ARCHER.

I am the bone of my sword.

[emiarcher]

I AM THE BONE OF MY SWORD. Steel is my body and fire is my blood. I have created over a thousand blades. Unknown to Death, Nor known to Life. Have withstood pain to create many weapons. Yet, those hands will never hold anything. So, as I pray, UNLIMITED BLADE WORKS. associated with @5aber.

↳ gfx credit. | follows from. | rules | memes. | hcs.

* content from the ubw x hsr collab will be found here

[emiarcher]

@daybreakrising liked for a starter.

"I assume you know little of the role of a servant, if you have to ask me such a thing..."

Archer's words are hardly judgemental, merely a deadpan response to the posed question regarding the nature of command spells, a question telling enough to speak of inexperience. His arms fold across his chest, biding his time as he awaits the tug of his demanding Master, quietly pleased when she chooses not to call him. He has time.

"An interesting choice on the Grail's part no doubt. Well speak your mind and I shall answer as I can. Consider it an owed exchange." And he has an idea of what might be owed should the servant prove amenable, something that might allow him to support old friends all while trapped on the opposing side.

[apocryphis]

The door swings open with a slam - and for once, it is not one of Aventurine's infamous dramatics. No theatrical pause to manage his effect, no clever ship to immediately follow, no beat to await a reaction from the poor man who has been enduring him and his whims for well over a year now. The scene is neither fake nor calculated; the shortness in the gambler's breath is too real, the stupefaction that brings a rare colour to his eyes, entirely authentic. The look of betrayal on his face, that for now far surpasses the anger that broils below, is all too real and pathetically obvious too.

"What is this, Archer?" He seethes between his teeth, a letter half crumpled in his hand from holding on to it too tightly. It had been perfectly folded, when he had first found it, just moments prior; his fingers had gripped onto it tighter and tighter with each time he had read it, the words written clear as day on the paper yet refusing to imprint on his mind. Ridiculous, quite frankly. With all the catastrophic ups and down his existence follows at all times, you'd think he would know how to take bad news with grace.

Unfortunately for both of them, grace had never been something Aventurine had managed to learn. Not like this. "What was the plan, huh? Hide it, and hope I wouldn't find it until it was too late? Wait for me to wake up one sunny day, look all over the place, assume you've gone out for some fresh air or heroics, and eventually realise you've poofed out of existence?" With a dry, quick flick of his wrist, the crumpled letter is tossed aside and Aventurine marches towards Archer (his Servant in name only, his friend, his companion, his something-more-and-he-doesn't-want-to-think-about-it-especially-not-right-now in every other way that could possibly matter) on the couch of the living room.

He stops dead in his tracks, stutters with his entire body before him, his initial intention to grab him by the shoulder vanishing like smoke when he sees the look on Archer's face - the cracked composure, the thing that resembles exhaustion and fatigue and hurt, but that even he can tell is much deeper than that. Aventurine has seen what people on the brink of death who know exactly what awaits them and have accepted it look like before. Something very cold runs through his veins and up his spine. Something that has not bitten at the back of his neck with such viciousness in a very long time. "No. Nuh-huh. Absolutely not. Not like this." He is agitated - and it shows. "What do we do, then? There has to be something, right? Some way of getting enough power for you to stay? And don't give me that 'it would be too dangerous' nonsense, I'll be the judge of that. So. What's the price, then?" For keeping you around. For not watching you disappear and never come back.

@emiarcher

[emiarcher]

The door swings open and even from a single glance Archer knows that his game is up, lips curling in a rueful smile despite the way he is hunched on the couch. He makes no attempt to move, allowing that which he can no longer hide speak for itself, the exhaustion as a natural byproduct of dwindling energy, the acceptance of the cards he has been dealt.

It had crept up on him slowly, the feeling of energy depletion, the recognition that what was once capable of sustaining in this world was no longer feasible. Being of the servant class he was, it had been simple for Archer to begin to calculate what was left of himself, how much longer he would be able to cling to this life that he had come to enjoy, and set things in place for when he was gone. In his shrewd preparations he had forgotten a key note. That his master was no fool, and rather the kind of man who would begin to notice patterns and seek truths, eventually peeling it apart until he stands in doorways with the evidence in hand and heated words falling from his lips.

