#preview snippet

[garden-of-rambles]

Making headway on my Penelope week fic! May not be some of the thoughts I was discussing before, though those will likely end up being written in another form eventually.

This one will be post the events of Epic/The Odyssey, and dealing mostly with the lingering trauma Penelope has, as well as the ways Odysseus and Telemachus try to help her through it. ❤️

I probably won’t post much about it as I want to save the majority for when her week comes up, but here’s a little preview snippet for you all anyway:

[malacandrax]

Cliff & Father Eugene refresher and timeline

I wanted to make a more proper introduction, for people that missed the first comics! 

I know it's hard to keep up in the fast paced internet, and investing in new characters and stories is difficult, but give it a go. Companies are sucking our souls away with engagement driven content and a great way to combat that is to connect genuinely with the creators who want to share their passions with you.

I also made a loose timeline below that you might be interested in!

Set in 1983 (...ish) London

Intros

Cliff is a raised catholic gay guy living in the outskirts of London who is struggling to find himself, he ran away from home as a teenager and did sex work to make a living. He moved back home for his mum after his dad killed himself, but still does sex work for the thrill. His mum has leant heavily on the church and alcohol after her husbands suicide. Cliff is reckless and impulsive, he drinks to excess, gets into fights, and generally cares very little for his wellbeing. The more dangerous something is the more it makes him feel alive.

Eugene is a closeted Irish catholic priest who’s recently been transferred to Cliffs local church. He has promised Cliff's mum that he’ll pay special attention to her son, who has lost his way. Eugene joined seminary as a young man to escape rural Irish life, and to try and bury his same sex attraction. He’s since come to terms with being gay, but tries his best to live in the closet to protect his position. Eugene is sensitive, softhearted, and more than a little fruity. He has few close friends and even less he sees regularly, and having a promiscuous young gay man in his parish is proving to be quite the challenge.

Their dynamic together:

Cliff sees a challenge in scandalising the priest at first, but is taken in by how genuine Eugene’s care for him is. He finds himself wanting to be better to impress him, and finds some reconciliation with the church after many bad experiences in catholic school. Mostly though he’s into Eugene, not God.

Eugene is secretly flattered to have drawn Cliffs attention. Being with Cliff makes him feel young again, and allows him to express his stifled sexuality without fear. He also sees how Cliff looks up to him, and thinks he can use that to nurture his potential and also help him become closer to God. He doesn’t account for how tempted he is to stray from the path himself. 

Voices, actor inspo 1 , 2

-----------

Timeline

I’m working on them roughly chronologically but I have skipped ahead sometimes, and there are gaps I’d like to fill. It doesn’t read like a complete linear story, but like a series of snippets.

I know a list with links isn't ideal, but it's the easiest way for me to be able to add things in as I go. Honestly though just going into their patreon collection or tumblr tag and scrolling from the bottom is a fine way to read it, and the story isn't going to be ruined by reading some bits out of order, but still I hope this timeline will be useful or interesting for some people. God be with you if you aren't on desktop.

I will one day make a pdf once I'm done with their story.

Also! It’s a little sillier at the start before I realised I wanted to develop them properly.

[Patreon links are in red. That includes some early access, and a Lot of the 18+ work. I share parts on twitter/bsky but not usually the whole thing]

Beginning:

Designs and Meetings- link

Eucharist (18+) pt1 | pt2

Cliffs confession (cinema hookup)- link

Eugene’s imagination (cinema hookup 2) (18+) twitter/bsky

Kelly Green (Eugene meets cliff on the streets) link

Christmas Party (Indirect kiss) link

2AM (Cliffs genuine confession) link

Moment of weakness (18+) link

---------

Cliffs penance:

Penance (Cliff shows up at the rectory) link

Church boundaries (Cliff helping with Eugenes duties) (18+) twitter/bsky

Poof (Cliff consults a friend) link

Laundry (Eugene smells good) link

Hugs (Cliff decides they hug now) -link

Takeout (Eugene vents about the bishop, Cliff causes mischief) link

Prayer and dreams (18+) link

Bridge (Cliff shows blatant disregard for his life) link

—- here is where I’m currently adding the major comics to! Everything onwards is a little choppy.

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

After Cliffs penance is over:

(basically all the real plot is yet to be added)

Subway (they get close)- link (image 5)

Coming out (Eugene opens up) link, extra

Sports-link

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

After they’ve gotten together

(this is where I’m loosely drawing most of the 18+ stuff, there’s less plot here.)

