mvlcibers

[mvlcibers]

He had apparated a little under a mile away to give himself enough time to think of what he might say to Evan, for he’d simply set the manor aflame and fled like some sort of morbid angel of flame, with little conscience and little regard for who perished in said flame. Did Evan blame him for all that had happened, as so many of the others did? Did he know that the entire ordeal had gone up in flames because Nikolai had simply decided that his desire to keep Evan alive at all costs far outweighed the desire to keep anyone else alive? Did he know that Nikolai would surely disappear if he had lost Evan’s approval because of this? He’d spent the mile muttering to himself, practicing what he should say, what he shouldn’t say, but when he came upon the warded gate, the words escaped him. 

The fight against the wards had been noting in comparison to the house elf who was adamant that he not be allowed inside. Frustration had overtaken him quickly, and he’d nearly been sent flying back by the wards; his ear began to smoke as he clenched his fists at his sides, huffing once before stalking toward the stone wall that flanked the wards, looking, glaring, desperately searching to find a chink in the wards so that he could vault the wall and find his Evan. He heard the house elf leave, and in a moment of anger he yelled after the poor creature, curses rolling easily off his tongue as he made a break for the wall, only to be tossed back a few feet by the persistent ward. Nikolai would think to apologize to the house elf later, but quite soon after, he heard a second set of footsteps approaching, and quickly righted himself, scrambling once again to the gate. 

“Hello?” he called, squinting into the darkness that shrouded the approaching figure; his heart gave a great lurch, for he knew deep within his bones that it was Evan, “E-Evan? Is that you?”

May 23rd, 1982 Octavia Rosier’s house

@mvlcibers

The fact that he hadn’t been able to find Nik once in the London attacks of the 21st had been a never-ending source of worry for Evan. He knew that even as he’d moved around his cousin’s house as though he owned it, giving order and trying to organise a funeral which he felt entirely unprepared for, he had been failing to meet the standard he set for himself in all his life. He couldn’t help but play in his head the worst scenarios possible, that Nik had been engulfed in the flame that he must have created; that he had taken stupid risks to protect the woman with which he was so infatuated. There were too many things that could have gone wrong, that seemed more and more likely had gone wrong. He didn’t understand which other safehouse that Nik could even have considered going to when he must have known that he would always be safe where the name of Rosier was born.

Despite the early nature of the hour, Evan found himself in no more mood to go to bed than he had when the sky had first started to grow dark. There was too much occupying his mind for sleep to be an appealing prospect. Which was why it simply made sense that he was the first person told by the house-elf that there was a man outside, trying to get through the wards on the front gate. He made the long trip down the gravel path, knowing that the anti-apparition charms were in full effect even for those already in the building, unsure as to who he would see on the other side of the iron gate, no matter how he craved it to be Nik.

#c:evan #d:may23 #'short' we said

[mvlcibers]

i feel like a part of my soul has loved you from the very beginning of everything                                                                             maybe we’re from the same star

@mvlcibers

#THIS IS SO GORGEOUS I JUST AUDIBLY GASPED #IM IN LOVE #( evan ) #( inspo )

[mvlcibers]

“Yes ma’am,” he muttered absently, folding his hands in his lap in an obedient manner, rather frightened of what Narcissa might subject him to should he irk her more than was entirely necessary. The last thing he ever wanted to do was upset her; he had come here this afternoon to comfort her after all, not to antagonize. And so he held still as she prodded at the cut, which throbbed beneath her fingers in a persistent reminder of what he’d done. 

“You have... had enough reason to,” Nikolai finally spoke at this, eyes darting up to search Narcissa’s face, though he daren’t move his head. He so longed to wrap her in the biggest hug he could manage, but he was far too volatile, and would likely be too warm for her to stand. “No one would blame you for doing so; I certainly wouldn’t.”

“Don’t… do that.” Narcissa exclaimed the first words but managed to control her voice for the rest of the sentence. “You cannot risk opening the cut again.” Grateful at his compliance, she stood and made her way over to where Nikolai sat. She started examining the cut, the idea of doing something constructive calming her nerves.

Narcissa summoned an elf and ordered it to bring her potions. Only once the elf had popped away and she was made to wait, did she address his statement. “I am trying to be, I really am. But it is just so hard.” She wiped at the corner of her eye where a tear started to form. “I can’t cry, not anymore. I have cried enough this year…” The vigor in her voice disappeared, and was replaced by a whisper, “Bella hated tears.”