Like someone else he knew. Perhaps there was simply a type capable of summoning him.

"Most people follow instructions on envelopes..." he says instead, needling in lieu of actually answering, watching the rolling agitation on his master's visage. How amusing that it took his impending disappearance to coax away that mask affixed so firmly in place.

"I'm not apologising, avoiding messy endings is simply a preference. You understand as much..." He raises himself up, ignoring Aventurine's ways of thwarting his imminent disappearance and instead catches his fingers in the man's shirt. "This isn't one of your problems to solve, just a fact that's happening whether you like it or not." His blunt speech might seem callous were it not for the fingers curling tighter in rich fabric, tethering him to this world for a moment longer. Want has nothing to do with it, it simply is.

He suspects Aventurine intends to persuade him otherwise, almost can confirm it with the way so many questions and thoughts have tumbled from his lips and bubble on his tongue, so he does the only thing he can. With a tug he draws the gambler in close, and presses lips together, careful to keep it short and sweet, to simply convey that which hasn't been said. Which might never be said.

When he draws away, he can fill that clock within ticking over into his final minutes within this world. He doesn't let it show. Eventually he will fade, the same way all servants do, pulled back to the Grail and the duties he held before. But till then he can spare a moment longer. Archer fixes that tired smile on Aventurine again and nods.

"Enjoy what we had, rather than regretting what we did not." It is the curse of all servants to take what they are given rather than wish for more and he is no exception. What time they had he'll hold to, and selfishly keep close. "And don't mess up the office. I worked hard to keep it in order."

[emiarcher]

STARTER CALL. like this post for a starter from archer. Will need you to specify;

your muse if you are a multi

whether you want fate, h.sr collab-based (and if you want a specific version of the collab)

[recordmemes]

༘⋆｡ until midnight.

sentence starters for dancing until midnight, masquerade masks, wine-stained lips, the swirl of skirts, and brushing shoulders with nobility.

you can't keep avoiding the dance floor all night.

if no one else has claimed this one, may i?

just one song, please.

tell me something true before the night ends.

i promise not to step on your feet.

one dance - that's all i'm asking for.

you recognized me, didn't you?

if someone catches us out here, we'll be in trouble.

the wine is terrible.

you have quite captured the room's attention, you know.

you shouldn't be seen talking to me.

forgive the interruption, but you looked like you needed rescuing.

you seem so lonely for someone so surrounded by admirers...

have we met before? your eyes look so familiar.

i hear the host is using this to find a bride.

i've been looking for you all evening.

allow me the honor of dancing with you.

you have become exceedingly difficult to ignore.

i promise to return you to your friends before the gossip starts.

you always talk like the entire room belongs to you.

i've been working up the courage to ask you to dance all evening.

shall we pretend to not hate each other for one night?

i hate acting like i care about these events.

why do you host balls if you always go and sulk in the corner?

here, i got you another glass of champagne.

meet me in the hallway. make sure nobody follows you.

you're making an awful lot of enemies if you keep declining dances.

you could at least pretend to be enjoying the celebrations.

you're so unconcerned with appearances. it baffles me.

the terrace is certainly quieter than out here. join me?

you danced with everyone but me.

oh, it's raining - do you want to stay a little longer?

if i speak honestly, everything changes.

[emiarcher]

“Say you’ll stay. Just once. Lie to me if you have to.” (from aventurine)

Aventurine looks somewhat dishevelled, if one could ever call such a put together man such things. Ruffled is more appropriate perhaps, or undone. The markings of a long day about him, the loose neck of his shirt, the slump of his shoulders, the half-finished drink before him. It does not escape Archer that few would be permitted to view this version of Aventurine, this version of him that does not have his armour in place, does not have his masks fixed to keep up the persona that protects him.

He is quiet as he crosses the space between them, coming to join him on the couch. He folds himself into the space at Aventurine's side, silent initially as he settles before his tongue clicks.

