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cheeriecherrymain · 1 year

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I have a rather....shameless request. I am pushing myself rather hard to do a 4 month Physics course and 4 month human anatomy course in one month... So would it be possible to ask for a Viktor head-cannon thing where the reader comes to him to ask for his physics expertise. Dealing with the reader getting very frustrated but yet never quitting (*cough* as in taking breaks *cough*) Thank you!

I really hope things go well for you, friend! School is hard and really kicks us in the ass sometimes, but I believe in you! Take care of yourself when you're able to - and know that we all wish you the very best!

---

Viktor x Reader

-We all know that Viktor is hard on himself. Pushing himself past his limits, staying up late even though he’s exhausted and can barely see straight. It’s a miracle this man didn’t keel over sooner than he did.

-The thing is, he knows his actions are detrimental to his health, both physical and mental. He knows that resting would benefit him. He just…doesn’t really care. He’s of the mind that his worth as a person is inherently tied to what he can do for and give to other people.

-Until he met you.

-He was drawn to your brilliance and ingenuity the moment you spoke out in your shared class. Your hardworking nature, and drive to learn - your thirst for knowledge, and desire to do things well.

-It only made sense that the two of you would end up together. Going from classmates, to partners, to friends, to partners. You always encourage each other in your respective fields of study, helping each other where you can, quizzing each other extensively before every test.

-But lately, he’s noticed that you’ve been…busy.

-Though, busy might be a grand understatement.

-You’ve been absolutely swamped, is what you’ve been. Nearly drowning in schoolwork, up to your neck in papers and assignments and projects and lectures and presentations and studying, on top of that still needing to take care of yourself and get enough rest.

-You’ve even had to call in a rain check on the rare date night that the two of you had planned, in lieu of working.

-He understands, of course. He’d gone through the same physics class last year, with the workload condensed into just a couple of months in the hopes that he might be able to squeeze in an extra class.

-It had nearly eaten him alive. He might have actually thrown in the towel and called it quits, had it not been for you. Always there, finding time in your own schedule to help him out and listen to his ranting.

-He’d been so grateful back then. But now, seeing you struggle with the exact same things he did? It…worries him.

-He knows how it had felt, being entirely devoid of energy, constantly on the verge of passing out or throwing up, maybe both. The back aches from sitting for long periods of time, the neck tension and headaches, the words on the page blurring together after however many hours of reading.

-Not to mention all the emotions he’d gone through, ranging from despair, to anger, to guilt and grief and self hatred. Hopelessness. He knows that you’ve got to be feeling some kind of way right about now. And he…doesn’t know how to help.

-It had felt different, when he was the one going through it. He had wanted to push through it all and keep going, despite the strain it put on him. He had to learn, had to pass his classes and make something of himself. What good would he be, otherwise?

-But now it’s you. Wonderful, incredible, beautiful, brilliant you. He wants nothing more than to take care of you, and then some, because you deserve the world. And…he worries that you might be pushing yourself too hard.

-Or maybe he’s the one worrying too much.

-Even when you storm into the lab one evening, late enough that even Jayce has turned in for the night, he worries.

-You’re obviously frustrated, your entire body strung tight, your jaw so clenched he wonders if you might crack your teeth. You’ve got the heaviest looking bookbag slung over your shoulder, weighing you down so you stand crooked, and in your arms are even more ridiculously thick textbooks.

-Some of which he recognizes.

- “I wasn’t expecting you tonight,” he greets you, turning away from the notes he’d been copying down into his journal. “I thought for sure you’d be…studying…? Is everything alright?”

-He watches as you make your way over to the empty desk he and Jayce had set up nearby, for such occasions as you popping in to do some last minute studying.

-You drop your books onto the surface, letting your bag slide off your arm and hit the floor with a dull thunk. Then, you nearly throw the chair out from beneath the desk, and sit down so hard he worries you might have actually hurt yourself.

- “No, Viktor, everything is not alright!” you finally reply, muttering to yourself as you start rooting through one of the pockets of your bag, pulling out a disheveled notebook and a pencil.

- “I have seven assignments due in less than three days, and I’m barely halfway through all of them! I’ve got four tests coming up, a final exam, plus whatever bullship pop quiz my professor decides to spring on us last minute! My head feels like it’s about to crack in half, my eyes have been burning for the entire week, and I haven’t slept in two days!”

-And yet, despite all this, you put your pencil to your paper and begin writing.

-He watches for a couple seconds, before standing quietly and making his way over to you.

- “When was the last time you ate?” he asks softly, wincing slightly when your gaze snaps to him from the corner of your bloodshot eyes. Ah, he thinks. So your frustration and exhaustion is coming out in impatience tonight.

-He’s no stranger to such a thing.

- “I just want to know what I should get for you,” he clarifies. “I’m not going to stop you from studying - but I am going to do some of the smaller things that you probably can’t be bothered to do right now. Like eating.”

-Your gaze softens marginally, and your eyes flick back to your work.

- “I had a piece of toast this morning,” you tell him quietly. “It’s the only thing boring enough that would stay down. And ginger ale.”

-He nods to himself. He can do that.

-Twenty minutes later, he’s setting a plate beside you on the desk, away from where you might bump it with your elbow, along with the coldest carbonated beverage he could get his hands on so late at night.

- “Alright,” he says, while you grab a slice of the food he’d made. “Would you mind if I went over what you’ve got on your assignments so far?”

-You narrow your eyes at him.

- “It might help if you get a fresh pair of eyes on your work,” he assures you. “And I’ve been through the same classes that you have, remember? I might be able to offer some pointers.”

-You droop slightly, but nudge your bag towards him anyways, remaining focused on the paper in front of you.

-He gets about halfway through all of what you’ve written so far, leaving little sticky notes on things he thinks could use clarification or rephrasing, as well as little compliments to hopefully balance things out.

-He gets about halfway through, before the sound of your quiet sniffling stops him.

- “Are you-” he begins, but you cut him off.

- “Ignore it,” you nearly plead, wiping hastily at your eyes. “This has happened multiple times this week already - I don’t need coddling. I can work just fine.”

-He fiddles with the corners of the papers in his hands, watching silently as your eyes continuously well up with tears, only to be swiped away seconds before falling down your cheeks. Again and again, as if they’ll never stop.

-Until he can’t take it anymore.

-He reaches forward, wrapping his fingers gently around your upper arm, to momentarily draw your attention away from your work. You resist for a few moments, frowning slightly, but eventually his persistence pays off.

- “We’re going to get through this,” he tells you firmly. “You’re going to finish what you’re working on, and then we’re going to turn in for the night.”

-You open your mouth to protest, but he’s very quick to shush you. “And then,” he continues, “Once you’ve slept a little bit, I’m going to help you with your assignments. No, I’m not going to do them for you - you don’t have to worry about that. But I will be helping you with the structure and wording, and once you’ve got the final product scribbled out, I’m going to help you type them out: that’s menial work, and you don’t need to be worrying about it.”

-You stare at him for a couple seconds, frowning and looking frazzled and confused.

- “Why aren’t you telling me to quit?” you ask, sharper than intended. “I’m just going to be taking up your time - you could be doing better things. There are so many reasons you could be telling me to give up!”

-He trails his fingers down your arm, to your hand, which he tenderly pulls towards his face so he can press a kiss to the inside of your wrist.

- “Because you’re brilliant,” he says, laying his cheek into the curve of your palm. “And you’re capable. Strong. Thoughtful. I admire everything about you, from your stubbornness, to your sense of humour, to your tenacity.”

- “And,” he lowers his voice, “I think that even the best of us require help sometimes. Even when we don’t want it.”

- “And sometimes,” he sighs, “We don’t even have the option. Some of us don’t have help. But I had you, even when I was too stubborn to quit, even when I was probably hurting myself. You knew that I wouldn’t give up, so instead, you did what you could to ease the burden on my mind.”

-He turns his head slightly and presses a final kiss to the palm of your hand. “And I know you’re the same. I won’t ask you to quit, because I know it will only upset you. So let me help you in another way I’m able to. Please?”

-He looks at you, with wide, pleading, beautiful eyes, and you can’t help the way your heart melts and warms. Tentatively, you agree. -It will be a rough month, he thinks, turning his attention back to the papers in his lap. But maybe it will be a little less difficult if you’ve got each other. And afterwards, the two of you can celebrate by taking the nap of the century - perhaps he might even go out on a limb and book a reservation to that fancy garden restaurant you were interested in.

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #arcane x reader #viktor headcanons #though it's more of a bullet-point story #i really hope things will go well for you!

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ladytauria · 10 months

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I need to know more about Neither a Bang Nor a Whimper!!!!

-@bi-bats (ughghghgh sideblog laws sorry for the anon)

So, njw's Where's My Goddamn Dinosaur? was one of the first Jaytim fics I ever read, & immediately left me wanting more time travel fics (which, time travel fix-its & the like were already a favorite genre of mine lol). I also read a lot of gen time travel & dimension travel, and. Anyway. That led to "Neither a Bang Nor a Whimper."

It's gone through a few different changes since I first started planning it / writing it. The first version had future!Tim being sent back in time, in his younger body, and I wrote the first two chapters that way. Then I decided I liked future!Tim being sent there as himself better, mostly because in addition to Jaytim I want to explore what Tim's interactions with his younger self might be like. I have also been considering a version where Jason and Tim are sent back to the past, together (for the same reasons as previous). I may make that an entirely separate fic, lol.

But! At least in the current draft, it's 17-year-old Tim sent back in time a few days before Jason died. The title is a reference to the catalyst of the time travel being the end of the world, similar to Where's My Goddamn Dinosaur--though not with the branching timelines~

It's also one of the first fics I started writing, and I've learned a lot more about canon vs fanon & my preferences re: those things since xD So what I do have needs some heavy rewrites, again :P

But have this snippet anyway~

The world as he knew it... is gone. The invasion saw to that. One by one, all of Tim's loved ones had dropped like flies—from the Teen Titans, to Batman himself, to Alfred. this was his only way forward, now—even if it meant, for all intents and purposes, going backward.

The only question is… when?

Six months ago, when this all started? He, and the rest of Earth's heroes, could stop it, especially with the data that Tim had collected over the last six months. That was the logical choice. Tim's life, as he knew it, would go on, exactly as it was before.

But...

Tim looks at the chronometer, turning it over in his hands, watching the light play on the silver. This is his one chance to go back. He should choose carefully. Weigh his choices, make the right one. the best one.

He has no idea exactly how it works. If he goes back to a time he exists, will there be two of him? Or will his consciousness replace his former self?

He doesn't know.

If its the latter, his choices narrow. He can't save Dick's parents—not from the body of a four year old. Tim bites his lip.

He flips the watch open.

If he’s being honest... there's always been one particular date he's been drawn to. One thing he wanted to change, more than anything else. Maybe it's selfish of him, to narrow down to that particular point—to ignore every other tragedy, every other pivotal moment in his life, in his family's lives.

But if you can't be selfish at the end of the world... when can you be?

So… with only a split second of hesitation, Tim keys in the date—and presses the button. There’s a soft chime, and then—

The world warps around him, bending and twisting, blurring together like some awful fevered haze.

And then the floor drops out beneath him, and he is falling, falling, falling—

#bi-bats #asks and answers #thank u for asking!#tauriatalks #idk why i picked four for his age at the circus... i don't have any notes on my adapted timeline like i do in the reverse robins folder #tauriawrites #tauriawritesfanfic #jaytim #dcu

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korodere · 5 months

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new year new... idk

haven't made a proper new years post in a while. i think this year kinda earned one.

tw: death, suicide, and so on

so... 2023.

where do i start?

a lot of good. and way, way more bad. but i don't want to lose sight of all the good because of it.

for the first time after knowing these guys for over a decade, i met my best friends nate, kathy, and kai in real life. spent over a week together with them, went to a con, got to share a bed with them the whole time, and force nate to eat a bunch of american food.

but. a month later, kai killed herself. and i'm still dealing with that. probably will be for the rest of my life. she was my best friend, i would call her my soulmate, my sister. she meant the world to me. i wish i could've spent every day of the rest of our lives like we spent that week in DC. i regret all the things i didn't do yet with her. all the things i couldn't do for her, to help her.

i miss her. a lot. i've just gotten to point finally, after she passed on aug 28, where just the thought of her doesn't make me spiral into misery and cut myself. i still get the feeling sometimes---i travelled again for the first time since our trip to DC, to see my childhood best friend graduate, and the entire plane ride was miserable. i just thought of her the whole time, because the last time i'd been on a plane was to see her, and then to leave her. and i kept thinking about how much i fucking wished i could've taken her back to vegas with me. she joked about it, when they dropped me off the airport, got out of the car and pretended like she was leaving with me. i wish she could have.

she made the year really stressful. from her new relationship to the constant troubles that came with it, to her psych ward visit, and then her constant attempts. over and over. and i had to keep stopping her, fighting with her. found out her whole philosophy on suicide---that it's her body her choice, and therefore anyone not wanting her to kill herself is being selfish, and that it was just a difference in philosophy. it was difficult. the conversations i had with her, i didn't want anyone else to hear. unfortunately it all spilled out, and then she took her own life.

i would've dealt with that for the rest of our lives if i had to, though. if it meant i could still talk to her, to see her again. i would've foiled her suicide attempts and argued with her and fought with her about it until we both grew old if i had to. i wouldn't have had to, i hope. but it was hard to convince her that there was any life to live other than this, for her. that she wouldn't feel this way forever.

it was a difficult year, if not for that already, but on top of that i was still dealing with the aftermath of a bad, drawn out breakup. so while trying to help her, i was barely able to help myself cope and move on from that---the fights and the shitty words and feelings. i felt pretty close to trying to attempt myself, last year. i'm better now. back on my medication. and while my self-harm is still an issue, it hasn't been for a couple months. its still on my mind, though. not always but a lot of the time.

i've been struggling pretty badly with feeling like i don't have a place in the world. worsened by the obvious, you know. i place a lot of my self and identity on the people around me---so who am i if not his boyfriend, if not kai's best friend? so much of my self-perception revolved around them.

there was a good month or two where i sort of just like... didn't want to exist, or accomplish anything. it's hard to describe but i felt like---why bother with transitioning? why bother with top surgery? HRT? legal documents? all that? if she's not here. i was her best friend, and she was always so proud and happy for me when i made progress---when i started growing a stache, she'd point it out everytime we video called and say "ooh, you look like a man, so handsome", or the more common, "you look like a fag". when my voice started dropping a bit, she noticed. it dropped even more this past month. i wish she could hear it.

this is certainly nsfw, but it makes sense in the context of our relationship (she was always very openly sexual around me, and vice versa. it was just part of our dynamic), but when we met up in july, i let her do... a lot of things lol. including suck on my nipple. which, yea, sounds weird, but it made sense for us. i told her now she had to live long enough to see me get top surgery, so she could test out if i still had enough feeling in my nipples. she said she would. so, for a while after she died, i felt like... i can't? or, why should i? if she won't be there, for me. if she won't be there to see my results.

it's really hard, thinking things like that. i'm struggling to not start crying right now. which is a miracle, honestly, i haven't been able to cry as much since i started T and yet because of her i've cried more in the past few months than i have in the year and a half since i started T.

i really miss her. i wish we could've done more, together. the week i spent with her felt like what i'd wanted my life with her to be for years. nearly a decade. you know, you grow up a mentally ill teen on the internet with all your most important friendships being these long distance people you've never met irl, and you talk and talk about what your life could be if you all lived nearby. and then for one week, that's what my life was. and i've never been happier in my life, genuinely. i wanted that to be my life, forever. it felt so comfortable and easy; i've notoriously had some bad anxiety issues about meeting up irl with people for the first time, i sort of shut down and go non-verbal, struggle to socialize or talk. but with her, kathy, and nate---i felt none of that. none of it. everything was so easy. i wasn't anxious or scared or anything.

i loved being with them. i loved doing mundane things like shopping at walmart and target with them while they pushed me around in the shopping cart. loved going to hot topic and picking out clothes with them. loved seeing the barbie movie in theaters opening week with them. going to a convention with them, something id' wanted for so long, because conventions are such a big part of my life and all i'd ever wanted was to share it with them. we cosplayed together. i put kai in my mikan cosplay, it fit her so well. when we went to the danganronpa meetup at otakon, she fit the part so easily even though she was kinda nervous. i still look at the pictures.

she really was a perfect mikan. nate was junko, you can see him on the right there, i was komaeda, and kathy was chiaki. it fit us all so well. i wish we could do it again.

it's been hard to wear my mikan cosplay again, after that. knowing she wore it.

i miss her a lot. but i'd be remiss to not mention that despite how awful this year was, i am hoping for a lot better in the upcoming one, and i'm going to make it so. and i know last time ifelt this way, a pandemic suddenly happened and things got worse, but i'm really gonna try, lol.

so what do i hope for, this year?

i'm going to see kathy & nate again, mark my words. i already have plans to see kathy in february and i'm going to enjoy myself the best of my ability, even if it'll be hard to be in her house again, considering the last time i was was when kai was there, too.

i want to get my passion for art back, and i think i'm already on my way to it. i want to get back into painting, both digitally and physically. and to draw with emotion rather than the intention to just make something pretty people will like.

back to the gym. rather stereotypical, but i gained a lot of weight after kai passed, and i want to get back in shape now.

drawing more things im passionate about rather than making myself stuck fixated on one interest.

top surgery. i wanna figure it out. even if i cant get it this year, i want to figure out what i need to do it.

a job hopefully. of some kind. just want to feel more stable money-wise if i can.

im just going to do things that ive wanted to do for a long time. im gonna stop putting it off. and just do it. because the time will pass anyways. so i want to do it now.

happy new year, everyone.