#c:narcissa #d:may22

[mvlcibers]

We’re going to need a fire. 

Such requests were usually made in jest, merely to prod at his particular affliction, rather than put it to good use. Perhaps here, under such necessary circumstances, it would not be an affliction, but rather a tool to be used and honed; Nikolai had never been given such an opportunity, a chance to practice with the monster at the tips of his fingers. Once or twice, he’d been able to do something useful with his talents affliction, but more often than not a spark which was meant to do no more than light a candle blazed into an inferno that could only be quelled by a fitful dive into the dust, a nearby body of water, or a swift toss of a bucket at his head. Nikolai had spent more time standing beneath a near constant stream of water than doing anything useful with his strange set of abilities. 

But Minerva -- Professor McGonagall; he refused to call her anything less for fear of overstepping a line from which he could not retreat -- seemed quite content to recruit him despite his reputation for a lack of control. He blinked a few times, blank and utterly dumb in the face of her requests, before nodding assuredly, fingers playing madly at his bandages. For a moment, he made quite an event of adjusting his wand, which he’d situated in his belt, for he was quite nervous to be working alongside someone who he’d been so firmly allied against for years. His fear of Minerva McGonagall had never faltered -- and it certainly wouldn’t now. His fear manifested in an almost ridiculous show of respect; Nikolai had come close to bowing as she approached, but she surely would have been disillusioned by such a thing, and so he refrained. 

As he followed her forth, Nikolai’s hands snapped to his sides, cheeks burning an ostentatious crimson. “Er, sorry,” he muttered, “Sorry. Just don’t want to -- what’s beneath ‘em isn’t exactly --” The scolding voice at the back of his mind had never been so loud; he was already quite ashamed that some of the younger members of the Order had regarded him with such shame and apprehension, simply because of the fading, muddled mark upon his arm and it certainly didn’t help that he was making such a fool of himself simply in an attempt to cover it up. He’d taken the Unbreakable Vow before them all, under the watchful eye of Minerva herself, and yet he still felt quite like an outsider; it was the monster’s voice, perhaps, who made him feel as if he could not fully settle into their presence. 

“So is this going to be a, er, a wall of fire?” he asked anxiously, wondering just how out of control that could possibly be, “Or is it more... like a ward? A sigil, or something like that?” He sounded horribly daft, ridiculously thick, in comparison to his companion, but his curiosity was genuine. Nikolai had never been involved in strategy, so this was a new experience -- perhaps he could learn something.

The idea surrounding the protection of Hogwarts gates and bridges weren’t something improved, especially pertaining to Nikolai’s talents, recalling flames on his ears during the Order meeting. Some years ago, one of the more creative pranks from her students were created by assuring that their antics were visibly seen, suspended in the air, seemingly failed, however, it would be discovered that once hit by a spell, the trick fell into motion, a prank on the professors who believed themselves to be smart. Needless to say, Minerva was impressed. Here, those tactics would be used again, with Nikolai’s assistance, the creation of stilled fire in a constricted area that would only start burning once attacked.

“We’re going to need a fire, and the spells will be stronger if cast by two wizards,” she informed him. Minerva held the syntax of a private woman, few phrases, short and effective statements, though she did add more information for the younger man’s sake, noting the stutter, an aid in making sure he felt included by sharing, as if she didn’t know him, she would have only spoken the prior sentence. “The spells I’ll reveal when we’re there and you’ll find you may have heard of them before. The fire will be a used as a border.” She could tend to be excessive on the protection means of Hogwarts, even more so if there were to be people inside.

“And, Nikolai, either cease prodding those bandages or don’t wear them at all,” this was spoken in a stern voice, believing they would do nothing but distract him as she begins walking to the gates, expecting him to follow beside her.

She had a number of conflicting remarks on the Dark Mark, for one, if she had it herself, she wouldn’t hide it with a band-aid, there would be no use to after this, if it was already known where she stood. However, on a reasonable side, it made him a target, especially to those that didn’t know him, and to see him fight on another side, he would be shot down instantly with ferocity and with less protective means by those of the Order that couldn’t trust him yet, all sides convinced he’s a traitor or will become one. It also was a separator, from society, from the Order, even if he took part in an Unbreakable Vow, there was a past hatred for them, causing confusion. She wouldn’t wish it upon him to hide his past, not when he could grow and develop, but it shouldn’t have to be something that could also get him killed.

