#guys I’m so so fascinated by glimmer

[rmadridcore]

Between Us - Part 1

Pairing: Kylian Mbappé x Reader

Summary: You and Kylian have been inseparable friends for years, but when unspoken feelings bubble to the surface, everything changes.

Word Count: 2.5K

Part 2 Part 3 Epilogue

Masterlist

Author's note: Hi! Omg this feels so surreal. I have been planning to start writing for the longest time and I can't believe I managed to finally get to it. This is my very first fic so I would LOVE to hear all of your opinions, I’m open to your feedback 🩷 Also, english is not my first language but I’ll try my best to make sure there are no errors. There will be more parts to come shortly. I have the second part almost finished and I’m planning for it to be 3 or 4 part series with a possible epilogue. Anyway, have a nice read and please tell me what you guys think! 🫂 P.S my messages are always open if you have any questions or if you would just like to chat 💌

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“What are these for?” Kylian yells playfully as he roams around your room, inspecting everything with the curiosity of a child. His voice echoes from the bathroom doorway, where you're busy applying the finishing touches to your makeup. Turning around slightly, you see him holding up an eyelash curler, a puzzled look on his face.

“It’s used to curl your eyelashes,” you respond absentmindedly, focused on perfecting your eyeliner. Kylian squints at the strange device, his lips curling into a mischievous grin.

“Looks like a garlic press,” he snorts, placing the curler back down on the cluttered sink, where your makeup is messily scattered.

He’s been wandering aimlessly around the room for what feels like hours, clearly bored and restless as he waits for you to get ready for the charity gala. He’s always waiting, never complaining, even when you take your time. It’s something about Kylian that never fails to surprise you — the effortless patience he has when it comes to you.

You leave the bathroom, stepping into the room where he’s perched on the edge of your bed, fiddling with the fluffy blanket as if it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. He’s dressed to perfection in an all-black designer suit, looking like he stepped straight out of a high-fashion photoshoot. The way the suit hugs his broad shoulders and the glimmer in his eyes when he sees you makes your heart flutter.

“You look stunning,” he says with a proud smile, his voice soft but sure. The blush creeping up your cheeks is impossible to hide, and he notices, grinning even wider.

“We don’t have to stay until the end,” he reassures you as you both settle into the backseat of the sleek black car waiting outside. He knows you too well, senses your discomfort at the idea of a long night surrounded by the elite. “We’ll stay for dinner, make our appearance, and we can leave whenever you want.”

His thoughtfulness touches you deeply. He knows how much you dislike these events — how they’re filled with pretentious people who only show up to flaunt their wealth. But you endure it, for him, and somehow that means more to him than he ever lets on.

You’ve known Kylian forever, since you were six and his mom invited yours to bring you to his seventh birthday party. The memories are blurry, but the birthday card you gave him that day still sits in his drawer. Unbeknownst to you, it’s one of his most cherished possessions.

As Kylian’s fame grew over the years, with him moving to Monaco and becoming a global star, you stayed in touch. He made sure of it. It wasn’t easy, especially as your feelings for him began to deepen, becoming more complicated and overwhelming. Falling in love with your best friend, a best friend who is adored by millions and surrounded by beautiful women, felt like the cruelest twist of fate.

It was a secret you carried alone, a burden that weighed on your heart every time you saw him with someone else. The girls that threw themselves at him didn’t seem to bother him; in fact, he enjoyed the attention. And why wouldn’t he? Kylian was magnetic, and you couldn't blame them for wanting him. What hurt most was knowing you could never compete with that — not when he saw you as just his best friend.

“I’m very glad you could make it. We’re always so happy to see you here,” a man across the dinner table says warmly to Kylian after you both take your seats. Kylian responds politely, his charm ever-present, before the man’s eyes land on you.

“I see you’re here with company. Would you care to introduce your beautiful lady to us?”

Kylian’s arm drapes casually over the back of your chair, his fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder.

“This is Y/N, my best friend. We’ve known each other since we were kids.”

The man chuckles, embarrassed, and offers an awkward apology. Kylian laughs it off, but the words linger in your chest, twisting something deep inside. His best friend. That’s all you’ve ever been, no matter how many times he brings you as his date to these events, holds your hand, or tells you how beautiful you look. Each gesture feels like an evil tease, a reminder of what you want but can never have.

You watch him as he chats with the guests, his side profile as striking as ever. His sharp jawline, the curve of his nose, the way his eyes light up when he’s animated. To the world, he’s handsome, charismatic, sexy. But to you, Kylian is beautiful, in every sense of the word. It’s not just his looks; it’s the kindness in his heart, the way he smiles, the way he makes you feel like you’re the only person in the room.

“Are you comfortable? We can leave whenever you want,” Kylian leans in to whisper, his breath sending shivers down your spine as it brushes against your ear. It’s such a simple question, but the intimacy of the moment makes your pulse race. How you long for him to whisper sweet nothings, to share his thoughts with you and only you.

“No, I’m fine. We can stay a little longer. I heard the dessert’s supposed to be amazing,” you whisper back, earning a soft chuckle from him.

After dessert, most of the guests get up to mingle, dance, or grab drinks. You excuse yourself from the table, telling Kylian you’re headed to the bar for a cocktail. He offers to come with you, but you decline, not wanting to interrupt his conversation.

You order a Mimosa and settle on one of the stools, enjoying a rare moment of solitude when a voice breaks your thoughts.

“Hey,” says a deep voice beside you. You glance over to see a blonde guy, probably in his late twenties, with a genuinely sweet smile.

“I haven’t seen you here before. People who attend these things are usually regulars,” he says with curiosity.

You smile politely, a little taken aback by the sudden conversation. “I’m here with a friend. His foundation is involved.”

You swallow the lump in your throat as you call Kylian your friend. Even though it’s the truth, it feels like a lie.

The blonde introduces himself as Louis, and you exchange small talk. He’s polite and charming, though the jokes he cracks don’t quite make you laugh the way Kylian’s do. You’re pleasantly surprised at how easily the conversation flows, but when he asks if you’d like to dance, you glance at your empty glass and decide it’s time to return to the table.

Back at the table, Kylian is chatting with a seven year old boy, Leo, who you remember from a party at his parents’ house Kylian has brought you to about a month ago. You greet Leo with a huge smile, and the boy rushes over to give you a hug, his small arms wrapping around you tightly. Kylian watches the interaction with a proud grin, his eyes twinkling with affection.

After chatting with Leo about his football obsession, his new kitten called Sushi and his annoying grammar teacher at school, his parents came to say goodbye and head home, as Leo’s bedtime was getting closer.

“How was your cocktail?” Kylian asks once Leo and his parents leave.

“Delicious,” you reply with a grin. “You sure you don’t want anything?”

“Nah. I’m on my best behavior tonight,” he says, leaning his cheek on his hand, his gaze locked on you.

The way he’s looking at you, through his long lashes, eyes full of warmth, almost makes you lose your composure.

The amount of self-control you've developed over the years, thanks to him, is staggering. There have been countless moments when you've had to stop yourself from plastering kisses all over his face, from giving in to the overwhelming desire that courses through you every time you’re near him. It’s beyond your ability to count how many times you've held back.

If only he knew how you dream about the taste of his lips, how you’ve imagined his touch in ways he could never guess. Sometimes, the urge to shout your love for him feels almost unbearable. To tell him, without hesitation, how much he means to you, how deeply you care, how profoundly he has changed your life. You’ve fantasized about spilling everything, about finally unburdening your heart of the love that’s been trapped inside for so long.

Maybe, just maybe, if you told him, you could breathe again. You could sleep peacefully, without the weight of unspoken emotions suffocating you at night. If you could just embrace these forbidden feelings, let them free, maybe you wouldn’t feel so lost, so torn between what you have and what you desperately want.

But no. Kylian has helped you build up an incredible amount of self-control, without even realizing it. He’s made you master the art of restraint, but in doing so, he’s also kept you from building the courage you need to tell him the truth. To risk everything, even if it means losing him forever.

And that’s a risk you’re still too afraid to take.

The night passes, and as guests begin to leave for the after-party, you and Kylian head to the car.

“You can go to the after-party if you want,” you offer sincerely. “I don’t mind going home alone.”

“I’d rather come home with you,” he says, stopping in his tracks to hold the car door open for you.

You hesitate, but his insistence is genuine. No matter how many times you’ve told him it’s fine for him to go out without you, he never does. He always chooses you.

“You know that if you keep asking, it won’t change anything, right?” Kylian grins as he playfully nudges your side. “I’m your permanent plus one for quiet nights at home. Get used to it.” He opens the car door for you with a flourish, always the gentleman. You roll your eyes in mock exasperation, but inside, your heart is doing a victory dance. Another cozy night in with him — it’s everything you secretly want.

The drive back is calm, filled with the comfortable silence that exists between two people who have known each other forever. It’s a silence that speaks louder than words, a silence that tells you neither of you needs to fill the gaps. Kylian’s presence is enough to bring you peace, and you wonder if he feels the same.

Memories flood your mind, like that one time after a particularly tough match. Kylian had come straight to your apartment, his face heavy with disappointment. He didn’t need to say anything; you knew exactly what he needed. He had flopped onto your couch, resting his head in your lap as you softly stroked his hair. For hours, he laid there in silence, listening to the steady rhythm of your breathing. You didn’t offer words of comfort because he didn’t need them, he just needed you.

It’s moments like those that make your heart ache. He needs you, but not in the way you want him to. To him, you’re his safe space, the person who can make the world quiet when it’s too loud. But what if you want more than that? What if you crave the noise, the chaos of love, the passion that makes your heart race?

When you arrive home, you quickly wipe off your makeup, exchanging your dress for a comfortable pair of sweats. Kylian’s already on the couch, lounging in the sweatpants he keeps in your closet for nights like these. He’s scrolling through Netflix, looking for something to watch.

“Who was the guy you were talking to at the bar?” he asks suddenly, not even looking up from the screen as you take a seat next to him.

The question catches you off guard. “What?” You blink at him, surprised. You hadn’t even realized he saw you talking to Louis. He could’ve asked about it a million times already, but why now?

“The guy at the bar,” Kylian shrugs, still trying to make it sound like a casual question, but there’s an edge to his tone.

“Oh, Louis? I just met him tonight,” you reply, playing it off like it’s nothing.

“Seems weird, that’s all,” Kylian mumbles, finally meeting your eyes. His brows are furrowed, and you can’t quite figure out why he’s bothered by this.

“We only talked for like 15 minutes,” you say with a shrug, trying to diffuse the sudden tension.

Kylian says nothing for a moment, just nods and changes the subject, asking if the movie he picked is okay. You agree, and the two of you settle into your usual spot on the couch. About three minutes into the movie, he wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer, and you rest your head against his chest. His scent, fresh and familiar, wraps around you like a warm blanket.

These moments, these “friendly cuddles,” are frequent in your two decade long friendship. But to you, they mean so much more. In these fleeting moments, you let yourself pretend. Pretend that you’re not just his best friend, but something more. Ten out of ten strangers would think you were a couple, relaxing after a long day. And in these moments, you let that fantasy wash over you.

His hand moves absentmindedly, gently stroking your back. His chin rests on the top of your head, as though your bodies were designed to fit together. It feels perfect. But it’s also tragic.

Because Kylian isn’t yours. He never will be. No matter how many times you share these intimate, quiet moments, no matter how much his presence fills the empty spaces in your life, you’re always going to be his best friend. And while he never leaves your thoughts, you wonder if you ever truly cross his mind in the same way.

The movie plays on, but you’re not watching. You’re lost in the sound of his heartbeat, the warmth of his body against yours, and the ache in your chest that never seems to go away.

How many times have you thought about telling him? Telling him how deeply you’ve fallen for him. But the fear is always there, lurking in the back of your mind. The fear that if you tell him, everything will change. The easy laughter, the shared silences, the comforting hugs. All of it could disappear in an instant.

The movie ends, and Kylian stretches, letting out a content sigh. “That was good,” he says, still half-drowsy. “Y/N, you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” you reply with a smile, but inside, you’re screaming.

The guests at the gala had moved on to an after-party, but here you are, curled up on the couch with the one person who unknowingly holds your heart in his hands.

As you walk towards the door to go to bed, you pause, wanting to say something — anything. But the words don’t come.

And so, the night ends like all the others. With him, but not truly yours.

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[maskofenigma]

Fallen London's recurring topic of Love is really interesting to me as a sort of throughline between various stories and i want to ramble about discuss that briefly. i dont call it a theme because thematic statements are usually more complex than a single word, at least in my mind, but a lot of Fallen London's storylines incorporate love into their themes.

there's the obvious things ofc; the Manager and the King, the Duchess and the Canigaster, Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, the Bazaar's whole situation. Love is a common motivator that many people can relate to, so it's no surprise that it appears in this capacity. Even so, these instances also underpin a lot of the setting's character, particularly the latter two examples, explaining why the neath is the way it is. but if we broaden our horizons just a bit, you can start to see it appearing all over the place (though maybe thats just confirmation bias lol).

the youthful naturalist loves discovery and life, and evolution in that context is a story about what one is willing to endure and sacrifice for that love. Love is a constant theme in the Light Fingers storyline, between moon milk and poor Edward, but also shows in Mr Fires's love for London (strange and deleterious though it may be) and the protagonist's love for either the Hybrid they protected or the diamond they'd been after. I don't know as much about the other ambitions (yet), but Nemesis is all about avenging a loved one by any means necessary, and you could see Bag a Legend as a love for the hunt or a love of fame, though even i’ll admit thats a bit of a stretch. Idk about Heart's Desire i’m still working on it but there's probably something. Its literally about what your heart desires but there’s absolutely a deeper connection with the Marvellous and stuff. No spoilers i'm still working on it :3

i dont know a ton about SMEN's story either, but i know from a ludonarrative perspective that it tests the players love for their character, forcing you to ruin this silly victorian who you are presumably quite attached to in the search for knowledge (perhaps another kind of love?) With what little i know of it, i’d honestly be shocked if there wasn’t anything there. if ao3 has taught me anything, there was definitely some kind of love going on between those two space bats, but im not sure if ao3 is a reputable source in this specific instance

The Flukes are literally sick with love for lost Axile, and a lot of the Masters are shown yearning to return to the High Wilderness. Many of the Irem Destinies regard love in this way, love for the sun, for the liberation, for ones partner, for london, for the people of the neath, and on and on. im not very far along with the railway but im 100% certain itll crop up again there, whether with Furnace Ancona or the Efficient Commissioner or the masters or whatever else. same goes for the Exceptional Stories and the myriad tales ive yet to unlock. Weve started to see a glimmer of it in firmament, with the imminent lucifer fire guy, but i wasnt really sure what his deal was. the idea extends to the other Sunless games from what i know, though ive yet to play those. Mask of the Rose is a romance, so thats pretty clear cut; sunless skies seems to have a lot of content relating to Queen Victoria and Prince Albert; and sunless seas seems to have it present in a few storylines, though i couldnt point to anything specific at this time. even small things, such as the way that the railway steel seems drawn to Hell and the sorrowful properties of sphinxstone, makes for a setting that is inundated with longing and heartbreak in a fascinating way.

viewed through this lens, fallen london's perspective on love is tragically earnest: love is painful and unfair and yet so very necessary. as someone who's aromantic and a hater, i call that an L. but from a thematic perspective its very interesting how often this occurs and how it connects a lot of fallen london. In so many other narratives, love is a conclusion, a reward or climax. In fact, mass media seems allergic to depicting an active and healthy relationship, and instead relegates such matters to a single ceremonious kiss. But for fallen london, a game where kisses are currency and romance is taxed, the concept of love is afforded such an interesting amount of care and reverence. Fitting for a setting wherein the insisting incidents all relate to love in some way or another

it may be comedic and at times quite absurd, but fallen london to me is a game deeply concerned with love and its influence on people. and idk i think thats interesting. if you're looking for the theme or message of a given fallen london story, look to love, always.

does that count as a thesis? i certainly dont know

[uniquevoidflowers]

Four's Birthday part 3!!!

“Hurry, hurry!” Wind urged, a grin on his face.

The colours obliged and went into a building. “Happy Birthday!” All the chain cheered.

Red gasped and his eyes sparkled with awe as he looked around. Blue yelped before softening and smiling. Green was stunned for a second before wrapping an arm around Red and grinning as well. Vio crossed his arms with a smile and a blush creeping up on his face.

“Thank you!” Red said, with tears in his eyes.

“No need to thank us, you did a lot of the planning.” Hyrule piped up.

The room was decorated with red, blue, green, and violet colours, lights dancing across walls and the ceiling. Tables were littered with various foods and beverages, a birthday cake standing tall in the back. Vio inspected the cake, eyes glimmering. Red dove for the snacks and drinks, giggling. Blue inspected the many gifts sitting on another table, smiling genuinely. Green stood there, glad to see his brothers grinning and enjoying themselves.

The sailor ran up to Red and began babbling about how amazing Wild was at cooking and baking. The cook in question scratched the back of his head as he flushed and the rancher laughed and clapped him on the back. 

Legend looked soft for once, and he turned on some background music. Blue wandered off and ended up beside the veteran who started teasing him. “Seems you got soft.”

“Same to you.” Blue shot back, although didn’t deny the vet.

“What? Me? Soft? Never.” Legend shook his head.

Blue rolled his eyes and grabbed a beverage. “You know you were supposed to go clothes shopping earlier, right? Something about not being in a dirty tunic during a ‘special event’ like this.” Legend huffed.

The blue link blinked and then scowled. “No. Wind never told us.” 

Legend sighed. “Of course he didn’t.”

“What’d you expect?” Blue huffed.

The vet gave a soft snort. “Anyways, I saw you staring at the gifts.”

“Oh I don’t know, maybe I was simply admiring the wrapping paper.” Blue said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Nice isn’t it? You can thank me for that.” Legend retorted.

“Well thank you for all your kindness, and softness, and care.” Blue smirked.

Legend sputtered. “Not what I meant!”

Meanwhile the old man wandered over to Vio. “The champion certainly has incredible skills.” 

Vio startled a little and then nodded. “Indeed. I must get a recipe from him as soon as possible, and the design just fascinates me. How he knows exactly what me and the others enjoy and incorporates that in a cake, is beyond me.”

“Make sure to tell him that later.” Time chuckled.

Vio smiled. “I will. I’m glad you guys did this. Blue is smiling for once, Green isn’t trying to be more than he is, Red isn’t crying…”

“You all deserve this.” Time said.

“That’s…Thank you.”

“Well, this is your birthday too. What are you hoping you get?” Time wondered.

“Oh! Well, some books on dark magic and maybe mirrors would be helpful. Other books of course, none that I can name of the top of my head though.” Vio answered.

Time chuckled. “Is that so?”

“Yes. I have a project I’m working on, to…put myself at ease I suppose.” Vio responded cryptically.

Time hummed. “Dark magic is not something to be meddled with unless absolutely necessary.” He stared at the violet link with piercing eyes. “You better have good intentions.”

“Y-Yes it’s…not just for myself. For one of my friends.” Vio looked away.

Time sat there for a second before nodding. “You said mirrors? Interesting.”

Vio said nothing. Time sighed. “Well I can worry about that another day. Tell me more about your friend.”

“He wasn’t my friend at first but he had a change of heart.” Vio murmured.

Time listened as Vio continued. 

Wind gasped. “So you had a fairy on your adventures too?!”

“Well for a little bit! She helped me!” Red responded in between mouthfuls of food, grinning.

“I had one on my second quest. Her name was Ciela. She had lost her memory but she embodied courage.” Wind explained.

“Was she nice?” Red asked.

Wind nodded. “What happened to her?” Red asked bluntly.

“Oh uh I guess…I lost her.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Wind shrugged. Red wrapped him in a hug instantly. “Anyway, that’s enough about me.” The sailor grabbed a pastry. “Do you have any fun stories from your adventures?”

The red link though for a moment before nodding. “There was the time we thought Vio betrayed us.” 

The sailor gestured for him to go on, looking surprised. “Well, before that the four of us got split up. The fairy I was talking about earlier helped me save Blue from being frozen forever. We went and found Vio…or an illusion of Vio..? and he told us that Green was dead, but we found out quickly that it was fake. Then we almost got eaten by a monster. Then we found Green and went to Vio who was at Death Mountain, sitting on a throne. He was with Sha-err our shadow and Vio pretended to betray us, saying we were drowning him? I dunno. But anyway, Green and Vio fought, it was quite scary, and then Vio knocked him unconscious. We all thought Green had died, and so did our shadow. So Vio left, and the fairy told us Green was alive. Green awoke and then told us that Vio had used the not pointy end of the sword to defeat him, and he was really trying to get more information from the enemy.” Red explained.

Wind blinked a couple of times before nodding, barely comprehending what was being said. “Yeah it was really scary, but we got Vio back in the end and…never mind. Do you have any cool stories?” Red asked.

“Well…”

After awhile the traveller approached Green. “How’s it going?”

Green startled but saw Hyrule and laughed a little. “Good, good. You guys really know how to party.”

The traveller laughed too. “Well, that was mostly the others.” 

Green doubted that, the traveller often thought he was doing less than he really was, but he didn’t say anything. “Do you wanna dance?” Hyrule blurted out, pointing to the spot near where the background music was playing.

“Sure.” Green shrugged and Hyrule led him there, a little embarrassed.

Green began dancing along to the music, grinning. Hyrule looked a little nervous but then as the green link laughed at his moves, Hyrule joined. Green saw Legend notice and turn up the volume.

The traveller was great at dancing, actually.

The veteran hero looked proud. Green saw Blue staring at him and gestured for him to ‘come here’. Blue instantly shook his head no. “C’mon Blue!” Green called.

Blue scowled and muttered something before walking up to the dance floor. “I hate you.” Blue hissed.

“You love me.” Green smirked and Blue began cursing under his breath as he danced.

[Insert Green telling corny jokes to Hyrule while Blue covers his ears dramatically]

“You’re absolutely horrible.” Blue snapped.

“Mhm. I bet you secretly like my jokes.” Green joked.

“Shut up.” Blue replied.

Green laughed and Red bounced over with the sailor. “You want to hear my awesome jokes, Red?” Green teased.

Red’s face scrunched up. Green gasped dramatically. “Are you implying my jokes are bad?!”

“Yeah.” Red said.

Green gaped. Blue snorted. “I thought they were brilliant.” Time sighed. 

“Of course you would think they were good old man.” Legend drawled.

Red giggled. “I don’t know what you mean.” Time insisted and whispered something in Green’s ear. Green stifled a laugh. “Oh, come on!” Blue growled.

“It was a mistake coming over here.” Legend lamented. 

“Agreed.” Blue mumbled.

“Hey guys, what do you call a—“

“NO! No, just no.” Blue yelped.

Time snickered, mischief glimmering in his eyes. “Y’all let’s open gifts now!” Wild demanded.

“Perfect timing.” Legend stopped the music and they all gathered around the gifts. 

“Uhh, Green first.” Sky declared.

Green was handed a box wrapped in his colour, and tore the wrapping paper off. He saw a new sword, the Triforce engraved near the green hilt. He made sure he was out of the way and swung the blade around. “This is powerful…” he muttered.

“It’s from all of us, but the old man got the blade.” Sky informed him.

“Thank you so much.” Green said and put it on the table.

Sky picked a random gift off the table and handed it to Vio. Vio carefully ripped the wrapping paper off to reveal a woodcarving of a mirror. “This is incredible!” Vio exclaimed, examining the piece with awe.

“He’s going to be asking questions about it later.” Green whispered into the traveller’s ear.

Hyrule giggled slightly. “Thank you.” Vio murmured and set the piece down on the table next to Green’s sword. 

“Next is…Red!” Sky decided and handed Red a bag.

Red took his time setting the tissue paper down nicely and then pulled out a knitted blanket. The blanket was red of course, and it had hearts all over it. Red gasped happily. “This is so cooool! Thank you, thank you!” Red squealed and then asked, “Who made it?”

Warriors nudged Legend who rolled his eyes and said, “I did.” 

Red ran and hugged the veteran who froze and then hesitantly hugged him back. Then the red link hugged all the others. After he was done the skyloftian handed Blue a gift. Blue tore off the wrapping paper and Green leaned over to see a hammer, the Triforce engraved on it and blue cloth wrapped around the hilt. “Fuck yeah!” Blue cheered.

Red giggled at his reaction. "Language!"

“Thank you I guess.” Blue mumbled and set the hammer on the table next to the other items.

“You guess?” Time teased.

Blue rolled his eyes. “If you keep rolling your eyes like that your eyes are going to get stuck.” Green said jokingly. Blue blinked slowly and then scowled.

“Next we have a gift for you all.” Sky announced.

The colours perked up curiously. They saw four woodcarvings of the Four Sword, knitted ribbon wrapped around the wooden hilts, each in different colours. Red was crying with tears of happiness, Vio looked soft, Blue was grinning, and Green examined it in awe. “Thank you!” They chorused.

The chain chuckled. “It’s all thanks to the chosen and the veteran, actually. They worked very hard at the gifts.” Hyrule chimed in.

The chosen blushed and the veteran scratched the back of his head. Red pulled them in a hug and then they all began talking about the gifts, and how much fun this whole thing was. Wild handed out cake, saying “Y’all better eat this.” 

“Woah this is really good!” Green exclaimed and shoved the cake in his mouth.

“It’s just a simple vanilla cake since the town didn’t have anything else.” Wild shrugged.

“Doesn’t mean the cake isn’t any worse.” Blue retorted.

Green took that to mean the blue link really liked it as well. “Ah yes, I definitely need the recipe.” Vio said to himself.

“I’ll write it down!” Wild called and scrambled to get a pen.

Time chuckled. “Well boys, I think this day has been pretty successful. However there’s still something to be done. The party will go on longer.”

Green remembered and swore. They had to give the old man the bottle. Who had it? Wind. Wind did. The sailor looked at Vio who facepalmed and whispered something to Red. Red nodded and then started wailing at the top of his lungs, tears gushing out of his eyes. Green tapped Time on the shoulder and pulled him away while the chain tried to see why Red was crying. Vio hurried over but the veteran noticed. “What are you doing?” He called, narrowing his eyes.

“We need to talk to Time because…” Green trailed off.

“He wanted to know what our favourite foods were before the party ends.” Vio finished, elbowing the green link slightly.

The veteran seemed to accept that answer as he nodded and turn back to the commotion. “What have you got?” Time whispered.

Vio pulled out the golden bee. The old man stifled a snort. “What does this do for me?” He asked quietly.

“The shopkeeper said monsters don’t stand a chance to the bee.” Vio hissed.

The old man contemplated this and then nodded. “It’ll do. Now go comfort your brother.” He said, winking.

“Green get your ass over here.” Blue growled.

Green ran and hugged Red whispering reassurances before the red link sniffled and “finally” calmed down. Red and Green walked away and the chain relaxed. Legend turned up the music and they danced until Time deemed it time to go. The colours collected their gifts, Wild and Twilight collected the leftover food and the others collected decorations. They retreated to the inn and Time left to go get supper for the chain. “That was one awesome birthday party.” Red murmured.

“Yeah. I’m going to be using this sword soon.” Green smirked and slashed his new sword around, being careful not to hit anything. “Don’t get me wrong the Four Sword’s great but I could use a new weapon.”

“This hammer will be pretty useful. My other one is damaged.” Blue hummed.

Red was nestled in the blanket on the bed. Vio had the wooden mirror sitting beside him, and there was a glint in his eye. The only reason the colours were split right now is because it was their birthdays and they had needed to split in their last battle. It felt refreshing though. 

Time returned and handed everyone slices of pizza, and soon everyone was laughing and chatting. Warriors strategized with Vio. Sky chatted with Red, making sure he was okay. Legend and Blue stuck together again, bantering playfully. Time and Green chatted amicably, just about the day and the old man asked abruptly, “Do you know why Vio is interested in dark magic?”

Green stiffened. “What?”

Time repeated himself. “Do you not know?” He questioned.

“No, I know…” Green hesitated then said, “He wants to get a friend back.”

