#I mean he might call it sentimental and say sentiment is for fools

[martianbugsbunny]

how did I not see it before it is absolutely UNHINGED behavior for Stone to draw that foam art of him and Robotnik with hearts on ROBOTNIK'S LATTE unless he feels a hundred percent flipping secure in doing so???? like there is an implication there

[i-want-men-i-cant-have]

˗ˏˋ꒰ Say ‘I Love You’ ꒱ .

HOW THE FROSTHEIM BOYS WOULD ACT IF THEY HAD A CRUSH ON YOU. ft. jin kamurai, tohma ishibashi, lucas errant, & kaito fuji

wc : 2.5k

warnings : sfw, gender-neutral reader but implied afab for tohma's part

JIN is the definition of a cocky bastard. he acts high and mighty, always getting you to do the most insignificant tasks he can think of, all the while being a completely different person when it's just the two of you.

you have a test you need to study for? forget that. now you have to visit jabberwock to hand milk some beast king seal for his daily cup of tea.

if you're lucky and don't ask too many questions or take too long, you might get a sip. if he's in a good enough mood, he might even pour you a cup to commemorate a job well done. of course, this is rare when he prefers to share an indirect kiss without your knowing.

take a sip and position your lips wherever you want on the cup. he’s always going to put his own directly where yours were.

if he can’t sleep, he’s the type to wake you up at 3 am by phone call solely to have you look out the window to see the moon. he could fall asleep in the known presence of you, so calm and stable. just don't ask him if he’s going sentimental on you or he’ll hang up immediately without even wishing you a word.

don't let these small sweet moments fool you. the second you think he might be catching feelings, you see him out in public, and you’re nothing more than a fly on the wall that needs to be swatted (with utmost care).

even with his on-and-off attitude, he makes sure to become the lifeline you deserve. he can see that the second years don't exactly have the… disposition to take care of you as he could. lucas and the other one can try and protect you all they want, but he’ll be the only one to actually do something. he is the captain of frostheim for a reason.

the second you tell him about someone from his house even raising their voice at you, the best-case scenario is that they get shipped off to dig ditches in the desert for some mission and are gone for so long they have to retake the year.

of course, if you questioned the students' absence, he would wave you off, saying their families were too poor and needed their kids back home to help pay rent.

just remember, no matter how docile he may come off with you, the second someone else enters the room, those walls come shooting back up, acting as if he never caressed your hand, showing you how you could have easily checkmated him before he took out your queen and king all within four moves.

just pray it’s not tohma, or else jin would be taking jab after jab while trying to make him leave his room by any means necessary. all the while the vice-captain filled up your tea, sweet-talking you, and wondering why the door was locked while the two of you were alone all night; something you hadn't even noticed when coming in midday.

just hurry up and confess to jin already so tohma can stop his prying. he's not patient enough to deal with your mixed signals and dilly-dallying.

TOHMA wouldn't even try to cover how bad his excuses for everything were. it’s always going to be 50/50 on how realistic they sound. go fetch this work. go do this and that. he needs to help you study for an upcoming quiz. you need to try out this imported tea. blah, blah, blah.

there had been some minuscule to nonexistent complaints about the formal uniform at the dances and how it should be more elegant. buckle up because this man has ordered the most embarrassing things for you to try on.

the next week, there was a package filled to the brim with luxury clothes on your doorstep. the finest silk materials all adorned your body while he watched, camera and notes in hand. please excuse the quill in his hand writing everything everyone says; that’s just to track your true feelings. oh, the camera? it was for your candid reaction to pair with the pen. you really must work on masking your emotions more; maybe he could help you later.

starting off with a dress for someone your age was a nice start. nothing too sexy or childlike, being more on the modest side. the only skin showing were some ankles, chest, and all of your arms. the next few would be similar, only to ease you into a false sense of security.

somewhere sandwiched in the middle of the modeling session would be dresses tighter and smaller. you felt like your whole body was on display with him, the push-ups on your chest only contributing to your stress. when you asked tohma, he said he had no idea about when he ordered—as if he hadn't done research prior and took quick photos as you came out, pretending to act shocked when he saw the revealing clothing.

oh, the dress has a bit too much skin? well, that’s all the rage from what the female poll said they wanted for their dress uniforms. they did pay for their bodies; they should show them off.

to him, this was your way of opening up to him. if he's already gotten a sneak peek of what you have to offer, then what’s stopping him from seeing the rest? after all, you and he would complement each other so well.

not to mention he would work tooth and nail out of all his free time, dedicating it to figuring out how to get you to confess to him. he would never put his feelings on the line and somehow get rejected by someone like you.

you had to go to a random anomaly library to search for an anomaly book? that’s not too hard.

wrong.

two hours after being stuck in the never-ending location, and a mental breakdown later, tohma already secured the book without your knowledge. now he’s just waiting and making small talk, trying to rip out any piece of information he could use to make you sink your teeth into his hold on you.

both figuratively and literally, you were being brought together. the deeper you went into the library, the closer the shelves seemed to be.

when he had the chance to put the book on the highest shelf, watching the way your face lit up, he almost felt guilty putting this much effort into his plans. but you had to realize your feelings for him, not the other way around.

when you went to grab the anomaly book—along with the massive stack of books it was placed upon—it came avalanching down. instead of being swallowed alive by pages, you were pressed tight against the vice-captain, his shoulder saving you from your doom.

what you didn’t know was how tohma plastered your scent in his mind so he could hopefully find whatever perfume, shampoo, or just your smell somewhere.

LUCA would be the sweetest thing if he liked you. he would, of course, deny these feelings, thinking, or understanding them as platonic.

he would make you feel like you were in a classic, unproblematic, 90s shoujo manga. you could practically see the rose petals following him around whenever he’s with you.

it wouldn’t matter whether he recognizes his feelings or not or if he acts on them; no matter what, you’re going to feel special and wanted.

often, he would find you perusing the halls and randomly start a conversation. he would tell you about the differences between darwick and the uk campus, trying to find a reason to talk just so you wouldn’t leave. sometimes he finds himself purposely getting lost to spend just a couple of extra minutes with you.

he probably has some phone tracking app on you just in case something bad happens. of course, he would manipulate it in his favor—nothing bad, truly just misguided—so he could “accidentally” bump into you.

he’d probably subconsciously check his phone every few minutes hoping you texted him or anything. if you hadn’t seen him in a while due to being stuck at other houses for missions, he would use his favorite app at the moment to send a ‘stay safe!’ message for you to respond to and tell him how it’s going.

when you meet up, whether it be after a class or a whole week, he would, of course, grab your bags and make sure you're feeling alright. your feet hurt? here, get on his back. you have a migraine? here, have some medicine and a nice head massage.

what kind of gentleman would he be if he didn’t give his friends the courtesy of being comfortable?

he would take you to sho’s food truck, ren’s job, the cafeteria, or anywhere to have an excuse to spend more time with you (same goes for subaru).

100% a gentleman and doesn’t believe in splitting the tab 50/50. he invited you and you took the time out of your busy schedule to meet up with him.

yeah, there’s no way you're pitching in even a cent. he has money and he isn’t afraid to spend it on you.

he will open the doors for you and wait with bated breath as you walk by, thanking him each and every time.

he will treat you how you should be treated. he believes in the golden rule of treating others how you would like to be treated or how they would treat you, and you’ve shown him nothing but kindness. all he can do now is return the favor of being his first friend at this new school.

at one point, when his feelings were developing, he took them to yuri. instead of realizing any feelings, he thought your curse might cause him heartburn, only to be met with the doctor shoving him out and telling him to figure out his feelings before wasting his time on sappy romance.

it's safe to say everyone but luca knows about his feelings for you.

when he did realize his feelings were more than platonic, he cranked up that gentleman's act by one thousand.

you know those classic suave princely characters? that’s him to a t. patient and caring all without acting like a father and instead a friend.

if you did date him, it could only work out. it would be like dating your best friend, but not in an incestuous friendship-type way. an actual budding romance, no strings attached, but true undeterred love.

he would wait until he had completely understood his feelings until trying to make “moves” on you. think of things he’s heard kaito say to girls he’s trying to flirt with. suffice to say it only made you laugh.

instead of forcing you to confess to him like the rest, he’d much rather stake his emotions on the line than yours. he just wants you to be happy, even if it comes in the form of rejection or love. as long as you’re happy, he’s happy, whether that be as friends or something more.

be prepared to just enjoy time with him. if you do or don’t romantically like him back, it doesn’t matter. no matter what, you’re just going to be genuinely happy.

even if he’s not the best at picking up signs or reading people, he’s still going to be making sure you’re enjoying yourself.

his brother has already disappeared; he needs to cherish every moment with you, even if it’s one-sided, as friends, or as lovers.

KAITO'S unofficial love language is making you watch movies to make you fall in love with him.

scary movies? you can cling onto him, squealing into his big, strong, herculean muscles. romcom? maybe that can get you in the mood to stare at his plump lips and share your very first kiss. action? maybe you two can try and replicate a scene and accidentally fall on top of him, staring into his deep cerulean orbs, realizing he was always the one for you, not luca.

he is the most unorganized and delusional of the frostheim boys.

he will probably plan a few minutes in advance and, if not, he will get in his head and forget how to talk to you.

the most he’ll plan ahead of time is explaining how you two need to sleep in a bed together because he can't sleep in a pew of the church.

see, once you two finish binging a movie series, he can sleep and spend the night at your place. walking back is just too hard and dangerous at night, you know? besides, just one night in your small bed wouldn’t hurt. it would just end up with you two waking up in each other's loving embrace, confessing your undying love for each other.

in reality, he was scared he would accidentally fart or kick you as you slept and was too afraid to even move. he slept on the corner of the bed while hiding under the covers, trying to ignore the creepy shadow-like monsters of your room.

he has tried and failed to change his personality to match every single one of your interests, only to fail miserably. trust me, if you post a lot, he will stalk you back to your first-ever post by accident and have a mental breakdown after liking the post.

he wouldn't speak to you for a week after the incident until you liked his first-ever post to somewhat ease the burn.

the same goes for if you see him zoning out on you. do not try and provoke him in the wild as he watches you walk from class to class. if you even make eye contact, he's shriveling up to a prune.

unfortunately, everyone in the area sees him making an effort to stalk you and endlessly teases him for it.

even if he doesn’t necessarily look it, he will protect you. if you even seem somewhat stressed with a mission, he will be running across campus to help you out, no matter what the other house says.

he wouldn’t be a lap dog for you, more so an eager friend. not in a hundred years will he let you be stalked or threatened if someone took an interest in you. not on a yandere level, just a worried friend who would steamroll someone if need be, even if he had to fight. he will suck it up for you.

hopefully, you are genuinely interested in ranting or are a master at tuning things or people out because this man is insane. he will tell you all about his day while saying nothing at the same time.

he will send you his entire for you page and count down the seconds from when he posted to when you liked it. god forbid you take a day or week because you’re busy. if a form of snapchat exists in darwick, your streak will be insane. literally, how you track the number of days you started at the school.

“you forgot to open one.”

[feyascorner]

okay first of all i ADORE ur writing… wanna take a bite out of it..

anyway… uh… can i uhh… order a uhh…. astarion x tav.. and like..tav has a fucking insane pain tolerance and always has.. and like… uhh… one time she gets fucking TOTALED in a fight and like obvi it would hurt… and shes like crying subconsciously.. and when some1 points it out shes like “what???? why am i crying wtf???” and like looks down and is just fucking BLEEDING… n then.. astarion comfort…

only if u want thoo!!!!

a/n. Im like the exact opposite I'm very dramatic about the slightest pain but this is such a cute request so Ty!! ALSO PLS EXCUSE IF THIS IS A LITTLE CLUNKY I HAD TO TYPE THIS OUT W MY FINGERS🫠🫠

Astarion is grateful for your tolerance to pain.

Of course, he doesn't particularly enjoy watching you in pain, but he’s no fool. He knows the sting and the soreness that comes after he drinks from your neck. Well, at least, it should sting. However, it never seemed to bother you, and for that, he's forever grateful for it.

These strange sentiments expand past his thirst for blood, as the relief he feels when you’re battered up after a battle and you smile at him as if nothing’s wrong is incomparable to any other feeling he’s felt.

That relief does not come currently, however.

The battle was nearly hopeless. Overwhelmed in number, mages casting counterspell, fighters constantly aiming at you…he’s lost track of it all. By some miracle you and your companions stand victorious, and when he sees that you offer Karlach a lopsided smile, confirming that you're fine, he reaches to pick up one of his daggers.

“Tav—what in the hells, are you okay?”

It’s then that he spots the way your lip quivers and tears glisten threateningly at your eyes. And when you meet his own, they begin to drip down your cheeks like crystals and roll off your chin. He's seen you in tears before, but out of something more positive—not from pain. Before he can even tell what he's doing, he's rushing toward you.

“Why are you—” he sees the blood seeping from your stomach, and his face would've gone pale if he could.

You finally lift your hands to your face, eyes wide when your fingertips brush against the dampness of your cheeks. “Oh. Why am I?…”

Shadowheart scrambles to scrimmage around her bag. “Here, let me—gods, where did I—did we use all the healing potions?—”

“Oh for hells sake. Because you're bleeding!” Astarion hisses, his hand intertwining with yours as he drags you toward the nearest tree where he sits you down. He freezes when you flinch but you shake your head, wiping at your eyes. Your other companions are still searching the enemy corpses for anything that might relieve you of the pain, but they're taking far too long for his liking.

“I’m okay, it doesn't really hurt that much.”

“You’re crying.”

“I didn't even know I was-” you wince.

His eyes narrow. “Lay down.”

“What? No, I’m really fine!”

“Gods, love, please for once, listen to me. It’s quite straining to watch you clamber around with that ghastly wound on your stomach.”

You frown, but he guides you down anyway, careful to lay down your head against the grass. “Now wait patiently. Maybe if we’re lucky, our dear friends will find a potion before I start developing wrinkles.”

A momentary silence hangs in the air. It’s by no means uncomfortable, but there are words on the tip of his tongue he wishes to say. And when he notices you staring, he sighs.

“If you're hurt, tell us. I don't care how high your pain tolerance is—if you're hurt, call us. Call me. Don't be a fool and bleed out over a few enemies when we’ve been through so much worse.”

The sincerity in his voice is almost embarrassing. But with the way you're watching him so seriously, he can't bring himself to dwell on such irrelevant factors.

Then, you smile again, as if you've forgotten about the pain. “How minor can the pain be for me to call you?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Can I call you when I stub a toe?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I will.”

He stares at you with lidded eyes and you laugh. He feels the weight on his shoulders get a bit lighter.

“You may call for me whenever you wish.”

[surielstea]

Ballroom Secrets (pt. 11)

Based on this request.

Read pt.I here.

Pairing: Eris x Fem!Reader

Summary: Cassian finds out about readers secret relationship with the High Lord of Autumn.

Warning: Angst | Slight description of depression | hurt/comfort | happy ending

5.6k words

A/N: Sorry this is so long 😭😭 I just really wanted to get the angst right so it got long quick, hope you enjoy! :)

I sat in the sitting room of the river house cuddled up next to Morrigan who was splitting a bottle of wine with me.

"Where'd you get this?" Mor asks, pinching the silk of my new dress between her hands. "Oh I'm not sure, it was a gift." I smile, remembering the way Eris handed it to me for no particular reason other than the fact that he wanted to take it off of me. "From who?" Feyre asks in her own chair, Rhysand standing beside her, leaning against the arm rest. My mouth goes dry.