Shame would get him nowhere, it wasn’t something active in terms change or his image, only a hindrance and the work of someone in hiding.

#c:minerva #d:may21

[mvlcibers]

He’d never had someone do him a favor without requiring some sort of payment, even if it came about in a roundabout, popping up at opportune moments to remind him that he did, in fact, owe someone a debt. As far as Nikolai knew, he could owe just about everyone a debt of some sort; he was horribly forgetful in that capacity, despite Evan’s suggestion that he keep a record book like most pureblood patriarchs did ( though he was hardly pureblood patriarch material ) but something told him that Tilden was telling the truth. It took him aback for a moment, but he could hardly see Tilden dangling such a favor in front of his eyes later down the line; he was just too bloody nice. 

Yes, he did quite like Tilden Toots. That was something to make a note of. 

Nikolai craned his neck to sweep the room for Holly once more, maintaining a strange angle as he searched the crowd; though he stood a full head above most, he could not seem to find the pink cloud that was Miss Holly LaFerre. “Reckon she’s blendin’ in with anything pink!” he laughed, straightening his crooked spine once more with a huff and a chagrined shrug. “If I do see her though, I’ll send ‘er your way!” Given that he wouldn’t simply keep her all to himself; Nikolai could surely afford to be a bit selfish where Holly was concerned. 

“Brilliant,” he grinned, turning round ( then round again ) until he spotted the waiter who’d been artfully evading him with a sideways glance for the majority of the night. “Ah! There he goes; almost knocked the poor bloke over just a little while ago; reckon I should apologize.” With as amiable an expression as he could muster, he gave Tilden a conspiratorial nod, and started off in the direction of the cornered waiter, doing his best not to ‘lumber’ as he was so notorious for doing. 

“Oh, no!” Tilden shook his head emphatically. “Don’t pay me, not even with your tie - it looks far better on you than it would on me. Besides, I’m more than happy to sort the gloves out for you. Knowing that it’ll get you gardening is payment enough.” Tilden grinned brightly up at Nikolai. He meant it when he had said that it was payment enough. As far as he was concerned, there were few things in the world that were better than spending long hours tending to plants, watching them grow from seedlings and blossom. “With Holly’s help you’ll be a pro in no time, I’m sure! And if you need help and she’s busy, just owl me or floo call me or something. My work’s flexible so I can help at a drop of a hat.” This is what he loved - sharing his passion with others - and right now, the distraction it would hopefully provide Tilden was too good to pass by.

“It does? Great!” His smile dimmed somewhat at Nikolai’s mention of Tilden being Holly’s best friend. Were they still? Tilden desperately hoped that they were, but he was unsure if they could still be called best friends if they were barely talking. Perhaps he’d hunt her down later tonight, once he had several more glasses of bubble juice under his belt. “Have you seen her yet? She’s seemed to have evaded me so far!”

“A drink sounds great.” In that moment nothing sounded better than more spike champagne. “Thanks, Nikolai.” He clapped the man on the upper arm. He was quite certain that he liked Nikolai Mulciber already. The other man had been nothing but affable, if a little awkward.

#c:tilden #d:april25 #nik is so heart eyes at tilly

[mvlcibers]

Nervously, harried and overwhelmed, Nikolai pat at the scabbed cut upon his brow; he’d never seen Narcissa this hectic, for she had always been the one he’d turn to for rational thought and meaningful advice. And now she had flown into an absolute tizzy over something that he could not even feel upon his own face. It had stopped bleeding long ago; he had come to help her -- but if tending to a mere scratch ( more than a scratch, but Nikolai’s perception was warped ) on his forehead would help, then so be it. 

Obedient, with wide eyes and hands wringing in his lap, he plopped onto the nearest chair in hopes that it would not fly out from under him. “It’s not much of a task,” he gestured to the cut over his forehead, “but, er, you can take a look if you’d like. I’d come to see you; wanted to make sure you’re okay. Looks like you’re not doin’ too okay.”

