Japan stop dodging the question Italy is good boy yes but he also has the structural integrity of wet cardboard
So there is another factor in play here you aren't telling us
Or you're just a hypocrite
Feeling the former rather than the latter is right though
Sometimes emotions override logic
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Quiet Nights
cw: implied stockholm syndrome, dubcon touch, vaguely implied/referenced noncon, referenced abuse
T$$ Masterlist
~
"Come here."
The training day was over, the dinner dishes were washed, and Shepard was speaking with something silky in his voice; a stone wrapped in ribbon. It was the kind of tone he only ever used at night. A softness that wasn't praise, or an apology for taking something too far, but one that could've been normal, if it was coming from anybody else.
As it was, it was jarring how easily Shepard could shift from cruel teacher to a mockery of a lover, but should he really be surprised? His mentor could go from heartless to caring to proud to cold and merciless in the span of an hour, and there was very little Ander could do to sway that. At best, he could be as obedient as possible and keep Shepard in a good mood, but there was always the chance he'd mess it up somehow.
So far, he hadn't messed up sleeping. So far, he could almost take it as a comfort, if only he closed his eyes.
Ander put away his toothbrush and walked over to the bed, keeping his eyes on the silhouette of man on the mattress no matter how much he wanted to drop them to the floor.
It isn't so bad.
How many nights had he done this? How many hours had he slept while cradled in Shepard's arms?
It's not so bad and it could be worse and you know it.
Ander slid beneath the sheets, Shepard's body warm against his as the older man pulled him into his chest. Shepard liked to cover up; slacks and a button down for daily wear, long-sleeved sweatsuits for sparring. Night was the only time Ander ever saw any of his skin besides neck and face and forearms. Even then, it hardly counted. The lights were always out by the time the other man stripped and climbed in bed.
Shepard had plenty of scars. Some Ander could see in the low light, some he could only feel. Ridges and uneven skin on his arms and chest and back. There was a tattoo of something that might've been a bird over his heart, but he never saw it clear enough to say what kind.
Ander didn't know why he cared, or even noticed, but there was something about the vulnerability. Seeing his tormentor captor mentor bare, and taking it as confirmation that Shepard was only a man. Not some monster or inhuman, undefeatable machine. Just flesh and blood. Regular, aside from what he'd made himself, or what something else had made of him.
It didn't matter that the calloused hands that held him were the same ones that pinned him down or hit him. It didn't matter that the same voice that whispered a gentle good night would just as easily hiss a threat or demeaning order.
His mentor kept his shirt neat and buttoned when he was punishing him, kept everything smoothly concealed when he was beating him into the ground during training. But at night, Ander could pretend it was a different man who shared the bed. Someone who was capable of being gentle, who could pretend that he loved him.
It didn't matter that he had no other option but to let the body that hurt him in so many ways embrace him.
This was his life now. He could at least imagine it was by choice.
Shepard pulled him close, nuzzling against his neck, planting a kiss on the curve of his jawbone.
It isn't so bad.
Ander wrapped lean arms against the older man's muscular torso, letting himself only feel safe. Held. Like tomorrow didn't matter.
It isn't so bad, and you like it.
~
@theonewithallthefixations , @violets-whumperflies , @whump-me , @pirefyrelight , @soheavyaburden , @snakebites-and-ink , @whumpsday
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Theseus is who designed his and Asterius' arena uniforms... Asterius gave some small input, but let Theseus do the majority as he's not too interested in that sorta thing. When they're not battling, however, Asterius tends to go for darker shades of blue... he also likes pinks or magenta as an accent. Theseus always goes for more Maximalist fashion styles, adorning himself with expensive looking jewelry... he also wears a little bit of makeup, mainly eye shadow and polish to protect his nails.
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dumping another fic idea i had here but have no idea what to do with:
Two months past, Queen Rhaenyra named her oldest living child "Champion of the Queen's Justice," and before the Driftwood Throne, a hundred men kneel in chains - shipped from their various holdings and away from King's Landing to await their fate.
They call Lucerys Velaryon Seadragon for a reason. Tempests rage and roil in him; they began that night at Storm's End when his uncle reclaimed an eye, but the hurricane built to bursting after the Gullet. The softness of his youth drowned in the tides with Prince Jacaerys.
Beside him, Cregan Stark has pulled Ice from its sheathe, waiting. Waiting. Every inch of him a wolf.
"My brother was good, kind. Fair. Jace possessed a cunning I never quite developed, and where my kindness found its roots in boyhood naivete, my brother understood mercy with a king's weight. In him were all of our mother's best parts and none of her worst." He is nine-and-ten now, five years from his older brother's death, and he has not forgotten. Not for a moment. "The realm did not deserve him, I see that now. His reign would have put The Conciliator's to shame."
A lone brown eye hardens into Valyrian steel.
"Regardless, you stole him from us. There is no mercy for you here."
this?? probably wouldn't even be jacemond? more like jacegan but mostly just platonic bc it would mainly be an exploration of how grief shapes us. there's just smth endlessly interesting to me abt a future where luke outlives jace and his death is luke's "kill the boy" moment that shapes him into an absolute terror ((also corlys is called the seasnake and luke was his heir ok you can't tell me he wouldn't be called the seadragon))
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