"It's a male, look at the way she's blushing." Azriel hummed, leaning back against the wall. I cast him a glare but he only returns it with a soft smile. "The same male that gave you this?" Mor points to my neck. "Gave her what?" Cassian perks up from his sprawled out position on the couch, Nesta's feet in his lap. "Yeah, what?" I look to Mor confused. "A hickey." A smirk curves her lips and I slap my hand over where the mark lies.

"By who?" Nesta sits up, gods even she was interested. "No one, I don't know— just some guy." I stumble over my words, cursing myself for my horrible lie. Azriel nearly laughs and rightfully so, his shadows were probably picking up on every nerve that tensed in my body.

"Is that why you've been missing training?" Cassian raised a brow and I can't will the words to leave my mouth. I've always been a horrible liar, Eris has tried to teach me his ways of deceit but it was no use when every time I tried to be quick witted or malevolent it failed miserably and I made a fool of myself. "I've been missing training because you schedule it for the asscrack of dawn." I grumble, half truths however were my forte. Cassian narrows his eyes on me and I swallow thickly. "Oh leave her alone already, let the girl have her fun." Amren speaks up and I silently thank every god I can think of. "Cauldron knows she's had the three of you Illyrians hovering over her shoulder since she was born." The eldest of us finalizes and the conversation thankfully ends there.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

I was in the middle of reading a novel in my bedroom of the river house when a note fluttered down onto my chest, appearing from thin air. A soft smile comes to my lips as I close the book and pick up the note, recognizing the handwriting immediately.

Will you be home soon?

I twist my lips to the side and dwell over the question before flipping on my side to grab a pen from my nightstand. I quickly write back and watch the note disappear from my hands.

I'm waiting for everyone to fall asleep, we're all night owls evidently.

It takes only a minute for him to reply and the words on the paper make me audibly giggle.

Drug them. I miss you, and I'm tired.

Can't sleep without me?

Apparently not. I smile widely at the sentiment. I'll leave soon, just for you.

Soon isn't soon enough

I roll my eyes at his childish impatience but a smile forms over my face as I write out my retort.

Shut your whining up, I'm trying to read

You're so mean to me (I like it)

I don't write back, deciding that if I say anything else he might winnow here himself just to take me back, which wouldn't be good. I opened my book back up but as soon as I was getting back into the story there was a knock at my door. I sigh and use Eris' note as a bookmark before shutting it. "Come in." I call, sitting up.

Cassian enters, taking up the whole entry way as he shuts the door behind him. I smile at my brother as he looks to me with his warm hazel eyes. "I thought you were going to bed?" He creases his brows skeptically and I roll my eyes. "I say that, and then I read my romance novels." I lift up my book and it was his turn to roll his eyes, taking a seat on my bed.

Cassian isn't my brother by blood, but he might as well be. I can't remember a time when he wasn't taking care of me. When he was only seven years old he offered me shelter in his tent. I was six and lost, my parents deserting me, or so I presumed. He tucked me under his wing and shielded me from the rain until arriving back to the tent. He snuck me food from Windhaven and even stole maids clothes off of laundry lines. If it weren't for him I most likely wouldn't be alive today, ever since then he's been particularly protective of me, even towards friends from other courts. I wasn't Illyrian either, but he always said I acted like one. Perhaps that was an insult, but I took it as a compliment.

"What's up?" I shift in my bed so my legs dangle over the side and he's right beside me. "We haven't talked in awhile, I miss you." It was true. It feels like it's been months since it's been just him and I. Realization dawns upon me that all of my free time has gone to Eris, he's my mate sure, but that doesn't mean I want to leave the rest of my family in the past.

"I know. I'm sorry." I lean my head on his shoulder. "I've been busy." I murmur, fiddling with my hands.

"Alright, Who's the lucky guy— or gal, I don't discriminate." He hums and my heart drops. Gods I did not want to expose my relationship with Eris right now. Not ever. "Can we not talk about this right now?" I say, my voice gentle and pleading. "C'mon, you used to tell me everything." He groans and I lift my head from his shoulder, my hands coming to my knees to stop from fidgeting. "This is different." I shrug.

"How so?"

His question is met with silence, I was weighing whether or not I should just kick him out and tell him I'm tired. He'd leave if I asked. But I didn't want him to, just didn't want to talk about this.

"I'd like to meet who's got my sister glowing like this." He bumps my side with his. "Doubt it." I grumble, then curse myself for letting that slip. "What's that supposed to mean?" He snorts a laugh and I look at him nervously, gripping my knees tighter as his smile slowly drops. "I've met him?" He arches a brow and all I can do is slowly nod. Is this it? All that sneaking around summing up to this very moment? "Do I like this guy?" He guesses like this is a game and the health of our friendship isn't in my hands. "Not really, no." I answer honestly, lying is impossible and staying silent will only cause his thoughts to drive him mad.

"Well if he's got you this happy, I'm willing to reevaluate." He shrugs, carefree. He clearly doesn't understand the situation. "It's not that simple." I shake my head, looking away from him and back to my lap. "Talk to me, I won't judge." He reaches over, placing his calloused hand on my clenched ones. "Promise." He gives them a reassuring squeeze. A pit forms in my stomach. My nails dig into the skin of my knees and he understands, pulling his hand away. My eyes widen and I can only pray he doesn't hate me for this.

"Before I tell you, try not to be too mad okay?" I crease my brows, swallowing thickly and looking to him. "Uh, okay?" He looks at me foolishly. "I'm serious." I stress with wide eyes. "Okay, okay, I won't be mad." He promises and I force myself to take a deep breath. This truth that I've been hiding for nearly a year now about to be exposed. All because I forgot to glamour a fucking hickey on my neck. Gods how could I have been so stupid?

I realize the quiet has been dragging on for far too long and that if I don't tell him now I never will.

"Eris."

Silence. He doesn't make a sound and he doesn't move. A weight lifts from my shoulders and for a second it's bliss. "What?" His voice lacks emotion and a new weight envelopes me. Fuck. "Eris is the male I've been secretly seeing." It comes out in a pitiful whisper. "Are you mad?" I was quick to ask, but he doesn't reply for a long moment. Allowing me to think of everything I've done. All that I've risked just to be with my mate, to be happy.

"Please tell me you're talking about another Eris." He tries to remain calm but I can hear it, the quiver of his voice, the clenching of his fists. I shake my head no and I swore I could feel the heat radiating off of him, pure anger. "You promised you wouldn't be mad!" I stand to look at him, a fire in his eyes that is pure rage.

"Well that was before you let that bastard into your bed." He stands and my neck cranes up to keep eye contact, the power dynamics making my legs wobble. Gods I felt useless.

"It's not like that—" I try to defend but he doesn't let me finish. "What? Don't tell me you think he's in love with you?" He scoffs like it's the most improbable thing on the continent. Tears well in my eyes at the idea. "You don't know him." I defend. "I don't want to, for all I know he's probably using you for a good fuck—" He starts. "Stop it." I demand and he clamps his mouth shut. "He's better than you think." I will my voice not to break. "Has he brainwashed you? You can't be serious." He nearly laughed at the idea. I don't say anything, allowing him to get his anger out before I plead my case.

"Or have you forgotten what he's done to Morrigan?" A shutter racks through me and I can't bring myself to look him in the eyes. "That story isn't true." I rasped but I doubt he hears me. I must sound insane to him. "Do you know who his parents are? How you'll be treated if you ever married him?" He goes on but it's not true, none of what he says is true. "You'll be a fucking brood mare, forced to give sons over and over again. Do you understand that?" His hand comes to my shoulders, squeezing tightly. "He's not Beron. We've talked about it, he doesn't even want kids unless I'm willing to give that to him." My words are just above a whisper and he lets go of my shoulders like he's repulsed, as if I hold a virus and he doesn't want to get infected.

"It doesn't matter. Eventually you become parents." He whispered. "You really believe that? Tell that to Rhys. To Morrigan, or Azriel. Tell that to fucking Nesta." I grit out, whipping my head up to look at him and his hypocritical statements. I allow him to see the fury in my eyes, the tears streaming down my cheeks. "Leave her out of this." He narrows his eyes on me.

The first argument to this level we ever had was over his mate. I hated her, loathed every part of her and what she made my brother go through— and now she's one of my most trusted friends and one of my favorite people. A laugh escapes from my body. I must've looked crazy finding amusement at a time like this. "It's the same thing." I bring my hands up to wipe my tears. "Gods were so fucking predictable." I sigh out. He looks at me confused, eyes analyzing my body language. "Nesta is just like him, and you know it." I narrow my brows at him. "This is different." He clenches his fists at his sides. "How so? Give me one good reason as to how this is different?" I will him. "Eris hurt Mor." He says the crime like it's dirt in his mouth. "Nesta hurt Feyre." I reason with him. He grits his teeth. "He hates Illyrians. He hates you and I because of where we come from, do you understand how fucked that is?" His hands come to my wrists, as if pleading me to listen.

"His father hates Illyrians." I correct. "And stop saying I'm an Illyrian I'm not." I pull at his grip but it's iron. "Fine. But he hates me, are you picking sides right now?" His brows crease like I've betrayed him. "No! I—" My breath gets caught halfway up my throat. "I don't want to pick sides, I want both." Tears continue falling and I don't bother wiping them away anymore. "And Nesta hated the Fae entirely, don't be so certain that makes them different." I seethe out at him and he narrows his eyes at me. "We're mates. Nesta and I are cauldron willed, you can't ignore something like that." He says and I stare at him unwavering, not bothering to say anything but rather dropping my glamour around the mating bond connected straight to the high lord of Autumn.

His eyes widen and his grip on my wrists loosens but I don't pull away. "No," His voice is a whisper. I nod. "Reject the bond, you deserve better than him I don't care if you love him." He rules. "I already accepted it, nearly half a year ago." I expose. If I was going to be honest I might as well lay it all out. "Half a year?" He rasps and I nod gravely. "You've been lying to me for half of a fucking year?" His tone is louder, more angry. "I don't understand why you care so deeply, I gave you my reasons now leave it alone." I match his lever of voice. "Why I care? I've always cared, you're my family—" He begins and I tear my wrists from his grasp. "You're not even my real brother!" I yell at him and I swore the world stopped spinning. Pain flashes across his eyes and he stumbles back, his mouth falling open before he clamps it shut and swallows thickly.

"Cass I didn't—" I try. "No." He looks at me like he's never seen me before. "You've made your point clear." He walks to the door. Every fiber of my being wants to beg him to stay. But my feet can't move and I stare aimlessly as he leaves, the door clicking shut with a gut wrenching softness. Leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I use whatever remaining energy I have left to winnow back to my apartment. Where I knew Eris impatiently waited for me to return. I land wobbly on my feet, tears slowly cascading from the wells of my eyes. Eris who was laid on the couch with a book sat up alarmed. I remove the walls around our bond and allow the misery that overwhelmed me to flood into his end of our connection.

He rushes toward me alarmed, fire raging in his eyes but not toward me, toward whoever made me feel this way. "Eris," I murmur, I was sure I was going to collapse. "My love," He brings a hand to my waist, keeping me steady but that didn't stop a choked sob from escaping me. "What's wrong?" His other hand comes to my cheek, wiping away my tears. "Talk to me." His brows crease and this feels so wrong, seeking comfort in the very reason Cassian is mad at me in the first place.

"He knows." I whisper. "Who knows?" His brows crease in confusion, before they relax with realization. I grip his shirt in my fists, looking up at him like a lost animal. "I'm a horrible sister." I confess, my voice breaking on the final word. "No," He shakes his head, pulling me into his chest, holding me close and warming me up. "No love, don't say that." He whispered into my hair, his arms tight around me.

Another sob racks through me but he doesn't shush me, he allows the dam of tears to break and every emotion I've kept bottled up for the past half year comes flowing out.

I tell him everything. From the moment Mor noticed the hickey to the point when Cassian left my bedroom. My voice shook when telling him of what I said to my brother. "And now I'm here and, and I don't know what to do." I sobbed, looking up at him as he ran a hand through the ends of my hair. "I see." His voice is soft, caring. "I was so mad, I wasn't thinking and with all the words he said about you I just— I hated him at that moment." I cup my mouth at the realization. I never wanted to hate anyone, especially not someone I love so much. I never want to feel that uncontrollable emotion ever again.

"It's not your fault." He stresses. "We'll figure this out together alright?" His thumb traces along my cheek and I nod, blinking away my final tears. "But what if he never wants to talk to me again?" I whisper. "What if he hates me?" My lip quivers at the thoughts, I don’t know how I’d live with myself if Cassian ever hated me. "Your brother loves you too much to ever consider that. Alright?" His hands grip my face slightly as if to stress his point and I nod meekly, slipping my hands around his waist again and hugging him tightly.

He releases a deep sigh and hugs me back, his touch warming my skin in a way that comforted me more than he could ever know. In the hug I begin to wonder how he feels about the world knowing. I hoped he knew how much he’s helping me, how much I appreciated that he’s here for me. Then I realized that he might be thinking of leaving for my benefit, so I can return to Cassian and tell him everything he said about Eris was right and I can stay with my family. I didn’t want that. Gods, why can’t I have both? The cauldron must’ve been playing a cruel joke on me. "Please, don't leave." I beg of him. He bends down and places a hard kiss to the temple of my head. "Never." But he would, if I asked.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

The next few days were long. I barely slept, every time I tried I'd be reminded of the words I spat at Cassian. I couldn't face him, didn't dare go back to the River House, much less the House of Wind. I stayed in bed, staring out the window of my bedroom, watching the sunset shining against the Sidra, the water refracting in rainbows as stars awakened in the sky. Another day passes.

I felt hollow, my limbs heavy and my stomach a pit. I knew I'd have to face Cassian soon, see him and the others. I wonder if he told them, warned them all to no longer speak to me. All because of who I'm in love with. Anger consumed me for a few days, thinking him deserving for what I said. Who was he to pick who I can and cannot love? I spent hours cursing him as a hypocritical bastard, spewing lies to convince myself I was in the right.

I slowly came to, deciding I needed to stop avoiding my own fate and face what truly lies at the root of the problem. The rest of the days of my solitude was spent in grief.

Feeling sorry for myself wasn't any better than the raging nights. It was truly pitiful how I ended up here.