"It must be an egregious situation if you dare put the glass on the table without a coaster. You will be incurring my wrath..." he remarks, turning to look at Aventurine out the corner of his eye. The laugh he receives in response is a discordant sound, not one that holds only joy, but something strained by something unsaid. It is not for him to pry, and he will not. He is a guardian, a force to protect, not to investigate, his only offer presence instead. There's no expectation of explanation or conversation at all, and yet Aventurine's voice rises anyway, filling the void.

“Say you’ll stay. Just once. Lie to me if you have to.”

"I am not in the habit of offering false hopes." Archer's first words perhaps suggest refusal, except he settles back in his seat, his arm stretching along the back of the seat. A comfortable splay mostly, yet one that offers his side openly should the other require the comfort of embrace or the space to hide.

He does not say anything further but the reclined position, the unhurried look about him, it all says what words do not. I am staying, there is no need to lie about it because I had little intent on doing otherwise.

"Your glass will warm if you leave it much longer," he says instead, nodding towards it before leaning his elbow on the arm of the couch and letting his lids descend over his eyes. He has no doubt that a plan will come to the Stoneheart in time and there is intent in waiting to be present for when that moment arrives.

[emiarcher]

‘ you know me by heart . it infuriates me that you know me by heart . ’ (from aventurine!)

There is a pointed silence between them, only broken by the sound of a mug being placed upon a coaster on the desk. Archer has learnt over time when to speak and when silence is better to allow space for the other to process his thoughts and feelings. He had not been listening to all, but the gist of the meeting he had overheard between the Stoneheart and other IPC members seemed only slightly productive and more of a chance for him to be given the short shrift and a chiding that at best was veiled mockery.

He paces instead; pottering around the room, organising the space so the only mess that might exist is only that which lingers in Aventurine's mind. When he is done he only waits, standing by the window and watching Pier Point below with the sharpness of his gaze following each of the ships diligently, considering each an enemy until it moves on its course. When he hears the cup behind him picked up and be sipped from, he turns his head in acknowledgement, a smirk on his lips as he studies the other.

‘ you know me by heart . it infuriates me that you know me by heart . ’

"And yet you being infuriated will change nothing of my knowledge. I suppose you shall have to learn to be at peace with it..." There is no sense of remorse about his words, instead a slight amusement and a steady confidence that is followed by his full move from the window. A slow pace brings him behind Aventurine's chair. Hands rise and lay upon the other's shoulders, a firm presence, an existence that does not waver, a grounding support.

"I am unlikely to begin forgetting now." He looks down and for a moment he's struck with a strange urge, one that belongs to a younger, hopeful, more idealistic man. One who has not seen the things he has, and taken the actions he has committed. Lips part briefly, a caught breath the only sound of something altered, before he settles, swallowing back the impulse and squeezing the shoulders beneath his palms. "Now another cup or would you prefer to make a plan of action?"

[nihiluxelation]

so. avenarcher amirite.

[emiarcher]

“ If I asked you not to leave… would it change anything? ” (from aventurine, episode 28373 of 'charlie tell me to stop sending memes to your side blogs if it's too much')

There's an itch beneath his skin when the report comes into the ship, the anomaly that speaks of world traversal, from this to another and echoes in the reversal of his current predicament. Not that such a descriptor is really fitting; it implies a sense of trouble that he is not in, his life one that has found routine and order, albeit at a slower pace than he was once used to. Once Aventurine has cast the report on the anomaly to the side, he reaches for it, idly perusing the contents, recognising similarities between the Holy Grail war of this world and the event in question thanks to his acquired knowledge. It would be worth investigating further, to perhaps push at the boundaries to see if this is only allowing things into this world or if the reverse was also possible.

When his gaze raises from the page, he realises that the office is silent.

There's no background of video calls or clattering keys. No whizzing screens nor data changing at rapid rates. When he looks over to Aventurine, he half expects to see him sprawled across the desk, asleep again as a consequence of his own overworking, and yet he is not. Instead, the weight of that gaze lays upon him and he can see the turmoil in him, something unspoken beneath the surface. Archer watches that gaze flick to the report in his hands and then back to him.