The old man softened. “Just make sure he doesn’t go too far, okay?”

“I won’t let that happen.” Green assured him.

[vilandel]

Silver Cats & Black Roses

Chapter 22 – Elite

A/N It's been a while since I posted a chapter for this already finished story here, time to continue... A little insight about the world of fashion in Clover, plus our main guys missing their girlfriends so much that they are so bold to sneak into the modiste shop 💙💜

Ao3 link

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“Gosh, isn’t this exciting? The shop isn’t even open yet and so many customers are already waiting!”

“I guess. But I was never in such a luxurious shop before, I can’t really tell or compare.”

“Same here, but I’m still really excited. Well, it’s normal that those dresses are so well-loved. I mean, have you SEEN this emerald silk gown with the cream and golden butterflies? Or the red dress with the little roses that looks like a rose itself? Oh, I bet it looks even more like a rose when you turn around in it. Oh, and that black gown with the pink and teal flowers, such a style!”

Vanessa grabbed Grenadines arm, just to point at more and more dresses she saw in the shop. She already did that with the unfinished ones in the atelier, since the other knights and herself had to take the back entrance of Soie Velours’ shop.

It was the first day of the mission the most renown modiste in the Clover Kingdom gave the Magic Knights and ten knights, two from five different squads, came for the official start. Vanessa herself came along with Noelle for the Black Bulls, although she wasn’t sure if her squadmate was excited or not.

The Silver Eagles were represented by Nebra Silva and Grenadine, the nice newbie Vanessa already have seen several times and who was a bastard from a noble. From the Crimson Lions, two of the rare female knights of this squad, Lital Lys and Meli Ambrosia. The Blue Roses have sent Églantine Roselei and even the captain herself, Charlotte Roselei. As for the Coral Peacocks, they were represented by Kirsch Vermillion and someone called Rick Cornell, the only men in today’s group.

The only ones missing were still the Blue Roses, but it was still some time before the shop was opening. Besides, knowing captain Charlotte, they would still come on time and if not, the captain of the Blue Roses was concerned enough to let the modiste know in time.

The lion ladies were still back in the atelier and on another corner of the mezzanine, Kirsch was posing and doing some… things about beauty, while the knight called Rick seemed like he wanted to be far away from here. Poor guy.

Noelle and Nebra immediately were caught up in a discussion, so Vanessa took Grenadine aside to look over the shop from the mezzanine that leaded to the atelier and also the upper floors.

In fact, Vanessa wanted to get to know more about the Silver Eagles, since they were Nozels knights. There has to be some who were nice, hopefully. Despite everything, Nozel really enjoyed to be a captain and she didn’t want that some corrupt noble knights would took this away from him.

Besides, Grenadine was the first Silver Eagle who wasn’t either a royal or a noble and this was still a fascinating topic for Vanessa.

Grenadine seemed to be a bit shy and definitely overwhelmed by Vanessas complete attitude, but there was also a small, mysterious but encouraging glimmer in her eyes. A reason for Vanessa to not give up on getting along with this sweet girl.

“I don’t know a lot about noble houses, but I’m sure most of today’s customers will be from nobility.”

“Certainly, especially if they’re from high nobility. Like house Évantail… the house of my father. That’s going to be awkward if some of them would be here and I find myself in front of them. But well, I’m here on duty and I asked captain Nozel about this, there is nothing they can do against it.”

Aw, how cute it was of Nozel to reassure his junior knight.

Vanessa wished he could be here with her, right now. But this fashion world wasn’t really something he was the most interested in and besides, with the nobles coming today, it was better he was absent. They would either jump on him with marriage proposals or sneak on him with remarks and comparisons.

Still, Vanessa missed his presence, his arms around her, his lips on her skin or even better, on her own lips, his talks to her, how he cared, how he loved… With this ball full of marital traps around the corner, she felt the anger and the fear of the risk of being separated, mostly by this horrible Lac Silva. And it was in Nozels arms that Vanessa felt herself becoming braver about this.

She looked at Grenadine. House Évantail, huh? One of Nozels problematic knights had that family name as well and if Vanessa remembered correctly, it was also Grenadines older half-brother. And goodness, the Blue Rose accompanying captain Charlotte was an Évantail as well! Hopefully that one would be a nice Évantail, otherwise there’s going to be some tension in today’s group of knights.

Thankfully, it wouldn’t come from the Silva sisters. Vanessa glanced at them. They looked like they were arguing or bickering, but from what Vanessa could hear, it sounded more like a typical sibling argument. And it was about the ball gowns they could wear at the ball.

“No, no, no, Noelle! You CAN’T wear that, especially with that body type of yours!”

“What’s wrong with my body type?”

“Nothing is wrong with your body type, but it’s not the right one for this kind of dress. You’re more on the small side and you’re not chubby. You’re going to be drown in lace and silk if you were this kind of overly puffy dress. And why orange? Orange is not your colour and definitely not a colour Silvas can wear that easily. Especially flashy. Gosh, your taste in fashion is almost as terrible as Solids. Nozel is a bit better, but he’s not interested in fashion enough. If it weren’t for my lessons, he would have appeared on every celebration with his usual clothes and his Silver Eagle robe.”

So, Nebra was the fashion experts of the Silvas? Vanessa couldn’t help but giggle slightly. The typical Silva clothes were difficult to understand, for her and probably in general. Oh, they were looking comfortable and stripping them from Nozel before they slept together was very exciting for Vanessa. But from a fashion sense? So difficult to understand.

Vanessa looked at Nebras typical skirt. Asymmetrical and with some kind of slit on the side, it was actually very stylish.

Noelles Silva clothes didn’t have a piece of clothing in this style. Maybe Nebra asked for this kind of skirt specifically? Anyways, she was definitely the fashion expert of the Silvas and Vanessa was relieved to not be the only one anymore to care about Noelles disastrous fashion sense.

“It wasn’t only orange, it was also pink,” Noelle tried to argue. But of course, it wouldn’t be a strong argument.

“Orange and pink? ORANGE AND PINK? Noelle, this one of the worst colour combinations ever and a very risky one at that! Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Vanessa did, but-“

“See? You should listen to your witch squadmates, she might be the only one of the Black Bulls to have at least some fashion sense.”

“Oh, thank you, sugar!” Vanessa said loudly from where she stood, smiling brightly. She had some concerns at first, but getting along with Nebra Silva came along better than she thought, despite Nebras kinda bitchy attitude. And it was so wonderful to see Noelle getting along better and better with another of her siblings. First Nozel, now Nebra. Solid might come later, but it was hopeful at this point.

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” Nebra replied with a flick on her hand, completely focused on her little sister. “Seriously, Noelle, you can just appear at the ball looking like a too big flashy candy with small arms and small legs. We’re royals, we can’t allow ourselves to be ridiculous.”

“Kirsch is ridiculous.”

“But he made his ridiculous side part of his charm and he’s owns this flashy style to a point it’s not a reason to mock anymore. It’s his personality. But wearing a ridiculous ball dress that’s not even your style? That is just ridiculous and not even your personality. I can’t let you wear an overly puffy dress with such flashy shades and a horrible combination of colours. Because you’re a royal and also… because you’re my little sister. I just can’t.”

Nebra blushed, before slightly looking away. Oh, it might have took her a lot of will power to say this out loud, but Vanessa find it so adorable. Noelle had that side too, and Nozel. Was it a Silva trait, did Solid have it too?

Noelle was blushing too, clearly touched by her sister’s words. But she still worked up the courage to speak up still, “What do you want me to do? Getting lessons about fashion? Or letting you choose the ball gown for me?”

“Why not both? You definitely needs some lessons in fashion, at least for the basics. And please, don’t say that you don’t need those or you might end up like Solid and going to the ball in chequered flannel pyjamas.”

That seems like a very strong argument, Noelle didn’t say anything against it.

“As for deciding what you should wear for the ball… why not? I have enough trust in my fashion sense to actually find a dress for you that will suit you perfectly. Let’s see… You’re a water mage, so something in any shade of blue and anything that would remind of water. There are so many possibilities with that. Also, you told me once that you like green. Well, that’s a colour that works very well with our silver hair, especially darker shades. But brighter shades of green would suit you as well. Not to mention that both of us can easily wear pink, it matches our eyes. Purple too, especially if the garments are silver. In fact, we Silvas should rather use silver garments than golden ones, it’s more our brand. You can wear yellow too if you want, Noelle, but I would rather suggest you pastel shades in this case. As for the shape of the dress… You can wear puffy sleeves if you want, especially if it leaves your shoulder free, but I wouldn’t suggest it for the skirt if you don’t want to look like a fat pudding. I think you would look rather amazing in dresses with either flowy skirts, that turns around you like water or dresses that are closer to your body. There’s a shape that is called mermaid and you have a form like that with your magic, right? It would fit you perfectly in many ways. Of course, it is difficult to sit casually with that kind of dress, but you’ll still look fabulous.”

Nebra knew a lot indeed and looked totally in her element. Vanessa was impressed, maybe she would ask her some tricks and such for her own ball dress.

Noelle seemed like she came to that conclusion as well, only that she put it on a different level. “You know what, Nebra? Since you’re so confident on this topic, how about I let you decide for my ball gown?”

“Really? You would… let me?”

“Yes, it’s a deal.”

“Deal. I’ll make sure you will be the most beautiful lady in the ballroom. Or at least one of the most beautiful, I need to look fabulous too, after all.”

“Nebra!”

Just in this moment, the two Blue Roses came on the mezzanine. Captain Charlotte said immediately, “I’m sorry we couldn’t come before. There had been a… matter back at the base.”

Was it just Vanessa or did the captain of the Blue Roses just slightly blushed for a second?

The knight that was with Charlotte, a pretty young girl with beautiful azure corkscrew curls and turquoise eyes, snickered smugly. Oh, was it an embarassing matter or a spicy one? Vanessa wanted to know more.

But before she could even ask, she felt Grenadine tense beside her.

Oh. She almost forgot. Both Grenadine and the Blue Rose had the same eye colour. A shining turquoise. But Grenadine was a bastard daughter of the Évantails, while this Blue Rose was legitimate.

Said Blue Rose must have felt the tension as well, as she turned around to them. Her eyes widened when she saw Grenadine.

Captain Charlotte would certainly scold her subordinate deeply if she would say anything snarky towards the bastard daughter of her family. But Vanessa was ready to take the defence of Grenadine as well. She still wanted to make a friend out of her. And she was one of Nozels knights, she had every reason to defend Grenadine.

But to her biggest surprise, the Blue Rose let out a happy squeal and immediately run towards Grenadine to pull her in a tight hug.

“Oh, you must be my lost half-sister? I’m so glad to meet you finally! My family would never allow it, but that’s just not fair! You didn’t choose to be a bastard! But I would love to know you more! I’m so grateful to captain Nozel that he gave you a chance, the Silver Eagles are lucky to have you! I would have loved to have you as a Blue Rose like me, but we can still hang out and meet more if you want. Oh, please tell me you want! Pleeeeaaaase? I have little brother who would love to meet you as well and a great-aunt, who is pretty modern for her age. By the way, my name is Églantine.”

“Um… I’m Grenadine.”

“I know that already, sweet pie! We both have names that end in -ine, isn’t that great!”

Well, that was surprising. But also beautiful. At least, there was one Évantail accepting of the bastard. It reminded Vanessa a bit on how lady Orchidea – or auntie Dea, like the Black Bulls called her – immediately put Luck in her heart as if he was her own son.

It was reassuring to know that not every noble was an asshole.

“Églantine always wanted to meet her half-sister the moment she learned about her,” captain Charlotte said as she joined Vanessa at the balustrade of the mezzanine.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes. Églantine is just like that. I wanted to bring Grenadine into the Blue Roses at the Entrance Exam, but she chose the Silver Eagles instead.”

“It’s still not a bad choice, still.”

“Indeed. And if the Silver Eagles can take a bastard girl in, it’s the proof that it’s not status that should be important by being a knight, but the skills, the dedication and loyalty. Among other things.”

Vanessa couldn’t agree more. If only nobility could understand this as well.

“Oh, how wonderful, all the knights are here.”

Each one of the Magic Knights turned around, to see the modiste in person appear from the first floor.

Vanessa never had saw Soie Velours before and she had admittedly been curious about this most renown modiste. Well, she couldn’t say that she was disappointed. Soie Velours was one of the most elegant woman she ever saw, who seemed like to make her flaws into fashionable accessories. There were strands of grey hair in her red curls, but instead of hiding them like most woman would do, she was practically showing them of.

That was actually impressive, Vanessa hoped to be able to act the same once it would be her turn to have grey hair. Hopefully not so soon, though.

Soie Velours hold the hand of such an adorable little boy, who looked timidly at all the knights, especially Nebra and Noelle, but his smile was genuinely welcoming.

“My nephew, Lin Velours, and also my successor. Trust me, as a modiste, he is already on the way to surpass me one day.”

Soie Velours might be a firm business woman and probably very direct, but in this very moment, no auntie could have sounded more proud.

“You all know where the bathrooms are in case of a little toilet break? Good. You also know any place where you can eat your lunch? Very good. You also know where you can go if you want to spent your break with others? And where you can go if you want to be alone for your break? Very, very good. Well, I guess that those questions are all answered then. So, your job is to guard and watch that the customers don’t get overwhelmed, especially the most arrogant ones. Make sure that my workers can work in peace and that the customers don’t make them lose their times with flimsy things, like Ah, but this embroidery is not matching with the rest or Are you SURE it won’t make me look fat, you know, stupid stuff like that.”

Vanessa couldn’t help but giggle. Damn, this modiste really had a sense of humour. Even better, she knew how nobility could act and wasn’t even impressed by it.

“You might also need to help my dear workers with some tasks. Oh, not to make dresses for them, they have a reputation to lose and myself as well. Now, just bring any tools like needles or scissors or anything they need to sew. On the occasion, you might also need to bring them some samples of fabrics or dresses to show them to the customers, maybe you would need to show them yourselves. And also, most of customers will be nobles, especially from high nobility. You already saw the many doors on the first floor. One of them is my office, others belong to my workers, be it other offices or smaller ateliers. But most of those doors lead to private salons. Some families of high nobility book their own private salons, for anything they can also do in the shops. It’s just that some nobles prefer to have their deals and orders made the most privately as possible. There’s going to be some nobles who would use their private salon today and then, your job would be mostly to guard the door until there is satisfaction with the deal, clear so far? Very good. Also, I know that some nobles might don’t want to talk to some of you, due to reasons. If they complain, all you need to say is that you’re on duty on my behalf, nothing else, and if they’re not happy, they’re free to engage another modiste, but also that it’s almost impossible to find another one who will gave them complete satisfaction like me.”

Vanessa giggled again. Gosh, Soie Velours was very self-confident, but also knew how to handle nobles. Guess that she needed to, since nobility gave her most of her customers. But she seemed like a more than decent woman, so Vanessa decided to like her.

“Well, it’s now opening time. At first, I’ll ask you all to stay on this mezzanine for the first twenty, thirty minutes to observe everything. You’ll be surprised what can possibly happen during the first minutes. Then, you can start with your tasks. Also, don’t hesitate to make rounds in the atelier, in case there are some problems. If you have questions, don’t hesitate to come to me or even my nephew.”

One last cheeky smile and the modiste left the mezzanine to greet the first customers in person.

So, it started. The first fashion related mission Vanessa ever got as a Magic Knight. She couldn’t say that she wasn’t excited. Because she was.

Even when she was first just watching over from the mezzanine with her companions, the minutes and then the hours were flying by, she never got bored even for one second. Helping the workers, especially the seamstresses, talking with some customers, bringing samples of fabrics or dresses… The dress samples were just the miniature versions of the gowns, put on tiny dolls, something Vanessa found quite fascinating. One of the workers told her that Soie Velours often used leftovers from fabrics to make those miniature dresses. Not before long, the shop even started to use those fabric leftovers to make some little gowns and other little clothes for toy dolls, a little extra that was already very popular.

“Soie Velours is a true business woman,” Vanessa commented hours later, early in the afternoon.

“She is indeed. And she needs to, given how she created her shop and her ateliers from nothing and how she imposed herself in the world of fashion,” Lital Lys replied, leaning on the balustrade just next to Vanessa.

The two of them just had lunch, bonded over their meal and decided to take a short breather on the mezzanine before going back to work.

Vanessa liked Lital. She was someone very nice, not judging at all, maybe a tiny bit timid at first, but once she opened up, they could talk for hours and hours. Lital was also very pretty with her curly, purple mane she tamed by braiding some fangs out of her face and those really fascinating nacreous eyes.

Somehow, Vanessa had the feeling she had seen Lital before, but she couldn’t remember when.

Lital hummed happily, pointing at Églantine and Grenadine, who were fussing on the table where fans were exposed. “It is very nice to see how accepting those two sisters are. It’s not always the case for bastard situations.”

Vanessa nodded, thinking how auntie Dea practically adopted Luck immediately, contrasting her husband’s behaviour, who chased his son and the mother away.

“You told me that you were a bastard, Lital. So, you’re talking from experience.”

“You can say that. And I was only legitimized due to a circle of circumstances.”

“How so?”

“Imagine a noble couple, who can’t have children at all, but doesn’t know who’s sterile out of the two. So, the husband engages a prostitute, one from the slums at that, and pays her a big amount to see if he could make her pregnant. It’s not uncommon for nobility, even though it’s not so often either… and not quite legal. Now, imagine that the prostitute gets pregnant, the husband is so happy that he’s not sterile he forgets to pay the prostitute for the abortion. So, she returns to the slums, with a work accident in her womb. She doesn’t like her child at all and said child hat to spend the first ten years of her life surviving and taking care of herself. In the meantime, the noble couple still don’t have any children at all, the wife being sterile, the husband being too lazy to do something about it. Now, imagine that the wife isn’t quite an arrogant noble and has her heart at the right place. She wanted a child despite her sterility and even more, she wanted to make up for the mistake of her husband and help someone in need. So, the wife went to the slums, find the bastard daughter of her husband, took her with her and since then, raised like her own and loved her like her own.”

Vanessa took in a breath. This story was actually pretty dark, but Lital spoke about it like it was nothing, which was kinda impressive. She must have come to terms with her past. And given that she lived in the slums for years, Lital might be able to take a lot.

Lital just smiled at Vanessa. “I was hurt for long and I needed time to come to terms with it. First thanks to my mother, lady Corazòn. We’re not blood related, but she is my mother in every way. Then the Crimson Lions, who took me in like a second family, not caring for the rumours of my past. And also… Fuegoleon.”

Lital blushed immediately and Vanessa couldn’t help but tease. “It’s really serious between the both of you. When is the wedding? Can I be a bridesmaid? Please!”

“Well, how can I say no to those kitten eyes? Once we can organize everything, I will come to you. But it shouldn’t be for too long, we were dating for ten years after all.”

“Ten… ten years!”

“No need to be so shocked, it’s not like Fuegoleon and I are old like grandparents already.”

Vanessa nodded, but still… ten years before deciding to get married? She couldn’t believe that it was uncertainty, Lital looks perfectly certain in her love and captain Fuegoleon wasn’t known to be unsure.

Lital and Fuegoleon had, in some ways, a different kind of relationship than Vanessa and Nozel. Similar still, but not quite the same. Vanessa was patient, but she doubted she would be able to wait a decade before marrying Nozel.

Wait… had she just thought about that for REAL?

“Is something wrong, Vanessa?”

“What? Oh, no, nothing at all. I just… Now I remember where I saw you already. Finrals wedding with Finesse and you were dancing with captain Fuegoleon that day.”

“Finally, I was wondering when you would remember. And I saw you dance with captain Nozel that day.”

“Oh? Yes, he’s quite the dancer, I must say.”

Hopefully she wasn’t blushing too much. After all, her own romance with Nozel was still a secret and she wasn’t quite ready yet to spill the beans to the whole world.

“Oh, seems our help is needed,” Lital suddenly said, pointing towards to shop beneath them and towards the first floor where some words of an argument were heard.

“You better go down there, you said that you know this lady pretty well,” Vanessa casually commented, looking down at the ginger haired noble girl who discussed something with one of the cashier girls.

“I’m not friends with Rubinia Châteaubriand, but yes, I know her quite enough,” Lital sighed and by the tone of her voice, Vanessa assumed that this Rubinia wasn’t someone she would like to spend time with. “Look what’s the matter in the first floor, I’ll go defend that poor girl against the ruby monster.”

Ruby monster! Vanessa hold back her laugh while Lital went downstairs as quick as a shooting star. Well, Lital had star magic.

“Ah, Lital, good you’re here,” a pompous voice yelled, that could only belong to the ruby monster. “Could you please tell this bitch here to not insult me? I want my gown and she refuse to give it to me!”

“Dear Rubinia, I understand that you’re upset, but please, watch your language. You belong to the elite of nobility. Which dress are you talking about?”

“One of the collection Glory Sunrise, lady Lital. The golden version.”

Vanessa giggled. It was quite funny that Soie Velours gave each of her creations a name, but will, captain Rill gave each of his paintings a name too, so why not doing the same with dresses?

“Yes, and I want my dress, I haven’t ordered it just for the sake of it!”

“Of course not, but Rubinia, you will get that dress. The golden Glory Sunrise is just very popular and they need to sew more, since they’re already gone. You’re going to have it later today, trust me.”

“But I want it NOW!”

“If you will let the seamstresses work on your dress now, you might going to have it in less than two hours. Haven’t you told me that Patience is your second name?”

Lital was doing great. No wonder captain Fuegoleon was in love with her.

Vanessa sighed and made her way to the first floor. There were only two people in the hallway, noble ladies given the luxury of their afternoon dresses. One had blonde wavy curls and royal blue eyes, the other had straight pale pink hair and turquoise coloured eyes, exactly like Églantine and Grenadine.

Another Évantail, Vanessa assumed.

Both of them were holding three sample dolls each, while looking at each other with hate and disgust.

Vanessa frowned. Hopefully those two weren’t fighting over the dresses. This was one of the most ridiculous fights Vanessa knew. She looked quickly at the dolls. During the morning, Vanessa had a lot of fun learning the names of each dresses.

The Évantail girl was holding a green sample dress called Lovesick Frog, a white and silver one with green and pink patterns of leaves and flowers with the poetic name of Summer Snow, as well as a moiré burgundy gown, Wine Mirror. A favourite name for Vanessa.

The blonde girl hold a bright blue dress called Sunny Sky, a purple gown with bright pink embroideries named Heartbroken Plums and a puffy, shiny brown dress with the funny name of Treasure Hidden In Chocolate Cream.

“Who do you think you are, Athénaïs Vitrail?”

“No, who do you think you are, Prudence Évantail?”

Athénaïs Vitrail and Prudence Évantail, good to know.

Prudence snorted, “Don’t you think that you have any chance against me on this race, Athénaïs. I’m not scared to use boldness to get what I want.”

Athénaïs didn’t seemed impressed. “Oh, I know that, Prudence. It is a strategy of the desperate ones, after all.”

“Why, you-“

“Unlike you, I know which words and which weaknesses to use to get what I want. Why do you chase after Nozel Silva anyway? We both know that you’re only the second daughter out of your siblings and your older sister married into nobility, NOT royalty. What are your chances to catch a royal?”

“I’m not as stupid as my older sister and don’t forget that Ursula married into YOUR house. Which ones of your cousins is she married again?”

“I think you’re just as stupid as Ursula, just unnecessary more stubborn.”

“Do you really think you have more chances than me to marry lord Nozel? It’s actually the other way around. Unlike what everyone believes, you’re not the perfect match for a royal. The perfect one is me.”

The moment Nozels name fell, Vanessa froze and fight the urge to either puke or to slap both Prudence and Athénaïs.

The latter just sighed dramatically. “We both know that out of all the potential betrothed for Nozel Silva, you and I are considered the top two candidates. But you’re only second place, compared to me. Unlike you, I have power already, you would need to marry into royalty to finally gain that.”

“Does your power even mean anything, since you still need to get married? Unlike you, I’m patient for getting power. Once I’m married, I’ll be someone to not mess with.”

“You’re pathetic, Prudence. You won’t be a female Lac Silva, you might only end up like the late Eislyn Silva, lord Nozels grandmother. You’re going to be in the shadows of the Silvas and end up absent and longing for a life you’ll never get.”

“You’re wrong, you’re going to end up like the late lady Eislyn. And unlike you, I won’t stay in the shadow of my pathetic husband. I’m going to be someone! How about you catch lord Fuegoleon instead? He also matches your standard.”

“But he’s not the head of house Vermillion. And house Vermillion is in perfect shape, unlike house Silva. Which means that I’m going to be the one saving house Silva from falling apart. The heroine putting the Silvas into a perfect shape.”

“Oh no, Athénaïs. This is going to be me. Nothing would change that, even though you’re my rival.”

That was not a good rivalry. It wasn’t like with Asta and Yuno, Nozel and captain Fuegoleon or captain Yami and captain William. It was a straight-up fight and not even for Nozels heart, but for his position, to become a royal through marrying him. And this was the kind of women Lac Silva wanted to marry his son to?

Vanessa clenched her fists. She hated Prudence and Athénaïs already. She hated how they talked about Nozel like he was a prize or someone they could so easily manipulate. Saving house Silva? More like form it in a way it suited them. They would look down on Noelle, making Nebra and Solid stand in their shadows and try manipulate or even threaten Nozel if he doesn’t act like they want.

Prudence and Athénaïs might be considered the top candidates to marry the head of house Silva. But Nozel would never choose any of them. Those two would never get along with his siblings and more importantly, none of them would get into his heart. That was Vanessas place.

But both Athénaïs and Prudence have clearly no interest to win over Nozels heart. They wanted to become royals and as much as Vanessa hated to admit it, they didn’t seem stupid. Surely Prudence and Athénaïs would use the ball to try and trap Nozel into an engagement. Not on Vanessas watch! She needed to protect him, to be there for him! She would never let them get their filthy clutches on the man she loved.

But just as she took a step towards them, a door of a private salon opened and another young lady look outside. Vanessa was taken aback of how thin and fragile she looked like, not to mention pale with the white-blonde hair and the pale grey eyes. And still, her attitude seemed subtly determined in a way.

The pale girl looked around, as if she was analysing the situation, before she actually called in a soft voice, “Athénaïs, can you please come back? I have no idea which fabric I should choose for my dress.”

Athénaïs turned around and suddenly had the brightest smile on her face. “Of course, Rosette. It would be a shame if I let my little sister alone when she obviously needs my counsel.���

Was it just Vanessa or did Rosette slightly rolled her eyes?

Prudence began to smile brightly as well. “I won’t hold you back longer, my dearest friend. I’ll go back to my families private salon as well. My cousin Blanche and my aunt Clémentine might need my counsel for their dresses as well.”

Both so-called rivals gave each other a poisoned glance while smiling brightly, before leaving for their respective private salons. Rosette didn’t disappear immediately, though. Instead, she looked at Vanessa, being the only one to have seen her.

Vanessa was surprised by the genuine kindness in her grey eyes.

“They’re not worth it, don’t worry,” Rosette whispered before closing the door behind her.

Those words let Vanessa stunned. What was that supposed to mean?

“Lady Rosette is right, you know.”

Vanessa turned around immediately, only to fall upon Lin Velours.

“Oh, you heard them as well, little one?”

“Yes. But don’t worry, lady Vanessa. Lord Nozel won’t choose any of them. He already chose you, otherwise he wouldn’t have created an account in this shop for you.”

“He… did what?”

Did Lin actually realized what a bomb he just dropped? Nozel created an account for her? In this shop?

“Yesterday,” Lin replied, as if it was perfectly normal. “He was very determined that it was on your name and that you could choose yourself what kind of dresses you want, but that the bills should be sent to him. That shows that he cares a lot about you.”

Yes, that sounded so much like Nozel. In so many ways. Vanessa had no idea what to say.

“He’s here to see you.”

“Huh?”

“Lord Nozel. At the back door. That’s why I’m here, to tell you he’s waiting for you.”

“Oh, thank you cutie pie. I better not letting him wait.”

