#when it comes to cool looking Moon Knight images

[age-of-moonknight]

Variant cover for Vengeance of the Moon Knight (Vol. 2/2024), #4 by Alexander Lozano.

[fictional-gods-tournament]

Prelims

Fandom: Dungeons and Dragons, Eberron, Forgotten Realms

Note: This poll refers only to the characters' versions in Dungeons and Dragons, Forgotten Realms or Eberron.

Characters' info under the cut

Ao (wiki)

Domains: Overgod and Watcher of the Multiverse

Propaganda:

Overgod of the D&D multiverse, being vastly over all the setting's gods except for the literal Dungeon Master

Lolth (wiki)

Domains: spiders, drow, trickery, war

Propaganda:

Spider lady spider lady spider lady spider lady

Luminous Being (wiki)

Domain: All of D&D

Propaganda:

They are the supreme being of all D&D, and while open to interpretation, they are implied to be a stand in for the Dungeon Master, the person who runs the D&D campaigns in real life

Selûne (wiki)

Domains:goddess of light, guidance, and specifically The Moon. The asteroids that follow the moon are her tears.

Propaganda:

Selûne is so cool, actually! If you've played BG3 you know she becomes Shadowheart's much kinder Goddess and gave birth to a baddie like Dame Aylin; but she's done so much more! She created the sun at personal cost to herself, and gave the world enough heat for life. When Ao sent all the gods to faerûn to live as mortals, Selûne didn't even notice because she had already been doing that of her own choice! Iconic!

Tiamat (wiki)

Domains: Evil Dragons, Greed Dragons, Trickery

The Traveler (wiki)

Domains: chaos, deception, evolution, invention, and transformation.

Propaganda:

okay so beyond being a chaos god, the traveller is also the reason changelings exist in Eberron! and well. dnd changelings my beloved (seriously, look up the in universe origin myths, they rock). it's also gender (tm) (to quote the wiki: even its gender is unknown—the Traveler is referred to as "it", not "he" or "she", but sometimes "he" and "she" have been used, even interchangeably). It's also just. a weirdo compared to the other gods of the setting. It's just kinda there and also maybe created the world?? 10/10 fictional deity. especially by tumblr standards. look me in the eyes and tell me it wouldn't be a punk.

Dol Arrah (wiki1, wiki2)

Domains: The Sun, things worth fighting for, justice, diplomacy and self-sacrifice

Propganda:

The quintessential God of Paladins, the Warrior Sun stands for the decision to draw your sword- or not. Wise, just and true, she is the voice that urges restraint in the face of provocation and the clarion call to fight for what is right. Diplomacy and strategy are part of her domain - she stands as much for those who seek to avoid unnecessary warfare or to claim victory without the need to strike a blow - but the image of her that comes first to mind is a knight in armour, shining with the light of the Sun.

The Becoming God (wiki)

Domains: Discovery, life, growth, self-sufficiency, creation, evolution, ascension

Propaganda:

So are you a magic robot built for war who's looking for purpose now that you've got human rights? Are you dissatisfied with the abstract, insubstantial gods of organics? Are you plagued by visions of divine schematics and a holy machine? Great news! You can help build the Becoming God! He doesn't yet exist, but once all his followers have built his chassis, he will rise up from the wastes and lead his people to their glorious destiny.

Cyric (wiki)

Domains: Lies and deception

Propaganda:

Cool backstory. Kind of maybe too much to explain but maybe I'll explain it in asks later if he gets in.

[bokettochild]

OKAY I had a really vivid dream and then ideas stemmed from that dream and it was to do with legend so naturally the first thing to do is tell you said ideas right?

Yk how ever since tears of the kingdom was announced people were coming up with content to do with wild getting taken away from the chain to do totk before getting given back to them post totk? Imagine that, but with legend instead cause I think it would be fun.

So basically, everything is the same except to begin with, alltp link is there. So the chain is panicking because why the fuck is there a literal 10 year old here, this is worse than the 13 year old- etc etc. But them being them, they adopt this kid quickly, this is their baby brother and you can't tell them otherwise. Wind is happy there's someone younger than him tbh. The kids also really young, so where legend probably only talks about his adventures during his once in a blood moon lore drops, this child talks about them properly and actually has time to process. He's still traumatised from them but he's dealing with it in a healthy way and is surprisingly good at helping the others too.

Then during a world switch, somehow the kid disappears. He's gone for about... a month for them and then comes back visibly older, and more scarred and traumatised, sporting a fever to boot. For a while they can't get him to say anything about what happened but he's still a young kid so they do get him to talk about it. How idk tbf I haven't thought that deeply into it.

The same thing keeps happening after that. He helps the chain for a few months, disappears for a while and then comes back older and with a new adventure under his belt. By the last one they understood what was happening, and just.. waited for their not so little brother to come back.

I feel like this version of legend would be a lot less prickly than the one we all love because he had a proper support system after each adventure who actually understood what he was going through. Obviously he'd still be sarcastic as fuck but that's just who he is, after all that's a link thing.

I also think that they'd call lil leg some form of rabbit nickname or something to do with the pink hair.

anyways you're cool and this was a thing. Thanks for reading it b y e

FUN FACT!!!!! This is a fic!

I didn't write it, but I remember it was one of the fics that made me love Legend when I was first getting into the fandom!

It opens with ALTTP Link running into a random portal to escape the knights in his era and accidentally coming across the chain. warriors is actually like one of the first one's he meets, and because KNIGHT he goes into full panic mode. Warriors and the others help calm him down though, and eventually integrate them into their group. Wind and Warriors are debatably the closest with him, because Wind has a little brother now, and Warriors because after the misunderstanding when they meet, he kind of becomes Little Leg's protector and safe person.

And then Legend gets thrown back.

He thinks it's a dream, or he made it up to process his loneliness, but then after all his adventures, he finds a portal again, like he used to go through with his big brotehrs, and he's both scared and warily hopefull. He goes through, thinking they'll have grown and changed like him, that he's still the youngest.

He comes back on the same night he disappeared.

Nothing has changed.

They're still looking for him in a panic.

Naturally, Legend being Legend makes some comment about how they'll never find the kid they're looking for, and in a fit of protective big brother rage, Warriors absolutally loses it on him, thus forever imprinting the image of his big brother trying to kill him on Legend's mind.

They figure out what happens not long after, and of course Wars is apologetic, but Legend can now only see his protector as his attacker and a liar (Wars promised to never hurt him) and thus ANGST

The story is still in the works, but I would 100% go and read it! It's a real tear jerker!

.....I'll try and find the link, but if anyone else remembers what this one is called, please tell me, because now I ALSO want to read it.

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Breaking down the comics: BENDIS. PART 3. 

READING THINGS SO YOU DON'T HAVE TO! 

Part 1 HERE. 

Part 2 HERE. 

This is the final bit! The last three! You ready? I can’t stress how much you aren’t ready for this. 

Issue #10

This cover is kinda meh. They could have done better. Maleev really likes drawing those steel beams though. He went “Man, you know what’s fun and cool? BEAMS.” I can respect that. 

Alright. Reading the title page to make sure nothing else changed when I wasn't looking... 

Looks the same. Just an added line. 

"In the ensuing battle through the streets of Los Angeles, Echo dies at the hand of Nefaria and Moon Knight falls into an uncontrollable berserker rage." 

Makes it sound cooler than it actually IS. 

So we get the same picture we left off with in the last issue only this time they've edited in a dead Echo at the forefront. I don't need to show you that. Seems like they could have given us something different and just used one of the alternate images for dramatic effect. 

We get a collage of action. We see bloody claws, glowing Count eyes attacking, blood across Marc's chest, red explosions, Marc screaming, more blood, and a dead Echo. 

It's dramatic and has a certain flow to it. It does encapsulate Marc's current state of mind pretty well. 

And then... 

We cut to a street and see a TAXI CAB. And a man in a flat cap!!!!! 

….I swear my heart just skipped a beat and I got SOOOOOO fucking excited and then I remembered what was actually happening and now I'm just MAD again. Because… Even after ALL THAT. After everything that happened in the last issues… If somehow…SOMEHOW…Jake suddenly actually stepped in and then we saw Steven… It would have saved this. That Marc didn’t need Fake Cap and Wolverine and Spider-Man. That what he needed all this time was right there… Sure, it still would have been messy, but it could have been explained as Marc breaking down and Fictives coming in or Persecutors or SOMETHING. And I’m sitting here crying because THAT could have been good. And instead we get…THIS. 

Because...This isn't the TV show. This is real. 

"What have you been doing all night, Marlene?" 

He asks Marlene. 

"Waiting for you, Steven." 

ALRIGHT. Let's break this down page by page. 

So Bendis is FINALLY acknowledging that Jake, Marc, and Steven all exist. 

We see Jake coming home in his cab to Marlene. 

It's very reminiscent of Moench. Jake takes them home. Jake always takes them home. There's something to that. 

And once he walks into the house with Marlene, he's no longer Jake. Jake very rarely liked interacting with Marlene, much less hanging out in any of their posh homes. 

And just like in Moench's run, she addresses him as Steven. She always waited for Steven. 

She asks who they destroyed this time. 

He says that isn't fair. 

And it isn't fair. But Marlene started to get bitter towards them in the end. She suffered her own losses and she started to blame him for them. She always hated Marc and loved Steven. And Marc destroyed so much of their life. 

We see Moon Knight asking to go in, but we see the Avenger's masks in the background. 

Notice how Wolverine is on top. 

Marc assumes that Frenchie is the one in the costume. He knows Frenchie left him a long time ago. His oldest and closest friend. The only one that knew Marc Spector as Marc Spector. 

The insistence that "SOMEONE" has to go out because they don't know what's happening implies that someone else is in control and they are all locked out. 

The costume is empty. He doesn't know who'se wearing it. He doesn't know who is inside it. Maybe no one. 

He's confused because he's lost control of his own situation and lost control of everything. 

Because it doesn't matter who he tries to be, who he loves, or what he does... Marc Spector still "Ruins everything he touches." 

He wakes up in a hospital bed, RESTRAINED to the bed with a security guard outside. 

The implication is pretty obvious. And honestly, this is something Marc has dealt with before. And probably something that brings back a lot of bad memories for him. 

He's waking up somewhere he doesn't know where he is, he can't remember how he got there, he doesn't know what happened, he doesn't know who has been out, and he's locked up. 

He's able to make a phone call. 

Detective Hall shows up! 

"Where is he?" 

"He's down the hall." 

"Has he said anything?" 

"He's in pretty bad shape." 

"When do his prints come back from the lab?" 

"Prints?" 

"You didn't fingerprint him? A costumed hero lies dead and bloody in the street and you don't print him?" 

"He's in bad shape. We thought--No one said--" 

"You have Moon Knight in custody. And you didn't think to PRINT him." 

Remember, Hall is from NY. He's familiar with who Moon Knight is. What he can do. What he's known to do. 

"We--We secured the hallway. We have all of the other patients moved to other floors. I mean, it's not like we were--" 

Hall turns the corner to find at least five guards and staff knocked out in the hall, and Moon Knight's room and bed empty. 

Slowly the other officers start to get dizzy and also fall over. The hall has been gassed! 

Hey it’s Buck! 

I appreciate Buck. 

Buck: "Let's move along now..." 

Marc: "I'm beginning to love you, Buck." 

Buck: "Well, that takes the sting off the fact that I know I'm going to hell for this. I just sleep-gassed a hospital." 

Marc: "Seriously...Thank you." 

Buck: "The girl didn't make it." 

Marc: "I told her--I told her to run." 

Buck: "I ain't blamin' you. She's a big girl. I'm just saying." 

Marc: "This is going to...haunt me for a while." 

Buck: "Imagine how she feels." 

Marc: "What happened to...@$@@ing Count Nefaria?" 

We head to some place where we find the Count in pretty bad shape and having a tantrum. 

The...I don't know what this guy is.. Butler? We're going to go with butler. The butler tells the Count's visitor that "He's going to need a minute. It's been a very rough night." 

LOL I bet he had a rough night. Moon Knight tends to do that to people. Moon Knight beaten up and bleeding? Imagine what the other guy looks like. 

"From what I understand, this Moon Knight character got in what can only be called a lucky shot. He stabbed Lucino just as he was preparing a fatal blow. The blow backfired. The police arrived to find Lucino struggling to regain his...Composure. You see, he is not a young man. Containing this kind of power is a true effort in the best circumstances. That's why he needs you." 

We get the identity of the visitor and...Ugh. Okay. THIS Villainess I know. 

Madame Masque. 

If I know her, why don't I know the Count? These are the questions I ask myself. 

She's apparently his DAUGHTER. 

Some of you more well read comic fans may recognize her or her name. ALRIGHT. She was created by Stan Lee and co. back in 1967. Originally named Giulietta Nefaria, but later changed to Whitney Frost. 

She's the daughter of Count Nefaria...And she's historically been the occasional love interest of Tony Stark, Iron Man. 

(Yeah... Tony gets around ALMOST as much as Matt Murdock. ....almost.) 

Originally she wore a golden mask to cover her disfigured face. Her face has since healed, but she still wears the mask. 

Apparently her mother died giving birth to her and the Count wanted her to live a respectable life so he adopted her out to Byron Frost, who worked for Nefaria. 

She's had some back and forth with being a villainess and showing compassion to the heroes (mostly Tony. She’s got a love hate going on with Tony). 

All that aside, we head back to Marc's mansion. 

Marc is listening to his voice mails. 

His assistant is calling to check up to see if he's still alive since she hasn't heard from him in a while. 

He's still healing and in pain. It was a pretty hard fight, after all. Not to mention Echo... 

Wolverine shows up and tells Marc to get up. 

"I can't. You're the reason I'm here!" 

"You're the reason you're here, Bub. You better get up because I guarantee you, Nefaria is up and looking for YOU." 

"And what would you hae me do?!" 

"Finish what you started." 

"I hate you." 

"I don't care. Finish what you started. He's got an Ultron. You're an Avenger. Echo was an Avenger. Avenge her. Save this city." 

Honestly, Marc needs time. He never gives himself time. And for once, Marc is in bed TRYING to give himself time. Trying to feel things and heal and he isn't getting to. I feel for him. 

We head over to the morgue where an autopsy is being done on Echo. I don't need to show you these pictures. 

The doctors discuss who has authority over her body. FBI or the LAPD who brought her in. 

Just as they are about to start, Madame Masque busts in and shoots everyone. 

She recognizes Echo's body, but can't place who she is. 

She finds the weapon staff that Buck outfitted with Vibranium. 

It's a lead and she calls her people to check the black market for rescent buys. She's going to trace it back to Marc. 

We head to the police HQ to find the Detective Hall interviewing Snapdragon again. 

He has a still image of Madame Masque in the morgue. He asks her to identify her. 

Snapdragon does so. Noting that "Her and her dad have what you'd call a strained relationship." 

Snapdragon urges Detective Hall to either bust the Count quickly or get her out of there because she's terrified of Madame Masque and she's a sitting duck there. 

Detective says he's doing his best, but there are stops in place above him. 

We head back to Marc's place. We see Buck parking outside and about to open the garage when he notices red dots, indicating he's in someone's sights. 

"Son of a--" He reaches for his gun. 

"Rrr! N'me!" 

"What?" 

"Don't worry about me! She got the Ultron head! She has Ultron! It's out in the open!" 

Poor Buck. 

Poor Marc. It’s about to get a lot worse for him. 

END ISSUE. Two more to go. 

The hospital scene gets to me. They find Moon Knight near death in the street next to a badly injured Count and a dead Echo and they cuff him to the bed. And then Bendis BLATANTLY showing us Jake. Letting us know that he’s aware of Steven and Jake and that they DO in fact exist in this story, but he’s not going to give them to us? That they just aren’t there? Also, Did you see how wonderful that cap looked? HOW WONDERFUL THAT JAKE LOOKED?! I will forever be angry that we are denied Maleev drawing us Jake or Steven. …And giving Marc a Goatee when Jake isn’t there to enjoy it. >:(

ISSUE #11! 

There the guys are staring again. 

But I DO like this cover. Black and white and the single pillar in the middle. It's a cover of mourning. 

And the folds in that cape? LOOK AT THAT CAPE. 

Marc's in for a bad time. It's about to get REALLY bad for him. 

Alright title page... Oh look, they're changing it just enough to make his deal with Echo even more potent. 

"He has teamed up with (and fallen in love with) another former Avenger, Echo.

Echo dies at the hand of Nefaria, driving Moon Knight off the deep end and setting him on a course for bloody vengeance. Before he can do that, however, Nefaria's daughter, the assassin Madame Masque, breaks into Spector's house and steals the head of Ultron..." 

Not to mention shooting Buck. I hope Buck survives. I like Buck. 

We open on SHIELD Helicarrier 1000 Feet over the Pacific Ocean. 

Hey, it's commander Hill! Nick Fury's right hand man and replacement after he died/ranoff/did his thing (dude does all of the above SO MANY TIMES all the time). 

Moon Knight is trying to call SHIELD. 

"They're using one of Captain America's secure lines." 

"Moon Knight." 

"It's coming from the Los Angeles Area. He's using old codes. From a discharged agent by the name of Buck Lime." 

"Okay, well, put him through. This should be annoying." 

I hate how much no one respects him and thinks of him as just that crazy guy that causes problems.

First of all, RUDE. She knows exactly who Moon Knight is and what his problems are. He had a psych eval when he joined the Avengers the FIRST time. You know she’s read the file. 

Second of all, Captain America should have informed SHIELD of the Count’s actions and locations just in case things DID get out of control. He seems like the sort of villain that they’d want to know the location of at all times, even if he wasn’t being active! 

She berates him for losing the Head, even though the plan was approved by Captain America. 

Buck tells htem that he put a tracker in the head, but when she blew up the garage, the responder was also blown up. He needs them to pick up the signal and send it to them. 

"No. You give ME the signal and I'll send a battalion of Hulkbuster Agents down there to--" 

"All due respect, but I think a lighter touch is needed." Marc makes excellent decisions. 

"Oh, you do? Says the man who 'lost' an Ultron." 

Back with Madame Masque, we see her with the Ultron head. She calls her father to tell him she has it. 

But... "I won't be meeting you. No. Not until you tell me the plan. What do you plan on doing with a homicidal artificlal intelligence you can't possibly control?" 

He tells her the plan (We don't get to hear it) and she suddenly changes her mind. 

"I didn't know that. No. Oh. Okay. Yes sir. I'll see you soon." 

Just as she's about to pack up and head out, a shadow catches her eye. 

Moon Knight pounces from above. 

He attacks with the shield, the webbing, and the claws. 

Wolverine yells to cut her and finish it. 

Marc forces her to get up close and personal and they both take some hard hits. 

Just when it looks like she has the upper hand, she looks back and suddenly realizes the Ultron head is gone! 

Buck has snatched it and is running away. 

Moon Knight manages to distract her until Buck makes it to the car and starts to drive away, her running after him. 

Moon Knight is still recovering from his earlier injuries so he's slower to get up and give chase. 

"Agh! Okay. That really hurt-" 

Wolverine: "Shut up and get up!" 

Madame Masque manages to shoot out his tires and stall his car. When he doesn't get out of the car, she starts trying to shoot his gas tank. 

Gas is now dripping heavily from his car and there are sparks all over. 

A silver Crescent shape appears above her and she shoots it up. 

It's just a cape! 

Spiderwebbing wraps up her guns and Moon Knight attacks. 

Just as he strikes, the car explodes, sending them both flying. 

Ah yes, the seeing the dead girlfriend telling you not to let her death be in vain and to make it mean something trope. 

Marc wakes up and forces himself to move just as Madame Masque is about to stab him. 

I'd again like to remind you that Marc Spector is specially trained in hand to hand combat. Everyone goes on about "Oh yeah this villain is a skilled fighter!" but they still don't have the training Marc has. Marc didn't just wake up one day and put on the mask with a little boxing degree under his belt. 

Boxing, street fighting, Army/Marines, Special ops, SHIELD, underground fight rings and cage fighting...And THEN his years of Mercenary training and how to get out of shit situations because he puts himself in BAD situations constantly and has to dig himself out. 

Not just that, he's a stubborn asshole who would 'rather take the punch than learn to duck' as Taskmaster once said. (My favorite depiction of Marc.) 

So a scary lady like Madame Masque means nothing to him. 

And I appreciate that Bendis and Maleev recognize this. Another point in their corner. (Unlike with Bendis and Burrow who showed him getting his ass handed to him by some no one over and over again.)

“And that’s why you don’t steal from the craziest Avenger on the West-” 

Marc, don't encourage this. 

Marc takes off her mask and finds a beautiful perfect face. 

"She doesn't even need the mask. She's crazier than you are." Wolverine snerks. 

What's this? Echo has joined the commentary. Is she a 'voice/personality' now too? 

"Well done, Spector. Don't forget Buck. ANd the Ultron Head." But why does she speak like Captain America? 

"Oh No...Buck." 

Marc finds Buck laying next to the exploded car. 

"Oh no. Not you too, Buck. Not you too. I'm so..." 

Buck turns around with his gun at the ready. "NGYAA!" 

"HO!" 

"AGH!" 

"It's okay. It's me." 

"Whee is--Did you--?"

"I got her." 

"That--!" 

The police arrive via Helicopter and Marc tells them it's time to go. 

He helps Buck get up and they make a run for it. 

And I must say… The writing between Buck and Marc is top notch. I appreciate the humor they have. The banter. Even Marc poking fun at himself. He’s relaxing around Buck and you don’t see him do that often with people. He’s told Buck that he has problems and Buck still accepts him (even though he hasn’t really said the full extent of his problems). I’m going to give Bendis another point for giving us Buck. 

Thank you Buck. 

Back with the Count! He's watching the breaking news on TV about the latest thing with Moon Knight. 

The Local police arrive at his place. They have a warrant and subpoena. 

"There's quite a few of them. They said it had something to do with Moon Knight." 

"Moon Knight..." Yeah... Count is learning what it means to get Moon Knight under your skin. 

Do you have any idea HOW MANY major marvel hitters have come up across Moon Knight and gone, "Please. Let me face ANYONE...ANYONE...but Moon Knight again." They'd rather fight the Hulk than end up in Moon Knight's sights again. 

Even if they 'won' or kicked his ass... At what cost? This man knows how to be a PROBLEM. It's what he's best at. Marc Spector: professional problem. 

Anyways, END ISSUE. ONE TO GO. 

ANd this is the problem. I liked that issue. It was fun, it was quirky, it had Buck, it had Moon Knight doing what he does best. But then you add in the Wolverine aspect and also the discrimination and then the potential that Echo is ALSO now joined his voices/personalities in his head? 

LAST ISSUE

Issue #12! 

I really love his use of grays and whites. And he draws a fantastic moon. The framing of this image is just spot on. 

Alright. Let's get this bread. 

On the title page! 

We got the usual false info on the start of Moon Knight (I can't believe they changed the story and how wrong they made it.) 

The usual bit about his TV show, Count Nefaria, his hidden new split personality disorder (LOL no). His love with Echo and her death... 

And lastly we have him "ruthlessly" dispatching Madame Masque to get the Ultron head back. 

Then the police catching up with Count Nefaria and making him even more pissed at Moon Knight. 

HERE WE GO! 

We open with the police serving the warrant and trying to get into the house to find the Count. 

Just then, the COunt takes off, flying away and destroying a Police copter in the process. Which was totally unnecessary cause they were just there for light and had no weapons. 

Back at police HQ, Snapdragon hears about the Count getting away and tells the police they had a deal to get her out of there. 

The captain goes to get her. It's time to transport her to protective custody. 

And then the Count shows up. 

"Captain Quaid. You and I had a deal. Payments were made." 

Yeah, that's what I thought. 

The Captain tells the officers to stand down. 

There's an argument and the Count laser eye blasts the Captain to death. The police open fire and Snapdragon takes cover. 

He's pretty pissed at Snapdragon, telling her that he hadn't plan to leave her there to rot after all. That he was going to get her out later and she betrayed him. 

As he's ranting, someone comes up behind him. "Hey, Nefaria..." 

The art here. The action pose. The detail in the rubble… The SASS. The absolute frustration that someone as small time as Moon Knight is this much of a problem. 

This gives me joy. 

Also, in the last Issue, Marc's outfit was pretty torn up. And the issue before that his outfit was pretty torn up. 

He must keep on hand SO MANY outfits. Not to mention capes. 

So here we are again... Marc going up against an over powered villain up close and personal. 

You know what his only advantage is? 

(Look at him. Sitting there on all that rubble like a trouble maker. )

The fact that he is such a problem. 

"Marc Spector: Profession Problem" really should be on his business cards. 

While the Count is distracted by Moon Knight, Snapdragon takes up hier own offense. She shoots at the Count then opens fire on Moon Knight too. 

"Nice. Real nice." He blocks her blows with his shield. 

Then we see Wolverine and the newest member to the innacurate Headmate group: Echo. 

Echo has taken up the voice of reason, since Wolverine killed off Captain America and Spider-man in a previous issue, I guess? 

"Tell him it's time to make a deal." 

Marc tries to make a deal with Nefaria. "Kill me and you'll never get the head of Ultron. And I mean NEVER." 

He then tells him that he's going to lose his empire, his daughter, and his west coast bragging rights. 

Yeah... Count isn't listening. He's pretty enraged. 

It’s kinda funny really. Like he can’t even believe he’s never considered that Moon Knight could ever be his problem.

(Dude’s starting to sound like talking to me must sound like.) 

Moon Knight keeps his paces, but this dude is fast and strong. 

He snaps the claws apart then throws Moon Knight around a bit. 

"Here's what's going to happen according to me. You're going to give me my Ultron head. You're going to give it to me and then you are going to pay off the sizable debt you've racked up. Not with money...but with service. Do I need to explain myself again?" 

He trashes Marc around a bit, ripping up that nice new outfit. 

"And maybe I won't kill you like I killed your little Girlfriend. You have no idea what's at stake here, boy. You have no idea how important that head is." 

Marc tells him that the head is outside. in the parking lot. "No more killing...No more..." 

So the Count drags Marc out of the station to the lot. 

"Yeah, he called the Avengers." 

Oh look! The Avengers! Who we got on the team today? Let's see... Thor, Wolverine, Spiderwoman, Captain Marvel, Beast, Iron Man and...Someone I don't recognize. And they've also apprehended Snapdragon too. 

And Marc, bless his Sass... 

Beaten to a pulp he looks up at the Count: "You see them too, right?" 

Now, according to the things I looked up so I could figure out just WHO the Count is.. He's fought Thor more than a few times and it was mostly an even match, but Thor usually got an upper hand. 

The Count goes on the attack and Thor lays him out with a good ol' Thor hammer. 

