| relevantlyirreverent It is literally blood oranges and tequila. How on earth do you find that not ok? |


| relevantlyirreverent It is literally blood oranges and tequila. How on earth do you find that not ok? |

| the-shadows-belong-to-me Bane watched the agitation in Barsad, how he was speaking frankly, but how could it be anything but an offer of servitude? Barsad was... he had a beauty to him, something that Bane tried not to think about but was struck by when Barad sleeping soundly or intent in his training. Bane did not. "You desire...me then?" he asked, unsure if he could believe it still, "Why? I have little to offer." Unskilled in such things as intimacy, marred, broken. What could be desired here. |
Barsad’s brain willed his mouth to answer seriously but they were dancing right on the line where his emotions back themselves into a dark wall, unseen and protected by bitter sarcasm. Bane with nothing to offer? Had he not lifted an entire army with his words alone, with a wave of his hand? Had he not fought for the will of The Demon’s Head despite being cast out? He bandaged Barsad’s wounds when the pain was too deep for him to do it himself, pulled him out of the pit when he should have died there; he saved Talia even before they knew who she would be. Little to offer. That was blasphemous. “You saved me,” he said slowly, with clarity.