Snowstorm (Eugene rescues Cliff) link

Thunderstorm (18+) pt1 | pt2 | pt3 | pt4 | pt5 | pt6 (in progress)

Blasphemy (18+) link

Church office (18+) pt1 | pt2 | pt3

Afterglow- link

-----------

Extras [a mix of canon and non canon]

(mostly ask replies and cute doodles)

Neck kisses- link

Clothes swap- pt1 | pt2

fav animals- link

Cliffs hair- link

Lick- pt1 | pt2

Just a whole bunch of doodles- link (cuddles, bunny/dog cliff)

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

Non canon

Confession booth (18+) pt1 | pt2 | pt3 | pt4 | pt5

Eugene ride and drag alt (18+) link

Nun outfit link

Nun sequence (18+) pg1 | pg2 | pg3 | pg4 | pg5 | pg6

Short shorts (18+) pt1 | pt2

Naughty list (18+) twitter/bsky

Bunny Eugene link

This was quite a complicated undertaking, so let me know if anything is broken.

Making this made me realise I'm insane I think. I've only had these guys for 6 months where did all this art come from, there's like 100 pics of them...haha... ;;;;

[ghost-bxrd]

It never gets easier.

Even now, almost two years later, Dick still finds himself waking from a light doze in a near panic when he can’t recall Jason’s whereabouts.

In his dreams, Jason smiles. Breathless laughter erupting out of him like light from the sun when Dick scoops him up, not understanding the frenzy with which Dick checks him over but submitting to it all the same, confusion giving way to indulgent exasperation regardless of how many times Dick buries his face in the owlet’s hair and cries. Like he doesn’t understand why Dick clings to him like his life depends on it, like he’s just been away for a few minutes to fetch a glass of water and doesn’t get what the fuss is all about about.

And then Dick wakes up, the comforting smell dissipating along with the dream, and Dick wishes he could reach inside his chest and claw the heart right out of it.

— Birds of Terror, Owl Song pt xv sneak peek

[tartppola]

heavy is the head that wears the crown

[jittersbitters]

Ive hit 4K and taking a break to eat. Have another Vik x reader smut snippet while I wait for more coffee to brew (its only midnight). On that 2nd cup and my drink isn't the only thing getting steamy.

Part 3 is already being outlined and I'm thinking Heimerdinger's lab or Hoskels house 🤭

Part 1 Here

“In.” His thumb started to stroke between my shoulder blades as his breath fanned the side of my face, voice a low thrum in my ear. My breath hitched as I felt myself gravitate toward him, eyeing him from the corners of my vision. My heart starting to make its nervous ascent up my throat again. “What?” “It’s incautious.” His corrected with a self-satisfied smile, delighting in my surprise as his hand shifted up to thumb at the cord wrapping around my neck to hold up the front of my dress. He played with it, running the finger along the stack, his hand resting at the base of my neck. Holding me gently as he guided me away from the increasingly crowded table, deliberately closing any lingering distance between us as our sides came together. “How do you say…” We were so close he only needed to murmur, “The student becomes the master.” A rush of heat coursed through me, breath hitching in my throat. The cord around my neck felt suddenly too tight, and I weakly pulled with it in search of relief. His thumb slid under the cords in response, relieving some of the pressure from the back. Simultaneously, pulling them into my throat, the contrast made my insides twist and flutter. Did he know just what he was doing? “Viktor—"

I seemed to have devolved in the tags. Read at your own risk teehee

[maladaptivedaydreamsx]

Silvio really became the "do you need a dog? I can bark" meme ... we've come full circle now 🤭

[pressplay-if]

a little snippet I wanted to share with you all; choosing the option that gets you this scene will also raise a stat titled redcamellia. That's all I'm gonna say for now ;)

_

“Hi there, Madds,” I greet, carefully stepping over Sophie as I approach him. I start by laying a hand on his shoulder— his bare skin is slick with sweat and hot to the touch. I wait, gauging his reaction. Slowly, blearily, he lowers his gaze to meet mine with a slight smile. “Hey, ${name}...”

“Hey,” I echo, shaking my head in disbelief. “You’re a bit spaced out, aren’t you?”

He only chuckles softly.

“Where’s your shirt?”

“I dunno… ${name}, do you have it?”

“No, of course not, if I hadn’t, why would I—” I stop myself. This is useless. “Maybe we should sit you down, huh? What do you think?”

