought was right, the desperate moments when he thought he wasn’t coming back to you at all. Facing monsters from nightmares in overwhelming numbers, even as he fought for his life, this face was floating before him. You were the one he was fighting so hard to get home to. 

Now you were looking back at him, pleading with him, and he knew he had no choice. The last time he denied your request, he’d almost lost his life and you’d lost your memories of him. He would stay. The pain he would feel at seeing you look at him like a stranger would be a small price to pay compared to the pain he’d put you through with his greed and stubbornness. 

He gave you a nod, a short movement of his head as you held his gaze. He searched in vain for a glimmer of recognition, a flash of the woman you were before he left, but there was nothing. Just a small, uncertain smile as you dropped your hand from his horse’s neck and took a few steps back. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled, glancing back at your father, “my father will be glad to have you with us too, he’s probably tried to make me remember you so many times.” 

Pero slid off the back of his horse and took hold of the reins as he turned to you. His rough fingernails dug into the palm of his hand as he clenched his fist, the familiar scent of your skin washing over him as he got closer. He could feel every bone in his body aching to reach out and pull you into his arm, bury his nose in the soft skin of your neck and breathe you in, feel your hands on him again. He could feel himself torn in two; the urge to bolt when you took a step back from him, the need to stay near and never leave again. 

“Amor…” he mumbled, tearing his eyes away from you as you took another step back, the pain and emotion plain on his face. 

“I’m…I’m sorry…” you whispered, “I don’t know what that means…” 

For a few moments you looked at him as he refused to meet your eyes again, his gaze wavering as his hand closed around the reins of his horse. His knuckles were pulled taught, the tension in his still form clear, and you took another step back. 

“Please, put your horse away and I’ll heat up water for you to wash. Father said you’ve travelled far, you must be weary. There's good stew cooking too,” you raised your hand and gently put it on the neck of his horse, “Come, please.” 

He followed you into the house once he’d put the horse away, your father leaving to bring the small herd of cows in for the evening. Water was heating over the fire and you mixed it with the cooler water from the barrel as Pero stepped over the threshold with his heavy saddle bags by his side. 

“You live with your father now,” he said, a statement rather than a question, but you nodded, wiping your hands and turning to the stew pot. 

“Yes, well, I don’t remember living anywhere else but he tells me the cottage down the road is where I lived before…” you trailed off, putting your hand to your temple as your brow furrowed, screwing up your eyes as if trying to search for a memory. Pero shifted by the door and you turned to him with a surprised look on your face. 

“I-I guess…that’s where we lived?” you asked and a look of anguish flashed across his face. 

“Yes….yes, we lived there,” he replied, still holding his heavy bags, looking like he was almost on the verge of leaving again. “We moved there on our wedding day and I… Do you ever visit it now?” 

You shook your head but hesitated, “Never…but maybe I have been back, but I forget from one day to the next, I know it’s there but if I see it now, it’s like I see it for the first time.” 

Pero dropped his bags on the floor and rubbed his hand over his face, his shoulders slumped as if under a tremendous weight. 

“Amor…” he said to the floor before looking up at you again, “I don’t know if I can do this. We lived there, you and me, they were the happiest days of my wretched life, and now it’s all been taken from us. You look at me like a stranger and I can’t stand it.” 

You didn’t know what to say, the man in front of you was a stranger, nothing in his voice or face was familiar. The only reason you asked him to stay was your father telling you he was your husband, and that feeling in your chest of something missing, that empty space in your mind, a big piece of your life’s memories missing. 

“I’m sorry…” you said again, but he shook his head. 

“Don’t. It’s my fault, I did this to you. And I’m staying until you tell me to leave.” 

“I might not remember you in the morning,” you said, “I often forget meeting new people.” 

New people

It cut through him like the sharpest blade. He’s ‘new people’ to you now, not your husband, or even a friend. Just a stranger in your house. 

He nodded at the large bowl that you’d filled with water, “I’ll get cleaned up now, do you want me to go outside?” 

The cottage was familiar, he’d spent much time here before the wedding, and not much had changed in the year he’d been gone. It had only two rooms, and he presumed you were sleeping in the bed nook against the back wall, your father in the other room. The small cottage didn’t hold much space for privacy. 

You shook your head and turned back to the fire, “I’ll keep my back turned, I need to watch the stew.” 

He stared at you for a beat, the achingly familiar shape of your shoulders, your hips and the way you cocked one out to the side as you leaned forward over the large pot. How many times hadn’t he come up behind you, run his hands over your soft shapes, pushed your hair to the side and pressed kisses to your neck as you giggled at the way his beard tickled your skin. Now you stood with your back to him to not see as he pulled off his clothes, something you’d done to him almost every night. Unlaced his shirt, pulled it from his breeches and caressed his skin with your soft hands. 

The dirty shirt dropped to the floor with a soft sound and you heard him wring the washcloth as you added the last of the herbs to the stew. You couldn’t help yourself, you glanced over your shoulder and stole a look at him. He was a stranger, but supposedly your husband, and either way, he was handsome. Under that layer of grime and sweat, he was a striking man, unlike any you’d ever seen. Or, at least, unlike anyone your mind would let you remember. So you glanced back at him and was struck almost dumb by the sight. Broad shoulders, a muscular back tapering into narrow hips where his breeches hung low as he rubbed the washcloth over his abdomen. 

The back of his neck was tanned golden, his back lighter and marred by a long scar that shone bright in the dim light. It looked like a painful injury, old and long since healed over, and you wondered if he’d ever told you what had happened to him. Had you run your fingers over as he told you the story? You realised you must’ve spent countless nights next to this man in your marital bed, his hands on you, your hands on him. This man, this stranger in your father’s house, would know you better than anyone else, every inch of your body and your most intimate secrets. 

As if he could sense your eyes on him, he glanced back over his shoulder and met your eyes, and he seemed to hold his breath for a moment. Then he turned fully to face you, the washcloth forgotten in his hand. 

“Amor…” he whispered and you bit back a sudden sob. His eyes were so hopeful, you wanted nothing more than to remember him, to have all the memories of him flood back into your mind as he dropped the washcloth and took two quick steps across the floor. 

“I don’t remember,” you sobbed as his arms wrapped around you, “I don’t remember anything about you.” 

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t let you go. Instead he let you sob against his chest, holding you close as he rested his chin on your head. His heart was beating wildly, thrumming so hard you could hear it as you pressed your cheek against him, and even though he was a stranger, his arms felt safe around you, the scent of his skin comforting and soothing. 

With a small movement he rubbed your back, slowly up and down, “It will come back, amor, it will. And if it doesn’t, I will make you fall in love with me again and tell you about all the memories we have.” 

