They were watching television, some horror movie that was more cheap jokes and nsfw content than actual horror. Obviously they hadn’t been the ones to put it on, that’d been Blondie, but neither of them cared enough to change it.

He turned to her and, with a completely deadpan face and his usual monotone voice, said “I wonder if you have an extra heart because mine was just stolen.”

She’d looked towards him slowly and stared at him for a moment before what he said dawned on her. 

A laugh escaped her and she looked at him with an amused smirk on her face. “Who by?”

“I’m trying to flirt with you here,” he didn’t even try to answer her question.

“Okay, okay. I think you’re suffering from a lack of vitamin me,” she snickered behind her hand.

“Your eyes are bluer than the Atlantic ocean and I dont mind being lost at sea,” he reached up to poke her on her forehead, smirking slightly when she batted him away in irritation. 

“You must be a magician because every time I look at you, everyone else disappears,” she smiled at him, placed her hands on his cheeks and squished them together.

“I am a magician. Thank you for noticing,” he grabbed one of her hands and pressed his lips against the back of her hand.

“I have to wonder where all this is coming from,” she mused, not bothering to pull her hand away from him.

“I saw a chance and took it,” he shrugged before he continued with his pick-up lines.  “You must be a campfire because you’re super hot and I want s’more.”

“Oh god,” she snorted, smiling.

“I’ll probably be very awkward for a while after this,” he continued, completely blasé as he bumped his forehead against hers.

“That’s a shame,” she hummed, smiling slightly at him. “”Exchanging pick-up lines with you is fun.”

“I’ll be sure to remember that.”

“You better,” she kissed him on his nose and leaned back, snickering at the mixture of embarrassment and offence on his face.

@writer-grandma

This isn’t a fairy tale. There are no princes or princesses.

They don’t fall in love at first sight, She doesn’t catch his eye and he doesn’t catch hers.

She’s short and slight and dark-haired. He’s tall and muscular and light-haired. He’s loud all the time, she isn’t. He uses swords, she uses knives. He’s loyal as fuck, she really isn’t. They’re both assassins, she suits it more.

They don’t start to pay attention to each other until later, until he sees her fight off several armed men with a dislocated wrist, until she sees him cut through an army for his boss’s honour.

They don’t talk until he watches her remove a bullet from her shoulder, until she glares at him with bloodshot eyes and tangled hair, and swears like a sailor. They don’t talk until she watches him polish one of his many swords, until he looks at her with a smug smirk and a glint in his eye, and he challenges her to a fight.

They don’t become friends until he finds himself pinned beneath her, with her arm against his throat and his sword arm incapacitated. They don’t become friends until she smirks at him, challenge clear in her eyes as she offers him a hand up.

The first time they kiss, there’s adrenaline pumping through their veins and the slight taste of iron in their mouths. They look at each other, a silent conversation going on between them, and do it again.

He can see the faint freckles that dot her cheeks this close and she can see the faint scars that cross his face.

This isn’t a fairy tale. There are no princes or princesses. There are, however, a pair of assassins, and that’s good enough.

@writersloth

They started out as whispers, gradually getting louder. They were the voices of everyone she had ever shattered mentally, the voices of those she impersonated without caring about how their family would feel. They asked if she regretted it, she didn’t, and they wouldn’t. Shut. Up.

A piercing shriek, not a scream, never scream darling, that means they’ve won, crawled up her throat and erupted out of her mouth.

It felt like she was trying to swallow glass.

The ground began to crack, windows started to shatter, buildings started to cave in, and she didn’t stop shrieking. 

She could feel liquid dripping down from her nose and if the faint taste of iron in the back of her throat was anything to go by, she’d soon be coughing up blood as well.

Still the terrible shrieking sound kept erupting out of her mouth with no signs of stopping. Her vision began to blur as the amount of oxygen she was able to take in got lower and lower.

As quickly as it starts, it ends. And she is left with a mind that is blessedly empty of any voice but her own.

@writersloth @millie-likes-art

Icy blue eyes that glinted with suppressed steel. Skin as pale as paper, as marshmallows, as snow covering the earth and choking out the life beneath it. Hair as dark as night, as black coffee, as ebony wood. Lips the colour of apples, of roses, of freshly spilled blood.

Her sometimes lover, most of the time enemy, had always had a certain fondness for her appearance whenever she emphasised her similarities to Snow White.

Perhaps it was the dreamer in him shining through. He’d always scoff at her when she said that but the slight blush that spread from his ears to his cheeks and down his neck proved he silently agreed.

Her lips quirked up into a wicked smirk as she caught another staring at her with something that might’ve been jealously, might’ve been hate.

She’d always liked this part of their game.

She had always liked to make him just a teensy weensy bit mad.

It reminded him that she wasn’t entirely his. She wasn’t theirs either. She belonged to no one, no one but herself.

She just let people think she belonged to them.

You have to degrade yourself sometimes, baby. Or at least make them think you are.

It makes it all the more fun to watch them realise that they are beneath you, instead of it being the other way round.

Her sometimes lover was the only one to figure it out.

Yet he kept coming back.

Strange boy.