Marc takes the opprotunity to crawl over to him. "That's for Echo, you son of a bitch." 

And he punches out the Count. 

And that would be great if that was it. But it isn't. 

We head back to Marc's partially blown up house. 

Tony Stark wants to see the head. 

Marc hands it over. "Ta-Dah!" 

"It's the real damn deal." 

"Thanks for coming to take it off our hands, Stark." 

"Hey, thanks for keeping it out of that nut job's hands. Thanks for calling us when you did. Sorry we didn't get there five minutes faster." 

"What did Nefaria want with it?" 

And Tony tells him. 

Ultron is a highly advanced artificial intelligence that is far smarter than any of them and keeps getting smarter. It wants to wipe out all of humanity. 

It's also out there. They destroyed all the avatar bodies, but the program is out there hiding and waiting and planning. 

Tony speculates that Nefaria either knows 'something we don't--like where Ultron is or what the Ultron plan is...Or he's trying to get ahead start. Trying to get in on the ground floor or when the big bad robot comes to kill us. Maybe he wanted something to Bargain with." 

"I really don't want that in my house anymore." 

Does he think that you can’t have mental health issues and still have a normal conversation or do a normal job? 

The second mental health is breeched no one trusts them to do anything. Or they look the other way then if anything goes out of the normal they go “Oh yeah I always knew he was trouble. He’s crazy, you know.” 

Pisses me off. 

I love Buck. He gets it. He notices when Marc is having a moment and he also knows that exhaustion isn’t great for things. Despite it all, Buck is there for him and he’s willing to help him along the way. 

(And you are never going to see Buck again. He’s quickly erased thanks to the 3 year gap after Moon Knight is canceled. Moved on or like he never happened. This upsets me.) 

You know what else upsets me? 

There's a new headmate now. He just had a frank discussion with Tony Stark. Captain America and Spider-man headmates were killed off. So now he has...

Wolverine, Echo, and Ironman. Three personalities that are NOT going to get along and have VERY different instructions and opinions. Back to square one. 

wtf

THREE MONTHS LATER. 

Studio Back Lot, Marc arrives and is told by his assistant that the show is canceled. 

Not making enough money or something or other. 

(The joke here is that he’s crazy so they expect him to do crazy things.) 

Marc. Let her go. Remember how we talked about you making BAD DECISIONS? 

Marc… MARC. 

Okay. Hold on a second. I need to look something up. 

So, as I noted in part 1... This was one of Bendis' less successful revivals. He re-wrote Moon Knight's past, gave him a new location, and then completely redid his character and D.I.D as well as getting rid of without explaining Steven and Jake. In fact, it's implied that he never HAD Steven and Jake and that they were only used as "Cover personas" and that his "Multiple Personality" issue is new and hidden as he 'imagines' the Avengers working along side him. 

It's used as a ploy to keep the crazy in Moon Knight while also trying to make him interesting when he was ALREADY interesting and Bendis just stripped what was interesting about him away without explanation or cause. 

You don't take the stripes off the Zebra and call it a fancy horse and still expect people to be interested in it like they were before. 

According to one review write up: "It never really caught fire with new fans, and longtime devotees didn't love the concept of tying him into some of Marvel's biggest heroes." 

It was a huge flop. 

During this run, Moon Knight also had a major team appearance (first in over 20 years) in "Secret Avengers". In fact, he was popping up all over the place in this time frame in small side projects and background things. 

And then.... NOTHING. But what about the promise of "He will return in Age of Ultron"? 

WELL....

Age of Ultron, 2012. He appears prominently in Issues #2, 4, 5, 10, and Avengers Assemble Age of Ultron #14. But it is not considered a canon timeline for him and has no affect on the main story. He’s just kinda there. You KNOW how I feel about Marvel events that just take all the characters and mash them together with writers that don’t know how to handle these characters. They just kinda go off of cliff notes on the most recent run that’s been published. 

Let's take a peek at how Moon Knight was handled after the failed Bendis run...  

Avengers Assemble: Age of Ultron

Written by Al Ewing

Art by Butch Guice

Editor by Lauren Sankovitch 

…..THANKS BENDIS. I HATE IT.

Dialogue here because I had to squint:

"Marc Spector. Moon Knight. I've worked with him. Unstable, but useful. So long as he can keep himself together. Right now, he's not doing well. He's breaking. It's in his voice. He needs something certain. Something he can rely on. He needs the Black Widow. The one in his head."

So this is what happens when someone mismanages a character like Moon Knight. The stigma…and it is stigma…sticks. It’s harder to make the good things stick than it is to make the mad things last. Just look at BEMIS. 

Up to this point, there had been a LOT of misrepresentation for Moon Knight. He just kept getting crazier and crazier. More and more violent. Some writers took it to the extreme and others tried to mellow it out but gave him less of Steven and Jake and more of rageful Marc. 

When Bendis redefined Marc’s mental disorder, there was only one way to go with it and it was right into crazy town. The Avengers treated him with kiddie gloves and ‘played’ to his delusions. 

This is how bad depictions of disabilities can snowball. And snowball it did. 

THREE YEARS. No one knew what to do with him. Did they take him back to where he was, cutting faces off of people? Or into the wild and angry phase? Or did they try to carry on what Bendis did here? 

It’s any wonder that it took three years for someone to step up and say “Let me try.” and is it any wonder that their arch was so PASSIVE? 

So here I am with a question: Was this a good run? 

Pros: The art was good and consistent. The dialogue was good and believable. The action was balanced. The stillness was balanced. We had very good fighting scenes with good combat. I FELT for Marc. We got to see Marc in vulnerable situations trying to deal with his failing mental health and his grief. He broke my heart. We also got Buck! It made me legit laugh a few times. 

Cons: VERY POORLY DONE REPRESENTATION OF D.I.D AND MENTAL HEALTH IN GENERAL THAT GOT IT CANCELED FOR THREE YEARS AND SPIRALLED US INTO SUCH POOR DEPICTiONS AND STIGMA. 

The hardest part is that when it was good, it was AMAZING. But when it was bad…. 

So do I forgive Bendis? Do I forgive him for taking on a project he should NOT have taken on? Is it enough for me to enjoy the run and recommend it? Is it enough for me to say “It’s great if you overlook the piss poor representation of D.I.D and Ableism.”? 

I can see why after reading this run, I set it aside and marked it as ‘the worst’ and refused to touch it again. Was it bad enough to warrant that reaction? At the time… Yes. But looking back on it… Perhaps I was a little harsh? Holding it up against Aaron, BEMIS, and even Pepose… It’s top of the line. But how sad is that? 

How sad that we have to hold up something so wrong and say “Hey, it wasn’t the worst so I give it a two thumbs up”? 

We should expect better. Because this comic deserves better. This run should have been up there with Lemire. Instead, it’s down here with “Skip this one”. And that makes me sad. 

What do you guys think? Do the pros outweigh the cons? Is this run still a skip, or is it a read ‘but don’t pay attention to these things’?

[astroboots]

Hello Cici 💐 I wanted to ask, what was your favorite scene that you've written for Red Flags? And for Eyem?

OOOOH!!! 💐 anon that is such a fun question!! Thank you for asking me this.

For Red Flags

My favorite scene is when reader asks Steven about the cuffs, thinking it's a kinky sex thing and Steven's utter confusion about it. It' misunderstanding trope but instead of conflict just absolute dumbassery that leads to a sex scene, the humour in that moment is one of my favorite things I've written. I saw a meme when I first watched Moon Knight talking about how if someone that looked like Steven had that in their bedroom, it would not be a red flag for them but a green flag and it made me laugh so much that it inspired the whole story.

My second favorite scene is when Marc comes to ask reader for help with replacing Gus and she suggests snipping its fins and Marc is horrified. Again it was a scene that I had in mind when I first decided to write Red Flags, and the idea of this cool demeanoured mercenary would be horrified by animal abuse is something that I thought was so damn funny but also endearing and it was a blast to write their interaction togetehr.

For EYEM

oooof so so damn many. I think if you held me under gunpoint and forced me to pick it'd be when reader feeds Miguel coffee cake and he gets drunk. The image of this big 6'9 man knocking down furniture and plates cause he's drunk in your tiny apartment will never not be hysterical to me, and Miguel trying to argue back that coffee cake doesn't have to contain coffee -- his stubborness, his embarrassment was a blast to write -- and then of course my favorite thing to do in the world, do a tone switch from the humour of that to drop everyone into utter emotional devastation when he mistakes you for his version of you.

I love that scene/chapter an insane amount.

[jaydonsjam]

Werewolf By Night XII

Werewolf By Night #22-23

Werewolf By Night #22-26 - writer: Doug Moench | penciler: Don Perlin (22-26) | inker: Vince Colletta (22-24), Don Perlin (25-26)

The Werewolf fights a disfigured actor! Steve Rand is out for vengeance on everyone who worked on the movie that caused his disfigurement. I gotta wonder if Jason Voorhees’ face was based on Rand’s (or Atlas as he calls himself) because it’s a spitting image of Jason. I checked the dates cause it was bothering me and Friday the 13th didn’t release until 1980 while this comic came out in 1974. Just to put it to bed, since you aren’t hearing my voice or tone, I’m kidding but look at that resemblance!

Anyways, I liked the story here but it does hit on the same type of themes that we’ve seen this comic cover already. Jack fights another monster and accidentally plays hero. I did enjoy the framing around Hollywood and movie sets. That made for an interesting backdrop into the motivations for the villain. Don Perlin did a great job drawing the action sequences and fights. A fun read but it’s also been a couple weeks since I last read this comic so maybe I just missed reading this series but either way, I liked this arc. Plus Buck Cowan actually had stuff to do and a real reason to be in this storyline which I loved.

Werewolf By Night #24-26

The Hangman returns! We get two antagonists in this three issue arc which ends in a three-way-fight at the end of #26. We find out a Doctor by the name of Winston Redditch has developed a serum which is meant to remove the “evil” animalistic side of humans leaving only the “good side”. The problem is that he’s a terrible scientist and doesn’t label his own beakers so he accidentally mixed it wrong and in a Jekyll and Hyde type situation he drinks the evil one! Seriously this dude is an idiot but whatever I can look past it. He then becomes DePrayve and starts wrecking havoc on Los Angeles. Now what does this have to do with Jack Russell? Well Buck wants to get the serum and see if it cures Jack of his lycanthropy. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t work. How does The Hangman come into the story? Well he tracks the carnage that DePrayve had wrought and found Redditch and Werewolf fighting. Instead he bides his time and strikes at Jack when he’s running through the city and in a callback to his previous appearance, strings Jack up by his noose. It was interesting to see The Hangman come back but he ultimately gets captured by cops. I still find the idea that he sees everything as black and white and if you stray in between at all, it means you deserve to be punished and dead. The three-way-fight was cool enough. I dug all of the action and I’m glad they took care of The Hangman pretty quickly because that was already starting to feel like a retread. The Jekyll and Hyde wannabe DePrayve plot line with the serum ended up not working so it felt like a waste. It was just another reason and monster for our Werewolf to fight. It does seem like Lissa is going to take center stage soon so I’m interested in that Werewolf plot line with her to be tied up but besides that and Moon Knight coming up, this book seems to just cycle through similar antagonists a bit too much.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

THE PAINT DOESN’T MOVE THE WAY THE LIGHT REFLECTS ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; when the king puts you under the supervision of a dashing knight, you promise to make his job as difficult as possible. unfortunately, suguru geto is the patient sort.

word count; 21.1k (this accidentally turned into a novella idk how it happened either nobody look at me 💔)

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, knight!sugu x royalty!reader, royalty au (not accurate to any time period ever), technically a bodyguard au, slowburn, reader is a brat and suguru likes it a little more than he should, reader also has thinly veiled daddy issues, protective sugu :3, he goes feral in one part (descriptions of violence and bloodshed), reader gets briefly kidnapped lol, very fluffy overall though!!, includes shifting povs & time-skips, also lots and lots of devotion, knight!sugu is real & beautiful & loves you specifically <33

a/n; HAPPY late BDAY SUGU MY BABY THE LOVE OF MY LIFE this fic has been in the works for a WHILE now and means a lot to me much like sugu himself :’3 dedicated to my beloved @kissxcore for infecting me w this concept & also my dear @mossmurdock for bringing knight!sugu into my life, both of u have made the brainrot infinitely worse and i will never be free (and ofc @softgirlgonehaywire & @dollsuguru & @jtkys for being the sweetest always) I LOVE U ALL!!!!!!!!

like most things, it begins and ends with a dream.

images form in the depths of your subconscious, wild and vivid, splattering on the canvas of your mind. a dream of cold metal, dark thickets, iron-scented skin — and a knight. 

(or… a wolf?)

before you is a small clearing. trees sprout from the rugged grounds, blooming proudly, clogging up the wool-coated sky. all around you lie empty, discarded suits of armor, dirty with rust and something that smells of death. wilted sunflowers stumble under their own weight, and dragonflies buzz in a frenzy, manic, driven to hysteria. in the distance you think you hear the shrieking of ravens.

and there’s a knight, just ahead, tall and imposing, covered in steel from head to toe. holding a blinding sword, facing the sky, doing nothing to stop the pitter patter of raindrops ricocheting off his burganet. you stand by the entrance of the woods, and watch him in silence. 

he looks a little lonely. 

and in comes the wolf. gracious, growling, big and bad, snarling and showing off the white of its fangs. dragging its claws against the ground, unruly fur ruffled by the harsh breeze; widening its maw, a silent fury on its tongue. from this angle, it looks a little like a grin.

the wolf begins to chase the knight. or maybe it’s the knight chasing the wolf — you can’t really tell. they run in circles around each other, like the sun and the moon, an orbit of violence, matching their steps. almost in harmony — almost, but not quite, because suddenly they’re closing in on you, great and ugly, beasts wearing different hides, and —

and that’s when you wake up.

”your highness!” 

a groan pushes past your lips, groggy with fatigue, and your eyelids flicker open like the drawing of a flimsy curtain. a series of mismatched little blinks, until your vision clears. 

above you waits a familiar face. impatient. one of the maids, your foggy brain tells you — and she isn’t pleased. but all you do is drag your limbs up to cover your pillow-creased face, sluggishly, muttering beneath your breath.

”a wolf…”

silence. 

the maid tilts her head, with a furrow of her brows. 

”… excuse me?”

”there was a wolf,” you echo, a dreamy exhale muffled against the skin of your palm. stifling a yawn. ”and a guy… he was cool.” 

she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. settling back into her usual rhythm. mildy berating. ”did you have another one of your dreams?” she asks, a little irritated, and for a second you think you hear a tick-tock ticking down. ”at any rate — you need to get up. the king and queen demand your presence.”

ah. of course.

a huff, displeased, even as you force yourself into a sitting position. stretching your limbs like a grumpy feline. ”demands…” you murmur, a click of your tongue. ”they think they can just wake me up whenever they want? at the crack of dawn?”

”it’s 11 a.m, your highness.”

”early as hell,” you rasp, willfully tuning out her murmur of mind your language. letting your legs hang off the bed. ”what do they want, anyway?”

following your silent cue, she hums, walking towards the edge of the room. picking up your discarded blouse, and bringing it to you. ”i was told it was of utmost importance,” is all she says, lifting the fabric as if getting ready to dress you.

”i can do that myself,” you hiss, snatching the white silk from her outstretched hands. as always, she does nothing but sigh, sigh, sigh. it’s all they ever do. ”i’m not a toddler.”

from your position, still cozied up in bed, on messy sheets and fluffy pillows — you can see the view beyond your translucent window’s glass. a sky so gray it’s almost comforting, dark clouds forming in the distance, silently ruminating. when the maid pushes it open, and a cold breeze slips through the gap, you can smell the rain. heavy, earthy, daffodils and oak wood. in the distance, sunflower fields seek shelter from the downpour. 

but your eyes remain glued to the woods. far ahead, but still close enough to see — the woods you long for. the ones you’ll never get to see up close. 

a bitter taste blooms on your tongue. 

(spitefully, your teeth sink into the tender flesh of your bottom lip.)

”fine,” comes a heavy sigh, ruefully resigned. forcing yourself into compliancy. before you can change your mind, you hop off the mattress, running your fingers through tousled strands of hair. ”i’ll go see them.”

and she brightens. visibly, disapproving frown smoothed away with the breeze — for now. ”thank you. they are worried, i’ll have you know.”

a scoff, as you cross the threshold of your private quarters. laced with humour. ”i bet they are.” 

”your highness,” she calls, following close behind. her tone is reprimanding, now. you will yourself not to shrink. ”we almost lost you.”

”i almost got kidnapped,” you huff. ”not the same thing.”

again, that exasperated sigh. it’s a wonder her lungs haven’t run out of air.

”do you have any idea who that man was?” 

the question makes your mind still. shifting gears, a clockwork coming to life, repeating it inside your head — do you have any idea who that man was? 

”… he was hot.”

a sigh. the loudest one yet. you hear it before it comes, and raise your lips on instinct. 

”no, i mean it!” you ensure her, throwing a fleeting glance behind you. ”he just had that rugged look about him, you know? the scar and everything…” a blissful little exhale, as you gush over your would-be killer. ”what a waste. if only he had gotten away.”

”with you in tow?” the maid quips, raising a brow. her words are steeped in irony.

”of course!” another disapproving glance. ”i mean, did you see those biceps —”

”behave.”

with a flutter of your puffy sleeves, you turn around to face her. and ah, there it is. the hardness of her jaw, those frosty pupils, the impending signs of her dwindling patience — you can see it, hear it, that eerie tick-tock signaling the breaching of her limit.

all humans have one. a clockwork heart, of sorts, ticking down to the moment they run out of leftover kindness to give unruly heirs. over the years, you’ve gotten expertly good at making the clock tick quicken. a skill you’re very proud of.

”and what if i don’t?” you bite back, just barely restraining your growing grin. delighted at the attention. ”he had nice biceps! what, am i not allowed to tell the truth?”

and the tick-tock quickens. she stills, just behind you, hands on her hips. frustration bubbling beneath sharp syllables. ”my god, you are impossible today!”

for a moment, you stop to look at her. weighing your options. should you reel it back in, try and appease her? or keep pushing?

the answer, as always, is push. it’s all you’ll ever do.

so you turn on your heel, and take a step forward, a spiteful grin curved into your lips. ”deal with it, or leave.” a beat. ”i don’t remember asking you to accompany me.”

before you round the corner, your ears pick up on one final harsh sigh. she makes no move to follow you.

(hmph.)

”where is your maid?”

in front of you stands a throne, proud and luxurious, polished marble, two seats right next to each other. the quarters of the royal pair are the same as always, vivid paintings hanging from every wall in sight, wolf pelts thrown over tables and windowsills. the scent of dried lavender seeps through the air, suffocating you. 

and, of course, the king. speaking to you with the same judgemental voice as always; one you’ve grown painfully accustomed to. 

”i wanted her to get me breakfast,” is the lie you decide on, finely tailored in white. just to make sure she doesn’t get into any actual trouble. ”you didn’t exactly give me time to eat any.”

the king sighs, mild disappointment laced into the breath. nothing new. when he says your name, it comes out sounding like a bad joke. ” — you aren’t a child anymore. one day you’ll be ruling this kingdom; forcing the maids to do your bidding won’t win you any favours.” 

”mhm.” absently, you fidget with the sleeves of your blouse. not quite listening. ”so, what did you want? it’s not often i’m allowed here.”

an evil glint shines in your eyes, for a moment. you cast a meaningful glance at the maid by your father’s side — his personal favorite. 

”don’t you have, ah…” you taste the words on your tongue. ”more pressing matters to attend to?”

he doesn’t flinch. as always, he pretends not to know that you know — that everyone knows. 

yet he still gives you that cold, cold look, colder than the howls of wind beyond the castle walls, cold enough to send a shiver down your spine. it makes you want to push, push, push. break the clockwork in half.

but he’s wise enough to follow your lead. “let me get to the point, then,” he cranes his neck, showing off the fox pelt snug around his shoulders. ”the queen and i thought it best to hire a new knight for you.”

you blink. eyelashes fluttering. all you can hear is the pitter patter of rain against the windowpane. 

then you groan.

”another one?” you whine, barely resisting the urge to stomp your feet on the floor. ”please, no. it’s such a pain getting rid of them. you know they won’t last long!”

”we aren’t talking about any ordinary knight,” he tuts, as monotone as ever. ignoring your little temper tantrum. ”after what happened with toji zenin, we aren’t taking any chances.”

you tilt your head. confused, for a moment. ”toji?” the gears of your mind turn, clicking into place; zenin. a family of assassins, a man with a scar on his bottom lip. ”ohhh — the hottie.”

your father pretends not to hear you. 

”it was a close call,” he hums, and you muster the strength not to crack another joke about his biceps. it takes restraint. ”we need someone who can protect you properly. indefinitely, from even the stealthiest of assassins. so…”

your eyes meet his. gazes overlapping, the same colour, one above and one below. he’s always, always towered over you. for as long as you remember. 

that is what royalty means — absolute dominion. 

(it makes you want to curl into a ball.)

”today, you’ll be meeting with the greatest knight.” he says the words with an odd sense of pride, an inner satisfaction. ”he’ll be here any moment. i thought it best for you to get acquainted as soon as possible.”

a moment passes. you’re broken out of your bout of compliance, like a rubber band snapping. a clock tick quickening. ”wait, what?” you gape. ”father —”

”your majesty.” 

…

the correction is stern. gritting your teeth, you force the words from out your throat. ”… your majesty,” there’s a slight grumble to your voice, ”what the hell? now? i haven’t even —”

”you have no choice in this matter,” he cuts you off. coldly, coldly, coldly. ”behave, and there won’t be any complications.”

behave.

behave, behave, behave. it’s all they ever want from you.

(you might as well be a pet.)

the queen is silent, as always. eerily so, not saying a word, like a puppet on a string. she hasn’t looked you in the eye even once so far, not even a passing glance. not like you’d expect her to. her clockwork heart stopped beating for you a long time ago. 

automatons, the both of them. making decisions for you, like there isn’t a sliver of rational thought in your brain. how irritating.

you’re just about to part your lips, when —

”… am i interrupting?”

you still.

a velvety voice. silky, smooth, tailored by the finest seamstress — tucked between the slightest raspy vowel, a hint of something deeper. it sounds like honey, wine, a molten mass of spring clouds. 

the king ahead of you brightens, suddenly, lips curling up into a smile. it looks almost warm; you didn’t know he was capable of making that kind of expression. ”ah, suguru!” he calls out to the source of the noise. ”no, certainly not. forgive me for the short notice.”

when you turn around, you see a knight.

he’s beautiful. gorgeous, even. fair skin, sharp facial features, no scars to be seen. a sword hangs in a scabbard by his hip, and he’s wearing a set of armor, still glistening with the aftermaths of the rain beating down outside. his hair cascades down the metal like a black river, loose and silky, a single strand obscuring his pretty face. and his eyes are a soothing shade of brown; you’re almost certain they’d look warm, if there was any sunlight to engulf them. as it is, in the shadow of a murky spring morning, they’re a dark cedar, almost obsidian. but they look kind. 

and they’re fixed on the king. he’s smiling, too, a dangerous little tilt. disgustingly charming. he hangs his head in a bow, hand on his heart — reverent.

(ah. he’s one of those knights.)

”my king,” the strange knight greets, tongue wrapping around the vowels like a dragon curling around a pile of gold. ”not at all. i’m always grateful for an opportunity to see you.”

(oh god. it’s even worse than you thought.)

”i should say the same of you,” the king echoes, with a warmth that you’re wholly unaccustomed to. your stomach churns, swirling with discomfort. ”our nation’s pride and joy.”

the knight chuckles; muffled by his closed fist. he’s feigning embarrassment, you can tell. ”you flatter me,” he purrs, words flowing smoothly from his lips. too smoothly. ”i’m simply doing my duty as one of your subjects. though, needless to say — i’m honoured to have earned your respect.”

finally, his gaze shifts to you. and you think he must notice how disgusted you are, the reproach you feel for him, that silent contempt. because you aren’t trying to hide it; it’s there, clear as day, in the crease of your brow, your frosty pupils. lips pursed, like they’re aching to bare and to bite.

but he continues to smile. warm, still, like a mellow summer breeze. a well of pizzicato drops.

you feel a little nauseous.

”ah, and you must be the royal heir?” a tilt of his head, knowing. a shimmer of recognition painted in those ashen eyes. ”or should i say…. my liege.” 

he walks towards you, in long strides, slow and steady, only to get down on one knee. ew.

”forgive me. my name is suguru geto — your knight, from this day forth.” his palm unfurls, cedar eyes crinkling with feigned endearment. holding it out towards the subject of his newfound devotion. ”i’m delighted to finally meet you.”

(suguru geto.

you’ve heard of him, of course. who hasn’t?)

his hand stills in the air, waiting patiently for yours. waiting to bring it to his glossy lips. but you don’t do anything — nothing, other than to study his smile, picture perfect, tailor-made, sweet enough to melt on your tongue. so sweet you know it must be at least a little bit fake — the smile of a liar. 

it’s a smile you know well.

so you mimic it, a bitter glint in your eyes, only for your hands to retreat to your pockets. and out comes a purr. ”you’re a bad actor.”

silence. the knight doesn’t flinch, not even close, but he blinks, a flutter of his dark eyelashes. like a raven taking flight. that everlasting smile never falters, but for just a second, a clock-tick or two, you swear you catch the slightest hint of something flickering through his keen iris.

interest?

”forgive them, suguru,” the king is quick to chip in, finally stepping down from his throne to join you on the floor. the queen doesn’t move, but she gives suguru a fond smile, and it makes your grimace deepen. ”they woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning. and they’re a bit of a problem child — i’m sure you’ve heard.”

that makes you snicker, silently. maybe just a little bit smug. you’re sure it must be a headache for him to deal with.

”i can’t say i haven’t,” suguru chuckles, raising himself up from the marble floor. your smile falls. ”but it’s not an issue. i understand.”

he looks at you, really looks at you, and you give him an unimpressed stare. wholly disinterested. trying not to squirm under his scrutiny. 

”i’m sure it must feel suffocating — being under this kind of supervision.” he gives you a tilt of his head, strands of charcoal following the movement. smooth, like a waltz, one you didn’t agree to. ”isn’t it?”

ah. the sympathy card.

before you can answer, he bows; hand on his heart. knights and their rituals. ”i’m at your service, my liege. if i make you uncomfortable, at any point, just tell me.” once more, he meets your gaze, a sincerity in his own — reserved just for you. ”really.”