You nodded against his chest, your sobs subsiding, but you didn’t pull away from him, and he didn’t let his arms drop. He held you just as tight, reluctant to give up the feeling of having you in his arms again after all he endured to get back to you. 

“Although…I’m still not sure how I made a woman like you fall in love with a reckless mercenary like me, how will I manage that again?” he said, a small smile to his voice and you looked up at him. He’d lifted his chin from your head and was looking at you with a sad smile, tears clinging to his dark lashes. 

“Promise me you’ll try,” you said, your voice low and broken. 

“Every day for the rest of my life, amor,” he whispered, “I will make you fall in love with me again and then we can make all those memories one more time.” 

A/N - I hope you enjoyed this bitter sweet little story! Bonus points to anyone who caught the LotR reference :)

Tagging some of my fellow Pero lovers:

@nerdieforpedro @din-cognito @harriedandharassed @morallyinept @inept-the-magnificent

@mysterious-moonstruck-musings @lady-bess @angiewatson @cozylittlepigeon @604to647

@survivingandenduring @for-a-longlongtime @gnpwdrnsnshine @wintersquirrel @grogusmum

[kappamairi]

The day I saw the rainbow by kappamairi

"The Crimson Claws looked like a maw with razor teeth, ready to bite the rainbow above. Reckless young dragons chased after each other, zigzagging between the highest peaks. Nothing about this landscape frightened them. They were invincible."

A concept art I painted today for my new BKDK/DKBK fantasy AU 🐉🌟I've been writing and rewriting this story since 2022, without ever achieving to finish it because it was just too ambitious and complicated for me XD The outline is done but instead of wiriting a very long fic (and never finishing it cause it's too hard), I decided instead to explore this story through drabbles💖

It features Izuku and Katsuki's complicated relationship through the years 💞Their first meeting in the Valley of the Dragons, their tulmutuous adolescence, and them finally supporting each other as warriors when they're adults ✨ Katsuki is a dragon-shifter and Izuku a magicless human. Two drabbles have already been published and beta-read by @huliganships 💓

You can follow the series and read the first two drabbles here : Your scales shine like amber - Askafroa - 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia (Anime & Manga) [Archive of Our Own]

The title of the first drabble is based on the beautiful chant of Princess Lily (one of the main characters of the movie "Legend" by Ridley Scott) : https://youtu.be/AHPW9MRGxdo?si=mby_-HLiT-OSL3l3

Have a good day folks ✨

💌 Tip Jar 💌

[marimbles]

thank u for your takes on the s5 finale. sometimes it genuinely feels like im going crazy when i watch people talk about it being a good wiriting choice… the whole “be nice about everything that happens on screen or shut up” culture that the fandom has cultivated is genuinely becoming a problem imo

I totally feel that. which is part of why I choose to post about it on main sometimes, even though I really don’t want to ruin other people’s enjoyment in the fandom. I might joke about being a hater, but I have been on the other side of this many, many times where I’m just having a good time my favorite cartoon and salters come in and sour my mood with their relentless negativity. So I don’t want to be like that for someone else! But the thing is, as much as I don’t want to rain on people’s parades, MY parade has been rained on, and I have a sneaking suspicion that that is also the case for a lot of people in the fandom who are staying quiet out of a similar hesitation.

if you’re a long-time fan, of course you don’t wanna be a vibe killer, and you definitely don’t want to be seen as a Salter™️ by the rest of the fandom, especially if you historically have been a person who focuses on the positive. But I hope that this fandom is reasonable and open enough to make room for good-faith criticism. Fandom is a community, and I feel like an essential part of a thriving, healthy community is the joint ability to share and engage with opposing perspectives in a respectful way—while recognizing and holding onto the thing that brought you together in the first place.

I think it’s also important not to make unfair assumptions. Lots of the people who currently have mixed or negative feelings about s5 love ML just as much as the people who have positive feelings—in fact, their feelings might be negative because they love ML so much, and the current story direction feels like a disconnect for them. There are also lots of smart, passionate, media-literate people with varying responses to the finale. We have different logical approaches to similar issues. We have different emotional responses. We have different interests and expectations and perspectives and ideas. That’s okay!

I’ll probably share more about my problems with the currently writing direction, but I’ll be sure to tag appropriately so people can filter if they want to. (Staying in your lane is generally a helpful and valid approach if you don’t want to interact with an opposing viewpoint lol.) I’ll also be blocking/filtering where needed, withdrawing when needed, and trying to stay as respectful as I can. For now, I also plan to keep watching, creating, and enjoying what I find to enjoy in the ml fandom. For me, there is space for both enjoyment and criticism in the way I engage with my interests. So this is not going to become a miraculous salt blog lol (although I might come off as salty sometimes because i’m just a dumb little guy with a lot of strong feelings about children’s cartoons and the emotions overtake me sometimes!!). I still want to contribute to the fandom in a positive way, but I also want to be able to speak critically where I see fit on my own blog. Hopefully I can express my criticism in a balanced way and still have fun:)

[wikiangela]

fuck it friday

tagged by @tizniz @bidisasterbuckdiaz @honestlydarkprincess 💖💖

still on my bucktommy bs, I'll be back to buddie but i'm too obsessed with tommy/lou to think about anything else rn lol

so here's a bit of something short I'm wiriting for 7x05 from tommy's pov, idk what this is, what it's gonna be, but I wanna finish it tonight or maybe by the end of the weekend so posting it here to motivate myself and also tell me what y'all think bc the more i reread all of it the more i doubt myself lol

___

It took him some time, plus a lot of self-reflection and just taking it one step at a time, letting himself look at other men, this time consciously and sometimes deliberately, noticing how hot they are, how they make him feel. He let himself feel how they make him feel. It took a minute to stop feeling guilty and ashamed, and to rework all those internalized prejudices that had been ingrained in him his whole life.

He gave himself time, a lot of time, started with just chatting with guys on dating apps, later got the courage for some casual dates, and when he met the man who would be his first actual boyfriend, his first gay relationship, that he genuinely liked, he felt ready to pursue that. It didn’t work out then, that’s just life, but it was a good relationship, because he was ready for it. Now he feels settled and comfortable with himself, feels confident, and knows what he wants. And he wants- he wants love. He doesn’t want to put any pressure on any relationship he might start, but ultimately, that’s the goal. Love. 

