#likemosaic

[nightingeal]

📩 @likemosaic sent: that was a little bit excessive. from vik! – prompt.

ellie can't bring herself to meet viktor's gaze, can't even look at him. if he had been wrong, she would have lashed out, letting the irrationality that had seized control turn on viktor now, excessive too close to too much, not usually something viktor aimed at her, one of many insecurities kept bolted away in her chest. but his comment was warranted, and the momentary relief that came from spitting words in jayce's direction disappeared in the wake of shame. the nurse knew that she'd overreacted, and that he'd have to find jayce later and apologise in earnest for her actions. whether or not jayce was forsaking viktor wasn't her call to make, nor was it justification for the sharpness of her tone and words, and both elinor and viktor knew that no matter how protective she was, her temporary vitriol had come from another place entirely.

"i'll find him later." she didn't mean for it to come out as clipped as it did, focusing on reigning everything in; plasticine-emotive expressions focusing on keep his jaw set, lest viktor see more than the performance she'd just displayed, in case he was judging her right now. the thought almost brought her to tears. "to apologise, i mean." 

[windcovet]

@likemosaic — for viktor. the acoustics of piltover’s council chambers are nothing short of exquisite. whispers can carry from yards away, which jayce imagines was much the intent in its construction. however, when vacant of occupants, it’s as if you could hear the dust settle in the air, dancing in the warm rays of the rising sun. it makes for a very effective working environment. typically, jayce can be found readying himself for his day of councilor duties at home. his mutual apartment with viktor has plenty of space for either of them to work— separately or in tandem—however... as of late, viktor has needed more quality rest than usual. uninterrupted. as such, jayce has taken it upon himself to gather up his notes and work from here, his council chair—leaving no possible risk of disturbing his ailing roommate. his love. awash with the gentle morning glow, jayce is steadily working through the stack of manifests and reports from the previous day’s work. his quill has a satisfying rhythm to it, each stroke purposed and succinct. it's interrupted by the sound of a humming noise coming from the entrance. the elevator. a visitor. as quickly as he’d paused, he resumes his work, gaze downcast. he’s expecting marcus again. perhaps an update on the on-going blockage, or—ideally—the firelights. maybe it's mel. though, is it typically she who calls upon him, not the other way around. regardless, he awaits their approach as the elevator sounds. ding! a middling, conversational volume, assured there's no need to project his voice here of all places. "good morning." he says, expression pleasant, but visibly focused.

[etruatcaelum]

[ @likemosaic | coco // salem ]

Darkness falls before Salem gathers the will to ascend from the subterranean chambers again, leaving Cinder to her fitful and feverish rest. She isn’t certain how long, from mid-morning to the night or whether days might have spilled unnoticed through her fingers while she worked, but the hour must be late enough for even Arthur to have gone to bed. The house is still and almost, almost all asleep.

Save one among her three new… guests. They crowd close to each other in the north gallery: two auras tense but dimmed by slumber and a third scratching fear into the walls. Salem pauses at the top of the stairs with half a mind to wake—Hazel, she supposes, is the one she’d expect to have taken the initiative—to express her displeasure. But practical consideration overrules that small impulse to be petty, and she sets off to the gallery herself.

Cinder had asked to take on an apprentice. One. Perhaps Salem should have clarified that her forbearance wasn’t an open invitation for Cinder to begin collecting, but… well. There is nothing to be done about it now.

She walks the pitch-dark halls in absolute silence, footsteps unerring—even the vestigial habit of discomfort in blindness has long since decayed from her—but her mind still wandering the caverns below. (Silver eyes. Tension passes over her in a wave, hands clenching and unclenching with impotent rage. Guarding his fortress with ever-younger children–)

Enough. What’s done is done.

Jaw tight, Salem prowls into the gallery. Moonlight bleeds through the high windows, stained in bruised and sanguine hues by the colored glass; Cinder’s little accomplices have taken shelter in one of the shadowed alcoves beneath the windows. Terror scabs over the old stones, thorny.

Her lips thin. She folds her arms behind her back as she scrutinizes the rigid lines of the girl’s posture, the two sleeping forms huddled in deeper shadow behind her. “There are,” Salem says at last, flatly, “bedrooms in my house, you realize.”