“ If I asked you not to leave… would it change anything? ”

For a beat there is nothing, his own heavy gaze meeting Aventurine's own as he attempts to discern the purpose in his Master's words. Then there is the quirk of his lips, the edge curving upwards, his gaze a little softer for his sins. For a moment he looks less like the Archer he has become and more like the Emiya hewas once long ago. A man with noble dreams and endless hope, and the damned attitude that led to his own suffering.

"Not particularly..." he answers, folding the paper in half in his hands. He sighs, and shakes his head and then makes a deliberate gesture of leaning down and putting the paperwork in the bin beneath the desk. As he straightens back up, he fixes a knowing look upon the other. "Your littering the desk might have me reconsidering my choices however."

He waits a beat, then turns away, seeking the teapot and brewing a herbal tea, leaving Aventurine to work through his admission in his own time. He's a man of few words so to be more direct is simply too much work, but he suspects the shewd Stoneheart will piece together what he has said. His choices. No changes. There was nothing to change because he had already made his choice to stay.

With tray laden with a steaming teapot and two cups, he turns back to the desk and lays it atop, looking down at Aventurine in his seat and studying his face quietly, leaning into his favoured choice of observation. He's not displeased with what he sees. "Keep the desk clean and drink your tea, Mister Aventurine..." he says rather simply and turns on his heel, finding the next room as he falls back into the routine of pottering.

Perhaps it won't be forever, but there is a relief in offering the clarification that he does not seek a return to where he came from. He's found something here that he's in no hurry to abandon.

[apocryphis]

@resolutepath / @emiarcher said: He potters around the office, fingers barely idle, content to straighten artefacts, dust shelves and buff glass fronts while the tap of the screen and conversation of video calls registers in the background as The Stoneheart works diligently on his tasks. It's quiet ambiance to his routine, something reassuring and familiar, mundane in comparison to the battles that have been fought over time and yet satisfying for the sake of it. It is only as Archer moves to pour the tea, he realises that the environment has quietened. The background noise of keys and chatter faded. When he turns, he sees Aventurine slumped over the desk, worn by the long hours he's been pulling lately no doubt. "That won't do you any good..." he comments, but makes no move to wake the other, only shrugging the jacket seamlessly from his shoulders. It's a short step and one he makes in silence, until he lingers behind and that jacket can be laid over Aventurine's shoulders, offering him a barrier against the air conditioning that might prolong his rest a little more. After that it is a matter of turning the volume down on the screen for all but the most important calls and taking vigil in a chair near the door to deter away any unwelcome visitors. He will guard the other man's rest as seriously as he has protected lives and chased his own ending.

It never stops. One meeting after another, one screen after another, one board meeting and stakeholder presentation after another - the day's senseless, hollow happenings steamroll through the hours, devoid of any meaning, and eating up everything there is to devour all the same. Figures and charts that move entire economies across the universe blur into one another, at the mercy of famished sharks who can never be satisfied and never see anything human in those numbers anyway. If it is meant to be a game, it's not a very fun one, if you ask him. Still, he has to keep his seat at the table - until the next grand gamble, until he has to leave this desk behind and step into the fray and wrestle fate's arm to twist the odds in the IPC's favour. The day has been long already, and Aventurine has reached the stage at which he is staring at his multiple holoscreens without retaining anything that flickers on them; a hand absently rubbing against his chest to soothe the unpleasant itch left by the Nihility under his shirt. It still pulses, sometimes, when his mind drifts and there is nothing else for him to focus on. So, Aventurine tries to redirect his attention somewhere else. In the distance, he can hear the quiet shuffle of Archer moving about in the next room, tending to one of his (half) self-imposed duties or another.

Funny, how quickly Aventurine had grown used to his servant (ugh, the name still irks him, in spite of everything)'s presence around his living quarters in Pier Point. And his personal ship. And every aspect of his life. Archer had made one hell of an explosive entrance into his life, but the quiet way he had settled into it still leaves him baffled whenever he stops to think about it. Aventurine, who doesn't like his personal space invaded. Aventurine, who doesn't like his things not arranged the way he wants them to be. Aventurine, who doesn't like to have anyone's eyes in the one place the IPC has limited reach. Now looking out for signs of Archer's presence to pull him out of the dreary hollowness of his daily life. There is a cruelty to it - it was easier to ignore the hollowness, to make do with it, when there was no alternative to it.