Indeed, Nozel was outside, alone in the backyard, arms crossed. It wasn’t a place where people came during working hours, as she learned, so the risk of getting spotted wasn’t big at all.

Vanessa immediately pulled him in a deep kiss. Of course Nozel gave in immediately, placing his arms firmly on her hips.

“What was that for?” he still asked as they break the kiss, but not letting go of each other.

“For the account you created for me, silly eagle,” Vanessa laughed, pecking his chin. “I would ask why haven’t told me about it yesterday night, but given what we did so passionately, I don’t blame you that you had something else on your mind.”

Nozel blushed, making Vanessa giggle. He was so handsome when he was blushing.

“I… I wanted to tell you… sooner, but…”

“Come on, there’s no need to be stuttering. Besides, Lin told me.”

“Lin? Ah, you mean Lin Velours, the nephew of Soie Velours. He was there when I discussed the details with his aunt.”

“He’s such a cute boy. But as much as I love having you here, why did you came? Did you missed me that much, my sweet eagle?”

She poked his cheek, making him blush.

“Well, that too, but… Maybe I shouldn’t have, but… I was worried about you. I heard that… Prudence Évantail and Athénaïs Vitrail would come here and-“

“And those two are considered the top candidates as your future wife within nobility, I know. I learned about it like not even five minutes ago. I saw them fighting, not really over you, but over the position of being your wife. Don’t look so scared, honey, they haven’t seen me, too focused over their stupid rivalry over you. But I was really close to slap them.”

Vanessa sighed and snuggled against his chest. “I hate how they talk about you. As if you were a prize or someone they could easily manipulate for their own schemes. As if you weren’t a person at all.”

“A lot of nobles think like that about me.”

“That’s not an excuse. Both Prudence and Athénaïs don’t know you. They have an image of you in their mind they believe to be real and they refuse to see the truth about you. I really can’t take it. I love you, that’s why I hate so much how they view you.”

Nozel didn’t answered immediately. He just sighed, holding her closer to him, running his fingers through her hair.

All those gestures were so comforting, Vanessa swore she melted. How amazing it was that being in Nozels arms, being hold by him, suddenly transformed every problem into something unimportant.

Simple and precious.

“You know that I’ll chose none of those two…” Nozel whispered after a while.

“Even before me?”

“Even before you.”

Vanessa smiled. She suspected that already, but it was nice to have Nozel confirmed that Prudence and Athénaïs never would have been an option during the period he would have sacrificed himself for his siblings.

Unlike those stupid noble ladies, he always had a heart and he still had sense of honour.

“It’s you I want to spend the rest of my life with,” Nozel whispered again, pushing the fabric of her robe aside, planting a kiss on her shoulder.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Vanessa chuckled, planting a peck on his neck.

They started making out, holding each other, letting their lips and their tongues dance together. It was enough to lit a fire within them and Vanessa couldn’t wait for tonight, for coming in his room again, to spend the night with him.

They haven’t talked about marriage, of course not. It was still too soon. Vanessa wasn’t sure if she would even get used to the life of royalty, to fit in completely. It was a scary and a complicated world.

But Vanessa also won’t let her fears be stronger than her love for Nozel. If he would ever propose to her one day, she knew already that she’ll say yes, no matter what.

♣♣♣

There was a huge lack of customers between four and five o’clock, which had surprised Charlotte. But as she asked Soie Velours about this, the modiste just shrugged and told her that it was completely normal. Most of nobility had their afternoon tea around this time and so, it was like a break for the shop, with some occasional customers.

Charlotte was also told that after that afternoon-tea-break, a high amount of customers will come, more than during the day. Apparently, it was pretty normal that the evening was the time during which the best sell was made.

In the meantime, Soie Velours, invited the knights to some tea, cakes and cocoa, a little break before the bit storm. And Charlotte had to admit that she loved this interlude.

“Where are lord Kirsch and his squadmate?” Lital asked, while eating a slice of lemon cheesecake.

“My dear cousin wanted to have a closer look to the beauty of the newest creations, as he said,” Nebra replied casually. “And the Coral Peacock with him went with him to hold him back if necessary. Trust me, knowing Kirsch, doing this is vital.”

Given the reputation of Kirsch Vermillion, Nebra might be right. Even though Charlotte had to say that despite his extravagance, Kirsch was still a very capable vice-captain for Dorothy and the Coral Peacocks.

It reminded her a bit of her own vice-captain, Risacca. Without the extravagance.

Charlotte took another sip from her tea.

All things concluded, it hadn’t been such a bad day. Of course, most nobles had been arrogant and some had made not so subtle hints about potential bachelors within their families. But thankfully, none from the Roseleis had shown up yet. Charlotte would have had no idea how to deal with them. Especially Rosamund.

If her aunt would have seen Charlotte eyeing more than she should in the corner of Soie Velours’ wedding dresses, Rosamund would have never let her hear the end of it. Probably she would have even prepared the engagement with Reginald Évantail even before the ball.

Charlotte hold back a sigh. Why had she been so specifically interested in those wedding gowns in the first place? Imagining herself wearing one of those dresses, with a veil and a bouquet, and Yami…

Of course. Because she wanted to spent the rest of her life with Yami and even though she learned how to be calmer around him since they were in a relationship, it still didn’t make her wildest dreams and fantasies less. In fact, it was almost like she had them more often since their first kiss and their first night.

But it was way too early to even think about wedding and children and… Wait, did she just thought about children?

Now Charlotte hold back a groan. It was worse than when she was just longing for Yami, now she was thinking about having children with him! Not that she was against it, she would love it. Yami maybe too, Luck was already eager to be an uncle and her mother would surely be happy to become a grandmother.

But it was too soon, way too soon.

Not only that, but their situation was still secret and given how things were in the kingdom, not that ideal. Especially with most family member trying to find a so-called perfect match for her and marry her of.

Charlotte forced herself to stop overthinking. Once she started just that, she would be unable to stop. They would see what the future had in store for them. In the meantime, it was the presence and each minute spend with Yami was a gift.

Oh, Yami…

How she wished he could be here with her right now. He declined being a part of this mission for Soie Velours, as fashion wasn’t his world. Knowing him, he might be on the toilet for hours now. Which was kinda disgusting in a way, but Charlotte didn’t mind… that much. It was just so typical of Yami and she would be damned if she didn’t embrace each and every one of his flaws, even that one.

Maybe it was good that he wasn’t here today. This so-called elite of nobility would have get on his nerves very fast.

They were getting on her nerves as well. Telling Prudence Évantail to leave a cashier girl alone, supporting the endless rant of Athénaïs Vitrail about incapable maids these days, just because her own almost fell while carrying a bunch of packages, and this and that…

Not to mention those little six or eight years old brats, spoiled and already snobs, who somehow believed that paying was only for peasants and commoners. Charlotte didn’t know exactly where the education went wrong exactly. But it went wrong, that was a fact.

She would NEVER teach her own children such a bad behaviour.

And now she was thinking about her potential future offspring again. Was she that desperate to marry Yami?

Well, being not desperate would be a lie, Charlotte would admit that. But still, she couldn’t be THAT desperate!

Should she talk with her mother about this? Or directly with Yami? Probably not her girls, they would get terribly excited if she says wedding and Yami in the same sentence.

Charlotte looked discreetly at Lital Lys. At this point, it was practically an open secret that she and Fuegoleon were dating, it was only a matter of time before they would announce their betrothal.

Apparently, they have dated for ten years now.

Ten years…

The same amount of time she had been in love with Yami, longing for him.

Was she able to wait ten more years before getting married to him? Or after all those long years of hesitation, didn’t she had the patience anymore? Wasn’t it possible to have something in between?

She clearly wouldn’t say no if Yami would propose to her. In fact, she would say yes before he could even finish his question. But given who Yami Sukehiro, he certainly won’t go the traditional of proposing. Charlotte couldn’t even imagine what he would do.

And now her thoughts drifted again! She was so hopeless.

Charlotte needed a distraction from this overthinking and so, she decided to listen very closely what the sever other women were saying.

“Mrs. Velours really comes with the most original names for her dresses,” Meli Ambrosia said, the young Crimson Lion, a nice girl with golden eyes and black, braided hair. “I mean, Lovesick Frog or Heartbroken Plums are already very original. And this one,” she pointed at one of the dolls standing on their table, a dark blue gown covered with a lot of lace, “is called Snow And Light In The Night. She clearly has so much imagination not only to create dresses, but also to name them.”

“My personal favourite is Treasure Hidden In Chocolate Cream,” Vanessa added with a laugh. “It’s certainly not my type of dress, but I would buy it still just for the sake of this funny name.”

“I really wonder how Soie Velours can come up with this kind of names.”

“You could ask her, lady Noelle,” Églantine replied, her nose stuck in a book. This sight made Charlotte frown. Since when was Églantine such a bookworm?

“I did, but all she said was that it was her artist secret. What is that even for a reason?”

“Probably a common reason artists have. Fuegoleon told me that captain Rill uses the same excuse about the names he gives his painting.”

The moment Lital said Fuegoleons name, her eyes began to uniquely shine and a smile appeared on her lips. Charlotte wondered if she would do the same while mentioning Yami.

“All artists are like that,” Nebra said with a flick of her hand. “It’s not only the privilege of painters. Besides, the names Soie Velours gives her creations are often a good description of the dress itself.”

“Not directly, you have to admit,” Vanessa smiled. She looked extremely happy since lunch. “I’m still trying to figure what Candy Beach is supposed to look like, both shape and colours. I have honestly no idea. At least, Pearl Mermaid is pretty straight forward. Ocean blue dress in mermaid shape with pearls all over it.”

Églantine nodded, “That’s a very beautiful dress. I also saw a version in white instead of blue, really stylish as well. That would be a good dress for the ball, don’t you think?”

“Isn’t the white version a wedding gown, though?”

“Not specifically, Meli. Not every wedding dress has to be white and ball gowns can be white as well. Speaking of white, I saw a really beautiful dress in white and gold called River Of Milk And Honey.”

“I… I honestly haven’t thought about that yet. And besides, just because I have honey magic doesn’t immediately mean that I will wear something in that shade.”

“Honey magic?” Grenadine immediately asked, looking up from her cocoa. “Are you related to granny… I mean, to Julia Ambrosia?”

“She’s one of my great-aunts! Oh my, you and lady Nebra must know her, since she is in the Silver Eagles! Oh, Julia and another great-aunt, Ophelia, were one of the reasons why I wanted to become a Magic Knight.”

Charlotte smiled. She actually knew Ophelia Ambrosia. She had been the captain of the Blue Roses before Charlotte took over. Ophelia was now retired, enjoying her old life observing her flowers and grandchildren grow.

“You’re actually lucky, little honeybun,” Vanessa smiled towards Meli. “With your black hair, you can practically wear any colour.”

“The witch is right, black hair goes with almost everything,” Nebra said. “For my part, I want to try something new. Black, with maybe a bit of red. Or blue.”

Was it just Charlotte or did Nebra Silva suddenly blushed for a second?”

“You, black?”

“Yes, Noelle. Me, black.”

“Oh, black would suit you so well, Nebbie,” Vanessa said with a wink. “As for me, I don’t have such a specific idea, but I certainly would love purple. A colder shade, maybe metallic. It has such an elegance.”

For some reason, Charlotte had the feeling that Vanessa wasn’t really talking about the colour of her dress…

How strange was it? That ball was a serious issue and her companions still were talking about the dresses they might wear that day.

“I haven’t thought about it either. The only ball dresses I wore belonged to my mother. Old-fashioned, but comfortable. This will be the first I’ll ever wear a new dress just for me. And don’t forget that this shouldn’t be our priority for the ball, given what kind of ball it is and all the thievery in the Common Realm.”

Lital was really spending a lot of time with Fuegoleon. He would have said something like that as well.

At least, the other girls nodded without pouting too much. Charlotte smiled. All of them haven’t forgotten their primary mission concerning the ball. They just also didn’t forget to relax and have some fun.

Should she do this as well? Thinking about a new dress for the ball, thanks to the offer of Soie Velours? Honestly, Charlotte hadn’t wasted any thought so far about her gown. She vaguely planned to wear for a third time the blue dress her knights gifted her.

But what if she tried something new like Nebra Silva? For Yami? Okay, he wasn’t interested in fashion at all and he probably wouldn’t care at all about what she would wear. But still…

Maybe instead of going for blue, she should choose another colour. Maybe black with a bit of gold…

But before Charlotte could think further or rather scold herself for such a stupid way of thoughts, she heard a new customer entering the shop.

“Is someone here? I need an extraordinary dress for the upcoming ball!”

Oh no! Please, not her aunt Rosamund!

“Can I leave you girls for now before we’re going back to work? I need some fresh air before that.”

She mostly needed to avoid Rosamund as much as she could.

But before Charlotte could reach the back door, Églantine stopped her with a tiny smug smile. Not good.

“How about you start reading this before we’re back on duty? It’s a little something from Puli and me, just to give you some more ideas with captain Yami. Don’t worry, it’s not those stupid soulless romance novels you despise so much.”

And Églantine run back to the table with a satisfied laugh after putting two books in her hands. Charlotte looked at those, confused? What did Puli and Églantine imagined again? Oh, all of her girls always meant well and were so supportive, but there were times Charlotte was either overwhelmed or didn’t know what to think about their ideas.

“What kind of books did she gave you?”

Charlotte yelped at the sudden voice. But thankfully, it was just Vanessa.

“Oh, sorry love, did I scare you?”

“Nothing, don’t worry. Églantine just gave me two books, but I don’t know why exactly. My knights have sometimes the weirdest ideas when it comes to get me out of work. Or to help me out with personal matters.”

“Sounds to me that the Blue Roses would get along very well with us Black Bulls.”

Probably. They were already getting along with Finral, Gordon and of course Luck.

The title of the novels were Rose & Sword and The Prince & The Witch. What did Puli and Églantine had in mind with those kind of stories? At least, it seemed promising and didn’t look like it was only romance.

“Oh, can I borrow that one?”

Vanessa immediately took one of the books before Charlotte could even answer. The Prince & The Witch. She looked at the cover like it was the most wonderful thing she ever saw. Charlotte frowned again as she saw the same glimmer Vanessa had when she talked about the possible colour for her ball dress.

Charlotte had the feeling she was missing some clue…

“Um, sure. You can even keep it if you like it.”

“You sure? It’s a present from your knights, after all.”

“Well… then keep it as long as you want. If you like the story, I’ll give you another exemplary of this book.”

“Aw, thank you. I’ll owe you one if I love it. And I definitely will.”

Vanessa smiled at her before turning around, almost dancing away.

Charlotte sighed. Well, at least she made someone happy. Maybe Vanessa would indeed love The Prince & The Witch. As for herself, she would find out if Rose & Sword was something for her.

But when she stepped out the back door, she wasn’t alone.

“Yami?”

“Hi there, Prickly Queen. I missed ya.”

“We last saw each other this morning.”

And that was also the reason why she and Églantine had come later than planned to Soie Velours’ shop. Just because Yami needed another round of beddancing, as he called it, before her departure.

Charlotte sighed. He was impossible, but damn, she loved that side of him. So, still with the clear intention of scolding him, she pulled him in a tight hug.

“Didn’t I told you to wait until my shift for today is over?”

“Yeah, you did… But I just happened to be nearby, so I sneaked here, hoping to catch a few minutes with my Prickly Queen. Oh, and I saw your bitch aunt enter the shop, so I better checked out if you’re fine.”

“I’m fine. In fact, I… practically fled when I heard Rosamunds voice. She certainly not only came for a ball gown, but also to talk to me. It’s so frustrating how bolder and bolder she becomes, wanting me to marry Reginald Évantail.”

“Sounds fishy to me.”

“I know.”

“Let’s not talk about Rosabitch, you’re already too tense for your own good. Too bad I can’t take you in this place.”

“Yami!”

He just laughed, pretty much satisfied with his teasing. And honestly, it made Charlotte wanna laugh as well. After all, she would have loved him to take her, but this really wasn’t the place. And now, because of this new fire, she couldn’t wait until they could meet in her room again this evening.

But now, she has his presence, she has his comfort, that was more than she could ask from him. Except maybe a kiss.

As if he heard her thoughts, Yami practically crashed his lips on hers, pulling her into a passionate kiss. Charlotte immediately gave in, as if she needed it to live. Well, it was vital to her. She needed this for the rest of her life.

[talesfromthegameff14]

Prompt #19: Taken

Content Warning: Violence, Dumb drunk guy is dumb. The bar was mostly empty, but it still had the feel of somewhere Rose would typically avoid.  However there weren’t any other options in the settlement and they were craving a bed and a hot meal after a few weeks on the road.  The scent of stew from the kitchen was good, so the place couldn’t be all bad.  Hopefully. They ordered their ale and the stew and soon enough a steaming bowl with a chunk of crusty bread stuck on the rim joined the mug on their table.  The bar wench was pretty and friendly, spending a few minutes chatting with Rose after to make sure that they didn’t need anything else.

At least until a growl from a stout man sitting at another table in the room interrupted them.  “Ya’gonna chat-up that stranger al’night Merrilee?  Been waitin’on a refill ta’long now!”  The middle aged roegadyn was clearly in his cups, a few words slurred here and there and in a bit of a temper from how he slammed his mug on the table hard enough to rattle the empty bowl on it.  “Keep it in yer pants Claw.  Ya ain’t been waitin’ that long ya big lug.”, the barmaid rolling her eyes at the ruckus.  On the outside it looked like she was well used to the man’s behavior, but Rose was close enough to see how her shoulders tensed up and fingers gripped the towel in her hand tight.  Temper or fear?  The elezen couldn’t tell, but they kept their mouth shut and their eyes on the roegadyn to see how it turned out. The mug of ale was delivered to Claw without incident, but instinct told Rose something wasn’t right so they took their time eating.  The stew really was good and a second bowl was both wanted and a good excuse to stay downstairs longer.  

On a delivery of a mug to Claw, the man grabbed Merrilee by the waist and pulls her into his lap.  “S’when are y’gonna leave th’damn cat ya’ve shacked up with ta be with’a real man, huh?” “And ya think ya are a real man, Claw?  A real pain in the ass is all ya are. Ya know I’m taken!  Let go of me!”  “Not unill  I’ave ya sayin’ yes ta me, Merrilee.”  Rose pushed their chair back quickly as the woman stomped on Claw’s foot with all the force she could muster.  The man howled in pain, but only gripped her tighter around the waist, leaning in to snarl then try to force a kiss upon her.  

Wood snapped, vines forcing their way up between the floorboards as Rose saw red. The vines tangled the man up quickly, some even wrapping tight around his neck to make sure the roegadyn couldn’t breathe.  It guaranteed that he let go of Marilee, tugging desperately at the vines instead, blood trickling down his neck from where the thorns dug into skin.   Eyes wide in fear, Marilee pushed herself off of Claw’s lap.  Her legs didn’t support her weight and she fell to the floor, but gently since a few of the plants slithered out to break her fall and nudge her further away.   Rose walked up to the man, taking their time as he fought to get air.  Their pale eye glimmered with malice in the low light, a cruel smirk crossing their lips as they watched Claw struggle in vain.  He cast pleading eyes up at them, shaking his head best he could in denial. “Hmm?  Is that a no?  Seems the lady said no to you and you ignored her.   Why should I do any different to you?”  Leaning forward, Rose stared into the bloodshot eyes of the drunk man.  “I shouldn’t.  You’re old enough to know better Claw, you can’t just take what you want.  You’re just a small, sad man.  A bully that never grew up into a decent person.  Best make good with whatever gods you pray to, you’ll be seeing them soon enough.”  

Marilee said nothing, fear and fascination keeping her silent.   The whole incident was quiet enough that no one else in the building even knew that there was a problem.  Soon enough Claw passed out, slumping in the grip of the vines that held him.  “Is he dead...? By the twelve did you kill him?”   The horror in the barmaid’s voice snapped Rose out of the memories they were caught in, a shiver going down their spine.  Right, here not there.  A bit of aether and the vines around Claw’s neck loosened as Rose kick started the man’s heart into beating again and his lungs to draw air back within the body that was no longer still.  “No.  He passed out between the drink and the lack of air.  He might wake up stupider, but I doubt anyone will notice.”   Turning back to the table, they drop a handful of gil on the table then pick up their pack.  “You’re leaving?” 

“Aye.  Thank you for the stew, he shouldn't bother you anymore.”  “You don’t have to g-go..”  Dumbstruck, Merilee watched as the elezen walked back out into the cold and dark without responding.  “Well fuck me, guess I get ta clean this all up myself.”

[the-bar-sinister]

Chains of the Dragon (36235 words) by thesavagesabretooth

catch up here

-

October 3, 2028– 7:15 pm 

There was little that Klavier could do besides get in the way while Ema and her khura'inese assistants went over the crime scene with a forensic fine toothed comb, so he stayed out of the way during the initial investigation. He wasn't entirely unhappy about this, since it gave him a chance to chat up the prosecutor prince.

"She's very fascinating to watch at work, isn't she– ah– forgive me, mein prinz– if there's a proper title I should address you by, I don't know it."

Nahyuta was watching Ema and the Khura’inese team work with his fingers upon his chin and a pensive stare, but his attention on it was broken when Klavier spoke.

He turned, the full weight of his emerald stare falling on Klavier as he gave the most subtle of smiles with his fingers still lingering against his chin.

“She certainly is. In my years prosecuting, I’ve never met a finer forensic investigator. Her attention to detail is, for lack of a better word, remarkable.”

 He paused a moment, perhaps in thought as he raised his hand for a butterfly to land upon it, the creature trailing a filmy hoop around its wings that looked rather like the gauzy ribbon and scarf both he and Rayfa wore.

The butterfly’s wings fluttered to a slow stop as he regarded Klavier. 

“I’m technically regent, absolutely a prosecutor…but a friend of Apollo and Ema’s can just call me Nahyuta.” He huffed a soft sigh of amusement “unless you are the type who enjoys heaping titles upon others. Holy Mother forbid I take away your sense of fun.” 

"I'm the type who prefers nicknames to titles, quite frankly mein prinz," he purred. He couldn't help watching the absolutely unfairly graceful man. Like a fairytale. Like something out of a story, he was. "So I'll be happy to be among those who can address you more casually, Nahyuta. I'd be happy if you called me Klavier."

Nahyuta smiled just a little wider, almost like a gift before he held his hand up and allowed the butterfly to flutter away. For some reason, his fingers returned to that pose of prayer as he watched it rise into the sky.

And then his eyes were back on Klavier. 

“Klavier Gavin.” he nodded “I admit…Of all the surprise connections Apollo has brought home with him, this was one I did not expect."

"Oh no?" Klavier cocked his head. "Because of my altogether too famous reputation? Or did Apollo just fail to mention me, ja?"

Klavier could imagine either. It was so funny, really. One of the reasons Klavier liked Apollo so much. Apollo didn't act like a hanger on or mention his fame, or even seem to enjoy it. Apollo always treated Klavier as just some guy he knew, and it was so funny to run into people that way.

“I’m afraid I know little of your reputation beyond the music I studied to get a sense of the local culture before the California Vs. Trucy Wright case. Beyond of course, that your music was quite interesting in how it differs from my own experience…and the rave reviews on some of the forums I visited.”

He tilted his head , and his pale hair fell across his cheek “...highly popular with the female 14-20 demographic.“ his lips turned slightly into a subtle frown “Apollo hadn’t mentioned you…though I expect you’re the ‘glimmerous fop’ Ema always talks about. I should have known, perhaps.” 

Klavier told himself he wasn't hurt. He had expected he hadn't been talked about. That was fine. They were… busy. It wasn't something to worry about.

He smiled widely instead and tossed his hair. "Well, I prefer to be known for myself than for my reputation in any case, ja? So this is a fine start from my perspective. Did you hear of me as a prosecutor at all? Or probably not. I am still building my reputation."

Nahyuta closed his eyes for a moment, the sunlight catching his pale hair as his expression remained like a placid lake.

Finally he nodded once. 

“I have. The prosecutor in the first of America’s ‘Jurist’ cases. Involved in the disbarment of Phoenix Wright…far before he arrived to cause chaos in my country…’the rock star prosecutor’ of Los Angeles.” He opened his eyes enough to peer at Klavier “though I’d certainly like to get to know the real man, rather than the lines of my Investigator’s report and in the papers.” 

"Well you're in luck, mein engel," he purred, leaning a little bit closer to him. "Because it sounds like I might be around for a little while. Plenty of time to get to know the man behind the reports."

Klavier almost wished Nahyuta hadn't heard anything. Ah well.

Nahyuta’s eyes lingered on Klavier, and he shifted his position a little as Klavier got closer. One arm folded under the other as he hummed with reserved amusement. His fingers flexed, tapping gently in rhythm against his own palm and the tattoo of the dragon.

“Mein engel,” he mused with a downward tilt of his head “you flatter this monk of the Holy Mother..in any case…you say plenty of time? Does that mean you’ve decided to stay in Khura’in for a while?”

He seemed…well. He was hard to read. Very hard. Was he flustered? Interested? Cold? But Klavier could tell at the very least that his statement had gotten the prince prosecutor’s attention. That coolness– that difficulty to read– reminded Klavier in a strange way of his older brother… but different.

"Ah well, nothing is decided I'm afraid," he explained. "But we came to see Apollo, and it strikes me that things may not be entirely simple with regard to him."

Nahyuta’s eyes half closed again, and his fingers tightened on the tattoo of the dragon “they’re not simple for anyone in Khura’in at the moment. The retrials to save the souls damned by my aunt’s sins are neverending…and now there’s a splinter of the defiant dragons who seem intent on deposition through violence.”

He tilted his head towards Klavier, looking at him through pale lashes “It’s a good time to have another prosecutor about, admittedly.”

"I wish I could offer another defense attorney as well, but I never learned the art," Klavier admitted. His brother had always said he would have made a poor one. "I got the sense that you're all drowning here. I won't offer my services until I talk to Apollo, but well, it's not out of the question, ja?"

“Certainly not.” Nahyuta chuckled quietly “let me extend my hopes, then. May the Holy Mother bless me with the time to get to know Apollo’s dear, mysterious visitor…and perhaps the help to put this trouble to rest.”

He looked up at Ema toiling away, with Rayfa dogging her heels and asking questions in a loud and excited voice.

“Our father left us with a shattered legacy it seems, and I’m afraid I haven’t been the miraculous bind he’d hoped for…and Apollo’s dreadfully overworked as it is.” 

"A shattered legacy, ja," Klavier nodded. "I hate to say I've already got that sense– and I can sympathize. But that's not the kind of thing that mends easily, even if you try really hard."

“It certainly is not. Nor is it something all the prayer in the world can heal.” He turned to Klavier once more “but that’s neither here nor there. We do what we must for the ones we love. No? No harm or dishonor will come to my sister as long as I stand. Be it from the troubles of Khura’in, or these…wayward souls filled with wrath.”

He closed his eyes. “A dragon never yields.” 

It was like a mantra.

"Never, ja?" Klavier rubbed his chin. "I'll keep that in mind."

October 3, 2028– 7:40 pm 

As the last light of the evening waned, Ema and her assistants had finished all the investigation that they could do for now, and Ema would be counting on them to compile results to look over in the morning. With that concluded, Nahyuta showed them to a suite of rooms in the palace for them to use. 

And after Klavier had gotten over cooing and ahhhing over the palace rooms, it was time to talk about why they'd come in the first place.

Honestly, she wasn’t sure why Klavier had waited so long, after basically flopping all over her on the plane ride over with his doomsday scenarios and almost-charming melodrama. She thought he’d have run up to Nahyuta basically right away and dropped the whole sob story on his lap.

Sob story, as if she wasn’t increasingly worried about Nahyuta and Apollo too.

She sighed. “So…yeah.” she stared “I’m really glad to see you again, Yuta…but we did come back here for a reason.” 

When Klavier's smile widened and froze at the mention of it, Ema suddenly understood the reason. He was nervous. Justitia only knew why he was nervous, or what about, but he was.