“It is not fine! You have a cut across your forehead, it can become infected, it can tear open, it can… For Salazar’s sake Nik, just let me look at the thing.” Though she did collapse in the chair behind her as he asked. “Please. I need to do something. Make sure you are alright.”

On the coffee table in front of them stood a vase with flowers. The vase started shaking, the flowers slowly floating upwards. With a sigh Narcissa took out her wand and pointed it at the table, “Immobilis.” It all went still. She gestured to the scene, “This has been happening all day. Lucius had to remove all breakables from our room after I burst a perfume bottle, a water glass and a decanter. I need to channel my magic to one big task.”

#c:narcissa #d:may23

[mvlcibers]

He’d not expected this sort of reaction when he’d arrived at the home of Octavia Rosier in search of Evan -- and Narcissa, by proxy. Nikolai had expected disparaging glances, angry glares, curses both verbal and magical thrown his way because of what he’d done, but never concern. And he’d hardly been aware that he had a rather large cut upon his brow, dried nearly shut though it was, he realized, the source of his throbbing headache. 

Nikolai had expected Narcissa to hate him most of all; they were all blaming him for Bellatrix’s death, and for Gideon’s, and so he could only imagine the ire that he would earn from the lot of them, especially those who had called her family. But now he shrunk away from overenthusiastic care with shock, hands thrown up about his ears as if she might scream the monster from within his skull. 

“I’m fine!” he insisted, “It’s alright! Cissa, please -- please just sit down; ‘s not bleeding anymore, I swear.”

May 22nd, 1982 Octavia Rosier’s Manor (or Malfoy Manor) Open

“Would you just let me look at that!” Narcissa exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “I know I’m not a healer but this is going to be the best you will get.” Her head felt like bursting and she could feel her magic buzzing within her. If she didn’t use her wand soon she might end up exploding every window in the building. 

How appropriate, she almost scoffed to herself, that the loss of her sister had triggered a magical overload. This was preferred though, over grieving with tears. This she could control, if she didn’t think about Bellatrix too much. And if a certain somebody would just allow her to look at their wounds.

#c:narcissa #d:may22

[mvlcibers]

harrowingcarrow:

Her brow arched slightly when he mentioned charms, figuring they were far more advanced than what she’d be capable of. If anything, she’d be more likely to set the robes alight again if she tried anything too advanced and grew frustrated. Her expression settled back into neutral indifference a few moments later, figuring whatever charms he tried to use likely wouldn’t be as effective as he wanted. Just like every “calming tea” that had been forced on her in moments of rage that were overwhelming for not only her but any company present at that moment. Perhaps if she recognized his fire was like the untamable monster in her chest, she’d be more willing to understand. Instead, she was deterred, hating the smell of singed fabric and suffocated too easily by smoke. And jealous, that his uncontrollable flaw was so tangible it could be doused with water. What could douse hers?

The needle froze in mid-air as it was being rethreaded, his question breaking Alecto’s concentration on her spell. Something ticklish worked its way up the center of her ribcage until it came out in a quiet, dark laugh of disbelief at his daring question. At least, she found it daring. She didn’t say anything yet, waiting for him to finish with whatever else he had to say simply because she was so amused by the idea that he thought he stood out enough for her hold anything personal against him. “Go to someone else and you’ll have to come back to have me fix it,” she muttered airily, as if that was a given despite how recently she’d entered the field of being a seamstress to the public. It used to be just restricted to herself and close friends.

“Like many sane people, I don’t like fire,” she informed him, refocusing on her needle as she used the wand to guide thread through the eye and then knotted it with another spell. “That is where any problem I have with you begins and ends.”

“Well, I don’t quite like it either,” he clipped, the monster plopping down at the back of his skull, arms crossed over its chest and lip jutted out in a fiery pout. It was part of him, the fire -- or so the monster insisted -- it was silly, to dislike something that was so innately part of him, and yet he could not help it. Self-hatred had been a normality for as long as Nikolai could remember; no matter how loudly the monster protested, he would not waver in his outward protest. “Disliking fire doesn’t make you sane; it just makes you... opinionated,” he shrugged, tugging at the sleeve of his shirt, or what remained of it; he’d always felt as it a certain distaste for fire in others reflected immediately upon a dislike of his personality, in short. It was ironic; only he was allowed to dislike himself so much. 