[nectaric]

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?” / i dont write emerald but this is an emerald mercury prompt :thumbsup:

"funny shit is worth holding onto, em." the tone was light, teasing, even if the words were spoken with a weight mercury could not explain. two weeks had passed since their happy reunion - if one could call that near-disaster a happy one. two weeks since mercury fought tooth and nail to shake tyrian. two weeks since he, for better or for worse, ended up on the same side as team fucking rwby and all their colourful companions, even if it was only on paper.

two weeks together again, scared shitless but free. and if mercury had to let emerald go for one second, he was going to lose his mind.

so he could reminisce. he could crack jokes about the good ol' days that weren't so good, and grin back at emerald as she berated him for his teasing. he could do that, because it felt right, and because it was what emerald needed.

( maybe he needed it, too. )

"it was a pretty massive fuck-up. you're just lucky ci-" mercury froze, catching himself. "you're lucky i was the only one who saw it."

[wintereign]

If Weiss had it her way, she wouldn't even be here. The Charity Galas that her father made her attend were nothing but a gimmick. A way to maintain appearances and shut down any negative rumors that were being spread about him (he would find a way to manipulate the narrative to look like the good guy). He didn't care about the charities they were about. As long as he made money off of the patrons who attended, no one's the wiser.

She stood in her usual spot, next to her father as he chatted to several high society members about recent events. Weiss tuned them out for the most part, inwardly rolling her eyes at anything Jacques Schnee had to say to make it about him. Glacial hues wondered the manor in hopes for a familiar face. But none of her friends were high class, in fact, he's actively shown his displeasure in her choice of friends. Claiming she could do better and have tried multiple times to introduce her to the children of his friends, which never resulted in anything good.

Weiss couldn't care less about make up, which hot celebrity was in the next fashion magazine. So those girls never returned for a second visit. Truthfully, she's missed her friends. The fact that they don't care about any of this stuff.

An inaudible sigh escaped parted lips as she began to drift away from her father, their conversation when a hand gripped her wrist, pulling her back in place. Weiss let loose a gasp, his fingers tightening and she could feel his glare on her.

"Where do you think you're going?" He questioned.

"I'm thirsty." She realizes it was a poor excuse at an attempt to get away but she had to try.

"We have people for that."

"I'm capable of getting it myself." Had she not known what she knows now, she would have allowed the waiters bring her something. But she was no longer trapped under his spell. "I'll be back, I promise." She could feel his fingers loosening, allowing her to leave.

Weiss walked away, her steps picking up pace the further she got from him, arms wrapping around her tiny frame in protection. /@likemosaic

[nightingeal-arch]

📩 @likemosaic sent: to become a shinobi, the art of silent, unnoticed observation is the first lesson. thus does the bard watch elinor--she refuses to acknowledge thancred's pert little nickname--and notices it. the slow withdrawal into one's self. the warmth that fades, like an extinguished hearth on a cold night. it requires little thought to imagine why elinor, lovely flower that he is, has begun to wilt. chiyo doesn't flatter herself a great charmer who can send bouquets or chocolates or extravagant poems to cheer the object of their eye. but when elinor returns to his room in the fortemps manor that evening, it's been organized and cleaned thoroughly: the floor clean, the cinders swept out of the fireplace, the bed made. and upon the bed is one perfect, long stemmed pink rose, plucked from house haillenarte's greenhouse after much negotiating and cajoling with francel. she's not brave enough to manage poetry, but there is a small note upon the pillow, next to the flower: /for you. sleep well. chiyo./

the days had become impossibly long lately, and the nights were worse somehow. there seemed no end to the trials, and though ellie knew he didn't weather them alone, the weight on her shoulders had long since begun to take its toll. though she was by no means as hopeless as before - haurchefant had worked some sort of magic with his kindness, bolstering elinor's hope - she knew her mask wasn't nearly good enough. that he held himself with purpose, but the sadness seeped through. she needed to be strong enough for the rest, be someone they could turn to, rely on. they had all lost so much, too much; she envied alphinaud's ability to hold hope, wielded gracefully but still with the poise of a child underneath. 

shutting the door to the room that served as his home, the small changes immediately caught her eye. a flicker of fear coarsed through her heart, momentarily back in the waking sands, the idea of an unknown intrusion screaming until sense kicked in. no spy would clear out the fireplace, nor would they tuck away the letters into a desk draw. he did check, though, and upon seeing everything in its place, simply not the place she left it, relaxed. it's only then that the single bloom on the bed caught her eye. paranoia is replaced with curiosity. images of her friends flicked through his mind's eye, caught in wondering so much that the idea of hope of who'd shown this kindness had escaped her. 

