#we should release Matilda into the wild more often

[the-blossica-fan]

Vertin: Ah... what have you got there, Matilda?

Matilda, trying to discretely hide Mecuria: A-A smoothie! From my mission!

(*Duckie with game⁉️)

I HAVE NOT PLAYED THE EVENT ENTIRELY, WHAT

Well Matilda tends to attract girls who know her shit because she, she knows nothing

I can't believe my dumb (and smart) French adopted daughter has game! Finally moving on from that one sided crush 😊

Matilda is no different from Vertin now that I think about it, sneaking in a Manus Vindictae member whole Vertin snuck in a mentally ill opera queen, a menace to all of humanity without her gf and a succubus who's also a Manus Vindictae member.

Noticeable why they're (sort of) friends

[royal-writer]

Irreplaceable

This was definitely supposed to be a mini wth why’d it get so long???

“What about Matilda?”

Essätha watched the contemplation shift over her Lord Amon’s face as he leaned into the sofa pillows. She loved the way his eyebrows furrowed; the creased lines of concentration in his expression as he thought deeply. It was a small thing among many that was so adorably irresistible about him. These little bodily quirks and tells; and the way his gaze went far off as he sank into another realm where everything around him seemed to fade off.

“It’s not my favorite,” he finally admitted. The circling motion of his pads continued to stroke against the back of her hand even as he pondered. She his anchor; and his touch a marvelous flame coaxing against her skin. Tingles raced after where he touched her so gently.

“Charlotte?” she prodded.

“I like that one. I’m not fond of the nicknames usually representative of Charlotte, though.”

“Like what? Carly?”

Amon’s expression shifted slowly, his eyes trailing back to her face. He wore a smile effortlessly as he gazed upon her through the dark pools of his regard. His fingers swept over her hand as he raised it gently, placing a kiss over the top of her knuckles.

“I often heard Charlie, actually.”

She stuck her tongue out slightly at the remark. Definitely not.

Her Lord sniggered at her distasteful expression, and lowered her hand back into his lap.

“Well we can’t just consider girl names,” Essie scolded, flipping her hand over to grasp his palm. “I know you’re adamant they’re a girl, but there is a possibility it’s a boy.”

It was impossible not to laugh at the snorted sound of disbelief that he gave now. She couldn’t tell if he was really so stubborn to believe himself incapable of being wrong, or if there was something unspoken in his certainty. He accepted her teasing with good-nature and understanding, but a small part of her couldn’t help wondering if perhaps his longing for a daughter was partly interweaved with the loss of the young Marie who he’d adopted as his own years ago.

After a deep brooded sigh, Amon finally relented with a grumble: “I do like the name Johnathan.”

She offered a playful little smile, cooing, “Not Amon?”

“Pelor no,” he chuckled, squeezing her hand.

“Mmm. Perhaps you are right,” Essie agreed. “The name is quite irreplaceable.”

He scoffed at her quietly. His free hand reaching up, framing the side of her face as he leaned in.

“Come here, you devious little flatterer.”

A wild grin of excitement flashed across her face. She held her breath with anticipation as she leaned forward. Eyes closed; listening rather than seeing. Feeling the faint billow of her husband’s breath fan over her as she shivered, and the way he hitched for air as he came short of her lips. The rasp of his beard against her; soft and well-groomed as he pressed a delicate kiss lightly to her mouth.

She shivered instinctively. A heavenly wreath surrounded him so close that smelled of all things that brought her home. Loving invitation curled in the ghost of a smile held to his face even as he held her steady and kissed her with such tenderness that everything else seemed to dissolve away.

Essätha exhaled slowly as he pulled away; aware of the shakiness in her lungs. Her eyes opened slowly to meet a gaze so familiar to her heart now that she adored with everything she had.

“You are cute,” he remarked with mirth, “but I am neither egotistical nor cruel. There is expectation enough, being born with noble blood. Being called the senior or second of a man’s name with a reputation such as I would be a cruel burden. Besides that, I like the challenge of picking out something special for our little one.”

Our little one. She could almost sob at those words. It was still such a new and fresh concept to her mind that it brought butterflies surging into her tummy. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to it. This was her life. Every day was a new day to love and appreciate; surrounded by people who cared about her, with friends and family on every side. An endless sense of support and devotion. A man who she loved and valued more than all life’s frill and gold; more than the air in her lungs or the beat of her heart.

They were sharing a life, together. And they had made life, together. There was nothing in the world she wanted more. She would exchange none of it, then or now, if it meant giving up an ounce of the endless happiness she had now.