“Think that’s… alright,” he mumbles. I stagger when he unexpectedly shifts his entire weight onto my arms. He’s pretty heavy. Still, I manage to guide him into a sitting position on the ground beside his girlfriend. Sophie reflexively lifts her head and places it in his lap.

[sister-lucifer]

Man Up: A Preview

T4T Tim Wright/Masky x Transmasc!Reader

CW: force masc, degradation, use of homophobic language (i.e. sissy, pansy), generally mean, pissed off dom Tim

“I don’t wanna see you in any of that pansy shit ever again, do you fuckin’ hear me?”

“Tim, please…!” You whimper, grabbing his wrist and weakly trying to free yourself from his grip. 

“I asked you a question, boy. Do you hear me?” 

You nod as best you can, frantically attempting to placate him. 

“Y-Yes, yes! I hear you, okay?! Let go…!” 

He debates the order for a moment, ultimately deciding to concede. He releases his grip on your face, but doesn’t back up. He leans down to speak into your ear, his breath warm on your delicate skin. 

“You’re a man now. You’re gonna stop acting like a fuckin’ sissy. No more skirts, no more lace, no more of that shit I know for a damn fact you hate wearing. It’s for your own good.”

You open your mouth to argue, but you can’t force out any words. The humiliation of this ordeal is making your throat clamp shut. You didn’t think Tim had noticed. How stupid you must be for being so obvious. 

“…I’m sorry,” is the only response you can manage, a little whisper of regret. You keep your gaze trained on the floor, too afraid to look up at Tim. Even now, he thinks, you’re cowering. Pathetic. 

“Let me tell you what you’re gonna do, boy,” He says, placing two hands on your shoulders and squeezing a bit, “You’re gonna take off that frilly ass outfit. All of it. You’re gonna strip down nice and naked, then you’re gonna lay on that bed and wait for me to get back. I’m not done with you.”

[thingsthatbleedfic]

Any snippets you can share with us? 👀

Of course! :3c Thank you for asking dear Anon. Eat well, and stay tuned for the end of the month ;)

[selfless-solipsist]

CHAPTER 20 SOON?!?!?!?

Excerpt from Chapter 20 of Till Weirdmageddon Do Us Part (A Bill Cipher x Reader ongoing chaosfic)

Chapter 20 is shaping up to be an exercise in ‘my husband possessed me and now the neighborhood teens are filing trauma reports.’ Featuring: vending machine parkour, gnome yeeting, and the most cursed couples therapy imaginable. Reader floats. Bill runs like a cryptid on Adderall. The bowtie count is rising. No one is safe. Especially physics.

[firstfluke]

Chapter 17 of my long Jegulus fic Syncopation is now up!

Evan chauffeurs them to the concert, he and Barty bickering in the front seats while James and Regulus spend the ten-minute drive staring out opposite windows in the back. It settles something deep in his gut, the casualness of it all. For that single drive, none of this is a secret. They’re just two boys, fingers tangled in the backseat of their friend’s SUV, pop hits blaring through the radio, grey slush streaking past on the side of the road. He tucks the memory away, hopes that he only pulls it back out when he’s had years of moments like this.  

[ghost-bxrd]

Stony silence rings from the other end of the line, but Jason knows Bruce is listening. Listening and running through several possibilities of how someone could have gotten this number while simultaneously tracking the call signal.

This is gonna be fucking gold.

Time to sell it.

“Dad,” he sobs, pitching his voice until it breaks, teeth chattering exaggeratedly, “Dad, please, I’m scared, I-“ Jason cuts himself off with a scream and another series of sobs, “Please, I can’t— it’s locked! Please, no, Dad, it’s locked—“

A sharp intake of breath, the dull thump of something heavy colliding unexpectedly.

“Dad!” Jason cries, calling upon every single drama class he’s ever had, “Please… please- it’s almost to zero- please, I’m sorry, please, please, it hurts so much-“

Bruce breaks.

“Jason, Jason, hold on Jaylad, hold on, I will find-“

Jason smashes the phone against the marble dress of the creepy angel standing guard over his grave. The pieces vanish into the wet grass, like an occult offering eaten by Gotham’s soil.

Then Jason turns and walks away with a gleeful little smile.

But not without flipping the stupid angel off one last time.

— Grave Pretender sneak peek

[jimjamjimothy]

I wanted to finish up and post a new chapter tonight but alas, I am unable to... So, have a wee little sneak peek for the next part of my Talon AU of Birds of a Feather.