gentle fingers grasped the rose, bringing the petals to her nose, breathing in it's delicate scent, almost content in the gesture remaining unclaimed, though it would eat him up not to know in the morning. the note shattered the anonymity, reading chiyo's name before the rest of it. she was halfway to the door, stinging tears in her eyes, before stopping abruptly: if chiyo had wanted... if chiyo had wanted to talk about it, this wouldn't have been how she'd do it. so ellie returned to the bed, laid on top of the blanket, petals resting against her lips as he gazed at the ceiling. she could thank her in the morning, quiet and earnest, perhaps weave the rose through a buckle or buttonhole, too, and though she couldn't promise that sleep would be restful, his thoughts drifted to chiyo. of every attempt to connect, every stumble and misstep in the process, and the fire that he had admired from the moment they met had been aimed at him. that she wouldn't dream of taming that fire, but maybe the burns had been for this feeling, this moment. everything hurt, everything ached, and ellie couldn't see a way through, but this felt like the connection he was so desperate to capture. that in itself, was hope, right?

[phantomrune]

i can handle that myself, you know. from graha for alisaie!

PROMPTS FOR PEOPLE WHO AREN'T USED TO KINDNESS

Of course he could. He always insisted upon it, didn't he? But he should really know by now that she didn't care about that. It's not that she didn't think him capable, of course. He'd proved himself time and time again that he could do more than many people she'd met. But...he was always so irritably insistent on doing things on his own, and that needed to change, even with little things like this.

"Well I hardly think pouting over your vegetables getting watered by someone else is more productive than allowing me to do so~" She didn't turn towards him, simply continued her activity with a proud smile on her face. She'd been watching him for weeks now, tending to his garden. Perhaps it was some sort of fondness he'd grasped onto from his life as the Exarch, perhaps Krile just needed to give him an excuse to go outside instead of cooping himself up all day reading. Either way, she was interested, and with all the time they had on their hands for the moment, she thought it of import to spend time with someone she considered a good friend.

"Anyhow, I can see the beginnings of the carrot stems popping up in their patch, you've been quite vigilant about this, haven't you?"

[glacierfront]

hermes brings his empty cup back up to the counter with the pride of a little boy who's finished his plate. the smile is equally boyish. there may be mischief afoot--or he just genuinely liked the coffee. who knows? "hey, this was awesome. can i get another?" he doesn't offer to pay. "byyyy the way. can you just do...any picture you want? like, if i asked you?"

Julie itches to go to the terminal screen, because it's not as if his slick attempt at collecting a free drink would do literally anything to disrupt several years of muscle memory, but it does make the tired little computer in her brain stutter.

She says, in her customer service voice: "Umm, probably not literally anything, but I can do -- a few things." More if she did water power things. "Depends what you're looking for?"

[strnza]

i don't want to fight with you. from vincentttttt

"really?  i  thought  tha's  what  i  did  fuckin'  best."    the  retort  is  muttered  -  angry,  pointed  at  vincent  and  spared  of  no  cruelty.  no,  she  wants  to  hurt  him.  the  painful  pangs  of  sobriety  want  to  hurt  him  -  she  needs  a  fix,  and  he's  keeping  her  from  that.

an  angry  eliza  spares  no  feelings  -  her  desire  addiction  spins  her  heart  into  something  black  and  blue,  something  bitter.  all  adoration  posed  for  vincent  cracks  and  bleeds  in  this  moment.  she  doesn't  see  his  face  as  he  brays  and  bleats  his  reasoning;  in  this  moment,  he  keeps  her  from  what  she  wants.  he  is  the  enemy.  (she'll  regret  this  in  her  lucid  future.)

she's  a  mess  -  day-old  show  makeup  is  smeared  down  her  cheeks,  all  the  more  disheveled  after  a  sleepless  night.  he's  hidden  her  stashes  -  every  last  one.  the  perfect  love  bot  is  fucking  jonesing  for  her  next  hit;  rummaging  through  cabinets,  pushing  glass  bottles  onto  the  ground,  unflinching  as  they  shatter  on  the  floor.

eliza  whirls  around,  inhaling  a  shaky  breath  before  shoving  his  shoulders  -  pushing  vincent  out  of  her  personal  space.    "don't  wanna  help  me?  tha's  fine,"    she  spits,  resentment  brimming  her  every  consonant  and  move.  she  doesn’t  feel  her  feet  moving  beneath  her,  doesn’t  realize  that  time  passes  slowly  in  this  forced  altercation.  shaky  hands  find  her  leather  trench  coat,  grappling  the  fabric  over  her  shoulders  as  she  stalks  toward  her  penthouse  door,    "do  me  a  favor,  v  -  don't  fucking  follow  me."