Nikolai glanced out the window, focusing upon the nondescript faces that passed; no matter how uncomfortable he felt in Alecto’s presence, she was right. No one else would have the patience -- or the obligation -- to deal with such an issue, and were he to go anywhere else, he would be reviled. She was used to his particular affliction, no matter how much she disliked him and his affliction, and for that he was grateful. Discretion and indifference were not so different where Alecto was concerned; he was glad to take either where he could get them. 

“How much will I owe you?” he asked, desiring to do the number-crunching ahead of time; nothing was more embarrassing than holding up a line whilst he slaved away over a few difficult calculations. “I’d offer to buy you a coffee later, but I reckon I know what the answer to that’d be already. Sort of impossible to set coffee on fire, though -- for the record.”

#this is SOOO LATE i'm so sorry omfg #c:alecto #d:feb18

[mvlcibers]

nikolai mulciber & evan rosier ;; a study

@mvlcibers

#( evan ) #moodboard #AMAZING #i love this omg

[mvlcibers]

“ We all live in a house on fire, no fire department to call; no way out, just the upstairs window to look out of while the fire burns the house down with us trapped, locked in it. ” 

                                                     N I K O L A I      +      E V A N                                                            [ @prestigiousrosier ]

#( moodboard ) #( evan ) #fnedit #edit #mine #NEVAN LIVES

[mvlcibers]

Begrudgingly, Nikolai patted at the top of his ear, feeling rather melancholy at the fact that Evan was not here to put it out for him, as he so often was. All others seemed to recoil at the sight of a single tendril of smoke, but Evan had never seemed afraid of him; now all he could think of was what would happen if he burned this house down too, with this kind young man, whose name he barely knew, inside of it. “It’s not gonna do much more than smoke, I reckon,” Nikolai sighed, speaking of his smoking ear as if it were nothing more pressing than the weather, “Y’don’t need to worry. Not gonna burn the place down.” Sadness, bitterness, melancholy; all mingled within his voice, and all made him lean just the slightest margin away from his companion as he shifted the blanket. 

For a moment he stared down at the younger man with puzzlement on his face; was he really asking if Nikolai was alright? He shouldn’t have cared -- if anything it should have been the other way around. “I’m fine,” he nodded incredulously, “Can’t sleep. Walked a few laps ‘round the house, and I’m still not tired. Didn’t know worryin’ could keep you awake for so long.” It felt like days since he’d last slept, and perhaps he wasn’t so far off the mark. Guilt and worry would certainly keep him awake until he’d become a pile of ash. If only Evan were here -- if only Bellatrix were here. 

It was after a moment of Nikolai just standing there, blanket thrusted out toward him, that Benjy finally noticed the smoke coming off of the man’s ear. It was… Well, it was extremely concerning, to say in the least, and Benjy frowned a bit, eyes searching for the source of it. How could the man not be bothered by a constant stream of smoke? Maybe it was a curse gone wrong, perhaps. Something obtained by the battle. At any rate, he didn’t speak until Nikolai did, watching him walk over toward the couch and sitting on the furthest end possible, blanket placed between them like a peace treaty of sorts. He nodded in thanks and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, surprised at how warm it already seemed to be. He hadn’t expected that.

“Thank you,” he finally said, holding the two ends together and shifting to face Nikolai a bit more. Benjy hadn’t thought himself to be that scary; did the man expect him to start yelling bloody murder at him? After the events of tonight? Probably. “You should probably get that looked at,” he suggested, peering at the ear again. Definitely not good. “Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t really sleeping, anyway.” He paused. “Are you alright?”

#c:benjy #d:may22

[mvlcibers]

With one arm still looped around Evan’s back -- beneath which Evan seemed to fit quite nicely -- Nikolai freed a hand to pat at his ear once more, sighing at the loss of his beloved bucket, whose name changed with each location to which it was brought. What had started as a joke had become a begrudgingly necessary evil, for it was not rare that Nikolai need a good splash to quell the smoke and spark which made him an undesirable presence in any group. It had been largely Evan’s idea, and it was Evan himself who suggested so firmly that he keep it in his possession at all times. Perhaps it was due to a pair of curtains that Nikolai had accidentally set aflame merely by touching them with a passing hand; a foul temper and a pair of ruined drapes and the idea of the bucket was born without a second thought. 