… ugh.

to your right comes a pleased voice, deep and satisfied, as self-affirming as ever. ”i knew i could entrust them to you,” the king speaks, placing a palm on your shoulder. you try not to flinch. ”aren’t you grateful? this handsome, kind man is all yours.”

a sharp scoff is all you can muster, nails digging into the skin of your palm. but suguru only chuckles, good-natured.

they continue to speak, about this and that. you tune out most of it, caught up in preparing for the long headache ahead. sure, you’re an expert at getting knights to quit, but it takes time. weeks, sometimes, just to make them finally crack, push and push until their patience reaches its limit. and suguru seems resilient. more than anything, he seems thoroughly loyal to the king; that really doesn’t bode well for you.

before you can formulate a step-by-step guide to making his job a living hell, the sound of your name snaps you out of your trance.

it’s the king, of course, as always. you hate that you still instinctively respond to his call. like an obedient puppy. ”show suguru to your quarters. he’ll be accompanying you indefinitely, from now on. don't give him any trouble.” his voice finally sounds cold again; a warning. ”i’ll hear about it.”

(indefinitely.)

a moment passes. then you sigh, deep and heavy, haphazardly hiding a roll of your eyes. ”yeah, yeah, yeah,” you cross your arms. ”i got it.”

suguru meets your furrowed brows with something gentle, a soothing little smile. offering his arm, for you to hold on to. knights and their rituals. ”shall we?”

but you brush past him. stubborn in your independence, in your desire to make this as discomforting for him as it is for you. ”follow me,” is all you say, a dissatisfied huff. loud enough to pick up on.

to your great displeasure, he matches your hurried pace. side by side, as you walk down the halls, the clicking of his shoes echoing against the marble. a shadow you can’t shine away; one that’ll stay with you indefinitely. you feel his gaze burn into you.

”my lord.”

”don’t talk to me,” you sigh, sharp like the sword by his hip. a low click of your tongue. ”just so you know, i didn’t agree to this.”

”that was my question, actually,” he grins, ever so slightly. fingertips tapping against his scabbard. ”i am sorry, you know. i meant what i said — i’m sure it’s difficult for you.” he casts you another one of those meaningful glances, a meaning you have no intention of discerning. ”but i have my orders.”

you bite back a laugh. ”you guys love those, huh?” when you turn your head to face him, still walking forward, he’s met with a taunting smirk. ”your little orders.”

but his smile doesn’t falter. damn.

”not a fan of knights?” he asks, instead, a playful lilt to his syrupy voice. coaxing, accommodating. infuriating.

”nope.” your footsteps quicken — but he keeps up, effortlessly. curse those abnormally long legs. ”you’re all just bootlickers. especially you.”

”oh?”

”don’t oh? me,” you snap, practically growling, ”like you weren’t seconds away from making out with the king back there. it’s all so fake.” the comment makes the corners of his lip quirk up, but you don’t turn around to see it. ”now that you’re alone with me, you’re already acting way less uptight, see?”

he hums. ”i figured it’d make you feel more at ease.”

”god, will you just cut it out?” a hiss breaks out of your throat, sharp and exasperated. tired, drained. you just want to go back to sleep. ”quit acting like you care about what i think. you’ll do whatever the king asks of you — that’s all you really care about.”

suguru stays silent, this time. matching your steps, observing you silently, out of the corner of his eye. the frown on your lips, the crease between your brows. etching them into his memory. you’re pissed, that much he can tell. and you definitely, definitely don’t like him. 

(”you’re a bad actor.”)

the knight comes to a standstill. parting his lips, enough for his voice to flow through, silken sheets and molten honey. a raspy tilt he tries his best to hide.

but his words carry a sincerity he could never fake. 

”from now on, i serve you.”

when the clicking of his shoes against cold marble flooring fades away, you halt. turning around, hesitantly, quirking a questioning brow. rain beats on beyond the window to your left, flicking against the glass, droplets clinging to the translucent surface. marigold petals kiss the windows in a flurry of cream and orange, fluttering about with the harsh bites of the wind, carried from the castle’s orchard. the endless hallway you find yourselves in smells of rainwater and spring.

suguru looks steadfast, where he’s standing, immovable. a little like a pillar of salt. when he speaks it sounds like he’s reciting a scripture.

”i’m loyal to the king. i have to follow his orders.” there’s something about his words that you can’t quite pinpoint. is it guilt or pride? ”but i am at your service. certain things are set in stone, but not others. i’ll let you decide how this goes.”

the hallway goes silent. he smiles, again, smaller this time. somehow more genuine.

”from now on, i’m your knight.” the pitter patter of rain mashes with the steady beating of a clock; rhythmic, soothing, a lullaby of rust and time. ”that’s all. i won’t be anything else.”

you stare. lips pursed, awaiting a clarification, but it doesn’t come. he’s giving you time to respond.

(he’s your knight, now. indefinitely yours.)

an inhale. the clock hands of your heart begin to move. ”in that case,” you exhale, lips curling up into a taunting smile. pleased with yourself. ”i promise to be the most insufferable lord a knight has ever had. i won’t make your job easy for you.”

and suguru only chuckles. raspy, like the bark of a tree, claw marks on the ground. ”good,” he grins, eyes rich with mirth, golden pears hanging off the branches. ”i wouldn’t have it any other way.”

he looks sincere. sounds sincere. all you do is blink, a sense of frustration nibbling at your heart, but the knight before you doesn’t falter. he only offers his arm to you, once more; a silent step towards reconciliation.

you watch him, silently. 

then you’re turning on your heel, swiftly, a low grumble at the base of your throat. ignoring him and his offer, walking towards your room with irritated steps that fade as you turn the corner.

behind you, suguru’s smile only grows.

”good morning, your highness.”

blinking sleepily, still regaining your ability to form coherent thoughts, all you can do is stare. studying the figure above you, towering over your half-asleep form, the deadpan expression on your face.

black hair, and amber eyes. a disgustingly charming smile. 

the gears of your mind finally click into place.

a whine flows from your lips, meek and disapproving, and you roll over to your side. pulling the covers over your head, as if to protect you from the existence of your newly hired knight. so it wasn’t just a bad dream.

but he doesn’t fade away, like an apparition. he stays right by your bed, crouching down next to it. you feel the weight of the mattress shift when he rests his elbow on the cushion. ”still too early?” he asks, soft enough not to grate your sensitive ears. ”i was told you usually get up around this time…”

a muffled groan. ”leave.”

”i’m afraid i can’t,” he hums, but you don’t sense much remorse. ”i’m not supposed to let you out of my sight for more than brief intervals at a time… that’s one thing i can’t compromise on.”

”i don’t care,” you whine, petulant. tightening your grip on the blanket surrounding you, desperate to savour the leftovers of your fuzzy dreams. ”’m not getting up…”

a click of his tongue. quiet, contemplative. until he decides on a course of action.

”would you like me to bring you breakfast, then?”

…

slowly, your eyes flicker open, consciousness beginning to stir. the tasty temptation rouses you from your half-slumber, ever so slightly; because he sounds sincere. he sounds like he really will bring you breakfast, if you just give him the order. 

it’s tempting. dangerously so. 

(how long has it been since one of the maids actually bothered to serve you breakfast?)

”… whatever,” you croak, finally. weighing the value of your own response — putting effort into not sounding too excited. ”sure. do what you want, just let me sleep.”

a relieved little breath slips from suguru’s lips, as he watches the lump under the blanket stir. ”alright,” he breathes. ”what would you like, my lord?”

(suddenly, you get an idea.)

a smug grin crawls up to rest on your lips, fresh mischief on your mind. ”figure it out yourself,” you chirp, awfully pleased. 

silence. 

then, you hear him hum — rising to his feet with a quiet groan. ”understood,” he quips. ”i’ll be back as soon as possible, your highness.”

when you hear the creaking of the door, as he steps over the threshold, you barely restrain the urge to kick your legs in victory. now he’s sure to get you the wrong breakfast; and then you can be as difficult as you please, demanding something else, over and over. an ungrateful, spoiled little brat.

that’ll definitely make him quit. 

— sadly, it seems you were underestimating him. just a tiny, tiny bit.

before you, on a silver tray, lays a wide variety of breakfast foods. everything from syrupy pancakes and buttery croissants to neatly cut sandwiches and porridge, slices of fruit and fresh lemonade, coffee with cream and sugar, tiny jars of marmalade and jam. sparkling, glittering, begging to be devoured. handmade, you can tell, meticulously crafted by someone who knows what they’re doing.

with a gulp, you attempt not to openly salivate — you had no clue the kitchen workers were this talented. too speechless to muster up even a sneer, all you can do it sit in silence.

he really went ahead and got you some of everything.

stumbling for the right words, any words, the only thing that escapes your throat is a meek huff. meant to sound displeased, but coming out just a little awestruck. ”this is… way, way too much. are you insane?”

he only shrugs. a sweet smile on his lips, sharp jaw resting on the heel of his palm. ”well, you wouldn’t give me any specifics,” he reminds you, a bit too smug for your liking. ”just eat what you like. i’ll keep your preferences in mind.”

you want to protest, want to put up a fight. want to resist his charms, his little peace offering.

but your stomach growls, suddenly. loud enough that you’re sure he hears it, but you don’t turn around to see any silent laughter — just picking up the fork, embarrassed, eager to just get rid of the ache in your gut. eager to get a taste of the delicacies in front of you. with hesitance, you cut into one of the fluffy pancakes, slathered with syrup, trying to ignore his expectant gaze. biting into it with your eyes closed.

when the sweet taste curls around your tongue, you physically feel yourself perk up. letting your eyes flutter open, your eyebrows raised, a sweetness that makes you sit up straighter. it practically melts in your mouth, honeyed and buttery, and it takes all your willpower to withhold a blissed out little sigh. 

it must be evident, on your features. because suguru sounds amused when he asks; ”good?”

”... better than usual, i guess.”

despite your half-assed attempt at hiding how pleased you are, his ever-present smile extends. ”oh, really?” he leans back in his chair, right next to the bed. exhaling in relief. ”i’m glad. i was worried my cooking wouldn’t be to your tastes.”

…

you pale.

silently, both awestruck and horrified, you look up to meet his teasing gaze. ”wait. you…” a pause. silent, palpable, dreading his answer. ”… made this?” 

”yes.”

another pause. 

”… like. all of it?”

”mhm.”

your gaze falls down to seek solace in your lap. avoiding his own, biting down on your lip, not quite enough to sting. fuck — you accidentally complimented his handmade breakfast. not off to a great start.

wallowing in your silent loss, you simply dig in; desperate to savour it, despite the lingering taste of failure on your tongue. once you’ve sipped the last of your coffee, foamy and rich, the knight to your right speaks up.

”so, your highness,” he begins. tactful, careful. clearing his throat. ”now that you’ve woken up a bit… and, forgive me if i’m overstepping, but —” he searches for your guarded gaze, playing with the beginnings of a smile. ”i was thinking it’d be good for us to get to know each other better.”

”ugh.”

a chuckle — seriously, does nothing offend this man? — flits past his lips. ”oh, don’t be like that, your highness. don’t you think it —”

”cut it out.” you shoot him a glare, voice set to a shivering tilt. ”stop acting like some perfect servant. it’s so obvious you’re playing it up.” a tiny huff, as you pop an apple slice into your mouth. ”makes me sick.”

”… right. you called my acting bad, before.”

”it is,” you nod, a mocking imitation on your tongue. eyes fluttering shut as you bring a hand to your chest. ”oooh, look at me, i’m so humble and loyal! why, of course i don’t mind being summoned with no prior notice! would you like me to lick your shoes, my sweet king?”

and, honestly, you expect him to get at least a little bit angry. the last guy certainly was.

but suguru laughs, suddenly, from the bottom of his gut — a genuine sound. sunshine spilling from his lips, amusement laced together with the octaves. his eyes are crinkled at the edges, like the leaves of a golden ginkgo tree. ”okay, okay,” he puts his hands up, as if readying for a smooth surrender. still amused. ”i’ll try to be more… unguarded, then. would that satisfy you?”

you give him a look. 

he returns it with a smile. ”i’ll take that as a yes,” is all he croons, reaching a hand out. it hangs still in the air, waiting patiently for a response. a familiar sight.

you blink. looking at it, silently, as if trying to solve a puzzle in the pattern of his fingertips. 

then you sigh. ”for the last time, i’m not letting you kiss my hand, you —”

”a handshake,” he cuts you off. soft, reassuring, a tilt of his head; awfully charming. ”no kissing involved.”

a handshake.

(come to think of it, you don’t think anyone’s ever tried to shake your hand before. it’s something you see other people do; maids, knights, butlers. people on equal ground with each other.)

after a moment of silence, you avert your gaze. there’s a slight, slight flush to your cheeks, one you hope stays hidden from his keen eyes. you grumble, intent on not appeasing him.

”… i’m not shaking your hand, either.”

suguru quirks a brow, smile yet to fall, waiting a few moments more until he gives in. ”you are difficult,” he chuckles, and it sounds almost pleased. ”kento was right.”

kento? now, why does that sound familiar…? 

”— but that’s okay. i look forward to getting to know you better, either way.” his hand retreats to his lap, pliant. ”eventually.”

”that’s not happening.”

”oh?” you swear that smile of his grows, just a little. a man who enjoys a good challenge. humming, closing his eyes for a brief second, switching tactics as if shifting gears. ”then, tell me — is there anything you’d like to know about me?”

hell no, is what you want to say. and you almost, almost do. eager to move one step ahead of him, stubborn in your desire to scare him off.

but then you remember the tale.

so you still, ever so slightly, and suguru leans forward. by a hair, noticing your expression, maybe, the curiosity simmering in your veins. seeping out, little by little, and even though you know you shouldn’t — you just can’t resist the temptation to ask…

”… is it true?”

he tilts his head.

”the … you know.” you move your hands, a bit, as if hoping they’ll say the words for you. they don’t. ”your sword. did you really…” a pause, as your eager gaze trails down to his hip, the scabbard attached to his belt. and then a gulp. ”… pull it out of a stone?”

a series of silent blinks. then suguru chuckles — dripping with fresh amusement, a glimmer of teeth behind his lips. ”oh, so you’ve heard?”

and, like a pair of shooting stars, your eyes flicker over to meet his. almost gleaming with newfound excitement, a little erratic. ”is — is it true?”

”it’s an old folktale,” he’s quick to intercept. ”gets told about basically every great knight… or, what the public deems as great, anyhow.”

(ah. the humble facade slipped away.)

in a matter of seconds, you deflate, slumping back until your spine meets the headboard. sulking silently. ”so you didn't pull your sword out of a rock?” you huff, mood souring again, a lemony flavour in your veins. ”lame.”

”stone,” he corrects, unperturbed. ”and i'm afraid not.” he gives you another one of his placating smiles, barely concealed amusement swimming in his amber eyes. ”i pulled mine from an oak tree.”

…

”wait, really?”

the gleam in your eyes is back. suguru almost, almost feels bad.

”depends,” he shoots you a lazy grin. ”how gullible are you, my lord?”

(... oh. he was teasing you.)

an embarrassed heat crawls up your neck, rooting itself into the column of your throat, and all you can do to distract him from it is to scoff. sharply, as if hoping just the sound will be enough to cut into his smooth skin. ”whatever.”

suguru continues to smile, crows’ feet by his eyes, something deliberate in his silent stare. so you stumble for something, anything to say.

”also, can you quit the my lord stuff?” you settle on, taking a shallow sip of the lemonade. sour and sweet, nice and chilled on your tongue. ”it’s creepy.”

he blinks. a flutter of his dark lashes, fingers tapping at his bended knee. he looks contemplative, for a moment. ”does it make you uncomfortable?” he asks, tilting his head. ”i can stick to my liege, if that’s better. just say the word.” 

”god, you’re so annoying,” you groan, licking the lemony residue off your lips. ”just use my name.”

suddenly, suguru stills. fingertips frozen, for a moment, no longer tapping at his thigh. he traps his bottom lip between his teeth, a hesitant hum crawling up the confines of his throat. 

”that….” he trails off, thumb absentmindedly smoothing over the leather of his scabbard. ”seems a little much.”

when you turn to look at him, he seems a little put off. uncomfortable, maybe — or just caught off guard? it’s hard to get a read on him. for someone who smiles so often, his emotions don’t appear very bright.

a pang of something grasps onto your clockwork heart, and a frown pulls at your bottom lip. frustration gnawing at your veins. ”you’re here to service me, aren’t you?” you ask, with a shallow huff. ”just do as i say.”

”well, i still have my boundaries.” suguru leans back, crossing his legs, gazing at you with slightly lidded eyes. ”and, on paper — i’m only here to protect you. the servicing is my own choice.” 

a very, very judgemental look. he returns it with a tug of his lips. 

”… you really do like being ordered around, don’t you?”

suguru shrugs. playful. ”makes me feel needed,” he purrs, watching you wolf down the breakfast he made.

once you’ve had your fill, he’s quick to gather the silver tray in his steady arms, and you do your very best to hold back from thanking him for the meal. it aches a little, but you can’t give in — you don’t have a choice. you can’t allow yourself to be anything other than the most ungrateful, annoying royal in the kingdom.

anything to snap his clockwork heart in half.

a week passes by with no particular developments.

you try your damndest to bother him, but suguru is stubborn. stubborn enough that you’re starting to doubt he’ll ever leave you alone, no matter how much you ignore him, or hiss at him, or whine at him to make you an annoyingly specific assortment of breakfast foods. he never stops smiling, no matter how bothersome you’re being.

the tick-tock of his patience remains unbroken. 

(so for now, you figure you’ll just have to adjust.)

a sense of contentment simmers in the open air, when suguru knocks at your door, waiting for a groan and a grouchy come in. it takes you a few moments longer to respond than what he’s used to, and he notes that you sound a little less irritated when you do.

as he steps over the threshold, bowing his head instinctively, he’s met with the sight of you fully immersed. holding a paintbrush between your fingers, lifting it, movements delicate, self-assured. like it comes to you without thinking. you’re seated right by the window, enough for the would-be daylight to flicker in. as it stands, the weather is still sour. 

he walks up to you, as always, never more than a few steps away.

and, for a moment, all he does is watch you. silently, as you dip your brush in smeary cobalt paint, a splatter of colour on the white canvas. melting together with the indigo and obsidian. there’s a certain rhythm to it, a kind of dance between you and your mind and the painting in front of you — not even close to being finished. a dip of your brush blooms into a jaw, a flick of your wrist into a set of fangs. cobalt cream and silvery edges, an imitation of what you saw in your sleep. murky, blurry, a dream-like clearing in the woods. 

as you work, a sense of relaxation smooths along your sinuses. coaxing you into breathing out, into letting your clenched jaw rest for a while. turning all your irritation into brushstrokes. into a hungry, hungry wolf. 

finally, your knight opts to break the silence.

”you’re quite talented.” 

it’s an earnest comment. filled with respect, not the idle flattery you’re so used to. and despite yourself, you can’t help but grin — glowing a little beneath the praise. prideful, smug, almost giddy. he watches intently as your expression shifts, as those fleeting flickers of joy dance along the contours of your cheekbones. as you lap up his praise like the chamomile tea he served you this morning.

suguru smiles. you have a cute side, he thinks. for no more than a mere moment, he finally feels as if he’s getting somewhere; getting closer to breaking that thorny, thorny shell of yours. closer to meeting the little lamb beneath the wolf’s hide.

but your mind quickly catches up to your body, realizing that your lips are curled up into a pleased smile, and you clench your jaw again. mindful not to let him see it. painting makes you far too careless, too unguarded; you have to be mean.

stuck in a bout of frustration, you put a little too much force into the motion of your fingers, a small slip of the hand. but that’s all it takes. suddenly, the smooth, calm sea of fur on the canvas turns violent, a little more unruly, and you withhold a wince. doing your best to mend the damage. flick, flick, across the canvas, as if to appease the hungry wolf. 

from behind you, a tiny exhale. laced with a kind of stifled amusement, one that makes you snap your jaw in his direction. brows knitted in anger.

”what?”

suguru clears his throat. ”nothing, my liege,” he hides a smile behind his knuckle. eyes gliding across the murky smear of fangs and fur, interest piqued. ”i’m just curious… why a wolf?”

a huff. briefly, you consider ignoring him, but….

(something in his tone convinces you not to.)

”… i saw one,” you admit, absently, staring at the blue and gray of the canvas. flick, flick. violet, navy, a little more depth. ”in my dream.”

silence. your knight doesn’t respond. surely, he must think you childish; everyone else does. why would he be the exception? why did you tell him anything at all? a sense of regret mixes with the paint.

the weight of a brush in your hand truly does make you careless, doesn’t it?

”… huh.”

a clenching of teeth. you muster the will to turn your head, just to give him a questioning look, a silent aggression. biting before he can. but he’s not looking at you; he’s looking at the painting, the wolf that isn’t quite a wolf yet, just blue and gray on paper. a blur of messy motions.

then he shakes his head. ”no, nothing.” 

you quirk a brow. 

but you don’t say anything. falling silent, falling back into the rhythm of it all, painting until you grow bored of it. the wolf looks at you both, still thoroughly unfinished, jaw half-painted, no trees or knights to keep it company. solitary, blurry; baring its fangs towards no one at all.

a sorry spectacle of teeth.

a couple days later, as you’re walking through the castle with suguru in tow — still adamantly refusing to curl your fingers around his bicep — a loud crash breaks you out of your hushed banter.

the two of you share a look. it came from farther away, just beyond the next turn, a certain hallway decorated with delicate vases. one the castle maids desperately tried to keep you from, when you were younger, worried about your habit of jumping around while pretending to be some sort of feral animal. worried, of course, about the safety of the porcelain rather than the safety of the child.

it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the source of the sound. and, lo and behold, what waits beyond the turn ahead is a crying boy and a broken vase.

fat tears cascade down his reddened cheeks, silent fear knit into the way his face is scrunched up. he can’t be older than six or seven; one of the maid’s children, you assume, the kind that doesn’t have the luxury of making mistakes. he looks panicked, down on his knees, holding a large piece of porcelain, painted flowers etched into the front.

what a mess.

when the clicking of your shoes reaches his little ears, he looks up at you with wide, shameful eyes. still sitting amongst the littered shards, the spilt water and irises soon to wilt. it reminds you of something, a memory you don’t quite want to recall; a different child, tiny and alone. taught to feel shame at the moment of their birth. 

it makes your pace falter, a bit, but suguru moves without hesitation. long, careful strides, one foot after the other. 

he crouches down in front of the boy, gentle as he takes the shattered piece of porcelain from his tiny palm. ”hey, hey, it’s okay,” he soothes, speaking even softer than usual, his voice like a flurry of feathers and jasmine petals. ”are you hurt?”

he’s patient. smiling comfortingly, considerate, grounding, a blanket of wool like the one forming on the border of the horizon. but the child continues to sniffle and hiccup, curling into a ball as if readying for a strike. like an abandoned puppy.

you sigh.

after a moment’s hesitation, you’re stepping forward, figure slipping from the shadows and coming into view. joining the miserable pair, the jagged shards on the marble floor. 

there’s a cold, cold look in your eyes when the boy raises his head to meet them.

a flick of your wrist; you wave your hand once, then twice. ”shoo. hurry up.” 

he blinks. tears clumping his lashes together, cheeks flushed from the panic of it all. he stammers when he parts his lips. ”b… but —”

”didn’t you hear me?” comes a scoff, harsh, cutting through the air. right through the fear and panic. ”that was an order. just run back to your mommy already.” you cross your arms, shaking your head in disapproval. mimicking the king, though you think it’s lost on your spectators. ”all that crying is making my head hurt, geez.”

a series of hesitant blinks. crumbling beneath your commanding gaze, the child stumbles to his feet, sparing suguru one last unsure little glance before scurrying off. the sigh that slips from your lips is quiet, barely audible, tinged with relief. 

when you look down to the floor, you find that suguru is already looking at you; a furrow to his brows. angry, for once. just a tiny, tiny flicker of distaste. you reward him with a cold smile. 

(so this is how you get under this skin. cruelty, aimed not towards him, but towards the defenseless. 

what a picture-perfect, self-destructive little knight.)

just as the child turns the corner ahead, you hear the echo of a maid calling out from behind you. her voice is dripping with fatigue, exasperation, a flurry of sighs you’ve grown far too familiar with.

”your highness! what have you done now?”

there it is, you think; the curtain call you’ve been waiting for. with a swift turn of your heel, sheepish expression ready to go, your focus shifts onto one sole objective — act annoying.

”walked into a vase,” you chirp, proudly, just the slightest bit theatrical. gesturing dismissively towards the broken spectacle, as suguru raises himself from the floor. ”my bad. not my fault you make them so easy to break, though.”

she inches closer, with a disapproving stare, and you hear a tick-tock in your ear. sensing the limit of her patience. ”i’ll have you know these vases are expensive,” she clicks her tongue. ”do you truly think you can go around breaking whatever you please?”

”… i mean. i do kind of own this place, don’t i?” you tilt your head, faux contemplation on your features, shifting into a spoiled smile. ”or i will. so — technically — i broke my own vase. no harm done!”

”… my lord —”

”quiet.” suguru stiffens, ever so slightly, following your sharp whisper. ”don’t fuck this up.”

he looks at you, silently. not saying another word.

(there’s a shame in his eyes that you don’t turn your head to see.)

it doesn’t take long for the maid to shoo you away, pinching her brow at your carefree laughter, bitter at the prospect of cleaning up your mess. she makes sure to give suguru a sweet smile, though, and doesn’t bother to hide the sympathy in it. sympathy for him, such a handsome, well-behaved knight, forced to service such a brat.

the smile he gives her in return is a stiff one. almost, almost cold. but he bows, and follows your retreating form, until you’re all alone together.

the walk is silent. maybe just a little heavy, as you try to ignore the stare burning into your skin, trying to swallow your own displeasure. it’s subtle, something you learned to internalize long ago, but it’s there; a slight sadness. you don’t enjoy getting yelled at.

a thick silence stretches on, before crumbling into dust. you aren’t sure how much time has passed when a certain velvety voice curls around your senses.

”your highness.”

he’s come to a standstill, again. you really should just ignore him and keep walking. but you still, anyway, following his cue, turning towards him with a look that says what now? — you aren’t sure what to expect. certainly not the sentence that ends up spilling from his lips, like a spring breeze through an opened window, tinged with something you fear may be close to fondness. 

(in your chest, your heartbeat tick-tocks.)

he smiles, gentle, with eyes that see right through you. and he speaks. 

”you’re actually kind, aren’t you?”

