#queenstyped

          “surely you’re clever enough to think that disposing of me won’t just end all of this.” he’s bargaining, sure, but what other choice does he have? “and once you finish this, gods only know what they’ll have you do next.” 

     He sits in brief silence when he hears Soma speak, listens to the words that leave them. And it makes part of him wonder if that was really the truth, but taking a single glance at her and knowing who she is is enough to debunk that thought entirely. Still, Claire sits with gloved hands in his lap and fingers twined together, the toe of his shoe tapping against cobblestone. What he thought was brief silence is drawn out. The assassin drowns in his own thoughts.

     Loving makes Soma feel okay.

     But loving in what sense? Them loving someone? Someone loving them? Mutual sharing of such an emotion? There’s many, many possibilities but Claire is certain that the answer is simply all of the above and he can’t help the quiet noise he makes out of the side of his mouth.

     It’s not something that exactly needs contemplation anymore. He’s already figured it out in his mind. But still he sits and thinks, thinks, thinks on it. Love, to him, is a decision. One he will make for himself, one he wishes that others would make for themselves instead of believing something so... counterfeit as love at first sight or any sort of fairy-concept for love. It’s always been a choice– you can love someone or you cannot love someone. There’s no inbetween where you simply love someone but then back out at the last second, run away like a scared animal and say you don’t love them anymore. But choosing to love has never been easy, as much as the assassin wants to believe.

     Yet loving Soma definitely came easy.

     Choosing to love Soma came easy.

     He shifts his seating to rest his elbow upon his knee, chin resting in the palm of his hand for a moment. Rust colored gaze glances to Soma, takes note of their profile and fingers clenched on their knees. How mismatched eyes glance, too, and blink at him followed by the curve of a wide grin on their lips. Their laugh is like honey, sweet when she asks him what he’s looking at and he can’t help but offer a smile back, lopsided as it is.

     “You,” He offers for a brief response. Silence comes back for a moment, Claire allowing himself to admire Soma for a few brief seconds. And his mind thinks back to what she has said. ‘Loving is the only thing that makes me feel okay’. In a sense, he understands– tries to the best of his ability. He knows himself as an affectionate person– he doesn’t know the meaning of personal space, never has. Even now as he leans towards Soma, brushes his own shoulder against theirs with a quiet breath and the hand not resting against his cheek is moved to place over their own, thumb gentle as he rubs the back of their hand.

     “Y’know, that doesn’t have to be the only thing, right?” A soft laugh, one rust colored eye closing as he speaks, “I understand– ‘bout as much as I can, anyways, but I hear you. And I get it. So let me tell you something, Soma,” And he peeks his closed eye open again, eyelids lowering to a soft gaze accompanied with a gentle smile curving his lips, “If you’re fine with it, I’ll help you feel okay, too.”

     A gentle squeeze of their hand is given.

send me a  ™ if you think i’m quality!

@rhapsodyr / @queenstyped / @drivenchaos​ / @subjectitute​

i didn’t want to spam the dashboard but thank you so much this means so much to me.

it [was] catarina’s birthday! / closed.

          much as soma looks happy to be there, they look torn to ribbons. the concern that falls over catarina comes in alien waves. what’s in their hands? the glass and plastic caps give way to shiny, discolored liquid that she can only assume is a venom that might serve her better than most. it’s her birthday, she remembers, somewhere between the seconds of panicked assessment of soma’s wounds. are these gifts?

          guilt runs catarina ragged. oh, gods, what have they done? 

         her heart hammers while she struggles to contort her face into something like gratitude. she’s never been any good at hiding the way she feels, and right now, she wishes she were a little better at lying. “it… yes, it is. but soma, you–– you’veˆ––look at you!” she’s a little whelmed by her own concern then, scrambling at her belt for an elixir of some kind. when she finds one, she exchanges it for the vials that are already so precious. 

@queenstyped​ sent in: 🌸Put a flower in my muse’s hair

home base is relatively quiet for the moment, all the others split between resting in their respective rooms or hanging out at the sauna. for the time-being, he desires some space, silence, to allow himself to reflect over ... everything, he supposes. it all seems so bizarre, brought back to life with a struggling breath, body burning as lost bits of flesh regenerate. the burst of hunger that felt raw, much too raw.  that feeling now burns thick and black in his stomach, curling inwards like a dying flame. he finds himself resting atop one of the shattered walls, gazing at the sun dipping low into the horizon. he did not expect soma to appear beside him, quiet and from the shadows. 

he also did not expect her to tuck a flower into his hair. his eyes go wide, momentarily, before he shifts to look her, gaze now curious.

sentenced 2 death for cheeked up crimes