"Ja, not just for a vacation, admittedly," Klavier said, playing with his sunglasses.

Ema sighed. Klavier…she loved him. Genuinely loved him. A mystery even forensic science couldn’t solve, she’d once grumbled while drunk off her ass– but really, the truth was a little…warmer…than that.

But she’d known him since they were teens in Germany, and she knew how he could be. He was nervous…about Apollo, about Nahyuta, about the situation…who knew.

She put her hand on his back to comfort him with a quiet grumble, “or for a case.”

Nahyuta, beautiful, protective Nahyuta…looked up from a paper he’d been signing to finalize their rooms for the length of their stay and tilted his head.

“I see. Pressing business then?” 

"Ah, it depends on your perspective, meine prinz," Klavier said, leaning into Ema's hand. "How much weight do you put on matters of the heart?"

“Careful,” Ema grumbled “you might get him going on another fucking sermon. Then we’ll be here all year.”

“Now, now, Ema.” Nahyuta smiled beatifically at her, and she grumbled as her heart skipped a beat. “I seem to recall you quite liked my sermons.”

He put his hand on his chin. “As for matters of the heart…they hold weight, for certain. Weight that must be accounted for with all the sensations and feelings a Mitama holds. For it’s these attachments in life– matters of the heart or of the spirit…that shape it on its passage to the Twilight Realm.” 

For his part, Klavier listened quite respectfully– Ema was both surprised and not the way Nahyuta commanded his attention.

"Ja, attachments… that is a good way to put it," he nodded, though Ema was sure he was not getting all the context of what Nahyuta was saying. "Then you will understand that I have a certain attachment here in Khura'in that I am pursuing."

Nahyuta’s fingers formed the pose of prayer that Ema had become so familiar with, and she found herself shifting to put her hand on her chin in a subconscious ‘almost mirror’.

“It’s…”

Nahyuta held his hand up , and looked towards Klavier. “...It’s Apollo, isn’t it?” he finished her thought with a huff of breath.

Klavier nodded sharply and Ema was perhaps the only one who could see the tension in his jaw. "Ja, that's correct."

“I see..” Nahyuta nodded “...and I take it that this isn’t just a visit to say hello?”

Ema shook her head. 

“No, Nahyuta. Klavier found out about the state of things here and started to worry about him…”

She decided to leave out the shit about ‘storming the temple gates’ and ‘dragging him back’. It’d only upset Nahyuta…who she could already tell was a little tense over the whole affair.

Maybe.

He was a bitch to read. 

"Ja," Klavier nodded again. "I will not lie to you, Nahyuta, I came here to find out if he wanted to come back to LA– and if he did, what was stopping him."

“Ah…” Nahyuta closed his eyes. “So you came to ask him to return to Los Angeles…”

Ema held her hands up. “or at least see why he wasn’t going back…I mean, I kinda know one of the reasons why he doesn’t wanna…but…“ 

"I can't make him do anything he doesn't want to do," Klavier said with a shrug. Finally, he spoke plainly. "He and I were lovers, herr prinz, but he hasn't said a word to me since he left LA. I came to find out why."

Nahyuta was quiet a moment, that serenity that Ema was certain was part of his ever present mask that even liberation from Ga’ran hadn’t completely broken…he stood with his eyes closed and the paper folded in his hand against his elbow.

“Lovers…and he hasn’t said a word to you…” he sighed, and Ema saw emotion break through. A crease of sadness, or…maybe sympathy. “Say no more. I’ll do what I must to make sure you get the answers you’re looking for. It’s a simple enough matter, after all…we just need to speak with him.” 

"Ja… easy peasy, right?" Klavier laughed– but it was hollow.

Easy Peasy. As if getting Apollo to open up was ever easy. The man was like a clam, shut tight under a hard shell to keep everyone out…even the people he loved.

She wished she could be the voice of optimism in this prosecutor pity party…but optimism was never her strong suit.

She’d just have to settle for dragging them along. “Yeah, So let’s get a fucking move on already.” 

October 3, 2028– 8:00 pm 

Apollo and Trucy had hugged it out for a while until Datz and the De Fammes returned. At that point Apollo had insisted that there was work that he absolutely had to get done before morning, and set about at his desk with a stack of paperwork while Datz caught the girls up with what had been happening in Khura'in a bit, and they teased and entertained him with magic tricks.

Apollo tried hard to concentrate on his work, but he had to admit it was difficult with the chatter and laughter going on in the background. But he wasn't going to complain. He wasn't.

He didn't.

But he also wasn't nearly done with what he needed to get through by the time that there was a knock on the law office door.

Trucy looked up with a smile from where she was shuffling a pack of cards and called out to him. “Should I get that for you, big brother?” 

"Could you, uh? If Datz is busy?" Apollo asked with a frown. He didn't turn to look but he suspected the former rebel was probably busy being harassed by magicians assistants.

He heard Trucy laugh. 

“Yeah he’s gonna be busy for a while. Bonny and Betty are having fun with the poor guy.”

He heard her footsteps trot towards the door, and her cheerful exclamation of hello as it opened…followed by a sharp gasp. 

That's when Apollo turned and saw who was standing in the door. Ema, Nahyuta… and Klavier. His heart started to thump in his chest.

Relax, Apollo. Take a deep breath.

"Trucy, fraulein! Did you get the party started without us?" Klavier grinned.

“Mr. Klavier!” “I had to talk to my big brother alone for a little bit. You know how it is! I…” Trucy cooed with her chirping voice. She seemed to stare at Nahyuta with a huff for a moment. “Anyway, geeze. You sure brought the whole gang, didn’t you?”

“Nice to see you too, Wright” Ema drawled “...hey ‘Pollo. Sorry for dropping in like this.” 

"This is uh, quite a crowd," Apollo said, his face draining of color as he put on a big smile. "I'm not sure we exactly have room here. Nice uh, nice to see everybody though."

He tried to catch Nahyuta's eye with a desperate help me look.

Nahyuta caught his eye, and he gave him that smile he remembered so well from their distant past. “Why don’t we get something to eat, no? Or we can show Mr. Gavin the Plaza of Devotion?” 

"Oh, ja! But Trucy should see the palace and our beautiful rooms before it gets too late, nein?" Klavier suggested. 

"Oh, are you guys staying at the palace?" Datz asked– much to Betty and Bonny's obvious delight.

A short conversation seemed to happen and Apollo just fazed out almost completely as everyone talked around him in a crowd.

Are you going to be alright, buddy?

No, I'm not! Maybe? I don't know. There's too much happening at once!

I'll handle it for now, alright?

Thanks, Clay… I knew Klavier was here thanks to Trucy but why is everyone else—

Don't worry about it, I'll handle it.

Clay smiled and tried to catch up with the conversation they had missed.

"So I'll take you ladies to see the palace and get comfy while this bunch does their thing, sound good?" Datz was grinning at Trucy and the De Fammes.

“Woah!” Trucy chirped. “I’ve always wanted to stay in a palace, you know! That sounds fantastic~”

Bonny spun her umbrella, nodding with a lazy smile “thank you, Mr. A Rebel.”

“Fantastic.” Ema pushed her hand through her hair “...enjoy, girls” …she looked exhausted. 

Clay shot her a sympathetic look. He was guessing she was feeling at least halfway as overwhelmed as he was. From what Trucy had been saying, she and Klavier had bullied her into bringing them here.

He hopped up from where they were sitting and put on their robe as everyone split up for the evening. As they headed out into the dim evening street and split up with the girls and Datz as they headed to the palace, Clay walked over toward Ema's side, between her and Nahyuta, and putting her between himself and Klavier.

"Long flight, I'm guessing?"

“Felt like forever.” Ema grumbled as she sulked along beside him, bumping her shoulder against his. “That flight’s a nightmare. 20 hours on a plane without a wink of sleep…I feel like someone beat me over the goddamn head. “

Nahyuta was quiet as he walked along. It wasn’t clear to most, but they could see that he was deep in thought. The barest trace of a furrowed brow as he walked beside the two of them with his arms folded behind his back. 

"Yeah… I feel you, Ema. Haha.. even without the flight," Clay murmured. "Trucy gave me the good news. You heard, right?"

He glanced between the pensive Nahyuta, and Klavier, who seemed to be smiling without a care in the world. However the way he walked with his arms back and hands clasped behind him told a different story.

"I think we all heard, ja, herr forehead," Klavier chuckled. "Congratulations on having a sister."

Ema smiled, tapping her nose with a lopsided grin “yeah, congrats. A little sibling’s precious to have, look out for her alright? Even if she’s a pain in the ass.”

A pain in the ass. Ema was never too kind about her relationship with her own sister– when she was sober anyway.

“...” Nahyuta closed his eyes. “...your sister, I see…”

The group of them passed the stalls towards the stairs towards the Plaza of Devotion, and he looked at Apollo “I can see the resemblance, red pepper.” 

Clay laughed and rubbed the back of his neck like Apollo. "You can, huh? I guess it's pretty striking. She pointed out we kinda have the same hair."

"You have a sister too, ja, Nahyuta?" Klavier smiled. "That means all four of us here have siblings. Welcome to the club, herr forehead."

Wow, I'm surprised to hear him mention…

Me too. But I mean siblings are the topic of the moment.

Nahyuta nodded, brushing his hair from his face. 

“That is right, it seems we’re all blessed with a sibling, aren’t we?” He smiled subtly, “she seems like a delightful girl. I’m sorry I attempted to convict her for murder.”

“In our line of work who hasn’t been accused of murder by someone close or relative to ‘em?” Ema grumbled. 

"Ja, it's practically mandatory," Klavier nodded. "But thankfully Trucy is here with us today."

Unlike someone else.

"Yeah. Thankfully," Clay nodded. "I admit, I'm uh, a little surprised to see you guys."

Ema started up the stairs with a little grimace. 

“Well. You know how it is. Klavier wanted to see the sights.”

Nahyuta tilted his head towards her. “Ema, there’s no sense in being vague. Not right now.”

“Tch, I don’t need a lecture on subtlety,” she pouted before she turned to Clay with a grimace. “Klavier asked me to take him and Trucy to Khura’in to see things for themselves, so they could see you, Apollo. Okay?” 

"Yeah," Clay sighed. "Trucy told me. She told me you guys want me to come back to LA."

"There are people who miss you in LA, herr forehead," Klavier said. There was that deliberately casual tone in his voice that Apollo picked up on.

Damn it, he's trying to play it cool.

I think he's hurt, Apollo. We really should have said something to him.

It's not like he reached out to us before now either!

"Y-yeah," Clay said finally, trying not to faze out. "Well, I mean I miss people in LA too, but if I left, they'd miss me here. And we're really busy. Has anybody told you about the state of the legal system here?"

"Ja. I have been told. It seems you have been very busy."

Nahyuta’s hands finally unclasped from behind his back as he walked forward without a word to open the gate and gesture Apollo and the rest into the Plaza of devotion.

It was empty, its high gate leading to the sacred site above closed, and the prayer flags waving in the chill wind amidst the beautiful, clear view of the temples rising from the mountain mist around them.

“We certainly have been.” he intoned as he looked out at the temples. “We've hardly had a second to do more than speak on occasion.” 

"No time to call, or to write, ja?" Klavier leaned on the wall, looking out over the temples as well, his back to them.

Clay grimaced. "Klavier, I'm sorry, I–"

"No. Don't bother," Klavier said. "Don't worry about it, what's done is done, ja? But you've left me in limbo for months. Are we finished, herr Justice? Should I not expect another call?"

Clay winced and he looked at Ema and Nahyuta. "Klavier, we should be having this discussion in private, I think."

"No, herr Justice, I don't think we should. They are your lovers, ja?"

Clay's face burned. "We… haven't exactly gotten that far. There really hasn't been time."

Apollo I think this is maybe the second most awkward conversation you've made me a part of.

I can take over….

"Sounds like you're working yourself to death, herr Justice."

A silence descended on the plaza for a moment.

It was broken by Ema’s irate groan as she threw her hands up and stomped into the center of the plaza. “JUSTITIA damn. Is this really how we’re going to be doing this?”

She pressed her hand to her face “should I not expect another call…Klavier, he’s not wrong at all. We haven’t had time for shit, much less with one another aside from just…just acknowledging the elephant in the room. It’s a miracle, a miracle, that I was even able to come home for that stupid wedding.”

Nahyuta’s discomfort grew, barely visible to most. This was, after all, a holy site…and the conversation wasn’t exactly in his usual confident wheelhouse. His arms crossed , and he took a soft breath.

“We all have been, Klavier. Not ‘to death’, per say…but there’s a struggle to face here in Khura’in, and it’s a struggle Apollo and I have vowed to face together.” 

"I understand," Klavier said, still gazing out in the distance. "I shouldn't have been so impatient. I'd still be in LA waiting for you, if Trucy hadn't come and cried in my lap about it, herr forehead. I probably would have just waited forever, but she was very upset."

Apollo's nails dug into their palms as he took a deep breath, asserting himself again. "I didn't– I'm not– Klavier, it's nice to see you. I didn't want to make you wait forever, and I'm sorry Trucy was so upset. I'm sorry you're upset."

"I'm not upset, herr forehead." 

Apollo's bracelet pinched him– as if he even needed the cue that Klavier was lying about that.

Before he could respond, Ema reeled on Klavier.

“Bullshit. ...Klavier, the entire time..t-this whole fucking trip, you haven’t once been ‘fine’ or ‘not upset’. You barely…I…URGH!” She hissed and flexed her fingers. “You’ve been smiling that big , ridiculous smile but anyone with eyes can see you’re upset. I know you, Gavin. Don’t think I hadn’t noticed! You’ve basically done nothing but worry about this whole situation with Apollo since you pushed him into this.”

Nahyuta curled his fingers under his chin, stock still as he listened to the fight. “Holy Mother,” he murmured under his breath in a quiet prayer. The prayer was nearly silent, but he picked up the word ‘tranquility’ within. 

"Ema, I–" Klavier started to speak, and Apollo watched him glance At Nahyuta and look embarrassed and ashamed. He threw up his hands. "Fine, I am upset! But what good does being upset do? It does none of us any good. I should be upset in private. I should not have come here. But now that I am here I offer you my services as a prosecutor if they will somehow help you. And I don't ask you to consider anything else. I am sorry to have intruded."

Apollo finally broke. Sorry to have intruded. 

He flung himself across the plaza and grabbed Klavier by the shirt. "Why are you always like this?"

"Like what, herr Justice?"

"Pretending you don't have any needs!" Apollo shook him.

Klavier grabbed his shoulders in return. "I don't know herr Justice, why don't you tell me why you do it!"

“Because you’re a couple of emotionally constipated idiots” Ema hissed out of his sight.

Nahyuta took a step forward , and suddenly swept his hand out with his beads clasped in his fist. “Sathora!!”

His voice came clear and loud over the chaos. “...the spirits in this plaza are ablaze with strife. Your mitamah are clouded with it.” his fingers clasped together in prayer “...Apollo. Klavier. It is clear the two of you have…a difficulty shared.” 

Apollo and Klavier were still holding onto one another's shoulders when both their gaze snapped over to Nahyuta.

Apollo felt sick in his stomach for upsetting him. For letting him down, probably. For bringing more chaos into the world already filled with it.

As he opened his mouth to murmur an apology, to his surprise, Klavier was already speaking.

"I have been terribly rude, mein prinz," he murmured.

Nahyuta held his hand up, the beads dangling from his fingers in a low hoop. 

“You’re forgiven, Klavier.” A subtle smile glowed on his face for a moment despite the tension in his jaw, before he shook his head. “Matters of the heart. You asked me how I felt of them in the garden.” He strode forward, in a slow circle around the two men.

“They are complicated. They are fraught, carrying misunderstanding…difficulty…distraction. The heart leads the spirit down a winding path just as likely to wound as it is to warm. The Holy Mother speaks warmly of matters of the heart. Her family line continued somehow, after all…but she also warns of their ability to lead one astray.”

He pointed two fingers at Klavier with a rattle of his beads. “but I believe matters of the heart are worth pursuit. For every distraction, every wound, and every complication…comes an equal chance of understanding, light, and growth. The heart can lead to the Twilight Realm or Hell…but…”

His hand rested over his heart. “the difference in the two paths comes down to how you follow them. If you are to follow the path of the heart, follow it with understanding. Commune with the self and the other, lest the heart lead you in its desperate, lashing folly straight to hell.”

Ema had gone quiet , standing off to his side with a quiet frown “...the heart is worth following, as long as you..you do it with understanding?” she summarized to herself. 

Klavier lowered his gaze to the ground with a sigh. "I don't know how we even started arguing. I only wanted to talk. No– that's not true. Herr forehead– Apollo– as soon as I heard you were here, I wanted to come and pick you up and take you back home with me. That was my fantasy. But I see that I cannot do that."

Apollo felt like he'd been stabbed in the heart, between Nahyuta's sermon, and Klavier's– apology? plea? whatever it was. He felt like a heel for yelling. He squeezed Klavier's shoulder and hung his head too, shaking it.

"I can't go back to LA right now, Klavier, it's true. But– look, that doesn't mean I want to break up, okay? We'll figure it out. I care about you, you know?"

"I hoped so," he murmured. Apollo let Klaver pull him into a hug, and then the taller man sighed. "I– care about you, herr forehead. I am sorry to have come and put my foot in and made a mess of things."

"It's fine. You're fine. I'm sorry I snapped." He rested his head on Klavier's shoulder. "Ema, Nahyuta…. sorry about this."

"Ja, sorry…"

For a second I thought you two were going to try to strangle each other.

I thought about it.

October 3, 2028– 8:35 pm 

In the plaza of devotion, Ema stood watching Klavier and Apollo hug it out in aftermath of Nahyuta's words.

Thank fuck they actually talked about it she thought as she pressed her hands to her eyes.

She loved them. She loved them both. Genuinely so– Klavier, since he started annoying her in Europe, and Apollo– she’d been close to Apollo since he’d first shown interest in her forensics back during the Eldoon case, and only gotten closer from there in recent months.

But sometimes she wondered if she had a fetish for emotionally constipated, tragically stubborn men. She glanced sidelong at Nahyuta– far from the exception to that rule outside the different projection. Serenity, rather than a big fake smile. Calm , rather than the obvious hemming in of himself with emotional walls.

She felt stupid, frustrated for letting herself get in the middle of this, but of course she was. Even if she was dragged here only for her ability to get to Apollo, she was a part of this, right?

Obviously. It just sucked that this was how it had to go down. She was still buzzing with the anxiety and frustration of the active fight when she realized they’d spoken.

“It’s…fine.” she muttered with the approximation of a smile “...don’t worry about it. Feeling better now or do I gotta get ready for round 2?”

“I’d appreciate it if there wasn’t one.” Nahyuta chuckled softly, before he held his hand up again with his distressingly pretty smile “Again…you both are forgiven. But now you’ve said it out loud— that’s the hard part, isn’t it? Now,, we…can figure our way through the rest. Calmly. This is a sacred site, after all. The last time there were raised tempers here a man was murdered.” 

"No argument from me, mein prinz," Klavier promised. He gingerly squeezed Apollo's shoulders and then let go of him, stepping back a little. "No round 2, fraulein, I promise."

"Yeah," Apollo nodded, rubbing his neck, "Round 1 was tough enough."

“Great.” Ema rubbed her temples. 20 hours…more than 20 hours without sleep…jet lag…and emotional turmoil.

Someone should give her a gold medal in being a good lover for resisting the urge to take a flying leap.

She smiled at them, letting some of the tension inside her dissipate as she came back to herself

“...so we all missed one another.” she pointed to Nahyuta “I know you missed Apollo when he was gone too, Yuta.”

“I suppose I have been witnessed.” Nahyuta held up his hands. 

"Apollo is easy to miss, he is very loud," Klavier chuckled. "I was missing him very much. Ah, before we go any further, Nahyuta, not to be weird about this…"

Nahyuta turned his careful gaze towards him…Justitia, he’s doing that smile again. The one where he looked like a goddess damned angel.

“Hm? Yes, Klavier?” 

The force of the smile definitely seemed to be getting to Klavier as he rubbed his jaw. "Ah, well, as I said not so nicely earlier, I know there is something between you and herr Justice– so before we go any further I wanted to make certain that it is alright with you that I'm here."

Apollo didn't say anything, just leaning against the wall, looking up at the slowly blooming stars in the sky.

“Apollo is…” he trailed off for a moment and rubbed his fingertips against the beads around his neck as he spoke thoughtfully and carefully, “precious to me, Klavier. We grew up together, nearly brothers in the mountains…but now that I’ve found him again the feeling is something…more. I’m afraid I can’t deny that.”

He looked at Klavier for a long moment , Ema wasn’t sure if he was sizing him up. “...but there’s room, as they say, in my life…for more than just one person. Ema and I are entangled as well. It does not bother me in the least if you’re here.” 

Klavier nodded. "I got the sense that you might be… close, ja? I did not know that when I came here. I might not have come. I don't want to be some kind of homewrecker, ja?"

Apollo finally rolled his eyes looking at Klavier again. "You're not a homewrecker, geez. You're such a drama queen, Klavier."

"I can't help it, herr horn head, my life is full of drama."

Ema watched Apollo go scarlet and make a choked noise, looking away. "I see you met Rayfa."

She snickered into her hand. 

“Yeah, Rayfa already seems enamored with him. She got excited about asking about ‘rock music and prosecution’. Heh.” She shook her head. “Anyway, drama or no…you ain’t a homewrecker. Nahyuta’s already comfortable with me and Apollo…and…you know…”

She shrugged her shoulders “..if you’re a homewrecker I’m a homewrecker.”

“....” Nahyuta’s brow furrowed “..I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with that particular piece of slang.”

Klavier laughed, going a little red too, as he explained. "Ah, a woman of loose morals who tempts a husband away from his good wife, mein prinz."

"See why I was rolling my eyes?" Apollo snorted.

“Are you a woman of loose morals who tempts a husband away from his good wife, Klavier?” Nahyuta asked with the trace of amusement on his smile, his fingers going under his chin. “Some sort of demon of temptation, perhaps? Tsk, tsk. How dangerous.” 

Klavier batted his eyelashes at Nahyuta. "I have been called a sexual menace before– mostly by the mothers of young women and boys– does that count?"

The tension, thankfully, had mostly resolved.

Ema couldn't help but sigh as she finally found herself able to really smile, her arms crossed and her head shaking “you’re ridiculous, fop.”

Nahyuta chuckled “It very well may. I may have a sermon in store for you, my friend. Do be on your guard, if you’re as much a menace as they believe.” 

"Maybe you're the one who should be on your guard, mein engel," he teased. "Perhaps it's not only Apollo I'll be menacing."

"Oh for fucks sake," Apollo laughed. "Alright, alright. Klavier– I'm glad you're here, you ridiculous weirdo."

Klavier blew him a little kiss. "I'm glad. Maybe I will stick around and help you with this legal problem instead of just standing around and looking pretty."

Nahyuta smiled beatifically. 

“My, what interesting lovers you have brought my my doorstep, Apollo Justice.”

He put his hand on Ema’s head, and she found herself flushing…even more when she tried to imagine the two prosecutors interacting…a little more closely.

“geh…I mean uh, y-you will, Klavier? Good! Shit, maybe that’ll help this wrap up faster, even if it’s a shame we’re down a second defense attorney.” 

"Yeah," Apollo nodded. "Too bad you didn't bring, I don't know, Athena, or somebody."

"I was just thinking so myself," Klavier sighed. "But perhaps Trucy can help in some way? Or we could send a message to Athena and ask her to come along with her own coterie."

“Last I heard Athena was busy being tormented by Simon and getting dragged into rehabilitation projects.” Ema mused with a shake of her head. “..I mean we can try to message her, but who knows if she’s busy.”

She looked up “....what, are you thinking we can get Trucy a fake badge and shove her in front of a foreign court or something?”

She was aware of Nahyuta staring a hole in the back of her head at the suggestion. 

"I wasn't thinking a fake badge but she does assist herr horn head in court, doesn't she?" he cocked his head at Apollo.

"Sure, but that doesn't make her a lawyer," Apollo grumbled.

Ema smirked with amusement. “Geeze Apollo, don’t be so critical of the poor girl. Maybe she wants to be a lawyer, you ever think of that?” 

"I'm pretty sure she wants to be a magician, Ema," Apollo shrugged. "But I'm not above putting her to work if she can work.Ugh, speaking of which– 'Yuta, I didn't get the work done on the last of the cases for tomorrow."

“...neither did I, admittedly.” He frowned as he glanced off into the mist “...there was an incident that distracted me from my legal duties.” 

"Not this?" Apollo asked with a frown.

"Nein," Klavier shook his head. "It's why we took so long to get back to you and Trucy."

Nahyuta shook his head too. “Not this. There was another incident involving our…recent issue.”

At that, Ema stepped in with a flick of her sunglasses over her eyes. 

“...someone broke into the palace, ruined part of Rayfa’s garden, and spray painted some graffiti on the wall implying a threat to the royal family and the princess.” 

"What?" Apollo yelped, his eyes wide. After a moment his expression rearranged itself and he held up his hand. "Alright– that's it. Nahyuta— I think maybe uh, given the extenuating circumstance– we should postpone court tomorrow and try to…. regroup and figure out what we're doing. Datz and I can talk to the dragons. You can figure out the graffiti. We can talk about how best to use Klavier in court– and Trucy maybe…"

Ema nodded. “that actually might be the best idea, thinking about it.”

It was a step forward, beyond treading water if nothing else. Which was something she knew neither she, nor Apollo and Nahyuta had been doing for months. It was a cruel sort of stagnation with work that never ended.

Nahyuta took his hand off her head and nodded as he paced towards Apollo. 

“With the circumstances, I’m afraid we’ll have to. Maybe, with the help of your sister and your American lover…we can make up for lost time once we address this little issue with the schism.” 

Apollo looked a little surprised that Nahyuta had agreed, but he smiled, widely. "Great. That's what I'm hoping anyway. We can sort things out and make up for lost time and then some."

"Wunderbar," Klavier purred. "Then, much as I am a man of action– maybe the right thing now is to retire, and begin again in the morning? Neither Ema nor I have slept, and the two of you…."

He trailed off, but Ema knew what he meant– Nahyuta and Apollo looked like they hadn't slept much in a while either. She spoke up.

“He’s right. The two of you get some fucking sleep too, okay?” She pointed at them “and then when we wake up bright and early, we’ll actually have our heads on our shoulders enough to think instead of just react.” 

Apollo rubbed his shoulder. "And um, because of all that, and so we can get a jump on things tomorrow, I'll just come back to the palace for tonight, alright?" He gave Nahyuta a rather pleading look.

Nahyuta extended a hand towards him with a nod. 

“But of course. You know there’s always a space for you there, Apollo.” He closed his eyes “it’s not a night to be alone.” 

Klavier looked over at Ema and smiled a little smile. "Ja, agreed."

Ema met his eyes with a flush and brushed her hair over her ear with a little huff of breath.

She couldn’t say no to that smile.

“Yeah. Just so you know Klavier, the nights here can get kinda cold…”

"Ah, ja, fraulein, then I hope you won't mind if I need you to keep me warm?"

Ema snorted, offering her hand with a vivid flush of her face that she hated the fact he could probably see.

“You’d better, Glimmerous Fop.” 

[pearblossommina]

ToG Read-A-Long, Kingdom of Ash, day 6

(One day late- yeah) (I’ll catch up, though)

Ch 43

Ok things are starting to go places with Dorian and Manon. Dorian, improving his shapeshifting skills

Manon, working towards meeting that peaceful fate she’s supposed to live up to.

You guys got this, I believe in you!

Don’t let those keys out of your sight, and Dorian, don’t let yourself get killed, cause it would break my damn heart.

Ch 44

Oof Aelin. Bad dreams. I’m not all right. You’re not all right. Fenrys isn’t all right. And yet the war still rages on, and people still die. My heart goes out to her for trying to keep moving. It’s a lot, and it’s probably going to be a while before she processes it.

I really, really hate this. I just gotta keep reading.