…

”… huh?”

he pays no mind to your stupefied expression. continuing, unperturbed, eyeing you with a look you distinctly dislike — as if he’s trying to glimpse into your mind. ”the vase,” he hums. ”you took the blame, even though you didn’t do it.”

a huff escapes you. face hardening, setting into firm lines. ”that wasn't intentional,” you grumble, defensive. ”i just wanted him to leave.” 

but suguru shakes his head. ”you could’ve left when the maid came. but you stayed, and lied, and got yelled at so he wouldn’t have to.” a second passes, silence thick with meaning. intentional on his part, you’re sure. ”is that not what you’d call kind?”

another moment gone, little tick-tocks of your heartbeat counting down. you part your lips, but no sound comes out, as you stumble for words to say. irritation stirring in your veins. or is it nervosity? you think your skin feels a little hot, suddenly. 

just what the hell is happening?

”i’m… i’m not — ” you bite down on your lip. harshly. stammering, voice cracking a bit, to your great dismay. ”… not kind. i hate all of them.”

”but you protect them,” he whispers, ”look after them.” his smile doesn’t waver, never ever, but you’ve never seen it look quite this knowing. and suddenly, he’s closing in on you, gazing at you with laughter in his eyes. 

you try to stand your ground, wanting nothing more than to flee, curl into yourself, scratch at him until he leaves. but your throat feels so dry, all of a sudden, a sensation that only deepens with the next words he breathes into life. 

”a little sweetheart who pretends to be all big and bad…” he eyes you up and down, a meaningful look, raven locks moving as he tilts his head. towering over you. ”is that what you are?”

nothing. no smart reply comes to you. all you can muster is a harsh glare, a low hiss crawling up your throat, like you’re preparing to lunge at him. it serves as a warning, but the amusement in his eyes doesn’t fluctuate. ”you…”

he chuckles. raspy, breathy, a shiver down your spine. ”your acting is even worse than mine.”

”shut up,” you snap, baring your teeth. it comes out almost like a growl, hot and heavy in your veins, and you don’t understand where all this emotion came from. strangling you, bubbling up within your bobbing throat. ”you don’t — understand me, okay?”

no one does. 

and that’s fine. you don’t want them to. 

(you just want him to stop looking at you so fondly.)

”not yet,” he admits, eyes fluttering shut. a thoughtful hum on the tip of his tongue. ”… but i think i’m beginning to.” 

he’s looking at you, again, amber and honey and raven lashes, lapping up every hint of a tell in the way you shift from foot to foot. speaking like he knows you, like he’s known you all his life. ”you act difficult, scare everyone away… but deep down, you love them, don’t you?”

a scoff. desperate. ”no.”

”you want to loved,” he continues, not allowing you to flee. relentless in his pursuit of whatever he imagines must be hidden inside your soul, beneath all those layers of frost. ”understood. everyone does.”

”not me.”

”your highness.”

…

the knight continues to look at you, and you avoid his gaze like it could burn you into cinders — like it could turn you into dust. but he parts his lips, anyway, and speaks. so sincere it makes your chest hurt. words that echo through the endless hallways of the castle, against the surfaces of glass that line the walls. words that make your skin flush under the shadows of rain soon to fall.

he smiles, wide, teeth showing. and he speaks. 

”that was very, very kind of you.”

silence. so thick you wonder if you’re about to faint, or fall to the floor, or something equally embarrassing. a sentence so simple shouldn’t be making you feel this way, this weird. you don’t understand why it makes you feel anything, anything at all, and you don’t understand why your eyes suddenly feel a little glassy.

(someone saw through the act.)

”… whatever,” you squeeze out, at last, but it sounds a little meek. a tiny puff of air. turning around, sharply, blinking rapidly to shoo the tears away. ”i just didn’t want to hear that brat whining. it was hurting my ears.” 

suguru bites back a coo.

as he watches your back retreat, hurrying back to the comfort of your room, he’s almost certain that he’s making progress. that your walls are beginning to crumble, slowly but surely, bit by bit. the path before him clears — a thorny, foggy path through the woods, until a sunsplatter falls on the ground and tells him where to plant his feet. 

it’s not much, barely anything, but suguru’s always liked his hunts blindsighted. 

you turn a corner, and he follows suit. sparing a passing glance at the clouds on the boundary of the horizon, the sole ray of sunlight breaking through.

then he’s catching up to you with long strides.

(it’s his duty, yes, but he doesn’t think he’d mind it so much — getting to know his kind, misunderstood little lord.)

sadly, disappointingly, to your great shame —

you begin to grow used to suguru’s presence in your life. constant, always close behind, always ready to be of service. as infuriatingly patient as ever. it’s a stretch, but you may have become just the slightest bit fond of it. maybe, possibly, you’ve even silently decided to stop trying to scare him away. stop acting so difficult with him, all the time.

or, well — sometimes.

”take me outside, please?” you whine, bottom lip jutting out into a deep pout, accompanied by a flutter of your lashes. the voice that spills from your lips is hopelessly meek, pleading, so sweet you’d get cavities if you didn’t know how fake it was.

effortless, perfected, your one god-given talent; an irresistible pair of puppy dog eyes. 

suguru answers with a smile, tight-lipped. ”no.”

a beat.

”aw, come on,” you whine, barely resisting the urge to stomp your feet. frustration bubbles up inside your veins, trickling down to your wrist, nails digging into your palm. ”why not? you’re supposed to listen to my every command!”

”still no, sweetheart.”

a series of grumbles scratch at the base of your throat, but suguru pays them no mind. patient, patient, patient. he’s even kind enough to ignore the way you pointedly avoid his gaze after the term of endearment slips past his lips. ”sorry, but that part is non-negotiable. you know i don’t have a choice.”

you do know. but it still makes your mood sour, pulls a sigh from out of your lips. he moves closer, familiar silver tray in hand, dragging a chair to where you’re seated by the windowsill.

”i did bring you this, though,” he gestures towards a particular glass bowl, filled with red berries. they shine like rubies in the light. ”strawberries, like you asked for. wasn’t easy to get a hold of.”

he places the tray right next to you, smiling as he takes a seat. ”cheer up, hm? don’t be so grumpy.”

your pout remains, but you do settle down a bit. just the teeniest, tiniest bit. definitely not because he was kind enough to indulge your cravings.

”… thanks for breakfast.” 

suguru beams, and you avoid his gaze, like always. biting into one of the rubies, the soft murmur of thanks still burning your tongue, soothed by sweet nectar. he lets you flee, lets you continue on like nothing happened, like it isn’t obvious how much you’ve warmed up to his presence. 

”you’re welcome, my lord.”

…

(even after spending more than a month together, he still won’t call you by name. won’t even entertain the idea. why does that bother you so much?)

peacefully, your morning ritual continues. the same as always; you eat, while suguru watches, a sweet smile on his lips. the silence remains until he opts to break it.

today, he sounds a little hesitant.

”say, your highness…” he picks at a piece of lint on his cloak, absentminded. ”could i ask you for a favour?”

you almost drop your fork. gaze snapping up to meet his own, as a few silent seconds tick on by. tick-tock, tick-tock. then you clear your throat, regaining your composure. trying to sound nonchalant. 

”what is it?” you probe, cutting across the yolk on your fried egg. watching the orange seep out, trickling down, sinking into the crust of your toast. suguru hums. 

”a friend of mine — he’s also a knight…” he wrings his hands together, legs parted. tapping his heel on the floor. ”we’ve been sparring together for a while. once a week, at least. but ever since the king hired me, we haven’t been able to.”

you watch as his gaze flickers down to his lap, then up to you again. it’s smooth, charming, but you still think it seems a little out of place. he must not be used to asking for favours.

”i was wondering if you’d be willing to accompany me? just down to the training fields by the castle.” his fingers tap against his bended knee, slow and methodical, from pointer to pinkie. ”the king gave us permission to spar there, but i’m obviously not allowed to let you out of my sight…”

you bite back a huff. obviously. he waits for a response that doesn’t come.

”… so?”

you meet his gaze, expectant. hopeful, maybe. it’s a nice touch — matches with the amber of his eyes.

”would that be alright with you?” he inquires, again. you think he sounds just a tiny bit unsure of himself.

a moment passes. silently, you look down at your lap. folded hands, itching to do something. something fun, new, exciting. 

your tongue forms around a wish. it spills into the air like a shooting star, a meek little whisper.

”… i wanna swing a sword.”

suguru blinks. once, then twice. ”you…” he tastes the words on his tongue, turning the image of you around in his head. ”want to swing a sword?

you nod. glancing at him, coughing a little under your breath. summoning just a bit of audacity, eyes trailing towards the sword by his hip. longingly. ”… i’ll only watch you spar if you let me try it.” 

a brief pause. he studies you intently, a mystery he’s yet to solve.

then he chuckles, light and airy, full of mirth. a sound you’ve grown fond of. ”well, okay. that’s fair.” he rises to his feet, smiling down at you. ”thank you, my lord.”

you don’t respond. but your eyes glitter with excitement, as you dutifully finish your breakfast, wolfing it down. waiting patiently for him to head down to the kitchen with the tray, for him to change into his training gear. 

when he knocks at your door, he’s wearing a flimsy little blouse. almost see-through, if you squint your eyes enough, exposing his bare skin. you think you see a scar curling up from his chest, reaching for his shoulder, just below it by a hair. and you can see his biceps, the fat, the muscle, practically begging to be bitten.

(tantalizing.)

he’s speaking to you, saying something, but you tune him out. focused on trying to restrain your growing urges. when he reaches up to fix his hair, tied up into a bun, the muscle of his arm twitches.

and, suddenly, you can’t contain yourself. 

giving in to the salivating temptation, you grab hold of his bicep, sinking your teeth into it — gentle, but enough that he feels it, enough to leave a set of teeth marks soon to fade. gnawing at it like a dog with a bone.

suguru blinks. pupils wide, quirking a silent brow, quick to smooth over the surprise in his eyes. 

you don’t move. teeth planted against the fabric, the firm muscle beneath it, surprising even yourself; his arm just looked so biteable. you wonder if he’s put off. upset.

but, as always, he’s eerily placating. like nothing you say or do could rock the ship of his patience, an endless sea. smooth, airy laughter flits past his lips, giving way to an indulgent smile. he studies you with fascination, like you’re a creature he hasn’t encountered before.

ever so gently, he grabs hold of your jaw — and the warmth of his touch shocks you into letting it go slack. before you can say anything, he’s rolling up his sleeve. exposing the tender skin.

”go wild, your highness,” he grins, offering his arm up like a lamb to a hungry fox. a teasing mirth in his eyes, his voice coming out as a low purr. ”i don't mind a mark or two.”

to your horror — it flusters you terribly.

you cough. taking a step back, averting your gaze, suddenly disinterested. feigning indifference, anyhow; that was definitely a scar. and a cool one, too. you think you might even have caught a glimpse of a birthmark or two. 

”i’m… just keeping you on your toes,” you stumble for an excuse, still unable to look at him properly. missing the way he stifles a bout of laughter. ”for your training, y’know? gotta stay on your guard.”

”of course. i appreciate the help,” he quips, fond, as he gestures for you to take the lead. ”he’s waiting for us. are you ready?”

for a second, just a second, you consider grabbing his arm. letting him guide you. but the thought is fleeting, like a bundle of peach blossoms, brushed away by the sunshine seeping in through the window’s glass — illuminating the marble flooring. 

a mellow excitement simmers in your bones. 

you head down to the training grounds with a pep in your step, and your loyal knight follows suit. just behind, always, wearing a smile you can’t see.

”suguru!”

the man that greets you with cheerful fervour, seated cross-legged under a peach tree, isn’t quite what you expected him to be. 

when you heard knight, you imagined someone a bit more… intimidating. but this guy is far from imposing. a little shorter than suguru, brown locks stopping right around his ears, exposing his sunkissed skin. freckles scattered across his nose and cheekbones, a happy little grin curled right around his lips. 

he’s cute. a bit like a puppy. not very knightly, though.

”haibara,” suguru greets, a mellow warmth to his voice. the man in question shoots up from the ground, stumbling towards you both, excitement in his hazel eyes. suguru gestures towards you. ”this is the royal heir. the one who doesn’t like having their hand kissed.”

your head whips towards him, an angered flush to your cheeks — you’re almost sure that he’s smirking, giving you a teasing glance, but haibara’s exclamation prevents you from voicing any protests. 

”hi!” he beams, bowing deeply, so sudden that you jolt a bit. his head whips up instantly, brown locks stirred by the breeze, voice warm and smooth. like honeysuckle nectar. ”thank you so much for letting us spar, your highness! i’ve heard so much about you!”

”… um.” your gaze falls down to a pebble on the ground. unsure of how to act, murmuring under your breath. ”you — it’s… no need to thank me. i wanted to get some air, anyway.”

he continues to look at you, eyes shining with a pure kind of cheer. glittering, honeyed and sweet, too bright to look at directly. you hear suguru exhale amusedly to your left. he’s looking right at you when you glance towards him. 

his hand inches closer to his scabbard, fingertips trailing down the leather. ”shall we get started?”

haibara brightens even further, if possible. ”oh, right!” he exclaims. ”you wanted to try swinging a sword, your highness? that’s so exciting! is this your first time?”

a blink. you aren’t really sure how to handle this guy; he’s a bit too sunny to be snarky to. like a fuzzy ball of sunshine given human form, bouncing on the balls of his feet, tail practically wagging behind him. all you can muster is a weak cough. ”uh, yeah.”

”well, you’re here to learn.” suguru speaks up. guiding you both towards the center of the field, hand still at the sword on his hip. ”let me show you.”

in one smooth motion, he’s pulling it out of its sheath, a stripe of silver absorbing the rays of the sun. glimmering, slicing the blue sky in half. 

you’re a little awestruck.

and then he’s facing you. leaning forward, with a familiar tilt of his head, offering the blade with a smile. ”do you want to try swinging it around a bit?”

barely containing your excitement, you nod. making grabby hands at it.

that makes him chuckle. he makes no move to stop you when your fingers curl around the hilt, only parting his lips for a quick warning, a split second too late. you take it into your arms. ”careful, it’s a bit —”

— the sword clatters to the ground with a thud.

silence.

haibara breaks out into laughter, sudden, fond and warm, but enough to have your cheeks burning. fresh with embarrassment, humiliation, before you even hear the breathy chuckle that slips from your knight’s lips.

”… i was going to say it’s a bit heavy,” he hums, one closed knuckle in front of his lips and obscuring his smile. ”i’m sorry, my lord. do you —”

”whatever.” a hiss escapes your throat, and suguru winces. he knows where this is going; knows a bundle of thorns just erupted from the stalk of your spine, that you're about to get defensive. ”like i’d ever want to touch your dusty sword. get — get real.”

he tries again. patient, patient. the familiar tick-tock of his never-ending kindness. ”hey, we aren’t making fun of you,” he soothes, hoping it’ll make your edges soften. like scratching a feral dog behind its ear. ”it’s understandable. you weren’t expecting it. i’ll let you try again, hm?”

a tiny pause. 

(you’re being childish, again.)

brows furrowed, hanging your head, you kick at a pebble on the ground. having collected yourself a bit. ”… maybe next time,” you finally speak, still grumbling. after you’ve spent some time lifting weights in your room.

suguru tilts his head. speaking softly. ”you sure?”

”yeah.” taking a step back, you raise your head to meet his gaze. ”i’ll just watch you. it’s fine.”

”… okay,” he exhales. leaning forward to pick up his sword from the ground. ”i can spar with you next time, if you want. you’ll be a pro in no time.”

he gives you another sweet smile, bangs fluttering with the breeze; painted in cerulean sunshine. he’s so gorgeous it makes you angry.

a sharp huff. ”don’t patronize me,” is all you can mutter, meeting the eyes of the knight by his side. standing up straighter. ”haibara,” you call. ”knock him around a bit for me, okay?”

from the corner of your eye, suguru pouts.

but the puppy-knight only grins, as bright as the sun in the sky. ”you got it, your highness!” he salutes, cheeks flushing with giddy excitement. 

as you sit on the benches a little farther away, dragonflies buzz in the air. fleeting glimmers of chartreuse and cerulean, chirping happily, keeping you company as you watch the knights spar. the clangs of their blades, the elegance in the way suguru moves. a violent little waltz. he’s sweating, just a bit, but you can see it, droplets glittering in the sun.

he looks like he’s having fun. he looks like himself. like he isn’t holding back, isn’t acting obedient or well-mannered for the sake of pleasing his superiors. like this, here and now, he looks wild, free, a dog that turns into a wolf under the glow of the sun. 

for a second, your eyes meet — just as he narrowly avoids a slash. 

and he smirks, ever so slightly, suddenly gaining a little more momentum. flashing a brief grin, sunlight reflecting off his white teeth.

you huff. heat crawling up your neck. 

show off.

”excuse me, your highness?”

the sudden voice snaps you out of your stupor. mesmerized, by the spectacle before you, the glimmer of their blades and the sight of your knight’s smile. it’s an unfamiliar voice, close, close enough that your head turns to meet the stranger’s ugly grin — inching closer still.

(uh oh.)

— just up ahead, lost in their own worlds, are two knights; huffing and smirking and narrowly dodging each other’s strikes. suguru takes the lead, as always, guiding haibara into improving his swordsmanship. but they both learn from it. and it’s fun, lighthearted, a respite from their more gruesome duties. 

it’s helped suguru more times than he can count; those tiny flickers of normalcy, in a wholly unpredictable profession. a life of bowing and bowing and killing what needs to be killed.

slash, slash, and then two steps back. the same old dance. haibara’s starting to lose momentum, he notices, adam’s apple bobbing with his heavy breaths.

so suguru stills. ”alright, that’s enough for now,” he calls, stretching idly. craning his head, looking around him absently. he wonders if you’re still watching. ”i think i see what the problem is.”

haibara perks up, obeying without a word, wiping the sweat off his forehead and walking towards his friend with a sunny smile. ”okay, great!”

but suguru isn’t looking at him, anymore. 

he’s looking towards the benches, where his little lord is seated, speaking to an unfamiliar man. one who currently has his hand on their forearm, caressing it. you look guarded, irritated, a little like you’re about to bare your teeth. trying to pull away, but he doesn’t let you. and suguru recognizes that look — the one that means you’re about to start biting and hissing, inching your claws into whatever’s within reach.

(not to injure, but to ground yourself, he’s learned. like how you clutch onto the fabric of your clothing when you’re nervous, sink your nails into your palm. not to injure, but to feel safe.)

in the blink of an eye, he’s making his way towards you. beckoned by his duty, his natural instinct, a protective itch that curls around his ribcage and crawls up his throat. large strides, much swifter than usual. he moves without thinking, and he’s there before he has the time to form a coherent thought.

with as much gentleness as he can possibly muster, he grabs hold of the stranger’s arm. smiling, tight-lipped, cold. ”excuse me, sir,” he greets, ”i need to borrow them for a moment.”

the man meets his gaze with a sour look. bitter, ugly, oddly possessive — like he thinks he owns the arm he’s holding. it makes suguru want to teach him a lesson, show off his sword, but he resists the temptation in a way you never could. his expression is a warning, though, enough to scare most rowdy drunkards and snobby royals away.

and it works. the stranger looks to you, briefly, before finally letting go of your poor arm. something rigid in suguru’s jaw finally relaxes. ”who are you?” comes a question, as the man turns to face him with a look full of contempt. ”their knight?”

before suguru can say anything, you’ve hopped off the bench. clinging to him, with a firm nod; your arms around his bicep. ”yeah. he is.”

(suguru fails to stifle a smug smile.)

with a string of bitter mumbles and a silent frustration, the man scurries away. hesitant, only after being met with another warning glance from the knight in front of him. intimidating, far less subtle, towering above him like a predator over their prey.

as soon as he’s out of sight, your knight turns to you, scanning your face for signs of discomfort. loyal, attentive. ”are you okay?” he asks, a silent shame in his voice. if only he had noticed sooner. ”did he do anything to you?”

you shake your head. ”it’s fine. probably one of the king’s friends — stops by every now and then.” a sigh, a little fatigued, following your explanation. ”they’re mostly harmless. just creepy and touchy.”

”that doesn’t sound very harmless…” suguru lets you pull away, quick to hide the disappointment that flashes in his eyes as you do, waving haibara off with a silent gesture of give us a minute. ”don’t worry. i’ll keep an eye out, from now on.”

still a little guarded, you nod. letting suguru guide you by the small of your back, taking a seat on the solid bench once more. together, this time. 

”there are a lot of those types around the town square,” he exhales, weary, stretching out his limbs before leaning forward. elbows resting on his bended knees. ”they’re a pain to deal with. i’m sorry you have to.”

”are there?” you ask, tone laced with curiosity. ”in the town?” 

”well, i’m sure you’ve heard. that place is a bit of a mess, these days…” a click of his tongue. ”more work for the knights.”

a dragonfly settles on the bridge of his nose. suguru blinks, smiling gently, until it flutters away with a raspy squeak. fading away, melting into the blue paint of the sky. you bite down on your lip. 

”… i haven’t.”

he turns to look at you. raising a brow.

”i haven’t heard about it at all. the king told you, right?” you meet his eye with a rueful smile, before leaning back, nose turned up towards the sky. for a second, you think the air smells a bit of rain. ”i’m not allowed to go out into town.”

your knight falls silent.

so you continue. grinning, with no humour to it. maybe a bit eager to overshare, to break the silent rules you’ve been given. the secret tastes like honey on your tongue. ”i’m a bastard child. he probably told you that, too.” you wouldn’t be surprised. ”thinks it's optimal for everyone involved if i just stay cooped up in the castle.” 

closing your eyes, your voice drips with something close to longing. barely above a whisper. ”i haven't been to the town in a couple of years, now.”

…

he only hums. ”i see.”

(there’s sympathy, in his amber eyes, but you don’t turn around to see it. you don’t turn to look at him until he’s finished sparring, and haibara’s about to leave. 

you wonder if he’ll meet your gaze the same way as before.) 

that evening, suguru knocks at your door right as you're about to fall asleep. three rapid knocks, the same as always, knuckle against wood. rousing you from your rest.

when you open it, he’s holding something out towards you.

”here,” he says, voice set to a mellow tilt. upon closer inspection, he’s holding a bottle. transparent, see-through, stuffed to the brim with sea glass. smooth little colourful pebbles, green and blue and pink and orange, like frozen camellias. ”for you, my lord.”

blinking sluggishly, you take it into your arms; holding it up in front of your eyes. when the light of the moon flitting in through the curtains hits it just right, it blossoms with colour, sparkling with every shade you’ve ever seen. shining like a heap of jewels, in your hands, like something out of a picture-book. magical.

it’s mesmerizing. 

”i asked haibara to get it from the town,” he explains, drinking in your expression of awe. ”this one lady — she collects them herself. i see her by the beach nearly every time i go there.”

when you look up, his smile is serene. peaceful, if just a little bit tired. but he looks pleased, lips curling around silky syllables. ”i thought of you.”

it’s odd, you think. you aren’t a stranger to gifts; you get most of what you desire if you just say the word, an easy way for the king to keep you compliant. as if to make up for the plethora of experiences you’ve missed out on since your birth.

but this — this particular gift…

…

”it’s pretty,” you murmur, finally, unable to voice even a sliver of the emotions clogging up your chest. shying away from his gaze, feeling your heart pulse against your ribcage. ”… i guess.”

suguru just smiles. always, always, always. no matter what you do. ”i’ll get you something else next time,” he promises, ready to go back to standing guard outside the castle. ”get some sleep, okay? be good.”

and you can’t bring yourself to protest. not even a tiny huff of don’t tell me what to do. you can’t bring yourself to do anything but nod, soft and pliant, still gazing at the bottle of sea glass in your hands. like you might turn into one of those transparent pebbles, if you wish for it enough.

that night, you dream of waves crashing against sand, the taste of seafoam on your tongue. every colour in the world. a newfound, reawakened wish —

a wish to see more of it.

”are you trying to sneak out again?”

owlishly, all you can do is blink. propped up on the windowsill, immersed in the process of tying pillowcases and bedsheets together to form a rope. caught in the act — by none other than suguru, standing by the threshold, hand on his hip, watching you with silent disapproval. you didn’t think he’d come check on you this late.

you swallow a gulp. ”… no?”

and he sighs. walking towards you, brows furrowed, running a hand through his raven locks. you can tell he’s trying to be a little more sympathetic, this time, but it only makes the bitter taste on your tongue thicken. 

”look — i know it’s not fair to you, but the king and queen specifically ordered me —”

”i get it,” you cut him off, with a hiss, a little harsher than you meant to. you soften your voice before continuing. "i know. okay? i know.”

resigned, but frustrated, you clench the silken material of the bedsheets. glaring at them like it’s somehow their fault that the queen couldn’t bear an heir, that your father has a knack for sleeping around. like it’s their fault that he’s so ashamed of your existence that he doesn’t want you integrating into society on anything other than his own terms, until he’s dead and gone and doesn’t have to take accountability anymore. 

like it’s their fault that it’ll always be like this, forever, that it’s better not to hope for more.

(why can’t you just accept that?)

the knight before you exhales. troubled, watching your nails dig into the fabric, watching the way you bite down on your lip and rapidly blink. all signs of your frustration, your sadness, that you always try so hard to hide. 

”hey. how about this?” he tries to get your attention, voice soothing enough to coax you into raising your gaze. ”i’ll tell you a story instead.”

he stifles a chuckle, at the dubious look you send his way, teetering on the edge of a glare. slithering towards you. ”i’ve seen a lot of places. i can tell you about them, if you’d like.” he takes a seat right next to you, on the windowsill, a slice of the moon in bare view. ”what do you want to know?”

you’re silent, for a second. gnawing at your bottom lip, in contemplation, the tiniest bit of nervosity. like you aren’t quite sure if you’re allowed to speak your wishes aloud.

”… the woods.”

suguru blinks. quiet.

his silence makes you want to bare your fangs, a bit, misinterpreting it as judgement. your voice comes out cold. ”what?”

but he’s quick to smooth over his features with a smile, as always, cocking his head amusedly. ”sorry — i was expecting you to say the sea, or something. it's the woods that you're so curious about?”

a pout slips into your lips.

”… you can see them from here.”

his head turns towards the window’s glass, squinting his eyes to see the sea of dark green in the distance, a cluster of thick trees. he hums. ”yeah, you can. well… that particular spot isn’t too bad. not many bandits or beasts.” your gaze stays glued onto his lips, every word that spills from them. ”there are wolves, though. this side of the kingdom is crawling with them.”

”they sell their fur,” you state.

(that’s one thing you do know. you spent more of your childhood around wolf pelts than your own parents. they might as well be your legal guardians.)

suguru nods. ”they do. it's a big portion of the kingdom’s exports… general market, as well.”

a frown tugs at your lips. you think of your fluffy childhood guardians, unable to howl or even make a sound; hunters turned decorations.