There was a knock at the door frame. I didn't have to look to guess it was my mate. "I'm not hungry Eris." I say plainly, continuing to stare out at the river. "Have you eaten today?" I don’t expect his voice to be behind me as he slithers into the bed beside me, curling an arm around my waist. “I had a bowl of soup not too long ago.” I answer, flipping onto my side to look up at him. His golden eyes that rolled with sadness, he couldn’t help blaming himself for my situation and I hated that he did. “Okay.” He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. “I have to return to Autumn later tonight, high lord stuff.” He grumbled and I groaned, tucking closer to him. “I’ll be back in the morning.” He promised. I huff, wrapping an arm around his torso and burrowing into his chest. “Unless, you want to come with me?” He arched a brow and I look up at him, my head propped up on his chest. “To the Autumn court?” I ask. He nods, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

I haven’t been to my mates court since Eris’ coronation because it’d raise suspicion if a girl from Rhysand’s inner circle began to roam the markets of the foreign court. But I suppose that didn’t matter now if our secrets out. “You think your people will react well?” I ask anxiously. “After my father ruled over them they’ll take anything they can get, and if a pretty high lady is an option I think they’ll be over the moon.” He offers me a gentle smile. “High lady?” I can’t help but smile at the idea of ruling a court together. He nods. I fantasize about the idea for a moment, until the thought of Cassian finding out about me proudly wearing an autumn court crown settles over me. He’d fall into a fit of pure rage and I’d never forgive myself. “Can we wait?” I ask. “Just until all this is resolved with Cass, and then yes. I’d love to be your high lady.” I nod. He gives me a comforting expression. “Of course my love.” He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to my lips. I him against the action and kiss him back. Wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him impossibly closer. His lips slotted perfectly against mine and the feeling that bloomed in my chest when kissing him filled the pit of my stomach and the hollowness of my heart. I felt lighter. A knock sounds at the front door, loud and demanding. My ears perk at the sound and I pull back, he seems to want to chase my mouth back to his but he freezes too when another impatient knock rings through the house.

I sigh and sink down into the bed. "You can answer it." I say, removing my arms from his neck. "Are you sure?" He asks, his own warm arms slipping from my waist and I wished they didn’t. "They all know by now, what's the point of hiding it?" I grumble, and he nods as he stands from the bed, my eyes watching him as he does so. "Alright." He nods. “If it’s not Cassian I’m not interested.” I voice. He glances to me and only nods in reply.

He leaves the room and my eyes go back to the window. I strain my ears to hear for the voices in the living room but I can only hear Eris.

"She doesn't want to see you." He said. A mumble of a voice replied, it was soft, must be female. My hope diminished when I realized it's not my brother. "In the bedroom." Is the next thing I hear from my mate and I mentally prepare for whoever is about to walk into my room.

The door creeks open but I don't move. I stay looking out the window, watching as dusk now takes over the sky. "Gods its dark in here." Nesta.

I don't have the energy to reply, giving her enough of an answer with my silence. "Look, I know I'm not who you want to see, but he's in a similar state as you." She hums and that fact settles deep into my bones. I adjust, sitting up and facing her, leaning back against my headboard.

"He throws up every night too?" I ask with a wry sense of humor. Nesta tossed a glare toward Eris who stood at the doorway like a guard.

"No, much worse. He won't stop training." She hums, crossing her arms and sitting on the edge of the bed beside my thighs. Her eyes go distant as she thinks about her mate. "He's spent more time in the training ring than sleeping as of late, he doesn't joke anymore, and I haven't seen him smile in a week." She confesses, her brows creased in concern.

"Are you telling me this to try and make me feel better?" I murmur, avoiding her gaze.

"You know me better than that." She scoffs. It was true, Nesta is one of my best friends. The three Valkyries all are, but especially the eldest Archeron. I remember all the things I said about her, how I boiled her down to all of her faults. The hollowness returns and another thing I will never forgive myself about forms. "I care about you, but I care about him more." She stands up, Eris growls from the doorway but I wave him off, understanding what she meant. "And I just need the two of you to figure your shit out so he goes back to his usual self, it’s so quiet at the house." She crosses her arms over her chest defensively but her tone is soft. "He misses you." She reveals. "He won't admit it but he wants to see you, stop by the house, please." She finalizes, before turning on her heel and walking towards the door.

"Nesta," I call, she whirls around to look at me. "Thank you." Is all I can get out. She nods, then turns back around and exits the way she came.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

The house of wind was emptier than I expected it to be. Eris offered a dozen times to come with me last night, saying that he’d cancel his meetings in the Autumn court so he can offer some sort of support but I told him he had to tend to his own court, that I had to do this on my own. So here I was, about an entire day after Nesta's speech, ready to face my brother. Or at least I hoped I was.

I wandered the halls, stretching ny hearing for any sound but I was met with nothing. I remember Nesta mentioning the training ring so I ascend the steps to the roof.

The clang of metal swords clash loudly as I welcome myself onto the landing, staring at my brother and Azriel who were sparring just to get frustration out. Cassian was sloppy with his moves, not breathing through each step the way he usually did. And Azriel was going easy on him. It was rare for the competitive shadow singer to sympathize but in this instance he was working Cassian like a charity case. The general knew it too and only fueled more of that anger he held in each of his swings.

Azriel and I make eye contact and his movements freeze, shadows pooling at my feet as Cassian struck him down and pinned him with his sword. "Again." My brother demanded, reaching his hand out toward the spymaster. Azriel remained looking at me and with the distraction, Cassian whirled around to look at me with narrowed eyes that quickly turned wide.

His sword clattered down onto the mat as he let it slip from his hand. "Cass." My voice is a rasp. He takes a step out of the training ring until he's right in front of me and I'm looking up at him again.

Tears well in my eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean what I said I just—" I tried to speak but was cut off by his large arms wrapping around me tightly into a warm hug. I melt into it, releasing a soft sigh of relief and hugging him back. "You were right." He confesses. "I was just hurt and wasn't thinking about how you might be feeling." He mutters into my hair. "No you were right to be mad," I shake my head. "I kept it a secret from you for a long time, I should tell you everything." I admit and he backs away from the hug.

"I don't want you to feel like you can't tell me things, I reacted poorly." He sighs. "I did too, the things I said about Nesta were uncalled for. You know I love her." I say with tearful eyes. “I know, it’s okay.” He reassures, squeezing me tighter and lifting me up off the ground slightly with his height. "But, I'm not sorry for being with Eris." I assert as he places me back on the ground and he backs away. His eyes soften and he wipes a stray tear from my face. "I know, it'll take some time for me to get used to but I want you to be happy." He utters and that's all I needed to hear. "I can't promise he'll be invited to all the family dinners." He scratches the side of his neck and I offer him a relaxed smile. "That's okay," I nod my head. "I doubt he'd want to come anyways." I shrug. "The prick should consider himself lucky for even being able to look at you." Cassian grumbles. I give him a reprimanding look and he puts his hands up like he's been caught for a crime. "Sorry, I'll be better." He promises. "Thank you, brother." I pull him closer into another hug. "Means the world to me." I mumble and he presses a kiss to the crown of my head the way he's always done for the past five hundred years.

"You're sweaty." I grimace, breaking away from his hug. I lean to the side of him to see Azriel waiting impatiently for him to return to the training ring. "Do me a favor?" I look up at him. "Anything." He hums without hesitation. "Kick Az's ass for me?" I arch a brow and a menacing smile curves his lips. "I heard that!" Azriel calls from a few yards away, dammed shadows.

I look at the blue siphoned male glaring at me as Cassian retreats back to his sword. I blow the spy master a kiss and he waves me off. I smile contentedly and winnow back home.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Eris leaned against the kitchen counter with a furrow in his brow, waiting impatiently for me to return. I was surprised at his early arrival, he said he’d be home tonight but the sun had barely left the horizon. I suppose he wanted to return as soon as possible. He pushed off the counter and looks at me expectantly. A bright smile curves my lips and I jump into his arms, he catches me without so much as a stumble back, his warm hands coming under my thighs and heating me up like a cozy fire. "Everything's okay?" He asks worriedly, I don't reply and instead bring my hands up to his sharp cheekbones and pull him in for a kiss.

It was soft and lasting, like he was afraid I was going to tell him to leave after this ends. That Cassian somehow convinced me my mate was some maniacal creature who didn't deserve love. He wouldn't blame me, he'd go if I asked him and that fact is tearing at me. So I deepened our kiss, pulling him closer with a hope to reassure him.

"Please tell me everything's okay." He begs against my lips and I nod. "Everything's okay." I whisper with a small smile and he releases a hefty sigh, the weight of a world lifting from his shoulders. "Cass said he'd try his best. But then he followed up by saying you're a prick so?" I scrunch my nose at the way it sounds and he grins widely. "Sounds about right." He nods, placing me atop the countertop.

"Thank you." I say, wrapping my legs around him. "For what my dear?" His brows crease. "You took care of me when I was at my worst, I appreciate it." I softly say, his eyes glaze over for a moment but the sheen quickly disappears after he blinks. "You would've done the same thing for me." He shakes his head, leaning closer and pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of my lips. "I think I'll miss sneaking around with you." He admits and I chuckle. "Me too, but think about all the things we can do now that we don't have to be a secret?" I grin wildly at all the possibilities. His eyes light up and a smirk curves his sensual lips.

"What?" I ask him nervously when he doesn't say anything. "How would you like to be crowned high lady now?" He suggests and my cheeks heat. "But you've already been crowned, can we still do that?" I tilt my head. "It's my court love, I can do whatever I want." His arrogant tone makes me roll my eyes. "And what do you want?" I tilt my head, running my hands through the tufts of his deep auburn hair. "I want you on my throne." He purred, pressing a kiss to my jaw. "That can be arranged." I grin, throwing my arms over his shoulders.

"Anything else high lord?" I give him a seductive smile and he gets the hint. "I also want to fuck you by the fireplace." He confessed, pressing light kisses up the side of my face. "Then what are you waiting for?"

Taglist: @fxckmiup @olive-main @iluvyewman-blog @gaymistakeboi

Comment a “💙” to be added to the tag list!

[solarflaresdaddyissues]

”Goodbye. My Acolyte…”

I kid you not, SAMS fans, Creator is was in a romantic relationship with Acolyte and no one can change my mind.

I may be getting too invested into this because Acolyte is my favorite character and I’m coping with his death, but this had been a running joke for a long time with me and now I don’t think it’s a joke.

Going way back to episodes I’m not going to bother researching the names for just for a simple post I’ll forget about, Acolyte and Creator have always has a relationship similar to that of either toxic exes or an old married couple. Sure, they clearly don’t like each other, right? WRONG!

In the episode where Taurus confronted Creator, after Taurus was already gone and Acolyte was listening to Creator go on his long rant, we get that one scene. (Yes, I don’t have the video pulled up and I don’t know the exact quote, sue me) “I will rule this godforsaken planet, and you shall rule alongside me!” Oh? Will be now? What happened to you treating him like a servant? Now you want him to be what, the queen to you as the king? Cause if he’s ruling alongside you, I doubt he’s a servant anymore.

Next, in the Creator’s death episode, Solar had his whole monologue about how no one would miss him but maybe Earth. Then he leaves and Acolyte comes in. He spots Creator and he’s upset. His breathing’s shaky, he’s kneeling down at his body brain, he’s clearly very shaken about Creator’s death.

HE TRIED TO CALL HIM SVEN! We hear Acolyte say Creator multiple times, trying to rouse him in a vain hope that he’s still alive. Then he makes to say Sven and cuts himself off. He knows the Creator wouldn’t want to be remembered as Sven Isnolov. He’s Creator, through and through. So he stops. He knows it won’t wake him. He’s gone.

And then we get the recorded message. Made just for the man kneeling over his “body” at that moment. “Continue our plans.” “I can’t do this without you…” “You’re probably saying something like, ‘I can’t do this without you. You sentimental fool.” So you knew exactly what he was going to say? In a prerecorded message? My my, Creator, I think you’re a bit attached, if you know him that well.

And then Acolyte goes and messes with forces he absolutely should not have just to bring him back. (Side note: Despite how much I hate Creator, I am willing to have him live. Because that’s what Acolyte wanted. It may as well have been his last wish. Let him have this.) So he goes to Rez, right. And he asks him to revive him. He knows what the Creator wanted and he knows that Creator is useful to Rez. Win-Win. For them, anyways. Creator is brought back. Yippie, I guess.

Creator immediately figures out what’s going on and is, deservedly, disappointed with Acolyte. He didn’t want this to happen. Human emotions get in the way. But he’s back. Beat Eclipse’s respawn speed run. And he works for Rez. Great.

Now, Rez, I am now hating. Was my third favorite star, now he’s lower than that. Way lower. You can’t go killing my favorite characters like that, buddy.

Then, we get Rez’s command. To prove loyalty, kill Acolyte. Excuse me? Pardon? Now, I don’t think I heard you right??

And Creator APOLOGIZED to Acolyte for it. He knows that this would all be useless if he’s just killed again. And Acolyte might die either way. Creator doesn’t have emotions. But he felt sorry for killing Acolyte. And his speech?! He was trying to protect Acolyte by telling him to continue? He knew that something like this would happen and he would have to kill him. He didn’t want to kill him. That’s astounding.

“Goodbye. My Acolyte.” My Acolyte? MY Acolyte? I know acolyte as a title means “Attendant”, he’s calling him his servant. But that’s what he was called. Besides Felix. Which, lovely name, by the way. Never really thought much about it until now. He was called Acolyte. That was his title. And the Creator called him his before he killed him. That’s so sweet. And incredibly gay, man, what in Polaris’s galaxy made you get sentimental! I ain’t judging, I’m loving this.

I can’t talk about this enough. These two are my life right home. I love this.

(Also, petition to make their ship name BrainRot? Because Creator is a brain and Acolyte was Trashcan Man at one point. Best glowup, honestly)

[arntyoujustcute]

I belong to the small Sektor girlie population and I was wondering if you would do a second part or another One-shot with Sektor （人´∀`*)

Well, only because you asked so nicely (And I hit writers block on my Bi-Han longfic, so this was nice distraction)

"Me and My Girl"

(Prequel to my other Sektor fic here, Strange Manicure")

Being not just the Lin Kuei’s Master Armorer, but a talented machinist and engineer, one would expect Sektor to see the obvious crush her little assistant had on her.

She was not that intelligent, unfortunately.

Everyone could see it. You followed her everywhere around the clan, waddling after her even when you’re not needed. You say it is because you simply enjoy spending your free time with your superior, and Sektor pays no mind to your habit and doesn't tell you to stop. Sometimes the other engineers in the workshop try to call you over, saying they need your assistance with some random task and you just talk back and say that Sektor requires you more, as you merely hold a flashlight for her as she pokes around an engine. Even the Grandmaster and his brothers are starting to get suspicious of your little game, Kuai Liang and Bi-Han exchanging a look every time they call for Sektor and you come in right next to her. It’s like a supervillain and her ridiculous sidekick; Sektor giving orders to her fellow engineers while you hold everything she needs. It would be cute, if it also wasn’t pathetic.

Sektor has given no clue that she returns your sentiment, and you are centimeters from the breaking point. You never cease with bragging about your commander’s bright mind, and you always have a hot cup of tea prepared for her before she has even asked for it. Barely do you complain when she loses her temper and raises her voice, rarely because of something you did, but because some other fool in the armory has done something to raise her blood pressure. She apologizes each time, citing her growing anger with the Grandmaster’s slowness at approving her new plans for the clan (Bi-Han swears he has grown past his father’s views, but the minute Sektor showed him her ideas for technological advances in biology, he shot her down with ridiculous statements such as “Why would you want to replace parts of your body with robotics?” and “The Lin Kuei has no need for firearms of THAT caliber!”. The world is progressing, and the Lin Kuei will NOT be left behind), and you accept it each time. She is as close to a stubborn narcissist as one could be without reaching the criteria, and hearing her actually, meaningly, say she is sorry is enough to make you ignore her biting words.

After you come to terms with ‘Yes, she can mean but she is also pretty and somehow makes me happy’ and decide to come clean and admit it, the only issue that remains is how to say it. You’ve tried twice now to go up to her and just admit to your crush, but the first time your tongue twisted and the words refused to come out of your throat, and Sektor stared at you strangely until she told you to just speak, making you give up your plan. The second time, Bi-Han called for her presence and made her leave you behind, making you curse your Grandmaster’s name later that night. Now on attempt number three, you are ready.