He really doesn’t mind being this first to Evan. He likes Evan. He has those bright blue eyes that seem to shine their own light, and that wide, excited smile that makes it impossible not to smile back, with that adorable dimple accompanying it, that makes Tommy melt a little every time he sees it. Plus, those perfect, kissable lips he can’t wait to taste again, and the distinctive birthmark just adding to the charm. And he’s big and strong and so hot, too. And he’s just so nice, and so adorable and endearing, and he’s so easy to talk to. Tommy just wants to keep getting to know him, spend time with him, develop this relationship and see where it can go. And with any luck, maybe this one could last, could be something real.

The thing is, Tommy is ready for serious. He can take it slow, give Evan time to figure everything out, but he’d also like to know where he stands. He would never want to pressure him to come out before he’s ready, but he also knows he doesn’t want to be anyone’s dirty little secret. Been there, done that.

Still, he would be fine with keeping it just to him and Evan for now, for as long as Evan needs. But then…

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @thebravebitch @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @neverevan @weewootruck @loveyouanyway @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @spotsandsocks @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @nmcggg @rogerzsteven @giddyupbuck @sunshinediaz @underwater-ninja-13 @exhuastedpigeon @911-on-abc @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @theotherbuckley @buddieswhvre @dangerpronebuddie @diazsdimples @fortheloveofbuddie @hoodie-buck @your-catfish-friend @hippolotamus @daffi-990

[whisperwritingstuff]

in which more hfs e/l mysteriously appears from @varanere00 and myself's co-wiriting. where normal things like food and perhaps even a couple of words occur.

------

It's not until part way through the movie, The Phantom Menace this time, right before the pod racing is about to begin, that Scar recalls what had started the kitchen argument. Or rather, is reminded of it, by his stomach loudly and rudely interrupting C3PO's march onto the track with Anakin's flag. After glowering at his own tummy in disappointment for an appropriate amount of time, Scar nuzzles into Vex, who has been cuddled up next to him.

"Vexyyy, let's order food! I'm hungry!" Hotguy's voice pulls Cub from his cozy-soft movie and cuddles induced daze. Still only half present, he pulls out his phone and unlocks it, before handing it over to Hotguy.

Scar takes the phone, before his brain catches up to him and he nearly fumbles it from the sheer force of realizing that Vex just handed over his unlocked phone. The rush of power goes to Scar's head for a moment, leaving Scar blinking spots out of his vision.

Thankfully, Vex looks to have left the order from earlier partway finished, Vex's own food selected and the food app still up, cutting off any temptation to fumble around and accidentally open anything Scar shouldn't. At least, page with lots of delicious pictures has to be a food app, right?

Scar carefully studies the pictures of what Vex got, and then looks through the other options for something different. Ooooh, pancakes! With a bunch of fruit! That looks really good. Scar adds it to the cart. But. The french toast also looks good. Add. The fluffy golden scrambled eggs, and a dozen sides of bacon, add. A whole rainbow of drinks, colorful bottles promising unknown flavors with mysterious non-food names like 'cosmic blast' and 'paradise punch'. Add. And a couple of brownies to round it out!

Perfect, an ideal breakfast! Or at least as close to ideal as possible when Scar isn't the one making it. Good enough! Scar clicks order, and the whole page loads over into some kind of map-and-bar thingie. Not even any confirmation Vex had to do? Wild.

Scar pockets the phone the instant it stops holding his attention, out of habit. Harder to set his own down who knows where and lose it that way. "Thank you, Sugar Vexy~" Scar giggles, cuddling in close again.

Scar busies himself playing with Vex until breakfast’s arrival. Sure, he's played with Vex before, mostly his hands and his hair during movies, but never before has Vex been this pliant for him. This malleable. He's letting Scar chew on him, quite literally. Though Scar is very careful to not break skin again, chewing on Vex is a very satisfying experience. 10/10, would chew on again. Very delicious. Very good mouthy feel, that. Scar can almost forget he's hungry, gnawing on Vex's hand like this.

Everything is good. Good movie, good Vex, good chewing, good cuddles. Scar couldn't be happier.

Okay he could be slightly happier, but only barely.

Eventually, Vex's fingers twitch against Scar's mouth, leading Scar to look over at Vex. A struggling expression plays out across Vex's features.

"Hey, hey, what is it boy?" Scar tips his head, cupping Vex's cheek in a hand. "Shh, Shh, sugarplum. Tell me what's wrong."

Long moments tick by. "Food." Vex finally manages, voice wavery.

"Oh, already? The food is here? Nice, time me." Scar doesn't wait for an answer, flipping himself eagerly over the back of the couch and sprinting full tilt for the door. A faint thump from his catching himself on his hands on the wall beside it, and then he's darting out the door to grab the bags and slam the door shut again. Outside world? No thank you.

It's in the seconds sprinting back for the couch again that Scar realizes his foot is beginning to throb in time with his heart. Unfortunate.

But! Scar's got a speed record to beat and a Vex to return to with two comically oversized bags! So he'll just have to deal with it!

Cub's stomach drops when he hears Hotguy crash against a wall. What- Why- Is he okay? Cub’s heart races at the acrobatics Hotguy is pulling here, against... Wait. Isn't Hotguy still on medical rest? Thoughts begin to surface in the cloud-sea haze that is Cub's mind.

The bitten-off pained noise Hotguy makes in the back of his throat when he lands on the couch dispels the rest of the fog.

"Was that really necessary? Do I need to remind you you are supposed to rest?" Cub turns to a panting Hotguy. "Did you get any new hurts during that stunt you just pulled?"

Hotguy grins a lopsided slash of a smile at Cub, still breathing hard. "Yes, it was!" He answers Cub, possibly aiming for prim, but far too eager-bright.

And. Okay. Cub really wishes he weren't so worried about Hotguy's health, because he'd love to be able to focus on what that searing smile and those bright eyes are doing to his insides, but he can't.

"Did you get any new hurts during that stunt you just pulled?" Cub repeats himself when no answer is forthcoming.

"N-" Hotguy pauses, squirms a little in place. Cub waits. "Left hand's a little sore." Hotguy says, relaxing only slightly, still a bit fidgety. After a few more moments, "...foot's throbbing." Hotguy sags after he finishes speaking, looking relieved.

"Of course it is." Cub mutters, trying to ignore the way Hotguy in eyeing him through his lashes.

"Well, at least you managed not to accrue more damage." Cub sighs. "Thank you for telling me."

Hotguy perks up immediately, sad droop completely forgotten. "No problem!" Hotguy flashes a silly cheerful little hand sign with his words, just a perky little quirk. The papers have dozens of pictures of Hotguy making little poses like that.

And then Hotguy is pressing close to Cub's side, Hotguy's body heat easily seeping into Cub. Hotguy spreads one oversized bag over both their laps, and places a second on the table.