#kota.txt

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niceminipotato · 11 months

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I have the last instalment of my little PRIDE fic thing I was doing for June. And yes I know it's been July for more than a week but we queer every day so it's whatever. Anyway in this one we have my own ship from the ACOTAR series from Sarah J Maas. It's for Nesta and Morrigan. Yes I know they both have people, well at least Nesta does. I love Emerie and Morrigan so don't come at me. Still though, I like Mor and Nesta and I really don't like how they have barely any interactions but that's ok I made some here hehe. Enjoy and don't hate too much k. ;)

PRIDE - Effortless

The House of Wind felt different. Ever since a certain Made being had taken residence in it. For some reason it felt alive. It had before, but now it was as if it was a sentient being. It was curious that in all the time spent in the house it had never felt this way until now.

Curtains were drawn in the study letting natural light in. The veritas sat atop the desk waiting to draw her memories and play them back to Nesta. To teach her dances of the Night Court so that she may use her charms on Eris.

At least that was what Rhysand had said. She had accepted of course. She would do anything to aid her cousin, her High Lord. Yet Morrigan loathed the fact that she would be throwing the newly Made female to the lions. It irked her that she had been tasked with giving Nesta the tools which could very well place a target on her back.

Morrigan had always kept her distance from Nesta.

At first it had to do with the fact that she, like everyone else, blamed her for letting a child like Feyre be the one to protect them when she was entirely able to do it herself. After getting to know them though, her opinion of the eldest Archeron sister changed. It was still not right for Nesta to put the burden solely on Feyre as she had done for so many years but she could understand why Nesta had allowed it.

Some time later, when a human Nesta went into the cauldron and emerged a High Fae the reason to keep her distance shifted. Morrigan could tell Nesta hated everything about the change. The new fae kept everyone but her younger sister at arms length. She wanted nothing to do with them or their court and did her best to create a barrier around herself and her sister. Thus Morrigan had stayed away and only watched her from afar.

Now, the reasons for the distance were something different altogether. There was the fact that even though she was well aware there was nothing she could have done, Nesta’s father had perished right under their noses. She knew the female did not blame any of them and neither did the rest of the Archeron sisters but there was always a tiny irrational part of herself that told her she should have been able to save him.

And then there was the reason she kept buried deep within herself. The reason why she kept as far away from her as she possibly could. The reason that kept her from helping Nesta even knowing how broken she was.

At some point in those short months stuck watching over Elaine and Nesta before Feyre had returned, something inside of her changed. The one thing she thought she would never feel. Something so deep it felt painful to hide. Something she could not allow. Especially after confirming with her own eyes that her best friend and Nesta were destined to be.

Nesta and Cassian were mates. Their bond was unbreakable, sacred. And Morrigan could not, would not, get in the way of something like that. She had no right. Helping Nesta heal fell to Cassian not her. Even it felt like dying to look within her grey eyes. Even though Nesta’s pain shined through in a way that made it hard to breathe Morrigan had to stay away. Who could stand in the way of such a bond.

“You’re here.”

Morrigan took a deep breath before turning to the door, where Nesta now stood. “I’m here.”

Nesta nodded and walked in, her steps toward her felt hesitant, almost strained, but Morrigan did not comment on them. She took the veritas in her hands and moved closer to the other female. The orb of truth was cool to the touch but it was the magic within she could feel throbbing at her fingertips.

“This is the veritas. You’ve seen it before. It’s imbued with truth magic. I shall be using it to show you the dances. If you have any questions ask.” She kept her words short and to the point in order to draw a clear line between them.

Wordlessly, Nesta came closer, her grey eyes drawn to the orb. Music filled the air as her memories played in the veritas. The Night Court came into view after a second. The ballroom was full of High Fae and a waltz was playing. Nesta watched the scene unfold silently, her eyes glinting in wonder.

Morrigan had never witnessed that before, the look on her face sent her heart into a gallop. Before long the scene shifted to another then another. Those grey eyes were glued to the orb in her hands and Morrigan thanked the mother for it.

As time went on she could feel Nesta coming closer in an attempt to get a better view and for once Morrigan allowed herself to enjoy their proximity. Nesta’s scent flowed to her, tickling her nose and it was then that the atmosphere changed.

Suddenly the veritas glowed and went dark, taking away the music and the dance. Nesta threw her a questioning glance and Morrigan only shrugged, halting any hateful words which may come out. She put the veritas down and took a few steps away doing her best to clear the scent of her nose. Not because it was Nesta’s, no. But because mixed with that sweet scent was Cassian’s.

“Something the matter?” Nesta asked.

“No. But you’ll need to change out of those training leathers if you want to practice. Go bathe and put on a simple dress. I can wait.”

“Bathe?” Nesta looked at her as if she had somehow grown a second head. “I suppose I can do that. I’ll be back soon.”

“Right.”

As soon as Nesta left the room Morrigan released a deep breath. The scents lingered in her nose making her twitch slightly. With a defeated sigh she made her way towards the window sill and sat quietly. Her mind was a jumble of thoughts she could not control.

Nesta and Cassian under the same roof and practically alone. Of course things would progress that way between mates, even those who did not acknowledge it to anyone else. It had taken them long enough, had it not?

A strange presence brought her out of her thoughts. It did not feel threatening in any way but it was there. Glancing behind her she noticed a small table atop which a small bowl full of roasted coffee beans sat.

Morrigan stared at the bowl in confusion. It had not been there before and she had not requested it yet it was there. The longer she looked at it the more confused she became. Why coffee beans?

When the rich scent reached her slightly chasing away Nesta and Cassian it clicked. Aware she would more than likely sound crazy she spoke to the house as if it were a person.

“Is this to help clear the smell?”

The fireplace sparked to life for a moment before going back out.

“I’m assuming that was a yes?”

At her question the fire flared then extinguished again.

“So you truly are alive. That is… pretty amazing.” Morrigan found herself smiling before taking a coffee bean and bringing it close to her nose. “Thanks.” Her voice came out softly.

In response she felt one of the curtains draping softly over her shoulder. Morrigan gasped softly wondering if the house, this being she never noticed, understood why she was grateful. The curtains shifted slightly as if they were trying to comfort her. In all her years she had never experienced this but rather than question it she embraced it.

“How complicated are we, huh?” She chuckled bitterly and the house responded through the fireplace just as before. “What can we do? The heart does as it wishes. You wouldn’t understand that. Would you?” She expected the fire but only silence greeted her. “I did not mean to offend. Sorry.” The curtain shifted and she smiled. “Would you happen to know of a way that could help with the scent as we work together?” In an instant another bowl of beans appeared, making her laugh. “Sticking those in my nose would not be very subtle.”

Both bowls disappeared and she sighed as she thought she would have the steel herself in order to deal with the mixed scents. She could do it. She was The Morrigan. She could do anything.

“This will not be good.”

As she rubbed at her temples a new smell began to permeate the area. Vanilla mixed with mint and wood wafted around her. She thanked the Mother and their ancestors for creating a place such as this.

“Thank you.” She breathed out reverently.

The curtain shifted on her shoulder before dropping altogether just as the door to the study swung open. Nesta walked in wearing a simple long purple dress. Where her golden brown hair had been almost coming out of her braided crown now it sat perfectly within the confines of the braid. Her grey eyes searched the study before finally landing on her.

“Would this work?”

The other female sounded a bit annoyed and Morrigan did her best not to grin, “works great. Shall we?” She offered her hand to Nesta while waving the other towards the veritas.

Reluctantly Nesta took her hand just before a waltz began to play. Together they moved through the cadences of the music. Morrigan was surprised at how the other female had completely memorized the dance from just one or two runs. She had heard from the Archeron sisters, mainly Elaine, that Nesta was an artist when it came to dancing. Truthfully, if Morrigan were not experiencing this she would not have believed it.

They continued on for another couple of hours, stopping on the few rare occasions where Nesta needed more instruction. By the end of their lesson Morrigan was well spent, not because of the dancing-never because of the dancing-but because being this close, actually touching Nesta was driving her insane. She had not missed the way Nesta let a few smiles into her face as she got lost in the music. At those moments Morrigan had done her best to not react and ignore the other female in her arms.

“Same time tomorrow?” Nesta asked before making her way out and at Morrigan’s nod she left.

Once she was gone Morrigan went back to sit at the windowsill. Elbows on her knees while cradling her face she let out a groan. A gentle thud had her raising her head and she let out another groan when she found a new bowl of coffee beans.

“Hilarious.” She rolled her eyes and she had no idea why but she felt as though she could hear the teasing giggling from the house. “This is going to be a nightmare. Please make sure to mask the scent tomorrow and every day after.”

“Talking to yourself now?”

She almost jumped out of her skin at her friend’s voice. “By the cauldron, Az! What are you even doing here?”

“I am your ride remember?” He chuckled. “Unless you changed your mind and would rather stay.”

“No. Fly me high enough that I can winnow.”

“Why do you want to teleport when I can fly you wherever you need?” He sounded offended by the mere request.

At his tone she groaned internally. “Please just fly me past the wards.”

“Fine.”

“Az-” She began but he interrupted.

“I’ll be at the terrace when you’re ready.”

He replied coldly and though she wanted to be a friend she also needed him to understand that a friend was all she wanted and needed from him. Letting out a defeated sigh she rose and looked back down at the coffee beans then rolled her eyes.

“So very funny. See you tomorrow.”

The fire bloomed to life for an instant and the curtains fluttered so she waved at nothing in particular before stepping out of the study.

***

Days of dance lessons turned into weeks and Morrigan felt proud of herself for making it thus far. The House of Wind had been very nice to her, always trying to mask the intermingled scents of Nesta and Cassian with a different variation of smells. She was certain without its help all the time spent beside the other female for their lessons would have been a living nightmare. Oh, she was tremendously grateful.

Nesta had been a stupendous student, learning every dance that came her way. Morrigan had told everyone as much. The Archeron sisters had been happy with that while everyone else still seemed skeptical. She had expected that though, since she herself had been the same way. But then she supposed once they saw it then they would understand what she meant.

In all the time spent in lessons no one had attempted to spy on them, not Azriel and thankfully not Cassian. She knew having either of them present would be a distraction in one way or another. Cassian had however asked her to teach him a few dances. Morrigan was well aware of the reason and though she felt guilty she used her teasing as a way to deter him. Watching him leave muttering to himself had her releasing a breath she had not known she was holding.

Guilt gnawed at her for days, after she had refused to help him. But the thought of aiding in their closeness would more than likely break her. Thus she swallowed her guilt and continued to enjoy the last few days she had left dancing away with Nesta.

The time spent together had been strange. It was true they did not speak much. Then again what was there to say when the music and their bodies did the speaking. One too many times Nesta had stolen her breath as she smiled and closed her eyes letting the music take care of them. Each time they danced it was as though the female was set free, her steps precise yet flowing together in harmony.

***

Time flew and the day of Winter Solstice arrived and it came down to her to prepare Nesta. It was painful to do. She had to think of Eris and what would most appeal to him. Nesta had requested she at least wore something less revealing than what Feyre and Morrigan herself would wear. The request did help her slightly.

Once she finished fixing every little detail and she took a step back to admire her work she felt the wind leave her. Nesta looked breathtakingly beautiful. The black gown accentuated her curves, silver embroidered patterns dotted around the snuggly velvet bodice as its flowy skirts swooshed the floor. Golden brown hair sat braided around her head as if it were a crown and above it a glimmering black stone tiara rested with small sapphires at its spikes.

“Can I see now?” Nesta asked, wringing her fingers as if she were nervous. A rather uncharacteristic thing coming from her.

“Uh-yes. Yes, of course.” Morrigan cleared her throat, trying mightily to calm her heartbeat. “A mirror please.”

At her request one appeared and Nesta took a step towards it so that she could finally see. A gasp came from her but nothing else. The female only admired herself in the mirror without uttering a word. Morrigan wrung her fingers as now it was her who felt nervous.

“Do you like it?” She asked tentatively.

Running her hands down her sides, Nesta let out a tiny smile, “like it? I look… I look like…” Her voice died out as she tried to figure out how to describe it.

“Like the Queen of Night.” Morrigan supplied at which Nesta turned to face her. “I think it fitting.”

“Also like death incarnate.” Nesta chuckled to which she hummed.

“Night. Death. Powerful. Stunning. You are all of those things and that is more than ok.”

At her words that silver flame swirled in Nesta’s eyes, making Morrigan gasp slightly. The female flinched and looked away as if trying to calm her dark magic. As Morrigan saw the fear of rejection take over Nesta she took a step forward.

Slowly and carefully Morrigan reached out as if the female were some spooked creature ready to bolt at an instant. Nesta tensed slightly when she reached under her chin so that she could raise her head.

“Your magic does not scare me. I respect it. However, that is not why I reacted the way I did.”

The magic swirling Nesta’s eyes calmed and went out leaving only her natural sparkly grey behind while the rigidness on her shoulders ebbed away, “then?”

Morrigan cursed at herself for even saying anything in the first place but she had to continue. She just could not bring herself to leave Nesta like that. While it was true that she would rather keep her distance from her, watching that sliver of hope in grey eyes vanish was not something she could do.

“Your darkness doesn’t scare me. People like to forget I am a child of The Court of Nightmares and though I am also a dreamer it doesn’t mean I don’t share in the dark.” She smiled. “We all have that Nesta. No one is exempt. That spark of magic you hide may not be light but it is beautiful.”

Nesta swallowed, her eyes fixed on her watching her intently before tearing her gaze away and whispering softly. “Thank you.”

They stood in silence a while longer, Morrigan still holding her chin up and Nesta seemingly enjoying the touch, until there was a knock on the door. As if burned they jumped away from each other and turned towards the door as it opened. Morrigan hoped their awkwardness was not as palpable to others as it was to her.

Feyre poked her head through and smiled as she admired her sister. The High Lady of the Night Court looked as beautiful as ever, her baby bump noticeable at last. Tonight’s celebration would serve as the perfect excuse to finally announce to the world the baby on the way.

“You look beautiful, Nesta.” Feyre smiled brightly while Nesta let a small smile onto her face.

“Thank you. I have to go check something first. See you at the terrace.”

With that the oldest Archeron sister left, not even a glance back to her. Morrigan was unsure as to what had just occurred between them but she was well aware that the same could not happen again.

“You two make a good pair.” Feyre sent her a knowing smirk.

Morrigan snapped her attention back to her High Lady, “what are you talking about?”

“Oh you know perfectly well what I’m talking about. You may be ancient but you’re not as subtle as you think.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Ok. Then let me be clear.” Feyre chuckled. “You and my sister would make a wonderful couple.”

Morrigan felt the wind leave her sails as she trembled before Feyre. For a moment fear clouded her thoughts. She tried uselessly to find a hint of disapproval or repulsion on her High Lady’s expression but there was nothing.

“Mor, it’s ok.” Her voice was soft and gentle.