You think…well, hope, you are ready.

You choose a night where it will just be Sektor in the workshop by herself. You even go so far as to get her flowers, a beautiful bouquet of red roses and baby’s breath, and a new toolkit with a lock because someone has been taking her open-ended and allen wrenches and now she is short three different sizes. You’ve let her borrow yours in the meantime until she puts in an order for replacements, and the barely visible thankfully smirk on her oil covered face sent your heart pounding. Her giving that look to anyone else is enough to make the wild animal in you pace it’s cage and want to tear someone’s head off, and it assures you that you have to come clean, or you might lose your brain in this love.

You poke your head through the door, making sure it really was just Sektor as the armory's lone occupant before you sneak inside. You can see her halfway underneath some recon vehicle, sparking flying from whatever she is welding underneath it, and you stalk closer to the unaware female. You hide the flowers behind some equipment just in case this all goes south and you can have some dignity intact before taking your life out of embarrassment; Sektor has never shown interest in anyone in the time you have known her, and not even before according to some of the more veteran warriors and builders- you are already prepared for her rejection. 

Despite your fear, you are Lin Kuei, and you have been taught that being a coward would get you nothing in life. You grip the new toolkit in your sweaty palms, and walk closer to the woman you’ve been hopelessly pinning months over.

You’ve been assuming she hadn’t noticed your approach with the loud welding gun and being under a car, so you are startled when she turns the machine off and calls your name. Your spine is straight when she rolls out, and you have to control the urge to go over to her and fix her soot speckled hair. She tugs off her safety google and cotton mask, and you want to smile at the oil outline the goggles leave on her face.

“How did you hear me?” You ask, watching Sektor as she lifts herself off the floor. Her work demands a strong figure, and you carefully look away from the little sliver of skin you see on her stomach when she stands.

“I recognized your footsteps.” She reveals nonchalantly, and you physically cannot stop yourself from overthinking about that statement. ‘Recognize? Do I walk that loud? Do my shoes squeak and I've never noticed? Do I walk in tune to something? Oh my Gods does she get mad when I-’

“My time is precious, speak your mind.  My father is expecting me to have this project finished by nightfall.” Sektor breaks you free from your rambling mind. She doesn't look annoyed that you dazed off, and you'll never know how her face looks when she watches you and takes notice of the brand new toolkit in your hands. She is not annoyed by your mind break, not all, it gives her time to look at you unnoticed after all.

“Sorry, it's just…I, well.” You stuttered, sweaty hands fidgeting with the toolkit. The armorer looks at you, tapping her foot against the metal floor. Her work is time sensitive, and as much as she enjoys you, you are pushing it.

“Just, promise not to be mad, and if you don't approve, we can just ignore all of this and each other. I will go back to my own private work, and you don't have to speak with me anymore.” You rush out, each syllable a struggle. Sektor says nothing, making you more nervous, but the tilt of her head is enough of an approval to get you to move.

“First, this is for you.” You walk towards and and hold out the toolbox. Sektor actually looks stunned at the gift, hesitating before taking it. The box is a bright fiery red, and inside all of the tools are a shining silver. Everything will eventually find use in her work, and she blinks up at you.

“You didn't have to do this, I still have that replacement order on backlog but they won't take long to come in.” She says, still processing the gift. This large of a set wasn't inexpensive to get, and she has no idea why you would go out of your way to get her this…unless.

“I wanted to, especially after the others kept taking yours after you told them to stop.” You beam at her. You've been with-well, known her long enough to tell when the engineer is in a good mood, and her wide eyes and lack of stress in her shoulders shows her equivalent of shocked joy. 

“That's not all.” You speak, moving backwards to where you got the flowers hidden. Sektor moves to put the toolbox down and follows, curiosity peaked. You take a deep breath and then another, the thornless rose stems digging into your palms before you give up and turn around, holding out the gift like a bridal bouquet.

Sektor’s eyes widen at the flowers, blinking rapidly like they are an illusion that will disappear.

They are still there, and so are you.

“I'm so sorry, I didn't plan for it to go this far.” You apologize, trying to hide your embarrassed face by looking down at the floor. “I thought if I ignored it, it would go away. Obviously it didn’t work, and now I’m just…well.” You shrug, looking up with wet and pathetic puppy eyes. 

Sektor is quiet, almost lost in thought- the most off guard you have ever seen her. With each second, you lose hope. In your hands, the flowers shake, and you’re about to apologize and run away and bury yourself alive somewhere in the forest. Your shoulders and head fall, but they come back up when Sektor speaks.

“In my office, I have been working on a letter.” She remarked, still looking at the dark red roses and pure white baby's breath bouquet. 

“It's the fifth draft, all of its predecessors not to the level I wanted it to be, not saying what I wanted them to say.” The armorer keeps going, walking towards you. It would be useless to run; Sektor is one of the clan’s best children outside of the Grandmaster’s family, and she would easily catch up to you. You stay still, heart pounding, when she is close enough to touch. You can smell the motor oil on her clothes, and you have grown to love the sting of it in your nose.

"I was about to start another one tonight, but it seems that I can finally rest from my pitiful word working." Sektor muses, and you hold your breath. Please, is she-?

“If you are proposing a relationship between us, I accept.” She answers, smiling happily for once. She hardly ever let the corners of her mouth rise, always emotionless, always hard to read. Here, for you, she is willing to show delight. 

With her more subdued glee, your happiness is a loud burst of sunlight in the workshop. 

“YES!” Laughter bubbling out of your mouth, the flowers are dropped to the floor in favor of running at your new love. Sektor catches you easily, not even stumbling as strong arms go around your waist and pick you up off the floor. You throw your limbs around her shoulders and hips, and one of her hands travels further down to your thigh and provides better support. Her firm grip sends shivers down your spine, her warm fingers gently caressing your leg through your layer of clothing. 

“Calm down, look at the mess you have made already.” Sektor tries to scold, but it comes off insincere with the big grin on her face. The flowers are scattered to the floor, and will need to be picked up before someone else comes in. Her dirty shoulder length hair shakes dirt down to the floor, but you still tuck some of the loose strands behind her ear.

“I’m sorry, I’ll get them in just a moment.” You chirped from your place in her arms. You two look at each, a scene from a romantic film if there ever was one, lost in one another. You had next to no hope of reciprocating, but the letter Sektor spoke of, the hardest project she has ever had the honor of working on and the countless hours she must have spent trying to figure out exactly what to say to you to win your heart makes you want to cry happy tears. She is so perfect.

“Can I kiss you?” You ask sweetly, making the engineer smirk with confidence. “Or is it too soon? I don’t mind wait-”

She silences you with her mouth, leaning forward and capturing your sweet lips with her own. Sektor tastes like coffee covered up with mint, almost like she was always preparing herself for this moment. It’s the best taste you’ve ever had. Your happiness is feelable even now, the armorer able to feel your smile as you lean forward to deepen the kiss. Oil and dirt from her face transfers to your, making it obvious who exactly has been kissing you to everyone. Your legs tighten around her hips, and her hand on your leg slithers forward, groping and searching for a belt to tug free.

Her father’s project might just be a little late, unfortunately. His favorite daughter has found a new toy to study and take apart, and it will take her hours before she is satisfied with her beloved plaything, touching here and tugging there, figuring out what each caress does and what music she can get you to make.

Lucky you.

[dragonblobz]

The Desert Pt2

I fixed the pov stuff. It will continue as first person pov. I love this fuckn alien ass robot your honor.

The engine is such a quiet pleasant purr. A lovely rumble beneath me. And I can’t even feel upset about the lack of a seat belt. Shit's PLUSH in here.

There’s cold air blasting from the dash. Like the ghost car just KNOWS I’m a cooked turkey. And honestly, it’s appreciated.

I don’t bother to talk. I mean, what would I say anyway?

The landscape flies by me….. us? It’s actually kind of pretty, now that I've got the luxury of sitting in cool air looking at it anyhow.

I reach into my bag and yank out my Fiji bottle. Still half full. Hell yeah. I unscrew the cap and tilt my head back. Might die. Might be trapped in a ghost car. Don’t care. Thirsty.

“You’d better not spill that…..”

It’s such a fast hateful sounding voice. From all around me. I choke a bit and splutter.

“I MEAN it……”

I wipe my sleeve across my face and scowl at the dash of this ghost car.

“It’s WATER, Christine.”

No comment apparently. Just that same quiet oddly pleasant hum under my butt from it’s engine.

I put the cap back on my water, still scowling. Then stuff my hand into my pocket. Pull out my phone to peer at the screen.

Shit. Not just one barely shaky little bar that wouldn’t let my calls connect before. Just that big crossed circle that means my phone is dead in the water.

“That isn’t going to work in me.”

That same voice. Oddly masculine. All around me. I scowl.

“It didn’t work OUT of you, thank you very much. Service in the desert blows I guess.”

The car just purrs under me. That scenery melts around us. The sun is setting. Casting a pinkish glow thru the windshield. It’s kind of… pretty…

I gawp at it. The cactuses… cacti… seeming so small and harmless. The rippling heat on the pavement before us sways and ripples. Seems so….. almost nice. And I’m here in air conditioning.

“Thank… thank you.” It sounds so stupid. But I feel compelled to express the sentiment.

“Why are you thanking me?”

It sounds grumpy and so perplexed. But I’m too thankful for the ride to be hateful.

“Well….. thank you for not killing me. And not leaving me.”

“It’s clearly too hot out here for you. Just don’t make a mess.”

“Alright.” I smile, despite myself. Leaning back a bit in the seat. Just watching that pink sky turn into velvet purple. Starting to feel sleepy. Heat exhaustion? Can’t be sure.

“You’re so cool.” It’s a drowsy slur. I feel comfortable. I’d been walking in an actual desert for hours, after all.

“I would hope so. I figure I’m creating the appropriate temperature for humans.”

It’s so curt. But I’m not mad at it. This car is apparently TRYING to make me comfortable. I laugh quietly.

“No. I meant that you’re… that you’re COOL, ya know?”

Just that engine purring. I can FEEL the perplexity. And it tickles me pink. Just giggling sleepily.

“You’re a ghost car. And you’re giving me a ride to Vegas. And you’re a Lamborghini. It’s just… very cool.”

Still nothing. Just that quiet lovely purr under it’s hood. White noise. My eyelids drift closed.

………………………

This fool of a human…

Sunstreaker continues to drive. He could never explain why he’s even doing what he’s doing.

Transporting this human? Why?

He’d blown past it easily the first time. Intended to do just the same on his way back.

But that little middle finger….. oh he knows what that means. Other bot’s interest in these creatures isn’t completely ignored on his part.

Foolhardy human. Insulting him with its stupid hand sign. Shouldn’t mean anything. But it was still irritating.

He’d only intended to scare it. Running off the road like he’d done. He hadn’t expected the defiance that it’d shown. How very brave it had been. Showing that insult with it’s hands even thinking he might hurt it.

He'd felt a little silly letting it inside. But how could he not? Brave stupid brash bold little thing…

So much like how he’d once been…

And now here he is. A comfortable cruise down this lonely desert highway. Little human making quiet sleeping noises against his window pane. It’s face smooshed on the glass.

It's oddly intimate to have something inside him like this. Comfortable like this. Nobody is this comfortable around him.

“Is that… a human???”

Sideswipe’s consternation breaks these thoughts in Sunstreaker’s mind. The red Lamborghini, his twin, purring quietly behind him. Pulling around him to match his pace in the suicide lane.

He accelerates. Pulling ahead. A hateful response.

“I’m just taking it where it needs to go.”

The red car relents, pulling back to fall behind him in the same lane, as if he just knows that Sunstreaker would prefer him where it’s safer.

“Still… this is GREAT right? You’re helping it!”

Sunstreaker can feel every ounce of the true sentiment here. He’s being mocked. Playfully, but still mocked.

“I’ll drop it off in Vegas, like it wants. And then we’re gone.”

“Yeah! Alright! Sure!”

Sideswipe’s cheerfulness makes his systems grind. But he doesn’t respond.

They drive like this. An hour. Two. The human is snoring an awful noise. Drooling on his window pane. Gross.

Lights on the horizon. They’re close to their destination. He can feel the human stirring inside him.

But the peace is shattered. Too soon. All gone.

His sensors pick up the jet before it fully arrives. One of the elite trine.

His tires squeal as he pulls to a stop. Door pulling open in an elegant hiss over his body.

“Out. Get out. Now.”

…………………….

My face hurts as I wake. Pressed fully on the window pane of a car. I haven’t fallen asleep like this in a car since I was a kid.

Vegas. It’s absolutely beautiful. Bright lights illuminating the dash of…. A Lamborghini????

I’m in….. a……

My memories pull in sluggishly. Catching up with my sleepy brain. And with them comes a child’s joy.

I honestly don’t know what aspect of this is the most COOL. The fact that I’m in a ghost car. The fact that the ghost car is a fucking Lamborghini. Or the fact that this ghost car Lamborghini is taking me to my destination safely. Voluntarily.

I notice headlights in that fancy rear view mirror. There’s another car behind us.

I blink slowly. Eyes still feeling dry. Where’s that Fiji…..

My face jolts forward and smacks against the dash as this ghost car squeals to a stop. I feel blood erupting from my nose and spilling down my lips and chin. I hope my nose isn’t broken. No fucking seat belt. And we’re shrieking to a very sudden halt. Right in the middle of the fabled Las Vegas strip I’d been so excited about pulling into on my stupid crappy Yamaha.

“Out. Get out. Now.”

“What….”

I’m still sleepy and in pain and so confused. Face smearing blood in the dash of this ghost car as I try to push myself up. What is even happening?

“OUT NOW!”

It’s urgent. I feel the seat shift beneath me. The seat itself moving beneath me. Before I’m on the hot pavement with the blaring bright lights of Vegas glaring down on me.

Coughing and spluttering blood. Looking up to see what the loud noise is. Jet screaming. A plane morphing into a monster above me.

“Oh no…. No…. Oh god… God help me…”

[2demondogs]

Born to Lose Twice | Hosea & Arthur

Tags: Good dad Hosea gives Arthur advice, referenced Arthur/Mary Linton, referenced Hosea/Bessie and VanDerMatthews Word Count: 1.3k A/N: Set after the first Mary mission that literally had me fuming.

He should have known Hosea's offer to go fishing was not without cause.

It is infrequently, nowadays, that they spend time together as when Arthur was a lad — he's too busy, Hosea is too busy, and forget pulling Dutch from his own head if there won't be dollar signs waved in front of his eyes, eyes that Arthur is beginning to think of as beady.

At least, sometimes. He is still one of Dutch's boys.

He is the Dutch Boy.

He's learning he can hardly hate anyone, and it's exactly this inability to do much but let his heart bleed which Hosea is undoubtedly about to crack into.

Beside him at the shore of the lake, the older man is twisting his lips the way he always has before offering some advice he's really, truly thought on. It makes him look pensive, and older. Maybe that's why he does it. His age always has made him seem wise, not bleary-eyed.

Arthur finds it comforting to recognize something so small after all these years.

They had been fishing not far from here the first time he spoke about Mary, if he isn't pulling things from his ass. He may be. They'd rode a while to reach this lake and while Hosea insists it is for better catching, Arthur knows he's really a sentimental old coot.