"What. Is this." Cub deadpans, blinking.

"Our meal!" Hotguy beams blindingly at Cub.

"Are we feeding an army?" Not like it's a problem for Cub's bank account, but it is a bit excessive, even by his own standards-

"An army of two! A perfect breakfast. Brunchfast? Brunch slow, no need to rush." Hotguy chatters without stop, fishing around in the bag.

It's still a lot of food, even of not obscenely so, if they eat it over the course of two meals instead of one. Hoping Hotguy ordered foods he also enjoys, Cub accepts his bag of crumpets, setting them on the table and getting up to go collect cutlery.

"You need a plate or a fork or something?"

"I'm good!" Scar opens up one of the containers, his pancakes, and just pops a blueberry in his mouth with his fingers.

He could use the little disposable cutlery provided, but that wouldn't let him lick cream off his fingers while making direct eye contact with Vex, now would it?

Vex returns from the kitchen, setting down not only his own plate, but also one for Scar.

Scar makes a show of reaching for the drinks in the other bag, rummaging around and casually bumping the second plate off of the table to the ground with his elbow, before holding aloft a random colorful can. "Aha! My drink." Scar declares, as if that were the point.

There's a low simmer of resentment fizzing in Scar's gut for Vex asking what he wanted, and then simply deciding that Vex knew better and deliberately giving him something other than what he asked for. His hard, cheery stare practically dares Vex to comment.

"You don't have to use it man. Just figured it might make sharing easier." Vex holds up his free hand as if in surrender.

"I said I didn't want one." Scar lays on his smile extra thick, words dripping-sweet in a sickly way. "Anyway!" Scar claps his hands together. "You got boring food." Not that that's stopped Scar before, but Scar hasn't decided yet if he's going to forgive Vex enough to pilfer some of his food.

"Alright. If my food's so boring then at least you won't be stealing it." Vex seems to have also fetched the butter, because he sets it down and begins buttering his little bread thingies. Crunckles. Crabbets? Whatever.

Scar stares at the butter like doing so will let him develop Force powers and levitate it over. Like Anakin did to Padmé's pear in the-

Gnawing at at his lip, both displeased that he hasn't suddenly developed Force powers as well as displeased by Vex's reaction to not having his food stolen, Scar stews. Doesn't Vex care? Does he want Scar to have boring sad butterless pancakes?

Scar begins heaping the fruit and whipped cream onto his pancakes, smearing and spreading and arranging things with his fingers. He keeps at it until he has something that looks, to him, like a fanciful chest of treasure heaped high with the gold of mango slices and the jeweltones of berries. A perfect spread.

"Who would want to steal your food anyway, mine's better." Scar grumbles. He grabs a slice of bacon and stabs it into the cream as well.

"As long as you like it. I know that I like mine. I like mine." Vex unpauses the movie, kicking off the podrace. Despite having seen it before, Scar gets lost in the fast paced action cheering Anakin on and booing when a fellow racer sabotages him.

What ensues is that Scar forgets his own food entirely, setting it aside to throw his arms up to cheer and simply never picking it back up again. When Scar stops leaning forward, no longer drawn into the action, he sinks back into the couch cushions, not leaning on Vex this time, Scar’s whole attention on the movie and not on closing that gap between them as he'd usually prioritize first.

Scar kicks his feet, hollering as loud as he pleases with glee at the overcome sabotage and the thrilling win. Does he maybe usually at least try to tone his volume down very slightly for Vex? Certainly not today he doesn't!

Hotguy sure is enjoying the movie. Cub lost the plot about three minutes in, when they went from space to under water. The pressure differences between those two would wreak havoc on the human body in such a short time frame. And why does the orange guy have flippers for ears?

His crumpets are good at least, the rosehip jam was a great choice. He'll have to get a jar or two of that, in the future. Cub makes a note, only to realize that there's two corrupted entries in his notes app. Must have been from when Doc added his newest entries to the backup. Cub curls up on the couch, the TV vaguely in his field of view, and chews on both his crumpets and the internal reconstruction of the memo entries.

Scar doesn't turn his head, but he does sneak brief glances at Vex. Absorbed by his stupid tasty looking crinkles. And then by nothing at all.

Sure, sure, Vex is kind of looking toward the movie, but Scar would lay dollars to dimes that if he asked a single question about what happened from there forward, Vex wouldn't be able to answer it.

Scar tries to think of even one time that Vex has cuddled up to him fully of his own volition, without Scar making the first move or demanding it of Vex. Medical emergencies don't count. Something in him aches when he can't recall a single one.

He's just been pushing himself on Vex, and there's nothing there, is there? Vex is fully content to curl up by himself despite Scar being right here to curl into. Scar pulls his legs up onto the couch and tucks his chin into the peaks of his knees, even though both his thighs and the bottom of his foot protest the position. It just feels like the right one. He's fine by himself. The movie is good. It's fine. Just focus on the movie.

"I got it. If you want to stay off that foot." The movie is ending and Vex is already up to change the movie. "What do you want to watch next, the second one?"

Scar blinks in surprise, figuring that the room would have gone to silence after the credits rolled, if he didn't change the movie himself. He hadn't realized Vex noticed the movie was over. Scar rolls his head to press his cheek to one of his knees.

Scar has his mouth open to be contrary, to demand a different movie for no reason other than not doing what Vex suggests. No. That's stupid. And like, Scar knows stupid, he does stupid all the time, willfully and gleefully. But usually that's fun stupid. This would just be having less Star Wars time stupid and like. No.

"Yeah." He agrees, voice quiet, honestly wondering if Vex will know what the 'second one' is in this context. He knows Vex doesn't care about the movies like he does, even if Vex seems to target their related stuff a lot with his heists.

Vex does indeed put on Attack of the Clones, before coming to sit right next to Scar.

"You look like you need a hug. Do you want a hug? You don-"

Scar turns to blink at Vex, stunned and momentarily baffled by the question. Had he been- While Scar wishes Vex were offering a hug because Vex wanted to give him a hug, Scar isn't strong enough right now to refuse a hug, even if Vex is offering it out of some sort of obligation.

Scar nods his head, just slightly, watching Vex.

Vex, who wraps his arms around Scar and pulls Scar close, into his cool body. Scar can feel Vex's breath on his hair, where Vex has his face in it. It's an awkward hug, Vex obviously not having much experience with hugging. His knee is wedged between them, and the angle is off. None of that stops Scar from melting into the hug, fighting to keep his breathing calm as hot tears burst out of him, streaking silently down his face.

Scar's fingers tangle in Vex's shirt, clinging to Vex despite the part of him that says not to.