Surprised, Morrigan looked at Feyre and shook her head. “How would any of this be ok?”

“You and Nes-”

“Stop. Have you any idea what you are implying? Do you understand that-”

“I understand that you have feelings for my sister. Feelings that go farther and run deeper than any bond.” Feyre walked closer and brushed away the tears Morrigan had not known she was shedding. “Why are you denying them?”

“Enough.” Morrigan pulled away, clearing her face of errant tears and turning away from her High Lady. “Cassian has gone through too much. Entirely too much has been taken away from him. I refuse to take any more.”

“Shouldn’t Nesta have a say on this decision?”

“She has also suffered through enough I will not be the cause of any more suffering. Besides she and Cassian, they-”

“You know, I thought we’d have so much trouble with the glamour to mask the scents.” Feyre’s words made her turn back around while pain singed every part of her.

“I did not think you would be this cruel.”

“It was no trouble, actually. We thought his scent would linger but it looks like she hasn’t been with him. She’s been abstinent ever since you started your lessons. Why do you think that is?” Feyre tilted her head with her question.

A spark of hope ignited within Morrigan but just as quickly it died out. She could not allow herself to hope. She could not allow herself to wish. Allowing herself to believe that maybe something could come of this was a sure way to break herself.

“Again. I did not think you would be this cruel.”

“Mor-”

“Please, stop. I do not require a matchmaker, Feyre. Especially not one that wants to lead me to pain.”

“I’m not trying-”

“You are!” Morrigan exclaimed and watched a flash of hurt and guilt pass through her friend and High Lady’s eyes. “I know you mean well. But please, no more.”

“I’m sorry, Mor.” Feyre fiddled with her fingers before coming closer. “Can I just say one more thing?”

“You will either way.” Morrigan let out a sigh. “Go on.”

“We are human.” Feyre began and Morrigan only watched her confusedly, making her chuckle. “Well, we are fae but we began as humans. We think as humans. We behave as humans. We feel as human. In my case the pull I feel to Rhys is only intensified by what my human heart feels for him. Our bond is there and it's true but had he not won my heart I don’t think it would be as it is now.” She allowed the words to sink in before continuing on. “I’m not saying Cass can’t do that too but to me it looks like Nesta’s heart hasn’t and won’t be won by him.”

“You talk as if this were a competition. Nesta is not some prize to be won.”

“It was just an analogy. Still you're right. She’s not some trophy to be won. She’s a person with a complicated heart and feelings. And I can say all I want about who I think is better with her but it’s Nesta who will choose in the end.” Feyre smiled. “Anyway, I’m sorry for making you hurt. I just want you to be happy, Mor, and if my sister does that then I want you to know I’m happy with it.”

“What about our friend? Cassian is important.”

“He is and so are you. You are both my friends and I will be there for the both of you.” Feyre rubbed her arm before linking it with hers. “Let’s go. Rhys is calling.”

Morrigan looked at her with a frown. Usually if Rhysand sent a message to her mind she would hear him as clearly as if he were next to her. “I must have missed him.”

Feyre chuckled. “Oh he tried, but your mental shield is pretty dense right now. We would need to force our way through.”

“Oh, I-”

“It’s fine. I know what you’re guarding in there. But enough of that. Let’s go before he comes on a hunt.”

***

Enchanting. Ethereal. Enthralling.

Morrigan stood frozen to the spot as she watched Nesta dance. She had heard that the Illyrians referred to her as a witch and watching her now, Morrigan was inclined to agree with them. The eldest Archeron sister had enraptured the entirety of the Court of Nightmares. Chatter had died out and only the music remained while all eyes were on the dancing high fae. Nesta was a witch and she had bewitched them all. Ensnared them with her movements and seized their every thought.

Eris looked ecstatic and Morrigan wanted nothing more than to drag the son of autumn through the pits of hell. Nesta was doing a wonderful job of wrapping him around her little finger. Despite knowing it was just for show, the smiles and coy glances made her blood boil.

“Control yourself, girl.”

Morrigan’s gaze snapped away from the dancing pair and focused on the short female beside her, “I did not expect you to come, Amren.”

“Neither did I. I was only-”

“Worried about your protege and friend.” Morrigan cut her with a smirk.

“Silence.” Amren glared at her and Morrigan could not help but chuckle at the female’s inability to accept her feelings. “As I was saying, you need to control that ire. It is seeping through the fake smile.”

“I have no idea what-”

“Save us both the time and just accept it.” Amren threw her an exasperated glance. “At first I thought it was just the natural disdain for that waste of space from autumn. However it seems to me it is not only the past anger that is consuming you but the fact that the autumn thrash is dancing with her.”

“Quiet.” Morrigan glared at her.

“The bat boys may not see it but I see it clear as day, girl.” Amren shrugged then focused back on the dancing pair. “The Queen of Death and the Queen of Truth together would rip the world from its hinges.” The short female looked back at her and grinned devilishly. “I think I would enjoy the chaos such a union would bring. See you later.”

“A-are you not staying?” Morrigan stuttered and crossed her arms across her chest.

“I grow bored of this place. She is an amazing dancer but I have had enough of watching. Besides, she is rather well protected.”

With that the tiny ancient one disappeared, leaving Morrigan alone with her thoughts. She turned her attention back to Nesta and Eris and noticed how Azriel was trying his best to control Cassian. Morrigan could not decide if his jealousy stemmed from love or the territorialism that came with the mate bond. She knew where her jealousy and anger stemmed from and she hated that it came from that. Feyre and Amren’s words ringed in her ears as she watched Nesta but she knew even with their words of encouragement she could do nothing but distance herself once more. It was in the shadows and she belonged. She was meant to reside only in the outskirts of Nesta’s life.

A servant walked by and she snatched a cocktail, downing it almost immediately, before tearing her gaze away from the female she had recklessly allowed herself to love.

***

Morrigan found herself alone in the balcony of the River House gazing up at the stars. She would never tire of this view. In all of her travels she had never found such a beautiful sight. Then again, this was the Night Court and as such the nights full of twinkly stars and shining moon were meant to be breathtaking.

The gift exchange had gone as predicted and everyone seemed so happy. Laughter and music spilled from the open door and though Winter Solstice was her favorite time of year she could not exactly join in the festivities. Her thoughts were flooded by just one person and that person sat next to her best friend with a soft smile.

It pained her to feel the way she felt. She hated the jealousy that crawled over her skin and heated her blood. It was not fair to anyone much less them. But watching them together hurt too much and made her so angry. She had kept her distance for so long but a mere few weeks undid the lock she had placed on her feelings long ago.

Why? Why must she feel all of this? Was this truly what she was destined to? A life of solitude. Always standing outside and looking in. Getting a glimpse of what she could have but never would.

“Aren’t you cold out here?”

A gasp escaped her and she flinched at the voice, her voice. Turning back towards the door she found herself staring into those grey eyes. The beautiful dress and equally stunning tiara were long gone despite this Nesta still looked like a queen. Her dress was simple yet elegant. Its soft silk was deep night sky blue, the collar sat just below her collarbone and its long sleeves hugged her arms tightly with tiny diamonds framing the end of the sleeves.

“I was looking for you. Is this a bad time?” Nesta asked, carefully watching her every movement.

Morrigan swallowed all her pain and smiled. “Not at all. What can I do for you?”

“I wasn’t able to get anyone a gift. I don’t exactly have money just yet but-”

“Nesta, you need not give me or anyone any gifts. I am happy you are here. Your sisters have a different light about them tonight. I know for certain it is thanks to you.” Morrigan grinned. “I think your presence is a gift enough for them.”

“Cassian said something like that.”

At the mention of the male Morrigan was once more swallowing down her pain and softly began, “he is right. Do not tell him I said that.”

“I won’t.” Nesta chuckled lightly before biting her bottom lip. “I heard you are leaving.”

Morrigan noted a hint of sadness at her tone but decided to ignore it. “That is correct. As the envoy of the Night Court, I need to bolster our relations as well as get allies for these coming battles.” Nesta said something but her voice was so soft that Morrigan had a hard time hearing her. “Pardon?”

“When?”

“When what?”

“When are you leaving, Morrigan?” Her voice came out hard and almost snapish.

“Tomorrow most likely.” Morrigan frowned.

“So soon?” Nesta asked, taking a step closer.

“I have work to do.”

“Y-you should rest.”

“I have been resting.” Morrigan watched her shift in demeanor and she could not understand why she now seemed so distraught. “Are you alright, Nesta?”

“I need to give you your gift.”

“W-what?”

“Could you come with me?” Nesta fiddled with one of her sleeves while looking at the floor.

“I suppose?”

With that the other female turned and marched into the house. Utterly confused, Morrigan only followed after her.

They silently walked down the hallway, the laughter, conversations, and music slowly fading away until they reached the library. Nesta opened the door and motioned for her to step inside. Still confused but wanting to find out just what Nesta wanted to give her, Morrigan stepped into the room.

The high ceiling of the library had been glamoured to mirror the night sky above. Stars twinkled and danced and Morrigan reached to touch them. As her finger brushed against one it went shooting the other way as if it had been a shooting star.

Nesta drew her attention by clearing her throat. “There is a dance we never did. I learned on my own. You showed me a few times but we never did do it.”

“The Specere.” Morrigan whispered.

“Yes. The mirror, isn’t it?”

A rush of pain and sorrow threatened to swallow her whole and she bit down the whimper that was rising in her throat. “D-do you know of its origin”

Nesta frowned and shook her head.

“We have been told that the dance was created by two high fae. They were deeply in love but they were not meant to be. At least by their family standards the two just did not fit together, not in their eyes. In defiance they made a dance. Each time a song played they would dance, following each other’s stances and movements. There was never a right or wrong move yet somehow they mirrored each other with precision. It is said that their love was what moved them in perfect synchrony.” Morrigan looked at the ceiling of the library and let out a deep breath.

“Did they…”

“End up together?” Morrigan finished for Nesta who nodded. “Nobody knows. It is just a story.”

“So what I learned…”

“Is an interpretation of it.” She supplied for her. “The way I have seen someone dance it.”

Nesta thought for a moment before walking closer, “then let's make our own. I want this dance to be your gift.”

“Nesta-”

“Please?”

The other female extended a hand with a hopeful look in her eyes and Morrigan found herself unable to deny her. Nesta glanced to a table and following her gaze, Morrigan found the veritas. The female before pressed her lips together and Morrigan could only laugh. She waved her hand at it and immediately music flooded the library.

Together they danced. At the beginning Morrigan could recall the movements from what she had seen time and time before but soon enough they were dancing with their own moves. They mirrored each other perfectly and Morrigan could only smile as they did. At times they drew close only to step back and twirl. It felt as though they were lost in waves. Crashing in only to recede back. Once the song came to its final notes they stood closer than they had during their dance, their gazes locked in each other’s and a light sheet of sweat lining their skin while they panted.

Nesta broke the silence first, “I guess the end of the story is up to us. We can decide what happens.”

“Tell me then. What happens at the end?”

“They’re together. Because to hell with their families. If their love is strong enough to reflect in their dancing, if they move together without having to utter a single word then why would they not be with each other?”

The question punched a hole through Morrigan and she could feel tears prickling her eyes. With a shaky breath she pulled away trying to calm her quick beating heart. Nesta only watched her, not saying another word. In those grey Morrigan saw things she did not understand.

“I… thank you for my gift.” She managed to say before turning away. “I should get going. I need to rest.”

Quick steps echoed through the library and a hand wrapped around hers. “What do you want from me?”

Morrigan had no idea why she was asking that but replied nonetheless. “I am in no position to ask anything of you.” She glanced over her shoulder and found her own pain reflected back.

“What if I ask for something, then?”

“I will give you anything.” Morrigan said without hesitation.

“Then if I want you to answer two questions with only the truth, will you?” There was a steely look in her grey eyes that spelled trouble but Morrigan could not help herself.

“My magic is truth. I could never taint it with a lie.” She replied softly.

“I want your word.” Nesta insisted. “For my next two questions I want only the truth without dubious answers or wordplay and in return I will give you the same.”

Morrigan tilted her head at Nesta’s wording but thought nothing of it. The other female had only been in the Night Court briefly and she would surely not know how to make a bargain, at least not one which could involve a tattoo. On top of that, Morrigan had already said she would only reply with truth.

“You have my word.”

“Then it’s a bargain.”

At Nesta’s words, black lines etched themselves around her hand and fingers. Morrigan stood staring wide eyed as a tattoo formed on her own hand mirroring Nesta’s. She had been totally wrong when she thought Nesta would not know.

“Uh-”

“No questions yet.” Nesta cut her off quickly. “I’m part of the Night Court too. And I’m a quick learner. Now you’re bound.”

“You did not need to do this.” Morrigan stepped away from the other female.

“I want straight answers. I’ve had enough of your cousin's wordplay. Besides, even if you would not lie you may still hide things and I don’t want that.”

Panic rose to Morrigan’s chest and the thought of the questions she would be asked. She wanted to run. Run far enough that Nesta’s questions would not reach her ears. Distance, she wanted distance. She could winnow to her estate and then she would be gone and there would be no questions and no one else getting hurt.

“Please, don’t leave.” Nesta’s voice sounded so small while she pleaded that Morrigan stood still, once more unable to deny her. “It won’t be too complicated. I won’t ask you to reveal any secrets.”

Morrigan held her hands together in front of her and tore her gaze away from Nesta before speaking, “then ask.”

“Am I…” Nesta’s voice broke slightly, making Morrigan look back at her, “am I enough?”

“You must have lost your mind in order to ask something like that.”

Morrigan allowed her tears to slide down her cheeks. She could not comprehend how Nesta still thought so poorly of herself. How she could not see what her sisters, her friends, and she herself saw. It was incomprehensible.

“I just need you to say it.” Nesta’s own cheeks were lined with tears, her eyes closed.

“Oh Nesta,” Morrigan gently cleared Nesta’s tears away, “you are enough. What you did in the past does not change what you are doing now. It is also true that what you are doing now does not erase your past. But the past is the past and it that is where it shall stay. So yes, you are more than enough. And you are so loved for the person that you are. I hate that you cannot see what we can.”

Bottom lip quivering Nesta took a deep breath and looked at her, “then why are you, unlike my sisters, running away from me?”

“N-Nesta please, ask something else. P-please.” Pain, physical pain laced up her arm making her wince.

“I want to know. I want to understand.” Nesta’s gaze intensified and the swirling silver flames began to dance in her eyes. “I know what you feel for me. I can see it in your eyes. I can feel it. So tell me why, despite that, you are running away from me?”

“I-I cannot… ah!” Pain shut up her arm and into her chest.

“You have to tell me. Morrigan, you have to.”

Minutes of excruciating pain went by as she tried to fight the bargain but Nesta stood her ground and would not budge. Breathing was becoming slightly harder and she fell to her knees, the other female following suit.

“Please, Morrigan. Please, tell me.”

“Because me staying will hurt too much.” She let out heavily, feeling the pain receding. “Me staying by your side without being able to do anything else will kill me. But then, in the slight chance that you want something more that will mean others will be in pain.” Morrigan hiccuped and watched tears running down Nesta’s face while she shook her head. “It is not fair. Not for me or you or Cassian… he is your mate, Nesta. I cannot take you away from him. You two are meant to be together. Your bond-”

“To hell with the bond!” Nesta exclaimed and stood up to pace the room. “I didn’t ask for it. I get to choose. Me! Not some ancient rule that is more based on whether your offspring will be good or not. It is ridiculous that you all let some moronic thing from millenia ago dictate who you will be with. And it is not fair.” She turned back to face her, taking a deep. “Cassian is important to me. I won’t deny it. He has helped me through awful times.”

“Then what do you want from me?” Morrigan said in between whimpers as she looked at her from where she kneeled on the ground.

“I want you to stay… with me. I want you to stay.” Nesta answered quickly as if compelled to do so, which meant the bargain was still active on her side.

“Nesta…”

“I wanted to feel.” Nesta interrupted and Morrigan closed her mouth and listened. “I wanted to feel something. It sounds and is so selfish. I wanted to feel so I used him to feel. It wasn’t until he was between my legs that the numbness went away. I’d lose myself and the power thrumming beneath my skin would just stop.”