“I don’t need it now,” he shook his head, patting Evan on the shoulder as he took a cursory step back, the Bubble Juice making him overly affectionate in a way that might be like to embarrass them both should his weak constitution make him act strange before the whole crowd. It was a rather close space; were he to do anything as ridiculously embarrassing as would fit the bill of his history in such situations, Evan might be remiss to stand so close to him. Then again, he was always more than a little afraid that Evan might see the truth and inch away from him more quickly than not. 

But, as always, Evan proved him wrong as he was gently steered out toward the center of the dance floor, past winding couples and hastily sideways-glanced eyes; Nikolai was used to being stared at, for his reputation was not a quiet one, but no one could really force him away, for he was in the company of someone with more reputation than he could ever hope to hold. He sidled out onto the dance floor, furiously straightening his jacket as they went, shooting Evan a nervous grin as they came to a stop at the very center, out in the open for just about anyone to see. Nikolai felt as if he might faint. The smoking atop his ear had stopped, at least, but the monster was pacing nervously at the back of his mind, for he could feel eyes upon his back. 

“Are you sure I won’t embarrass you?” Nikolai shuffled, returning his grin as he took a moment to fully catch the joke, “I suppose I -- er -- won’t be the prettiest girl you’ll dance with tonight. Least I’ll be the one wearin’ the most green; at least m’ear’s stopped smoking.” He flexed and curled his fingers at his sides, feeling far too aware of the sweat upon his palms and beneath his jacket. Nikolai yearned for a sip of Bubble Juice; that would certainly help him be a better dancer. “So I... take your hand, right? Sorry, if that’s wrong; I dunno where to start. Everyone’s twirlin’ around and I can’t seem to see their hands for long enough to get it.”

Evan frowned up at the slowly smoking ear, the concern in his expression not alien to him whenever Nik was involved. No matter what the other man was doing, Evan always seemed to be worried about him on some level at least. With Nik, there was an urgent need to protect, to look after, to comfort, that was only ever present with either him or Narcissa. Even so, there was a difference between the way he felt for Nik and the way he felt for Narcissa but to save his sanity he hadn’t examined the changes too closely. He wasn’t sure he would like what he’d find there. “You should have your bucket.” Evan murmured softly, one hand reaching up as though half attempting to help put out the steadily curling smoke. “Not bad, no. It’s delicious and it seems to have made everyone far happier than usual. It’s always better when we’re happy.”

The closeness didn’t both Evan in the slightest, and it even brought a content smile to his lips as Nik hugged him. A moment of inaction was soon followed by an enthusiastic (as much as Evan was ever enthusiastic) response. He knew Nik would avoid his hair and the bubble juice was making any other worries, about his imagine or about propriety or what Rita Skeeter might see or presume, all fly out of his mind. The need to let Nik know how much he was valued trumped everything else and was paramount in Evan’s mind.

He beamed at the reassurance that Nik was happy. There seemed to be so much wrong as of late, with the war, with the Death Eaters, with everything. Knowing that his best friend was happy contributed a lot to his own happiness, an expression of something beyond selfishness which had rarely ever reared its head in Evan’s psyche. Yet still, his worry for Nik’s contentment was always in the back of his head, keeping him aware of what, if anything, was ever wrong with his friend. “Dancing won’t ruin anything and I know you won’t step on my toes.” He said, full of confidence, every inch of him exuding a silent confidence in himself and in Nik.

“I’m sure.” He was always sure when it came to Nik. Another aspect of their friendship that he wasn’t prepared to inspect too closely. “You’ve never embarrassed me, Nik, and I don’t think you’re going to start to just because of a dance.” Evan nodded his head, as though offering assurance to both himself and to Nik. A hand was soon placed on the small of Nik’s back as he gently lead (or rather pushed) the other man to near the center of the dancefloor. A sudden thought made him smile and he turned to Nik with the same broad smile, determined to share the joke. “So which one of us is going to be the girl?”

#c:evan #d:april25

[mvlcibers]

Mary was undeniably tiny; she had always been as such, too small for him to fully understand, but too large to be anything easily discounted. Even with her hand on his back, his shoulder, and her forehead pressed just below the manic thrumming of his heart -- an utterly small position in which to fall -- he felt a need to pick her up and an urge to treat her with careful consideration all in one; it should not have made him brave, this laugh, this act of trust, but it did. He kissed the top of her head when her face was turned away, for he simply could not stop kissing her, whether or not she was kissing him back. She was an entirely different sort of warm, vastly different from the fire of his dark companion. She was a candle in a dark room, against his uncontrollable blaze; where fire was meant to feed fire, it only served to quell his. 