”isn’t that… kinda fucked up?”

he smiles, revealing no emotion. ”do you think it is?”

you only shrug. ”i’m not surprised that they eat us.” you think of all the stories you’ve heard, the fairy tales you grew up with. “if i was a wolf, i’d hate humans too.”

”would you, now?” familiar amusement, seeping from his tongue, soft crows’ feet by his cedar eyes. ”good thing you aren’t a wolf, then. we’re lucky.”

”mhm. you’d be my first target.”

that makes him chuckle, a little deeper this time, and you drink in the glimpse you get of his teeth, the fondness that dances across his face when he looks at you. 

a sudden urge overtakes you. 

”… i wanna know about something else.”

”oh?” he tilts his head, soft locks framing his kind eyes. ”and what would that be, my dear?”

”you.”

… 

for a moment, the mask falls. a silent, subtle kind of surprise, something in the way the tips of his fingers twitch that tells you he’s caught off guard. it coaxes you into continuing, following through with your question. swallowing the embarrassment. ”i wanna know more about you. how you became a knight, and… stuff.”

suguru looks at you with a strange glint in his eyes. undecipherable, unspoken, just watching as moonrays glide across your soft skin. ruffling your hair. 

a hum buzzes in his throat. he scratches at the back of his neck, resisting the urge to dodge your question. clicking his tongue. ”… well.”

anticipation blooms in your eyes, and you cross your legs, waiting patiently to hear him speak. he can’t deny you, when you look at him like that — so suguru simply exhales. a breath of indulgence. 

”it’s not a very interesting story,” he leads, closing his eyes in remembrance. ”they scouted me when i was pretty young…. a bit of a troublemaker, honestly, but i got lucky." memories flash behind his eyelids, fresh bruises, sliced fruit. bittersweet. ”ended up around some powerful people. they liked me. knighthood felt like the right choice.” 

he meets your entranced gaze, speaking with sincerity, devotion dipped in honey and holy water. sinking deeper still. ”it’s my purpose in life,” he breathes, a flurry of whispers on his tongue. heavier than either of you know. ”truly.”

you cock your head. ”being a knight?”

”protecting the weak,” he says. recites. like he’s said it a million times before, in the face of beasts, in the reflection of broken mirrors, a mantra to live and die by. ”protecting those who can’t protect themselves.”

the look in his eyes frightens you. deeper than the deepest lake, dark and murky, dragging him down. a devotion that smells of iron, tastes like steel. mania disguised as loyalty.

(knights love duty. almost as much as they love dying for it. that’s what your father always says.)

”but, honestly — this kind of thing isn’t bad,” he breaks you out of your trance, grinning sheepishly, almost boyishly. ”it’s been a while since i had so much fun on the job… thank you for that.”

he’s looking at you, right at you, into your eyes, an expression reserved for you and you alone. terribly earnest, grateful, a sincerity he wouldn’t show anyone else. ”honestly.”

you can do nothing but avert your gaze. swiftly, meekly, feeling heat crawl up your neck, blooming across your cheeks like the branches of a plum tree. suguru grins, gulping down the slightest coo — but he can’t resist the urge to poke fun at you a bit.

”… you’re a shy one, aren’t you?” he searches for your gaze, chuckling when he doesn’t find it. when you don’t let him. ”can’t even look people in the eye if they’re being nice to you… how precious.”

”oh, shut up,” you groan, glaring out into the night sky. blinking slowly, drowsily, biting back a yawn that your attentive knight still manages to notice. 

(he looks a little enamored.)

”ah… is my sweet little lord getting sleepy?”

”no,” you scoff, far too quick. ”i’m… tired.”

”of course.” he reaches out, carefully, to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. ”tired — not sleepy. that would be outrageous, wouldn’t it?” 

a yawn. ”it would.” 

low laughter bubbles up at the base of his throat, like seafoam, melting roses. deep and summery. ”alright. that’s enough stories for tonight, i think.” and with that, he gets up. ”let’s get you to bed, hm?”

rubbing your eyes, absently kicking your legs, you give him a slow nod of your head. making grabby hands at him that you’re sure you’ll be embarrassed about in the morning — but it feels easy, to be greedy, to know that your wants won’t be ignored when you’re with him. ”carry me, suguru.”

an indulgent smile. he doesn’t say anything, only curling his arms under your thighs, lifting you up and cradling you to his chest. you can feel his firm muscles, like this, trace them with your fingertips, hear the beating of his heart. tick-tock, tick-tock. a lullaby. a sense of safety, when you can’t tell where your heartbeat ends and his begins.

lost in that fuzzy, sleepy feeling, a blink away from falling into dreamland, fatigue washes over you — but you cling to his sleeve, even as he tucks you in, dragging the blanket up to cover you properly. 

”suguru,” you murmur, so quiet you doubt he hears it. ”will you tell me more stories tomorrow?”

”of course.” right before sleep coaxes you into its cradle, you feel the weight of his palm on your head; ruffling your hair. ”as many as you want, your highness.”

he smiles, as your eyes flutter shut, at the soft little breaths that flow from your lips. before he slips out, he blows out the candle on the nightstand, a silent prayer that your dreams will be kinder to you than his. 

one week of nagging later, suguru’s resolve finally crumbles.

it’s progress, at last, a tiny crack in his clockwork heart — but for once it works in your favour.

”do you really want to see the outside world that badly?”

he’s got an arm locked around your waist, stopping you from one of your numerous escape attempts. you’ve gotten bolder, sneaking away the moment he takes his eyes off you, but suguru isn’t easy to fool — catching up to you just as you stepped outside the castle, now stuck in place under the portico. it’s to be expected, with that sixth sense of his, the one that seems to alert him as soon as you think the thought to get him in trouble. 

but you still can’t help but pout, huff and puff, pushing at his chest in a helpless attempt to break free. he’s sweet about it, gentle, but entirely unmoving. like a big, annoyingly handsome rock.

”what do you think?” you scoff, narrowing your eyes at him. ”no, of course not. this whole time, i’ve just been trying to escape for fun. like, as a bit. how could you tell?”

he rolls his eyes, and you break out into a grin. ”mind the sarcasm, please.” he barely resists the urge to pinch your side; letting you loose, instead, trusting you not to scurry away. he’d catch up to you instantly, anyhow. "i’m just saying, it might not be as interesting as you think —“

”what are you, stupid?”

”what did we say about letting people finish their sentences?” he raises a brow, and you try not to cower. rolling your eyes, instead. suguru just sighs. ”i understand why you want to leave. but you have a good life, here. better than most.”

”… i know that,” you grumble, biting down on your lip. a resignation in your eyes that your knight can't protect you from. ”i just —”

you sigh. 

”it’s just so suffocating.”

suguru falls into a contemplative silence. weighing his options, studying the flicker of emotions in your eyes, the tapping of your idle fingers. hands eager to fidget with something. 

moments pass, one at a time, a familiar lullaby of pitter patter ricocheting off the ground just outside your vision. the air smells of marigolds, burning wood, wet concrete. the beginnings of summer.

finally, he makes up his mind. 

”okay, okay.”

when you look up from the ground, what awaits you is an outstretched hand. a familiar palm, and a familiar knight, with a familiar smile on his face. ”but don’t get used to it, alright?”

…

you part your lips, but no sound comes out. gaping like a fish out of water, hunting for the right words. suguru waits. patient.

”w — hold on,” you stutter, eyes blooming with hesitant hope, studying him intently for any signs of trickery. ”you mean — seriously? like, for real?”

he shrugs. ”it’s my duty to keep you happy.” devotion clings to his tongue, sweet indulgence. ”figure i can make an exception this once.”

another moment passes.

(there isn’t a hint of deceit in his features.)

a grin breaks out across your lips, like a joyous bolt of lighting, and you lunge into his chest — throwing your arms over his broad shoulders, jumping up and down, planting a wet kiss against his cheek. bubbly, giddy, heart racing with disbelief. you don’t even have it in you to be bratty. ”thank you, thank you, thank you!”

suguru makes a choked out noise, a little comical, breath hitching in the back of his throat. stabilizing you with a palm on the small of your back, patting it softly, once or twice, before retracting his arm and pulling away. clearing his throat. ”… you’re welcome.”

(his ears burn a cherry red.)

”but this is our little secret,” he reminds you, firmly, collecting himself. or trying to. ”got it?”

”yep.”

”if anyone asks, you —”

”yep, yep, understood.” you brush him off, still grinning brightly. ”don’t worry! i won’t tell a soul, i promise. swear on my mother’s grave!”

your knight exhales. worried, maybe, a little exasperated — mostly just trying to mask how infectious your joy is. how addicted he is to it, now that he’s seen it up close. he’s only caught glimpses in the midst of your painting sessions; to see it directed at him instead of the wolf on your canvas is a treasure he won’t soon forget. 

sneakily, stealthily, like a pair of bad dogs, the two of you begin your journey to the woods on the horizon. wearing cloaks, sticking together, until the sun begins to set and the sky drains of colour. 

and before you know it, it’s right there in front of you. a narrow path into the woods, a cluster of trees, a world you’ve always dreamed of. dark and gritty, beautiful, brimming with bugs and sights yet to be seen. creatures you could only ever see in picture books. a dreamlike world that takes shape before you, like paint splattered on a canvas, as you follow suguru’s lead — right behind him, clinging to the fabric of his cloak, excitement flooding your veins. heart thumping erratically in your chest. 

when you’ve made it to a tiny clearing, you stop in your tracks. suguru’s holding a lantern, a flicker of orange in the dark green world before you, attracting fuzzy moths. proud trees stand tall all around you, keeping guard, mushrooms and forget me nots scattered across the dewy patches of grass. keeping them company. 

everything smells of life, earth, oak wood and thinly veiled secrets. you want to live here forever.

suguru turns to look at you, noticing the way you’ve stilled. completely mesmerized, bewitched, eyes gleaming with childlike happiness. he tuts, doing a bad job at hiding how pleased he is. the sound makes you meet his eye.

”careful,” he croons, inching closer. fingertips ghosting over your wrist, right above your pulsepoint. ”could be wolves around. stay close.”

”i’ve already got one right next to me, though?”

the comment earns you a flat expression, unimpressed, and it pulls a giggle from out your throat. the corners of suguru’s lips curl up, unwillingly, as he shakes his head; exhaling a tired breath. exasperated. 

then he hums. ”well, at least you're aware.”

suddenly, he’s walking forward, slipping away, cold air replacing the buzzing warmth of his skin on yours. hot blood, ever flowing, hidden within his veins — pumped out from his heavy heart. it’s there and then it’s gone. tick, tock, one step after the other, until he’s turning around to face you again. unfurling his outstretched hand, waiting for you to grab hold of it. 

his long hair sways with the breeze, smooth and unburdened, black like the night sky above you. a starry glint in his eyes. his voice comes out deep, a raspy lilt, like the scraping of metal against concrete. 

when he smiles, you think you catch a glimpse of sharp teeth.

”will you trust this wolf to keep you safe?”

under the web of shadows cast by the trees, barely illuminated by the shivering moon, all you can do is watch him. his gleaming eyes, the curl of a toothy grin on his lips. a knight, a wolf, a friend.

your protector. 

finally, finally, you grasp onto his offered hand. his fingers intertwine with your own, a puzzle finally solved, and his palm feels a little calloused. skin littered with tiny scars, years of training and killing, but it’s still somehow so soft. nice and smooth. 

he’s warm. and now he’s smiling at you, like you put all the gold of the world into his palm. 

”yeah,” you grin, a little cheeky. stepping closer, clinging to him without restraint, knowing he’ll indulge you. ”keep me safe, wolfie.”

his laughter rings out into the air like a cicada song, sweet and nostalgic. or a howl, maybe. it makes you want to gnaw at his bones; memorize his taste, so you’ll never quite be without him. it’s not your fault he looks so chewable when he’s smiling like that.

”i will,” he promises, vows, pledges, hand on his heavy heart. knights and their rituals. ”you don’t have to worry about a thing. not while i’m here.”

and you don’t. you know you don’t. because suguru is the greatest knight, the coolest wolf, and his clockwork heart never ceases to tick. it won’t break under pressure, no matter how much you push — so you don’t bother holding back. wrapping both arms around his bicep, cozying up to him, tugging at his cloak with a pep in your step. 

”c’mon, c’mon!" you beckon him forward. "i wanna see how everything looks up close.”

and he just lets you manhandle him, for a bit. following your lead. ”your wish is my command, your highness.”

the night stretches on, seemingly never-ending, like the branches of the oak tree you find in the heart of the woods. broken, beautiful, stretching out in all directions — a garden of forking paths, covered in jagged bark, but still somehow so warm to the touch. you’re sure there’s a heartbeat in there, somewhere. maybe a couple of swords too.

all good things must come to an end. but you refuse to leave the comfort of your mossy haven until suguru promises to bring you back, someday, maybe, if you play nice. it’s a deal that you’re willing to take.

only then do you begin your journey back towards the castle. having gotten your fill, for now, left to wallow in the newfound sights etched into your memory. still clinging to your knight like a child with their favorite doll, babbling into his ear about something or another. about how you’re almost sure you saw a wolf in the bushes, about how pretty the cicadas’ songs were. how you’re gonna convince him to take you there every single day.

the sun is yawning, stretching its endless limbs out, getting ready to rise and envelop the world. the sky is a calm blue, soon to be painted orange and pink, but you aren’t tired at all. you must sound a little incoherent, but suguru nods along to your every word. listening attentively.

so kind. so patient. sure, he’s a tease, and more than a little patronizing — but you don’t think you’ve ever liked anyone this much before. it’s weird. it’s fun. 

(you wonder if he feels the same.)

”hey, suguru?”

he keeps his eyes locked on the road ahead, but still spares you a brief glance, just to let you know you have his full attention. a second of hesitance is all your sleepy brain allows you, curiosity enveloping most of your functioning thoughts.

”would you… i mean. if i was, like… a different person —” you pause. suguru quirks a brow, and you suddenly feel a little flustered. ”um, what i mean is! like, if the king ordered you to be someone else’s knight… would you protect them like you do with me?”

he blinks. once, then twice, meeting your hopeful gaze. stifling a yawn, and parting his lips. 

”of course.”

…

your face falls. lips dropping down into a soft pout, rich with disappointment, paired with a barely audible huff. suguru furrows his brows, playfully, smiling in the way he always does when he’s about to tease you.

”ah, my bad,” he croons. ”were you expecting something else? a… forbidden romance, perhaps?”

before you can begin to protest, warmth rushing to your cheeks, he stops walking. dropping down on one knee, dramatically, with a flutter of his cloak. theatrical. gently, he grabs hold of your hand, bringing it to his lips as his eyes flutter shut. you bite back a squeak.

his voice comes out low, sultry, honeyed — so heavy with emotion that it’s obvious he’s faking it. ”the only person i yearn to protect is you, my liege,” his breath feels hot against your skin. ”i could never love another. my existence is for you, and you alone.” 

suddenly, he’s smirking. you feel it against the knots of your knuckle, right before he cracks a single eye open. glimmering with deep amusement. ”… is that better?”

and you huff. sharply, doing all that you can to avoid getting flustered, his heavy gaze burning right into your own. it really, really doesn’t work. ”you’re so mean.”

”not mean,” he chuckles, rising to his feet. dusting off his cloak. ”i’m just… managing your expectations, my lord. they’d have my head on the chopping block if i so much as touched you without their consent — you know that.”

another little huff. ”i never said i wanted you to…” 

suguru hums. ”i’m your knight,” he reminds you, as always, until you get tired of hearing it. steadfast, irrefutable. ”that’s all. remember?”

(something bitter settles on your tongue.)

but you nod. ”that’s right,” you hum. ”mine.”

a teasing mirth flickers through his eyes, like the first setting sunrays reflecting off cathedral glass. reverent, dyeing the world in all the colour it asks for. and he gives a raspy chuckle. ”possessive little thing…”

that’s right, you remind yourself. he’s your knight. your lying, teasing, playwright of a knight. always wearing a mask, hiding behind a suit of armor, playing one role or another. only baring himself under the light of the sun, when no one is around to see. he’s infuriatingly patient, endlessly loyal, the greatest bootlicker you’ve encountered in your life. but he’s kind, too. maybe a little too kind. 

and he always, always kneels. 

such a large man, all toned muscle and tall stature, broad shoulders and a firm chest — kneeling at your feet. like a loyal dog. with a rustle of armor, a flutter of fabric, a sigh and a smile. as soon as you ask for it.

”c’mon. let’s hurry back,” you hear him say, biting back another yawn. ”before anyone finds out i kidnapped you. don’t want me to get in trouble, do you?”

”i kinda do.”

a silent look. unimpressed. it’s the most sincere expression he knows how to make, and also the most comical. ”careful,” he looks ahead, hiding his amused smile. ”wolves eat bratty heirs, you know? better stay on my good side, your highness.”

a bout of sleepy giggles. you curl an arm around his bicep, putting your weight onto him, but he doesn’t stumble. ”sorry, mr wolf! please, by all means, eat my dear father instead.”

”don’t be disrespectful.”

”sorry,” you quip, entirely unapologetic. ”i forgot you had a crush on him. that’s my ba — ow!”

suguru brushes by you, walking forward, hiding his growing grin. leaving you with an ache in your hip and two wide eyes. 

”hurry up, my lord. we don’t have all day.”

”wha — you pinched me!” you stumble after him, barely containing your quiet delight. ”they’ll have your head for this, you know!”

silent laughter. you don’t need to hear it to know that it’s there, just ahead of you, tucked into crows’ feet and a curl of his lips.

suguru always kneels.

but, sometimes, he talks to you as if you’re equals. sometimes he takes the lead, pinches your hip, tells you off a little. teasing, patient, but there’s an edge to him that he doesn’t always hide. sometimes, he lets you see it, and you figure that must make you at least a little bit special.

sometimes, he feels like your best friend.

careless, careless, careless.

how could he ever be so careless?

everything blurs into a puddle of red. murky, sticky, everywhere all at once. all he sees is red, all he feels is burning. his heartbeat pulses at the base of his throat, bottom lip bruised and aching from hours of sinking his teeth into the flesh, over and over — every single nerve of his body running on adrenaline and nothing else.

(adrenaline and fear, maybe, but they’ve always been synonymous. never one without the other.)

the slaughter is mindless. suguru knows that’s how they like it, anyhow — knights aren’t supposed to think. they don’t need to. 

suguru certainly isn’t. cutting his way through the bandit’s den, practically growling, sword painted such a dark shade of red that he doubts he’ll ever be able to wipe it clean. harsh slashes, pure instinct, wildfire inside his veins, iron on his tongue. 

suguru isn’t thinking, he’s hunting. sniffing like a bloodhound. eyes scanning the area before him like a hungry beast.

suguru is hunting — for you.

and when he sees you, at last, tied up and barely conscious, he’s almost certain he’s going to grow claws, fangs, matted fur. that he’s going to turn into a beast beneath the fading moonlight.

but he falls to his knees, instead, like a wounded dog. throwing his burganet off, with a clatter, crawling closer. heaving breaths, untying you with shaky hands, greedy fingertips hunting for a pulsepoint —

and only when he finds it does he allow himself the luxury of breathing again.

when you come to, veins dragged down by a fuzzy sensation, your vision is blurred. foggy, dull colours on the canvas of your mind, gradually washed away as you struggle for control. you stir, and finally see the figure above you. 

what you see is a knight, a wolf, a beast beneath the moonlight. a kind, kind man.

suguru.

bloodied armor. sweaty, messy hair, sticking to his forehead. pure panic in his bloodshot eyes. he cradles your face, cold metal on your cheek, dirty and smelling of iron. he moves his mouth; you delude yourself into thinking that his bottom lip is trembling. forming around familiar vowels.

he’s saying your name.

there must be something wrong with you, you belatedly realize. the last one to do so. because you’re hurt, scared, but you still feel a skip of your heartbeat. 

(he finally said it.)

you muster all the strength at your disposal, eyelids fluttering. and you try to answer, you do, reaching for that thread between your brain and your tongue — but it comes out as a garbled little thing, more air than noise. 

it’s enough. the tense crease between his brows melts away, and he sighs.

”oh, thank the heavens.”

another sensation. he’s touching your hand, now, cold metal on warm skin, bringing it up to his lips; a shaky little exhale brushing against the knots of your knuckle. his lips are chapped. 

then he’s scooping you up, cradling you close, as close as metaphysically possible, as if willing to cut his stomach open to fit you inside. his grip is firm, comforting, desperate, a mother wolf carrying her cub to safety by the skin of her teeth. his hair tickles your skin, but you don’t mind.

only when he brings you back to the castle does everything fall into place. he explains everything, as you sit in bed, still recovering. a sudden attack, from within the castle, a kidnapping. some enemies of the king, a scandal to do with you and your blood. something, something, something. you’ve grown used to not understanding why you keep getting hurt. 

and you’re too distracted by the sullen face of the knight in front of you to pay attention.

suguru wasn’t there to stop it — wasn’t there to save you, be your knight in shining armor. the king had invited him to a game of chess, and you had been adamant in your refusal to join them.

so you don’t understand why he’s apologizing.

he’s smiling, but it’s weak, as flimsy as a piece of paper. his lying smile, tight-lipped, betrayed by the redness of his eyes, the puffy skin beneath them. dark crescents. he sits by your bedside and looks a little like he wants to curl into a ball. 

”i’m sorry.”

and ah, you think; there it is. guilt. always, always clinging to him, a ghost haunting him wherever he goes. it’s been there since the beginning, in the scar reaching for his shoulder, the nature of his never-fading smile. guilt, guilt, guilt. you wonder if he's ever gone without it. you wonder if knights begin to crumble when they stop feeling ashamed. 

he looks sad.

with a breathless inhale, you part your lips. you want to tell him that he has nothing to apologize for, that you’re fine now — that you could never be mad at him. not really, never truly, never at him. you want to tell him that he’s your favorite person, not just your favorite knight, that he’s allowed to make mistakes without demanding that he suffer for them. 

you want to tell him that it’s okay, really. seriously.

but all that leaves your lips is a meek little sniffle. as the shock of it all finally settles, sinking deep into your bones, the fear of being captured, the dull ache of your skull meeting the ground. you can’t tell him any of the things you want to, and you feel so awful — 

because suguru’s face falls. like you just thrust a knife into his sternum and twisted it. he looks like he could cry, too.

”i’m sorry,” his voice cracks, right down the middle. like a broken vase. ”i’m so sorry.” it’s not at all what you want to hear, but you can’t tell him that either. he’s bundling you up before you know it, dragging you into the comfort of his chest, one large palm on the back of your head; tugging you closer still. he smells of soap and oak wood and peach blossoms. ”it was scary, wasn’t it?”

and you nod. into his neck, wet tears brushing against his skin. not stable enough to act tough. you don’t think he is, either.

suguru exhales, shaky, clutching you like he could lose you if he lets go. lose himself. he knows you’re scared, but you let him soothe you. it means something, he thinks. it means something that you let him come so close, closer than anyone’s ever been. so he swallows the guilt until it’s no longer clogging up the back of his throat, if only so his voice can flow out through the gap, give you the comfort you need. just rubbing your back until you calm down, apologizing silently — over and over again. manic, like the tick-tock of a clock.

until your voice breaks him out of it.

”it’s not your fault.”

he stiffens. still holding you, feeling your heartbeat settle down, hearing your voice break out of your throat. it comes out as a weak croak, with just the slightest hint of disapproval.

he gulps.

”don’t worry about me, right now,” he hushes you. a silent plea. ”i’m not the one who’s injured.”

”suguru —” you sigh, almost a hiss. ”i hit my head. once. that’s all.” you wipe away the wetness of your cheeks, biting back a sniffle. ”… you’re acting like i’m fucking dying. cut it out.”

(for once, he’s relieved to hear that sharp edge of your voice. it means you’re feeling better.)

a weak inhale. ”… they kidnapped you. it must’ve been terrifying. please, just…” and a tired exhale. ”please just don’t strain yourself.”

”it wasn’t your fault.”

…

”your highne —”

”i’m serious.” you’re pulling away, suddenly, clasping onto his cheeks with your tearstained palms. squishing his face together. ”it wasn’t your fault. it was mine.”

he shakes his head, eager to protest, so you squish his cheeks with more force, and shake his head for him. like a misbehaving dog. ”nope. if you even think about apologizing, i’ll start crying again.”

he lets out a huff. frowning, sadly, a downcast pair of eyes.

”don’t pout. i’ll bite you.”

it’s slight, barely even there at all — but you think the corner of his mouth twitches upwards, just by a hair, exhaling through his nose with just the slightest hint of amusement.

he places his palm over yours. 

a moment passes, slow and steady, both of you catching your breaths. calming down, letting the fear of it all seep out of your aching bones. you hope the warmth of your skin against his soothes him as much as it soothes you. 

”… you know, your highness,” he murmurs, softly. meeting your puffy eyes with his tired pools of amber gold. ”there’s something i never told you.”

you blink. he continues.

”just the night before the king reached out to me… i had a dream.” he musters a weak, exhausted little smile. ”dreams… i don’t have them very often. and when i do, they’re nothing good. but this dream…” 

his eyes flutter shut. a curtain closing, a raven taking flight, the tick-tock of a heartbeat. you can’t look away. ”it stuck out to me.”

silence.

your voice comes out soft, like the bedsheets beneath you, the man before you. a tiny breath of a question. ”… what was it about?”

he smiles. smoothing a thumb over your knuckle, reverent, as if memorizing every ridge and dip.

”a fox.”

…

”it had…” his hand slips from the small of your back, reaching for your cheek, pinching it gently. ”a cheeky smile.”

your skin heats up, beneath his touch. and you blink, not saying a word, because there isn’t any need to. all the words you could ever want have already been painted out.

(well, maybe not quite all.)

”suguru.” you lean close, just a little, drinking him in. and he listens, as always, so you don’t bother beating around the bush. swallowing any embarrassment your tired mind can still feel. because your knight is right in front of you, eyes still red from crying, and you want him to be happy. “i think you’re my favorite person.”

he stills.

then he’s burning up. 

”wha — where did that come from?” he stammers, a strawberry hue to his ears, his neck, the tips of his fingers. enveloping him like a blanket of warmth.

you only shrug. ”you told me the truth. figured i should return the favour, for once.” a giddy, exhausted smile. “we’re both awful liars, huh?”

suguru opens his mouth. then he closes it, again, desperate to collect himself. you think he must be a little too exhausted to, and you wish you could say you felt bad. ”you… you can’t just —”

he squeezes his eyes shut. sighing. giving up, the gears of his mind grinding to a halt. your grin blooms wider.