Ch 45

Oof Chaol and Yrene. You guys really want that baby… well… I guess that’s the best way to feel about an accidental pregnancy.

It makes me anxious as hell - but I’m sure nothing bad will happen, and this will be the first baby after the final wyrdkey is destroyed and the valg are banished to whatever realm they came from.

Ch 46

Aedion and Lysandra are not good, war is not good, things are bad for this whole legion

Ugh

I hate this. I liked it better when we were winning the war.

Ch 47

I took an entire day off reading this chapter; and I blame it for putting me behind the pace.

Something about Lysandra fighting as Aelin even though she could take a more efficient form, seeing her want to bear the likeness that will inspire the fighters the most, I was like: I think I need a break

So

Yeah!

Because this shit is hard to read! I’m too soft, I admit it. I don’t like all this war and anguish. It really weighs on you after a while. Even if it’s fictional, even if I have full faith that there’s gonna be a happy end.

Ch 48

FINALLY. The characters are FINALLY converging - about damn time you guys - we need to go kick some ass!

It’s cute how Aelin and Yrene are introducing each other to their husbands. Very wholesome. Girl, let’s have a belated bachelorette party. Uhhhhh - after the baby I guess since Yrene can’t exactly drink for the next 9 months -

Ch 49

Another cute wholesome we’re-all-together-now chapter!

Dorian killing that spider cured Falkan of his old age - I didn’t even think of that, but it’s kind of fascinating. When they were killing spiders I wonder how many people just got their lives and dreams back?

Ch 50

"Did you buy the swagger, the arrogance?" she demanded, voice breaking. "Did the others? Because I’ve been trying to. I've been trying like hell to convince myself that it's real, reminding myself I only need to pretend to be how I was just long enough."

Oh Aelin, Aelin, Aelin, don’t, don’t do this to yourself!

(I bought it)

(I bought every part of it)

(The reunion with Rowan, and the others)

(The way she seemed to come back to life when she was with him)

(The way she told him she was ready to be kissed)

(The way they made love, and mate-bonded anew)

(The way she offered a blood oath to Lorcan and acted all knowing about his relationship or lack-there-of with Elide)

(The way she’s been these last two chapters- )

(With tears in her eyes when she saw Chaol standing)

(And a glimmer of her old personality when she met with the khaganate, with Borte, with Falkan)

(I feel. REALLY SAD. Hearing her say all of it was a show, and that she’s been pretending, because she just wants to die - to forge the lock)

(I know it’s what Elena wants)

(But girl - you can’t!)

(Please keep trying Aelin)

(I know it’s hard)

(But life gets better!)

Honestly this book is mega depressing. I desperately want to feel something other than sadness, and sorrow, and pain. We’re out of Maeve’s clutches, and no longer being tortured, but the psychic damage is real, and it endures.

I kind of don’t even know if I’m going to feel better when Maeve gets destroyed. I know we gotta do it, and I’ll be glad when we do, but for the most part, I don’t feel good about it - I just feel desperate.

It’s kind of the difference when reading a fantasy novel vs a dystopian novel. Saving the world and being a hero. Vs disrupting the unjust system, fighting to bring the villain’s fall. This book is feeling more dystopian than ever. I’m having a hard time rooting for the hero’s because…. Everything sucks right now. And it’s hard to “root” for the downfall of a villain.

I am ready for the actual war to just be over and the characters to have a good day. A day where everything is beautiful and nothing hurts. I feel like it’s well earned.

[ilayas11]

How to Get Sexy High Stat Armor in Destiny 2 Lightfall With Minimal Effort

Hey it's me again.  Remember in this super awesome guide about how armor stats work, where I said once I figure out “how to farm up your high stat perfectly allocated armor “ I'd let you know. Well eyes up guardians this is me letting you know.

What you need to do this farm:

Season of Defiance

Season of Defiance Engrams

Glimmer

Unlocked both Defiant Armor Focusing and Defiant Sojourner from the war table upgrades

Getting the Armor

Head on over to the war table and click on the engram focusing. Waiting for you at the bottom is the armor focusing.  Click on the engram icon next to the armor NOT the individual pieces of armor. Focusing a specific piece of armor does not consistently yield good results.  This will get you a random piece of armor with most likely 60+ stats.

That's it. That's the farm. Just keep clicking away until you run out of engrams, glitter, or you get your perfect set of armor.  Defiant Engrams cap out at 99 so make sure to spend them before you hit that.  With those double drops upgrade unlocked it’s easy to hit that cap. Particularly if you have spent an obscene about of hours farming Kali in Last Wish for red bordered weapons....

....So many hours ...

... Aaaaaaany ways, have fun guardians! I'm just gonna head on out.....   Wait, what's that you don't even know what the “good stats are”?

--------------------------------------------------------------------

The Incredibly Generalized Not Optimized for Specific Builds TLDR of “The Good Stats”

Alright so I don't wanna be “per my last e-mail” guy but if you want a better explanation check out the a fore mentioned Super Awesome Guide about Armor stats. But I understand a lot of you got shit to do and engrams to focus so here's a quick TLDR.

PVE   In order of stat importance

Warlocks: 100 Resilience, 80-100 Recovery, 70-100 Discipline

Titans: 100 Resilience, 80-100 Recovery, 70-100 Discipline

Hunters: 100 Resilience, 80-100 Mobility if you use your dodge or 80-100 Recovery if you don't use your dodge, 70-100 Discipline

PvP Also in order of stat importance. If you suck at pvp, like me, just use your 100 resilience pve armor to allow you to tank them hits to offset your incredibly bad positioning.

Warlocks: 100 Recovery, 100 Discipline, at least 30 Resilience

Titans:  100 Resilience, 100 Recovery, 100 Discipline

Hunter: 100 Recovery,  80-100 Mobility, 100 Discipline, at least 30 Resilience

Other Armor Stat Stuff You Should Know

The game only cares about increases of 10. There is no benefit to increasing a stat from 30 to 38 but there is for raising it to 40.  

Any stats over 100 are ignored.

The lowest stat an armor can roll with is 2. The highest is 30.

The most overall stats is 68,

K so my job here is done... wait you want to know if there's a way to make the stat RNG gods smile upon you a bit more frequently. Well there is one way.....

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Using Ghost Mods to Tip the Odds in Your Favor

Open up your ghost and click on the 3rd mod slot.  If you slot in one of the stat mods it will ensure that any armor that drops will have at lest 10 of that stat.  

While I find pouring over spread sheets containing all possible stat rolls fascinating even my fellow warlock mains are probably not in a spread sheet mood at this moment. (it's ok warlocks we'll meet up for spread sheet time latter)  So here's the basics.  

There are two stat blocks: Mobility, Resilience and Recovery are class stats.  Discipline, Intelligence and Strength are ability stats.

The most an armor can have in any one stat block is 34.

If you force the game to give you a higher stat in one of those blocks the other two stats in that block are more likely to be lower but it won't affect the stats that roll in the other block.  

For example a Resilience mod will make it more likely for armor to roll with high resilience and low recovery/mobility but it will not affect how Discipline, Intelligence and Strength are distributed.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

But Wait, There's MORE

Still with me? Great! OK so getting getting 100 Resilience and Recovery (or at lest 80 mobility as a hunter) is the target of min-maxers. You can't do that without using armor stat boosting mods/aspects, but you absolutely can get 70-100 discipline with just armor stats.

The wild card here is exotic armor. I won't claim you can't farm for a very specific piece of exotic armor with a very specific stat allocation but I wouldn't recommend it. Instead your build needs to account for having a piece of gear with less than perfect stats. That means you are going to need several pieces of gear for the same armor slot with varying amounts of the stats you want.

“Perfect” armor should have a distribution of the two class stats you want ideally equaling the sum of 32 or close to it and none of the class stat you don't want, with a high stat spike in Discipline. You can achieve that by using a Discipline mod in your ghost. This is what all the streamers and what not have been recommending recently.  

My personal experience is when I use a discipline mod instead of a resilience or recovery mod far more of my gear has absolute shit rolls. I don't mind having intelligence or strength on my armor because they are still useful but any amount of the class stat I don’t want is just wasted stats.  You can still get high spikes in discipline without modding for it but you are far more likely to get a class stat you don't want with a discipline mod.

Obviously your results may vary. Make your choices accordingly.  The ease in which defiant engrams can be farmed and focused means you have lots of chances for experimentation.

[howdydarling]

MANNY SHERMAN TAPES

TAPE ONE

[Bored] Manny Sherman. Born January one. Nineteen fifty-six. Come on, you know all this. What do you want?

What’s this?

Huh… You’ve been doing your research, haven’t you Special Agent Munday?

What are my favorite television programs? Describe my first *pet?* [Mocking] What were your friends like as a child? [Annoyed] What is this?!

You taking a survey, or you trying to learn something?

Would it kill you to be direct?

You wanted to know what inspired me? As if *I* wasn’t an original?

Well…maybe there was one man I found myself a little fascinated by.

Henry. Howard. Holmes.

*Why?* Because he was numero uno.

America’s *first.* The guy invented the trade. He set the benchmark, you know?

Learn your history, Munday. Read a book.

You think because I stuck a blade in some people and get off on it, I’m not smart?

I, heh… ‘allegedly’…killed 13 people before you got smart enough to find me…

END TAPE

TAPE TWO

…had to build my own little castle, just like Holmes did.

Most people like me do their business where their target lives. That’s just *asking* to get caught.

Holmes had the right idea. It’s all about the honeytrap.

You bring me some smokes? Like I asked? *Lucky Reds.*

*Yes!* These are like *gold* in here.

[Sherman lights a cigarette and inhales] *Damn,* that’s good.

So yeah. The honeypot.

Holmes built a hotel about a mile from the World’s Fair and CALLED it the World’s Fair Hotel, and bought ad space in the papers alongside ads for the expo. Rubes from far and wide assumed it was the official hotel!

Ma and Pa Kettle take a train in from *Nebraska*, takes three days, they roll up into that joint ready to rest, get to their room…and *whoops*—what do ya know…Holmes had a gas pipe hidden under the bed and poisons them.

Or maybe he pulls a trap door on them.

Maybe he separates them and makes one watch through a window while he slits the other’s throat.

That’s the advantage of a honeypot: no shortage of targets. Heh…

That’s why I picked all those houses north of the airport. That whole neighborhood was scheduled for demolition, and yet…all those lovely realtor ladies must not have gotten the memo.

Call up as a contractor, tell them I’m flipping, have them meet me out there…and look at that…we’re the only two people for miles.

The first couple times, I’d wait for a plane to fly over, just to hide their screams, but…after a while I realized, they could scream as loud as they wanted. No one was gonna hear a thing.

That’s what I remember most. Those *screams.*

You can try to understand why I am the way I am. You can forensic science up all the data you want. But you’ll never know…

You’ll never know, Munday…

You’ll never really know how it feels when you watch the fire *burn* out of somebody.

END TAPE

TAPE THREE

[Sherman laughing] A whole carton this time? You trying to get on my good side or something?

Yeah, I uh…I think I’ll save them.

What? No questions? What’s going on with you, Munday?

You seem different.

Oh…[Sherman laughing] I see that glimmer in your eye, you little devil.

I can keep secrets, man…we all have them.

That prosecutor is trying to get numbers out of me. Know that?

Of *course* you know that. *Numbers.*

They got Holmes for 27…but we know he was closer to 200, right?

Can you imagine that? I wish I’d had the time to try and beat that.

Sure, they know about those nice realtor ladies…they got families, after all.

But the numbers the D.A. is asking me about…I think he knows there’s some people out there—rejects…misfits…the kind of people that when you see them coming, you look the other way. Does anyone notice if they go missing?

My father always told me to leave my mark on the world.

I never know what he meant by that — not until I watched that first girl bleed out.

*I* call it *art.* That’s my signature on society.

It’s not murder, it’s an aesthetic response to what this world has made me.

Ask people to list serial killers, and they’ll drop five, ten on you before they can’t think of any more.

Ask them to name the detectives that caught those killers — no one is going to say a damn thing. No one knows. No one *cares.*

No one makes movies about *them.*

No one puts their faces on t-shirts.

No one gives a shit.

[Sherman laughing]

[Sherman sighs, pleased] I’ve left my mark on the world…have *you?*

END TAPE

TAPE FOUR

You want to know what it means to be a killer? You ever been to the art museum downtown?

They got this painting by a guy…I forget his name. Famous painter.

He did portraits of slaughtered cows hanging on hooks.

You take a normal person to a slaughterhouse and they will puke their guts out.

You make it into a painting, and suddenly it’s *art.*

There’s no difference between the two. [Sherman grunts] Not really.

Don’t look at me like that. You know I’m right.

You get it. I *know* you get it.

You got to do something that matters. Make people feel something they’ve never felt before.

Shatter the illusion that any of us are really in control.

Think of the most profound thing you’ve ever done…the most beautiful thing you’ve ever created…and I promise you…it’s *nothing* compared to watching the life bleed out of someone.

To see the fear in their eyes, to feel them pawing at you for release, to hear them pleading — *begging*…

That *moment*, when someone realizes they are at their end…that’s when you *feel* it. That’s true art.

That’s what you have to be — an artist…a sculptor…an architect.

[Sherman exhales smoke] I see the gleam in your eye, Agent Munday. You’re not fooling me.

[Sound of a chair scraping, Hector exclaiming as he punches Sherman]

Oh, look at you now, huh?!

[Hector breathing heavily in background]

Am I going to be your first?

[Sherman yelling] Well come on then — I’m right here! This room is soundproof — you don’t even have to wait for a plane to fly overhead.

[Hector exclaiming, sounds of a struggle, Sherman grunts and groans in pain, more aggressive sounds of Hector beating Sherman]

[Sherman breathing heavily] There…there you are…I see you now.

[Hector punches him again]

Not bad…not bad at all. Bare hands can feel good, huh?

But the blade makes for such a prettier picture.

[Sherman panting quietly] You’ve got potential, Agent Munday…if you truly want to be an artist.

END TAPE

[lets-talk-spirituality]

Can I have a message from my guides please?

Sure :) thanks for sending this in. Most reading requests I get are soulmate ones and those are so draining compared to other readings. That’s why they take so long! I’ve found career and spirit guide and other ones flow more easily at times! Anyway, done disclaiming my shit. Let’s see what comes up.

Guides, what say you?

Guides? Guide. There’s one of me. Only one because me and this soul (seeing them elbow you lovingly) have been through the ringer (getting strong soul sister vibes). Yes messenger woman, we were sisters in many lives which is why I’m a guide in this life. We’ve upgraded, baby! Woo hoo. You didn’t need me incarnate in this life and I get to try guiding immaterially. Pretty neato in my opinion!

You’re forgetting the magic of your hands. (I’m seeing lots of flowers, purple, pinks, reds). Up here and in other lives, we spent a lot of time playing out doors, with our hands, catching fish and butterflies, picking bouquets for mom

(I’m seeing you at this specific place, I’m getting like 1700s/1800s England and being on this big estate, white house, big flowering bushes and a small creek by the house, green, forest around the edges of the property, but also dry, brown, I think the grass dies in the summer, anyway I’m seeing you guys laughing and playing, young girl with light blonde/brunette hair and I keep seeing her just sticking her face into the flowers and smelling them, Elsa is a name I’m hearing being called by an older darker haired sister, blue eyes, maybe both of you had blue eyes, long white night gowns, oh shit, immediately I’m hearing sobbing and seeing a floating body in the river, I think this younger sister was you? You drowned in this life with this sister and I think they carry guilt around protecting you and that’s part of what they are clearing up karmically in this guide role in this life, so I’m getting you drowned young in this lifetime, I feel like I just watched a highlight reel of moments from that lifetime? It’s odd to me. It’s like a movie with glimmers, laughter, your moms face kissing you, she was blonde with red lips in this memory from this other life, running around the garden, you were happy in this life and I feel this sense of deep sadness that you died, like afterwards everything felt grey and dreary, I think none of the family fully recovered, not the sister and not the parents, I think the family stayed together but it was like a vast void, you were the light in the family and it was snuffed out like a vacuum of the energy in the house, I think it’s in disrepair now or it was, I’m getting boarded up windows and the whole garden died. I’m seeing this sister and this deep sadness and loneliness, I don’t have all the words to describe it )

What can she do this life to heal up karma from that life?

Garden, bring back the garden we loved that lifetime, primroses and honeysuckles, all the flowers you could dream (this guide has taken on the form of the sister from this past life now, spinning around and jovial remembering the garden)

Things in this life that tie you to the last life? (Things you may experience in this life that you don’t fully get where it comes from)

- fear of water or fascination with drowning

- throat closing up, or like a feeling of being choked, unable to breathe at times, almost like a panic attack? This is tied to your memory of drowning (now I’m wondering if you were drowned or if someone drowned you, seeing a man holding your face in the water)

- sensitive head or hair, I think in this past life you may have been yanked by it (idk who this person was because it wasn’t your parents, they were gentle energies, I’m thinking like either the family cook or groundskeeper, someone was rough with you and might have killed you to snuff out your light, they were driven by darkness and you will meet this person again in this lifetime, you will know it’s them because you will feel uneasy around them for no reason and you will not trust them but this lifetime they are meant to be kind to you to reverse the karma, I think they may show up as like a frenemy, even though they will try, they are like irritated by your energy)

- chocolate chip cookies, big cookie lover

- pearls and red lipstick, playing dress up, disco

- someone walked in and started talking to me about cats during this reading so maybe something around kittens or cats ties you to this past life as well

Card Pull

Fairy Oracle

Magical gateway— it takes courage and trust to venture into the unknown, yet this is where the greatest rewards are. It’s time to step boldly forward without looking back.

Immediately I’m getting secret garden vibes. I feel like this past life insight I’m sharing is the magical gateway that helps you release some things from this past life but I also think it will send you deeper into a journey of your own self discovery. Look into the random past lives ties thing, I think there are more answers for you there. I think too, if you’ve been hesitating on something this card is saying to act! If you do nothing, nothing will happen.

Hope this resonates in some way. Kinda interesting the turn this reading took. But would love to know if this connects at all for you! 🌸💜

[ilayastestblog]

How to Get Sexy High Stat Armor in Destiny 2 Lightfall With Minimal Effort

Hey it's me again.  Remember in this super awesome guide about how armor stats work, where I said once I figure out “how to farm up your high stat perfectly allocated armor “ I'd let you know. Well eyes up guardians this is me letting you know.

What you need to do this farm:

Season of Defiance

Season of Defiance Engrams

Glimmer

Unlocked both Defiant Armor Focusing and Defiant Sojourner from the war table upgrades

Getting the Armor

Head on over to the war table and click on the engram focusing. Waiting for you at the bottom is the armor focusing.  Click on the engram icon next to the armor NOT the individual pieces of armor. Focusing a specific piece of armor does not consistently yield good results.  This will get you a random piece of armor with most likely 60+ stats.

That's it. That's the farm. Just keep clicking away until you run out of engrams, glitter, or you get your perfect set of armor.  Defiant Engrams cap out at 99 so make sure to spend them before you hit that.  With those double drops upgrade unlocked it’s easy to hit that cap. Particularly if you have spent an obscene about of hours farming Kali in Last Wish for red bordered weapons....

....So many hours ...

... Aaaaaaany ways, have fun guardians! I'm just gonna head on out.....   Wait, what's that you don't even know what the “good stats are”?

--------------------------------------------------------------------

The Incredibly Generalized Not Optimized for Specific Builds TLDR of “The Good Stats”

Alright so I don't wanna be “per my last e-mail” guy but if you want a better explanation check out the a fore mentioned Super Awesome Guide about Armor stats. But I understand a lot of you got shit to do and engrams to focus so here's a quick TLDR.

PVE  In order of stat importance

Warlocks: 100 Resilience, 80-100 Recovery, 70-100 Discipline

Titans: 100 Resilience, 80-100 Recovery, 70-100 Discipline

Hunters: 100 Resilience, 80-100 Mobility if you use your dodge or 80-100 Recovery if you don't use your dodge, 70-100 Discipline

PvP Also in order of stat importance. If you suck at pvp, like me, just use your 100 resilience pve armor to allow you to tank them hits to offset your incredibly bad positioning.

Warlocks: 100 Recovery, 100 Discipline, at least 30 Resilience

Titans:  100 Resilience, 100 Recovery, 100 Discipline

Hunter: 100 Recovery,  80-100 Mobility, 100 Discipline, at least 30 Resilience

Other Armor Stat Stuff You Should Know

The game only cares about increases of 10. There is no benefit to increasing a stat from 30 to 38 but there is for raising it to 40.  

Any stats over 100 are ignored.

The lowest stat an armor can roll with is 2. The highest is 30.

The most overall stats is 68,

K so my job here is done... wait you want to know if there's a way to make the stat RNG gods smile upon you a bit more frequently. Well there is one way.....

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Using Ghost Mods to Tip the Odds in Your Favor

Open up your ghost and click on the 3rd mod slot.  If you slot in one of the stat mods it will ensure that any armor that drops will have at lest 10 of that stat.  

While I find pouring over spread sheets containing all possible stat rolls fascinating even my fellow warlock mains are probably not in a spread sheet mood at this moment. (it's ok warlocks we'll meet up for spread sheet time latter)  So here's the basics.  

There are two stat blocks: Mobility, Resilience and Recovery are class stats.  Discipline, Intelligence and Strength are ability stats.

The most an armor can have in any one stat block is 34.

If you force the game to give you a higher stat in one of those blocks the other two stats in that block are more likely to be lower but it won't affect the stats that roll in the other block. 

For example a Resilience mod will make it more likely for armor to roll with high resilience and low recovery/mobility but it will not affect how Discipline, Intelligence and Strength are distributed.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

But Wait, There's MORE

Still with me? Great! OK so getting getting 100 Resilience and Recovery (or at lest 80 mobility as a hunter) is the target of min-maxers. You can't do that without using armor stat boosting mods/aspects, but you absolutely can get 70-100 discipline with just armor stats.

The wild card here is exotic armor. I won't claim you can't farm for a very specific piece of exotic armor with a very specific stat allocation but I wouldn't recommend it. Instead your build needs to account for having a piece of gear with less than perfect stats. That means you are going to need several pieces of gear for the same armor slot with varying amounts of the stats you want.

“Perfect” armor should have a distribution of the two class stats you want ideally equaling the sum of 32 or close to it and none of the class stat you don't want, with a high stat spike in Discipline. You can achieve that by using a Discipline mod in your ghost. This is what all the streamers and what not have been recommending recently.  

My personal experience is when I use a discipline mod instead of a resilience or recovery mod far more of my gear has absolute shit rolls. I don't mind having intelligence or strength on my armor because they are still useful but any amount of the class stat I don’t want is just wasted stats.  You can still get high spikes in discipline without modding for it but you are far more likely to get a class stat you don't want with a discipline mod.

Obviously your results may vary. Make your choices accordingly.  The ease in which defiant engrams can be farmed and focused means you have lots of chances for experimentation.

[bookwyrminspiration]

“Fine,” Glimmer said as the light faded back to normal. “You can have the sob story—but you’re not going to like it. It won’t fit the evil narrative you’re all so busy imagining.” (Link to IG post)

Glimmer backstory?? Glimmer backstory real?? Shannon do you promise?? Shannon pretty please I’ll die please I want it so bad

[indouloureux]

debauched angels (and brazen escapades)

not my gif!

summary: spider-man and black cat have been playing cat and mouse for sixteen weeks; beneath his scathing annoyance and desire to end her vengeful exploits, he feels a reluctant fascination for her.

until you came around with your enigmatic dulcet masquerade, leaving him piqued in his curiosity for you all while he struggles with ambivalence.

word count: 10, 776

warnings: mentions of blood, violence, enemies to lovers, awful writing (?) bc english isn't my first language. also maybe horrible story telling of greek mythology bc i've yet to study it properly. (there aren't much triggering content in the first part)

a/n: i've released two parts of this mini-series on AO3 (@/indouloureux) so if you want to read part two immediately go check my AO3 account! 'my reverie's affinity remains to be you' got alot of notes so fast and i'm really happy that it did and thank you all so much for the feedback you gave me, it made me smile alot 💕

i decided to post this early because, well, for you guys and why not.

as of now, this mini-series will have three parts.

(i accidentally deleted my prompt notes that helps me write my ideas and i deadass cried before posting this.)

MASTERLIST ; SERIES MASTERLIST

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ༻✧༺

summertime, and the livin’s easy,

bradley’s on the microphone with Ras MG

Are angels always this hellacious?

Her doe eyes are innocent; inquisitive, like an angel, intrepid like its delicate wings – it’s what they look like when she’s lax; lost in tranquility. When she rests her tactile hands and lay on her back, sighing ecstasy in her pax Romana

But when she’s vindictive, her eyes are anything but guiltless. They sear with the appetite for malevolence, pupils intense in its anathema for equilibrium, and her wings inflate, burning in its fire for detriments, turning stygian with scarlet hues of her ichor.

It’s how he sees her – an omnipotent Devil disguised as a helpless angel.

But in veracity, her crusades are as cunning as a cat, a tribute to her villain name; tail long and sly with its motions, claws as alacritous as her intellect, body quick with precarious escapades as her hinds deliver swiftness and misery. And her eyes, while its diamond pupils glimmer underneath the flagrant moon, had dominated intimidation, along with its thirst for money and manipulation.

If they looked anywhere but her eyes, she’s deemed not an obstreperous angel, but as the devil’s ravishing curse.

The impression was given with an accuracy – truly glorious, albeit the beauty hardly seen in the dark where she’s made for, so much as her movements. And with the darkness, Spider-Man finds it challenging to chase her; though he relies so much on his senses, they don’t exactly help him seeing in the dark.

She’s in front of him, feet brisk and intact from adrenaline. Her hair sways at each fast step, and as she pivots to a shady corner, Spider-Man yelps, senses varying from her suddenness.

“Alright, Cat!” he shouts, voice echoing through the alleyway. Water’s dripping from poles, the ground musky and wet from the previous rain, and Spider-Man’s uncomfortable with the smell and the sight. “Come out, come out wherever you are.”

There’s shuffling above him, soft pattering against the walls. And she’s giggling – the fucking cat’s giggling like a mischievous saint taunting him. “Nah, I’d rather stay here,” she says. “I like seeing you below me.”

He looks up, but the only thing he sees is the buildings and the moon. “You like being on top, huh? Being in power? Knowing you’re a step ahead of me?”

“Actually, I’m three steps ahead of you,” she corrects him. He knows she’s in front of him, sticking to the walls with her sharp nail dragging along the bricks, looking at him with a tilted head and sly smile, “and I like the chase. The challenge.”

“Oh?”

“Spider-Man fails to save the city again after letting Black Cat strut from the bank,” she repeats Jameson’s previous report from two weeks ago, where he’d arrived late due to her aimless distraction. He winces at the faux pas.

“You know I was only late because you stuck seven cats on a tree, right?” Spider-Man kicks his feet, hands on his hips. “Ironically, they were all black.”

“Yeah, well, it’s still your fault,” she reasons. “You couldn’t get the cats down in time. And if you think about it, they actually could’ve gotten down themselves. They’re cats.”

“They were trying to claw me, Cat,” he snaps. “And I had an angry old lady throw bread at me while I was trying to get them down. And yes I knew they could have gotten themselves down!”

“Yet you were still late,” she tuts. “Don’t blame the cats, Spiderling. They didn’t know.”

Spider-Man stares directly at the swarthy alleyway, brume rippling against the walls. But he swears if he looks closer, he could see her eyes through her mask; playful whilst fraudulent. “And whom should I blame?”

“Yourself,” she replies. “You’ve got no one to blame but yourself, boy.”

“I’ve got you to blame, you minx,” he mutters. “You’re the one robbing banks and stealing paintings. And I’m the one who cleans up your mess.”

“Jameson says otherwise,” he hears her soft feet walk towards him, footsteps’ volume increasing. “You know, if you just work with me, you won’t be the only one seen as a bad guy.”