Dick was sprawled across the seats, his left wing smooshed against the leather seat and his right was slumped on the floor, flecks of blood coating the feathers. The older man was actually singing softly and brushing Damian’s hair, focusing all his attention on the young boy who was leaning against Dick’s stomach. 

“J’ai trouvé l'eau si belle,  Que je m’y suis baigné.”

Damian hadn’t moved since Dick had made himself somewhat comfortable, staying unusually quiet and still, letting him do whatever he wanted, not a single peep of protest or indignation out of the little firecracker. Dick’s voice was soft and soothing, unhurried and warm as he lay on his bleeding back, fingers dancing through dark brown strands, as blood sluggishly dripped down his neck from his torn ear.

“Il y a longtemps que je t’aime, Jamais je ne t’oublierai.”

Jason pulled his gaze away, eyes back on the road despite the autopilot being engaged. It felt like a tender moment, something he wasn’t supposed to see himself. Dick was always so careful, so caring and even gentle with Damian, always looking out for their youngest.

[thelonelyshore-if]

i miss jay so muchhhhhh do you have any snippets perhaps

As you wish, Nonnie~ 🫡

[artficlly]

daughter of the rotsál snippet

hi all, ive been hit with my usual seasonal depression yippe... my goal for this month was to write 50k words. i am currently at 37k on the first draft of the daughter of rotsál. this fic is turning out to be a lot longer than i first anticipated it would be so it's been a bit overwhelming to work on. per usual my imposter syndrome is telling me i'm a bad writer (as is the curse of a creative). thought i'd share a snippet with you all, so here is a full scene where isolde the oc meets bucky for the first time.

in the mean time while i suffer writing this first draft, would you guys be interested in seeing some more snippets or lore bits? i did contemplate writing a one-shot just so i would have something more to post than these ramblings haha. let me know!

Head held high, Isolde strode through the emerging path, ignoring the whispers and stares. 

“Ah, here she is.” Father Dreykov spoke, his hand finding the small of Isolde’s back as he guided her before the Naraki leadership. “Isolde. The bride.”

The Naraki leadership loomed before her, a half-circle of men clad in armour and furs, each radiating authority. The man in the seat was undeniably the Ealdorman Steve of House Rogers. He sat tall, his posture regal yet relaxed, his broad shoulders draped in a wolf fur cloak, his armour battle-worn, streaked with faint scratches and dents. His face was as commanding as the rest of him—a square jaw, strong cheekbones, and a mouth set in a line of quiet contemplation. His golden hair was tied back, though a few strands had escaped to frame his face. His blue eyes settled on Isolde with an unsettling intensity. His wife, Lady Peggy, stood tall and poised, a hand resting lightly on Steve’s shoulder. 

Isolde was sure that if Lord Steve wasn’t already married, she would have been offered as a bride to him instead. Isolde swallowed hard as Peggy’s gaze lingered, her expression unreadable. There was no malice in her eyes, but neither was there comfort. Isolde got the impression that this was not a woman who tolerated weakness—not in herself, not in her husband, and certainly not in anyone who might step into their world.

“She is Idamirian.” Lord Steve spoke, a hint of surprise in his words. 

“Well, yes. She was once before she became a daughter of the Rotsál.” Father Dreykov replied, and Isolde recognised a slight hesitancy in his words, as if he was carefully selecting each that passed his lips. “Do you take issue with this?”

Isolde’s chest tightened.

“No. The opposite.” Lord Steve raised his hand to absentmindedly stroke the stubble across his jaw. “I wasn’t aware that any from Idamir survived.”

They didn’t. Hatred coiled in Isolde’s gut like a mighty serpent, and it took everything in her not to sneer at the Ealdorman. His words were so casual, so dismissive—the anger that roared in her veins was as hot as any molten rock that rained from the sky. Of course the Naraki hadn’t thought of the repercussions; of course, they had thought Idamir extinct except those already married into their bloodlines. 

“I expect most didn’t.” Father Dreykov chuckled in relief. “Isolde was one of the few we managed to save during The Black Dawn.”

“An Idamirian daughter of the Rotsál…” Lord Steve pondered aloud. His pronunciation of Rotsál rolled across his tongue with a rumble, his southern accent thick. “A good choice, priest. I will give you that. There is worth in such a bride. She speaks our language, I presume?”