How could he listen to that part with Vex's arms around him? He pushes his face more into Vex, seeking to dry his tears on familiarly soft fabric.

Just let him have this moment of feeling wanted. This moment where Vex's promised always almost feels like it could actually mean something.

Scar's not letting go of Vex any time soon, no matter how his knee cramps, and his lungs fight him.

Later, when Scar's tears have left Vex's shirt soaked, when those tears have finally mostly dried up. The hug is still one of the most awkward and uncomfortable ones Scar has ever experienced, yet somehow also one of the most reassuring. Vex has yet to let him go. Scar never wants him to let go.

Scar shuffles around, trying to pull his stiff, cramped up leg out from between them, where it's tangled with Vex's. All the good Doc's massage had done is probably gone now. Vex loosens his grip, but doesn't let go entirely.

"Anything I can do for you? A bite to eat? One of your drinks? A juice, not an energy one. You might want to save those for patrol nights, not rest days."

Scar scrubs his closed eyes against his own forearm, trying to knock off the dried cruff a good cry always leaves behind. "What? Don't be silly, I can't be napping on patrols. I'm not gonna make it that easy for you." Scar shakes his head. "Mm, I dunno, my meal was pretty filling." Scar caries on, despite having eaten merely a single blueberry off of it. Scar’s eyes flick over to the brownies on the table, which look delicious and chewy and chocolately.

"Didn't you eat like one bite of it?" Vex raises an eyebrow. He gestures at the spread of food. "Take your pick. I can even go warm it up for you. Though that might require a plate, so no fingers get burned."

"No go!" Scar shakes his head vehemently at the thought of Vex getting up and leaving. In fact, he pulls Vex closer, trying to hook a leg around him somehow. "Don't wanna pick. You pick." Scar pouts. Deciding stuff is annoying at the moment.

Vex does, leaning forward and away from Scar to pick up the plate from the plush rug so Vex can begin loading it up with food. Some pancake squares, cut neatly, topped with mounds of cream and fruit. A large spoonful of eggs, with several strips of the bacon. A small pyramid of brownies. From somewhere in the bag, Vex has produced a thing of caramel sauce, which he drizzles over the brownies.

Scar tries to lean with Vex, staying as close as he can. No leaving, not allowed.

He relaxes very slightly when Vex just seems to be avoiding picking by taking some of most of the food together. Scar's stomach rumbles, causing him to free one (1) hand to pat it and murmur to it to shush down.

As a distraction to his uncooperatively hungry tummy, Scar licks at Vex's neck as soon as it's back in range.

"Unfortunately, my neck is not on the menu. Here. Why don't you try this instead." Vex offers Scar forkful of pancake.

"Your neck is always on the menu. My personal private menu." Scar informs Vex, giving one singular sharp bite, before pulling back. "Mm. Omp." Scar declares, before wrapping his mouth around the forkful of pancakes, smearing cream on his lips and looking at Vex through his lashes.

"You are such a messy eater." Vex's reaction is very disappointing. Barely even any hesitation before he turns back to the takeout bags to pull out a napkin, holding it out to Scar. Who makes no move to take it. If Vex wants his mouth clean, Vex is gonna have to do it himself. Or Scar can just wipe the cream into Vex's neck and lick it off-

Fully taken by his new idea, Scar does just that, reveling in both the indignant “Hey!” he gets from using Vex as his own personal napkin, and the slightly sharper inhale from laving his tongue over an area he just pinched with this teeth.

"You don't know the half of it~" Scar giggles. He'd love to show Vex what a messy eater he can be, with cream splashed over his face and hair. Someday, hopefully. " 'Nyway, if you get to claim my neck, I get to claim yours." Scar sucks to make sure another mark is added to the collection lining Vex's neck.

"I didn't claim your neck. I claimed all of y-" Vex stops mid sentence. "It's not like you're staying."

"You say you claimed all of me, but you won't let me give you me. Won't let me take what you want." Scar runs a finger along under the edge of Vex's jaw. It'd be so easy to tip his head for a kiss like this. He fully ignores Vex's self-correction.

"How can I even know this is actually you? Don't get mad, just listen for a moment, please. The collars, they mess with your brain, your personality. I think I limited it to non aggression, but I cannot be sure, since everybody's brains are different and I don't know what you’re like without the collars on. I don't want you to regret or be hurt by what we do." Vex has his eyes fixed on the TV, on the movie Scar forgot is still running.

"What I am, as I am, is me. In the moment. What else would I be?" Scar shakes his head a little, trying to string together words. "Why would I be hurt by freedom?" He implores. Scar wants Vex to look at him, to see him, but Scar's unwilling to risk the fragile balance of the moment, of Vex at least trying to say stuff, even if most of it is a lot strange. So he lets Vex look away.

"What do you mean, freedom? That's what the collars take away from you. You can't fight and you can't leave and you can't take them off. Well. With the others. This one is just a dud. No idea why you had such a reaction to it. That does worry me, honestly." Vex painstakingly piles five large blueberries onto a forkful of pancake, before offering it to Scar without looking at him, eyes on the movie again.

"I mean, freedom. I don't have to fight, I don't have to go back out there. I don't have to be picture perfect and focused." Scar sighs. "Don't have to feel guilty-" He cuts himself off, by taking the pile of blueberries into his mouth, carefully using his tongue to transfer them from the fork to his waiting maw. The pops and squishes of chewing them is nice, bursts of flavor washing the bitter taste of unacknowledged fear out of his mouth.

"You feel guilty about this? Without the collar?" Yeah, okay, that is a gut punch Cub was not expecting. He'd always known that that was a possibility, that the collars have some sort of unforeseen side effect on Hotguy, but not letting him feel guilty when he should is a bad one. Why did he ever think this was a good idea, he never should have made-

"Of course." Scar steals Vex's free hand, cradling the cool skin of it between both of his own. Warming it, indulging for a minute, before bringing it up, and pressing Vex's hand to the edge of Hotguy's mask. "Hotguy can't just choose to vanish, abandon the city, for a week of vacation for no reason. Selfish. Of course I'd feel guilty."

Vex stares at him for a long while at that, with an unreadable expression, his fingers tracing the same edge of the mask over and over. Unreadable even for Scar, who prides himself on being able to read just about anyone at any time. Especially his archnemesis.

"I'm sorry." Vex eventually mumbles. "I never meant to make you feel bad about this. I just wanted..."

Scar's heart flutters and thumps, the only sign of the low thrill of terror that Vex's fingers on his mask brings him. No matter that Scar himself is the one who put those fingers there, the trained instinct runs too deep to fully ignore, though Scar still pushes down as much of it as he can, leaning very slightly into the touch.