“Johnathan’s nice,” she agreed, scooting across the sofa to lean further into her husband. “How do you feel about Rainier?”

“My honest opinion?” he inquired through a large grin.

“That bad?” She pouted, reaching up to guide her fingers through his mane of black hair.

“Atrocious.”

With a sharp inhale, she pulled away and wrinkled up her nose. The only link between them now was her fingers still wrapped between his, resting upon his leg.

“How callous of you.”

“You wanted honesty, my Lady.”

“Gandalf, then?”

“Sounds like a wizards name.”

“Willen?”

“He was a nice fellow, my darling Essätha, but it is a rather tasteless name.”

He was goading her. She could see it in the grin plastered on her face. A mocking taunt as her cheeks inflamed to glower at his amusement.

“Barnabus,” she countered proudly.

Amon gave pause, much to her pleasure. She leaned back further against the couch as the gears of his mind virtually seemed to turn before her.

“I think not,” he finally announced. “I do love the gesture, Essie, but it doesn’t roll off the tongue very well.”

They fell silent. Mulling in a mute void. Pondering names to themselves, where one would nearly open their mouth to a suggestion and a pointed finger before sinking back into their seat with a huff, the idea tossed aside. Filtering in the hush, and coming up blank.

Essätha hesitated. She clenched to Amon’s fingers, dragging his attention from the floor he’d been analyzing in a daze back up to her.

“… What about Fontane?”

The curious joy in his face collapsed faster than any catastrophe she’d ever seen in her life.

A taste of iron burned on her tongue. Whispers turned to roars in the back of her cascading thoughts. She could make little out from the wall he put up between them. She was shuttered out of her house; the window of his soul, quick as a jolt of lightning. A handsome mask stood between her, and her endearing husband.

Pain. Anger. Hurt. Repudiation. Vexation. More distress, and a quiet rage.

By the Gods, what had she done.

“M’lord-”

He released her hand, and a shard of ice plunged into her heart. She fell helplessly. Swallowed by darkness as she reached out for him, but even beside her he was already too far away to reach.

“No,” he bit out harshly; his voice thick as he began to rise up from the cushions.

“I will not name our child after that- that-”

He cast a glance her way, and she flinched. He was nearly unrecognizable.

With a curse in elvish muttered to himself, the Lord of Briarton turned away from her. His cloak whipped out; snapping in the air with finality. His boots were heavy on the floor. Each one a strike driving in the stake wedged between her ribs as she turned her head to watch his retreat for the door.

“M’lord, I’m sorry-”

She didn’t know if he heard the words, yanking the door open to step out.

It closed with ominous gentleness behind him.

Ashamed and drowning in guilt, she reached out for the pillow he���d been leaning against with trembling fingers. Placing it to her chest, she rested her chin against the plush fabric, trying to control the instability of her breathing as tears crowned the ends of her lashes. They wettened the top of the pillow as she buried her face within it, and the comforting smell of woody earthen cologne.

“I’m so sorry,” she mumbled; choking into the pillow which gave no response to her apology.

She should have known better. Not all wounds ever healed. Not all things could be forgiven. It had been a terrible, awful presumption to think that maybe, just maybe he could try remembering the man’s name in good light if it was placed upon someone he already loved. A way to honor someone gone too soon.

Curling around the pillow, Essie dropped onto her side, sinking into the upholstery.

All she could do, was hope he would be okay.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It would be supper soon. It was almost the same time, every day.

She saw Amon only once since earlier. Passing by the window, she spotted her beloved husband knelt down in the soil of the garden. He was ridding it of weeds in with more brutality than necessary. A grim line on his face; sweat and dirt speckling his brow. Though his eyes were too far away from the second story to read, she could imagine clearly the look upon them.

Seeing him like that brought back a strange wave of daje vu that made her stomach drop through the floor.

Not wanting to kindle the wrath of his sorrow, Essätha tasked herself with working on the crochet blanket she’d gathered supplies to make a few days ago. It was a mindless task, and so much easier than sewing up clothes or making a quilt. It held little rules or qualifications, and she’d had some practice working on place sitters to get the feel for it prior. She might not be the best artisan, but she was going to try her damndest to be the best mother she could be.

The pattern looped under and around with ease. Delicate pale colors woven together with the tug of each piece of yarn. She was thankful to keep her hands busy, and much of her mind. When she fell too absent of her work and began to wander back to the tension in the air as Amon had left, her careful work began to unravel and she was placed back into her focus once more.

It felt the opportune time to work on something new to her. She still had a lot of learning left to do, it seemed. A weight on her shoulders as much as her spirit.

The door to the sitting room creaked softly as she worked on the tapestry.