Yes. Yes, she did. Isolde remembered quite vividly the number of times she had been scolded and beaten for her southern accent slipping through in etiquette classes. The Rotsál aimed to neutralise, ensuring a girl could fit in any and all situations. She had not spoken the language in nearly a decade, so she imagined she would be rusty and stiff in ability, but she had spent the first thirteen years of her life communicating in nearly strictly the southern tongue. 

“No, not that I am aware. The Southclaw is not exactly something we cultivate when raising these girls.”

Isolde held her tongue, but annoyance swept through her. Her knowledge of the language would have to be a surprise for her husband once they were wed. Her husband… she wondered which of the armed thegns positioned around and behind Steve would be him. They all had an equal bulkiness to their stature, pure muscle and strength, lined with scars. She did not dare squint too closely at them nor meet their eye. 

“A shame. She will have to learn.” Steve replied with a sigh, settling further into his seat. “What exactly do you cultivate in a bride, priest? I have only ever known your Rotsálian daughters to be assassins, or they meddle in politics that aren’t their own, dressed up in riches to disguise the fact that below it all, they are just simple whores.”

The casual way in which Steve spoke to Father Dreykov astonished Isolde; it was as if disrespect dripped from his every word. It was a carefully constructed vision of mutual respect between the two; that was for sure. All for the sake of alliances. Yet Steve seemed eager to push the boundaries, prodding at Father Dreykov in the hopes that he may pop. 

Isolde’s eyes shot over to look at Father Dreykov, equal parts shock and equal parts horror seeping through her neutral facade. Father Dreykov, to his credit, had not gone red in the face; rather he puffed out his chest and let out a strained chuckle. “That is why daughters of the Rotsál are so special, you see… they are trained to be anything you need them to be. I would not… doubt their prowess.”

Lord Steve’s curiosity peaked, and he leant forward in his seat. “So this one is a bride, but if required, she can be an assassin? A whore?” 

“If that is what you want from her, then yes.”

Steve leant back in his seat once more with a chuckle, looking over his shoulder at a warrior who stood half-drenched in the shadows. “You hear that, Bucky? An assassin in your mix. Is this to your liking?”

Steve’s words hung in the air, a strange blend of jest and command, and as the name was spoken, the figure in the shadows began to move. Slowly, deliberately, the man called Bucky stepped forward, peeling himself from the darkness like a predator emerging from its den. The flickering firelight from the torches cast sharp, angular shadows across his face, revealing a visage that seemed carved from ice.

The infamous Bucky of House Barnes, the White Wolf, the Vetur Soldat, Thegn and Warlord was every inch the Naraki warrior. His shoulders were broad, his frame tall and imposing, clad in dark leather armour. The left pauldron bore faint, jagged etchings in the Naraki style, designs that marked him as a warrior of high standing, though not overly ornate. Across his shoulders a mantle of white wolf fur, its edges worn and weathered by years of riding beneath ash-laden skies

His face was a harsh masterpiece, handsome in a way that unsettled more than it comforted. A strong jawline was covered with stubble, two days old, Isolde estimated. His cheekbones were sharp, his nose slightly crooked—broken at least once in his past. The most striking feature, however, were his eyes: cold, piercing, and unrelenting. Steel blue, they cut through the dim light. They were the eyes of a man who had seen too much and felt too little, who measured the world and its people with a calculated detachment.

His hair, dark and shoulder-length, was pulled back loosely, a few messy strands falling forward to frame his face. A scar ran from the corner of his jaw up to his cheekbone. His left hand rested on the pommel of his sword, the leather-wrapped hilt worn smooth from use. 

“She looks too weak… too small to do any real damage, don’t you think?” The man replied, his tone callous and cold, though edged with a cruel amusement. A rumble of laughter passed over the tent. His expression barely shifted as he scanned her from head to toe, his lips pressing into a thin line that spoke of disappointment—or disdain. Whatever he was looking for, he did not see it in her. Isolde recognised the undeniable sting of disappointment in his expression. His words, though directed at Steve, were aimed at Isolde, each one sinking into her like a barbed arrow.

“You want a different bride?” Steve queried. Isolde held her breath. Perhaps this was a blessing in disguise, even if it felt like her cheeks burned in shame under the scrutiny of so many eyes. She would never hear the end of it when she returned to Rotsál Manor, denied and dismissed. Spoiled goods. The other Sisters would mock her relentlessly, not even good enough for a Naraki Savage. Would she ever be offered another mission? Or would she be cast away, ruined? How could she look Natasha in the face… how could she face Sister June—

“No. She will do.”

