A dimmed photo of two sword blades crossing each other in the snow, and the follow text in the following "how it started" and "how it's going" format: “You hate me,” Isolde growled, stalking toward him. “You never show it. Show it. Not because some wretched and cruel tyrant or a pathetic and powerless queen has ordered you to, or out of duty, or whatever else drives you. But because you, as a person, need to.” Emrys hadn’t even noticed that he’d withdrawn his sword from his scabbard until he had already lunged toward his uncrowned queen. He shoved her to the ground. Hard. He sprung forward and landed on top of her. The edge of his blade hovered dangerously close to her neck. His heart rattled in his chest like a feral beast begging to be let out. “Is this what you wanted?”
A dimmed photo of two sword blades crossing each other in the snow, and the follow text in the following "how it started" and "how it's going" format: Isolde didn’t move or try to run or fight back. Instead, with the hand he wasn’t pinning down, she gingerly touched the sliver of a cut he’d just made. “Is… Is this what you wanted?” “No,” his voice cracked. “Not at all.”
I like my MMCs to be pathetic wet cats, FMCs more than a bit feral, and my smut angsty and packed with some sort of danger. All the better if there are pent-up emotions. #darkromance #faerystories #queerAdultSFF #snippet