*        MEME,    still    accepting        /        @likemosaic        🤍

[eclipsecrowned]

🔥🔥🔥 for whatever u want!!! if u dont have any more off the top of ur head + want a topic then do berserk. also why is this text so big why am i yelling. kadi help // @likemosaic

i am printing and framing this ask jsyk.

I don't know if the community at large understands what an OC is anymore. Like. There's fandom OCs, where you create a new dude to live in an extant setting. There's fandomless OCs, where you create a new dude in either a new world or applicable to all worlds. There's OCs who were formerly canon related, such as when you were really into a franchise but ended up developing your original dude so contrary to later established lore that you just pull them entirely, or you so fell out of love with the source material you pack up a decade plus canon dude and start sanding them down away from the shit views of the creator. There's player character OCs, where you get to write your dude you played in an rpg. Many roads, same result.

Then there's some stuff I've seen recently that is baffling to me.

People filing serial numbers off of a popular FC's role and claiming that Blarbo, the 6'3" chainsaw wielding vampire clown whose FC is internationally recognized white man du jour Large McHugebig written for the Murderous Mimes of the Multiverse fandom, is totally different to Blorbo, the 6'3" chainsaw wielding vampire clown whose FC is internationally recognized white man du jour Large McHugebig, from the Murderous Mimes of the Multiverse film series. People can't actually think that's original content, surely. That's very clearly the same character with token adjustments. Why would you not just play Blorbo with some divergences or personal lore?

Or people who have purported to write OC concepts off of barely fleshed out canon elements, which is usually one of my fav OC bases... Except wait, that's literally a canon take on that concept from an extant adaption. Yes, Count Blorbinski's wife is an unnamed figure in the original novel, but the 1999 anime 'Blorbinski's Bouncy House of Doom' said her name was Blorbentina. How... Coincidental that your OC for Countess Blorbinski is also named Blorbentina. And has the exact same backstory and dynamic with the Count as from the anime. And you use the 1999 design for the Countess as her FC -- This isn't an OC, as much as you keep saying it. Bouncy House of Doom is one of the most popular anime out there too so how did you think this was going to work? Again, why would you not just play the 1999 version of this character instead of presenting her as your own creation?

More and more often I see 'ten years ago this would have been an AU/fandomless blog for a canon but today we pretend this is original content' blogs pop up. I feel like if I rolled up with a Calishite Warlock named Cal'aydin who was bonded to a wind spirit and was fighting depression after his brother's death as well as the forces of the BBEG, you guys would righteously call me on 'this is K*ladin St0rmblessed reskinned for D&D. You didn't come up with any of this.' But more and more I see 'original content do not steal' except? It's already extant IP with one or two concepts changed to suit the mun's tastes. Everything else remains very clearly the work of [insert household name creative of the 20th-21st centuries here.]

It amazes me how often I see these blogs pop up, and just how popular some of them are. I cannot wrap my head around it. Like, it's their blog, they can do whatever, as long as they're not profiting off someone else's creative labor it's not a big deal. But it is one of those 'has become more common in the community lately' things that makes me want to stand up and ask 'is anyone else seeing this or am I just going crazy?' I feel like I'm in the minority by not caring for this trend/new definition of 'original character' just based on how often these blogs cross my dash.

[nightingeal]

📩 @likemosaic sent: [ 8 ] for vikellie thank u ^_^ – prompt.

the idea of a home was stolen from elinor; returning to district 4 after the pomp and circumstance of the annual hunger games meant returning to the victors' village, surrounded by a family who's lack of understanding had morphed into full alienation after elinor's supposed-victory in the arena, years before. or he search for the idea of home in the capitol, where she was a commodity, gawked at and presented as some sort of standard, angelic little ellie rhodes, volunteer from district 4, too anxious to speak his mind. almost exactly what swain wanted, as if swain had direct designs on her and she wasn't just a symptom of his political machinations. 

returning to the capitol was an affair that was full of dread, even when it wasn't to send the next round of tributes to their death. it meant the increase in being ogled, the expectation of her time for people who didn't care if she lived or died, of a performance he could never turn off. so it sat like a dislocated shoulder to be anticipating it, distasteful to be looking forward to spending time with people elinor could trust only to understand the guilt for daring to exist. 

well, except for viktor. he could trust him with... elinor realised that so far, she hadn't found a part of herself she couldn't trust viktor with. in a life where home was elusive, more than just the buildings oppressive and stifling, ellie had found a belonging with the inventor who didn't expect her to be anything that she wasn't (broken, alone, scared). she didn't know if his compassion remained as a deliberate act of stubborn defiance, or if he simply couldn't move through the world any other way. 