”hehe.” you poke at his flushed cheek, and he cracks a single eye open. ”you’re blushing.”

he huffs, leaning away from your touch, and you find yourself enjoying the reversal of your usual roles. very much so. he tries to smile, tries to get one up on you, but he only blushes a deeper shade of red once your words reach his ears. 

so he settles for using cheap tricks.

”you’re hallucinating,” he scoffs, shoving your head into the fluffy pillows all around you. ever so gently, listening to your muffled giggles. trying to stifle his own joy. ”go back to sleep.”

”my blushy knight,” you coo, and he drags the blanket over your head. biting down on his lip to stop himself from joining your bubbly laughter, blushing more than ever. 

(the word knight sounds very pretty, when it’s falling from your lips.)

”i swear,” he exhales, heavy and exasperated, but you can hear the smile in his voice. ”just what am i to do with you?”

it’s fond. delicate, even in his bouts of teasing, the light instances of manhandling. and you’re happy, because he’s not apologizing anymore, and he’s happy because you aren’t crying anymore. give and take. there’s a rhythm to it, a point where everything else becomes background noise, whether it’s memories of a kidnapping or a decade-old guilt.

he stays with you all night, even after you’ve fallen asleep. just watching you, safeguarding you, checking your pulse every now and then. content to watch as your chest rises and falls, with the tender ticking of your heartbeat.

that night, you dream of a kind, kind wolf, and a painting yet to be finished. 

before you lies a field of stars.

you’re seated on a blanket, with a pretty knight to your left, up on top of a grassy hill. daffodils bloom around you, sweet nectar hanging in the air, a field of sunflowers waving at you from below. dragonflies greet you with a scratchy song. 

everything is perfect. a midnight rendezvous, a picnic under the stars — suguru’s own idea. to celebrate the time that you’ve spent together.

(well, that part was your idea. but you’re sure he appreciates it, too.)

the basket next to you is filled with fruit and berries, marmalade and jam, bottles of herbal tea. suguru’s delicious sandwiches. you bite into one of them, humming happily, and he’s quick to brush the occasional crumb from the corner of your lip, ghosting over your skin with a smile.

there’s another basket, too, just in front of you, that you brought on your own. hiding a secret; one you're just about to unveil. 

you clear your throat to get his attention.

like clockwork, he’s looking at you. listening, when  you tell him to close his eyes, only giving you a questioning raise of his brow and an amused exhale. 

you’re quick to lean forward, uncovering the basket, revealing the secret you’ve hidden so well. suguru is still waiting, indulgent, patient. you feel a little hesitant, but still part your lips.

“… okay. you can open them, now.”

he does. instantly, two ravens taking flight, and the sight that awaits them is that of a painting; a painting of a wolf, in the middle of the woods, empty armors and wilted sunflowers all around it. dragonflies and dragonflies, a knight just out of view.

he stares, silently, and you do your best to hide your growing nervosity. even as he takes it into his lap, and your gaze falls to the blanket below you. ”it’s… not my best work, but —” his eyes stay glued onto the painting, as you stumble blindly for the right words to say. wringing your hands together, clutching at the fabric of your sleeves. ”i’d… like you to have it. i mean, unless you —”

”thank you.”

you raise your head.

suguru is gazing at the canvas with the softest pair of eyes you’ve ever seen. melting amber, crinkled at the edges, accompanied by a sweet grin. 

”i’ll treasure it,” he vows, meeting your eyes, voice dripping with warmth. hand on his heart, and you can’t even poke fun at it. ”always.”

his earnest acceptance is enough to fluster you, enough to make you feel as it your heart is about to collapse, but he continues to look at the painting with enough awe to fill an empty lake with water, and it makes you terribly shy. 

until his smile drops.

”uh, actually — i…”

now it’s your turn to stare, silently, as he fumbles with something in the basket at his feet. gentle, as he takes out glass jars and wrapped sandwiches. out comes a sheet of paper. 

then he’s clearing his throat. handing it to you, pointedly avoiding your gaze. ”i’m not an artist, so you know. i just…” he coughs, a little out of his element. “well. here.”

with delicate hands, you accept it, bringing it down to your lap. big, curious eyes taking it in.

it’s a sketch — made with coal, a little smudged, but awfully charming. pretty, delicate.

it’s a sketch of a fox.

wide-eyed, all you can do is stare. gaze flitting up to meet his own, his nervous expression, before falling back to the little canine. ”you — this…” back and forth, over and over again. ”for — ?” 

you point to yourself. 

suguru chuckles. ”yes, it’s for you. who else?” he taps the pads of his fingers against the handle of the basket, watching you silently admire the mischievous fox. not saying anything; so he continues.

”like i said, i’m not an artist. you can always throw it away, if you’d —”

”i’m gonna frame it.”

…

”i'm gonna frame it,” you repeat, eyes shining with sincerity. a little manic. ”i’ll hang it on the wall of the castle hallway so everyone can see it. it’ll be there for centuries to come, passed down —”

”please don't —”

”d’you think a gold frame would fuck up the vibe? maybe a modest silver is best.” you turn to face him, ignoring his blatant embarrassment. ”oooh, hang on! father knows this guy who makes them with real minerals. i’ll just —”

”your highness,” the knight cuts you off, almost with a squeak. ”please. it’s just a dumb drawing. i just… wanted to give it to you. that’s all.”

a pause. you look into his eyes, flickering with hesitance, an earnest desire for your approval only. so you hum, though a little hesitant.

”… alright. if you say so. i’ll hang it in my room, then.”

he sighs. relieved. ”that’s better. really, you —”

”thank you.” you whisper, blinking away the wetness at your lash-line. staring at the sketch with a dreamy, dreamy smile. ”i love it.”

you grin, happily, practically beaming. suguru wants to keep it there, always, on those pretty lips; he wants to lay his life on the line to protect it. but something tells him that would just make it fall. 

finally, everything clicks into place. the air fills with the scent of herbal tea, fresh strawberries, acrylic paint and hushed whispers. your own ritual, repeated over and over, like a loving waltz. 

as always, it’s suguru who breaks the silence. shatters it with the tip of his tongue. 

”hey,” he calls, softly. “my lord.”

mouth full of bread, you simply look at him. chewing silently, attention piqued. swallowing with a gulp. he places his folded hands on his lap, exhaling a little breath. ”… i’ve been thinking.”

”uh oh.”

he gives you one of those silent, flat, unimpressed looks of his, and you quiet down with a grin and another mouthful of bread. quirking a brow, he exhales amusedly, then shakes his head and continues.

”i retract my earlier statement.”

when you glance up again, he’s smiling. showing more teeth than usual, a little wider, a little wolfish. a little more himself. you want to paint it, keep it hidden away somewhere only you can see.

”if it was someone else — anyone else…” he trails off, tasting the words on his tongue. “i doubt i’d feel this way. i doubt i’d want to protect them as fervently.” his voice flows out like a river of gold, just a little scratchy. it always is, when it sounds this sincere. 

he meets your eyes, and everything falls into place. 

”you’ve become precious to me,” he admits. ”i can't remember what it felt like to not be yours.”

his tongue curls around a familiar set of syllables, and your name seeps from his lips like a prayer, a vow, a trickle of honey and wine. devotion sticks to his tongue, to the vowels, a heavy fondness — something devout. something you've only ever heard from the mouths of priests.

and then he’s smiling. 

”i think i’ll be your knight until the day i die,” he breathes, and deep down you know it’s a vow. “even if the king discards me of that title.”

silence. except for an increasingly loud mantra of tick-tocks, from the depths of your own chest, echoing in your ears. your knight is in front of you, and he’s yours, and he’s smiling like he loves you. like he always will.

”… suguru.”

he hums, eyes lidded, blinking slowly. serenely. he lets you cling to him, pull him close, practically dragging him into your lap.

”stay with me,” you plead, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. too desperate to feel embarrassed. ”forever. promise me.”

an exhale, right by your ear. it sounds so fond you could cry. 

“i promise,” he whispers, fingers intertwining with your own. a perfect puzzle piece, a functional clockwork. lifting your hand, bringing his glossy lips to your knuckle; where they belong. ”until death tears me away from you.”

”it won’t,” you deadpan, partly to distract him from the growing heat of your fingertips. mostly because it’s true. ”you won't let it.”

he smiles against your knuckle, breathing out an airy laugh. ”clever little thing…” his free hand goes to rest on your spine, as always, and you lean back to see him properly. knowing he’ll catch you if you fall.

“.. but yeah," he sighs. "i won’t.”

before you know it, you’re leaning back in. because his eyes are the warmest shade of brown you’ve ever seen, and his hair is just a little tousled, and he looks so kissable it aches.

his jaw trembles, a little, when you press your lips against the curve of it. his whole body seems to still, for a moment, and you pull back just to see if he’s blushing. he is. 

but he must have anticipated your teasing, because he’s tucking you under his chin before you can see it through. pressing you close. and he tuts, a click of his silver tongue, a touch of restraint. ”… you little tease,” comes a whisper. ”how am i supposed to hold back now?”

”don’t hold back, dummy,” you grin, muffled against the column of his throat. you just barely resist the urge to sink your teeth into the skin. ”you’re a bad actor, anyway. the worst.”

and he is. he’s been looking at your lips this whole time — he couldn’t be more obvious if he tried.

suguru laughs, breathy, overflowing with fondness. chest rumbling with the noise, blending together with the rhythmic thumping of his clockwork heart. ”okay,” comes a soft lull of his tongue. ”i won’t, then.”

a drowsy feeling overtakes you, just as you feel his lips meet the crown of your head. it’s not much, but it’s a start. and it’s tender, tender enough to get you choked up, to get you to close your eyes to stop any tears from forming. because one person in this kingdom understands you, and he tells you that he’ll never leave. and you think you can actually find it in you to believe him. 

one person’s clockwork heart never breaks for you, and maybe that’s enough to convince you to stop trying to push it there.

”you can sleep, if you’d like,” is whispered against your hair. soft, soothing, his palm on your spine. ”i’ve got you. always.”

(one person in this world can make you feel safe, with just four little words. and isn’t that something?)

so you doze off, on the shoulder of your very own knight. your favorite knight, always and forever, a sword at his hip that was forged to protect you. or so he’ll tell you, years from now, when he’s got you in his lap, when there isn’t any need for him to act anymore.

and you dream a perfect dream. a dream of a wolf, and a fox, and a garden of stars.

[juhbebbie]

Do you have any personal MK headcanons that you really enjoy, if so, what are they? If not, what r just some things you like ab the characters :-D

Hi thank u so much for the ask I adore your blog <333333

I think i have some potentially unpopular or just uncommon show headcannons, with my main one probably being that after the events of the show, the suit stops changing when they switch out. I really wasn't a big fan of that in the show since I felt like it takes away some of the mystery of moon knight and as much as I love steven, it ruins any any chance of there being the classic Mr knight. I guess I'd just imagine that as they get more in tune as a system anyone can wear either suit (I also don't really think jake would have his own suit) and Marc takes on more of the Mr knight persona we get in the comics (the dude is BADASS and I love that. I need that).

Comics wise my only headcannon I can think of rn is that Marc is like a cat magnet even though he initially isnt super fond of them, so they're just everywhere around the mission and as annoyed as Marc is he doesn't have the heart to do anything about them. Steven also dislikes the cats, only because he keeps finding cat hair all over his nice clothes. Jake LOVES the cats and he names all of them. Also I'm sorry the image of a little kitten sound asleep in jake's hat is🥺

Marc ends up becoming a big cat person though. reese catches him with one in his lap one day while he's getting work done, and when she teases him for it he just gives her the Grumpy™ look and makes no effort to move the cat.

Also I have miscellaneous house of shadows related headcannons because come on. That's so cool and I hope it gets utilized more in future issues

[appears]

25th Anniversary: Zettai Shinka Kakumei Zenya

Because anime used to be an ultra-niche hobby in America, there are only a few that I had access to back in the 90s and early 00s. VHS tapes with subtitled episodes were expensive, about $25-30 for a tape with four episodes, so anything I bought had to be researched very carefully to make sure that I would be getting something good. The ones I did end up buying and liking became formative to my development as a fan of Japanese popular music, as it was through the music of shows like Sailor Moon, Fushigi Yuugi and Magic Knight Rayearth that led me to artists like Ayumi Hamasaki, X Japan, and T.M.Revolution. Shoujo Kakumei Utena, or Revolutionary Girl Utena, was another one.

If you were a fan of Sailor Moon, as I was, Utena would inevitably crop up in a list of recommendations, though in hindsight, besides director Kunihiko Ikuhara, the two have very little in common. Both fall under the mahou shoujo, or magical girl, umbrella but Utena's execution and influences are pleasantly unconventional, from its plot line to its eccentric, game-changing soundtrack. While anime like Cardcaptor Sakura and Wedding Peach employed regular, time-tested music for its score, themes, and image songs, the Utena team hired psychedelic rocker and musical innovator J.A. Seazer who catapulted the sound of this unique world to singular heights. When it came out, nothing sounded like the music from Utena, and its first soundtrack, Shoujo Kakumei Utena Zettai Shinka Kakumei Zenya, or The Eve of the Absolute Evolution Revolution, illustrates the variety of styles and breathtaking depth to come in subsequent collections.

The album, released July 24, 1997, is the first original soundtrack from the anime and collects music from the series's first arc. The music reflects the show's (relatively) lightest arc, from its iconic titular opening and closing themes, sung by 90s seiyuu-queen Masami Okui, and Luca Yumi respectively, to its orchestral cues, through to its duel choruses. Three distinct genres make up the whole of the soundtrack and remain stark in their differences, yet all work together to comprise the bits and pieces of the show. There's the commercial piece, the one that will draw in casual listeners with a fun, chart-topping single; the cues, composed by Shinkichi Mitsumune, which set the theme and tone, drawing from French Baroque and Classical styles that characterize the visual world of the anime with its 18th century aristocratic influences (or at least, the kind popularized in anime like VERSAILLES no Bara), including its music, making for a world bright with dainty string quartets; and the duel choruses, a wholly imaginative space where J.A. Seazer combined opera and hard rock to soundtrack the eerie, bizarre world of Ohtori Academy's constant handling and mishandling of its Rose Bride. It’s the music that really brought this world to life, enchanting its look and feel, while distinguishing Utena from other anime. As a growing fan of the Baroque and Classical French era, including its music, this music just clicked with me when I discovered it in grade school -- totally worth the $30 I spent on a VHS from Suncoast with 4 random, somewhere-in-the-middle-of-the-series-so-I-had-no-idea-what-was-going-on episodes on it!

The soundtrack for the movie re-telling, Adolescence Mokushiroku (Adolescence Rush), is another essential collection from this series, though there were several more soundtracks released from this series and its several story arcs comprised of cool, strange, genre-defying sounds. This one is still the most important. You can find more information about this album here.

[mindninjax]

Iron and Wine (3)

Chapter 3- Lovely Bitter Water

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Erwin Smith x fem!reader (Royalty AU)

Warnings: Erwin can't keep his fucking hands to himself, sexual tension, some dirty talk, nightmares,

WC: 3.5K

a/n: Be wary of the warnings on this one just in case anyone is uncomfortable with it. But This chapter contains humor and sexual tension and by far was my favorite chapter to write so far.

The high stone ceiling peels away above you to show the sky. It is clear and dark, save for a thousand twinkling lights, the souls of those you’ve lost shining down upon you. You blink, once, twice, as the wind tickles your skin and dances merrily through your hair. There is a warm pale glow above you and your mind is wandering into the cosmos as you feel a pair of cool lips on your forehead. A glowing ball of white light beckons to you as you sit up and gaze around the swaying tall grass around you.

This is a dream.

You stand, the dress you’re wearing swaying with the wind like a synchronized dance. The air smells clean and fresh, like the trees back home. You take a step forward, smiling to yourself and basking in the white light shining down on you. The moon sits large on the horizon across the field you’re in and fills you with joy as you skip freely toward it. You laugh and it rings out into the field like a carol of bells.

You’re stopped in your tracks as a large white hoof stomps in front of you. The ground shakes from the impact and you can see it start to crumble. You look up and there is a beast with the face of a goat and the body of a man sitting atop the saddle. It’s eyes are blacker than an abyss, staring at you blankly. They’re cold, sucking the very life from you.

Suddenly the wind stops and it is deathly silent. The air no longer smells fresh and clean but reeks of rotten flesh. You whip your head around fear creeping up the back of your neck as the clear night sky forms dark stormy clouds above your head. The sky bursts open with an ear splitting crack and wailing misery from above can be heard. It is earth shattering, rumbling the world and making your ears bleed.

Horrific images flash before your eyes in quick succession. Animals' skin and bone disintegrate in his presence. When he dismounts from his horse the land dies beneath his feet and when he takes a step blood stains the earth.

You scream but the sound is stolen and swallowed by the darkness he brings. The last thing you see before it takes over you completely, is the beast opening his mouth, a sinister crooked smile on his lips as he utters the words “I have come and with me I bring death.”

You awake with a gasp and shoot up in the large bed. Your vision is blurred as the remnants of the dream fade away and the bright morning light breaks through the haze. It takes you a few minutes to recognize your surroundings, but it comes flying back to you when you see Historia lying peacefully next to you in bed.

You are in the wolf king’s castle, acting as what he refers to as a “guest” when really you are his prisoner. Historia helped you take a bath last night, washed your hair and dressed you in a light but extravagant sleeping gown. When it was time to retire for the night, she’d bowed to you and asked to be excused. Remembering how fond she was of the room, you’d suggested she stay here with you and sleep. It might’ve been a bit selfish on your part, her presence was calming and her soft breath next to your ear was the only thing that lulled you into slumber.

But that dream almost certainly was a warning. You’d prayed for clarity before you went to sleep and the Mother provided. However, you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t woken up more confused than before. What was she trying to tell you? If Erwin Smith was in fact the enemy, the bringer of destruction and death, why did Her whispers stay your blade?

You shut your eyes tightly, put your index finger and thumb together while intertwining your other fingers and kiss the tip before bowing your head. “Forgive me Mother. I do not understand what it is I’m supposed to do. Erwin Smith is the enemy, so how do I stop him and save your children?” You whisper quietly under your breath.

A bubbling warmth pools in your gut when you think about the Wolf King and you don’t like the way it makes your heart thrum in your chest like a caged bird. You don’t understand what part he’s to play, whether you should trust him or not. But one thing is for certain, The Mother does not want him dead. You roll your eyes before getting off the bed and walking to the window to open the heavy curtains and let in the sun’s warmth.

Historia still sleeps peacefully on the bed, her even breathing occasionally interrupted by soft snores. You smile as you watch her, curled up on the bed, innocent and lovely. Perhaps you were wrong to think you couldn’t trust any of the people in the castle. As you watch the bustling people below from the window, you take a deep breath and make your decision. The only people who have actually shown you their true selves are Erwin and the little dog he keeps next to him. Which means, the only ones you have to distrust right now are those two. It would make for an easier time if you were being forced to stay here.

Then it’s settled, you’ll be cordial to the others and keep your guard up around Erwin and his knight. He may think you’ll agree to his plan, but you won’t. The fact that you can’t kill him is bothersome but you can definitely take this time to learn more about how he rules and bring that viable information back to your people.

Two quick knocks on the door draw your eyes away from the people below and your body instantly crouches into defense. You shake your head, trying to break the automatic defensive edge that is built into your character. Cordial and pleasant. That’s what you need to be. A nervous voice on the other side of the door calls out.

“Good Morning my lady, King Erwin demands your presence in the council room.”

You squint your eyes in frustration. Demands?

You wrench the door open to see the tall farm pup man standing before you. He jumps a bit at the sudden swing of the door and his eyes drift down your body before he turns red and looks away nervously. You don’t realize how thin the garment you’re wearing is. Your nipples bead in the cool air in the chamber and a breeze flows through your legs making it cling to your curves. You smile a little to yourself at his obvious embarrassment.

“You’re one of the knights he sent to stand outside my door, yes? To make sure I don’t run off?” you say, raising an eyebrow.

He still doesn’t look at you, but nods his head and says “Yes my lady.”

“I see, and you are Ser…?”

“Moblit my lady. Umm if you don’t mind me saying, maybe you would feel more comfortable in more appropriate attire? The King is demanding I escort you to the council chamber at once,” he says again.

You study him for a bit. He’s cute with warm trusting eyes. You can tell he’s not faking how nervous he seems to be around you but if you were to guess why Erwin would keep someone like him around, he’s probably levelheaded on the battlefield. You do raise your eyebrow in frustration at his use of the word “demands” again but you clear your throat and look at him.

“Well, thank you for guarding the door Ser Moblit,” you say bowing to him.

You smile brightly at him as he’s caught off guard by your pleasant attitude. He blushes again when you complete the bow and gaze back into his large brown eyes. You can hear Historia yawning and waking up behind you. You hear her little gasp as she jumps out of bed and runs to the door, mortified at the way you’re dressed in front of Moblit.

“You can’t just answer the door dressed like that! It’s indecent!” she squeaks, trying to cover you as you laugh warm heartedly at her. The last thing you say to him before Historia pulls you back into the room and shuts the door is “Please tell the King to get fucked in the ass by his horse before he demands anything of me again.”

Erwin lifts his clear eyes from the scroll of parchment at the sound of the heavy doors opening. The sound echoes loudly around the room creating a grand entrance. He stops scribbling and peaks an eyebrow when he sees only one person entering the council room. Moblit clears his throat uncomfortably as he approaches. All eyes are on him as he bows respectfully avoiding the King’s gaze.

Erwin speaks calmly, no hint of frustration in his voice. “Moblit, why is my guest not with you?”

Moblit bows again before responding, “My apologies sire, she...refused to come.”

“Really now? Did she give a reason why?” He asks as if he’s unbothered with the disobedience.

“N..no sire.”

Erwin smiles to himself, thumping his long fingers on the large wooden table. Of course you wouldn’t come. This is exactly what he expected. If you had shown up, that would’ve been too easy and not your style. “Not giving a reason certainly doesn’t sound like something the silver tongued little lioness would do. Come, tell me her words.”

“S..she requested that your majesty… ahem… be fucked in the ass by your horse,” Moblit stutters and shifts his eyes and it looks like it physically pains him to say this to his King. The room goes silent, Hange tries to keep a snicker in, Levi growls underneath his breath, and the others watch Erwin carefully.

He looks back down to his parchment and continues scribbling. “Nifa.” He says not looking up as he continues to write. Nifa jumps at the sound of her name. She sits in the corner of the room, large rolls of parchment are draped over the side of the small table she sits at. “Yes, Your Grace?”

“Is there anything on the roster after sunset?”

Nifa shuffles through the parchment as her eyes scan over the schedule. “No, Your Grace.”

“Excellent. Please add ‘fuck my horse’ to the roster for just after nightfall. Thank you.”

Hange’s snicker erupts into laughter as Nifa scribbles in the addition and Erwin smirks to himself.

You sit in front of the large vanity mirror, the candles dripping wax down the candle holder. You stare into the fire, daydreaming of leaving this place as the last remnants of sunlight become swallowed by the horizon. You’ve been cooped up in this room all day, refusing all who came to the door with food and gifts of clothes from the King.

“I still can’t believe you told Ser Moblit to tell the King that. I’ve never heard anyone speak like that about His Highness,” Historia says nervously as she brushes your hair. You’re holding a silver goblet full of wine that was brought up to your room, a peace offering, the woman who’d given it to you said. It wouldn’t be here if not for Historia asking to sample it. It’s true you’ve taken a very intense liking to Historia. She truly feels like your only friend here.

You sniff the wine and wrinkle your nose in disgust. It smells processed and fake, not at all like the wine Carla makes back home. Erwin must think you a fool. As if you’d drink something he’d present to you as a gift. It could be poisoned.

You set the cup down as Historia moves to braid intricate little braids at the crown of your head and let the rest flow freely down your back.

“Well, you’ve never left this castle. Outside these walls, the people don’t speak fondly of your king,” you scold her.

“Why not? King Erwin has done nothing but help me since he found me in my village,” she says seriously.

“What do you mean?” You turn around to gaze at her in confusion. It has occurred to you that you haven’t asked her anything about herself and it saddens you. Your gaze softens as you look at her and she smiles her bright smile at you before a firm knock on your door makes the both of you jump.

“Don’t,” she says, putting a hand in front of you to stop you from moving. “We don’t need a repeat of this morning. You probably almost killed Moblit. Put this on I’ll get the door for you,” she says handing you a silk robe to cover the thin nightgown you wear.

You chuckle as she walks to the door and opens it warily. You hear her squeak in surprise and turn to see her bowing lowly and Erwin pushing the door open and stepping into the room. You stand quickly, pulling the robe up over your arms and glaring as he enters.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he says warmly to Historia. She blushes and shakes her head quickly, her blonde locks hitting her cheeks.

“No, Your Grace. My lady was just getting ready to sleep for the night,” she replies, still holding the door, face full of shock.

Erwin’s eyes rake up and down your figure and he smiles that cocksure smile he’s famous for. “Yes, I can see that. Historia, would you mind giving me and the Lioness a moment of privacy?” he asks, bending down to take her hand into both of his.

You’re steaming, grinding your teeth as you watch Historia’s face grow pink and she nods wordlessly to him. “No! Historia stays with me. Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of her.” You step between her and the door and she looks nervously between you and him. He gives her a knowing look and she scurries past you, whispering in your ear quickly. “I’ll be back when he leaves.”

When she closes the door quietly behind her, you glare up at Erwin who continues smiling warmly at you. “I see you’re not a fan of the wine I had sent up for your pleasure,” he says walking to the vanity and picking up the goblet. He takes a sip, then closes his eyes and relishes in the sweet taste. “This is the best wine in the entire kingdom, made specifically for the King.” You curl your lip up in disgust.

“It tastes that way. Like it was only meant to please you. It lacks the care, the love for the vine and fruit that you would be able to taste in each sip,” you explain, rolling your eyes. Not like he would understand anyway. A spoiled king with servants to do his every bidding would never understand the time and care it takes to produce good wine.

“Hmm I suppose it does,” he says, eyeing you curiously. You can tell he’s enjoying this, the way his sneaky sapphire eyes move slowly up your body, lingering on the spread of your hips and the curve of your breast. You turn away from him in disgust.

“Why are you here?”

He feigns shock, eyes growing wide and he puts a hand to his chest. “Why, my lady, I thought you summoned me here. Surely I didn’t misinterpret Moblit’s message.”

Confusion floods your face as you squint and question his sanity. “Are you mad? I told Ser Moblit no such thing,” you say, shaking your head.

“Hmm, I thought for sure being fucked by my own horse was some kind of coded message. It is quite sudden I will admit but I have had many who crave me and I will not tell a lie, I am fascinated by what is beneath your lovely gown,” he says casually walking over to stand in front of you and smile down smugly.