Her words clanged through Morrigan bringing way more pain than what trying to abstain from answering her had brought. “I think that is enough. There is no need for you to say anything else.”

“But then you…” Nesta’s voice wavered, drawing Morrigan back. “You made me feel by just standing there. Even before everything happened you were a constant in my head. With him there’s always the need for more from me but you… with you everything is so different. You haven’t silenced my fire, you've embraced it. My magic doesn’t go away when I’m with you, it calms, it becomes mine. Being with you feels so effortless.” Kneeling once more before her, Nesta took her hands in her own. “You can’t leave. I need you here.”

“But Cassian-”

“Can you think about yourself now? Just yourself. Please.” Nesta cried, her tears coming down in droves.

Morrigan shook her head, “I-”

“Ask me.” Nesta said quickly, squeezing her hands. “Ask me, Morrigan.”

Morrigan watched her, the question she wanted to ask surfacing inside her head almost instantly. Effortless, Nesta had said. Being with her felt effortless to Nesta. But Morrigan knew well that dealing with the repercussions of allowing this to happen would be anything but. They would have to deal with both Cassian and Azriel, and who knew what Rhysand thought of it all. Amren had been right, being together would bring chaos. It could divide their circle at a point in time when they needed to be closer than ever. There were too many unknowns, their very lives were being threatened as it was.

“Mor… p-please, ask me.”

Nesta pressed her hand to Morrigan’s cheek, making her whimper at the touch. She needed Nesta. She needed her so much. And she was right, distancing themselves when something could come of this was absurd. It was not fair at all. There would be so much pain and not only for her.

“Mor.”

Taking a deep breath, Morrigan leaned into Nesta’s hand and briefly closed her eyes before opening them once more. “D-do you… do you love me?”

Nesta smiled as more tears ran down her face, “yes. I love you in a way I never thought possible.”

Morrigan laughed softly through her tears and felt her whole body begin to tremble as Nesta grew nearer. Her scent surrounded Morrigan in an instant and unlike before she need not brace herself because the scent was just her, it was only Nesta. Their breaths mingled while Nesta now cradled her face, her touch ever so gentle as one wrong move and she would break. Then she stopped moving forward, not in hesitation but to ensure Morrigan wanted the same thing she did.

“Yes.” Morrigan whispered.

Without a second thought, Nesta’s lips were moving on top of hers and in the world there was only them. She knew Nesta’s lips were soft from looking at them but feeling their softness now was a different matter. They moved together in their own dance. It built up with each second, going from soft and chaste to intense and passionate. Morrigan had been alive for so long and had kissed so many others and yet she had never felt this. She could feel it everywhere. In the pit of her stomach. At the tip of her fingers. Rushing from her head to the bottom of her feet.

There had always been something missing and now she knew the missing piece was Nesta. Her blood rushed for her, burned for her. Her heart sang its song and her soul intermingled with hers. The kiss tore her world and formed it anew. She could not believe she wanted to run from this. By the mother, why had she waited this long? This was what she needed to finally be whole. They were not mates like Feyre and Rhysand or her own parents. But their connection to each other was just as strong.

When they finally broke away, their foreheads pressed together and panting, matching smiles etched into their faces. Morrigan knew what would come from this. The good and the bad. However, if she had Nesta she could care less about it. She knew the people they would have to face. But if she had to in order to be like this then let them come. She would face it all.

“I know the bargain is fulfilled but…” Nesta bit her lip and looked away.

Morrigan knew what she wanted to ask already and she grinned. “I did not expect you to be this… soft.”

“I’m not soft.” Nesta glared for a few seconds before letting out a breath. “Only with you.” She admitted reluctantly.

“I may have noticed.” Morrigan chuckled as the other female grumbled. “Nesta?”

“What?”

“I also love you.”

Nesta tried and failed to hide her smile but the moment Morrigan was going to point it out the other female stopped her with yet another kiss. Once more the world fell away, leaving only them. As they parted Morrigan watched Nesta's silly smile turn into a more smug one which made her laugh and shake her head.

“You’ll still have to go. Won’t you?” Nesta’s smile withered away.

Morrigan pulled away only to place a kiss on her forehead. “I do. What I said about being an envoy remains true. I have to bolster our relations with other territories and get us allies.”

“I see.”

“But I still need some rest.”

“You do?”

“I do.” Morrigan watched as a smile grew once more in Nesta’s face and she mirrored it. “I need you to listen to me, alright?” At Nesta’s nod she placed a light kiss on her nose before continuing. “Even when I have to go I need you to understand that I will always come back to you. Always, Nesta.”

“You… you…” Nesta huffed slightly. “You promise?”

“I swear.”

“This is going to be messy.” Nesta mused but soon a smile illuminated her face. “But you’ll always come back to me.”

Morrigan nodded and pecked her lips just because she could. “I will always come back to you. I will not distance myself from you anymore. I swear it. Now… would you like to come rest with me?”

“Just like that?” Nessta smiled.

“I have a feeling I can just tell your sister and at least for tonight and the next few days we can delay facing the mess. Unless you would rather do it now? I will do whatever you want.”

“Let’s go rest, like you say.”

Morrigan let out a giggle which Nesta echoed. “I really do love you.”

“You know I do too.”

“I think you will enjoy Athelwood.”

“Athelwood?”

“My home away from everyone else, where we can be alone.”

Nesta smiled devilishly, “I like the sound of that. I really like it."

"I am glad you do."

#Mesta #nesta archeron #the morrigan #acotar #A Court of Silver Flames #mor x nesta #nesta x morrigan #happy pride 🌈

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spotaus · 3 months

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Had a bunch of Doppletale ideas during my shower so I'm putting then under the Cut!

1) Kale stays underground for a really long time (<- That one's already established. It's like, 6-7 years I believe?) But I think that it's drawn out so long because, not only is K terrified (rightfully so) but Sans is also *extremely* hesitant to tell K about the rest of the underground. Like, he explains if she outright asks him, he wouldn't lie, but even then he cautions her with the most grave explanation when she asks about going past Waterfall for the first time. The further away from Snowdin she ventures, the less he can ensure she's safe. He's honestly terrified for the day she goes to see Asgore. He knows he'll have to Judge her, and that he'll have to accompany her to Asgore, and the last time he escorted someone to the barrier he snapped and killed them just before reaching the king. No matter how many years she's been around and how much better he gets with physical contact, he's so afraid he'll lose himself in that Judgement Hall again.

2) The barrier is fundamentally misunderstood by the monsters of the underground. They believe that to pass the barrier, Monsters must eat Humans and become 'human-like' to escape. This came about after Chara fell and the royal family adopted them. Chara was only a human child, and back then no one was starving. The royal family had recently had Asriel, so when Chara came to them, they thought the best way to teach their son to transform was to have a real human to mimic. Chara was off-limits for meals, and they grew up alongside Asriel as his sibling. Then one day Chara fell ill (ran out of human-food) and Asriel insisted that they go to the surface to get Chara more food. No one saw the whole story. How Chara was coughing blood as they exited the barrier, abd how they were holding Asriel's hand as he slipped through right behind them, disguised as a human child. The monsters had assumed that Asriel ate Chara and escaped the barrier. When Asriel returned to the underground, it was months later, and he only came back because he'd been spotted as a "changeling" by the villagers and had been attacked, separated from Chara and the family he'd been staying with. He "died" inside the barrier, unable to explain how he'd escaped in the first place. (He takes the form of Chara often when he's Flowey if only because it's one of the few faces he remembers.) So, the monsters assumed they had to be perfectly human by consuming more humans to escape. They're wrong. (It actually takes a human putting trust into a monster to give them the chance to cross, and the monster has to view the human as something other than food. As an equal. So, for the barrier to break, the entire underground has to recognize, on some level, that a human is more than food.)

3) Ghost Monsters don't eat Humans, and therefore are the most sane monsters underground by far. All four ghost-monsters were haunting objects that were held onto by humans that had been killed by the monsters, and ended up trapped underground by accident. The only time Ghost Monsters pose a threat is when they try to possess a human. The Ruins Ghost inhabits a dummy (one that's unsettlingly human-shaped that looks like it's been gnawed on by the ruins monsters quite a bit) and it has no intention of harming humans, though it will occasionally appear behind humans or in corners without warning. Napstablook is actually harmless, but wails and cries like a tortured soul. The only thing that calms him is his music. Mad Dummy ends up being the most dangerous Ghost to humans, but much like ruins dummy he inhabits a strange human-anatomy dummy in the waste-dump. He desperately wants a human to possess so he can pass the barrier and escape his wrongful imprisonment. Lastly MTT is obviously still in his robot-body, but as a monster who stays sane while Alphys goes insane, as Sans leaves, as everyone around him starves, he stays adamant that he has to look out for those who aren't able to care for themselves. (In this AU he's never Box shaped.)

3.5) MTT hosts the radio underground. After Alphys damaged him with a trap, he decided that he couldn't bring himself to be on-screen. Instead he uses Alphys' camera system to broadcast a sort of news-station to all the radios in the underground. He's the Star of the underground, and a lot of monsters would claim that MTT was the only reason they didn't lose sanity already. His daily broadcasts always had something new, even after countless years, as his voice was calming and friendly, something monsters didn't have enough of. His very last broadcast is one where he announces it's his last broadcast, because the Barrier is broken. (I also think he'd eventually offer to endorse K to the underground citizens, which has a lot more sway than anyone expects in making Monsters not want to immediately devour K.) (Maybe he's even on the radio when/before K has to speak with Asgore, to take calls from the underground asking opinions on "the Kindness Soul" roaming the underground, and it's a shocking amount of Positivity that they get in response???)

3.6) On the surface, MTT would genuinely become some sort of influencer online. He'd probably love to do Storytimes or Vlogs, and have like a d.i.y. channel. He uses this popularity he gains to slowly but surely change the public opinion on monsters (at least some of them) and help advocate for them to not be ostracized. With advancements in tech, he wouldn't be immediately grouped with the monsters when appearing, so as someone from "outside" either side of the drama and such a positive force he could gather some support. (However, Papyrus and Blooky remain his #1 fans no matter how many new ones he gains.)

And finally, @oodlesndoodles because I promised I'd @ them, and Ood is the designer of Kale/K, the human mentioned for Doppletale's True Pacifist route!

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valos-venus-doom · 6 months

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Drawn & Quartered [Chapter 1]

VV & OC

Saturday, December 10th 2011; 9am

Ville: When are you going to be home?

Caitlyn: Hey, I just woke up. We're going to go get breakfast and go another round on the slopes before I head out so probably not til tonight.

Ville: K

Caitlyn saw the single letter flash across the screen and knew Ville was upset. She'd left on Tuesday to go with her friends to Snowpark, a ski resort in Luovantie. It was a 4 and a half hour drive away from the home Caitlyn and Ville shared in Munkkiniemi, a gulf-side suburb outside of Helsinki. Prior to leaving, she promised Ville she'd be home by Friday evening "at the latest." It was now Saturday morning, and she had already told Ville the day before that she and her friends got complimentary extra days on their hotel suite. Now they could check out Sunday morning instead of Friday morning.

The entire trip was for Caitlyn. She'd lost her father from brain cancer 6 months prior, and skiing was always a hobby she and her father shared. As it came up on the first Christmas holiday after her father's death, her friends Kara and Nina surprised Caitlyn with the trip as a way to keep her spirits up.

They'd also invited Ville, but he very rarely hung out with any of Caitlyn's friends, and this time was no exception. He declined, opting to stay home and prepare for a 10 day long tour in the UK and Ireland before the 3 day Helldone festival. And pout, of course.

This action-packed schedule would have Ville running around like crazy for the rest of the month, hence his yearning to have Caitlyn back for the weekend so he could spend time with her before the madness begun.

Caitlyn: Come on, please don't be mad. Kara and Nina are doing a lot for me, I can't just run out on them. They're already a little disappointed I'm not staying until Sunday.

Ville: K

Caitlyn rolled her eyes. For the first time in their nearly 5 year long relationship, she was the one going away and leaving him at home. Prior to this, she strictly kept her trips during times that Ville was touring to avoid this very situation.

Ville was an extremely needy boyfriend, he barely tolerated when she'd go out to dinner with friends when she was only gone a few hours. She had now been gone for 5 days and truth be told? Ville had made most of her trip miserable.

He was constantly texting to see what she was doing, asking if she might come home early, calling her while she was trying to spend time with her friends and keeping her on the phone for longer than she wanted and complaining that he was bored and lonely. It was really getting on Caitlyn's nerves.

Caitlyn sighed, considering telling her friends that she needed to go right now, instead of after another skiing session, but she decided against it. 'Ville will be fine. He'll live. You never do anything for yourself.' she internally told herself.

In Helsinki, Ville sat bored in bed. Teeth clenched, leg shaking in frustration. He was about to be gone for almost 2 weeks, and after that he'd be running ragged getting ready for Helldone. This was the last weekend he'd be able to spend with Caitlyn until next year and he was extremely frustrated that she did not seem to care one bit.

"Couldn't have planned it for when I would already be gone?" Ville questioned before Caitlyn left, barely masking his annoyance as she packed.

"I didn't plan this, Ville." Caitlyn sighed in exasperation, placing more garments in her suitcase, "Kara and Nina wanted to surprise me." she had told him several times before this, in nearly identical conversations. She knew he didn't want her to. Caitlyn replied. "And please stop making me feel bad, you were invited. But it just so happens that you hate skiing more than you hate being around people."

Ville didn't respond, she was right, but he was still upset. He wanted to spend this week/weekend with Caitlyn. Not all alone in their house. "So you'll be back Friday morning?" Ville confirmed.

Caitlyn closed her eyes and clenched her jaw for a second, "Friday night, Ville. Night."

"Think you could leave earlier?" he asked, barely letting her finish her answer.

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, "Ville, my two best friends are taking me on a trip, I am not skipping out early on this. They're going through a lot of trouble for me, it would be a dick move to tell them I'm not staying the whole time."

'It would be a dick move to not spend time with your boyfriend before he's going to be gone for a few weeks but whatever...' Ville seethed internally.

Ville barely hugged Caitlyn goodbye when she left, which left a bitter taste in Caitlyn's mouth and started her trip off on a somewhat sour note.

A few hours passed, the girls had done a few ski runs and decided to head back to the lodge to return their equipment and see Caitlyn off. However, as the three girls passed the bar, they saw it was Single Ladies Night.

"None of us are single though." Caitlyn laughed when Kara and Nina brought up going in for a few drinks. "Plus, it's a little early isn't it?"

"It's 5 o'clock somewhere!" Nina shrugged.

"Um... It's 5 o'clock now." Kara remarked looking at the giant clock over the massive fireplace in the lodge lobby.

Caitlyn's stomach lurched. "Oh fuck." she groaned. "I did not mean to stay this long."

Kara rolled her eyes, "Please tell me Ville stopped bothering you."

Caitlyn shot her friend a look, "Of course he hasn't. And we left our phones in the room, so I'm sure he's been blowing it up."

And Caitlyn was correct, 6 missed calls. 6 texts.

Ville: On your way yet?

Ville: Hello?

Ville: I really hope you're driving.

Ville: Seriously Cait?

Ville: Are you driving or ignoring me?

Ville: Can you at least let me know you're alive?

Caitlyn's stomach felt heavy with anxiety. At this point, by the time she got on the road, she wouldn't be back home until late.

"Caity," Nina had yanked the phone from Caitlyn's hand and read the texts, "Look, you're already here, by the time you get home it's going to be super late, so what does it matter if you get home at 11pm or if you get home at 1am? Either way it's not like you're going to get quality time with Ville. He'll be asleep by the time you get home, just please come downstairs and eat dinner and have a drink with us before you go."

Caitlyn thought for a minute, but knew Nina was right. What did it matter if she got home at 11 or 1? She was already out, Ville was already mad, and a drink would settle her nerves anyway, so she agreed.

Ville sat watching TV alone in their bedroom, seething. He'd gotten a text from Cait a few hours ago; "Hey, I'm really sorry, we lost track of time. I'm getting dinner with the girls and then I'll head home."

Ville was fuming. At this rate, she'd be walking in the door at 2 o'clock in the morning on Sunday. She was supposed to be home nearly 48 hours before. Sunday he wouldn't be able to spend quality time with her, he had to pack and get ready to go on a 10 day tour in the UK. Ville felt incredibly slighted and furious that Caitlyn didn't stick to her original plan. It was a slap in the face, as far as he was concerned.