"i've missed you." she knew he wouldn't be found at one of the parties being held, seemingly every night, in the capitol. a light knock accompanied her words, eyes glancing to others in the room. it wasn't a secret that the two were close, but it made elinor uncomfortable to be watched in those moments of affection. when her walls came down around him, because of him, that belonged to viktor. no-one else. still, ellie traced her fingertips over viktor's hand, subtle. "fancy a walk?" less subtle, asking to be alone with him. begging to be alone with him. "maybe a nightcap at mine, if you have the time?"

and they caught eyes, those who hadn't scored an invite to the party, or were getting tired. crows. ellie fell into step on his left side, opposite his cane, so as to be able to walk a little closer to him, to allow their hands to brush, nothing accidental in the gesture. their relationship belonged to them, but that didn't mean ellie wasn't built of desperation and impatience, especially now that they're in the same space. she needed more. needed to be breathing his air. 

the apartment door clicks shut and viktor reaches up, tucking a strand of hair from ellie's face, the last careful movement before everything blurred together. lips crashed together, sighs in harmony. ellie couldn't decide where she wanted her hands, first raking through his hair; slipping the buttons on his shirt; cupping his face, turning the kiss slow, intense. viktor's hands, fingers, deft and deliberate, made easy work of her blouse, fabric dropping on the ground at their feet, then worked the fastening on elinor's trousers. his cane clattered against the door and then the floor. she startles, then laughs, pressing her forehead to his. 

it's almost enough to distract her, almost, and viktor made sure they stayed on task, hand slipping past the elastic of her underwear and down, fingertips teasing. ellie does her best to focus, moving to place tender, open-mouthed kisses against his skin, trailing down his jaw, across his collar. "wait..." a murmur against viktor's chest, and ellie (reluctantly) moved viktor's hand away from her core so she could sink to her knees. reaching for the cane, she passed it to him, releasing it when she felt his grip on it. elinor doesn't rise just yet, hands grazing over viktor's thigh, lips mouthing against the fabric of his trousers, her turn to tease, though she was not nearly patient enough right now to make that work. 

"these... should come off..." she reached up for the remaining buttons on his shirt. "and this..." 

[triinitas]

Destined for Greatness

The Friendly Arm Inn stood like a beacon against the sprawling wilderness, its warm lights flickering through the cracks in the stone walls. The inn’s bustling activity was a stark contrast to the quiet path that led up to it, and as Zorah approached, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of excitement mingled with apprehension. This quest was the most unique one she'd been given. Her only goal, according to Grandfather, was to locate a pink-skinned tiefling and fellow warlock who went by Julep.

Zorah’s pointed tail swished behind her as she walked. Adorned with a black traveling cloak, the tiefling did her best to stay inconspicuous: a challenging prospect, but something she attempted nonetheless.

Her amber eyes were sharp, reflecting the flickering firelight as she stepped inside. The warmth of the inn embraced her, and she shook off the chill of the evening, feeling the weight of her dark cloak settle more comfortably around her. She approached the bar, where a burly bartender was polishing a mug with a rag, and cleared her throat to get his attention.

“Excuse me,” Zorah began, her voice carrying the faintest edge of urgency. “Have you seen a pink tiefling wandering around here? I must speak with them. I believe they go by Julep.”

The bartender looked up, his gaze shifting to take in Zorah’s distinctive appearance. His suspicion was plastered plainly on his face. It was clear that a strange traveler asking about one of his patrons raised his apprehension. “Julep, you say? A tiefling, you say? Aye, we get all sorts here. I reckon I might’ve seen someone fitting that description at some point. What’s your business with ’em?”

Zorah’s eyes narrowed slightly, her mind racing with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. “We’re… ah, penpals. It’s important I find them. Any information you can give me would be perfect.”

As the bartender scratched his chin thoughtfully, Zorah’s gaze wandered across the inn’s lively interior, her heart beating a little faster. She'd never outright stalked someone like this before. She'd followed reported sightings and Grandfather's guidance all the way to this small settlement, set south of Baldur's Gate. She'd managed glimpses of Julep within the city, and tried to keep tabs on them whenever possible, but it was time. They needed to actually meet, now. No more creeping down dark alleys behind the stranger.