You can feel your face heating at the insinuation. As if you’d ever invite him to your room, least of all for that. You sputter a bit before quickly retorting, “Is that what you tell all the women you try to seduce into a pact with you? I am not that weak and I have met many who were worth craving.”

You see the shock flash across his face and return his smug smile. His expression turns dark then and he lowers his voice and moves so close to you that you can smell the lingering scent of the wine he sipped.

“Do not continue to insult me. Your snide comments are only as entertaining as I continue to allow them to be. You would’ve been dead a long time ago were it not for the way I enjoy your tongue sliding over your lips while you say them,” he breathes and the warmth envelops you and makes your head a bit dizzy.

You keep your composure though, opting to continue to tease and make him as uncomfortable as he made you. You’re determined to expose his weakness and walk out of this castle vowing to destroy him and everything he holds dear.

“A shame that even the great Wolf King can be brought to his knees by a woman,” you reply sarcastically.

“Forgive me, but you are mistaking a fleeting lust-filled gaze for something more. I shall not kill you until we’ve come to an agreement, that or...I have at least tasted you upon my lips. And once I have—and I will one day—the fascination will cease. But until then, enjoy your stay in my castle and please read over the document I’ve provided. I am sure it will help with your decision.”

Your hand is itching to slap him across his chiseled jaw. You crane your hand back quickly but he catches it and throws you against the nearest wall. He pins you against it with his large body looming over you, the hand you were about to use to slap him pinned above your head and the other at your side. He tightens his grip on your wrists, a thick muscular thigh wedged between yours, partaking in the warmth radiating from your cunt.

“You’d dare to strike your king?” He grunts in a husky voice as you struggle in his grasp. His breath washes over you again as he cranes his neck down to drink in your scent.

“You are not my king,” you hiss through your teeth.

“Ahh there is the fierceness that makes my cock weep. A true lioness. Breaking you will be the greatest victory I’ve ever tasted. ”

You’re ashamed at how his words affect you. He pushes his thigh ever so slightly up against your folds and you gasp as his cock twitches against your thigh. He stares into your eyes, half lidded as his breathing increases.

His musk strangely reminds you of home, it’s woody and spicy like roasted chestnuts during the Celestial Ides festival. Hints of rose linger around the edges and you try very hard not to be drawn in by it. Your face burns as his eyes shift down to your lips and he leans in to brush his against your neck.

His lips are surprisingly soft and he’s very skilled at swiping them against your collarbone and up your jaw in such a way that would have you pleading for more if it were not him. You shudder and hold in the moan that desperately craves to be released before wriggling in his grasp to try and free yourself. Your hand moves to the tiny hidden slit you made in the robe when Historia wasn’t looking.

He moves gently up to your jaw, dragging his lips over your soft skin. He only stops when he feels a cool sharp prick right beneath his rib cage.

“Let. Me. Go. Or I’ll carve out your heart and feed it to your dogs,” you say between clenched teeth and heavy sensual breaths. You push the dagger harder into his side and it pricks through the fabric of his shirt, drawing blood.

He chuckles and releases his hold on you, stepping back with his hands raised in surrender. He pulls a rolled up piece of parchment from the inside of his loose sleeves and places it onto the vanity before saying, “I should’ve known you’d have a weapon hidden on your person. I guess you’ve become a bigger distraction to me than I previously assumed.”

You wipe your neck and face where his lips were in disgust, holding the dagger and crouching ready to spring should he come closer to you.

“Get out. And do not ever touch me again.”

He only smiles a warm hearted smile, as if nothing has happened and walks to the door to open it.

“Until next time, my lady,” and shuts the door quietly behind him.

--

taglist: @lazyezstudy @jeanbeaux @ixwrites @melyannathemaia @forlancasterrr @starstruckkittensweets @charlotteplsdosth @mythical-goth @casspea @saturnalya @neptvnia @mrs-kuroojinguji

Strikethrough means tumblr won’t let me tag! I’m sorry

[aalissy]

Daydream

Anddd here is today’s second and final chapter :). I hope you like this one too hehe! Lemme know what you think and sorry again for being a lil late :)

AO3

Marinette groaned, scrubbing a hand down her face. She glared up at the ceiling above her bed. Her lips pursed in anger as she crossed her arms across her chest. She had just caught herself daydreaming about Chat Noir... again.

She buried her face into her hands, letting out another aggravated shout. She could not be daydreaming about Chat Noir. He was her partner. It didn’t matter how good it had felt to be in his arms after he had assured her that they would get back the miraculouses together. Nor how much affection was in his voice as he said that she was the best superhero there ever was. It didn’t even matter how amazing he had looked even with the rain flattening the blonde hair on his head.

Argh! Marinette grabbed one of the pillows behind her head, biting down on the corner aggressively. She had to stop this! She knew what would happen if Chat and she fell in love. Marinette shuddered as an image of Chat in all white flooded her imagination. Biting down on her lower lip, she pushed open the trapdoor above her head, deciding that what she really needed was some fresh air.

“Marinette?” Tikki’s voice called out after her. 

She blinked, looking down at her little kwami almost nervously. Could Tikki read her thoughts? “Y-yeah?”

“Where are you going?” She yawned, rubbing one of her eyes blearily as she peered up at her.

Marinette cleared her throat. “I can’t sleep so I just wanted to get some fresh air for a second. It’s alright, Tikki. You can go back to bed. I’ll be back in a second.”

“Alright.” Tikki nodded her head sleepily, before curling back up on her bed. “Just be sure to come in soon. You never know when an akuma could strike.”

“Of course,” she breathed out quietly. Watching her kwami cuddle up into the blankets for a brief moment, Marinette heaved a sigh before pushing herself onto her balcony. 

With a soft groan, she sagged against her railing bonelessly as she stared up at the full moon. What was she going to do? She couldn’t keep having thoughts about her partner like this. The next thing Marinette knew she was going to be stuttering and stammering around him just like she did with Adrien. With another unhappy shout, she banged her head against the cool, metal railing.

“What are you doing out here so late, purrincess?” A chipper voice called out from behind her.

She shrieked, jumping around in fright as she placed a hand over her heaving chest. There, standing sheepishly behind her was the current source of her torment... Chat Noir. He lifted his fingers up in a small wave as he grinned at her almost guiltily. Marinette huffed, shooting him a glare. “Were you trying to kill me? Why did you decide to scare me like that!?”

“Sorry, Marinette.” His ears flattened on his chest as his smile turned even more apologetic. “I thought you heard me.”

She ran a hand through her hair, probably turning it into a disheveled mess. Annoyed, she mumbled, “I didn’t.” Chat opened his mouth to say something else before she cut him off, looking up at him with a frown. “Wait... what are you doing here so late? Is there an akuma?”

Feeling slightly panicked, Marinette’s head swiveled around as she searched for the unseen enemy. “No, no, no!” He raised his hands up placatingly. “It’s just me, Marinette. I couldn’t sleep so I decided to patrol alone when I saw you. You looked rather lonely so I decided to come and be your knight in shining leather!”

Chat’s chest puffed with pride as his smile gleamed at her. Marinette felt her own grin twitch across her face as she looked over at him. It would be so much easier to stop daydreaming about him if he wasn’t so sweet. 

Shaking her head at herself, she eventually said, “Well thank you, minou, but I’m okay. I promise. I couldn’t sleep either and, after all, Paris is gorgeous at night.”

Marinette gestured out to the city, turning around as she closed her eyes and listened to the cars rumble and quiet conversations going on below her. She heard Chat come and stand beside her, leaning on the railing as he hummed quietly. “You’re absfurlutely right about that.”

She cracked an eye open at that, glancing over at him disbelievingly. “Seriously? If you’re going to make puns like that, Chat, I think I’ll have to kick you out.”

“Oh, come on meow.” He pouted at her. “Mew know that my puns are absfurlutely purrfect.”

Marinette rolled her eyes, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Alright, time to leave now! That was just awful!”

Chat simply threw his head back in a loud laugh. She felt butterflies roar to life in her stomach as she glanced over at him. Unable to help herself, Marinette started to giggle along with him, feeling lighter than she had all day.

  “See, you do like my puns! You want me here furever!” He wiggled his eyebrows at her, looking absolutely delighted. “I got you to laugh!”

“Shut up!” She glared at him even as her smile widened even further. How could he be this much of a dork and yet still be absolutely adorable? Marinette shook her head at herself once again, hoping to clear her thoughts. 

Chat’s gaze softened and she felt her head spin at the sight. He reached out, taking her hand in his as he squeezed it lightly. “You know you can call me whenever you’re feeling sad right, purrincess?”

“Of course I do, Chat,” she whispered even as her heart tightened painfully in her chest. “You’re always here for me.”

A small furrow formed on his brow almost in recognition before Marinette took a step away from him with an awkward laugh. “A-and all of Paris, of course!”

 “Right.” He nodded his head, his frown disappearing before he threw her a two-fingered salute. “Then you had better get some more sleep. This cat has still got a whole city to check up on, afur all.”

She bobbed her head up and down as she gave him an uncomfortably wide smile. “Right, right! Of course! Um, e-enjoy the rest of your patrol.”

Chat grinned at her before he extended his baton, rushing off into the night. When he finally disappeared, Marinette groaned, banging her head on the railing once more. She was so screwed. Her affection for her partner was only growing and she wasn’t pretty certain she wasn’t going to be able to stop it. Maybe... maybe she didn’t have to stop it. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if she let herself daydream about Chat once in a while.

[wtf-amiru]

General Information

Name: A'miru Fhey

Name Meaning: I literally just hit the random generate button until I found a name and surname I liked. I removed an h from her first name to make it flow better.

Other Names: Miru (G'raha, Thancred, Urianger, Y'shtola only), kitten (only by husbands or boyfs), gremlin, idiot

Gender: Female

Birth Name: She's entirely not sure if her name was even given to her by her birth parents, she's never known them.

Birth Date: 17th sun of the 6th umbral moon (december 17th)

Birth Place: Yanxia - no memory, was in Ul'dah as long as she can remember

Dominant Hand: right

Astrological Sign: Sagittarius

Appearance

Height: 4'10

Weight: i genuinely don't know how to estimate this bc she's so short, if she was my height (5'7) she'd be about 120-130 lbs but she's almost a foot shorter than that? Maybe like 115-125?

Ethnicity: Seeker of the Sun Miqo'te

Birthmarks: nope, just some freckles that come out when she tans and her miqo face marks

Hair Color: Dark blue

Hair Length: Mid-back

Hair Type: thick, fine, super soft, big natural waves

Hair Style: ponytail for function, down and wild for casual

Eye Color: pink, very slight cool undertones

Eyebrows: a little bit on the wild side tbh

Teeth(Ex. Cavities/dentures): I know seeker miqo aren't supposed to have fangs but gosh dang they're cute so fuck it she's got fangs like keeper miqo (fight me) and they're well looked after, however she's missing a back tooth (maxillary second bicuspid) from an accident when she was younger and probably chipped an incisor in that final Zenos fight.

Face Shape(ex. Round/flat/etc): somewhere between heart and round (face 3 for fem seeker miqo)

Complexion (Ex. Acne, blemishes.): Clear, 2 facial scars across nose and on cheek from pre ARR

Shirt Size: probably extra small tbh, she's tiny

Pants Size: 5-7, she small but she got a butt

Shoe Size: idek how small, does 5 sound right? Maybe 6?

Health and Image

Diet: boy this girl can eat. Metabolism for days. Something about all the shit WoL has to go through just makes me think that they probably have to intake more to keep up. Health wise she doesn't really have that much of a sweet tooth anymore but she does like her junk food.

Exercise: lots of squats and calf raises (normal, seated, single leg and toes in), box jumps essentially anything that targets her quads and calves, knees and ankles (all that poofing around as a ninja, yknow) and a ton of stretching and toning like yoga and pilates.

Fitness: has always been pretty fit out of necessity, doesn't take to routine well however so exercise outside of work is not a scheduled thing except for when Emet-Selch took G'raha at the end of SHB then it was dragging Thancred to 6am workouts BC she so so angy

Posture (lazy/proper): usually pretty terrible honestly

Abnormalities: well y'know, there's that whole Azem thing. Normal abnormalities (lol) just what would be referred to as "loose joints"? like her shoulder's dislocate by accident and she can just shrug them back in and she easily hyper extends her knees if she's not paying attention.

Vulnerabilities: alcohol, addiction, mild ptsd (have you seen the shit WoL has to go through?) affecting mostly her sleep (insomnia, nightmares/terrors)

Handicaps: her boyfriend lmao

Medications: ??? Magic ✨

Allergies: nope

Diseases: Chaos gremlin syndrome

Illnesses: G'raha sickness

Disorders: full adhd

Imperfections: look at all those scars

Broken Bones: probably all of them at least once at this point

Reason for Health (ex. Cigarette smoking/accidents): being the WoL?

Wardrobe: she used to dress moderately professional but then G'raha called her to the first and she recognized him right away and got frustrated about halfway through. Started wearing the shortest skirt she could find just to torture him and it stuck. Her standard outfit is skirt, light top (tank, t-shirt etc, nothing bulky) and some sort of shitkicker boot for most classes (her look is very Tifa adjacent tbh) for dark knight she wears the same armor Fray does, reaper she wears armor more on the lightweight/slender side. I can't remember off hand exactly what I put her in, I just did her reaper glam too dangit.

Accessories: she has an earring of tiny Elpis blooms from Hades and a blue crystal necklace from G'raha that she never takes off

Equipment: I guess I kinda put this up in wardrobe

Musical Instruments: she's a lvl 80 bard but does not play music lol

Piercings: just her ears

Hygiene: good when she's at wherever home is at the time, on the road is another story. On the road you bath when you can lol but otherwise yeah, she actually really loves baths and hotsprings and swimming, bodies of water in general

Makeup: black eyeshadow and lipstick

Perfume / Cologne: Soap?

Scent: ...Soap?

Scars: like freckles peppered everywhere. Big one across her right ribs on the side, on her left shoulder blade and on the front of her right calf

Tattoos: nope

Voice

Accent / Dialect: It changes a lot tbh

Voice: soft midtone

Volume: quiet

Laughter: Fairly quiet, melodic

Impediments: None

Psychology

Vocabulary: she can talk the talk if she has to but usually doesn't.

Memory: Great, sometimes to her dismay, her memory is very good

Temperament: quiet chaos gremlin, but again, can play the part if she has to

Emotional Stability: honestly pretty fucking bad up until recently. She has a support system now and the scions are like her family. Urianger has developed a Spidey sense for when he needs to bring blankets and tea and books to read but the occasions are getting fewer and fewer.

Mental Health: This girl's a wreck but she's fairly self aware and isn't averse to asking for help anymore.

Instincts: great but also impulse makes her big dumb sometimes

Philosophy

Religion: she's kicked their asses a bunch so...

Superstitions: No lol

Morality: isn't evil I guess

Etiquette: she's not rude or messy, again she'll put on the show if she has to but is def the bowl of popcorn on her tummy and slouched so far down on the couch she doesn't need to use her hands to eat kinda girl when she's at home lol

Alignment: chaotic good

Character

Priorities: her found family and obvs WoL stuff

Motivation: her found family, her boyf, and her soul's ancient husbands

Self Confidence: Yup. It's there.

Self Control: TERRIBLE

Self Esteem: It's gotten a lot better

Quirks:

Hobbies:

Closet Hobbies:

Guilty Pleasures:

Habits: bad for clenching her jaw, picks at her hands/nails

Desires:

Wishes:

Traumas: have you played msq? It's littered with trauma. Off the top of my head G'raha in the crystal tower, the scions poofing after that banquet at the end of ARR, seeing Estinien almost die in heavensward, hourchefaunt, watching zenos kill himself in stormblood, literally yotsuyu's entire storyline, the sewerside in Garlemald, having her body stolen by zenos, returning from Elpis, all of Ultima Thule, I'm probably forgetting some, (I know I am bc there's nothing from shadowbringers in here but I'm tired) but these have all fucked her up deeply.

Worries:

Nervous Tics(ex. Finger tapping, fidgeting): tremors, zoning out/dissociating, jaw clenching, lip chewing, violence

Soft Spots: literally any of the scions, G'raha and Hythlodaeus' voices, Sidurgu and his struggle to emote literally any feeling other than anger (that one job quest where he's like "I like you. I respect you. And I'll always be here for you, if you need me." literally made her cry), Hades smiling, any time G'raha is flustered, so many more

Accomplishments: Look at them all

Greatest Achievement: I guess probably saving the world

Failures:

Biggest Failure: her view of the events of heavensward are a bit skewed

Favorite Dream: the ones that aren't nightmares

Worst Nightmare: waking up to G'raha being gone, not left but gone. Like she'd dreamt the whole thing. Zenos coming back and taking her body again and people not catching it in time

Earliest Memory: not sure, it'd be after she was in Ul'dah, more thought required

Fondest Memory: idk if it's THE fondest but that first time Thancred caught her stealing when she was young is an important one (big headcanon)

Worst Memory: there's actually so many

Funniest Moment: i don't think it's THE funniest one, I'm not sure I could pick a funniest one, but the one that came to mind first was walking into that meeting with everyone in the exarch's crystal tower in that tiny skirt for the first time (funniest for me, because I hold the headcanons that made it funny as g'raha bluescreened and thancred fell into absolute confusion because she has complained long and hard about how short skirts are just not practical in combat when she was still a street rat in Ul'dah, and emet just shook his head like 'yeah ok azem's making some sort of point, i just don't know what it is yet' and urianger and y'shtola just nodded sagely in the corner. That's what makes it funny)

Happiest Moment: oof, both times she's gotten G'raha back and also getting to hang out with Azem's husbands for a couple days.

Saddest Moment: the one that affected her in the worst way was G'raha locking himself in the tower. Returning home from Elpis also really fucked her up and gave her a lot of sads; made her have to call in the support squad (Y'shtola, Urianger, Estinien, Thancred. Ofc g'raha but he's always on duty lol)

Most Prized Possession: The only 2 pieces of jewelry she wears (mentioned above)

 Most Valuable Possession: what even is money in this game

Collections: fucking boots. How many kinds of shitkickers do you need? All of them apparently. (no one look at my glamour dresser and how many boots I have for her lol)

Embarrassments: I don't know but Lianhua's probably got more than a few embarrassing stories of her, lets be honest.

Mannerisms:

Humor: sarcastic/satirical

Regrets: yes

Secrets:

Darkest Secret:

Pet Peeves:

Phobias:

(1 lowest-10 highest)

Confidence: 7

Creativity: 5

Generosity: 8

Honesty: 10

Loyalty: 10

Insecurities: 6

Patience: 4

Predictability: -10?

Reliability: 9

Respect: 8

Responsibility: 7

Trustworthiness: 10

Home, Work, and Education

House: i suppose she and g'raha are living together now? according to my writing?

Hometown: Ul'dah

Citizenship: ^^, Eorzean

Culture: street rat culture bb

Traditions:

Sleep Patterns: Probably the worst

Eating Habits: tends to skip breakfast, have a decent lunch and a massive dinner

Pets: the shaggy shoat! (I really should give that thing a name by now)

Employer: uh... Krile? Tataru? Somewhere there's probably a lala telling her what to do

Job Title: Worrior of Light?

Social

Mother:

Father:

Guardians: legit Thancred for a bit at first, no one of note before that

Siblings:

Children: None

Close Relatives: not that she's aware of

Distant Relatives: unknown

Best Friend: Estinien has been her bestest besty since the end of Heavensward.

Close Friends: the twins and a lot of other people, Lyse and Aymeric off the top of my head

Confidantes: Y'shtola, Urianger, Thancred

Friends: yes

Allies:

Acquaintances:

Followers:

Subordinates:

Rivals:

Enemies:

Inspirations:

Role Models:

Mentors:

Heroes:

Reputation: Probably had a rep for being a trouble maker but, yknow, that whole WoL thing kinda comes with it's own reputation

Dominance: occasionally

Sociability: Prefers to let people come to her in social settings

Isolation: actually struggles being alone these days, she doesn't like it

Romance

First Love: G'raha

Love Interests: G'raha, was casually hooking up with Estinien post Heavensward for a bit

Marital Status: dating a really old catboy (it's G'raha)

Also somehow married to two ancient ghosts

Orientation: disastrously bisexual (there's a reason she bully's Y'shtola on purpose. I'll let you connect those dots)

Significant Other: G'raha

Love Style: unorganized chaos

Flirtiness: I don't know how to describe it, somewhere between actually being very good at flirting and punching Thancred in the face (she's not with thancred anymore but i'm leaving this because there's no other way to describe it that's this accurate)

Turnons: wit, emotional vulnerability, soft boys, strong women, intelligence, uh...strength 🙄....(can you pick her up and slam her against a wall?), dominant personalities (I'm lookin' at you Emet/Hades, this is your fault), collar bones, hands, eyes

Turnoffs: i hate listing turnoffs bc they feel so obvious like large egos and a tendency for disrespect; things that normally turn people off.

Fetishes: we're not going to go in depth here and just leave it at "restraints welcome"

Virginity: lost it drunk in Ishgard, doesn't remember to whom

[butchhamlet]

OKAY SO I GOT TO SEE SHAKESPEARE IN THE PARK ANDRE DE SHIELDS KING LEAR YESTERDAY AND IT WAS FUCKING AMAZING SO HERE’S A POST ABOUT THAT

first off here’s the shitty picture i took of the set! the entire thing was set in “a north african nation” (words theirs; in quotes because i don’t want to seem like they named a real one and i just didn’t bother to remember askdfhdskhfds) & the entire cast was people of color! i am staring at this picture thinking about how blurry it is but trust me that it was SO fucking cool... it was visibly gorgeous but also visibly crumbling which. like. foams at the mouth about the symbolism yknow

ALSO the winged thing is the throne! during intermission (which was after 3.6), some crew members took the wings off and laid them down at the back of the set like the whole thing had come apart, and when edmund entered in 5.1 he had a moment of staring out at the audience with his foot up on the top wing

the entire production went hard on drums; there was a note in the program about how the director wanted to center the african setting & also the rhythm; the trumpet herald at the end was replaced by drumming, and during the storm scenes, the drums represented the thunder! (complete with flashing lights for lightning; it was cool as fuck)

& now i’m gonna describe my beat-by-beat staging notes that i scribbled down from where i was sitting in the grass. no attempts to make this coherent bc the show was so fucking good and i just feel insane <3

 edmund came out in literal jade-colored glasses which felt like a WONDERFUL character bit

everyone in this cast was so well cast btw and not to be a lesbian but like. the lear sisters. 😳

they cut the cordelia asides in 1.1, which made it slightly harder to get a read on her but also made it slightly more startling when she said “nothing, my lord” (goneril and regan both got up to take a literal microphone from lear, while cordelia didn’t take it when he held it out and literally turned away to face the audience instead)

there were three little stools laid out for each sister to sit on & lear was so infuriated by what cordelia said that he started throwing them around (not at her but close)

and lear never looked particularly Legitimately Threatening (he looked very small, actually; idk how tall andre de shields is lmfao but he definitely looked like an old man), but cordelia flinched near-instinctively when he threw the stools, like this wasn’t the first time

WHEN LEAR LEFT NEAR THE END OF 1.1 GONERIL GOT UP AND SAT IN THE THRONE WHERE HE’D BEEN SITTING AND STAYED THERE WHILE SEEING CORDELIA OFF

she was also the only lear sister in a pantsuit 😳

on that note they were color-coded! goneril was dressed all in purple, regan was orange, and cordelia was pink; all of their households followed this (eg cornwall was orange, oswald was purple), but when cordelia came back in act four, it was in soldiers’ clothes without any pink on her

andre de shields lear was fucking incredible and is anyone surprised about that like he was so good

he did SO much yelling. man has some lungs on him. not even yelling words all the time but a lot of just flat-out yelling (which was alternately funny and distressing depending on the moment)

like in 1.4 he stumbled back in to deliver “50 of my followers at a clap?” heralded by his own flat-out scream which made everyone laugh a little. grandpappy off the shits

EDGAR CAME IN ON A SKATEBOARD WITH HEADPHONES ON AND WHEN HE STOPPED AND LIFTED UP HIS SKATEBOARD SHAKESPEARE’S FACE WAS ON THE BOTTOM

this edgar was so fucking perfect btw like. everything about him. i think he was my favorite part of the show

lear and his knights busted in playing loud music, waving guns, and drinking from beer cans (white claw? idk what it was i’m a weenie). lear was wearing the brightest orange shirt ive ever seen. kent received entry to the group by busting some sick moves to the music despite being an oldass man

the fool was SO fucking funny he interacted w the audience constantly and the entire time (even during the storm scene) he was lugging around a suitcase and a little folding stool

after “have more than thou showest” the audience started clapping and he looked at us and said “not yet”

and then proceeded to deliver the sweet and bitter fool speech as a full-on rap with the audience clapping the beats in after each line

at the end of which he said to us “good job! give yourselves a hand. the king’s mad at y’all now though” and then he turned around and lear had his gun aimed at him and AUDIBLY clicked the safety off and there was a tense second where the fool had to talk him down

GONERIL SLAPPED LEAR AFTER THE BARRENNESS CURSE

1.5 hurt because the fool was VERY clearly trying his best to cheer lear up, like, he kept glancing around for ideas and trying to joke while lear sat pathetically on his folding stool

the stage was outdoors (duh) and there were ramps on either side for the actors to come on and off into the crowd, and when edgar ran off, he sprinted down the ramp, then turned, sprinted BACK, hugged edmund HARD, and then ran off again and around the back of the stage

this was after edmund FULLY punched him in the face on “pardon me” :(

at the end of 2.1 edmund was the last one to file off stage and he turned and gave the audience the cheekiest shrug

edgar tripped and ate shit while he was absolutely tearing around the side of the stage for 2.3 and idk if it was on purpose but it felt in character AKHSDFKHDSSFH

he delivered “poor turlygod! poor tom!” like he was acting, and then looked up and went “that’s something” kind of like he’d just realized

the fool delivered his merlin speech like he was making it up on the fucking spot. “and then the realm of albion...” [PAUSE.] “will come... to great... con-fu-si-on” emphasizing the non-rhyme. same with the non-rhyme of “see’t” / “fee-eet.” then he looked at us and said, “i didn’t write it. ask the author” and scrambled offstage

in 3.3 gloucester hugged edmund! ...and edmund picked his pocket for his key

“nay, he reserved some white flowers in the crook of his elbow, half a pair of pants, and a nasty ratty baseball cap, else we’d all been shamed” (im filling in the wording i forgot but that’s near verbatim and i cackled out loud)

(he was, indeed, wearing nothing but some white flowers, a ragged pair of pants, and a nasty ratty baseball cap. and a lot of dirt/paint)

when gloucester entered during the hovel scene edgar was skittering across the floor and looked up and the whole set paused as they made EXTENDED eye contact and it hurt INTENSELY

and then edgar snatched gloucester’s flashlight and hurried to the opposite end of the stage to focus entirely and intently on warming his hands over it like a fire and he did not look in gloucester’s direction at all but he got VERY still when gloucester mentioned him

i made an AUDIBLE noise when lear stabbed the fool. like. i knew it was a possible staging but it happened so fast and so viciously that it caught me totally off guard

and edgar got the “i’ll go to bed at noon” line :(

genuinely it is hard to emphasize how perfect this edgar was. how do i kin a character but just one specific version of that character that i saw one time

(intermission happened here!)

while interrogating gloucester, cornwall was very deliberately putting on medical gloves and then he picked up a power drill and my friend and i in the audience looked at each other exactly like the fucking monkey puppet image

however. only one eye went out with the power drill. because regan took the other one out WITH HER NAILS in a fit of rage when her husband was injured. full on stuck her hand into his eye socket

goneril and edmund kissed for a LONG long moment in 4.2. long enough that oswald coughed pointedly. which did not stop or affect them

gloucester tried to pay edgar and edgar immediately turned around and chucked the payment off stage

gloucester used a cane the whole show and he dropped it off the “cliff” before he fell, and edgar swooped down and silently caught it and held it for a moment before he let it clatter to the floor

at this point he was also wearing leggings and like. three mismatched layers of flannels and jackets

lear came out in act four in a tropical dress, white face/chest paint, and a flower/fruit hat

he threw money into the crowd multiple times during his speech, including one point where he specifically leaned over the edge of the stage, motioned at the closest audience member, said, “come here,” and then threw money at them

he also mooned the guards who came to get him

and nearly hugged someone in the crowd while the guards tried to drag his half-tranquilized body away

oswald was so fucking funny for the entire play. so funny. in 1.4 he came in with goneril and pointed at lear with the air of a small child tattling to the teacher; when kent attacked him he fell on the ground whimpering;  he came in to kill gloucester a moment before lear left and ducked back into the wings FAST before creeping out again

when the guards brought lear and cordelia in, someone set out the fool’s little folding chair, and cordelia ended up sitting on it during lear’s speech :( felt very my-poor-fool-is-hanged y’know

curan from 2.1 was the captain in 5.1! so he & edmund already had a bit of a relationship established

REGAN THREW HER WINE IN GONERIL’S FACE WHILE THEY FOUGHT OVER EDMUND

edgar and edmund dueled with two swords each

AND WHEN HE WAS INJURED AND ALBANY CALLED THEM BOTH OUT. GONERIL TOOK EDMUND’S SWORD AND WENT AT ALBANY WITH IT AND NEARLY GOT HIM BEFORE RUNNING OFFSTAGE

they cut “yet edmund is beloved” which is always a cardinal sin HOWEVER when he got the news about regan and goneril edmund stabbed himself which. pain and suffering!

much like albany himself, i literally forgot about lear and cordelia because i was so enthralled by gloucester brothers duel like. i was so caught up in the agony of edgar killing edmund that i forgot the other fucking bomb that had to drop and it was like getting bricked in the face

my last note literally reads “cannot believe i forgot abt the other bomb to drop jesus christ i hate this shit ass bitch ass play it really just fucking ends like that huh fuck off”

it was the first time i’ve ever seen live shakespearean theater and it literally could not have been better and i am terminally insane now.