“I’ll be down shortly,” she uttered softly; her eyelids hanging low as she droned on the task.

Feet scuffled against the floor, and the door closed softly.

Her hands fumbled with the hook; feeling an unmistakable jolt in her heart.

Ignoring the painful twist in her gut, the Lady of the Emerald Expanse went back to her crocheting with quivering fingers. Her teeth clenched and released nervously and furiously on the blanket.

The thump of boots moved slowly through the room. The vibrations echoed into the soles of her shoes, and straight through her.

A large shadow moved past the sofa, quiet and slow. It approached the front of the coffee table, and leaned down slowly.

Essätha glanced up as the hourglass vase was sat upon the middle of the small stand before her. Sitting arranged in a tight bouquet within the vessel stood a mountain of flowers from the garden, all preened and picked at the peek of their bloom. Their scents wafted up to her nose; a mingling of sweet tones.

“I’m sorry.”

She lifted her head at the husky voice, sliding the folds of the blanket made so far off her lap and on the couch.

Her Amon’s eyes were downcast; shrouded in a cloud with eyebrows pulled low.

Slowly, he stepped around the table. She held her breath, wringing her hands as he came to sit beside her.

“You don’t-”

“No, I need to apologize,” he stated softly, reaching out for her hands. Her shaking stilled as he cupped them in his own. A firm grasp, but no less careful of her delicate features. His fingers caressed over the back of her hands as he brought them to his face, lacing kisses between her fingers and down her hands.

With a sad smile, she unfurled one of her fingers to stroke along the inside of his cheek.

“I’m the one who should be sorry,” she disagreed. “I made a thoughtless suggestion without thinking of how it would affect you, or how you’d feel about it. I shouldn’t have brought it up. It wasn’t my place. If you’d had the idea, it would have been different. My love I’m so sorry, I never meant to cause you agony-”

“It’s okay,” Amon whispered softly against her hands; luminous eyes upon her. “I don’t hold it against you, Essie. I know that your intentions were in the right place. You don’t need to apologize.”

“You were only trying to mend and bring peace; to help people here and here no longer. I understand, because I know that is who you are. You care deeply about those around you. You want to build bridges, not tear them down. You were only trying to help.”

“But I do need to apologize. I should never have walked out on you as you did. It was a thoughtless action. I’m sorry if I worried you, my dear. I’m even more sorry if my brazen foolishness hurt you in anyway.”

Wearing the faintest smile, she continued to pet along the shape of his cheek as she murmured, “I would rather you take the space you needed in the moment, then say something difficult to take back later, my heart. I was worried; I am worried, but I understand that I pushed where I should not have. I’m sorry that I hurt you.”

Amon’s gaze dropped from hers, to their hands. His rough fingers sat wedged between hers; wriggling as though they could be any closer. The haze that lay upon his gaze still a lingering shadow of old wounds.

“You did not know Fontane as I did,” he stated. “I do not blame you for not understanding my reluctance and aversion to the name. The man; or ghost, you met was a mere short span in time compared to my years I lived with him. They are not memories I can simply forget, Essätha.”

“I am sorry I was so ill considerate of your feelings, and your past connections, m’lord,” she repeated, feeling the tug of remorse gnawing at her once more.

A waning smile grew on his face. “If it comforts you, you are forgiven my darling. Though know there is nothing to forgive.”

“I could say the very same,” she echoed, her smile growing by a fraction.

A deep hum resounded in Amon’s throat, and he released her hands. His body inclined towards her slowly as he reached out timidly for her.

She scooted closer, happy to sink into his warm embrace and strong arms once more. Breathing in the smell of sweat and woody notes on his skin. A blanket of light and warmth surrounding her once more, melting the aching shard of ice that felt like it had settled into her chest much of the day.

As rhythmic circles worked against her spine, a tender voice tickled close to her ear: “Let’s go share some dinner. I don’t want little Essie to get hungry, and start a fuss.”

Snorting with her giggles, Essätha gently swatted him upon the shoulder.

“We are not naming them Essätha.”

“You’re right,” he agreed; his voice almost proudly snotty as he nuzzled into the crook of her neck. “That name is irreplaceable. Angels do not share names, after all.”

“Shush your mouth,” she scolded, her eyelashes fluttering as Amon pulled her slowly into his lap to hold her to chest.

“What about Hepsiba?” he mouthed against her throat, a smile searing into her skin.

Snickering as the brush of her husband’s whiskers teased her torso, Essie reached up to cradle his head beneath her chin. She hummed softly into his hair, a sudden wave of emotions prickling tears to the edge of her vision.

“I love it.”