... had he fallen asleep at his desk? He is vaguely conscious of his head resting on his crossed arms over his desk; slightly more conscious still of the light weight draping over his shoulders. A blanket? Not, not soft enough - a coat? Not his coat - it doesn't have any fur. A whiff of a very recognisable, pleasant smell (Archer is very particular about the cleaning products he insists they purchase to use around the luxurious suite) helps him connect the dots through the fog of slumber lingering on his eyelids. That, and the low, familiar voice that accompanies it. Aventurine keeps his eyes closed - up until he hears Archer stepping away, confident enough that he can peek through half-closed eyes and not get caught. Just as he thought. Inside Aventurine's chest, something swells and aches at the same time. This is risky, he thinks. He shouldn't get used to this (it's easier, still, to speak of it as this, rather than him). Don't they say all good things come to an end? And has life not proven to him already, that anything good comes to a particularly early and violent end for him?

Aventurine closes his eyes again as Archer takes his vigil. His fingers close around the hem of the coat, and tug just enough to bring it closer over his shoulders. "Careful, Archer." He murmurs, just loud enough for the other man to hear, a small, joyless smile on his lips. "You keep this up, I'm going to start thinking you don't really want to go back to your homeworld. Don't make me get used to you when you're still looking for a way out."

[emiarcher]

Archer took over my H.SR account and I'm not sorry.

[emiarcher]

"mister archer," robin would come to sigh quietly, a hand raising to meet with her forehead as she had taken in the sight of the man humoring himself with the ever so persistent advertisement boards of penacony. "please do not bully the boards, they are going to get back up whenever you hit them, no matter how hard you do it –"

annoying as few, she still took pity on those odd creations that meant to serve a purpose of some kind. in the eyes of someone who were rather fed up with words and phrases thrown in one's face left and right in penacony, she didn't quite see the need. all one had to do was look up and one would see hundreds of signs and videos showing some sort of thing in the dreamscape. it was annoying, overwhelming and only seemed to worsen when those funny boards came wobbling, the halovian still finding pity enough to walk over and put some of them back up.

" – do not," she'd cast a glance over to him, almost concerned that he (like the trailblazer) would swing his leg or weapon around for an harder whack, " take that as a challenge to slam them harder into the ground ... did you not say you wished to spend your time doing something worthwhile while lingering in penacony ? we do have an excellent choice of bars, restaurants, karaoke bars..." not that he struck her as one that would indulge in karaoke, but robin would give herself the benefit of the doubt. for all she knew, maybe archer had a thing for breaking out in song.

the little billboard, of course, waddled away when it saw another stranger it wished to offer its advertisements to; " ... tell me what you would like to do and i will gladly be your personal guide for a moment. i know penacony in and out like the back of my own hand, and ... i'd rather not see billboards being bullied."

A twist of the wrist allows him to weigh the balance of his latest copied sword, its smooth, round shape more qualified towards a descriptor of a bat but as long as he registered it as a sword, that was all that mattered. The boards had proved to be the perfect targets to test the swing and efficiency of the Trailblazer's signature, their disposition suited to getting back up again in the face of adversity and their complaints minimal. And if he was causing a scene in the high streets of this dreamland, what was it to him? The people would pass him by eventually and Mister Aventurine could compensate if it became a necessity.

Yet with the sound of the melodic voice, his head tips to look over his shoulder, bat/sword rolling up onto his shoulder to lean at rest.

"With the lack of options available for target practice, the billboards seemed best suited to the task..." he answers, her words posing a challenge in itself, though he refrains from following through on it. If there was an order to things he would adhere to it. Mess was not something he enjoyed, be it emotional or physical and it would not be to his advantage to press on this, especially when he truly wasn't that attached to it in the first place.