In a surge of divine bravery, Nikolai took her hands and pulled her back to the sofa -- he was hardly brave, however, for his knees were shaking and his fingers trembled against hers. He perched atop the edge of the cushion, smiling unabashedly at the fact that their faces were now the same height; his fingers danced across her face as hers traced the line of his shoulder, hardly believing that she was real, that her trust in him was so utterly tangible. She was intoxicating in her sweetness, like wine upon his lips; he kissed her once, twice, three times, again and again, hands slipping to cup her face and play at her hair, holding her to him as if he might disappear should his lips depart from hers. Bravely, stupidly, he scooted close to her, just a moment nearer, a hand dropping to dance across the line of her shoulder, down to her waist. 

Were he a smarter man, he might have liked to quote Shakespeare, or to written her a poem in kisses across her skin, but he was nothing more than a wordless breath before her. Nikolai sighed against her lips, fighting the urge to break into infallible and unbreakable smiles. “Mary,” he muttered, her name a prayer between short breaths; he hadn’t the faintest idea what it was he meant by her name, what he was to say next, but as his hand fell to her waist, pulling her close in a daring display of both fright and haste; he thought he knew what he wanted -- it was her, in that moment -- but in what capacity he hadn’t quite figured out. 

He’d never felt something quite this intense; he’d felt anger, and despair, and determination, but nothing like this. This was new, this was strange, this was something only produced by his Mary, who he’d never known he needed quite so much until now. Nikolai tugged her closer, and closer still; ever careful, ever cautious, for he hadn’t the slightest idea what it was that he was doing, but the strange fluttering in his stomach, the tug at the base of his spine, told him that it was something that only she could give, here and now. 

His words were music to her ears, as for a moment she had been afraid that he would leave. She would have understood; that situation was confusing, but beautiful. Physical contact was something she usually avoided at all costs, respecting that bubble she had built around her so people wouldn’t get close enough to hurt her. It had been easier and better to simply bury all those sensations, protecting herself in the only way she had known. After so many years of safe distance, it surprised her how easy she had just allowed those walls to crumble down and let him in. Her heart craved the intimacy just like her body craved his touch, not having enough as they both discovered that they could do it without any pain.

Gentle hands, sweet lips, goosebumps rising and extraordinary sensations sending waves of happiness had her heart racing and her body trembling. Every single curve of her body fit perfectly against his, and there was nothing she wanted more than getting lost in the magnificent way her being reacted to such blissful state, as those lovely feelings he ignited took over her mind. An overwhelming emotion bubbled within her, rushing through her body in the same way sunlight illuminated her room every morning. It wasn’t new, the way he made her feel, but it had never so intense that she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

Mary almost lost balance and managed to keep herself steady with a hand on his back and the other on his shoulder. “You’re so tall,” she said with a giggle, blushing as she rested her forehead against his chest. As she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, she inhaled his scent; it was sweet and comforting, with a faint of fresh air that it reminded her of happier days, and she was sure that it was exactly how peace should smell like. Mary had always believed that every single person had a very unique scent, something that was just them, like a mixture of everything they were and everything they had experienced. And it was so him.

Knowing she couldn’t stay on the tips of her toes, she gently led him back to the couch, smiling shyly at him. She felt happy, incredibly so, that it was hard to believe that she wasn’t dreaming. Only that her dreams had never been as wonderful. There were so many things she wanted to say, but gravity pulled her lips back to his even before she had a chance to do it, like opposite sides of a magnet; they just couldn’t stay apart for long. Her hand explored his skin, tracing from his jaw, his neck, down his toned arms, stopping to rest on his middle. It truly felt like she couldn’t get enough of him, his taste and touch, and she wondered if there was any way she could find so they wouldn0t have to part for air every time there was a burning sensation in her lungs. She gasped against his lips; inhaling the air he exhaled, just to press her lips to his again. It was a dance, a sublime way to demand for more than she was already receiving, carefully testing boundaries always trying to keep him comfortable.