Hours passed and Ville fell asleep, but at 2:30am he startled awake when he heard the front door open and shut. His drowsiness was quickly replaced with anger when he remembered everything.

"Hey," Caitlyn walked into their bedroom with a smile. "I'm happy you're still up."

"I'm not. I *was* sleeping..." Ville rolled his eyes and flicked off the TV and peeled off his shirt.

"Ville, come on..." her face dropped.

"Caitlyn, I'm not doing this right now." he huffed and pulled the blanket back over him.

Caitlyn sighed heavily through her nose and went into the bathroom to get ready for bed. When she came back out, Ville was lying still, but she could tell he wasn't asleep. He was brooding.

Lifting up the blanket on her side of the bed she crawled in. She knew how to lift his mood so she scooted her body close to him, spooning him just the way he liked and began to reach for his dick. Surely a nice blowjob would lighten his mood. But she barely touched him before he roughly shrugged her off.

"Stop it." Ville mumbled.

Caitlyn's heart dropped, "Sorry." she murmured, and laid with her arm over him.

Ville jerked his shoulder away from Caitlyn and scooted further to his edge of the bed. "Off."

"Are you fucking for real right now?" Caitlyn was suddenly more mad than anything.

"Yep." Ville snapped back. "You're home two entire days later than you said you would be. All I fucking wanted to do was spend fucking time with my girlfriend before leaving for tour but no, apparently I'm not that important, so fuck off."

"I just drove for 4 and a half hours in the middle of the night to make sure I was here for you first thing in the morning and you're still mad?"

"You said you'd be home Friday. I would *never* do this to you. I would never stay gone longer than a tour lasts. I *always* come straight back home to you."

"How many times do I have to explain that my friends got comped two extra days in a suite they paid for on a trip they took me on and I didn't want to be an asshole to them?" Caitlyn argued.

"Oh, so you just wanted to be an asshole to me. Got it." Ville dug in his heels.

"I'm not going to apologize for doing something for me for once." Caitlyn snapped.

"Oh come off it." Ville shook his head. "I'm so sorry, I guess you're angry I don't take you on enough trips, that it?"

"How in the fuck did you get that out of what I said?" Caitlyn stared at him in confusion and then shook her head, "Look, we're talking in circles. We're not going to have any form of productive conversation tonight. Let's just go to bed and talk in the morning."

"Whatever, Cait."

Caitlyn bit her lip, her body tangled with anxious anger. "I should have listened to Nina and Kara. I should have just stayed the rest of the time. I wouldn't have bothered driving 4 and a half hours to sleep beside a moody fucking asshole."

"Okay, Cait, say no more." And Ville aggressively got out of bed, snatched his pillow off the bed and headed toward the stairs to sleep on the living room couch.

Caitlyn, furious, followed him downstairs.

“All of this because I didn’t come running the second you wanted me to?”

“No. ‘All of this’ because you never fucking prioritize me and you never fucking will.” he threw his pillow mindlessly into the room and turned go face Cait, somewhat excited that he was so right and wouldn't be the one apologizing this time. Cait fucked up. Not him.

“I don’t prioritize you? I revolve my entire fucking LIFE AROUND YOU!”

He laughed, “OH! Okay I guess I’m mistaken. I guess the way I feel is irrelevant, per usual.” Tone saturated in sarcasm.

“I put your needs and wants before mine constantly! But no, the ONE time Ville says ‘jump’ and I didn’t immediately respond with ‘how high?’ and he throws a temper tantrum, you fucking petulant child! Fuck you!”

Ville’s jaw clenched, fingers locked together behind his head as his eyes traveled to the ceiling. Caitlyn braced, she couldn’t tell if he was going to punch the wall or apologize. For the first time in the years they’d spent together, she couldn’t read him. “You know what?” Ville finally broke the silence after what felt like forever. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Caitlyn’s stomach dropped, she couldn’t respond though her lips parted. “What?” was all that she managed to squeak out, blinking, hoping she heard him wrong.

“I can’t do this anymore.” Ville repeated, not looking at her, but off to the side. He shut his eyes for a moment, dropping his arms from behind his head to crossing them tightly across his chest. “I’m done. I- I’m done with this. Us.” He clarified. "I'm not going to stay with someone who has no desire to put me ahead of her friends. I'm not the fucking bad guy here. All I wanted was to spend time with you before it was my turn to leave. And I have to leave for work. You chose to leave for fun. I'd never fucking do that to you, Caitlyn."

Caitlyn stared, her eyes stung. She felt paralyzed. She just stared off into nothingness.

Ville left her standing in the living room and headed back toward the stairs. His body was burning with anger and adrenaline. “Fuck her.” He thought bitterly “Petulant child? Ha. Okay.” He muttered through clenched teeth as he headed for the closet to grab his backpack and start packing his things. He didnt have to leave to catch his flight for another 24 hours but no way he was staying at the house.

He looked at the clock. It was almost 4am. He'd check into a hotel next to the airport and wait there.

HIM had a 10 day UK tour to go on and Helldone was in a matter of weeks, he would be busy for the entire last half of the month and that was good news, because he’d need to be fully distracted from the relationship he’d just ended. Reality hadn't set in for Ville yet, he wasn't said, he was pissed. He was being fueled by spite and righteous anger, a dangerous combo for him.

All he wanted was Caitlyn to come home from her trip when she promised that she would. He wanted one last weekend with her before the craziness that would consume the rest of the year. But no. She instead chose to stay with her friends longer than she originally planned, totally disregarding the fact they wouldn't see each other for basically the rest of the month.

They’d been together for nearly 5 years, and yet she chose her friends over spending time with him? He was fuming. How could he not take that personally? He was right, he'd never do that to her. He always came straight home. Ignoring the fact he was anti-social as it was and would come straight home regardless if he had his lady waiting for him, but that wasn't the point.

Ville aggressively packed, slamming doors and drawers, flinging things carelessly around the room. He was being petty and immature, but it was too late to stop, he was in too deep and every slam and bang admittedly made him feel better. He knew Caitlyn could hear him, he was hoping she would come up and poke the beast some more.

But minutes passed, and the fact she didn’t come running up the stairs to apologize and beg him not to go pissed him off, but she didn't even pursue him to continue to fight with him, and that made him feel worse and solidified his decision; “Just as I thought. She doesn’t give a fuck about me. She doesn’t want to fight for us? Fuck her. I’m done.” He seethed internally.

Caitlyn sat at the kitchen table, frozen. She was utterly devastated but the tears couldn’t fall. She listened to Ville’s ruckus upstairs. She stared at her hands in her lap as she thought about leaving herself. It was Ville’s house; she’d need to move out while he was gone.

Ville came quickly and noisily down the stairs, he paused a moment by the front door, waiting to see if Caitlyn would confront him before he left, and she didn’t, so he left. But not before slamming the door so hard Caitlyn flinched. In that moment, she broke. Her face fell into her hands and she began to cry. A second later, the door opened again and for a moment her heart fluttered. ‘He came back.’ She thought, ‘He’s going to apologize and make it okay.’

But she was wrong. Ville ripped a keychain off of his house keys and flung it into the house and it slid across the hardwood floor. Caitlyn knew what he threw, she’d given him a sterling silver keychain before Ville went on a very long tour in 2008; the first one they experienced together as a couple. "Always Come Home To Me" engraved on it with their initials beside a heart containing their birthstones; Citrine topaz for him, sapphire for her.

And just as quickly as he'd done before, Ville slammed the front door violently, causing Caitlyn to jump and flinch once again. Tangible tension still hung thickly in the air, she felt almost afraid to move. Moments later she wiped her tears and stood from the table. She walked into the living room and confirmed what he'd thrown; the keychain. He had quite literally ripped it off his keyring. The chain was broken and he'd thrown it so hard the sapphire stone popped off.

Caitlyn walked up the stairs to find their bedroom trashed thanks to Ville and more tears fell. She couldn't believe what jist happened and kept thinking of all the things she said that she regretted.

But that regret turned to anger when she realized how Ville treated her during her trip. He could really be a jealous, possessive, selfish man, but wow, this time he took the cake. Caitlyn thought about every time she'd flown across the world on his insistence because he missed her on tour. The jet-lagged sleep deprivation she'd push herself through just to make him happy. All the long nights waiting for him to come home from the airport, because he wanted to come home to see her awake and not asleep. "Selfish..." is the only thing she could think about. She was furious. But also so sad. This felt like another death. And having just lost her father 6 months, to the day, before this fateful night, she sat on the side of the bad and cried deeply.

#vv #ville valo #ville valo fan fic #ville valo fan fiction #neon noir #him #heartagram #his infernal majesty #love metal #him band

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jimblejamblewritings · 2 years

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i should hate you | part 1.

Summary: Y/N Lestrange felt like her life was a set-up since birth. The entire school hates her thanks to her mother and father. Worst of all, she finds herself liking a Gryffindor… the one whose parents were tortured by hers.

Warnings for the Series: angst, fluff, some smut

Pairing: Neville Longbottom x black!reader

Word Count: 4.0k

(Series Masterlist)

“And rook takes knight. Checkmate, Mr. Longbottom.” You smiled, cheekily. “I finally beat you!”

“You have? Didn’t you win last time?”

You shook your head and flipped your notepad to show him the last date that you two had played chess. Mr. Longbottom laughed as he went through the pages.

“I’ve been winning every time? Guess I still got it. Look, sweetheart.”

He held up the notepad as Mrs. Longbottom finally sat down in the chair next to him.

“That’s nice, isn’t it. Are you excited to go to Hogwarts, dear?” she asked you.

You nodded. “It’s my fifth year.”

“Right, right. Ravenclaw?”

“Slytherin.”

“Right… I’m sorry, dear, I forgot your name.”

“(Y/N) Lestrange,” you mumbled as you waited.

Sometimes they nodded solemnly and gripped their chairs before going back to chess and tea with you. Other times, their eyes widened as if they saw the devil. Not that you could blame them. Your mother might as well have been the devil— your father wasn’t much better. Today, they just nodded and went back to tea. You checked your watch that you only ever wore on the weekends.

“I’ll see you next Friday.”

“Same time, dear?” Mr. Longbottom asked.

“Every time,” you said with a wave.

You shrugged on your cardigan and wrapped your Slytherin scarf around you twice. The St. Mungo’s employee handed you the quill to sign yourself out. You stepped towards their eerily pristine fireplace and threw down the Floo Powder while shouting for the Hogsmeade Post Office. You coughed through the ash as you landed. Since you were in Hogsmeade, and Halloween was coming up, you stopped by Honeydukes and got some candy before heading back to Hogwarts. Last year— every year previously actually— you would have stayed longer with the Longbottoms. Even when second years weren’t allowed to go to Hogsmeade, you magically had a doctor’s appointment in London every Friday. It helped that you had anemia. Only if any of the professors paid attention, they would realize that you only needed your blood drawn once a month not once a week— once every two weeks at best.

However, Hogwarts was being interfered with by the Ministry this year and you never wanted to push your luck with Friday curfew that never mattered much before. Especially if Umbridge caught you instead of Snape. You had done well enough to stay out of her detentions but that’s because you weren’t an idiot like the rest of your classmates. You didn’t think it would take being in Slytherin to figure out how to navigate around her but clearly your house was the cunning one for a reason.

“Why are you so out of breath?” Draco asked when you entered the Slytherin common room.

He laughed when you pointed to the candy, holding out his hands for you to throw the box of red ropes to him.

“You almost risked Filch for some candy, Father would send a howler for that one. Did you finally beat Longbottom?”

You nodded as you took off your scarf and jacket. Slytherin was actually warm despite being in the dungeons. Draco finished chewing the red rope.

“Only took you almost four years… hey!”

You had thrown your jacket at his face. Your cousin was more your brother— you were clearly the better twin. Of course, Lucius and Narcissa took you in when both your mother and father got matching prison blocks in Azkaban. Why wouldn’t they? You were their precious sister’s little Death Eater child. And you acted as such when at Malfoy Manor. You and Draco weren’t stupid— although Draco did believe purebloods were better than muggleborns. But neither one of you agreed with killing them off or destroying muggles. You actually liked muggles. Draco just thought they should be ignored, who cares about them? However, you both knew how to play a part at home and it made you close because of it. He was the one that covered for you whenever Lucius wanted to meet in Hogsmeade on a Friday for dinner instead of maybe a Saturday lunch.

“Be glad I didn’t hex you,” you said.

“Please, I’m better at spells.”

“You wish, Malfoy.”

“Wanna duel, Lestrange?”

“Fine. I admit defeat.”

Draco smiled. “You’re coming to the game tomorrow, right?”

“I thought it was Gryffindor against Ravenclaw.”

“They had to reschedule, four players got seasonal flu. Slytherin’s up. So you’re coming.”

You yawned while saying yes and walked towards your room to wash up and go to bed. The morning brought you decked out in green and silver as you made your way to the quidditch pitch. You weren’t a good quidditch player. Well, you had been good enough to make trials but anemia made you get tired quickly and the games could sometimes go on forever and you resigned after considerable talks with the team. So you were now just an avid fan. Keeper was your favorite position to keep an eye on. And even though Slytherin was obviously your favorite team, Lee Jordan’s commentary and roasting was absolute gold. It was only made better by McGonagall constantly giving him warnings.

The game ran into lunch— Slytherin won. You all whooped and hollered through the corridors as everyone made their way into the Great Hall for a late lunch. Everyone rolled their eyes at the noise that your house was making. You didn’t care. All the other houses were boring anyway. What was the point of winning if you couldn’t flaunt a little? You stopped cheering to actually try and eat, frowning when you noticed that your table was out of scones and butter. There was plenty of jam though which meant everyone else ate the scones with just butter. You looked over to see that Ravenclaw had no scones either. The table on the other side of you— Gryffindor— still had a massive pile. You stood up and crossed the very small threshold over to Gryffindor. Everyone glared at you as you leaned in between Seamus and Neville. You turned your attention to Neville, who you may have had the tiniest crush on, because he always seemed the nicest out of Gryffindor.

“Are you guys still eating those?”

Dean pulled the entire tray in front of him, making the table laugh. You sighed but refrained from rolling your eyes. That pretty much answered your question. They weren’t eating them but you couldn’t have them either. You knocked on the table and crossed over to Hufflepuff who didn’t give you glares but very silently handed over a plate with a few scones on it. They only shook their heads ‘no’ when you asked if they had any butter left. No one would ever talk to you. You either had enemies or those who just didn’t want to be your friend.

Being Slytherin was one thing but being a Lestrange was another. No one liked you— Draco actually got more respect. Even in Slytherin, you didn’t really have anyone. You just tagged along with Draco’s friends when you could. It didn’t matter to you though because you had friends outside of Hogwarts. Granted, they were all adults and saw you more as someone to mentor than a friend but it was good enough. They were also all victims of your parents’ torturing so maybe you didn’t have any solid friends but what you did have was good enough to you.

This time, you didn’t ask Gryffindor for permission. You clocked one of the butter saucers sitting in between Ginny and Harry. Another was between Fred and George. The twins were beaters on their quidditch team so you knew their reflexes were fast. On the other hand, Harry was seeker and Ginny had been training so it was just as bad. You spotted a pitcher of water sitting next to a pitcher of pumpkin juice by the twins.

“If you won’t share your scones, can you at least pass the drinks? Hufflepuff doesn’t have any.”

The twins reached for the pitchers just as you grabbed the butter saucer. A satisfied smile rested on your face as you balanced the butter on top of the little plate of scones. The table went back to glaring.

“Oh, good game by the way. Seriously, the only team with cleaner broom dives is Ravenclaw.”

“Shove off.”

“Alright then,” you mumbled to yourself.

Fifth year and you would think it stung less every time someone told you to get lost. Draco suggested last year that you should just give in and be the monster that they all thought you were. You told him that it wasn’t your nature and you would stay true to yourself. It was going to take more than silent Hufflepuffs, stuck-up Ravenclaws, and bitchy Gryffindors to break you. One day someone would realize that you were a really good friend.

“Oi!” Draco yelled. “Pygmy Puff, are you going to hoard all the scones or bring them over?”