"A kind offering, Master of Caster, though I cannot say any of the activities you listed are of my interest. A servant has no need to consume anything other than the energy source provided, beverages are unnecessary and music I will leave in your capable hands." He does however act to alleviate her concerns, however, by dissipating the recreation of the bat removing his weapon from his hands. "In truth, my talents are ill-suited to a world like this. Your systems offer too many bypasses for those hobbies I might indulge in." Cooking and housekeeping might seem odd to most for a seasoned warrior such as he, and yet the routine, rituals and systems involved in such processes gave him order and peace in his mind.

"The most you can offer I suspect is a vantage point from which I can observe." He is not unkind as he speaks, but firm in his resolution for such simplicities. As far as customers to this arcadia went, he would be one of the least demanding. Billboard assaults aside.

@avaere

[caemthe]

Ruby eyes blinked a few times. Just what is this guy's problem? The Lancer opened his mouth, but instead of saying anything, he scratched the back of his head and then sighed. "Whatever. We won't be going anywhere if everyone continues standing there without doing anything. Curse your bad luck and fate later, we have to do something about our current situation now." Someone had to address the elephant in the room anyway. Protecting feelings was fine and all, but there was a time and place for everything. And right now they didn't exactly have much time.

"I'll go check the perimeter. Feel free to make yourself useful or go cry in a corner somewhere." He wasn't a pro at this druid thing by any means, but since he was the only one with basic knowledge on magic...

@emiarcher - cont.

[emiarcher]

"Careful, you sound like you actually intend to be productive." Words are accompanied with the subtle curl of his lip upwards in a smirk. It would perhaps be easier to leave the Lancer to check the perimeter alone, one more than capable of managing it on his own, and yet he did not trust the other enough to let him out of his sight for too long.

"I have been cooped up too long, I will accompany you to ensure you do a good job." Whether he was actually qualified to judge the job or not, was another matter to debate, but truly there was simply a part of him amused at how he could get under Lancer's skin and it made for something more interesting than the pointless back and forth in the room that was beginning to bore him.

"Let's hope you're as efficient as you are talkative."

[emiarcher]

@apocryphis asked: oh, the things we invent when we are scared and want to be rescued. ( from aventurine - i'm cheating and sending you an ask here too but in my defense i was reasonable and did not send you 10 on your multi -)

A flicker of a smile appears thinly on lips, lids descending over eyes for but a moment. He remembers only fragments of his past, more restored than he once had thanks to a Grail War previous where he was forced to confront it, but he does remember fear. Cloying and stark, filling his chest the same as the spewing smoke that was choking his lungs, embracing him with the lick of the flames that seared the ground. He recalls that boy hoping for something to save him, to offer hope, and finding it, finding salvation in the broken man who gave him a dream.

Yet now is not the time for his past, and Aventurine speaks not of their personal thoughts and inventions but instead the bizarre and strange creations that are permeating this arcadia planet, the creations drawn from the dreams of the scared and helpless seeking support at that which was haunting them.

Truthfully some of their creations made him wonder if humanity had hope for the future, for some of them were simply bizarre in their functionality and use for protection.

"I suppose it does show the distinction between those prepared to fight to the bitter end and those who are little more than children screaming in fear." A harsh observation, but no less true for it. And despite the callous nature of it, his lips do curve upwards in a smirk as he thinks about some of the more ridiculous cases. That blue-haired boy who was full of tough words until the tide truly turned against him came to mind.

"So is it yourself who has invented the strangest thing, or someone else you have witnessed?" He knows the answer, sees the mark of a survivor in his Master who has had to be prepared to stare Death in the face and risk losing. Who knows the cruelty and darkness of humanity, the shades hidden in the places not many venture to. The things he's created to survive were likely very necessary and very real. Yet he can give him the space to hide if he wishes it.