"You don't make me feel bad, you take away that guilt." Scar assures. "What did you want?" Scar prompts, as gently as he can, when Vex clearly isn't going to finish.

"Never mind that." Vex moves to pull his hand away from Scar's mask.

The moment hangs suspended when Scar catches Vex's wrist, curling his fingers around it with only just barely enough force to hold Vex, and stares Vex right in the eyes.

"Question. What did you want?" Scar speaks with deliberate clarity, though no harshness.

Vex squirms. He's silent, silent for long enough Scar fears he might reject the question. Forcing himself to sit still and not wheedle is getting harder by the second.

"You." Vex confesses, what feels like ages later, looking down. "I wanted to spend time with you. Outside of fighting. As a sort of birthday gift to myself. The first try, the first collar was awful. There was nothing of you left with it on. I kept having to push aside the thought of what if it stuck? It didn't in testing, but you are different from m- everyone is a little different, and what if it stuck, what if you never went back to how you were before when the collar came off, and I had killed you in all but body? I've tested all the collars extensively before I put them on you, and having scans of your brain helps too, but I still have that thought every time." Vex looks up at him now, pale eyes boring directly into Scar’s. "I can't lose you." A whisper, almost too quiet to hear, if they weren't all tangled up in each other.

Scar laughs. He can't help himself, the sound spilling loud from startled lips when Vex says birthday. A gift for Vex's birthday? Surely, that's too much coincidence- That it always, always covered Scar's birthday. Annoying, at first, but something he's come to appreciate with time.

"It is a good birthday gift." Scar's lips move while his mind is still processing everything else Vex said, a habit to buy himself time when he's taking too long to sort through someone else's words. "I mean, like it is now. I don't really remember the first one. Which I guess is kind of like a different sort of gift, maybe. But I like this. The way it is now. I don't want to lose this, and I don't want to lose you either." All words that Scar would choke back down into his throat unspoken if he were Hotguy right now, but he's not. He's not Hotguy, and he gets to want this, to want Vex, to want Vex's claim. "I'm still here. I'm still me." Scar fully believes that. He is who he is right in this very moment, and that's the most important bit, who he was and who he will be will take care of themselves.

"We'll see about that. I'm gonna need a little more than your word on that." Vex laughs, awkward and wet. "Until then, until I have the scans I need to believe it, will you- I know this is a dud collar, but still, will you promise me that you won't do, or let me do, anything that you will regret when you go home?" Scar has never seen Vex this... this open. Earnest.

And it still stings, to Scar, that Vex trusts his machines more than he trusts Scar's word. That he refuses to believe that Scar knows himself.

"I promise, I won't let you do anything I'd regret when I'm back at my place." When Scar's in his own apartment, he can take off his mask. He can be Scar with only a little bit of Hotguy looming over him. There's quite a lot that Hotguy might regret doing, that Scar, without the mask, would not regret in the slightest.

Scar's leg jerks and bounces, unable to bring his attention back to the movie. He shakes and rolls his shoulders. "Okay! Let's go get those silly scans then." Then Vex can be done being dumb about this.

"Now? I guess, yeah we can do that." Vex pauses the movie. "Just a heads up. You’ll have to take off all metal bits. That includes the collar. Otherwise the machine will rip them off, and that can both hurt you and damage the machine. Neither of which is good. Neither is good."

Scar reshuffles himself to be sitting on Vex's lap when Vex agrees. You know, for ease of lifting.

"Is sedating me an option?" Scar asks, at least half-kidding. Probably. Maybe.

"Not fully, not for all of it at least. I'd like to measure brain activity in response to different things, and you need to be awake for that. Though I can knock you out for the structural scan after. Why?" Vex carefully gets up, carrying Scar in the princess carry he was hoping for.

Scar happily throws his arms around Vex's neck, snuggling into Vex's hold. Ideal.

"Mm, y'know. It'd just be easier 'n restraints." Scar shrugs. He doesn't want to deal with being Hotguy in Vex's lair, he'd have to do all kinds of stuff. Like not getting the stupid scans. Which would kind of defeat the point.

"Why would you need to be restrained?" Vex almost stumbles over his own feet at Scar's response. Maybe he's thinking about trussing Scar up all pretty in rope, if metal and cuffs aren't an option. That would make Scar stumble too. Hmmm, now that he's thinking about it, Vex would look good tied up too.

"So I don't do anything stupid." Scar answers brightly, simple as that. He doesn't get why that's not obvious to Vex. Maybe it's all that silly talk about the collar being a dud making Vex all confused. That's alright, even a big ol' brain like Vex can't know everything. Scar does hope he has some nice restraints in the lab. Would it be better in soft leather, or in something that'll rough Scar up a bit? Decisions, decisions.

"All you have to do is lay there and answer questions. Do you plan to attack me over that or something?" The door to the medical room swishes open. They do that sometimes. Scar still isn't sure where the difference between a no swish open and a swish open is.

"Dunno. I might. Or I might get up or somethin'." Scar nods. Much better to just not have the option to leave or pick a fight. "M'sure you've got something here that'd work." Don't all villains have fancy restraint thingies for their machines? That's been Scar's experience of being captured and prodded at by them before! Well, when he wasn't Vex's archrival yet. There's been a kind of steep falloff on other kidnappings since then, which is a little odd now that he thinks of it, but Scar's not gonna look a gift not-problem in the mouth.

"Not really. The machines in here are all meant for me. Kinda don't need to tie myself up for that." Vex sets Scar down on a rolly chair. "Is the restraints thing a- just- how necessary do you think it is? On a scale of one to ten. One, you think you can manage without, ten, you will for certain attack me without."

"I dunno, like, a fi- A four, maybe?" Scar barely remembers to adjust his number scale estimate down. Higher numbers don't really get taken seriously anyway, he's learned. "Like, I don't know that I'd, just. Attack you. But I'd probably cause problems for scanny stuff. Shouldn't let a villain do that, you know?" Scar shrugs. He immediately begins spinning himself around and around in the rolly chair as soon as he's able, while continuing the conversation.

"A five then. Hm." Vex is going to ignore the four Scar very clearly said. Might be better. "Would you want to be tied up, though?"

"Tied up works!" Scar chirps with a smile. Spinning is beginning to make him dizzy, but he doesn't wanna stop. "I'm good with that."

"Alright. Two more questions, then I'll let you undress as much as you're comfortable while I get some rope." Vex leans onto the desk, observing Scar. His face whizzes by with every turn. "Do you have any metal in your body, any implants, any pins or screws from any surgeries? And does your mask have metal in it?"

