#bretcmart

Any remaining ire (it had been minor, really) that Felwinter held towards Bretomart evaporated when his eyes settled on her offering.

The quickest way to Felwinter’s heart was often through the strange and unexplainable, after all.

send me a ✧ and i’ll bold all that apply to your muse.

you almost shot me !

He’s hardly paying attention, more focused on reloading and keeping an eye out for any further Fallen. “You were standing in my way.” He remarks. “Move next time.” 

   It’s all happy laughing and forehead bumping at first, his beautiful girlfriend giving him affection and being generally cute had him all aflutter...

   And was the perfect distraction.

   Blackcat learns this the hard way when there is a sudden sensation against his metal frame, somehow managing to slip between his armor and his back --- It’s snow. Bretomart just but snow down his armor.

   With an undignified ( squeal ) yelp, the Hunter is suddenly ducking away, flinging clawed fingers uselessly at that sweet spot he just CAN’T reach.

@bretcmart: go to sleep i swear to god

“I don’t need sleep, Lady Bretomart. If you have forgotten, it is a perk of being a machine. Not to mention that I can do as I see fit, regardless of your disagreement.” 

Send me ✵ to catch my muse under the mistletoe!

    This would be his first time ever finding one of these things, and actually having a person to do the thing it was meant for with was pretty exciting. Blackcat’s arms will wrap around her to pull the Titan closer, attempting to distract her from whatever she was looking at.

    “ Hey, did ya notice? “ He chimes, and when she looks to him, golden eyes glance up towards the plant that had been hung from the rafters, just above both of their heads.

   Blackcat’s stirred from a light recharge, shifting his frame a bit in the place he’s been found taking his ( cat ) nap. Groaning, he makes out the blurry figure of Bretomart standing over him.

   “ H-Huh? Oh, thanks... --- “ He mutters groggily, his usually bright gold optics still flickery and sleepish from his nap.

   Morals were a construct.

   It was not something innate to those capable of empathy, though many liked to believe such was the case. The brain had always been a curious thing and given enough deficiencies, trauma, or total lack of development, be it physical or mental, could make fiction out of fact at the snap of a finger. Morals, come to find, were developed and it was through a multitude of ways could one fail to understand right or wrong and therefore have no personal understanding on things such as guilt.

   Rasputin understood guilt. He understood right from wrong.

   However just like severe trauma could just as easily erase the construct, so could the Warmind rewrite it.

   Guilt, therefore, became simply a word.