[emiarcher]

🚢 (fine i'll admit i've toyed with the thought for him and aventurine... in a 'it's very complicated' kind of way because i don't think either of them could be normal about this kind of thing, so i'll leave it there as a suggestion)

do i ship our characters together?: yes | no | not yet but maybe soon (you're not the only one who has toyed with the thought kjdhdkfsh )

would i like to ship with you?: yes | maybe, i'm willing to try | no (i love shipping with you )

type of relationship i could see: childhood or high school sweethearts | exes | engaged | married | long-term relationship | crushes | unrequited love | fling | long distance | online relationship | just dating | new relationship | toxic lovers | friends with benefits | healing and trusting leading to a relationship

tropes i'd enjoy writing for them: friends to lovers | enemies to lovers | exes to lovers | fake relationship / dating ( you know that would be a funny little assignment ) | forbidden love | grumpy and sunshine * (kind of but it's more like the taciturn and the peacock) | star-crossed lovers | surprise pregnancy | second chance | soulmates | amnesia / mistaken identity | forced proximity | secret relationship | slow burn relationship | the absolute terror of opening up one's heart and finding someone who understands you

would i rather plot first or jump right in and see where it goes?: develop their relationship first | jump right in | something in between we are already in the building so let's keep going but also maybe put them in a couple of situations to test this boundary

what now?: let's plot something | send me shippy memes | i'll send you shippy memes | write me a random starter | i'll write you a random starter

anything else i want you to know about me / my character / my shipping habits: Honestly I have also been here so let's skip the talking about shipping with me because you know what that's like and get straight to the, oh there is a certain unique flavour to this dynamic. I like the idea of them finding romance through the things they are dealing with but also then they have the unique situations to deal with like Archer becoming someone who might be targeted because of Aventurine and also Archer existing not being guaranteed given that he's a summoned servant. I just think they have the makings of a real sweet and complicated relationship.

↳ 🐝  *  ―  𝑺𝑯𝑰𝑷𝑷𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑬𝑻. // @apocryphis

[emiarcher]

“ so you wanna go find something to break? ” / conall

A chuckle passes over the Archer in Red's lips, cool gaze turned upon the Irish Servant, surveying the man before him as he contemplates the offer. There is an appeal in finding something to occupy himself, the days are beginning to drag, each failing to reveal any sign of progress on the horizon. It rankles; he is a man of action, not one who wishes to linger on the periphery awaiting for it to reach him.

"What did you have in mind? I'm disinclined to make a mess here." Habits of an old life had risen, his hand turning to rearranging the living space, in creating an orderly environment to ensure items could be found at a moment's notice. It has now become routine to upkeep it, even to the irritation of his companions when he adjusts things they have placed down, relocates that which is discarded.

"I am assuming you have located an appropriate spot to undertake such an endeavour."

[emiarcher]

@apocryphis asked: “ if i think about it, i get angry. and i don’t know where that anger stops. so i’d rather not start at all. ” (from aventurine who is very much a liar)

There is silence that follows in the wake of Aventurine's words, the only sounds permeating it the clink of the spoon against the tea cup as Archer methodically follows through the steps to make the tea. He lets it linger, unconcerned about the discomfort of permitting it to do so, unhurried in his actions. With a final clink, the spoon is laid to the side and the tea tray is lifted, taken across to the desk and put in front of the other, left before him as he returns to the worktop to tidy the debris of his process. It is only when he finishes, leaving the surface spotless, that he turns and folds his arm, leaning back against the counter and fixing brown hues upon the other with a critical gaze.

"Your silver tongue holds no standing between us, Mister Aventurine. You might smile in the face of others, but I know beneath the surface, you have been burning for some time." He does not offer any delicacy with the way he speaks, brutal honesty proferred as a tool to get to the point with little negotiation about it. His gaze lingers still, waiting until the steaming cup is reached for before he turns away, letting lids descend over his eyes once and exhaling.

"You would do yourself well to be honest, at least between us. I have no need for the comfort of reassurance nor seek to use information against you. To lie is a waste of your energy entirely." He reopens his eyes to look back to the other, his expression not accusatory, but instead only solemn, perhaps a touch of concern lingering in the back of that gaze. If it is so easy for his Master to lie, to fabricate a reality, then he wonders when it was he last shed his mask entirely. When was he last real with the people he surrounds himself with? Had he ever been?

"I am impervious to the flames of your anger, and unyielding in the face of danger. You will find no other more capable of drawing you back from the brink, if you have the courage to face it."