[codylabs]

Knight Sabers!

But redesigned to use technology from my universe!

Apparently my universe has infinitely-sharp swords and razor wire now!

ABSOLUTELY UNREASONABLY DETAILED breakdown below cut!

Okay, so by 'redesign' I mean essentially just repainting the Class-5 Berserker Frame from my own universe. The C-5 was already fully interchangeable from the elbows and ankles down, and has hardpoints for specialized equipment on the knees, shoulders, and helmet, so this little exercise was as simple as researching cool weapons, then pausing and screenshotting the anime to get the colors right, because I'm naturally garbage at colors and prefer to trust a computer.

Bubblegum Crisis was a big inspiration for the C-5 in the first place, especially on the character-customizable side, so this was a blast.

For info on the C-5's general mechanical design, including what those ankles are for and how the operator gets in and out, go to the original post where I designed it, linked above.

Anyway, I gave each character the weapons and tools that either best match their original loadout, or best match their needs and fighting style if the originals were deemed unrealistic. All together, their equipment is suitable for taking out heavily-armored, slower-moving targets in urban environments, while maintaining a short-range tactical network within the squad.

In order of protaganosity,

Priss, the blue one:

Equipped for close-quarters combat. The large clamps are much stronger and better suited for grappling and crushing than the ordinary waldoes, but their musculature system doesn't leave any room in the gauntlets for integrated machine guns like Nene and Linna have. The claws do have a couple fingers that can unfold off their tops, so she isn't completely incapable of fine dexterity.

Each gauntlet externally mounts a short-barrelled 30mm-calliber cannon, which fires high-powered tungsten-carbide discarding-sabot kinetic perpetrators. The short barrel makes these inaccurate at range, but the high speed, high mass, and low cross section of the rounds make them ideal for piercing armor from mid-range or close range. These replace the weird glowing spears that she shoots in the show. They are essentially just non-glowing spears that travel a lot faster and are MUCH louder. Each magazine holds 6.

Knees are each mounted with a single-use high-explosive anti-tank shaped charge designed to blast a gap in an armor plate, then release another blast through the gap, in a two-stage detonation. Vents in the knee plate prevent armor or operator from being damaged by the kick-back, though the knee plate itself is often destroyed.

Priss being the most reckless and close-quarters combatant of the bunch, her helmet is largest and most tanky; it contain extra padding and armor against blunt force impacts, a minimized sensor suite consisting of a pair of night-vision-capable armored cameras, and the non-retractable variety of communications antennae, and an external speaker so she can yell at cops or something.

She elected against armored skirt plating on the grounds that it looked girly, which leaves a vulnerability in the upper thighs, where a large area of light joint ribbing is exposed. Shouldn't be a huge issue as long as she stays too close for machine guns to target. As you may guess, Priss gets hurt a lot, and no redesign will change that.

Sylia, the silver (mint?) one

Equipped for precision strikes and rapid movement. Her gauntlets, aside from the standard waldos, prominently feature a pair of short swords. Their blades contain neutron-froth graphene, a highly expensive material over 10,000 times stronger than steel, and only 2,000 times as heavy; it only exists in a very thin strip on the leading edge, but is hard enough to maintain a monomolecular sharpness. The rest of the gauntlets are occupied by the muscle systems needed to swing and align the sword, and the pumping system needed to maintain the cold temperature needed to stabilize the neutron froth, and so she doesn't carry machine guns either.

Externally mounts the same kinetic perpetrator launchers as Priss, but with 3-round magazines instead of 6, both to save on weight, and because she doesn't use them nearly as liberally.

Knees and shoulders contain compact gravity dynamos for increased maneuverability. On extended discharge they can allow for limited flight, and on fast discharge can provide a powerful "boost" in any direction, vastly increasing the ability to strike, retreat, strafe, or jump. I know gravity dynamos are pretty out-of-left-field, but they're a thing in my universe ever since exotic mass was discovered on planet Hephaestus.

Sylia's helmet is fairly standard, with comm antennae that can retract during maneuvers, and a sensor suite that can be swapped out depending on mission specifics or how fabulous she feels like being.

Not quite sold on her paint job here. Anyway,

Nene, the pink one

Equipped for fire support and electronic warfare. Gauntlets contain the standard waldo and machine gun loadout, as well as extra feelers and data ports for interfacing with computer systems. I don't know why I drew a little screen folding out of the gauntlet, that doesn't make a lot of sense when you have a HUD, but it looked nice. Speaking of looking nice, the shoulder joints of the C-5 suit actually cannot physically bend into the position that Nene's arms are in right here. So that's some disappointing.

The suit mounts no heavy weapons, but is accompanied by a pair of gravity-propelled escort drones. They normally act in a strictly observational role, but can ram and self destruct with a high-powered shaped charge if needed, which is nice.

The suit is meant to serve as the nerve center of the knights' tactical network. A large suite of antennae extend the range of its comm systems, allowing it to connect with friendly systems at distance, as well as listen in on enemy signals, or jam them completely. A powerful onboard computer handles decryption and data processing from enemy signals.

Those knee pads are smoke grenade and flare launchers. It seemed like a nice thing to have.

Helmet speaks for itself. It contains a vast sensor suite, allowing her to see in perfect dark, use infrared thermal imaging, 'hear' electrical activity, measure radiation sources, and even detect trace chemicals in the air and stream in 4k until Sylia told her to stop.

The first drones were named Sneezy and Sleepy, these two are Happy and doc. Whenever one gets destroyed she names its replacement after the next dwarf. Someday she'll run out of dwarves and will have to resort to pacman ghosts or bionicles.

Linna, the green one

Equipped for high-powered, hit-or-miss type attacks, and high mobility. Linna is their most nimble and physically intuitive operator, so they have her be first to try out any exotic or experimental equipment. If it's any use, she would be the one best suited to find that use, and if not, she would be best suited to get out of dodge.

Gauntlets, as mounted here, are a standard waldo/machine gun unit on her left, and high-explosive anti-tank ram on the right, which uses the same 'rounds' as Priss's knees. Her right gauntlet is the only arm on any of the four to completely lack fingers, so that's amusing. Maybe I could fit a little claw or something but I forgot.

Knees and shoulders mount gravity dynamos for extra mobility, same as Sylia. To decrease weight and increase bodily control, she went so far as to forgo the armored skirt, same as Priss did.

And of course the fancy whip things. They're composed of the same neutron-froth graphene as Sylia's swords, but in the form of micron-diameter razor wire, which would be able to slice through light armor in broader strokes and greater range than a sword. At such a tiny thickness even NFG wears through quickly, so the suit contains spools to replenish it. Although I drew the wires as black lines here, they would be thinner than a human hair, and quite nearly invisible in person, so it would be down to the operator's skill and intuition to keep track of where they actually are, and to keep from getting hurt by them. Speaking of, in the show the whips come out of her HELMET, which (although I appreciate the Sailor Moon pigtail aesthetic) makes absolutely zero sense, would be nearly uncontrollable, hard to swing with any power, and, more to the point, absurdly dangerous. Mounting these whips externally on the gauntlets seemed more effective and responsible. They can roll up and retract when not in use.

So yeaah

This was done as a request for @mechanicalinertia I think, but not actually, because I wanted to draw it too anyway, they just reminded me.

[baggebythesea]

The lady and her knight

a drabble for the day 4 prompt of Glitra week 2021 - Princess/Knight AU.

@glitra-week-2021

"Glimmer," Angella said. "You are now thirteen years old, and it's time for you to have your own..."

"Pony?" Glimmer asked with eyes full of hope.

Angella sighed.

"No, Glimmer. We have been through that a million times. Horses are dangerous. No, it's time for you to have your own body guard."

"Ugggggh!" Glimmer said. "Moooooom. I don't need a baby-sitter. I can take care of myself."

"A lady's knight is far from a baby-sitter," Angella said, voice a bit sharper. "Your body guard will be someone in your own age. Someone you can bond with, share experiences with. Grow to trust with your life if necessary. It's not uncommon for such bonds to grow in time." She smiled warmly and Juliette, who returned the smile. "Your knight could become a trusted companion, a close confident, a..."

The word 'friend' hung unsaid in the air.

Glimmer gave her mother an uncharacteristically placable look.

"It might not be horrible..." she said slowly. "But who would it even be?"

"Ah, I have actually already asked General Juliette to chose a suitable candidate among the aspiring knights."

"Indeed," Juliette said with smooth voice and opened the door. "Could you join us please, Catra?"

A girl Glimmer's age entered. She was dressed in leather armour and carried a light sword at her side. She stepped up to Glimmer with the bearing of someone who has been told very sternly by her superiors to behave, and the irreverent smirk of someone who knew in her heart that she wouldn't. She sank to one knee and met Glimmer's eyes.

"My lady," she said, and even if the words were proper and the tone of voice were subservient, her eyes danced with obstinate light.

Glimmer gave her a long look.

She held out her hand, a queenly gestured practiced a million times to placate a mother who had told her very sternly to behave, but at the same time smiled a smile of someone who has no intention of doing so.

"My knight," she said with velvet voice.

They looked each other in the eyes.

Oh, you're so going to get it, they communicated - loud and clear with no need for words.

Catra took Glimmer's hand.

Glimmer helped her to her feet.

They both squeezed as hard as they could without breaking eye contact, without their smiles faltering.

"Catra has shown great promises in basic training," Juliette said. "She is an able fighter and a skilled strategist, and it has been suggested that she might benefit from some, ah, variation in scenery."

"Ah," Angella said.

Catra smirked.

"Glimmer might also... benefit from a... new perspective," Angella said.

"Ah," Juliette said.

Glimmer grinned.

They all understood each other, loud and clear.

"Glimmer," Angella said sternly. "I trust you will do your uttermost to treat your new knight with the dignity and respect her station deserves, and most importantly, behave like a lady."

"Of course, mother," Glimmer said, her eyes never leaving Catra's face.

"Catra," Juliette said. "I trust you will do everything in your power to serve and protect princess Glimmer, and most importantly behave like a knight."

"Of course, General," Catra said, her eyes locked on Glimmer's.

Oh yes, they understood each other perfectly.'

"Then I suggest you take your leave and get to know each other," Angella said. She gave Juliette a fond smile. "Me and the general have urgent matters that needs to be discussed."

"Indeed, my Queen," the general answered with warm voice.

And thus, Princess Glimmer and the knight Catra were left to their own devices.

- - -

The first shot was fired in unison. There was no communication, no agreement, but apparently they both felt the importance of both of them taking responsibility for what was to unfold - whatever that might be. The shot itself was trivial, just the two of them trying to squeeze through the doorway together and roughly pushing each other in the side. They traded a few sarcastic, demeaning apologizes, but they both felt this was just warm-up.

They strolled down to the balcony to 'get to know' each other and begin in earnest.

Glimmer took the next swing. Perhaps they felt it suitable for her status. A few lofty remarks, a demand for 'her knight to serve her' (they were drinking tea).

Catra didn't miss a beat and spilled the entire content of the tea can in Glimmer's lap. She looked her in the eyes and 'apologized'. Glimmer wasn't even mad, it was such a flawless execution.

Then Glimmer had Catra find a broom and sweep up the fallen tea tray, servant style. Catra managed to make such a mess of even finding the broom closet that Glimmer had to abandon the attempt and leave it to the servants.

Then Catra, apparently tired of leaving the initiative to Glimmer, started to make a fuss over Glimmer opening doors, walking up stairs, reaching things from the high shelf... all solid taunts targeting a spoiled little brat of a princess, but somewhat loosing in execution since Catra was just as short as Glimmer, and since Glimmer could teleport up the stair, which she smugly did.

Catra narrowed her eyes.

Time to step up her game.

Catra suggested they take a walk, and they just 'happened' to come by the training grounds. Catra suggested she'd take the opportunity to show her new lady what her knew night was capable of. While Glimmer jealously watched, Catra spun and jump and struck and flipped and reduced a poor training dummy to splinters, looking incredibly cool the whole time and not like a stupid pampered princes who's mother wouldn't even let her have a pony.

Then Catra administrated the coup de grâce - as efficient as it was cruel - by saunter up to the staring princess, a bit sweaty but otherwise as cool as anyone Glimmer had ever seen, and casually suggested that now when Glimmer had been so good to indulge her knight's fancy maybe they should do something more suitable for a princess, such as ballroom dancing or - she indulged in a moment of dramatic silence before she looked Glimmer in the eye and continued - embroidery.

Glimmer hated her. She hated her with a passion she never felt before in her admittedly short but still very passionate life. She hated her stupid grin and her strong arms and the way her fangs made her look dangerous and cool and she hated her smug, irreverent way of sauntering and she hated the way she swished her tail when she thought she had done something extra clever and what exactly did Bow think was funny with all this?

"Nothing," Bow promised and hid a smile under his hand.

Catra hated Glimmer. She was such a spoiled brat. She looked like a cupcake and smelled like strawberries and wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty and sparked like the sunset and... what was Adora laughing at?

"Nothing," Adora promised without even trying to hide her smile. Catra snarled and ran out of the soldier's quarter they shared and force the images of Glimmer's warm smile out of her mind.

The next day they escalated.

Glimmer was snooty, Catra was irreverent. Glimmer gave unreasonable commands, Cara obeyed them in as useless a fashion as possible. They traded barbs, as hurtful they could think of. They glared at each other with pure, undiluted hatred.

They both knew this would end in a catastrophe sooner rather than later.

"How do you to get along this far?" Angella asked.

"Just fine, mother," Glimmer has answered.

"Really? No problem getting to know each other."

"Of course not, mother."

"And nothing to remark on Catra's performance of her knightly duties?"

"Absolutely not. She is a credit to her order," Glimmer had answered with calm voice.

"How is the princess?" Juliette had asked. "These royal types can be such a pest sometimes."

"I couldn't say, General," Catra had answered. "The princess is the very epitome of grace and kindness."

"No problem getting along, then?" Juliette asked.

"No problem at all," Catra answered, voice unwavering.

The last thing they wanted was outside intervention.

This was their war.

It was such a tiny thing, really, when they first broke script. Just one barb hitting a bit closer to home than usual, a mask faltering for just a moment, and the other suddenly looking worried, suddenly reaching out a hand, as if for comfort.

The moment was over in the blink of an eye, and they both did their best to act like it hadn't happened.

But they didn't forget.

After that it was all downhill, really.

Or uphill, I suppose, depending on your frame of reference.

It was their barbs being more and more designed to provoke laughter rather than hurt.

It was them more and more often trying to impress rather than put down.

It was Glimmer asking if Catra could perhaps teach her some of the cool moves she did on the training ground.

It was Catra asking if Glimmer could perhaps show her some of the acrobatics she did while teleporting.

It was the two of them, walking hours over the castle ground and talking and laughing.

It was the time they got in their head to climb the old tower. Only a quick teleportation saved their lives.

It was them sneaking down to the cavalry unit and beg Adora to let Glimmer have a go on her horse Horsie.

It was Glimmer asking Bow to teach Catra some archery stunts deemed less than suitable for impressionable young knights by the Bright Moon military leadership.

It was the two of them deciding that knightly duties absolutely involved guarding the princess at night from unspecified but obviously real dangers.

It was the two of them staying up long after midnight in Glimmer's room, laughing and talking and thinking and plotting and eventually falling asleep, snuggled up together.

They become inseparable, much to the Castle staff's chagrin. Where one went, the other was sure to follow, and with both of them in the same place, trouble was not far away.

In hindsight, perhaps it was somewhat of an overreaction, the things Catra did to the knight of the Princess of Salineas after said princess had appeared rude to the Princess of Brightmoon during an official gathering (don't worry, the knight's moustache grew out again).

Definitely an overreaction was what Princess Glimmer did to the diplomatic attaché from Mystacor after said diplomat had made what could be constructed as snide remarks on Catra's behalf.

Luckily, Bow, Catra, Angella, Micah, Juliette, three thirds of the servant stab and half of the available palace guard managed to hold back the furious princess before Light Spinner suffered lasting damage.

Angella and Micah DID manage to coax an apology from Glimmer afterwards, but back in Glimmer's room, Catra and Glimmer laughed about the look on Light Spinner's face.

- - -

"More tea, Juliette?"

"Thank you, Angella, just a drop."

"I trust the scones were to your liking."

"Simply divine, as always, my dear Angella."

They were in the west tower, one of Angella's favourite retreats for tea with her knight. It was airy and light and they could see the court yard down below.

They watched with interest how Catra and Glimmer hid behind a couple of crates, apparently intent on sneaking outside as soon as the guard looked away.

"It seems my daughter is a bad influence on your knight," Angella remarked.

"Please," Juliette laughed. "Catra has been unruly from the very start. She would never fit in the usual command structure. As the personal knight of a member of the royal family on the other hand she can be forgiven for a higher degree of freedom."

"And the lonely, unruly princess just so happens to have found herself a perfect partner in crime," Angella laughed. "Juliette, I owe you thanks. I'm sorry I ever doubted you."

Juliette took Angella's hands. They shared a long, soft look.

"What is a lady's knight for, if not helping her lady facing the challenges life throws her way?"

"What, indeed?" Angella echoed.

They held each other's hand, looking lovingly in each other's eyes as their tea grew cold.

[cloudenonice]

ぇ IN LOVE WITH A DREAM .

( razor x bennett >< oneshot / fluff & angst? )

嗨 IN WHICH, bennett falls in love with a boy who is practically a figment of his imagination - someone conjured from the recessiveness of his mind, who manifested in a rather pleasant dream, one december night .

NOTE: very short, unsatisfying end./ slightly OOC bennett.

BENNETT HAS A DREAM EVERY NIGHT. sometimes they're about his close friends— barbara, fischl or noelle. sometimes he dreams about projecting himself into stories he's read. he dreams of his dads sometimes— even on occasions, he'll dream of kaeya, jean and the rest of the knights. the people he knows and loves, normally recur in his dreams.

but this snowy december night, bennett has a dream about someone he doesn't know, someone he definitely doesn't love— how can you love someone you don't know?

this night, when bennett retires to his chamber after a day of caring for his dads and treacherously adventuring, he shuts his eyes and slowly drifts off to sleep. his dream begins, his active mind and imagination conjuring images and scenarios. he finds himself in the wolvendom woods, surrounded by jagged trees and a pitch dark sky. only the full moon is brightening the scene, but it feels as if the area is completely lit by the lesser light. for some, this would be scary, but for bennett, this is oddly comforting.

perhaps, it is comforting for him because he's fond of thrilling adventures. the blonde is quite happy in this space, so happy that he really feels himself there, his body almost ascending, following him into the dream. bennett knows it's a dream, but now, it feels so incredibly real, that when he bends down to touch the grass with his calloused fingers, he's able to remember the texture.

and when bennett hears a shuffling noise behind a large bush and nearby tree, he's able to remember exactly what it sounds like. the shuffling noise comes back again, louder this time. the blonde raises an eyebrow, curiosity getting the best of him. he gets closer, letting his feet take him toward the source of the sound. its source is behind that tree — with thorny, jagged branches— its large enough for a human to hide behind. as soon as bennett gets close to it, the shuffling noises stop. he hears another movement— the sound of something getting up from the grass. for some, this would be scary as well, but for bennett, it is intriguing.

all noises stop now. the night goes silent. the one shuffling behind the tree, peers out quickly, meeting bennett's green eyes for just a moment. the blonde squints, trying to get a better look— but there is no need. almost immediately, the noisemaker reveals themself to the lesser light. bennett stares, and is able to remember exactly what they look like.

someone— no— a boy. a boy around his age— if he is older, it was likely only by a year, and younger, vice versa. he is wearing a hood— shabby clothing— the pale skin that is exposed to the cold is littered in scars and cuts. long wild hair glowed a thunder-cloud grey color. his hair is disheveled, bennett can even see bits of leaves floating in it. his hands have gripped the bark of the tree, his fingers look long, calloused like his own. he looks so beautiful in the moonlight— the cool tones of his skin and white-grey hair illuminates in the moon's rays.

the grey-haired fellow says nothing, but when he sees bennett, his face brightens— almost looking relieved. he's walking toward him now. now, bennett is confused.

"i ... missed you...," the grey-haired boy says slowly, cheeks flushing red. now bennett notices the color of his eyes— blazing scarlet, trapped orbs of ruby. they brighten and compliment the hue of his cheeks.

"you missed me?" bennett asks, tilting his head. i don't even know who you are, he thinks. from his inductions, the grey-haired fellow doesn’t even know him, either. he finds himself blushing, too.

the other nods. now that he's close, bennett notices that the boy in his dream is slightly taller than him. its almost unnoticeable, though. he also smells like the forest— like tree bark and wolfhook berries. bennett smiles; he finds that pleasant.

all of a sudden, the grey-haired boy is taking his hand in his. bennett remembers how his hand feels, it is calloused just like he's imagined. it's slightly bigger than his own. he has a strong grip— his hands fit so perfectly in his, bennett goes completely red. he knows its a dream, he knows it isn't real, but after holding this boy's hand, he so desperately wants it to be. he doesn't want to wake up now. he wants to continue holding this strange fellow's hand. he wants to continue staring at their intertwined fingers— the boy is now leading them further into the woods. bennett gets the sense that the grey-haired boy has no clue where he's going— he gets the feeling that he simply wants to hold hands and walk with him, somewhere, anywhere. he likes this. its almost like a little adventure.

they walk together; they share a silence, the silence that lovers would share. at some point, the boy with scarlet eyes lets go of bennett's hand to pick a windwheel aster in the forest field. he hands it to bennett, cheeks painted rose pink. bennett's eyes widen when it happens— windwheel asters are his favorite flowers. at some point, the other remarks that bennett is being unusually quiet. his heart drops; bennett wonders how this boy knows that he's usually talkative.

the pitch dark brightens just a bit— the sky is fading to a paler, pastel color. there's orange in the sky, peering over the horizon. a snip of sunlight rises, highlights the grass and the trunks of trees. the boy with scarlet eyes smiles at bennett, giddily, happily. he seems nervous just for a moment, before quickly leaning in, and pecking bennett on the lips. bennett remembers how short it was— but nonetheless, he is shocked. he wonders why it feels like the kiss of true love that children read about in storybooks.

the boy with grey hair, with scarlet eyes, calloused hands, and a glow in the moonlight, lets go of bennett. no words are spoken, there is nothing to say. he simply disappears into the sunrise, somewhere deep in the wolvendom woods. once he disappears, bennett is left speechless, loosely holding a singular windwheel aster. once he disappears, bennett comes back into the world.

the sun is rising in the city of mondstadt. the blonde's eyes flutter open; he notices he's been sleeping in a fetal position, his left hand balled in a fist, as if he were holding something. he immediately remembers his dream— every aspect of it. the time of day, the sound of his boots crunching in the grass— the grey-haired boy who knew him. the grey-haired boy, who may have even loved him.

the grey-haired boy that he could possibly love, too.

and he didn't even know him.

all he knows is that he wants to see him again. he wants to hold his hand. he wants him to peck him on the lips again, and give him windwheel asters. he wants to touch his fluffy grey locks and look into his eyes. he wants to walk in the woods with him, if only for a moment, any time, anywhere in mondstadt. and oh, how he desperately wants to ask his name.

bennett smiles now, his cheek squished on his pillow. he now feels that, somehow, somewhere, the boy in wolvendom is a real person— someone who he just hasn't met in his universe yet.

yes, someone he’s only fallen in love with in a dream.