You laughed. You weren’t considerably short but the minute Draco became taller than you, he started calling you every tiny name he could think of. Pygmy Puff stuck when you puffed up your cheeks one day after he called you that. You picked up a scone.

“If you can catch the snitch, catch this!”

The position you had tried out for before having to resign was Chaser and it showed. The scone went cleanly in between the gap of Neville and Seamus, Draco catching it in one hand. Snape cleared his throat.

“Play with your food once more instead of eating it and I will take five points from your house.”

“Yes, Professor,” you said while Draco laughed at you.

You heard someone mutter Slytherin as you walked back. You set the scones down on the table, taking the one you wanted. You realized Snape had totally saved your ass because you forgot that Umbridge was monitoring lunch that day. One slip up wasn’t going to land you on her bad side though. The pink monstrosity seemed to somewhat like you that a single scone probably wouldn’t ruin it. You weren’t listening much to whatever Blaise and Pansy were debating about as you watched a large chunk of Gryffindor leave. When you spotted the one that you were looking for, you excused yourself from the table— Draco was the only one who noticed.

You didn’t think all of Gryffindor was going to the same place at once but so many of them seemed insistent on going to their common room. Well, that didn’t matter. Your house had just won a quidditch game, you weren’t getting a better adrenaline rush and confidence boost. You followed them all the way to the stairs as they approached their common room portrait of the Fat Lady.

“Hey, Neville!”

You cringed, wishing you said it a bit quieter. Damn near everyone there had turned. The glares were back but you didn’t care, especially because Neville wasn’t glaring. His face was in a hard line but he wasn’t glaring. You reached into the pockets of your jacket as you tried to find the little pumpkin ceramic that you bought with some of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavored Beans inside— you had picked through to make sure no bad ones were in there. When you looked up, you saw a little protective wall in front of the boy.

One of your eyebrows raised. “Um, I would like to see Neville.”

“So you can hex him? Your mum didn’t do a good enough job with his parents?”

“What? No, I-I.” You held up the little pumpkin. “I— the Halloween dance is girls ask guys this year. I know it’s tomorrow but I got nervous. Oh, there’s a joke! I think we’d have a gourd time at the dance if we went together. So, do you want to go… with me?”

Neville blinked. “Is this a joke?”

“No, why would I joke?”

Harry scoffed. “Slytherin’s are good at lying through their teeth.”

The rest of Gryffindor agreed. The little ceramic pumpkin that you had pressed against your cheek when telling your little joke started to feel really warm as your face got hot. You weren’t even sure if it was hot with anger or embarrassment or whatever other feelings you could possibly have. Neville looked back at you.

“No.”

“Oh, that’s fine. You probably got asked anyway, this was really last minute,” you said quickly.

Seamus laughed, throwing a shoulder around his friend. “No, he just wouldn’t go with a Slytherin let alone someone like you, Lestrange. Don’t you have a first year to go torture or whatever your mum and dad taught you?”

The Gryffindors retreated into their common room. You took in a deep breath and checked your watch. Neville usually left to meet with his parents in about thirty minutes. You learned that when you almost ran into him a year ago. You always had visited the Longbottoms at random times but didn’t realize that Neville had a set schedule. After figuring out that it was every Saturday and the time, you decided to make your visits to the Longbottoms on Friday so you would never run into him. You pulled out your wand.

“Accio pen and the cute notes.”

The little clicky pen with flowers on it dropped to the floor in front of your feet along with a cute pad of pastel green post-it notes in the shape of a cactus. You bought it when you snuck out over the summer. It wasn’t really sneaking out considering you weren’t grounded but you were supposed to be going to Diagon Alley. You did… after spending three hours on the muggle streets of London. You wrote a little note on the post-it and stuck it to the pumpkin. Maybe Frank and Alice would like the jellybeans inside. You also had enough little ceramics in your room that you didn’t need more. Setting the pumpkin down in front of the Fat Lady portrait, you left the steps and went back to your common room.

Thirty minutes exactly, not a minute earlier or later, and Neville was back outside with a beanie and a jacket. He didn’t feel the need to wear one to the game that morning but the night was going to be cold when he got back. Plus, his grandmother would give him a hard time if he didn’t at least show up with an outer covering. He heard something tumble down the stairs and break as he stepped out of the common room. He looked over to see a pile near the wall. Quickly, he moved down the stairs to see what he inflicted damage on by accident. A little green note stuck up in a pile of jelly beans, dust, and ceramic pieces. He picked up the note.

There are Bertie Bott’s inside. Only the good ones :)

“Reparo.”

He scoffed when he saw the ceramic pumpkin. It was probably poisoned. He thought it was a good thing that McGonagall had started Transfiguration with the Vanishing Spell. He firmly pointed his wand at the pumpkin.

“Evanesco.”

Neville tucked his wand back into his jacket sleeve and continued on his destination to the Hogsmeade Post Office.

You had to keep yourself from groaning as Umbridge strolled into Trelawney’s class for inspections. Staying her favorite meant not complaining in her presence. But she made the whole affair a nightmare. You just wanted to nap in Divination— which is what you usually did— after the absolute blunder that was Halloween. You didn’t go to the dance because you didn’t want to hear from anyone about you asking Neville. But you didn’t get a good night of sleep either. You had been kept up all night though because you were reliving the embarrassment instead of sleeping. You only perked up when you heard Umbridge start to ask Trelawney a bunch of questions in rapid-fire succession.

“Well, if you could just predict something for me, then?”

You watched Professor Trelawney freeze up. “I don’t understand, you.”

“I’d like you to make a prediction for me,” Umbridge repeated.

Trelawney wrapped her shawl around herself. The entire class buried their heads in their books, suddenly becoming loud as they told each other false dreams to try and avoid listening to the altercation that was happening. You jumped up out of your seat with your book.

“Professor! You were right, the swords must have been upside down in my dream not rightside up. I asked him and it didn’t go well.”

Trelawney grabbed your book, seeming to catch on. “Oh, yes, yes. Dear, I’m sorry to have been the bearer of bad news.”

“It could have been worse. At least it wasn’t the Grim… thank you for staying up all night to answer my questions. I know it must have drained your Sight.”

She patted your hand. “Quite alright. The Inner Eye will be ready again with proper rest.”

Umbridge tapped you on the shoulder. “She gave you a prediction?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“And you would say it came true?”

“Yes, Professor… except for the part where I was wearing red. Green is my color, won’t ever change it.”

“But the rest of it?”

“Oh, yes, Professor. I should have listened too, it would’ve saved me a lot of embarrassment.”

Umbridge made a sound that you couldn’t identify what it meant. She wrote on her parchment and stated that Trelawney was fine for now but she did want a follow-up inspection in the upcoming months. You slumped back in your seat.

“What?” You asked when Draco looked at you.

“You actually defended the crazy hag?”

“She gets sacked, I lose my napping class.”

Trelawney came over to return your book, not even caring that she could clearly hear a faint snoring coming from you. Draco pinched your cheek to wake you up when class ended. You laughed when he yelped as you sent a little jinx his way. Gathering your books, you got up for your next class. You found yourself stuck behind the Golden Trio on the stairs. They were whispering intently about something. You caught the words teach, Hogsmeade, and defense. They moved on to complaining about the scar on Harry’s hand from Umbridge’s detention. You had seen enough of the scars going around. Whatever Madame Pomfrey gave people was healing them rather slowly. You suspected that Umbridge was making her do that so punishments would last longer because Madame Pomfrey could heal bones in like a week.

“I have a concentrate if you want to use it,” you offered.

All three heads turned around, eyes immediately narrowing.

“What?” Harry asked.

“A concentrate… for your scar. It’s a bunch of healing essences put together. I get my blood drawn a lot and the needle pricks don’t really go away so they gave me a concentrate. I’m pretty sure whatever spell is on Umbridge’s quill uses needle pricks. I can bring it to our next class. It works instantly y—”

“I’m good.”

They walked off. You adjusted the books in your hand. If you had sense when you were younger you would’ve asked to use Malfoy’s name or even your mother’s maiden name. But you came to school with Lestrange and have been paying the price from the ripe old age of eleven. You didn’t try for the rest of the week. It was hard to try all the time. You thought that as you kicked at the rock in your path. You were walking through Hogsmeade by yourself.

Draco and his friends didn’t want to go. You didn’t really mind. Draco was nice— Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy were not. Blaise was alright but he was sick so he couldn’t leave Slytherin dorms unless it was to get more medicine from Madame Pomfrey. You were walking aimlessly. You didn’t want to eat yet and you didn’t want to walk into a shop and spend money unnecessarily. You saw the Hog’s Head look to have more life in it than you had ever seen. You remembered that Ron, Harry, and Hermione had said something about Hogsmeade. Maybe all those people were in there for something. You could hear the conversation as you got closer.

“I want to join,” you said as you stood in the doorway. The door pushed you forward a bit as it closed behind you.

The faces in front of you read from confusion to anger. You adjusted your beanie.

“You’re doing lessons or army or whatever. I would like to join.”

“Fat chance, Lestrange,” Ron scoffed.

“Please. I know my parents are… I didn’t live with them, if that helps? They’ve been in Azkaban this whole time.”

“No, you just lived with the Malfoys. Not much better is it?”

You took a step further inside to try and plead your case, eyes going wide when Hermione suddenly had her wand out and pointed at you. You held up your hands in surrender. It wasn’t like you didn’t know why they had a hard time trusting you but it was like they didn’t even want to give you a chance. You guessed that you couldn’t blame them but it didn’t make it feel any better. No one in the room tried to help you. You nodded slowly and stepped backwards until you were back in the doorway’s threshold.

“I really do want to help if you’ll let me… you can ask Mr. Aberforth to vouch for me if you want, he runs this pub.”

No one said anything. The barman called your name.

“You need a butterbeer before you pass out, kid?”

“It’s anemia, not low blood sugar.”

“Aren’t those the same thing?”

You shook your head.

“Well, you need anything for your— what would you even need?”

“I’m good. I’m going to get my blood drawn now, time to get told the same test results for the past fifteen years.”

You turned around and headed to Hogsmeade Post Office. You didn’t actually get your blood drawn at St. Mungo’s even if that was on your medical form at Hogwarts. You got it drawn at a small clinic nearby that was run by muggles. The doctor there knew about the wizarding world. She had suffered the Cruciatus Curse at the hands of your parents and it was too dangerous to obliviate her mind. The torture had been so much that she was only functional because they let her keep the knowledge about the wizarding world. She always gave your work to St. Mungo’s but let you get blood drawn in her clinic. You liked talking to her. She was one of the few people that never initially hated you. Something about the crimes of the parents aren’t the crimes of their kids or however her muggle saying went. That was another reason you liked muggles. You found that they forgave easily. The doctor wrapped the band around your arm and waited for veins to appear.

“Did he like the ceramic pumpkin?” she asked.

You shook your head. “It was a complete disaster. It’s going to be my new boggart for years.”

“Boggart?”

“Um, it’s like a big creepy floating cape of black that turns into your biggest fear.”

“Well, I can tell you that teenage boys aren’t that scary, (Y/N).”

“No, but a whole school that hates you is.”

“Your brother?”

“A whole school minus one that hates me.” You winced as the needle went in.

“They’ll come around. Just keep being a good person.”

“Can’t I just work here instead?”

“Do you know how long medical school is?”

“No?”

Your eyes went wide as she started listing all the schooling. She chuckled as she took another little vial of blood before pulling out the needle and giving you a band-aid. You declared that medical school was higher-up on the list of possible boggarts than Hogwarts could ever be.

“How is that one couple? The Longbottoms?”

“Doing better.” You shrugged. “I played chess with them yesterday and beat Mr. Longbottom again but this time he actually remembered I had only done it once before. It’s a start, I guess?”

“That sounds a bit promising.”

You left the doctor with a wave and a new determination to make at least one friend at Hogwarts that wasn’t Draco.

(Part 2)...

#neville longbottom x reader

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unlirise · 8 days

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weekend readingg

finally made it to the weekend! i'm glad that i'll finally be able to get myself some rest and take it easy. this week has drained me, and i think a lot of it is just the burn out that i can't quite seem to shake off just yet. i plan on making this weekend as restful and enjoyable as possible so that when the new week rolls in, i won't just be rolling with its punches maybe i'll throw a few back.

one of my weekend plans is to do some leisurely reading. currently on the list are:

a little life

hanya yanagihara

i don't think i have to talk about this book since almost everyone who enjoys reading must have already read through this one. as for me, i started reading it on september of 2022 but never really got past the postman. a lot of it has to do with the fact that i got caught up in university. partly, i was reading it as an ebook which didn't engage me as much in the long run. this month i bought myself the physical copy which is helping me a lot to pick it up and read it more often.

the reason i'm reading it is because my friend heavily recommended it. and based on where i am now, i'm intrigued by jude's story and where it's going to go. i'm also sort of hoping it would shed some light into what that transition into adulthood is going to be like.

reproducing sectarianism: advocacy networks and the politics of civil society in postwar lebanon

paul w. t. kingston

"Can active and dynamic civil societies make contributions to the strengthening of democratic policies and practices in weak and fragmented states?"

this is a book i bought in my third year of college from a secondhand bookstore. growing up in the middle east, i've always been drawn to middle eastern history and literature. especially now that i've moved away for college, it makes me feel just at home being able to read about the culture and significant events.

as a liberal arts student, this was more than food for thought. it's the very air that i breathe to understand how society responds to the demands of their environment, how they shape and are shaped by conditions of the times. though the context of the book is postwar lebanon, it's not hard to see how it can be a microcosm of politics in general.

i hope to be able to write a simple report on one of its chapters... when my brain isn't a literal soup that's been sitting out cold for days.

i'll run some last few errands tomorrow before i head to the mall to do some shopping (i've been doing a lot of retail therapy this entire week tbh).

#bookblr #books #book blog #reading #a little life #hanya yanagihara #fiction #nonfiction #social development #liberal arts #politics #middle east

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othellodonryan · 2 years

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i have drawn more in the last two months than the entire rest of the year

the one caveat being i have drawn exclusively ninja turtles and hot girls

#help

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phantomwarrior12 · 2 years

Text

Seasonal Change (Chapter 5)

He can't help but remember his first Dawning.

It's been a year and he had imagined he'd be at her side when this time came once again. But there is more distance between them now. More disbelief. More tension he doesn't relish in the slightest. They'd made some progress following the Festival of the Lost, but it was miniscule. A bandage on a gaping wound that will have to be addressed sooner rather than later.

He leans back in his bunk, scrolling through the draft of his report he intends to forward onto Ikora but something stops him. He pulls up an image from the last Dawning - one her Ghost had coerced them both into taking.

His hand rests on her shoulder, his head leaning toward hers but her arms are wound tight around his neck, upper torso flush against his. It was intended to be exaggerated and playful then - a way to poke fun at her Ghost but even so, they both look happy; even with her helmet in place.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath as he pinches the bridge of his nose. His chest aches as he sets the data pad aside.

"Crow?"

"Yes, Glint?"

His Ghost materializes beside him, bumping up against the back of his hand, "Are you alright?"

"I don't know," he murmurs, lifting his head and casting his gaze back to the image.

"You could reach out to her?"

"No. No, she has her hands full right now. The last report that came in mentioned she was," he pauses with a slight smile, "Competing in a galactic game show for the Nine...whoever they are."

Glint flickers up and forward, "A game show?! Seems I left just when things were getting interesting."

Crow chuckles softly, "Perhaps we should deliver this next report personally. I hear the Dawning celebration has begun in the Tower." Sunset falls to the image, his smile faltering slightly, "She told me she wanted to show me the Tower this year. How magical it looked."

"We could stop in. I believe Commander Zavala has already exchanged a gift with Empress Caiatl. Maybe she has something she wants to send back?" Glint offers.

"I doubt it...but it's worth a shot. Saladin was just there for the Iron Banner." Crow stands, pacing over to the window, "Perhaps, it's time I surprise her this time."

"That's the spirit!" Glint whirls excitedly.

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

"...I'm returning this to Commander Zavala?" Crow tries not to wrinkle his nose in disgust at the pungent scent emanating from the crate in front of him.

"You are," Empress Caiatl claps him on his shoulder and he lurches forward half a step, "A gift befitting your Commander."

"Great," Crow mutters, steeling himself as he looks up at the Cabal, "I'll be sure to give him your regards, as well."