Despite the hatred and the disgust, Isolde found herself exhaling sharply in relief. She would do.

She would do.

Father Dreykov gave her a pleased look, the other Father’s bristling in approval.  

Isolde noticed how Lady Peggy subtly twitched, her nails digging into the shoulder of her husband. The blond man tipped his chin up, meeting the eye of his wife. Then, with a gentle elegance, the brunette woman leant over to whisper into her husband's ear.

“My wife wishes to ask a question.” Steve spoke up, the hint of a smile pulling at his lips. Bucky, who had begun his retreat back into the shadows, hesitated.

“Of course.” Father Dreykov offered with a slight bow of his head. Isolde wondered if the Father’s skin crawled every time he was forced to show respect to these Horselords. She wondered if rage boiled beneath the surface, knowing he had to treat these inferior men as equals. 

“Does your bride have no tongue?” Lady Peggy’s tone cut through the tent like a knife. The crowd shifted in agreement. “Does she not speak? I would like to hear her speak on this matter of marriage before any finalisation.”

Isolde’s eyes shifted to Father Dreykov. The Father, knowing how many eyes lay upon them, subtly nodded his head in permission. 

“I speak, my lady.” Isolde silently thanked Lord Velka that her voice held steady. 

Lady Peggy’s brow quirked in surprise, a delighted smirk pulling at her lips. Even Lord Bucky, in all his indifference, grew still at the sound of her voice. 

“Idamirian… your mother was a healer, I presume?”

“Yes.”

“And your father a blacksmith?”

“No. He was a hunter.”

Lady Peggy’s head quirked in surprise. 

“And you can ride a horse?” 

“Yes.”

“What about running a household, a village? The duties expected of a thegn's wife?”

“Yes.”

Peggy paused, a small hmph passing her lips. Her fingers trailed a pattern across her husband's shoulder, swirling in thought as she continued to assess Isolde with clever eyes. “And how old were you? The day of the Black Dawn?”

The memories flooded back to her. The earth rocked, the walls shaking so hard that dust fell from the roof. Dishes clattered, clay bowls and plates slipping off shelves and shattering by the hearth. The explosion, the boom of it so loud that she thought her head would be split in two…her mother, her face was blurry now, ushering her from the house as the walls caved in. You must go. You must run. Ash rained from the sky, coating every surface. In the distance, a plume of smoke so large, an indescribable mass—

Isolde swallowed back the bitter taste, relaxing her jaw to ensure the words she spoke did not sound through grit teeth. “Three and ten.”

“Which makes you…”

“Three and twenty.”

The question confused Isolde. What was the Lady looking for, evidence that she was unfit? That she was a child, unfitting of such a position? 

“And do you consent to this marriage?”

A quizzical expression slipped onto her face before she could catch it, her body twisting to glance at Father Dreykov as if asking what he made of the question. She found herself stumped momentarily, consent? Why would she need to consent when it was Lord Velka’s will?

“I do.” Isolde finally replied, spine straightening.

“No, do you truly consent to this marriage? You have not been forced or persuaded into this?”

Maybe her confusion betrayed her, or perhaps her tone was not final enough. Her gaze shifted to Father Dreykov once more, brows knitting together before she spoke up once more, more forcefully this time. “I do—”

“Don’t look at the priest. Look at me.” Lady Peggy cut her off immediately, and Isolde snapped her eyes back to meet hers. There was a fierceness to her tone but an underlying worry Isolde could interpret. “Do you consent? You can say no. Tell me, truthfully.” 

The tent had fallen into a hush. Lord Bucky watched her carefully with narrowed eyes. She only now realised that the lid and waterline were marked with a smudged kohl, adding to the intimidation of his stare. Isolde was consenting, wasn’t she? She had trained her entire life for a mission as important as this—why would her opinion, her decision, ever come into question? She had no reason to question her autonomy; The Order of Rotsál knew what was best for her. This was her mission, her path.

“I consent to this marriage, my lady.” Isolde cut back, words final.

Peggy inhaled sharply, then with a tight nod, she turned to look at her husband. It seemed Isolde’s words had convinced her, or at least for the moment. 

Steve looked up at his wife with a smile, eyes wide with unmistakable love. “Wonderful. Tonight, we will celebrate. Come nightfall tomorrow, they will be wed, and our two clans will be bound by blood.”