Her eyes widened. The bartender was speaking, but his words were lost to Zorah. She saw who she was looking for. They sat alone at a table - unassuming - eating from a steaming bowl. Zorah quietly walked towards them, but once she was standing a few feet behind them... she didn't know what to say. She was at a total loss. They seemed familiar in a way that stretched beyond the trailing Zorah had done over the last week. Like they'd met before, but she couldn't place it. A memory of a memory.

After a few seconds of gathering herself, she closed the distance and cleared her throat. "Hello, Julep."

[vierandancer]

🍒  +  for meeeee

send  me  🍒  +  a  url  and  i  will  write  some  positivity  for  them.

AUGH WE JUST STARTED TALKING THE OTHER DAY but you're fun. It's unfortunate we started chitchatting during a tumultous time. But I very much look forward to starting some interactions with you!! Thanks for reaching out earlier, too. I very much appreciate it.

[nectaric]

there's no shame in this. from oz for merc!

every nerve in mercury's body was screaming. half of his concentration was dedicated solely to not squirming, petrified that somewhere inside ozpin's conniving mind, he would see right through mercury's bullshit. the other half was focused intently on surveying the office, ozpin's face, the truth in his words. he was trained for this. this, second only to killing, was what he was good for.

but damn if those eyes weren't intimidating. mercury's soul felt bare and raw, and it made him itch. hence, the battle against his own squirming.

"understood, professor." mercury feigned relief, as though being caught for his transgression of wandering where he definitely should not have been was an unfortunate accident and not deliberate at all. a sneaky romantic rendezvous gone wrong! oopsies.

landing in this office was as much a part of the plan as any other step, and mercury did not lament his role in it, even if ozpin was more intimidating than cinder had let on. even with the cane.

"i will make sure it doesn't happen again." mercury even dipped his head to make himself seem smaller, more awkward, more uncomfortable. that part wasn't so hard. "permission to leave?"

[wintereign]

3 & 5 for the mun meme!

mun asks - accepting!

#3 Who was your first muse? Are we talking about when I first discovered RP? Or when I actually really got into it and wrote? Because when I first discovered it, it was Maia Rutledge from the 4400 (highly recommend this show! I haven't seen the reboot, so I couldn't tell you if it's good? But the original is fantastic.) I unfortunately didn't do much with that account, because I didn't know what I was doing at the time.

#5 What’s your oldest roleplay blog? Oh this is bringing back nostalgia for me, because my oldest and probably my first (don't hold me accountable for that because I actually don't even know at this point.) rp blog was Icy Trix from Winx Club. I've admittedly tried to bring her back quite a few times (I get attached to characters really quickly. case in point, Weiss. lmao) but I never hold my self accountable to actually stay active and do things. Horrible habit of mine. But I know that's not what this question is asking. I'm just rambling at this point.

[etruatcaelum]

[ @likemosaic | neo // cinder ]

it’s nice to feel needed.

Cinder arches a brow, humming lightly. “Well… I can’t argue with that.”

If Salem were here, that bald-faced lie would merit one of the witch’s most evil looks—but Salem’s thousands of miles away, and Cinder has always been a good liar. She lounges in the co-pilot’s seat of their stolen ship, languidly stretching out her arm to examine the ashen claws. (The black fingers are more responsive to her now, easier to flex and curl than before Haven Academy: Cinder wonders idly if wetting them with someone else’s blood had done the trick, or if she’s just… bonding with it, finally.)

“But,” she adds in her warmest, most honeyed tone, “I wouldn’t say that I need you, Neo; no matter how useful you might be for what you can do—” Here, she offered her diminutive new partner-in-crime a glittering smile. “—why, that wouldn’t matter at all if you and I couldn’t work so well together, hm? No. I’m sure I could have found any number of useful little pawns in Mistral to get me where I need to go… but you have something much more valuable.”

She’s taking a risk, talking like this. Neo is emotional, volatile, fickle—Cinder might be striking a match in front of a powder keg.

But the potential rewards are high.

“You and I both want the same thing,” she continues; another sweet smile. Neo doesn’t need to know how low killing Ruby Rose really is on Cinder’s list of priorities—a nice to have, not a driving obsession. “So there’s no one else in this world I would rather have at my side in this than you.”