She nods approvingly and heads toward the hanger doors leaving Crow to gaze down at the box. His hands settle on his hips as he paces in front of it. He doesn't have the faintest clue as to what is inside and he hopes the scent won't linger in his ship after it's been offloaded.

"Stow this in the farthest corner of the ship, will you, Glint?" The Hunter shakes his head.

"Sure thing!"

The crate disappears in a transmat and Crow casts his gaze toward the bay doors. Some part of him is anxious about all this. Going back again before things are resolved. His Hunter won't be in the Tower but some piece of him is disappointed by that. He won't get to see her. To hold her. To wish her a Happy Dawning face-to-face as she had a year ago.

He's thought a lot about how he can surprise her. Right now, his best idea lies with a stop to see Eva Levante. Surely she'll have some ideas about what the Young Wolf might like.

"Crow."

His gaze is drawn away from the bay doors to Lord Saladin. He's begun to make a habit of seeing Crow off and the Hunter isn't entirely sure how he feels about that. He'd told the Iron Lord of the unproductive conversation he and the Young Wolf had before he departed a month prior. It was more so to try and disprove the "blind love" nonsense - yeah, Saladin didn't buy it either.

Crow's eyes drop to the small box in the Iron Lord’s hands, "What is it?'

"I need you to make a stop while you're in the City."

"Of course."

"Hand this off to Lord Shaxx. It's a gift for Lady Efrideet, he'll know how to get it to her."

Crow accepts the small box, trying not to inspect it too closely, "She's…?"

"An Iron Lord. One of the few left."

"Ah, I'm a little rusty on our history but the Guardian has mentioned her. Said she was something like a daughter to you." He teases with a grin.

Saladin grumbles, "Just give it to Shaxx, Crow."

"I will."

"And don't be gone too long. Caiatl tells me there's been movement with Xivu Arath's forces. We need to plan a counter."

Crow nods, his fingers curling around the box a little tighter, "I won't be long. A day, maybe."

"Very well. I'll see you in two." Saladin turns on his heel and leaves despite Crow's protesting sputter.

Glint materializes beside him. "Bet he thinks you're going to see her."

"Probably," the Hunter's shoulders sag as he shakes his head just before Glint transmats him into the cockpit. "I won't even get to see her."

"Get to?" His Ghost asks as he slides into the pilot seat.

"Don't you start too." Crow gives him an annoyed look. In truth, he is very disappointed he can't see her this time. He aches to see that smile, feel her embrace. He wants to broach that line they toe and finally break that last barrier that bars him from kissing her.

"I haven't the slightest clue what you're talking about." Glint whirs indignantly but there is a laugh buried in his voice.

"Of course not," Crow sets the box Saladin had given him in the seat beside him before firing up the engines. "Let's get underway...before anyone else decides to send another gift home."

"Sounds like a plan to me."

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

The trip to the City is uneventful. He docks in the hanger and offers a smile to Holliday. No mask. He knows she was only recently let in on the fact he used to be the Awoken Prince - it reflects in her eyes when she glares and turns back to the sparrow in front of her.

That’s another war he’ll have to fight at another juncture. He doesn’t have the heart to disturb her a second time.

Nor does he have the time.

Crow makes his way to the Commander’s office. The elevator rattles in a way that oddly resembles his nerves and he tries not to think too much on it as he steps off and treads inside. Zavala’s door is open and the Titan Vanguard is at his desk, absorbed in a data pad before him.

The Hunter awkwardly raps his knuckles against the door as he steps inside, drawing Zavala’s gaze to him.

“Crow,” he greets, rising from his chair. “I wasn’t aware you were returning?”

“I’m not. Well, not in any real sense. The Empress had a gift she wanted taken to you and Saladin has one for his friend so I figured…” he trails off. He isn’t sure what exactly he was thinking coming back here with Savathun so close.

Zavala doesn’t press him on it. Instead, he steps around the desk, approaching the Hunter. “A gift…from Caiatl?”

“A...ripe gift. Glint?”

Glint transmats the crate into Zavala’s office and both retreat a step immediately.

“Did she say what it was?”

“Didn’t even hint.” Crow retreats over to the desk, leaning against it.

Zavala steps up to it, removing the lid and his shoulders relax. “So, this is what she meant.”

“What is it?” Crow doesn’t dare step any closer to the crate.

“...War Beast cheese. She insisted it was similar to ours.”

“Fits the Cabal theme for food,” Crow chuckles as Zavala replaces the lid and allows his Ghost to transmat it into storage.

He turns, regarding Crow for a moment before he speaks, "You should know…Mara Sov is putting incredible pressure on the Guardian to bring you back to the Reef." Zavala clasps his hands behind his back.

He was hoping to avoid any topics bound to the Awoken and Witch Queens. Still, he knew it was inevitable. Crow lowers his gaze, scanning about the room, "Why?"

"Ikora tells me that the Awoken Queen wants the chance to wield a Light-Bearer. Eris thinks she wants to rekindle a relationship with her…” Crow looks over curiously, “with who used to be her brother. The Guardian has outright refused time and time again."

Crow nods slowly, "And why are you telling me this?" His arms cross over his chest.

"So you understand what she's doing for you." Zavala paces away from where the crate stood and toward Crow. "She was responsible for Uldren Sov's execution," Crow visibly flinches at the memory, diverting his gaze to the floor in an instant, "But she is also responsible for your freedom, something she continues to fight for."

"I didn't ask her to fight the Queen--"

"No. The Guardian has always resented Mara Sov. What happened to Uldren was the breaking point. Now...she's hellbent on ensuring that never happens to you again." The Commander returns calmly, "She is fighting a battle so you don't have to, Crow."

"She does that a lot," he returns quietly.

"It's in her nature."

"As a Guardian?"

"No. As someone who has lost too much already."

Crow's eyes dart to Zavala. His brow is furrowed in a grave line, his eyes soft and he can see the grief lingering there.

"Do you know when she'll be back?" He asks softly, uncrossing his arms as he straightens up.

"No. I'm afraid not.” Zavala paces back over to his desk, placing his hands on the top, “Her trips into the Shattered Realm are impossible to track. Is there anything you'd like me to tell her?"

"...make sure she stops at her quarters in the HELM when she returns." Crow nods, producing the report he meant to give Ikora and sets it on the desk, “And let Ikora know my report is…complete.”

“Of course.” Zavala gives a solemn nod before Crow turns. His exit is a quick one, determined to get through the next errand with minimal…interacting.

Lord Shaxx is one of the Guardian’s closest friends. He’s sure she confided in the Titan after Crow’s departure and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t anxious about facing the Warlord. The Young Wolf had told him a few stories about Shaxx - his role before the City, his vocal personality and…cryptic remarks.

The elevator rattles a little and shudders when it comes to a halt. Crow steps off, following the railing around the corner to the Crucible Handler.

Thankfully, he’s too occupied with a match to spare Crow more than a glance for the moment.

“Five minutes. Crush them.” He straightens, reaching for another console and Crow hovers awkwardly. “I’ll be with you in a moment, Hunter.” Shaxx calls over his shoulder, stepping over to Arcite and checking over a data pad.

Crow takes the time to cast his gaze about, taking in the alcove filled with monitors, stats and a leaderboard. Unsurprisingly, his Guardian is at the top…by quite the margin it appears.

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he folds his arms over his chest. Perhaps one day, when all of this subsides, he can join her in the Crucible. See how she fights other Guardians, see how he fares against her in a setting where he can use his Light and his marksmanship. He wants to see what a battle between them would look like.

“That’s settled. Now,” Shaxx’s voice catches his attention, drawing his gaze from the monitor. “What do you need, Hunter?”

Crow clears his throat, holding out his hand as Glint transmats the small box into his hand. “Lord Saladin asked me to give this to you. It’s a gift…for Lady Efrideet. He said you’d know how to get it to her.” He holds it out and the Warlord takes a step closer, taking the box from him.

“Ah, yes. I’ll take care of it. Thank you.” He sets the box on the desk and turns back to the console for a moment.

Crow starts to turn to leave, but pauses when Shaxx speaks again.

“How does Saladin fare?”

“He’s…alright, I suppose. He’s holding his own.”

Shaxx nods slowly, folding his arms over his chest. “You must be Crow, the new Hunter the Guardian told me about.” He pivots and suddenly, Crow has the entirety of his focus fixated on him. Something he was really hoping to avoid.

“Uh, yeah.” He tries a smile but he can’t get a read on Shaxx’s temperament.

He merely nods, “I expect I’ll see you in the Crucible soon?” Expectant. Firm. The kind of tone that leaves Crow very little room to escape - but escaping is something he’s moderately good at.

“I’m afraid my duties keep me off-world most of the time…but maybe?”

Shaxx’s head tilts, angling up and down for a brief instance before he uncrosses his arms. “It would make the Guardian happy. She’s often mentioned trying to find an opportunity for you to return to the Tower for a few runs.”

“She has?” He doesn’t want to sound too hopeful but it breaks into his voice with a thrill that lifts his solemn expression into a smile.

Shaxx laughs, “She has. She seems to think you’d be a match for her.”

“She has taught me a few things,” Crow rubs the back of his neck.

“I’m sure she has.” The Warlord leans against the desk, “I’ll be happy to oversee a match on your next return.”

“I’d appreciate that, thank you.” Crow tries to gather himself.

She’s still talking about him. Granted, it’s in the context of fighting him but it’s a good sign, isn’t it? He has to believe that it is. Perhaps this means she thinks of him as often as his mind drifts to her.

“I-I should get going. I still have some–”

“Of course! Of course! Come back anytime, Hunter.” Shaxx gestures for him to go as he straightens to his full height.

Crow gives a nod, starting past him but something stops him a few steps from the Warlord. He searches the fabric before him before he lifts his head, meeting Shaxx’s gaze. “...how is she? Really?”

Shaxx’s voice is soft when he speaks, “She worries about you more often than not. You are at the forefront of her thoughts whenever she comes to see me.” He lays a hand on Crow’s shoulder, “She cares for you a great deal, Crow. Don’t squander it.”

He nods slowly, diverting his gaze for an instant. “Thank you, Shaxx.”

“Think nothing of it,” Shaxx gives his shoulder a pat and steps away, his voice returning to its usual grand volume. “Now, I have Crucible matches to attend to. You’d best get a move on.”

The Hunter manages a nod, descending the three steps into the Courtyard and starts toward Eva. He makes it exactly four before he pauses to take in Tower’s decorations, the tree - all of it. He can only imagine how it would look at night with the lights casting a warm glow over the Courtyard. He only wishes the Guardian could be there with him to see it, to experience what she’s called magical at her side.

She loves the Dawning. She’d told him it was because of how peaceful everything seems to feel.

But he knows better.

It’s the one time she can bring something beyond destruction to others. Seeing her light up when she gave him those cookies a year prior? It stuck with him. In fact, it’s one of his favorite memories of their time together.

He’d never seen her more excited than when she placed that box in his hand and just waited for his reaction.

Crow smiles to himself before he continues toward the platform Eva’s currently on. She’s speaking adamantly with a Warlock, relaying some directions for what sounds like a cake recipe. But when she notices Crow, she finishes up her conversation quickly before turning to grab a box.

Crow arches a brow, venturing closer to the vendor.

“Ah! You must be Crow! The Guardian mentioned you may be returning to the Tower and she–”

His eyes drop to the box, his chest constricting as Eva holds it out. He can’t even hear Eva until she touches his shoulder again.

“Are you alright, dear?”

He nods, shifting the box into one hand and opens the tag on top. It’s her handwriting. A scrawled yet oddly elegant “Crow ^.^” inked into the paper.

“Well, she mentioned these were your favorite. Before she left, she asked me to help her make these for you.” Eva pats his shoulder gently, “Oh! One more thing!” She turns away and Crow’s brow furrows, finally tearing his eyes away from the tag.

Eva steps back over to him and holds out a neatly folded note.

“She asked me to give this to you if she wasn’t back in time to see you.”

“Uh, thank you.” He accepts the note with a sad smile, holding it tightly before he meets her gaze. “Can I…ask you something?”

“Of course, dear. Anything.”

“What’s her favorite kind of cookies? She’s never mentioned and I…I’d like to return the favor.”

Eva touches her chin thoughtfully, “Hm. Well, she’s always seemed particularly fond of my chocolate meringue–”

“Could you - I mean, would it be possible for you to teach me how to make those for her?” He asks, suddenly very nervous about all of this. He’s never attempted cookies before and while he’s sure, even if they turned out awful, the Young Wolf would appreciate them, he’d rather give her something she can enjoy.

“I don’t see why not. Come with me. I believe I have the needed ingredients in my ship cargo hold.” She starts toward the hanger and Crow is close behind.

Making the dough isn’t hard but Crow makes it difficult. It has to be perfect. He wants to make sure the Guardian knows he appreciates her gift. He needs her to know that…he misses her. He’s not sure how it’ll translate with cookies but he has to try.

While they cook, Crow finally takes a seat. He pulls her note out, turning it over in his hands for a weighted minute before he unfolds it.

Crow,

Happy Dawning, Little Light! Chances are I won’t be there when you arrive, or if you arrive. I wasn’t sure what to expect after two months but I’ve asked Eva to hold onto this and some cookies regardless. They’re not burnt this time, I promise. :)

We should…talk soon. I do miss you, my Light.

Keep Saladin out of trouble.

Yours,

He’s not going to cry, dammit. But there are tears gathering in the corners of his eyes and he’s quick to wipe them away. He won’t–

Crow smiles, re-reading the note for the third time before folding it up and tucking it into his pocket. He wipes at his eyes one last time before he rises, moving to retrieve a piece of paper and something to write with from Eva.

He’ll leave the note and cookies in her quarters aboard the H.E.L.M. It’ll be a nice surprise, after all. She deserves something nice after all of this.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s reminded that he should be upset with her still. That withholding something of this magnitude should be unforgivable.

But she had no choice.

Fate has a funny way of taking away choice. Or maybe it's just around him that this particular curse comes into play.

Everything I did, I did for her.

The Young Wolf has given him no excuse for any of this. No argument. No justification.

She'd wanted to tell him so many times and that had to count for something.

He owes her that much.

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

"Make sure you return to your quarters tonight."

It's what Zavala told her after she checked in. It was certainly an odd request. She had intended to swing in long enough to shower but now she's curious.

Or rather, mildly concerned as to what could be so important that the Commander insisted she return to her room for the evening.

Standing outside the door now, she eyes the panel cautiously. No chance of anything like an ambush. It's unlikely anyone is actually inside - she'd already had Ghost scan for her - and it's equally unlikely that any of the Vanguard would have stepped foot inside her room in her absence.

She takes a deep breath, swiping a hand over the panel and the door slides open. She scans the room after flicking on the light and stepping inside.

The first thing she notices is the sweet aroma of chocolate. Her eyes dart, searching for the source when she notes a platter with a lid on her desk.

The Young Wolf cautiously approaches it, reaching up to slide off her helmet before noting the folded piece of paper atop the platter.

Her name is written on the outside of it and it takes a moment before she recognizes the handwriting.

Crow.

He had returned to the Tower? Why didn't Zavala say anything? She should've - never mind.

She impatiently unfolds the paper, an anxious thrum in her chest as she begins to read:

Guardian,

Happy Dawning! Didn't think I'd be able to see you before I had to report back but Eva said these were your favorite. I wish I could be there to share them with you.

She also gave me the cookies you made for me. Thank you. You have no idea how happy you've made me. As for the note, the note was…well, I miss you, too. And I do hope we can talk soon, face to face. We’ve always left so much unsaid between us and if we can help it, I’d like us to be straightforward from now on. You mean too much to me for anything else, Old Light.

Good luck in the game show. I look forward to hearing about it.

Yours,

Crow (and Glint)

P.S. The cookies really do taste better when they're not burnt ;)

The Young Wolf snorts softly, a smile playing at the corner of her lips as she takes a seat atop the desk. She brushes a thumb along his signature longingly before casting her gaze down to the platter beside her.

It really does smell good.

Though it's a stark contrast to the gore coating her armor. A shower and then she can investigate the platter.

She folds the note back up, setting it atop the lid before she slides off the desk and spends the next twenty minutes getting cleaned up before finally returning to the platter.

She lifts the lid cautiously, an excited sort of smile easing into place when she sees cookies.