He stays silent, knowing any of his answers could be turned into persuasion to join her. Black Cat finally ascends from the mist, feet undaunted at each step, hand playing with a convoluted crowbar, silver hair gleaming.

all the people in the dance will agree,

that we’re well qualified to represent the L.B.C.

Her hair is what disparities from her ensemble. While she’s served in an all-black leather costume that sculpts her treasured physique, her silver hair denotes the light to her darkness, ameliorating the menacing approach that she mauls; though it doesn’t vary from her persona, still – she remains a congenial serpentine.

Her smile’s devilish, intimidating Spider-Man. His knees debilitate at her valiant smirk, eyes eyeing him up and down as if evaluating him. And it makes him self-conscious. But who wouldn’t be under her sight?

The glass of her mask did nothing to cover her true volitions. Knowing none of them were altruistic, her Machiavellian mind presents itself in front of him, waiting for its riddles to be solved; puzzles to be completed, intentions to be understood.

“What?” she purrs. “Cat got your tongue?”

Spider-Man snickers, poking his cheek with his tongue. “What’d you plan on doing with that crowbar? Open safes? Break into people’s houses? Knock me out with it?” he taunts.

Black Cat rolls her eyes, its vivacious hues swimming in her orbs. “You underestimate my power, Spider. We all know how I open my safes,” she opens her palm, claws emerging from the tips of her fingertips. “Maybe I could use this to open your heart, too.”

“Physically, or emotionally?” His voice drips sarcasm.

She pouts, slamming the crowbar against her leather palm. “Open your heart to me, come on. I know you have a soft spot underneath all that stone.”

“Cat…”

“Spider.” She purrs, her nail dragging along his covered collarbone to the space that connects his shoulder to his neck.

He sighs. “Give me the ring.”

Black Cat gasps. “Are you calling off our engagement?” she places a hand to her heart. “Were those sixteen weeks meaningless?”

“Give it to me.” Voice stern, but she remains unthreatened. 

“You mean this one?” She pulls out a ring from behind, its band hanging dangerously between her claws, air swinging it back and forth as the jewel shines and reflects from the moon while it carefully rests on the crest. “I don’t know. I kind of like it.”

Its emerald gem radiates almost blindingly, hues of golden amalgamated beneath its delicate jewel as it stands gallantly; size colossal opposed to its dainty silver band.

Spider-Man reaches out to claim it from her hand, but she moves backwards. “Cat.” He reiterates. “Give it to me.”

“If you want it,” she twirls it around her sharp nail until it settles inside her index finger. “Come and get it.”

And then she sets off, sprinting against walls until she reaches the roof. Spider-Man groans in frustration before flinging himself upward.

Her feet are fast, jumping off obstacles as if they’re nothing. Black Cat slips inside narrow structures before slipping out gracefully to jump onto rooftops with ease.

Though it seems rather futile to chase her around knowing she’ll escape, either way, there’s no harm in trying as Spider-Man fastidiously crawls on walls and slings himself, hands so close yet so far away from her.

Her crowbar hits a pipe, steam breaking off the hole. He inhales the polluted smoke, coughing violently.

“Come on now, Spider. Don’t let go of me that easily!” she taunts him. It spurs him on more, growling wistfully.

“Don’t tempt me, Cat.” Spider-Man growls. He doesn’t really plan on letting her go that easily. Not ever. Not until he’s got what he wanted from her.

Black Cat disappears from his eyesight, surroundings nebulous from the shrewd night. Spider-Man stops in his tracks, spinning around frantically, searching for her.

“You know, you’re the rarest black cat of them all – sporadic, and tail-less.” He calls out, eyes squinting. His senses cicatrize, now knowing what’s imminent. However, her answer was unforeseen.

“Oh, Spider, I do have a tail,” she calls out. “Look around you, they’re everywhere; following me around like a lost kitten. Want to know who they are?” he can’t see her, but he imagines her swaying her hips, circling her wrist with the crowbar in hand as she leans in, lips daring and teasing.

“They’re men, Spider,” she purrs, “and you’re one of them.”

Then there’s a noise behind him.

Black Cat appears in his vision, crowbar in air. It swings in his direction, hitting the side of his face as he tumbles to the ground. With his eyesight blurred with tears, he sees her skin-tight suit run away from him.

Her feet kick off the rooftop doors, flinging herself up in the air. And she twirls around, waving her crowbar. And at some point the ring ends up on her middle finger, flipping him off before she falls down the building, disappearing off the ledge.

Spider-Man sprints off the ground and towards her, but by the time he peeks off the ledge, she’s no longer seen.

The Devil disappears once more, a moratorium on her nightly ruses. Thereafter, a stringent dichotomy between her scent and essence lingers for him to find, and though he’s reluctant for the atrocious adventure, he craves to seek the angel inside the wicked cat, invigorating his long-awaited peace.

He feels defeated, letting her slip from his grasp once more. But he doesn’t give up – not ever – and he’ll keep hunting her down, taming her like the wildcat she is.

And though it’s hellacious, he’s willing to do it.

me, me and Louie, we gonna run to the party

and dance to the rhythm, it gets harder

-

Alabaster. Mineral silky under the touch, the graven image sculpted from a sculptor of versatility that amplifies the allure to which enthralling even to the elusive. And its Adonis remedies the sleepless night; delineates the beauty of the unappealing world. Each curve is tauntingly delinquent to the fools but existentially unique to the appreciative.

He lowers the camera from his hands slowly, eyes darting to the plaque beneath.

Penthus - the personification of grief.

Peter’s head ducks slightly to get a better view of the golden placard, seeing his slightly distorted reflection as he reads the carved words:

When Zeus began handing out domains to the diverse gods, Penthus was not there. As such, Penthus acquired the one part no one wanted: grief and sorrow. It is believed that he enjoys persecuting the same individuals; he condones those who mourn for the deceased.

 Quickly, he lifts the viewfinder eye-level, hands oh-so-carefully grasping the camera lens as his finger fiddles for the shutter to capture the statue in front of him as if it’ll disappear within a second.

Thereafter, he manages to take an acceptable picture, enough to make his project presentable to appease his essay that he knows won’t be satisfying for his professor. At least there’s a good picture. 

“Dude,” a voice startles him. “Found my guy for my research. His name is Patroclus. I read on his plaque that he’s like Achilles’ best friend. And it kind of reminded me of you and me.”

“Aren’t they like…lovers?” Ned’s face falls into a perplexed frown, eyebrows furrowing. “I mean, I read it somewhere. I think MJ was reading a book about Achilles last week,” Peter adds.

Ned shakes his head, blinking rapidly. “I don’t care if they’re gay or not. I just need to get out of here and finish my research so I can meet Betty by the coffee shop next to the campus.”

“What is it with you and Betty?” Peter slings his bag over his shoulder, still carefully holding the camera in his hand. “I thought that was just a one-time thing after Prague.”

Beside him, MJ stumbles in, a book in hand with her ID hanging above her chest. And she butts in, “They started studying together last week because they both had statistics,” she snorts.

His eyes widened. “What?! That’s why you kept on canceling on me? Because you had a study date with Betty? I mean, I normally would be fine with this, but Ned literally told me he had pizza class last Wednesday just so he could skip movie night. I was starting to get upset and suspicious.”

“Oh no. Did you miss your anniversary, Ned?” though her voice clearly dripped derision, neither appeared to notice, too inattentive for each of their feelings.

“I-I didn’t!” Ned stammers in his words. “I was there for our anniversary. And I made it up to you last Saturday when we watched Return of the Jedi! I’m sorry, Peter but,” he sighs, eyes looking for the blonde hair he’s been touching for a week, “Betty and I just have this undeniable bond that needs to be tied!”

“What about our bond?” he whines. “We’ve tied that knot since freshman year. You dated her when we were seniors. I was first!”

They hinge to an intersection, above the doorway were inscribed in Greek characters “Gods & Goddesses” decrypted by a manuscript in their hands. Ned’s subsequent words were unintentionally tuned out as he stared at the 8 feet tall sculptures.

It’s mythology in front of him – characters are fictitious, but right in front of him, with the punctiliously sculpted Gods, they appear to be nearly real; as if their stories were all true, and they did exist. And if he hadn’t known about Thor, the God of Thunder, he actually would thoroughly believe that all these things were a myth.

Reveled by the panorama, his jaw relaxes at the pigment of pearls filling his vision, and vistas of incredulous aptitude render him wordless. His fingers fiddled with his lens, eyes too engaged in respecting the scenery beyond him that raptures his chest.

He’s too enthralled to even notice MJ and Ned have bickered their way onto the other side of the room.

Their physiques are almost unrealistic (even though they are). Jaws are prominent beneath the radiant light; eyes, albeit white, are filled with white mercurial life.

But despite it all, the woman beside him is the most exquisite are of all;

me and my girl 

we got this relationship 

“Beautiful, huh?”

Peter snaps his head abruptly, hearing a slight crack in his neck.

You look at him, invigorating hair flipping away from your shoulder. And your smile makes his curious eyes falter as it descends into a meticulous observation of your face.

He doesn’t need to look hard into it – you’re beautiful.

Peter doesn’t know which part attracts him more – if it was the ivory colored shirt tied around your waist to reveal the black tank-top with thin straps that accentuates your muscular arms and tortuous waist, or how your pointed nails traced the folds of your white tennis skirt, or how beneath those innocent eyes of yours lies a ubiquitous secret that he’s yet to discover.

Maybe it was the contrasted solitary stripe of drab white sticking out of your hair.

He wonders why an ethereal woman like you isn't standing beside those metaphysical sculptures next to those pretty and probably dangerous things; why you aren’t being praised, glorified, applauded, for your utopian beauty.

Because clearly, you looked too exemplary to be authentic to him. In fact, he thinks he shouldn’t even be standing beside you right now, breathing your air.

“Yeah,” he nods, crossing his arms. Your eyes dart away from him, and while he tries to do the same, he fails nonetheless. “It’s really pretty…”

“Can’t help but agree,” you shrug, looking back to smile at him. “How’d you think they made these things?”

Peter shrugs. “I think they’re 3D printed.” What? 3D printed? How dumb can you sound?

“Really?”

“Or like a really, really talented guy sculpted these things and like, gave it to the museum,” he adds. “Like Leonardo DiCaprio.” Oh, this dumb.

You blink. “You mean Leonardo da Vinci?”

“Yes,” he nods. What are you doing? You’re embarrassing yourself.

“I didn’t know he sculpted,”

“Well that’s because he doesn’t have many sculptures,” he explains. “Not like Rodin or Bernini,”

“Or Michelangelo,” you add, raising your eyebrows.

“The turtle or…” You should never talk to a woman ever again.

Your eyebrows furrow, lips tucking inside your mouth as you force out a smile of patience, questioning his knowledge, or lack thereof. “Nah, I’m kidding,” he laughs quietly. “Just trying to make you laugh,”

Peter thinks your laugh that followed his was prettier than the sculptures surrounding you, the noise almost angelic. You point at him, nail sharp and pointed. “Here on a school trip?”

Confused, he looks down to his chest, seeing his ID beneath his hanging camera before he nods again, more vigorous than the other. “Yeah. For- for MIT. A project…for a subject,” he blinks rapidly. “Like…a photography project, y’know.”

You hum in response. “Same,” you reply, fiddling with the covered ID in your hand. Your nail traces the sides, and he wonders if it’s really your nail, or if it was one of those glued ones he’s seen MJ wear once.

“Where do you study?”

“Um,” you look down at your card. “I-”

A shoulder bumps Peter’s, causing him to nudge you with his elbow. He mutters a quick apology before looking back at you. “Sorry. Some guy just-”

“Hey what happened to your face?”

He forgets the question he awaits an answer to, his hand coming up to grasp his left cheek. “What?”

“There’s a bruise on your jaw,” your hand comes up to grasp his tainted skin slightly, nail tracing the yellow and purple hues. “Did the guy bump you too hard?”

“No, no!” Peter chuckles awkwardly, shaking his head. He frowns at the now absence of your hand. “I just had an accident while shaving.”

“Shouldn’t it have scratched you?”

“So Greek Mythology huh?” he avoids the question, looking away from you. “What’s your class making you do?”

Peter softens the slightest when he sees your skepticism wither, letting your eyes rest on the sculpture further the both of you. Athena’s lofty figure stares into an empty space of nothing, a large aegis carved with such attributes that it fascinates him more than the helmet that boldly stood out from her head.

“They’re making us research the Gods and Goddesses that remind us of ourselves,” you answer simply. “Half of the class left an hour ago. But I’m doing my research properly.”

His bottom lip juts out, scratching the itching spot on the back of his ear. “How so?”

“Because the information they let out isn’t the whole truth,” you reiterate. “You see this?” you point to the plaque beneath Athena, “she’s described as the goddess of wisdom and war, depicted as a stately woman armed with an aegis and a spear. Blah blah blah,” disregarding the other information, your fingernail quickly traces the words beneath until it reaches a certain paragraph.

“Medusa was the once beautiful, avowed priestess to Athena who was immersed in an affair with Poseidon and would have two children together, but not before Athena uncovered the forbidden romance. Athena then punished her for disobeying her vow of celibacy by cursing Medusa with a head full of snakes and a gaze that turns men to stone.” You read out loud, guiding Peter along.

“What’s wrong with this?” he questioned. He likes how the tip of your nails traced the letters on the plaque. “I mean, is it wrong information?”

“The things about Athena are correct information,” you correct him, “as for the thing with Medusa – she didn’t have an affair with Poseidon in the first place,”

“Really?”

Though the topic didn’t pique him, seeing as he was more interested in science and technology rather than history, he listens to you. Peter’s eyes widen in curiosity, looking between Athena’s statute and the golden plaque with a pout on his lips.

Somehow, when you say it, it’s more interesting.

“Yes,” you nod. “Medusa and Poseidon didn’t fall in love or something. He violated her.”

“Violated?” he repeats. “You mean…”

A simple nod sufficed his curiosity, and his mouth parts into an ‘O’, nodding slowly with his arms crossed before he lets his mouth pout. “That’s…that’s bad. Why’d Athena punish her then instead of Poseidon?” he asks. 

“No one knows why,” you shrug. “Gotta be honest with you: I’ve been browsing Quora for the past hour for the truth. So I can’t really give you a stable answer.” You admit with a tight, shy smile. “But I did like this theory though,”

Having to only know you barely even thirty minutes ago, it conflicts astounds him how you could make him interested in such a topic that he hadn’t even bothered caring about in the first place.

Because now Peter’s looking at his phone, visiting Quora’s website as you turn your back to him.

“Is it because Poseidon’s a God and only Zeus can punish Gods?” he asks whilst skimming a theory. “Shouldn’t she have told Zeus instead…?”

“Nope,” you gently clasp your phone on your palm, the screen illuminating your face the slightest. “I prefer this one. Where they said Athena might have done it to punish Poseidon, so his partner will now be like this hideous gorgon. She did this because, y’know, they don’t really get along. So she did it to humiliate him.”

“What about this one?” Peter shoves his phone beside yours. “Athena might have done it to punish mortals. Because Gods find great pleasure in punishing mortals.”

“Could be,” you shrug. “None of those isn’t confirmed, anyway. And the whole thing feels kind of a ‘he said, she said’ situation.”

Peter purses his lips. “Kind of. Yeah.” He touches his bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, eyebrows furrowed. “So…Do you have like…a favorite God or Goddess?”

What a stupid question.

His doubt renders itself useless a second later.

Earnestly, you glimpse at him with an eager smirk. As you gently place your phone back into your pocket, you motion for him to follow you between the extensive statues and into the back of the gallery where people are reduced and dispersed.

It was dim, seeing as the skylight didn’t reach the back that much and lit up only the well-known Gods.

You end up halting in front of an unfamiliar Goddess, its intricate elements unable to relish due to the absence of proper lighting. The sculpture appears hazy, as if it were only a delineation, having to be incompetent of witnessing its momentous features from the darkness.

However, you look at it as if it is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen; Peter finds familiarity in your look.

“That’s Atë,” you tell him, not sparing a glance at the staring boy. “She’s the Goddess of mischief, delusion, ruin, and blind folly.” Finally, you look at him, a glint of deliriousness in your glossy pupils. “She’s placed in the back because people barely knew her and her story. So no one’s able to truly appreciate her.”

Peter only nods, letting you value the Goddess in silence.

Its beauty is analogous to yours – ethereal from its harmonious alabaster hair, waist curved like the waves on the ocean, dress almost looks like a thin veil obscuring her marble body.

He thinks you belong beside her to be worshiped as mentioned earlier, seeing as both your beauty seemed underrated.

“It has been told that she led men down to the path of ruin. And that she also led both Gods and men to ludicrous and heedless actions and suffering. Fuck, she was even able to fool Zeus at the birth of Heracles,”

You spoke about her casually, as if it were just gossip that he finds incredulous and you normal – although the impressed scoff by the end says otherwise, you spoke as if it was a regular thing for you to hear (women in retribution, per se).

“There aren’t many stories about her,” you continue, “so no one’s really sure why she had fooled Zeus in the first place. Which is why people think she’s the bad guy who got herself banished from the abodes of the Gods.”

Peter lets out a short laugh, crossing his arms and placing his weight on his right leg. “Let me guess – not the entire truth, either?”

“Uhuh,” you shake your head, smiling at him.

“Are you going to tell me?”

Unexpectedly, you shrug with a slight shake of your head. “I don’t think so,”

His excited smile falls slightly in disappointment. “Why not?”

“Because,” you glimpse at the watch on your wrist. Peter copies you – 2:59 pm. “I want to tell you what happens when I find out the truth.”

He frowns. “So you’re telling me that the information they gave out isn’t the entire truth, but you don’t know what really happened either?” you nod. “How are you so sure?”

“Because a woman can’t just be this callous for no reason,” you answer. “It’s not just sudden misandry – it is always about vengeance; it’s always about proving herself the strongest, that she can do it, too.”

Bemusement swirls in his head, but still eager to know more nonetheless. He silently reaches out to you in his head. “When can I see you again?”

Inarticulate enough to keep him on the edge of his seat, you shrug, a playful smile was drawn on your face. “Whenever fate wants us to.” You tell him. “You’ll see me around. I’ll be everywhere…”

“Peter,” he fills for you, getting the feeling you’re about to ask for his name.

“(y/n),” you offer your name. “I’ll be everywhere, Peter,” you finish. “You’ll see me. You just need to pay close attention.”

“Peter?”

MJ’s voice (embarrassingly) echoes around the silent gallery. He turns, looking for the familiar tall brunette slipping past the statues. When he sees no one, he turns back to you.

But you were gone.

Disappointment rims his chest once more, failing to even ask your number before you left. He checks his watch, the number 3:00 being read disdainfully.

But when something blinds his eye beside the sculpture of Atë, he looks away from his watch for his eyes to land on a small piece of glass on the ground.

Peter carefully approaches before crouching, picking up the tiny piece of glass on the ground.

Or was it glass?

Its color was either white or a very faint shade of green when light is shone onto it; it isn’t sharp but neither is it soft, and he wonders where it came from when he hadn’t seen this earlier.

Maybe it came from you.

“Peter,” Ned’s voice interrupts him. “There you are. Where’ve you been?”

He clutches the small piece of glass on his palm, stinging his skin slightly. “I was wandering around.”

“We’ve been looking for you for the past twenty minutes,” MJ huffs. “Come on. Let’s go. I want to read my book already and you imbeciles keep on wandering off.”

“What was that book you bought again?” Ned asks, linking arms with Peter.

Peter smiles. And while gently grasping the stone you (might have) left, he leans closer to Ned.

“The Song of Achilles,” MJ answers. “Let’s go.”

-

i love her so bad, but she treats me like shit

on lockdown, like a penitentiary

He searches desperately for you.      

It’s been exactly 84 hours since he’s met you, and he finds it appalling how a person’s got him so hung up even after being with you for only thirty minutes three days ago.

He deludes himself into thinking you’ve been together for more than thirty minutes, so he doesn’t feel so foolish looking for someone he barely knows that decided to go mysterious on him.

But he also pretends that he doesn’t like how you based your next meeting on fate – he’s not that of a hopeless romantic.

Right?

Ned doesn’t believe him. Not after earlier this morning.

“So let me get this straight: you met a girl the other day, who told you about this underrated goddess, and when you ask her if you’ll see each other again, she goes all ‘Serendipity’ on you and disappears?”

Peter nodded. Innocent. “Yes.”

“And you’re in love with her?” he’d told him.

“…no.”

“You sound unsure.”

“Because I’m pretty sure I’ll fall in love with her,” he defended himself, standing up from the chair to pick up a mug from the cupboard. Its color was green, the lips slightly chipped, and it had a cartoonish black cat right in the middle. “You know how I am with girls, Ned.”

“Yeah. Go Ross Geller on her – fall in love, propose like two weeks-”

“Six weeks,” he corrected him, reaching for the chamomile teabag.

“- and then get divorced right after your wedding. Or, I dunno, say the wrong name at the wedding,” Ned shrugged. “Whose name will you say anyway? Liz? Cindy Moon? MJ?” he snapped his fingers. “What about that really hot girl, Felicia Hardy?”

Peter frowned at him, giving him another teabag. “Why would I say MJ’s name?”

Vehemently, Ned sighed. “Because you guys dated? And stayed best friends?”

“Yes. And I’m over her. MJ’s queer. She likes girls," he says simply. “I have to respect that by moving on. So now I’m over her.”

“Right. Like I didn’t just catch you crying over her two weeks ago when she brought her girlfriend along.” He snickers. “Ned! Why is her girlfriend hotter than all the girls I pine over?! She’s so pretty, Ned! I miss her!”

“Ned,” Peter whined, pouring hot water on his mug. Though he felt thoroughly offended over Ned’s imitation, it doesn’t last a second. “Can we move past MJ and onto (y/n)?”

His eyebrows furrowed, slipping off the counter. “Who?”

“The girl I met at the museum!” Peter exclaimed, exasperated. “Serendipity girl! The Emily to my Ross. Or the Rachel to my Ross!” he walks towards him, placing his hands on Ned’s shoulders. “The Leia to my Han…”

“Peter, you met her yesterday!” he scolded. “There’s like a 50/50% chance you won’t see her again. And I’m pretty sure you’re over her by next week,” Ned scoffs, removing the bag from his mug. “If you’re not over her by then, you’ll be the reason you’re dying alone.”

He took a careful sip of his tea, wincing when the hot liquid scalded his tongue. “Ned – ah! Pass me the sugar, please.”

Ned grabbed the packet of sugar beside him. His face contorted in disgust when Peter opens the packet, and dips the tip of his tongue inside. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Refreshing my tongue!” he answered, slightly incoherent.

“The fuck?”

“What I’m saying is – she said we’ll meet again when fate wants us to,” he continued, licking his lips to remove the excess sugar, tongue now mended. “And you know how bitchy fate is to me. So I’m taking matters into my own hands.”

He poured the remaining sugar on his tea as Ned grimaced, hiding his frown behind the mug. “Nothing good happens when you take matters into your own hands, Peter.”

“Hey?”

“I mean, remember when you put Toomes in jail? That was good, but you lost Liz. Remember when you gave EDITH to Mysterio? I mean sure, everything went well but you got hit by a train and basically ruined a lot of property because of it.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Thanks for smothering my failures on my face, Ned. What a great best friend you are.”

Ned tutted. “That better not be sarcasm because that’s what’s actually a best friend’s supposed to do.” He took a loud sip, humming in appreciation. “Peter, maybe we just let fate do its job this time.”

And maybe he should.

Peter’s an indecisive person – he knows it himself but he denies it still, even to his aunt who he knows is always right.

His phone rings.

Speak of the Devil.

“Hey aunt May!” Peter smiles, carefully tilting his head sideways to place the phone between his ear and shoulder. “What’s up?”

"Are you swinging?" May's phone was ancient, despite the fact that her salary allowed her to purchase a new one. And, based on the static and choppy nature of her voice, Peter’s certain she's on a business trip where there's little to no service. However, the question was loud enough for him to hear.

Peter’s face flushes beneath his mask. “N-no.”

“I can hear you panting,” she says.

“That’s because I’m in the gym.” Peter lies. “In the treadmill. Running. Jogging.”

“You and I know you never worked out even after you got those muscles.” She tuts. Though he can’t see her, he knows she’d rolled her eyes. “And I hear cars.”

“I’m on the treadmill out the balcony.”

“Peter,”

“Alright, I’m swinging,” he finally admits with a small huff, landing carefully on a rooftop before slinging himself to another building. “I’m out on patrol.”

It was a half lie. “But its Saturday,” May expresses softly. “I thought you only do patrols every weekdays after class.”

Peter grunts softly when his feet clumsily land on the pavement, stumbling over each other. His glove hand reaches for the phone on his shoulder. “Well, I didn’t have anything much to do, anyway.”

“Go to a party!” May suggests, a faint clicking in the background. “Get drunk, throw paper towels on other frat houses, get a girl, have a one night-stand, have sex!”

He frowns. “Should you be telling me this? I thought you were supposed to tell me not to do all those things?”

“Don’t tell me how to parent,” she scoffs. “No offense, Peter, but you’re too high strung. It’s like you’re afraid of being reckless.”

He sits on the edge of a building, feet dangling while he watches the cars pass by. “I am afraid of being reckless. Remember when you first got me drunk? I started telling my guests I was Spider-Man and you had to stop me from showing them my suit.”

May chuckles. “Well I doubt you’ll be doing it again,” she reassures. “You should let loose. You’re in college, for Pete’s sake-” Peter snickers. “-and one day, after you graduate, you’ll regret not going to a party. Not even once.”

“I went to a party.”

“And you left five minutes later. You know, I’m pretty sure you’re still a virgin.”

“May!” Peter gasps, horrified. “I’m not! Why would you say that?!”

“I have not seen a used condom in your trash can. Not even once.” She answers. “Peter, you haven’t dated anyone in two years. I’m worried about you. You’re all alone.”

“I have you,” Peter sighs. “I have Ned. And MJ. May, you’re – you are supposed to keep me on my feet. Make sure I stay responsible."

“I am doing that. I’ve been doing that since you were a kid. I’ve been keeping you literally on your feet since I found out you were Spider-Man,” she huffs. “You know I care about you, Peter. It’s just – just because you have a big responsibility doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to enjoy yourself.”

Peter sighs. His hand reaches to tuck his mask beneath his nose, pouting slightly. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” he senses a smile in her words. “Now, how are you?”

“I’m okay,” he says. “I aced a test last Monday. Upgraded my webs so I made them stickier. Oh, and Happy took me to lunch the other day.”

“Really?” May blurts, as if surprised. “What’d he say? He doesn’t really like hanging out with you that much.”

Peter frowns. “No he doesn’t! He likes hanging out with me. We made pizzas when I graduated from high school and he seemed genuinely happy about it,” He scoffs. “Anyway. He just felt like taking me out to lunch. Said something about how he should get used to it by now…”

His eyes squint at the walking figure.

He notices the familiar coruscating hair swooshing beneath him with each stride they make. Because he had to see that shade of hair everywhere he went, he didn't think it was unusual; yet, based on his previous meticulous inspection of you, he recalls a stripe of dull white on the back of your neck that stuck out of your hair.

Peter could only see the top of your hair and that white streak poking out; the tip of your brown boots that splashed the small puddles from the recent rain. But he knows it’s you.

Is this what happens when you let fate do its job?

“Peter?”

He yelps, almost dropping his phone off the ledge. May’s distant voice speaks out on the speakers, only to be cut off by him. “Sorry aunt May. Something urgent came up. I’ll come home next week for the whole weekend. See you! Love you.”

The sound of his phone clicking shut cuts off her response, shoving his phone back in his suit (he’d also installed really tight pockets.) before jumping down.

Peter forgets he’s clad in his tight suit, crossing the street without sparing a glance at the rushing cars, not even when they start honking at him for his reckless jaywalking.

Just before you turn the corner into an alleyway, his hand reaches out for you.

And,

“It’s not…you…” he softly expresses when the person turns around. It’s not you - the streak of white he saw was the temple of the person’s sunglass, and they only had the same hair color as yours.