It is just as pretty as it was when he was young and in love. The beauty hurts now that he's old and in love.

Arthur still wants to bring her here one day, the same he did when he was a scrappy mutt and thought the world was evil 'til something in the clean, freshwater-air of that calm lake quelled just a bit of his hate. So young, so dumb, he really thought everyone was scorned as he was — that the world outside the city might mean something to them, too, besides a lack of common decency. He cannot rid his mind of what he scratched into his journal that day, or yesterday, or the day before.

At once, he's pleased to finally have a reason and disgusted he's fallen to his knees and provided without promise yet again.

"S'what's been on your mind, son?" Hosea asks. It's the first thing either has said since they cracked open the tackle box.

Arthur feels something he rarely feels — a sense of smallness. The wilderness is huge, but he's never felt so humbled by it.

Maybe it's the way Hosea calls him son, and he feels his experiential smallness in comparison to him.

Trees don't have girl problems, either. That's a little old fool's chore.

Lady problems, now, he supposes.

"Dunno," Arthur lies.

Hosea gives him a disappointed look. "Malarky."

He huffs dryly. "Yeah. It is."

"C'mon, Arthur," he says. "I know it's somethin'."

"Surprised you dunno what," he says. His tone is more bitter than he'd like it to be. "Nobody's shut up 'bout it since I rode in last."

Hosea nods as if he's gone in the right direction. "They know you love Mary," he says. He studies the lake, the promising ripple around where his line is cast. "Love can be ugly. But I don't think that's the end of it for you, is it?"

"What'd'ya mean?"

"Sometimes I hate Dutch. I don't like him most'a the time." Hosea considers the rocks near the toes of his boots. "He ain't as easy to like as he is to hate, and ain't as easy to hate as he is to love." He glances at him expectantly, and Arthur is almost peeved that he's eerily right. "So why do you hate her?"

"I don't hate Mary," Arthur sighs. It is half-true, more misconstruement than lie. "Think I hate the way people treat me. Anybody, e'rybody."

He perks up. Girl problems never were his strong suit; he took Bessie and Dutch — whatever that emotional web stands as or for is beyond Arthur — and was satisfied with his fill of loving. Interpersonal conflict he can understand.

"How are they treatin' you?"

"Like a damn machine," he says. "Like I ain't got no worth beyond doing." Hosea's mouth firms into a line. A moment lingers, and Arthur adds: "Not you, old man."

"Naw. I know, not me." He winks at him. "You think I'd ask if I knew I's the problem?"

Arthur snorts.

"What did she say?" He asks, tone falling back into seriousness.

"Nothin' particular," he says, and then goes on to say something particular. "Just... I ain't no good use to her and them rich folk, 'til I can go wrangle up their son. Ain't that a damn thing." He licks his teeth, tries to offer a lilt to his next words. "I'm a broke conman's son to them. I ain't matter to nobody but some more conman fellers. Guess it don't sit right with me."

Hosea nods, corner of his mouth lifting at conman fellers. They certainly were not broke, not between the two and a half men their jolly gang was made of back then.

"And it don't sit right with me, that I ain't ever..." — searching, struggling to find the words — "Ain't no one stuck around me without wantin' me to do somethin' special." He scratches his throat. "Everyone but you, again, really."

Hosea has asked a lot of him, but his tasks were few and far between when they were not survivalist in nature; he wanted — still seems to want — Arthur to do things with him, not for him.

Not a bad padre at all.

"No one wants Arthur," he says, and Arthur nods solemnly. "Nobody likes you just for yourself, so you think."

There's the words for it, always comin' out of his mouth.

They go silent. Arthur draws from the lake the courage to ask: "When do I find a girl who'll love me that way?"

It feels too soft, too vulnerable to speak aloud.

"Maybe you have," Hosea says. "She's just got bad timing." He offers him a sad smile. "I know it don't make the rest of it go away."

Silence passes.

"I met Bessie, and..." — he doesn't say Dutch, never says Dutch, but Arthur thinks of them both of fathers and supposes that links them in that inextricable, loving way — "I thought my hands would never be clean enough to touch her. Angels don't hang around with old demons. But she did." His mouth morphs, a frown, then a pucker, then a firm line. "My big age, I figured it was the end of lovin' for me. I'd been too bad for it to find me ever again."

Arthur is well aware of how much the two loved each other; how much Hosea loves her, still. Selfishly, perhaps very selfish — a part of him that is still tender, still religious, prays for someone to love him how Hosea loves her: unstoppable, lingering, a bad taste in their mouth when the wind shifts wrong and all they can think of is him.

To be thought of, just himself.

To be held in someone's heart like an artery, bleeding inside of them even after the old age begins to warp their memory.

To be yearned for.

He realizes he's been quiet when Hosea's hand squeezes his shoulder, gentle in the way an outlaw is.

At the end of the day, nothing of their kind's can be gentle. He feels the emptiness of it, then, the missing hole in his mind where the thing once sat that would let himself embrace another human being with kindness.

Hosea sits his pole on the ground and his toe stays atop to keep it in place, always a damn showman, always expecting a catch; but he wraps his arms around Arthur the way he had when he was younger, when they both were, and Arthur had been starving or freezing or burning with fever. He hugs him with his kindness, and Arthur melts his face down into his shoulder, sighing.

He half-expects a quip about life not being easy, women being harder; something light to transition away from how heavy he feels. But Hosea is silent, and he rubs his thumb along the nape of his neck as if soothing a stray dog.

Maybe if he never finds her, never finds no one — maybe it'll be fine to fill just one of those voids with Hosea.

[starryknightwrites]

Gabriel is Not Actually Dead

Well, his mind/soul isn't anyway.

Okay, this is my crack theory for the Season 5 finale. I avoided the finale until tonight because I read the leaks months ago and, like many, was disappointed in Adrichat's absence and Gabriel's weird semi-redemption death. So as I'm watching it tonight, ready to fully embrace disappointment and determined not to be fooled by any wishful thinking red herrings, I fell into a theory trap. I'm probably wrong, but if it's true, it would make Season 5 more tolerable... for me anyway.

I think Gabriel might be the primary antagonist of Season 6 and this ended arc is a fakeout.

I find it very suspicious that Gabriel NEVER says his wish out loud. At first, it just appears that he's being sentimental. But so far, almost everything Gabriel has done- from inviting Audrey Bourgeois to an event and snubbing her to making Adrien pancakes has been a manipulation. He is constantly putting on an act to draw eyes away from his true motives.

It would have been simple to have Gabriel state he wants to be with Emilie in death and to sacrifice himself for Nathalie. But he stayed mum about it, asked Gimmi to read him, so Ladybug couldn't actually hear. I think that was a choice.

Darker motives also just make sense. You mean Gabriel Agreste who was adamant about bringing his wife back and achieving absolute power using his 14-year-old son and another kid as avatars 5 minutes ago was so changed by Marinette's speech that he decided to just save Nathalie and be done with it? I don't buy it.

I think it's possible that Gabriel traded places with Nooroo. And perhaps changed some rules around the Butterfly miraculous.

This may mean that Nooroo was his sacrifice. I'm not sure how he plans to swing this, but he'll definitely try and manipulate Lila. He has become the evil genie.

I think this, not just because whatever came out of the Butterfly miraculous at the end and scared the hell out of Lila was nothing like Nooroo has ever presented, but because of the visual tell:

It's the same crackly, lightening that appears when Gabriel corrupts one of Nooroo's enchanted butterflies.

I don't think Lila will be operating alone next season.

If this crack theory IS true, I'm not sure why he wouldn't just wish to restore himself, Emilie and Nathalie. Possibly because memories apparently sustain after a wish is made. Ladybug (and whoever else she may have called and told ) might retain her memory of the wish and his identity- as she did in the finale. If he made his original wish, she might tell everyone including Adrien. Regardless of Emilie's return, he and Nathalie would be in big trouble.

So in true manipulator fashion, he asks Marinette never to tell Adrien at all and fakes his death, leaving everyone to think of him as a hero. Meanwhile he plans to use whomever picks up the Butterfly next as a pawn and a scapegoat. He may have even seen Lila getting it.

I guess it could also be true that Gabriel WAS trying to be halfway decent and screwed himself over with his "read my heart" BS. Maybe Gimmi could see subconsciously that he wanted to live and cursed him to be a genie too in his own way.

Regardless, I'd prefer this fakeout. It makes Gabriel's story end a lot less abruptly. It keeps him in character or gives him a sufficient punishment. It almost guarantees that the truth will come out eventually. It gives another chance for Gabriel and Adrien to have a real reveal and conflict (can you imagine Adrien putting on the Butterfly?). It opens the door for all the Agreste backstory we barely got...

So come through, crack theory 🤞

[howlingday]

Engineering Conflict

Merlot: You are Arthur Watts, are you not?

Watts: My reputation precedes me!

Merlot: You are the original, are you not? The genuine "Good Doctor," not one of his clones?

Watts: (Shrugs) Does it matter? They are me; I am them; geniuses all!

Merlot: And they say I'm arrogant! Though not unfairly, I suppose. But I may have met my match in that regard.

Watts: I am arrogant. What genius isn't? I am a genius, like you. A wise man acknowledges what he's good at. You will find no false modesty in this room, I think. But he also acknowledges his failings. Acknowledgement of one's talents cannot be accompanied by blindness to one's shortcomings, otherwise the wise man is not wise at all.

Merlot: How very humble.

Watts: Humility is a virtue most of those born in our era neglect, Merlot. I would venture you have little time for it yourself.

Merlot: Little. I find humility gets in the way of my self-belief.

Watts: Take my friendly advice, as one scientist to another. You should embrace humility. You should look within yourself with complete honesty. You will be better for acknowledging your fallibility.

Merlot: I never said I was infallible.

Watts: You believe you are, though. Take your great work, your mutated Grimm. I admit I was excited to see the work of this supposed genius. You, I mean.

Merlot: I got that, thank you. And what did you think of my work, as one scientist to another?

Watts: I found it disappointing. I found little of interest, Merlot. I have examined your work exhaustively. It is nothing revolutionary; merely variations of the same, tired old theme. Enhanced powered super Grimm, bigger, stronger, more annoyingly aggressive... Calling them an improvement might be technically true, but you cannot truly improve upon a flawed design.

Merlot: I did what was needed.

Watts: You probably did. That stiff, old bastard Ozpin probably sweated a little seeing them. But you and I, we are genitors of rare repute, and we both know you could have done better.

Merlot: Perhaps.

Watts: Come now! It is a poor craftsman who only delivers what is expected of him. An artist aims to exceed what is expected of him. Always.

Merlot: You understand, I only had a few decades.

Watts: Are you mocking me?

Merlot: More myself. I had to design a whole new facility, androids, turrets, and holding cells for my Grimm, if we're going to be fair to me, which I think we should be. I wanted to improve on the designs of the Grimm. The fools in Vale couldn't see that, so I had to make them. I think, given the circumstances of my position, that last improvement trumped any benefit to me showing off any supposed artistry I may or may not have, don't you agree? I have seen the results of your art, Watts. You're not a scientist. You're a butcher.

Watts: You are naive. You believe I have sided with the Grimm? (Shrugs) I suppose that is understandable. It is also not true. This goddess my colleagues choose to worship is a means to an end. A mere deliverer that serves no greater purpose than bringing me closer to mine. There are no gods, Merlot. There is only time, and being, and thinking things that brew themselves up and out of the two.

Merlot: That's a way to look at it.

Watts: I am sure it would surprise you to learn that all I wish to do is what you wish to do.

Merlot: Which would be?

Watts: Come now. (Shakes his head) I want to destroy humanity.

Merlot: A fine sentiment for the man with no augmentations of his own. Most of the time, when people want to destroy humanity, it's done with fewer aspects of their own humanity still attached to themselves. If I'm not mistaken, you have been associating with the very same group of huntsmen fighting to save humanity for the past who knows how long. You have aided their armies. You have aided in the Grimm's destruction. When you have not contented yourself to fighting them, you have supplied them yourself with the very keys to their own victories! Your name is a byword for misguided innovation across all of Remnant! Wherever you go, it's always through the ashen remains of the Grimm you serve! I have files on the weapons you designed to destroy my work! Railguns, dust guns, guns that double as melee weapons imbued with the powers of gravity dust! I have this sickening feeling you believe you are irredeemable! I am astounded. Yes, yes! Astounded! You are a hero!

Watts: I have been called a hero once before, and by people that would surprise you. Look at yourself. Do you honestly believe you would give any children nightmares?

Merlot: I may not be without morals, but I am nothing like you.

Watts: No, you are not. You are not as good as I am. I have gathered samples from one of your creations. More than one, in fact. But this one sticks in the mind. It was massive, larger than you or I. It was a creature found only in Mountain Glenn. It was abducted, if that word can even be used to describe what happens to these creatures. Ripped from its ecosystem, experimented on for decades. Decades of experimentation only to be turned into a weapon to be destroyed by true Grimm. Ha! And you say I'm the hero! We are both heroes, the pair of us.

Merlot: If I am a hero, then I am a hero on the wrong side of history.

Watts: And I say the same! (Laughs) But there is no wrong side! There's no good or evil, only two sides, equally as terrible as the other, locked forever in a death spiral until the end of Remnant! Ozpin's circle is as corrupt and rotten as Salem's own.

Merlot: Then why do you help them when you are sided with the others? You could have used your talents for good from the start!

Watts: (Scoffs) What do you think I am trying to do? What do you think would have happened if I had come to Atlas willingly after the accident? Would I have been welcomed with open arms? Hailing my genius, my contribution to humanity? They would have shot me! If I had come back later, after learning I triggered the explosion, then they would have executed me publicly! There's your precious "heroes" for you!

Merlot: If I am not mistaken in my history, and do remember that this is a rhetorical question, then I would say that is nonsense. You spent countless decades scheming against your colleagues long before the accident.

Watts: And? You believe this corrupt empire of hard light and slave labor to be "the good guys". There is no "true evil". There is no "equality for all". We are at the mercy of a pair of gods who abandoned us to fend for ourselves.

Merlot: Oh, I see where this is going. Next you will tell me that you have been secretly sabotaging Salem's own Grimm and the efforts of her minions. In what way? By giving them stronger weapons?

Watts: I have made strong weapons, but strength does no good.

Merlot: I've heard this story already.

Watts: And I have heard enough to fill a library. Fairy tales and epic poems, but no more! Fear, Merlot. It is fear that will end this world, not stories. My fear! Your fear! I know you want to see this all end, to wait for this all to go away. As do I.

Merlot: And now the evil genius proclaims his plan. You are a cliche wearing rings.

Watts: I have nothing to lose by telling you what I need, Merlot, nor what I wish to achieve. I have everything to gain. Humanity is weak and imperfect, and the Grimm are stupid and aggressive. We, and they, both as a species, are finished. Don't argue with me on this point. You even admitted yourself that humanity is inferior, if not only to the Grimm. Many people, Salem included, have spent time in trying to create superior strains of humanity and Grimm. Not one of them has had any success.

Merlot: Until now? There's a surprise.

Watts: I have labored long to create a better race, one that would not be so easily destroyed by the Grimm, that would not war endlessly with its own. For decades I have attempted this, until, weary, I became tired of it. I, Arthur Watts, became bored.

Merlot: Well, you have my sympathy there.