#c:mary #d:march28 #[ this is so lame and so late omg ]

[mvlcibers]

‘Inherently, I’m not a huge extrovert, so I actually find interviews and all the glamour to be a bit challenging sometimes.’

#( face ) #domestic dad au

[mvlcibers]

To say that he was terrified of Minerva McGonagall would be an egregious understatement. From his very first class, he’d been utterly terrified of her; she was intimidating all on her own, merely judging by presence alone, but her reputation preceded her. The general population of his colleagues at large bounced between loving her unconditionally and being mortally terrified of her at all times, and if that was not enough to strike fear into his bones as he desperately tugged at the wrappings around his Dark Mark, then he did not know what would. It was the menial task of keeping his brand covered that distracted Nikolai enough to be entirely unaware of her approach, the sudden authority of her voice over his shoulder enough to make him turn to a pile of ash right then and there. 

He’d fully been expecting to be of no use today; Nikolai was still uncertain as to whether or not they truly wanted him around, and were just being polite enough to appease him -- or to appease the monster who had been startlingly silent as of late -- so Minerva’s command was a surprising one. “I can help?” he questioned, wheeling about like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar, “Er -- of course; of course I’ll do whatever you need me to do.” To say that he had practiced being both eloquent and agreeable in the same breath on the way to Hogwarts would be a lie; he was proud of himself for only having stuttered once. 

“What is it, exactly, that you need me to do?” he mused, voice timid as he hovered beside her, fingers wringing and Mark tingling from how fiercely he had been prodding at it in a subconscious attempt to make it go away. Minerva seemed to be entirely unconcerned with his affiliation; she had called him by his first name, after all, which she had not done since his school years, and only in a rather stern manner. But if Nikolai were to get on anyone’s good side, it would need to be Minerva’s; she was the penultimate of approval -- if Minerva approved of his presence there, surely none of the others could think to object. And if Mary were to be here later on, he would want to do all he could to keep her safe. 

Hogwarts May 21st, 1982 11:35 @mvlcibers​

This wasn’t the first time Minerva stepped foot onto Hogwarts since the evacuation, however, this was a different kind of work that resembled that of the plans she created earlier, different purposes for these empty halls, and she would have pondered these thoughts to a greater degree if she wasn’t needed at the moment. All she would allow herself to recall was simple remarks, those that escaped a barrier in her mind. ‘It was warmer here months ago,’ is the most notable of them. There was greater work to be done than to wait, to recall such times if they wouldn’t return, and in days as this, remembering did nothing but waste time. She’ll save her wish for Hogwarts to be preserved at a later date, as well as any emotions she had on the matter. The night wouldn’t care what she felt, and neither would those this could save, and Hogwarts would then do what it was meant to do as a protector.

They’ve only arrived moments before, and to decide where to split off wasn’t a difficult decision, especially considering Minerva did send suggestions and where to go and expectations she hoped to see, knowing best where one was needed, included herself and Nikolai, however, he may not have known he would be working with her, at least not until she called out to him in the silence, “Nikolai, you will be coming with me,” a notable shift in her words, from the ’ Mr. Mulciber ’ she referred him to as his first Order meeting, and an aspect of her words she purposefully included now, an act to share that he could be more comfortable around them. “Your talent in pyrotechnics will be put to use,” this is spoken as she makes her way to the grand entrances, her footsteps holding an echo in the hallway they decided to enter.

Just as her words, her actions were a matter of strategy as she would rather him be with her than the others, she was the one that gave him those scars on his hands with the vow, and the action of taking him with her was a move for the others as well as Nikolai himself, the other’s suspicions would create an unneeded pause in the work. In the end, he would be most trusted with her, perhaps in the other’s perspectives and Nikolai’s own.

#c:minerva #d:may21

[mvlcibers]

everyone knows how much you love evan. but the sad thing is that he could never love you back, not in any capacity. you're nothing but a pet, a freak, an annoyance. you killed his cousin, and you'll surely be responsible for more deaths of people he cares about. he would be better off without you. they all would - but especially evan.

“I know. I... I know.”

#( evan ) #jfc #owl #Anonymous

[mvlcibers]

You killed Bellatrix and you act so casual about it, saying it's all an "accident". Maybe if you knew how to control yourself, she would still be alive.

“ ... ”

#( bellatrix ) #you got him #owl #Anonymous