I am deeply obsessed with the manuscript as the closing track of the anthology. returning to that first big life altering heartbreak, the one that inspired some of the most acclaimed and beloved work of her career, but it's a distant past now and it's almost as though it happened to someone else. and then, in the wake of all the intense loss and turbulence that the past two hours have documented, she knows what the agony was for. because just like all that now remains of that past relationship is the art that came out of it — including all too well, a song that was changed for her over the years into something beautiful and joyful — one day all that will remain of this period will be this manuscript, this album and all its feelings that eventually won't even be hers anymore but will belong to her past self and to its future listeners.
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mother im hungry for some angst and horny , may i ask for a hero x villain where they both hate each other but end up having hate sex after a real bad argument 🥺🙏
The hero remembered that one time when the villain broke their collarbone. They had just broken into a museum, stealing expensive vases and ancient relics, making it infuriatingly difficult to get them back on the black market.
The hero had arrived at the scene of the crime before anyone else, just in time to catch the villain. But as the villain prepared to flee, they cracked the hero’s collarbone into two with a steel pipe. Smirking, they’d blown the hero a kiss. A present for you.
It had hurt like hell. The hero had been unable to move for weeks, being practically useless to the agency. Christ, they still had problems with their shoulder at times. Too much exercise, too little exercise: it was a nasty pain that didn’t quite leave them.
And right now, the villain sucked the third hickey into the hero’s skin, right there where they had done the damage.
The hero cursed quietly, hating and loving how much it hurt.
“Asshole,” the hero hissed.
“Did you say something?” The villain’s voice was low, still angry and already a little drunk on pleasure. It had started out with both of them hooking up when they were drunk. The hero had suggested it and the villain had been much too happy to use that opportunity. It had been messy and quick (and good). A one time thing.
But that was really it.
For a week, until it became a little routine. No feelings involved, except for hatred.
And when opinions clashed against each other and insults were thrown into the air today, the hero needed something to calm down. Apparently this helped both of them.
“I hate you,” the hero said, despite the villain being inside them. “You disgust me.”
“Oh, boohoo. Is someone sad they’re not getting what they want? Poor hero, must be terrible.”
“Fuck off,” the hero said, pushing the villain’s face away with their hand. “I’ve been working for weeks on this mission. You have no right to—”
The villain pinned their wrists above their head and shut the hero up with a kiss. It was quite counterproductive, the hero was aware of that. It wasn’t healthy either but it was all the hero had. Sometimes being close to someone, anyone, at all costs was worth a broken heart. Just a little.
The villain pulled away, panting heavily.
“I thought we’re over this. I like you. But you’re not more important than my work.”
Ouch. The hero swallowed, thinking what desperate part of their brain had made them hope they could be more than enemies.
They knew the villain would smash they collarbone anytime without batting an eye and maybe it was good the way that it was.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” the villain said. “We’re both enjoying this, let’s not ruin it.”
The hero took in a shaky breath. Yes, they agreed. They enjoyed this, they enjoyed the villain’s company. It made them want to punch the villain even more.
“Now be a doll and spread your legs a little more,” the villain mumbled.
And the hero hated how fast they forgave them.
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cough hack wheeze who wants a teeny tiny fantasy au snippet with uhhhh laughingstock Tension. it's like... half a scene! unedited & out of context As Is Tradition
~
“Nothin’ much. I think I’ll poke around nearby towns, shake down some travelers - see what falls into my paws.”
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Barn,” Howdy says. He sweeps aggressively, spreading dirt more than gathering it into the usual neat piles. “Who knows if those ne'er-do-wells are still roaming around the woods - if you and Ed couldn’t take them, what makes you think you could alone? Or- or! What if you stumble across those cultists? I hate to think of you stuck in an ambush with no help coming, knowing fully well that-”
A large paw slips the broom out of his grip and sets it to the side, and Howdy stammers to a stop as Barnaby crowds him against the bar with a soft, “Howdy.”
Howdy swallows hard, bracketed on each side by strong blue arms. The look Barnaby fixes him with dries up his well of words and bristles his fuzz. Howdy’s heart hammers against his ribs. He can feel Barnaby’s body heat, and it’s lighting his blood on fire.
“I’m not gonna be reckless, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Barnaby says. He barely needs to speak louder than a whisper for Howdy to hear him loud and clear. He smells like sweet smoke. “The other day was a one time deal, cross my heart. But, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll take someone with me. I’m sure Jules is itchin’ to get outta town.”
“What would really make me feel better is if you stay,” Howdy blurts, just barely reining in the with me. He tenses, knowing that he’s toeing a dangerous line. One wrong word, and he’ll make the unspoken spoken - but the stress drains out of him as Barn’s eyes go soft. Perhaps that wouldn’t be so bad. Of course there’s no reason to worry, not about this, not with him. There never has been.
“You know I can’t do that,” Barnaby murmurs. “Not yet.”
Howdy doesn’t need to say that he knows. Not for the first time and with any luck, not for the last, it clicks in his mind that they’re on the same page - he doesn’t need to be a telepath to understand the thoughts behind Barnaby’s dark eyes.
Barnaby says it anyway. “I gotta get him back. I can’t… there’s no room for anythin’ else right now.”
Howdy sighs through his nose and slumps against the counter digging into the small of his back. He nods and adjusts the lapels of Barnaby’s vest. His fingers ghost over soft blue, and Barnaby doesn’t flinch at the contact. If anything, he leans the barest millimeter into it. His gaze burns into Howdy’s, even if they aren’t meeting at the moment, but it isn’t a bad feeling. Quite the opposite, actually.
“Well,” Howdy says in a low voice, “if you find a good lead, send for the rest of us. I’ll be there as fast as my four legs can scamper.”
Barnaby smirks. “Even if you need to take a boat?”
“Even so, Barn.”
The smirk slides into something that isn’t a frown, but isn’t a smile. It’s too soft for a grimace, but too intense for simple recognition. Barnaby seems to sway forward, and Howdy is sorely tempted to meet him halfway.
But Barnaby’s claw taps the counter, and he pulls away before anyone’s mind can be made up. Howdy’s hands slip from his lapels, brushing against fur as they fall and knuckles skimming over the smooth, fresh scar cutting across Barnaby’s belly.
“I’ll be back before you know it,” Barnaby says, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He squeezes Howdy’s shoulder and then his back is turned, and he’s leaving. All Howdy can do is watch.
And call out after him, “Your table will be open and waiting for you.”
Barnaby pauses in the doorway and looks over his shoulder at Howdy, and his grin is so full of affection that Howdy may just burst.
“With a free pint?” he asks.
“Hey now, don’t push your luck pal.”
Barnaby bursts out laughing, and Howdy can hear it even after the door thuds closed.
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