Watts: I became bored because I made a fundamental mistake. I believe that I must control everything, That only I could save humanity. I became disillusioned, knowing that was impossible, and I abandoned my works. Cruelly. Some of what you say is right about me. Through good fortune, it was the best thing I could have done. Since my rebirth, I became aware of my utopia again and it has changed! You should see it, Merlot! It's truly perfect! It's immune to in-fighting, war, and conflict, physically mightier than anything else Remnant has ever seen, with its inhabitants immune to time and illness. Society, egalitarian and just, everywhere! Everyone has a place and a purpose and Every place and person has it's person. I have seen what was made and I was humbled. I know now that the greatest of creations must be like children, molded by their creator but never finished. No, the greatest creations finish themselves. I have made weapons, Merlot. They have all failed. If I were a more arrogant man, I would say that this is certainly the fault of the person who holds the creation and not myself. But I must accept the possibility that I did not have all I needed to create a perfect weapon successfully. The error was with me.

Merlot: You still want to create weapons?

Watts: I did. It doesn't work. The first weapons I made wore and tore, but I got better. I, like you, am still a believer in the heart of innovation, and through observation and elimination refined my designs. It got to a point that the last few I made were perfect in almost every way. So near perfect that they had only the flaws to be expected from their standard issues, including their tendency to break in the fingers of imbeciles. I had believed that all of humanity was cursed to be forever tainted by ignorance, just the same as those abominations you call "perfect".

Merlot: Then if you don't intend to create weapons for humans or Grimm, then... What do you wish? (Extends finger) Aha! That's it! You wish to change the direction of those holding your weapons, not create entirely new, unbreakable weapons. A person not capable of using your weapons, but something similar?

Watts: I see you have insight. (Bows) I am human. I am imperfect. The Brothers mistakes plague me still. As many times as I may wish I'd truly cheated death, I cannot live forever. My new soldiers must have leadership if they are to improve where humanity failed. They need help to survive. I wish to make a leader worthy of them. Something that avoids all the errors The Brothers, Salem, and Ozpin have made.

Merlot: It's certainly an intriguing plan.

Watts: Despite the simplicity of what you have made with your mutant Grimm, I admire the elegance of your solutions. You are certainly a genius, Merlot, but you are a generalist. I am a specialist. I have knowledge and experience that you never will.

Merlot: Possibly.

Watts: Definitely! No one is limitless in ability. If you give me what I want, you will have played your part in saving humanity. Think, Merlot. Their own huntsmen, the Atlas Specialists, the White Fang... The Grimm are not the only threat that exists on Remnant. We are too weak to survive what is coming. Do not let humanity perish at the hands of its myriad of foes. Aid me. Let us put an end to these wars. All these Grimm and uncaring "heroes," their kingdoms... These are the labors of lesser beings. True scientists like you and I know the value of the greatest innovative minds, the variety of life and purpose to be found beyond our worlds, even if you believe in the Grimm and I do not. Humanity is not where the story of Remnant ends and should be the origin of our greatest triumph! Let us rise above it all! Help me bring peace to Remnant. Give me "Niager Cor" and you will be remembered as the greatest benefactor to the new era. Your name will live on forever, enshrined in memory, a great hero to all of Remnant.

Merlot: ...

Watts: Well? (Extends hand) What do you say? As one scientist to another, LET US COOPERATE.

[samobservessonic]

We join the Freedom Fighters on the tail end of a successful mission, but what’s most intriguing about this issue is right there in the title box. While we’ve had a story from Lew Stringer already over in the poster mags, this is his first story in the main book. Not only that, but this story is called “Metamorphia” and if you have even a casual interest in StC, you’ve probably heard of this addition to the rogues’ gallery, who Stringer is about to introduce us to

Amy shoots her shot and gets shot down, as this bear mobian asks Sonic for help. Now, you might think they’re playing the old “Sonic ignores Amy in favour of another girl” card but as I’ve pointed out a few times already, Sonic is just really invested in helping civilians and shows them a kindness that he doesn’t seem to show his own team. Maybe it’s that he feels his team can handle him for being the asshole he is? But that’s besides the point right now

Also, I’m not going to beat about the bush with this. I’m sure you’ve probably already guessed that, with the villain in the title being a play on the word “metamorph”, this bear isn’t who she’s claiming to be

Amy might not be able to read the title, but she also gets bad vibes from this stranger and Tails agrees with her. But Sonic passes off these concerns as jealousy and is quick to head on his way, leaving the two of them behind

Yeah, sure, this looks like the safest zone I’ve ever seen

Sonic shares this sentiment and while he looks away, our damsel in distress suddenly looks a lot more sinister…

They get attacked by soldier badniks (I tend to call them Troopers, but I’m not sure if they’re actually called that?) and while Sonic thinks they’re the most dangerous thing here, he’s seconds away from being proven wrong

Here she is, Metamorphia! She introduces herself and her home, the Grim Zone, with Sonic having to admit that Amy & Tails were right not to trust her

Metamorphia transforms into a gas to knock Sonic out and like, damn, I know shapeshifter characters are often OP, but that’s pretty OP! Not that I’m complaining at all, since it’s always good to have more powerful threats on the villains’ side. Though unlike Captain Plunder, it turns out that Metamorphia is another agent working for Robotnik

Sonic wakes up in a some kind of prison cube, but it doesn’t even take him a few seconds after Metamorphia explains how it works for him to bust out of it lmao

Metamorphia escapes and Tails shows up, but I’m sure we can all figure out that Tails hasn’t suddenly developed the ability to back-talk Sonic

There’s something so funny about the villain being so blatant as to say “take a look over that cliff”. Also, I guess Metamorphia really hates Bluey. That’s my headcanon now

Sonic was about as fooled by her disguise as we were and leaves Metamorphia to her fate. Turns out that even if she can turn into a gas, she can’t mimic Tails’s ability to fly

I had wondered if Sonic would eat humble pie when he got back to Amy & Tails, but nope, he’s vague about what happened. Amy saying “Did your new girlfriend chuck you” is yet another reminder of exactly how British these characters sound. Meanwhile, our story ends on the confirmation that Metamorphia lives to see another day and we’ll certainly be seeing her again in future

Now, like the previous issue, this was a standalone story setting up lore to pull from in future. But I have to confess that I enjoyed this one a lot more. Even if I didn’t have much to say, I felt like there was a lot more stuff I wanted to hold up and go “Look at this!” Which isn’t me saying that I think Stringer is a better writer than Kitching by any means - both of them have wonderful stories that I enjoy and you wouldn’t have StC without either writer. But this was a strong start for Stringer and I’m looking forward to more

As for Metamorphia, I just like girl villains, so I’m obviously looking forward to her comeback. Having started reading StC with issue 80, the only story I saw of Metamorphia was the end of her character arc and the final story she appears in (which actually ends up being a Tails solo story), so I’m looking forward to seeing how her journey plays out before she gets to that final destination

[twilightmalachite]

2×2 - Children on the Streets 10

Author: Akira

Characters: Yuuta, Hinata, Shinobu

Translator: Mika Enstars

"Y-You damn bastard~! Hands off my friiiiend!"

[Read on my blog for the best viewing experience with Oi~ssu ♪]

Season: Spring

Location: Back Alley in Downtown

1 hour since the start of the sudden event, “Survive in the Concrete Jungle (tentative title)”…

Hinata: BANG! BANG! BANG!

Yuuta: Hyaaah!? H-Hey…! Aren’t you supposed to be a zombie, Aniki? It makes no sense for you to shoot a gun!!

Another rule violation! Is that all you do, Aniki?! Coward! Good-for-nothing! Shitty Aniki!

Hinata: Wha~? While we weren’t armed at first, it’s not like there was a rule that says we can’t pick up and use weapons we find~?

By the way, you guys are only out if you get touched by a zombie; otherwise you’re not considered dead—

So technically, maybe you won’t die even if you get shot by a gun? So come on, come out of the shadows, don’t worry~♪

Yuuta: So we won’t die, “maybe”? I didn’t miss that, you know!

You’re trying to trick me with ambiguous wording. But really, I saw if you get shot, you’ll be forced to be considered dead!

You plan to shoot dead anyone who lowers their guard and shows themselves! Just how many years have we known each other? I understand how you think from the inside out!

Hinata: Tch~, so I really can’t fool you, huh.

It worked on Shinobu-kun, I was able to kill him after he cluelessly showed himself after persuading him well.

Shinobu: But… so unfair… I became worried when you suddenly buckled over clutching your stomach, Hinata-kun…

You were groaning in pain, when I came out asking if you were okay, you suddenly looked up and, chomp! Chomp…!

Yuuta: Shinobu-ku~n!? We were made to start at different locations, so I didn’t know how you were doing—Did he get you!?

Shinobu: Without meaning to… I’m infected with the zombie virus now, de gozaru.

I don’t know if I’m a ninja or a zombie now, the scenario is so congested I don’t know what attitude to take, de gozaru.

Hinata: Ah, the scenario is that anyone who dies turns into a zombie, so from now on you’re on our side—so act like an assailant!

Shinobu: I see, so it’s like those games of tag where the demons keep increasing, de gozaru![1]

Hinata: Fuhahaha! Welcome to the world of evil! Let’s get along, Shinobu-kun, *squeeze*~♪

Yuuta: Y-You damn bastard~! Hands off my friiiiend!

Shinobu-kun! Stay strong! Don’t you give in to my degenerate Aniki’s charm! Love only me…!

Shinobu: I-I kinda feel like the story’s changed a bit, de gozaru~!?

Hinata: Ahaha~♪ I mean something like that’s fine, isn’t it?

Let’s do whatever’s interesting, and liven up this show at the very least!

‘Cuz that’s our specialty, right?

Yuuta: Grgh… Well, you’re right.

I’ll give my all for the producer in charge of this episode, Anzu-san.

Hinata: No, it doesn’t matter who is in charge. We pride ourselves with always showing up and always giving it our all.

We 2wink have always been proficient like that. Although it didn’t pay off well, and it ended up corrupting Yuuta-kun with evil—

Yuuta: What do you mean, “corrupting with evil”? It’s not like I started cutting corners with my work, did I?!

Hinata: Right. It was just my sentimentality, wasn’t it… I felt lonely because you seemed like you’d completely changed, Yuuta-kun.

As an idol, you’re trying as hard as you can to find a form that suits yourself perfectly, Yuuta-kun—You’re just doing your best.

That’s why you grew out your hair. You didn’t lie to yourself, you revealed your true feelings as they were.

It’s how you’re expressing yourself to the best of your extent, without conforming to me, or the world.

And I think that’s amazing. Because, you know… That’s something I couldn’t do.

I admire you, Yuuta-kun.

[ ☆ ]

← prev | story directory | next →

In case you might not know, in Japanese, the game of “tag” is called “onigokko”, where whoever is “it” is a demon/oni!

[forevfangirlwrites]

play stupid games, win stupid prizes chapter 2

She walks into school on Monday with her new mission in mind. As expected, Percy appears at her locker first thing in the morning.

“You never sent the math notes,” are the first words out of this mouth.

Wordlessly, she pulls out the copies she made and hands them to him. The shock on his face almost makes the hassle of making the copies worth it. It’s rare she catches Percy off his guard and now that she knows how great it feels, she’s determined to do it again.

“What happened to you?” He asks, scanning the papers as if to confirm she actually did give him the notes.

She just shrugs, trying to act casual. “Nothing, just keeping my word.”

It might be a light jab at the fact that he barely helped with the script and if he wants to take it that way, then that’s completely fine with her.

Percy’s eyes narrow at her words. “What’s your deal princess?”

Boys are entirely too easy to provoke. “It’s called being nice,” she replies, shutting her locker. “You should try it sometime.”

Percy makes a face (another win for her) and sighs. “Whatever.”

The bell rings, saving her from further conversation and she walks away with a small smile on her face.

She might actually be able to pull this off.

-.-

The fact that Percy actually shows up to the library later that day is also surprising. Sure, she told him to meet her and sure he’d nodded disinterestedly, but she hadn’t actually expected him to show up.

It must show on her face because he rolls his eyes when he sees her.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” she replies as innocently as she can. Might as well take the opportunity to get on his nerves.

He slumps down on the opposite chair and crosses his arms. “Whatever, let’s just get this over with.”

Now that’s a sentiment she can agree with. Pulling out her notebook, she flips it to where they had been working on the script. It’s evident she’d made zero progress over the weekend. (To be fair, discussing Piper’s plan took up most of her time).

Percy, of course, notices. “Looks like you didn’t get far without me.”

“It’s ‘cause I have a life, Jackson,” she snips back at him.

He leans back in his usual cocky manner and raises and eyebrow. “Really? Could’ve fooled me.”

“Jackson!” a voice across the library shouts, eliciting an angry “shhhh” from the librarian. She glances past him to see one of Percy’s friends, Jason, walk up to their table.

Jason is the reason she came into contact with Percy Jackson in the first place, being Thalia’s brother and Percy’s friend means it was only a matter of time they’d run into each other anyway.

It’s been a small encounter (Thalia didn’t really talk to her brother in school that often). Jason, along with Leo and Percy, had walked up to Thalia’s locker where she and Piper had been standing simply because he needed a textbook that Thalia had.

All Thalia had done was hand him the textbook and he thanked her. But in that amount of time Percy had already managed to shoot an annoying grin her way.

“Who’s the princess?” He’d said in the snarkiest tone ever, nodding in her direction. It had been so rude and caught her so off guard that she hadn’t been able to respond right away, which then led him to comment on how quiet she was.

And that’s when she decided she hated him and that’s when he decided to keep making life miserable for her.

“What’s up?” Percy says to Jason who’s made it to their table, breaking her out of her thoughts.

“Party at my place tomorrow night, you in?”

“On a Tuesday?” she can’t help but say it. Thalia had mentioned that Jason might throw some party since their parents were out of town, but she didn’t realize it was tomorrow.

Both guys turn to her and she feels her cheeks heat up at the unwanted attention.

“It’s called having a life, princess,” Percy retorts, throwing her own words back at her.

“You’re welcome to come too,” Jason adds, nodding at her. “Feel free to bring friends.”

“Didn’t you hear her, Jason?” Percy cuts in mockingly. “She can’t, it’s a school night.”

KEEP READING ON AO3

[countlessrealities]

"Shut Up" Kiss starters || Accepting !

@technodromes sent: "You know what? Let's just…" 💋 (Bishop for SR)

Why is he so bad at this? He's never been a charmer, not even in his golden years, but that doesn't necessarily mean that he has to embarrass himself every fucking time. He's too old for that, he should be at least a little smooth. He might not have a lot of experience, but he has some. He has enough.

And yet, there he is again, stumbling over his words and making a fool of himself in front of the person he likes. He's tempted to call Bishop his "romantic partner", but he's not sure they aren't there yet. Officially, at least.

...Which is probably part of what's making things so hard.

"T-That's...uh, I-I guess that what I-I'm trying to say is..." He tries again, biting back a groan as he suddenly realises that, in truth, he has no idea of what he was trying to say. He has gotten so worked up and lost in his head that he has forgotten why he was talking in the first place.

"...Uh...I..."

And that's when the Bishop cuts him off. Rick blinks in confusion when the Utrom trails off, but the feeling quickly turns into flustered surprise when the alien's tentacles take a gentle hold of his face and he's pulled in a kiss.