Ghost transmats beside her. "...someone did his research."

The Hunter snorts and plucks a cookie from the plate, replacing the lid as she makes her way over to her bed. The first bite stops her dead in her tracks.

Crow really did outdo himself.

She tries to ignore the flutter in her chest, the urge to say the hell with the strike tomorrow morning and go to see Crow instead. Her gaze flickers back to the note.

They do leave so much unsaid, don't they?

She hates that. It's mostly her fault but she…she had no choice this time.

Crow couldn't know his origin. As much as it pained her to withhold it. As much as it ate at her very soul to see him struggle, she had no choice.

But it's out now. He knows she killed Uldren. He knows everything.

The Young Wolf finishes off her cookie before she eases into bed but she doesn't lay down. She leans against the headboard, eyeing the data pad beside her.

She could get a message to him but what would be the point? What could she say to him that he hasn't heard from Ikora or Zavala?

Would it make a difference?

She watches Ghost make himself comfortable in the scraps of her cloaks atop the dresser, snuggling down into the warm fabric and his eye closes.

Sweet dreams, Ghost.

She shifts down the mattress, shutting off the bedside lamp before she tries to get comfortable.

The room is so quiet. She'd grown accustomed to sleeping beside Crow on nights like these. His arm bound around her waist, his breath against the back of her neck. His hair tickling her shoulder.

She missed that warmth, that comfort. Nothing ever transpired beyond it but it felt…intimate in its own way. To be so comfortable with one another that sleep comes easy when they are pressed close in the dark.

Savathún has caused so much havoc for humanity…this, as petty as it is, this is one of the things she hates the most. She's lost Crow for a time. She's lost that familiarity and now? They could barely touch in that hanger all those months ago.

Now her Hunter is anxious around her. Now he resents her. And she can't bring herself to fault him. But she was hurt when he left. She couldn't blame him for that either but the H.E.L.M., the Tower and their vantage point all feel so empty without him.

She hasn't felt a void like this since–

Her eyes wrench shut.

No.

She can't think about him now. That's a whole other world of hurt to process that she can't quite bring herself to broach.

Not yet.

For now, she'll keep busy. She'll do her job and wait for Crow’s return. And then they can talk. Fix things.

He'll come home and it'll be like he never left.

Won't it?

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

WAR WROUGHT REUNIONS (CHAPTER 6)

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ghost-party · 2 years

Text

Pairing: Eren Kruger x F!Reader (Modern AU) Word Count: 2.9K Warnings: creepy vibes, age gap (reader is in her mid- to late twenties), smoking, being watched, spooky shit, alcohol, lots of red flags, foreboding, winter storm, mention of blood, seduction, mental coercion A/N: This is a spooky little fic with similar vibes to In the Woods. The book excerpted towards the end is Deathless by Catherynne M. Valente. The title also comes from a line in that book.

After months of applications and interviews that led nowhere, you’re grateful to have finally found a job. But you can’t seem to shake the feeling that it’s suspiciously simple — like there’s a catch you’re just waiting to discover.

Because your only responsibility is to read aloud to the owner of the house.

Five days a week, you arrive at two o’clock in the afternoon and stay until the sun begins to set around six. Several of those hours are spent reading, but during the others, you’re permitted time to spend taking photos in and around the property.

It’s part of your payment. Along with generous weekly checks, you’ve been given permission to use the estate as inspiration for the collection your art gallery contact has been begging for since your last.

You’re grateful for the opportunity, seeing as the house is over a hundred years old and startlingly well-preserved. Although there are rooms that remain locked and hidden from your prying eyes, there’s more than enough to keep you occupied outside of them.

A grand staircase made of dark wood. High ceilings with gold chandeliers. Rooms papered with lush florals and ornate designs. Oil paintings line the walls, along with mirrors of all shapes and sizes. Each window is adorned with heavy velvet curtains, and most are kept drawn throughout the day.

It’s all so beautiful. You were transfixed from the first moment you stepped inside.

But it’s the reading that has you perplexed.

Your employer, Eren Kruger, seems perfectly literate, his vast library attesting to that fact. His collection is enviable, rivaling both of the local bookshops in your small, sleepy town.

“I like the sound of your voice,” he explains when you finally decide to ask, two weeks into your tenure.

You suppose it’s pointless to question the whims of an eccentric man to whom money apparently means nothing. And he doesn’t seem like the type to lie. Right from the start, he’s been very direct, outlining the terms of your employment and providing succinct answers to all of your questions.

He’s blunt in his pronouncements, seeming incapable of mincing words. It’s easy to assume from his demeanor that he’s wholly uninterested in you, but his eyes betray him.

They’re such a pale shade of blue, they look almost gray. And the only time you’re ever at risk of stumbling over your words is when you peek up from the pages of whichever book you’re reading and realize he’s staring at you.

There’s a weight to his gaze, but it’s not unpleasant. It’s difficult, however, to read anything into it. His expression remains carefully closed off despite the intensity of his attention.

Luckily, he doesn’t scrutinize you the entire time you’re reading. Most days, he sits at his desk, either sorting through papers or sitting reclined in his chair, his long legs propped up, feet crossed and resting on a mahogany corner.

He smokes a peculiar kind of cigarette. The smoke smells sweeter than what you’re used to, walking through clouds of it on your way in and out of downtown parties at someone’s apartment or studio.

You remember him asking on that first day if you minded the smell. When you said no, he hummed in response. He keeps a green glass ashtray on his coffee table, and it’s become a ritual — him unfolding himself from his chair, stubbing out his cigarette, and then sitting on the opposite couch, hands in his lap, watching you.

During those first few weeks, you felt nervous whenever this happened. But now, you’ve come to expect it. You don’t mind him looking at you.

It’s only fair, since you’ve started looking at him.

This afternoon, you’re taking photographs in one of the empty bedrooms on the third floor. Even in mid-October, it’s warm and stuffy, prompting you to crack one of the ancient windows. It creaks as you do, protesting the movement after decades spent untouched.

It’s as you’re pushing the curtains further back that you notice Kruger below you, walking through the garden and towards the back of the property. There’s no fence to indicate where it ends. Only a line of trees marking the edge of the forest.

He stops beside a stone fountain that remained dry all summer long, stained black in places with dirt and grime, natural detritus. With his hands in his pockets and his head tipped back, he looks taller than ever.

You rarely see him leave the house, and so you take advantage of your secluded vantage point, watching him closely. In the waning sunlight, he’s even more striking, which you didn’t think was possible.

High cheekbones set into a long, narrow face. An aquiline nose and strong jaw. The faintest dark circles linger beneath his eyes. As he stands there, you can see his broad shoulders relax just a little, the rise and fall of his chest as he takes a deep breath.

You don’t realize what you’re doing until you’ve already raised your camera, shifting your gaze to look at him through the viewfinder. After making a few careful adjustments, you press the shutter release button.

He turns and looks at you.

Startled, you stumble back, away from the window. Impossible. There’s no way he could have seen you, still partially cloaked in shadow by the long drapes. And your camera had barely made a sound, certainly nothing he could hear from so far away.

You take some time to collect yourself, one hand pressed to your chest while the other holds onto your camera, trembling, before you release it to hang around your neck.

It takes much longer than you expect for your heartbeat to slow, your mind forcing your body to go through the motions of photographing the room — the carved wooden headboard, the claw foot tub in the small, adjoining bathroom, the dresser mirror gilded with tarnished gold vines.

By the time you descend the stairs and return to the first floor library, Kruger is seated at his desk, writing your check.

For a brief moment, you wonder if this will be the last one — if he’ll fire you for spying on him, for taking his photo without permission. But he doesn’t mention it. He simply hands you the slender slip of paper and offers you a thin smile. “Perhaps we’ll finish One Hundred Years of Solitude next week.”

You nod and then manage to find your words, quietly answering, “Yeah, I’m sure we will.”

The next day, as you sweat in the cramped heat of your closet-turned-darkroom, you see something strange in one of your photos.

You’re standing in front of the mirror, the darkness of the vacant bedroom behind you punctured by a stream of afternoon sunlight. Just beyond it, there is a shadow.

Leaning closer to the photograph, you try to discern its shape, examining the angle at which it lies across the dusty wooden floorboards.

If you didn’t know any better, you would say it belongs to a tall man. But you’re alone in the room, your camera reflected in the mirror as you hold it up to your face.

It’s unnerving, the way your sweat suddenly feels cool and clammy against your skin. Suppressing a shudder, you push open the closet door and quickly close it behind you, as if it will do anything to ease your nerves.

Only later that evening, after you’ve had two glasses of wine and taken a long bath in an effort to relax, do you remember the photo you took of Kruger.

Considering the presence of the unexplained shadow, you half expect the image to have developed blurry, or for him to be missing entirely. But there he is, looking up at you.

He must have turned his head in the split second it took for the camera’s shutter to open. Holding the photo close to your face in the privacy of your darkroom, you find yourself pleased by the opportunity to look at him without fear of being caught.

You’ve never been able to tell exactly how old he is. Faint lines are etched at the corners of his eyes and mouth, and he carries himself with the surety of someone with many years of experience.

Nevertheless, he’s undeniably handsome. And the steadiness of his gaze, paired with the slightest tilt of his lips, hinting at a smile, has you standing there for an embarrassingly long time.

The following week, you finish reading One Hundred Years of Solitude and move on to The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter. Each of the books you read aloud to him comes from his personal collection. Having perused the shelves, you know it spans countless years, from classics to modern bestsellers, and the genres are varied.

When it comes to what you read, you’re not sure how he makes his selections, whether they’re indicative of his mood or state of mind. You’ve always been hesitant to ask.

It’s not that Kruger is unapproachable. He often has conversations with you, in the time between reading and when you wander the house, taking photos. He offers you tea, usually black with honey, and asks what you think of the book, how your collection is coming along, what you like to do outside of work.

His interest in you is flattering, and it should make it easier for you to ask your own questions. But while some of them are small and benign, others are more… complicated. And you’re unsure if you would like the answers he gave you.

He never mentions seeing you in the third floor window, and you never speak of the bodiless shadow. But as the week stretches on and bleeds into another, as you finish this book and the next, you begin to notice things.

The shadow appears in more of your photos, subtle in some and much darker in others. Its presence is unsettling enough on its own. But it seems to be moving closer to you with every new image you capture.

At the same time, your conversations with Kruger have grown more personal. He asks if you have many friends, if you like your apartment, how often you speak to your family. When you recall your exchanges later, usually while lying in bed, waiting to fall asleep, the instinctive part of your brain says you should be frightened by his questions, by the implication of them.

But for some reason, you aren’t. Maybe it’s the way he’s so attentive when you answer, hanging onto every word as if you’re the only person in his world.

And maybe you are. He never speaks about family or friends. There are no recent photographs in the house, and any glimpse of a familial line comes from two of the paintings.

Both hang over the enormous fireplace in the dining room. You’ve always thought the woman looks somewhat like you, with a similarly shaped face and the same curve to her lips, captured in a gentle smile.

But the resemblance between Kruger and the man in the other portrait is much more obvious. They have the same brown hair thinly lined with gray, the same hard set of their mouth, the same pale eyes, ones that seem to follow you, no matter where you situate yourself in the room.

The tiny gold plaques date both paintings back to 1887. Despite their age, however, neither shows signs of deterioration, unlike other pieces you’ve examined throughout the house. If you didn’t know any better, the richness of the colors and the gleam of the varnish would convince you they were recently finished.

Weeks pass, hours slipping by as you read another book and another and another. It’s late November, and the first snow has come and gone, leaving in its wake a bitter cold that seems to settle deep into your bones.

The shadow is nearly upon you, looming large in nearly every photo you take. It evokes an unspeakable fear in you, something that hums beneath your skin like an electric current.

But it also feels as if you’re lying in wait, too curious to run because you need to know. The thought of it consumes you and draws you back to the house, helpless moth to steady flame.

The sun has almost set, and a winter storm has crested the mountains and settled over your small town. Snow falls in thick sheets, blanketing your car, and the wind picks up, rattling the windows and making it impossible to see.

Kruger suggests you stay the night. Even if you could reasonably say no, you’re somehow certain you wouldn’t. The lights flicker a few times, prompting you to collect as many candles as you can find.

This proves helpful when, as the two of you are eating dinner, the house goes dark. You’re briefly stunned, sitting stiff in your chair as you listen to the wind howl outside. But then there’s a click, followed by a tiny, fluttering lick of fire — Kruger’s lighter.

He stands and lights the candles scattered across the table, from stout pillars to graceful tapers set into heavy holders. By the time he returns to his seat, the table is awash in a warm glow, light dancing off the tines of your fork as you spear a slice of carrot.

The two of you dine in relative silence, and though it lacks the painful awkwardness you feared, you can’t seem to shake the feeling that you’re being watched. It’s hard to ignore the portraits hanging behind Kruger, just above the mantle. Especially when, from this angle, he looks indistinguishable from his nameless relative.

“I have a favor to ask of you.”

As always, his voice is soft with the slightest hint of roughness, like sandpaper grown smooth over time or a coarser cut of velvet.

When you meet his gaze, he smiles. The flickering candlelight deepens every shadow, the angles of his face more pronounced.

“Can we continue reading? It may help to pass the time.”

Words fail you, and so you nod, your heart beating uncomfortably fast. It only worsens when you find yourself back in the library after dinner, a candle sitting on the small table beside your usual couch, the weight of Kruger’s gaze seeming heavier than usual.

Noticing that the book is trembling in your grasp, you take a breath and then exhale, trying to steady yourself. And then you begin.

It feels different, reading in the near dark. The storm presses in against the house, eliciting creaks and groans, distant sounds that try and fail to pull your attention away from the page you’re reading.

Kruger sits in silence for a while before he stands and walks to the fireplace, stoking the low flames before he begins to circle the room. You can feel him linger behind you, his presence growing nearer as you keep your gaze focused on the next passage.

The book is somewhere between a love story and a tragic fairy tale, and it feels appropriate for this night of all nights. The Tsar of Life, who hides his death far, far away, is speaking to his stolen bride, of how he was a bird at her window — an old black owl — before he took the form of a man.

“‘I confess,’” you read, and you can feel Kruger standing right behind you, “‘it excited me, the possibility of being caught out.’”

His hands come to rest on either side of you, long fingers pale against the dark red upholstery, the color of berries, the color of blood. You think back to watching him from the window, how he watched you back. You think of the shadow, looming ever closer, as if conjured by your camera.

“‘But no, I got to keep my secrets after all.’” You swallow hard. “‘A chance passed is a chance passed.’”

You think of the tea he always serves, with a hint of thick, honeyed sweetness you can never quite place. You think of the portraits hanging in the dining room, the uncanny resemblance of them, the seemingly fresh coats of paint.

Kruger’s breath is warm as it fans out against your neck, his cheek nearly pressed to yours as he looks at the book from over your shoulder.

“Keep reading.” The command is the barest of whispers, nearly lost in the tumult of the storm bearing down around you. Your voice trembles as you obey.

“‘Oh, I will be cruel to you, Marya Morevna. It will stop your breath how cruel I can be.’”

Kruger’s lips just barely brush against your neck.

“‘But you understand, don’t you? You are clever enough. I am a demanding creature. I am selfish and cruel and extremely unreasonable.’”

It startles you when, despite his lingering presence behind you, the warmth of the shadow resting upon your shoulders, he suddenly stands in front of you.

You narrowly avoid stumbling over your words as you continue. “‘But I am your servant. When you starve, I will feed you; when you are sick, I will tend you.’”

Slowly, Kruger kneels before you, his eyes somehow bright despite the deepening darkness of the room.

“‘I crawl at your feet; for before your love, your kisses, I am debased. For you alone, I will be weak.’”

When he leans forward, lifting a hand to your cheek, you instinctively respond to his touch, your eyes drifting shut as he sighs — a sound of pleasurable relief, long withheld.

When he kisses you, his mouth tastes both bitter and sweet, a cloying combination that leaves you feeling dizzy. His lips are thin but soft, demanding but coaxing.

And when he asks you again to stay, you know what he means, the weight of his question like a heavy cloak, a welcome shelter against the storm.

“Yes.”

#attack on titan #aot #eren kruger #kruger x reader #eren kruger x reader #tw alcohol

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