"Hmm, nope, no pins n stuff. Just good old fashioned meat." Scar thinks back to double check, but he's pretty sure that's right. He's had some serious injuries, but between Lizzie and Joel and clinics and the occasional healer, he hasn't needed any metal replacement bits. "My mask?" He startles, a hand coming up to touch it. "Of course it does. But like, how's that important? It's just. Y'know. Stuff."

"What is in your mask isn't important per se. Remember what I said why the collar needs off? Big strong magnets? Yeah, those would rip your mask apart if it stays on. No good that, no good. Do you want a towel again or do you want one of my old prototype masks?"

Scar goes from pouting about stupid villain magnets as he passes Vex on one spin to completely perked up the next. "Your mask? I can have one of your masks?" Scar asks, eager. Of course he wants to get his hands on one of Vex's masks! That'd be like, the ultimate merch, he'd be fully winning at collecting Vex thingies.

"Sure. I'll fetch one, together with the rope. Do you just want your hands bound, or full body?" Vex pushes off from the table.

"Oh, my whole body, just to be safe." Scar pauses his spinning to dizzily sway and watch Vex prepare. Scar giggles. Really, Scar thinks to himself, he probably doesn't even need the rope at all now, he didn't realize he'd have to take his mask off too.

But with Vex already having agreed to it when Scar thought he did need it? Scar is absolutely not going to correct him now. Not when Scar can already practically feel the burn of rope against skin.

"Alright. Will you be okay here alone while I go get the stuff?" Vex asks.

"Mm." Scar thinks about it. And thinks about it. And considers it some more. Just to drag out the wait for his answer, to try to make Vex sweat a little. "Oh, probably. But you better be quick, just in case." Scar swings his legs, looking around at what'd be good firestarting material. He could work with bandages and rubbing alcohol.

Scar looks back to Vex and winks.

"You're getting the towel instead of the mask if you don't behave." Vex threatens. Very mean of him. Now Scar may actually have to behave. He Wants that mask. "Do feel free to strip down as much as you're comfortable with now, so you don't have to do it in front of me when I get back." With those parting words, Vex is out the door. Leaving Scar with a dilemma. Strip now and greet Vex naked, or strip later, when Vex is there to watch?

Scar spins himself around in the chair again, more slowly, to think about his options. He does like the idea of stripping in front of Vex, putting on a good show... But he doesn't have any good music for it on him, and there's the chance Vex will stop him before he even finishes, like a terrible killjoy!

Scar's eyes fall on a rack of glass tubey things, and a new plan slots into place in Scar's mind.

[jasper-bold]

Wiriter: What should we do with Spencer's character?

Other Writer: Break his leg or something idc

[xxpeppermintxx109]

I’m sorry but you’re lying. I have downloaded your fic from a long time when you started wiriting it. You did not tag it as a love triangle. For instance: I would have never started it if I had seen the love triangle tag. We are stupid like you keep insinuating. You are a liar. The only ship tagged was original female character/aemond. I have the proof of it. A lot people in the hotd fanfic community knows this and has seen the proof. That is why you are known in the fic community as an imposter. For almost a year you didn’t tag it as a love triangle. That is why you keep getting criticism: you used aemond/ewan’s fanbase to gain traction and attention for your fic, and then decided to blindside everyone with your own little fantasy of qoren.

Let me make it clear. It is your story and you can write whatever you want. But it doesn’t mean people have to like it. Most people don’t. And people have a right to give their opinion. But you keep crying about it and making yourself be a victim. Just accept it. You write for yourself and that is totally okay. Just accept the criticism that you cheated your readers and that is why ppl got upset and stopped reading your fics. It’s not because we only want aemond; it’s because that is how you advertised your fic and then switched it up. At least have the decency to be truthful.

You did not tag your fic as a love triangle. You added it months after starting it, after you hooked aemond fans in. That’s why people hate your fic now and don’t trust you.

so actually, no the only pairing tagged wasn’t just aemond and oc

From NOVEMBER OF 2022, what like two weeks after I posted the first chapter mind you, Qoren Martell/original female character was a pairing. And there were a TON of other pairings I shouldn’t have tagged cause they weren’t main pairings, as see this screenshot below :)

Betrayal, angst, and tragedy were tagged since the very beginning. Love triangle was tagged in chapter 5, it appears when looking back at all my screenshots of chapter summaries to upload, which yes is my bad it’s not the VERY beginning but jfc, still EARLY. And guess what, I think I had maybe 5k-8k hits on this fic at that point. That is not me sinking my claws into the Aemond fandom like you so accuse me of, and then just doing a bait and switch.

Qoren only became a viable option AFTER Aemond killed Luke, which if you look at all of my old edits over this last year and a fucking half, has always been the plan. Luke was always gonna die, Aemond was gonna get into shit with Shaera for it. Qoren was an emotional decision on her part. Even now she still considers Aemond a lot of the time. AND I HAVE STATED MULTIPLE TIMES THAT AEMOND AND SHAERA ARE ENDGAME, so unclench jfc.

I don’t paint myself as a victim, when I get shit like this all the time being rude. When I was getting Islamophobic comments comparing MY writing of Qoren to fucking 9/11. When I was getting harassed for the simple act of writing the story as it’s always been laid out by multiple anon accounts who spammed my asks and my ao3 comments. And it sure as hell doesn’t seem like this fandom “hates” me and my story as you so claim, cause I still have a ton of readers who enjoy this story and give it kudos on ao3 and read and interact with me on all platforms, so fuck off lol. Shit, it’s hitting 5k votes on wattpad. Doesn’t seem to me like people hate it or my writing decisions??

Get off anon and say this with your whole chest while you’re at it <3

[pearlescentparade]

Raising my hand cautiously. I'm a little scared to ask cuz I might sound like a weirdo but are there any specific reasons you don't write for icedagger and biograft? Icedagger is canonically 19 and biograft is a robot. Forgive me but other than the struggle that might come with characterization, I don't see any problem🥀

ur totally fine!! its not weird at all :]

i dont know if any new info came out about icedagger since the rewrite announcement for him, but if there is pls lmk!! cus the main reason why i dont want to write for him is bc idk fkin ANYTHING ab him and last i heard hes mentally younger despite being ohysically of age and i dont wanna mess witb allat but again lmk if thats outdated

and i dont want to write romance for biograft bc i only feel comfortable writing romance for creatures (nonhumans/inphernals) with sapience and biografts do not have that🫡 but im okay w wiriting platonic stuff

[lexxiesthoughts8]

also here in sweden we have like half term reviews which basically means we get to see kinda how our grades look right now so we have the chance to change them if it not that good (idk if its a thing in other countries lol). though it isnt "normal" grades like A B C D E F. its like red if you are failing, green if youre just passing and dark green for C B and A (i do belive they can be diffrent for diffrent parts of sweden though). for normal grades we do have A B C and so on. this is just for the reviews. any who, i got my history half term review yesterday and guess who got dark green wooo. which is good cux ik ive posted about a text that we were wiriting in history class and ive not handed it in yet. so i hope this means that i dont have to hand it in at all? idk i hope so atleast cux i do not wanna spend my enegry writing that shit when i can sleep yk.