The guard's eyes go wide for a moment, but then he can't stop himself from melting into the contact. This is much easier than saying...whatever he had meant to say, and not just that. It's more comfortable, more meaningful, more right. He's not sure if it can convey his thoughts, but it does convey...something. A honest sentiment, no matter if it can be named or not.

Rick isn't sure of how long the contact lasts, but he would have gladly remained in that moment forever...if not for the sound of a phone camera going off.

Startled, he breaks the kiss, frantically looking around until his gaze lands on the smug figure leaning against the door jamb. Son of a bitch.

"W-What...AR!" He splutters, not knowing if he's feeling more flustered or more enraged. "What the actual fuck?! W-Who...I-I can't fuckin' believe you!"

Of course, his words are met with nothing but a sly smirk and a wink.

"A-And this is going in my personal SR's embarrassing shit folder," the black marker dealer teases in a sing-song tone, waving his phone and waggling his eyebrows. "H-Have fun, lovebirds!"

And with that, he's gone, leaving Rick to throw his hands in the air with an exasperated growl. Oh, he is so going to kill the motherfucker this time.

[majormeilani]

lying, shaved ice and music note for cassidy! :D

thank you robyn!!!

🤥 LYING - are they good liars? do they have tells to show they're lying?

whether he's good at it depends on who he's talking to and if they're good at reading him but he tends to be rather good at deceivin peopleand tricking them into getting what he wants from them. he usually will play into their feelings in order to throw off teir guard against him and sometimes before they know it he's fooled them into believing a lie.

some tells that may be an indication that he's lying is if he stands with one or both hands behind his back when saying something to someone. sometimes when he stands like that, he's crossing his fingers behind his back, intent on not keeping to what he said. or when he does an empathetic gesture to someone when playing into their feelings, like patting them on the shoulder or holding their hand with both of his. he tends to use these as a last resort in telling a lie if the others don't seem to convince someone.

he'll also use a soft tone of voice and call them "dearie" and stuff like that in order for them not to suspect anything. you know, mansplain manipulate manslaughter and all that.

of course he can also do these things when telling the truth too, which makes it hard to tell when he is lying or being truthful. it also can backfire on him horribly as well, especially when it's a lie that's hard for him to keep to or when he genuinely is telling the truth.

🍧 SHAVED ICE - do they still have any objects from their childhood? what significance does it have to them? what would their reaction be if they lost it?

he has a few! he's got a hand mirror that he got from his grandmother when he was younger that has a fancy spider design on it and a few comfort objects from when he was a kid, since he used to be a LOT more anxious than he is now as an adult. though they're stored away in his closet and he only comes across them on occasion.

the mirror means a lot to him bc his grandmother meant a lot to him and was always supportive and kind to him where his parents or others failed. and the comfort items made him feel secure and safe when he was scared, which was often as a kid.

though if he ever lost any of them he'd probably freak out because even if he doesn't act like it, they're very sentimental to him.

🎵 MUSIC NOTE - what is their playlist like? their favourite artists? do you associate a particular song with them?

his own playlist would probably be something simple like classical music or something with a dark kind of sound to it. but maybe on occasion some songs that are love songs or narrative in structure. i can't say what certain artists that might be as i'm not typically one to listen to those types of music. he also might like something with a kind of calm vibe too lol. probably would also like jazz too.

i actually surprisingly haven't really associated any songs with him quite yet! i mean there is one that my sister and i jokingly associate with him and nicole but it's not really a serious association LOL. sometime i hope to find a song or two for him though.

[greyskywrites]

Brother of the Moon III.

Falcon Feathers

5.9k | kofi | ao3 | tag

Eadwin

He is a fool, of course. A weak, arrogant fool who stops thinking with his head the moment Margaret smiles at him. She comes down to breakfast the next morning like she’s walking on air, and Sir Laure and Sir Eva greet her ordinarily enough, but both give Eadwin a raised brow over their cups. They know, at the very least. Eadwin can guess from their shared room and begging off evening mass why they might choose to offer him discretion.

It rains, and though the carriage shelters them well enough, Eadwin worries over Margaret’s health in the cool spring air. They are close enough now to Eagletop to take residence in the houses of Lord Wulfric’s friends and kin, today it is his cousin Lady Hild at Barley Hall. The knights take Margaret up to have a hot bath drawn for her, and they sup on beef and fresh bread, spring greens and mushrooms. Lady Hild makes a point of mentioning to Eadwin that the mushrooms were obtained from the order, as he should note by their quality.

He’s almost asleep when Margaret climbs into his bed, not half so frightened as she was the previous night. He can smell the orange peel in Lady Hild’s soap tingeing Margaret’s sandalwood perfume. She straddles his hips to kiss him. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” she breathes, with enough heat that he might almost credit it as truth. “Eadwin, please, I need you.”

And he can’t deny his lady anything.

In the dark, her hands sliding down his sides, she says she’s never had the choice of how she gives herself up before. She’s always belonged to her father and her brothers, and when she arrives at Eagletop she will belong to her husband. “While I have the choice,” she breathes in his ear, “there is nothing I want him to be able to take that I haven’t already given to you.”

She expects Wulfric to take a lot from her, it would seem. She would stay in his bed until dawn if there weren’t the fear of being caught. Not since he was first attending to others during moon mass has he lost this much sleep.

The knights know. Swithin, blessedly, doesn’t seem to.

They spend a day at Barley Hall on Lady Hild’s insistence, and Margaret borrows a bow to show her proficiency—and she is an impressive shot. Meaning it a joke, Lady Hild offers to have her servants toss apples in the air for Margaret to shoot.

Margaret asks for ten. She puts arrows through nine.

Her pride makes her carry herself a little differently, and Eadwin supposes he can see something of what her brothers must be like in the posture she adopts, the way her shoulders pull back and her chin lifts, and she gives an easy smile that makes the posture amiable rather than arrogant. Lady Hild says it’s a pity that Margaret wasn’t born a man, or else Hild might be the one trying to marry her. Something about the sentiment renders Margaret self-conscious, and that swaggering pride disappears. Eadwin grieves its loss.

She should be a man, he thinks. She would be happier.

After midday supper he finds her in the chapel on the other side of the garden, sitting in front of the altar and gazing up at the Queen of Heaven. She looks almost as miserable as she was standing in her father’s hall when he came to ask if Wulfric could have her for a bride. Eadwin sits on the bench opposite, needing the distance of the aisle for some kind of reassurance that he can keep his good sense here.

Margaret doesn’t look at him, but she speaks. “I keep asking myself if this is actually supposed to be the way of things,” she says. “If the Heavenly Mother ever intended for her daughters to be kept like this by their fathers and husbands. If a little bit of blood should really be so fraught.”

Like her cousin, Lady Hild gives her preference to the Order of the Moon, though the representation on her altar is of a slender Queen, long silvery robes falling like water to the stand. Her face is serene, Her eyes hooded and nearly shut. Mother of a Thousand Faces, one poet called her.

“I know my stories as well as anyone else,” Margaret says. “How before the world was made, the Queen and the Lord of Heaven were too preoccupied with each other to create anything else. How the world is only possible because the Lord of Heaven was slain by the Killing Angel, and the Queen transformed his body. None of our stories ever speak of Our Heavenly Mother’s maidenhead.” She says it with contempt.

There is no question in that, so Eadwin thinks it’s better if he remains silent.

“It always used to haunt me,” Margaret murmurs, “the story of the Queen eating Her husband’s eyes to give birth to the sun and the moon. It was the thought of the act I couldn’t stomach. But now what I wonder—the sun and the moon are Her children. Is there anyone who would say they were His?” She looks at Eadwin. “Does it matter to Her whether I’m a maiden or not?”

“The Queen of Heaven is not going to be your husband,” Eadwin says in a low voice. “It will matter enormously to Wulfric.”

“Should I put him before the Mother of Everything?”

“He is the one that would hurt you,” Eadwin replies. Because he does know that—if Wulfric discovers this, neither of them will escape unscathed.

“From the sounds of it, he will hurt me anyway.” Margaret looks back to the altar. “Why are you sitting all the way over there, like I’m some dangerous animal?”

“Because this is a chapel,” Eadwin says, “and it is the middle of the day.” And he can’t refuse her anything.

“I keep wishing for impossible things,” Margaret says. Before he can ask what she means, she says, “Sirs Eva and Laure know.”

“I know.”

“They asked me if I was a maiden before,” she says, “and whose notion it was. I don’t think they were expecting the answer I gave them.”

He doesn’t imagine so. In their position, he would also assume one of two possibilities. He catches himself, sometimes, thinking the scent of her perfume is on his clothes. He isn’t sure if he’s imagining it.

Margaret draws in a breath and sighs through her nose. “How long, do you think, before everything will be ready for a wedding?”

“It will depend on how extravagant Lord Wulfric wants it to be, I suppose,” Eadwin says. “There will be a feast to consider, and guests.” Margaret gives a soft laugh at that. “The church will have to be made ready, and that may take additional time. The spring mushrooms will be coming up, much attention will be turned toward that. His lordship will need to ensure that he has gifts for you, and suitable clothes for his household. It is likely he began preparations as soon as he received my first letter, so—perhaps a month, or a little longer.” That would let it fall squarely between moon masses, so that neither preparations or the work of cleaning up afterward would interfere.

“Will it be trouble if there’s no dowry?”

“Wulfric does not like to feel as though something has been taken from him. After a wedding, a dowry can be fought for in court.” Lose Margaret, and he loses whatever small gain he might have from her father. It won’t be the value that matters, of course—it will only matter that Wulfric won what was owed him.

“How should I greet him? Should I be calm and reserved, or effusive in gratitude, or…” She trails off, watching his face. “It does bother you, doesn’t it?”

It does, but he cannot say that. He has made enough of a mess for the both of them already.

“Smile for him,” he says. “Let him kiss your hand and be flattered when he remarks upon your beauty. Say that I did not prepare you for how beautiful Eagletop is, how grand the house. If he asks what you would like to see first, say the church. If he offers you rest, take it. When he introduces you to his children, remark upon how handsome they are. Do not compare the son to the father, however well you might intend it. And if you can help it—don’t look at me at all. He should think I’m beneath your notice.”

Margaret looks down at her hands, at her prayer beads trailing over her fingers. “I ought to have been a nun,” she murmurs.

“You could take the veil, if you wished,” Eadwin says. “I could not stop you.” Would not.

“No,” she says. “Then I would lose you entirely.” She tucks her beads into a pouch on her belt and stands, making a sign of prayer before the altar. She comes round to Eadwin, and bends to kiss his cheek.

“I keep having the strangest dreams,” she murmurs as she straightens. “In them, I keep finding myself in your clothes.”

#.

At dinner Eadwin gets the sense that Lady Hild is trying to determine what sort of creature Margaret is. She asks about the family, of course, about Grenacre’s size and wealth. Margaret handles these questions deftly enough, seemingly at ease in the knowledge that this marriage looks like ambition. There are worse things to be than ambitious.

“And how did you come to be such a fine archer?” Lady Hild asks, as though she’s looking to pin down something, perhaps a reason for disapproval.

“My brothers liked to have a plaything to teach,” Margaret says. “It was a novelty for them, a girl who hunts.” She gives a thin smile, concealing some old bitterness. “My nurse complained that they were making me half feral. They weren’t quite so indulgent as she imagined—when we playacted they always made me be the princess who was rescued, and never let me be a knight or a thief.”

“Did you come round to playing princess?”

Margaret makes a noncommittal gesture. “I suppose one must.” Hild gives her a strange look.

When all is dark and quiet and Margaret comes to his room she is moody and quiet. She stands at the window and stares out at the waning silvery moon sinking to the western horizon. She looks half a ghost, caught between worlds with her face in shadow and the candlelight on her hair. Half a fiery angel.

“I think sometimes I’m a failure as a woman,” she says. “At least as a lady.”

“I think I’m the wrong person to reassure you.” He’s preparing a message to send ahead to Father Algar, to say he would like to speak privately as soon as possible after he arrives.

Margaret comes to the desk, running her fingers over his hair. He loses the thread of his thought and has to read back to guess what he was saying. “How did you come to be a monk?” she asks.

“That,” Eadwin says, “is a very dull story.”

“Tell me anyway,” she says. “You know more of my life than I know of yours.”

He looks up at her, her anxious eyes searching his face. He lets out a breath and lays down his pen. “My lady,” he says, “I was as good as born in the mud of the Penbreak to a butcher father and a brewster mother. My hands are as at home in the guts of an animal as on a desk. My father liked to fight, so long as he knew the other person couldn’t win.”

Margaret says nothing, but lets her hands come to rest on his shoulder.

“I was their only son,” he says. “I had two younger sisters. One’s since passed.”

“Only son?” she asks, surprised. “And you left?”

“There was nothing left there that I wanted,” Eadwin says. He won’t tell her about Charlie Rees. “I got free of my father and I did what I could to keep myself fed and clothed. The thing I was best at was fighting.”

She gives him the quick once-over he’s become accustomed to when he mentions that part of his past, taking in his lean frame with a skeptical eye.

“I won’t tell you I was ever built better than this,” he says, “but I was fast, and young, and I was angry.”

Margaret nods.

“You get tired of having your eyes blackened for you and waking up the next day feeling worse than when the fight was over,” Eadwin goes on. “I wanted something easier, and I thought I could get by at least for a while claiming I wanted to join the order. Then I went through my first moon mass.”

He falls silent long enough for Margaret to lean forward a little. “Did you see Her?” she asks, her hands tightening on his shoulder. “I’ve heard people do.”

Eadwin nods. “I did. And it…” It isn’t for nothing that they speaking of what you saw in the mass profanes it. Trying to describe an encounter with the Queen makes it small, traps it in words that will never be adequate to explain the experience. “It changed me,” he says. “In ways only the people who knew me before will ever be able to really appreciate.”

Margaret stands in thought for a moment. “Will I be able to go to a moon mass before the wedding?”

“I should think so.” If she’s having second thoughts, he wishes she would commit to them now.

Margaret bends to kiss his temple. “Will you come to bed?” As if they’re something more than illicit lovers. “In a moment.” He takes one of her hands to kiss her fingers. “If my lady can wait for me.”

Margaret lifts his face and kisses him in a way meant to be distracting. “If my devoted priest can bear to make me wait.”

He does not make her wait long.

She sits astride his hips, shifting until she finds what she likes best, her long hair trailing against his chest.

It had long been a popular subject among the clergy, though far less so among the people, to litigate the proper relations between a man and his wife. Eadwin had often found it to be a useful measure for how unbearable the writer would be in dinner conversation. He thinks of it because he had sat dinner with Father Eberhard while a particularly unpleasant brother named Friedrich Reginadora of Berk had been residing in their abbey for a time. Eberhard had made a special project of Eadwin, and said he deemed that Eadwin’s education had come far enough for him to sit with such a learned scholar as Brother Friedrich.

Friedrich was preoccupied with proper marital relations a great deal more than Eadwin thought was reasonable of a man who had forsworn women and doubtless had no trouble keeping that vow, as he was such profoundly unpleasant company. At a dismissive remark from Eadwin, who refused to speak preciously about something so ordinary as a tumble in the sheets, Friedrich had gone scarlet and started off on a tirade about how it was never proper for a woman to lay over a man, as the only time the Queen of Heaven was above Her husband was after the Lord was slain, and thus the act was in its nature necrophilic.