“Holy shit…” they mutter. “You’re Spider-Man.”

“No, I’m not,” he awkwardly chuckles. “I’m only a crazy fan in costume. Gotta prepare for Halloween right? There’s nothing wrong with being eight months early.”

It's a tense confrontation that lasts only three minutes. And, once again, in the crevice of that awkwardness was a paroxysm of disappointment. The reason behind his anticipation for you is unbeknownst — he has no idea why he's so enamored with you, a person he hardly knows. Idiosyncrasy is all he can think about.

He just can't seem to get you out of his mind. It's your guise that has him enthralled by the lingering sensation of apprehensive surmise on the back of his skull, which causes the hairs on his body to spring up at each thought.

(y/n).

A simple but pretty name for such an enigmatic woman.

Your scintillating hair, slim fingers with whetted nails, fibrous arms large enough for him to still wrap his arms around you, beauteous eyes filled with unexplained curiosity, and a mouth so sardonic and sly that it makes him weak in the knees.

Is that why he’s so hung up on you?

All while he’s deniably hung up on someone else, too?

A black cat passing by startles him, its body slipping itself between his legs, tail grazing on his covered knee before walking away.

“Where are you?” he mutters to himself, foot tapping impatiently.

Where are you mystery girl?

His senses unexpectedly halt him as he prepares to walk away, giving up for the day.

Peter spins around to see a series of hazy, invisible arrows pointing in a direction only he can see. He feels a shiver run down his spine, and with his senses heightened, he can sense...

Black Cat.

“Fucking minx,” he mutters to himself. “Can’t give me a damn break.”

she spreads her lovin’ all over

and when she gets home, there’s none left for me

Oddly, it was quiet.

With a clear view of the gallery below him, Spider-Man settles gently beside the skylight. It was three minutes until closing time, so the few visitors who remained began making their way to the exit.

His vigilant eyes were on the lookout for any indicators of suspicion in each person who approached the doors. To Peter's chagrin, though, he finds himself searching for Black Cat’s elegant swagger and sly manners, to which the guests devoid.

Sitting crossed-legged, he places his chin on his palm, his other hand toying with the spandex of his suit.

The gallery is comparatively small, featuring artworks from an artisan who’d organized this event, their intuitive mind and composition adorning the walls. It was a mix of photography and paintings, vicinities separated by colors of black-and-white or pastels, etcetera.  

There’s a painting of Atë beneath a spotlight, the Goddess you’ve mentioned when you first met him. He’s still unable to see her true beauty given the fact that the painting was meters away from him. But it reminds him of you, nonetheless.

Peter mulls about how he might possibly present one of his works in his own gallery, having the dexterity to pleasingly sketch a scene from his physical vicinity in his leisure times. But his reluctance draws him down the stage, defying his want of showing off his work in fear of censure and embarrassment.

In the cleft of all that self-doubt he hasn’t noticed the lights turn off and the door faintly slam itself shut, followed by a quiet lock of the key.

He sighs at the false alarm.

But his senses demand him to pay attention, directing him to take a seat and keenly inspect the gallery from above.

He recognizes the familiar leather silhouette emerging from one of the paintings as if on time; her mouseyer torques fragmented by her vivid silver tresses.

I fucking knew it.

His fingertips cling to the skylight's glass as he cautiously opens it, allowing him to slide inside and crawl on the ceiling, providing him a decent angle of her relocating towards the rear end of the gallery.

He notices the faint reflection of her crowbar, which appears to be nearly blunt due to how frequently she used it to strike him. Peter believed the crowbar was her weapon of choice for its versatility (opening safes, hitting him in the face, and whatnot), but the longer he saw her, the further he realized that the only reason she brought a crowbar with her was to deflect him from her honed nails.

So it always startled him when she clawed him rather than just knocking him out.

(The first time May saw the scratches, she smiled in joy when she thought Peter owned a cat.)

He'd also be lying if he said he wasn't astonished by her ability to get inside things and carve such a very precise circle with her nails.

His eyes never depart from her silhouette whilst he discreetly crawls on the ceiling. She's strutting as though she's on a runway perfecting her catwalk, flaunting her elegance like every model does with that stoic affirmation on their countenance.

Her crowbar drags itself on the ground, a silent scrape against the marble floors. Until the scraping halts, a deafening silence filling the room on her aftermath.

Black Cat stops underneath the spotlight, the center of his attention; the main attraction. She’s standing still, observing the painting beyond her with an expression he can’t see but desperately wishes he could.

She snuck all the way in to stare at a painting?

 “I know you’re there, Spider,” she calls out, voice taunting yet somehow it was also monotone. “We all know how you have FOMOW so obviously you’re here. Except you’re like, a narc.”

Beneath his mask, Peter rolls his eyes, unsticking himself to the ceiling until he lands on the floor unbruised, on his feet.

“Ha ha,” he says sarcastically, walking towards her.

Finally, he gets a better view of what she’s looking at:

It’s a tremendous painting of The Fallen Angel by Alexandre Cabanel. Peter’s heard mentions of this painting during his art classes back in high school, and often from his fellow classmates who’d had futilely attempted to recreate the painting.

He had never seen the artwork prior, but it renders him awestruck. It's the way every stroke of the brush unites the pigment flawlessly - allowing each clarity to be so vérité that it astonishes him - it's something he knows he'd never be capable of accomplishing, even if he wanted; unable to recreate the very same sentiment Lucifer conveys in this painting.

Unable to recreate the same anger, grief, vengeance.

“The Fallen Angel,” she says out loud.

“I know what it is,” he says softly. Though it was meant to be a snarky reply, his voice disobeys. “Is this the real one?”

She sighs deeply, almost exaggerated. “One and only.”

“How’d it get here?”

“The person who organized this event rented it, or I think she might have bought it,” Black Cat answers, hands behind her back.

“How’d you know all of this?”

“Because I know the person who organized this event,” she quips, finally looking at him.

It's not the first time he's seen her, and though his vehement and loathing for her is almost too inexplicable, her beauty is simply undeniable underneath her cruel masquerade. It causes him to hold his breath; causes him to lose a train of thought just to regain it a fraction of a second later.

Except this time there’s this new glint in her eyes.

Amalgamated with that mischief and paltry thievery was a miniscule gloss of endearment and unusual warmth.

It's almost as if she'd met someone and is now thinking about them.  He’s seen that look with Ned whenever they studied together, so he knows the look of stoic longing when he sees one. 

“Do you now?” he replies. “Does she know that you’re a thief who wears a cat costume without the tail and the ears?”

“Better than wearing a spandex without a cup over his crotch. Oh, shit, you don’t actually need one.”

“I’ll have you know that I have a very large penis,” he faces her, eyes seething in annoyance and he wishes she could see them so hopefully she’d be at least intimidated even just a sliver. “If my ex-girlfriends were here right now, they’d probably moan just at the sight of me.”

Black Cat snorts, lips splitting itself into an incredulous laugh that ends her guffawing as if he said the funniest joke in the world. “Did I murder your ego?”

“I’ll murder you, you fucking rat.”

She gasps. “I wonder what the people would say when they hear you say that.”

“You know, I’m surprised you waited for me before you stole this painting,” Peter crosses his arms. “Tired of playing cat and mouse, Cat?”

“Oh, I’m not stealing the painting.” She rolls her eyes. “Do I look like I can carry a painting that large? If I had a car, I would.” She drags her nail across his arm, circling him. He feels entrapped in her gaze, shrinking at her touch. “I steal only small things, Spider.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Small things have bigger value. Does that sound familiar?”

“What?”

“Do your girlfriends not say that when you have sex?”

Peter growls, irritated. “Big things have value, too.” He seethes. “Why don’t you go rob a jewelry store then, you annoying minx.”

“I don’t do those things because I want to, Spider.”

When her hand finally settles on his shoulder, his reflexes respond more quickly than he can think, usurping her leathery palm and whirling around to fiercely clasp her hand in his. The gesture was too intense to be regarded as some kind of a caring gesture. And he doesn't let go, instead peering down behind his mask at her glass-covered eyes.

She’s so close to him, chest touching each other so as to feel each other’s synchronized breathing. However, this doesn’t distract him nor divert his attention to their closed hands. Peter continues to stare through her eyes in search for any sign of treachery or an imminent asinine hoax.

But maybe it was essentially a bullshit excuse to dwell into her eyes for just a little longer than he usually did – to relish them for a little longer than he intended to.

“You do this because you have to?” he whispers, a caustic snarky tone. “Yeah, I’ve heard this speech a lot more times than you’ve rehearsed this in the back of your rascal mind.”

“I didn’t just become this callous for no reason, Spider,” she spits. “I knew your senses would bring you here for any sign of trouble. I wouldn’t have caused any if I knew you’d be coming; I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t need you.”

Trouble or not, I would have come if it was you.

The girl was trouble. But the problem was, trouble never had such an enticing smile and exhilarating insouciant eyes harboring those heinous crimes; troublenever drew him in, in fact, it affronted him. But Trouble never looked so goddamn tantalizing.

I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t need you.

What could she have possibly done that she needed him, of all people?

oh, take this veil from off my eyes

my burning sun, will someday, rise

“I have something you want,” she spoke so softly that it almost fooled him to think that they’re not in a middle of what he knows is a looming altercation.

“A peaceful life?” he asserts. “Because if you could give me that, I’ll leave you alone for the rest of our lives.”

He begins to feel something puncture his palm after his snide remark, penetrating into his epidermis until it reaches his flesh. He yells in pain, dropping Black Cat’s hand as he feels the blood permeate through his suit.

Peter hisses, looking up at her.

There's now a ring dangling from the periphery of her blood-stained nail, its band menacingly undulating. The emerald still breathtaking as to this day, just like her. 

As he feels the skin on his palm slowly mend itself, Peter carefully clenches his hand before glaring at her through his short eyelashes, chest heaving heavily in pure annoyance.

There she is – his angel; his flagitious angel standing upon him. Her hoary wings unfurled throughout the room to greet him with a wave. But the blood on her hand taints the sanctity of her mien, so when he looks back at her, darkness swiftly creeps throughout her luxurious wings, burning her primaries with her scathing mania for adulation.

And her eyes turn dark with hunger – for the chase, for the tension to snap, for his attention.

Peter’s snapped back into reality and the wings disappear, but she remains to be the sardonic fallen angel she is.

Blood is dripping on the marble floor. “Did you call me here to give me that ring?”

Black Cat shrugs, toying with the expensive ring. “Maybe. Maybe not.” She tilts her head sideway, tongue darting out to lick her lips. “I won’t tell you why. Not here, at least.”

When her eyes ever-so-quickly glance up at the CCTV, Peter freezes slightly. She picks up the crowbar from the ground, approaching him.

“That’s some neat trick, that sense of yours,” she whispers with narrowing eyes. The back of her forefinger desecrating the clean cut of Peter’s cheekbone. He lets her, enjoying the burning sensation of her touch.

When her hand reaches for the ends of his mask, his unbruised hand reaches out to clasp at her wrist, hauling it away. “Give me the ring, angel.”

Her pupils dilate slightly as she looks at him. It softens a tenth of a second later, when the bewilderment of his newfound nickname melds with it. Peter smirks when he realizes he’d caught her off-guard.

Angel. Because you’re my hellacious angel.

“What? Cat caught your tongue?” he satirizes, not letting go of her wrist. “You’re not the only flirt here, Cat. You going to give me the ring?”

Like a switch, she’s back to being cocky. “But where’s the fun in that?” she pouts. “If I give it to you, this little thing will end just as quickly as it started.”

He wishes she could see how he had rolled his eyes. “Please. We both know you’d have your claws on a new jewelry the next day.”

Nothing comes out of her mouth. Her cocky smile withers slightly, but her menacing stare remains. Peter's cynicism withers as well, instead more mystified by her lack of response.

Spider-Man catches the crowbar hurdling towards his face, not keeping his eyes off her. But she does, wringing herself out of his grasp to haul the crowbar back to her person.

She steps back with daring eyes and a playful smirk, gyrating her wrist to tinker with the crowbar. Her crisp, delicate nails gleam beneath the night sky, almost as though they've been coated in varnish to make them staggeringly bright.

“You want the ring, baby boy?” she sneers. “Play with me a little and maybe you might get it.”

If someone were to witness their bout, they'd assume Spider-Man's imprudent onslaught was perhaps too unfair on his adversary; they'd be worried that his towering stance would have frightened her and led her to lose immediately.

They’d be misunderstanding the situation because here she is, traipsing to him with no remorse whatsoever. Mien ebullient on the vastness of her desire to affright him; too rambunctious it almost makes her stupor.

It’s as if her eyes were The Gates of Hell, as Peter could see her irises burn with imprudence through dark eyes. And if he looked closely he swore her pupils had gone thin as a tendril, though keeping its diamond shape.

She’s aroused – aroused on grandeur.

Her crowbar collides with his arm. The impact barely hurts him – having to feel much more painful things land on his arm. Black Cat’s vacant hand attempts to claw at his stomach, but he’s quick to his feet to dodge it and knock the crowbar off her hands.

“Let’s play fair then, shall we?” he says deeply, clasping the crowbar from the ground before bending it in the middle.

Her mouth parts slightly – though unsure if it was because of the bent crowbar toppling to the ground, or how his muscles flexed beneath his suit.

“Alright,” she nods, smirking. “Suddenly treating me as an equal, huh? Finally occurred to you that women can fight just as good as men?”

When he says nothing, she runs towards him, claws enticing for a harsh bite of his scarred skin. Black Cat raises her fist, almost hitting his left cheek if it weren’t for his hand acting so quickly and turning her around.

Peter pulls her back to his chest. Learning from his mistake, his hand only holds the back of hers, the other slowly creeping on dip between the side of her ribcage and waist.

“Oh, I knew women can fight just as good as men do,” he whispers on her ear as she struggles to wry herself out of his tight grasp. Sharply, his hand reaches up to wrap itself around her neck, fingers gently pressing down so as to not choke her. “I just think it wasn’t fair for you to bring your crowbar around with your pretty nails, angel.”

There it was again. Angel.

Playing along, she feigns herself, pretending to melt into his grasp. “Well then you can’t use those annoying webs of yours.”

Her hand comes up to claw on his left webshooter, prying the material off his wrist. The action causes her to rip the spandex that covers his wrist to his whole hand.

Flexing his hand, Peter cranes his neck until he hears a small crack before she chases Black Cat, who began sprinting away.

She carelessly claws herself up until she reaches the same skylight he got into. Flinging himself to the roof, his feet clumsily land on the pavement before running again.

With the perfect view of your back, his delusions lead him to wonder aloud whether her hair had a sensibility of its own, lashing gracefully and curling in delight, like a cat's tail.

The chase feels familiar; a sense of déjà vu running through, he realizes he’s in the same situation he was a few nights ago when he tried to chase her down to claim the ring from her shrewd paws.

Except this time, just before she could jump off the roof, his right webshooter aims itself for her back, tugging her to his direction.

Peter sees her again, her hands stuck between their chest, his arm around her waist.

The sun had barely started to set. He can ascertain her features from the sunlight rather than the shadows, owing to the mellow glare of the sun's warmth..

He'd never realized angels had such sharp cheekbones – such defined attributes, as if she were a perfectly sculpted goddess in a museum. He had no idea how plump her lips were, nearly demanding for a kiss; never realized that her eyes were drowning in abundant moroseness.

But in that sea of sadness, there was a boat — it was her, paddling and pushing to keep herself alive. Because the sea was getting higher and higher, and with that tough determination to prove herself, she keeps on rowing and rowing and rowing.

The ring in her palm is long forgotten as he continues to stare at her beneath the soft light of the setting sun.

“I don't do these things because I want to, but because I have to,” she repeats, almost desperately. “I have a gun to the back of my head, Spider. There’s a man behind it ready to pull the trigger.”

There’s a tear threatening to spill on the fissure of her eyes, drowning itself in her internal pity and fear that masks itself as a stoic woman that has a job to do.

He softens. “Are they going to kill you if you don’t give them the ring?” he asks carefully. “Because if so, you can have it.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not it,” she replies, looking down to the ground. His hand carefully clasp itself on her joint hands. “I lured you away from the gallery because they could see you and I had – I had to let them think that you got away.”

Peter’s eyes narrow in confusion. “What?”

“Just analyze the clue,” she whispers. “Just figure it out. You’ll be able to see me again.”

“When can I see you again?”

Her expression said it all. It's all too familiar: the trepidation, the assumption, the desire for divulgence.

It reminds him of you, back before you left him. And for a split second, it felt like he was staring right into your eyes.

You.

Before he knows it, Peter lets you her go.

As she disappears, his mind wonders back to the painting behind him. What once was a clean yet devotional masterpiece was now tainted with her revenge. The longer he stared, the more he pondered whether she, like Lucifer, had been exiled and left isolated to languish in self-pity before she's seething with indignation, a hunger for buoyant self-worth and insurmountable power.

-

The next day, Peter returns to the gallery.

Artworks from the night before still remain in its place, as if no ruckus had occurred. The door was unlocked, allowing him to helplessly enter the gallery unforeseen.

As he saunters his way to the back, he sees that all too familiar hair swaying gracefully.

“(y/n),”

You turn around, taking his breath away.

You look just as beautiful as the day I met you.

Those few days he spent seeking for you ended just as suddenly as you vanished on him. And he hadn't expected to see you so soon after losing her. Again.

Sleepless nights devoted to saying sweet nothings to himself; full of charlatan vows that he'd seen you again. Perhaps this is what happens when you let fate continue its unabated job.

But...why isn't he as elated as he presumed to be upon your accession?

You’re here, in front of him, like he hastily wished every single night until now.

“Peter?” you call out incredulously. “Oh my god, what are you doing here?”

I chased a cat inside the gallery who tried to ruin the painting you were looking at and I’m trying to look for any signs of damage before people blame me again. “My – A friend of mine went here yesterday and they said I should come and visit.”

You nod, your hands sheepishly ribbing your cuticles. Your nails were no longer Stilettos (he'd never admit to anybody that he'd done extensive nail study). Instead, they were unpolished, exposing the chipped distal margins and gritty body. “That’s great,” you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “My – this is my art show.”

Peter gasps silently, his hands clenched to prevent himself from telling you about the previous night's events — that he'd been there, generating the commotion. “Really?”

Smart. Knows her mythology. Hella pretty and hella artistic. Can she get any hotter?

If he had known you longer, the painting of Atë underneath the bright spotlight that looked exactly like the one in the museum might have shown an essence of you to him.

It was like your own way of presenting the neglected goddess in the limelight, which not only you, but those who attended, could respect.

You should be in there, he wanted to tell you. Letting people admire your grace and indisputable elegance next to those pretty things.

Did you just call her a 'thing'?

What?! No! I was...complimenting her...

Objectifying a woman is not ‘complimenting' her. Aunt may taught you better than that!

What was I supposed to call her?

I dunno. Flower? Because when you see her your heart blooms like a flower?

“Yes!” you say excitedly. “It gave me the opportunity to show people what I created, y’know. A close friend of mine owned the studio and he, uh, let me borrow it for the day.”

“That’s cool,” he smiles. “Why are you staring at the painting?”

“My dad rented it for the day,” you say as nonchalant as you could, as if money were no problem. “And, uh, I think something’s wrong with it, and like I saw some grime on the floort” You scrunch your nose up. “Other than the fact that it’s tilted. But no one was here last night…”

Peter is smitten with the crinkles on your nose, and his adoration swiftly elevates him off the ground. But his perceptions quickly draw him back to the ground that had been spoiled by his blood the night prior, reminding him of his atrocities and his sudden ambivalence.

“What?” he chuckles wryly, watching you halt in your words.

“There’s a piece of paper,” you whisper, pointing at the corner of the painting. “You see that?”

Not once had he seen Black Cat slip in a piece of paper behind the painting. But right now, from your disclosure, he wonders if maybe he’d taken his eyes off her even just for a split second enough for her to slip it in.

Before he could reach out to claim it himself, you saunter your way toward the painting, plucking the piece of paper from behind.

Peter stands beside you, peering over your shoulder.

Written gracefully in perfect loops of cursive, was what could possibly be Black Cat’s handwriting on the torn piece of burnt parchment. Your hand carefully holds the delicate paper on the supple skin of your palm, holding it on the space between the two of you.

The eyes is no amity; unship the molarity, enured the evil.

“Just analyze the clue,”

Peter turns to face you, the same shock etched on his face. “Look. I don’t know if you know this, but Black Cat stormed in here last night.”

You almost drop the paper in your hand, looking up at him with an almost distraught look on your face. “What?”

He nods, vigorously, speaking before he could realize what he was saying. “Yeah. People saw Spider-Man and Black Cat come out from the skylight and they said they were like – chasing each other around.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he reiterates. “I think maybe this is a clue. For where we can catch her. Or like some clue she left for Spider-Man.”

“Don’t you think we should just call Spider-Man when we see him and tell him he’s got a clue to solve?”

“Trust me, we’d be doing him a favor. The guy may be strong and hot but he’s definitely lacking some-” his finger taps his temple thrice, exaggerating a shrug, “-up here.”

You pout. “That’s kind of true. I saw him swing straight into a wall.” His face flushes red in embarrassment. “Then maybe we should analyze the clue.” You say. “Just figure it out.”

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ༻✧༺

PART ONE; PART TWO; PART THREE

SUPPORT A WRITER AND REBLOG! (please)

[xzho-writes]

drunken shenanigans

pairings: zhongli x gn!reader

genre: fluff, a crackfic me thinks??

summary: zhongli knew he shouldn’t have left you alone with childe unsupervised. he also knew you could handle yourself, but snezhnayan fire water could test even the greatest of alcohol tolerances

wc: 543

warnings: mentions of alcohol, drunk reader

extra notes: it’s midnight and i’m delirious from sleep deprivation so pls forgive me for this brainrot. enjoy my word vomit-

you can find my masterlist here

“un… unhand me, you weird o-old geezer! i pack a nasty punch, i’ll have you... have you… know!”

“i’m afraid i can’t do that, my dear.”

a gasp escaped your burning throat. “don’t you dare call me ‘my deer’! can’t you see that i’m… what am i again… oh! perfectly human? is this how you treat… s-strangers? you’re so mean!” you’re wailing and throwing pitiful punches to his chest at this point, tears leaving glossy streaks in their wake. “it’s rude to call people animals!”

the poor man who currently had you in his arms could only sigh and shake his head in disbelief. zhongli hoisted you slightly higher to gain a better grip on your body and you gripped his tailcoat weakly for stability.

he ought to call you by a different pet name.

“who are you, anyway?”

“your beloved,” he muttered the next part under his breath, “and currently very concerned,” before clearing his throat. “husband.”

as if he had revealed that the world was about to end tomorrow you yanked your head back and away from its current position on his shoulder. zhongli had to readjust his arms so that you wouldn’t tumble out of them.

“my… husband?” you gawked. “we’re married? you and me? me and you?”

your genuine reaction made it difficult to keep the amused grin from spreading across his lips. “yes, my love.”

uncoordinated hands flew to your mouth dramatically before an exaggerated gasp left your lips. you were silent for a while so zhongli tilted his head down to look at you, not expecting the silence after you had been rambling at him for the past fifteen minutes.

when he saw you he found that you were already staring up at him with fascination glimmering in your eyes. he flashed you another of his signature smiles.

“you know what… you’re really pretty.”

“thank you, beloved. you’ve told me so multiple times.”

as much as you’d love to continue ranting your nonsense at him, a sudden wave of drowsiness hit you like a truck. content that he had accepted your compliment you let your heavy head fall back onto its previous home on zhongli’s shoulder. a soft thump echoed from your action.

zhongli let out a sigh of relief this time, glad that you had finally calmed down from your rampage. he affectionately nuzzled his nose into your hair and proceeded to nose against your soft cheek.

you reeked of alcohol, he noted. it was best to run you a bath as soon as the both of you got home. under his supervision, of course.

light puffs of breath fanning across zhongli’s neck told him that you had instantly passed out. as you snoozed comfortably, you subconsciously huddled yourself closer to his body- your face finding comfort in the junction where his shoulder met his neck.

the ex-archon chuckled to himself, happy that you sought him out even in sleep- and all was well.

until you woke up, that is.

“aren’t you that guy with the big, fat ass?”

…is that what you usually thought about?

zhongli was glad that nobody was out on the harbour that night to hear what came out of your drunken mouth, or see the flash of red staining his cheeks.

a cold glass of water would do you some good.

published on 04/03/22

[punemy-spotted]

The Price You Pay

Pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Non-con/Dub-con, mentions of murder, unclear timeline, blackmail, unprotected sex, fingering (F!receiving), smut, esoteric references to past abuse, manipulation, Dark!Fic

Words: 5.2k (holy fuck?)

Summary: You need his help. He names his price.

Notes: This is for @stargazingfangirl18 and her incredible 5K Soft!Dark Challenge and I can't believe I wrote over 5k words for a oneshot, making this the longest piece I've ever written. I took a blend of prompts: Mob!AU; “When I woke up this morning, I certainly didn’t think my day would end like this;” and “That’s a big favor you’re asking for, I think you need to make it worth my while.”

And this was intended to be a oneshot but now I can't stop thinking about it so thanks Siri, I think this is now a part of my WIPs too! Your work is amazing and I had a blast being able to take part in this!

As usual, my work is 18+ ONLY, Minors DO NOT INTERACT

You went to him first.

You went to him, handed them your business card and I want to speak to Steve Rogers.

Honestly they almost threw you out with an extra hole in your head but then the man of the hour walked right in.

So now you’re here. Now you’re here, sitting across a gorgeous dining table with a ten-course meal laid out and honestly you’re surprised they didn’t tie your wrists to the arms of the chair while you watch him eat and take in the look of those baby blue eyes scanning you over.

He even brought you non-alcoholic rosé, when you said you didn’t drink.

So.

So.

You wanted to talk to me?

Yeah, I do. Thought you’d just sit me in your office, have a consultation.

I like breaking bread with new friends. Have a nice dinner, get the wine flowing — of course, that’s not gonna loosen your tongue, but we’ll forgive it.

Oh. Cool, I like being forgiven.

He laughs at that one and the room, strumming with tension, snaps into amusement. So do you, cracking a half smile on dark red lips, before swallowing down the lump of anxiety threatening to break through and destroy everything. You need this. You need this and you can’t let anything — not your nervousness, not your morals, not him — stop you. You need this and it needs to be done and if this is what justice is in this fucking city then so be it.

Well, sweetness, you’ve got my attention. You want to talk business or pleasure?

That one makes you laugh, a little sharp and a little cruel, and the curling smirk on his face gets a little furrowed because he hears it too — pain.

It could be both, you say finally, picking up the glass of rosé-that-wasn’t, if your reputation is as real as they say it is.

He lifts a bite of cheesecake into his mouth and lets it melt on his tongue while he watches you, somewhere between impressed and incensed. You know the look — you saw it the last time he met you in court, but you weren’t there as allies then. Never thought you’d come to me, he admits finally, sounding halfway bemused at the idea, but you’re full of surprises, aren’t you, Counsel?

You wince, or maybe smirk, eyes on the man before you.

It’s a game, a dance, a ruse, and the woman you thought you were thirteen months ago when you put four of Steve Rogers’s best men in jail for fifteen years — fifteen years longer than any District Attorney had ever managed to do before you, and you were just the rookie they handed a shit case to — is leagues different from the woman you are now, seated prim and proper in the lion’s den.

You’re not innocent. That’s not been your game for years — this life doesn’t leave room for innocence, it tears at you, leaves you tired and broken and ill.

Your colleagues learned to fear him a long time ago, the man before you. Captain America, leading the city, the country, the world into a new era of high tech crime all under his thumb. It’s a pretty shiny shield, the one that sits behind him, but mirrors are black on the other side and his soul is dark as coal.

You’re not an angel yourself, and this deal with the Devil isn’t for anyone but you.

I need someone taken care of.

So you come to me? I thought you were a lady of morals, Counsel.

Certain kinds of morals.