[tonycries]

NAAAUURRRR NOT THE ACCIDENTAL VOYEURISM IN HIROMI'S PART IM CYING

AND IT HAD TO BE NANAMI TOO MY POOR BABAY ISNT PAID ENOUGH FOR THIS SHIT IMAGINE HOW WEIRD HE FELT HEARING HIS BRO CREAMPIEING HIS WIFE(join then join them join them join them j–)

Anyways have i ever told you how awesome your wiriting is?😩👆 istg if i find me a boytoy you KNOW im gonna be recreating these scenes because YES. daddy tony jus gets this badussy going like no other awugh😳😩(youre right there with the jjk women on my ✂️ list daddy)

Also have you taken the bdsm test thingy?😭 lmk your results or just link the post if youve posted that already im dumb and lazy😔🙏 (wanna see if youre breedable😈)

-🎀

JHJHDFJ WELLLL IS IT REALLY ACCIDENTAL IF NANAMI STAYED ON THE CALL N' LISTENED TO EVERY SINGLE THING THOOO 👀👀 I have a feeling that he....liked it a little more than he should 😈

Join them join them join them join them join them join them

Also WAHH THANK YEWWWW LOVELY <33 Pheww you better give me a whole review if you ever use these as reference though 👀 Ahaha you flatter me too much ml mwah 😘

And oh yeahhh I remember taking that recently actually- lemme put it right here heheh. Just know that I will be breeding you 😈😈

[angstigone]

𝒶𝓃𝑔𝓈𝓉𝒾'𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝒷𝓇𝒶𝓇𝓎

𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧:

angsti.

she/her.

26.

scorpio sun, pisces moon, libra rising.

𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧:

be kind.

be mindful of others and the librarian.

this blog has some rather explicit content so no minors or ageless blogs will be allowed.

no form of discrimination is accepted.

the librarian reserves the right to block anybody based on her own personal peace of mind.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧'𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬:

jason todd (dc), aki hayakawa (csm), nagumo yoichi (skmd), michael kaiser (bllk), oikawa tohru (haikyuu!!), alucard (castlevania), jinx (arcane), rindou haitani (tr), kazutora hanemiya (tr), souya kawata (angry) (tr), gris rubion (gachiakuta)

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧'𝐬 𝐨𝐜𝐬:

naoko chisaka (csm).

katya kobayashi (skmd).

anna lena (bllk).

sara amano (tr).

cho hattori (tr).

ardua (gachiakuta).

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐬…

𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨:

«one hundred years of solitude» by gabriel garcia marquez & «butter» by asako yuzuki & «l'altra sposa» by catherina maura & «death valley» by melissa broder

𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨:

«banana fish»

𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨:

«miss possessive» by tate mcrae

𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐬…

𝙘𝙧𝙪𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙣:

rindou haitani, kazutora hanemiya

𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩:

rindou haitani, kazutora hanemiya

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐨𝐧…

ao3 as angstigone

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧'𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭:

angsti rambles -> daily rambles.

angsti recs -> fic recommendations.

angsti:pretty_art -> my appreciation for beautiful art.

angsti:helpful_posts -> helpful posts.

angsti:writing_posts -> general writing posts.

angsti_is_writing -> updates on writing and my wiriting.

angsti:selfships -> general talk about my selfships

[wordsarelife]

hiii !!! i really love your writing style, and i'm just obsessed with your account in general, i'm just wondering how you started writing?? any tips for beginners? i'm trying to start writing more, but i can't think of a scenario, or i get stuck at some point. any help is appreciated 😭 thank you !!! mwah !! 🫶🏻

hello my love, please excuse my late answer. first, thank you so much for the compliments, you're the sweetest!!! i've been writing basically all my life and i think whats most important for writing is inspiration. i spent so many years reading fanfiction and thinking about topics i would like to read about, just to notice that no one had written them yet so i tried to fill that space myself, with a lot of failing lmao.. but at some point i realized that it's just as fun to write as it is to read other people's stuff.

when i start to write something, i always make sure i'm passionate about the project. i start by imagining scenes that i would love to read about myself, decide on a taylor song i want to use, which does generate even more inspiration and search pinterest for aesthetics and more insparation.

i know what it's like getting stuck while writing (ask the thousand unfinished wips of books i tried to write), but sometimes i try to just write anything, even if its rubbish at first, at least you wrote a few more words.

or just think about the least expectable answer to a simple question and keep in mind that every answer reflect your characters personality. if you let your character answer something unexpectably it might turn the conversation into a different direction. and different is good, it's fun and sometimes you just feel what could be right for the story, without knowing it before. but if you need help to come up with a concept, try to look at blogs on here, who provide prompts or funny quotes to start your story off on.

one of my favorite creators is @creativepromptsforwriting (she also has great tips for writing, far better than any i could give you)

and just to emphasize what i said before, i'm going to show you what i mean by wiriting a little scene between theo and pixie from my series don't blame me:

example quote: you look good

so, to accurately write this scene, you should think about your characters personality, but also the relationship between them.

so it could be like this:

theo: you look good

pixie: thank you

and that would be it. but this conversation doesn't fit either their personality nor their relationship, and a great plus is also that it would be a longer interaction if you let them react differently:

theo: you look good

pixie: what are you trying to do right now?

theo: i don't know, genius, maybe compliment you?

pixie: well, don't expect to get one back, i wouldn't want to inflate your ego any further

theo: aren't you just a ray of sunshine...

pixie: complementing me again huh?

theo: sure...

so this is what i would come up with on the spot and i hope i could help you a bit, but this is mostly what i do when i write and then i just keep writing honestly. what i can tell you is that it will be easier the more you write, you get a feeling for it eventually. so in simpler terms: don't stress too much for perfection (had to learn that the hard way) just write and see what happens and just keep in mind that any word you write will help you to get better at writing, so nothing has to be perfect from the get go. i mean, has anyone ever sat down at a piano and just started playing?

good luck on your journey, i wish you all the fun at writing!!! ❤️