Eadwin still isn’t certain if Father Eberhard had intended for him to laugh in the man’s face and ask how he knew about their Queen’s bedchamber, was he there at the time? Eadwin didn’t know what other reaction a reasonable man could have. He did know that the abbot had not appreciated it when he went on, “Brother Friedrich, I assure you that never once when a woman was on top of me did I give her any reason to think I was dead.”

Margaret lays beside him afterward, tracing loops across his chest and belly. “Is there some punishment for breaking your vows to the order?”

“If you hear any remarks about how often I’ve been given floor scrubbing duties, you’ll know why,” Eadwin says.

Her brows rise. “How often have you been made to scrub floors?”

“Not nearly as often as my reputation would have it.” He traces a hand over the bend of her waist and the swell of her hip. “I couldn’t tell you just how I earned that reputation, though I think my proximity with his lordship might have something to do with it. His brother Aethelric is even worse.”

“You have that reputation and he sent you to find him a wife?”

“Why shouldn’t he?” Eadwin asks. “On most of the occasions my brothers have accused me, Lord Wulfric knew me to be busy teaching his children their prayers, or quietly blessing his bastards. Any dalliances with his servants were brief enough to be overlooked.”

“One wonders how pretty the nursemaid is,” Margaret says dryly.

Eadwin laughs softly. “I think you are overestimating the effect I have on women.”

“And what of the effect women have on you?”

Eadwin gazes at her, and traces a knuckle along her cheek. “I’ve never known anyone like you.”

On her face he can see that she thinks it’s flattery, and that she very much wants to believe it. He leans in to kiss her temple. “Promise me something.”

She looks at him, grey eyes uncertain. “What?”

“Promise me you won’t be reckless on my account.” He strokes her cheek. “Protect yourself, as much as I’ll protect you.”

There’s a shine of pain in her eyes, and she tucks her head under his chin, a tremble going through her. “You should have lied to my father,” she says. “Should have stolen me for yourself. I would have let you.”

“My lady should allow herself more pride.”

Margaret turns her face against his throat, her breath hot. “What is pride to having you between my legs?”

It’s a provocation and he knows it, but he kisses her anyway. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he murmurs.

“Best hope not,” Margaret says, “because I won’t make a world from your body. I’d sooner ride to Paradise and drag you back out like some legendary heathen queen.”

“I’ve often heard about the insatiability of heathen queens,” Eadwin says, kissing her neck. She laughs.

After she leaves this chamber it will take him two days to realize that the dagger he took from her is gone. When he asks, she won’t even pretend at innocence, and neither will she hand it over.

“It was a gift from my brother, and it is mine to keep, for whenever I may need it.”

He just hopes she won’t need it.

#.

Margaret

Sir Laure offers to let Margaret ride in the saddle with her, because the day is bright and clear. Margaret would prefer to ride in her own saddle, but she’s tired of the carriage, and she’s warmed somewhat to the knights now that they keep her secret.

“Can I ask you something, my lady?” Laure asks as they ride just far enough ahead of the carriage to be out of earshot. Sir Eva is riding behind, keeping pace with Swithin. Laure has a deep voice for a woman, and Margaret finds it soothing.

“I won’t promise I’ll answer,” she says, guessing the direction of this query.

“Do you love him? Or is it a pleasant diversion?”

Pleasant is such an underwhelming word for what she has with Eadwin. “When I’m with him, I lose all sense,” Margaret murmurs. “I don’t know that he’s much better.” He didn’t seem to notice at all that she made him no promise.

Sir Laure lets that hang in the air for a moment. “Do you know why there are women in the Knights of the Sun?”

“Because without a Church Father there’s no one to stop you, and you won’t sire bastards on nuns?”

“Well, that too,” Laure says. “But there’s a story of a knight and the lady who loved him so much she disguised herself as one of his brothers for near ten years before she was discovered. By that time, she had become so well respected, so beloved by the men she had led through battle, that they would not stand for her being tossed out in disgrace or otherwise punished. She was instead given the means to train other women. Saint Fernanda, one of the matron saints of our order. Of course the stories also say she was wholly chaste, but I cannot fathom the woman who does what she is said to have done without bedding her lover.”

“Doesn’t seem terribly applicable to me,” Margaret murmurs.

“I mean only to say that there are women who have done it.”

“Do you think I would make an especially convincing man, Sir Laure?”

“Well, I won’t say I haven’t noticed your two most significant impediments,” she says with half a smile. “But you’d be surprised what people miss when your hair is cut.” Sir Laure is quiet for a little while, the birds singing overhead as they ride. “Would you be happier if you were a man?”

“What kind of question is that?” Margaret asks. “Of course I would.”

“What do you mean?” Laure presses.

“No one would own me,” Margaret says. “I could ride and hunt and live as I want and it would be all be ordinary.”

“One can wish to be free without wishing to be a man.”

“One can wish to be a bird, it won’t give you wings,” Margaret replies. “I can wish my mother never died and my father didn’t hate me and the man I love weren’t a monk it won’t make any of it so.”

Laure lets out a breath, one hand on her thigh as the other keeps hold of the reins. “Maybe so. But not everything one might wish for is impossible.” She extends her arm to point to the sky. “Someone’s out with a falcon.”

It takes Margaret a moment to spot it, the slim gray shadow against the blue sky. “My brother Felix once gave me arrows fletched with falcon feathers,” she says. “He said nothing would ever fly so straight and true.”

“And did they?”

“They flew like arrows,” Margaret says. “Their path was up to me and the wind.”

#.

There’s not even a chapel in the village they stop in. The people there keep instead a small shrine, and Margaret can’t work up the enthusiasm to pretend at her prayers when Eadwin takes her there in the fading light. She leans against the old oak tree the shrine is built under and closes her eyes, wishing she could have something like in the stories of the saints—some thunderbolt of clarity, an angel appearing to tell her: this is what you’re meant to do. Some path so obvious once it’s revealed that she couldn’t help but to follow it. Eadwin stands in silence with her for a time as the shadows grow long and deepen into night.

“Do you want to know a secret?” Margaret asks, her head against the tree, face turned up to the dark sky while her eyes are closed against the stars.

Eadwin says nothing, but she can feel his gaze on her.

“I have spent nearly every day of the last—oh, ten years or so—spending my prayers begging the Heavenly Queen to make me into the right sort of woman. To make me fit where I’m supposed to belong, to make me content with my lot, to make me someone my father could be softer to. I pray and I feel like I’m fighting with Her every step of the way, I never feel that sense of awe and wonder and overwhelming love you’re supposed to feel when She’s with you. I never feel the peace you’re supposed to feel after prayer. It’s enough to make me wonder if even She can’t love me.”

“Margaret,” Eadwin murmurs, pained. The first time he’s managed to say her name unprompted.

“The closest I get to feeling the way you’re supposed to feel in worship is when I’m in bed with you,” she says.

Eadwin lets out a breath, and after a moment Margaret hears his footsteps coming across to her. She opens her eyes to shadows, and his fingers meet her jaw, softly drawing her gaze to his.

“Perhaps,” he says, “Our Mother does not want you to be what you’ve been told you should be.”

“Then what should I be?”

“What do you want to be?”

Margaret laughs and shakes her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” A falcon. With silvery bright feathers and deadly talons and a ripping beak. A hunting falcon only returns to its master if it’s treated well. “Would you still love me if I weren’t beautiful?” There was an old story of a heathen queen who had a falcon feather cloak, when she put it on she took the falcon’s shape and could fly the length of her kingdom in a day. When her king burned the cloak to keep her imprisoned she killed him, turned his intestines into sinews, and used the cords to stitch a new cloak. Margaret must have read it a thousand times in her father’s library.

It is dark, dark enough to allow Eadwin to stroke her hair, to bend to kiss her jaw. “Even if I lost the sight of my eyes, even in the black of night you will always put the sun to shame.”

She clutches at his habit, aching. “If I had to make this journey,” she whispers, “if I had to go from one cold cage to another, why did I have to taste real warmth with you? I wouldn’t have known better, if it had just been anyone else.”

He kisses her, cradling her head. “I’m sorry,” he whispers against her lips.

It isn’t an alley, but pulling him away from the shrine into the dark trees is almost the same. It’s desperate and animal and Margaret thinks if the Queen of Heaven loved her then she would have been born a man and found her way to Eadwin in the same kind of black wool. Her father wouldn’t have cared to let a fourth-born son into the church.

When they return to the inn, Margaret goes to bed alone, and stifles her tears in her pillow.

#.

They arrive in Eagletop under a misting rain that isn’t quite a fog, though it renders the estate quite grey. Margaret has swallowed down every raw and tender part of herself, emptied herself out so that she can seem pleasant and grateful and unafraid. Before the clouds pulled over the sky like a goose down quilt she saw the moon as a sliver of silver in the morning sky, chasing just barely ahead of the sun like a fox evading the hounds. It will be over a fortnight before it is full and bright again.

Eadwin has left her to sit beside Swithin on the driver’s bench, and Margaret is confined to the dark of the carriage as befits a lady. Swithin has neither looked at nor spoken to her all morning, but as they departed the house they had stayed in she heard him say to Eadwin that he ought to pull that pretty gold hair off of his habit.

Sirs Eva and Laure, once they see Margaret safely delivered, plan to take residence at the abbey for a few days before they return south. Margaret thinks she will miss having them nearby, particularly for how imposing they are in even half armor.

A guardsman is waiting outside, his bow is quick and formal and he never looks her in the face. “My lady. Brother. His lordship will receive you in the great hall.”

Margaret pulls back the hood of her cloak as they step inside the aged oak doors, groaning as they open and shut. On either side the doors are carved in relief of an enormous eagle, split down the middle by their parting.

The ceilings are high and dark, and their footsteps sound loudly in the quiet corridors. Eadwin leads her to the great hall, which is too large to be properly warm unless it is packed with people, which it is not. Margaret steps inside to see three children, and two men which she takes to be Lord Wulfric, and his brother.

Wulfric is of moderate height, dark haired and wearing a trimmed beard. His shoulders are broad and his frame is strong, and he is well dressed in grey silk and gold thread. He looks at her with an evaluating eye for a moment too long before he puts on a pleasant face and tells her, “Welcome, Lady Margaret.”

The brother—Aethelric, she remembers his name—has lighter hair and a clean face. Where Wulfric stands before the fire, Aethelric is lazing over a goblet at the table, perhaps already half drunk. Eadwin has warned her that Aethelric is coarse and rude, but unlikely to be of any real threat to her. He looks Margaret up and down like a sow, and snorts into his cup.

Wulfric comes forward to take her hands, and Margaret gives him a smile and a faint bob of a curtsy. “My lord Wulfric,” she murmurs, “such a pleasure to see your face at last.”

“Not as much as mine at seeing yours,” Wulfric says, lifting her hand to kiss her fingers. “Brother Eadwin did not prepare me for your beauty.”

Margaret laughs softly, her face turning pink for the wrong reasons. It is a lie, she knows. Eadwin has told her nearly everything he wrote in his letters to Wulfric. She resists the urge to glance at Eadwin by focusing her attention momentarily on the golden pin on Wulfric’s breast, an eagle centered with amber. She looks back to his face and fights to hold her smile. “My lord is too kind. I feel wholly out of place, in a house as grand as this.”

“This dusty old tomb?” Aethelric says. “They must keep house terribly in Grenacre if this impresses you.”

Wulfric ignores his brother, and so Margaret takes her cue from him. “You had no further troubles on your journey here?” he asks Eadwin. Margaret’s gaze turns with his, but she aims it past Eadwin’s shoulder, at the window speckled with moisture.

“No, my lord,” Eadwin says. “Have you had any word from Lord Beckett?”

“Oh, yes,” Wulfric says with a false laugh. Margaret knows the sound intimately, and it makes her skin crawl. “He’s accused me of theft and kidnapping. My lady, had he not assented to this when you left?”

“He had, my lord,” Margaret says quietly. “But my father is often fickle, if he thinks I am not suffering enough.”

“And you wish to be here?”

Margaret makes herself look at him, makes herself smile. “I do, my lord.”

Wulfric nods, satisfied. “Father Algar has already been warned of the situation,” he says to Eadwin, “as have my lawyers. Was anyone else there to witness the agreement?”

“Some servants, my lord, but I would not ask Lord Beckett’s own household to testify against him.”

“No, of course not,” Wulfric says with impatience. “His own daughter and a man of the church ought to be adequate.” He puts on that false smile again and rests a hand on Margaret’s shoulder, where her skin begins to itch. “Come, meet my family.”

He introduces the children first. Wulfwyn is a handsome girl, and she looks like her father in everything but her hair, which curls. She stares at Margaret with the cold blankness of a child old enough to both be angry and fear the consequences of making that anger too known. Margaret is courteous to her but (she hopes) not over familiar. This girl’s mother is not even half a year gone, Margaret doesn’t blame her for not wanting her father to take a new wife.

Wulfric introduces Everard naturally enough, but Margaret can hear the disdain. Everard is fidgeting in the way of a boy who would very much like to be clutching something—his dog or his sister’s hand—but has already been warned against. He is too shy to look Margaret in the eye, but he mumbles his hellos. She imagines he must look like his mother, because only in the shade of his hair and eyes does he resemble his father.

Mildred is too young to understand what’s happening, but she takes to Margaret right away, showing off her doll, who wears a dress that matches Mildred’s and has hair made of yellow thread. If Margaret hears correctly, the doll’s name is Cheese.

“And my brother,” Wulfric says with a weary and warning tone, “if you must be acquainted.”

Aethelric gives Margaret a scornful smile. “I hear you’re quite the prayerful woman, Lady Margaret. I’ll be sure to include you in my prayers, since you’ll be calling my brother your husband. I prayed for Anna, too, for all the good it did her.”

Margaret gives him an empty, pleasant smile. “I will pray for you as well.”

Wulfric has a sharp laugh, it makes her jump. “Lady Margaret, you have come such a long way—shall I let you get settled and take some rest?”

“My lord is generous,” Margaret says. “I should like to wash the road off my skin.” Let him think about her body, and while he’s thinking about it let him not notice anything else.

He sends for a maidservant to see her up to the chamber that has been prepared for her, and Margaret digs her fingernails into her palm to keep from looking back at Eadwin as Wulfric asks him, “What kind of lock and key was Beckett keeping her under that I’ve never seen her before?”

She hears, “My lord, I’ve never met a man who so—” and the door falls shut and cuts him off. She feels the loss of his voice like a tear in her skin.

Wulfwyn trails after her, pulling Mildred along impatiently. “Why are you here?” she demands, apparently confident that her father can no longer hear her.

Margaret looks at the girl, twelve years old and full of more grief and rage than she can probably bear. “Because your father sent for me.”

“He doesn’t need a new wife,” Wulfwyn says stubbornly, as if it’s anymore up to Margaret than it is to her. I don’t need a new mother.

“Wulfwyn!” the maid scolds, but Margaret holds up a hand.

She turns to the girl, drawing in a breath. “Tell me about your mother, Lady Anna.”

“Why?” Wulfwyn asks sharply.

“Because you must have loved her very much,” Margaret says softly, “and I am sorry I did not know her. I never even knew my own mother.”

Tears well rapidly in Wulfwyn’s eyes. “He’s putting you in her rooms,” she chokes. “With all her things, except her clothes.”

Queen of Heaven have mercy. Margaret holds out her hand. “Come with me. Anything you want there, you can have.”

Reluctantly, Wulfwyn takes her hand.