You can see him smile, see the way he raises his glass, the glimmer of malice and amusement in his eyes. So tell me. What’s the name?

You give it.

He’s not in the city, your target, but he will be. A Judge, an activist, real tough-on-crime-sweet-on-justice type of shit. You don’t tell him the reasons why, because those are yours, but you tell him the name. You tell him he’s a problem, you tell him he’s dangerous, you tell him you’ll pay to have him taken care of, you tell him you don’t want to practice in front of that black, black robe.

And he smiles like the Devil he is, watches you with a grin and drinks his whiskey in one last shot before slamming it down, Real woman of the law, aren’t you?

You said that when we met the first time.

He’s a hunter, you can see it in his eyes. That lion’s mane might be tamed right now but it won’t be for long and you’re playing with wild animals. The eyes on you are ice and daggers, daring you to do the one thing everyone in the office has been begging you not to do.

(Drop the charges, Rookie, the case is just to get your face in front of the judge.)

You upped the charges.

(Rookie, you don’t know what you’re dealing with, there’s other cases.)

You subpoenaed his phone records.

(Rookie, don’t make me drag you off this case!)

You won.

You had no witnesses and a jury you had to drag in from god-knows-where after you proved, over and over again, that he’d paid off the cohort in the courtroom. Finding people with nothing to lose and a desire to do their civic duty wasn’t harder than you thought — it was exactly as impossible as you expected.

But you did it.

That’s what you do, isn’t it? Push and push and fight, claw your fingers at the ledge and pull yourself up, you pay for your crimes in your blood, sweat and tears you pay for the things you could have done then and didn’tdo.

You pay.

And sometimes, that payment bounces back.

And when it was all said and done, when the closing statements were delivered, when the Jury came back out and the Judge — hands shaking, mouth agape, eyes wide — read out the verdict no one expected, you… didn’t feel any better, did you? There was no justice for you in that room, just the searing glare of ice-blue eyes and the burning of your steel spine.

Real woman of the law, aren’t you?

First words he said to you, while the courtroom emptied out and you stood there, facing the man you’d just made an enemy of with your briefcase in your hand and your eyes aflame.

I did my job.

Did you? Is that what you think your job is?

My job is justice, unflinching and blind, Mr. Rogers. I don’t care how much power you have or how afraid you leave this city, I’m going to do my job.

You could always let justice turn a blind eye.

Yeah. I could, but that wouldn’t make this any fun, would it? Thank you for the win, Mr. Rogers — I’m sure I won’t get many more.

You leave him with a smile on his face and the scent of your perfume in his memories.

He leaves you with the pride of victory in your bones and a reminder that your strife could be worth it.

One day.

How do you plan to fill that pit, the one you tossed the corpses of your old self into? The one you let them claw up out of, to haunt you? Remind you?

You’re digging your own grave and you know it, but you won’t let Steven Grant Rogers be the first one to toss a handful of dirt over your corpse.

But now here you are.

In his dining room, enjoying dessert and some sort of after-meal coffee. In need of him…

This might almost have been a date, if not for the topic of conversation.

So. You want a Judge taken out. What if he’s already on my payroll?

Why would you keep a dead man in your pocket?

You like the sound of his laugh, and you don’t even have the excuse of wine to fall back on when it warms your core. Don’t admit it though, don’t say it aloud, don’t let him get an in. Be smart, cross your legs tighter, keep your eyes on the prize.

You’re so close to the finish line.

That’s a big favor you’re asking for, Counsel, I think you need to make it worth my while.

Worth your while?

I’m not a charity. And since you put the guy I usually use to handle these things behind bars for a few years—

You know I can get him out too.

That’s not payment, that’s putting things right.

You take a drink. Steady on, girl.

I’m leaving the DA’s office.

That stops him.

Oh that stops him good, and he looks fascinated. Interested. You’ve said something he can use as leverage and it’s not just about a job. That smirk on his face is smug and his eyes are darker and he has to know the impact that look has.

Can’t falter, don’t falter, don’t give in.

Am I allowed to ask why?

No.

You’ve done your research. You just don’t know why you’re thinking about it now. Steven Grant Rogers, “Captain America,” leader of a crime family that had too many names to stamp out, bolstered by a mad scientist, a military man through-and-through who turned New York into his own private base against whatever stood against his way.

Get in his good graces and you’re set for life. Get in his good graces and you’re safe, you’re protected, you’re good.

Get on his bad side and you only make that mistake once.

There are no second chances in this game, and here you are, asking for one.

So what? You leave the DA’s office, you leave yourself open to me — you think leaving New York is going to be the thing that stops me, Counsel?

No.

Then what?

Breathe. Steady.

I know you gave me that win on purpose — you could have taken out my last jury cohort. This isn’t about the four men… and you know I’ll get them out. This is something else, but I’m not here to ask about what or why.

He falters just briefly, like he’s surprised you knew, but the crack in his mask smooths itself over as soon as it forms and he’s back to watching you, nodding along in silence while you breathe and watch him and keep talking.

But even then. I got four of your guys in prison. And I know how your organization works — I subpoenaed the documents, remember? Your lawyers are good, but they’re not used to people asking the right questions. You want someone to seal up the cracks you need someone who actually knows what to look for.

You have more than his attention, you have his interest, and now he’s leaning in a little. Imperceptibly, but enough. Scanning over you from across the table, like he’s thinking how you managed to get so impertinent in the face of the likes of him but that’s the thing — when the only thing you have left to lose is your life, you’ll risk everything.

So what are you offering?

Breathe. Don’t. Stammer.

Myself.

The chair scrapes and suddenly there’s the clicking of guns, aimed and ready until his hand rises up and he stops them and he’s stalking towards you.

This is the lion’s den, sweetness.

The stakes are higher and you ought to be braver and he’s got your chin in his hand before you have a chance to react, dragging you to your feet. Do you know what you’re offering me, Counsel? Low and hissed and hungry, like those perfect teeth might be sinking into your throat in the next moment.

Oh, you have no idea.

You get me. On your payroll — you know. The offer you sent me a year ago.

You think it’s still open?

If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t have met with me.

The chuckle in your face makes your cheeks warm and you’re looking more flushed than you would like, the open shoulders of your dress suddenly feeling a lot more like a mistake the more you realize just what kind of meal he might make out of you tonight.

We might need to have a discussion about your workplace duties, Counsel.

You don’t notice the hand near your thigh until it’s too late, sliding up the soft fabric of your skirt until it’s squeezing your ass, until it’s jerking you towards him, until you’re pressed against his chest and the hand on your chin is now hooked around the back of your neck, thumb pushing your jaw until you’re forced to look at him. Won’t lie, when I woke up this morning, I certainly didn’t think my day would end like this, having your pretty little body in my arms,and you can look as indignant as you want but he’s got the upper hand and you only thought you were two steps ahead of him.

You think I haven’t thought about what it’d be like to put you in your place, Counsel? You’ve got a smart mouth — I wanna know what else it can do.

He doesn’t give you a chance to use that mouth to lash at him, lips sliding over yours, swallowing that indignant yelp with a punishing kiss. Nipping at the plushness of your lower lip until you open your mouth and yield to him with a sigh of reluctant surrender, let his tongue slide past that barrier for him to explore. He’s got his fingers wound through your hair, just a little too tight and whether the whimper in your chest is because of the pain or because of the want, he doesn’t care.

Knew you’d be sweet, Counsel… softly, when he pulls back to look at you, take a look at those love-swollen lips and your ruined lipstick, the pretty way you pant at him already, the heat burning your cheeks. Pay no attention to the slick warmth between your thighs, pay no attention to the way he makes you burn already, pay no attention to how your fingers have curled into the lapel of his coat to hold yourself steady, pay no attention to how you suddenly miss the pressure of his lips.

All that smart-talk and now you’re quiet, Counsel? F’I knew it just took a kiss to get you to shut up, I would’ve done that at trial, he’s purring in your ear, soft and sweet and you should push at his chest, so uncurl your fingers girl and push.

I didn’t say I was selling my body, there’s your harshness, and there he is, laughing at you again, the grip on your hair jerking your head back until you’re looking into those dagger-cold eyes again.

You don’t make the rules here, Counsel, I do, and you need me more than I need you. So if you want to make sure your Judge can’t start wreaking havoc on your career… you might want to get used to readjusting it for me. I promise I’ll make you feel nice, if you let me…

And if I don’t?

Then I take what I want and I don’t feel bad for not holding up my end of the bargain. Your choice, Counsel, you cum willingly and I’ll give you everything you want. Don’t, and it’ll hurt you more than it hurts me.

That’s not a threat, that’s a promise, and suddenly you’re more scared than you ever thought you’d be, wondering if you’ll need to sell another part of your soul to take him down after. How much of yourself will you put up as collateral to get justice for the wrongs you were never able to correct?

You’re afraid.

Oh sweetness, you’re afraid.

Here? Now?

No, Counsel, we’re gonna do this right, aren’t we? You wanna be in bed with me, I’ll take you to bed with me. Come on, say it. Say the word.

Say no. Say no, rail and fight, stamp your heels into the expensive leather of his shoes, jam your knee into the sensitive between his legs, scream and yell and tell him you will never let another man take advantage of you again to help you reach your goals. Do it. Do the thing you swore you would do the next time a man like him — men who think they can take anything from anyone, men who think they own the world and the women in it, men who think you aren’t strong enough to fight back — propositioned you just like this.

You’re selling your soul to get rid of a man just like this.

But that’s coiling heat in your core that wasn’t there the last time, was it? That’s want. That’s the realization that you like the way this predatory smile feels, that you like the way this one wants you. You’re not her, not scared and alone and helpless. You could fight back and run and maybe escape if you were lucky.

You could choose.

He’s let go of your hair to stroke your cheek with the backs of his fingers, soft and sweet, You gonna give me an answer, Counsel, or am I gonna have to take it?

Say something. Say no. Scream. Say no say no say no say— Yes.

It’s a whisper. A desperate, soft whisper. A helpless, lonely whisper. It’s enough.

He sweeps you around until you’re pressed with your back against his unyielding chest, feeling him flex with every movement, broad arm wrapped around your shoulders from the front. All of you are dismissed, and that’s when you remember there were others in the room with you. Others who just watched you concede to becoming Captain America’s newest plaything and the burn on your cheeks is more shame than lust. You pull at his arm briefly, futilely, earning a tighter hold for your efforts and a whispered don’t make me choke you, before you are half-walked, half-dragged out of the dining room.

The walk to his room is slow and agonizing as you’re pulled along, barely struggling but barely helping at the same time, tears sliding down your cheeks as you come to terms with what’s going to happen next — no one is going to save you tonight, no one’s going to interrupt and drag you out, this is your job and this is your place and here you are.

No one speaks. There’s no sound but the steady tap of your heels and his shoes on fine marble. Even your sobs are silent, even your breathing is muffled, until the stairs are traversed and the faintest click of a lock turning opens the door to the rest of your life.

You made a deal.

Time to pay.

Sit on the bed.

You move as if in a trance, and he watches your face, the hint of waterproof mascara failing to do its job, the smudged ruby red of your lipstick. Don’t give me that look, you knew what you were signing up for when you walked into this house, Counsel.

His hands are gentler than you’d expect, when he wipes away the streaks your tears leave down your pretty cheeks, coaxing you to look up at him, We’ll set ground rules later. Tonight? I wanna see if I can get that mouth of yours to beg for me.

It won’t, you snap without thinking, knifeblade sharp and cruel, ready for a fight again. He promised you that once, in a hiss you thought you’d misheard but no, you heard him just fine and now if he thinks he can quench your fire and have you pleading just because you sold your body for the prospect of revenge then he’s wrong.

Thing is, he laughs like that’s a challenge, and the hand holding your chin so gently is wrapped around your throat before you know it, silencing your voice with just the right application of pressure. I can do this all night, Counsel. Do you think you can last that long?

Fear. Anger. Indignation. You are fury made flesh and he is manipulating you with just the barest press of his palm and sliding over you, until you’re laid out there on soft sheets and he’s looming over you, splaying that big hand out and sliding it down your throat, over your chest, feeling the ruching of the fabric under his palm. You wrapped yourself up like a present for me, didn’t you sweetness?

The change in nickname isn’t lost on you but here you are, glaring up at him while he smiles so beatifically it leaves your blood boiling and your skin steadily warming. The rise and fall of your chest is hypnotic, every angry breath a swear you don’t utter, every inhale your protests dying in your throat. What can you say, what would you say, right now? There’s nothing that can change the way he looks at you, or the way his eyes flicker from ice to blue fire the more he takes stock of the pretty little thing he’s about to start sharing his bed with.

Fuck, you’re beautiful, that one shocks you, but not as much as the sudden rush of cold air when he tears the emerald green fabric of your dress down and reveals the soft swells of your breasts, nipples peaked from the sudden cold.

You don’t get much time to gasp, just something soft and strangled before he turns your voice to whimpers, wrapping lips around that pebbled tip and laving his tongue over sensitive flesh. Where are your words now, Counsel, while he threatens the softness of your chest with the scrape of his teeth, when he slides his hands over the round curve of your thighs and parts your legs so he can press himself between them, so he can press himselfagainst you? Where is the knife-dagger of your wit to protest each soft, suckling kiss to your skin, each press of his fingers like he could just squeeze his ownership of you into the plushness of your hips, into the sweet swell of your ass? What do you say to the dirty little thrust of his hips as he bucks with his own burning need, reminding you just how much this is for hispleasure as he will make it for yours.

You would, could, should push him off and instead what are you doing? Curling your fingers into the silk-smooth of his comforter, desperate to writhe out of your own skin away from the burning pressure between your thighs, the foreign, unfamiliar heat you suddenly feel like you might be craving.

Anyone ever touch you like this before me, Counsel?Warm breath splays across your skin when he questions you, eyes fixed on yours and he waits. Answer him, answer him, tell him he’s nothing, tell him you’ve had better, lie and destroy that ego, lie lie lie lie—

Nnnh—no.

He looks like you’ve just told him the best news of his life, eyes wide and blown with lust, Oh is that right? You’re saying no one’s ever touched you this good? Or just no one’s ever touched you at all?

You don’t have to answer. The furious blush on your cheeks? The way your eyes slide away from his? The way you writhe, trying to press your thighs together to relieve the pressure and finding the effort futile? If the man’s grin could get any wider, it would, right now. Oh sweetness, we’re going to have so much fun exploring your body together…

He pulls back just enough to take a look at you, already flushed and writhing and overwhelmed and if he could take a picture of this right now he would. He’ll save that for later though. Tonight? Tonight is just the two of you, and his hands are back to your skirt, pushing the tight fabric up over your round hips and revealing the lace of your panties… just before he rips them off, to the sound of your indignant yelp Steve!

You’re going to call me Captain, sweetness, we’re not close enough to use my name just yet.

No. No you’re not, and he’s not sure you’ll ever be — he rather likes the idea of hearing you whimper out his title when he gets you desperate and wanting.

He touches, slow and steady, watching you try to jerk away and tutting at you when you do, fingers at your delicate nerves like an assault on your pleasure. Bite your lip, bite back the moans, whine at him like he’s wounded you, You’re so wet, sweetness, you’re so desperate for me aren’t you, as he palms his cock to relieve the pressure on himself. You’re going to beg before he does and he’s patient, he’ll last the night.

St-stop it, it’s too— he shushes you ahtahtaht and rests his free hand on your mound, holding you down so his probing, inspecting fingers can take stock of the velveteen plushness of your delicate cunt. It’s too much, too much and you want to scream the moment he presses one finger into you, already overwhelmed, already so tightly wound the barest touches are unraveling you steadily.

You’re such a pretty thing, all desperate and needy, sweetness. You wanna cum already, don’t you? So busy, never gave anyone the chance to fuck that stuck-up bitch right out of you, did they? It’s almost pitying, isn’t it, the way he talks, hums at you while you’re reduced to a whining, whimpering mess so soon, so desperate for the release he’s on the edge of denying you, feeling you flexing around his finger and then the second leaping jolt of your body when another joins the inspection. Taking careful stock of the pretty cunt he owns now, and he’s careful to curl his fingers just right as he seeks the spot to hammer just to get you to scream.

You don’t, not yet, but that’s okay too, because he sees the way you take desperate hold of the sheets, the way your eyes roll backwards just slightly, the way you strain against his heavy hand to arch your back. Gotta tell you, sweetness, I imagined you under me a thousand and one ways but this one, right now? Tops the list. You ready to beg for me?

Do it. Do it and end your pleasurable torment. Do it and be released from the pressure, the coiling want. Surrender to him. Let him have you.

The white hot rush of your orgasm is not unexpected to him, his curling, cruel fingers having found the sweetness of your g-spot, but — you, too busy climbing the ranks to think of your own pleasure, too busy demanding your due from an unjust world explore your own warmth beyond that of a memory of a college hookup you would rather forget — you left breathless and wanton in the heat of the explosion he draws out of you, mewling something desperate and pleading against your own will and the song of it fills his ears like it’s all he’s ever wanted. There it is, and I thought we’d be here all night. A thumb flickers over the nerves at your entrance and you practically jump, something between a yelp and a moan escaping your lips.

First one’s just a treat, sweetness. Now on, you cum when I say you do, understand?

You nod.

Oh you nod, and you are lost, here and now. Sensitive and broken and there is so little of that steel spine here, writhing in his sheets and ohyou don’t know the things you do to him.

Think you can go again, sweetness? He’s purring, smug, twisting fingers stretching you slowly, muttering under his breath about how fucking tight you are around his fingers, how good you’re going to feel for him, and the smugness on his face is slowly fading into a dark consternation, brows furrowed like he’s somehow angry at you for being plush and delicate and fuckable.

You’re almost begging him to stop, and yet the pressure is building again, the twisting, coiling heat that leaves you breathless and mewling and he looks like he might be trying to immortalize this moment forever. Say it, sweetness. Say you need me. Beg me for my cock.

That’s it.

That’s what you need to, you need to beg, you need to give in. No more fighting, no more arguing no more —

Please…

Please what, sweetness, come on now. You got a way with words. The snarl is so barely contained.

Please, Captain, please just…

What do you need, sweetness? The fingers are relentless, the buzz in your nerves is overwhelming, you can barely even hear yourself talk, much less him.

Please just fuck me, Captain, I need your cock! It’s hurried and it’s crude and it’s desperate and it’s exactly what he wants as just another wall crumbles and you fall off your pedestal right into his arms.

He’s barely able to resist the buck of his hips, the need to be inside you, the knowledge that you are soft and velvet and you could be all over his senses just like this.

When did he free his cock? You don’t know, you just know it’s practically salvation when he sinks into you, when he fills you like you’ve been desperate for and Oh sweetness…pours from his lips just as you hiss out something like praise right back at him.

You’re so full and he’s so gentle, at first, like you’re made of crystal in his arms, like the slow shifting of his hips might have you shattering underneath him if he’s not careful. Cradling you, even, sliding your legs around his narrow hips as he leans in and takes a hungry kiss from your wanting, whimpering mouth.

Love this look on you, all wrapped around me, whispered low and slow into your ear, sweetness you have no idea how good you look…

Melt into those compliments, melt into him, because the way he’s holding you is divine and you can feel him so deep in you it’s making your head spin. When did your arms end up around him? When did you start clinging to him like an anchor, start winding your fingers through his hair, start leaving the marks of your nails on his back to the sound of his own needy groaning?

He noses your cheek and leaves a mark of ownership on your neck with hungry lips, knowing you’ll bruise a beautiful flower right over your pulsebeat and continuing the steady assault on your nerves, cunt-first.

Harder. Faster. More.

And oh, sweetness, you do shatter.

You shatter all around him, you shatter into something divine and rapturous, full of him and filled with him and he cums so deep inside you as you do, still fucking you through your joined climax, hips rutting and breath hitching and nearly furious at you for the way his vision whites out too, the way he feels like he can Never get enough and so he hisses that at you like an accusation while his thoughts reorient back to reality, back to smugness, back to the control you took from him while he tried to strip you of yours.

In the end, as he pulls away from you and sinks to the side of you, watching your sweet expression as you return to the reality of your new situation, he is satisfied… thoroughly.

Oh yeah, I think we can make this a working relationship, Counsel.

[bora-in-tamriel]

Current lineup of my Elden Ring Tarnished and others!

Felt like writing about them and I’m quite happy with how I got all their faces to look SO here we are vvv kind of storyline/kind of fun facts layout

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Lancer and Eleina, Age of the New Order

- After Eleina lost her physical body to Mohg’s plotting, she continued her duty as a formless maiden. She found Lancer, who was a lowly Numen Tarnished and saw a glimmer of potential. A flame in need of fuel, to shape a man able to become Lord. - Lancer was plagued by Margit and had experienced his wrath on numerous occasions in various ways, but after Eleina joined him and he became the vessel to her spirit, he found himself more resistant to his Holy attacks and got a boost in confidence. - Though of course, he perished countless times by Margit’s hand regardless, but Eleina was always there to pick him up. Eventually she became more attuned with her own capabilities, and laid a shackling incantation upon Margit, allowing Lancer to claim victory and pass through Stormveil Castle. - Fun fact: Lancer is terrified of Heights and in an attempt to discourage the Tarnished from returning, Margit threw him off the bridge countless times. While it didn’t stop Lancer from returning, it sure did dampen his spirits a great amount as well as made him develop an even more negative outlook on the Omen. - Margit’s doings would later come bite him, when he was shackled once more in his pursuit after Lancer beneath Leyndell Capitol. The Sewers were still partly functioning in the chamber they were in and the water was quickly rising. Stricken with his own fear of drowning, Margit was in great distress, until Eleina made the choice to release him. This gave Margit a slightly different view of Lancer, unaware of Eleina's presence. This was until Lancer openly admitted, that he would have most likely left him in the waters in a way to return his unkindness. - I could og on and on but I got other guys to write about but always down to write more if there's something ppl wanna know :)c

Enver, Consort Eternal (He used to be called Lachlan like my other oc but I made Lancer, so ,, too similar)

- Enver was an experienced warrior, wandering through the lands between with little desire to follow the grace shown to him. He never approached the Fingers, pledged no loyalty to any entity, higher force or man. - Yulija used to be a traveling companion to him, until the two became like night and day and went their own ways. - The only grace-lead thing he did, was defeat Rennala for her rune, but was quickly met with Ranni in the aftermath. He became fascinated with the Full Moon Witch and entered under another’s servitude for the first time.  - Finding something curious about the lot, he remained under Ranni's service for a time, to see what he would find. In time, he found something he'd never quite imagined he'd enjoy having. Friends. Of some kind at least. - Iji was neutral to him, friendly as he was in turn. He enjoyed Blaidd's company, though pitied his position as Ranni's shadow the further his servitude to Ranni went. Seluvis was fascinating, amusing, annoying all the same. He found himself mostly bothering the Perceptor when Ranni was slumbering or Blaidd was away. Seluvis couldn't say he enjoyed his company, but he didn't shoo him away once he proved his usefulness. - Enver is definitely the type to enjoy deceiving others and playing cards others like to see on the table. This is how he found so much about Seluvis and how Iji was more open about Blaidd and Ranni. - Though he himself can be seen as a deceitful manipulator, in the end he was loyal to Rani until the end. Even when Blaidd laid bloody at the tip of his blade. - Aside from his time with Ranni's lot, he was the one who originally trained young Terriani to fight. She followed him like a stray and watched his battles from afar as a child, until he left her behind to pursue his own journey, growing itred of mentoring. - Enver takes no guilt or responsibility when Terriani pursued the Throne to burn the Lands Between, but did do the courtesy to Lancer to warn him about Terriani's greed to slay Tarnished for their Great Runes.

Rogan, The Lord of the Fell Curse

- A rather cruel, carefree old man. No qualms with hunting his own kind, no troubles when others do bad things. He just kills and lives his life in the Lands Between as a dark shadow in the night.  - Met Blackguard one day and was greatly amused by his attitude, so he bought his prawn. Surprisingly to Rogan, he became a lot nicer after that. To an extent, since Rogan had been a bit of a dark mystery to him, but he wasn't a dickhead anymore, so it was an improvement.  - Blackguard was the first who Rogan really stuck around and spoke to. He was so casual, just doing his own thing. Rogan found it was easy to just sit and exist around him.  - They kees-- - The Dung Eater comes into the picture when Rogan finds a Seedbed Curse and through it, gains the wretched pox. His resistance to it caught the Dung Eater's eye and drew Rogan to do sinister things.  - At first he resisted, held back by the faintest smallest tie to another being.  - After the Dung Eater killed Blackguard, Rogan had nothing holding him back. (In a world where Lancer/Eleina/Terriani don't exist) He released the pox, the curse upon the world in his fury, when he claimed the throne to be lord. Had he never met Blackguard, he may have done all of it for his own amusement, but his ambitions were overtaken by anger.

Yulija (yes named/made after my elder scrolls gal)

- Noth much about her, I put like 20 hours into her lol she was my first gal but I still like her and want to develop her more. - more tba eventually, but she follows along with Lord of Stormveil quest I think, helps Nepheli Loux and becomes her friend and warrior in arms?

at last, the favorite girlie,,

Terriani, Lord of Frenzied Flame

- Raised by an unknown Nomadic Merchant for most her youth, before she wandered off with a strong warrior (Enver). Always fascinated with sword fighting and being a warrior of great renown. - Enver didn’t care for her, she was on her own, but in turn for surviving, she saw him fight and even was taught a bit by the older warrior.  - She became a great swordswoman in her youth and while her skills were quickly honed and her passion to fight was emboldened, she also grew darker as years passed.  - Terriani was the one who received Torrent from Melina and first promised to help her reach the Capital.  - (in her original story, still fiddling w this) She met Eleina (while she was taking her own form on Lancer) and fell in love with the woman. But Eleina (and Lancer) were not returning these feelings and prioritized leaving for Leyndell by themselves rather than following Terriani in her journey.  - Terriani had never been in love and had never felt so jealous, so in need of someone, so Eleina leaving her was the second major negative event for her.  First being Enver leaving her behind.  - She felt alone, hurt by other people’s drives to follow different paths. Eleina being taken away by the drive of grace is what pushed Terriani to find a way to stop what was in motion. This is when the Three Fingers beckoned for her.  - Melina left her company as well, when she reached the doors to the Frenzied Flame and left to find a new Tarnished to help her stop Terriani. First asking Enver, but he wasn’t interested, following Ranni down a path where Terriani’s doings would not affect him. After him, Melina approached Eleina and Lancer, who were later warned by Enver as well, when Terriani slew Radahn at the festival. This is where Enver saw how powerful, yet dark Terriani had become.  - Terriani pursued all Tarnished, especially Shardbearers, which included Enver, until he got rid of his Great Rune, giving it to Lancer.  - Terriani obtained Mohg’s rune, but was just a hair away from killing him, due to one of his servants fighting her into a standstill in his palace. She left with what she came for, though the servant, soon to become Mohg’s Champion, pursued her for a time.  - Terriani was heading for Malenia, but to her annoyance, Lancer beat her to it. Malenia would have been Terriani’s proof of her skill, but instead she made Lancer her target for this purpose. If he was a match for Malenia, Terriani wanted to be the one to kill him.  Fun facts! - Terriani has died only twice. Once when she was a young girl and accidentally faced off with a Runebear and once in her adulthood when fighting against Lancer. The former showed her she was blessed by grace and held the gift to second chance. This was the grace’s mistake.  - Lancer has died the most out of all my characters. He was a terrible fighter and met his doom by Margit’s hand the most, later by Morgott’s as well. The two had an Enemies to Lovers moment fr.  - Morgott didn’t know Eleina was in Lancer and when he found out, he was ridden with guilt and frustration over what he’d done to her vessel and in turn, to her. - The merchant who raised Terriani never got to see what she became, as he was slain by Nomad Hunter. (A misc character, who slays merchants) For all he knew, she became the best swordswoman like she always wanted to be. I’ll just keep writing unless I stop myself, so I’ll pause here but I am, always, very much open to talking more about them :)c might not have thought of something until you guys ask about it